0734 HOURS.

WEDNESDAY, 15 AUGUST 2112.

PESHAWAR, PAKISTAN.

A brisk breeze blew throughout the streets. Dust was picked up by the wind and scattered over the barren blocks of Peshawar, and those under the beaming rays of the sun worked tirelessly.

Thompson had spent his time dividing his men to handle three different tasks: Security, recovery, and documentation. It would be important to gather the necessary information to provide a detailed after-action report to HIGHCOM, especially considering that the mission would be considered a failure even if target “Brutus” was killed in action.

He was currently digging with Mike, Richard, Malkovich, and Simon. It had been no less that ten minutes since they had begun to dig in the rubble looking for any friendly forces, dead or alive. Their gloved and ungloved hands tore and moved the large and small pieces of rubble—synchronized movements were the most efficient way of digging, yet the strength of the five men wasn’t enough to move even the largest of debris to investigate ground zero of the detonation site.

All around the detonation site, shops, apartments, sheds, and homes were affected by the blast wave of the explosion and the sudden attack of shrapnel. In addition, as Corporal Ramirez investigated and oversaw the gathering of the SSG bodies, it was revealed that the explosion had killed most of the men, not the bullet wounds spread across their bodies. They were under fire before and during the raid, thus, whomever was responding to the incident had only seen the aftermath.

Amongst the wreckage, Mike found himself digging on the southern side of the building where the first team of US operators breached. He groaned as he moved a medium sized boulder from a cavity between two walls and he looked at the entrance noticing that it stretched long and far close to the ground. Getting on the ground and bringing out his flashlight, the sergeant turned it on, and the bright light cut through the darkness allowing him to see what was hidden under all the rubble.

His chest tightened and his stomached sunk.

There, a body laid torn in half. Maroon blood coated the face of the body and painted the grounds it touched. Clumps of body matter were spread about further down the cavity, yet none of the piles were recognizable as any particular body part.

Mike lost his footing and fell onto the ground. He coughed as he breathed erratically. By falling he was forced to take a proper look at the face of the corpse and his breath went still; he was looking in the eyes of Chief Warrant Officer Eric Briner. Delta Force operator, team leader, former CID intelligence. And now he laid dead, all his prior history was wiped in an instant.

Trying to keep his composure, Mike remained deathly silent as he got off the ground and stumbled towards the small area where the other men had gathered. It seemed Captain Thompson had called for a general meeting as everyone was present in a small, covered, out of sight section of the building where each of them was taking a moment to catch their breaths or drink their water.

“Dog tags. I’ve got one but nothing more than rubble and broken cabinets.” Green wearily said as he kept his head low.

“Fuck.” Lieutenant Patterson cursed as he looked towards the sergeant with a perplexed expression, “Mike have you found anything? You look a bit pale.”

The sergeant hesitated, “Yeah. Just over there.” He pointed his gloved hand at the direction he just walked from. “The CWO was over there, I didn’t see anyone else.” He said as he showed his empty hands.

Thompson closed his eyes and grit his teeth. The others slowly averted their gazes, the impromptu recovery mission failed everyone’s expectations, and there was little time to mourn as they still had to evacuate the city and get a line of communication back to somebody within the command chain. Whatever happened, it was dire and any remaining US troops within Peshawar were isolated from support putting them in a position to be overrun by hostile forces.

Silence filled the room. Then it was interrupted by a distant noise rapidly approaching the building. At once the men looked towards the outside. Patterson stood up and grabbed his rifle. He walked towards a small hole in the wall as the other men waited anxiously in silence. “Lieutenant?” Thompson asked as the man turned around with frustration.

“We have contacts. One truck. One technical.”

An armed patrol was closing in on their position.

“Set up positions around the rubble. Malkovich, Jackson, Baker, Ramirez. Get set up on high ground and get your weapons set. Let’s not assume that these guys are friendly” Thompson ordered making the men spring from their seats and to their designated positions. “Xavier, get on the drone and get ready to call them out. Patterson take charge of your fireteam.”

“Rog. With me.” Patterson said as the sergeant put down his goggles, and activating the computer, Mike reintroduced the augmented HUD to his eyes as he moved behind Green, Simon, and Richard to a firing position on the first floor with a fair amount of cover to set up a kill-hole. Defensive warfare. That was the current mission. Defend to buy enough time to disengage and retreat to a more tactical position, yet there was no solid plan in place. This wasn’t maneuver warfare, there was no way to expose an enemy’s weakness and exploit it in this current position.

Placing his rifle between a set of two piles of rubble that stretched for five feet, Mike allowed his scope to dial in the targets rapidly approaching. His index finger just laid above the trigger on the warm steel, and he waited.

“Lieutenant, Thompson.”

“Go ahead, captain.”

“Good to hear that TEAMCOM still works. Use it to coordinate fire. Jackson is reading his AT-4.”

“Huh. I still wonder why that weapon is made.”

“It still has its uses and is relatively cheap.”

“Go figure.”

Staring through his optic, Mike watched as the two unmarked vehicles slowly came to a stop with the lead truck parking to the side and having its occupant’s dismount. As the patrol continued forward, he identified that the weapon on the second truck was the M2 Browning HMG. The old master of anti-material operations had come out to fight once more.

“-And here I thought that we would get out of here in one piece.” Simon spoke softly as he rested his gun on a small crevice that even Mike would have problems seeing through. The PFC shuffled into position as he placed his sight’s crosshair on a target.

“Our jobs are never done, Simon.” Patterson said as he stood watching the unknowns. He breathed lightly as he tried to understand the situation his unit was thrown into without a second thought. “Trust me, when we get back there’ll be something else for us to take care of.”

“LT, what the hell is that supposed to mean?” Simon asked not removing his face from the carbine.

No answer was provided. The two went silent as the roar of the truck grew louder as the patrol navigated the graveyard of abandoned or destroyed vehicles and bodies. The dirtied windshield reflected the sun through the dusty environment, and all the Rangers grew anxious as they waited for the order to either stand down or engage the unknowns.

With the truck entering a maze of flattened vehicles it was forced to a crawl. The truck was in a kill-zone. Mike bit his lip as both excitement and nervousness spread through his body. He now held his finger just above the trigger as he kept his cool and centered the crosshair on one of the riflemen slowly walking forwards towards the building.

“Stand by to fire.” Thompson said.

Mike exhaled slowly as his finger decompressed and took the slack off his trigger.

“AT! AT! Hit the technical!”

“Back blast!” Jackson bellowed as he aimed the tubular weapon at the truck.

“Clear!”

“Blast those motherfuckers!”

The collection of voices was drowned out by the launching of the HEDP charge. A cloud of smoke and dust was kicked up from the building as the projectile raced towards the truck. The opposing forces barely had time to react to the fire as the truck instantly was consumed in a large cloud of black smoke. Dirt was shot into the air, and an impressive ‘crack’ erupted from the explosion sending a meager shockwave over the ruins.

Richard let out a static shout as gunfire began to pain the surrounding area in lead. “Open up!” Patterson roared. His voice echoed in the building before being drowned out by the now consistent tempo of bullets being expended downrange. Mike followed up on each shot he took towards the insurgents diving for cover and going prone between the large collection of vehicles.

“Three right side! Twelve o’clock!” Simon shouted as he shifted his rifle slightly right trying to get a bead on the targets he called out.

“50 is still up! 50 is still up! Highlighting target!” Specialist Xavier’s panicked voice took priority of all the men. The resounding, deeper sounding report of the fifty-caliber machine gun broke out into short six round bursts. The bullets fired were aimed at Mike and his fellow Rangers down on the first floor.

Hearing a hiss above his head, and a heavy thud against the wall next to him, Green fell on his back as he pushed himself away from the wall he was once against. “Jesus, fuck!” He cursed as he cried moving away from the section of wall that was being chipped away by the anti-material round being fired.

“Keep your head down! Don’t get pinned!” Mike ordered as he aligned his sights on an insurgent. Decompressing the trigger, three bullets impacted the man’s unprotected chest and made him crumple on a bullet-ridden car. His blood stained the white surface. The sergeant breathed as he focused himself trying to not get tunnel vision from the ensuing firefight.

“Oh shit! Jackson’s dead!” Lieutenant Patterson said over the fire as he grasped the drag-handle of his fallen Ranger and pulled him out of the way.

“He took a round to the face, fuck!” Richard followed up as he poised himself to keep the enemy suppressed.

Peshawar had descended into pure chaos. On this single street alone, the sounds of gunfire, explosions and the screaming of all sides disoriented Mike as he dragged himself along the dusty floors. He could barely register if anyone was able to assist him in killing the man on the machine gun. The corners around his goggles began to fog slightly as his body rapidly warmed.

Where he sat it was both hard to breath and move. He was stuck in the corner and his plate carrier was pressing into his chest and throat. The smell of gunpowder and sweat distracted him, and the desperate voices found within the younger Rangers made him freeze. He had heard similar voices, similar cries during his time in Africa, and this was the last thing he wanted to hear.

Just managing to pull himself together, Mike placed a new magazine into his rifle. And in one swift motion he pulled the charging handle chambering a round.

The report of the machine gun pointed that the AT-4 did little to disable the gun, and the cries of his younger Rangers as they were being targeted by such a deadly weapon made him think of a plan. It was critical to pin the gunner down as he was the priority target that was marked on their HUDs. All they had to do was provide short bursts and provide covering fire for two of their own to move forward and gain a line of sight on the gunner.

The situation was desperate.

“Fuck! I’m bleeding here! Medic!” Xavier’s voice was faint as he called out for Corporal Ramirez who turned to the sudden call of his title.

“On it! Stay down!” The young man called out as he slung his rifle and brought out his IFAK on his belt. As he stood from where he was firing from, the medic sprinted across the short room. He only made it halfway as a single bullet pierced the wall next to him and slammed into his body sending blood all over the ground and onto his uniform.

“Ramirez!” Lowering his carbine, Green let out a shrill squeal as he watched the medic’s forearm separate from his torso. Bullets impacted the wall next to him, but all he could do was watch as Ramirez crumple to the ground. He laid completely still, and the PFC only found his voice after Simon had rechambered his rifle clearing a malfunction. “Randall! Someone, Ramirez is hit!”

In a moment, the bullets seemingly stopped. All the Rangers looked towards where Green called to. And in the blink of an eye the gunfire reintroduced itself, though at a slower tempo. Taking of his pack and jolting forward, Mike was soon followed by Green as they climbed up the covered section of the building onto the second floor. Baker moved parallel to the two, he provided the necessary covering fire and drew attention away from them as Mike threw down his bag and detached his trauma kit.

Ramirez shifted on the ground, spasming from the sudden damage done to his body.

“Green, get the hell over here!” Mike bellowed as he grasped the medic’s shoulders and tried to control the boy from hurting himself anymore. Shuffling in the tight, crowded environment

Gazing upon the gruesome wound, Mike spoke quickly, “We need to apply a torniquet, I’ll do that, but I need you to be ready to cauterize his wound with this torch just in case!” He said pulling out a small blue torch from the side of his bag.

“Rog.”

“Where the fuck are they!?” Spitting out both blood and saliva, Ramirez cried out in a fury, “Someone give me a fucking gun! I need a weapon to get those bastards!” He thrashed around using his maimed arm to pat the ground around him looking for his carbine. He fought against Mike’s grip as the sergeant tried to calm him.

“Keep your head down brother!” Green barked trying to fight the well of emotions building behind him as he watched the corporal struggle for his life. Setting down the torch and pulling a small towel from his plate carrier, Green pushed the white cloth against Ramirez’s arm both in an attempt to clout the wound and to hide the shattered bone, blood, and burnt body matter.

“Confirmed! Three KIA!” Thompson boomed lifting the spirits of the other Rangers as they continued to trade lead with the hostile forces.

Securing the tourniquet in place, Mike stared at the blood crusted gloves he had on. His vision trailed to the stream of blood that painted his pants in a dark red. Ramirez kept thrashing in place until he forced his head up to look at his body. The young boy’s breaths grew heavy, and he began to hyperventilate as an ear-peircing scream escaped his lips, “I’m fucking hit! Somebody! Help!” He continued to squeal in pain as his mind and body registered the fatal wound.

All the voices that were speaking; Captain Thompson desperately trying to get someone to respond on his radio, Lieutenant Patterson calling movement orders to resist the attack being pressed on the building, Sergeant Malkovich’s booming voice calling for control over the situation, and Ramirez’s blood-curling screaming. They all faded away into one singular mess as Mike tried to regain control of his mind which was slowly slipping away as he sat here with a dying brother in his arms.

“Please.” Ramirez forced out. Tears fell down his face as he looked directly into Mike’s eyes. “Give me a weapon, Xavier still needs help!”

“Xavier’s is gone!” Green shouted. He had moved away from the two and joined Baker near the only window still standing. His rifle was firmly held in his hands, and he kept a line of sight on the dwindling number of enemies out on the street.

At that second the fight to live, the color in Ramirez’s face suddenly disappeared. He closed his bloodied mouth as tears fell upon his dirt-caked face. “I see.” He whimpered out. Trying to provide some comfort, Mike removed the helmet sitting atop his head. His golden hair was frizzled, and Randall had long removed his gloves as he stroked the young boy’s head.

"Stay with us. Not yet.” The sergeant said in a low voice.

“I tried.” Ramirez chocked on his words.

“I know.” Was all Mike could say. “Green. Check for morphine!”

No response. Looking over his shoulder, Mike instantly noticed the lack of gunfire. Just outside, Malkovich took his fireteam and scoured the area looking for more hostile, the rest were moving throughout the building to get to the second floor. The situation was too quiet for comfort, but it was all the sergeant had to work with as he overlooked the wounds Ramirez had sustained, and now, was steadily dying from.

Green almost tripped over himself as he scrambled across the floor and crawled up to the young corporal’s medical pack. He ripped it open and practically threw out the contents as he frantically searched for the small syringe. By the time he had found it, his bare hands cradled the needle as he stood up and turned around. A frown slowly formed on his face as he watched Mike clutch Ramirez’s remaining hand. The two were quiet. And there was nothing any of them could truly do.

“Area’s clear, captain.” Simon’s distorted voice played over the radio.

“Get back inside!” Thompson barked standing just on the rubble behind the two Rangers, “I am not sending you all back in caskets!”

Steadying the still covered needle the needle and kneeling beside Mike, Green took out a small alcohol pad as he aimed to clean any remaining vein still intact. Before the PFC had a chance to clean an area of skin, the corporal reached out his arm and smacked away Green’s hands. “Don’t.” was all he managed to say as his arm shakily lowered back onto his chest. Mike firmly held the young man’s hand as he used his free one to pat his head.

With the echoes of war seemingly disappearing far away, Simon, Malkovich, and the others reached the second floor. One-by-one, each man knelt on a single knee and formed a protective circle around Ramirez. The remaining tears he could muster flooded out of his eyes as he tried to speak. No words escaped as he merely chocked on the blood and saliva in his mouth, and before he could say his final words, he slumped over in Mike’s arms letting the blood pool onto his pants.

The echoes of war slowly faded in and out. Green shuffled in place. He was angry. He was beaten. Ramirez’s skin was a deathly pale. His body held still as he remained in Mike’s arms; the latter was just staring ahead at the boy. Gaining some part of his consciousness, the sergeant reached towards the neck of Ramirez’s body and firmly grasped an object. With a firm yank, a silver dog tag was held in his blood-crusted hands and he held it just a few inches away from his eyes before packing it away in a empty pocket on his plate carrier.

“Randall.” Captain Thompson whispered, yet he said no more.

“Captain, we need to move.” Lieutenant Patterson said placing a hand on the captain’s left shoulder, “Enemy reinforcements are ought to arrive sooner than later.”

Gently placing the corporal’s body on the ground, Mike stood slowly as Malkovich approached him with his carbine. “You’ll need this.” He softly said handing the weapon over.

“Thanks.” Was all that Mike could say in a breaking voice. Stepping to the side and picking up his assault pack, the sergeant readied himself alongside Green. Within fifteen seconds the two were ready to go back out into the conflict zone, ready to fight once more.

Captain Thompson watched as his men gathered around him.

“Malkovich, you have point.”

His order was clean and curt.

Publicly Available Information: Operation Silver Strike – Continuity of government:

In addition to the Presidential Directive Order that exists within the United States, Operation Silver Strike has the additional objective of ensuring that during any mass casualty or war-time event in the nation of Pakistan, that the current government would remain in place even if the nation were to fall.

Selected members of the current government gathered with coalition military forces to create a reserve government that would be active in the event that the nation of Pakistan was to fall.

There are many objectives that the mission in the middle east aims to complete. This is just one of five sub-set objectives that current status is, unknown.