Jean watched his teammates prepare for this mission. He wondered what they were all about. He had never gone into a training operation with soldiers he did not know, let alone a combat operation against an elite branch of a foreign military. This was pure suicide. He giggled at the idea. Fortunately, the volume of the aircraft's engine was such that no one could hear him. That thought reminded him to check his ear piece. He adjusted it to insure it was properly seated.

As they neared the LZ, he realized it would be better to not wear the baseball cap. He removed it from his head, folded it neatly and slipped it inside his left thigh cargo pocket. Next he checked his M4. The selector lever was on safe and magazine was seated in the well. He had not yet chambered a round. That was a safety precaution for the aircraft. Pilots and crew chiefs frowned on grunts who put holes in their toys. He remembered sitting outboard on a French NH90 with the doors open of course. The crew chief left personal gear, an olive drab bag on the floor near his seat. His boots were coated in clumps of mud. Jean took the opportunity to wipe his muddy feet on the bag. He giggled at that thought too.

Jean paid attention to the woman named [i]Eliss[/i]. She sounded a lot like a man he knew by the name Joubert in the Legion. Joubert grew up in Canterbury, about 35 miles southeast of London. Jean could not remember his real name. Maybe he never knew it? Fuck it. That bloke bought it in Cote d'Ivorie, four years ago. 

Map. Oh, what he wouldn't give for a topographical map or at least a digital representation of the terrain they were going into. Need high ground for the sniper. Jean looked  at Yuumi. She certainly looked capable. At least she was gung ho enough to get her feet wet. She appeared to be confident. Maybe this was going to be better than he expected. Then he heard the bit about the Russian Spetsnaz. He'd spent some time with them in Africa. They were crazy, yes, but no more than he and his Légionnaires. A person had to be slightly over the deep end to get themselves mixed up in crazy shit like this.

[i]'What do these other three squads consist of? How many men per squad? Who are they? Are they like this lot? Unprepared and ready to die?  What weapon systems are they carrying? Do any of them have breaching charges?'[/i] The thoughts continued to rattle through Jean's brain. He had so many questions, too many to ask in the short time remaining before their skids hit the LZ. [i]'Why a Chinook? Are the Americans involved? I expected a British craft, a Lynx or maybe even a German craft, but not American. But then hey. Maybe the Brits or even the French have a few Chinooks kickin' around. Besides, it was probably better to have a large aircraft like this with all these over sized Christmas presents we got. This doesn't make sense. A breaching charge would be nice. I'd rather make my own door than enter by a door the defenders are already aware of. Any type of explosives would be nice. What about perimeter security? We should isolate the objective with one or two squad-sized ambushes. Taking two dozen guys who don't know each other into a place defended by sixty or more elite commandos is ridiculous. But with four squads, there are barely enough people to set up the necessary ambush sites on any roads leading into this compound.'[/i] The questions swirled around his head. Jean could make no sense of it.

Then his thoughts brought him back to his comrades, [i]'Who were these fuckers? Tavish MacIntyre sounds Scottish. Yuumi sounds and looks Japanese...but there is something more? Russian? Wouldn't make sense to have a Russian on the team if we were fighting against Russians. She has to be Japanese. Hector Slade. Got it. On second thought, I'd rather not know these people. They are all going to be dead soon anyway. Me too for that matter. Dead men walking, that's us. [b]The Grave Digger Squad[/b].'[/i]

They neared the LZ, Jean pulled out his Night Vision Goggles from his pack. He pulled the balaclava up over his head, then slipped the NVGs over his head. He could still hear the earpiece and the NVGs were in a position to be used properly. He tipped them up so he could use his eyes in the red glow of the interior of the Chinook.

Finally, Jean broke in across the comms, "Mr. MacIntyre. If you survive, I'll take you up on that drink."  As the six [i]would-be Foxhound soldiers[/i] raced off the ramp of the CH-47 Helicopter, Jean swore he could hear old Tupac humming in his ears. "At least they have decent music tastes on this flight crew; none of that hill-billy crap."

The six Foxhound recruits exited the aircraft and assumed a three hundred and sixty degree perimeter, taking a knee, peering down the barrels of their weapons in the darkness pointing outward. Jean pulled the NVGs down over his eyes insuring they were turned on. He scanned their current Area of Operations (AO), the insertion point and most probable extraction point as they began stepping off in the proper direction. They had a four click movement to reach their objective.

After moving approximately five hundred meters, the team halted in a column formation with weapons pointing outward. The point man keeping his or her weapon pointed in the direction of travel and the trail person pointed in the direction they just came from. The team would wait for at least fifteen minutes to become accustomed to the sights, sounds and smells of the [i]battlefield[/i]. The sound of the helicopter's rotors still buzzed in his ears. It was a traditional method practiced by every army in the world. The worst thing you could do is be surprised and have the mission to tits up so soon. Afterall, stealth was a critical task for the Foxhounds. Or so he was told.