Heavy Fire Afghanistan (Ultimate - 2027)

The rotors of the Chinook thumped a heavy, arrhythmic beat against the Afghan sky, a sound that had long since ceased to be a warning and had become simply the background noise of war. Inside, the air was thick with dust, diesel fumes, and the metallic tang of sweat and gun oil.

The heavy barrel chugged to life. Brrrrrp. A three-round burst. Then another. He walked the fire onto a second-story window where he’d seen a muzzle flash. Mud chips exploded inward.

The helicopter flared hard. The wheels kissed the earth, and the ramp dropped like a guillotine. Heavy Fire Afghanistan

Reyes took a round to the shoulder. He spun and fell, but kept firing his M4 with his off hand. Doc Rollins crawled through a hailstorm of lead to drag him behind a rock.

A wall of PKM machine gun fire ripped across the riverbed. Tracer rounds, the color of angry orange comets, stitched a line through the dust. Then the RPGs came. The sharp thump-whizz-crack of a rocket-propelled grenade passing overhead made Hatch’s soul flinch. It slammed into a boulder twenty meters to his left, showering the team with hot shale. The rotors of the Chinook thumped a heavy,

“No!” Hatch yelled, but the scream was lost in the din. He felt a cold, hard fury replace the fear. He stood up, ignoring the rounds cracking past his ears, and hosed the ditch. He emptied the entire two-hundred-round drum. The bodies of the flanking force crumpled into the tall grass.

The sky rippled. A familiar, terrifying sound. Brrrrrp

The surviving Taliban broke. They ran back into the village, dragging their dead, leaving their weapons in the dirt.

“Load up,” he croaked. “We’re not done yet.”

“Thirty seconds!” the crew chief yelled over the intercom.