"We don't negotiate with terrorists." ~Ronald Regan

"Breaking news: a massive attack has left hundreds dead in the village of Al Kanammam in Iraq. Ultranationalists launched an attack on the American and British embassies earlier yesterday afternoon and continued to kill civilians into the evening; the terrorist group threatens to continue their attacks until all foreign embassies are destroyed, and all western forces are eradicated. Prime Minister Francis Urquhart is addressing the country..."

Ghost was running a knife across a coarse sharpening stone, making a hollow rasping. His eyes weren't even focused on the blade; they were trained in front of him with his jaw set so tight that the vein in his temple popped out. 

Rasp...

Rasp...

Rasp........

Jessica clicked the television off and sighed tensely. "Well shit..." she growled.

Price sat at a computer on a desk across the room, his phone pressed to his ear while he listened to someone else on the other end of the line. They were speaking in hushed tones, but it was no mystery that they were talking about immediate action in Iraq. 

Soap put his pistol down on the table in front of Ghost and then rubbed the back of his neck. "The break was nice while it lasted; guess it's about time we got back to work."

The Russians had been quiet for the last two months since their last mission; this attack seemed sudden and drastic, especially considering their last appearance was simply them setting up a base and not doing anything violent or threatening. This was getting scary very fast. 

"Are we heading out soon?" asked Roach. His brows were set high and curved, as though he was trying to look ready and instead looked worried.

Price rose from his seat. "Yes. They expect us to be heading out tomorrow by 13:00, but the sooner the better," he said. 

The men all nodded their heads and stood to begin readying their supplies for the next day. Jessica walked to Price and stood in front of him, her body angled just slightly away as if she were to keep walking and her head tilted up to see his face. "Is this war, or just a threat?" she asked softly.

He sighed. "I don't know that much yet; this may be nothing more than a small band of raiders and nothing more." When no one was looking or listening, he offered her a soft grin and whispered, "Don't worry, my dear; everything will be alright."

"I'm not worried," she said. "I just want to know what to prepare for."

"Anything," he replied, shooting her a more devilish grin as he walked away. "Get your gear together; we don't have a lot of time to doddle."

The air was painfully warm and couldn't quite balance between too thin to breathe and too heavy to be comfortable. Grains of sand rode the churning wind and lashed against the faces of the soldiers on board the helo. Jessica pulled her mask over her nose and squinted her eyes despite the polarized shades shielding them. Her skin stung around her brows and on her cheeks.

Surprisingly, everything was quiet upon their arrival; where were the tangos? A rope dropped from the side of the bird, and they all bailed out the door. The team flinched at the sudden, shrill singing of bullets cutting the calm of the desert village. Jessica, being the last out the door, hesitated when a bullet passed her cheek and bit the metal frame of the door above her head.

"Jess, get the hell down here!" barked Soap over the com, having noticed her hesitation.

She scowled at him and launched onto the rope, soaring down toward the ground. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" she growled back. "In case you weren't aware, mate, there's a shit-ton of enemy fire coming toward u-"

The whole group collectively gasped when a bullet slashed part of the rope higher above their heads. Price, who was at the bottom, looked up with wide eyes, hidden by his shades. They were swinging by mere threads, and the captain released his hold, landing solidly on the ground. 

"Come on," he cried. "Move!"

Jessica dropped from several feet still in the air and rolled when she hit the sandy ground. Bullets were screeching and howling all around her, and she ducked for cover, landing in a small ditch next to a sheet metal fence.

"What are you doing?!" bellowed Price. "Get your arse out of there and help us! We're taking fire!"

She snapped open a pair of blazing hazel eyes and fired into the fray from the ditch, crawling her way out when she felt she wasn't going to get killed. "On it, Captain!" she barked back.

They advanced into an alley comprised of seemingly empty houses. Only when angry shouts in Russian echoed the walls did it become apparent there were tangos in every corner. One Ultranationalist fell out of the door of one house when Ghost splintered the door with an MK46. 

No matter the effort they made, it seemed like the enemy was crawling out of the walls. Soap uttered a swear as he was ambushed by a couple of tangos hiding behind a wall; he saw his life flash before his eyes until Price came to his aid. They looked around them to find that they were swarmed. How could there be that many people in a village that looked so small?

Roach was aiming at anything that moved, bewildered, and high on adrenaline. He was careful not to commit friendly fire, but as his head spun more and more with adrenaline and fear, he was beginning to succumb to stress.

A hand reach out of a window and dragged him against the wall. A knife was laid against his throat and pressed into the fabric of the bandanna around his neck. He frantically clawed at the hand around his face, but he couldn't manage to get his attacker to release him. His other hand groped for his pistol desperately. 

His eyes bulged when he saw a massive dog leap into the window and crash into the Ultranationalist inside the house. Roach was dropped to the street again, and he peered in the window to see what had happened. His grey eyes rounded when he saw a bloody mess inside and Galaxy standing over the dead man with a mouth full of throat and muscle. 

"Bloody hell, Gal!" he spat. "You can't scare a man like that!"

"Sorry," she chuckled, leaping back through the window and shifting to motion him with her. "Come on. Watch my six, I'll watch yours." 

He chuckled, albeit only in acknowledgment to her statement; he was scared as hell, and wasn't even sure what to say or do anymore. Roach glanced around him, firing at anything that looked Russian, while Jessica fired in front of them to clear their path.

Ghost reach out and grabbed Roach by the scruff. "This way, Roach! There's a shit storm ahead; you'll get killed in there!"

"What about Jess?" he cried.

Ghost tapped into the comlink. "Gal, get the hell out of there; there's an ambush ahead! Price and I nearly lost our heads in there, over."

Jessica skidded to a stop and felt the hairs on her spine and nape stand straight up when a whole group of Ultranationalists, easily thirty strong, turned to look at her. She turned and ran into an alley before frantically replying to Ghost, "Copy; nice warning! I'm heading south-east via an alleyway; bogeys on my tail!"

Price cut in. "Heading south-east, you said, over?"

"Affirmative, sir!"

The Captain ducked under a bullet. "Damn it, find your way back to us, we're not in a position to come to you, Gal; we're north-west by a four-way street. There's a water tower just in front of us, do you see it, over?"

Jessica quickly glanced over her shoulder, gasping as a bullet nicked her calf. She barely caught sight of the top of the tower. "It's a white one, right?" she winced.

"Affirmative," he replied. 

She shifted and ran down another alley. "Copy. I'm switching directions now," she said. "heading south.... eh, west now..."

"South-west?"

"Affirmative!"

Price motioned the team to fan out as they took more fire. "Jess, can you turn yourself more northward?"

"Negative, sir." she said. "I'm looking, but I can't shake these guys. I'll see what I can do to get back, but it might take a while, over."

He gritted his teeth, but calmed himself before responding. "Alright, keep us posted! Out!" Price fired at three more men, and then backed up. "Come on, Bravo Team, we're going to move closer to Jessica while still firing on the enemy. Do not run or fall back until I tell you to; we just need to make ourselves easy for her to rejoin."

Ghost nodded. "Aye, sir."

Galaxy swept around tight corners, each time making clumsier and clumsier turns. Her back legs were sandy from sliding on the streets, and her mouth was edged in a white froth. She leaped up a wall to a balcony where she found higher ground, hoping to have an advantage over her pursuers. She shifted, hanging onto the balcony and scrambling up before she could fall.

But he'd be damned if as the tangos ran by another Russian, who had been waiting inside the house, didn't shoot at her. She howled as she was hit center-of-mass by a bullet and she fell back out the window, which was a good six or so feet of a drop. The landing was messy and she shifted as she ran to find another place to hide, hearing the other Russians calling to each other where they thought they saw her. 

Gal ran in a wobbly line as best she could, having the wind knocked out of her by the shot. While scrambling to find any kind of safety, she finally found a deep ditch, covered in a pile of broken wooden crates, cardboard boxes, strings of rusty barbed wire and other junk, and was filled with dirty looking brown water. She slid into the ditch, hiding behind the boxes while the enemy ran by, holding her breath in fear they would hear it. Her breathing sounded loud, and echoed on the water; she hoped no one heard her.

Finally, they were gone. She sighed, shifting, and pulled her rifle from its sling and held it securely in her arms as she crawled through the ditch. Jess crawled out of the ditch and into a concrete tunnel. She looked out of the other side to see where the enemy was, hoping they had run far enough away that she could start heading back to Bravo Team.

"You," said a voice.

Jessica started, as it was not the voice of anyone she knew. It was far too young. She looked over her shoulder.

"Are you one of the soldiers here to help us?"