• Prologue:
    Charlie Squad

    The night was hazy, with buildings burning in the distance providing a light orange glow to the smoke surrounding the small Middle Eastern city. The skyline was dominated by the city's mosque, which stood triumphantly undamaged in the background, as missiles and gunfire flew around it. The sounds of gunfire actively punctuated the night sky, as explosions periodically added a dull thud to the bright rings of the rifles. Every so often the sight of a building collapsing could be seen, throwing more dust into the already thick atmosphere. War had ravaged this land to its very core.
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    "Group of three, top left, wide formation!" Screamed the staff sergeant.

    "Got it, sir!" Yelled the private as he raised his M16 to his shoulder. As he brought the sights to his face he provided three bursts of fire in the insurgent's direction. Three bodies fell to the ground, each landing with a faint thud, their guns landing beside them with cracks, one misfired a small burst into a distance, only adding to the mayhem that surrounded the poor souls.

    "Poor buggers never saw it comin'!" shouted the private.

    "Don't get cocky, now. I once served with a man who let that happen to him. He was a nice guy, A wife, two kids, and a house in the middle of suburbia. We were stationed in Vietnam, on an arty hill. One slow day, we were on patrol at the base of the hill, when we were ambushed by a group of 6 Vietcong. He took his m16 and shot all of them dead, no more than five bullets per person. He was good at that, shooting people dead. After that he earned himself the nickname 'five shot Clive'. Admittedly not the best name, but we didn't care, it fit. He let it go to his end in the end, the next month, we were back on patrol. He had become the 'Big man' of the squad and had taken to walking around without his helmet on, and only carrying one extra clip. This time we were full on attacked by the Vietcong. Volleys of bullets came from the wall of plants at the bottom of the hill, as they advanced towards us. He lived up to his name once again, the first five Vietcong that came into sight dropped within feet of the green threshold. As he reached down to his extra magazine, a bullet came right up and got him through the top of the skull. The back of his head exploded into a mix of pink mist and white shrapnel. My chest ended up covered in his brain matter. After we fell back to cover and killed the force, which ended up being 43 strong, I was given the task of getting his body to be bagged up for extraction so he could have a proper funeral. He got cocky, and ended up dead. I refuse to let any of my squad end up like that!"

    "Sir, with respect it was just a stupid comment."

    "Stupid comments can lead to stupid decisions, soldier! Now, move out! We have a city to take, and we aren't going to do it standing here with our thumbs up our asses discussing your stupid ******** remarks!"

    "Sir, Yes sir!"

    As the squad moved through the alleys the sounds of their boots on broken glass cracked and echoed through the night. The odd puddle added a few faint splash's to the chaotic atmosphere. After traversing 5 of these long, dark alleys they found themselves upon a small patrol of ten insurgents. They all quickly hugged the dark walls, hoping for the group to pass them without incident, it's always much easier to kill a foe that doesn't know your there, after all.

    One by one the patrol passed them; faint conversation filled the air in a language no one in the squad knew. Maybe they were talking about battle plans, maybe about their girlfriends, nobody could tell. Their guns clanked against the extra clips on their sides giving their march a rhythmic beat. One man's Rpg-7 dangled precariously on the side of his pack. The rocket propelled explosive projectiles strapped to his chest. Another's RPD hung by his side, rocking back and forth to the motion of his stride. His extra ammo hanging off on his chest in 2 overlapping bandoliers that slightly jingled as he stepped.

    The squad knelt silently, still as this night allowed them to be. Their breathing was shallow; their guns still, their presence would have been unnoticeable to any passerby. As soon as the last member of the patrol passed them, they slowly crept out to the side of the ally, setting up firing positions on the group, ready to take them out almost simultaneously. As those by the edge lined their shots up, the tallest of the squad, their designated marksman, approaching from the back, tripped forward, falling face first into the street.

    The Patrol turned around in unison, as those of the squad with a good line of fire took their shots. Two adjacent men with AK-74's were caught by a rifleman's 6 round burst, the first being caught by two bullets, one in the shoulder and one in the neck, catching his jugular, leaving him to die in a puddle of his own blood on the ground. The other man was caught 3 times in the skull, which promptly gave way to a large hole, he was dead before he hit the floor. The man with the RPG-7 was caught in the upper chest as he turned around, spraying red onto those around him as he spun and landed face first on the ground onto his warheads, which promptly blew up in an explosion that took 4 others to the front of the patrol with him in an explosion of blood and gibs. The man with the RPD brought his light machine gun up, and fired at the squad, forcing them into cover, as his only other comrade pulled the pin on a grenade and sent it flying into the alleyway. The squads retreat was fast, but not fast enough, as the squads designated marksman caught shrapnel in the lower back and legs, paralyzing him from the waist down, and severing his right legs femoral artery.

    The two remaining members of the patrol called back to the rest of their forces, requesting heavy backup.

    The lone squad sat back in the alley, waiting for the last two members of the patrol to turn the corner.

    "s**t! Man! s**t!" Screamed a private.
    "He's dead, man! He's actually ******** dead!" Replied another.
    "What the ******** happened?" questioned one of the squad.
    "He ******** up and tripped, they heard him, they threw a grenade. He's not only dead now, but he's also compromised our position to the enemy. Now shut the ******** up! If more of them hear us we'll be dead before you know it!" commanded the Staff Sergeant.

    The Insurgent with the RPD quickly put his gun down and reloaded it. As the other man climbed the nearby fence in an attempt to flank the squad. As the man with the RPD finished reloading and looked down the road, he saw another patrol of 15 men come running towards him. Their guns were out and ready to fire, two men had grenades at the ready, and as they approached the long alley they prepared to throw them.

    The squad heard a noise behind them, and in unison turned to face the threat that they faced, a lone man with an AK-74 stood at the end of the alleyway. The squad's guns all went off at once, a loud, staggered affair that left the man at the end of the hall with as much lead in him as he had flesh.

    The Insurgent team quickly took the chance to throw their two grenades, which rolled neatly upon the backs of the Staff Sergeants feet.

    "Oh, fu-", is all the poor man got out before the small metal balls exploded at his feet,

    A small fountain of blood erupted from the squads position as they all got hit with shrapnel from the grenades.

    The patrol slowly walked down the street, their guns hanging loosely in their hands again. The poor American squad lay dead and dying in the center. Those who weren't already dead lay clutching their open wounds in a futile attempt to keep their vital fluids and organs inside them. The Insurgents took no pity on them, as they slowly made their way down the line, ensuring death for them all with a single shot to the forehead.

    As the last man lay watching his comrades die, he frantically pleaded for his life with the insurgent approaching him, "I'm sorry, man. I'm really ******** sorry. Please don't kill me. I have a wife and kids. Please, I beg of you please don't kill me. I just want to go home. I just want to go h-".The deed was done.

    The insurgent spit on the dead man's face, the saliva mixing with the blood oozing out of the single hole in the center of his forehead. "Stupid Americans."