op2024
LadyAmber
stormphrax
Estylwen
Snowdrops
wintersoldier
Pen Name
Rhona W
Sylvan
StarlanceSean saw the man pop around, barely even making it to Yekatarina as he fell down with a bullet through the head, cleanly pulled from Sean's position, the fire from the AK Hayden had picked up now staccato'ing everything else and making the pistols feel like pea shooters almost in comparison. He'd done his job well to get the heat off of Hayden, letting their CSOR merc do his job. Exhaling, he joined, moving forwards, pistol raised as he walked over a body, yelling the same as the Canuck did. He looked in his direction, and could see it. The look on his face. It was one that looked cracked, broken. Sean had done some evil shit in his time. But when he looked at Hayden's cheek with his left eye in that very split second, he saw exactly the fire of a thousand suns that was going to just engulf whatever it now touched.
The scene felt like it disintergrated the moment Hayden opened fire, the clatter of the AK within a close range splattering the poor militants that the Canadian had killed, in completely cold blood. Sean could have been somewhere else in that moment, but he was right by the Canuck's side.
He was there, right there, and for that moment, knew what Hayden had brewing.
And he understood exactly how he felt. There were no laws of engagement. No rules of war here. They would have been surely tortured and murdered in cold blood in that jungle if they had been caught. Sean made his decision. As if almost Hayden's fire had caught light on a cloth, Sean's switch simply flicked.
Click.
In the moment Bethan was moving in with the driver, Sean walked forwards as one of the men on the ground screamed out, bleeding heavily from his abdomen as Sean rolled his chest over with his foot and without so much a wait, put a round through his head, and clean into the other man next to him who was crawling from a round in his shoulder. He wasn't going to have any chance of living to tell the tale. The militant who looked older, perhaps more of a leader among this little social gang, his face paling as the life simply fell out of him. The last of the gang to die here. And Bethan felt every shot like an exclaimation mark.
"What the fuck are you doing! You fucking animals!" Bethan yelled, the man she was holding hostage wanting to yell as she put her gun tight against his neck, holding him back as she would have let him go and put a gun to Sean and Hayden's head if she could. Every part of her was in shock, because the only part she saw was him summarily executing the guy.
Sean didn't react the way he had before. Almost as if something had been unlocked, he raised the gun from the man's temple and looked dead, square at Hayden, then Yekatarina, then Bethan, a dead, hardened stare.
"Right now, it is us or them. Shut your fucking mouth and start acting like you don't want to die. These pricks tried to kill us." Sean was vicious as he pointed, almost to the point where if anyone ever thought the burly Northern Irishman was acting weak to his partner, the truth was, he was merely holding back. Like there was something deeper inside that he had chosen deliberately not to show, not out of cold blooded professionalism, but out of warm-blooded retribution.
"They were surrendering, you fucking morons...." Bethan exclaimed, waved off completely by Sean, as he shrugged, looking around at the scene around him, the Ulsterman picking up an old and dusty looking Mosin-Nagant, the Three-Line Rifle as Yekatarina would more likely know it, with a 7.62mm rimless cartridge that was like shooting someone with a train. Russians knew their guns, Sean thought to himself, as he pulled the bolt back, walking around the scene, then back to Bethan, walking up to her, the snarling, enraged look in his eyes.
"There are no fucking places to go. Look around you. You live by the sword or die by it. No fucking laws of war here. People talk in these gangs, and if they do, we are dead, Bethan. You forget they'd do it to us if they could?" Sean's menacing tell was dominating, the Welshwoman for the first time actually taken aback her usual demeanour of strength suddenly melted by a response like that, a potent, almost unseen response in Sean. Bethan had felt barely a trace of it in their personal lives, and realised who had emerged. Not just the banter-having Marine, no, this was the guy that sold drugs and was happy to bend every rule he could. Do evil shit to other people. The scumbag who lived rather than the guy trying to get by and not die.
"Well....I didn't sign up to killing people in cold blood. We're soldiers, not parasites. Remember that." Bethan was quiet in her reply, Sean still on the offensive as he walked past her, looking at the guy she had a gun pointed to, seeing Yekatarina come over to search him for his keys, as Sean covered something else.
"Well, this guy might live. See." Sean took the stock of the Nagant and slammed him in the stomach, looking up.
"No bonuses for him being in good nick though. He won't fucking remember our faces. Will he now?" Sean looked directly at him, and though he could barely understand, he could just about form a nod, in agony with how much it hurt as Sean took him away. He kept the rifle in one hand as he kept the pistol against his neck, and with a subtle movement, put him into the passenger's seat of the truck.
"Yekatarina, you may as well drive this heap of crap. Let's salvage what we can and go before we make any more mess." He said, his anger beginning to boil back, but still there, underlying in every tone and thought.
Bethan in the meanwhile, complied with Yekatarina, completely silent and grabbing Hayden's AK, barely making eye contact for half as second as she moved quietly, away from the shitshow that had happened and getting whatever was left. She gathered as much as the weaponry and ammo as she could, snatching a spare mag for the AK and keeping one ready in case, while Sean took the Mosin with a spare stripper clip to his name., guarding the man who was winded, and in pain, unable to react as he knew it would mean near enough certain death.
Stepping into the back of the truck, Bethan looked around, whistling as she turned around, looking at Hayden, the thought of even helping him a fleeting thought but something she did almost as if by automatic. It was that motherly feeling, yet she wanted nothing more than to fucking hit him, just for enabling Sean and doing what he fucking did. She knew he had his reasons, he had a lot going on, but she didn't care. What they did was wrong. And no part of her wanted anything to do with any of this fucking psychotic mess. Strong as she was, she had her rules, and while killing a bunch of militants was one thing, killing a bunch of what looked like adolecent kids in cold blood felt brooding and wrong. Pulling him up if he took it, she looked in the back, seeing a whole set of crates and containers.
"Looks like a hell of a setup. Can't tell what's inside. All of it's locked up fairly tight. Yekatarina, hit it." She added, butting the AK into the cab of the tarped-up MAN, leaning against a container as she looked out the back, then back at Hayden.
"I don't know the sort of shit you got yourself into. But that wasn't needed." Bethan said it to Hayden as if it was a statement of fact, which in her mind, it was a confrontation, but one she felt like she had to let go. A judgemental look, to be sure. Like a catharsis even, the blonde-haired boonie hat wearing Welsh girl all of a sudden wanting even Hayen to show a shred of remorse, or understanding of why what he did was fucking bad.
The scene felt like it disintergrated the moment Hayden opened fire, the clatter of the AK within a close range splattering the poor militants that the Canadian had killed, in completely cold blood. Sean could have been somewhere else in that moment, but he was right by the Canuck's side.
He was there, right there, and for that moment, knew what Hayden had brewing.
And he understood exactly how he felt. There were no laws of engagement. No rules of war here. They would have been surely tortured and murdered in cold blood in that jungle if they had been caught. Sean made his decision. As if almost Hayden's fire had caught light on a cloth, Sean's switch simply flicked.
Click.
In the moment Bethan was moving in with the driver, Sean walked forwards as one of the men on the ground screamed out, bleeding heavily from his abdomen as Sean rolled his chest over with his foot and without so much a wait, put a round through his head, and clean into the other man next to him who was crawling from a round in his shoulder. He wasn't going to have any chance of living to tell the tale. The militant who looked older, perhaps more of a leader among this little social gang, his face paling as the life simply fell out of him. The last of the gang to die here. And Bethan felt every shot like an exclaimation mark.
"What the fuck are you doing! You fucking animals!" Bethan yelled, the man she was holding hostage wanting to yell as she put her gun tight against his neck, holding him back as she would have let him go and put a gun to Sean and Hayden's head if she could. Every part of her was in shock, because the only part she saw was him summarily executing the guy.
Sean didn't react the way he had before. Almost as if something had been unlocked, he raised the gun from the man's temple and looked dead, square at Hayden, then Yekatarina, then Bethan, a dead, hardened stare.
"Right now, it is us or them. Shut your fucking mouth and start acting like you don't want to die. These pricks tried to kill us." Sean was vicious as he pointed, almost to the point where if anyone ever thought the burly Northern Irishman was acting weak to his partner, the truth was, he was merely holding back. Like there was something deeper inside that he had chosen deliberately not to show, not out of cold blooded professionalism, but out of warm-blooded retribution.
"They were surrendering, you fucking morons...." Bethan exclaimed, waved off completely by Sean, as he shrugged, looking around at the scene around him, the Ulsterman picking up an old and dusty looking Mosin-Nagant, the Three-Line Rifle as Yekatarina would more likely know it, with a 7.62mm rimless cartridge that was like shooting someone with a train. Russians knew their guns, Sean thought to himself, as he pulled the bolt back, walking around the scene, then back to Bethan, walking up to her, the snarling, enraged look in his eyes.
"There are no fucking places to go. Look around you. You live by the sword or die by it. No fucking laws of war here. People talk in these gangs, and if they do, we are dead, Bethan. You forget they'd do it to us if they could?" Sean's menacing tell was dominating, the Welshwoman for the first time actually taken aback her usual demeanour of strength suddenly melted by a response like that, a potent, almost unseen response in Sean. Bethan had felt barely a trace of it in their personal lives, and realised who had emerged. Not just the banter-having Marine, no, this was the guy that sold drugs and was happy to bend every rule he could. Do evil shit to other people. The scumbag who lived rather than the guy trying to get by and not die.
"Well....I didn't sign up to killing people in cold blood. We're soldiers, not parasites. Remember that." Bethan was quiet in her reply, Sean still on the offensive as he walked past her, looking at the guy she had a gun pointed to, seeing Yekatarina come over to search him for his keys, as Sean covered something else.
"Well, this guy might live. See." Sean took the stock of the Nagant and slammed him in the stomach, looking up.
"No bonuses for him being in good nick though. He won't fucking remember our faces. Will he now?" Sean looked directly at him, and though he could barely understand, he could just about form a nod, in agony with how much it hurt as Sean took him away. He kept the rifle in one hand as he kept the pistol against his neck, and with a subtle movement, put him into the passenger's seat of the truck.
"Yekatarina, you may as well drive this heap of crap. Let's salvage what we can and go before we make any more mess." He said, his anger beginning to boil back, but still there, underlying in every tone and thought.
Bethan in the meanwhile, complied with Yekatarina, completely silent and grabbing Hayden's AK, barely making eye contact for half as second as she moved quietly, away from the shitshow that had happened and getting whatever was left. She gathered as much as the weaponry and ammo as she could, snatching a spare mag for the AK and keeping one ready in case, while Sean took the Mosin with a spare stripper clip to his name., guarding the man who was winded, and in pain, unable to react as he knew it would mean near enough certain death.
Stepping into the back of the truck, Bethan looked around, whistling as she turned around, looking at Hayden, the thought of even helping him a fleeting thought but something she did almost as if by automatic. It was that motherly feeling, yet she wanted nothing more than to fucking hit him, just for enabling Sean and doing what he fucking did. She knew he had his reasons, he had a lot going on, but she didn't care. What they did was wrong. And no part of her wanted anything to do with any of this fucking psychotic mess. Strong as she was, she had her rules, and while killing a bunch of militants was one thing, killing a bunch of what looked like adolecent kids in cold blood felt brooding and wrong. Pulling him up if he took it, she looked in the back, seeing a whole set of crates and containers.
"Looks like a hell of a setup. Can't tell what's inside. All of it's locked up fairly tight. Yekatarina, hit it." She added, butting the AK into the cab of the tarped-up MAN, leaning against a container as she looked out the back, then back at Hayden.
"I don't know the sort of shit you got yourself into. But that wasn't needed." Bethan said it to Hayden as if it was a statement of fact, which in her mind, it was a confrontation, but one she felt like she had to let go. A judgemental look, to be sure. Like a catharsis even, the blonde-haired boonie hat wearing Welsh girl all of a sudden wanting even Hayen to show a shred of remorse, or understanding of why what he did was fucking bad.