*The back of the transport was cramped, stuffy and nauseous. Only made worse by those who spewed up all over the floor. They had all been travelling for what seemed like eternity, with no windows, the only illumination was a dull red lamp.*
*A crackle over the intercom* Rise and shine grot-bags. Landing in 5 minutes.
*Slowly the team of 28 men, sat in 4 rows of 7, all started to check straps, wake up neighbours and try to fight away the sleep deprivation that comes with 40 hours on the job. Those who could sleep in flight were lucky. It was going to be another long stint.*
*The rear landing ramp of the aircraft slowly started to open, the rush of the cold night air caught everyone by surprise. A few coughs were heard, but otherwise the entire platoon was in total silence. All eyes on the opening, and trying to keep any form of food inside them as they descended rapidly. A few lights could be seen through the low clouds, or was it fog, either way it was cold and wet.*
*An individual came through the body of the craft from the front, using hand rails and his harness to try and keep himself steady. Working his way towards the rear of the aircraft.*
*The individual turned on his headset and tried to shout through it over the rushing wind* Right gents, you know the drill. It's a silent entry, but as soon as you fuckers are out we need to kick our engines on and fly the hell out of here. Shit will hit the fan, guaranteed. *he turned and smiled at a few faces who were looking at him* Treat yourself gents.
*Whether anyone heard his announcement or not was irrelevant. They had all been training for this insertion for some time now. Everyone knew what it was going to entail. Did anybody really care? In fact, a better question, did anyone really have an opinion on the matter?*
*More lights became visible and the fog disappeared as the plane touched down on what appeared to be a series of football fields. The low rumble as the tires made contact made quite a few people turn green as their stomach finally caught up with them. The first men were out before the plane even came to a complete stop, the drilled killing machine taking over as the reality of the situation hit home.*
*Damian thudded down the ramp of the aircraft and sprinted to a patch of ground where he could set up his weapon whilst the others were moving into position. As expected the transports engines spooled up again into life. Nearby a colleague whispered to him, it was Eddy (a defector), his thick Texas accent gave him away.* Shit's about to get real son..