Brothers in Arms: Elysian Fields
#9 of Brothers In Arms
Hamid lifted a Type 56, the chinese replica of the AK-47, and fired a few shots into the air. Excitement was pouring off of him, his sweat matting his fur. He had just joined the fight against the Great Satan, and was full of the ideaistic notions put into his head by he recruiters. He had never felt so alive, he may have only been 15 years old, but at that moment he gelt older than the sand under his paws, wiser than his Father, who had disowned him once he found out his sons intentions of joining the Taliban, more powerful than he had ever thought possible. Adrenaline pumped through his veins, further increasing his bloodlust, all he wanted to do was get at these monsters that he had been told to hate. He cackled maniacally, drool dripping from his muzzle in great big globs. This was the greatest moment of his life, he was going to further the cause, he was finally going to get to kill someone.
That was when the sky exploded.
Light flashed before his eyes, he was blinded. Panicked, he dropped his rifle and turned around to flee, all of his courage leaving him in the span of a few seconds. He felt something hit him in the chest, fining it hard to breathe, he kneeled and put his hands where he felt the thud. Blood trickled through his fingers as he realized he had been shot throught the lung. Regrets passed through his still blinded eyes, knowing he'd never see his family again, never get to hold his baby sister, he fell to the ground breathless, trying to pray but not being able to summon up the strength. The world faded away as the last bit of life left his body. ____
Harris rammed a magazine into his Browning Hi-Power and racked the slide, stuffing it into his belt holster he stormed out of the tent just in time to see the fireworks show from the eastern perimeter. There were few times in his life when Major Harris was left speechless, this was one of those times. What looked like anything that could make a flash, a bang, or a pop, seemed to be exploding at once. He saw what seemed like Roman Candles fire into the night sky, and he was pretty sure that those were impossible to get in the desert. Rolling his eyes he made a mental note to rip into Napoleon for gross misconduct, that is, if they survived this. ____
Napoleon shouldered his C-7, firing off a burst into the mass of contacts rushing towards the FOP, the recoil jarring his teeth. In seconds he had emptied his first magazine, "Reloading!" he shouted to the others, noticing that Aeslin was doing the same. Grabbing her shoulder, he brought her ear inches from him in order to be heard, "STAGGER YOUR FIRE" He saw her nod in understanding and go back to the firing ledge, waiting for his cue to open fire. He rammed the magazine home and hit the bolt release, the 'clack' barely audible over the gunfire from all around him. He cursed himself for only bringing the mags on his webbing, all in all, the fireteam had 15 magazines for their C-7s, and a gew belts of ammo for the C-6. aiming down the killzone, he opened fire on the insurgents, that despite his best efforts, and the efforts of his fireteam, were getting steadily closer. Reaching the 200 metre mark.
"Reloading!" Tank shouted as the ammo belt for his C-6 ran dry, spent casings and links were pooling around him.
"Got you covered!" Rainbow shouted as he leaned over the edge, throwing lead downrange. The gunfire was deafening, the smell of cordite overpowering, the only thing Napoleon could think of was survival, and that meant killing enough of the enemy that they'd get the picture. You didn't fuck with his sleep.
His C-7 ran dry and he shouted "NOW" over to Aeslin, who covered him as he reached for a fresh mag. A feeling of dread washed over him as he patted his webbing down, feeling only empty pouches. Swearing, he drew his Sig, half cocking it, seeing that there was a round in the chamber, he flicked off the safety and looked up. Tank and Lewis had finished reloading, and were now pouring fire at the tangos.
"Last mag!" He heard Rainbow shout, to which Aeslin responded likewise. Napoleon drew a bead on the closest of the Insurgents, who were getting scary close, roughly 75 metres by his estimate. He glanced over at Aeslin, as she fumbled with her last magazine, and fired, watching as the Tango fell muzzle first into the sand. Scanning for another target he saw an old truck speeding torwards them, a rickety machine gun mounted on the back. Swearing, he spun around, looking for the anti vehicle rocket that was hidden somewhere, then remembering that they had been taken over to the maintenance tent after getting word of a manufacturing defect, something about overpressuring the spot welds or some stupid techno gibberish. All he knew was that the one piece of tech he really needed was in 40 different parts, half a kilometre away.
Thinking on his feet he grabbed Lewis's shotgun that was leaning against the firing ledge, took aim at the right front tire, and if he was right... The truck swerved to the left, the tires locking as the driver tried to drift into a position where the gunner could take potshots at the bunker. While the truck was attempting this awkward at best maneuver, he toggled the safety, exhaled slightly, and fired a twelve gauge slug directly into the drive shaft of the truck, which was now teetering on two wheels, one of which was absolutely destroyed thanks to the slug so kindly put in it by Napoleon. He heard Tank swear as the C-6 jammed, something that would take to long to fix in the heat of battle, he lifted the now useless hunk of metal off the ledge and threw it over his shoulder, drawing his sidearm as he did so. Passing the shotgun over to Lewis, he noted that everyone was down to their sidearms with the exception of Lewis, who shouldered the Remington 870 Marine Combat Shotgun he had won off a Yankee soldier in a staring contest of all things.
Turning around to face the incoming Taliban insurgents, he adopted the standard firing stance and steeled himself for some down and dirty hand to hand combat.
Rainbow tapped him on the shoulder, "It's been an honour Sir," Napoleon looked at the others, their faces hard with determination, knowing that they likely won't make it out of this in one piece. He saw fear in their eyes, he saw sadness, he saw anger, but not once could he ever recall seeing doubt, not know, nor in the past two years.
He shook his head and put his paw on Rainbows shoulder, "No Hank, it wasn't." He saw the confusion in the Ferrets green eyes, "But it will be."