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Fireteam Foxtrot
Posted By: Useful Dave<smokedtopcat13@hotmail.co.uk>
Date: 13 June 2008, 5:02 pm
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1204 Hours, July 21, 2552 (Military Calendar) / New Murmansk, Romanov District, Kremin I, Kremlin system.
Another burst of 9.5mm crackled past the wall they were using for cover, causing Steve, the nearest to the wall's edge to flinch away from it. Four minutes, they hadn't even gone five minutes and they were already taking fire from a marksman which they couldn't even shoot back at for fear of taking it in the face, arm, whatever the shooter poked out.
"Haven't we got any smokes?" He shouted back down the line, edging towards the corner and poking the barrel of his BR-55 around, unloading a burst of his own in whatever direction the weapon was pointing. It probably wouldn't be enough to come anywhere nears the marksman, but it would confirm to him that the fireteam was pinned down, or at least one of them was.
"What use will that be? They've got thermals." Countered Jim, shifting around in order to keep the bulky M19 upon his back behind the wall rather than poking out above and revealing his position to the marksman. In his hands he held a M7, it didn't have the range or accuracy of Steve's BR-55, but it had a sixty round magazine and a rate of fire which far exceeded the battle rifle.
It didn't take more than a few seconds for Second Leftenant Groutin to fill the silence with her own assessment of the situation
"Doesn't matter, he can't shoot what he doesn't see, and if he has thermals, he'll be looking into the smoke, expecting us to run into it. Steve, you're to up to run. Make for somewhere on the other side of the street once the smokes dispersed, when you run, I'll go also. Rest of you, wait here until I give the all clear, then form on me."
All five sub-ordinates in the fireteam nodded at their El-Tee's command, but that didn't necessarily mean that they had to like being ordered to either sit tight or go on a suicidal dash which would most likely result in taking a 9.5mm to their easily parted flesh. But even with their dislike of the orders, neither of them complained, because so what if they didn't like the orders, they didn't have any other choice besides letting the opposing ODSTs flank and eliminate them.
Paul pulled a pair of smoke 'nades free from his webbing, passing one of the grenades to Groutin him beside them, then rolling the other towards the end of the line, resulting in Steve taking it up, not even sparing an attempt at a witty comment.
"And to believe they say smoking is bad for you…" He pulled the pin free and waited, looking back towards his CO as she shifted, carefully settling her S2AM into a cradle created by her left arm, primed smoke in the other hand, waiting until… The smoke grenade flew into the street, beginning to fizz as it landed.
With that sight, Steve threw his own grenade out, beginning another waiting game as he awaited the dispersal of the smoke screen, hopefully giving him the chance to run for it, and live.
"Now, go!"
Groutin's shout kicked him into action, stumbling into a run which morphed into a sprint after a mere metre. He was running through the curtain of smoke, his battle rifle swaying with his arms as he lurched towards the shelter which was the sheltered side of an office block, out of sight of the marksman.
Three metres.
Two metres.
One metr-CRACK-CRACK-CRACK
Three miniature spears of pain smashed into his chest, coating his body armour with the same colour as that of the haemoglobin within him, a bright scarlet red. Steve froze up as the rounds hit, his momentum allowing him to slide forward, bringing him within more than easy crawling distance from his beloved cover. Another burst splattered across his back and side, putting an end to whatever dregs of an idea his mind had created.
A few curses were spat, then silence. The silence ruled for a minute, then a single crack shattered it, a shape within a window pitching back, crimson splashed upon black. Alexa Groutin surveyed what had once been a ODST sharpshooter, and noted with satisfaction the splattered bodysuit which had been her target, that marksman wouldn't be getting off any more shots in the condition he was in.
Unfortunately for the Marine fireteam, the same could be said for Steve, who after taking a total of six rounds from a BR-55HB-SR, was in no condition to fight, and so out of the battle. However, this left Fireteam Foxtrot with five remaining, including both the heavy weaponry specialists and the commanding officer. Up against at least nine opposing ODSTs, even if they killed one for every member they lost, they would still lose in the end.
Unless they had the terrain on their side, and that was the one thing they could define, if they could find the correct terrain, they had a chance. That was if the terrain was even available to them. The Romanov district hadn't been touched in years, abandoned once the far more appealing colony upon Kremlin II had been established, leaving the only remaining inhabitants being those remaining to run the Titanium mines towards the northern pole of the planet, rather than the more white-collar orientated city of New Murmansk.
They had been near the centre of the district when the sharpshooter had taken them underfire, the small wall that had sheltered them was one forming a square around a statue of one of the cities founding directors, building the city from the ground up within the harsh icy climate of the planet. The statue faced away from what had been the administrative centre for the city, and the sharpshooters nest until he had been eliminated. Flanking it upon either side were a series of flats, each detailed in a contrasting style, one a gothic styled monstrosity faced with a fake weathered rock appearance, the other covered with a tinted glass façade.
It didn't take someone with Alexa's paygrade to work out which would be a better building to hole up in, even with the rocky exterior being a mere thin layer, it provided concealment at least, a height advantage and an overview of their previous position, which the ODST would have surely reported to his squad, allowing them to converge upon it. But with this building, the marines would to able to set up a defensive position and hold out against the squad, hopefully forcing them to retreat and regroup.
"Everyone, double time to the gothic building, take up firing positions around the middle of the building. Mick, place some claymores around the entrance once we're in. 'Becca, take Steve's rifle and ammo, don't leave it here to be wasted, it's better than your M7."
Groutin's orders were delivered mere seconds after the fireteam had regrouped around Steve, Rebecca letting her M7 hang upon its sling as she gathered up his BR-55.
While she was gathering an extra weapon, the rest of the fireteam was moving into the block of flats, heading up while Mick remained at the bottom, cradling his MA5C and keeping his claymore setting on pause until the entire fireteam -what was still combat capable – was inside, this took another minute, at the end of which he began to set up the defensive claymores.
Meanwhile, the Leftenant was already taking up a position near the top of the building, keeping a floor down from the obvious place she could use. It wasn't a ruse which would last long under close inspection, but it would keep her out of the obvious places to look without impacting her firing position. As for the other three members in the fireteam, Paul Davidson and Rebecca Demin were setting up Demin's M247 GPMG in one of the lower windows, passing the BR-55 onto Jim as he headed up past them, taking the window above theirs for his own use. His M7 wouldn't be much use firing from it, and his M19 didn't have enough ammunition to put up a constant stream of fire.
Once Mick Hamenful was done with his claymores, he joined the crew manning the machinegun, taking the chance to check the amount of magazines he had remaining, placing each container of red tipped 7.62mm and inserting it into his rifle. The MA5C's built in ammunition counter allowed him to check each magazine, rather than taking a rough guess of the ammunition within based upon whether the magazine was heavy or light, like one would have to do with an M7, S2AM or a sidearm.
With the machinegun nest in place, and Jim's M19 was ready to go, Fireteam Foxtrot was prepared for whatever came at them, when it came. And a quarter of an hour later, it did come, in the form of a pair of black bodysuited figures, carrying BR-55HB-SRs at the ready as they slowly moved into the square, casting a look at the down and out form of Steve before they continued on, faceless underneath the reflective visors.
"Hold fire."
Was all that was said across the com-link, no other words needing to be said until, a minute later four more joined them. The newcomers were armed with MA5Cs rather than the battle rifles of the first two, the former pair gesturing to the administrative building where the sharpshooter had previously been positioned, clearly referring to their downed comrade even without the benefit of hearing the conversation concealed within their helmets. Six from nine, more than enough to offset the two sides if they could manage it correctly.
"Stand by, stand by… Go loud."
Alexa's last two words were punctuated by the snap of her S2AM delivering a 14.5mm downrange, delivering a rather clear message to the side of the ODST's helmet, as the trooper dropped like a stone. In the second before the GPMG opened up, the ambushed ODSTs were already reacting to their fallen teammate, using the statue and the same walls which had shielded the marines earlier for cover.
"Jim, plant a SPNKR on the other side of their cover, keep suppressing them Demin."
Following his CO's orders, Jim Ralension hefted up his M19, planted the sights upon a small patch of pavement just beside the wall's edge, and snapped back the trigger.
The M19 was loaded with the reduced backblast variant of the usual ammunition, which would fry the unfortunate marine if fired within an enclosed space.
Instead, this variant used a compressed air canister to launch the rocket before the motor ignited, range was reduced as a result but the firer wouldn't roast himself while using the weapon. This meant that the ODST squad taking cover behind the wall, shortly after found the rocket smacking into the ground beside them, leaving splatters of red lining the pavement, they had downed at least one .
Two more were dropped by Demin's M247 as they rose to make a sprint for cover, the blind fire of the remaining two thumping against the walls of the machine gun next. But that didn't answer the question of where the other three in the squad were. That question was answered when the building was rocked by a series of rapid explosions upon the ground floor, Mick's claymores.
Leaving Demin upon the GPMG, Paul and Mick turned to the stairwell leading down to ground floor, watching with their MA5Cs up, safeties off.
"We got one at least, that's for sure."
"Add four outside and the sniper, that's five."
"Six, we've chalked up a fair fe-"
A small grey cylinder bounced in through the doorway.
"Flas-"
The stun grenade detonated with a blinding flash and a terrible noise, clearing the way for the ODST team to storm the room and gun down the machinegun nest. Or at least it would have been that way if Demin hadn't turned, M7 in hand with a finger clamped upon the trigger and pumping full automatic fire right into the advancing team.
Her quick reactions managed to take down the pointman, while leaving adequate time for the two members behind him to pull back into the cover of the door, with only a crimson shoulder in the way of wounds. Having seen why flashbanging a room wasn't always effective, the ODSTs took another approach, this time with a M9 HE/DP fragmentation grenade.
A muffled crump marked the room's redecoration to include rather more red than it prieviously had done, allowing the two remaining ODSTs to move up, and the two whom had been pinned down by the GPMG to advance upon the building Foxtrot had emplaced themselves within. Unfortunately for them, they had forgotten about both the sniper and Jim with his BR-55. This resulted in both of the back suited troopers being cut down long before they reached the entrance, proving to them that they were not out of it yet.
Although Jim wasn't in it for long either, receiving a splatter of crimson across his back as the ODSTs thundered up the stairs, a part of his mind wondering why the rest were retreating, they had been doing well with the gimpy. Then the foremost ODST unloaded a single three round burst into the back of his helmet.
The com-link had gone completely silent, and that was what alerted Alexa – along with the explosions, silent GPMG and lack of gunfire- to the fact that her fireteam had been eliminated. Letting her S2AM rest upon its bipod, she slid her M6C free from its holster, turning around and moving towards the fire escape- And finding herself staring at a pair of M7s.
"Looks like we've narrowed down the potential number of carriers to one, c'mon now, hand it over and we can be done with this." One of the troopers spoke, his helmet broadcasting it through built in speakers while his associate moved to cover the exit to the fire escape with his own body. She took a moment to think it over, then nodded.
"I guess its over then, lemme get it out."
Keeping her hand holding the M6C high, her other slowly opened a pouch upon the front of her webbing, a grenade falling free as she rummaged inside. The grenade detonated four seconds later, splashing the room with a sudden coat of red paint, and bringing both curses from the ODSTs and laughter from Alexa as she wiped her helmet's visor clear.
"Yes!, fucking yes!"
Over the com-channels, a single voice called to both the ODST squad, and the Marine fireteam.
"All units have been eliminated, endex. I repeat, end exercise and safe weapons."
Lifting her visor up, Groutin grinned at the ODSTs as they removed their helmets, still cursing under their breath.
"I told you before we started this exercise Hallam, Foxtrot doesn't mean FUBAR."
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