Author's Note: This is the seventh time I've re-written this chapter. I hope I got it right this time.
Changed the rating due to some intense language on Miller's part. This one contains a gun fight, and Jackson being one Billy Bad ass.
Also, Wikipedia claims that Soap's name is John, so I'll use it here. If it isn't, my apologies.
Three: Hilltop Blues
Day Four: 0448:29
2 hours after Al Asad's death
USA Dallas Marine Reservation Camp
Jackson walked back to the reservation with a slight limp. The plane ride had taken an hour and a half to get back to Dallas Resevation, including the landing times, and the entire trip was taken with a sleeping Colonel and a very skittish Captain Black.
The latter of the two kept sprouting advice about the black ops and the British alike.
"The wanker's never sleep. They run and run until they die, unlike any sensible soldier. So what you gotta do is set the pace. Make em run harder, shoot straighter, and take more bullets. Eventually, they start to respect you, maybe even like you."
Jackson thought it was all a load of crap, but kept his head down. His leg, which still throbbed mildly, was a nice distraction from the big Captain's droning.
He was practically shoved off the plane by Black, the sleeping Colonel still on board. The pilot looked harassed and wild and Black looked pumped and excited. Jackson guessed that this was the first time in ages that Black had the opportunity to get into a real firefight, the head of a SpecOps mission so secretive, that even Black himself didn't know all the details. All Jackson could tell from the Captain's constant blabber was that it was big, involved killing people, and it was a joint operation alongside the "Wankers". What the hell that meant, Jackson could only guess.
He breathed the scent of musky air, sweat, and gunpowder, and only one thought crossed his mind:
Home.
This is what every soldier wanted to wake up to. Other than the sight of a wife or a child never met, a soldier's greatest sight was a base of operations as massive as Dallas Reservation.
The place stretched for miles, a hotspot for vehicle repair, cafeterias, armory's, firing ranges, shipping lanes, and medicine. All in one great spot.
Black wandered off, going to try and find Leutenant Gongor or something. Jackson didn't care. All he wanted was back in the fight, so that he could go home.
Two corporals approached him, and he glared at them warily as they grinned amiably. "Sergeant Jackson?" The taller one asked. Jackson eyed him.
A head taller than himself, blue eyes, and brown hair. An M16 was strapped to his back, and his helmet was slightly askew, as if he had rammed it onto his head when he saw the plane land. Knowing this particular area, Jackson guessed that he probably did. One thing he did notice was a large white patch with a red cross on it. Jackson smiled. A medic.
"That's me." He said quietly, and the corporal smiled.
"Corporal McKinnon, sir. You're flying out with Staff Sergeant Griggs and C company in half an hour. I was told you were briefed, sir?"
"Pretty well off." He said, remembering the Captain's long attempts at warning him about redcoats. He shouldered his small pack. "Is there an armament around here?" He looked around at the base camp.
"Yes sir. There's one just down the road there, a short walk from the mess. You can pick up your kit there." The soldier smiled. "Hey, I heard about… about the bombing. You're a hero to a lot of these guys, sir."
Jackson huffed. "Yeah. Thanks." He shouldered past the two.
"Okay! Rendezvous at the Heli-pad at 0600!" One of them called.
Jackson rolled his eyes. A Hero. Oh, sweet Jesus.
Griggs and Black stood outside the chopper, eyeing their men with intensity. Miller, Bonk, Gomez, McKinnon, Jackson and Vogler. The Marine's finest men from Infiltration to Recon to Cavalry Division.
After a moment, Griggs looked at Black. "You sure you want in on this, sir? We'll meet Captain Price down there, pick up his squad, and he can take the mission."
Black laughed. "You kidding? And miss all this excitement? Hell, Jackson's coming along, I might as well too."
Griggs' eyes rested for a moment on Jackson. At about 6'1, and around 190 lbs, Jackson had an air about him that commanded attention. Intense green eyes were the only real impressive feature about the man, eyes that seemed to take in the surroundings rather than meet Griggs' eyes.
"Boys!" Black boomed, giving some of the men a start. "Fighting's in two hours. You know the drill – you've all been briefed. The S.A.S has a squad in a compromised zone, a big hilly town somewhere in Russia. They've given our reports. It turns out the british did something right, Al-Asad is dead!" He looked around, as if expecting rounds of applause for this grand achievement. Recieving none, Black continued. "The LZ will be mega hot, so you gotta get those legs pumping and the adrenaline flowin." He paused, looking down at Jackson's bad leg disprovingly. Jackson glared at him.
"Sir, with all do respect, I can shoot straighter, run faster, and fight harder than you ever could." Jackson said, bringing Black's eyes up to his.
The two men held an intense stare. Griggs cleared his throat.
"Uh, Your primary goals are to extract the Paratroopers from their position, and protect the Cobra at all costs." Griggs took over, smiling slightly. "This is big, boys. We've got Britain's back on this one. Keep it together and remember; You're america's finest."
"Sir!" The men yelled, and then piled on to the chopper. Jackson rose to his feet slowly, saluted Griggs, and walked on to the bird, his limp more prominent than usual.
"Fucking air fights, man." Private First Class James Miller stated. "We might as well be spittin at them."
Jackson shrugged, then firmly slapped his helmet onto his head. "What choice to we have?"
The pilot of the cobra, a petite female, came over the COM. "Welcome aboard, the Deadly II, gentlemen. I'll be your pilot, or flight attendant, for this evening. Weather outside is a pleasant 16 degrees celcius. Takeoff in two minutes."
Jackson took a long look back at the base camp. More helicopters were being loaded up with gear and soldiers, to several destinations around the globe. Some going to help clean up the nuclear mess, some going to search for survivors, and still others were going home to their families, to console and reassure, to smile at their wives and children, and to enjoy their leave before coming back to the camp and fighting once again.
For the first time since joining with the 2nd recon, Jackson wondered if the system was more than a little messed up.
Griggs then entered the chopper, settling down beside Jackson. Black entered last, his black SpecOps helmet shining in the sunlight. "Williams, lift us off. Let's go save us some wankers!"
Jackson's head snapped up. He reached for his com, just as the pilot said in a cheerful tone, "Aye Aye, sir!"
"…Williams?" He said, dumbfounded. "Mary Williams?"
A laugh came over the com. "Hey, Jackson. Long time no see, eh?"
Jackson settled back with a smile. "Yeah," His smile widened. "No kidding."
As soon as the chopper touched down, bullets rang through the steel interior, shattering two windows. Black, who was the closest to the ramp, leapt off, firing a two second burst into the shrubs. Griggs followed, with a cry of "Hit it, Marines!"
The American spec ops leapt from the chopper, letting loose a long stream of lead, firing from seven different assault rifles. Jackson rolled when he heard the snap of a bullet near him, and opened up a short burst on two Russians standing nearby.
Black and Griggs worked their way towards cover, rotating their men in a slow circle, keeping low.
Miller let out a yelp as a bullet rang towards him. He fired at the shooter until his clip was empty, was rewarded with a scream of pain, and slapped a fresh clip into his M16.
Corporal Bonk suddenly fell, a bullet lodged in his shoulder. Immidiatley, McKinnon, the squad's designated medic, was over him, medic pack opened.
Another bullet sang past Griggs' helmet, forcing him to drop to a prone position.
"SNIPER!" He called, scanning the dense tree-line desperately.
Jackson grabbed a hold of Bonk's jacket and dragged him to cover behind a rocky outcropping, and McKinnon followed. The Marines bunkered down, curled up into balls with their weapons at the ready, as the hiss and snaps of bullets sang around them.
"Fuck…" Bonk groaned, trying to roll onto his side. Jackson held him on his back while McKinnon went to work.
McKinnon stripped off a bit of cloth around the wound, immediately washing the blood away with some disinfectant. He pulled the round out with a pair of tweezers, applying a quick patch, before tapping Bonk's arm and bunkering down again. Bonk took a painkiller and grabbed his SAW Machine gun again.
A bullet tore into the hill where Miller and Gomez lay. Miller flinched, and Gomez yelped.
Griggs observed the situation gravely. Black leaned towards Miller.
"Mills! Can you spot the sniper!" Black boomed. The OpFor soldiers replied with another burst in his direction.
Miller shook his head. "Can't see shit, Cappy. Don't intend to try, neither."
Gomez laughed. "Ain't no way we're peeking our heads out there."
Jackson rolled his eyes and turned to Bonk. "Bonk, get fire on that bush. McKinnon, get ready with that med pack." Jackson said, and nodded.
Bonk rolled from his position, firing a long barrage of bullets, shredding a lot of foliage. A snap landed to his left, and he dove back for cover. Immediately, Jackson leaped from cover, levelling his rifle, and fired a burst. A scream was heard in the distance.
Jackson spun back into cover, his back to the outcropping. "Sniper down." He reported, reloading his M14.
Bonk stared at him in awe. "How…"
Griggs looked up, and saw four figures charging downhill, towards them. "Hey boys, the British are coming!" Black yelled, laughing.
As the four SAS men crashed through the foliage, Black stood, laughing, waving his arm.
"Black, you idiot! Get down!" Gomez hissed, firing a short burst into the trees.
"Oh, give me a break, soldier! Jackson got the mother-" A shot rang out. Black dropped, a good hole through his temple.
"SHIT!" Griggs yelled, making frantic arm movements to the four soldiers. Jackson grimaced, feeling no sorrow for the downed Captain. Griggs finally shot a bush near the four soldiers, forcing them to go into cover. "Sniper! SNIPER!!!"
Miller took aim with his sniper rifle, scanning the tree line. Bonk opened fire through the foliage, giving McKinnon covering fire as he ran to the captain.
McKinnon felt Black's pulse, looked up at Griggs, and shook his head. "Never stood a chance."
Griggs nodded, and signalled to Jackson. Bonk and Gomez provided cover, as Jackson sprinted towards Griggs and McKinnon.
"Jackson, will your sniper trick work again?" He said. Jackson nodded slowly.
"Follow my lead." Griggs said. He ducked low and pulled up his SAW, signalling to Bonk. In unison, Bonk and Griggs fired a long stream of bullets, ripping apart what little green was left. Suddenly, a flash of sunlight was on Griggs face – sunlight glinting off of a sniper scope.
It was only an instant, but it was the instant Jackson had been waiting for.
Whirling, gun at the ready, Jackson fired three bullets, and the sniper dropped.
"Sniper down! Go, go go!"
"SAS! You are clear! Let's Move!" Griggs yelled.
A fresh-faced looking sergeant was first, running full speed until he hit the helicopter. A fresh wave of OpFor soldiers suddenly made a push at the battle-weary marines, but they held steadfast. Two more SAS soldiers piled on. The last barely made it to the circle before taking a round in the head.
"Sniper!" Miller called, and his rifle cracked. "Never mind."
Griggs boarded the chopper, followed by McKinnon, bearing Black's dead body, then Miller, Gomez, and Bonk, who tapped on Jackson's shoulder. Jackson was the last to board, and him and the British Sergeant opened up as the helicopter lifted off.
When they were a safe distance away, Jackson wiped sweat off of his brow. His leg was throbbing mildly, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. The British Sarge across from him layed his rifle down, flashing a quick smile towards Jackson.
Jackson turned to the Sergeant, and extended a hand. "Paul Jackson. You?"
The Sergeant pulled off his helmet, grinning. "John MacTavish."
"We call him Soap." One of the other SAS operatives yelled, and the Marines laughed.
Jackson smiled. "Soap, huh? What kind of a name is that, anyways?"
Closing Thoughts: I. Am. So. Sorry. I want to sincerely thank EVERYONE who yelled at me to get off my lazy grade 11 butt and write the third chapter. Guys, keep on me. I'm seriously a slacker, and I need to pick up the pace.
Sins of the Father will be covered next, as well as No Fighting in the War Room.
Thanks again!
TheWaiter