Operación Cosecha Montez | Closed TF only, attn Puzikas

[Costa Mejis]

Operación Cosecha Montez | Closed TF only, attn Puzikas

0615 hours
Fort Sturgis

Teniente Emilio Alvarez walked briskly across the flight line attempting to exude confidence he did not feel. They'd told him in OCS that it didn't matter if he was scared, if he was unsure, or if he was wrong, it didn't even matter f he was a complete fool, it only mattered that he never appeared to be any of those things around his men. For Alvarez, as a newly minted Teniente, this was easier said than done.

As he moved across the bases, a balmy and cool per-dawn wind blowing off the Pacific ocean kilometers to the west, he watched as flight crews and mechanics hurried to ready the Mi-24's assigned to the 1st Brigada de Infantería Ligera Paracaidista, or the first Airborne Light Infantry Brigade, one of the elite units of the Costa Mejian military. While the gunships may be yesterday's news in the Puzakk Federation, they were well loved by the BRIPAC forces who used them, combing the ability to transport a squad of airborne troops with the ability to lend them an awesome amount of fire support in a single sturdy and reliable package. The mechanics joked that they could fix them while suffering form the worst tequila hangover of their lives, and Alvarez was sure that had happened in the past, It was well known that enlisted men were swine and couldn't be trusted not to sneak in a drink, or a siesta whenever they could.

At least these men are career soldiers, and not militia he thought with a shudder. If enlisted career soldiers were swine, then the men of the Milicia del Pueblo were the dregs of the populace. Half-trained, irresponsible conscripts who were either serving out their time, or remained in service because they liked the power that came with the uniform. Though they made up the bulk of the Costa Mejian military, their only qualities were quantity.

Alvarez himself had not served even one moment in the Milicia, instead signing a service contract as an enlisted man before trying for, and being accepted to, officer's training. He had passed his training with high marks and praise form his instructor and had been assigned to the prestigious 1st BRIPAC as a section leader, with four platoons under his command. Despite all his training, he had never led men before, and he had certainly never lead them in conflict.

Understandably, he was nervous, and he did his best to hide it. So he walked, stiff backed and eyes focused forward towards the bases command post where, in less than ten minutes, a Comandante from Division intelligence would be giving the mission briefing. Alvarez had heard some of the instructors in OCS say that men from intelligence “never spoke with any.”, but he could not see how that was possible, they'd had the training, and they served the State, just as he did, how could they bungle their jobs and continue to keep them?

He quietly slipped into the briefing room and slide into chair near the back of the room. An aide, a militiaman with a days stubble and a sloppy uniform brought him a mug of coffee. Being this close to source, and with their allies to the south sitting on vast quantities of coffee beans, the coffee served in the Mejian Army was always top notice. He had heard it said that other forces around the world subsisted on instant coffee and poor substitutes, and he had no idea how they could make do, Coffee was a natural part of the day, like sunlight and fresh air blowing off the ocean. To do without was unfathomable.

Alvarez glanced around the room, noting that only a handful of the brigade’s officers were present, a glance at watch told him the briefing was to begin in four minutes. He shrugged, Mejian's were not known for their keen sense of timing. In the corner of the room, though, sat several men who were instantly recognized as not part of Mejian military, their white complexions with red or tan hues marked them as foreigners who were not used to the tropical weather of Costa Mejis. Probably men from Puzakk he thought with admiration. Puzakki servicemen were not an uncommon sight in Costa Mejis, what with their large base on one of the southern island being the home of their Pacific Fleet and their participation n the construction and operation of the Oucha Space Center. Over the years, the government of Costa Mejis had received extensive assistance from the Puzakk Federation, such as the Mi-24's being fueled and armed on the flight line. Even the AKS-74U rifles the men carried were of Puzakki production. They had a reputation as good fighters among the Mejian military, and these men, Alvarez suspected, were from the special forces units assigned to Utrennyazda, making them the best of an already outstanding lot.

Officers trickld in and took their seats as the time ran down, and seventeen minutes later, the Major from division entered the room and strode to the lectern. The same aide who had given Alvarez his coffee dimmed the lights and excused himself from the room, close the door behind him.

“I am Comandante Philippe Medina, if I could have your attention please.”

After several moments, the man continued “This mornings operation is code named Cosecha Montez , or Mountain Harvest. It will take place in the Whye River Valley-” he said as he pointed towards a large map pinned to the wall. “Insurgents have been harassing local workers attempting to complete the highway 91 route from Cuidad Mejis to Tiakl and intelligence has traced them to this location; a small village of no importance. We believe the village is populated by no more than 50 inhabitants, all of whom are to be considered traitors and wreckers of the Mejain Revolution, or complacent in the ill deeds. They are all fair game.” he said, shaking his head “However, the Guardia Nacional Republicana has requested we attempt to take prisoners, no less than fifteen, for “informational purposes.”

Alvarez shuddered, the GNR was the not-so secret police employed by the Mejian government to root out traitors and saboteurs to the Mejian People's Revolution. Anyone captured by them could expect a very long, or very short, stay in their custody, and to be uncomfortable the entire time. The prisoners recovered during this read would probably wind up finding the “information extraction” methods of the GNR some of the most painful experiences of their life, the only positive being that they will be among the living for very long following their arrest.

The Comandante continued “We expect the resistance to be light, as we should take them by surprise. Enemy may be armed with shotguns and bolt-action rifles, no match for our firepower.” He gestured to the assembled Puzakki servicemen, “This is Sargento Kirill Vinstovika and his men of the Puzakki Spetznagruppa alfa-” he took considerable care when pronouncing the obviously foreign words, which sounded even more foreign when flavored by the mans local Spanish accent. “They will accompany you on this mission as observers, but will be armed and are fully capable of defending themselves, I'm sure you have no doubts there.” He nodded “Good luck men, I turn this briefing over to your company commander, Capitan Rojas.”

The man indicated by the divisional officer stood, and at his full height was well over 6 feet tall, a uncommon occurrence for an airborne solider, Alvarez was told. As he approached the lectern, he had to duck under a low hanging light fixture,. Assuming his position, he began, “A full section of four platoons will be involved in the operation, with my First Platoon, lead by me, leading the assault, Second and Third will form a blocking force to scoop up the traitorous dogs who run, and finally, Fourth platoon, under our newest arrival, Teniente Alverez, will be held in reserve, on the off chance that our esteemed Comandante from intelligence is mistaken.”

Alvere wasn't sure if he should feel insulted or relieved that the Capitan was assuming command of his platoon for this assault. He understood why he was leading the reserve platoon, that was standard doctrine, the second in command should lead the reserve force in case something happened to the commanding office,r putting him in a position to take command. He assumed Rojas had choose to lead this mission due to the presence of the Puzakki special forces.

“What kind of support will we have, Capitan?” Sargento Vinstovika asked, his Spanish tinged with his accent sounded as strange as the intelligence officers pronunciation of his name.

“Ah, yes, thank you, Sargento , I was just coming to that.” Rojas said. “A wing pair of Aero L-39ZA light attack aircraft, callsign Martillo, will be on station to provide fire support. In addition to the eight Hind's from the 5th Transport Helicopter Battalion that will carry us, Two Ka-52 gunships, callsign Sabueso from the 19th Attack Helicopter Battalion will be on station to provide support for confirmed hard targets. If division intelligence is correct, we will need none of this firepower.”

He glanced around the room and nodded “Are there any other questions?” When no one spoke he declared “Good, then get to your units and preform final checks, we lift off in 2 hours.”

[Puzikas]

Vinstovika about faced following the debriefing, and looked at all his men. The darkening skin tones and minor sunburn were all reminders of how so many must feel; over 4,000km from home with no one but each other. Truthfully, in the past month, they had all become a family.
"Any questions for me?" He asked.

A unified no, sir was sounded as they stood up and walked off in a brisk manner to the armory, as to recover their weapons. Kirill lingered and looked at the room. A farcry from the dark, sleek and pseudo-futuristic Puzakk military quarters he was so used to. The sunlight blasted though the windows, more than illuminating the room. The map was marked up, clearly as part of Costa Mejis ongoing effort in crushing a rebel insurrection in their country. The walls were a basic bare-bones design.

As he exited the building to move to the armory, his mind began to wander as his body took over his moments. Costa Mejis was beautiful place, though the butt of many jokes back home. The tropical sun was warm and inviting, as the salty Pacific air beckoned to him and his men. When they weren't on duty, they were swimming on base, causing trouble with the Marines or the Sailors. Typical, as they had just come from operations in temperature well below freezing.

Looking around, he was reminded of his early days of the military. Last years military equipment, given new life by a country thousands of miles away with no cultural ties to Puzikas. Something beautiful to him, to wonder if he had ever been in any of these. To wonder what story these helicopters could tell if they could speak. In recent years, they had become very close nations, something Vinstovika was perfectly alright with. He glanced at his watch. 1 hour, 45 minutes.

Entering the armory, he was greeted by a rather cold blast of air, followed by the nonsensical babbling of his soldiers. Their familiar jabber was no doubt about women, the inferiority of one another, or food. Kirill listened in, while handing the armorer his weapons slip.
"Whats your thought on these...What were they? First Airborne Light Infantry Brigade?"
"I hear they aren't bad. Not as bad as the general army."
"VDV material?"
"Now don't get crazy. They can fight, and that's all I need to know."
"Sergeant?"
Kirill turned and looked at his PK gunner. A man built like a house, he held the massive machine gun aloft with his right hand.
"Yes?"
"What do you think of all this? This...insurgency?"

Vinstovika swallowed his fears. He knew what they were all worried about; and god knows he was too. The type of brutal fear that brought his head back to the seriousness of the mission. Everyone shared the same mutually unspoken fear. They worried of another Chechnya, though miles from home. No assurance of medevac, or of a tombstone. He cleared his throat slowly, heavily. His soldiers looks were piercing, though not in a bad way.

"A bunch of lightly armed farmers. You have all seen combat. You are the best, the climax of special forces the Puzakk military has to offer. I have faith that with our friends, we will have no issue."
His men nodded. Kirill was not a public speaker, but he was experienced, and his knowledge meant more to his men than a million motivational words. He picked up his vest and strapped in, the 7kg mass sitting squarely on his shoulders and about his torso. His groin pad was a bit tight, but he wasn't going to complain. Eight magazines fit in the pouches, though he liked to carry two additional in each pocket. He locked the 30 round magazine into his Izmash AK-9 rifle and thumbed the saftey. His men were all ready, and were simply waiting for him.

"Coms check on Tarmac. Our callsign is Shakal. Fire teams are as normal."
He looked at his watch. 30 minutes.
"Dag."
"Yes, sir?". His light machine gunner reported. His PK Machine gun was suspended by its sling, and his bag was sagging slightly.
"How much do you have?"
"200 rounds of 57N, 200 rounds of 7BZ-3, 50 rounds of 7T-2, and 50 rounds of 7N13"
"Variable?"
"Yes, sir."
"Want me to carry a belt?"
"If you could, that would be great, sir."
He took one of the belts out of his pouch and handed it to Vinstovika. It was quickly stored in his hip pouch.
"Hydration bladders, everyone have two liters?"

A unified yes sir was sounded. After a weapons check, they proceeded to the tarmac. The walk was short, though in his mind it was long. The sinking fear overtook him. He worried for his men. He use to think it was suicide to not be nervous before a mission, but today it was more than he had ever been in his life. Maybe it was normal, being so far from home, and fighting a totally new enemy he had only just learned of. Maybe it was working with a new force. But he was nervous. He took this inside, and there he would hold it. On his surface, he would be strong. Everyone must be strong, for the unit.

"Wait for the Airborne guys to come out. We'll do comms check when they get here."

[Costa Mejis]

0907 hours

Only 7 minutes behind schedule Alvarez thought with satisfaction as the Mi-24's around him lifted off the tarmac.

He'd immediately gone to see the Sargento in charge of 4th Platoon, a career non-com by the name of Julio Rios, a grizzled veteran of a man for whom this mission would not be his first. Capitan Rojas had told Emilo when he'd come to the unit “If there was one bit of advice I could offer a wet behind the ears pup of an officer such as yourself, it'd be to listen to your platoon sergeant. Yours is an exception man who has spent more time combating the enemies of the revolution than you've been alive. Remember that.”

Alvarez had to admit that Rios did, indeed, know his trade, and keep his platoon in line and out of trouble, as far as enlisted can be trusted to remain out of trouble. However, despite what the Captain had to say, Alvarez was sure that his formal training made him just as competent as his platoon sergeant's experience did, maybe even more so, since it allowed him to grasp the broader strategic picture and think in terms of the long game; if formal training was not superior to experience, why did the Army insist officers receive it. Further, if the Army insisted officers receive it, and set officers above the enlisted man because of it, did it not then logically follow that t counted for more? Alvarez was sure that it did.

As he'd entered the barracks, he'd found Sargento Rios giving one of the junior privates a through tongue lashing. “You call this rifle clean!” he bellowed, inches from the mans face “Piss on that, I've seen a Milicia maricón maintain his rifle better, and I'm sure he was his madre and hermana were the same woman!” He thrust the rifle back into the tremblings mans hands “Clean it, you swine, and bring it back to me before we lift, or you can have this conversation the Teniente, comprende?

Rios straightened as the young private fled his wrath and turned, noticing that Alvarez had entered the building. “Speaking of, platoon, atención!

The assembled soldiers snapped to attention, the boots thudding on the hard wood floor, rifles snapping tot heir chests.

“As you were, men, Sargento, a moment?” he Alvarez replied

“Cabo Primeros he bellowed, addressing the squad leaders “Get your squads in order. Hernandez, ensuring Hector's rifle is clean or its your ass!” As the men scrambled to carry out his command, he stepped away and walked with Alvarez outside into the rapidly brightening sunlight.

“I see you're running your platoon with the usual amount of tyranny.” Alvarez said once they were out of earshot.

“If you prefer sir, I could hold their hands, maybe stroke them a little? ”

Enlisted men are so crass thought Alverez with a scowl he barely managed to conceal “Er, no.” he said.

“So, we're babysitting this one?” Rios asked
Somehow, the NCO's always knew what the mission ahead was. There was no stopping it.

“Yes, we're reserve, Capitan Rojas has taken command of the section.”

Rios spat into the green grass to their right, drawing another scowl from Alvarez. “No kidding, with the battalion commander riding shotgun in the command chopper, and those Puzakkis along for the ride, he's probably trying to demonstrate how competent and capable he is, so he can get noticed and promoted.”

Somehow, the NCO's always knew more than the officers, a thought that caused Alvarez to bristle with frustration, he had not been informed the battalion commander would be riding along. Even though he doubted the man would get his boots dirty, being under his eye meant everything had to run smoothly.

“Upset about it, sir?” Rios asked

“Maybe a little.” Alvarez admitted without thinking

“Don't be.” Rios said “Rojas has to do what he has to do to better himself, no point in holding it against him. Further, it means he trusts you to lead if anything should happen to him.”

Alvarez laughed “And what could happen to him on a milk run like this?”

Rios regarded him coldly,his eyebrow arching slightly “and you believe the line of crap that happy horseshit of a Comandante from Division intelligence fed you?”

Alvarez bristled with anger, and opened his mouth to admonish the sergeant for speaking ill of an officer. He closed his moth again before speaking, figuring the man too uncouth to actually understand. Still, he could not let the statement go without some form of rebuke. “Of course I do, Sargento, and so should you. It is his job to know these things, and he serves the State, same as us.”

Instead of appearing admonished or abashed, Rios simply laughed, laughed directly in Alvarez’s face. “Oh, sir, you are in for such a treat.” he said, “If you'll excuse em sir, I need to ensure the men are ready.” Offering a salute and not waiting to be dismissed, Rios turned away and headed back towards the barracks, chuckling as he walked.

He had then proceeded to the armory to retrieve his own weapon, which had been cleaned and prepared for him by a junior armorer. He pulled the bolt back on the AKS-74U carbine he had been issued, smelling the solvent and lubricant used to maintain the weapon. The weapon was not brand new, but was in good shape, with only minor scuffs and scratches on the lacquered wooden hand guard and gas tube. He often wondered who'd carried this rifle before...and what than man had done with it. Inserting a magazine loaded with steel cased and red rimmed 5.45x39 mm ammunition, he pulled the bolt back again, chambered a round before pushing the safety up, blocking the bolt from cycling a round. Dawning the rest of his gear, plate carrier, and helmet, stuffing his ammunition pouches with magazines and filling his canteens, he headed towards the flight line.

As he approached, the thudding of the idling helicopters engines reverberated through him, causing a vibration deep in his bones. He loved the smells of the flight line, the aviation fuel mixed with sweat and maybe w little bit of that sour smell called fear. Most of his troops were present, with others trotting tot heir assembly points. He spotted the Puzakki soldiers in their modern armor and sporting their sleek weaponry, all black and polish with synthetic furniture and electronic goodies. He felt a pang of jealousy at this, but quickly dismissed it. The order of the world was what it was, and being angry over it would do no one any good. The government of Costa Mejis got what it could from their Easter benefactors and it would have to be enough. Still he thought as he eyed one mans sleek AK-9 and full face mask with integrated communication gear, with equipment like that, we'd crush the rebels in no time flat!

He approached the man that had been introduced as their leasing, Sergeant Kirill Vinstovika and extended his hand. “Sargento Vinstovika” he said, taking care to pronounce the mans name as best he could, “I am Teniente Emilio Alvarez, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I look forward to working with you today.”

The Puzakki man returned his handshake warmly and smiled “Agreed, Teniente, it is good to meet you. Shall we preform a communications check?”

Alvarez glanced around and saw Rios in conversation with Sargento Primero Ortega, the Section Sergeant. He did not, however, see Rojas anywhere nearby, and assumed he was in conference with the battalion commander, or maybe already aboard the Mi-24K the unit used as a airborne command post.

“That would be prudent, I think.” Alvarez answered, and bellowed to Rios to locate the platoons RTO and send him over. Several moments later, a young private carrying a R-143 manpack radio trotted over, beads of sweat already running down his lean face. Stepping away form the men, Alvarez plucked the transmitter from the mans back and keyed up “Shakal, Shakal this is Águila 4-6, do you read?”

The speaker cracked and popped for a moment before the Kirill's disembodied voice replied that he did, indeed read. Walking back towards him, Alvarez smiled “See you on the ground, then!” he called before heading to his own helicopter and climbing aboard.

Only seven minutes late to a party I'll probably not even attend he thought as the 7 Mi-24D's and 1 Mi-24K helicopters receded into the distance, and the First Section of the 1st Brigada de Infantería Ligera Paracaidista initiated Operación Cosecha Montez and while Teniente Emilio Alvarez sat on his newly commissioned ass in the crew compartment of an Mi-24 gunship.

To his left, one of the other airborne soldiers quipped "So...who brought cards?"

[Puzikas]

The familiar sound of helicopter blades was a welcome alternative to the Sergeants bickering thoughts. He pointed to each of his men and told them what chopper they would be in.
"Dag!"
"Sir?"
"I want you in the first helicopter. When you get down I expect to have suppression on your part should we need it."
"Understood."
Kirill handed the ammunition belt to the squads grenadier.
"I've been asked to ride in the command helicopter. Bogdan."
"Sir?"
"Your with me."
The teams marksman let a grin pass his lips. He enjoyed being airborne, and going with Vinstovika could only mean he would be preforming over watch.
"Medved is call sign for home. Ill be in contact though the operation. Keep your heads, remember your training. No showmanship, I want this operation to go down without any bumps. I have faith in our comrades, you should too."
The team nodded and scurried aboard the helicopters.

As old as these Hinds were, they were familiar to Vinstovika. The same helicopters had transported him throughout the 1990s, and even still saw service. These were simply versions without all the modern bells and whistles. He exchanged greetings with those in the helicopter and took his position. He watched as Bogdan set up his rifle. A new toy from the special operations center, The marksman had just gotten it not but a week ago, and was yet to use it in combat. It had surpassed expectations in his time at the range, though thinks rarely worked out the same in combat.

He pulled the bolt open, revealing the massive 12.7 caliber round, with an abnormal black and red tip
"What are those?"
His sniper flashed a grin as he pushed the VSSK bolt into place.
"A new round. Tungsten core incendiary"
He flashed a thumbs up. He wouldn't argue with firepower; whatever gave the edge. There is no such as overkill, especially dealing with an unknown foe. His sniper was a good man, and a good soldier. Kirill had a lot of faith in his men. They served me well, he thought. The least I can do is show them my full faith in them. His mind was clear, despite the fear he had felt not even ten minutes ago. He felt, for lack of a better world, calm.

The helicopters lifted off slowly from the tarmac following a final equipment check. The 24Ks electronic equipment lit up, surrounding Kirill in a command center. Impressive, to say the least.
With liftoff, he looked out the side of the Helicopter. A long row of MI-24s climbed to the skies. Flying tanks, as big as a house and fast to boot. Each carried a load of armed men, a daunting message to all those who would stand against them. He felt as safe in these helicopters as he did any armored vehicle or bunker. The thud of the rotors in his chest was something that just felt natural to him.

He pressed the tab on his inter graded radio system.
"Airborne check, attention Medved, This is Shakal 1-1, repeat, Shakal 1-1, can you hear me, over."
After a few moments he was greeted by the voice of a controller.
"This is Medved, we read you Shakal, break"
The controller paused for a moment
"We have your location, you are good to go, over."
He sighed. The controllers were always so anal retentive, it seemed. Join the army for air conditioning, sit in a chair and look at a screen while socializing, Kirill thought. Sounds like the life.
"Copy Medved, over and out"
He turned the knob on his radio one click and spoke again.
"Im getting interference from Shakal 2-2, whats going on, over?"
A minor amount of background audio was heard when the air was clear. Electronic interference, but certainly not from any electronic jamming device.
"Shakal 1-1, that would be my camera, break"
The sergeant rolled his eyes. Dag, typical of himself, had decided to bring along a toy.
"Command wants me to wear it so they can get a look at these guys in action, over"
"Can you clean up the signal a little, or have them do it, over"
"Standby"
The pause was about six minutes long before the crackling stopped.
"Should be clear now, sir"
He sighed and hit his head against the back of he air frame.
"Thank you. over and out."

He closed his eyes and let his mind drift. He didn't know what to expect for flight time, but certainly it would be too long. He could use the time to clear his mind.The time clearly had gotten away, as he drifted into a light sleep. His mind transcended soundly into a state of calm, as the noises of the outside world blended with his thoughts. It was not surprising when his marksman shook him awake.
"Thirty seconds!"
The first helicopter had slowed as to allow the team to fast rope down. His eyes were fixed as he watched the team drop from the crew cabin of the helicopter. Kirill held his breath, waiting to see his gunner hit the ground and take charge. He heard an eerily familiar noise, and let that breath go as he watched a rocket streak from ground level to the lead MI-24. The lights lit up all around him as the controllers yelled out. His mind focused as he watched the rocket slam into the MI-24, as it went up in a ball of smoke and flame.

[Costa Mejis]

0924 hours

Alvarez sat with the microphone from the young privates R-143 radio pressed to his ear listening tot he chatter between the gunships and the command post. Next to him, one of the soldiers had produced a pack of ancient dog-eared playing cards and had a pick up game of poker going. They enlisted men had the common sense and good grace to refrain from actually gamboling in front of him, and were instead playing for bullets stripped from their magazines. His RTO was part of the game, and a continual tug of war between him and Alvarez over the manpack radios microphone ensued as Alvarez tried to listen over the sound of the rancorous card players and thudding helicopter engines, and his RTO attempted to increase his stockpile of 5.45 ammunition beyond what he could feasibly carry.

“Mula 1-4, this is Águila 6, close up that formation, Alvarez head the disembodied voice of the battalion commander over the radio. He and several other battalion officers, in addition to Sargento Vinstovika and one his men who carried the most wicked looking sniper rifle Alvarez had ever seen, were aboard the Mi-24K assigned to the BRIPAC forces as a mobile command center. While not as roomy as the command post versions of the Mi-8 the Army operated, the Mi-24K, originally intended for artillery observation, retained much of its firepower along with its observation abilities and transport capacity. For a unit like the First BRIPAC; designed to operate behind enemy lines without conventional support, every bit of fire power counted.

Alvarez listened as the mundane chatter between the the pilots and command continued and bristled again at being forced to sit the assault out. Rios could talk all he wanted about Capitan Rojas trusting him, and having to make the decision as he did due to politics. Glancing through the open egress hatch at the second idling Mi-24 on the tarmac; towards the helicopter upon which Rios now sat, Alvarez wondered if the seasoned NCO was simply feeding him a line. He leaned back in his seat, which hardly deserved the name, trying to to slam his head into the exposed metal hull of the helicopter, and sighed, tugging on the cord connecting the microphone to the R-143 in frustration, pulling the microphone closer to his ear. The RTO turned to see if the officer wanted his attention, decided he did not, and returned his focus to what eh surely considered nobler pursuits.

Another sigh escaped his lips as he turned the receivers volume up, catching the begining of another transmission. Águila 6 to all Cosecha Montez elements, mission start in 30 seconds at....mark.”Alvarez settled into the bench, residing himself to following the events of the day via this radio that was probably older than himself.

Several moments of silenced passed for a panicked voice issued forth from the speaker, causing Alvarez to jerk it back form ear “Ay dios mio, Mula 1-2 is hit, it looked like a rocket, it's going down!”

The card game stopped almost at once as everyone in the cabin turned to stare at Alvarez “Señor, wasn't Capitan Rojas onboard-”

“Quiet!” Alvarez hissed, nodding in the affirmative, silencing every man in the cabin.

After several tense seconds, the same voice, less panicked this time, spoke again “This is Mula[i/] 1-1, we have taken fire form enemy anti-aircraft rockets, flares deployed, we are disengaging, the area is too hot. [i]Mula 1-2 went down to the west of the village, near a bend in the river. Be advise,d we see rebel infantry moving in that direction, and activity near the crash site.” Straining, Alvarez could hear, quieter than the speakers voice, the cockpit alarm blaring and imaged the pilot was putting the gunship throguh its paces in an effort to get away

“Roger, is this Águila 6 to Sturgis control, we have confirmed that Mula 1-2 was downed, witnesses report rocket fire from the ground. Commit reserve elements immediately to complete First Platoon's mission. Transmission from the Spetznagruppa trooper on board is still active, there re survivors on the ground.” A brief pause before “ Águila 6 to Sabueso 1-7, take enemy foot infantry under fire and protect the crash site. Tigre 2-6 and Tigre 3-6, your status?”

As the lead gunship in the Ka-52 flight acknowledged, both Sargento's commanding Second and Third platoons advised they had landed with no problems and had assumed blocking positions. “Roger, Tigre 3-6, proceed on foot towards the village, close the noose. Tigre 2-6, you have a crashed helicopter in your AO, push towards it and secure the area, prepare survivors for medical evacuation."

Directly after Águila concluded, the gunner om board Mula 1-1 spoke “Águila, I can put my men down on the crash site and protect the helicopter until relief arrives.”

“Negative, Mula... I need you to...” Alvarez listened to the exchange, Águila ordering Mula to withdraw and attempting to drop its combat load with Fourth Section, giving them a reenforced platoon to assault the village with. He felt the airframe shudder as the Mi-24 lifted into the air, preparing to whisk them towards combat., sending the discarded playing cards and loose rounds of ammunition tumbling through the fighting compartment.

If Alvarez had been nervous about leading a single platoon into combat, he was petrified of commanding the entire Section. Seeing the precious bullets being tossed around as the helicopter maneuvered, Alvarez belatedly relied he should have chastised his men for callously using vital mission equipment for entertainment. He felt panic begin to set it and forced it back, recalling his training. In OCS, they had been told that circumstances change, and that had to “roll with the punches”, you never knew when your commander would go down and you had to be ready to step up. One instructor had said, a slight smile creasing his lips “If nothing else, think of it this way. You're there, and there's nothing you can do but push forward. No point in being afraid, your men need you not to be. You can't change what has happened, so forget it. Take charge of what happens next.

As the helicopter hurled towards the AO, he heard Águila demand a situation update from Second and Third Platoon. As the Sargento leading Second Platoon keyed his, Alvarez was sure he could hear the tell-tale sound of gun fire in the background. “We pushed forward ad encountered heavy resistance at the tree line, Gunships are giving support, but they've got to be low on rockets now. Enemy is dug in deep, and I estimate at least a company sized force. We need support!”

When the commander of Third Platoon reported similar circumstances, Alvarez new they were in for a fight.

“30 seconds!” the pilot transmitted over the intercom

“Get ready, boys!” he called “We're 30 seconds out, I want your asses off this helicopter in record time!” He was sure Rios, in the second helicopter, was giving his men the same speech, peppered with three times the obscenities. As he glanced out the porthole, he saw a missile streak up from the forest canopy below, riding on a golden trail of fire and narrowly missing one of the nimble Ka-52 gunships, the akula's piloting preforming a believed to be impossible barrel roll to avoid the incoming missile. Under any other circumstances, Alvarez would have been impressed at the aircraft's ability and the pilots skill. Now, with the sounds of small arms fire ricocheting off the armored hull reaching his ears, seeing that those kinds of aerial acrobatics were necessary for survival filled him with dread.

He felt the helicopter slowing and lurch in the air, the nos coming up as the pilot short-stopped the lumbering beast. “Out, out, out.” he called over the intercom, and Alvarez could hear the 12.7 mm nose gun chattering, spitting forth death in an attempting to dissuade the enemy for firing on the dismounting troops.

The egress hatches opened with a clang and the ropes tumbled outward. “Go! Move it!” he shouted, as the men toppled from the crew compartment, sliding down the ropes as quickly as they could. As Alvarez mounted the rope, he saw the solders from Second Squad rapidly descending form the hovering Mi-24, and assumed a similar scene was unfolding to his east, as the troops form Mula 1-1 exited their aircraft.. He watched in horror as a bright flash announced a rocket launch to the west, and, even as he moved to slide down the rope, saw the rocket streak towards the second helicopter. It either failed to track or was not meant to enrage helicopters, as he skewed off course, passing over the aircraft’s tail and exploding harmlessly several hundred feet away.

The he was falling, the rope burning his hands even though his high speed gloves. He could hear the sound of rifle fire over the din of the rotor blades down, the hammering of the machine gun, no, several machine guns now. With a thud, he hit the ground, letting his knees adsorb the shock, and the momentum force his rifle, slung on his shoulder, down his arm and into his hands. With trained movements, he dashed for cover and threw himself to the ground as the Battle of the Whye River Valley began.

[Puzikas]

0937 Hours

Kirill had no time to delay on the loss of the first helicopter. He was chosen to lead, to roll with the punches and to make tactical decisions in a split second. Ti make do with what he had; and he still had his men. He looked over his shoulder and saw a CCTV displaying the guns nose camera.
"That TV, if I can give you a frequency, can you tune into another camera?"
The controller looked at him and nodded slowly. At least hes useful.
He pressed the tab on his radio.
"Medved, Medved, this is Sahakal 1-1. We are taking incoming fire from enemy insurgents, break"
He paused and looked down at the crashed MI-24. The fire control system had clearly kicked in, as the helicopter was not in flames. There were no apparent signs of any crew member, though the helicopter was clearly being hit with high volumes of small arms fire.
"Mula 1-2 is down, over"
There was an abnormally long pause from command. A different voice, clearly one of a senior officer, responded.
"Sahkal 1, this is Medved. We see it, over"
Vinstovika rolled his eyes.
"inquisitve, Medved. Sahkal 2-2 had a UPCOM to intelligence, as I understand. Can we have the frequency to that camera so we can patch it though to a CCTV on our 24K, over"
"436.2, over"
"Standby"
Kirill punched in the numbers in on a small pad, and sure enough a fuzzy image came in. It was Dags helmet camera. Inside the crew cabin of the MI-24, near the back end.
"All good on our end, Medved. Over and out."
He switched the radio over.
"Sahkal 2-2, come in Sahkal 2-2, over"
The camera moved, as Dag pulled himself up.
"Sahkal 2-2 here, I guess im not dead then, over."

The camera continued to move as dag got up and began to check the flight crew and men on board. His PKP was leaning against the door. There were four survivors including himself, the pilot and weapons systems officer were almost certainly dead from the Rocket. There was no time for formalities, this search and destroy operation still had to be completed. Dag pulled the bolt of his PK back and got ready. Come death, he was ready.

The situation away from the chopper wasn't much better.

"So much for Bolt Action Rifles and Shotguns", one of Kirills men yelled over the comms. He tore away from the TV and picked up the phone linking to the air crews transceiver.
"Can you give us a flyby of the dropzone?"
The helicopter banked as it flew a hard right. He looked out the door to see tracers flying in all directions. It was certianly more than a 50-strong force they were fighting.
Bogdan wasted no time. He was able to begin firing the second he had a clear view of the treeline. The beer can sized round flew from the muzzle of his rifle to an unfortunate combatant below, who has stepped out of cover. They didn't know it, but the same soldier was in the sights of one of their own riflemen. Before he could fire, Bogdans round struck his target. He could see the red streak drop right through his neck, and out though the other side. Million in one shot, he thought to himself.

Kirill looked down as well, but not for targets. He was looking for equipment. Sure enough, he saw it. Son of a bitch

"Sahkal, attention Sahkal, enemy forces are setting up a Machine Gun 300 meters northwest of your position"
It was of no help, the tree cover was too thick for them to see where the gun was.

Bullets cracked overhead Efreitor Roman Zyomin. His arm and hand were hit bad, and had forced him into a ditch to rest his rifle on something. All around him, his fellow squad mates had taken cover. Next to him was a wounded Mejian, who, regardless of being hit several times, was still shooting. His rifle spat round after round downrange at wherever it seemed the enemy was firing from. His reloads were quick, focused. Professional. Roman himself was preparing an RShG-2 to fire at the position where the most rounds appeared to be coming from.
"Clear back!" He shouted. He counted back from three and aimed. He felt someone tap his shoulder, and he depressed the firing mechanism.

Above, kirill watched as a cone of air shot back from a small ditch, followed by a massive fireball about 200 meters away. The pressure wave of a thermobaric weapon is made for maximum destruction closed quarters, though it has more than enough potential when used in areas where the potential for shrapnel generation was high. The fire died down slowly following that.

Below, no time was wasted. Everyone moved from their positions to the small run off ditch; a much better position than the areas they were fighting from before. Fire began to elevate quickly, before reaching much higher levels. the DShK team had readied the gun, and had begun firing on their position.

Above, two KA-52s had begun firing all throughout the area. Their 23mm guns clamored loudly as rockets spewed froth into the tree line. 23mm shell casings rained down. The treeline was being subjected to huge volumes of fire from all parties involved. Despite all this firepower, the enemy fire only moved to the helicopters. 12.7 and 14.5mm rounds from guns concealed in the treeline tore into the bodies of the helicopters.
"This is Sabueso, were leaking fuel, taking to much fire. We need to return to base"
Kirill watched the helicopters limp away, before picking up the phone again.

"Bring us close to their position."
The pilot laughed into the receiver.
"Are you mad? We'll be cut apart if we go in there!"
"I said go!" Kirill yelled.
The helicopter banked sharply to the left, as it brought them overhead. The 24K may have not been very armed, but Bogdan was.
Kirill held up a pair of binoculars. He watched as the marksman eliminated the DShK crew, and began eliminating infantry in the open. Remarkable, the thought. One sniper is able to suppress so many, when two helicopters could not.
A ballsy insurgent made a break for another position. Bogdan let one fly. As if in slow motion, Kirill watched as the man ran right into the path of the red streak. He fell, and slowly rolled down. Below, Roman let loose a yell. "Forward!"
The Mejians let out a war cry as they charged forward. Their goal was the downed helicopter, followed by the village, and now they finally had a break to do so. They ran into the treeline, with new found strength.


Above, the light systems flashed. An alarm went off inside the crew cabin as the helicopter banked sharply to the right, dumping flairs and countermeasures. A shreaking sound pierced the cabin as a streak of light flashed by.
"What the hell was that?"
"Stinger!"

Fire picked up one again, the insurgents were now unchallenged by air superiority. They cut down the Mejians, and roman watched as they outgunned one of his own riflemen.
Roman pressed the tab on his radio.
"1-1, what was the call sign of those L-39s again?"
"Martillo".
"We just lost 2-3, over"
Kirills blood ran cold.
"Copy. You'll have to have one of the Mejans use red smoke, over"
"Understood, out."

Roman instructed the Mejians to call the L-39s and ready smoke. This was a rescue operation, and they were not going to loose their men.

[Nua Corda]

0910 Hours - The Northern Valley Ridge

Bob Castor was only half Cordian. His father had been a blue-blooded Expeditionary, but his mother was a Gold Cross doctor, and she was Latina. That was what had gotten Bob involved with the OKC, and he suspected it was also why he was the one teaching the locals how to patrol. Noone would say this, of course, but Bob knew that he looked more like the guerillas than the other Black Shields, and given the political situation, it was best to keep their involvement quiet. He didn’t mind especially; it was the tactically sound thing to do, but he wished the others would just say it like it was. In Bob’s experience, ignoring differences only gave them more power. Bob was a Black Shield, a “contractor” for Black Shield Group, the military arm of the OKC. He didn’t consider himself a mercenary, though he’d been called that many times, because in Bob’s mind, a mercenary was a gun for hire who killed without conscience. Bob might have been a gun for hire, but the OKC didn’t agree to kill people for no reason, or contract out to petty warlords, and he was permitted to keep his conscience.

At the moment, he was trudging through a jungle in an outfit that was supposed to mimic the dress of the rebels. But the BDUs were too new, the buckles too shiny, and you could tell that the rips and tears in the outfit had been done with a shears, rather than occurring naturally. At a distance, you wouldn’t notice it, but if he got captured, he would certainly get some odd looks. The thing that could mark him out at a distance was the AR-10 rifle on his shoulder. That was a personal choice. Bob had done his Civil Service time in the Home Defense Corps, where he’d earned himself a Top Expert and three Expert badges for marksmanship, and a trip to sniper school. He’d carried an AR-10 in the ‘Corps, and he intended to carry one for the rest of his career as a Shield. Bob trusted the AR-10 with his life. Emmerian soldiers liked to complain about it’s little brother, the M-16, but Bob had never had his ‘10 jam on him, and it’s ungodly accuracy and low recoil were a boon to a marksman like himself. The light weight was nice too, on a hot day in the Mejian jungle. Bob had been teaching the rebels how to patrol efficiently and quietly. They knew the terrain, and could move with a degree of competence, but they left trails and didn’t know how to keep hidden from air cover.

They wanted to head deeper into enemy territory, to actively hunt the Govt. soldiers. Bob felt that that was rather a bad idea. The Shields were there to protect the villages, not overthrow the government. While the Costa Mejian military was hardly on the same level as a first world army like that of Emmeria or Corda, they had airpower, tanks, and it was no secret that they also had Puzakki support. Bob was rather fond of the rebels he knew, and he didn’t harbor much love for the government, but he didn’t think the rebels stood much of a chance, either. Feasibly, all they could really hope to do was hold the villages they had. And if the government sallied out in force, even that wasn't certain. But the rebels were caught up in their cause, and they honestly believed they had a fighting chance. Bob was reluctant to take that away from them. So, if it made them feel better to patrol about in the jungle with their new toys, all the better. Good moral meant better protection for the people they were really here to protect; the wives and children of these men, back at the village. So today, after discussing it with his superiors, he’d allowed them to widen the patrol boundaries. That was the cause of their light-heartedness today, as they practiced the maneuvers Bob had taught them. They’d been in the field for around an hour now, and already had covered much ground. The rebels were beginning to get the hang of this.

Bob paused, and raised a hand to signal the squad to a halt as he took a swig from his canteen, the perspiration running down the flask in droplets and soaking Bob’s beard. A mosquito droned lazily past him, and settled on his forearm. Bob lashed out with a sniper’s quickness, and mashed the little pest. But the drone didn’t stop. In fact, it got louder. Bob shook his head violently, as if to shake the wax from his ears, and listened closer. The dull drone throbbed, and resolved into the clear “whopwhopwhopwhopwhop” of a helicopter. He corked the canteen, and hurriedly gestured to the men around him to take cover. They were clumsy, the suddenly all-too-real fear of discovered numbing their actions, but they managed to find air cover, like he had taught them. Bob himself nestled against a treetrunk, unslung his rifle, and scanned the air, hoping that the other two sections had had the good sense to cover as well. That was when he heard the “Whoshhh!” and saw the rocket streak up from 3rd Section’s position.

“Diabhal é! Leathcheann!” Bob swore in Gaelic, and began to yell orders as he wrestled the antique radio from it’s pouch on his vest.

“Fireteam Baker! Get that MG set up! Fireteams Alpha and Charlie, defensive positions! We need cover for Baker! Fireteam Delta, on me! Go! Go! Go!” He bellowed, gesturing at the rebels as they moved to obey. As Baker began to set up their HMG on it’s tripod, Bob scrambled up a rise and found cover behind a pile of boulders. Bracing his rifle on an outcropping, he raised the radio to his ear and thumbed the button.

“L-1 Alpha to L-2 and L-3, repeat, L-1 Alpha to L-2 and L-3, over”

“L-2 Alpha, here, over”

“L-3 Alpha, over”

“L-1 Alpha to L-2 and L-3 Alphas, who released the kracken, repeat, who released the kracken, over” Bob had a hard time keeping the anger out of his voice. Of all the stupid...

“It was Jose, he saw the government’s chopper, and shot it down like your friends showed us! .... uh, over!”

“L-1 Alpha to L-2 and L-3, please at least attempt to use proper radio protocol” Bob snarled. A taste of combat, and all the training went flying clean out of their heads. “1-2 and 1-3, be advised we have” he raised the rifle and peered through the scope “at least three, no, make that four, hostile aircraft in the area, over”

“L-2 Alpha to L-1 Alpha, we copy, over”

“L-3 Alpha to, uh.... 1 Alpha! We see two, over”

“Roger, L-2 and L-3, I want defensive positions, now! I want MG nests up, and fire on those choppers, yesterday, over”

“Copy, Alpha L-1, Alpha L-3 deploying machinegun nests, over”

“Roger, Alpha L-1, L-2 deploying MGs, over”

Bob left the other sections to their work, as the thunder of his section’s machinegun began to pound in his ears. He switched frequencies and mashed the talk button as he tracked the enemy helicopters through his riflescope.

“This is L Company Alpha to Baseplate, repeat, L Company Alpha to Baseplate, be advised we have at least five hostile aircraft closing on our position, repeat, at least five hostile aircraft, over”

“This is Baseplate, L Company, we read you loud and clear. Please advise as to nature of aircraft, over”

“Hind choppers, Baseplate, repeat, we have Hinds. Look like government issue. L-3 engaged and destroyed one tango, and appears to have kicked the proverbial hornet’s nest. Requesting immediate reinforcement, over”

“Roger, L Company, government issue Hinds. What’s your position, over?”

Bob looked at the map tied to his upper arm, and did a few calculations. Above him, the enemy had begun to shoot back, and heavy autocannon fire was shredding the vegetation around him. He rattled off the co-ordinates to command, flinching as a round struck one of the boulders he was using as cover.

“Roger that, L Company, B Company and E Company are en route to reinforce your position, just try and hold them until we can fully mobilize, over”

“Copy that, Baseplate, we’ll hold them off, over!” Bob stowed the radio, and braced his rifle. He could see the dust clouds from landing zones, and enemy troops moving into position. One of the men from Fireteam Charlie tried to move up, only to topple backwards as a red streak shot from the enemy lines and pierced his neck. A sniper. Well, Bob thought, two can play at that game.

As the machinegun thundered behind him, and the rifles of his men clattered, Bob slipped into his sniper state, calmly and deftly unfolding his biopod, and clearing his mind. He focused on the LZ where the other sniper’s shot seemed most likely to have come from. It was hard to see through the vegetation and gunfire, but Bob spotted a Mejian soldier’s helmet peeking above the lip of a trench, lined up his shot, and gently squeezed the trigger. The rifle thumped in his arms, and the little 7mm P86 AP round hurtled downrange. There was a puff of red, and the helmet disappeared. Bob allowed himself a smile, and went hunting for his next target.

Meanwhile, the men of L Company’s 2nd section were hard pressed. They could see the enemy, and they could see 1st and 3rd sections’ positions on the ridge behind them, but they were powerless, unable to leave cover or be torn to pieces by the helicopters. They saw another Stinger missile arch from 3rd Section, and let out a cheer as it zeroed in on one of the gunships. Distracted, the enemy air formation broke long enough for 2nd Section to shift to better cover, just in time to open fire on the enemy troops charging at them from across the valley. The rifles the Cordian mercenaries had given them served them well, far better than the scavenged and stolen weapons they’d had to make do with in the past, and they were able to put up a good barrage of fire while their heavy machinegun focused on the choppers. Smoke was rising from where the downed enemy chopper had come to rest, near 3rd Section, and 2nd Section’s commander could see a couple of fireteams from 3rd moving towards the crash.

[Costa Mejis]

O941 hours

Alvarez had thrown himself to the ground shortly after exiting the Hind, and had moved from position to position as the airborne troops began engaging the rebel forces, firing his rifle at muzzle flashes in the trees ahead. As he dove into another ditch where several of his troopers and a wounded Puzzaki solder were positioned, he realized they'd made a critical mistake when they landed.

They'd come down in the villages farm plot, as evidenced by the slightly moist irrigation ditch Alvarez was now occupying. To the west, about 400 meters away, he could see the downed helicopter through the corn stalks jutting up from the ground, the site marked by a pillar of smoke. Some fire was coming in from that direction, but not much, making Alvarez believe the rebels in that direction were engaged with the survivors of the crash. However, they were taking heavy fire on both flanks, a combination of small arms and machine gun fire. The rebels were firing from prepared positions in the tree line directly behind them, as well as what could be a fortified bunker position in the town. It would be impossible to move forward and relieve the survivors in the helicopter until those threats were neutralized.

As he glanced around trying to spot his RTO and begin directing fire from the gunships, he spotted the Puzzaki soldiers down the line was taking matters into his own hands as he unslung a tube launcher and readied it. Alvarez made his way down the ditch towards him, crawling on his hands and knees, mud squelching as he moved. As he neared, the commando readied the launcher, shouting to ensure the back blast was clear. Glancing around and seeing it was Alvarez tapped him hard on the shoulder and laid down as the man loose the rocket, sending it spiraling into the tree line. A moment later, an explosion tore through the air, sending vibrations through Alvarez's body, even at this distance.

Using the explosion as a distraction, the men hiding in the irrigation ditch moved forward, moving into the crop land and diving into another, larger drainage ditch, a position which offered them better cover from the attackers. As they threw themselves into the soggy ditch, the two Ka-52 gunships roared past, their semi-fixed cannons spitting fire and death. Watching them cruise above the battlefield, Alvarez was amazed at the sheer amount of sparks flying off the helicopters hull’s from the massive amount of ground fire they were taking trying to provide fire support. The fact that they were still flying was a testament to Puzzaki engineering, but, Alvarez knew they couldn't sustain the intense fire they were taking and remain on station. Even as this thought occurred to him, he saw them begin to wheel away, moving to the southeast, one of the vessels leaking what could only be jet fuel as they limped towards Fort Sturgis.

Seeing them depart was somewhat disheartening for the soldiers, the looks of abandonment and betrayl were evident on their face. Alvarez pointed towards the downed chopper “Those gunships were almost out of ammo anyways, but if we don't get a move on and advance, our men in that Hind are going to be out of time!” Reminding them that they were fighting to rescue their comrades seemed to put some spirit back into them, and the men began firing their rifles at the besiegers in earnest. Above them, the Mi-24K circled in, closing its orbit. Alvarez wondered what the pilot thought he was doing, bringing the airborne command post so close to the battle when a bright flash from the open hatch erupted. My God! he thought “Someone is shooting from the transport!” he shouted. On the battlefield he saw one of the rebels literally disintegrate as the sniper’s projectile stuck him “And actually hitting things...from a moving helicopter.” he said aloud, almost in disbelief. Though he couldn't tell for sure, he was certain it wasn't one of their own men firing from the helicopter, and was reasonably certain it must the the Puzzak with the giant sniper rifle.

As the sniper cut down man after man, the Puzzaki with them in the ditch bellowed “Forward!” and suited words to action as he heaved himself from the ditch, dashing forward towards a small groove of trees separating one farm plot from another. Alvarez could not disagree with the wisdom of the mans actions and moved up with him. As they ran, the heavy machine gun in the bunker to the east, back towards the village, scythed through them, cutting several soldiers down, and kicking up a line of dirt at Alvarez’s feet.

“Soldado de Primera Alveez shunted at the Puzzaki private first class who had fired the rocket. “I do not see my platoon sergeant. You must take some of the men and lead them forward! I am going to take the remaining men and deal with that bunker to our east.”

The man nodded that he understood and spoke into his small portable radio for a moment. “Leytenant” he said “Get a man close enough to the bunker to mark it with red smoke and summon the L-39' to take it out. I will lead the men on to the crashed helicopter.” Without waiting, he moved away and began to organize a group of Meijan soldiers and his own commandos. Meanwhile, Alvarez bellowed for his RTO. As the young man sprinted over to him, throwing himself behind a mound of dirt, Alvarez pointed at one of the remaining airborne troops, one with a GP-25 attached to his rifle. “You, do you have rd making smoke?”

“Yes sir!” he replied, making his way to Alvarez. Within moments Alvarez, the RTO, and the grenadier were lying on their bellies on a mound of dirt looking towards the eastern bunker. They could see the muzzle flash form the heavy machine gun as it spewed lead towards them. “Alright, here’s what you do. Shoot the smoke grenade at the bunker, we need to mark it for the Air Force.”

The soldier glanced over the berm and then looked pleadingly at Alvarez “Sir, that’s a pretty long shot, 300 meters or more, I don't know if I can hit it.”

“You don't really have a choice, cabo.” Alvarez replied and keyed the radio microphone “Martillo this is Tigre 4-6, adjust fire, 300 meters east of my position at 4QFj55678443, target is a bunker in a prepared position, look for red, repeat red smoke, over.”

“This is Martillo 1-1, received, fire on red smoke, ETA 4 minutes.” the disembodied voice replied

As the minutes passed by Alvarez watched as the machine gun spat death and took little obvious damage from return fire. An RPG from the platoons rocket team streaked out but over shot, slamming into the ground in the village, sending dust and chunks of earth flying through the air. In response, the machine continued its defiant chattering, and no more rockets lanced forth to challenge it.

Alvarez glanced at his watch, nearly three minutes had passed since he placed the call for fire, he tapped the grenadier on the shoulder and said “It's time, fire the grenade.” With a nod, the corporal climbed up the berm, laying prone near the top, the brim of the helmet and the muzzle of his rifle showing. Alvarez nearly shrieked when, instead of firing, he toppled back down the mound, what had once been the top of his head a messy chunk of meat and gore, his rifle clattering to the ground next to him. Bullets continued to plow into the dirt where he had been for several seconds before the gunner moved on to a new target.

Cursing, Alvarez scooped up the mans AKS-74 and moved forward, shoulder the rifle and bracing it on the lip of the mound. Using the rifles iron sights, he elevated the rifle and targeted the bunker. He depressed the trigger, the rifle bucking in his hands as the caseless 40 mm grenade spat forth with a thumping sound. It sailed through the air, arcing towards the target, and landed just shy of the bunker. After a moment, cheery red smoke begin escaping with a hiss, rising into the sky and obscuring the target.

“Good shot sir!” the RTO declared as Alvarez slid back down the earthen mound, not daring to tempt fate any further. Scant moments later, he heard the roar of the twin0egined L-39's over the din of the battle and found himself cheering wildly as he watched a pair of FAB-250 free-fall bombs plummeting towards the earth. They impacted and detonated with a crash, sending dirt and debris whirling through the air. As the ringing in his ears cleared, he smiled as he no longer heard the clattering machine gun.

“Go” he shouted to the Puzzak commando. “Move up! Cover them!”. No longer needed at this position, Alvarez broke cover and moved forward with the men towards the crashed Hind. Behind him, the Airborne men laid down a pattern of suppressive fire, allowing the the advance to push forward. As they ran, incoming fire from the rebels attacking the crash site took several men down, but, being caught in a cross fire, their positions were quickly overrun.

As they closed in on the crash site, he saw several Meijan bodies on laying in the dirt, some of them victim so the crash, others doubtless killed by the attacking rebels. As he approached, he shouted “Cease fire comrades, we've come to save you!”

“It's about time!” a man answered him in Puzzaki-accented Spanish, “I was starting to get bored killing them by myself.”. The speaker ducked out of the ruined troop compartment and smiled. The end of his PKP machine gun was glowing red with heat, smoke rising from the muzzle. “Thank you for coming, Leytenant, three are wounded inside the troop compartment.”

“We'll try and get a chopper in here to take you out.” Alverez assured him.

“Nyet the man said flatly “We do not leave until we finish the job. The greviously woudned can go, but I will not.”

Alvarez studied the commando and smiled coldly. The man was obviously injured, covered in cuts an gashes,, blood flowing freely from several of them. He glanced at Roman, and the Mejian medic who had finally gotten him to hold still long enough to dress his wounded hand, he saw several other of his men were sporting blood soaked bandages, or undressed wounds.

Try as they might, though it seems the rebels had not manage to kill them

No, they'd only succeeded in making them angry.

“Of course, comrade, of course. We'll see this through to the end!” Alvarez declared. “Regroup!” he shouted “and prepare to assault the village, for Mejis, for the Revolution!”

[Fortunagen]

The sensation of dropping in a flaming aircraft to the ground in the blink of an eye was an experience Soldado Jose Tafoya would not soon forget. He was, after all, still a young man. Two years ago, Jose was a quiet farmhand in a village much like the small township he was near today. Jose Tafoya had a simple life, and it was all cherished. But, one a fateful Autumn evening everything came crashing down. What he was told was rebel forces raided his village while he was out gathering firewood and other supplies, and when he returned, most of Jose's home had been destroyed, and when he went to look for help from the local officials, he was directed to the army. A few years later he was here, serving in the military not for nationalism or pride, but for food and shelter, as the army was the only available job for him. It was this or starvation.

So the young Tafoya strapped on the green and went to battle for the government, doing it's dirty work wherever he was needed. He was not an important aspect of the army, and he had no intention of aspiring further, as after his time spent, he had plans to settle down and maybe to start a farm to continue his family's legacy. None of the details had been worked out, but he had little time to think about it, because right now the government was still calling his name.

The last thing Jose remembered was the flash, he did not know what exactly happened, but he could assume as much. He had been chatting amongst the crew aboard the gunship and making fun of a guy who had fallen asleep on the other side of the room when it all went down. The unfortunate soldier awoke to jumping right as the rocket slammed into the ship, bringing the whole Hind to the ground. Jose was face-up on the ground when he came to and his first vision was a vast sky stretching as far as the eye could see. It took a minute, but then he starting thinking again. He concluded that would not be long until rebels converged on their location, which was by no means good. He could hold them off a while, and help was surely on the way. He pulled out his standard AKS-74 Assault Rifle and double checked all of the little niches of the machine. If this thing was supposed to be the only thing separating him from life and the great beyond, it better damn near be perfect. Now, Jose was no tactical genius, but he understood that slowly defending from hidden positions would be more effective than charging up the hill like a sick perro. Apparently, what was left of his comrades had similar ideas. The group had sunk into the brush surrounding the crash site, leaving the less fortunate crew members strewn about the clearing. As the billowing column of smoke rose higher up into the sky, the first rebel parties engaged. Jose had never been in any live combat like this, and judging from the expressions on the faces of the other Soldados, it looked like they had never seen fighting like this either. A rush of thoughts swept Jose's brain, and with as much will power as he could muster, he pushed them aside. He only had one thought now, and that was too survive at all costs.
He had cover behind a rock, and it was there he took inventory.
He could survive out there for a little while, but he knew that he was limited.
He had a scream coming from behind him on the opposite side of the clearing. He peeked out the rock, and the rebels seemed to be sneaking around as well. A marksman's round screamed every few minutes or so, and Jose was having a difficult time just identifying anyone. A grenade went off somewhere nearby, and before he knew it, the rebels decided it was time for a final push.
He stared down the barrel of his weapon, and when three targets made a run for the Hind, he let spray. Unfortunately, he was unprepared for the gun's recoil and it whacked his nose, causing blood to gush out. It was not to much later that assistance finally arrived, it was then that Jose emerged from behind his rock and proclaimed what a nice sight this was.

At least he had survived.

[Puzikas]

0943 Hours, helicopter crash sight.

Kirills eyes had been outright plastered to the CCTV for several minutes. Dag was already an established psychopath, but this took him to a new level. As enemies ran through the woods, he would depress the trigger for short, quick bursts at their positions. He had taken several AKS-74s from the flight crew and their ammunition. As he needed to reload, he would pick one up and have it at the ready. One team in particular was brave, as they charged headlong at his position as he was reloading. Dag eliminated every last one of them with a single magazine. He was dealing out lead like cards at a poker table. He even had his knife at the ready. Surely, he was not to go down without a fight.

The end of his PK machinegun seemed to be death itself; having fired nearly 400 rounds, it was hot enough that he had abandoned the standard grip and instead choose to let the massive gun hang from around his body, when he stood to move. Every enemy soldier that had crossed his sight now lay dead or dying, filled with what Dag liked to call "ventilation holes". He was sure Dag was smiling like a kid.

As the rescue team approached, Kirill wondered if Dag would open fire, and they would have to surrender to their own men,who were so very in need of medical attention. Roman had enough sense to shout out Tovarishch. Dag didn't budge, his hand glued to the grip of his weapon, until the team came in full view.
"Its about time, friend. I was getting tired of killing everyone myself."

He gave the traditional handshake to Roman, who returned the ammunition belt he was carrying.
"Need this?"
"I better take it, unless you want me hitting people with my gun."
He slung the belt over his shoulders.
"We have wounded in the helicopter. Medics take care of them."
A young Mejian stepped out from behind a rock, slightly bloodied. Dag swung about and nearly brought the gun to bare, before realizing he was a soldier.
"On edge?"
Dag could only laugh. His animal like grin made his eyeballs light up, making them look closer to a lizard, and his smile looked more like that of a Hyenas mouth. He was covered in blood, though whose it was one could not be sure. His uniform was tattered and his hydration bladder punctured. He reeked of aviation fuel.
Roman was not in much better shape, his hand was wrapped up tight, and his uniform was blood covered. The two of them looked like hell, and they could only wait to see the rest of the unit.

"How is everyone?" Dag asked, eyes narrowing. "I thought I heard you say someone was down.
Roman choked up slightly. "Yuris gone. Took one to the dome".
The two men paused in memory of their fallen comrade. Above, Bogdan and Kirill bowed their heads in silence, hearing the name hit home, harder than a simple call sign ever could.
There would no time for silence. The radio cracked with a transmission from Medved.
"Attention Saakal, this is Medved. Task force Stohpor is being sent to your position, over"
"Copy Medved, over and out"
Dag hissed at roman. "Marines."
The naval marines were the pride of the standard military. Of all the branches, there's is the one who had stood the same for over 300 years, and most likely would never change. They were looked upon with such resolve that they were called "The face of the Puzakk federation". Despite this, they, id dags words, had a tendency to be good at two things: unwarranted and unrivaled destruction, and amphibious landings. While if Dag actually believed this was debated, it was clear he did not like them.

"Stop mucking about and get moving, damn you" Kirill yelled into his radio.
"Ill be damned if I let the marines take the day" Dag remarked.
As the unit moved forward, they spotted the remainder of the Spetznagruppa ducking behind cover, though no fire was going their way.
"What in hell are you waiting for?" Dag shouted, as he slid into their position.
The squads grenadier pointed forward.
"Wait for it..."
Kirill looked at the camera as he heard the shrieking sound again. The light sensors didn't go off this time, and he braced to be hit. But it never came. He looked out in time to see a flight of L-39s fly past, maybe 200 meters away. They let loose with UGBs on the enemies encampment. The fireball was massive, and the noise shock the helicopter. Rubble was sent flying into the air.

"That's awesome", remarked the teams grenadier, Fedor. Fedor was the youngest member of the team, at just 25 years old. He was also the least experienced of the team, this being only his 4th deployment, and second internationally. The team like him, however. He had a unshakable resolve about him.

Roman glanced around, and spotted the same private that Dag had almost ventilated before behind them. It seemed he had refused medical attention. He also saw Alvarez, high-fiving his men. Roman and dag moved quickly to his position.

"Alvarez!"
Alvarez turned quickly and looked at the two Puzakk soldiers who, like ghosts, had suddenly appeared behind him. They were covered in fluids.
"Glad to see you got out of the helicopter alright, Soldat."
Fedor ran over to the position and pushed up against a berm.
"Guntruck, I have a better firing position here."
They nodded and let him continue about his work.
"Whats the plan? They know we're here. We need to take the village. Your reserves are being committed, and our military is sending..." Dag paused, and spit. "...marines to the fight."
Alvarez paused to think, as Fedor launched the grenade. The guntruck ignited and began burning.
"Where is the boom?!" scouted a soldier.
"Gasoline only goes boom when its under some serious pressure, what you about to hear is going to be the munitions for the gun cooking off on the truck. No boom, but that truck is out of business."
Fedor looked around and tapped Alvarez on the back.
"Did you shoot the red smoke?"
Alvarez nodded, with a confused look on his face.
"Thanks, that's just what I needed to get my day going." Fedor ran off back to his previous area.

Above, Kirill had his face buried in his hand. Fedor was in severe need of mental help.
"Sahkal 1-1, Tigre 4-6 here, over."
"Go ahead 4-6, over"
"As you may be able to see, we're in a bit of a situacion here.What do you recommend we do, over.
Kirill paused and though for a moment.
"Standby, over"

There were multiple methods to do here. Kirill wanted the one that involved minimal casualties on his part, while inflicting the maximum to the enemy; the basic rule of war. Sometimes, he thought, the best solution is the most obvious. No fancy tricks, just good, honest infantry work.

"Tigre 4-6, come in, over."
"Go ahead, 1-1"
"I need you to gather your men for a cooperative attack, break"
He paused and though for a moment.
"Divide your remaining forces into two teams, and have those two teams split in two different teams. Split my men between the two. Put Roman in the first, Dag in the second. The squirrel-like one one can go wherever, just keep him under control, break"
"When you are ready, have Roman use his RShG-2 on the highest threat. Following the destruction of that, have team 1-1 advance to a cover position while the others lay fire. Then move 2-1 to another position, do you see where I'm going with this, over"
"Understood, over"
"We have a task force coming to support, but I have no work of their ETA, break"
"Will keep you advised. Over and out"

Alvarez understood, and began to prepare his men. They were going to hold the town until re-enforcement arrived.

[Fortunagen]

In the corners of his brain, Jose could still hear the roaring sound of timbers in his home village crashing down. It had been more than two years, and he still could not stop himself from thinking about the horrible scene he witnessed that day. He had loved that life, everything about it was perfect. He was one with the Earth and one with the villagers, and he loathed the reality that he had to abandon it. Luckily for him, Army's re-education did the trick, and he turned that loathing towards the rebels. The fire-fight was mostly a blur, but when he felt the blood running down his chin, he was overcome with pride.
"This...is..for..mi familia!" He exclaimed to no one in particular.
He took a swab of blood from his face and rubbed it into the barrel of his AKS-74. That would be enough of a reminder.
When he came forth from the his hiding spot, he saw two groups of soldiers talking. One man in particular stood out. He was fairly tall, built like a wall, and he looked worse than Jose. The two made eye contact, and Jose saw the man start to reach for his weapon. Jose quickly threw the man a salute before jogging over towards him and his group. Another patrol arrived on the scene, and they looked, well, cleaner than the men already there. The large man, who was apparently the leader of the group, was talking to the leader of the newly arrived patrol. Jose spoke the language, so he inserted himself into conversation.
"Excuse me, but my entire unit is gone, and I want to kills as many of these puntas as I can. May I join one of your parties?"

[Costa Mejis]

0951 hours

Alvarez returned the microphone to his RTO and whistled, the shrill, piercing sound grabbing the men's attention. As they gathered up, keeping in cover as best they could, he took a head count, quickly tally up his remaining forces. 22 men he thought glumly, a reenforced platoon against God only knew what in that village.

“Alright.” he said, looking to Dag and Roman, “You heard your boss, and my boss isn't countermanding him, so he's calling the shots. He lowered his voice “Captain Rojas, was he..?”

“He's dead.” Dag confirmed solemnly, “At least, I assume so. When we were hit, he was near the door, and it was open. He was flung out, I doubt he survived the fall. As far as I can tell Leytenant, you're the only officer on the ground.” One o the other men standing nearby added “Sergeant Rios didn't make it either, I think a sniper got him.”

“Well, shit.” Alvarez said “We need to get organized, now, and get forward, before the men pinning down Second Platoon figure out we're behind them and pull back. As e spoke, another of the surviving Puzzaki commandos, Fedor, trotted over, catching the tail end of the conversation. “Fuck them. Lets hit them in the back, link up with your Second Platoon, and push on this pissaint shithole village.”

Before Alvarez could answer, Dag shook his head. “No, Boss says its too hot. They're man is reporting at least a company sized element in that tree line. Even with their positions facing away form us, we'd be cut to ribbons..”

Fedor spat in the dirt “We push in and take that shit hole, they'll just fall on us.”

For a moment, no one spoke, because they ll knew he was right, finally Roman spoke up “Doesn't matter, its our only chance, if the Airborne guys keep them in place, we can hold here, we have tactical air-”

“Those planes shot their load!” Fedor replied “Both bombs have been dropped, they'll have the 23 mm, but, good for what, 150 rounds, maybe 2 passes?”

“Enough!” Alvarez declared with enough force to silence both men “We follow orders, orders are to take that village, and that’s what were going to do.” For a moment he simply glared at them before the realization of what he'd done dawned on him.

Fedor looked at Roman, who looked at Dag, after a moment, each of them burst out laughing, Dag slapping Alvarez on the back and saying “I was wondered how long it was going to take you to remember you were an officer. We'll follow orders.”

Alverez nodded, some of the color returning to his face “Al...alright then. I'm obviously short on NCO's, so as your boss said, its you men. Roman, you're in first team, take 6 men, I'll take 6 more to form Fourth and we'll move up the middle of the corn field, the stalks will give us some cover if we stay low. Dag, take second team, four men for you, and get set up over there-” he pointed back towards the west towards the copse of trees they’d sheltered in before, “and get your MG set up, cover us as we advance. Fedor, take the third team, the remaining 6, and go with them. When we get to the edge of the corn field, Two will cover threes advance and First will cover Fourths advance. We take positions in the village and let them catch up, then we clear it out.”

“Leading form the front, eh?” Fedor joked

“Damn right, my country, my war.” Alvarez said

All thee men glanced at one another, and then back towards the smoking wreck of a chopper, doubtlessly thinking of the men they'd lost today, and the men they could still loose before this was all over. “Nyet” Dag said “It's all our war now.”

Alvarez nodded “Fair enough.”

“What should I use this thing on?” Roman asked, gesturing to his RshG-2. Alvarez had seen what the little rocket launcher was capable of and he was impressed. He wondered if his own country had obtained any, and desperately hoped they had.

Alvarez considered “Don't know, figure it out when you get in position. We took out the bunker with the airstrike, and they hit something in the town too. Shoot it at whatever looks good.”

Roman nodded. As the meeting began to break up one of the airborne men, Alvarez recognized him as an recruit who had transferred in at the same time he did was approaching them. His name is...Jose, I think?. He had a bloody nose, maybe broken in the crash, and walked towards the assembled group, his ASK-74 danging from his shoulder. As he approached, his arm crept upward, sketching out a quick salute. Alvarez reached out and slapped the young mans arm down, pulling him down behind the berm in the same motion as all three Puzzaki commandos threw themselves t the ground muttering curses and obscenities.

“Don't do that.” Alverez chastised, working hard to keep the anger from his voice. After all the man was new, fresh from Airborne training. Just like me he thought, the nervousness threatening to well up inside him again. “We don't salute in the field, it-” as if to demonstrate his point, a bullet cracked by overhead, gouging into a rock not more than a foot away. “Yeah, that, snipers, they look or that kind of thing!” He looked over his shoulder at the commando's, who were picking themselves up off the ground, but still remaining low, using the berm for cover, “Get to your position. Give us 5 minutes, then attack, Roman's rocket launch is the signal.” He turned his attention to the young man before him. “You can come with me, Soldado. We'll kill plenty of these rebels.”

Alvarez and Jose moved through the tall corn stalks, the teams spread out in a skirmish line. They encountered no resistance in the corn field but could hear the rancorous machine gun fire coming form behind them, and also to the southwest. As they moved up parallel to the copse of trees that Dag should have set up in by now, Alvarez motioned for his RTO. Picking up the transmitter, he keyed up and spoke quietly “Tigre 4-6 to Shakal 1-1, we will begin shortly.”

Kirill's voice replied almost at once “Understood, 4-6, be advised. The good news is a flight of Su-25's from San Pedro Sulla is being prepped for take off. Unfortunately, they wont actually be airborne for another 40 minutes or more, so, total time, on station in an hour and ten. They have to have their anti-ship weapons swapped for something more useful to you.” he explained.

“Riger. Make sure you know where we are before those flyboys engage,” Alvarez replied

“You have my word, 4-6”

A commotion to his right drew Alvarez attention just as Roman fire the rocket. It lanced from the tube, the back blast setting the corn stalks ablaze, and sped towards the village. The warhead erupted inside the town, a white mist spewing from it and hanging in the air for a brief second before a spark ignited the volatile mixture, send a wave of fire outward, blanketing a good 10 m area, the show wave knocking down any fragile object in its path, shattering what glass remained in the village and sending debris flying through thee air!

“Forward!” Alvarez bellowed even before the whirling debris had settled.. “First Team, covering fire! Forth Team, advance!” To his right, the sound of Dag's PKP punctuating his order. With a war cry, he lunged forward, sprinting towards the village, the six men of First team following him. A glance to his left showed Third team pushing forward as well, firing their rifles as they moved forward.

Return fire from the village was not long in coming...

[Fortunagen]

Jose, still recovering from the recoil to the noise, moved forward behind he new-found ally, a man who he had come to know as Alvarez. Jose understood the basics of the situation. It was him and about two dozen men assaulting an armed rebel village, and from his past battle told him that once they were in the village, it was going to be hell. Jose followed Alvarez through the cornfields, and only from the few minutes of their greeting, Jose could tell that he had encountered a man that conducted himself with authority. As they moved towards the village, Jose thought on many occasions that he would start a conversation, but just as he was beginning to say something, he reminded himself the seriousness of the situation. Instead he just muttered to himself.
"After the battle, we'll socialise."
He still had plenty of ammunition left in his weapon, and he began to remember his basic training.
When they reached the outskirts of a village, Jose rechecked his supplies.
He had two full magazines left, and he still had his two grenades, but he needed new water.

As he gazed upon the town, he saw a building which could possibly be tavern, but before he could do anything a member of the platoon pulled out a rocket launcher and blew the thing to shreds. When the mist cleared, Jose noticed a round, bunker-shaped building behind the debris. He stopped marching and squinted as hard as he could, trying to get a better view. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw three or four men no older than himself sneak towards his left. When he kept his eye on where he was going, he noticed something he had not seen before. A small barricade made of simple materials happened to be situated out of view, and it was then he knew that him and his comrades were walking into a trap. Then he saw one of the rebels look at him. Jose quickly looked away, but he was sweating. The blood had dried, and he was getting surprisingly cold.

Then he remembered his village. His family. His friends. Then he remembered the local recruitment officer giving him a hug after explaining their nation's insurgency situation. Jose felt the hot tears running down his face as he signed the papers to enter the Army. His memories flashed forward. The helicopter exploding, the dead men strewn about. The bloodied nose, and now, they were watching him.

No. The rebels were not going to control him. He would not give in. It was his village. It was his family. And now, it was his life.

He ripped a grenade from his chest and yanked the pin out. He hurled it towards the enemy position.
"Contacts, up ahead!" Jose yelled to the rest of his crew as the rebels opened fire, despite the hell that was now being wrought upon the crops, Jose stood strong, holding tightly to the barrel of his gun as it sprayed rounds into the enemy position.
"Esto es para por mi vida! Esto es para mi familia! Esto es para mi país! Muerte al traidores escoria!"(see below for full translation)
Then, almost out of nowhere, Alvarez tackled him to the ground as an enemy projectile streaked past where Jose was just standing.
Jose ripped free of Alvarez's grasp and yanked another grenade out of it's place and threw it at the fortified area.
The explosion threw another column of mist into the air.
Then the turret fire stopped. Jose had hit something.

Then he had time to think. He had just opened fire on a rebel position in a fit of rage. While he might have just paved the way for an invasion into the town, he was worried that he had just lost his superior's trust. He reloaded his weapon, and he now only had his one magazine left. Both of his grenades were gone, and he had been scraped fairly hard in Alvarez's tackle. He had not noticed it until now, but he nose's wound had been reopened, and fresh blood was oozing from it, luckily, it was slower this time, and he might have as well as knocked it back into place. Alvarez could now command his troops thanks to the lack of heavy fire-power bearing down on them, and Jose decided that it would be a while until he made any more rash decisions.

(OOC Translation for the Spanish line: "This is for my life This is for my family! This is for my country! Death to traitorous scum!")

[Nua Corda]

0943 hours, Black Shield HQ, the Village

John O'Kanna slammed the radio down and stood up, grabbing his ART-64 carbine from the rack and snagging a vest of magazines.

"SAM! YOU BETTER HAVE THAT TRUCK RUNNING, WE'VE GOT A LIVE ONE!" He bellowed, striding past the boxes of ammunition and stacks of weapons that filled the old church.

"Oh really? I though all that gunfire was just in my head. I'm not stupid" Sam stood in the doorway, sunlight gleaming on her fiery hair, arms crossed. John shook his head and clapped her on the shoulder, stepping past her into the main square.

"Not a good time for sarcasm, Sammy, we've got a job to do"

"Roger that, brother dear" She grinned "All three trucks are now fully operational, for your information"

"Good! Get one of them ready to go, and rally up a couple of sections. Meet me at the motor pool in 5!" He instructed, pulling a rebel aside. Sam tossed her head and took off for the barracks. "You, Mendez, get on the radio. Code for today is Baseplate. Sound the general alarm, get everyone organized and ready to move on my command. I'm Big Dog. Relay anything you get to me"

"Yessir" Mendez saluted, and ducked into the church. John broke into a steady lope as the sounds of machinegun fire began to intensify, skidding to a halt next to a long storage shed. Rebels were emerging from the building, and eyes immediately turn to him.

"OK, boys, time to show me what you've learned. Let's introduce these murdering cryto-facist scum to the 120mm fury of the NACO boom-pipe!" He shouted, slinging the 'T-64 over his shoulder. The rebels grinned, and started hauling long, dull green tubes out of the shed, where they had been hidden from curious aircraft. John himself grabbed a mortar, and threw it over his shoulders as the rebels dragged the others into the square at set it up. Around the village, Sam and Mendezs' mission was apparently taking effect, as the rebels transformed from a disorganized, alarmed rabel into a well-oiled machine. Black Shields, easily recognizable by their cleaner uniforms and fair skin, marshaled their charges and chattered into radios. John dropped the mortar to the ground, unfolded its legs and snapped its sights into position as a pair of rebels set a crate of shells down next to him.

"Get these mortars ready to go. I want teams one through five to standby to support L Company on the ridge, and six through ten to standby for my orders" He instructed, unslinging his rifle and chambering a round. Satisfied with the chorus of "yessirs", he sprinted for the motorpool, pulling the radio from his belt as he ran. "L Company actual, this is Big Dog, repeat, L Company Actual, this is Big Dog, please respond, over"

0951 Hours, the Northwest Ridge

About a klick down the road, Bob Castor was putting another 7mm round through a Mejian soldier's head when he heard John's voice on the radio. Letting the rifle rest on it's bipod, he grabbed the headset.

"L Company Actual, I read you loud and clear, over"

"Be advised, L Actual, we have a Mortar Section on standby to render fire support, Code-name Hellfire 1, over"

Bob grinned. Mortars were a hell of a lot better than MGs.

"Roger that, Big Dog, much obliged, over"

"Good luck, L Actual, over and out"

Bob flicked the dial to the channel designated for fire support as he fumbled another 20 round magazine from his vest.

"Hellfire 1, this is L Company Actual, do you read?"

"L Actual, this is Hellfire 1, standing by, over" Hellfire's operator spoke with a native accent, but his words were crisp and understandable.

"Hellfire 1, this is L Actual, requesting fire mission at..." Bob glanced at the map and rattled off the co-ordinates "copy, over?"

"Roger, L Actual, firing one spotter round, over"

Bob looked down his rifle scope, and waited for the high whistle of the motor round as it hurtled through the air and slammed into the ground a few meters from the Mejian position.

"L Actual to Hellfire 1, copy?"

"L Actual, this is Hellfire 1, status?"

"Traverse 1 degree right, Elevate 2 degrees, fire for effect, over"

"Roger, L Actual, firing for effect"

Bob set down the radio, slapped the new magazine into his AR-10, peered down the scope, and waited. He didn't have to wait long.


0948 Hours, the Motorpool, the Village

Samantha O'Kanna climbed into one of their three guntrucks, twisting the ignition and brushing a stray wisp of hair behind her ear as the mighty V-8 roared to life. Behind her, one of the trucks was pulling out and another was being loaded with troops. As she pulled out from under the overhang of the motor pool, a rocket slammed into a house across the street. That was when her brother and a couple sections of rebels rounded the corner.

"Sis! You're with me, we've got at least a section of enemy forces around the crash site, Castor and his sections have them cut off from the rest. They've cut down a good portion of Kilo Company's 2nd Section already. You and I are going to take the rest of Kilo and engage them, keep them from reaching the village. I saw a couple of their dropships head east, and the southeast OP is reporting troops on the ground. Lieutenant Carlos here will take truck No. 3 and a section from Whiskey Company, and go engage and hold them, keep them from reaching the village" John said, clambering up onto the back of the truck and yanking back the charging handles of the twin 13mm Robinson guns Sam had mounted a few days ago.

"Aye aye, bro. LET'S GET IN GEAR, AND KICK SOME REAR, BABY!" She bellowed, slamming on the stick and revving the engine as rebels piled onto the trucks. John laughed out loud, slapping the roof of the cab. Sam tucked a cigarette inbetween her teeth, and flicked her zippo as she guided the truck out into the main square. The mortars were thundering as the two vehicles and a section of infantry charged through, heading for the crash site. The second truck pulled ahead, roaring past the edge of the village and towards the fields. As the Infantry took positions at the sandbag piles on the outskirts, a grenade struck the second truck, which careened off to the side, smoldering. John roared with rage, and depressed the firing lever on the MGs, hosing the source of the weapon with 13mm CMG fire as Sam put the truck into a powerslide and brought it to a halt at the entrance to the village. She grabbed her 10ga Shillelagh from its rack and braced the massive weapon on the passenger doorframe. Behind them, they could hear the remaining truck roaring off to engage the enemies to the east.

[Costa Mejis]

0955 hours

While intelligence had not anticipated the rebels being in possession of any motorized military vehicles, Alvarez was not at all surprised to find them in existence in the village. The Puzzaki grenadier had already smashed one, and a second at roared off to the east, taking ineffective fore from the assaulting forces, mostly infective rifle fire along with a few grenades from the squads GP-25's.

He was, however, somewhat dismayed to find one sitting in his path as he broke out of the corn stalks and began his assault on the village. If only we'd seen it sooner Alvarez lamented Roman could have pasted it with that rocket.. No help for it now, though. No use worrying over what you can't control, solider on he remembered. The vehicle had been concealed from his approach by a rise at the end of the corn field, and presumably from second and third squads vision by the buildings at the village entrance.

The vehicle, meanwhile, was in the perfect position to ambush the oncoming soldiers, by simply pulling forward several feet, the gunner was able to bring his weapon to bare on third squad, who had broken form cover first, not having to contend with soggy ground and thick stocks of corn. Breaking cover, Alvarez saw the muzzle flashes from the giant machine gun as it hammered death at Third Squad. Alvarez cursed as the huge rounds tore into, and through, his men, sending them sprawling to the ground. Those not immediately cut down in the first volley threw themselves to the ground with trained professionalism, now effectively pinned down.

“Launcher!” Alvarez shouted. “Someone get up here with a RPG!”. Somewhere nearby, one of his men opened fire on the truck with his rifle, bullets sparking off its obviously reenforced steel front uselessly. “God dammit!” Alvarez cursed as he threw himself to the ground and rolled down the embankment as the huge machine gun traverse to track new targets.

---

Aboard the Mi-24K, Kirill cursed in his native tounge as the gun truck, previously hidden from view, opened up on the advancing team. “Why didn't we see that damn thing?!” he demanded, glaring at one of the airborne controllers

“I'm sorry, Sargento, I do not know, it was hidden from view by the shadow of the building, I suppose. Can we have the L-39's take it out?”

“No, can't you see? The way its tucked in there, there is only one approach, straight on, and they'd have to come in low for a gun run, that's a huge machine gun on thee, it might hack them from the sky.” Kirill said.

The radio operators sudden shout broke his concentration and cut through his anger. “Second Platoon reports being under heavy artillery fire!”

“This is an observation helicopter, find the damn tubes!” Kirill shouted, peering out the transports porthole, attempting to spot the mortar tubes muzzle flash.

“There, I think I see them, in the village, near the church, the square!” one of the observers called

“Damn, that’s no good for the L-39's either, that bell tower is going to make a strafing run hard.. We could guide a laser guided bomb onto it, but those Su-25's are still a half hour or so out. We need a-” Kirill said, glancing back over his shoulder and seeing Bogdan grinning at him, and the massive VSSK in his hands “-solution.” he said, hi voice rising in pitch as he thought.

Nearly tearing the interphone from the wall, he shouted “Pilot! Hold us steady, give me line of sight into the village square.”

“We're taking heavy ground fire.” the pilot protested

“We can handle it. I know better than you ho tough these birds are.” he declared, knowing it was the truth, knowing the punishment he'd seen them take.

“They'll get a missile lock!” the pilot protested again

“They'll get one anyways” Kirill countered, impatience creeping into his voice. “Give my sniper 2 or 3 shots, then we can reposition. Do it now.”

As the helicopter leveled off, Kirill threw open the hatch, filling the interior with roaring wind. “Okay, do your thing!”

Bogdan posted up in the hatch, snugging the massive rifle to his shoulder and let fly, targeting the mortar crews in addition to their ammunition crates and any other targets that presented themselves.

---

Back on the ground, Alvarez heard a rustling behind him and saw one of the men form team four crawl from the corn rows, cradling an elongated tube in his arms “Need a hard target taken out, sir?”

“You tell me.” Alvarez said, pointing beyond the berm towards the village “Take out that truck!”

As both he and the RPG gunner crawled up the embankment, a steady stream of fire thudded over their heads, embedding into the ground and forcing them both to keep down “He's got us pinned good!” the solider declared. In the distance, Alvarez heard his distinctive whoosh of a rocket launch, followed by the crack and thunder of an explosion. It must have missed, however, as the hammering of the machine gun never failed.

“Now!” Alvarez declared, urging the solider up the slope “While it's distracted!” He and the solder scrambled up the embankment, resting at the top, the trooper uncoupling the launcher from his pack, extending it and bringing it to his shoulder. Even as he took aim, Alvarez saw the gun traversing back in their direction. The rocket trooper must have saw it, too, because he rushed his shot, firing and flinging the tube away from himself as he rolled down the hill. Alvarez stayed up long enough to confirm what he already knew; he had no idea where the rocket went, but it was a clean miss.

As they lay at the bottom of the embankment, bullets tearing over their heads and into the corn stalks, the soldier offered a sheepish grin and said “I'm sorry, Teniente. Alvarez cursed, not at the man, but at the situation, and peeked over the top of the berm again. The firing from the machine gun had subsided, the volume of fire from the accompanying infantry had picked up to cover the lull. As Alvarez watched, he saw the driver brace a long firearm over the passenger side and let loses, the gun rocking back, and “My God. “ he aid “This that a woman in the cab?”

He wasn't given time to contemplate this spectacle, however as he felt someone tap him on his shoulder. He turned to see Roman and one of his airborne men, carrying an RPG-7. “We've got this sir, get down.” Roman said. In quick order, the RPG gunner lay down on the dirt, bracing the rocket launcher on the ground just as the man before him had down. Roman loaded a rocket into the device and tapped the mans helmet before throwing himself clear. Alvarez did likewise. Even those he had ducked and moved away, he still felt the back blast wash over him, once again sending pieces of corn flying through the air.

The rocket fell short, actually flying under the truck and exploding, lifting the vehicle off the ground and turning it on its side. Alvarez cheered with the men around him, elated by the trucks demise, when a sharpshooter in the wreckage picked one of the cheering men off who had exposed himself when he stood up, seeding him toppling back into the corn field. “Get down and keep firing!” Alvarez declared, dropping from a crouch to the prone position and firing several bursts from his carbine.

They exchanged fire for several moments, what felt like an eternity to Alvarez before he heard the steady thudding of the PKP to his right. Wrecking his way down the berm, he saw Dag and his assistant gunner, one of the Meijian troopers, manning the massive machine gun, giving unto the enemy as their truck had gave unto his own men. “Dag what are you doing over here?” Alvarez shouted

“No good shots form the grove” he shouted over the racket of the machine gun “Had to reposition, roman moved to take my place. Fedor and Third Squad have moved up, and should be flanking them soon on the right, they’ll either die in place or pull back into the town.

It happened as Dag explained, within 5 minutes, Fedor's squad had moved up to the side of the building at the entrance of the village, opposite the now burning truck, moving behind it to attack the defenders on their left. The defenders fought tenaciously, and did not die in place instead executing a rather orderly withdraw further into the village. As the firing slacked off, Dag flipped up his bipod and said “I'm going to move, you and First advance, we'll cover.

“First and Forth, forward!” Alvarez shouted as he vaulted the embankment and changed forward into the outskirts of the villages; if such a small settlement could really be said to have outskirts, and took cover behind a small cobblestone wall, several meter passed the bring truck, bracing his AKS-74U over the rough hewn stone and firing several short, controlled bursts, not necessarily aimed fire at an enemy, but as a general encouragement for him to keep his head down. Above, one of the Hinds buzzed by close to the ground, coming to a stop long enough for Alvarez to hear the tell-tale crack of the VSSK before moving on again.

Glancing to his right, he saw that Jose was moving forward, seeking cover further into the town and a look over his shoulder revealed that the Dag and his assistance gunner, as well Roman and his team from the tree grove, had begun their advance and were coming up to join the attackers, now that the first teams had the enemy’s attention. As Alvarez gripped the top of the wall and prepared to vault over it, he saw Jose rip a RGD-5 hand grenade from his LBE and hurl it towards an unseen position to the right, further into the town, at the same time calling out contacts to the squad mates following him. Good solider Alvarez thought as he vaulted the small wall and moved towards Jose, who had now assumed a proper stance and was firing on the enemy. As Alvarez approached the corner of the house on the right, he could see Jose' target, what appeared to be the skeletal remains of a two story building, and a small bunker beyond it, maybe the basement of a house with the block window converted into a firing slit, bright flares of yellow fire announcing the presence of a machine gun within.

As if in low motion, Alvarez watched as the gunners stream fo fire worked its way towards Jose, still standing in the street firing his rifle, the tracers from the gun making an almost solid line of light, the rounds kicking up puffs of dirt and dust as he walked the fire towards his target. Letting his rifle drop from his hands an catch on its sling, Alvarez charged Jose, full on tackling him before the gunner could cut him down where his brave but foolish ass stood.

Jose, understandably, clawed at Alvarez as he rolled him across the ground and behind the corner of a building, a line of rounds kicking up dust where that had been moments before. With a burst of strength, Jose tore free from Alvarez grip and yanked another grenade form his harness, throwing it with all his strength around the corner towards the machine gun position. Whether by luck or the grace of God, the oblong fragmentation grenade landed squarely in front of the window and its momentum carried right into the bunker, sending it clattering to the concrete floor. The muffled explosions shook the building on its frame, and the gunner feel silent, a plume of smoke and dust rising out of the slit, secondary explosions announcing the ammunition inside was cooking off.

Alvarez turned to regard Jose, intending to tell him that his aim had been excellent, when he saw blood running freely from the mans face, and a nasty gash in his uniform revealed a fairly deep scrape along his leg, probably from where Alvarez had tackled him. “You must be more careful.” he said, not unkindly, “or you'll die out here. It was a good thing you did with that grenade, though.” Even as he spoke others were moving up, advancing down the avenue opened by the pillbox' demise. Helping Jose up, Alvarez turned him around, getting into the assault pack the man carried and retrieve several extra magazines and a grenade Here, restock, you're running low.” he said, handing the items to Jose. As the man fumbled to out the times into the correct pouched, Alvarez shouted “Medic! I need a Medic over here!”

One of the Puzzaki commandos broke ranks from the men moving down the street and trotted over to their position. “You hurt, Leytenant?

“No, this one is, not bad, I think.” Alvarez replied, gesturing to Jose “Let him patch you up, Jose, and catch up with me, we aren't close to being done yet, but we're making progress!” Nodding to Jose and giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, Alvarez unsling his carbine and moved out from over, heading down the avenue leading deeper into the village “Forward, comrades!” he shouted, “Run down the traitors dogs! Viva Costa Mejis!”

[Puzikas]

1003 hours

A team of Puzakk BTR-90s seemed headlong to the fight, having received strange ordered from Medved.
"Disregard your last Stohpor; were sending you into a hot zone."
The young naval marine radioman, Corporal Denys Zyltcan, responded perplexed.
"Understood, medved. Inquisitive; can we have a sitrep, over"
The radio was met with silence, and a new voice took over. One with a minor accent, not Mejan but not quite native Puzakk
"Stohpor, this is Berkut. I'll be the active radio controller for your branch of this operation, over."
Denys paused, the teams around him looking with confusion. Medved had ordered them to sweep a rail bridge that lead to the base for explosive devices, a job that, while in territory not known to contain rebels, was taken very seriously.
"Berkut.." one soldier started. He was half dressed in an explosives ordinance vest.
"Thats the...what, the call sign for PSOAIC?"
PSOAIC, the Puzakk Special Operations And Intelligence Command.
"Berkut, can you give us a sitrep, over"
"Affirmative Stohpor, standby"
The soldiers stood around with a hushed rumble about them, every one of them waiting for what was going on that the boys in black needed them.
"Stohpor"
"Go ahead Berkut, over"
"According to PSOAIC, everyone in your force has signed non disclosure agreement. This information falls under title three, Classified with impunity, break"
"You will proceed to grid X82Y40 to provide support for a joint endeavor: Operation: Cosecha Montez. A oggruna of Spetznagruppa alfa soldiers, call sign Shakal, was to support Costa Mejian soldiers in a raid against a rebel position. The lead gunship, an MI-24, was taken down. The Alfa team has reported single KIA and one several wounded. You are to provide fire support. Your EOD team and first squad is to proceed with them to the downed hind, and destroy it, over."
The started bickering among themselves, as the lieutenant and platoon sergeant began talking.

"Im expecting wounded, should I get the medics prepared?"
"We should expect dead. The Alfa teams are the best of the best...if their suffering wounded..."
"Keep in mind, lieutenant, that the Mejans...they aren't suited to the style of Alfa. Alfa would prefer to be dropped in from three klicks away and move in slow like. Take the camp by sudden and overwhelming firepower, or silently take it in the dead of night. This isnt something they could have helped."
The lieutenant nodded.
The radio lit up again.
"Stohpor, we also have reports we ant you to look into, and confirm if possible."

Following Berkuts reports, every marine in the Platoon was eager to join in the fight. They sped along the somewhat desolate rout to what was dubbed Objective Shergne.

"It looks like, according to the map, we have to cross though a tunnel to get there. The Objective is eight klicks from that point."
The sergeant sat in silence. The tunnel was noisy, he could hear the supercharged engine echoing off its walls.

As the team neared the end of the tunnel, something caught the driver of the first BTRs eye.
"Son of a bitch!"
He slammed on the breaks, bringing the vehicle to a violent stop. The massive vehicle screeched to a halt, but not before skidding right over a mine.
The mine detonated with massive force, sending shocks though the vehicle. The lights surged and the vehicle went dark.
"Vehicle one just took an IED, its bad!" Yelled someone in another BTR
"SHIT! AMBUSH!"

The platoon sergeant quickly ordered the men in the rear BTRs out. Small arms fire had started already from an unknown position, though clearly they were exposed to it.
"Stohpor 1-1, whats the situation?"
The BTR crew responded in a panicked nature
"Central tire pressure is too low, we've totally lost the second axle all together! Fire suppression system cooked off, its a mobility kill!"
"Can you get the gun up?"
"Nyet! The electronics are cooked! That was one hell of an IED!"


Small arms fire continued at the soldiers of the first BTR who had been forced out by the smoke from an apparent fire.
"Push it out of the way!"
"Negative, lieutenant!"
"Well why the hell not, sergeant?!"
"We dont know what they have, and we cant risk loosing another BTR!"
"Well what the hell should we do!?
The sergeant paused to think. This situation posed no easy way out, that was for sure. small arms fire, he could see from the TV, was random and from seemingly nowhere particular. The dismounted infantry could barely get a shot off at one of the hundreds of places the fire could be coming from. With the electronics in the BTR nonoperational, the gun was useless. All the BTR was good for now was blocking the way.

"Shit, 1-1, fall back to the third BTR. 1-2, push that one out of the way!"
"What about RPGs?!"
"If we stay here, we're shitcanned anyways! Move it!"
"Is it in neutral?"
"The electronics are offline, yes it will roll!"

The second BTr sprung to life as the crew from the first ran from their covered positions. A gentle tap of the first one and it accelerated to 40 kilometers per hour. The two flew out of th mouth of the tunnel, followed by the remainder of the force, the crew from the first hannging onto the sides of the third. The first was pushed away.

"Enemy position, three oclock position!"
the 30mm gun turned and threw twenty five rounds into the nearby foliage. Small arms fire slowly died off after that.
"Looks like we're back in business. Standby."

the lieutenant radioed, a bit anxious about the reaction he would get.
"Berkut, come in Berkut, this is Stohpor, over."
"Go ahead, Stohpor"
"We uh...Ran into a bit of a snag going though the tunnel. Rebels had set up an ambush, they took out one BTR. No casualties, over"
"Stohpor, get in gear. Those soldiers can not hold out much longer. The BTR is to be destroyed, over and out"

The EOD team wasted no time wiring the BTR for destruction. though the occasional shots were taken at them, they finished in promptness. Within 10 minutes they were ready to go. They made it 4 klicks before the lead BTR was forced to stop.
"Whats the hold up, 2?"
"Sir...you better look at this."
As the Sergent dismounted from the BTR, he was filled with nothing less than rage. The insurgents, in their retreat , had laid a large number of IEDs.
"Better tell Berkut were going to be awhile..."

[Fortunagen]

When the testosterone subsided and Jose came to measure the possible impact of his injuries he was receiving every time he charged into a fight, he was thankful a medic had held him back.
The medic was obviously from far away, Jose did not know where exactly, but he knew the accent was definitely not Mejian.
Jose could still make out most of what the foreigner was saying, and he was asking about nose. The more Jose felt his nose, the more raw it became, but nevertheless, Jose persisted that he was fine, and instead Jose asked about the medic's past.
Before Jose could make conversation, he vision became hazed, and he was having another hallucination.
He blinked his eyes open and looked down at himself.
Jose was young again, and he had just awoken.
The old mattress creaked as he go to his feet, and Jose inhaled the smell of maize being cooked by his mother across the house.
It was morning, and as he ran his hand across the furniture. He remembered that this had to be just a dream or something like that. Nevertheless, he ran towards his mother, wondering if he could ask the questions he never had the opportunity to ask. When he saw her face he almost broke into tears. But then he felt something prick him. The last thing Jose saw was his mother opening her mouth to tell him something.
His vision slowly returned, and the medic standing over him had a look of exasperation on his face.
"How long was I out?"
"About two minutes, and uh..."
"What?"
"Your face...it is pale."
"Huh?"
The medic tackled Jose and threw his back on the ground, and this time Jose did not have a vision, but instead black. Meanwhile, the medic quickly forced Jose's legs to be propped in an upright position on a small stone. He thought no blood was circulated to his head, and that could be bad. Jose's face was a ghastly white, and he was scared that he might have lost one.
About three minutes later, Jose awoke again to see the medic smoking a cigar sitting next to him. The colour had returned to Jose's face, but the medic did not seem reassured. After a brief conversation, the medic handed Jose a pill and told him to swallow it.
Within moments, Jose was back on his feet, and he and medic needed to catch up to the rest of the group, or it might not end well.

[Nua Corda]

1000 Hours, the Village Outskirts

John was having fun. He'd caught a squad of the enemy in the open as Sam rolled the truck out of cover, and the two massive guns shredded them like wet tissue paper. Even with the recoil reduction mechanisms of the Robinson, the 13mm CMG was a harsh cartridge, and it was all John could do to keep the twin-linked guns on target. The recoil shuddered through his arms, and the thunder of the guns shook his ears. But the effects were fantastic to behold. Columns of dust six feet high shot up as the massive rounds slammed into the berm, and woe betide the Mejian or Puzak who dared raise his head. One man reared up to fire his rifle, only to have his torso explode in a wet burst of red spray as John unleashed the weapon on him, shooting him at least seven times. Rounds whizzed and plinked off the sides of the truck, and a rebel screamed and fell back as a 7.62 round took him in the throat. Sam's Shilelagh roared, spitting a 10 gauge burst of pellets into the face of an enemy soldier who tried to launch a grenade at them. Behind them, the mortars thumped and whistled, and the screams of the dead and dying wailed like ghosts through the smoke and gunfire.

A rocket whooshed from the Mejian lines, swerving away from the truck and detonating into the wall. John laughed, and poured more fire into the ranks. One of the guns ran dry, and he kicked the ammo box out from under it, grabbing a spare belt from another box and feeding it into the silent gun while he kept up fire with the other. He pulsed the guns, firing one and letting the other cool, then swapping. Sam reached into her pocket and fumbled a handful of dull grey shells with orange bands around the center into her shotgun. She slammed the pump, raised the weapon to her shoulder, and fired. The 10ga grenade round dropped into a clump of Mejians and exploded, generating shrieks and moans. Sam grinned like a devil, and pumped the gun again.

A helicopter buzzed overhead, and hovered over the square, loosing sniper fire on the mortars. John, noticing the mortar fire slackening, turned the MG on the chopper, perforating it's tail and fuselage. But without the machine gun to keep them down, the Mejians rose from their ditch.

"RPG!!!!!!!!" Sam bellowed, loosing a blast at the weapon. She missed. The RPG didn't.

John tried to turn the gun around, but it was too late. The rocket was away. He grasped the edge of the gunner's cage, and swung over the side of the truck seconds before the HEAT round slammed into the ground under the side of the old truck. There was a noise, incredibly loud, then a wave of heat and burning shrapnel. He felt a shard of white-hot steel graze his arm and rolled over in the dust, choking and wiping dirt from his eyes. As he staggered to his feet, scooping his ART-64 from the ground, he saw Sam struggling to drag herself out of the ruined cab.

"SAM!" He yelled, running over to her and setting the weapon on the ground. She grimaced as he dropped to one knee beside her and surveyed the damage. Her left leg was pinned in the door at a funny angle, and blood was running down the leg of her jeans. Sparks flew as rounds pinged off the roof of the truck, and the undercarriage blazed and smoldered.

"J-John" she grunted, pulling the shotgun out from under her and tossing it out of the truck. "Bastards. Motherfucking bastards... AH SHIT" she winced as she tried to move her leg "FUCK! I think its broken..."

"Could you move it?"

"I dunno... maybe. Ah geez, it hurts like hell..."

"Hold on. I'll try and lift it. If you can, pull your leg out"

"Ok. Hurry up, I think I cut something important..." she gasped, bitting her lip. He turned around, placed his back against the roof of the cap, and threw his weight into it, curling his fingers around the edge of the roof and straining. His muscles stood out like knotted cord, and his eyes bulged as he struggled with the heavy machine. He relaxed, panting, then suddenly bared his teeth, let loose a battle cry fit to wake the dead, and hurled himself into the cap. The truck creaked, John screamed, and it budged.

"NOW! NOW! NOW!" He roared, bracing against the vehicle with all his might. She grit her teeth and yanked her leg out from under the door. He let the vehicle fall and slumped against it, chest heaving. A round whirred through the cab and pierced the roof, setting his ears ringing and reminding him that this was no time to rest. He staggered over to his sister and threw an arm around her, dragging her to her feet. She winced as she tried to put weight on the leg.

"Yeah... SHIT! Definitely broken"

"OK, hang on. I'll try and get you back to the church..." He supported her weak side on his arm and shoulder, stooping to pick up their weapons, and began to drag her in retreat.

"Fall back! Fall back! We can't hold this position! Fall back to the second line of houses!" He ordered, and the rebels obeyed, some opening fire to cover their retreat as others dragged the wounded back to the second lines, and others looted the dead for ammo. John and Sam limped for the church, tripping over debris and bodies. As they entered the square, they saw the mess the chopper had made of the mortars. Two tubes were destroyed, and three men dead. Two from another crew were dragging a third, who appeared to have caught shrapnel from an exploding ammo case, back to the church on a makeshift stretcher.

Fire crackled behind them as the rebels opened up on the Mejians and Puzaks charging through the abandoned front lines. John waited for the men to get the wounded mortar crewman inside, then carried his twin through the door. Inside was chaos. The Gold Cross doctors were handling an influx of wounded rebels they had never been equipped to deal with, and the church was full of screams, running and the beeping of electronics. The air smelt of blood and antiseptic. He helped Sam into a chair by a window and a crate of ammo. She grimaced at him, and grabbed his hand as he got up. She squeezed it tightly.

"Thanks. Now, give me my gun. I can't walk, but I can still shoot" She held out her hand. John paused. She narrowed a brilliant green eye. He tossed her the shotgun. "Now get out there and give 'em hell, bro!" He saluted, and dodged out the door.

In the square, the mortar crews were recovering from the marauding helicopter, and rebels were pulling Stingers out of crates in preparation for it's return. John ran up to the sandbag wall they had erected at the fallback zone, and braced his carbine on the edge of it. The enemy had taken positions behind the buildings he had been using for cover a minute ago. He waited for one to duck out, then squeezed off a burst of 7x42mm SPAC. Another rebel fired a few rounds of .280 NACO from his MRS-67 next to him, and John took the opportunity to drop down, pull out his radio, and contact Bob Castor.

"Big Dog to L Company Actual, repeat, Big Dog to L Company Actual, How Copy?

"Good Copy, over"

"L Actual, I need you to fall back to the village, repeat, fall back to the village! The situation is borked, over"

"Roger, Big Dog, fall back to village, over"

John holstered the radio and fired another burst over the sandbags. He knew this battle was over. It was only a matter of time. At this point, all they could do was keep them pinned until re-enforcements arrived, then retreat and keep hurting them. Maybe, if they hurt them enough, the government troops might be open to negotiating a surrender on terms John would find favorable, rather than keep loosing men.

1028 Hours, the Northern Ridge

Bob Castor stowed his radio, sniped another pair of Mejians, then got to his feet, flicking the empty magazine from his AR-10.

"FALL BACK! FALL BACK TO THE VILLAGE!" He bellowed. His sections began to retreat, hauling the lighter MGs with them, and tossing grenades under the heavier ones, to prevent them from being captured. The mortars continued to pound the cornered foe, even though their fire had slackened, and under their cover what was left of L Company turned tail and broke out running for the village.

[Costa Mejis]

1002 hours

Kirill cursed as the tell-tale sound of metal impacting on metal reverberated through the helicopters cabin. He knew the helicopter was doomed even before the warning sirens began to wail and the pilot announced “We're hit! That MG tore up the trail rotor assembly. I can barely hold it, I've got to pull out!”

Plucking the microphone from its mount Kirill replied “Fine, pilot, but drop myself and my man off before you depart. You can set us down near the crashed chopper.” Hanging up the interphone, Krill keyed his radio “Shakal 1 to Medved, this aircraft is it and withdrawing, myself and my partner will be going dirt down. I will be clearing the command channel and on squad frequency.”

“Roger, Shakal 1, good hunting. Be advised, the relief force ha met with tis Mejian counterparts, several BTR-90's and two PT-76BM's is en route, but has run into unexpected trouble at the mouth of the tunnel, there was an IED in the round, and it mobility killed a BTR-90, no casualties. They're dealing with the situation now.”

As the Mi-24K began a slow, limping bank back towards the crash site. Kirill watched as the soldiers on the ground moved up, the technical now a smoking wreck, rebels fleeing back into the village as the Airborne forces advanced. No he thought Fleeing isn't the right word for it. As he watched, the rebels moved with order, and purpose, falling back by the numbers, laying down covering fire, fighting like professionals .. Clearly, someone had seen to their training, and he was determined to find out who, and make them pay.

The helicopter descend as rapidly as its damage would allow, until it was hovering only a few feet off the ground “Out!” shouted the pilot as Bogdan kicked a crate out of the open hatch, sending it crashing to the soft ground with a thud. Bogan, his VSSK slung over his back and his SR-2VM submachine gun at the ready, took point getting out, sweeping the field as he moved to cover. Kirill followed him out, his own rifle at the ready. As soon as they were clear, the hatch slammed shut a the helicopter lumbered into the air, heading across the river, banking lightly to the north, its loop intended to carry it out of the combat zone.

“Well, here we are.” Bogdan said as Kirill moved next to him. “What do you think?”

“I think the enemy in the village is about done, and he knows it. I think, soon, he's going to call his men engaging the Meijan's Second Platoon back to fall on the attackers, attempting to pin them in place. I think they, in urn, will be pinned when Second Platoon moves up and the relief force arrives.” Kirill replied

Bogdan smiled wickedly. “I believe I have the skills to interfere with the enemies movements back towards the village. With your permission?

Kirill nodded “I'll move into the village, see what assistance I can offer our young commander.”

---

1019 hours

Th floorboards of the old two story house creaked and groaned as Alvarez made his way across what appeared to have, up until recently, been a child’s bed room and had become the attackers forward observation post. Soldiers had overturned the single bed frame and pressed it against the far window, the one over looking the village square, using it for cover and occasionally exchanging fire with the soldiers across the square who manned similar positions. The village square was littered with bodies and wrecked equipment. The mortar teams had pulled back as the Airborne forces advanced, and had resumed firing from somewhere behind the village church, out of sight of the attackers. A slightly smokey haze and formed across the village, caused by the numerous fires raging in houses that were burning unchecked. The entire scene was a nightmare, and one Alvarez could have done without.

Speaking softly, though he had no idea why, Alvarez tapped Roman on the shoulder and spoke “Whats the situation?”

“It could be worse, sir.” Roman replied “They're held up in the church and the buildings across the square, there's a bit of a lull in the fighting now, only because neither side can advance yet. They have the river at their backs, but they are dug in deep and hard.”

“Whats our strength?” Alvarez asked

“Not so good, the technical took its toll, as did the drive through the village to get here, I'd saw were down to bout 12, maybe 13 men.” He jerked his head in the direction of the church “God only knows what they have, but I'm thinking they out number us, maybe not by much, but enough that they have all their avenues covered. Any attempt to force a crossing here at the square would be suicide, and we lack the strength to flank effectively. Until we're relieved, we should not move, we should only seek to contain.”

“So we stay put?” Fedor asked “Sounds boring. Lets call in tac air on them.”

“No.” Both Alvarez and Roman said in unison, Roman explained first. “I saw what appear to be aid workers moving around inside the church, they didn't look local, but they weren't armed. I imagine there are civilians in there.”

“Didn't we come here to kill everyone anyways?” Fedor retorted

“Yes, but not in front of international witnesses.” replied Roman

“Further,” Alvarez put in “We can't simply bomb the church, the nation prides itself on its devoutness to the Church, to do so would be an affront to God, and, maybe more importantly, a PR nightmare.”

“It's not goin to be too long before they recall their force to the north and it pins us in.” Roman pointed out

“I know, but then they'll be pinned between us and Second Platoon....and the relief force, when it arrives.” Alvarez reminded hm

“Yeah, it's a fucking sandwich, and we're the meat in the middle.” Fedor spat.

As if on cue, Alverez's RTO crept through the door. “Sir, Second Platoon on the horn.”

Alveez took the proffered microphone from the man and said “Tigre 4-6 actual here, go ahead.”

Behind the voice that replied, Alvarez could hear the popping sound of gunfire and the bellow of explosions. “4-6, this is 2-6, be advised, resistance is weakening, we believe the enemy may be pulling back to collapse onto the village. We're moving up, but I imagine the puntas will have left traps for us, no ETA.”

“Roger, 4-6 out.” he said, ending the communications and adjusting the radios channel settings “Tigre 4-6 to Shakal 1, come in.”

There was no response for several minutes. Finally a new voice with a strange accent replied “Uh Tigre 4-6, this is Medved, monitoring your command frequency, Shakal has cleared the net and gone to ground and the command post helicopter has withdrawn. You can reach Shakal on one the squad frequency.”

“Roger, Medved, Tigre 4-6, out.” he nodded to Roman “Try and fucking raise your boss while I try and raise someone in command.”

After several minutes of frequency hoping, he finally managed to raise the command post at Fort Sturgis. After several more moments, he was patched in to speak with General Alanzo Garcia, the commander of the 1st Airborne Brigade, who had been aboard the Mi-24K. “This is Tigre, go ahead, 4-6.”

“Sir, requesting orders, information and support.” Alverez said

Of all the responses he had expected, the chuckled that came across was not one of them “Orders, I can not offer you, son. You do what you need to do to get your men out alive and accomplish your objective. What information I can offer you is this. About 15 minutes ago, the relief column reported contact at the mouth of the tunnel, IED's disabled one of the BTR's, and small arms fired pinned them down. They've broken through the tunnel, and have discovered that the enemy has mined the highway leading towards Cuidad Mejis with IED's. In short, they can not advance with speed, as they must disarm the bombs. There is no ETA for their arrival.”

Alvarez felt his heart sink “Sir, I'm down to 12 men here, I need relief.”

“I understand that, soldier, and I can not offer it to you. Third platoon is still pined down, and Second platoon is advancing as they can, I am sure what remains will reach you within the hour. After that, I do not know.” Garcia relied “I an, however, offer you this support. The Mi-24's are refueling and rearming as we speak, and should be back to support you within 30 minutes. However, the flight of Su-25's promised is going to be on station soon, their callsign is Tiburón and you can reach them on the fire support channel.”

“Well, thank God for that.” Alvarez muttered before keying u “I copy Tigre. We'll do what we can, out.” He looked up, and saw that every man in the room was staring at him “We have good positions.” he said “and he's right, second platoon will be here soon, we can hold this, and we can win!”

He pointed at Fedor “You wanted tac air? You got it. Take two men and move back towards the villages northwest approach, set up an OP and watch for the enemy to advance from the words, direct those Su-25's onto them.” Fedor nodded, collecting his rifle and his chosen men and moving out of the room. “The rest of you, stand fast, we can do this!”

[Puzikas]

1012 Hours

Kirill watched as Bogdan sunk into the ever thickening woodland around the jungle. His deep green uniform would soon enough be covered in mud and loose foliage in an effort for him to blend in. With a final motion, bogdan turned his head and saluted Kirill, ans he sunk into the inky black. His radio crackled once, indicating he was going to be silent until in position.

God help those men... Kirill though to himself. He stood up after checking to be sure he was ready, and took off in a dead sprint tords the sounds of gunfire. Being sure to stay out of view, he weaved his way through the ever thickening jungle and along the swaths of cleared areas. He stepped over the bodies of fallen soldeirs, rebels and friendlies alike. Something caught his eye.

He stopped and ran back to where he thought he saw it. Sure enough, he was not hallucinating. He took out his camera and took a photo. This has to be a fucking joke. In the hands of one of the rebels was an abnormal weapon, looked to be military surplus, probably western. It wasn't the weapon that made him stop, it was the stock. The weapons butt plate was a shovel handle, complete with the wooden shaft. The bolt was open, and the rebel holding it was slouched against a tree. His torso was torn open, clean though. He could see the trunk of the tree. That must be Bogdans kill, he though. The round itself was never, to his knowledge, used on anyone. He took a picture, as this was probably one of the first deployments of the VSSK, and certainly the first where it saw combat. He looked around a bit more, to see if he could spot any more of Bogdans kills, or any more shovel rifles.

He spotted something abnormal, a trail of blood. He followed it, but it only lead away from the bodies. Tracing it back, he followed it back past the bodies, down near the end of the treeline. Only a few shell casings littered the area, with three bodies around it. One hell of a survivor, he though. He ran back to the trail and started off in a dead sprint to the village. As he drew closer, he could clearly hear the chatter of the PKP.
"Friendly, coming in from rear!"
"Thats what she said."
"Shut...that doesn't even make sense, Fedor."
"It does if your Roman"
Fedor was going to hear about that later, but he was probably feeling it now.
Kirill ran into a small house, where dags machinegun was the only ambient sound. He tapped him on the shoulder, and was greeted with a "1". Dag finnised off the belt, as tracers disappeared into the dense jungle. In the silence, for a moment, a yell sounded out.
"I think that 28 today. 37 if you count the ones I did in with the Kalashnikov. 38 if you count the ones with the knife. 40 with grenades."
"Christ, you are bloody mad."
"Yep. Im also low on ammunition..." He pressed the tab on his radio "Because SOMEONE had to blow up where the rebels had the ammunition!"
"Im sorry!" Fedor yelled back.
Kirill rolled his eyes. Clearly, no one was happy about the current situation, but it was shaping up slightly.
"We have no ETA on the marines. The Mejans committed a few re-enforcements to the party, but the IEDs on the road are stopping them".
"So the situations buggered. We still got everyone but Yuri, though I think Merics torn up from a grenade. Should be stable, I thought I saw an explosion from his BS-1 a minute or two ago."
"Can you give me a sitrep?"
"Nyet, go check with Alvarez. Hes in that hut over there."
"Can you cover me?"
small arms fire was still being exchanged, but it was not nearly in as much volume as before. The rebels were much better than Kirill though they were.
"Yea. I got 300 rounds though.."
"Just get her up, ill move fast."
Dag reached into his vest and handed him a nip bottle. Kirill rolled his eyes but took a drink, and handed it back.
"You know, you could get in a lot of trouble for that. Its unsafe."
"You have your addictions, I have mine."
Kirill swapped out a bel and begin firing, as Kirill flew out the door. His feet dug into the dirt as he sprinted for his life across 100 meters of open, uncovered ground. Bullets cracked overhead and a only a meter in front or behind him. The door to the house was open, he ran in with a huge burst of energy, and immediatly began tapping himself. He felt warm liquid running down his back. Shit. Shit shit shit...please don't let this... He reached back and pulled his hand out. A bullet had punctured his hydration bladder. A few, actually. He started to drink from the hose hanging off his shoulder until all the water was gone. Some now was better than none later.

"Alvarez!"
Fedor and two men moved down the stairs, Fedor high-fived him. "We got Air! Moving to guide the fun in!"
"Right. Try not to get shot for me."
"Sounds like a deal."
"Alvarez is upstairs. You hear about our support?
"Yep."
"Alright then, more fun for us, right?"
"Shutup, Fedor."

Kirill ran up the stairs and called friendlies.
"In here!"
"Alvarez!"
"Sargento!"
Kirll entered with caution, hopping no one would twitch and open fire on him. Everyone had weapons at the ready, but lowered them in seconds.
"Can you give me a sitrep?

---

1022 hours

Bogdan crawled slowly forward. He had spotted a position that would allow him to fire on the enemy without being seen; an opertunity he felt was too good to pass up. The enemy may be falling back, but any smart force would attempt to keep the enemy contained as long as possible. Bogdan felt he could make that small force less effective. The VSSk is a suppressed rifle, though he had been firing supersonic loads though it to account for the moment of the helicopter and the winds it created. With the subsonic loads, he would have no issue remaining undetected. Rebels were dotting the area. He turned his radio on at its lowest volume, and spoke slowly, in a hushed voice.
"Shakal 1-1, this is Prizrakk. I have visual on a small force engaging you to the northeast. Permission to engage?"
"Granted, Prizrakk."
Bogdan disengaged the safety of his rifle and relaxed. He lined his target up in the rangefinder, 450 meters. Perfect.
The target was manning a machinegun, resting upon what appeared to be a fallen tree. Bogdan held his breath and slowly released, as he lined up the target and squeezed the trigger. The gentle thud of the rifle against his shoulder and a small hiss. The massive 70 gram bullet raced to the unsuspecting gunner at 320 meters per second, before leaving him with a hole big enough to park a car in. He slid the next round into battery.
In the village, the eliminated machine gunner did not go unnoticed.

His next target was one he identified as a radioman. He let another one fly, this one struck the radio gunner in the torso squarely, kicking up smoke and dust as it penetrated clean though. The radio man went limp and rolled downhill slowly, as another shot was lined up. A man setting up a mortar. Bogdan deliberately aimed at the skull, allowing the bullet to strike the throat. The round missed, but went unnoticed. No trick shots, keep that shit for sport shooting.. He aimed again, yet this last round met its previous mark. The head of the soldier fell off, as the body went limp. Riflemen ran to hide behind trees as the watched their comrades body twitch like a chicken without its head.

He reloaded the rifle, a very smooth process. He returned to firing, eliminating two riflemen near the area of the mortar before shooting the mortar itself, rendering it hopefully useless. He spotted a marksman laying in a hole, head covered in foliage. All that was visible was a rifle, and a shoulder. Armature.. Bogdan let a round loose, and the arm vanished from sight. The rifle fell forward. IF he wasn't dead, he was neutralized.

Riflemen began to take cover, small arms fire died down. The only shooting it seemed was coming from the village, or nearby. Bogdan continued to scan for targets. The church nearby seemed like a likely place for them to hide, surely no one would bomb a church. Sure enough, there was military gear inside. His eyes drifted up into the tower, where he could see a marksman setting up. He pulled the trigger.

"1-1, I've got material inside the church. I cant see any combatants."
"Copy, Prizrakk. Do not engage the church."
"shit."
"Say again?"
"Nothing."

About 40 meters in from of him, a rifleman passed by, sweeping the brush. Behind him were more, and they were carrying some serious firepower. Grenade machine guns, MMGs, and mortars. Bogdan slung the rifle over his shoulder and took the safety off his SR-2VM. The 40-round casket magazine would have to do. He inched forward, within 5 meters of the enemies now setting up the weapons. Weapon at the ready, he muttered a short prayer under his breath ,and took aim. He depressed the trigger, and let loose a short burst into nearby targets. The others began to scramble for their weapons, but it was too late. He stood up and began firing on each of them. The gentle recoil of the 9x21 rounds kept his aim steady as he perforated the soldiers where they stood. The empty magazine was the last thing to fall. Bogdan reloaded the small weapon. He had felt satisfied with what he had done. The retreating enemy was more important.

"1-1, im done firing. Going to keep track of forces. Will keep advised, out"

---

1028 hours

"Alvarez, I have a plan, but you may not like it"
"At this point, I am willing to try anything."
"Right. That church. The enemy is held up in it, that is where our current biggest issue is, correct?"
"Yes. But I will not-"
"listen. We aren't going to blow the church. Were going to storm it."
"Storm the church?"
"We're experts in this thing. There isn't a thing we haven't stormed."
"Ship, aircraft, building, embassy, trench, helicopter, room, bunker, submarine. You name it, we've stormed it at least a dozen times" Roman added.
The squads medic entered the room, much to everyone surprise. He was carrying a Mejian who had a bloodied nose.
"The hell happened to him?"
"I dont know, I dont have an MRI machine with me. Sorry, I forgot it back at base. Now, stop being dumb and help me prop this jackass up"
Roman did so
"He keeps slipping in and out. I gave him the stuff, hopefully it will kick in soon. He hasent told me how the nose started bleeding, im guessing the crash. It keeps going. I bet he has a MTBI.
"We aren't doctors, Vasily. Whats an MTBI?"
"mild traumatic brain injury. And I'm not a doctor"
"So he may have a concussion?"
"Maybe. how was Dag? Asshole wouldn't hold still long enough for me to look him over."
"Fine, hes spitting death."
The Mejian shock violently before snapping away, clutching his rifle. His eys shot around the room. Vasily put his hand on the soldiers rifle, pushing him against the wall until he stopped twitching. Color returned quickly.
"That was violent, how much did you give him?"
"Twice the amount."
"Jesus, he was that bad?"
"Pretty bad, I thought I was going to loose him a few times. He needs to be section Ud when he gets back."
He turned to Alvarez
"No offence, but let one of our doctors take a look at him. Hes really bad."
Alvarez nodded.
"Whats the plan?"
"Kirill wants to storm the church."
"Im cool with that, I think I still have a smoke dispersal unit on me"
"Hows Meric?"
"Fine, hes with Dags team now, stable"
"Can he fight?"
"When has anything ever stopped him?"

Alvarez spoke softly.
"Assault the church. Dont storm it...we can cover up any civilians. I dont want another of my men killed of this."
"Your an excellent commander, Alvarez. You took my men this far, and you will take us to victory today. I look forward to serving with you again". Kirill shook Alvarez hand.

[Costa Mejis]

1032 hours

Fedor darted across the unpaved village street in a manor eerily close to that of his commanders the two men from Alvarez’s unit hot on his heels. Enemy fire kicked up dust and and debris as they ran, a volley of fire erupting from the positions they'd just abandoned announced their comrades trying to force the enemy to keep their heads down.

As they bounded into a two story house which Fedor believed would give them a good view of the cornfield, the two troopers sagged against the buildings wall, taking long drinks form the drinking tubes and panting heavily. Fedor slapped one of them on the back, causing him to sputter and cough as he declared “Wasn’t that fun boys?!”. The Mejian looked to his partner, who shrugged and said “ese hombre esta loco”

Fedor, meaning, was bounding up the stairs of the house, and moved into the master bedroom. Pulling the curtains hung over the window slightly apartment, he smiled “Yes!” he declared, shouting to the men now following him up, “This will be perfect.”. As he watched though, a thought occurred to him. Keying his radio, he asked “Shakal 1-1, didn't our beloved Mejian commander say that Tigre 2-6 reported being in contact with something company sized?”

“Thats affirmative.” the reply came instantly.

“and that the Mejian force was pretty cut up and pinned down prior to the enemy's withdrawal?”

“Again, that’s affimative, where are you going with this?”

“It seems to me that it isn't likely the Mejians inflicted severe casualties onto them. I don't know what Bogdan's done, but he's killed enough to seriously dent them. Even with the incoming air strike, there's going to be a good sized force hitting this village...and there's three of us to stop it....with no heavy weapons.”

This time, the answer was not so instant.

Fedor was about to repeat his last transmission when Kirill answered “I know. Alvarez is coming, since he shouldn’t be needed here, and bringing a few more men to reenforce you, though it isn't going to be many, 3 more, at best and we're preparing our own action. See if you can find some heavy weapons among the discarded equipment. Maybe you'll uncover some useful intelligence too, though that’s not priority at the moment.”

Fedor nodded “This gets better and better boss, out.” He said, then looked at the two Airborne troopers accompanying him, “Go meet Alvarez, and go out into the street and look around for discarded weapons, anything we can use.” He smiled evilly “I, in the mean time, have a date with high explosives.”

As the two men retested from the room, Fedor checked out the window again, seeing the returning rebels just appearing on the far side of the field. Keying his radio he called “This is Belka to Tiburón .”

“This is Tiburón .” the tiny sounded voice answered “Time on target is 45 seconds, where do you want us?”
“Shift from known point.” Fedor ordered “350 meters northwest of the village, in a corn field. Target will be enemy infantry in the open.”

The channel was silent for a moment before the pilot replied “Copy, we have the target area and are weapons free. Stand by.”

Fedor heard the low roar of the approaching aircraft, though could not see them, coming in from what sounded like the southeast. As he watched, it appeared the Rebels also saw the attackers, as many of them them dove for cover, or began to retreat towards the tree line they had emerged from. “That's right you fuckers, run!” Fedor shouted, though he doubted he could be heard at this distance.

Fedor whooped with glee as fiery explosions blossomed in the field, sending dirt, cornstalks and rebels flying through the air. As the last of the S-8 rockets slammed into the ground, Fedor reflexively sucked as the Su-25's roared overhead, crossing over the target area and, distantly, executing turns in opposite directions “Belka, this is Tiburón., pass complete, be advised, we saw more troops on the ground in the area, another run?”

Glancing over the field, Fedor could see very little through the smoke and grit floating in the field, and decided he would take the pilots word on the remaining targets. “Please, though don't overshoot.” Fedor said.

“We wouldn't dream of it, Tiburón, commencing run.”

This time, Fedor was able to see the Su-25's approaching, starting as tiny black dots against the bright blue, deceptively peaceful looking, sky, and rapidly swell into comprehensible form. The rebels, he saw as the dust and smoke began to blow away from the field, had not been idle in the absence of the aircraft, and had advanced closer tot he village. They, too, heard and saw the approaching aircraft and once again threw themselves into cover.

Again, the Su-25's raked the field with 80 mm S-8 rockets, churning up the earth and casting great gouts of smoke and dust to the sky. As the roar of the planes receded, Fedor keyed up his radio and spoke “Appeared to be good effect on target, Tiburón.”

“Roger, Belka, be advised they're too close for another rocket run, you're on your own. We're outbound to assist another unit to the south, but will return to you as soon as we can. Tiburón, out”

As Fedor acknowledged the aircraft pilot, Alvarez rushed back into the room, shouting “friendly” as he rounded the corner. Fedor turned to greet him, a wide smile plastered to his face. “Did you see that Teniente?”

“I did, I certainly felt it!” he replied.

“We found a machine gun, its a heavy MG, I left Julio and Diaz to man it, it's nothing I've ever seen before, huge fucking bullets!” Alverez declared. “We also found a couple of these.” he said, sliding a small, collapsed tube from his back and showing it to the Puzzaki specialist. “It looks like of like our own RPG-22's.”

“I'll be damned!” Fedor said, “That's a Type 7, it indeed is similar to our own RPG's, but its made in New Corda.”

Alvarez’s eyebrows shot up “As in-”

“Yup, as in a NACO country,” Fedor confirmed. Before he could elaborate more on the weapon, an HMG in a nearby building began to chatter, signally the imminent arrival of the rebels. “That ones an anti-tank rocket, not too good against people, but, in a pinch, use it anyways.”

Alvarez collected the rocket and moved towards the door, heading bck into the hallway to find a firing position as Fedor took his place near the bedrooms window. “Come on, you mother fuckers!” he shouted as the rebels advanced on the town in a morbid reply of the battle just fought by his own forces.

---

“Gunner, HE, machine gun, 11 o'clock!”

“Guns up!”

“Identified!”

“Fire!”

“On the way!”

The entire tank rocked with the of its cannon as the 85 mm projectile flew form the barrel at incredible speeds. In the blink of an eye it crossed the distance to the target and impacted, resulting an a firing explosion, sending dirt and debris flying through the air. As the smoke cleared, the machine gun that had been pouring fire from the position did not resume firing.

“Cease fire.” Sargento Primero Hector Rodriguez said as he pushed the copula of his PT-85 light tank open. As he stood hi head and upper body exposed, he surveyed the scene. The convoy of tanks and armored personal carriers had advanced slowly out of the tunnel an down the road, stopping every so often to allow the EOD specialists from Puzzaks to do their job. As the EOD men in their bulky bomb suits exited their infantry carriers, the other vehicles and their charges would form a protective circle around the, as close as they dared get tot he explosive devices, lest one of them be detonated my mistake.

At nearly every stop, almost as soon as the vehicle shad come to a halt, small arms fire would erupt from either side of the rounds, sending bullets ricocheting off the asphalt or the armored hulls of the vehicle, or sometimes striking one of the infantrymen, who would go down with a cry, and usually be dragged back inside the vehicles by medics. So far, and luckily, the rebels had not proven to be adept marksmen.

Even still, and even though his tank had a rotating observation device eh could use safely fro insde, he knew every good tank commander should ride outside the manchine as often as he could, as it gave him the best sense of the world around him, letting him spot dangers faster than the tiny feld fo view his observation device gave him.

As if to remind him they had not quite gone away, a bullet impacted his tank, bounding off with a clang. The muzzle flash had come form his right, he observed.

It's going to be a long day he thought as he dropped inside the tank, pulling the hatch closed, and licking it, as he fall inside, shouting “Gunner! HE...”

[Puzikas]

Kirill looked out before him at the ground. There was too much for the group to successfully cover without risk of taking casualties if they wanted to storm the church with success. Any move without cover would be death, and would alert anyone in the church to the storming.

“I just got a thought”

“Yea? What's that?”

“We dont need to even leave the building to make those guys come out of the church. You have any 44Ps left?”

Roman reached down into his satchel and removed a 44P Smoke Grenade

“Last one. Whats the plan?”

“What does colored smoke mean to most people?”

“Air support or gas normally. I think I see where you’re going with this, Kirill.”

Roman smiled and loaded the grenade into his launcher.

“Just tell me when you’re ready”

“What if the planes see it and shoot at it?” asked one of the Mejian airborne troopers.

“Its green smoke. It doesn't mean fuck all without any helicopters in the area.”

“Oh.” the man replied sheepishly. “I’m sorry, sir.” In the not-so-far away distance, the sound of heavy machine guns tore through the relative silence. “I think that’s their reinforcements coming.”

Kirill grabbed his radio and fiddled with it for a moment before changing over to Bogdan's frequency.

“Bogdan, what are we looking at out there?”

“At least thirty guys. Well armed. Want me to pin them down?”

“Do what you can. If they get within 100 meters I want you gone.”

“Im going to withdraw, I dont have enough rounds left with this thing to take on all thirty of them. I’ll do what I can.”

“Stay alive. Out.”

Almost immediately after clearing with Bogdan, Alvarez's voice issued forth from his headset. in the background, the sound of small arms fire was audible.... though he could hear those same rounds mere tens of meters from his own position with his own ears.

“This is Tigre 4-6. Prizarkk, attempt to meet up with Second Section, they’ll be advancing from your November. Break. Shakal, we copied his report and have engaged the forward element of the advancing infantry. I do not estimate we have the strength to hold them indefinitely, if you’re going to do something about that church, you need to do it now.”

“Roman”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Smoke the fuckers.”

Roman raised his rifle and braced it against his shoulder, eyes lining up with the ladder for his Grenade launcher. He pulled the trigger. A soft thump pushed the grenade into the front door of the church, where green smoke began billowing out in a column. Soon the entire front of the church was housed in a green mist.

“Good shot Roman.”

As the green smoke drifted outward through the square, one of the Mejian troops shouted “Look! in the bell tower, theres a man, no weapon...he...he’s got a white rag on a stick! He’s shouting something....what’s he saying?”

“Parlay. He's shouting Parlay. I think we’re in business boys!”

---

“Driver, stop.”

The PT-85 lurched as the driver applied the brakes, bringing the nearly 15 ton machine to rest. “What is it?” he asked

“That bend in the road there...its where I’d set up to ambush someone. Perfect place to plant traps. ” Sargento Primero Hector Rodriguez said. dropping back down into the turret and plucking the radio mic from its mount The driver peered through his vision slits and nodded. The road snaked through a sharp curve to the left, with a large strand of trees situated along a small rise from the shoulder, blocking any view of the other side. To the right, the terrain lowered steadily towards the river. The flooding and rains, not too much the recent construction, had churned up the ground into a muddy mess. They couldn’t move through the trees, but the enemy could observe with ease, and while the could risk going off road, the chances of the BTR-s becoming bogged down in the mud was great. if they did become bogged down, their response time would be slowed and, worse, they’d be vulnerable to assault.

The road was the only real option to allow them to preserve speed. Given how the previous 30 minutes of the trip had gone, it was likely an ambush.

“Perro to Stohpor”, he called “Probable ambush location ahead, I suspect IED’s around the blind corner, more than likely enemy shooters in the trees.”

“We copy, Perro, stand by.” a voice replied, its thick accent obvious even though the radios distortion.

“Gunner! HE, three rounds, area target the trees, at 350 meters to our south east. Prepare for continuous fire.”

The sound of metal striking metal followed by a slam reverberated through the tank, with a call of “up” from the gunner punctuating the cacophony of noise.

“Fire!”

---

The concussion from the shell vibrated the interior of the BTR. Even inside, the concussion was still impressive. the EOD technicians had their heads buried in their hands, totally exhausted and ready to collapse. Zyltcan looked around at each man inside the carrier. What was supposed to be a fairly simple search for a few possible IEDs had become a clusterfuck of engagements. They has sustained wounded, and they all had the same fear. that one bullet that finds its mark, that one piece of shrapnel that knicks an artery, whatever it might be. Everyone was scared, and no one had more reason to be than the EOD team. Zyltcan broke the relative silence with his radio

“How far are we from the objective, Lieutenant?”

“15 minutes at least. Get those EOD boys ready, we have a possible about 400 meters up the road.”

“Guys, get the lids on. We got another possible 400 meters ahead.”

The technicians let out a very loud groan as they strapped their heavy helmets on. The eighth possible IED of the day, more work than the crew had put in all month thus far.

we’re never going to make it to them in time at this rate

---

“The technicians are moving up.” Rodriguez said “Hold fire with main cannon until they clear our blast...switch to coax.”

“Coax up!” the gunner called out. The 14.5 mm PKT would make short work of any infantry unfortunate enough to meet it, and even shed some lighter armored vehicles and fortifications. “We’re getting low on main gun ammo anyways.”

A group of soldiers ran forward of the PT-85, EOD techs in full suits. They planted themselves firmly on the ground and performed the standard defensive line formation. Besides the loud hum of the diesel engines, the environment was devoid of much of any noise. No gunfire, no rockets, nothing but the hum of the armored vehicles. The EO techs were huddled in a small circle.

“Whos up?”

“We’ve all gone. I say we draw for it.”

“Draw what? Straws?”

“May as well. Anyone got straws?”

“Yea right. I carry fucking straws all the time.”

“I Got an idea. Hey, Zyltcan!”

Zyltcan ran over to the huddle as quickly as he could.

“What's the issue?”

“Think of a number between one and ten. Whoever's closest goes out”

Zyltcan nodded as the techs rattled off numbers. When it came down to it, the job was left to Corporal Pavel Nikitin.

“Zyltcan, get out of here.”

He stood and ran back to the defensive group, whose eyes were fixed on the treeline, looking for any signs of movement. The Technicians bowed their heads for a moment in prayer, before Pavel stood.

He could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He could already feel sweat dripping from his forehead, and the suit wasn't doing him any favors. He approached the supposed device, what looked like a small water jug that appeared to be wrapped in some sort of cloth.As he approched, he could see a small set of wires leading away from it. He pressed down on his radio.

“Its a short range EFP from the looks of it. Might have a pressure plate somewhere, I’m going to get closer”

He took a knee right in front of the device. With the precision of a surgeon he slowly removed the wrapping from around it, revealing a network of wires and other electrical contacts.

“Fucker wired this thing so its purposely hard to defuse. Its going to take me a few.”

Pavel took out his multitool, and closely studied the device. Plyers in hand, he reached over and cut the primary contact. The next contact was much more difficult, it lead off in multiple directions. It criss crossed with multiple wires, a probable fail safe so that if the first connection was cut the bomb could still be detonated by short range radio waves. The device wasn't considered safe until all methods of detonation outside of directly contacting the explosive were removed. Following the contact, Pavel saw something he hadn't seen on any bomb he had ever encountered, nor one seen in the training manual. Or, for that matter, ever.

“Shit, uhh...Sergeant, can you see what I see though my camera?”

“Let me take a look...Yea, I see it. What are you looking at?”

Pavel pointed at a small connecting splice linked to what looked like a small strip of electrical tape.

“Sir, what the fuck is this?”

Sergeant Kolokol had 12 years as a bomb technician. He knew most IEDs better than a soldier knows his own gun. He himself was stumped.

“Pavel, I haven't seen anything like that. Are there any connections on it?”

“The secondary contact runs through it. I can't remove it without setting off the device, the thing has what looks to be a tamper diode on it. What the fuck is this thing?”

A green light began to blink just above the strip.

“Oh shit. Pavel, get the fuck out of there”

Pavel dropped the device as the light turned a solid Green. An earth shattering crack and a wave of pressure smacked everyone in the defensive line, and a massive ball of smoke consumed where Pavel had been standing moments before.
Disorientated screams and shouts rang out

“Oh shit!” Rodriguez exclaimed, reflexively dropping down into the turret of the Pt-85. “That fucking bomb just went off in the guys face!” Slowly, he poked his head back over top of the cupola and studied the stop where the EOD technician had been. “You couldn’t fucking pay me enough.” he muttered.

Three medics seemed to materialize from the BTRs behind the line, as everyone averted their eyes. Pavel laid on the ground about six meters from the device. A meter-wide crater had blown in the ground. Pavels legs were about three meters in front of him.

“Holy fuck. Someone get on the god damned radio and tell command we need a fucking med evac with a level five trauma doctor on board two minutes ago.”

“Hes still alive! We need a medevac, right fucking now!” one Medic cried out, as he put quikclot on Pavels wounds. Zyltcan attempted to key his own radio, and received nothing in reply. Glancing down, he saw a deep gash through the nylon sleeve protecting the device and knew it was broken. “Mines dead!” he called, glancing around, his eyes fixing on the tank. “I’ll be back!” he called, sprinting off towards the idling PT-85

Rodriguez, meanwhile, heard the shouts from the medics and grabbed his own radio, switching to the command frequency “This is Perro, we are in....” he trailed off checking the vehicles GLONASS receiver and rattling off the reference numbers. “We need a medivac, at once, for a wounded Puzakk EOD specialist. He’s badly injured.”

Zyltcan bounded onto the light tank in time to catch most of the tank commanders transmission.. Without even thinking, he snatched the handheld mic from the stunned man and snapped. “That won't cut it soldier.” Keying the mic, he shouted,

“We need a level five trauma special at that last. We have serious wounded and several others in poor shape. If we don't get the some sort of medical attention soon, or they WILL die. I know for a fact that you have at least one available, get him off his ass or we’re going to lose a whole lot more than this fight, over”

After only a moments pause, a distorted voice replied “Roger, Perro...and other unidentified caller. A Ka-32A4 from the 8th SAR will depart from Tikal within the next 5 minutes. its flight crew informed us they were attending a seminar, an a Puzakk trauma specialist was also in attendance and will be riding alone, you’re looking at an ETA of 15-20 tops.”

“Not good enough. Tell them to double time it, over”

After another brief pause, the operator replied, “Roger, I will impress the importance upon them. Out”

A medic ran from besides Pavel and over to Rodriguez.

“Do you...uhh...do you have a Chaplin? I don't want to be that guy but...well you can never be too careful.”

“No amigo” Rodriguez replied “but any Mejian here worth a shit will be right with the Lord, and I do not think He will care who administered the last rights, so long as the man who does is pure and sincere. I’d suggest a Mejian officer but...there appear to be none.”

“Whoever it is, he’d better have ice in his fucking veins. I gotta go relay a message to out Lieutenant”

The medic ran off and banged on the side of the BTR the lieutenant was no doubt parking orders at his men from. He climbed out the rear, his face filled with rage.

“Pavel says to not wait for him. He thinks we should move forward.”

“Do you agree?”

“Can you manage with one medic? Me being here right now even is taking a risk.”

The Lieutenant nodded solemnly.

“Keep a fire team and a radio man with a working radio. These guys in here will join you.”

Meanwhile, the driver of Rodriguez's tank spoke first “Sergeant...go to the man.”

“Me?” he asked

“Si, someone must, and you are as devout as any man here, I am sure. More importantly, if it’ll give the boy comfort, then it is your duty. He gave his life for us, men he doesn’t know in a land not his own. Give him his solace.”

Rodriguez sighed heavily and replied “You’re right. I’ll be back.”. With that, he pushed himself out of the cupola and jumped to the cracked asphalt below. He sprinted to the knot of men around the wounded technician, thankful they weren’t taking sniper fire for once. He gently nudged his way through, saying “Let me through, I’m here to offer him his rights.” He knelt next to the wounded man and looked at his comrades “We may practice different faiths, but I think we all agree we come from one God. I am not a priest, but I am a man of God, same as him, same as you. As a man of God, I commend this mans spirit to him, for service to his nation and to mine. He gave all he had for his fellows, let no man doubt his courage. I know these aren’t the traditional words, but I know the Lord will hear them never the less

Looking down at the wounded man for the first time, he quivered, his voice breaking as he spoke. Tentatively, he reached out and placed a palms on the wounded man’s forehead. En nombre de Padre, de Hijo y de espiritu santo, Amen.”

Rodriguez looked up into the faces of the comrade gathered around him and said “We have work to do yet, yes? Let’s get to it!” he said, standing and, with an informal salute to Pavel, walking back towards his track.

Pavel watched as Rodriguez walked away, knowing full well that it was possible those words would carry him to the afterlife. Unable to speak, or really move more than his eyes, he was unable to express much besides the fact he was still alive. He could hear the engines kickstart on all of the vehicles, as a group of soldiers formed around him. One soldier, much older than the rest, took his hand. His mind drifted back to the world around him.

“This is going to fucking hurt”

Pavel felt an intense burning on his abdomen as the thermal cautery lance contacted his skin. Unable to move much, he simply squeezed as the AFVs rolled forward. He could see the men hanging of the last IFV salute him as they went past.

“Driver, Forward!” Rodriguez shouted as he clambered back into the tank. “Someone better get on the horn and tell the airborne were going to be late....er” Rodriguez said quietly.

---

“Don’t fucking shoot us, aye? We’re coming out!”the man shouted from the blasted out window of the church’s vestibule.

“Come out an unarmed and we won't!” Kirill shouted from the cover of the building. He and several members of his team had moved out of the two story house and down towards the square, preparing to meet the surrendering enemy in the square. Upstairs several Mejian soldiers kept their rifles firmly trained on the door.

The door to the church opened slightly and a lone man exited. He strode out with confidence and pride, not appearing to be affected by the looming defeat. He was somewhat battered and bloody, yet still managed to appear both suave and strong. I carried a single object, the same white rag and stick used to call for the truce. Just outside the town, the rapid cracks of small arms fire indicated that not everyone was taking a break from the fighting.

Kirill advanced alone, attempting to project the same confidence as his opposite number. By unspoken agreement, they met beside the squares single fountain, their cold eyes, killers eyes, boring into one another.

“Well, lets get down to it, you speak English, then?”

“Enough I suppose.”

The man snorted slightly “You’re not Mejian. You’re uniform is wrong. Shouldn’t there be an officer here?”

“Sorry I’m not all you expected and more, but at your age don't you think its time to settle down and deal with it? I’m about the best you’re going to get.”

“I suppose you’ll have some ridiculous terms you’ll want me to agree to then? Get on with it.”

“Lay down your arms. Your men have a chance to get away, but not if you let those reinforcements come. If they come, we will slaughter them just the same. And then we will slaughter you.”

“I think not.” the man replied “We have what you call, ah, numerical superiority, at the present, I believe. Further, while you may hold, you will have to storm the church to dislodge us, and you can’t risk that. Not with the international aid workers inside in your line of fire. Can’t risk hitting them can you?”

“I couldn't give less of a shit. Ever see what a KS-29 does? How about four of them? You can have all the numerical advantage you want, it doesn't change the fact that no amount of small arms fire is going to kill a SU-25.”

“So, you’re Puzakk, then? Good to know.” he replied “You’re also terrible at bluffing. If you didn’t care, we wouldn’t be here. Maybe you, yourself, don’t care, but whomever is holding your wee little doggy leash does.”

“Heh. If I was Puzakk, do you really think we’d be standing here right now? No, I didn't think so. You fucking Western Europeaners are all the same, just because some smuck sounds like he could be from the Eastern Bloc you just ASSUME hes a Puzakk. Guess what? I’m Mejian. I have orders to be sure that this little...hold up..stops here. Foreigners or not. In case you haven't noticed, dog pens aren't particularly friendly parts of town. A few upper class people wandering about in them getting filled with lead over their wallet is nothing new. Real easy to give a fake cause of death.”

“Be that as it may, you aren’t going to storm that church. If not for the civilians, then because you don’t want to risk your precious few remaining men in doing so. Take too many losses, and we’ll roll you up from behind. No, the only way you’re getting us out of there is by talking us down. So, get to talking, son. Make me want to give up, if you can.”

“Give up and you might live to see another day. How about that? No, theres no possible way you would ever make it out of this place alive. The government would simply hit this area with enough thermobarics to turn it into a parking lot. Give up, and you might all live. I'm sure you have a family. And being a foreigner arrested in another nation? You might just get sent back home. Unless you're a middle distance olympic record holder...You are not getting out of here alive if you dont surrender.”

“Avail myself to Mejian hospitality and its so called “justice system, eh? What promises can you make me regarding the safety of myself and my men, you aren’t even in the Mejian chain of command, are you?”

“The less you know, the more likely you are to see the sun rise tomorrow”

“So now you’re telling me I’m likely to die? Thats awesome incentive for me to cooperate with you.”

This fucks just biding his time. He knows hes cooked, hes just waiting for his re-enforcements to get here. They’ve cut them down to size by now, I hope

---

“Hes on the left! By the broken fence!” Alvarez shouted in the ear of the machine gunner he was crouched next to. The gunner swung the muzzle of the Cordian heavy machine to the left and fired several bursts towards the target area Alvarez had taken the assistant gunners place when a bullet had ended the former assistant gunners life, his body having been drug back into the rapidly deteriorating house the machine gun was sheltered in....and picked clean of any remaining useful items; magazines, grenades, and even the soldiers canteen.Holding the belt if 13 mm ammunition straight out, he slowly fed it through the machine as the gunner kept up his fire, sending bursts of hot lead and death towards the advancing enemy.

“Can’t fire too much, now, barrells too hot, and we don’t have a change!” the man shouted, Alvarez nodded “Ammo’s almost gone anyways, do your best.”

The gunner kept his eyes moving left from right, looking for any movement in what was perhaps the largest tactical nightmare he had seen. An elevated tree line left the enemy dig in while they themselves were exposed, with only the Machine gun to cover them. And soon, there would be not even that left. Though the house provided some sense of cover, the enemy sould still fire of them from a hidden position. A quick blur of motion on his right and he sent a quick burst, and watched as the muzzle of the gun glowed a bright red, before fading to a deeper orange. A few distant shots were heard, but no rounds cracked overhead or around them.

“How many rounds do we have left, sir?”

“Fifty or sixty, I think”

A few silent moments later, a crack shook the gunner to attention as he realized a round had just been sunk into the gun. Two more rounds cracked, the first striking the gun in the receiver and the second the gunners clavicle. He depressed the trigger, followed by a loud crack and a jet of flame shooting out of the hole. His arm was filled with pieces of the receiver, as he fell to his side. Alvarez grabbed the wounded man and pulled him back by his harness, so that his body was covered by the walls of the home.

Glancing at the wounded gunner, the mans eyes dilating with shock, Alvarez muttered “Someone better get here quick, or they don’t need to bother coming...” As if in response to his statement, his RTO burst into the room, holding the radio receiver in his hand. “Sir!” he shouted “it’s the relief column...you aren’t going to like it...”

---

A few hundred meters away, Caster cracked a smile. Somehow wounding an enemy was more satisfying than simply killing him. Taking two enemies out of the fight was much easier. From his current position, he was able to fire on just about anything, but his view of what he assumed was the main contingent of forces by a house. Satisfied with ending the threat from the machine gun, he stood and began moving to another elevated position that he thought would give him a more ideal firing position for the situation.

He crept forwards from the brush to a small rocky overlook after a brisk run. He could hear that the gunfire had all but stopped directly, with only distant shots of what he could only assume were confused soldiers firing at nothing. No radio contact had confirmed that enemy forces were wiped out, but no one had radioed the church had fallen. As he looked out through a small foliage cover, he could see O’Kanna out in the open, along with some ski masked freak.

They would be the last humans Bob Caster would see.

He felt a sudden thump on the side of his body. At first the force did not register. It felt like a hot, burning sensation had dug its way into his side, and he felt it hard to stand. Then the force registered. It was like being hit by a truck. Casters eyes slowly turned into black orbs as he gasped for breath. He took one last look at the village before seeing darkness. He went limp and fell to the ground, the last noise he heard being his final heartbeat.

Some 400 meters away, Bodgan pulled the bolt on his rifle to the rear and grabbed the shell, and stuck it in his pocket. Somehow, killing an enemy sniper was always more enjoyable than anything else.