“…For tonight’s breaking news; Prime Minister of Britain Sullivan Harrold gathered members of the European Union and countries of NATO to discuss the United States recent actions in the sovereign nation of Pakistan. Prime Minister Harrold spoke of the many “crimes of humanity” committed by US troops and Pakistani forces, yet the President of Russia has put pressure at the meeting stating that he and his nation supported the ongoing war…”

Episode 4399 – Counter-Insurgency Operation in Pakistan. First Global News Network (FGNK).

Part 1: Advance Warfighters

A brisk breeze blew through the streets. Dust picked up and was scattered over the city blocks of Peshawar, and those under it worked tirelessly.

It had been no less than ten minutes after Captain Thompson had directed his men to search for any sign of friendly forces underneath the rubble of what was once the target building that was suspected to hold international terrorist, “Brutus.”

Gloved hands attempted to move pieces of rubble, but even in synchronized movements, the strength of five men wasn’t enough to move enough debris to investigate ground zero of what looked to be a powerful improvised explosive device.

All around shops, apartments, sheds, and homes were affected by the blast wave of the explosion. In addition, when Corporal Ramirez, the medic of the squadron, investigated one of the dead SSG members bodies, it was revealed that even they were affected by the blast in addition to the damage done to their bodies by firearms.

In the confusion, Sergeant Randall spent his time alone digging on the southern side of the building. This was the side of where the US operators initially breached. As he knelt down, Randall spotted a small cavity the stretched inside of the ruins. Not wanting to get stuck, he brought out a flashlight and turned it on. The beam of light cut through the darkness and what Randall saw made his chest tighten and his stomach sink.

There a body laid torn in half. Dark red blood coated the face of the body, and a color pallet of red, marron, purple, and pink colors were strung about at the end of the cavity. Clumps of matter were spread about the ground. None of the piles were recognizable as a body or body-part.

Randall fell to the ground and used his right hand to cover his mouth. He breathed in and out at a steady pace as he attempted to clear his mind of the sight he had just seen. Taking one last look Randall recognized the body that was still intact.

Chief Warrant Officer Eric Briner was confirmed killed in action. His face was a deathly pale, and his eyes had glossed over no longer containing any light.

Regaining his composure, Randall got off the ground and stumbled to the rest of the men who were gathered in a small, covered section of the building where they were taking a moments breath.

“I haven’t found anything. Just a lot of rubble and broken cabinets.” Green said wearily as he kept his head down.

“Fuck.” Lieutenant Patterson responded frustrated from the lack of progress that had been made, “Mike you found anything? You look a bit pale.”

Randall nodded slowly and took a seat next to Green who had now raised his head to look at him. “Something like that…” He said in a tired voice. Raising his hand, Randall pointed south where he had just been, “Just over there.” He said softly, “Just over there, some of our guys-no what is left of them. They’re over there.”

Captain Thompson swallowed hard, and the others slowly averted their gazes from Randall. Silence was all there was during the brief session of mourning, and no one dared to say anything. The only one that dared to disturb the peace was Lieutenant Patterson who suddenly rose from his seat and grabbed his rifle.

The others looked at him confused on why he had suddenly sprung from his seat, and before anyone could ask what he was doing, Patterson hissed the shut and pointed at his ear while mouthing “listen!”.

One by one the men raised themselves from their makeshift seats. It was clear what Patterson was intending for the men to understand. In the distance a constant hum began to grow louder by the second.

A vehicle was closing in on their position.

“Set up positions around the rubble. Malkovich, Richard, Baker, get to high ground and get your weapons set!” Thompson ordered.

Moving with Green, Simon, and Ramirez, Randall checked the ammunition in the current magazine in his M-5. He momentarily remained on the “maneuvering warfare” that was employed during the First Gulf War. The idea was to expose an enemy’s weakness and to exploit it until an opposing force was defeated.

In an ironic fashion, it had seemed that today’s enemies had learned lessons from long ago.

In the distance two unmarked vehicles and a technical truck with a machine gun rolled through the crowded streets. The occupants of the vehicles were on high alert. The ma non the now identified M2 Browning Machinegun kept looking to the buildings above, while the men in the passenger seats of the other vehicles scanned the streets around the rubble.

Aligning his optical gunsight on the lead vehicle, Randall heard Simon sigh as he too shuffled into position. “-And here I thought our job here was done.”

"Our jobs are never done, Simon." Wiping a small amount of sweat from his face, Green spoke while brushing off the tube connected to his camelback from his shoulder. "Trust me when we get back there’ll be something else..." His sentence was cut short as he glanced across the room.

"What does that mean?" Simon asked not removing his face from the carbine in his hands.

With no answer the two went silent as the roar of the vehicles grew softer as they maneuvered around the graveyard of abandoned or destroyed vehicles, IFVs, APCs, and LAVs in the streets. The sun reflected off their dust covered windshields, and each Ranger grew anxious as they all waited for the order to open fire.

The convoy rapidly approached the kill-one and a mixture of excitement and nervousness spread over Randall as his finger now hovered over the trigger of his M-5, though he kept his cool as the vehicles came to a stop in the open. Five men stepped out of the lead vehicle, and four more from the other car. Only the driver, passenger, and gunner remained in the truck.

“Stand by to fire.” Thompson said.

As the men waited patiently, unexpectedly, the five men in suits that were spotted earlier in the day walked out of a nearby building. All were wielding the old P-90 personnel defense weapon.

"Short bursts. Make sure they drop once you target them." Malkovich said over local communications. "These may be rebels, but you can be sure that they will be trigger happy."

Bracing his rifle against the window ceil, Green spoke as he adjusted his scope, "You think you can hit your target?"

"Can you?” Randall quipped making the two men beside him chuckle.

“AT-4! AT-4! Hit the technical!” Thompson said aloud gaining the attention of the three.

“Watch the back blast!”

“Back blast clear!”

“Send it! Send it!”

“Blast those motherfuckers!”

The collection of voices was drowned out by the subdued explosive noise that came from the AT-4 being fired. The opposing forces heard the blast and the technical attempted to turn, but immediately a large cloud of black smoke and brown dirt rose into the air followed by an impressive crack from the shockwave.

“Whoooaa!” Richard yelled excitedly.

As the sounds of gunfire erupted the Rangers returned fire, and Randall began to expend rounds downrange where he saw the men through the thick smoke and dust.

“Open up!” Patterson bellowed as his voice played over local comms.

“Three right! Twelve o’clock!” Simon shouted as he pointed his finger at three insurgents scrambling for cover.

A steady tempo of gunfire played over the battlefield, yet there was a deeper sounding and more resounding “boom” that happened in three to six round bursts at a consistent rate.

A sudden hiss impacted the wall next to Green making him fall to the ground. “Crap! Fuck!” He screeched while moving himself back from the wall.

"Don’t let them pin you down!" Sergeant Malkovich bellowed loudly, “Keep firing!”

“Fuck dude! How the hell have I not been shot by now!?” Lieutenant Patterson complained as he slunk back into cover.

“Jackson is dead!” Richard’s voice broke into several pitches as he wailed, “He fuck-he took a round to the face!”

Part 2: Fading Out.

“Sergeant! They got us pinned!” Simon once again yelled over the constant stream of lead being traded by both sides.

Gloved and ungloved hands repeatedly pulled the triggers of firearms. Whistles of bullets passing over and the cracks of rifles being fired kept drowning out the voices of the insurgents, while the Rangers were lucky enough to have local communications to hear each other.

The AT-4 that was fired by the now KIA Private Jackson had good effect on target, yet it wasn’t enough to completely eliminate the gunner of the M-2 Browning. The now “ancient” anti-material round was being shot at the Americans in short bursts providing cover for the insurgents to move forward.

The situation was getting desperate.

As the men in suits pressed the attack, Randall shifted right as his location in the rubble was being targeted. “Fall back from the windows! Shift right towards the cavities in the walls!” He yelled in an attempt to warn the others.

The gunfire intensified to the point of where it sounded like three packets of popcorn being made at the same time at a movie theater.

"Captain! We need support, I got one moving towards ou-" The last man of the Ranger squadron, PFC Ramirez, the medic of the squadron, attempted to shout at Captain Thompson over the chaos.

"Ramirez!" Lowering his rifle, Green let out a shrill squeal as he watched Ramirez’s right forearm separate from his torso. “Randall, someone! Medic!”

In just a moment the gunfire being expelled from the Rangers stopped, the continued in a blink of an eye. Ramirez’s body had hit the ground and the young Corporal shifted and wailed from the spontaneous shock a pain. Taking off his pack and climbing up the rubble, Randall threw his pack on the ground and retrieved a trauma kit.

“Green, get the hell over here!” Randall shouted.

Disengaging and climbing up the debris, Green quickly rendezvoused with his Sergeant. As he knelt next to the fatally wounded Ramirez, and the panicking, but quick minded Randall, a torch was placed on the ground in front of him.

"I’ll apply a tourniquet, but I need you to get ready to cauterize his wound just in case!” Randall said as the Rangers continued to suppress the enemy making the M2 fall silent.

“Where the fuck are they!?” Ramirez suddenly shouted in a half-dazed voice, “Someone give me a fucking gun! I need a weapon!” Unaware that half of his arm was blow off, he attempted to use his right arm as is he was patting the ground looking for his M5.

“Hang on brother I’ll get you one soon!” On the verge of tears, Green placed the blowtorch down and brought out a small white cloth from his plate carrier; In turn the young man used it to keep pressure on the wound to prevent Ramirez from bleeding out, he nearly threw up from seeing a bloodied bone sticking out from the arm.

In a blood curling scream Ramirez leaned back after he had stared at his right arm, “I’m fucking hit! I-Shit-Fuaaa!” He continued to squeal in pain as his mind and body had finally registered the wound he had obtained.

Staring at the stream of blood and body matter on the ground, Captain Thompson desperately spoke into his radio as he attempted to break through what was believed to be a communications jammer, “Overlord this is Kilo Six, requesting immediate QRF and MEDEVAC, over!” He spoke again as his face drained of all color, “I say again, we have a man down and are requesting immediate MEDEVAC!” Straining his throat, Thompson kept on repeating the two same sentences.

Just ahead of Randall’s burning brown eyes, the Rangers continued to fire under pressure, yet it seemed luck was on their side as both Simon and Richard were able to see several dead bodies along the street. What even surprised him was that Richard called out that three of the men in suits had been killed.

Something was off about the timing of the opposition’s deaths, yet it didn’t matter as there were more pressing issues at hand.

“They’re dropping like flies!” Simon said with a bright smile on his face while pushing his glasses back up his face.

“Don’t stop! Push the advantage!” Patterson ordered while leading the counterattack with a hail of accurate bullets.

With some morale regained, the other Rangers not treating Ramirez pushed forward with Lieutenant Patterson and Staff Sergeant Baker at the forefront. With a coordinated effort, the remaining rank-in-file rebels began to drop.

“F-Fuck! Fuck-Fuck-Fuck!”

“Hey, you’re going to be okay!” Randall said attempting to assure Ramirez as he tightened a tourniquet. “It’s fucking disgusting but pack the fucking cloth inside the arm! Stop the bleeding!” Randall refocused his attention on the hesitant Green as he followed the order.

“You a medic Sarge!?” Green asked trying to take his mind of the sight he had.

“I failed EMT school.” Randal responded gaining a faint chuckle from Green.

With the bullets being exchange beginning to dwindle, Captain Thompson began to run checks on those that were still pressing the assault. “Simon, Patterson, Malkovich!” He gained silent nods or a small grunt from the three. “Randal, Ramirez, Green, Richard!”

“Ramirez is hit, we’re providing aid!” Randal shouted back as he supported Ramirez’s head on his lap. “Green, check his pack for morphine, should be in the front most pocket.”

Almost tripping over himself Green scrambled across the floor as he crawled his way to Ramirez’s medpack. He ripped the pack open and practically threw the contents out as he frantically searched for the small white syringe. Randall kept Ramirez’s only hand in his own; it was a comfort to both the injured and caretaker, a sign that they would be okay and if passing on was a possibility, they wouldn’t be alone.

Suddenly the gunshots stopped. The firefight was long over.

“I think they’re dead!” Simon called out as he reloaded his carbine with a fresh magazine.

“Confirm you don’t see anyone else?” Patterson asked Simon as he cautiously looked around the window.

“Get back inside the fucking building!” Thompson chastised, “I am not sending you all back in caskets!”

A few meters from where the trio was, the Rangers slowly pooled into the covered section of the debris. No one spoke as they saw Randall comforting the dying Ramirez. He had long removed Ramirez’s helmet and now all Randall was doing was patting the boy’s blonde hair. His bloodied hands mired and dirtied Ramirez’s hair, but it didn’t matter.

With the echoes of war seemingly disappearing far away, Simon and Malkovich collapsed to the ground, while the others found a position of rest or knelt. Ramirez attempted to speak, but blood had painted his mouth and he slowly turned pale.

As no one dared to move, Ramirez had long passed; his skin was now a ghost white pale, and he no longer shook. Green hung his head low once more as tears escaped his eyes, while the others watched silently hiding their emotions.

There was no crying, no sobbing, no signs of obvious sadness like those seen in common media. There was no need for such exaggerated means of mourning. With a steady bloodied hand, Randal reached inside of Ramirez’s collar and pulled of his dog tag. The small silver tag was covered in blood.

“Captain…” Patterson whispered as he stepped next to Thompson, “-we need to go. We need to get the fuck out of this city, Jackson and Ramirez are now dead.”

Laying the body on the ground Randall stood up with the help of Green. The young E3 gave Randall his M5.

“Simon, Patterson, take Ramirez’s and Jackson’s weapons. We won’t leave them for the enemy.” Thompson ordered almost chocking on his words.

“Sir.” Patterson simply said as he took up the carbines while Simon packed their handguns in his assault pack.

Publicly Available Information: Sixty-Eight-Whiskey (Combat Medic):

8Ws are primarily responsible for providing emergency medical treatment at point of wounding on the battlefield, limited primary care, and health protection and evacuation from a point of injury or illness.

Known administratively as "Combat Medic Specialist" (formerly "Health Care Specialist"), the primary role of combat medics in the U.S. Army is to provide medical treatment and, if necessary, combat casualty care to injured soldiers and their dependents. 68Ws serve as the first echelon of care, accompanying units as small as platoons and as large as battalions during training and deployments.