Ninawa, Iraq, 2019
“Convoy’s gone. Let’s move.” Captain Portman said, getting up from lying down in the grass next to a creek.
They had all followed his lead and proceeded down the small river, approaching a small house containing two tangos watching a small television about the Iraqi president’s assassination. It was loud compared to the quiet and tranquil environment outside.
“Rover, check out the house. Eliminate all hostiles.” Portman had said, crouching down with the rest of the squad.
Rover had nodded and started walking silently towards the small house, clutching his suppressed M4A1 SOPMOD harder and taking deep breaths.
He poked inside the house, not alerting the two enemies of what was going on. Within two quick seconds, both enemies were silenced and Rover had backed away from the house, going back to his squad, who proceeded up a hill with a bridge at the top. Two trucks filled with enemies had crossed as soon as the five man squad had walked up the hill.
“Get down!” Portman said, going prone almost instantly.
The two trucks had stopped and four men had gotten out of each truck, speaking in Russian. Apparently, they had been alerted and tried to look for the squad.
“On my mark; three, two, one... Mark.” Portman said.
Following his lead, Rover and three other men quickly stood up, killing the eight Russian Ultranationalists. The two trucks were still on, however.
“We should kill the trucks. Leaving them on would spark anxiety, which would lead to inspection, and then they would know that we’re here.” Portman said, taking the keys of each truck and discarding both.
They continued down the hill and to a farmer’s house, where around ten ultranationalists were questioning a farmer. The five man squad had sneaked into the farmer’s barn without being noticed by their enemies.
“Just wait until the farmer goes back inside the house. Then we’ll throw a flashbang and kill everyone else.” Portman whispered, still watching the conversation between the farmer and one of the soldiers. Once the farmer had proceeded back to the inside of the house, a few soldiers had come into a circle, discussing something; most likely something about the farmer. Rover’s squadmate, Nova, was from Russian background and translated the conversation in his head, walking slowly to Portman.
“They’re discussing what to do with the farmer. I think they’re going to kill him. Should we attack now?” He asked.
Portman nodded, and turned to Ox, who detached a flashbang from his vest, pulled the pin, and threw it out of the window. All members of the five man squad watched the ten ultranationalists get blinded by the flash, and ran out of the barn, taking the nearest cover they could.
Rover fired at an enemy tango next to a truck, dropping him instantly. He then focused on the ultranationalist sergeant, who was at the door, about to open the farmer’s door. Killing him was like killing any other man, since they would drop dead after a few shots anyways.
“Tango down!” Portman yelled after they had killed all of the tangos.
The famer had run out of his house, frightened by the gunfire and confused by the flashbang. Nova had talked to the elderly man in Russian, explaining the situation, and the farmer eventually went back into the house, muttering something else.
“Let’s move.” Portman said.
Baghdad, Iraq, 2019
“I’ll need some cover over here! Turner, come give me some cover fire!” Captain Lee had yelled to one of his soldiers, known as Sergeant Steve Turner.
Nodding, Turner had run to the nearest cover behind Lee and fired his M249 SAW in the general direction of the tangos, probably killing one or two. He quickly ducked behind a wall, watching Lee run behind a green sedan.
“Watch the MG!” He yelled, running behind a wall, as the car exploded from the machine gun fire.
Turner had moved up as well, stopping where Lee had as well. They were pinned down by the bullets, and almost everyone around them was pinned down as well. They had to come up with a plan quickly before reinforcements came.
“Jackson, you still got that radio on you?” Lee asked a soldier behind Turner.
“Yeah...” He said in a quiet tone, handing his captain a rectangular green radio, pulling the antennae up all the way.
“Turner, get Gordon over here. You have to give me some cover while I plant an airstrike on that building.” Lee said, turning back to Turner.
Turner nodded and went back to a few soldiers behind him. Gordon also had an M249 SAW in his grasp.
“Gordon, we’re going to cover the captain as he plots points for an airstrike! Follow me!” Turner had yelled as soon as a grenade had blown part of a building off.
Gordon had agreed and followed his teammate back to the wall with Lee. He was on the radio with the general, but Turner didn’t know which one. They rose behind the wall, firing towards the machine gun. Quickly before it turned towards them, they ducked and heard the bullets hitting the wall, almost scaring Turner.
“Turner! Give me some covering fire now!” Lee had said as he peered over the wall.
Following Turner’s lead, Gordon had also gone up the wall, firing his M249 SAW. Both had the duty of protecting the captain, and that’s what they would do. Even if it meant death.
Moscow, Russia, 2019
“Sniper Team Two check.” Captain Royce Berg said into his radio.
He adjusted his suppressed CheyTac M200 and looked down the scope once more, watching the convoy. Two more trucks had pulled up next to where a few soldiers were setting crates and an older man got out. He wasn’t wearing a soldier uniform, which meant only one thing; he was the ultranationalist leader.
“Predator, we have eyes on Sadim Asad. Do we have permission to fire?” Berg asked.
A few moments passed before an answer came through the radio.
“You have permission to fire; I repeat, you have permission to fire. Over.”
Berg nodded to his partner, Lieutenant Shawn Clinton, and he got out a small yellow remote, with his fingers on the trigger. They were about to make history.
“Do it.” Berg said.
A large explosion went off as Clinton pulled the trigger, alarming everyone at the convoy. Berg had a short amount of time before his target escaped, so he had to assassinate him fast. Maybe igniting the explosions wasn’t such a good idea.
Berg quickly looked into his scope, and put his pointer finger on the trigger. Asad wasn’t in his truck yet, so Berg had to make this time useful.
He found a perfect shot on Asad, and pulled the trigger. Wait. Something was wrong; the trigger wasn’t going back. Damn. Was the gun jammed?
Berg had pulled back the bolt on the M200 and realized that the gun had jammed. He swore and turned to Clinton, telling him the problem.
“Gun’s jammed. What are we going to do now?” He asked, trying to fix it.
“You only got a minute or two, probably. Asad’s getting back into his truck.” Clinton said, gesturing back towards the alerted convoy.
Finally getting the bullet back into its position, Berg finally aimed down the scope, realizing that Asad had escaped already, leaving his men to finish off the UN troopers.
“Let’s get outta here...” He muttered to Clinton, turning away from the cliff.
Ninawa, Iraq, 2019
“Chopper’s turning around, get down.” Portman said, going prone in the fields.
The rest of the squad had followed his lead, going prone. The enemy helicopter, most likely patrolling the perimeter, had gone near the white house, with its search light going all over the fields. Luckily, the group’s ghillie suits aided in staying unseen in the light.
Once the chopper had left, they got back up, looking if any ground troops were also searching. There were a few in the distance, by the road, but the squad was too far away to be noticed in the darkness that consumed them.
“We’ll have to open the doors to the basement that leads to the house in order to go through. Unless if we want our bodies full of lead when passing through the road.” Ox muttered.
“Good idea. Rover, help me get the doors open. The rest of you, watch for any enemies.” Portman had said, walking slowly towards the doors.
Rover nodded and walked to the doors as well, putting his hands on one door, while his captain put his hands on the other door. Despite only being doors leading to the basement, they were tough to get open. Or it was just locked.
“Captain! The Chopper’s coming back!” Nova said, going prone along with Ox and Forge, the last squad member.
Portman quickly turned his head, looking in the sky for the chopper. He quickly devised a plan in his head, while trying to break the lock on the doors from the outside.
“Cover me and Rover from the chopper! We almost got the doors open!” He said.
An ultranationalist was on a mounted machine gun on the helicopter firing at the squad, making Nova, Ox, and Forge go for cover. Forge had aimed his grenade launcher at the helicopter and took two deep breaths. After a few moments, he fired, hitting the rear rotor, making the chopper spin in circles multiple times.
“Perfect.” He whispered as Rover and Portman got the doors open.
“Let’s go!” Rover yelled as Portman already made his way inside.
More ultranationalists had come near the house, firing away at the special ops squadron. Quickly, they all headed into the basement of the white house, re-shutting the doors and locking them after they had all gotten in.
“They know we’re here. Get ready to go loud.” Portman had said, taking the suppressor off his M4A1 SOPMOD and M1014.
They searched all corners of the basement, and finally ascended to the first floor after ten minutes of looking around in the dark. A few lamps were on, indicating that someone was in here. The five man squad proceeded with caution.
“Check your corners; leave no man alive.” Portman said, checking the living room.
Rover went upstairs and noticed someone speaking Russian in a small room, most likely a bedroom. The door was partly open, so Rover took his chances and snuck behind it and peeked into the room to try and see who it was.
But the door squeaked as he pressed onto it, alerting the man, and the ultranationalist turned around and found Rover, knocking him to the ground and knocking all other weapons away.
Baghdad, Iraq, 2019
“Airstrike will hit targeted location in two minutes. Stand by.” The radio operator said to Lee.
Lee, Turner, and Gordon had all crouched over the wall, where Turner and Gordon started reloading their weapons. As they did this, everyone heard jets in the distance, coming closer. The sound became louder and louder by the second, and eventually came into view, dropping small bombs along the building held up by the ultranationalist soldiers. The top two floors had collapsed, crushing the bottom floor.
“Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about!” Lee said, pumping his fist in the air; other Marines did this as well.
The groups of squads proceeded to the destroyed building to look for survivors; there weren’t any. But someone found something else.
“Hey, Captain? Better come over here. This ain’t good...” Lieutenant Fitch said.