Upper Saingin River Valley
Afghanistan
August 17 2010
3:56am
Jack looked at the other soldiers from the 1st Recon Battalion inside the Blackhawk. 40 minutes they've been in the air, travelling from their forward base just outside Helmand Province to their current location. The Upper Saingin River Valley was where some of the most deep seated resistance to the Coalition forces lay. Only the week before three British troops had been killed by a sniper, while last month, ten Afghans had been blown up with an IED when they'd tried to make their way into the hills to find out the strength of the enemy.
So now, 1st Recon had been sent in to have a look, and it wasn't something most of the others were relishing.
Maybe if the Brits had the balls to shoot before they were shot at, we wouldn't even be here?
I dunno Collins, they say these fuckers are pretty hardcore.
Ah shuddup Murphy, you pussy, we all know the Limeys shit themselves when they have to make a decision that ain't approved "by fuckin' committee"
Chain o'command Collins. You know that.
Fuck you Cain you sad fuck - you don't say anythin' the whole trip and then you start trash talkin' me. Shut the fuck up and go and sit in your eagle's nest when we get down there, leave the proper fightin' for us.
Yeah Jack, shut up and let us do all the dirty work while you sit up in the cheap seats and get nearer to God.
Cain leans back, not rising to the bait of his younger comrades. There are fifteen of them in all, bumping along in the back of a helicopter that touches down briefly at the base of a dusty hill to disgorge thirteen of them to make their way silently through the foothills to where they think the enemy base camp is. Cain is left in the chopper with Alexander, his spotter. He is young - perhaps too young.
You OK kid?
Yeah I'm fine, just not too many of these under my belt y'know?
You'll get used to 'em, just keep talkin' to me, keep tellin' me where they are, where we are. I'll look after the wind.
Alexander smiles nervously as Cain drops a rappel down the side of the Blackhawk as it settles into a quiet hover over the brow of one of the higher slopes. The two of them drop onto the ground and run to the precipice, dropping to their stomachs. Alexander sets up his binoculars while Cain adjusts the scope on the M110 SASS he's covered over with a sheet of burlap. Below them a small camp of prefab buildings, tents and foxholes looks ominously empty.
Beaver One, this Overwatch, no contacts. Repeat no contacts.
Acknowledged Overwatch, advancing.
Alexander and Cain see the thirteen shapes move up the side of the hill and to the edge of the camp.
Talk to me kid.
Nothing - not a single one.
Infra-red, night vision, thermal?
Hold on.. wait, I might have something.
Might or do?
Can't see, wait.
Beaver One this is Overwatch, hold. Repeat, hold. Possible hostiles. Hold.
Overwatch, acknowledged. Please confirm.
Where are they kid?
I don't know, I thought I saw something on thermals. Above the camp to the north.
Cain swung the scope up to the north ridge, but without thermals couldn't make anything out.
Then, he see the telltale sparkle from an un-camouflaged sniper rifle, and older one than his, but still lethal.
Overwatch, please confirm hostiles.
Beaver One...
Red liquid splashes over his scope. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Alexander has got onto his knees to better see the sniper, but in doing so has exposed his position. Cain's counterpart drops him without a drop of mercy.
What the fuck?
Cain looks down at the slopes below, and sees sand shift to the left and right of the thirteen troopers hunkered down beneath the edge of the camp.
Beaver One, hostiles at nine and three o'clock, and enemy overwatch to the north, pull back one entry route, I say again, pull back on entry route.
But it's too late, as the small force are ambushed by seasoned guerrilla fighters who've been waiting for them to walk into their trap. Cain aims down the scope, but in the poor light can only see shadows. He gambles.
One drops.
Then two.
Cain's eyes adjust to the light and wind as he begins to take them down, but not before they've massacred half of the group, with the rest scattered. He sees Murphy making his way back down the hillside, only to be plugged in the back by the sniper.
Cain picks up the scope Alexander has dropped and scouts the area where he thinks the gunman may be, but he's concealed himself well behind rocks and half buried under earth.
Tossing aside the burlap sheet, Jack gabs a handful of gravel and hurls it around 10 yards to his right, starting a small rockslide that he hopes will give a false position.
It was time to go hunting.
Hi Finn, nice of you to finally get in touch. I was afraid after all your bravado you'd actually got scared and decided ya didn't want to soil your pants when you got in the ring with me.
But then when I heard your little tale of woe about bein' hit by a car and heroically fightin' your way outta hospital with your little bumchum by your side? Well, there was a tear in my eye.
Not outta sadness ya understand, outta fucking laughter. I'd never seen anything so funny in my entire life. Here are dedicated, medical professionals, usin' their expertise to try and heal you up, and here you are German suplexin' the poor fuckers when all they wanna do is give you a pill that'll stop ya bein' incontinent.
Anyone'd think ya were completely stupid.
Hell, maybe ya are. I don't know. Bein' dumb seems to come with the territory when it's you.
I mean, let's take this walking loss you hang around with, Jon Williams. Every dick head needs a bigger dick head to hang around with so they don't feel such a prick, and that's exactly what he's your best friend for! I can't see how ya don't realise that. This guy feels good bein' around you because he knows as long as he's in your fuckin' vicinity, he won't look as much of a tool.
So there he is, sitting next to your hospital bed like Prince Charmin' waitin' for sleepin' beauty to wake up, and he comes out with this shit:
Quote:You may be big, you may be bad, but there's one thing you also are-- a bent out of shape piece of shit.
Wow, inventive. Were you up all night thinkin' of that in between starin' into Finn's lifeless face?
Quote:Man, I was scared of you once before, I admit it, but I saw Finn in action. I also saw you in action on the same damned shows. You don't have what it takes.
If you saw me in action, then saw Finn, no wonder you're in a hospital prayin' for the poor fucker. How do you know what it takes son? You been in the ring with me? You know anythin' about me? Speak from experience son, not from the cheerleaders' locker room. Besides, I don't think the pom poms would suit ya.
Quote:You lost to Neville Sinclair. You lost to Doc. You're about to lose to James Raven. And if it wasn't for this, you'd lose to Finn too.
So even though I've lost those matches, you're sayin' your boy is still gonna lose to me? You got no faith in your boy then have you - if I'm as shit as you say, Finn Cunt should be able to beat me even if he'd had his legs amputated - but it looks like you're already gettin' your excuses in.
Quote:What I'm trying to say here is no matter what you may try to relive, no matter what you look back on, you don't have what it takes anymore. You can't get the job done. You always come up just a bit short, yet you try and justify your misguided attempts at glory by saying, 'I almost got the job done!'
I've got the job done plenty of times son. I've won battle royals, ran people outta this company, put people in hospital - they might'a even been in the same bed your crippled little cumstain friend is now and I've held a title. What have you or Finished done? Fuck all, that's what! If I'm "almost good enough", you ain't even fuckin' below average.
Quote:Out there, it's a dog-eat-dog world. Only the biggest and baddest survive. And you, Jack? You're an old, frail hound that's ready to be put out of his misery.
Hmmm, biggest? Baddest? Well I'm bigger than you and Tiny Tim, and I'm just a little bit badder than both of ya, so again, not sure where this keeps comin' from - simple biology proves ya wrong there - plus the fact you obviously have some fuckin' dog fetish which I think you need help with.
Quote:The simple fact is, is that if this didn't happen, there would be no way you'd be able to beat Finn.
Again with the excuses kid - if I didn't know better, this sounds like you're genuinely worried I'm gonna beat little Yoda, so you're buildin' up this car crash like he's been hung, drawn and quartered.
Quote:Want to make Finn believe he shouldn't have gone after you? Why the fuck don't you win a match for once?
Oh I intend to. But think about this sonny - how's it gonna look for you if, after losin' to all these other guys, I beat your man? Not gonna look too good on his CV is it?
So after your little change purse holder finished speakin' you miraculously rose from your bed like Family Guy Jesus and start beatin' up doctors? Wow, I really don't think you realise how dumb that is. But never mind, you just get back behind the wheel of that car, pissed, and drive to the arena, hopefully you crash again and this time your head ends up 20 feet away from where the rest of your withered little torso is, and Jon can cradle your skull in his hands and cry.
In closin' kid, all I'll say, what I said to ya before: This, for you, might be the most important day of your life - but for me? It's just another fuckin' Wednesday.
Upper Saingin River Valley
Afghanistan
August 17 2010
4:12am
Jack circled around the mound of earth separating line of sight between him and where he thought the sniper was. Risking a look would give away his position like it had Alexander.
The inexperience of youth was what he put it down to. The kid had just wanted to do his job, and it cost him.
But the others down below, they'd not taken it seriously, and they'd paid. While they'd been better equipped, and younger, fitter, and stronger, they hadn't got the experience or the guile.
They'd been outwitted by older, more wily, opponents.
There was a lesson there.
Because inexperience can cost you.
It can be the difference between life, and death.
Cain crawls, silently, along the ground, so he's just a few feet away from the sniper. Under a pile of beige cloth to hide him in amongst the sand, he can't hear the marine approach.
The look on the boy's face - of inexperience, and fear that he'd not counted on someone outsmarting him - was something Jack would never forget.
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