"I hear the helicopter; It's at the extraction point." The words pierced through the chaos, a beacon of hope in the midst of a hellish nightmare.
"I can finally get out of this fucking hellhole." Someone muttered.
As the deafening roar of the helicopter blades spooled down, a pilot hastily emerged from the aircraft, his eyes scanning the scene with urgency. He wasted no time in questioning the squad, "What is it like over there? Have you taken any casualties?"
"We were re-engaged during our withdrawal. TAR is heavily damaged, and 94 took a few hits to her arm. The rest of us are relatively unscathed."
Her gaze shifted, his eyes landing on a figure lying motionless amidst the wreckage. She was about three hundred yards away.
"The main issue is G36. Her chassis was torn to shreds, and her core is disabled. At least the others can walk, but for her, being conscious is frankly an absolute miracle."
"Commander says to leave her here for now, it would take too long to haul her. We'll get her later." The pilot's words hung in the air, laced with resignation.
"Understood." The dolls replied in unison, but their voices were heavy.
***
I awakened to a sudden burst of blinding light that seared through my tightly-shut eyelids. It was light! Light I'd expect to never see again.
With great effort, I managed to open my eyes. It took a good minute or two to get used to the sudden brightness.
When I did get used to it, though, I noticed that I was, to my massive astonishment, a fucking girl! Strands of messy blond hair covered my sight and cascaded down my shoulders. Using a slender, long hand to move the hair out of the way, my gaze fell upon a figure that exuded femininity. Looking down, I noticed that I had a sizable chest and long legs, constrained by a torn shirt; a shapeable figure for the most part. Confusion washed over me as I attempted to make sense of this literal metamorphosis. Mumbling in bewilderment, I was faced with a very feminine and distinctively unfamiliar German voice.
With a trembling hand, I reached up to brush aside the grime still stuck to my face. But as I surveyed myself further my confusion turned to fear. My body was ravaged by bullet wounds, blood seeping from each injury and staining the dirt beneath me a deep crimson. My left arm had been torn off, and one of my legs bent in an agonising position. Suddenly a wave of pain surged through me as my senses caught up, triggering an instinctual cry of agony.
And then there was the desolate wasteland surrounding me, with its brown dirt and scattered shell craters. It looked like the aftermath of artillery strikes, but I don't think even those shells created holes this big.
And since I couldn't move without worsening my wounds further, I just laid quietly watching the sky.
Is this hell?
My hypothesis was immediately disproven when I looked up and saw a helicopter hovering above. I tried to call out, but only an unsteady and rasping sound emerged from my mouth. It carried a heavy German accent.
They didn't hear, though. That's my biggest fucking issue.
I don't wanna stay here.
Jerking upright, I looked around in search of anything that could make a loud sound. Something to attract attention.
That's when I noticed a gun discarded next to me, instantly recognizable as the HK G36 from its distinctive carry handle sight.
Jesus. Was this girl a soldier? I mean, she is armed. And very, very injured.
But that wasn't my primary concern. Without much thinking, I grabbed the gun with my remaining arm and aimed at the departing helicopter.
DUN. DUN. DUN.
Three dull gunshots echoed through the air, the recoil sending dull jerks of pain through my arm.
CRACK. Shortly after, came the loud ricochet as the last bullet hit the underbelly of its chassis.
Uh oh.
I should have thought this over.
I had intended to miss it.
Alerted by the shots, the helicopter took evasive manoeuvres. The good news was that they were now aware of my presence. The bad news was that they might retaliate.
Thankfully, they refrained from returning fire. Instead, the helicopter landed near me, and a few combatants disembarked to inspect the situation.
[???]: "Holy shit! She's still conscious!"
So they're the good guys I see.
Does that count as friendly fire then?
[???]: "Now that is unexpected! Thank god we were aware. Get her on the bird and let's move!"
Hmph. They were also armed with guns, the former with an M4 SOPMOD II and the latter with an M4A1.
How odd.
Could they be my comrades? I strained to focus with my blurry vision, studying their features.
The girl wielding the SOPMOD had blonde hair with a hint of red streaks. Tactical headphones dangled loosely around her neck. Her unique service uniform revealed a slight glimpse of cleavage. Ammo packs were strapped around her waist, and she wore an all-black ensemble with metal shoes and... metal claws?
This eccentric sense of fashion, and her curvy..? features, made her quite pretty.
Jeez. This girl seemed to be a model. Too pretty to be a soldier, that I know for sure.
On the other hand, the girl with the M4A1 was different. She had long black hair with a touch of green. Her sleeveless combat attire and body armour showcased a more kinda more rugged style. She had a jacket tied around her waist, and as the cherry on top, she was wearing stockings.
What idiot wears stockings on a battlefield.
Quite unusual. You don't exactly see that often.
But still, what's going on? Why are two girls who look more like they should be models fighting on a godforsaken battlefield?
Before I could voice my question, I was placed on a stretcher of sorts and carefully escorted into the helicopter.
[???]: "Hey, uh, G36, no offence, but can you stop moving and shout a bit more quietly?"
[???]: "Cut her some slack, would you? She's undergoing excruciating pain"
[???]: "Then can you at least shut her up?"
[???]: "Now is not the time SOPMOD."
Oh right, I forgot, I was screaming this whole damn time.
It still hurt like a bitch.
