Rainbow Six: Broken Arrow

Chapter 7: Old Wounds

Three Years Ago

Kolinski sat defeated on the sidewalk while he finished the last of his water in his CamelBak. "Shit," he cursed as Cicero passed by him, "out of water."

Cicero scoffed and shook his head, "Didn't you learn in SERE to reserve water?" Kolinski shot him a look. 

"Spare me," Kolinski muttered. Cicero reached into his backpack and pulled out a warm water bottle and handed it to the technician. "Thanks, man," Kolinski said but was waved off by Cicero. 

Jacob Kolinski's roots originated from Poland. The 24-year-old's Great Grandfather was one of the horsemen that charged German tanks at Krojanty. Unlike his ancestor, he didn't join the infantry. He was an Air Force JTAC, or in simpler terms, a radioman.  

Danny Cicero was a 26-year-old Bostonian paratrooper with the 82nd Airborne. After being noticed by a Delta operator in a joint-operation. He was recruited into the 'Unit' as Disciple-1's Combat Technician, if it was broke, he could fix it. Cicero was lanky, but he could carry you back to base under machine gunfire faster than most.

In the humvee that sat parallel in the street intersection, West spoke into the AN/PRC-150 to the commander back at base."Overlord, Lambert should have made it there by now." 

"Disciple-2, Lambert was pronounced dead at 1252 hours. I'm sorry son, standby for orders." West's heart sank as he slammed his free hand into the hummer door after hearing the news. Even Commander Hardgrave flinched from the impact. 

Andrew West, at 23 years old, was said to be from Tennessee, but his odd, British-like accent was exposed in combat at times. He was the team's inhumanly talented marksman, picked directly from 75th Ranger Regiment, but now, he was Disciple's team's leader. 

West looked over at the men now under his command. Kolinski and Cicero were talking about something, but he couldn't make it out. "Lambert didn't make it!"  West shouted to the men, as they traded looks of concern. 

The radio then came back to life, "Disciple-2, you still there?" West picked up the handset.

"Copy Overlord, I hear you,"

"Disciple-2, your designation is now Disciple-1, your men's designations will also go up one, you know the drill. Break. Your medic, Besson, is inbound via humvee with ammo and water. Break. You will send your team to recover Hunter Squad, the rangers that were protecting the school. Blackhawks will extract you and Hunter. Good luck. Over and out." West hung up the handset and clipped his worn black bump helmet back on and walked over to his team. 

"Besson will be here in a few minutes with ammo and water. We gotta rescue Hunter-3," West looked into Kolinski's tired gray eyes, then back at Cicero's eager browns, "then we'll go home."

***

Disciple seemed to walk for hours to reach the school. "You guys look like shit. If you don't mind me saying." The medic commented with his heavy French accent. 

Gabriel Besson's story was rather strange. His mother was a Syrian immigrant that moved to France and his father was a French native. His father fought with the Foreign Legion in the Gulf War. He grew up in Paris until he was 16 when he ran away from his parents and moved to the United States to live with his grandparents, who moved to Miami, Flordia during retirement. Besson didn't like to talk about it, so nobody pushed him. Besson then passed Ranger School and there he met West. They soon became best friends and the pair was picked for Combat Applications Group or Delta Force.

"You have no idea," Cicero said while observing the windowless buildings. 

"I heard about Lambert." Besson looked over at West, "Those are pretty big shoes to fill, but I think Lambert would be glad you took the reins." West kept looking forward, his face unchanged.

"I have to call his wife," West stated coldly as the rest of the team's demeanor changed drastically. 

Kolinski tried to change the subject, "Where the fuck did Reyes go?" West had just then realized that he was missing a soldier. 

"He was back at base. Apparently, you ordered him to get checked out for a head injury." Besson answered as the rest of the team scoffed. West clenched his jaw and stopped mid-step. 

"Fuckin' coward," Cicero muttered under his breath.

West started walking again, without saying a word. But you could see from his eyes what he felt.

***

 The SOF operators finally made it to Hunter-3's last known position. The Army Rangers was sent during the main defense to protect a local school, but they hadn't responded to any hails over the radio. The front entrance was littered with brass from spent 5.56 and 7.62, but there was a body lying in the doorway, stripped of his plate carrier, but still identifiable by the Multicam uniform. 

"Guns up," West ordered as they did so. Kolinski knelt down to checked the soldier's dog tags. West felt sick seeing that Ranger's dead body. He saw himself in the kid's face.

"Corporal Joseph Frost." Kolinski stood back up and pointed his MK18 at the door. The dead soldier looked to be young, 18 years old maybe, his death wasn't too long ago. Maybe they could have saved him if they made it sooner.

"You two check the perimeter," West pointed to Cicero and Kolinski, "Besson you move with me." The two moved around the sides of the building, while Besson and West moved into the building. 

The interior wasn't much better. The walls were lined with blood and the floor was covered in bullets... and bodies. There was a soldier, also stripped of his uniform, lying across what looked like a teacher's desk. Several others laid lifelessly piled all across the room. West felt his knees want to give out and his vision fuzzed red and green, "Oh, Jesus," but he shook the feelings out of his mind, just like he did all of his life. The smell was unbearable, even though the soldiers hadn't been dead an hour.

"What the hell?" Besson covered his mouth and knelt behind a desk and vomited. The medic hand anything but a light stomach. He eventually recollected himself and stood up, "This is... bad." That was all Besson managed to say. 

On the chalkboard written in blood, "Go home Americans" West felt the rage and hatred rise from his body. His veins bulged from his arms as he squeezed the handgrip on his rifle to the point of it cracking. Everything started turning white as his ears began to ring. West grabbed his head from the pain as he fell to his knees. 

"West? West?! West!" Besson shouted out before everything turned white. 

Present Day

The white void consumed Archer until everything began to clear up. His body began to clump into a ball. It felt like electric shocks being sent throughout his body. "Holy shit!" Archer heard a voice say. "What's happening?!" Another questioned. Archer couldn't stop shaking. He could move voluntarily. "Shit, I think he's seizing up!" "Get him on his side! He can't breathe!" 

Then suddenly it stopped. Archer slowed his breathing and stretched out his stiff arms and legs. His vision finally cleared up and he could see his surroundings better. Archer was still in the troop bay of the C-130. All of the operators that were on the previous mission looked in shock. Elena knelt next to him and looked into his blue eyes. Archer felt comfortable in her hazel gaze. Her face was shrouded with concern, "West?" She said quietly. 

Timur then knelt down on the other side of Archer. "Who the hell is West?"