Transcendence: A Delta Green Quest
Opticon !!I0eln61LTjT ID:IK/BGL5j No.5587251 View ViewReport <span class="mu-s">December 2014, Southeastern Syria
It's cold out. Easily below freezing.
Winter in Syria is no joke out here in the desert, and tonight's no exception. To your right, Staff Sergeant Gomez has his hands buried deep inside his Multicam trousers, shivering a bit. "<span class="mu-i">Pinche goddamn Kurds, gonna get us all roasted, eh sir?</span>" He smiles his little shit-eating grin, the one he always wears after crap talking the partner force, and sits behind the optic of his M240 machine gun with all the ease in the world. Like a grandmother rocking on the porch in an old wooden chair.
Off to the north some hundred and fifty meters is the objective's hidey-hole, a sprawling mudbrick complex filled to brimming with Sunni extremist fighters. ISIS is a real terror to the people of this area, that much you know- and that's more than enough in your mind to pronounce death over all of them. Right now, though, your team has to wait on the local Kurdish battalion to begin the attack. There's no way the ten of you can walk through that many fanatics, in spite your overwhelming edge in gear, coordination and training. Sometimes, nothing beats pure numbers.
As you sit, waiting for the red star flare to shoot up into the sky, you look over your guys. These are hard men, each and every one a warrior you would gladly take a bullet for. <span class="mu-i">Your</span> Marines. MARSOC might be the redheaded stepchild of the SOF community, but you've met the rest, and you wouldn't rather have anyone else by your side tonight. The team's dedicated sniper and newest member, Sergeant Parks, looks a bit nervous, so you walk a bit closer to his prone position to whisper.
"Don't let the nerves get to you, man. First one's always a shitshow, but you get used to it. Just don't forget all the reps we've been through this week."
Parks nods, his camo-painted skin faintly visible in your NODs, but you know there's not a ton of difference made in talking to him or not. It's due diligence. Parks has been locked in at all the mission rehearsals- and there have been plenty- and the weight is on him to not fold when the time comes. You wouldn't have brought him on the team if you thought he would crack, though.
Finally that arcing flare pops up a klick west of you, flying over the highest hill for miles. Mortar fire echoes from beyond visual range, accompanied by a barrage of gunfire and the sounds of dying men screaming. Time to move.
It's a long sprint across the open desert with little cover, but the fighters on guard here aren't paying much attention- at least, not until the one on the right's head explodes. The second screams out in a dialect of Syrian Arabic you're familiar with, something about "<span class="mu-i">Americans-</span>", before his skull becomes a gory rosebloom as well. Parks is working just fine. You've closed the distance and everything is moving like well-oiled machine.
Just as it should.</span>
