Chapter 2 – And The Fox Would Trot.

Sadr City Outskirts
Baghdad, Iraq
0710 Hours (Local Time)


The thick black smoke column was now clearly visible, rising miles into the air. Hunter looked at the forms of people and anthros, going about daily life, stop and look at their Blackhawk as it thundered overhead. As the Helo flew down along a highway, a column of HMMWV's and a pair of bulky yet streamlined M1A1 Abrams tanks rolled down the road. Some chatter broke the silence of the flight, coming through was the voice of Lt.Farrel, an aging Husky; Farrel had been in Iraq since the start of the god forsaken war. From securing buildings, to reducing them to rubble, Farrel had just about done it all.

"Hammer Two-Four, this is Charlie Six-Three. Confirm you have visual, over."

Mac knew Farrel well, having served in an infantry unit under him for 6 months before he got transferred back to flying Helos in and out of hotspots. He keyed the intercom.

"Charlie Six-Three, Confirmed visual. What's the Mission this time Farrel?"

Farrel became more serious, his tone lowering and his voice taking on an icy chill.
"One of our patrols says they saw some small arms fire and an RPG around the market district, we're holding on the edge of town unless they call for assistance."

Mac noted the change in his voice.
"We're headed there now to evaluate the situation, could be insurgents, could be locals having a celebration, can hardly tell these days."

"Yeah, no shit. Charlie Six-Three out" The radio cut back to silence and the dull whump-whump-whump of the rotors overhead.



Sadr City Market Area
Baghdad, Iraq
0727 Hours

Mac yelled over the intercom as building rushed by beneath them, the city constantly getting denser as they progressed further in.

"You guys all set back there!?"

Hunter re-checked his M16.

"All set, take us in!" The reply came from west, after securing himself with clip at the end of a high density rope to the floor of the Blackhawk. Hunter did the same.
Mac brought the Blackhawk to a hover about 3 blocks from the smoke rising from the marketplace

"Hammer Two-Four, on station. Alpha Six-One, you guys out there?"
The reply came through almost instantly, the young man, clearly panting for breath, sounded like he'd seen a ghost.

"This is Sgt.Warcroft, Six-One is down, we lost our long range com's to a squad of insurgents almost an hour ago, Where the hell were you guys!"

"Stand down Sergeant, we're on your side here. What's the status of your squad?"

The sergeant replied between ragged breaths.
"There's six of us left, The Lt took a round to the head, we're low on ammo, and I got 2 men wounded in need of evac yesterday, SIR!"

"Roger, Can you pop smoke to indicate your position?"
No reply.

"Hammer Two-Four, I say again, can you pop smoke sergeant?"
Nothing.


Then suddenly there was a burst of gunfire over the radio and a rushed yelling.
"Sarge is down, Sarge is down. Corpsman!"
A block and a half away, a green cloud of smoke began to rise.
Mac pushed on the stick, and the helicopter moved towards the smo....

"RPG!" West yelled from the back, as a plume of white smoke shot forth from a window below. The helicopter lurched sideways, and Hunter lost his footing, his talons being unable to get a good grip on the steel flooring. He slid towards the opening at speed and slid out, into the open space between the Blackhawk and the buildings below, falling as if in slow motion as the rooftops rushed towards hi.....

Thwack!

The rope clipped to his waist came to a sudden halt and jerked the large falcon around before starting to sway beneath the Helo.

"Shit! Hunter, You OK?" Came Henrys voice from the headset, now dangling besides him.
Hunter squawked in agony, as a lightning bolt of pain shot up his back from the sudden stop.

"I'm ok" He managed to moan, "But I think I broke a rib or two from that..." Hunter brought his wings up to his face, and realized something.....
"I dropped the 16... It's on the roof below me, about a 2 meter drop"

"Can you get down there?" Came Henrys voice, slightly worried for his friend, now dangling above a building, now in hostile territory, with someone reloading an RPG in a nearby building.

"I think so, gimme' a second"
Hunter pulled from his vest a K-Bar commando knife, standard issue, and swung it over his head, slicing through the rope holding him. He Fell in a heap to the ground, and quickly switched on his handheld radio.

"OK, I'm down, I'll meet you at Six-Ones smoke"

"Rodger, are you sure you can make..."

West's voice cut over again
"INCOMING!!!"
The Blackhawk Lurched to the side again, but to slowly this time, as the RPG streaked through, clipping the tail rotor, but not detonating. Thick smoke began to billow from the tail rotor, but the Helo remained steady.
Mac's voice came over, slightly urgent, alarm tones wailing in the background.

"Tail rotor's hit, but were holding, I'm going to get to that smoke and get the hell out of here, Hunter, Your on your own, if you can't make the smoke, head back to Farrel's last location, Hammer Two-Four Out"
The helo moved off, as Hunter, Still Lying on the rooftop, slowly got up and walked over to his rifle. He did a quick check for any damage before looking at the barrel.

"Shit..." He breathed. The Barrel had been crushed from the drop, the gun was useless. Hunter quickly unloaded the rifle and pocketed the spare clip. Hunter turned and looked out to the green smoke, now rising well and truly above the rooftops, and looked as the smoke from the Blackhawk only seemed to be getting thicker by the second. As it slowed to a stop above the smoke, something happened. The tail rotor stopped spinning. The Blackhawk quickly began banking in a large circle, loosing altitude fast.

Mac's voice came over the radio, fast and frantic.
"Hammer Two-Four, Mayday Mayday Mayday, We've lost the tail rotor, Hammer Two-Four is going down." The Tail of the Blackhawk Clipped a TV satellite dish, removing it from the roof of the building.
"Hammer Two-Four, going in hard"
The nose of the helicopter smashed against a building, the Helo now spinning in a confined plaza, like a bird trapped in a house. The tail snapped of with a ‘Crash!' as it completely smashed through a wall, getting lodged and then snapping off, as the fuselage slammed into the earth, the rotor's snapping off as the collided with the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust as they slowed to a stop, the dust slowly settling, covering the crashed helicopters black paint with a thin layer of dust and debris.

Hunter flew down the fire stairs in the building until they cut off 2 floors above the ground. He quickly kicked in the door and moved through to a staircase. As He raced down the stairs, he reached a landing on the first floor. Then he noticed something odd. A dark brown Fox wearing a ski-mask was helping a Arab male human with a box down the next flight of stairs. But that wasn't what Hunter noticed first. It was the Ak-74u Draped over the fox's back that caught his attention. Hunter sprinted forward just as the fox noticed him, but it was to late, Hunter launched his weight at the fox, spear tackling him, sending them both sprawling to the floor. The human wasn't as lucky. The large crate, now without anyone holding the weight, slid down the flight of stairs, taking the unfortunate man at speed into a wall at the base, crushing him against it. The fox meanwhile, rolled away from under hunter rising to his feet, he unslung the Ak and brought it around just as ‘CRACK!' Hunters' fist collided with his temple, sending him into unconsciousness.

Hunter let out a sigh of relief, and grabbed the Ak-74u from where it had landed a few meters away on the polished floor of the room. He quickly checked himself, and grabbed his ribs as another jolt of pain shot through him, and suddenly realized he had landed on his radio.
"Fuck!" he muttered, discarding the pieces of broken plastic. He moved down the stairs quickly, and stopped when he saw the crate. Hunter looked at it for a moment, the crate, being easily 4 foot long and 2½ feet wide, sat there, pinning the poor man against the wall.
"What the hell" muttered hunter as he pulled out his K-Bar and used it to pry open the crate. Lifting the lid with his wing, he opened the crate to reveal 2 dozen neatly stacked and packed with straw, Ak-47 assault rifles.
"Holy shit" he breathed, before pocketing a few clips of ammo pilfered from the one in the crate. The Ak-47 is probably the most recognized weapon in the world. It's large. It's bulky, but is has bang for your buck value on the black market. The Ak-74u, is a cut down version of the Ak-74, with a shorter barrel length, a smaller butt, and a lighter frame. The weapon overall however, is still outdated by the M-16A4 and the newer M4-Carbine.

Hunter barged out the doorway into the street. Light assaulted him from all angles, and he had to raise a wing over his face to block it out. He held the Ak with his right wing, the highly maneuverable feathers at the end coiled around the grip and trigger, the weapon becoming like an extension of his wing. However, he quickly moved behind a car, realizing the lack of cover this road had. The car had been long abandoned, the windows smashed in and one of the wheels missing. He leapt from cover, raising the Ak-74u in a long arc along the windows of building, before moving down the street further, clutching his broken ribs as the occasional jolt of pain raced up his back.
As Hunter limped down the now deserted street towards the large pillar of smoke, he realized just how alone he really was.