Ishmael led his men further up the mountain, the sheer steepness of the slope combined with the low visibility made every step a gamble. Thankfully the job was made easier by the fact that the enemy had stopped shooting at them no doubt due to Ishmaels well placed grenade. It was only when the group reached the half way point did the enemies recover and started shooting back.

Ishmael cursed, he looked around for a place he and his men can take shelter from the incoming fire. It appeared that a small landslide had occurred on this part of the slope recently, because there were no trees nor rocks that he could hide behind. Ishmael and his men had no other option but to withstand the withering fire and push on.

However, as if by some divine luck, the three-man team below decided to launch another RPG, The Rocket made a deafening roar as it smashed into the slope above them followed by some more suppressing gun fire. Ishmael made a mental note to buy lunch for the boys considering the number of times they had saved him and the assault team from certain death.

The covering fire gave Ishmael and his Assault team time to reach a small dirt ledge just below the enemy position. The enemy whom are still being suppressed were unable to get a direct firing solution at them so they resorted to chucking grenades down the hill, hoping to dislodge Ishmael and his men from their cover. Explosions detonated around them kicking up dirt, rocks, and shrapnel into the air. Ishmael was disturbed at the sheer volume of grenades the enemies had thrown at them. It was clear that money was not an issue to whoever they were fighting against.

It would be impossible for him and the others to assault the enemy position with these many grenades going off around him.

"Prepare your grenades! We throw at my mark"

Ishmael said as he fished out a grenade from one of his pouches. It was a regular frag grenade of soviet origin, simple but still deadly.

"Grenade out!" Ishmael warned as he threw his grenade over the ledge and into the enemy's position. His hand grenade sailed through the frigid night sky followed by four more grenades thrown by his comrades. Ishmael heard a panicked shriek from the ledge above before the sound of five hand grenades exploding in quick succession silenced it.

Not wanting to lose momentum, Ishmael led his men over the ledge to conduct the final push into the enemy's position. He only managed to take five steps before a massive explosion rocked the mountain ridge below. The said explosion was strong enough that Ishmael could feel it jiggle his organs as the shockwave passed through him. Ishmael couldn't help but glance at the direction of the explosion. There was no doubt about it, it came from the area where the three-man covering team was set up.

A sick feeling started to permeate in his gut, yet more of his friends were killed under his command. But Ishmael threw the thought far away. He needed all the focus he could get for the decisive battle that was just a few steps away.

The moment Ishmael reached the top of the ledge, he turned on his flashlight and scanned the area, he found a few bodies lying on the ground, no doubt victims of the grenades they had thrown. He sent a bullet through the skull of every body he came across, to make sure that they were all dead. He then continued to scan the area when he noticed a small trail of blood and disturbed soil. He jerked his rifle following the trajectory of the blood trail and sure enough he saw an enemy soldier trying to drag another wounded soldier to safety.

As soon as Ishmael's flashlight illuminated them, the enemy soldier let go of his injured buddy and tried to grab the rifle slung across his chest but Ishmael was faster. Ishmael let out a burst of fully automatic rifle into the chest of the enemy soldier dropping him instantly. His Injured buddy desperately trying to get a pistol out of his holster forcing Ishmael to kill him too.

The sound of combat died down as Ishmael heard his team giving the all-clear signal. They had won. The feeling of relief was euphoric, Ishmael couldn't help but fall to his knees, he was spent both physically and emotionally. The celebration was brief, they still had a job to do. They had to find out who these men were.

Ishmael grunted as he got back up on his feet. The adrenaline had worn off and each step was heavier than the next. Slowly Ishmael approached the pair of soldiers that he had just killed and shone a flashlight at their corpses. A chill ran down Ishmael's spine.

The dead soldiers he was looking at were unlike any soldier he had ever seen in his brief but eventful career. They were both extremely well equipped, their rifles were laden with accessories he could not even name, their chests protected by bullet resistant rigs and attached to their helmets were binocular like devices, except unlike regular binoculars which had two cylinders, these devices had four. he could only assume them to be Night vision goggles.

How did he and his team even survive this encounter, let alone win it? Ishmael thought to himself. He scanned the bodies looking for any identification but he could not find any, no dog tags, no flags or patches, there wasn't even any rank insignias to be found anywhere.

Suddenly a faint sound emanated from one of the corpses. Ishmael instinctively grabbed the hilt of his knife on his belt as he leaned in to find the source of the sound. The sound came from the headphones attached to the helmet that was used by the soldiers. Ishmael took off one of the helmets and placed on his head, suppressing the unease of wearing a dead persons gear.

" --er C—se, D—r Clo—!" Ishmael heard a staticky voice on the line.

He couldn't hear what they were saying but it looked like it was a repeated sentence.

Ishmael twisted the knob hoping that it would help make the message clearer.

"Dan--r --ose, I rep-- ---er Cl---!"

Better

" Dang-- Clo--, I --eat , --er Close!"

A bit more.

"Danger Close, I repeat, Danger close!"

Ishmael widened and Immediately threw the helmet away and broke into a sprint.

"Run!" he screamed at the top of his lungs as he ran towards the ledge that they had previously climbed.

His men didn't question him and dropped whatever they were doing and followed suit.

Ishmael leaped off the small ledge. It was a three-meter drop but better broken than dead. He braced himself for the landing, but luck was not on his side as he landed on some uneven rocks. He cringed as he could have sworn he heard a crack coming from his left lower leg as it bashed against a rock. The adrenaline however, kept him going. he managed to run five meters downhill before a massive explosion rocked the ridge above the ledge that he had just jumped off from. The shockwave knocking him forward causing him to roll down the slope before coming to a stop when he hit a tree.

Everything was blurry. He propped his hand on the tree trunk trying to use it as a crutch to get back up on his feet. he tried to walk down the hill again but as soon as he put his body weight on his left leg, he heard a crack and found himself back down to the ground. He shone his flashlight onto his left leg saw what the problem was, his Tibia was jutting out of his leg.

Ishmael screamed out for his men, hoping that they survived the initial artillery barrage. But he couldn't hear his own voice, the shockwave of the explosion had ruptured his ear drums. He sat down against the tree facing towards where he had just tumbled down. If his men survived, they would've also lost their hearing, Ishmael thought to himself, he held his flashlight and started flicking it on and off towards the direction he came from, hoping that they would see his signal.

It was then when Ishmael realized that the explosion earlier wasn't an artillery barrage, as he saw the mountain side erupted in a hail of small explosions. The explosions snaked across the slope as if it was chasing something that Ishmael couldn't see, soon soon enough the explosions got nearer and nearer to him.

Ishmael chuckled. It wasn't an artillery barrage; it was a helicopter. And with a flash Ishmael was no more.