where's the fire? (425 hits)
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Submitted by Allyson (View user info) at 2006-09-22 09:27:02 EDT
This is a continuation of the previous series, "a little dead?"
a little dead? 1 http://www.ubersite.com/m/92917
a little dead? 2 http://www.ubersite.com/m/92962
a little dead? 3 http://www.ubersite.com/m/92978
a little dead? 4 http://www.ubersite.com/m/93031
a little dead? 5 http://www.ubersite.com/m/93082
a little dead? 6 http://www.ubersite.com/m/93133
a little dead? 7 http://www.ubersite.com/m/93166
a little dead? 8 http://www.ubersite.com/m/93209
a little dead? 9 http://www.ubersite.com/m/93256 chapter finale
yeah, it' rough and shitty, but it's the general idea. I just wanted to post it before i edited it, because i'm an impatient little bitch.
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California, 10:21AM
"Serbia."
"When?"
"April 2000."
"Night op?"
"First one."
The other men in the room grunt in memory and shovel more Chinese food into their mouths at Santos' recollection. Across from him at the table, Jimmy Wade slurps up some excess noodles and nods over to him, frowning.
"Missile battery, right?"
Santos shifts on the bed as he nods, chewing through his ribs. Next to him on the red bedspread lies his MP5, fully loaded, safety off. They've been killing time in this vaguely claustrophobic motel room for the last two days waiting for Mike's guy, and of course the talks drifted back to their service.
"First night op I was on, man."
"Same here."
Danny pipes up from his position by the window, inconspicuous behind the netting. His eyes are fixed on the dusty road leading to LA outside, as they have been for hours. He chews his sweet and sour rice mechanically, like a machine, getting sustenance but nothing more. Still, he remembers that mission.
"Yeah?"
"Yep." He looks over to Santos briefly, small smile on his face. "Shitting myself in those fuckin' NVG's 'til we made contact." He snorts briefly. "Shit, saw better with 'em off than on."
Jimmy smiles as well, switching to his bag of prawn crackers. There was a tiny Chinese takeaway even out here on the edge of the desert. Of course it tasted like stir fried rat most of the time, but it was filling nonetheless.
Already sick a' our fuckin' cooking.
"All went to shit after Santos opened up." Jimmy smiles over at his old comrade, MP5SD on the table beside him. Danny has his Mossberg on his lap, the one with the folding stock. The powerful pump-action could fit right under his shoulder and not even give an outline when he wore his coat, yet could easily vaporize a reinforced lock with the right shell. "What was it? Three down in six seconds?"
"Hey, they fall into my sights, I take the shot."
There's a short rumble of laughter as even Danny chuckles at the memory, Santos' entire ethic espoused in one sentence. He remembers that night well, remembers Santos taking out those sentries before the last one realized the first had fallen. And he remembers a black Ranger falling into his sights next to the launcher itself, the Serbian with the Kalashnikov behind him.
You owe me, Stevie. And you are going to make good on it.
"Yeah, and after we blew the fucking thing it was a real shitstorm." Jimmy crunches down a prawn cracker as Danny perks up, pick-up truck arriving at the fleabag motel. "Fuck, must've been a company there, man, at lea -"
He stops in mid-sentence as Danny gets up, leaving the Mossberg out of sight on his chair. Instead he switches to his Glock, thumbing off the safety as he stands before the door, the other two men move smoothly and without question, getting to their feet and taking their positions.
Jimmy stands to the right of the door, MP5SD tucked into his shoulder. Santos is in the bathroom door, covering both men while using the doorframe as cover. It also lets him know if anyone's making a move for the bathroom window, the only other entry point.
Gotta keep on your game now... when you're so close...
"This him?"
"Should be. Red pick-up, ten-thirty." Danny answers without even looking at his old comrade, waiting for the knock. He'd called Mike on the road for all the Intel of Francisco Della Vega, and his Miami contractor had told him he'd have it delivered once Danny found a base of operations. For now, it was this little speck on the map, about a hundred miles east of Los Angeles.
Far away from any curious eyes...
"And if it isn't?"
Danny just shrugs, giving him a quick look that tells him everything.
The guns are out, and then so is the secret of our presence. If it ain't Mike's man, he dies.
There's a knock on the door and Danny jerks the door open, Glock held in the hand behind the door. A middle-aged Negro stands across from him, looking bored in his sweat-stained vest. The two men lock eyes and Danny waits for the man to speak.
"Hopper?"
Danny nods, and the guy digs around into his pocket. Hopper is just one of the names Danny and his boys will use, thanks to the fake documents they got from Danny's Harlem contact. Besides, since the outfit wouldn't support him, he and Mike have to be very careful.
Rule one: don't use your own fucking name.
Danny grips the Glock tighter, ready to send a bullet through the door and into the guy's torso, but he just comes up with a thin envelope, with something small and bulging in the bottom of it.
"Mike said you had something for me?"
Danny takes the letter and pockets it, hand coming back up with a similar envelope, this time patently bulging. The man opens it briefly and smiles wide, seeing the two grand in crisp bills inside. Mike had promised him a good price for this tedious job, a simple delivery but on the other side of the country. He smiles at Danny, revealing several golden teeth, and turns back to his car.
"Thanks."
Danny closes the door without watching him go, transaction over. Santos and Jimmy relax at their positions, going back to their food as the pick-up roars into life. Danny locks the door and watches it leave out the window, the courier heading back the way he came. Danny's guessing he'll drop by Vegas and whoop it up with his couple of grand before returning to Florida.
Another sucker...
"Got the rush there for... bhhhrpp!... a second." Jimmy continues with his noodles but looks up as Danny walks into the middle of the room, ripping open the envelope. He smiles as a USB pen falls into his hands, everything he'll need most likely on it. Granted, this is covert Intel Mike's gathered for him, without the bosses consent, but he knows it'll be good.
Fucking better is, money I paid him.
"Danny?"
Santos looks up as the Iceman pockets the slip of paper inside, a list of apparently random numbers and addresses. Danny knows they're his new contact numbers and some boltholes if he needs them, and is confident he can begin; now he has his precious Intel...
He looks at his men and they wait for his reaction, seeing the change come over him. He's Sergeant Thorn now, the only officer they'd gladly die for, but still the most stone-cold motherfucker in Bravo Company.
"Wrap it up or finish it off, boys." He holds up the USB and smiles tightly. "We just got out Intel."
"Looks tough."
"Ah, it's mostly just muscle. Think any a' these fucks could handle a Ranger fire team?"
"We ain't got a fire team yet." Danny lights another Marlboro and his eyes flick over the last file in the electronic folder, a Word program popping up. "But once we get Marsh... we'll take 'em."
Jimmy and Stone exchange quick looks behind him, but he doesn't care. For the last two hours they've been meticulously going over the Intel Mike had provided, booting it up on the laptop Danny had bought on the road. Ideas and observations have flown fast as they'd gone over it all, scrutinizing the life of this man they'd never met with single-minded ruthlessness.
All boils down to one thing: how do we get him alive?
"You think Marsh'll show up?"
Danny nods, not even bothering to turn round. "He owes me."
Both Jimmy and Santos know damn well what he means and look back to the Intel. Della Vega looks like a tough cookie, that much is true, but perhaps no more than Diaz back in New York. He runs one of the more prosperous 18th Street sets in East LA, known as La Habra Loco, or LHL. Danny's heard a lot about 18th Street along the border and on the West Coast. Word is they've got over 20,000 members all told, and that's just in the US. But they're split up into a whole galaxy of cliques and sets and factions and sub-factions, like any other street gang. Della Vega's just boss of one.
Still, not a little one.
He's based out of a fortified house in La Habra, with his main crack house a few miles away in East Los Angeles. According to the Intel, that's his clique's main business, supplying a big, lucrative chunk of East LA with rocks. He's even moving up onto the West Side, looking for some upscale clients like any other ambitious businessman.
That and the stash house... where the money's kept... fuck Mike, how'd you find this?
"Think we got an in here..."
He clicks on the file marked "Money House", where Della Vega stashed much of his cash. From the photo it's an inconspicuous white bungalow like thousands of others in Los Angeles from Compton to Pasadena. But there's a crew there at all times, protecting the LHL's drug profits round-the-clock. Danny isn't too worried by that... but he knows bait when he sees it.
"We hit the house? Draw him out?"
Danny nods as Wade cottons on quick, just like always. Santos runs an expert eye over the house, already looking for perches or alcoves where he and his rifle could set up. But Danny already has other plans for Santos, even if they aren't fully formed yet.
"Yeah. Two hit the money, two more take him when he leaves his place. First team leaves a man alive to take the message to him, he flips and goes tearing out for answers." Danny stubs out the cigarette with definite finality, predatory smile spreading all over his face as a picture of Della Vega's goatee- and tattoo-marked face fills the screen.
"Then we'll hit him, Benny."
Pasadena, 4:09PM
Why a shithole motel like this felt the need to have Picasso on the walls, Danny has not a clue. But there it is, some Cubist masterpiece of his hanging on the lime-green wall for all to see, above the round table where he and Jimmy now sit in the living room. Now and again he looks up from his tedious work to glance at it, and shake his head a little.
Honestly, who the fuck do they expect to stay here? Fuckin' art dealers? Aristocrats?
"Done."
Danny looks over to Jimmy as the ex-Ranger closes up another box of finished bullets. They still stink of Teflon but that will fade after a while, with the other dozen boxes. A bowl of the liquid sits in the centre of the table, along with some small metal tongs. For the last two hours the two of them have been meticulously preparing their munitions for this job, dipping each bullet in turn in the solution. Only for a second, lest they start to rust, but long enough to get a nice coating on it.
Hollow points, sure, but this will make any Kevlar vest a fucking joke.
"Good." Danny puts the box with the others in one of their kitbag's, handing him the last 9mm box. He's been doing the larger 5.56mm shells himself, user of the M4 as he is. He knows he'll have use for that tonight... soon as their recruit arrives.
"Think Santos is handling it?"
Danny nods, unconcerned. Santos is in East LA as they speak, reconnoitering Della Vega's neighborhood. There was no way in Hell he or Jimmy could go down there, not in daylight. The bangers that thought they weren't cops would figure they were a crew, and those boys had plenty of firepower between them. Even more importantly, it would totally blow the op.
"He's done surveillance before; wasn't always a fuckin' security guard." Danny finishes another bullet and slots it back in with the finished ones, box done. "He knows how to look, how to talk, how to act in those kinda neighborhoods. He'll be fine."
"And Marsh?"
KNOCK! KNOCK!
Both men stand and walk silently over to the door without a word passing between them. Pistols in hand they wait on either side of it, Danny flitting to the side to press his eye briefly against the peephole. He smiles and lowers the Glock as a black face fills his view, and nods to Jimmy.
"Stevie."
He opens the door and a tall, broad-shouldered Negro stands there, head shaved but not bald, looking like he's just fresh out the Rangers. Which is odd, since he's been out almost two years. But as Danny looks him over, he knows Private Marsh is just still the same old soldier; nothing's changed, that's all.
"How you doin', Sarge?"
The voice is pure Inglewood, hard but playful in an urban way, able to turn nasty in a word. Danny smiles as he hears it and the two men embrace.
"'Bout to go to war, Stevie..."
La Habra, 4:14PM
As shitty ghettoes go, La Habra didn't seem that bad to Santos. Granted, growing up in the South Bronx gives one a low opinion of anywhere short of designated war zones, but La Habra at this time is fairly placid. The sun's still high in the sky (then again it is LA) and pockets of white-vest wearing Latinos gather on odd corners, giving every vehicle that goes by an appraising glare.
Santos cruises round the corner down Della Vega's street in his rented Pinto, dressed pretty much the same as the bangers on the sidewalk, taking everything in behind wraparound shades. A pumping gangsta rap chorus blasts from the meager speakers, all adding to the effect, and he's gotten very few black looks from the soldiers of the LHL.
"There it is..."
He mutters to himself as he idles past Della Vega's house, a three-storey number that has iron grates over every window. A cluster of LHL gather around the porch, instantly looking up as the Pinto glides by. Santos looks at the place briefly; knowing to stare would probably be a death warrant. But his trained eyes get a good lay of the house, and he already has the street memorized.
Just then on of the bangers stands, looking straight at Santos. Benny returns the stare and the banger holds up his hand, twisting it into some kind of signal.
That's the challenge...
Hesitating only a moment or two, Benny holds up his own hand and twists his fingers exactly. Palm down, little finger splayed upwards, index overlapping his index on the top, thumb pointed down.
18th Street, Vato...
The banger smiles and nods, the rest of the crew following suit as Santos cruises away, threat answered. He smiles as he turns onto the main road out of La Habra, on the way to Pasadena.
Ain't just got 18th Street in LA, motherfuckers...
"How is she anyway, Stevie?"
"Fat, pregnant, eating me outta the fuckin' house." Marsh snorts as he takes another swig of his beer. "That's love, right?"
"Somethin' like it..."
Danny takes another sip of his Bud, wishing the conversation could turn to something else. For the last thirty minutes he, Jimmy and Stevie have been catching up, crushing two years into half an hour. Marsh has been doing well for himself, working mainly as a bodyguard for some rich clients in Hollywood, of course. But it only took a single call from Danny to get him down here.
"So what's this about, Danny?" Marsh sets his beer down and looks hard at Danny, deciding that catching-up time is over. "Why you need me here? What the fuck you mean by 'going to war'?".
Danny finishes his brew and tosses it in the trash, casting a glance at Jimmy. Without a word Wade gets up and fetches the laptop, all the while watches by a frowning Marsh. But Danny turns to him and leans forward, getting ready for yet another story.
"You remember Rosa?"
Marsh smiles in recollection of Danny's young wife, what a terrific girl she'd been. Marsh, Santos and Jimmy had been pretty much the whole of the groom's side at their wedding, but before and after they'd gotten to know her. Marsh simply didn't have a bad thing to say about her.
"Yeah, how she doin'?"
"She's dead, Stevie." Danny's voice is cool and unemotional, even as Marsh's smile evaporates in an instant. "My son, too. Felix. Three months old."
Marsh seems to deflate in his chair, and Danny can't help but think that he's somehow looking at himself. But now here he is, more than six months later, telling it like some anecdote, and now he can say it without feeling anything at all.
Apart from hate. Always the hate...
"Jesus Danny, I... shit..." Marsh rests his head on one hand, predictably at a loss for words. But Danny doesn't want to prolong this, not with an old comrade like Marsh. He's seen how impossible it's been for everyone to talk about this, how there simply aren't the right words.
"It was a fire." His voice is firm, making Stevie look up into his eyes. The ex-Ranger sees iron in his old Sarge's eyes, not mourning. That's when he realizes what's going on. "I thought it was an accident, but it wasn't. I don't know why, but some big shot in Mexico ordered their deaths, through a gang leader here and some Colombian thug in New York."
Danny leans forward, getting to the real meat of the matter.
"He's dead, choked on his own dick in Queens. The LA target is an 18th Street boss named Della Vega. He was the middleman for the guy in Mexico, and will tell me his name, eventually. Are you getting my drift, Stevie?"
Marsh nods, face like stone. He knows exactly what Danny wants from him now, the service he is expecting. He also knows that after Serbia, he's in no position to refuse.
"You know I can't refuse you, Danny."
"Yes."
"And you're going to go all the way to Mexico to end this?"
"Further, if I have to."
Marsh pauses again, looking down briefly. Danny studies him coldly, hands clasped before him, utterly placid. He knows what kind of man Stevie is, and his word is his bond. The Rangers simply strengthened that, and now he's closer to his brother Rangers than his own family. After a while he just sighs deeply, and looks up at Danny.
"I'm with you, Danny."
Thorn holds his hands out and the two men shake. Jimmy places the laptop on the table but Danny doesn't break the grip, seeming to look into Marsh's soul.
"To the death?"
The merest beat of hesitation. "To the death."
KNOCK! KNOCK-KNOCK! KNOCK!
Marsh jerks his head up at the noise but Jimmy and Danny relax. They know Santos' knock, agreed by them before he'd left. Jimmy gets up and answers the door, seeing Santos standing there in full gang banger regalia. He smirks at the outfit.
"'Sup, homes?"
"Eat me, white boy." Santos just grins and steps inside, Jimmy locking the door behind him. "Soon as I said my piece I'm getting' the fuck outta these clothes and... Stevie?!"
Marsh stands, practically dwarfing his smaller comrade. The two laugh and grip each other in a bear hug, close friends from Ranger days. The two of them were crack shots with the rifle, always competing for the best shot or longest distance. Thus far, it was a tie.
Plenty more chances to change that coming up.
"How goes it, little man?"
"Fuck you, Stevie. How the fuck's that woman a' yours?"
"Four months."
"Boy or girl?"
"We're leaving it. Wanna surprise!"
The two laugh and Danny decides to get down to brass tacks. Much as he loves seeing his friends happy, happy as only brothers in arms can be, they have a mission, and it is the sole focus of his life right now. Therefore, it must be theirs as well.
"What you see, Benny?"
Santos' smile drops and he gets back into combat mode, keeping to the mission. He walks over to the table where an A4 pad sits, talking as he draws.
"Lot of hostile, street corners and porches mainly. Shouldn't be too hard for two men to get set up though... considering I'll be... here."
The quick map's finished and the four men gather round it, Santos pointing as he goes. It's off the block where Della Vega lives, a classic tic-tac-toe street layout covering a few blocks. He's marked Della Vega's house, halfway down the central street, as well as a circle outside the gridiron pattern, which he points to now.
"It's a water tower about five hundred yards from the house -" he shakes his head with a grimace, unconcerned, "- no problem getting there and setting up. Distance won't be a problem either." he drops the pen and gives a quick smile.
"Taken shots a lot tougher than that."
"Ain't how I remember it..."
Marsh and Santos rumble with laughter and Danny smiles wryly, but never takes his eyes off the map. He can see it coming together now, he and Santos on the street. He points to the road a few meters from Santos' house.
"If I set up here in a van, will it be safe?"
"Should be. Long as there's no-one in there visible from the street, they won't even notice."
"Where you want me, Danny?"
Thorn looks to his newest recruits and nods to Jimmy.
"You've got the secondary objective, Stevie. Money drop a mile or so from the house -" he nods to Santos quickly, "you scope that out, too?"
"Yeah, earlier. Not a lot of activity on the street, house is solid though. Shouldn't be too tough for these two, though."
Danny nods, getting to the final question.
"Once we hit Della Vega, how long you figure before the rest of the 'hood wakes up?"
Benny pauses and thinks for a second, knowing this one's important. Hitting Della Vega wouldn't be a problem normally, even easy if it was just Santos taking his shot. But they need to get him alive, wipe out his men and then get him. That would take precious extra time, in the middle of a gang neighborhood.
"We'll have five minutes, no more than that. The amount of bullets flying around, most of 'em'll stay in their houses but after that... well, they grow some balls, right?"
"Yeah, yeah..."
Danny's silent for a few seconds, looking over the map with wide, alert eyes. His men look to him, look to their Sarge for an answer. A few seconds later he straightens up and gives it.
"Right, here's how it'll run." He nods to Jimmy and Marsh.
"You two will hit the money house at exactly one-thirty, any way you want. Bust in like bangers and take the cash, but leave one guy alive to call Della Vega with the bad news. Once that's done you'll call me with a 'mission accomplished' and exile to a safe house we've got set up in Orange County. Santos?" The Irish-Mexican straightens up, ready to take his orders.
"You set up position in the tower at around twelve, I'll drop you off. Then I'll wait outside Della Vega's house for him to emerge after he gets word of the robbery. Once he gets out, you give me cover while I take out his men, then I put him under with a taser and get him in the van. I'll pick you up and we'll rendezvous with these two at the beach house."
Danny stops finally, taking a breath. He must admit, he enjoyed that. So long since he'd put together a mission, even if it was against a bunch of Hispanic hoods. But the planning, the organization... they're nearly as sweet as the kill itself.
"Everyone clear?"
"Got it, Danny."
"Yeah."
"No problem."
Danny looks over the faces of his men, his new squad, and smiles. They return it, knowing that grin of old, that wolfish, expectant look that can't wait to get into the field and put his plan into action. And get some blood on his hands.
"Then let's do it."
Serbia, 2002
The lone howl of a wolf splits the still night at the bottom of this black mountain in the Balkans. The sound seems to pour down its side and into the town below like water, and then ends just as suddenly. In the church tower a Kalashnikov-carrying Serb pauses at the sound, cold eyes looking into the darkness. But there's nothing out there except the darkness, and he keeps walking
Two dark shapes suddenly flit from the shadowy woods bordering this hamlet, moving with smooth speed to the wall next to the church. Then, like the wolf's howl, they're gone like they never existed.
Sergeant Thorn stops behind the wall, Private Wade next to him. He's wearing the bulky NVG's he got issued before the op, and now peers round the wall to study his target.
Sharp, trained eyes take in the missile launcher in the square, the cluster of boxes and sandbags arrayed around it. Here and there green, man-sized shapes walk around the streets and on roofs with weapons in their hands, blind to him. If he could smile, he would now.
Almost ready.
He looks to Wade and nods, his friend from Boot knowing exactly what he wants. He screws the earpiece from the radio into his ear, whispering into the mike. Having the two-way loose, audible to all would be a death sentence right now.
"Fire teams, report in, over."
Private Santos has just got into position up his tree when the earpiece crackles in his ear. Bracing himself with one hand, he speaks into the mike, M40A1 laying across his lap. He flicks his eyes over to the left to see Private Li a few trees over, his own snipers rifle ready.
A nod between the two, and they're ready.
Benny looks over the town below him, from this vantage point a few hundred yard up the mountain. The church, the square, some streets around it, and the launcher... all in their sights.
"Fire teams two, in position, over."
Opposite Thorn and Wade, Private's Carson and Boyd check their weapons one last time just as the word comes in. They're crouched behind some sandstone building across from the square with another pair of Rangers, scared and excited in equal measure, adrenaline starting to pump through them. They know their job tonight, just like everyone else out there waiting in the dark.
Private Marsh gently pulls the slide back for his M60, two hundred round belt now ready. The other checks the night sight for his Colt Commando, and gives a nod to Carson.
"Fire team three, in position, over."
"Fire team one, in position, over."
Danny licks dry lips as he hears Wades' voice, knowing the whole thing's coming together. He'd prepared the attack tonight just like his commanders had ordered him to, getting his squad ready for their first night op.
The target's that launcher in the middle, some USSR surplus AA launcher that nonetheless is still deadly. The Serb outfit in this area has started using it to target NATO jets, and have already down two in the last week. The nearest Delta team's 36 hours away, so the powers that be gave this job to the Rangers.
One objective: take it out.
"Sarge?"
He looks over to Wade and just nods, screwing the butt of the Colt Commando even firmer into his shoulder. The NVG's are new to him, and the fuzzy greenness of everything hurts his eyes, but he knows he'll get used to him. Besides, they'll be a hell of an edge tonight.
Behind him a tiny smile crosses Wade's face, and his gives the order.
"Fire team two, execute, over and out."
PHUT! PHUT!
At this range the two guards targeted don't even hear the muffled gunshots. They do, however, fall like stones as the high-velocity rounds blast through their sternums like paper. The last guard in the church tower manages to open his mouth to shout warning -
- Before Santos' second shot takes the top of his head off.
PHUT!
Moving with almost supernatural speed, Santos jerks his aim down and gets another militia member lined up, pacing steadily on top of the barn. The bullet obliterates his heart, taking a chunk of lung with it on the way out, and he's dead before he hits the floor.
Your turn now, Carson.
"Go! Go! Go!"
At Carson's half-whispered, half-shouted command Fire team three opens up. Boyd and Carson appear round the corner to the building, the former kneeling, and the latter standing above him. At the other side Marsh takes aim with his 60, other Ranger leveling his rifle, and start to blanket the square in lead.
BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA!
The Serbs never really have a chance. With their sentries silently wiped out, all they're left with is the boys on the ground. Half a dozen are chewed up by the heavy machinegun before they've even reacted to it's sound, and Carson and Boyd are already choosing their own targets.
"COVER! COVER! COV -"
The commander's on the ball quickly, which means Carson cuts him in half with a Commando burst. But the survivors react well, as Danny expected. They aren't Rangers, sure, but they've survived God-know-how-many firefights up and down these black mountains, like their fathers before them. War is what they know, and they're good at it.
Which means, you fight dirty.
BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA!
Danny and Wade open up on the handful of Serbs taking cover behind the wall ahead of them, sheltering from Carson and Boyd's withering fire. But they're blind to the danger behind them now, and Fire team Three knows the plan as well as their Sarge.
The second those two heads pop up behind the Serbs; all four of them hold fire. That's when Danny and Jimmy rake the survivors with assault rifle fire. They're ripped apart by the lines of lead, blasted into the wet mud and dead before they're face down in it.
"Move in! Move in!"
That done, Danny steps up from his hiding place with Jimmy behind him, both of them with rifle ready. Every sense is heightened now, eyes sensitive to the slightest movement, ears able to hear a single footfall. Across from them Carson and Boyd move into the square as well, one of their men still manning the M60 while Marsh joins them. Danny looks over to them but can't see anything for the green of the goggles. He pauses but only for a second, ripping the goggles off and shoving them into his belt.
Much better...
Now his eyes adjust to the dark, but the spots of light and flame illuminate the square well enough. But Danny's been able to see well in even pitch like this for years, a necessary skill when you're waiting outside someone's house in the dark... waiting for them to arrive or emerge... with a knife in your hand.
Same thing. Better weapons.
With two fingers he gesture for Boyd and Carson to maintain their perimeter, keep their guns on the streets round the square. He and Wade move over to the bulky launcher, Jimmy already readying the satchel charge secured at his back. He sees Marsh moves in as well, ready to -
Danny catches the glint of metal from the black doorway behind him, and knows a threat when he sees it.
BUDA-BUDA-BUDA-BUDA!
There's a thin screech as the militia member tumbles out the doorway, chest ripped open by the 5.56mm burst. Marsh spins round in surprise as he sees the lifeless body, then looks over to Danny.
A shared look, and a nod, a warrior's thanks. Then on with the mission.
"Charge is... set!"
Jimmy shoves the charge under the launcher and the Rangers scatter to cover, knowing the power of this bulky bag of explosives. Danny gets behind a wall and covers his ears, mouth open to equalize the intense pressure about to -
BOOM!
A pillar of flame and smoke instantly engulfs the launcher, blowing it to pieces and then vaporizing them. The ammunition next to it goes of next, blasting a crater into the square as big as a school bus. Danny smiles in supreme satisfaction, mission accomplished. He looks over to the M60 gunner, knowing that they have to get -
Something small, round and green lands next to the Ranger, and Danny's eyes widen.
He also knows a grenade when he sees one.
"GRENA-"
BOOM!
Danny jerks awake in the Pasadena motel, sudden movement sending Santos' eyes flickering open as well. Also on the floor, Jimmy wakes up too, looking at their old Sarge. Danny's drenched in sweat but breathing normally, already handling the shock of going from fantasy to reality in a moment.
"You OK, Danny?"
"Yeah... bad dreams..."
The other two men nod sympathetically, knowing exactly what he means. They also know that it doesn't need to be lingered on; Danny will handle his nightmares just like they handle theirs.
By concentrating on what needs doing tomorrow, a new night op in a new war.
User Reviews
Submitted by sicosemen (user info) at 2006-10-16 11:40:28 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
WHO ARE YOU?
Submitted by shinebox (user info) at 2006-10-15 02:32:27 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
FRIEND
Submitted by Allyson (user info) at 2006-10-13 16:58:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Fabulous.
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-10-13 08:57:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
I didn't read this poorly-formatted piece of shit.
Submitted by Foolproof (user info) at 2006-10-13 08:46:41 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I could go through here and storm you with the military inaccuracies (such as the was no missle battery on Serbia in 2000. We wer ein Kosovo at the time and had no missle batteries - no need)
But I get the Idea...so have a 0.
Submitted by shinebox (user info) at 2006-10-13 08:02:24 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
no more shines
they didnt go up there and tell ya
now go home an get ya fucken shine box
Submitted by SPECIALk (user info) at 2006-10-13 01:21:20 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Just because.
Submitted by paint_it_black (user info) at 2006-10-13 00:55:32 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
FUCK ...
YOU'RE ALLYSON?
I loved your series (although at first I thought you plagamarized it)
and now I find you are the one who gave SHINEBOXXXXXXX his shot at having superfirneds on ubersites
you deserve plus 2's for life.
do you want a pic of shneboxxxxx?
Submitted by shinebox (user info) at 2006-10-11 03:55:29 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
ALLYSON! let me go to ya birthday party
ill make friends there
thats wot i like to do
Submitted by paint_it_black (user info) at 2006-09-28 03:54:38 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
No Comment
Submitted by St_Jimmy (user info) at 2006-09-22 10:49:34 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Yeah, same issues with formatting as the others.
But I still love this story!
Submitted by Psmith (user info) at 2006-09-22 10:26:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
biatch
Submitted by kwame_johnson (user info) at 2006-09-22 10:25:30 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
so long
Submitted by Axolotl (user info) at 2006-09-22 10:11:18 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Terrible writing and illegible formatting.
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-09-22 10:06:14 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by Allyson (user info) at 2006-09-22 09:54:12 (#)
Ranking: 0
allright... But this is broken up.
and no, i don't format it. Why bother? It's fine allready. You're just to lazy to read it. And if you do read it, you might see something you like. But apparently you don't.
so fuck
forget about this post, tomorrow will have the same god damn thing, but in the way you like it.
Assholes ""
good writers can get away with this - i know I can because I am approximately 1,000,000,000,000,000 times better than you.
However you are a dreadful writer so formatting is important to you.
You've got neither style nor substance.
Give it up.
Submitted by GetNakeddd (user info) at 2006-09-22 10:05:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Hey don't get mad, our criticism is constructive!!
Submitted by Allyson (user info) at 2006-09-22 09:54:12 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
allright... But this is broken up.
and no, i don't format it. Why bother? It's fine allready. You're just to lazy to read it. And if you do read it, you might see something you like. But apparently you don't.
so fuck
forget about this post, tomorrow will have the same god damn thing, but in the way you like it.
Assholes
Submitted by w_t_a_y_s_t_r_m (user info) at 2006-09-22 09:50:00 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Looking at the length and formatting, it would be better to break it apart into paragraphs and possibly seperate posts. People won't read it like this. Including me.
Submitted by Cinderblock (user info) at 2006-09-22 09:47:50 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Submitted by Allyson (user info) at 2006-09-22 09:33:49 (#)
Ranking: 0
did you even bother to read?
no.
----------
I don't have to read this puddle of steaming diarrhea to know it's shit (Y HALO THAR PUN!).
Laziness gets you nowhere. Now go make me a fucking sandwich.
Submitted by GetNakeddd (user info) at 2006-09-22 09:43:40 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I'm sorry, I can't get past the formatting
I really WANTED to read it, so here's a donut
chocolatey frosted too!
Submitted by apollo88 (user info) at 2006-09-22 09:41:26 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by retrospect (user info) at 2006-09-22 09:37:48 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
didnt read it
Submitted by Allyson (user info) at 2006-09-22 09:33:49 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
did you even bother to read?
no.
Submitted by Cinderblock (user info) at 2006-09-22 09:32:53 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
post *before* you edit?
horse *before* the cart?
Auto -2. Respect your audience.