DELTAZULU BASE CAMP, Sal Kari desert — Over a week after leaving camp on a mission to rescue the pilot of the LooSeMeaT Hound, the squad has returned triumphant. For more on the story, we go to embedded reporter Rod Oracheski, who led the successful mission.

“It was a mission,” Oracheski says in a flat tone. “We got our man out, that’s the main thing. Our intel from Morskoj sources was bad - that’s something that FlatTopFoley needs to deal with.”

Oracheski glances over towards the command tent, where Foley’s shadow is doing an animated dance on the wall as he gestures wildly. “Looks like he’s taking care of that right now, actually. I’ll have to continue this from the truck, I think we’re moving out…”

Oracheski trails off as the silhouette of Foley stops moving suddenly, the sounds of arguing coming to a halt. After a second’s hesistation, the shadow shows Foley draw his weapon and fire a single shot into the head of the Morskoj officer in charge of the camp.

“Yep,” Oracheski laughs. “We’re moving out. Heading to Tarakia, I think. Come on, let’s continue this in the truck.”

With his gear packed into the trucks and a rifle by his side, Oracheski relaxes in the back of a personnel carrier to tell the rest of the story. With the convoy of trucks surrounded by lumbering Hounds there’s no need to be on watch, and it’s a long drive to the nearest Tarakian outpost to declare the Squad’s intent to join Tarakia.

“Intel indicated that our man was being held in Bijar, a small city near the spot he was capture,” Oracheski says. “That was pretty much the only thing they got right - the key to the ‘discussion’ Foley had with the camp commander. We felt we were set up from the start, someone in Morskoj wanted us dead.

“The enemy knew we were coming…”

… … … Nine Days Earlier … … …

The six-man squad arrived at the south side of Bijar in the early morning hours, surprised to find a concertina wire barrier between the stone walls that marked the outer limits of the city’s expansion.

“The fuck?”

The epithet came from Hound pilot Skippy LeBeef, the first man to hit the entrance. He backpedaled along the wall the way he’d come, returning to the group hiding in the darkness of an alcove.

“Stow that,” Oracheski hissed. “Quiet or not, voices carry. Something’s up - hand signals only from here…until the shooting starts.”

The squad, accustomed to constant radio chatter, had learned the basics of silent communication during their transport to the dropoff two miles outside city limits. LeBeef, embarrassed to have been the first to slip, nodded in silence.

Looking to boost his ego and prevent the embarrassed man from becoming dead weight, Oracheski signaled LeBeef to hit the corner and check for enemy troops. He angled his fingers up, to make sure LeBeef remembered to check balconies.

The chef-turned-Hound pilot nodded back, then slipped forward along the wall again. He dropped his night vision goggles into place, scanning both sides of the street intently before returning to the group.

“Three possible routes,” he said in a barely audible whisper as he sketched the street layout, noting vehicles, cover opportunities, and troop locations, in the dirt. “Street runs straight about 60 feet, then doglegs right. No cover aside from some wrecked cars, and troops are stationed spots here, here, and here.

“On the left there’s a broken cinderblock wall, clean entry to an open door but we’re exposed for most of the trip. On the right we’ve got some cover behind parked cars to start, and we can get into the building there with minimal exposure.”

Oracheski nodded, comparing the hastily sketched layout to a printout of a days-old satellite scan, then pointing to the buildings at the far end of the street. “A sniper here, think he’d still have covering position on the street?”

LeBeef shrugged, “No way to know from here. There’s a bus on the far side of the street that wasn’t there when that sat scan was done, but I don’t think that would cover the buildings on that side from a sniper the second floor.”

Oracheski nodded, then glanced again at the troop locations. “Sniper needs to take up position here,” he said, tapping the building on the left side of the street. “You’ve got two, maybe three guys to take out on the way - and silently. You won’t have a spotter, so watch your back with whatever you’re carrying. You OK with that?”

Porkfry simply nodded, sliding his pistol out of its holster and affixing the silencer.

“OK,” Oracheski said, addressing the rest of the group. “We move to cover on the right - Porkfry takes left and we’re statues until he’s in the building. Pistols only, silencers on. Keep the boomsticks handy, when we need to go loud I want to raise hell.”

He cast his eyes around the group, getting a determined nod from each, then patted Porkfry on the shoulder. “Give em shit.”

Porkfry led the way through the concertina wire, cutting off the restraining clip and slowly allowing the wire to pull back from the wall. He shuffled off to the left in a half-walk, half-crouch that provided both silence and speed - leaning up against the cinderblock wall for an instant to check the corners, then crossing to the doorway of the building. He gave a quick thumbs up to the group, then vanished into the darkness.

With Porkfry safely inside, the group moved to the building on the right side of the street, two taking up position by the windows and scanning the interior to clear the room before a nod sent the other three inside.

After clearing the first room, a laundry facility that reeked of bleach, the group moved into the second room - the office area for the business. Two men stood, sharing a cigarette, but a quick shot from Biz’s pistol put one soldier on the ground, with Oracheski’s shot silencing the second man before he could react to his comrade’s death.

After clearing the laundromat, the group moved to the corner building, a two story with a walk-out basement area. Oracheski had the other four members of the group clear and hold the main floor, checking out the upstairs on his own - finding a single careless sniper and knifing him the back for his lack of attention.

Dropping his night vision into place, Oracheski scanned the building to the northwest for signs of Porkfry - finding him on the second floor, already in position and flashing the thumbs up once again. Oracheski gave a small smirk in reply, then signaled a query on enemy position. Porkfry gave him the reply quickly - indicating multiple targets on both sides of the street.

Returning to the main floor, Oracheski drew the men in tight. “Porkfry’s perched,” he whispered. “These stairs go down to a walk-out room, with an entranceway on the right. There’s a dumpster on the right as you hit that entrance, and a stairway to the next building’s second floor on your left. Both are possible ambush spots - so be wary. Biz and Cherno take the stairs - clear the building, claymore it and get out. The rest of us are continuing around the corner to take up firing positions on the building they have him in.”

Both Biz and Cherno nodded, checking their pistols, and moving to the front of the group. Oracheski led the way through the entrance, popping a shot into the head of a soldier relieving himself behind the dumpster, and continuing to the half-wall - crouching alongside LeBeef and Foley to wait for Cherno and Biz.

Less than a minute later, the pair returned to the group. Cherno indicated three down, with Biz showing another two. Oracheski nodded, then pointed towards the final objective. “Time to raise holy hell,” he whispered, pulling his G3 into firing position.

The group nodded, unslinging rifles and moving into position to breach the final building. A bank of windows allowed easy firing lines into the first room, with an explosion-widened doorway granting access to the second room as well. It was LeBeef who spotted the first enemy inside, pinning the man to the wall with a burst from his assault rifle.

The group dashed into the second room, with Oracheski spotting a ladder, still moving from recent activity, through another doorway. Whistling to Cherno, he pointed up to the second floor. Cherno winked in reply, racing to the ladder and flipping a pair of grenades upstairs, then holding his hands over his ears as the double explosion rocked the building.

“What the fuck!” Foley yelled. “What if our guy was up there?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Cherno laughed as he pointed at a nearby doorway. “He’s over here. Only closed door around.”

With a grunt, Foley kicked in the door, catching the Sal Kar soldier inside the room by surprise, flattening the man first with the door - then with a hail of bullets.

“It’s about fucking time,” Loosemeat snorted. “And LeBeef, we got some shit to talk about when we’re outta here.”

The loud crack of Porkfry’s Barrett drowned out LeBeef’s stammered reply, with another crack coming as the echoes of the first still rebounded. The group scrambled to the windows on the north side of the building to provide support fire, with Loosemeat grabbing a rifle from one of the downed enemy troops, but were able only to watch as Porkfry finished decimating an enemy squad trying to cross the street.

The sniper rifle fell silent as the last of the group hit the street, and Oracheski scanned the still-dark street for signs of more enemies.

“Anyone got anything?” he barked. “Call out.”

A series of negatives came down the line until LeBeef, with a start, pointed to the rooftop. “Movement there,” he said. “I…I think it’s Porkfry.”

Oracheski looked up, spotting a small figure jumping from rooftop to rooftop.

“How the fuck did he get up there?” he asked, then shook his head. “Never mind, doesn’t matter. Let’s get moving, he’ll catch us at the end of the street.”

The group moved across the street quickly, keenly aware that their long-range cover was now skipping merrily along the rooftops above them, and sought the shadows on the other side immediately. Arriving at the end of the street, they found Porkfry standing over another body, cleaning his knife.

“Sniper,” he said with a shrug. “He wasn’t very good.”

… … … Present Day … … …

Oracheski’s voice trails off as the trucks slow. It’s time for a fuel stop, a perfect time for enemy troops to launch an ambush, but he still hasn’t explained why it took so long for the squad to return to camp.

“Yeah, there’s more to the story,” he said. “Tell you in a bit. Better get back on watch.”

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While zombies would seem the perfect housepet (they don't eat much, they're generally quiet, and they won't poop everywhere) they really aren't.
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