The Good Marine

Combat

He slowly pulled him self off the cott, tags dangling. He slowly pulled on his desert combat shirt and tactical gloves, then he slid on his vest, loading magazines into the pouches. He slowly lifted his M-16 to his should and loaded a magazine into it, racking back the charging handle. He was loaded and ready to roll. He slid on his issued Oakleys and then a tan hat, turned backwards. He stepped out into the sun, looking at Army tank crews loading up and a convoy of humvees setting up near the hangars. He slowly jogged over, stopping next to one of his squadmates, Alex. "Hey, what's going on?" He asked Alex. "We're going out to Kandahar. Death Valley. Taliban presence out there and it's looking ugly for the locals. So we're going out and taking care of it." He nodded softly. He turned to walk away when a siren split the air. "Delta Company, 2nd Marines 5th squad. Report to 1Lt. Garrison ASAP." He turned on his heels, jogging to Garrisons office. There was the rest of his squad, standing there. "Sergeant, you and your men are going ahead of us. Clear an LZ for the Chinooks and secure a route for the humvees and tanks. You up for it?" "Oorah sir." He smiled. "Then go load up on a Black Hawk. A sqaud of Rangers are going with you as support." He nodded and walked out the door, his squad following. "Alright. Weapons hot guys. Safety on." He yelled as they walked across the tarmac. They boarded the helo for a two hour ride, but he didn't mind.
About an hour and a half into the ride, that's when it happened. He smiled across at Alex. "And then the 1SG sa-" He was interrupted by a loud explosion, it was the other helo with the Rangers inside. He looked out the door beside him, watching their Black Hawk spiral down to the ground, slamming into a village, stopping immediately. "BasePlate this is Super 6-3. Super 6-4 is down. I repeat, we have a black hawk down." The pilot radioed it in. "Get us down there now!" He yelled loudly, the pilot obeyed. He swung the side door open and he and four men rushed out of the helo. "Juarez, stay behind with that M-14 and cover us from the helo." He nodded as the helo lifted off. He gripped his rifle as they all took off running. He pounded across the sand and grass to the helo as they began taking fire, rounds snapping over their heads. "Cover down!" He yelled. "Weapons free!" After that, the whole area around the helo erupted into chaos. Gunfire and screaming filled the air, smoke rising from the helo. He gripped his rifle, squeezing off several rounds, unloading them into one target, watching him drop. He sat his rifle down and made his way to the helo, slinking inside the dull black hunk of metal and scrap. He slowly made his way to the pilots and dragged them out, both conscious. He went back in and drug put seven Rangers, the eighth one stood up with his M4 and walked out. He ran across the way and set up with one of his Marines and began firing. "Base Plate this is Super 6-3, requesting MEDEVAC on my purple smoke, over." He waited. "6-3, good copy. We're sending two little birds to you. Eta 5 minutes, out." He smiled and picked his rifle back up, firing. He listened as helos touched down and his Marines loaded up the wounded and then themselves on the Black Hawk. "6-3 someone needs to stay with the crash site. Over." He sighed. "Roger. I'm staying." He departed the helo. "Go. Get out!" He waved off the helos as he ran back to the crash, alone. He crouched and fired every once in a while, warding off any Taliban in the area. He thought silently. Am I honestly going to leave this one alive?