Afghanistan - Heavy Fire

Hatch pushed himself up. His ears rang. His throat was raw. He looked around. Delgado was weeping, still clutching his radio. Reyes was being bandaged by Doc. Miller’s boot lay in the crater, untouched.

They poured out into a furnace. The heat was a physical force, pushing them down into the cracked mud. Hatch was the third man out. He hit the deck, scanned left. The village was a maze of mud-walled compounds and dark, empty windows. It was too quiet. No children. No goats. No old men staring.

He looked toward the village, where the dust was still settling. Heavy Fire Afghanistan

Hatch slammed into the first fighter, driving the bayonet up under his ribcage. He ripped it free and swung the stock of his rifle into the face of the next. The man went down in a spray of blood and teeth.

“Miller! RPG!” someone shouted.

Hatch walked back to his SAW. He picked it up, the barrel still shimmering with heat.

“Suppress! Suppress!” Hatch roared, bringing his SAW up. Hatch pushed himself up

The heavy barrel chugged to life. Brrrrrp. A three-round burst. Then another. He walked the fire onto a second-story window where he’d seen a muzzle flash. Mud chips exploded inward.

To his right, Specialist Delgado was screaming into his radio, “Outlaw Actual, this is Outlaw 2-1! We are in the shit! Taking effective fire from north, east, and west! Request immediate danger close!” He looked around

“Go! Go! Go!”

Miller tried to dive, but the grenade was a direct hit. The explosion was a fist of black smoke and red dust. When it cleared, Miller was gone. There was just a crater and a single, smoldering boot.