(no subject)
Takur Ghar
Grid 9DHG20207620
0354 hours
They hadn’t meant to happen upon the camp.
Then again, they hadn’t meant to get left behind.
Taking out the sentries had been child’s play. The camp was replete with logs and tents - good for concealment, even better for hiding bodies. It’d been built around a small brick hut - whatever was in it, they were about to find out.
Voodoo gripped his pistol as he put his back against the brick. He’d taken one side of the door, Preacher the other. Standard procedure. A different person might’ve laughed - nothing had been “standard” tonight.
“Kick it.”
Preacher pivoted on his heel and kicked it in, Voodoo rushing in behind him. There were five fighters in the hut, two in the center, two near the back, and one on the left by a table with a radio. It was over in seconds. Four got bullets in them. The radioman got a tomahawk in his neck.
“Search the place,” Voodoo said, shoving aside the radioman and sorting through the papers on the table. “Look for anything we can use.” Preacher grunted in acknowledgement as he started patting down the bodies, and Voodoo turned his attention back to the papers. It was a goldmine - maps, codebooks, orders, they’d stashed everything here. They even had a- wait. That couldn’t be right.
Voodoo double-checked the maps, then the orders. Unless his Chechen was rusty beyond repair…
“Nothing on the bodies. Week’s worth of AK ammo and some RPGs under a trapdoor,” Preacher reported. “What’ve you got?”
“Intel. Lots of it. There’s more fighters on this mountain than command thinks there are in the whole valley.”
“How many?”
Voodoo held up one of the maps for Preacher to see. “A whole battalion. Over a thousand of AQ’s best fighters are holed up on this peak.” He folded it up and stuffed into a pants pocket, then started doing the same with the rest of the papers. “Bagram needs to see this shit. We get back there fast enough, we can -”
Gunfire echoed across the peak. There was the heavy slapping sound of the AKs, but there was also the lighter, grating sound of an M4 - no, M4s, there were two of them.
“Preacher, you hear that?”
Preacher nodded.
“Doesn’t sound like red on red. So…”
“So Rabbit and Mother must’ve come back up.”
“Christ, we gotta get to them. Sounds like it’s downslope. We should -”
There were voices behind the hut. Voodoo froze.
“[…and you’re sure you heard something?]”
That was definitely Chechen.
“[I’m positive! It came from Zamir’s hut!]”
Voodoo took out his pistol. “Preacher, we need to go. Now.”
“I don’t -”
“No time, out the front.” Voodoo scattered the remaining papers, then walked over to the door -
- right in front of a fighter with an assault rifle.
Voodoo got off the first two shots, pegging him in the chest.
“Run!”
Voodoo sprinted out the door, sidestepping the body, trying to block out the pain shooting up his legs as he headed downslope.
“[There they are!]”
“[Open fire!]”
Gunfire erupted behind him, the bullets whizzing around him.
“Downslope! Go!” He turned and fired when two bullets slammed into his side, knocking him down like a kick from a thoroughbred horse.
“Voodoo! You okay?”
He hissed as he got to his feet - there was a bruised rib, probably two. “I’m fine, SAPI caught it. Keep going!”
They were a mile away before Voodoo realized he forgot his tomahawk.
Grid 9DHG20207620
0354 hours
They hadn’t meant to happen upon the camp.
Then again, they hadn’t meant to get left behind.
Taking out the sentries had been child’s play. The camp was replete with logs and tents - good for concealment, even better for hiding bodies. It’d been built around a small brick hut - whatever was in it, they were about to find out.
Voodoo gripped his pistol as he put his back against the brick. He’d taken one side of the door, Preacher the other. Standard procedure. A different person might’ve laughed - nothing had been “standard” tonight.
“Kick it.”
Preacher pivoted on his heel and kicked it in, Voodoo rushing in behind him. There were five fighters in the hut, two in the center, two near the back, and one on the left by a table with a radio. It was over in seconds. Four got bullets in them. The radioman got a tomahawk in his neck.
“Search the place,” Voodoo said, shoving aside the radioman and sorting through the papers on the table. “Look for anything we can use.” Preacher grunted in acknowledgement as he started patting down the bodies, and Voodoo turned his attention back to the papers. It was a goldmine - maps, codebooks, orders, they’d stashed everything here. They even had a- wait. That couldn’t be right.
Voodoo double-checked the maps, then the orders. Unless his Chechen was rusty beyond repair…
“Nothing on the bodies. Week’s worth of AK ammo and some RPGs under a trapdoor,” Preacher reported. “What’ve you got?”
“Intel. Lots of it. There’s more fighters on this mountain than command thinks there are in the whole valley.”
“How many?”
Voodoo held up one of the maps for Preacher to see. “A whole battalion. Over a thousand of AQ’s best fighters are holed up on this peak.” He folded it up and stuffed into a pants pocket, then started doing the same with the rest of the papers. “Bagram needs to see this shit. We get back there fast enough, we can -”
Gunfire echoed across the peak. There was the heavy slapping sound of the AKs, but there was also the lighter, grating sound of an M4 - no, M4s, there were two of them.
“Preacher, you hear that?”
Preacher nodded.
“Doesn’t sound like red on red. So…”
“So Rabbit and Mother must’ve come back up.”
“Christ, we gotta get to them. Sounds like it’s downslope. We should -”
There were voices behind the hut. Voodoo froze.
“[…and you’re sure you heard something?]”
That was definitely Chechen.
“[I’m positive! It came from Zamir’s hut!]”
Voodoo took out his pistol. “Preacher, we need to go. Now.”
“I don’t -”
“No time, out the front.” Voodoo scattered the remaining papers, then walked over to the door -
- right in front of a fighter with an assault rifle.
Voodoo got off the first two shots, pegging him in the chest.
“Run!”
Voodoo sprinted out the door, sidestepping the body, trying to block out the pain shooting up his legs as he headed downslope.
“[There they are!]”
“[Open fire!]”
Gunfire erupted behind him, the bullets whizzing around him.
“Downslope! Go!” He turned and fired when two bullets slammed into his side, knocking him down like a kick from a thoroughbred horse.
“Voodoo! You okay?”
He hissed as he got to his feet - there was a bruised rib, probably two. “I’m fine, SAPI caught it. Keep going!”
They were a mile away before Voodoo realized he forgot his tomahawk.