AN: To any readers actually bothering with this fic, I apologize for this update's lateness. As a method of apologizing, I made it twice as long as most of the other chapters in this story. I hope you can find it in your hearts to forgive me. Anyways, please read, enjoy, and REVIEW!

OPERATION: RETRIEVAL PT. 2

Corporal Mary Sriz; Sniper:

If you had to ask her for an opinion, she would say that now was her favorite hour of the night. It made killing people that much easier, since this was the time that the human body was the most tired, the most worn from the day's exertions. Unless, of course, one was trained exclusively at this time of night. Which was precisely why it was Michael Âmul's unit that was ordered to retrieve her highness. He was one of the units that were supposed to guard the royal family during the night shift, the 'graveyard' hours.

But we get ahead of ourselves. The lady being spoken about was named Mary Sriz, daughter of the renowned Megan Dhurum and George Sriz. She was, of course, named after Mary, the sergeant in charge of the M2HBs above Minas Tirith's main gate. Mary was fully aware of the gruesome fate her namesake suffered and did not plan on also sharing that fate.

This was why she had followed her mother's footsteps and became a sniper. Which was why she was in the middle of Osgiliath at 03:12 in the morning. She shifted slightly upon the mat she lay upon, and her breath misted slightly in front of her. Damn if it wasn't cold for October!

She peered through her scope at the enemy encampment which lay three hundred yards away from her own position. Despite the fact that even a trained eye would have trouble seeing in this misty gloom, her scope had no problem 'seeing' through the darkness. Not only did it show infra-red sources, but it also enhanced preexisting light three hundred times. She could see just fine, and with her rifle having a flash suppressor, not even her firing would give her position away.

She trained the cross-hairs of her scope upon one of the men patrolling the perimeter of their hastily made camp. She didn't flinch as a new wave of artillery whistled overhead and crashed far beyond the farthest reaches of the enemy position. After all, they wanted to keep the princess in one place, not have her being dragged all across Arda.

"Ghost one, this is ghost ten. I'm in position and am ready to fire," she said softly and clearly into her radio.

There was a pause. Finally Michael answered. "Ghost-ten, thank you for waiting. And I know you're in position. You only told me five minutes ago. Operation will commence at oh-three-fifteen hours, roger?"

Mary looked at her watch. 03:14:37. "Yeah, I read you." She tucked herself more firmly against her rifle, and switched the safety off with a barely discernable 'click'. Her rifle, the M21, was a twenty shot sniper rifle, semi-automatic. It was basically an accurized M14 like those that the rest of her squad members carried. She began to breathe deeply, blocking out the sounds of the artillery crashing in the distance. Four, three, she let out half a breath, freezing, two, one. She caressed her rifle's trigger, and with a loud crack that was masked by the artillery, the weapon fired.

It was without interest or shame that Mary watched the man die. It was almost like clock-work for her. She centered the sights, she pulled the trigger, and her target died. How was it that Lord Donovan referred to it as…professional detachment? She mentally shrugged as she engaged the next target, high in a bell-tower…

Corporal Richard Galin; Machine gunner:

He ran hard and fast, flitting through the ruins of Osgiliath like a soundless shadow, invisible to all…not! Actually, he knew for a fact that he was the loudest member of his squad. No surprise, really. He was officially the tallest, at six-five. He was also the heaviest, at the weight of two hundred fifty pounds. And all of it was muscle. So he happily thundered through some of the most depressing terrain he had ever seen. Then again, this was the place that suffered a week long artillery barrage during the last Great War.

Once he started hearing voices he slowed down considerably, and began to slowly pick his way across the gravel strewn ground. Hmm, what language was that…Harad? He shrugged, the weight of his combat pack reassuring against his back. An extra barrel was in the pack in case the one that was a part of his M240 7.62mm GPMG overheated. Accompanying the extra barrel was five ammunition boxes, each filled to the brim with one hundred rounds of ammo. He had a full belly, was well rested, and had six hundred rounds of ammo to play with as well as over one hundred enemies to kill. It was going to be a fun night.

He finally reached the outer perimeter of the enemy camp, leaping as lightly as he could over a man with a rather large hole in his head. Thanks, Mary. Good work like always. He paused behind a pillar and looked carefully around the bottom of it. Scanning the large camp, he looked for Cothiel. After all, he was going to be her guardian angel tonight. Albeit, an angel of death, but still a guardian. Spotting the princess in the middle of the camp, he growled in frustration as he began to back off. He would probably have to use his smoke grenades, and he hated to use something in which so much could go wrong.

"Ghost-ten, I am beginning insertion. Do you have visual on Cothiel?" he asked in a muted voice.

"Roger. Popping smoke?"

"Yeah. I'll need sniper overwatch. Ghost-one, is everyone else in place?"

There was a short pause, probably as Michael gathered his bearings and checked the rest of the squad. "Roger. Pop the smoke whenever you want to. Just make it quick, alright?"

"Sir, yessir, sergeant sir!" Richard grinned. There was a reason why he was called 'Joker' in jest. He removed the four smoke grenades attached to his LBE and carefully laid them on the ground. He took a deep breath, and picked up the first grenade. He pulled the pin and lobbed the smoke canister as far from himself as he could. The other three followed rapidly, and smoke grenades from the rest of his squad flew into the enemy camp.

Richard jumped up and pulled back the charging handle of his M240 twice as he began to run forward towards the princess. Shouts of surprise rose from his enemies, and the sudden sound of Mary's rifle punctuated the night's cacophony with harsh barks. His infrared/light enhancement goggles showed the movement made by the enemies even through the thick and obnoxious smoke.

Shouting from his left caught his attention and he turned and unleashed a brutal burst into the chest of the soldier attacking him. He had to keep moving. Another enemy fell to a burst that nearly tore him in half from the waist up. Still sprinting, Richard finally reached Cothiel, who was surrounded by the bodies of the soldiers immediately surrounding her, undoubtedly Mary's work.

"Good evening, ma'am!" he shouted as he fired indiscriminately into a crowd of enemy soldiers evidently amassing to take the princess. "I'm your designated knight in shining armor tonight. Corporal Galin reporting for duty, and I'm going to be damn sure to get you out of this alive!" A wave charged him and it was not just his continuous firing that cut them down. So the rest of the squad was entering the fray. Good. "I'd very much appreciate it if you lay down on the ground and not move until this is over…"

Sergeant Michael Âmul, Squad leader:

Rifle fire, screams, exploding artillery in the distance…this was what the infantry man lived for, there was no doubt about it. Plus the fact that he and his unit was effectively outnumbered fifteen-to-one and they were still kicking ass and takings names with extreme prejudice was a bonus. It made your blood sing!

Lobbing an M67 grenade at a small group of enemies he turned towards the next group and began firing short bursts with his M14. The enemy couldn't see and probably couldn't breathe very well, they had no idea what just hit them, their leaders were the first targets, and Michael and his men controlled range. If the smoke wasn't there it might be a different story. But it was hanging thick and heavy in the air and the enemy just had their entire world go SNAFU in a very short amount of time.

A man screaming caught his attention, and Michael turned towards the man charging him calmly. At least until he pulled his M14's trigger and a 'click' answered him. Cursing, he drew his Colt .45 automatic pistol and brought it up. Unfortunately a bit late in the game. The man swung just as Michael fired, and both bullet and blade struck flesh at the same moment. Michael yelped as the blade tore into his arm. The enemy soldier, on the other had, made nary a sound as the pistol round punched through his head. He just dropped.

Michael swore brutally as his blood spurted into the air. Stupid sword just had to cut through a major blood vessel. "Medic!" he shouted as he pressed down firmly on the wound, trying to at least slow the bleeding. He knew for a fact that blood rushing from a wound like it was a faucet was never a good thing. "Goddamsonuvabitchinhell!" he growled as the pain hit him like a hammer.

Gunfire crackled and snapped around him, and the screams of his enemies permeated the air thickly. Noticing someone approaching him, he turned quickly, preparing to fight. However, he recognized his medic, Private Kristen Gazog. "About damn time, soldier," he growled, half jokingly and half seriously. "I coulda bled to death!"

Even though he couldn't see her face, he knew she was smiling. "Aww, from this lil' ol' scratch? Naw, Sarge, ya'll will be alright!" She pulled out a large bandage from her aid kit, and stood right next to his arm. "Alright, you'll need to move your hand. I should get you patched up in a jiffy."

Michael winced as he peeled his blood saturated hand away from the wound, and yelped in surprise as a jet of blood sprayed from the deepest section of his wound. He barely managed to keep his calm.

"Damn, Sarge. That is a fine nasty cut you got yerself," Kristen said as she deftly applied pressure on the wound. Wrapping the bandage around his wound, she tied it, slightly more tightly then he would've liked, but this was a combat zone. Better to err on the side of caution than not tie it tight enough. "Can ye move yer hand?" she asked hurriedly even as she packed up her gear.

Michael flexed the hand in question, and even though it hurt he could go on. "Keep moving!" he shouted as he stood up and continued onward to Richard's position. The man was happily laying down suppressive fire towards the areas where the enemy was still banded together. "Richard!" he shouted, smacking the larger man on the shoulder. "I got this AO! Go help Kristen help enemy survivors, we need intel on enemy ops."

Richard nodded, and was up. "Rodger-dodger!" With those words, he was up and running towards the figure that was obviously their medic. Who else would be kneeling over a still alive body?

Hearing sobbing below him, Michael looked down, and noted the fair features of the princess. "Don't worry, milady. We'll protect you, even with our lives."

"That's…" the princess gasped, her soft and melodious voice stirring something decidedly male inside of Michael. He ignored it. "…that's what Alice said before they tore her limb from limb!" she sobbed harshly. "I don't want anyone to die on my account, I'm no one special, my blood is what makes me desirable to the enemy!"

Michael winced, and laid a gentle hand on the princess's shoulder. "Cothiel. From what I've heard of you, I would have gone on this mission no matter your status. You alone are worth rescuing."

Hearing those words, Cothiel looked up at him with shocked and luminous eyes, tear tracks running down her elfin face. "You…really would?"

He was about to respond, but heard someone shouting in Harad: "Kill the damned girl! Don't let them have her back!"

His rifle was immediately up, and with practiced ease he took down the men charging him, one shot to a man. He did not, however, expect the Orcish style of grenade to land five feet away from him. Wherethefuckdidtheygetthat? No time to think, only time to act. He jumped upon Cothiel, heart rending at her shocked shout of pain as near two hundred pounds of Durvagorian, armor, and equipment landed roughly on her.

Kra-BOOOOOM! He shouted in agony as steel and stone fragments dug into his unprotected arms and legs, and dimly heard Cothiel scream as shrapnel dug into the parts of her body that his didn't cover. Something was ringing, and he slowly came to realize that he was drooling blood onto the ground next to Cothiel's face. He slowly forced himself to get off of her form as dust, smoke, and raining shrapnel swirled harmlessly around their position.

Still that blasted ringing, and he was dimly aware of the fact that everything had a dreamlike quality, that it felt like he was floating. He made himself focus, and took the crying Cothiel's pulse. Wait…if she was sobbing, that meant she was alive…not okay, but alive. He forced himself to look over the Gondorian princess, checking her for life threatening wounds. Besides a particularly nasty looking piece of shrapnel sticking out of her leg, she seemed okay. Little cuts and bruises were scattered over her body, but she would live.

His squad was around him, telling him the area was secure, though it sounded like they were speaking through a mile of water. He keyed the talk switch on his radio. "Base, this is Sergeant Âmul." Even he sounded like he was talking through water… "The subject is secure, I repeat…the subject is…" Trailing off, Michael was only aware of the sense of falling before he was enveloped be welcoming darkness…