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"2-1 to Baseplate."
"Baseplate."
"We have a KIA, Sergeant Shaw."
"He's earned his wings now, proceed with the mission. Baseplate out."
"Solid copy, 2-1 Out."

The Men lay still, assembled around the body. There was a brief silence, the scent of death had slowly dawned upon them.
"Ah dawn't meen t'be rood, or nay'thing like, but eh... we cannae set aroond waitin' fer another shot, if y'catch meh dreft?"
For once, Hodge had a point. The Men looked around, giving each other a nod of agreement.
"Okay, Make the call, Cap... Cap?"
Crew looked to Cannon, shaking his arm. It was evident from Cannon's demeanour, that he was elsewhere. His eyes had glossed over, reflecting a vast expanse of a world that only he inhabited. Crew tried again, punching Cannon in the arm roughly.
"Matt.."
Cannon snapped out of his daze, nodding to his men in a quick pace.
"I saw a ditch about fifty meters from us on my way down. Judging by the shot? It came from that building over there..."
Cannon jerked his thumb over his shoulder to a tall grey mass of concrete. The building had once been an block of flats. The charred remains of the building was now home to the worst of their fears. The unknown. What lay in wait? Was it one man? A squad? Had he seen them?
"We move to the safe position, call in Air-Support. Let's go!"
There was no time for thinking. The men slowly tucked their weapons in the folds of the elbows, crawling their way in a horizontal line across the park, looking out for any visible signs of danger. As they came closer to the ditch, one by one their rolled into the muddy trench that lay below. The trench was about 3ft high, giving the men enough space to sit comfortably against the wall of the trench and not have their lap filled with brain-soup.
"Okay boys, heads down, but eyes peeled."
Cannon reached for his chest plate, unhooking his radio from it's latch. He slowly turned around, peering over the trench with narrowed eyes. Raising the radio to his lips, he spoke in a harsh whisper.
"This is 2-1, Come in Baseplate... This is 2-1 Requesting immediate air support, we're pinned do-..."
Their prayers had not gone unanswered, as fast as it had come, a black shape tore across the sky, soaring over the building. Seconds later, the bulding was no more. A corona of intense heat erupted from the concrete shell of the bulding, filling the air surrounding it in a thick black smog.
"Got you covered 2-1, Shark 4-B, out."
Silence fell across the park as the squad slowly followed Cannon in peering over the trench at the remains of the building.
"Ah take 'et back. Thank fuck fer' fly-bois."
They sat awestruck at the flaming building, illuminating the sky with another beacon of destruction.
In a collective array of thought, the men climbed out of the trench and sprinted across the last of the field towards the city. Moving from cover-to-cover, they crossed the road from the park over to the building that now lay in rubble. Cannon raised his fist slowly, signalling everybody to slowly come to a halt. Keeping his crouched position, Cannon peered around the corner of the building, surveying the main-road that lead to the heart of the city. Infront of him lay a scene of utter destruction. The road was littered with burnt out shells of cars, bodies of men who had fallen in the name of petty supremacy. Cannon paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. He slowly pivoted on his boots, facing his men. Speaking in a harsh whisper, he directed his men.
"Okay, Me, Hodge and Booth are gonna' move over this road, cover to cover. It's only a click out to the staging area. Twig, I want you on overwatch and Crew, I want you to be his eyes and ears. We clear?"
The men nodded to each other, then back to Cannon, each of them displaying visages of unmatched courage, destined to get the job done in revenge for the loss of Frank.



Crew accompanied Twig, a fairly tall man, his stature eponymously given. Picked out of selection at the age of 22, He was a renown Marksman, capable of making any shot possible by humankind. The two doubled behind the group, jogging to the building adjacent of their previous sitting, finding the nearest entrance. Twig put his rifle on his back, withdrawing his Glock17 pistol, placing his left hand on Crew's shoulder. Crew sent his left boot forward into the door, snapping his MP5 left and right to secure his corners. The two proceeded through the buidling which had previously been an office complex of some form. They made their way up a nearby stairwell, making their flight towards the roof. As the two reached the summit of the building, they took in the view that stood before them. Once a city of character and lively nature, Dublin was now a Boneyard, nothing of its previous self remained. Twig slowly flicked his bi-pod open as he removed his L96 Bolt-Action rifle, resting it on the edge of the building. The two carefully watched the road as three of their brothers made their way across it slowly. Crew quickly picked up his radio, lifting it to his lips.
"Cannon, halt. Three Tangos, street-level to your left."
Before Crew could lift his Submachine-gun to his shoulder, Three loud cracks came from beside him in rapid sucession. Crew watched the three Irish soldiers drop to the floor one by one, blood flowing from their heads into a municipal puddle in the gutter, where they rightfully belonged.
Cannon came through the radio, speaking in sheer amazement.
"As if it was Divine Intervention himself.. I owe you a pint when we get home, Twig"
"I don't drink."