CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: BATTLE ZONE, PT I

"TURN HARD LEFT! Grand Slam, ninety degrees left… they just popped up on radar…" Flash tried to warn the tank crew and Grand Slam turned to fire, but the opponent's element of surprise shifted the scales of combat. An anti-tank vehicle off in the distance, fully armed to the teeth, had popped up on the radar much later than it should have.

Before Grand Slam could line up the turret, the enemy fired.

It was a direct hit.

Crashing into the side of the Flagg, the missile exploded with enough force to blow apart several feet of solid enforced metal. Including titanium and adamantium… the strongest metal known to man – which was what the invulnerable Flagg tank was armored with. Whatever type of missile the anti-tank used, it didn't bounce off like the last missile; it shredded the metal armor and shook the entire tank with tremendous force.

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Barbecue and Blowtorch were just as shocked as everyone as they saw the Flagg smoldering. "Holy Shit! Did you see that, Torch?" Barbecue cried aloud.

Blowtorch shouted back just as loud, momentarily forgetting his surroundings. "No fucking way! What on earth did they use? No way it should've blown apart that tank. Intel screwed this mission up bad!"

"What did we get into? These guys have better weapons than we do?" Barbecue asked out loud, looking at his partner.

Blowtorch and Barbecue didn't know how much of the Flagg had been penetrated after the last missile hit it, but were pretty sure they could see smoke coming out of it. They also knew it was possible some of them could still be alive inside… there was no doubt that some of them had died, but hopefully not all. Hopefully, with any luck… there would be survivors.

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The concussion from the explosion knocked everyone from their feet. Grand Slam was on his back before he knew it. It sounded like people were screaming, but his head was reeling and his ears couldn't focus. The screams to him were very quiet – all he could hear were his ears ringing but the figures moving within the tank were frantic. All he could see were blurry movements whenever a figure crossed his eyesight. Cover Girl…was she… was she ok? The others… Steeler, Flash, Clutch. Turning his head, he saw no movement from Clutch or Flash. Steeler… at least he thought it was Steeler, moved towards the turret. His head was spinning.

Flat on his back, something… or someone, moved into his line of sight, but he couldn't quite make out what. Someone… with long hair. Someone holding him. Someone yelling and screaming, but with words that seemed to make no sound.

"James! James!"

She was calling his name; she was screaming it, even though he could barely hear her frantic voice. For a moment, he thought he heard her call him "Slugger". But he wasn't sure if it was his imagination.

He saw Cover Girl turn from her position, trying to talk to Steeler. No, not talking… but yelling something at him, frantically. Her hands were held outward, palms up, covered in blood.

"Cc…c…..c…." he weakly tried to call her by her name. Courtney, it's ok, he tried to say, desperately but calmly. He couldn't get her name out. Don't cry, Courtney. Throwing his head back, only a gurgle came out. He raised his hand towards her, trying to grab one of her bloody hands. Is that her blood? Is it my blood?

With a surreal motion, he placed his hand on Cover Girls hand, causing her to turned around. She held his hand in return, squeezing it tightly, even though the blood made it difficult for them to keep a grip on each other.

"Ccc…court…" he wanted to tell her how much he loved her. He knew it wasn't the time or place, but he had to let her know. His lips opened, trying to form the words. For some reason… very uncharacteristic of him, he full well knew… but for some reason, combat was far from his mind.

I'll be ok, Courtney. The words were in his mind, but couldn't roll off of his tongue. Not yet.

He heard her say something. Saw her lips move again. Was it "I love you?" He wasn't sure, but it sounded like it. It sounded like she said it, multiple times. Maybe he just wanted it to sound like it. He relaxed, knowing she was holding his hand tightly. She even leaned forward to hold him. It felt like he was in paradise, and he forgot about all the pain.

One last time, he opened his lips, trying to tell her that he loved her. His lips froze in place, unable to get the words out. He couldn't speak. He couldn't tell her. He couldn't do anything. He couldn't see anymore. He didn't hurt anymore. His blue eyes stared... Empty. He was gone.

Grand Slam was gone.

Cover Girl buried her head in his chest, sobbing.

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When the last missile hit the Flagg, Snake-Eyes instinctively knew that it didn't merely "bounce" off of it like the last one. This one hit it good. Even though it was night and the tank was far away, he could recognize by the shape of the tank against an illuminated background of smouldering fire that there was much, much metal bent on the Flagg. Metal that Hawk said wasn't supposed to break. Metal that was supposed to be invincible… he believed his exact words were.

Clenching his fist, Snake-Eyes couldn't help but compare the Flagg to the Titanic. How many times had history revealed the chinks in the armor of the invincible… of the unprepared…

The anti-tank was too far away from the infantry team, but of the two remaining enemy tanks, one of them was still mobile. With exhaust pouring out the back end, the tank headed towards the Flagg as fast as it could. No, you don't, you bastards, Snake thought, holding his M-16 tightly.

It took just one look in Low-Light's eyes to see he was thinking the same thing. Low-Light nodded to Snake, pointed towards the rolling tank, and pulling out his sniper rifle. He put together the rifle in record time and slid down to the dusty ground on his belly, quickly adjusting his scope.

Snake smiled an iniquitous, vengeful smile underneath his mask. He's no Shana, but he's pretty darn close when it comes to reading my mind.

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Blowtorch and Barbecue both knew that it wasn't time to quit or retreat despite the turning tide of combat; in fact, if the Flagg was down, they needed to get in gear if they were to have any chance of recovering Tango Team. The immobile tank that the Flagg had disabled moments ago started firing at the Flagg once again – even though it had been blown off of its tracks, its weapons and ordnance were still fully functional.

The turret of the enemy tank turned slightly, adjusting its position. An ominous grinding sound rang in their ears with each degree that the turret turned. Even with its tracks blown off, it could still be lethal and they both knew it. The tank pointed its cannon at the Flagg.

"Blowtorch, burn it!" Barbeque shouted, firing his M-16 at the tank. It was futile, he clearly knew even before his bullets started bouncing off of the armor, but hopefully he would draw them in his direction.

"Weapons better than ours", my ass, Blowtorch thought to himself after Barbecues previous comment. Giving a quick patting rub on the shaft of the flamethrower as he ran full speed towards the enemy tank, Blowtorch thought, Don't listen to him, Bridgette. We'll show'm all what you're made of.

Blowtorch ran forward as fast as possible, trying to get the tank within range, fully aware of Barbecues intentions to draw away fire.

The turret fired. The oversized round smashed into the Flagg, but unknown to the two infantrymen, it hit the side of the Flagg that was still fully armored and did little to no damage. But for all they knew, it could have very well been the fatal shot that wiped out all of Tango Team. There wasn't even enough time to look behind them and verify the damage that round had done.

By now, the gunners of the enemy tank had taken up their positions. While the Flagg was out of the range of all but their turret, they could still fire at Barbecue.

Bullets flew to the left and right of Barbecue, missing him by mere inches; the soldier was forced to dive for cover and was pinned down by enemy fire. He couldn't provide support fire for Blowtorch if these conditions persisted.

But now, with Blowtorch in sight and closer than Barbecue, one of the gunners switched his target to him. Even the darkness of the night couldn't hide him.

Blowtorch didn't dive for cover.

They must think I'm insane, running towards them like this, Blowtorch thought, just praying for a few more steps so he'd be close enough to light them up. Who'm I kidding…I am insane for doing this. I should've worn what Snake-Eyes wore.

Blowtorch ducked and dodged, running full tilt and trying to get into range. He could see the tracers in the night flying right by him…too close for comfort. This doesn't look good for me… he wasn't going to make it. Still too much distance between them. He gritted his teeth, and kept running but was fully prepared to get mowed down. At least I'll go down fighting. Well, this is it, God. Guess I'll be seeing you soon.

All of the gunners opened fire on Blowtorch.

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Snake-Eyes ran full speed towards the enemy tank which was still advancing towards the Flagg. He ran, as fast as he could. Ducking low when he had to; staying in the shadows as long as he could, but maintaining maximum speed like a black gazelle running in the night.

"Closer, closer…" Low-Light told himself as he patiently… slowly, controlled his breathing. With his sniper rifle perched on an old, wide stump, he carefully placed his finger on the trigger while looking through the night vision scope. There wasn't much he could do to stop the tank, but he could stop anyone that popped up out of it. Once they saw Snake coming, it would simply be a matter of time. The only problem was, as Low-Light saw it, they wouldn't see Snake until the last minute… making it more difficult to set up a shot. All well. I could use a good challenge, especially since I don't have a spotter this time around. Maybe next time.

Low-Light saw an opening as the tank passed a tree with thick dead branches. The hatch on top of the tank popped open, followed by a head peering out and manning the guns. Perfect, he thought, sarcastically. As if the enemy soldier could understand him, Low-Light thought, You're not giving me much to work with. Finger on the trigger, feeling the timing as the tank moved from the left to the right in his scope, he placed his sights upon the enemy. The solider quickly swung his guns forty-five degrees off the tank. He spotted Snake, Low-Light thought to himself.

A crucial mistake. The soldier in the tank was now more visible since he turned; the side of his head was protected with his helmet, but Low-Light could clearly see his face. With a smooth motion – but much faster than Low-Light wanted, he lined up the crosshairs of his sniper rifle with the man's head. Low-Light took in a slow breath and gently, softly… squeezed the trigger.

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As Snake-Eyes approached the tank, the gunner that had just spotted him in the darkness – and pointed his guns right at him – immediately fell. Not just any kind of falling; the head-snapped-backwards kind. Snake knew Low-Light hit his target.

Jumping up on the armored tank above the moving tracks with one quick motion, Snake didn't make so much as a sound as his padded boot struck the metal surface. Just as swiftly as he had leaped, he slung his M-16 over his shoulder while simultaneously pulling out his carbon-steel sword with one hand – now that he was within range for close quarters combat – and a grenade with his free hand.

On the other side of the tank – obscured from Low-Lights vision – was another gunner. He had already turned his weapons towards Snake-Eyes; the ninja realized that he was still comprehending the fact that his buddy had just been shot, yet wasn't fully aware of where the bullet had come from.

Snake-Eyes took this opportunity into motion, denying the enemy a chance to figure out what was going on. With one quick motion, Snake-Eyes swung his sword mightily at the remaining gunner. He never even knew Snake-Eyes was there. He never even felt a thing as his headless body slumped downward and his head bounced off of the tank and rolled down into the dirt below.

Just as quickly as he swung his blade, Snake yanked out the pin with his teeth and threw a grenade in the opening and down inside the tank. Had they never deployed gunners outside, he never would have had the chance. But with the hatch open, it made it easy.

Jumping off the tank, Snake heard his huge explosion from inside; the grenade went off just as advertised. The tank slowly rolled to a stop, and he could hear no noise inside after the explosion. It was clear that there were no survivors.

That left only the one tank, and it was immobile. This one's up to Barbecue and Blowtorch, he thought.

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Gunfire exploded from both sides. Blowtorch took a single large caliber round in the right shoulder, feeling the white-hot sting course through his veins; the forced of the bullet twisted his body partially to the right, as he kept running towards the tank. Most of his body armor absorbed the blow, but the size of the bullet still did damage. He still stumbled forward, trying to get within flamethrower distance.

Before any more rounds were able to plaster Blowtorch, the gunner took three rounds in the chest, dropping backwards.

Barbecue had fired, his aim true, finally able to pop out from his hiding spot – and just in time to take him out. He continued shooting at another gunner; this one had more protection than the last, but he still put a bullet in his shoulder. Not enough to kill him, but enough to get him off the gun for a moment and buy more time for Blowtorch.

He had only hoped he'd given Blowtorch a chance to get closer despite taking return fire of his own. Ok, Arson, your turn. Light'em up, he thought in his head as if trying to communicate telepathically with Blowtorch. The return fire concentration was heavy, forcing Barbecue to dive back down to the ground and behind his cover once more.

Gritting his teeth and bearing through the pain, he ran closer to the tank and was finally within distance. Finally. Blowtorch aimed his flamethrower at the other gunner, pulling both the firing and ignition triggers which released the lethal top-secret fuel through the hose and out the nozzle, fully igniting the fuel stream. A large lick of fire blasted the remaining gunners, cremating them instantly. Blowtorch swept the flame across the rest of the tank; it was so hot and fast that almost immediately the metal started to melt. Whether or not the enemy soldiers realized that it was much more than a standard military issue flamethrower, Blowtorch didn't care; he watched the few remaining survivors scrambled out of the tank just as fast as they could. As Blowtorch swept back and forth with his weapon across the line of the tank… in particular the turret – effectively disabling its firepower and rendering it useless – he knew the tank was nothing more than a melted pile of metal.

But he still kept burning it.

Barbecue popped up out of his position, aiming through the gun site of his M-16 and moving forward to assist Blowtorch. As difficult for him as it was, he resisted the temptation to fire at the few survivors of the blazing tank.

Blowtorch felt differently. While he didn't waste time running after and frying any of the fleeing soldiers, he did hold the trigger much longer than necessary. Even in the dark night he could see from the illumination of the tank that the metal was bubbling as it melted away. This is for Recondo, and for the guys in OUR tank, bitches. Eat it...! It wasn't until he felt Barbecue tap on his shoulder that he released the trigger; Barbecue had tried yelling at Blowtorch to stop but he couldn't hear him over the incredible amounts of noise from the flamethrower. If anyone remained within the tank, they were far beyond dead.

"Nice shootin', Tex, but I think you got'em," Barbecue shouted. "You smoked'em good." Blowtorch was expecting some kind of arsonist crack to follow, or possibly a lecture, but Barbecue didn't do either.

Barbecue felt the same way Blowtorch did… anger, hate, frustration… at the death of the team members. Worse yet, they didn't even know who – if anyone – was still alive after the Flagg was hammered. Still, he realized now was not the time to mention Blowtorch's overkill with his flamethrower.

Plus, Blowtorch was still bleeding from the round he took… a rather large round, but through all the adrenaline, he fought through the pain. Sweat ran off of his forehead, and his heart pounded like a jackrabbit. But now that the four tanks were destroyed, and his adrenaline surge was slowly starting to decrease, the pain was starting to set in.

"Sit down, Blowtorch, let's take a look at that shoulder and patch you up. Lay low in case anyone else spots us. Then we'll get back in the fight."

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Just like everyone else, Steelers head was ringing after the impact of the anti-tank missile that Flagg took. He was a bit disoriented, but not impaired. Shrapnel had just skirted the left side of his body, with only a few chunks of metal here and there… flesh wounds only, but the concussion from the blast was what really threw him off.

He saw Grand Slam knocked backwards – hard. Steeler could instantly see blood coming from his gut, soaking his uniform red. Pools of blood.

Clutch wasn't near the impact area, but the force of the explosion threw him back as well, jarring his helmet off his head, leaving it vulnerable as he slammed it against the side of the tank, knocking him out cold.

Behind him, where the blast struck, he saw Flash.

Or what was left of him.

He was literally opened up; his upper right torso was…

Gone.

Mangled.

If he had time, Steeler would have thrown up. But he didn't. He didn't have time, and he didn't let it sink in. He refused to, and combat dictated that he wouldn't have had a choice anyway.

Somehow, through it all, Cover Girl was the only one that seemed to remain unaffected, since she was towards the front part of the tank, as the driver. She immediately went to check on Grand Slam, trying to see if he was still alive.

None of us will be alive if we don't take that son of a bitch out, Steeler thought, heading towards the turret that Grand Slam was manning, though still a bit unsteady and with his head still ringing. Clutch had just finished loading it before they were hit, Steeler realized… which was extremely fortunate.

It would be hard without assistance, but he had no choice. The fire control computer had already calculated the enemies position, and even though the Flagg was hit hard, the information remained intact. As Steeler lined up the turret, he could see the enemy ready to fire again. This is gonna be close, he told himself, heart beating.

Steeler had to line up the turret whereas the enemy didn't, but the opposition had to reload their cannon while Clutch had already made sure the Flagg was ready to fire. Steeler knew that whoever was in there was loading just as fast as they could, just as fast as he was taking aim.

It would come down to who could pull the trigger first. I'm gonna turn your vehicle into scrap iron, you filthy bastards, Steeler said with resolve, focusing his aim while trying to make his head stop ringing. Gritting his teeth and with pure, raw… iron determination, Steeler was ready.

They may have killed some of us, but they're not gonna get a second chance to destroy the Flagg. Not without a fight.

Steeler…

and Scrap Iron…

both pulled the trigger.