From Hell to Sadera: The Bizzare Odyssey of Bravo Co, 1st Recon Btn

by dayanII

A Generation of Marines, growing up with video games, music videos, internet porn, anime and political division, is sent into Falmart. They are unrecognizable from their forefathers in previous generations, behaving differently from their ancestors in the Marine Corps. For some, they're more intimate with porn than with their own parents, and now, they will be the tip of the spear.

17. Chapter 15, Green Weenie

Whatever remains of Rose Knights Encampment, MSR Tijuana, April 5th 2021 (1510)

Laying down on his back on top of a small hill made of dirt, Clancy watched in amusement as his driver and team leader bickered over something as trivial as unintentionally cooked meat, roasted to perfection by the indiscriminate artillery fire that had blanketed the field before.

All around them, the maimed bodies of knights were strewn around the grassy wilderness that was killed by the hail of fire earlier had started to decompose, letting out the distinct smell of death familiar to the veteran Marines who had served in Afghanistan, to which their immediate reaction was holding their noses shut, trying to prevent the smell of death from ruining the other-wise beautiful scenery of a continent untouched by modern civilization, mangled bodies notwithstanding.

I should've brought my sketchbook...

Clancy silently ponders, enjoying the wind flowing against his body, a comfortable addition to the shining sun, high in the mid-afternoon skies. If it weren't for all the corpses scattered around the plains, this would've been the perfect opportunity for sketching and a picnic. The latter of which was being done by a certain boisterous driver of his team.

Just as he was about to fall into a state of day-dreaming, a loud, seemingly inaudible yelling disturbed his sight-seeing which causes him to swiftly shift his attention to the noise, raising an eyebrow in confusion as he watches several CAAT Humvees together with Hitman-3, their sister platoon, rushing towards a seemingly random part of the camp filled with nothing but piles of rubbles and dead bodies, just like any other part of this camp that had formerly housed the knights of the Empire.

Following behind the familiar silhouette of the 1st Recon and 2/5 CAAT Humvees are the Marines themselves, running towards the obscure part of the destroyed camp, jumping over obstacles and whatever that remains of the tents as they sprinted towards their north-eastern destination.

"What the fuck…." Puzzled by the sudden increase of activity around him, Clancy silently cursed under his breath. He barely tolerated the familiar yet absolutely obnoxious roars of the engines that powered the Humvees of the Battalion, disturbing his once in a lifetime sight-seeing.

He quietly watches as his fellow compatriots from Hitman-3 rush towards a pile of stacked burnt woods and corpses, wondering if they have finally found a live knight amidst the never-ending sea of burning tents and twisted metal armors.

His gaze would soon be interrupted by a series of footsteps and the sounds of gear-clanking coming from behind him, each step becoming louder over time as an indication that the unknown Marine behind him is getting near, while the sounds of man's rucksack gear hitting against each other continue to annoy him, prompting Clancy to snap his head towards the approaching Marine that had been bothering his seemingly gaze at the sudden increase of activity in front of them.

Unfortunately, however, he wasn't fast enough as indicated by the man's hand now softly tapping against his shoulder as he crouches down next to him, wearing a facial expression that screams confusion. It's Simon Williams, his team leader and by the way he looked, he too is confused by the activity unfolding in front of them, a contrast to the previously quiet atmosphere, all while maintaining his half-kneeling position.

Taking a moment to slung back his M4A1, Simon nonchalantly opens one of the many pouches strapped on his tan-colored FLC vest, which were a contrast to his green-colored service-issued MARPAT uniform. Trying to find what he is looking for, Simon fumbled over his chest before unsheathing a spotting equipment.

Peering through his binocular, Simon silently observes the activity of their sister platoon on the horizon, making out what seems to be stretchers being brought out and carried by Hitman-3's Marines.

"What are you doing here alone, all by yourself?" Breaking the silence that had filled the air, Simon casually questioned his red-haired corpsman currently crouching next to him in similar manners, his sudden question causing the corpsman to shift his attention to his right to face Simon, blinking several times as he processes the sudden question before finally coming up with an answer.

"I don't know, probably trying to figure what the fuck is our sister platoon doing. But certainly not jerking off." A deadpanned answer can be heard coming from Clancy, raising both of his eyebrows as he returns his attention back towards the front, letting his words sink in for several seconds before talking again.

"What's with all the commotion anyway?"

"Don't ask me," Simon quickly replied to his question in a flat tone, the lack of mission and general stupidity of higher-ups had started to affect him, followed by a small yawn, continuing to keep tabs on the commotion all around them. "I'm just as clueless as you are."

He slowly lowers his binoculars before dropping it altogether on his kneeling thigh, taking a moment to rub his tired eyes which already have dark circles forming below them. One of the many effects that had started to appear due to lack of sleep, a problem which was shared by his fellow Marines in the platoon, company, battalion and possibly, the whole theater.

Clancy silently groaned, tilting his head in both directions in an attempt to kill off boredom and fighting off cramps that had set in, before unceremoniously giving up, simply resorting to asking his team leader yet again.

"Seriously bro, you're the one here with a goddamn radio headset that functions, go fucking ask 'em or something."

"The battery's fucking dead." A short, simple answer came from Simon, who had returned to his previous activity of simply observing with binoculars. Replying to Clancy's question while fixing his eyes towards the front.

A short silence befell the two men as they awkwardly return to their previous activity, seemingly trying to forget the exchange of words before. Just as quickly as it arrived, the silence was broken again, by a short witty response from Clancy.

"My condolences."

Simon's only reaction to his remark was to simply roll his eyes annoyedly, an action that was followed by Clancy rolling out his tongue at him tauntingly.

Putting down his observation equipment on the small pile of dirt in front of him, the brunette grunted as he shifted into a kneeling position, the weight of his FLC and MTV vests, the latter providing protection, together with ammo pouches and other gears pulling him down quicker than necessary, to which the brown-haired sergeant finally had enough, though his calm facade manages to stay despite his sharp words that would immediately follow.

"This is a massive fucking bullshit. Fuck sakes man, we're Recon Marines. We're supposed to be silent killers on the move, always hunting and moving." Rubbing his eyes tiredly after putting down his binoculars and laser rangefinder, Simon quietly whines with a voice no louder than a whisper, his calm face didn't exactly go along with his sharp words and complaints.

Taking a moment for his words to sink in as shown by the worried stare of Clancy, who had shifted his attention from whatever activity he was doing before to face his friend with an understandably worried expression. Simon, oblivious to the sudden gaze coming from the red-headed corpsman, continues his rant as he stretches his hands out to his surroundings, gesturing at the Humvees used by his fellow elite Reconnaissance Marines, some in worse condition than the others.

"And here we are, riding around a fantastical continent in shitty fucking Humvees that wouldn't look out of place in a demolition derby. To add insult to the already grave wound, we are doing grunt's work that can be done by any other units in the Corps, all because some sub-human retards that is our generals decided that the stack of medals on his dress blues aren't enough for the Marines Corps Birthday." Finally ending his sudden rant, Simon swiftly took a deep breath to cool down which was immediately followed by a sigh, taking the clue from Clancy's worried gaze as a sign to stop, he took the quiet moment to hurriedly reach for his rucksack, his left hand proceeding to unsheathe a pack of battery from a pouch strapped on his back.

"Incredible, isn't it?" Clancy sarcastically adds, smiling as he watches Simon attempt to change the battery of his PRR Radio, as shown by the brunette moving his hands backward, grabbing a pack of fresh batteries strapped on his FLC utility vest. "Fuckin' Green Weenie strikes again."

His attempts to change the battery of his PRR radio, however, would be interrupted by an audible chuckle coming from behind, loud enough for the duo to hear, prompting both the Sergeant and the Corpsman to immediately snap their head towards the source of the amused chuckle.

There, stands Evan, standing over them with an amused grin, softly shaking his head, presumably after hearing such a rare occurrence like his usually calm and collected team leader whining, struggling to hold in his laughter as it prepares to burst out of his mouth before finally composing himself as he began to speak up, putting both of his hands on his hip.

"That is a very interesting tale that you have just told," With cheery tones laced all over his voice, Evan can't seem to hide his amusement at the earlier statement of his friend. He then proceeded to raise hands and wave it in the air exaggeratedly. "unfortunately, however, it is not going to change or fix the fuckfest that is our present situation, courtesy of our good 'friend' that goes by the name 'Green Weenie'."

His overly-formal words seemingly mocking his superior, followed by a slight glance to their gory surroundings and the ongoing, making a joke out of the unnecessary BDA on the already destroyed camp, as he pokes fun at their current mission.

Earning a chuckle from Clancy, Evan smugly drops down kneeling, joining his friends already crouching on the ground, the sound of his gear clunking complementing the smile on his face, seemingly prideful that his attempt at lightening the mood had succeeded. The same couldn't be said with Simon however, his face still stoic as ever as he continues to stare down his companion, his green eyes unblinking as it faces the bright, smiling face of Corporal Evan Carson.

"Fuck you."

"Ohhh~" Evan whistled, seemingly unaffected by his superior's words. "Don't tempt me with a good time!"

"I'm serious, Evan. Don't make me pull my rank on your ass." Reminding his companion of their differentiating rank, a little smile crept on Simon's face, still facing his friend whose previously smug smile has now turned into a frown, shutting him up for good.

"What the fuck?!" The driver interjected angrily, not pleased with the fact that Simon just used his superior rank to get away. "That ain't fair!"

"I'll make it even more unfair if you don't shut your fucking mouth."

"Oh yeah?" Evan continues, unfazed by the threat of his team leader as he raises an eyebrow in curiosity, proceeding to squat in front of Simon who's currently preoccupied with changing the batteries of his radio headset."What are you gonna do? NJP me? Put me on endless police-call when we rotate back?"

His question immediately prompted Simon to snap his head towards him, blankly gazing at Evan before finally speaking up a moment later.

"No," With a voice barely louder than a whisper, Simon replied, gaining Evan's attention by gesturing his right hand towards him, gripping the familiar cylindrical look of a battery.

He then proceeds to violently shove the cylindrical battery into a socket on the side of his radio headset, questionably rubbing his hands inside the socket as a smirk begins to creep on his face, much to Evan's amusement.

"Like this." Simon continues much to the bewildered expression of his teammates, watching with an amused smile plastered on his face as he sexually shoves yet another battery into an empty socket on his radio headset currently sitting on his lap, a mischievous smirk on his face helping get his point across.

"That's pretty fucking gay, not gonna lie." Shaking his head, Evan jokingly remarked as he composed himself, forming up an answer inside his mind as he prepares to fire back.

"No shit."

"Too bad, you're a skinny twink," The driver promptly snorted, raising his hand as it entered Simon's line of sight, pointing at his delicate face. "so your threat means nothing."

"Fuck off!"

The trio laughed amongst themselves, continuing to insult and joke with one another, unaware of the curveball and horrors currently facing the men of Third Platoon, Bravo Company, something that'd had a profound effect on some of the men in their sister platoon.

---

180 meters north of Hitman-2's position, Hitman-3's position (1600)

Sergeant John Hunts frantically sprinted across the fields together with his team, not affected by the loads of rucksacks they were carrying. They're quickly responding to the sudden, feminine scream that had just come out of nowhere, earning the attention of curious Marines from his platoon that had been doing nothing for the past hour, the boredom unsurprisingly interrupted once in a while by Lt. Superman occasionally firing his weapons at the dead bodies strewn around the fields under the excuse of mercy killing.

The noise of metal hitting against each other vibrated through the air as his gears jiggle from hitting one another, the sounds complimenting the fire crackling as they burned through wooden rubbles, they occasionally jumped over obstacles in the way as Humvees from 2/5 CAAT attached to the battalion rolled past. They're escorting their fellow compatriots in the open, sprinting and grunting as they carry a variety of equipment that is firmly strapped on their back, the weight not pulling them down in the slightest.

Immediately following behind him is the platoon medical support, Navy Corpsman Third Class Finnian Miles, as shown by the slightly larger rucksack of gear he's carrying on his petite frame, his ILBE pack is filled to brim with medical equipment and IV Bags, He, in turn, was tailed by 2 other Marines carrying stretchers as they prepare to treat any possible casualties that they might encounter, something that no Marines in the platoon expected to see, especially after the devastating barrage of HE shells by their sister platoon. No one would have foreseen the events unfolding right now.

They move past a charred dead body, trampling over it as they try to push the image of the war's brutality from distracting them. Deep inside, everyone in the platoon, even the company knows that all the things they've done, all the people that they've killed will come to haunt them later in their life, a horrible thing to swallow, the Marines resorted to ignoring the unrecognizable corpses lying on the grasses, trying to delay horrors from reaching their minds, using the mission as a refuge from the horrors of war all around them, a distraction from reality.

Soon enough, they arrived at the destination as Marines crowded the sea of rubbles and burning woods while CAAT Humvees skirted past them before finally stopping, the TOW missile launcher on the cupola making it painfully obvious who the owner was.

The 2/5 Marines immediately got out of their Humvees, arguably better when compared to the 1st Recon's "last-minute salvage". They immediately got to work after slamming the door of their vehicles shut as their commander began directing his men, springing them into action all while pointing his hands at certain areas of the fields for each sub-units to cover, his hands zig-zagging as he continues doing his job.

John beckoned over towards two of his men, Corporal Aaron Whitaker and Lance Corporal Connor Stanford, to head over to his position, using hand signals to guide them through the maze of sawdusts and dead bodies. They soon arrived, dropping down, kneeling, mirroring the actions of their team leader. Without a single word spoken, John nonchalantly points his hands towards a sector of the field, signaling towards both of them to head over and check out that particular part of the field.

They both acknowledged his order, with Whitaker patting on the shoulder of the younger Marine, the latter immediately snapping out of his thoughts, springing into action. They leapfrogged their way through the labyrinth of destruction, keeping their guards high for anyone that might try to jump out of the rubbles to attack them.

The weary sergeant, whose eyes are already covered in dark circles, followed behind. Days of dealing with the incompetence of his superior, Lt. Superman, had a profound effect on the 26 years old native of Kentucky. Stopping behind a piece of the wooden guard tower that came tumbling down, John quietly eyed the dead body of a girl no older than his 15-year-olds siblings, the lower half entirely gone.

"Jesus fucking Christ…" He silently mumbled under his breath. Eyeing the body for a moment before returning to his senses. As the fucking officers say, mission always comes first.

"Alright, what do we got here?" Keeping close to the ground, John sprinted towards his men's position, currently stopping dead in their tracks as they both eyed the body of a girl, miraculously unharmed by the hell unleashed before.

"A dead body, suspiciously unharmed." A swift reply came from his ever-loyal driver, his answer earning him a soft pat in the head by John.

"Yeah no shit, it's a body, Whitaker. It's a fucking body of a dead girl." Despite the hellish atmosphere around them, the Kentuckian can't help but snort at the answer of his compatriot. An answer that he can see in front of his eyes, something so obvious to the point that it did not need to be told.

"Well, sergeant, I'll have to correct you." The Corporal shot back with a grin on his face, preparing to answer the curious team leader kneeling behind him and Stanford.

"A possibly dead body of a girl." Whitaker corrects him, shifting his line of sight towards the girl's body, seemingly unharmed beside her legs bleeding and covered in blood. He then shouldered Stanford, surprising him for a moment, his face seemingly puzzled before realizing his intention.

"Right…" Stanford heaved a sigh. "Out of all the bodies we've seen so far in this camp of fake-ass knights from some bumfuck noble family in Sadera, this girl is the only one that doesn't look like she just got hit by a fucking truck going 100 mile an hour on an interstate highway."

"Or doused in gasoline."

"Yeah, you'll get the damned idea. I thought that she might be the source of that screech we heard earlier because she's the only one here that doesn't have her vocal cords fucking ripped apart by shrapnel and left to bleed to death." Hunching over the stock of his M249, Stanford continues his explanation, interrupted by Whitaker in the middle of his analysis before continuing again. Said analysis immediately impressed John, earning him a pat on the shoulder.

"Good analysis Stanford. That's a good one, now cover me. I'm gonna cross the field to check out the girl." Finishing the final pat on his machine gunner's shoulder, John immediately got up, clutching over his M203 underbarrel launcher as a signal for Doc Miles and two other Marines to follow from behind with litter stretchers, while Stanford and Whitaker covered their movement, slowly moving their M249 and M4A1 respectively in a repeated left to right fashion.

Stanford can't seem to hide his amusement over the fact that their superior are nowhere to be seen nor found anywhere near them, something that was frowned upon in the Marine Corps, not pleased with the show of incompetence, leading him to break a question to his sergeant, slowly jogging past him.

"Hey Sergeant!" The duo groaned. "Where is our platoon commander?"

"In the Company tent with the Ops Chief, probably sucking the fat cunt's dick off so he can hoard all the triple A batteries for himself" Instead of John answering his question however, its Doc Miles instead, the petite corpsman's deadpanned voice interjected with zero hint of emotion as he and 2 other Marines moved past them. His ILBE gears, packed with medical equipment arguably larger than his lanky, small body frame, a fact not lost to Doc Miles, continuing to stroll past with no difficulties at all.

"That'll explain." Stanford and Whitaker snorted in tandem, their carefree attitude didn't exactly go well with their surroundings.

They soon reached their destination, following John's hand signal along the way as Doc Miles and 2 other Marines following him dropped down to their knees, the former unzipping his medical pack, grabbing a pair of medical gloves while the latter provided security around them after dropping off the stretcher behind the petite corpsman. Entering John's line of sight as indicated by him kneeling next to the girl's body.

Doc Miles can't seem to hide his disgust at the scene in front of him, earning the attention of John, eyeing him as the corpsman zigzags across the labyrinth. His previous frown had gotten larger than before as he approached the girl in front of him.

"Oh my god," Miles jogged towards the duo of weary Sergeant and presumably dead girl as he points his M4A1 rifle left and right, the speed of which he's moving at slowly progressed to a halt, realization then hits Doc Miles like a truck, his blue eyes widening in shock as he heaved a sigh. "It's a fucking kid."

John observes through his peripheral vision as Doc Miles slung his M4A1 back, his hands, already gloved with the blue latex medical gloves issued to every medical corpsman, began rummaging through the girl's body. His left hand slid into her neck, moving it left and right as it searched for any signs of vital that'd indicate that the girl laying down next to them, is indeed alive.

Soon enough, he'd get his answers, when a pat is felt on his shoulders, prompting John to turn around and face whoever that alerted him.

"She's alive." Doc Miles blankly said, flashing a thumbs up in the process before continuing. "But her legs looked pretty fucked."

Pointing at her heavily-bleeding legs to get his point across, Doc Miles then began unslinging his medical rucksack, unzipping the massive bag as he unsheathes an IV drip together with a scissor, followed by an audible whistle, as the corpsman gestures towards one of the two Marines providing security to hold the plain-looking liquid for him.

The Marine slowly moved towards Doc Miles, keeping low to the ground with the man hunching over his rifle, navigating through the destruction around him as his movement slowed down to a snail pace before completely stopping right next to the black-haired corpsman, snatching the IV Bag from Doc Miles' gloved hands. His actions received a not so pleased reaction from the corpsman, earning a death glare from Doc Miles, freaking the Marine out momentarily as he can feel his icy blue eyes zapping through his body like a lightning, before returning to his senses, hanging the transparent liquid high above the girl's brown hair that had been messed up by the shockwave.

Only the sound of fire crackling can be heard now, the noise vibrating through the empty, tense air as Doc Miles began working on the girl, using his scissors to cut apart her bloodied trousers while simultaneously fighting the urge to puke. Meanwhile, John can only watch the procedure from afar, unknowingly helping the duo by fending off flies that had descended upon the camp.

Frantically ripping apart her red trousers and armor, Doc Miles instinctively examined her injury up close. He softly gouged the visible gap on her lap, making out the girl's wound as his training kicked in.

"These fucking officers," Doc Miles agitatedly murmured, seemingly shocked and pissed by the seemingly underage girl, heavily injured by the artillery bombardment called in by First Lieutenant Mistral of Second Platoon. "Motherfucking trigger-happy psycho."

He fought the urge to lash out loudly despite knowing that the First Lieutenant is a good man, thousands times better than their platoon commander. He then pulled up his notebook as he began writing down the list of injuries that had been inflicted upon the unfortunate girl.

Severed Femoral Artery….

Shock Trau-

His procedure however, was suddenly interrupted by the sounds of wooden rubbles rattling, as if someone had stepped on it. The clanking noise echoed through the air around them, turning the once eerily quiet atmosphere into a state of hectic frenzy, as Marines all around the field immediately shifted their attention towards the source of wooden instruments being pushed aggressively.

They immediately trained their weapons towards a certain part of the rubble, clutching over their rifles and machine guns as they waited for a figure to pop out, expecting an ambush from any surviving knights that might've managed to escape from the artillery bombardment and regrouped together.

Seconds passed, and the rumblings and sounds of wooden sawdust being pushed still filled the air, getting closer every heartbeat, putting some of the Marines on edge as they flipped "off" the safety switch on their gun, ready to savage any ambushers with a hail of lead. Doc Miles however, kept working on the girl, pressing his hands against her thighs in an attempt to stop the bleeding from worsening while simultaneously keeping an eye on the developing situation, observing quietly through his natural peripheral vision.

The noises reached its peak when several rubbles and torn tents were pushed apart by the unknown assailant, which earned the attention of multiple heavily-armed Marines, while CAAT Humvees, trained their TOW missiles launcher on the pack of torn tents and body stacked on a collapsed guard tower, preparing to vaporize anyone that pops out as the assailant finally revealed its presence, the silhouette of the perpetrator's body finally visible.

The Marines however, didn't fire, as their flabbergasted face immediately betrayed their previously tense postures, the perpetrator isn't who they expected to be, rather than wearing the usual iron armor, issued to knights of the empire, complete with their own ornate decoration, the man donned a mottled dark green uniform instead, similar to the ones used by the Marines. It didn't take long for them to realize who the man actually is.

"Hey!" The man, now revealed to be Lt. Superman, the commander of Hitman-3 can be heard yelling towards his subordinates, gleefully smiling as he waved his hands in the air, seemingly oblivious to the variety of weaponry trained on him, ready to fire. "Check it out gents, I got their swords and colours!"

They watched in disbelief as Lt. Superman strolled past them, carrying looted goods and the flag of the knights back to his command Humvee, oblivious to the sneers and glares from his fellow compatriots, disapproving of his dangerous actions. He had just looted the dead bodies all around the fields, taking them as souvenirs, prompting John, Doc Miles and others to look at him in disdain.

"That's our platoon commander, going around, looting dead bodies like it's some sort of a Battle Royale match." Stanford sneered in disdain, as he followed his sharp remark with a half-joking question. "Should we light him up?"

Just as he was about to answer his not so serious request to open fire on their idiotic commander, John was interrupted from answering the question by a voice coming from his back, cutting apart whatever words that was about to come out of his mouth.

"Don't waste your ammo." The familiar, flat voice of Sergeant Simon Williams rang through the fields, his actions earned a curious stare from his fellow compatriots of Hitman-3. "Especially on retards like him."

The sudden interruption prompted John and Stanford to shift his attention towards the source of the anwer, narrowing their eyes as they scanned for the source, before stopping their curious eyeballs on a trio of Marines moving towards them, sluggishly moving, zig-zagging through the fields littered with charred bodies and mangled tents. It looks like their sudden increase of activity had attracted attention from the men of Second Platoon (Hitman-2).

"That is very unfortunate." John grimaced, lowering his M4A1 as he saw no purpose in using it at the moment while Lt. Superman strolled past, uncaring as he marveled at his plethora of looted goods. His actions earned him a look of disdain from John. "Had a nice, beautiful headshot."

"Nah, Simon's right," Evan interjects, pointing at the commander of Third Platoon with his left thumbs. His other hand is holding his rifle downwards, careful to not point it at Doc Clancy, who happens to be in front of him as the trio walked down a small gap amidst the labyrinth of destroyed guard towers and mangled tents. "a headshot won't work on a braindead motherfucker like him since his brain is already dead in the first place, go for the artery or some shit."

Ignoring Evan's quips, John slowly got up from his previous kneeling position and began walking towards Simon as he slung his rifle to his back, using his hands as a gesture for the brunette to approach him.

Pulling the brown-haired sergeant aside, John immediately took on a more serious attitude as he faced his friend from their sister platoon, as Simon took the clue and began hearing what John had to say, allowing the Kentuckian to let out a small, sigh of resignation. Simon's facial expression began turning into one of concern, eyeing the girl laying next to Doc Miles with a pitiful eye, his once cold green eyes, hidden under the mask of apathy and logic had now turned sympathetic.

"John, what the fuck's happening?" Pointing towards the girl with a knife-hand for extra emphasis, Simon laconically asked with a voice similar to a whisper, the tone of concern laced all over the place as he and John slowly walked towards Doc Miles, conversing along the way.

"By the looks of it, someone survived your Lieutenant's fire mission." Rolling his eyes at the obvious question, John swiftly replied to the short inquiry. "Her legs got smoked pretty badly though."

The worried expression on Simon's face hadn't disappeared yet, continuing to worry about the girl despite passing by several, horribly mangled dead bodies.

"What can we do?"

"Apparently fucking nothing, besides providing security." John bluntly replied, following his colorful words with a short glance to a smoldering pile of wooden rubble, stacked a few meters away from them as it burned brilliantly under the crackling sounds of fire.

"That should be enough." As soon as Simon ended their short conversation, he immediately went to work, gesturing towards Evan to provide security. The driver nodded in return, jogging towards a pile of wooden tables before dropping down in a kneeling position, using the ruined piece of rubble as a cover, despite the small but intense flames roaring next to him.

"Set!" Evan audibly remarked, flashing a thumbs up as he kneeled on a grass dripping with dried blood from a detached hand, making it look as if they had stumbled across the surface of Mars.

Simon ignored the stench that came from the crumpled bodies laying all over the fields, as vultures feasted on the dead, he continued to jog at an urgent pace, passing by a tent with a massive hold blasted on its side as he walked towards his compatriot, currently taking cover behind the wooden heap of a befallen guard tower with a serene smile on his face, not one of a psychopathic warrior but rather in a reassuring way.

"Got anything?" Drifting to a stop next to the unusually upbeat driver, Simon immediately inquired the result of his observation, glancing at the thermal scope firmly on Evan's grip. He had disassembled the scope from his M4A1, replacing it with ACOG akin to the one on Simon's rifle, unsurprisingly, the thermal's battery requirement had frustrated Evan.

"Couple of dead knights laying around," Casually answering with a composed facial expression, Evan straightened his left arm as he pointed at a mangled body, if it weren't for his double-take, Simon could've easily mistaken it for a piece of oak wood on fire. "That is considering that you could even call them 'bodies' in the first place, that guy over there? He looks like a beef jerky MRE man, holy fucking shit."

Evan can only shake his head at the destruction all around him, the once green grass of the plains that belonged to Central Falmart, had now been stained by the effects of 1st Marine Division and the rest of coalition forces' dash to Sadera. Blood pooled inside a crater blown to a perfect circle by 155mm high-explosive shells.

A tap on his left shoulder knocked Simon out of his previous gaze at the girl, currently being treated by Doc Miles and Clancy, the latter rushing to the wounded teenager after splitting up from his team. Simon shifted his attention to Evan, the perpetrator of the previous shoulder tap, his face grinning.

"Sai, check it out, this motherfucker's got a horsecock.'' Evan softly giggled as he peered through his newly attached ACOG, observing a dead knight, his body burned to crisp as a fiery blaze raged on the man's 'extended lower body part'. "Did you know that when a man dies, his dick will get an erection due to the amount of blood accumulating. Dude, think about how fucking cool we'd look like if we die with a massive fucking erection, I'm really jealo-."

Simon immediately cuts off Evan with a death glare, followed by an exasperated sigh as he slapped his gloved hands against the driver's LWH kevlar helmet, shutting him up for a moment.

"Evan," Simon said, his right hand fixing the tip of his helmet, trying to get a better look at his fellow compatriot before continuing. "Shut the fuck up, will ya?"

"Sorry man, can't help it." His driver merely shrugged, his darken eyes acting as the main evidence of his lack of sleep. "I've been running on rip-its and the fact that Epstein escaped to Falmart with his harem of underaged kids that he bought off Ebay. Those things kept me awake."

Simon can only heave a exasperated sigh as he braced for another round of conspiracy theory babbling by Evan, despite being the latter's coping mechanism in combat and a very unusual but effective way to cheer him.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ." He silently grunted, adjusting his sitting position, leaning on a pile of rubble while Evan observed the rolling fields outside the camp. Simon then got up into a kneeling position as he joined Evan in surveilling the countryside, trying to ignore the destruction all around them, a very easy way to get PTSD, something that he's not keen nor interested in getting.

"What's our resident navy sailor doing anyway?" Evan asked with a voice whose tone indicates a mild interest, his question referring to Doc Clancy, a US Navy sailor that happened to be the platoon's main medical support. The driver then shifted his head to the left as his face met Simon's, anticipating an answer.

"Doc's helping Hitman-3 treat the wounded girl," Simon swiftly replied, not letting go of his intentful gaze at the rolling fields outside the camp. "probably gonna CASEVAC her back to BAS when they're done."

"Right," Evan ponders for a moment. "so what you're saying is that they're LARPing as the cast of The Good Doctor in an active warzone?"

"Seems like it." Finally getting the answer to his question, Evan returned his gaze back to where it previously had been, his lips curling into a small smile in satisfaction as he and Simon gazed out towards the green countryside of Central Falmart, the mountains complimenting the lush green plains.

They both return back to their previous task, continuing to watch the mountains and hills of Dumas Range as they peered through their binoculars and ACOG, sweeping across the landscape. The duo intently study the slopes which housed several villages, filled with normal, everyday villagers, unaware of the war raging just leagues away from them, uncaring as they continue on with their life while shepherds herded their sheeps and Ma-nugas on the flat fields at the entrance leading up to the mountains.

The only thing that differentiates the scenery from any small town in the European Alps are the presence of wild wyverns occasionally flying by. Sometimes they would be unfortunate enough to be the target of coalition fighter jets, earning multiple unprovoked air-to-air missiles after being mistaken for Saderan Empire's wyvern riders by the pilots.

Meanwhile, a couple of meters back, Clancy had joined his fellow corpsman in treating the miraculously unharmed girl, her bloodied lower half notwithstanding. Both of them gazed at her lap, torn apart by shrapnel that had presumably struck her at an unimaginable speed.

Doc Miles had busied himself for the past hour with a variety of activity, mainly tying tourniquets and pressing on her thighs, trying to prevent the shredded artery from spewing more blood out. The IV Bags, held by Corporal Martin Russell, had started to dry out due to the demand of the girl's body. Her skin had started to turn pale from the blood loss as flowing red liquid complimented the girl's lower half.

"Should we give her morphine?" The Corporal asked with concern, taking a look at the depleting saline liquid then at the girl, unconscious but definitely alive. His question however, was met with instant hostility from Doc Miles, his eyes looking at him with murderous intent.

"Are you a fucking idiot?!" Doc Miles audibly retorted his simple question, shaking his head at what he considers to be a stupid thing to do. "Never, ever, give morphine to a patient with heavy bleeding, it'll stop the blood flow and potentially kill her since said blood wouldn't be enough to reach her heart."

"You do know that you can just fucking stop her bleeding right?" Chipping into the conversation, Clancy can only look at Doc Miles with a puzzled expression, seemingly confused by his counterpart's action of pressing on her laps. "Use your QuikClot to stop her artery from spewing or something, motherfucker."

"I ran out of them after Italica," The other corpsman quickly shot back. "I used them all on our Platoon Sergeant, he was struck by an arrow during the batshit insane thunder run, remember?"

His answer prompted Clancy to ponder momentarily, reminiscing of the Third Platoon's senior-most enlisted man, who had been evacuated due to his wounds that was received during the brazen push through the city. He then returned to his senses as a baffled smile began to crept on his delicate but dirty skin.

"You fucking idiot." Clancy promptly snorted, he can't seem to hide his amusement despite the inappropriate timing. "Why don't you just walk up to the H&S for resupply?"

"I ain't got time for that." Doc Miles solemnly replied, his eyes seemingly lifeless, earning a look of concern from both the Corporal and Clancy. Doc Miles had been a close friend of the platoon's old but tough staff sergeant, considering him to be a mentor when he was first assigned as their medical support.

Unbeknownst to both of them, his injury and eventual evacuation had hit him hard. He kept the true reason for his change of personality deep inside, before being promptly snapped out of his thoughts by Clancy, the look of concern still on his face as he slapped him softly, his medical latex gloves still worn on his hand.

"You alright?" With a look of sympathy plastered on his face, Clancy concernedly questioned, seemingly puzzled by Doc Miles suddenly stopping his treatment procedure, as the uncomfortable feeling of unease swell within the sailor's stomach.

"It's all good," With his train of thoughts finally stopping, Doc Miles coldly answered, repeating the same words before like a mantra. "It's all good bro…"

"Alright then," Unzipping his medical pouch, Clancy immediately shoves his hand inside, rummaging its inside before unsheathing a pack of QuikClot as he gestures it towards his counterpart. "Here, take this."

Despite the answer given by Doc Miles. Clancy can't help but feel as if something is missing within his friend, his pale white complexion darkening as Doc Miles quickly snatched the bandage-like equipment from his left grip, not uttering a single word.

Ripping apart the opening with his translucent gloved hands, he immediately took out the bandage-like item out of the pack. With Clancy holding her legs skyward, Doc Miles immediately began to work as he quickly wrapped her legs around with the QuikClot bandage. They watched as the artery bleeding, which had become their main concern prior, stopped uneventfully.

The trio formed a circle around the girl, contemplating on what to do next. The short silence was broken by John entering their half-circle with 2 other Marines in tow.

"Great job," He laconically remarked, before turning his head towards the 2 Corpsman responsible for the deed in front of him as he steals a glance at the girl in the process. It seems like they've stopped the bleeding for now. "Now what?"

The 2 Corpsmen looked at each other for a moment, followed by Clancy promptly answering his question.

"CASEVAC her to the BAS."

"If that's so," John nodded, as he shifted his line of sight towards Simon and Evan, providing security for them as they took cover behind a heap of burnt charcoal that had been mixed with remnants of guard towers that sprawled along the camp's perimeter. "I'm gonna get you guys a 9 Line."

"You're gonna pass it up to El-Tee?" Doc Miles concernedly asked as he refers to Lt. Superman, not wanting unnecessary trouble.

"Fuck no," Hearing this, John quickly interjected, giving his reasonings. "I'm getting Sergeant Williams to do it for us, he'll pass it up to Godfather. I don't have a radio anyway."

With Simon in his line of sight, he immediately whistled to the brunette. Finally getting his attention as indicated by Simon shifting his attention to his friend, he instantly called him over.

"Hey! Get your ass over here!" John audibly yelled across the field, seeking the help of his friend. "I need your help!"

"What fucking help?!"

"Just get over here, fuck sakes man." Immediately after John finished his annoyed remark, Simon briefly exchanged looks with Evan, who shrugs in response. Finally, Simon got up from his previous kneeling position, walking across the field of short, green grass surrounded by sawdust and dead bodies as he headed over to the half circle formed around the injured girl.

Doc Miles and Clancy meanwhile carefully carried the girl, making sure they won't worsen her already grave wounds as they put down the girl on the stretcher, with Whitaker holding a bag of IV.

Finally arriving, Simon immediately approached John, tapping on his shoulder softly as he let his friend know of his newly arrived presence. John responded by snapping his head towards the brunette, before talking again.

"So," Simon laconically remarked, his eyes meanwhile, trailed off towards the girl then at the dead bodies surrounding her. "What makes you request my presence here?"

"Alright, here's the deal." Just as Simon concluded his sentence, John quickly spoke up, as he finally revealed his intention for calling him over. "Get us a 9 Line CASEVAC, I ain't got no fucking radio."

"Uh-huh, sure." Simon murmured, his seemingly flat voice didn't go well with his green eyes full of concern. He eyed the unconscious girl on the stretcher momentarily with sympathy before finally snapping out of his thoughts, keying the push-to-talk button, a crackle denoting that his radio headset is now on mic.

"Godfather, this is Hitman 2-1."

"Hitman 2-1, send your traffic, over." A voice on the side of the conversation replied, the voice indicates that its a radio operator rather than the actual Godfather, their battalion commander.

"Hitman 2-1's requesting CASEVAC, over"

"Roger that Hitman 2-1, go ahead, send your request over." The operator responded, clicking on his pen as he prepared to take notes of the incoming horde of demands.

"Line 1 - Grid, Bravo Sierra, Five-Eight-One-Eight-Two-Six-Five-Seven, break." The coordinates.

"Line 2 - 29.75, Hitman 2-1 break." The radio frequency.

"Line 3 - 1 Alpha, break." Call sign for urgent… The operator thought, taking notes immediately.

"Line 4 - Alpha, break.". Huh, no special equipment needed?

"Line 5 - 1 Litter, break." Simon takes a peak at the litter stretcher which the unconscious wounded girl is laying down on, before promptly continuing the procedure.

"Line 6 - Severed femoral artery, going into shock, break." The information regarding the injuries. Simon flatly reads the notes of injury written by Doc Miles and Clancy, given to him by John.

"Line 7 - Echo, break." Methods of signaling, which Simon had chosen to wave through his hand instead to mark their site, not wanting to reveal their location to any wyvern riders through smoke grenades.

"Line 8 - Echo, break." The callsign for enemy prisoners.

"Line 9 - All clear, break."

"Solid copy, Hitman 2-1, stand-by for inbound CASEVAC, over."

"Hitman 2-1, standing by, over." Finally ending the transmission, Simon then proceeds to steal a glance at Doc Miles and Clancy wrapping yet another round of bandage on the girl, his M4A1 slung to his back.

"And now, we shall wait." He flatly remarked, not letting go of his gazing.

"Thanks for the help, Sai." Patting him on his shoulder, John smiles, thankful for his help as wandered off back to his platoon, preparing to help with the incoming CASEVAC.

"You're welcome." Simon can't seem to resist the urge to bow down sarcastically, doing the deed as the silhouette of John began wandering off towards the stretcher, as he began directing the girl's evacuation.

Clancy passed by John, his face seemingly emotionless as he returned back to his team. Simon got up from his kneeling position to greet the corpsman.

"So," Simon blankly said, adjusting his MTV vest for a moment. It seems that his prolonged kneeling had made it uncomfortable to wear, coupled with the summer-like sun of the Special Region. Nevertheless, he shrugged it off. "how did it went?"

"Stopped the bleeding, dunno if she'll make it to RCT-5's shock trauma unit with her legs intact." Clancy solemnly replied. Deep inside, he's worried about the girl, taking a final look at the bloodied stretcher, breathing a sigh of resignation. "But we did stop her from going into cardiac arrest despite the amount of blood she's losing."

Simon, seeing this, quickly reassures him.

"Don't worry about it," Slapping the shoulder of his friend affectionately, Simon reassures him with a genuine smile, trying to cheer him up despite the obvious fact that the sight of the girl, as young as Clancy's sister, had affected him. "You did good over there. She'll be alright."

Clancy meanwhile, eyed his hands suspiciously, before looking up again at the brunette Sergeant.

"Don't even fucking think about it."

"About what?" Simon, confused by the sudden hostility, immediately inquired. It seems like the mood in the air had changed.

"Don't act like you don't know, gay-ass." The corpsman quickly responded, rolling out his tongue, the vivid image of Simon's faux threat to Evan still fresh in his mind.

"Man, fuck off!" Rolling his eyes in annoyance as he realized what he was implying, Simon simply shot back. Taking the moment to smack Clancy's ass, earning him a shocked stare from the red-haired corpsman. "And I shouldn't have complimented you earlier. I regretted doing that"

"Fuck, why not?"

"You can't seem to stop calling me a faggot."

"Aren't you though?" Clancy snickered, the grin creeping on his face earlier had become wide.

"Hey! I still fucking jerk off to straight porn." Simon, unamused, groans in dissatisfaction as he flips out the forbidden finger at Clancy, earning an even louder snicker than before. "And last time I checked, you're a US Navy sailor, which makes you a hypocrite."

"No fucking shit." Retorting the accusation quickly, Clancy swiftly fired back with an answer he had been waiting to use ever since he was assigned as a green-side corpsman. "But then again, the Marine Corps is under the Department of Navy."

His answer however was met by a flabbergasted face of Simon, meeting his wide grin. Simon's bewildered expression instantly turned into a frown, gazing at him as if he had broken some sort of sacred rule.

"What the fuck did you just said?" Simon immediately widened his eyes in shock, looking at Clancy in disbelief, distraught over what he just said.

"What?" Clancy raised an eyebrow at Simon's question, before asking smugly. "Am I wrong?"

"No, you're not wrong you fucking genius." The Sergeant could only respond sarcastically, before raising his hands in the air, slowly pushing it up his lips to get his point to his friend. "That word upsets Marines."

Before he could continue finishing his next sentence any further, they were immediately surprised with a voice coming from behind them, prompting them to instinctively turn their heads towards the source. It didn't take long for them to realize it's Evan, their boisterous driver. Gripping a cylindrical can of rip-its energy drink, half-full as the driver quickly chugged it down in a messy fashion, before promptly throwing the can away at the pile of rubble acting as natural garbage dump after finishing it.

"Hey!" He shouted over the field, greeting the duo with a gleeful smile as he pointed back over his shoulder at the unmistakable silhouette of a MTVR truck belonging to their Battalion H&S. The truck rumbled to their right, sending clouds of smoke and fine sawdust in the air, moving groggily as they drove over the many holes covering the fields as it approached the hectic circle surrounding their patient that had just been treated, the men forming up a circle-shaped defensive posture. "Check it out yo, the great honorable POG truckers have finally arrived."

"What the fuck!?" The corpsman loudly exclaimed, watching from afar with his as their counterpart in Hitman-3 began loading the girl into the back of the truck, as a team of inexperienced supply Marines greeted them, mirroring their actions as they grabbed the carrying handles of the stretchers, bringing the unconscious patient inside. "I thought they're sending a fucking helicopter or at least, a fucking ambulance to pick up the girl, not a truck full of POGs!"

"Oh my fucking god," To his right, Evan mumbled under his breath, watching the truck disappear on the horizon with an expression of wild disbelief splattered on his face, the grin on his face large enough to reach his ears. "that fucking retard got all kinds of retarded shit drawn on the truck's canvas."

Evan can't help but giggle at the sight, the mood in the air had changed from solemn concern surrounding the girl to the Marines gleefully making fun of the truckers, from the perspective of a civilian, it might be surreal, but for the Marines, it was one of many coping mechanism in combat. His hands pointed at the massive mural of red, white and blue splashed all over the truck's canvas.

It was an unmistakable image of the Star Spangled Banner, the flag of the United States of America.

"Un-fucking-believable." Simon mumbled in disbelief. With a quizzical expression plastered on his face, he holds the urge to laugh at the clownery passing by, as the truck disappeared on the horizon.

"Can you fucking imagine how stupid we'd look like to the natives?" Evan nodded in agreement with his friend's shocked mumblings, shaking his head at the scene before. "We probably look like extra-autistic version of the Empire's retards we've seen before. I fucking hate those cheesy motarded bullshit."

"You know," It was Clancy's turn to talk now, as he turned his head towards his 2 other companions, his head shaking in mild disapproval. "I'm now worried about the girl inside the truck, last time I checked, they can't drive shit without crashing."

"Who the fuck thought it'd be a good idea to send a fucking supply truck filled with Motor T boots that splattered their truck with stupid-ass overused corny patriotic shit like a motherfucking Star Spangled Banner mural to pick up a singe casualty?" Evan facepalmed at the wisdom of whoever sent the truck instead of a helicopter or an ambulance Humvee, under the palm of his hands, hid his wide amused grin. "That was a massive retard move."

"No, a better question would be," His red-haired companion corrected him with a quizzical expression, as indicated by him waving his gloved hands in the air, before continuing to his main point. "Which fucker over there in the Division HQ had the wisdom to even send a Recon Battalion without an actual ambulance for our BAS?"

"Green Weenie and the Division CG, seems like they're in the same cohort to fuck us over." Simon quickly answered, his voice seemingly as blank as his stoic face, facing their sister platoon, watching them returning to their respective Humvees. Before being promptly snapped out of the thought by a loud yelling in the distance.

"Sai!"

The noise immediately caused him to shift his attention towards the source, turning his head to his right as he narrowed his eyes in an effort to search for the perpetrator.

He finally spots the man responsible, said man being Dow, his Assistant Team Leader.

He gazed annoyedly at Simon, waiting for his team leader to respond to his previous waving and yelling, before promptly giving up mid-way as he continued voicing his intention at the brunette staring at him awkwardly, his friends to his left and right also looking at him with a puzzled expression.

"Team leader meeting!" He shouted over across the field sprawled with remnants of the camp, his left hand firmly on his hip while the other waved at the man as his M4A1 hung over his shoulder, beckoning Simon to come over to him. "We're getting ready to move out, come on dawg."

"Uh-huh," Simon nodded in the distance, waving at the burly black man as he quickly responded to Dow's request, his stoic facial expression still there. "Roger that~!"

He took a moment to sweep a glance towards 2 of his men, both of them already anticipating another round of order as their training instinctively kicked in.

"Let me guess, this is the part where you told us to go back to the Humvee?" Evan quickly cuts him off before he can finish issuing his order, it seems like his boisterous driver had beaten him to it.

"Yup."

"Well Doc, you heard the man." Smacking Clancy's ass to gain his attention, Evan gestured towards his friend to tail behind him with a smugful expression, as they both immediately wandered off back to their Humvee, bickering along the way.

"What the fuck? That was uncalled for!"

"I overheard you saying Marines is under the Naval Department but you forgot that the Navy is too, which makes you double-fucking-gay. Now enjoy the ass smacking."

"Fuck off."

Simon took a final moment watching his subordinates walk back to his Humvee, before finally peeling off as he grabbed the stock of his hanging M4A1, returning back to his main priority. He heads off towards Dow, who's patiently waiting as he sits on a soft canvas of a destroyed tent, before getting up to greet Simon.

"What the hell were you doing over there?" Dow spoke up first, asking in an attempt to assuage his lingering curiosity.

"Nothing," Simon promptly shrugs it off in indifference, raising his shoulders for extra emphasis. "besides helping our sister platoon clean up the mess done by the arty."

"What kind of mess?"

"Horrific injury kind of mess." Simon's answer caused a short silence to envelop the duo, before being promptly broken by Dow. "On a kid."

"Jesus fucking Christ" Shaking his head at the tragedy, Dow decided that he had heard enough, not asking further questions. "That's fucked up."

"Yeah, I know." His brown-haired friend grimly replied, as silence once again befell the two men, heading to Lt. Mistral's command Humvee.

Soon enough, they arrived back at their platoon. Hitman-2's Humvees and 4 tanks of Centurion-1 lined just off the paved highway in a single-file convoy at the front of the battalion's column. Their occupants took up a defensive posture around their respective rides, forming up a circle while Mark-19 and M2 gunners scanned the horizon, sweeping the lush green countryside together with the gigantic turrets of the tanker's M1A1 Abrams.

From afar, they both could see Sergeant Sutherby and Schmidt, together with Gunny Mays and Lt. Mistral, returning from a meeting with their company commander, gathered around the Humvee's hood. Their weapons, maps and miscellaneous items littered the engine's surface

They make their presence known by intruding into the group surrounding the Command Humvee, as they all stand there waiting for Lt. Mistral to begin his briefing. The Lieutenant however, had other things to say as he leaned forward closer to his men, putting both of his hands on the hood.

"Before I begin, I just wanna say something." The young Lieutenant could only let out a small sigh as he leaned forward, his subordinates looking at him with a blank expression as he finally spoke out. "We made a mistake today."

He stopped for a moment, letting his words sink into the team leaders surrounding him. Everyone looked at him with a flat, almost emotionless expression, anticipating him to continue whatever words that are currently lingering within his mind.

"But under ROE, what we did was right." He continued solemnly, a tone of regret seemingly laced whatever words that had come out of his mouth. "We engaged the enemy without any casualties, caught them off guard and eliminated them. Though, I do regret doing it, we had just killed lots of kids, unlike the hardened legionnaires we had encountered enmass before."

"Was it preventable? I honestly don't know." Lt. Mistral bluntly remarked. The solemn words accompanying his tired eyes and frowning lips. "But what we did was under the constraint of our current ROE."

Sutherby was the first out of the plethora of enlisted men near the Humvee to speak up, taking a moment to spit on the grass swaying beside him before voicing what he had to say.

"You got a point, sir." The Sergeant blankly said, his complexion getting darker every moment. "Must've been under ROE all those women and children that got machine gunned to death outside Italica."

Sergeant Sutherby's grim statement caused everyone in the circle to frown, their face darkening further as they reminisced of the plethora of grotesque scenes they've witnessed during their advance to Italica, caused by their side. Silence filled the air for a moment, which were immediately broken again by a sigh from their platoon commander

"Look, what I'm saying here is that we can't let today's mistake cloud our decision-making." The Lieutenant retorted with a crisp, waving his hands in the air to voice his disagreement. "There's more things ahead of us and we aren't even halfway through the way, we can't let mistakes overwhelm us."

The silence returned once again, only the sounds of turrets swiveling and winds can be heard now as everyone contemplates over the word of their platoon commander, their disembodied stare is all that could be seen amidst the eerie silence.

"Yes sir…" Once again, Sutherby broke the silence, acknowledging his superior's word with a mumble barely louder than a whisper as seen by his regulation mustache barely moving.

"Alright." Lt. Mistral slowly nods, his exasperated expression still there, splattered on his face. He changes the topic by pulling out a wrapped map sheet, promptly rolling it open on the hood of his Command Humvee, the crisp whiteness of paper denoting its a brand new one.

The team leaders swiftly leaned forward, studying the map intently, their eyes firmly on the route leading up to the entrance of Duma Mountains with the word "Appia Highway" on it, to its right, stands an "X" marked by a red pen, the position of their unit; 1st Reconnaissance Battalion. Lt. Mistral took the moment to grab a pen strapped on his FLC vest, leaning forward as he began marking their route.

"This is us, here." The Lieutenant stretched his hands across the map sheet as he pointed at the X, before promptly clicking on the pen, as he slowly dragged it across the Appia Highway heading East to Sadera. He then stopped moving his hands just at the entrance of Duma Mountains, looking up only to be greeted by the sight of his subordinates slowly nodding, processing the orders in their respective heads. "Our orders as of right now, is to advance east towards the mountains until the battalion tells us to stop."

"And when will that be?" The bald Caucasian man in the group, Schmidt, spoke up as he raised his head to face the young Lieutenant, curiously inquiring.

"To put it simply." Gunny Mays quickly answered his question on behalf of his younger superior. "We don't know."

"Gents, our AO is now the Duma Mountain Range, the land separating Eastern and Western halves of the Saderan Empire, arguably the most civilized nation in Falmart despite all of their fucked up practices. " Lt. Mistral casually remarked, stepping back several times as he glanced to his left and right, his actions followed suit by his subordinates. He pointed the pen on his grip to both directions. To his right, stands the famous Duma Mountains, the peaks rising skyward, it's not going to be easy moving along the valley that the highway is located in and everyone knows it.

Their thoughts however, were interrupted by an amused Dow, not taking his superior's words seriously.

"Well sir, the arty you called in earlier sure as hell 'civilized' these motherfuckers." Dow can only snort in amusement, pointing his hands at the horribly disfigured dead bodies, their lower and upper half separated sprawled on the fields to their right as he morbidly joked.

With a slight smile creeping on his face, Lt. Mistral once again reminded his team leaders.

"Don't get too cocky, we'll get out of their range once we move out." The Lieutenant winked at Dow, his slight smile making him come off as smugful despite that not being his intention.

"What about air support?" The brown-haired Simon finally spoke up, raising his head from the map, shifting his face towards his platoon commander with a curious expression. "Will they be available to support?"

"Right," Lt. Mistral nodded as the team leader of his foremost Humvee waited in anticipation. He pondered for a moment, trying to fully remember the words of their company commander, Captain Stephen Walt. "our CO told us that Viper Cobras and fixed-wing air support will be on and off throughout the day, so don't expect full coverage."

Simon nodded, satisfied with the response and remained silent, letting the Lieutenant speak.

"We will likely stop to regroup with RCT-5 before entering the mountains proper," The Lieutenant continues his briefing, his subordinates coolly listening, taking and writing notes on their notebook. "but nothing is confirmed yet as of right now."

Lt. Mistral stayed silent for a while as he ended his briefing, letting his words sink in before clapping his gloved hands loudly to gain the attention of his team leaders, the sound coming out muffled as a result of the soft surface of his glove.

"Before I end this briefing, any questions?" Lt. Mistral asked for the last time, sweeping his eyes left and right, looking for any raised hands of his subordinates, which he didn't find any. Satisfied, he concludes the meeting by waving his hands in the air, dismissing them. "Alright, that's it for today gents, thank you."

With that, everyone circling the hood of the platoon's command Humvee dispersed out, going back to their respective team as they grabbed whatever necessary equipment they had placed earlier on the Humvee's hood.

Lt. Mistral sluggishly walks down the grassy fields with Gunny Mays in tow. He leaned down towards his front passenger seat, opening the windowless door as he stowed his maps and M4A1, the paved Appia Highway visible in his peripheral vision.

A tap on the shoulder causes him to flinch, he reacts by snapping his head towards the perpetrator, only to find Gunny Mays looking at him, his face amused.

"Mr. Skywalker at your 6 o'clock." Pointing his thumbs over his shoulder at the figure of their Company First Sergeant approaching, the Gunnery Sergeant can hear the young Lieutenant mentally sighing, before turning around to face him and Mr. Skywalker.

He can't help but snort at the arrival of First Sergeant Mike Fellows, who also happens to be holding the position of their Company Operations Chief. This makes him responsible together with Battalion's H&S for all the supply problems that had been plaguing their company ever since they stepped off from Alnus seemingly a lifetime ago, despite a week barely passing.

"Here we go again…" The Lieutenant groaned silently, getting out of his seat after stowing his equipment, waiting for the First Sergeant to arrive impatiently, sighing in resignation. Soon enough, his prayers would be answered as indicated by the man yelling and waving to him.

"Hey!"

"How's it goin' First Sergeant?" He spoke up first, walking up to their First Sergeant/Company Ops Chief, whose name is a result of his obsession with Marine Corps' ceremonial NCO swords.

"Good." The approaching man quickly answered, stopping almost immediately as he quickly got to the point. "I just wanna say that Godfather was pleased with your quick and clean fire mission earlier. He said it's a perfect example of 'bringing the fight to the enemy'."

Lt. Mistral sighed in frustration, seemingly irritated by the man's obliviousness to the problem that had been plaguing his unit, namely lack of batteries, not helped by the First Sergeant and their battalion commander cheering on the death of those knights.

"Yeah, yeah. I get that but First Sergeant, I have to say however" Raising his hands in the air, Lt. Mistral sweeps a glance on the First Sergeant's chest, pointing at the vest full of battery packs and thermals, more than anyone in his platoon combined, irritating him on inside as he struggles to maintain a cool facade. "you seem to have more batteries on your chest than my whole platoon combined."

The accusation quickly caused the First Sergeant to turn defensive, putting both of his hands on his hips.

"Lieutenant, this is for the company commander." the First Sergeant retorted Lt. Mistral's complaint, ignoring it as he proceeded to give him advice as a way to avoid more questions. "The Marine Corps teaches us to conserve whatever we had, anyways I had to go, we're Oscar Mike and remember Godfather's words."

Just as quickly as the man arrived, he left, heading back to the company's Command Humvee. Gunny Mays and Lt. Mistral could only sigh in resignation at the show of obliviousness and the First Sergeant's uncaring attitude. They both looked at each other, shaking their heads before Gunny Mays beckoned his companion back to their Humvee.

"Of course Godfather's happy, he's not the one who had to call in arty on a camp full of teenage knights." With the First Sergeant out of the earshot, Lt. Mistral quickly took the chance to voice his disapproval, mumbling under his breath but loud enough for Gunny Mays to hear.

Hearing this, the Gunnery Sergeant reassuringly slaps him on the shoulder, as they both open the door of their Humvee, entering the vehicle before proceeding to slam the door shut, making sure all the equipment and radio functions as intended. After a prolonged period of silence, Gunny Mays finally spoke up, slapping the center console inside the vehicle, gaining Lt. Mistral's attention.

"We seriously need to prevent the retards in this company from affecting our platoon's combat effectiveness." He blankly remarked, facing his younger platoon commander before shifting their attention to the back of their Humvee, which unlike other vehicles in the platoon, does not have a turret on the roof. "You boys alright?"

Upon hearing this, the 2 Marines riding in the back quickly nodded, flashing a thumbs up.

"Good to go, Gunnery Sergeant." One of them spoke up, his assault rifle pointed outside the window before promptly raising his hands in the air, curling his fingers as he gave a thumbs up to Gunny Mays.

At the front of the battalion's convoy, Clancy can only lean at the door of his seat, silently watching his friend Doc Miles from afar, the latter entering the Humvee commanded by Lt. Superman, prompting him to pity him even further.

He concernedly gazed at him, treating the wounded girl and the loss of his mentor had clearly affected his mental wellbeing, as shown by his blue eyes, once full of life had now turned emotionless, the dark circles surrounding below his eye socket had gotten almost as dark as his jet black hair. Now seated comfortably in the Humvee, Clancy's counterpart continues to stare blankly outside the vehicle, sulking quietly as scanned his weapons on the fields around them, using the beautiful horizon as a distraction.

Clancy spotted the brown-haired Sergeant approaching, rejoining his fellow teammates as he returned from the ever-repeating cycle of team leader meetings. Simon's M4A1 slung over his shoulder, dangling around as he kept his right grip firmly on the rifle's pistol grip as he walked past the lines of Humvees and Abrams parked off the highway, making his way back to his team's Humvee in silence, the sounds of the vehicle's engine drowning everything else.

Before Clancy and Simon could greet each other however, they were interrupted by a series of loud shrieks coming from the sky, breaking the tranquility of the grassland around them. The sudden loud scream, coming out of nowhere caused them to flinch in surprise before quickly composing themselves, shifting their eyesights towards the heavens.

There, flew a pair of Marine Aviation's Hornet fighter jets, screaming past the convoy as they carried a variety of differing payload, intentionally buzzing low to the ground as a show of force. Everyone immediately stopped their previous activities within a heartbeat and gawked at the steely birds flying at the speed of sound with a wide grin on spreading across their faces, watching the two birds of prey fly away in the cloudless sky of Falmart, hunting for whoever that manages to be unfortunate enough to be its target.

"Hooooh-hooo~!" Evan cheered, hunching over the steering wheel of the vehicle as he watched the pair of Hornets fly past with a grin spreading across his awestruck face, their graceful gray paint glinting off the shiny sun as they shrieked past, clearing the way for the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion to pass through with a plethora of bombs and ordnances. "I fucking bet that Kirito now thinks he should've became a airwinger instead!"

As if on cue, not seconds after Evan ends his sentence, several loud explosions rocked their world as the ground in front of them geysered upwards in a massive cloud of thick black smoke and fire. Several more JDAM bombs materialized out of the air, dropped by the Hornets which had increased their altitude before releasing.

The remaining ordinances quickly lit up the grassfields up front, far away in front of the convoy but visible for the Marines to see, as they watched the firework show in delight. The bombs immediately sends dirts and grass flying in all directions, mushroom cloud followed soon as a result of the amount of JDAM dropped on a single patch of the seemingly empty plains, disrupting the peaceful tranquility of the countryside in a massive plume of smoke and fire. Everyone immediately stared at each other with a bewildered expression, their mouths wide agape because of their grin stretching all the way to the ears.

"Not gonna lie dude!" Kirito cried out from the Mark-19 turret cupola, his shining eyes and mischievous smirk hidden under the dusty protective goggles and mottled balaclava, loudly slapping the roof of their Humvee. "I had a hard time choosing between blowing shit up and shooting shit up!"

Evan can only giggle at the answer he received, before slapping the standing legs of the gunner affectionately.

"Hey Samurai! Remind me again of the reason why you joined the Marines?" Poking fun at Kirito's because of his Japanese ancestry, Evan tauntingly asked the standing gunner, whose hands are firmly on the trigger of the Mark-19. His words were immediately met by the gunner dropping down to his level, glaring at the smirking driver.

"To shoot a fucking 5.56 round through Al-Baghdadi's face and turn it inside out." Kirito quickly replied without any hesitation, earning a snort from both the Traveler and Evan, the former writing down the series of exchanges in his notebook, the sounds of the pen writing on the paper accompanying the two Marines bickering.

"Oorah, motherfucker." Sarcastically answering, Evan shook his head at his friend's statement in amused bewilderment as he quickly asked another question, his right hand exaggeratedly waving in the air, seemingly mocking him. "But did you get to do it though?"

"Of course not!" Rolling his eyes at the obviousness of his question under his protective goggles, the gunner non-hesitantly responds before raising his hands, pointing it towards the smirking Evan. "And what's the reason that made you join?"

"Oh, me?" The driver promptly answered, albeit with a quizzical expression, pointing his left thumbs towards himself. "For hot waifus, I thought you already knew this?"

"And look where you are now, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere with no pussies in a hundred miles besides the one rotting next to us at the field." For extra emphasis, Kirito, accompanied by a smug smile quickly used his thumbs to point at the field full of dead bodies to their right, as flies, vultures and even wild dogs descended upon the camp to clean it up from any corpses, free of charge.

"Hey, fuck you man," Evan enthusiastically retorts, protesting as gets he on defensive as he swept a disapproving look at the gunner. "the recruiting officer told me I'd get all kinds of cunts from Darwin to fuckin' Phuket to Casablanca. I'm instantly sold after that, you asshole."

"You guys seriously can't talk without throwing insults at each other, eh?" The Traveler snorted from behind, the voice coming off muffled because of the cloth loosely wrapped around his mouth, his pale skin and hair hidden under the cumbersome scarf he wore to protect him from getting sunburns due to his albino nature.

"Shut the fuck up you liberal." Evan promptly shot back, giving him a middle finger, the grinning reporter unfazed by the faux-threat. "That was bullshit and you knew it!"

Their friendly bickering would be interrupted by an audible slam from the door belonging to the Traveler's seat, as Simon banged on it several times, earning the attention of the albino reporter.

"Hey," Simon called out to the Traveler, his voice no louder than a whisper as he leaned on the windowless door, keen on knowing the well-being of the young reporter. "How you feeling?"

The question caused the pale man to ponder for a moment, forming up an answer as he looked back at the Sergeant with a small smile.

"Embedded," The Traveler coolly said, flashing a thumbs up that reassures Simon as he quickly shoves his notebooks on his protective vest, carefully putting it so as to not make it crumple. "more embedded than ever."

"That's my boy." Clancy snickered almost immediately, seemingly impressed by his determination and bravery, despite being a civilian journalist. Followed by a whistle from the grinning driver, resting his right hand on the armrest as he turned his head towards the pale reporter.

"Seems like the Marines culture had found its way through his brains huh?"

"Good." The Sergeant smiled at the answer, pleased by the man's enthusiasm, before promptly nodding as quickly walked to his front passenger seat, lowering his body to enter before slamming the door shut.

Taking a short breath, he darted his eyes inside the Humvee, sweeping it left and right, accounting for all of his subordinates. Finally satisfied that everyone is here, he immediately tapped twice on the dashboard as a signal for Evan to start the engine.

"Go ahead Evan, start it over." Hearing this, the driver immediately heeded to his orders, flipping the "on" switch of the Humvee.

"Aye aye Sergeant~" Evan quickly flashes a glance at Simon, following his orders without hesitation, replying in a serene tone as his team leader quickly flashes a grin at him, before going back to covering his sector, hunching over his M4A1 peeking out of the Humvee, observing the wilderness through the windowless door.

A loud grumbling quickly drowns out any other noise, indicating that the engine had been started together with every other vehicle in the convoy, their occupants pointing their weapons out of the window, preparing the move at any moment.

The 4 tanks parked in front of them had come to life, their distinct rumbling sounds filling the air around them, further breaking the frail sense of tranquility in the air around them.

Amidst the roaring howls of machinery working in the fields, the first one to move on the road was the lead tanks attached to their battalion. The Abrams promptly jerked forward, before swerving a moment later onto the highway's pavement, as every other vehicle in the convoy followed suit.

Evan immediately followed suit by stepping on the vehicle's gas, the Humvee jerking forward as an indication that once again, they're on the move. The driver maneuvered the Humvee to the left, following the footsteps of the 4 Abrams leading the way, turning the steering wheel left and right as he stabilized the cumbersome Humvee as it moved itself onto the paved road.

Winds began to pick up, as breeze blow across the air, causing grasses to sway and flags to flutter. One of such flags is mounted on the lead tank, on it were an image of a sinister skull coupled with a pair of bones, as the dark background color complimented the already dreadful skull fluttering in the winds. The infamous Jolly Rogers fly high in the sky, striking fears into anyone that might try to attack them, as no one in Falmart had never seen such flag before as it flutters gracefully in the air, leading the 1st Marine Division's charge into the Dumas mountains.

Soon, they arrived at the bomb sites left by the pair of Hornets they had cheered before, as only burnt grasses and scorched craters remained in the wake of FAC directing the JDAM run on another convoy of retreating Legionnaires, running away from Italica.

They drove past the horrific scenes surrounding them, as freshly mangled bodies littered the road and the fields running parallel to the highway, while dark red blood ran freely from the bodies in question. In front of them lay the Duma Mountains, slowly becoming larger as they advanced closer and closer, the gnawing sense of dread filling their stomach.

Evan swerved the Humvee to the right, avoiding a head of a Saderan legionnaire laying on the road, the bloodied face of the man decapitated by the earlier airstrike still visible despite being covered in dark red liquid, the expression on his face full of horror. Evan can only wonder morbidly about what he felt before being sent to the afterlife by the rain of JDAM courtesy of Marine Hornets. The answer is obvious, he thought. He deduced it must've been horrifying for the man, especially after seeing 2 swords appearing out of nowhere, before his vision promptly blacked out.

"Damn, Sai. Can you believe this fucking place? Mangled bodies everywhere, dogs eating kids' corpses like it's an open buffet and green scenery getting machine-gunned randomly." He shook his head in disgust, trying to remove the grotesque thoughts from lingering within his mind any longer, before promptly turning his head towards Simon, coolly gazing outside as he watched the carnage under the mask of apathy. They cruised past a smashed up wagon by the roadside, a fiery blaze engulfing the charred occupants and horse lying in a very brutal position with their organs sticking out. "And people back home bitched about how some poor cashier messed up their orders at McDonalds."

Simon steals a glance on the road in front of him, watching as it leads to the mountains, slowly growing bigger in the distance, an indication that they're getting closer to the entrance. That is, before his view was promptly disrupted by the lead tank running over a severed hand, burnt half way through the Caucasian-looking hand while the unharmed palm seemingly waved at them, before being unceremoniously ran over by the lead Abrams, crushing the hand into nothing but pieces of meat, sending bloods all over the tracks.

The scene immediately caused Simon to sigh in exasperation, turning his head away as he shifted his vision away from the road, returning to observing the lush grassland to his right, but not before muttering a short remark.

"Should've worn sunscreen, motherfucker."

---

Colours: Military term for unit individual flags.

ROE: Rules of Engagement, like the name implies, rules on how to engage hostile forces. Changes depend on the situation.

Division CG: Division Commanding General, in this case referring to 1st Marine Division.

Green Weenie: A massive, invisible fucking cock that fucks Marines over, basically a wheel of misfortune. For example, getting assigned under incompetent officer or being screamed at randomly because you broke a rule you didn't even know existed.

Green Side Corpsman: Corpsman attached to Marine units, opposite of Blue Side Corpsman that staffed navy ships and hospitals.

FAC: Forward Air Controller, guy that directs airstrikes.

BAS: Battalion Aid Station, places where they treat casualties momentarily on battalion-level units before evacuating the casualty to another place

Motor T : Nickname for Marine Truck Drivers.

Boot: Term for inexperienced Marines.

Motarded: Combination of the words "motivated" and "retarded", examples includes being overly patriotic or motivated to the point of screaming "MurIcA fUcK YeAh!" every single time. Frowned upon in the Marines.

POG: Person/Personnel Other than Grunt, basically a slang used by Grunts for non-combat personnel, and yes, the word predates poggers or pog.

Battalion H&S: Battalion Headquarters and Service Company.

9 Line CASEVAC: Military term that Medevacs use for calling in a combat injury.

QuikClot®: A wound dressing that helps control and stop bleeding.

Ops Chief/Company Operations Chief: The guy that plans and manages operations together with the commander, on company level he also manages logistics and supply. In First Sergeant Fellows's case, due to lack of personnel, he's both the 1st Sgt and Ops Chief for Bravo Company.

ILBE: Stands for Improved Load Bearing Equipment, breaks your spine but hey! At least now you can carry much more equipment in your rucksack than you previously could, made by the USMC to replace ALICE (All-purpose Lightweight Individual Carrying Equipment) and MOLLE (Modular Lightweight Load-carrying Equipment).

Police-call: Picking up trash at a parking lot of a barracks.

CASEVAC: Casualty evacuation.

NJP: Stands for Non-Judicial Punishment, a Punishment conducted by an Officer/NCO to lower-ranking service members who had committed a minor offense, such offenses normally doesn't need a court-martial.

A/N, Sorry for the late update and please take this long chapter as an apology, I was sick for 1 week and lost the motivation to write due to laying down in bed for too long. Special thanks to Lewistern and Lunaticthatreads for helping me regain the motivation needed and for being my proofreaders.