"RPG!!!"
A loud whistle, piercing through my eardrums.
An even louder BOOM, splitting my ear wide open.
Next thing I knew, I was in a wreckage.
"Frost!"
Oh, good. At least I'm not alone in this. At least they hadn't left me to roast inside this hunky-dory of a Humvee truck. They could've just left me here, while they took the fight to the enemy themselves. After all, I'm just a jack-of-all-trades, master-of-none guy in the team. Metal 0-4, the expendable.
Ah well, enough of the deep thoughts and ponders.
I opened my eyes.
And there he is.
Master Sergeant "Sandman", my commanding officer.
Stuck in the passenger seat in front of me, facing me, though I can't tell the kind of look he's got in his eyes. He's wearing shades, duh.
"Get switched on. We gotta move, now!"
he barked, as he pulled out a knife and sliced the seat-belt that held him in his place.
I thought about reaching my knife and slicing my own seat-belt, but it was then I realized that I'm not even strapped by a seat belt. Do Humvees have seat-belts on the back? Or did mine just magically disappeared after that one RPG hit? Or was I too stupid to actually strap one on?
Damn it, Frost. Focus.
Anyways, I'm bringing a gun, right?
Without even looking, I just simply reached for the rifle slouched to the door right next to me: a M4A1. Grip below the barrel, reflex sight up top and a flipped ACOG scope on the right.
I looked up again, and Sandman is already climbing out, lifting the door above him.
So I did the same. After all, this thing could've exploded any second.
I pushed the door. Heavy.
Then I thought, getting out or getting roasted.
From the Humvee, I couldn't see any glimpse of the battle roaring in New York. Not that I'm oblivious of the shit going on, mind you. I knew our directive, the situation we're throwing ourselves into (why didn't I get a say in any of this?), and the enemies we're gonna go against.
In the blissful after party that is World War III, the Russians have successfully landed in New York, established base of operations and all that, and, somehow, erected a REAL BIG communications jammer on the Stock Exchange. With that thing up and scrambling our communication system, most of the guys fighting downtown are practically deaf, blind, and mute. Imagine fighting that kind of guy on a boxing ring; you only need to fight with one hand, and even then it'll still be a slaughter.
I--well, we were in Bennett Field when the order came down from the big boss himself, Overlord. Mission is simple enough: destroy the jammer.
Well, simple does not necessarily mean easy, right?
As I climbed out of the Humvee, I saw how much of a hell New York has became.
The skies were not even blue, it was gray. Debris were everywhere, many sky-high buildings have become nothing more than rubble, and there were a lot of lifeless carcasses littering the street. I can't even recognize the gigantic avenues anymore-- it was more like a no man's land. Not to mention the jets whizzing around, dropping bombs, effectively making the streets a sizzling frying pan, ready to pop and crackle every time something was dropped in.
I swear to God, I didn't sign up for this shit.
You did, you moron, I said to myself.
You are Delta Force, after all.
As I sat on the Humvee, two missiles flew to the skyscraper in front of me, causing it to cough out gigantic slabs of debris. The slabs landed on the concrete a couple of hundred yards in front of me with the loudest THUD I've ever heard.
Well, no time for sight-seeing, I guess.
Sandman and I landed on solid ground on the same time, him tossing a magazine at me as he did.
Why thank you sir, I thought, as I loaded and cocked my rifle.
"Jammer's five hundred metres north!" Sandman shouted as he motioned front. "We'll leg it from here! Let's go!"
It's not like the Yankees are playing anyways, so might as well just get it done already.
"Grinch, Truck, you up?" Sandman called.
"We're good!" Grinch hollered.
Grinch and Truck converged on me and Sandman from both sides. Grinch, as usual, with his baseball cap, and Truck, being the only African-American on our team. Not that I'm being racist or anything, but that's the truth of it.
As we moved up on the street, I can hear gibberish chatter on my radio. By gibberish, I mean REAL gibberish, I can't even make up what the hell they're talking about. Are they retreating? Are they being overrun?
Doesn't matter now, only way to find out is to down the jammer first.
"More crows inbound! Dead ahead!" Truck bellowed.
Seriously, guys? I'm not even ten steps away from my car!
So I fired. Left and right, downing five or so Russians.
Just ahead of our crash site is an intersection, on which we're going to take a right, and make our way to the Stock Exchange from there.
Before that, though...
"Russian armor incoming!" shouted Grinch.
This big-ass truck with this big-ass turret on top of it skidded to a stop right in front of us. Armored, as Grinch has kindly addressed, and looking like it's more than willing to mow us down.
The turret clicked, and then rotated its nozzle to face our group.
"Take cover! Take cover!" shouted Truck.
I dived to my nearest cover. Seriously though, I can't even make up what the hell I'm diving to, just that it's made of solid concrete with more than enough room for me to cover my body. And, as if it's timed, the turret began to fire rounds to our group. Bullets whizzed and ricocheted the concrete terrain we were standing on, each bang stopping my heart for a milisecond, for I thought one might catch me on the face.
I kept on guessing whether this guy manning the gun is firing on my position or my team's, hoping to get a good shot at the gunner. Whenever I thought of this idiot gunning it at the rest of the team, a round ricocheted just one centimeter from my face, forcing me to duck to cover.
Gotta take this shot fast, or else his friends is going to converge on us.
Then I saw the glimpse of the turret's barrel facing the other way.
Gotcha.
BANG.
Blood spouted wildly from his head.
He couldn't have dodged that.
Of course, his friends showed up from the corner, but they are hardly a problem, with their big gun out of the picture.
Finally, the interchange.
"Friendlies! Hold your fire!" shouted Sandman.
"That means don't shoot them, Grinch." bantered Truck.
"No shit." Grinch snapped back.
I honestly don't know the issue of Grinch being the trigger-happy guy on the team. Is it because of him being the marksman on our team? Frankly, I don't even care if he's trigger happy. As long as he doesn't pull the trigger on my ass, or any other human beings that doesn't deserve to be capped, I think we're good.
Anyways, though...
"Eyes on the Exchange! Left side, dead ahead!" shouted Sandman.
Sandman being the observant, as per usual. Me? Just a faceless gunman.
I guess it's a good thing that we're already at our objective. Not too much fuss needed. Like, sure, there's a gigantic-ass pile of rubble between us and the entrance to the Exchange, not to mention enemies magically popping out from there, but we've got good cover right here, and they've got practically none. It'll be like shooting fish in a barrel--
"Heads up! Bird incoming!" Truck screamed.
Oh, right.
It's was never going to be THAT easy, huh?
Why didn't they just send in a fucking tank while they're at it?
Sorry for the language. You know how it is, the fact that New York--and possibly the whole damn country-- may have been resting on your shoulders can put a quite a bit of pressure.
From where I was taking cover, I saw a gaping open doorway to my right.
I didn't even hear Sandman barking orders for us to get off the street, I just bolted.
As I took a glance to the streets behind me, I saw the chopper discharging rounds size of a champagne bottle (are they?) to where my comrades were standing. The best I can hope for them was that they think fast--or they are lucky. Also, the whole team has safely entered the building. It's not like I'm going to do the whole thing all by myself, am I?
"So what's the gameplan?" asked Truck.
"Same as before. Burn the jammer, kill the bad guys." replied Sandman.
"I like it." Grinch remarked.
I was about to add into the conversation by quipping something like "I'm in", but then I thought that Grinch had just stolen the smartest remark there was. I can't possibly top that. That, or I'm too dumb to think a smarter one.
As I was thinking about that deep thought earlier, we ascended a flight of stairs. At this point, nobody was behind us, not the enemies, not our allies. Probably still stuck on that one avenue, still killing each other.
Not too far from the stairway is a door. A surprisingly completely intact door, with all the room surrounding it already in ruins, or was about to be. Convenient, huh? Not to mention is a light bulb hanging neatly just above it, somewhat giving the door this halo effect.
"Grinch, Truck, hold here till my signal." Sandman ordered.
"Rog'," quipped Grinch.
Me?
"Frost, with me."
Right. It's not like Sandman is going to take point alone.
With that in mind, Sandman kicked the door open. Well, SOMEONE had to kick the door open, it's not like we got a shotgun, a sledgehammer, much less a ram to deal with this kind of obstacle.
gun
Beyond the door, I was astonished that the door is still intact.
Most of it is in ruins, with cables of electrical network dangling from the ceiling, still sparking electricity, and gigantic holes on where the floors should have been. That, and the large hole on the wall that exposed the innards of the room. Cause of that big hole? A crashed helicopter right in the center of it, its rotors still spinning idly. Real comfy. Speaking of holes, the ceiling right above us had a hole so big that it inadvertently exposed the room located above us with two Russian soldiers.
Wait, what?
"Threat, 12 o'clock high!"
One got a shotgun with him. Can't really make up what it is, but it didn't do him much good, as him and his comrade got gunned down real quick.
Isn't that somewhat miraculous, the fact that a gunfight can happen it THAT kind of place? Most people would have been more concerned with getting the hell out of there, but there are certain human beings that would rather kill each other. Fun fact: we're are not most people.
I thought that would be all anti-mainstream kind of people we have to kill within this shamble of a building, but then I heard BANGs and BRAKKAs, followed with a familiar whizzing sound stabbing through my ears.
Yep, the earlier guys were hardly the only ones.
Just far side of the room are two more enemies, taking cover behind couches and sofas, blind firing. Of course I had to duck to the nearest cover I had, which, after I noticed, was a restroom. Got a good shot at one guy, and BANG, not a problem anymore. Didn't really care about the other one though, he was already dead when I took the shot.
I thought about meeting another batch of extraordinary gentlemen when we came upon an open doorway, meeting no other human being. Enough fun for the last five minutes, I guess.
Just beyond the doorway was yet another sets of flights of stairs. Apparently we were not going up this time, that way was conveniently blocked by a tall pile of rubble.
"Grinch, Truck, tighten up."
That couldn't have been me, I'm not the one calling the shots, remember?
That being said, I thought Sandman forgot about the jammer-scrambling-communications thing. He called those two guys as if it's on radio, for crying out loud! Didn't get the chance to give him a friendly reminder though; Grinch and Truck jogged beside us right after Sandman called them. Magically, I might add.
Some three flights of stairs later, we came upon a door. Again.
This time, it's got voices right behind it.
Not sounds, not noises.
Voices.
As in, people-talking voices.
And they were not speaking English.
Russian.
Maybe I was not the only one who heard it, as Sandman halted, stacked beside the door, pushed the door very gently, then whispered:
"Frost, toss a nine-banger."
I actually thought about kicking the door and gunning down whoever Russian is right behind this door, minus the nine-banger business. Hey, it worked for us before, why not now?
Then again, orders are orders.
So I tossed one.
With all the strobe-lights-on-steroids and fireworks-on-crack produced by the little device, it surely gave us a very good element of surprise. Those Russians were down before they knew it.
After the strobe light display dispersed, I inspected the kill zone.
Turns out, we killed two soldiers.
Russian soldiers, mind you, before anyone have the idea of us team-killing there.
Well, judging from the sounds, I kind of expecting facing at least half a dozen soldiers there. Hell, I can almost tell us killing these guys was faster than the whole duration of the sick light display that the nine-banger exhibited.
Not protesting, though; we could have faced a full dozen there.
Just at the end of the alleyway is a flight of stairs with an open door at the end.
I don't need to tell you where we went next, do I?
I mean, like, why else would I tell you about a random set of stairs leading to a doorway?
"Truck, you getting anything on your comms?" Sandman asked.
"Nothing but static. Jammer's got us in the dark."
Great. Now we're effectively in the shitstorm. Only a matter of time until those Russians got us pinned down somehow, and maybe Overlord's probably gonna have to scrape the bottom of the "available-special-forces-unit-that's-maybe-up-for-some-suicide-mission" barrel.
Also, I couldn't help but notice something about Truck's accent. Surely this guy is American, but I caught some subtle intonation patterns in his words. British? Not as thick as those SAS guys that I met during Operation Kingfish, though.
Back to the business, shall we?
Darkness.
Then again, I knew we were on a second floor of some store. It was dark alright, but I could make up some racks of displays on the floor below us. A jewelry store? Most likely. How did I know this? The second floor we were on had a balcony overlooking the whole store just below us. It was also connected to two flights of stairs leading down.
"Hold up. Quiet."
I'm not the one being talkative this whole time, am I?
"Shooters in the store below. Switch 'em off?" Grinch asked.
One good reason Grinch was holding a semi-automatic M14 rifle instead of our standard-issue M4A1 carbines: he had a real sharp eye. He's our team's marksman, after all. Seriously though, guy can make up real, living, moving enemies down the store below, even in total darkness. Me? I just barely figured out that we were actually in a store in the first place.
Not THAT dark, though, as there were tall-ass windows just at the end, allowing sunlight to barge in. Also, someone apparently punched a big hole through the store, thus giving room to more sunlight.
"Roger that," Sandman clarified.
Two? Three? Four? I can't tell how many we've shot in the store by then, only that I knew that I was not shooting at my mates. Of course, as if knowing that that wasn't all of the enemies we had to kill in this store, Sandman ordered Grinch to stay upstairs, providing us overwatch.
He was right.
Remember that big hole? By then, enemies started to pour in through that one source.
Sure, that one big hole was the only entry point for the Russians, effectively creating a choke point, making it easier to take shots at them. Thing is, there were an awful lot of them, it almost looked like the flow of these guys never ended. Not so long after, we were kind of overwhelmed. Bullets whizzed inches from my head, ricocheting the racks and impacting the walls, making it harder to take a peek from my cover.
"Frost, throw some frags!" Sandman shouted.
Right. Forgot.
So I took out one, yanked the pin off, and hurled it to where I heard the Russian shouts from. Boom. A couple of pained screams, and they stopped. I almost felt sorry for them, actually.
Heard another one. Russian language.
So I stood.
Where was he?
Then I heard it again.
Right behind me.
I saw the gun's muzzle flash.
I heard the gun's deafening bang.
I instinctively veered to the side.
Too late.
Pain seared on my shoulder. Burned so hot, I might as well went for a dip on a lava pool.
Adrenaline followed suit.
Pointing my gun towards the bastard, I squeezed my rifle's trigger.
Pain, anger, reflex, and impulse all got stacked up into that one motion my finger did on the trigger, I forgot that my rifle had already went click.
Deep breath.
Shit.
Am I bleeding out?
I checked the source of pain. Shoulder. I tried to get a feel with my other hand. Took a glance at it, just to be sure.
Not dead center. Kind of to the edge, actually.
Bullet actually went right through my shoulder, chipping off some of my skin as it went through. Left a sideways scar while it was at it. It also, miraculously, missed my bone. Just the tendons and tissues.
Still, real painful.
Gotta walk this one off. It's not like there's a medic nearby.
Burns. It burns straight to the bones. Blood dripped from where the bullet grazed my shoulder. The pain was so intense that I didn't even hear Sandman ordering us to get on the street just in front of the store. My brain was too wrapped on my own pain, it seemed.
Deep breath, Frost.
Pretend like it wasn't even there.
That's what they said. Easy, huh?
Yeah, I had it easy. I got grazed on the shoulder; the rest of the guys may have caught one on their guts. Their torso. Their chest. Even worse, their forehead. Better yet, they may have not caught one, maybe they caught a whole bullet magazine. So who am I to complain a bullet chipping off my skin?
So I caught up with the rest of the team.
When I stepped out to the broad daylight, I saw Sandman having a quick conversation with another soldier. Another unit, supposedly. Never seen that guy before.
"...sit-rep on mid-town?"
"The Russians have it locked down. They're kicking our ass! We can't get through!"
"Any word on air support?"
Still nothing! Guidance systems are scrambled! We need to get that jammer down!"
"Then let's move!"
And I thought the day will get easier somehow. Who am I kidding? It was as if nobody else but us was available for this one shitjob. That one guy Sandman was talking to might have slightly made our job easier, but other than that, we were on our own. Four of us against twice, triple, quadruple, even ten times our number of Russian soldiers.
Then I thought again.
Someone had to do the dirty job.
Someone's gotta step up.
Just beyond the cover where Sandman conversed with the guy, a multitude of Russian soldiers showed up. Russian I said, as they were obviously firing at us. They were practically firing from every angle, from down the streets to further up near the Stock Exchange building at the far side to from behind the gigantic columns just east from our position. Some even were comfy on turrets mounted on armored cars, similar to the one we encountered earlier.
If I hadn't known better, I'd say we were pinned down.
From where I was standing, I got clear shots on two, three enemies who were dumb enough not to fire at my position. Took them, shot them, kill confirmed.
Other than that, I didn't have much room for returning fire.
"Frost, get on the XM25 and flush them out!"
"Get on", you said?
Ah well, during the thick of battle, one does not stop for correcting another grammar errors.
So I pulled out my boomstick.
A scoped, bullpup grenade launcher.
Should've used this earlier. Silly me.
The armored vehicles I mentioned earlier were stationed just in front of the Stock Exchange building; they were out of the XM25's range. Moreover, there were a bunch of Russian soldiers firing at our position one straight line from those vehicles. In other words, they were obstructing our view of the trucks. One could've argued to just throw a hand grenade instead, but they took time to explode, effectively giving the enemies some time to clear the blast radius. As for then, we needed a quick fix on the enemies-pinning-us-down-issue.
That being said, that's where I fired.
BOOM.
I counted nine enemies flying. Maybe more that I didn't saw.
We moved our firing line further, now settling directly in front of the marble columns.
Did I mention that there were enemies firing from there?
We were much more compromised here than back before we moved up, as the enemies were firing from higher ground. By higher ground, I'm talking about an immensely wide flight of stairs--similar to that on the Lincoln Memorial back at Washington DC--elevating their position. Good cover too, as the marbles hiding them were large and thick, and they were made of- well, marble. Hard to pierce through.
Time to take out the boomstick, I guess.
Maybe the grenade launcher won't kill them, but it will certainly force them to find new cover. By then, it would have been duck hunting. Only that the ducks were carrying guns.
THUNK.
BOOM.
Three scrambled. Grinch and Truck picked them off.
THUNK.
BOOM.
Five scampered. Sandman and that one guy made sure they never reached new cover.
THUNK.
BOOM.
The columns went quiet.
In mere seconds after eliminating the column guys, pebbles flew and tapped my face. A high-caliber round had just ricocheted off my concrete cover.
Those armored trucks. Almost forgot.
I spotted two of them, comfortably parked in front of our goal--the Stock Exchange. Them, and a dozen or so foot units, seemingly pouring out from the Stock Exchange.
It didn't take us too long to clear out the area this time, as I popped two rounds at each of the trucks. No need for a clear shot at the gunners riding on the turrets this time around. Hilariously enough, most of those dozen or so men were taking cover near, or in some cases, directly next to the armored trucks. Of course, they were caught in the truck explosion blast, flying around like togas on a college graduation day. Poor bastards.
"Inside the Stock Exchange! Let's move!" Sandman bellowed.
"We'll secure the lobby while you hit the trading floor," the other guy suggested.
"Roger that. Metal, let's roll."
Back it up a sec, sarge.
They got munitions right here, at the lobby.
After I filled up my ammo, I joined the team up a flight of escalators.
I've just set my foot on the trading floor when Truck called out
"Contact!"
Of course.
Right in front of us was--as I mentioned-- the trading floor. You know, the gigantic room filled with counters and monitors, were those brokers and investors and whatever-the-hell-you-call-them converge and oversee the ups and downs of the stock prices. If it looked hectic before, it sure as hell looked like a torn-up shipwreck then. The monitors were smashed, leaving the circuitry inside dangling out and sparking electricity. The counters and the floor were littered with papers and folders and files, making the whole floor looking like the insides of a paper shredder.
Not to mention the enemies we encountered there.
It's not like they wore ultra-high-technology camouflage there, but they annoyingly blended with the all smashed up environment of the exchange floor, making them hard to spot. Either that, or they got good cover from the rows of counters all over the floor. Ricocheting bullets somewhat distort you here, as you have no idea of determining where they came from. One wrongfully (or correctly, depends) placed grenade can turn the room into a confetti launcher. It was THAT chaotic.
So, infuriatingly, I couldn't spot the Russians properly. Instead, I had to wait for them to fire, spot the muzzle flash of their guns, and fire at where it came from. In other words, I relied on them not shooting at me first.
That, or I had to fire on anything that looked remotely human. Human and not my squad mates.
With the description of the situation being said, I had to keep my focus on overdrive at all seconds then and there.
"Providing cover fire. Move up!" yelled Grinch.
So I jumped to the counter right in front of me. By then, I was very close to the enemy's firing lines, close to those who had been firing up at our position. And they hadn't noticed me here yet.
Grenade? Nah, they were too far apart.
One down. Another joined the club. The third was *this* close to spot me, but I got to him first. The fourth had already saw me, but he turned his gun towards me one second too late. He went down.
I was looking for the fifth target when I heard that noise.
tnk-tnk-tnk.
Something touched my feet. I glanced.
Something small and round and dark in color.
Something similar to the one thing I threw at the Russians in the jewelry store.
God damn it.
No time to return it to the sender.
So I vaulted over the counter.
And BOOM it went right behind me.
The BOOM was so loud and so powerful that I thought we were briefly hit by an earthquake.
As I was trying to get back to my senses, I noticed that the whole team had already moved up near my position, pushing the Russians back. I also thought it was safe to say that the sender of the small explosive package that I got was already gunned down by the rest of the team. Too bad I didn't get a chance of payback.
Five poor souls later, we happened upon a flight of metal stairs.
"Up top. Go, go go!" barked Sandman.
As I made my ascension, the metal stairs right at my feet clanged.
A bullet had just ricocheted.
Turns out, just opposite our flight of stairs was a wide balcony stretching from the far wall of the trading floor. Russian troops jogged on top of it, firing at our position. Real nuisance, they were. Emphasize on the word "were", as they were history a couple of seconds later. We had the higher ground, after all. I didn't even looked below to notice that a wave of enemies had just entered the trading floor from where we entered before.
At the end of the stairs was a walkway. At the end of it was a ladder.
"Frost, up the ladder, we're on your six." assured Sandman.
So now I'm advancing alone? No one at my twelve?
It was just a rooftop, what could possibly go wrong?
As I climbed up, minuscule debris and pebbles fell at my face. Not that it caused me to lose my grip, though--they looked and felt like sand.
"Keep moving! The jamming system is up on the second tier!"
Oh, so basically I was at the wrong rooftop, huh?
Not a problem, at least we were--
BANG.
Shotgun pellets pierced through the concrete just next to the hole where I came out on the rooftop.
Seriously, here too?
Just at the "second tier" Sandman told me about, two not-so-friendly-looking-Russians trained their guns at me. One was pumping his shotgun. I pulled the trigger before they got the chance to do so first.
They were not the only ones, though.
Three more took cover near what I assumed to be this jammer everyone had been talking about. Looked like a normal antenna dish, though.
"Frost, put thermite on the jammer's power supply! We'll cover!"
That easy, huh?
At first these buffoons were focused towards me, raining fire towards my cover. But, as the rest of the team converges, they got overwhelmed real quick. The last one took out a pistol after he was downed, bleeding out and heavily wounded. I put him out of his misery.
I turned to see yet another trigger-happy Russian pointing his gun at me.
BANG.
That one didn't come from him.
"Clear!" shouted Grinch.
Seeing that apparently there was nobody else standing and brandishing their rifle at us, I say you were right, Grinch.
Without wasting too much time, I plastered the aforementioned 'thermite' to the tower. Come to think about it, this 'thermite' looked like five tubes of incendiary grenades taped together. Not complaining here; if it blows shit up, it's good enough for me.
Finally, I got the chance to speak out to the team right there and then, by telling them that the thermite--
"... 's in place, clear the blast radius!"
Truck beat me to it.
Didn't I ever get a say in all this, even when I was supposed to get a say?
"Burn it, Frost!"
I pulled out a detonator. Hand itching to click the boom switch. Mind telling it not to, since I would definitely get caught in the explosion.
So I ducked behind some sandbags and clicked.
No need to tell you about the BOOM, didn't I?
Thing is, that's not all.
After the initial explosion, the tower tilted to the right, sparks of electricity vomiting out wildly. Its supporting cables tensed, groaning each time the tower got pulled by gravity. When they do finally snap... boy it was just as loud as the BOOM.
"Adios." Grinch quipped.
Ah, Grinch. Never got bored with those witty remarks, huh?
Mere seconds after the collapse, my ear was bombarded with voices.
"...We've got a man down!"
"...infantry, we hear..."
"...Help! Now!"
"...bomb...four-nine-one-one...affirmative...we got you loud and clear."
click.
"Roger, 0-1. All systems are operational. We're sending a Black Hawk to your location for exfil, ETA 3 minutes."
Ah, Overlord. Good to hear from you again after, well, all that shitstorm we've been through. Better yet, you're bringing us a present. Day just got better, I guess.
That is, until something hard, small, and lightning-bolt fast hit the concrete floor just milimetres away from my foot.
"Contact!" Grinch called.
Seriously guys, gimme a break. It's not like everyday you get to run through a hell-on-earth to save your country, right?
So we scrambled to cover. Overlord must've said something about an OPCON or an ISR, or a Predator or at least SOMETHING while we were at it, although I didn't pay attention then.
"Frost! establish an uplink with the Predator and buy us some time!"
My brain must have been playing games with me, since I initially thought Sandman asked me to call down the Predator at the enemies. You know, the one that Arnold Schwarzenegger fought in the jungles. The one he called "one ugly motherfucker".
That was before Sandman tossed a small plastic briefcase at me. I opened it to reveal a laptop inside, with the keyboard and all.
Wrong kind of Predator.
This one sends down a real nice present at your targets from far above.
And by "nice", I was talking about a remote-controlled missile.
I slumped myself against the sandbags, and tapped a few buttons here and there. Before long, the screen displayed the camera view from the very muzzle of a missile. It also displays the enemies as well, represented by these red squares. More than ten at the buildings opposite of our position, it seems.
Not for long.
Each of the BOOM that the missile produced upon impacting the rooftops was heard loud and clear from our side. Loud, but definitely not deafening. At least not to us.
I almost got carried away raining hell on the Russians when I heard yet another call from Sandman.
"Hind incoming!"
Ah, they bringing in a chopper now?
Anyways, I knew Sandman barked another set of orders at me, but I already knew what he was about to say before he did.
By the tap of a button, another missile was launched. I've got to steer this one carefully though, as the Hind is clearly a moving target. Wouldn't want to miss and hit the streets below where our guys were fighting now, would we?
Right, I forgot to tell you one detail.
These missiles were also equipped with the "speed up", "increase speed", "fire without steering", whatever-you-wanna-call-it setting. Basically, should I press a particular button, the missile will increase its speed drastically, thus travelling faster and, ehm, arriving at its targets faster.
With that being said, once I noticed that the Hind was not weaving around, I punched that button, directing the missile at the Hind.
Hit.
That "weaving" I told you about became wobbling, and that wobbling became spiraling, and that spiraling became crashing. I didn't even notice that Sandman was shouting "Good shot!" or something at me, I was too astonished at the scene of that flying war machine going down.
That scene was replaced by another chopper coming towards us. A Black Hawk.
Only this time, the thing was not shooting at us.
Our ticket outta here.
"Load up! Load up!" barked Sandman.
No need to tell me twice, Sarge.
I was about to take a comfy, cozy seat when I saw a multitude of enemies firing at us from the opposite rooftops.
Didn't I just poured them missiles? How many more guys they got there? The whole Russian population?
"Multiple contacts, lower rooftop! Frost, get on it!"
I actually let out a sigh, but of course, who would've heard a sigh amidst all the gunfire and the explosions?
And so I gripped the handles of the mounted machine gun.
Remember Frost, left button for spinning, right button for, well, vomiting bullets.
And vomiting bullets on the enemy I did.
I did notice Overlord's voice on my earpiece, conversing with Sandman, although I couldn't really make up what he was saying. New mission maybe?
"Roger, Overlord. Send it." Sandman replied.
"We have multiple Russian war ships near our ports. We sent the SEALs to assault the command vessel. Proceed to New York Harbor to assist."
"Copy your last."
Not quite finished yet, were we?
I was deep in thoughts of yet another mission on my--I mean our--hands when two Hinds hovered to my front. Hinds, exactly just like the one I've just smoked back at the rooftops.
One glaring difference, though.
These ones fired missiles at us.
"Enemy bird, incoming!" Truck called out.
Pilot must've noticed those birds earlier, as the Black Hawk veered right, dodging the missile. That thing had better not be heat-seeking missiles, though.
No?
My turn.
So I held down the right button, barraging the Hind with rounds and rounds of bullets.
I saw smoke coming out of the Hind when it turned its direction from us.
Now it's trying to run. Real cheeky of them.
A wild chase ensued on the lower skies of New York. Our Black Hawk was gaining on the smoking one when all of a sudden the not-so-smoking-one suddenly popped up right behind us, effectively flanking us in a three-way dogfight. Patience, guys. One at a time, please?
So my barrage of bullets downed the smoking Hind before turning towards the, for a lack of better word, healthier looking Hind.
I was just starting to fire my mounted gun when the Hind spat out two missiles at us.
Luckily enough, just to my side (the Black Hawk's front) is an avenue, allowing passage for the Black Hawk to duck in.
Now we're the one being hunted. How poetic.
The enemy chopper swerved just towards our rear, us (me and another gunner, Grinch the crackshot hopefully) firing wildly at it. In reply, the Hind repeatedly fired missiles and rounds of high-caliber bullets towards us. Any human being with a common sense would've put their money on the Hind. Even me myself.
Of course, we had to effectively zig-zag between the skyscrapers of New York should we want to avoid those missiles. Hind didn't really let up, though-- it was just as agile as well. Thank God the mounted guns on this thing does not run out of bullets.
Swerving left and right, dodging this one missile and that, until--
another Hind appeared.
Real funny, you guys.
"We're taking heavy fire!" Truck shouted.
Someone's gotta make a petition about putting missiles in the Black Hawk. Seriously.
I didn't even listen to the pilot calling out evasive actions, I just deadlocked my sights on the two choppers pursuing us, unleashing a storm of bullets.
Not this time, I thought, as one of the Hinds exploded and crashed into one of the buildings.
The tall buildings gave way to an empty square with a tall unfinished building right in the center of it.
You might have been asking, do I even have the time to notice that unfinished building.
The other Hind's already down for the count by then.
Slowly hovering around the unfinished building, we scanned our sectors for another surprise the enemy had in store for us.
They got one, actually.
Another Hind floated right to my front. As if it materialized out of thin air.
"Shit! Enemy Hind!" Sandman reacted.
Time to put on the trigger finger again.
Raining the Hind with bullets, both our Black Hawk and the Hind circled the unfinished building, firing wildly, hoping our bullets went through the pillars and frame of the site. Barrels and construction equipment were hit by the bullets, effectively throwing them off the building.
Not so much luck for either side until the both of us hovered upward.
I held down the right button as long as I could, spraying bullets at the Hind, hoping it did not have the chance to hit back with a couple of face-on missiles.
Then I saw it smoking.
It spiraled out of control, spinning wildly, losing height, gravity pulling it down. Down he goes.
Too soon.
In all of the magic, sorcery, and miracle, it suddenly went on to spin towards us. Us, as in our very own chopper.
CRACK. Real loud one at that.
We're hit.
Apparently, the impact was so strong it threw me off balance. Of all the places to be thrown off balance on, an open-sided helicopter is the last place for such misfortune to happen. Unlucky me, I guess.
All these things rushed towards my mind when I started to fell from the Black Hawk.
Shit.
Shit.
Hold on.
Grab.
Something.
Solid.
My palm gripped itself towards the mounted gun I was manning just mere minutes before.
Don't look down.
Don't.
Goddammit, I looked.
I saw the piece of shit Hind crashing and exploding into a building.
Suck it.
Alarm blared throughout the chopper. Red light blinked wildly.
We're going down.
Sorry to whichever SEAL team waiting for us, but I think backup's gotta wait.
Pull.
You don't want to die here.
Falling from a hundred feet does not sound like a noble death, does it?
Pull yourself.
As I managed to get half my body back on board, I noticed our Black Hawk gaining some altitude. I also noticed the distance between our transportation and the side of a building.
Real close.
And we were closing in.
I saw that there was practically no distance between the chopper and the building when I heard the rotor blades grinding at the walls of the building. That close.
I thought that the blades were going to give in and snap completely, leaving us at the mercy of gravity.
Come on.
Not this time.
Grinding stopped.
We went up.
"Torque feels okay! Tail rotor effective, hydraulics holding. Collective and pitch sat'. Fuel seventy percent." the pilot announced.
In other words, we're flying out of this alive.
"Overlord, this is 0-1, we're en route to the harbor, over."
"Roger, 0-1. The skies are clear. Good luck, out."
Leveling myself, I gazed towards the skyline of New York.
A sigh escaped my mouth.
Guess that Yankee game had to wait.
Anyways, though...
"Eyes on the Exchange! Left side, dead ahead!" shouted Sandman.
Sandman being the observant, as per usual. Me? Just a faceless gunman.
I guess it's a good thing that we're already at our objective. Not too much fuss needed. Like, sure, there's a gigantic-ass pile of rubble between us and the entrance to the Exchange, not to mention enemies magically popping out from there, but we've got good cover right here, and they've got practically none. It'll be like shooting fish in a barrel--
"Heads up! Bird incoming!" Truck screamed.
Oh, right.
It's was never going to be THAT easy, huh?
Why didn't they just send in a fucking tank while they're at it?
Sorry for the language. You know how it is, the fact that New York--and possibly the whole damn country-- may have been resting on your shoulders can put a quite a bit of pressure.
From where I was taking cover, I saw a gaping open doorway to my right.
I didn't even hear Sandman barking orders for us to get off the street, I just bolted.
As I took a glance to the streets behind me, I saw the chopper discharging rounds size of a champagne bottle (are they?) to where my comrades were standing. The best I can hope for them was that they think fast--or they are lucky. Also, the whole team has safely entered the building. It's not like I'm going to do the whole thing all by myself, am I?
"So what's the gameplan?" asked Truck.
"Same as before. Burn the jammer, kill the bad guys." replied Sandman.
"I like it." Grinch remarked.
I was about to add into the conversation by quipping something like "I'm in", but then I thought that Grinch had just stolen the smartest remark there was. I can't possibly top that. That, or I'm too dumb to think a smarter one.
As I was thinking about that deep thought earlier, we ascended a flight of stairs. At this point, nobody was behind us, not the enemies, not our allies. Probably still stuck on that one avenue, still killing each other.
Not too far from the stairway is a door. A surprisingly completely intact door, with all the room surrounding it already in ruins, or was about to be. Convenient, huh? Not to mention is a light bulb hanging neatly just above it, somewhat giving the door this halo effect.
"Grinch, Truck, hold here till my signal." Sandman ordered.
"Rog'," quipped Grinch.
Me?
"Frost, with me."
Right. It's not like Sandman is going to take point alone.
With that in mind, Sandman kicked the door open. Well, SOMEONE had to kick the door open, it's not like we got a shotgun, a sledgehammer, much less a ram to deal with this kind of obstacle.
gun
Beyond the door, I was astonished that the door is still intact.
Most of it is in ruins, with cables of electrical network dangling from the ceiling, still sparking electricity, and gigantic holes on where the floors should have been. That, and the large hole on the wall that exposed the innards of the room. Cause of that big hole? A crashed helicopter right in the center of it, its rotors still spinning idly. Real comfy. Speaking of holes, the ceiling right above us had a hole so big that it inadvertently exposed the room located above us with two Russian soldiers.
Wait, what?
"Threat, 12 o'clock high!"
One got a shotgun with him. Can't really make up what it is, but it didn't do him much good, as him and his comrade got gunned down real quick.
Isn't that somewhat miraculous, the fact that a gunfight can happen it THAT kind of place? Most people would have been more concerned with getting the hell out of there, but there are certain human beings that would rather kill each other. Fun fact: we're are not most people.
I thought that would be all anti-mainstream kind of people we have to kill within this shamble of a building, but then I heard BANGs and BRAKKAs, followed with a familiar whizzing sound stabbing through my ears.
Yep, the earlier guys were hardly the only ones.
Just far side of the room are two more enemies, taking cover behind couches and sofas, blind firing. Of course I had to duck to the nearest cover I had, which, after I noticed, was a restroom. Got a good shot at one guy, and BANG, not a problem anymore. Didn't really care about the other one though, he was already dead when I took the shot.
I thought about meeting another batch of extraordinary gentlemen when we came upon an open doorway, meeting no other human being. Enough fun for the last five minutes, I guess.
Just beyond the doorway was yet another sets of flights of stairs. Apparently we were not going up this time, that way was conveniently blocked by a tall pile of rubble.
"Grinch, Truck, tighten up."
That couldn't have been me, I'm not the one calling the shots, remember?
That being said, I thought Sandman forgot about the jammer-scrambling-communications thing. He called those two guys as if it's on radio, for crying out loud! Didn't get the chance to give him a friendly reminder though; Grinch and Truck jogged beside us right after Sandman called them. Magically, I might add.
Some three flights of stairs later, we came upon a door. Again.
This time, it's got voices right behind it.
Not sounds, not noises.
Voices.
As in, people-talking voices.
And they were not speaking English.
Russian.
Maybe I was not the only one who heard it, as Sandman halted, stacked beside the door, pushed the door very gently, then whispered:
"Frost, toss a nine-banger."
I actually thought about kicking the door and gunning down whoever Russian is right behind this door, minus the nine-banger business. Hey, it worked for us before, why not now?
Then again, orders are orders.
So I tossed one.
With all the strobe-lights-on-steroids and fireworks-on-crack produced by the little device, it surely gave us a very good element of surprise. Those Russians were down before they knew it.
After the strobe light display dispersed, I inspected the kill zone.
Turns out, we killed two soldiers.
Russian soldiers, mind you, before anyone have the idea of us team-killing there.
Well, judging from the sounds, I kind of expecting facing at least half a dozen soldiers there. Hell, I can almost tell us killing these guys was faster than the whole duration of the sick light display that the nine-banger exhibited.
Not protesting, though; we could have faced a full dozen there.
Just at the end of the alleyway is a flight of stairs with an open door at the end.
I don't need to tell you where we went next, do I?
I mean, like, why else would I tell you about a random set of stairs leading to a doorway?
"Truck, you getting anything on your comms?" Sandman asked.
"Nothing but static. Jammer's got us in the dark."
Great. Now we're effectively in the shitstorm. Only a matter of time until those Russians got us pinned down somehow, and maybe Overlord's probably gonna have to scrape the bottom of the "available-special-forces-unit-that's-maybe-up-for-some-suicide-mission" barrel.
Also, I couldn't help but notice something about Truck's accent. Surely this guy is American, but I caught some subtle intonation patterns in his words. British? Not as thick as those SAS guys that I met during Operation Kingfish, though.
Back to the business, shall we?
Darkness.
Then again, I knew we were on a second floor of some store. It was dark alright, but I could make up some racks of displays on the floor below us. A jewelry store? Most likely. How did I know this? The second floor we were on had a balcony overlooking the whole store just below us. It was also connected to two flights of stairs leading down.
"Hold up. Quiet."
I'm not the one being talkative this whole time, am I?
"Shooters in the store below. Switch 'em off?" Grinch asked.
One good reason Grinch was holding a semi-automatic M14 rifle instead of our standard-issue M4A1 carbines: he had a real sharp eye. He's our team's marksman, after all. Seriously though, guy can make up real, living, moving enemies down the store below, even in total darkness. Me? I just barely figured out that we were actually in a store in the first place.
Not THAT dark, though, as there were tall-ass windows just at the end, allowing sunlight to barge in. Also, someone apparently punched a big hole through the store, thus giving room to more sunlight.
"Roger that," Sandman clarified.
Two? Three? Four? I can't tell how many we've shot in the store by then, only that I knew that I was not shooting at my mates. Of course, as if knowing that that wasn't all of the enemies we had to kill in this store, Sandman ordered Grinch to stay upstairs, providing us overwatch.
He was right.
Remember that big hole? By then, enemies started to pour in through that one source.
Sure, that one big hole was the only entry point for the Russians, effectively creating a choke point, making it easier to take shots at them. Thing is, there were an awful lot of them, it almost looked like the flow of these guys never ended. Not so long after, we were kind of overwhelmed. Bullets whizzed inches from my head, ricocheting the racks and impacting the walls, making it harder to take a peek from my cover.
"Frost, throw some frags!" Sandman shouted.
Right. Forgot.
So I took out one, yanked the pin off, and hurled it to where I heard the Russian shouts from. Boom. A couple of pained screams, and they stopped. I almost felt sorry for them, actually.
Heard another one. Russian language.
So I stood.
Where was he?
Then I heard it again.
Right behind me.
I saw the gun's muzzle flash.
I heard the gun's deafening bang.
I instinctively veered to the side.
Too late.
Pain seared on my shoulder. Burned so hot, I might as well went for a dip on a lava pool.
Adrenaline followed suit.
Pointing my gun towards the bastard, I squeezed my rifle's trigger.
Pain, anger, reflex, and impulse all got stacked up into that one motion my finger did on the trigger, I forgot that my rifle had already went click.
Deep breath.
Shit.
Am I bleeding out?
I checked the source of pain. Shoulder. I tried to get a feel with my other hand. Took a glance at it, just to be sure.
Not dead center. Kind of to the edge, actually.
Bullet actually went right through my shoulder, chipping off some of my skin as it went through. Left a sideways scar while it was at it. It also, miraculously, missed my bone. Just the tendons and tissues.
Still, real painful.
Gotta walk this one off. It's not like there's a medic nearby.
Burns. It burns straight to the bones. Blood dripped from where the bullet grazed my shoulder. The pain was so intense that I didn't even hear Sandman ordering us to get on the street just in front of the store. My brain was too wrapped on my own pain, it seemed.
Deep breath, Frost.
Pretend like it wasn't even there.
That's what they said. Easy, huh?
Yeah, I had it easy. I got grazed on the shoulder; the rest of the guys may have caught one on their guts. Their torso. Their chest. Even worse, their forehead. Better yet, they may have not caught one, maybe they caught a whole bullet magazine. So who am I to complain a bullet chipping off my skin?
So I caught up with the rest of the team.
When I stepped out to the broad daylight, I saw Sandman having a quick conversation with another soldier. Another unit, supposedly. Never seen that guy before.
"...sit-rep on mid-town?"
"The Russians have it locked down. They're kicking our ass! We can't get through!"
"Any word on air support?"
Still nothing! Guidance systems are scrambled! We need to get that jammer down!"
"Then let's move!"
And I thought the day will get easier somehow. Who am I kidding? It was as if nobody else but us was available for this one shitjob. That one guy Sandman was talking to might have slightly made our job easier, but other than that, we were on our own. Four of us against twice, triple, quadruple, even ten times our number of Russian soldiers.
Then I thought again.
Someone had to do the dirty job.
Someone's gotta step up.
Just beyond the cover where Sandman conversed with the guy, a multitude of Russian soldiers showed up. Russian I said, as they were obviously firing at us. They were practically firing from every angle, from down the streets to further up near the Stock Exchange building at the far side to from behind the gigantic columns just east from our position. Some even were comfy on turrets mounted on armored cars, similar to the one we encountered earlier.
If I hadn't known better, I'd say we were pinned down.
From where I was standing, I got clear shots on two, three enemies who were dumb enough not to fire at my position. Took them, shot them, kill confirmed.
Other than that, I didn't have much room for returning fire.
"Frost, get on the XM25 and flush them out!"
"Get on", you said?
Ah well, during the thick of battle, one does not stop for correcting another grammar errors.
So I pulled out my boomstick.
A scoped, bullpup grenade launcher.
Should've used this earlier. Silly me.
The armored vehicles I mentioned earlier were stationed just in front of the Stock Exchange building; they were out of the XM25's range. Moreover, there were a bunch of Russian soldiers firing at our position one straight line from those vehicles. In other words, they were obstructing our view of the trucks. One could've argued to just throw a hand grenade instead, but they took time to explode, effectively giving the enemies some time to clear the blast radius. As for then, we needed a quick fix on the enemies-pinning-us-down-issue.
That being said, that's where I fired.
BOOM.
I counted nine enemies flying. Maybe more that I didn't saw.
We moved our firing line further, now settling directly in front of the marble columns.
Did I mention that there were enemies firing from there?
We were much more compromised here than back before we moved up, as the enemies were firing from higher ground. By higher ground, I'm talking about an immensely wide flight of stairs--similar to that on the Lincoln Memorial back at Washington DC--elevating their position. Good cover too, as the marbles hiding them were large and thick, and they were made of- well, marble. Hard to pierce through.
Time to take out the boomstick, I guess.
Maybe the grenade launcher won't kill them, but it will certainly force them to find new cover. By then, it would have been duck hunting. Only that the ducks were carrying guns.
THUNK.
BOOM.
Three scrambled. Grinch and Truck picked them off.
THUNK.
BOOM.
Five scampered. Sandman and that one guy made sure they never reached new cover.
THUNK.
BOOM.
The columns went quiet.
In mere seconds after eliminating the column guys, pebbles flew and tapped my face. A high-caliber round had just ricocheted off my concrete cover.
Those armored trucks. Almost forgot.
I spotted two of them, comfortably parked in front of our goal--the Stock Exchange. Them, and a dozen or so foot units, seemingly pouring out from the Stock Exchange.
It didn't take us too long to clear out the area this time, as I popped two rounds at each of the trucks. No need for a clear shot at the gunners riding on the turrets this time around. Hilariously enough, most of those dozen or so men were taking cover near, or in some cases, directly next to the armored trucks. Of course, they were caught in the truck explosion blast, flying around like togas on a college graduation day. Poor bastards.
"Inside the Stock Exchange! Let's move!" Sandman bellowed.
"We'll secure the lobby while you hit the trading floor," the other guy suggested.
"Roger that. Metal, let's roll."
Back it up a sec, sarge.
They got munitions right here, at the lobby.
After I filled up my ammo, I joined the team up a flight of escalators.
I've just set my foot on the trading floor when Truck called out
"Contact!"
Of course.
Right in front of us was--as I mentioned-- the trading floor. You know, the gigantic room filled with counters and monitors, were those brokers and investors and whatever-the-hell-you-call-them converge and oversee the ups and downs of the stock prices. If it looked hectic before, it sure as hell looked like a torn-up shipwreck then. The monitors were smashed, leaving the circuitry inside dangling out and sparking electricity. The counters and the floor were littered with papers and folders and files, making the whole floor looking like the insides of a paper shredder.
Not to mention the enemies we encountered there.
It's not like they wore ultra-high-technology camouflage there, but they annoyingly blended with the all smashed up environment of the exchange floor, making them hard to spot. Either that, or they got good cover from the rows of counters all over the floor. Ricocheting bullets somewhat distort you here, as you have no idea of determining where they came from. One wrongfully (or correctly, depends) placed grenade can turn the room into a confetti launcher. It was THAT chaotic.
So, infuriatingly, I couldn't spot the Russians properly. Instead, I had to wait for them to fire, spot the muzzle flash of their guns, and fire at where it came from. In other words, I relied on them not shooting at me first.
That, or I had to fire on anything that looked remotely human. Human and not my squad mates.
With the description of the situation being said, I had to keep my focus on overdrive at all seconds then and there.
"Providing cover fire. Move up!" yelled Grinch.
So I jumped to the counter right in front of me. By then, I was very close to the enemy's firing lines, close to those who had been firing up at our position. And they hadn't noticed me here yet.
Grenade? Nah, they were too far apart.
One down. Another joined the club. The third was *this* close to spot me, but I got to him first. The fourth had already saw me, but he turned his gun towards me one second too late. He went down.
I was looking for the fifth target when I heard that noise.
tnk-tnk-tnk.
Something touched my feet. I glanced.
Something small and round and dark in color.
Something similar to the one thing I threw at the Russians in the jewelry store.
God damn it.
No time to return it to the sender.
So I vaulted over the counter.
And BOOM it went right behind me.
The BOOM was so loud and so powerful that I thought we were briefly hit by an earthquake.
As I was trying to get back to my senses, I noticed that the whole team had already moved up near my position, pushing the Russians back. I also thought it was safe to say that the sender of the small explosive package that I got was already gunned down by the rest of the team. Too bad I didn't get a chance of payback.
Five poor souls later, we happened upon a flight of metal stairs.
"Up top. Go, go go!" barked Sandman.
As I made my ascension, the metal stairs right at my feet clanged.
A bullet had just ricocheted.
Turns out, just opposite our flight of stairs was a wide balcony stretching from the far wall of the trading floor. Russian troops jogged on top of it, firing at our position. Real nuisance, they were. Emphasize on the word "were", as they were history a couple of seconds later. We had the higher ground, after all. I didn't even looked below to notice that a wave of enemies had just entered the trading floor from where we entered before.
At the end of the stairs was a walkway. At the end of it was a ladder.
"Frost, up the ladder, we're on your six." assured Sandman.
So now I'm advancing alone? No one at my twelve?
It was just a rooftop, what could possibly go wrong?
As I climbed up, minuscule debris and pebbles fell at my face. Not that it caused me to lose my grip, though--they looked and felt like sand.
"Keep moving! The jamming system is up on the second tier!"
Oh, so basically I was at the wrong rooftop, huh?
Not a problem, at least we were--
BANG.
Shotgun pellets pierced through the concrete just next to the hole where I came out on the rooftop.
Seriously, here too?
Just at the "second tier" Sandman told me about, two not-so-friendly-looking-Russians trained their guns at me. One was pumping his shotgun. I pulled the trigger before they got the chance to do so first.
They were not the only ones, though.
Three more took cover near what I assumed to be this jammer everyone had been talking about. Looked like a normal antenna dish, though.
"Frost, put thermite on the jammer's power supply! We'll cover!"
That easy, huh?
At first these buffoons were focused towards me, raining fire towards my cover. But, as the rest of the team converges, they got overwhelmed real quick. The last one took out a pistol after he was downed, bleeding out and heavily wounded. I put him out of his misery.
I turned to see yet another trigger-happy Russian pointing his gun at me.
BANG.
That one didn't come from him.
"Clear!" shouted Grinch.
Seeing that apparently there was nobody else standing and brandishing their rifle at us, I say you were right, Grinch.
Without wasting too much time, I plastered the aforementioned 'thermite' to the tower. Come to think about it, this 'thermite' looked like five tubes of incendiary grenades taped together. Not complaining here; if it blows shit up, it's good enough for me.
Finally, I got the chance to speak out to the team right there and then, by telling them that the thermite--
"... 's in place, clear the blast radius!"
Truck beat me to it.
Didn't I ever get a say in all this, even when I was supposed to get a say?
"Burn it, Frost!"
I pulled out a detonator. Hand itching to click the boom switch. Mind telling it not to, since I would definitely get caught in the explosion.
So I ducked behind some sandbags and clicked.
No need to tell you about the BOOM, didn't I?
Thing is, that's not all.
After the initial explosion, the tower tilted to the right, sparks of electricity vomiting out wildly. Its supporting cables tensed, groaning each time the tower got pulled by gravity. When they do finally snap... boy it was just as loud as the BOOM.
"Adios." Grinch quipped.
Ah, Grinch. Never got bored with those witty remarks, huh?
Mere seconds after the collapse, my ear was bombarded with voices.
"...We've got a man down!"
"...infantry, we hear..."
"...Help! Now!"
"...bomb...four-nine-one-one...affirmative...we got you loud and clear."
click.
"Roger, 0-1. All systems are operational. We're sending a Black Hawk to your location for exfil, ETA 3 minutes."
Ah, Overlord. Good to hear from you again after, well, all that shitstorm we've been through. Better yet, you're bringing us a present. Day just got better, I guess.
That is, until something hard, small, and lightning-bolt fast hit the concrete floor just milimetres away from my foot.
"Contact!" Grinch called.
Seriously guys, gimme a break. It's not like everyday you get to run through a hell-on-earth to save your country, right?
So we scrambled to cover. Overlord must've said something about an OPCON or an ISR, or a Predator or at least SOMETHING while we were at it, although I didn't pay attention then.
"Frost! establish an uplink with the Predator and buy us some time!"
My brain must have been playing games with me, since I initially thought Sandman asked me to call down the Predator at the enemies. You know, the one that Arnold Schwarzenegger fought in the jungles. The one he called "one ugly motherfucker".
That was before Sandman tossed a small plastic briefcase at me. I opened it to reveal a laptop inside, with the keyboard and all.
Wrong kind of Predator.
This one sends down a real nice present at your targets from far above.
And by "nice", I was talking about a remote-controlled missile.
I slumped myself against the sandbags, and tapped a few buttons here and there. Before long, the screen displayed the camera view from the very muzzle of a missile. It also displays the enemies as well, represented by these red squares. More than ten at the buildings opposite of our position, it seems.
Not for long.
Each of the BOOM that the missile produced upon impacting the rooftops was heard loud and clear from our side. Loud, but definitely not deafening. At least not to us.
I almost got carried away raining hell on the Russians when I heard yet another call from Sandman.
"Hind incoming!"
Ah, they bringing in a chopper now?
Anyways, I knew Sandman barked another set of orders at me, but I already knew what he was about to say before he did.
By the tap of a button, another missile was launched. I've got to steer this one carefully though, as the Hind is clearly a moving target. Wouldn't want to miss and hit the streets below where our guys were fighting now, would we?
Right, I forgot to tell you one detail.
These missiles were also equipped with the "speed up", "increase speed", "fire without steering", whatever-you-wanna-call-it setting. Basically, should I press a particular button, the missile will increase its speed drastically, thus travelling faster and, ehm, arriving at its targets faster.
With that being said, once I noticed that the Hind was not weaving around, I punched that button, directing the missile at the Hind.
Hit.
That "weaving" I told you about became wobbling, and that wobbling became spiraling, and that spiraling became crashing. I didn't even notice that Sandman was shouting "Good shot!" or something at me, I was too astonished at the scene of that flying war machine going down.
That scene was replaced by another chopper coming towards us. A Black Hawk.
Only this time, the thing was not shooting at us.
Our ticket outta here.
"Load up! Load up!" barked Sandman.
No need to tell me twice, Sarge.
I was about to take a comfy, cozy seat when I saw a multitude of enemies firing at us from the opposite rooftops.
Didn't I just poured them missiles? How many more guys they got there? The whole Russian population?
"Multiple contacts, lower rooftop! Frost, get on it!"
I actually let out a sigh, but of course, who would've heard a sigh amidst all the gunfire and the explosions?
And so I gripped the handles of the mounted machine gun.
Remember Frost, left button for spinning, right button for, well, vomiting bullets.
And vomiting bullets on the enemy I did.
I did notice Overlord's voice on my earpiece, conversing with Sandman, although I couldn't really make up what he was saying. New mission maybe?
"Roger, Overlord. Send it." Sandman replied.
"We have multiple Russian war ships near our ports. We sent the SEALs to assault the command vessel. Proceed to New York Harbor to assist."
"Copy your last."
Not quite finished yet, were we?
I was deep in thoughts of yet another mission on my--I mean our--hands when two Hinds hovered to my front. Hinds, exactly just like the one I've just smoked back at the rooftops.
One glaring difference, though.
These ones fired missiles at us.
"Enemy bird, incoming!" Truck called out.
Pilot must've noticed those birds earlier, as the Black Hawk veered right, dodging the missile. That thing had better not be heat-seeking missiles, though.
No?
My turn.
So I held down the right button, barraging the Hind with rounds and rounds of bullets.
I saw smoke coming out of the Hind when it turned its direction from us.
Now it's trying to run. Real cheeky of them.
A wild chase ensued on the lower skies of New York. Our Black Hawk was gaining on the smoking one when all of a sudden the not-so-smoking-one suddenly popped up right behind us, effectively flanking us in a three-way dogfight. Patience, guys. One at a time, please?
So my barrage of bullets downed the smoking Hind before turning towards the, for a lack of better word, healthier looking Hind.
I was just starting to fire my mounted gun when the Hind spat out two missiles at us.
Luckily enough, just to my side (the Black Hawk's front) is an avenue, allowing passage for the Black Hawk to duck in.
Now we're the one being hunted. How poetic.
The enemy chopper swerved just towards our rear, us (me and another gunner, Grinch the crackshot hopefully) firing wildly at it. In reply, the Hind repeatedly fired missiles and rounds of high-caliber bullets towards us. Any human being with a common sense would've put their money on the Hind. Even me myself.
Of course, we had to effectively zig-zag between the skyscrapers of New York should we want to avoid those missiles. Hind didn't really let up, though-- it was just as agile as well. Thank God the mounted guns on this thing does not run out of bullets.
Swerving left and right, dodging this one missile and that, until--
another Hind appeared.
Real funny, you guys.
"We're taking heavy fire!" Truck shouted.
Someone's gotta make a petition about putting missiles in the Black Hawk. Seriously.
I didn't even listen to the pilot calling out evasive actions, I just deadlocked my sights on the two choppers pursuing us, unleashing a storm of bullets.
Not this time, I thought, as one of the Hinds exploded and crashed into one of the buildings.
The tall buildings gave way to an empty square with a tall unfinished building right in the center of it.
You might have been asking, do I even have the time to notice that unfinished building.
The other Hind's already down for the count by then.
Slowly hovering around the unfinished building, we scanned our sectors for another surprise the enemy had in store for us.
They got one, actually.
Another Hind floated right to my front. As if it materialized out of thin air.
"Shit! Enemy Hind!" Sandman reacted.
Time to put on the trigger finger again.
Raining the Hind with bullets, both our Black Hawk and the Hind circled the unfinished building, firing wildly, hoping our bullets went through the pillars and frame of the site. Barrels and construction equipment were hit by the bullets, effectively throwing them off the building.
Not so much luck for either side until the both of us hovered upward.
I held down the right button as long as I could, spraying bullets at the Hind, hoping it did not have the chance to hit back with a couple of face-on missiles.
Then I saw it smoking.
It spiraled out of control, spinning wildly, losing height, gravity pulling it down. Down he goes.
Too soon.
In all of the magic, sorcery, and miracle, it suddenly went on to spin towards us. Us, as in our very own chopper.
CRACK. Real loud one at that.
We're hit.
Apparently, the impact was so strong it threw me off balance. Of all the places to be thrown off balance on, an open-sided helicopter is the last place for such misfortune to happen. Unlucky me, I guess.
All these things rushed towards my mind when I started to fell from the Black Hawk.
Shit.
Shit.
Hold on.
Grab.
Something.
Solid.
My palm gripped itself towards the mounted gun I was manning just mere minutes before.
Don't look down.
Don't.
Goddammit, I looked.
I saw the piece of shit Hind crashing and exploding into a building.
Suck it.
Alarm blared throughout the chopper. Red light blinked wildly.
We're going down.
Sorry to whichever SEAL team waiting for us, but I think backup's gotta wait.
Pull.
You don't want to die here.
Falling from a hundred feet does not sound like a noble death, does it?
Pull yourself.
As I managed to get half my body back on board, I noticed our Black Hawk gaining some altitude. I also noticed the distance between our transportation and the side of a building.
Real close.
And we were closing in.
I saw that there was practically no distance between the chopper and the building when I heard the rotor blades grinding at the walls of the building. That close.
I thought that the blades were going to give in and snap completely, leaving us at the mercy of gravity.
Come on.
Not this time.
Grinding stopped.
We went up.
"Torque feels okay! Tail rotor effective, hydraulics holding. Collective and pitch sat'. Fuel seventy percent." the pilot announced.
In other words, we're flying out of this alive.
"Overlord, this is 0-1, we're en route to the harbor, over."
"Roger, 0-1. The skies are clear. Good luck, out."
Leveling myself, I gazed towards the skyline of New York.
A sigh escaped my mouth.
Guess that Yankee game had to wait.
