Join the new world

22:47 Dublin, Republic of Ireland

"Green Light, 2-1 - Proceed to Drop."
Crew gripped the bar on the side of the cargo-hold, his fingers were soaked with sweat, seeping through the holes in his firing gloves. He exhaled nervously, his body shaking like a cataclysmic tremor. His mind, littered with thoughts of home, was elsewhere. The sick feeling had risen again in his gut, crippling his insides to the point of nausea.
"Pete.. Pete?! You Alright mate?"
Crew looked over his shoulder to his fellow soldier, Cannon. He nodded slowly, his fear evident. Cannon patted Crew's back softly, clearly smelling the fear on his brother. Cannon was a tall man of around 6"3, a decorated hero within the ranks. He wore the winged-dagger on his right arm, reiterating his prowess as a tool of war.
Cannon roared at Crew, his voice being drowned out in the rushing air that they were soon to inhabit.
"Who dares, wins! Just wait for the Light to turn gre-.."
The Light above the hull turned green, erupting in a loud and sudden wailing.
The Order was given.
"GO, GO, GO"
Crew drew a sharp inhale through his nose, shutting his eyes tightly to point of his eye-lids almost collapsing in on themselves. Hesitantly letting go of the bar, he stepped forward into the nothing that was presented before him. The harsh wind tore through the minuscule gaps in his suit, tearing right down to his newly-forged bones. As he fell, Crew thought of what laid below. Dublin had earned it's reputation as a war-zone, a mere land of rubble due to it's never-ending conflicts. But not this time. It would fall. He'd make sure of it. As he re-opened his eyes, he was met with five other of his group, all linking arms in a tightly-knit circle. Crew slowly raised his head, careful not to make sudden movements else he'd be torn through the sky like a sheet of paper in a hurricane. He drew his gaze upon Cannon who lay adjacent to himself. Exchanging one simple nod, the harmony was interupted by the urgent beeping his right ear. Crew counted them as they blerted into the continuous shrieking sound. The Circle disbanded one by one, falling in their own rate. Crew was released into the shrill expanse of the sky, gazing upon the scene below. The plumes of smoke coming from the artillery discharges and the crackle of gunfire could barely be heard over the roaring breath of the wind. He reached behind him slowly, frantically trying to get a grip on the nylon chord that rippled behind him. His fingers fumbled, failing to catch the rope. His heart pounded out of pace, accompanying the panicked thoughts that tore through his mind. He had come this far to having an impact in the world he lived in. And now the only thing he'd have an impact on was the Irish country-side. A light-bulb switched on inside of his head as he successfully gripped the chord, tearing it outwards over his shoulder. Crew was suddenly dragged in the up-draft of the sky as his parachute opened out. The worst part was over.



"2-1 to Baseplate, Boots on the Ground, Repeat, Boots on the Ground."
"..Copy that 2-1, Proceed to staging area, wait on our go"
"Roger, 2-1 Out"
Cannon slotted his radio back onto his chest-plate, looking to his comrades that lay in a circle.
"Okay, you know the drill. We're going in through the Western-side of the city. Dagger has found a weak-spot in their line of defence. That's where we come in"
There were nods from all around, followed by a clearing throat.
"So, whur d'ya spose we com' 'en? Ah cannae be settin' round all biscuit-ersed while t'fly-boys get'ta 'ave all fun."
The speaker was an even larger man who looked like he was born for this life-style. A wide-chest and a muscular build, his face was ornamented with scars, trophies of his past victories and a testement towards his god-like resiliance.
"Calm it, Hodge. Dagger's gonna fill us in when we get to the staging area, the plan for now is that we get there in one-piece. No fuss. No frills. We good?"
The Team nodded, slowly getting up into position.
Crew picked up his Heckler & Koch MP5, slamming a magazine into the gun. He tore the loading bar into place, lifting the weapon to his shoulder. The men remained crouched as they traversed the Phoenix Park in single file. The rippling sounds of gun-fire grew louder as they approached the Heart of the City. The War-effects became white noise to most men, merely relics of Battles they had fought and won. It was eerily quiet across the park as they moved across it, keeping to their crouched, single file.
"Ah dawn' like thess'"
Hodge muttered to Crew over his shoulder, tutting in his ear.
"I'm getting mad creep-out vibes, it's like the calm before the sto--..."
Their irrelevant chatter was broken by the ear-drum shattering crack of a Rifle. A red mist spattered over Crew's shoulder, dancing infront of him before settled on the ground. Without a moment's thought, all men dropped to the ground looking around frantically.
There came a cry from behind Hodge and Crew.
"Franks hit! He's hit! Crew, get over here, now!"
Crew slowly shuffled his way around to Frank, shaking his brother's arms. He looked down to the lake of blood that had assembled in Frank's abdomenal cavity.
Crew slipped off his pack, tearing out his medical dressing.
"Where's the wound?!" He shouted frantically, tearing off the shattered Osprey vest.
"I can't see it! Damnit,"
"That's snipers still out there, keep it low!"
"C'mon Doc!"
"God damn it, Doc, c'mon!"
Crew fumbled with the dressing as the shouts ringed in his ear as a blurr. There came another shrill hiss followed by a loud crack as another shot came tearing past them, hitting a nearby rock.
Cannon slowly jerked his head, looking to Crew.
"Pete, c'mon buddy, as quick as you can"
Crew nodded, wrapping the dressing over Frank's wound, comforting him as he did so.
"Y'gonna be okay buddy, don't you worry. Y'gonna be juuust fine."
He looked to Frank, shivvering and quaking. His face resembled that of a Deer, caught in the Head-lamps of an oncoming car.
"Y-You p-p-pr-promise?"
He whimpered, blood slowly seeping from his lips, trickling down his chin.
"Y-Yeah Frank, 'course buddy! Course! Just sit tight"
Frank managed a weak smile, as he began to pant softly, his muscles slowly going limp. The group watched in horror as Frank slipped away, being replaced by a shell of a man who they once called Brother.