Parts of this chapter has been rewritten. Thanks VisualIDentificationZeta for all your help (I corrected it as much as my 14 year old mind is capable of) and Getsemone for telling me what 'appalled' actually meant, hehe.

The trip neared its end and out the window, Soap could see that the whole base was nothing but barracks and fence. Nothing could get in, nothing could get out. He would soon become property of the Special Air Service.

The white bus stopped right at the gates and the doors were opened. There was shuffling and rustling of the troopers getting their bags. Soap grew impatient (he was seated at the back and everyone was blocking the aisle) but soon enough they were all readied, packed, and out the doors. Outside they observed their surroundings. Three large hangers on their left and a building covered in bullet holes with ditches on their right. Men in black uniform and tactical vests ran the obstacle course, being pushed on by an instructor on top of a platform.

"You disgraceful sons of bitches! Put your back into it! You run like old people screw!" was all that came out of his mouth in a raspy voice. And then he noticed the troopers staring at him. "What are you all looking at? Are you the FNGs?"

"FNGs, sir?" said one of the troopers. He looked around at the others with a confused look. The others could only shrug.

The men running the obstacle course were finished but the instructor was not satisfied and told them to run it again until he couldn't bare to look at their faces anymore. He directed his attention back to Soap and the troopers. "Well of fucking course, you twit! Did I stutter?"

The trooper put his hands in front of him, waving them about as a gesture for apology. "I didn't mean to offend sir -"

The obstacle instructor jumped off of the platform. He was only inches away from the trooper. Without breaking contact, he explained that FNGs were Fucking New Guys. "Of course, you lot look like you enjoy fucking new guys but we can keep that a secret, aye?"

Soap was already feeling uneasy. The instructor was intimidating, encouraging him to have a go and punch him in the face but he decided that he didn't want to be thrown out after setting foot on the base for only ten minutes. The instructor walked down the line the troopers had formed, looking at each one in the eye, his hands clasped behind his back, his chin up and back straight.

"Now, I'd like to inform you twats that you are all standing on sacred soil, soil that shouldn't be stained with slack and disgrace. This soil –" he stopped for a brief second and pointed to the ground "- belongs to the 22nd Special Air Service Regiment. Who dares, wins. You are they who dare. If you aren't brave enough to dare, you can step forward and leave. If you dare to be brave, I humbly welcome you to Hell."

Before the instructor could do anything else, two others joined him. One was a short man about 5 feet 9 inches covered in black: black hood, black mask, black sunglasses, black everything. The other was a woman about 5 feet 5 inches with short copper colored hair that moved about as she walked. This was an unusual sight to Soap because the last time he'd seen a woman in any elite force was...well...never.

"Oi, Mac, don't kill them before they can do any killing," said the man. Underneath his mask, Soap couldn't tell whether he was serious or sarcastic. What he did know was what he said was partially true; the training here would be rigorous enough to kill a man not physically fit for it.

"Just having fun with them, Sergeant Newcastle, nothing to worry about," Mac replied. When Newcastle looked at the woman, he loudly whispered "If you wankers do anything stupid, I'll have your head hung above my fireplace."

He gave a quick, evil wink and to Newcastle he said, "Anyway, mate, they're all yours."

With that Mac disappeared. "Right then, roll call. Iceberg?" She nodded and read off of the clipboard.

"Allen, Jasper." The first thing almost all the troopers should have noticed was her accent. With hestitation, the last man on the line raised his hand.

"Trooper, this is the SAS, not elementary school," she commented and continued.

"Davies, Thomas."

"Here, sir."

The woman narrowed her eyes as the trooper corrected himself.

"Edwards, Matthew." "Here, ma'am," he replied.

"Evans, Charles." "Ay," he replied.

"Fosdyke, Anthony. Wait, Fosdyke?" The trooper nodded. "Oh, I think Mac's going to have fun with you, right, Sergeant?" Newcastle nodded. Fosdyke shuddered and the woman continued.

"Granger, Harold." "Ay."

"Lewis, Arthur." "Ay."

"Mackenzie, Ryan." "Ay, here ma'am."

"MacTavish, John."

Soap looked around, waiting for the John to step up. Everyone in the line leaned forward and stared at him. Apparently, four years of being called Soap had worn on him causing him to almost forget his real name. He then stepped up and nodded at her. "I like your effort, trooper, but you're a little slow, eh?" she said checking his name off. "Now, everyone from Allen to Fosdyke will follow Sergeant Newcastle to Building One and ... "

"Oi, what the hell's a woman doing here?" Davies whispered to Soap.

"I've got the same question." The words rolled off of his tongue. Better yet, Soap was wondering why she was speaking with an American accent.

Iceberg had apparently heard the question and stared hard at Davies. "Did you say something, Davies?"

There was a snicker in the line. Next to Soap, Davies swallowed hard. He had a feeling that most of the superiors will pick on him more than anyone else. "Nothing, ma'am," was all that could come out of the shaken trooper. There was nothing to be afraid of, as Iceberg was only a woman. Who could really be afraid of a woman?

"Trooper, there's nothing to be scared of," she said. "I mean, I only operate an airplane that can rip human beings to shred, that's as scary as I can get. Now really, what did you say?"

"Well, ma'am," he started off, scratching the back of his head. "I was just wondering..." - he quickly thought of another question - "Iceberg can't really be your real name, right?"

"You must've not read between the lines in the letter, huh?" Davies shook his head and looked to the rest of the troopers for an answer. It was Soap who spoke up. "The SAS basically owns us. Our names are taken away and we are given nicknames, ay?"

"Now there's a bloke that can read," Newcastle said.

"Right, Newcastle, don't go gay for him," she said to him. "I think I want his ass."

"What if we've already got a nickname?" Soap asked, avoiding the awkward comment.

"Well, what did you have in mind for yourself, trooper?" she asked.

"Soap's been sticking with me since college, ma'am."

"Hm, it won't be as fun calling you it since we didn't give you the name..." Iceberg said, looking at him.

He caught her stare and returned it. It creeped him out a bit but little did he know that Iceberg was already taking a liking to him.

She looked him up and down, observing him. Tall with a head buzzed brown, a careless look on his face, and the bluest eyes she's ever seen. She never played favorites (or let that kind of thing interfere with her work) but this trooper was interesting.

"Ma'am? Iceberg, ma'am?" Davies interrupted her thoughts.

"Yeah, trooper?" she was still in her own little world.

"Sorry, ma'am, but I just want to know how we get our nicknames?"

Iceberg sighed and looked at her watch. It was already lunchtime and others were making their way to the mess hall. "Troopers, let's talk over lunch. I'm hungry, I'm a woman, and I get moody if I miss lunch."

She began her walk with Davies following her, still blabbering on with questions. The other troopers shrugged at each other and followed behind while Newcastle tagged alongside Soap.

"I don't know about you but you do not want to see her moody," he said. "She makes you feel less of a man."

.x.x.x.x.

Inside the mess hall were the few men not scheduled for runs or missions. The new troopers, Newcastle and Iceberg took their food and sat at two tables. Soap lounged at the end besides Iceberg eating a granola bar.

"About the nicknames," Iceberg started off. "Most of you will get them from a memorable event and some of you will receive a nickname by a superior who finds it fit."

"…that's it?"

Iceberg slapped him on the back of his head. "Davies, are you retarded? It's basically any old way anyone gets a nickname! Like right now, I could nickname you Worm because you're slow as fuck!"

"Isn't a turtle also slow?" asked Davies.

She rolled her eyes. "That's true but I hate worms and I'm beginning to dislike you, too, Davies."

Everyone laughed but it was Soap who barely cracked a smile. He was curious and asked, "How did you get 'Iceberg'?"

She took a sip from her water bottle and stared across the table to Newcastle. Most of the men knew about the story because she had made such a scene. One of the other men who accompanied her to the base when she arrived from the States wrote a poem of that day. Newcastle had taken the time to memorize it by heart.

"It was the second she stepped onto the base
Causing many of us to make a face.
'Twas the year the RAF jointed forces
With the United States' air courses.
As part of the Spectre crews
This girl was not born a sorry excuse.
She'd soon be our eyes and ears in the air
Because of her, our boys ne'er needed a prayer.
She'd repeat our motto, "Who dares, wins"
Accompanied by one of her famous grins.
But one of the others was looking for a brawl
Yet this girl, she stood her ground, proud and tall.
He began to throw insults and taunts and such
Yet none of them seemed to affect her much.
Instead she dropped her bags and smiled
We never saw it coming; underneath she was riled.
She walked over to him, gave him a kiss
Though surely there was something amiss.
She walked away and it all happened too fast
She left us standing there, staring aghast.
The trooper's week included a black eye
And right there, right then, ay!
Her name was destined to be –"

"Iceberg. My mate Gaz never found a word to rhyme with it." She flashed a toothy smile. Soap had almost fallen asleep but he didn't want to miss out on the story. Iceberg may have seemed more badass than he expected but that was something he wasn't going to admit. The story had taken only ten minutes but in those ten minutes the mess hall was nearly empty.

"All right," Evans started. "We know about how you got yours, how come Newcastle doesn't have one?"

"Nothing memorable hasn't happened yet," Iceberg said. "I could call him Rocket or something. He deals with explosives so something snazzy like that would do."

"Who's Gaz?" Fosdyke asked confusedly. He sat up straight resting his head on the table.

"You'll meet him soon enough," Newcastle grinned. "He's an all right bloke, but like Mac, if you mess with him or anyone he knows he will beat you." Fosdyke became accustomed to shuddering. There was a beeping sound and Newcastle jumped a bit as if he forgot something. And indeed, he did. The troopers were supposed to meet their captains. So the group finished the last of their bits of food and began following Newcastle.

"Nice to meet you all, troopers," Iceberg said and shook each of their hands. "I look forward to working with you all."

She saluted and walked off but stopped shortly. "Oh, MacTavish! You'll be coming with me."

x.x.x.x.

Soap followed Iceberg to Hanger 2, where she said he would meet Gaz.

"Iceberg, how'd a girl like you manage to work with AC-130s? And the SAS? At the same time?" he asked before they parted ways.

"You're choc'ful of questions, aren't you Soap?" she asked. Soap shrugged. "Well, seems like we Americans and you limeys are getting together real well. Y'see, your Air Force was thinking of buying a few of our Spectres. My crew and I were one of the finest and we plan on showing you Brits how it's done."

He put on a confused look. "You work with the guns?"

"Wished I could. Didn't pass the test, just going to be that sweet voice telling you where the tangos are," she said. "I'll see you around. Don't do anything stupid, all right troopers?"

Soap nodded and she jogged away to her own debrief. He watched her off. Something about her caught his attention...

"Haven't worked with AC-130s yet, just C-130s," a voice said from behind. Soap just nodded along without noticing who was talking to him. He turned around and came face to face to a man an inch taller than he was. He had red hair accompanied by a beard and wore the black uniform under a green tactical vest. A cap with the British flag on it covered his head. "Name's Gaz and some advice: don't think of trying anything. Iceberg's like a little sister to me. You'll have to go through me to get to her, mate."

Soap only stared. It was going to take a lot more than a threat from Gaz to stop him from getting to Iceberg.

Well, that took time (AGAIN!) sorry! And don't even get me started on that poem (AGAIN!) lol *Also, if anyone wants to come up with names for the chapters, be my guest cause I'm retarded at coming up with clever chapter names :c*