Long Form Roleplayers

First read Jungle Heat - Extraction Part 1

10:19 Watts: Watts turned and motioned to Feliz that the American was on the move, he looked over at Ivan who was now dealing nicely with the kids. Just needed to keep the American busy for a few more minutes. He dropped the grenade launcher back onto it's holster and pulled out his assault rifle and fired into the underbush where the Ranger was to keep his head down.

10:19 Feliz: Feliz watched the shots to where Watts could see the ranger moving, and he slowly and quietly moved across the ground, trained to make very little noise he held the machete in his hand as he went around to the opposite side of the cover and then jumped around aiming the machete at the american's head.

12:11 Marine_Paul_Collins:"Fuck..." but he hears Roger say something and he turns to look at him. "I...." then he just fell forward onto his friend as his entire nervous system felt like it was being fried.

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: He looked at Wayne and assessed Tommy's words, but ultimately a mission isn't worth even one man's life and he went to his radio and changed the channel. "Tango 4 to Base, this is Tango 4 acting CO. Lt. Anderson is dead and we have a critically wounded soldier. Emergency evac required. And I have zero fucks for the Congolese government." He didn't even wait for a reply.

He looked at Bill. "Honest opinion on Wayne?"

10:11 Sergeant_Bill_McKaine: I arrived with Wayne back to where Tommy and Max were setting traps. I laid him down gently, and looked over at Max. He prayed, hoping that it wasn't too late. When Tommy spoke up, his face went hard. He came this close to ordering Corporal Max to take care of Wayne, but stopped himself.

Tommy was right. Bill might not want to hear it, but he knew the Welshman was right. Bill was trained in first aid and the basics of field medicine, but he was no medic. Still, he knew the things to watch for. He checked Wayne's pulse, and it was erratic. His skin was cold and clammy, despite the heat. He was losing blood. Internal bleeding. No doubt his lungs were filling up with blood.

The tough, hard bitten Texan felt how totally fucking helpless he was. He raged inside, but his face was like a stone. He wanted to scream, to break something, to go on a rampage, but the cold, steel-hard Texan knelt there, holding Wayne's hand, whispering, "Don't you fucking die on me... C'mon.. Stay with me Wayne..."

He turned and looked up at Patrick. "He's bleeding internally. He's going to drown in his own blood if he doesn't bleed out first. He doesn't have long, unless we can stabilize him. I'll do my fucking best. but we can't sit here and have a fucking picnic, Sergeant, we are sitting ducks."

Bill started to think back to his training.. He'd have to suture the wounds and get the bullet out. And he'd have to do it right the first time.

12:11 Rodney: With his hands ziptied, Rodney knew he was fucked now. But there was nothing for it. Rodney grunted, and fell to his knees, looking over at the wounded Royal Marine with the grim, hard looking Ranger kneeling beside him. Impassive, Rodney stared straight ahead. They were all dead, as soon as the squads pulled together and reinforcements. They knew this jungle like the back of their hand. These fuckers were all dead.

10:11 Corporal_Max_Thompson: Max is torn... he knows how important finishing these traps are. It could mean life or death for all of them, but it was tearing him up inside knowing that Wayne was bleeding out. He focused through the emotions, and put them aside, forcing himself to work faster. He called out, "Just stabilize him Bill. You can do it. You have the training. I'll see to him as soon as I'm done here."

10:11 Sergeant_First_Class_Timothy_Phillips: Timothy stopped about 30 yards from where Tommy and Max were laying traps, to hold off any pursuit, to give Max and Tommy the time they needed to get those traps finished, to try and give Wayne a chance at survival. They had inflicted heavy casualties on the pursuing squads, but he knew that it was only a matter of time before they regrouped. The grenade he had thrown had caught the flamethrower and at least one other man, but there were still others out there.

He felt grim. Wayne was hurt,hurt bad. He hoped to god they didn't lose him. But they'd have to move, and move soon. He heard a sound coming from up ahead, and the sight of a trooper gliding from tree to tree. He would try to take him by surprise, but they had to fucking move. "Patrick, we have incoming. I'll hold them off, but we have to move, are those traps...."

He never finished his sentence as one of the troopers had flanked him, firing off a round that slammed into his shoulder, destroying his radio and knocking him back against the tree, his armor stopped the bullet, but it hurt like fuck. Grimly, on instinct, he slipped around the other side of the tree, and promptly got sprayed in the back with assault rifle fire. His armor held up, but he was knocked flat on his face. He scrambled forward on his hands and knees, as a fragmentation grenade sailed in towards his position, he scooted behind a tree, except one leg was exposed. The grenade exploded, and shrapnel tore into his left leg, the armor was lighter there. He bit down hard to keep from screaming. He stayed absolutely silent playing dead.

The two troopers moved forward, seeing the red, bleeding leg, assuming that he had been killed by the grenade. That's when Timothy let one of them have it in the face with his assault rifle, the trooper's head exploding, covering him in gore, but the other man was approaching him from the other side, pulling the trigger on his assault rifle, at near point blank range.

But Timothy was already moving. The Ranger wasn't stupid. The bullets slammed into the earth where his head had been. The First Sergeant gritted his teeth against the outrageous pain in his shredded left leg. He brought his assault rifle around to fire at the trooper as he rolled to a stop, but the trooper was already firing... at Timothy's head, but his rifle jammed, and cursing he swung it like a club, knocking Timothy's rifle away before bringing it down in a sickening CRUNCHHHHHHHHH butt first hard into Timothy's face.

He spasmed from the impact, as blood sprayed out, his nose and cheekbone broken from the heavy blow. He barely clung to consciousness, and started to drift into shock, he wasn't able to make his hands move.... he grunted, gasping, blood streaming down his bashed in face as the trooper smoothly reached down to pull his side arm, intending to put a bullet in the Ranger's head.

10:11 Private_Roger_Travers: Suddenly, a bullet slams into Roger's assault rifle, ruining it. FUCK. He throws it aside, reaching down for his Glock as Paul fell forward on to him, his body spasming from the taser, he got all tangled up in Paul's body, desperately trying to get free, but Ivan was on him before he managed it.

10:11 Commando_Ivan_Usov: The Royal Marine collapsed onto the Ranger, tangling him up. It was perfect. I charged forward, seizing the Ranger's wrist as he struggled to both protect his comrade and bring his sidearm to bear. I holstered my own sidearm as I charged, leaving both hands free.

I was brutal, I seized the Ranger's right wrist while he was still too tangled with the Marine to fight effectively. I twisted his wrist savagely, yanking him forward, turning my body into his, deliberately torquing his right arm as I threw him over my shoulder, rewarded with a tight SNAPPPING sound as I broke his right arm and slammed him to the earth.

12:11 Lieutenant_David_Armstrong: I ducked low pinned down by assault rifle fire. FUCK. This was a bad situation. I heard a gun shot off towards Paul and Roger's position. FUCK.

Then, suddenly the covering fire ceased for a moment. I heard a rustle. On some deep gut level instinct, I rolled quickly to the side, seeing a gleaming blade dig into the soil where my head had been. Smoothly, on pure battle-forged instincts, I swept my boot out to catch the ankle of my silent assailant, yanking hard to pull him off balance as with my other boot, I kicked his other ankle out from under him.

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: Patrick looked at Wayne and then over at the Texan. "Look at it like this, you kill him by trying to save him, it's a fuck tonne better than him dying because no-one tried."

"I'll buy you some time."

He heard Tim's words over the radio but he didn't look up as he continued to look at Bill. "I'll buy you five minutes. Once Max has finished setting up the traps. You and Max pull back to grid reference 98/23, set up there, it's close to the emergency extraction point. Find something to carry Corporal Reece on when Bill's finished with him."

"Keep everyone away from the C4.. It'll probably be exploding soon."

"Tommy, if that Evac chopper doesn't turn up. I'd like you to blow up some civil servants when you get home." He put his hand on Bill's shoulder. "I know he'd trust you. Don't fuck it up."

Which was .. somewhat motivational.

"And if the prisoner slows you down in any fucking way or moves... just fucking shoot him. No-one will say anything."

He turned and headed off through the forest, Tim's radio going silent mid message was not good. While he cared for Tim, he cared more for his own men, especially since he was in charge, and he needed to get them back safely no matter what.

He skirted through the trees quickly and he saw one guy with a sidearm heading up on Max through the woods, not firing yet, probably because he'd seen Max was holding some C4 and frankly the guy probably didn't want to be within the blast range.

Patrick slid quietly up next to the tree, not wanting to give away his position, he quietly dropped his shotgun down around his neck on it's sling and as the man rounded the large tree, he went around the back of him and put two hands on either side of his neck and twisted, brutally, breaking the man's neck in two.

He looked up at Max and motioned to his eyes for him to be on the look out, the guy was good, but like Tommy tended to get caught up in his work.

He continued through the woods towards the sound of a grenade going off. He was trying to be stealthy, but as he rounded a couple of trees, he saw that one of the mercenaries was about to shoot Tim's head off and he saw red. He could actually have shot the guy from where he was standing, but he didn't.

He put the shotgun in one hand and walked up behind him and grabbed him around the neck. "You do not fucking hurt my friends." He then fired the shotgun at the hand holding the glock, shooting the entire hand off.

He then brought it down and shot out the man's knee and pumped the shotgun for a third time and shot out his cock and balls.

There was a //small// chance the man would live, but if he did, he would not ever forget the Irishman who did this as the man screamed and screamed in agony bleeding from nearly everywhere.

Patrick knelt down beside Tim and grabbed him. "No-one fucks with my friends." The brutality of what Patrick had done pretty much spoke that volume for himself. "Can you walk if I help you. We need to move." He picked up the discarded glock and handed it to Tim. "If I carry you, you do the shooting, right... die later.. you don't have fucking time now."

10:19 Feliz: Feliz hit the floor as the American's boot came out, but he grabbed the American's ankle as it came out and yanked him forward, which allowed Watts to fire two bullets at the American one missing, the other hitting his body armour.

Feliz rolled into the American, the South African pulling a knife from my tactical vest intending to make good use of it. The American was pinned down by himself and Watts. If the American stood up to try and get a good fighting position Watts would kill him, if he stayed on the ground, Feliz thought he had the advantage, an expert at knife fighting he was going to happily gut the yank and take his insignia for his perverse collection of trophies.

10:11 Sergeant_First_Class_Timothy_Phillips: Only half conscious, Tim looked up as his would-be killer's hand was blown off. Stupidly he watched as Patrick blew out his knee, then shot his gonads off. I formed a weak smile at the bad-ass Irish bastard.

Tim managed to grunt, even though talking was agony with his broken cheekbone, "Good ... thing... I'm a friend...then." He planted his good boot on the soil, and answered Patrick's question by hauling himself up to his leg.

The truth was he shouldn't be walking at all. He'd gotten a pretty serious concussion and his left leg was raw in places. As soon as he stood up, clutching onto Patrick's arm, he felt sick, turned aside and vomited noisily, the result of the severe pain and concussion. He wiped the bile and blood off his mouth, and looked at Patrick, his face bashed up bad.

The tough Chicago native took the Glock from Patrick and nodded. A man had to do what a man had to do. "Let's ... go... and... thanks.. Paddy."

12:11 Lieutenant_David_Armstrong: The machete wielding assailant grabbed my ankle and pulled me forward, even as he fell. I heard two shots, and a bullet slammed into the soil, and the other into my body armour, feeling like I was kicked by a fucking mule.

FUCK these bastards. Stunned by the shot, I can't react fast enough to stop the trooper from mounting on top of me, drawing his blade. Instinctively, my gloved left hand shoots up and seizes his wrist to keep that blade out of play.

I yank hard on that wrist, digging my right boot into the soil, and heaving at the same time, looking to reverse positions, as my right hand reaches down to my tactical belt and pulls out Mark's knife.

10:11 Sergeant_Bill_McKaine: Bill grabs Max's medkit, and zones out everything else going on around him, absently nodding at the Colour Sergeant's attempts at morale boosting. He didn't give a fuck about morale.

Only thing he cared about was saving Wayne. His guts were clenched as hard and cold as coiled steel, but he focused, removing the patch he'd put on Bill's wound, delicately going to work, straining his brain to recall his training as he tried to soak up the blood. He found the severed artery, and started to sew it together. That stopped most of the bleeding. There wasn't much he could do for the punctured lung, but he did find that damn bullet.

Then, he figured that was the most he could do right now. He forced Wayne to sit up, holding him tenderly from behind, moving him gently. The blood started to drain out of the wound, from the punctured lung, washing down over Wayne's battle armor. He felt Wayne spasm, knowing how much this must hurt even with him unconscious.

Then, he laid him down again, and poured some isopropyl alcohol on the wound, and put another patch over it. That would have to do. He felt Wayne's pulse. It wasn't any stronger, but it wasn't any weaker either.

He called out, "Tommy, Max, you done yet... we need to get Wayne on a stretcher of some kind. Go Mcgyver something."

To Wayne, he whispered, "C'mon partner... hang in there... you are gonna make it... you gotta fucking make it... don't you die on me now."

10:11 Private_Roger_Travers: The young Ranger let out an involuntary groan of agony as he felt his right arm shatter as his body smashed into the jungle floor. Grimly, he brought his left hand up to grab the combat blade he kept holstered on his chest, but suddenly, everything went black.

10:11 Commando_Ivan_Usov: I stepped back after breaking the Ranger's arm, pulled back my boot, and kicked him in the side of his head like a football. Not hard enough to kill, but hard enough to put him under for a good long while. Then, I turned to the young Marine. He wouldn't stay stunned forever. I repeated my maneuver, kicking him savagely in the side of his head, helmet or no, it was a blow designed to knock out a man for a good long while.

Then, acting quickly, I hogtied both men with zip tie. I radioed, "Feliz, Watts, I've got the prisoners now. Return to base when you can safely disengage. We need to leave, soon."

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: He put his arm around Tim and took most of his weight. "We'll get you back, okay."

He looked down at the man he'd removed extremities from. "I'd piss on him as well if I had enough fucking time." He looked at the guy who was barely conscious, screaming and hoist Tim up. "But we don't."

He looked at his watch. "Come on... things are going to get hot shortly." He basically lifted up the man as he moved forward. "You drank my whiskey last time, your turn to share some when we're back on home ground and safe."

He pulled the small detonator from his pocket and as his watch hit five minutes he pressed it - seven massive explosions burst through the forest starting to fell trees, and there was the sound of screams as some of the mercenaries were captured in the explosions, or caught in the tree fall.

Patrick looked at Tim. "Scotch and Hookers..."

10:19 Feliz: Feliz grunted in pain as his wrist is grabbed, but the American was grabbing for his own knife, so he did the same and grabbed the American's wrist slamming his knee into the American's balls, both were plated, but he bet that the American felt that more than he did.

As the American landed on top of him he grunted in annoyance, the two soldiers were matched in strength, and were holding each others knife hands trying to force their knives to each other's throats.

09:01 Watts: Watts followed his orders, heading back over to Ivan. "Feliz is dealing with one of the Americans." He picked up one of the soldiers and slung him over his shoulder. "I'll take this one back for you."

09:01 Sergeant_Tommy_Morgan: Tommy heard the explosions and pulled out some poles from his jacket and started pulling them together, he didn't have a stretcher but he could make something. "Take off his trousers and jacket, I need the fabric.

He started to fit the poles through the arms of the jackets and the legs of the trousers and leant down to make a makeshift stretcher. "This is the best I can do at short notice."

He looked at it. "It won't be easy to carry, but it's literally the best I can do. Get him on it. Max and I can carry him, you'll be need for covering fire, okay."

10:11 Sergeant_First_Class_Timothy_Phillips: Timothy looked down at the screaming, maimed man who had tried to kill him. He spat on him, a bloody wad that splattered on his face, then did his best to hobble back with Patrick's help.

He started to chuckle as he made his way back. It was good. Kept his mind off how much pain he was in. "I .. think... I can manage ... to get my hands .. on some ... of the good stuff... " He winked at Patrick, the expression looking a bit grotesque, given the state of his face.

Then, the explosion rang out, along with the screams of dying mercenaries. It was one of the most beautiful sounds Timothy had heard in a long time. "I like your ... style ... you fucking... bastard..." He grinned over at Patrick.

10:11 Sergeant_Bill_McKaine: Bill looked up from checking Wayne's pulse again. The hard Texan had a grim look on his face.

He saw the makeshift stretcher that Tommy was making, and nodded. It's not like Wayne would need them. Working quickly, the lean, hard Ranger sniper quickly stripped off Wayne's battle gear, handing the trousers and jacket over to Tommy.

With tender care, he lifted up the wounded Marine and lowered him down on the makeshift stretcher. Bill wasn't talking much. In times of extreme stress he didn't. It was his way of keeping the powerful emotions at bay. He focused on a goal, and saw that goal through to the end. Calm. Hard. He held on to one goal right now. Wayne was going to survive. End of story. Everything he did revolved around carrying that goal out.

Bill shouldered two rifles now, Wayne's and his own. When Tommy mentioned the need for covering fire, Bill spoke. His voice was ice cold, and harder than steel. "Dead. Those motherfuckers are dead."

10:11 Sergeant_First_Class_Timothy_Phillips: As Timothy made it back to camp, help up by Patrick, he grunted out, looking around, "Where ... the fuck are ... the LIeutenant.. and the rookies." Then, letting go of Patrick's arm, blood dripping down his face, he called over to Max, "Need ... a crutch..."

10:11 Corporal_Max_Thompson: Max looked up from checking on Wayne as Timothy's voice called out. Wayne was ... stabiish right now. But he needed proper treatment. Fast. He stood up, looking at Bill. The big, powerful Iowan put his hand on Bill's shoulder, "Good work."

Then he turned to Timothy. He held in his breath. The First Sergeant had been through the meat grinder. His face was dog meat, and so was his left leg. Shrapnel. He was bleeding, but there was no time to treat him. He was mostly ambulatory that would have to do. "On it Sarge" He called out.

Working quickly, he broke off a tree branch, with a few quick strokes of his combat blade, he cut off the leaves and limbs. There was a fork about the right height. He handed it off to Timothy, then went back to join Tommy.

He kept calm, focused. Later he could let himself feel the fear. But right now, too many men depended on him for that. He knew his job.

12:11 Lieutenant_David_Armstrong: I drew my blade, and heaved us over with a surge of strength, but this fucker was strong. Every bit as strong as I was, and that's saying something. He seized my own wrist as I seized his, and slammed his knee up into my plated balls.

I grunted, feeling agony spike through my crotch, my grip weakened slightly, and even as I fell on top of the bastard, I felt that knife inch closer towards my neck. I focused, and my arm rippled with brutal power staying the advancing blade. I shot my legs back, grapevining his legs, my boots twining around his ankles, controlling his legs.

We were locked in a stalemate, and time was running out. Roger and Paul needed me. My men needed me. With a roar, I slammed my head forward, deliberately allowing the big bastard's blade to cut the side of my face as I slammed my head down, a line of fire erupting from my jawline up to my ear, a deep savage cut. I let the pain wash over me as my teeth seized on to his nose, crunching down with brutal force, and twisting looking to shatter his nose.

At the same time, I threw every ounce of power I could muster into my right arm, the bicep bulging as big as a cannonball, trying to take advantage of the shock and distraction of my attack on his nose to overpower him and drive the blade into his throat.

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: He smiled at Tim. "Small tip, don't smile like that when you get home to your wife, you'll be divorced in five minutes until your face is fixed."

He reloaded his shotgun. "Max, grab your gun, you're with me."

To Tommy, he said. "Prepare everyone to move out, it's a long hike to the exfil site and we need to get the wounded there ASAP."

And to Bill he saw the guy's face. "You just kill anything that gets close. If the First Sergeant starts trying to go into the woods to help, shoot his crutch or something."

Nodding to Max he started to head across to where the American Lieutenant and the rookies should be.

10:19 Feliz: The South African smiled as his knife dug into the Yank's face, cutting it deeply. "Derek will probably pay handsomely for your face when I cut it...."

The next words were drowned out by the gurgling sound of blood rushing down his throat from his noise and two things happened at the same time, his non knife hand, the one holding David's ... or rather Mark's knife loosened allowing David to slice neatly into the guys throat as the South African slammed his own knife into David's shoulder.

But he was dead, and didn't feel any more pain after that, his face a wreck, nose completely gone.

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: He was only a couple of seconds behind his scene. And the forest was silent for a moment, there were no other sounds. "Lieutenant. Are you okay?"

He turned to Max and pointed to the trees to take watch out for any others.

"Fuck you look like crap, where's Marine Collins and Private Travers, we thought they were with you. We have to leave to get to the exfil site, Reece and Phillips are badly wounded."

10:11 Sergeant_First_Class_Timothy_Phillips: He grinned at Patrick, then tested his weight on the crutch, taking aim with his right arm. The pain was getting worse and his leg was burning so bad it felt like an inferno.

But he didn't have time for that. Timothy knew he should take command, but then, just before leaving with Patrick, Max stopped and injected him with morphine for the pain, and at that point he figured it was probably best to let Tommy handle things. Fuck, it was good to feel some of that pain recede.

10:11 Sergeant_Bill_McKaine: Bill nodded, his face fixed in an expression that would give the grim reaper fits. "Hell yes." was all the tense murderous Texan said to the Colour Sergeant. He had his rifle out, looking for targets.

10:11 Corporal_Max_Thompson: Max headed out, after quickly giving the First Sergeant some morphine. He was in bad shape. But that was the best Max could do right now. He could still walk and shoot, which was the important thing. Then, hefting his assault rifle, he fell in beside the big powerful Irishman.

Just before they left camp, and Max dropped into combat mode, the big Iowan muttered, "Thanks Sergeant, for saving me earlier". He was referring to the man who had nearly snuck up on Max when he was preoccupied, and snapped his neck, saving his life.

The big Iowan knew that his wife would be every bit as grateful to the big Royal Marine MP Colour Sergeant.

12:11 Lieutenant_David_Armstrong: I gasped as the last action of my brawny opponent sunk a blade deep into my shoulder, through a chink in my body armour. Fuck this guy was good... he had instinctively known where the chinks were and gone for it. Pain lanced up and down my arm, but it was over for him, as my blade sunk into his throat, his blood splashing over me.

Gasping, I stood up, blood streaming down my face. No time for that. Had to help Paul and Roger. But the Jungle was now strangely quiet. I felt my guts twisting in rage and pain.

Then, I turned, fumbling for my assault rifle, still strung around my shoulder, to see the Colour Sergeant. His question hit me like a physical blow. A brief flash of agony rippled across my bleeding face. Not from the physical pain, which was something to be embraced, but the psychic pain. We don't leave men behind.

The anguish rips through me, and for a moment I’m about to insist on looking for Roger and Paul, but I know my duty. I nod, moving my bleeding shoulder. I could still use it, though every motion felt like a dagger cutting into me.

"Either they survived, in which case they will make their way back to our camp, or they are dead, in which case there is nothing we can do for them, or they have been captured, in which case the Syndicate will be dealing with hellfire before much longer, I swear. Let's go." I knew my duty. But that didn't make it easy.

As I marched back with Patrick and Max, every step away from Paul and Roger ripped a jagged rent in my soul. We don't leave men behind. But sometimes we don't have a choice.

10:11 Commando_Ivan_Usov: I nodded at Watts as he heaved up the Royal Marine, and I heaved up the Ranger with the broken arm. "Felix can take care of himself, he's one tough fucker." I marched back to the base with Felix, and radioed back to Rostov. "Status." Rostov replied, "10 suspected fatalities. 1 confirmed enemy kill, 1 probable, 1 wounded." Ivan cursed, he didn't like that trade. Derek would go mental. He sent out another order, he had 20 men left. Enough to send out one more squad, but he needed the rest to handle the evacuation. "Assemble one more squad. Choose the best scouts and jungle experts we have. They need to be fast, silent, and deadly. Their orders will be to kill as many of the retreating Rangers and Marines as they can. They have wounded with them, that will slow them down. And include one of our field techs, one with demolition expertise. We all heard those explosions. They have no doubt laid more traps for us."

10:11 Sergeant_Jeremy_Styles: I stood there, just inside the exit, along with the other reserve troopers. I had not been selected to join the squads sent out to engage the rescue team. A team sent to rescue me. FUCK.

Of all the shitty luck. I could have made the transfer over to them easily if I had. But then, I heard Rostov make the announcement for one more team, a scout team to be sent out, to comprise only the best woodsman and a demolitions expert. Finally, here was my chance. I knew this surrounding Jungle, along with Darrell better than anyone else. Rostov walked up, he knew that. Then, Ivan entered, along with Watts. I felt rage burn inside my guts, they were carrying two men, a Ranger and a Royal Marine.

Then, Ivan surveyed the men lined up, and indifferently pointed his finger at me, he read off my name tag, "Peterson. You and Watts will stand guard over these two." I opened my mouth to object, about to argue that my knowledge of the terrain made me more suited to the scout patrol sent to kill the Marines and Rangers, but then shut my mouth. If I spoke up now, that would only draw suspicion to me. No trooper in their right mind would turn down such an easy assignment. FUCK FUCK FUCK. I had no fucking choice.

The information I was carrying, the knowledge of what the Syndicate was up to in this godforsaken lab was too valuable to risk. So many lives depended on it. I kept my mouth shut, and took possession of the Ranger from Ivan, as I headed with him to the holding cell. As the scouting party headed out, armed with sidearms and rifles, thermal imaging gear, and dressed in deep camouflage, I was forced to stand guard, along with Watts, over the two ziptied prisoners. Men who had risked their lives to exfiltrate me. Brave men. My comrades. I fucking hated this assignment. Hated it with an unholy passion. Mark owed me. Bigtime.

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: He looked at Max. "You don't thank someone for doing their job. You do bollock someone for not keeping their eyes out when they're engrossed in a task."

"But you're welcome. Don't let it happen again."

Tough love was very high on Patrick's list of Colour Sergeant 'things to do'."

He had been ready for an argument with the Lieutenant and glad he didn't get it as he turned and headed back. "Status update. Apart from the two privates missing, First Sergeant Phillips is banged up badly, can barely walk. Corporal Reece has a severe gunshot wound to the chest, unconscious and we've going to have to move him, but we can't do anything for him until we get to a hospital. Lieutenant Anderson is dead, and you're... wounded but moving."

"The two engineers, myself and Sergeant McKaine are all good but that's not going to cut it. I've ordered the guys to get ready to move to the exfil site and I've told command that they will get a helicopter there despite it being in congolese airspace... or else."

"We deal with the missing troops when we have the wounded to safety."

11:11 Marine_Paul_Collins: Paul came around, he felt him hands tied and he slowly opened his eyes and saw Roger next to him in the same position, he looked up, saw a guy with an American flag and then next to him was the guy they were here to rescue. Fuck.. not even that had worked.

He groggily looked up. He wanted to make some sort of smart remark but he just couldn't think of any.

12:39 Lieutenant_David_Armstrong: As we strode back to base, we passed the site where Anderson had been killed. I collected his dog tags from the gore... and wordlessly, dropped them in Patrick's hands. I turned my head quickly, not looking at the big Irishman. I was struggling with a shit ton of grief and guilt right then. Ruthlessly, I shoved it into a corner and strode on back to where our men had assembled.

I nodded as Patrick recited the status. I gave the snarky Irishman a rueful grin at my own description, the smile looking a bit ghastly with the big cut running up the side of my face. I needed to stop the bleeding. Soon.

In a dry voice, I responded, "Good thinking. There will be hell to pay, especially when the Russians find out. But that's not our concern. It's either that or risk losing both our teams. They will see reason, then we can rake them over the fucking coals for not simply planning it this way in the first place, fuck the Congolese. Everyone knows they are in the Syndicate's pocket anyways."

I look at Patrick, then at Max, and Tommy who are carrying the stretcher. I
look over at Timothy, hobbling on a crutch, his left leg and face a dog's dinner. Well fuck. That left them with Patrick and Bill and possibly himself as the only effective fighting force. Those weren't good odds.

They would have to make do. I look at Timothy, weighing speed vs. one more capable soldier. I'm already injured.. but there is nothing wrong with my ability to walk. I made a decision. I turn to Patrick, "Colour Sergeant, I want you and Bill to cover our rear. "

Then, I walk over to Timothy, and moving lighting fast, I duck down and heave the injured First Sergeant up over my shoulders in a fireman's carry.

10:11 Sergeant_First_Class_Timothy_Phillips: Suddenly, the Lieutenant enters the camp, along with Patrick and Max. Fuck... he's alive... but the rookies.. I taste red hot rage. Then, suddenly, I'm lifted up off my feet. I scream out, "What the fuck Lieutenant... Put me down."

12:11 Lieutenant_David_Armstrong: My voice is hard, my shoulder is fucking killing me, and I'm not in any mood for arguments right now. "Shut up Sergeant. We need speed right now. Speed is more important than your pride. I figure having two able-bodied soldiers and more speed rather than three able-bodied soldiers and you hobbling are better odds for us all."

I look at the prisoner, I take out my Glock and point it at his head in one smooth movement, with Timothy balanced over my shoulder. "Talk, Now. How many troops are in that base? And don't get any fucking ideas about playing smart. I'm just itching to kill more of you. So please, give me a reason. Go on."

12:11 Rodney: Rodney was contemplating doing something to sabotage their efforts, but there wasn't a lot he could do that would result in him staying alive, so he'd knelt there for the time being. That Texan dude kept looking at him as though he were some kind of bug he wanted to squash.

Made him nervous. And that big Irish psycho made him want to piss his pants every time he walked by. He wasn't a coward, not by a longshot, but he wasn't immune to the psychotic murderous rage in these elite bastards, either.

Then, the big one, the massive American, all muscle and power, bleeding from his shoulder and his face, just heaved up the fucker who'd been fragged, and pointed his glock at his head. The American wanted to kill him. He could see that. Rodney swallowed, then spoke up hastily, there was no reason to lie anyways, it wouldn't make any difference. "There were 30 of us, less however many you killed."

12:11 Lieutenant_David_Armstrong: I nod, but don't holster my Glock, "Let's move out men. With that many men, I'm not counting on them giving up just yet. March. Any sudden movements, and you die. Painfully and slowly." I wave my Glock at the prisoner.

10:11 Private_Roger_Travers: Suddenly, groggily, the young Oregonian Ranger started to wake up. The pain in his right arm was like knives stabbing up his shoulder. He groaned, his eyes fluttering open. He wasn't dead. And Paul was next to him. Through the savage pain, he realized... he and Paul were prisoners.

And standing over them, he felt a surge of shock... one of the men was the man they had been sent to exfiltrate. Holy fuck. He groaned again, to cover up the shock of recognition. The sense of failure bit deep. He had to be strong though. For himself, and for Paul.

10:11 Commando_Ivan_Usov: After seeing the squad of five scouts and one field engineer off to kill our unwanted guests, I turned back to Rostov. "How long until the choppers are serviced and ready to lift off?" Rostov looked up, the lean, tall Russian a good administrator. Not very imaginative, but solid and dependable. "2 hours. The engineers are servicing them as we speak. The jungle is not kind to delicate machinery." I nodded. It would have to do. "Now, let's find out how our guests knew we were here. Oh, and I want you to sweep the Jungle and gather the bodies of our men for transport. We'll give them proper funerals when we finish our evac." I felt rage burning inside. Ten men. Ten dead troopers. I swore, I would personally make these bastards pay.

Next, to pay a visit to our acquisitions. I stride over to the detention area, where Watts and Peterson stood guard over the two prisoners. I don't hesitate, and lean down. First thing, I rip the radios off both men, throw them to the floor, and smash them under my boots. Then, I lean down and rip off the helmet of the British Royal Marine. He was young, handsome, and stoic.

I spit in his face. "You are pigs. Failures. Pathetic. You have shamed your nation and your regiment, the both of you. You are less than animals now."

I stand up, and turn to Watts. "Strip them. Strip them both. I want them naked." It was the first step, taking away their basic dignity.

12:11 Darrell: Darrell led the scout team out, moving quickly and silently through the Jungle. They were lightly armored, and armed with sturdy Russian SV 98 bolt-action rifles and Glock sidearms. Not as good as a full on sniper rifle, with plenty of power and accuracy, and much lighter. They didn't have any grenades on them, since the stock of grenades had been exhausted by the first three squads. They were all face-painted and in deep camouflage gear, and each man had a set of thermal imaging gear to help detect the invaders, and the heat signatures of their recent passage.

As Darrel led the way, along with the field engineer who had the job of detecting and disarming any traps, he wondered why Peterson wasn't with him. He knew this part of the Jungle as well as Darrel himself. Well, didn't matter. Time to bag himself some honest to goodness Royal Marines and Rangers. Fuck yes.

12:12 Marine_Paul_Collins: Paul’s eyes darted to the massive Russian. They must want them alive for some reason.

“I think you’ll find it takes more to shame the Marine Corps than this, Ivan.”

He didn’t even know the guys name was Ivan, it wasn’t even a guess. He was just using the most generic Russian name he could think of.

He glared at Watts, “looks like someone shamed their entire country working for these cunts.” He wasn’t old enough to know precisely where the line should be drawn between shutting up and mouthing off. But he was scared and tried not to show it.

10:11 Commando_Ivan_Usov: My eyes narrowed as the young Royal Marine mouthed off. I wondered if he had made a wild guess or he knew me by sight? It was possible. I put my hand out to hold Watts off for a moment.

I grabbed the young Marine by his jaw, my arm bulging with muscle as I heaved him up, sliding his zip-tied, hogtied body up the side of the wall, slowly and painfully, my grip on his jaw vise-like. I stare into his eyes.

10:11 Private_Roger_Travers: Grunting, his broken arm in agony as it's ziptied behind me, the injured Ranger watches as the big over-muscled fucking Russian bastard marches up to Collins and starts giving him serious shit. When he grabs Paul's chin and starts dragging up the wall, Roger grunts out, "You dick-sucking Russian son of a whore..."

It enrages him to see Paul treated that way.

10:11 Commando_Ivan_Usov: I look over at Watts, ignoring the American Ranger for the moment, "Strip the American Watts, I'll deal with the Marine personally."

Holding him by his jaw, I take out my combat knife. I stab the blade into the seams of his battle uniform, and make cuts along the shoulder seams. I'm not gentle, and the blade cuts into his flesh in places, though not too deep.

It takes a while, the armor is tough, but I'm methodical. I work slowly and carefully, holding him by one hand the entire time, literally cutting his armor off him, bit my bit, until it starts to fall away from his body in strips.

After about 10 minutes, his body armour and his t-shirt have been sliced to ribbons, and I pull the remains off him, exposing his torso. He's fit, as one would expect from a Royal Marine, but not overly muscled. I remember how well he fought me. He is good, highly trained in hand to hand.

His young, fit body though, is now covered in nicks and small cuts from where I sawed his uniform off him. It's ruined, lying in shreds. He's still wearing his trousers and tactical belt though.

I speak up again, "I think you will find out that what I have in store for you and your mate is far, far more extensive than simple shame. Name and Rank?" I ask him, as I take the point of my combat blade and lightly twirl it against his neck, not cutting the skin, but the threat is implicit.

13:36 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: “Collins, Marine 922517,” said Paul looking up at Ivan. He didn’t worry about his uniform being cut off. He glared in defiance.

He was not going to show fear.

6:55 Watts: Watts was a lot rougher. Throwing Roger against the wall and cutting through the armour not caring that the knife went through flesh at times. He ripped it off him brutally and smiled as he pressed him up against the wall sliding his knife down his bare chest.

“You’ll make some fine interrogation material. What’s your name boy?”

10:11 Commando_Ivan_Usov: I look deep into Collins eyes as my hand begins to unfasten his tactical belt. I toss it aside, then slowly unfasten his armored trousers, sliding them down his hogtied legs. I slice them in half, then carefully cut the shreds off his legs. The Marine was left in nothing but his skivies ... for the moment.

I look over at Watts, he's rough and hard with the Ranger. I grunt, he had no subtlety. There was an art to torture, a slow build up that he had never quite mastered.

Finally, Ivan let go of Collin's chin, allowing his body to drop to the floor. He ignored the look of defiance in his eyes. There was time for that. Plenty of time to deal with that.

Casually, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, I unzipped my trousers, hefted out my large, well proportioned Russian cock, and with a sound of relief, began to piss directly into Collin's face.

10:11 Private_Roger_Travers: The Ranger couldn't help but groan in agony as his body was smashed against the wall, the explosion of pain from his broken arm made him feel sick. Dizzy, sick with pain, he looked into the eyes of the man who had just cut his uniform off, leaving nicks and cuts all over his body, little trails of blood running down his firm, fit muscled form.

He grunted as his captor slid the knife down his chest. He snarled at him, giving his name, "Travers". That was standard procedure. Name and rank, if asked, but nothing else. He wouldn't tell them any fucking thing else. Strangely, he wasn't afraid. Not now. The pain made him sharp somehow. He knew his duty.

There was no fear in the gaze he gave his captor. Just contempt. He was a Ranger. He was no boy.

13:59 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: 6:56 Watts: Watts pressed him against the wall slowly sliding the blade into the Rangers trousers. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

Without taking his eyes off the Ranger. He started cutting through the buttons and Velcro. The blade for a brief second on top of his cock before it brutally cut through the trouser leg.

“Rank. Kid?”

5:67 Marine_Paul_Collins: Collins looked at the cock before it started to piss on him. He’d never been into that. He knew guys who were. But he saw how big he was. Fuck some of his friends would fucking love a cock that big.

But the brief diversionary thought didn't laugh as he was pissed on. If the guy thought this would humiliate him. It wouldn’t. He just lasted through it. Being a part time online sex worker had this one brief odd perk that this didn’t bother him.

10:11 Commando_Ivan_Usov: I finish pissing, and look down at the young Marine. I grunted. Somewhat impressed. He was tough. Seemed unphased. Not that I was very surprised. He was a Royal Marine after all.

Derek had been a former Royal Marine. They were tough bastards. Not easy to break. I would find the crack in his armor though, he and the Ranger both. I reached down and with one hand, ripped off Collin's skivvies, exposing his cock and balls. I played with it in my hand, rolling his balls between my fingers.

Then, I stood up, and carefully wedged one of his plump nuts between the toe of my combat boot and the floor. I pressed down, slowly ramping up the pressure to sickening levels. I heard Rostov's voice in my ear at that point, "Sir, the Choppers are ready.... We have loaded up the researchers, and the critical equipment. We have rigged the rest of the facility with C4. We'll blow it once we leave."

I respond, stepping away, removing the pressure on Collin's nut. "Understood." I look at Peterson, "Take him to the Chopper. Watts, take the American." Then, I turn and leave.

10:11 Private_Roger_Travers: The Ranger grunts, "Private." He doesn't say anything else, enduring the pain as the blade slices off his trousers, cutting just a bit into his cock then his leg as it cuts his trousers off him. He didn't care about being nude. He was pretty laid back, not many hangups, but he didn't like that blade near his cock, and all the little cuts were hurting like fuck.

But he was a Ranger. He could take this all day. He looked over at Collins, likewise covered in small knife cuts, naked now, with that big Russian bastard trying to stomp his balls. White hot rage and helplessness boiled up inside him. He went stiff with anger, railing at his inability to help Paul.

10:11 Sergeant_Jeremy_Styles: I never in my entire fucking life thought I would be in this position. Forced to stand by and do nothing as my comrades were being tortured. But I looked at Ivan and Watts almost with contempt. These guys were elite. Royal Marines. Rangers. Some of the toughest fucking special forces regiments in the world. They weren't going to break.

But it twisted my guts into knots, having to stand here, with an indifferent look on my face as they were worked over. They were young too, both of them, under 25 I'd say. Too young for this. Too fucking young. When the order came through, I only nodded, impassively heaving up the Royal Marine's fit young naked body, wearing only his boots, hogtied behind his back with his wrists, over my shoulder to head towards the chopper.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

5:17 Marine_Paul_Collins: he wanted to scream in pain at this. His balls were quite large and he’d not shot for days heading through the jungle. They were full and one was in a huge amount of pain. It was taking all his effort to not shout out. Not show weakness. Not show anything. Name. Rank. Number. That was it Paul. That was it.

He kept talking to himself. Trying to distract himself. Trying to stop himself from screaming.

Then blissfully the pain ended.

Then this other cunt picked me up. Holding me in a fireman’s carry. Okay. Suddenly Paul gripped the arm with his two legs and using that leverage pulled his head back pulling the guy's arms back that had hold of his head and thus bringing the man’s centre of gravity backward bringing him off balance to slam him into the floor.

6:15 Watts: He waited till Peterson had left with the Marine and he put his big New York hand over the guys mouth and nose to keep him quiet. He then started to punch the guy in his cock and balls. Wanting to soften him up a bit.

“Rangers lead the way, do they?. Nothing compared to the SEALS like me. All of you fucking wimps and pansy’s.”

10:11 Private_Roger_Travers: The young Ranger grunted as his captor started slamming his big fist into the Oregonian's cock and balls. Each blow made the Ranger's balls churn with agony, and his guts started to roil. On top of his broken arm, the pain from his balls really did a number on the injured Ranger. He felt the fucker's hand over his mouth, but he refused to make a noise, despite the extreme agony.

He would not. So his captor was a former Navy SEAL was he? He was a fucking traitor, that's what he was. Despite the pain stabbing through his throbbing balls Roger managed to suddenly open his mouth wide, and trap one of his captor's fingers, biting down hard. The Oregonian seemed laid back... but he had a core of pure courage and solid steel. He wasn't going to give these bastards anything.

10:11 Sergeant_Jeremy_Styles: As I headed towards the chopper with the Marine, he suddenly shifted his weight, making me stagger and suddenly drop the naked young Marine in the middle of the corridor.

I reached down to heave up the Marine again as his junk swung around. Fuck. I hauled him up once more, then grunted, in a low whisper, for his ears only, his lips barely even moving. He was certain these guys knew him by sight for the extraction. "Stop fighting me. I'll think of a way to get you freed. Stay strong brother." That was all he could risk as he carried the naked Royal Marine to the chopper.

6:15 Watts: Watts let out a grunt of pain and pulled his hand away giving Roger a massive brutal backhand to the face, throwing him to the floor and throwing massive booted feet into his stomach. "Fucking little shit."

He went into his pouch and pulled out a small roll of duct tape, it had so many uses, mainly to ensure explosives stayed stuck to what you wanted to explode, he ripped off a length and slammed it over the Ranger's mouth.

"Fucking little shit." He then grabbed him and headed to the helicopter.

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: Patrick slowly put the thermal imaging sight from the 50 caliber onto his own rifle as he waited as everyone else moved off, he wasn't a sniper like Wayne was and figured that it was better to have the better sight on something he could actually hit with.

He looked at his watch. "15 minutes here, then we fall back, then 15 minutes in that new position, then we fall back."

"We also have enough prisoners."

12:11 Darrell: The expert tracker led his squad through the jungle at a rapid pace, coming across the bodies of their comrades who had been killed in the initial assault, some of them finished off by various traps that had been expertly set by the invaders.

Darrell felt enraged at the sight of the dead bodies of his comrades, and swore to himself that he would make those Rangers and Marines pay for every one of his dead friends.

They came across the sight where the Rangers and Marines had regrouped, and Darrell spent a few moments examining the ground, see splatters of blood, and then, heading off, the signs of disturbed vegetation, subtle small signs pointing out the direction the group had taken.

Quietly, he pulled his squad together, he picked out three of them, his fastest runners. "All right, Louis, Hans, and Pedro, I want you three to pull out to the left in a wide arc, and I want you to haul ass. Then, angle back in. Your mission is to find the group that is escorting the wounded, and kill them all they should be easy pickings. I'll take Javier and Hunyadi with me, and we'll follow the trail. They are most likely to be guarding their rear. Let's catch them in a pincer, and make these fuckers pay."

Louis, Hans and Pedro nodded, then they moved off to the left, moving rapidly, flowing from tree to tree. They were lightly armored, and they moved fast as fuck.

Darrell moved forward carefully following the trail, with the Hungarian field engineer, Hunyadi looking out for any tripwires or traps on the way. Darell lowered his thermal imager into place across the sight of his bolt action rifle, and moved forward every sense on high alert, looking for any sign of the invaders. He could see the residual heat left by their passage, and he knew they weren't far behind. Finally, he motioned his men to a stop, and had them take cover behind some trees. He was pretty sure he'd just spotted their rear guard. But it was tough to be certain. He wasn't taking any chances though.

He knelt low behind a tree, poking his bolt action around the corner, and tried to get a bead on the heat signature up ahead. He thought he had it... time to go loud. He fired.

10:11 Sergeant_Bill_McKaine: Bill handed Patrick Wayne's 50 caliber anti-material rifle. He preferred his own anyways. Bill nodded at Patrick. He didn't want prisoners. Wasn't in the mood. He was in a killing mood. He had his own thermal imager... He took position behind a tree scanning the trail they had left for signs of pursuit. He caught a flash... then another.

They were being followed. He had an idea... He signaled at Patrick to stay in
position. Then, silently, the lean, hard muscled Texan darted out of cover in front of a tree, letting himself deliberately be a target for a moment.

Then, he darted back behind cover. It was risky... but it had to be done. He wanted to know how well equipped their pursuit was. A moment later, a rifle cracked, splitting the air. The bullet slammed into the tree he had been in front of. In the thick foliage, it wasn't likely anyone had a clear sight on him. He nodded.

They had thermal imaging gear as well. Bill grunted into his radio, he was all business now, focused totally on how to deal with this threat. "We need a trap Patrick... we need those fuckers dead."

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: He looked at Bill with the same look he'd give a recruit on his first day who had just been exceptionally stupid and shook his head.

"There's still three mines on the trail, at three tree intervals from where they're standing, we need to get them down the centre of the trail, so heading back and across from where we are should bring them down the centre. If they do spot one of the wires, then all you need to do is be a good shot and shoot the wire out which should set it off in their faces."

"You can shoot a wire at 300 yards, right."

He figured that the best way to get him to hit it was to insinuate that he couldn't, he'd worked with snipers before.

"We don't have time to build anything or dig a fucking hole right now, it's just brains and decent marksmanship." He hoisted his own rifle up, he wasn't going to use the 50 cal, despite it's much larger payload... a bullet is only useful if it hits.

"Failing that," I have an idea he said going into his pouches, "But won't be ready for a couple of minutes."

10:11 Sergeant_Bill_McKaine: Bill looked over at Patrick as if to say what the fuck are you looking at Sergeant... Bill took risks. It was what he did. Bill grinned at the Colour Sergeant, "I could shoot your mammy's snatch at 300 yards without blinking, Paddy."

Bill grinned, he was slipping more into the zone. This is what he lived for. These fuckers weren't getting anywhere near Wayne and the others. Wayne was gonna make it. He was.

Bill stood up, and darted back and across from their current position, to lure their pursuers up the middle of the trapped area.

A shot rang out, a near miss. They were decent shots, Bill realized. Made it more of a challenge.

Bill settled into place in his new position, dropping to one knee, and raising his rifle up, scanning the terrain ahead. He found the wire of the first set of traps, and lightly brushed the trigger of his sniper rifle with the finger, slipping into a state of ice cold calm, "feeling" his target, feeling the invisible line between his barrel and that thinly stretched out wire.

12:11 Darrell: Darell grunted as his shot missed. Well, they knew for sure they were here now. He watched carefully as the two thermal blobs suddenly fell back, across at an angle. He frowned. His first instinct was to close the distance, but he'd learned not to trust his first instinct, but his second one. And his second instinct said... be unpredictable. He grunted,

"Javier, head off to the right, I want you to flank those bastards....."

But just then Hunyadi interrupted him, "Darrell.." He said in his thick accent, "See there... the wire..."

Darrell nodded. Of course. But now that they knew it was there, they could avoid it. A trap was only a trap if they didn't know it was there. "Javier, new orders... stay in cover, but move forward. I will flank them. Hunyadi, keep your eye out for more traps."

Javier darted forward, staying in cover as Darrell watched. Hunyadi covered Javier.

Javier stayed behind cover and delicately leapt over the tripwire. And then a shot rang out. And Javier died instantly as the mine exploded. HOW?
Somehow... those mother fucking bastards had triggered the mine with that shot.

But then.... Darrell darted quickly to the right. Their thermal imaging gear had briefly been overloaded by the sudden blast of heat from the explosion.

IF theirs had overloaded.... he was betting that the invaders were also temporarily overloaded. Darrell was counting on that as he silently and rapidly moved to the right to flank them. He called out on his radio, grimly, "Hunyadi, open fire. But do not pursue. Make them focus on you."

10:11 Sergeant_Bill_McKaine: There... movement... the man stayed behind cover. But that was fine with Bill. He fired. A gentle pressure on the trigger. And the mine exploded. One less pursuer to worry about. His thermal imager went white as it was overloaded by the heat signature from the explosion. Cursing, he pulled it off, then a bullet slammed into the ground not far from him as a rifle shot cracked beneath the jungle canopy.

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: Patrick looked to the left as he followed a heat signature that was heading off the track, following Hunyadi through the forests. His thermal scope was still working as he hadn't been looking at the mine like Bill when it exploded.

He whispered into his radio, "I've got the guy shooting at you. Your left, I'll need you to move slightly around the tree, I need the guy to move to the fucking left of where he's standing."

As Patrick moved, the thermal image came into view and a second later and one squeeze of a trigger it the image hit the floor and wasn't there any more.

"Moving... pull back as discussed."

09:09 Hans: The German silently went around the long way with the other two mercenaries, heading around until he could see the Irishman firing and then starting to move.

He pulled up his gun, military police wearing red were really easy targets, he thought as his rifle shot out, they'd gotten the two soldiers trapped now between them and Darrell's group.

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: The bullet slammed into his body armour and practically lifted him off the floor slamming him into the ground painfully. "FUCK"

He rolled over behind a tree. "McKaine, we've got enemies behind us as well." He winced, one of his ribs was severely bruised by that shot he could feel, maybe broken, he wasn't sure.

10:11 Sergeant_Bill_McKaine: Bill grunted, thinking to himself that Patrick wasn't a bad shot at all. He pulled back as discussed, dropping back into cover.

Then, he heard a shot ring out, followed by Patrick's curse. They are fucking behind us... Instantly he thought of the others, Wayne, Max, Tommy, David, Timothy... FUCK FUCK.

12:11 Darrell: As Darrell stealthily pulled in on the right flank, he heard a shot ring out and slam into one of the two invaders. Hans and his group had gotten in the flank. He heard Hunyadi die and fury once again boiled in him. They would pay. Those fuckers would pay. He was close, very close now to the man Hans had shot. He would finish him.

He radioed Hans, "Excellent, now find the group transporting their wounded. I'll finish this one off. I want you to draw the other rear guard off me."

Grimly, Darrell ran forward, staying silent, darting behind a tree, as further gunshots rang out from Hans and his men, the loud sound covering his movements. Then, he pulled out his side arm, a Glock, darted around the tree, catching sight of a tip of a boot to mark the location of his prey, and fired two rounds towards the man that Hans had shot, counting on stealth to give him the kill.

09:09 Hans: He radioed back. "Understood, boss." He motioned to the others further away from these two back into the forests and then headed off at a fast jog towards them.

They weren't moving quickly and soon they were in sight, he motioned to the other three to spread out, they'd surround them and open fire, cutting them all down as ordered.

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: The shot that had come in and nearly broke his ribs saved his life, as the man rounded the tree and fired thinking Patrick was standing up, but he wasn't , he was actually sitting down, pulling his tactical vest tighter around his ribs to give them support - that saved his life as the bullets went high.

He leant up and grabbed Darrell's belt which was the easiest thing to grab onto and pulled him down, getting him off his feet was the only thing he could think of immediately, as he was in a terrible position for controlling this fight.

12:11 Darrell: The big Alaskan grunted as he felt a hand on his belt. His target hadn't been standing. He dropped his Glock, tossing it aside as he needed that hand to control his fall. Darrel was not only an accomplished tracker and outdoorsman, but the burly Alaskan mercenary was trained to an elite level in hand to hand combat.

He'd never been in the military, but had a natural talent for fighting, shooting, and tracking that had qualified him for the Brotherhood of Steel nonetheless. The money was good, and the action was better.

So when Patrick pulled him down by his belt, Darrel controlled his fall so that his knee dropped down like a spear into his opponent's ribs, unknowingly and fortuitously driving his knee into the big, hard Irishman's injured ribs.

At the same time, as his right hand posted on the ground beside the Irishman to break his fall, his left hand darted forward, the ceramic gloved fist striking forward, aimed at the big man's adam's apple. Darrell didn't fuck around, and his instincts were razor sharp.

10:11 Sergeant_Bill_McKaine: Bill thought furiously, radioed out, "Lieutenant, you have company incoming. Sergeant, can you hold out?" Then, without waiting for a reply, Bill turned and darted towards the main group. They had injured... and they would be fucking sitting ducks. Not on his watch. Not on his FUCKING WATCH. He'd made a promise to Wayne. Wayne was going to live. He was fucking going to.

12:11 Lieutenant_David_Armstrong: I grunted as the warning from Bill came through. "Get into cover now, protect Wayne!" I lowered the First Sergeant, and darted towards Wayne, my bleeding face and shoulder on fire as I sought to use my body as a shield to keep Wayne safe, as Tommy and Max quickly lowered his stretcher down beside a tree.

13:11 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: Patrick grunted in pain, that had hurt a fucking tonne, and this guy was fucking good, especially if that had been deliberately targetted as it hit the exact spot that had been hit a few seconds earlier.

But he was well trained and blocked the ceramic glove with his own, not as strongly as he would have liked, or he would have normally done, but the pain in his ribs was excruciating. His own punch back into the guy's face was likewise nowhere near as strong as he would have wanted it to be.

09:09 Hans: Hans saw movement in the trees and opened fire. Louis and Pedro did the same from their own angles, spraying the area with lethal lead. Both Tommy and Max had their body armour peppered with bullets as they dropped the stretcher and Tommy shielded Wayne from the bullets as he wasn't wearing armour, the big Welshman slamming hard into a tree and blood running down his forehead.

Likewise from the third direction, Pedro's bullets slammed into David who was doing the same thing, cutting through into his armour. These people were not messing around, pausing only to reload, they had ammunition to spare, and by the end they intended all of these people to be dead.

10:11 Sergeant_Bill_McKaine: When Bill heard shots ringing out from the direction of their wounded, he saw red. For the rest of his life, he never remembered the span of time between hearing the gunshot and him standing over one of the attackers, the back of his head blown in with his sidearm.

There were two others though, and more shots rang out.

10:11 Sergeant_First_Class_Timothy_Phillips: He grunted, heaving himself behind cover as more as suddenly shots rang out, zeroing in on Max, Tommy, and David. Desperation overriding his pain, he threw himself behind a tree, getting a bead on one of the attackers with his Glock and firing, it was a clean shot, and the man dropped dead.

He heard another shot ring out though, there was still one more, and he was close, too close to Wayne and the others. Timothy didn't have a line of sight. He cursed, starting to desperately crawl, hobble, whatever the fuck he needed to get that line of sight.

12:11 Rodney: Suddenly, shots rang out, as the Rangers and Marines came under fire. This was his chance. Finally, he knew it had only been a matter of time.

He stood up, watching as a bullet slammed into the big, beefy American, knocking him off his feet, his armor absorbing the blow. But it gave Rodney the opening he needed. He rushed forward, pulled back his heavy combat boot, and let loose a kick into the big American's jaw as he struggled to rise.

It was perfect. A fucking perfect goal. A huge wad of spit and blood erupted out of the big fucker's mouth, along with what looked like a tooth, before he dropped senseless, twitching slightly. Rodney grinned. He saw the big Welshman stunned, bleeding from his head, that left only the other one, the big American farm boy desperately trying to guard their wounded comrade with his body. But there, Rodney saw Hans stepping up. He'd finish this job and then they could go home.

12:11 Darrell: The man, a Marine he could tell, and an MP to boot, was good. He'd blocked his throat punch easily, but he could tell that his knee had done some brutal damage to the big man. The Marine MP's answering punch rocked his head, but Darrell rolled with the blow, heaving up off his posted right hand, and swiping in his left to seize the Irishman's wrist.

He swung his other knee forward, using it to pin the other man's bicep hard to the Jungle floor. Then, his right hand darts forward, looking to seize the fingers of the Irishman's trapped fist, grunting with effort, the tough Alaskan wrenched backward on his fingers, trying to break the Irishman's fingers and cripple him.

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: Patrick would fight until he was dead. He didn’t understand the meaning of giving in. Out of all the Royal Marines he’s been through the most before and after joining up. He felt the bones on his fingers pushed back Lancing pain through his arm as they broke. With the other hand pinned there wasn’t much he could do but he wasn’t going to give the guy any satisfaction. He brought his boots up trying to launch him off. But it wasn’t in the right position for him to do that.

7:15 Hans: He watched as Rodney beat the big American down and he smiled, throwing a combat knife at Rodney for him to deal with the American and he turned and unloaded six more bullets into the British guy who was lying on top of their wounded. The Welshman fell off the stretcher injured and he turned and reloading looked at the Farmboy, he'd be next.

12:11 Darrell: The big Alaskan grunted as he felt the Marine's fingers snap. That will take his right arm out of the equation. Now it was time to go for the kill.

He dropped the MP's arm, keeping his knee tightly pinning down that other bicep. He reached down with a quick, practiced motion, drawing his combat blade, his arm rippled with muscle, as he drove his blade towards the Marine MP's throat, but the big Irishman heaved just then, throwing his trust off, and his blade ended up sinking to the hilt into the soft soil of the Jungle loam, nicking the Irishman's neck instead of driving into it. "FUCK!" He cursed as he let go of the blade for a moment to keep his balance on top of the big Irishman.

12:11 Rodney: Rodney saw the knife that Hans threw his way. Grunting, he watched it land. He let himself drop backwards, and seized the handle of the blade in his hogtied fingers, adjusted it, and thrust down hard, the blade cutting the ziptie. Freed, he grabbed the knife and stood up, he was about a moment from sinking the blade into the unconscious American's neck, when he saw the other American, the big farmboy stagger up, grabbing his side arm to blow out Han's brains.

Hans was busy shooting up the Welshman who was trying to protect the wounded soldier with his body. Rodney ran forward, and tackled the stunned, hurt American farmboy down hard.

10:11 Sergeant_Bill_McKaine: Bill surged forward, passing Tim and heading towards the horror unfolding around Wayne's body. The Lieutenant was down, bleeding heavily from his mouth, Tommy was down, and so was Max. Those fuckers were going to slaughter his friends. He surged forward, his sidearm in one hand, his combat blade in the other.

Bill was on another level. He saw that gun as it turned towards Wayne. He was deep in the zone. He wasn't firing a sniper rifle... and at this range, there was no fucking way a man on the run should be able to hit his target with a pistol.

But the odds never mattered to Bill. Calmly, cooly, he fired one shot. It slammed into Han's head right between the eyes.

With the knife in his other hand, he smoothly threw it directly into Rodney's shoulder just as he was about to kill Max with his knife.

01:10 Sergeant_Tommy_Morgan: Tommy collapsed onto the ground bleeding. He'd thrown himself on top of Wayne and he winced as he rolled over so as not to collapse on top of his unconscious comrade.

He was in a lot of pain and released his body armour and pulled it over his head wincing as he grabbed a medical bandage from his pouch and slapped two of them on his chest. Most people just saw the bulk and the general good nature, and assumed he was a soft touch, but he was still a Marine and while he preferred blowing things up, he could hold his own in a fight and this wasn't the first time he'd been shot up, the first had been a long time ago in Bosnia.

"I'm good," he grunted through gritted teeth to Max. "Go and check on your Lieutenant."

Rodney collapsed from the knife in him and Tommy grabbed a microwelding torch from his toolbelt and pulled the knife out of Rodney's shoulder and then basically blowtorched his shoulder, he wanted to hear the guy scream, but all he said. "Don't want you to bleed to death." Indeed it had cauterised the wound, but that was not the reason for the pain.

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: Patrick pulled his arm with the broken fingers up through force of will around the back of the assailant's neck and tried to force him down onto the hilt of the knife, grunting through the immense pain, and struggling against the guys weight.

10:11 Sergeant_Bill_McKaine: Bill surged forward, the knife he had thrown had sunk deep into their prisoner's shoulder and his shot had made a gory mess of Hans.

He ignored the prisoner though. Hans had pointed a gun at Wayne. Bill felt something snap inside him. He strode forward, his face a grim mask of death.

He pointed his glock at the dead man, and fired round after round into his body. He couldn't stop. Didn't want to. Rage burned inside him like an all-consuming fire.

Then, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned, blinking, almost unseeing as he saw Max in his face shouting at him. He looked uncomprehending, then finally, he holstered his Glock and dropped down to check on Wayne.

The fury was boiling inside him. He wanted to kill.

10:11 Corporal_Max_Thompson: Max shoved off the prisoner who was desperately trying to pull the knife out of his shoulder. Grunting, shaken a bit, the battered and bruised Iowan Ranger staggered to his feet, he checked on Tommy first of all, feeling sick. That bastard had unloaded right into the Welshman at near point blank range.

Max grunted, standing up. He'd take a few shots, but from a far enough distance that his body armor had stopped them. Max tried to assess the situation, and suddenly Bill was there .... firing round after round into the body of the dead man. Bill was under some pretty extreme stress. Max had seen this once or twice before.

The Iowan grabbed Bill and shouted into his face, "BILL STOP. HE'S DEAD. WAYNE NEEDS YOU."

Finally Bill seemed to partially snap out of it, and turned. Max staggered towards the Lieutenant as their prisoner's screams of agony echoed through the canopy. He felt a momentary stab of fear as the Lieutenant laid there, unmoving, blood dripping out of his mouth. But he sighed in relief. The big man was only knocked out. He'd come to in a bit. Now, where the fuck was the First Sergeant?

10:11 Sergeant_First_Class_Timothy_Phillips: Bill charged by, unloading mayhem on the remaining attacker, and the tough Chicago native was about to head after, when he realized something... where was Patrick?

Grunting, grabbing his improvised crutch, he turned on his heel and hobbled off towards the rear of their battered column. He was guided by the sounds of a struggle. Grimly, sickening pain knifing through his mangled leg and face, the Ranger pushed on, undeterred.

12:11 Darrell: Darell appreciated a challenge, and this big Royal Marine was giving him one. He felt the tough Irish bastard throw his arm around his neck, despite having his fingers broken, and pull his head down onto the hilt of the knife, driving the hilt flush with the soil. FUCK

He reached over with one hand and grabbed the Marine's broken fingers, using his grip on the tough Irishman's hand to control that arm, He scrambled up suddenly, his powerful combat boot on the Royal Marine's good arm, grinding into the bicep to keep it out of play.

The Alaskan reacted with brutal skill, yanking up the injured Irishman by his grip on those broken fingers, twisting his arm by the broken fingers to lock out his elbow, then with his other gloved hand, grabbing the Irishman by the tricep of that locked out arm, forcing the Colour Sergeant onto his side, exposing those injured ribs.

The ruthless Alaskan dropped down then, spearing the big Irishman in those injured ribs with his knee, while simultaneous yanking back hard on the Marine's wrist while pushing forward with his grip on the back of that locked out elbow, looking to snap the MP's arm backwards against the elbow joint, breaking it, while fucking up his ribs.

He was in a hurry. He needed to catch up to the rest of his squad.

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: Patrick actually screamed in pain as the American slammed his knee into his already broken ribs and broke his arm at the same time, no amount of toughness and experience could stop that, the pain was like a fire running through his side, and he practically passed out unconscious, he actually wished he had passed out unconscious that would have really helped because he was in a tonne of pain right now.

But there wasn't a single bone in his body that knew how to give in, he just couldn't see any way of actually fighting back right now.

12:11 Darrell: The burly, ruthless Alaskan got the double break he was looking for, a crunch in the ribs and the snap on the arm. Satisfied, it was time to go for the kill now. He still needed to catch up with his other men. He heard the sound of gunshots, so he assumed the Marines and Rangers were all corpses now. They'd have some good loot on them.

He bent down and forward, dropping the Marine's brutally broken arm, letting him fall onto his back. He quickly seized the injured MP's dog tags, and with a quick jerk, ripped them off his neck, stuffing them in his tactical belt. He liked keeping souvenirs. Then, he grabbed the rough, good looking MP on either side of his head, and tensed his arms, preparing a quick, precise twist to break his neck, but suddenly a shot rang out, and Darrell found himself flung backwards into the dirt.

10:11 Sergeant_First_Class_Timothy_Phillips: Grimly, the Chicago Ranger lined up his shot, trying to steady himself as he approached the Colour Sergeant. He could see the trooper leaning over Patrick, preparing to break his neck. He fired. Patrick's assailant was flung off him, he fired again, and then again.

12:11 Darrell: Darrell heard two more shots, both misses, luckily as he scrambled behind a tree, his hand grabbing his discarded Glock as he rolled for cover. Quickly, he radioed out, "Hans... Hans... report.." Nothing. No more shots rang out from up ahead. He tried the others, nothing. Were they dead? Darell didn't like these odds.

His Glock only had three rounds left, and he had no more magazines on him. Time to fall back and regroup. He darted around the tree, and fired one round. It slammed centre-mass into his attacker. Who... FUCK... was walking with a crutch? Still, he was down for the moment. But he had a handgun, so Darrell wasn't going to hang around. Not by himself, not if those Marines and Rangers up ahead had managed to kill his men. FUCKERS.

He turned, starting to leave, and then as an afterthought, he fired his two remaining rounds at the big Irishman. He hated leaving a job undone. But he was in a hurry, and ran off back to the facility before he even checked whether or not the shots hit.

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: Patrick heard the gunshot, as the man got shot, falling off him. He looked up and saw Tim there, fucking hell right now he was literally the best site that the Irishman could look at.

He started to get to his knees, he wanted to go after the guy who'd been shot. He wasn't sure he could walk properly though, and one arm was broken.

But then a second shot came out and hit Tim's armour, and Tim with his leg wasn't able to move quickly.

It took a massive amount of reserve of willpower as Patrick got to his feet , he didn't want the attacker shooting more at Tim and he launched himself at the Alaskan to knock him to the ground, he tackled him as one bullet missed, but the second one slammed into his chest armour shattering it - the guy had been shooting at Patrick not Tim that time, and the two of them collapsed to the floor.

Patrick's face was a mask of pain as he lay there next to Tim. "Fucking cunt bastard cunt." He'd landed on his broken arm and his face was just white with pain.

10:11 Sergeant_First_Class_Timothy_Phillips: The First Sergeant slammed hard to the ground, his chest plate stopping the round, but the impact with the ground did him no favors as the landing caused liquid fire to run up and down his body.

He heard more shots, as he tried to struggle up, but then he heard the sound of running feet fading off and the sudden WHUMP as Patrick landed next to him.

Tim looked over at saw the mangled shape of Patrick's right arm. Grimfaced, Timothy heaved himself up, operating on sheer will power. "C'mon Patrick. Your legs aren't broken. You've got to get up. Here." He braced himself on his crutch, and extended his hand out towards Patrick's good arm. "It's just us. The others got shot up pretty bad. You got this."

10:49 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: 12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: Patrick's good hand slammed into Tim's arm as he got up and he looked at him. Appealing to his sense of duty always worked. "You're my arms then, I'll be your legs."

He put his head on Tim's shoulder. "Fucking bastards." He winced as his ribs hurt as he took a step. "My girlfriend will be pissed off coming home like this."

"Is everyone alive?"

10:11 Sergeant_First_Class_Timothy_Phillips: The Ranger grunted as Patrick climbed up his good arm. He got a good look at Patrick's right arm. He whistled, "Fucking hell man.... No, they are not alive. The fucking bastards who tried to ambush us are all dead. Except the one I found trying to break your neck. If this pisses your girlfriend off, maybe you need to dump her mate."

Tim cradled the big Irishman's head against his shoulder as the two of them started back towards base. Strangely, for some reason, he found himself thinking about the one night they'd spent together back in Inverness.

He looked over at Patrick, his hard eyes taking a good look at the man he'd just saved... and the man who'd saved him earlier. He noticed something then.. "Fucking hell... your dogtags... what the fuck happened to your dogtags?"

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: "I've only been with her a fucking week before I came out here... They don't last anyway." He winces in pain as he walks.

"The cunt that was trying to kill me got them. Luckily you got rid of the bastard. But right now my dogtags are the last fucking thing I worry about. It's my men, that's what's important."

It was only willpower keeping him going. "I never asked if you were married, how the fuck does she put up with your fucking inability to not be a fucking hero all the time. It's like in fucking Inverness all over again. You go off fighting and leave me to deal with the kids."

Talking was helping him keep the mind off the pain. "We need to get to that helicopter fast."

10:11 Sergeant_First_Class_Timothy_Phillips: Timothy knew the best way to deal with the pain was to keep talking, don't focus on it. Let it be.

"I wonder why they don't last... think it has anything to do with how fucking dog ugly you are? Or maybe they can't handle your charm."

Timothy grunts, gritting his teeth as he doggedly bears a hefty chunk of the big Irishman's weight. He knows that for all the pain he is in, Patrick will be feeling it worse. He'd never seen such a savagely broken arm before.

Timothy chuckles. "Nah, I have a girl, but not married. I visit her when I'm on leave. That suits us both. Don't think I'll ever marry. Sometimes I like it ... rough. And that doesn't really mix with a steady marriage."

"But if you want to fucking bring up heroics mate... This is why you should leave the heroics to me." He looks at Patrick's broken arm. "It's because you fucking suck at it."

They are nearly at the camp, when Timothy speaks up. "We are gonna need to set your arm. It's gonna hurt like fuck. But it's gotta be done man."

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: "I just go through girlfriends like water, they never stay. Mainly since I don't think about sex when on operations, so when I get home that's all I want to do. And I know you think you like it rough. But you don't... Not really. You're like a fucking pussy cat in comparison to me."

"That's probably why you won't get married, you can't satisfy them enough." He smiled through his gritted teeth.

"Fine... I'll leave the fucking heroics to you. I'll do the job of keeping everyone else in line." He stopped and looked at Patrick and nodded. "Give me something to bite down on, and just fucking do it. Can't have the kids hearing their Colour Sergeant scream now."

10:11 Sergeant_First_Class_Timothy_Phillips: Timothy chuckled, eyeing the big Irishman sideways, "I'll tell you what then... you get your ass all healed up, arrange some leave, and then we can compare notes on who is the fucking rougher one."

They arrived in camp. They sat down on a log, and Max came over.

10:11 Corporal_Max_Thompson: Max looked at Patrick, then at Timothy. He swallowed. He'd never seen quite as bad a break as that before. Grimly, he mentally went through the steps he had to do to reset the bone.

Max looked at Timothy. "Hold him."

10:11 Sergeant_First_Class_Timothy_Phillips: Timothy bunched up some fabric from the sleeve of his combat top, and wedged the clumped fabric into Patrick's mouth, holding his forearm up against him. He reached out with his other hand and seized Patrick's good hand in his, holding it tight. Patrick would need something else to vent his pain besides just a wad of cloth in his mouth. Timothy nodded, and Max struck like a viper, grabbing the savagely broken arm, pulling, twisting and setting it.

10:11 Lieutenant_David_Armstrong: I woke up with a pounding headache and a sore jaw, I'm also missing a tooth. What the fuck happened? I sit up and look around, I stagger up, clearing my foggy brain and assessing the activity. I groan, "Sergeant, we need to get the fuck out of here. How soon can we be on the move?" He wasn't really sure which Sergeant he was addressing. Any of them would do.

12:11 Colour_Sergeant_Patrick_O'Malley: He bit down on the combat jacket and as Max set the arm, Patrick brutally gripped Tim's hand and there was a muffled scream that the combat jacket managed to hold back.

He looked white as a sheet for a few seconds, he'd let Patrick answer the Lieutenant, he wasn't quite sure where he was for a few seconds as the pain in the arm increased before it got better.

12:09 Sergeant_Tommy_Morgan: This sergeant answered first thought, Tommy who was looking in a lot of pain himself from the gunshot wounds that hadn't been completely stopped by the armour. "With respect, I don't think we've got the manpower to be on the move that quickly. We have two people who are fully capable - Max and Bill... that's it. Wayne has to be carried, neither of the Senior Sergeant's are fully capable of helping with that."

"Also, we're going to be fucking slow on the move."

10:11 Sergeant_First_Class_Timothy_Phillips: Timothy let Patrick crush the fuck out of his hand. He came pretty close to breaking it, but the First Sergeant never flinched. He heard David's question and Tommy's answer. “We only have to make it to an alternative evac point. We've got to get there. And we can't stay here Tommy. We can't fight off another attack."

10:11 Lieutenant_David_Armstrong: I grunt out, my shoulder bleeding, my head pounding as I tried to whip these guys into shape. I had forgotten about the alternative evac arrangements that Patrick had made. I grimly realized I was probably concussed.

"Here's what we are going to do. Max, you and I will carry Wayne. Bill, you will fucking see to it that we aren't ambushed again. Tommy, Patrick, Tim, the three of you will have to help each as best you can."

12:28 Sergeant_Mark_Christopher: Still... it had taken six hours and it was dark by the time they got through the jungle. Tommy had said that looking at the two Senior Sergeant's that he was at least a whole person and he could walk on his own.

Tim and Patrick were helping each other. They were close, that much was obvious, although no-one knew how close the two womanisers really actually were.

Bill was on guard as Max and David carried the stretcher, and it was still slow going, but the moon had just risen by the time there was the sound of a large Wildcat helicopter in the sky, handing in the emergency exfiltration spot.

A guy in British army uniform jumped out as the wind ripped through his hair from the rotors and headed over to the group. "Well look at you bunch of faggots, needing the real soldiers to come and rescue you," he said to the Royal Marines. "Stick to boats next time maybe."

He looked about ten.

"Right.... lets get you on board, can't stick around here too long, not actually supposed to be here, we sort of borrowed the helicopter, the brass were still on the phone to the government and no-one was making a decision and someone had left a perfectly good helicopter on base, shame if we borrowed it.... so we did."

"Right... Bootnecks and Bullet Catchers onto the copter. You all look like fucking shite." While his arrogant attitude could have been really annoying, he was doing it with a good natured smile on his face showing he wasn't taking any of it seriously and picked up a couple of packs off the ground and headed back to the copter.

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10:11 Commando_Ivan_Usov: The choppers were all loaded, and we were ready to take off. There was just one problem... Where was Darrell and his team? We couldn't wait much longer.

Then, there he was, running up just before I was about to give the order. He leapt up onto the chopper, and I gave the order to lift. I asked the question, but I already knew the answer. "Where is your team?"

12:11 Darrell: He ran up just in time, out of breath. He heard Ivan's question, and his face became twisted with rage. "All dead. Those fuckers got them. They were good Ivan. I might have killed one, but I'm not sure. I was interrupted before I could be certain."

Darell looked back into the hold of the chopper, and saw the two naked prisoners laid out on the floor, with Watts and Peterson standing guard. He grunted. He wanted to go give them a kick to vent his rage, but he knew better.

10:11 Private_Roger_Travers: The trip in the chopper was long and miserable, his mouth was duct-taped shut. His broken arm was like being knifed non-stop. It was wearing him down. He tried to sleep, but couldn't. He just laid there, staring at the floor, with Paul on the other side of him, focusing on his breath, holding on to his determination. He wasn't telling these bastards a fucking thing.

Finally, after what must have been hours, the chopper landed, and he was hauled out unceremoniously, unable to speak or protest. He caught a glimpse of the area as he was being carried, and it was hot, dry, and sandy. A desert.

Then, he was taken underground, down a ramp, and thrown into a cell. There was another thump, then he realized Paul was next to him.

The duct tape over his mouth was ripped off unceremoniously, and some of his skin was taken with it. He groaned. Then, some water was poured down his throat. Then, the guards left.

He groaned, fuck his arm hurt. He had been parched though, and the water was welcome. It was dark, but he was pretty sure Paul was nearby. He wheezed out, in a cracked voice, "Paul... you okay?"

09:12 Marine_Paul_Collins: Paul winced in pain as he maneuvered and sat up against the wall. "Yeah I'm here... You okay Roger?" The trip had been long, the pain in his balls had subsided and he hadn't had anything broken.

But it was dark and he knew if this was a desert, it would get bloody cold at night. He moved over next to his friend. "Are you okay? That guy did a real number on you." He looked around, he couldn't see much in the dark, but the walls were rough hewn stone. "Give me a minute."

He moved back so he was next to the rough stone and put his arms back and started to rub the zip tie against the rough stone. About five minutes later it ripped off along with some skin from his hand, but that was the least of the problems.

He slid over to Roger and started to work on his ties as well. "Fuck... this is my fault, I froze after I killed that guy. I... Sorry... I'll get us out of here." That was a completely empty promise but he needed to say it.

Another few minutes later Roger's zip ties were removed and Paul put his arms around him, it was starting to get cold. "Fuck..."

10:11 Private_Roger_Travers: Roger felt his spirits start to rise slightly as Paul managed to get free of his zipties, then freed him.

Roger grunted, "My arm ain't in top form right now. But I'm alive, and you are alive, and we are tied up. "

Roger knew that Paul was right, freezing like that... did not help. But Roger also knew that one of the most important things for both of them was to keep their morale up, not start blaming. "That was your first kill, we all freeze up after our first kill." Roger hadn't, but he'd been really tore up about it after. David had helped get his head straight. He wondered if he'd ever see the Lieutenant again. He wondered if he was even alive.

When Paul put his arms around Roger, that did more to lift his spirits than anything else could have. The contact with Paul warmed him up on many levels. He let himself relax against the naked Marine, wrapping his one good arm around Paul, sinking into the feeling of holding and being held, focusing on that to avoid thinking about his pain ... or their situation.

09:12 Marine_Paul_Collins: "One fucking bastard pissed on me, one damaged your arm. I thought he was going to burst my fucking ball as well. Luckily he got the radio call."

"But... we need to find a way to get out of here, when we can, the guys don't know where we are. We need to find some way to get them a message." Roger had made him feel a bit better, and the closeness was good. "When I was dreaming last night of being naked with you, I didn't quite have this in mind, you know."

10:11 Private_Roger_Travers: "Did you dream about being naked with me?" Roger grinned, "Funny thing... I had the same dream... but yeah, not like this."

The Oregonian Ranger pulled Paul in with his good arm, giving him a brief affectionate kiss on his cheek.

"You noticed that one of the guards who was watching us was that dude that we were here to escort. I wonder if he can do anything to help us out."

09:12 Marine_Paul_Collins: "Yeah, but... considering that he couldn't get out himself to be rescued, not got much confidence in that."

He shivered in the cold as he held on to Roger. "Right... It's dark and I don't have my medical kit. Is there anything I can do for your arm. I may as well try, I'm trained."

"Do you think its broken, or just severely bruised?" The closeness was helping him, being this close to Roger always made him feel good."

10:11 Private_Roger_Travers: Roger grunts in response to Paul's observation. True enough. Then, the laid-back Oregonian turned to Paul, his face white with pain. "I wish it were bruised Paul. Do you know how to set it?" Then another thought occurred to him. "I wonder what those bastards are gonna do when they find out we've ripped off our ziptie. Maybe we could pretend to still be tied up... and catch them off guard?"

God, it felt so good to have Paul next to him.

09:12 Marine_Paul_Collins: "I'm going to try and set it, but it's going to hurt, and I can't do anything to stop the pain. You can try and bite down on my shoulder or arm or something."

Paul picked up the arm gently in his hand. "Get ready."

He took a deep breath and pulled it at the same time twisting it at the shoulder in one swift movement. "It's okay.. It's okay.. it's better."

"Two choices, we either show them we're not going to try and escape and that zip ties aren't going to hold us so they start trusting us... or.... we catch them off guard and escape."

"We're in a desert, don't know which. But it's better than being captured. We need to get some clothes though. We'd freeze to death outside like this."

Published: 2021-08-30, viewed 46 times.