I lay there, wearing a blood soaked Kevlar vest on the cold asphalt, hidden from view under an overturned Humvee, my body wracked with pain, my blood freezing with each passing second as it oozed out slowly onto the black runway. I could barely feel my right arm, let alone move it. My ears were ringing, having been in range of a concussion grenade. My back was singed, along with the bottom half of my queue. My left femur was fractured, and half my ribs were broken. I had a bullet wound that pierced my right cheek, barely missing my teeth, making it a struggle to even breathe, lest I choke on my own blood. A hole through my right hand, one that I could see through it I held it up to the light. My left arm lay outstretched, my handgun laying 2 inches from the tips of my fingers. I kept track of how many rounds were left: 5 rounds, no reserve clips.

My entire team was dead, all of whom I knew professionally. The sniper on our team was immediately shot down by a predator missile from above, the remains non existent except for a few chunks of singed flesh scattered about the base. The on team electrical specialist accidentally triggered a laser alarm system in the ventilation system, and poison gas was vented through. She choked on her own saliva. Our demolitions expert wired everything perfectly, the initial explosion went without a hitch, and that was the problem. I could only presume he was caught in the explosion since We never even saw him leave the building. The point-man was the last to die, after the explosion, the response moved in so fast, so quick that we were immediately overwhelmed. The resulting firefight ended badly, with me riddled with bullet wounds and my point-man with a fist sized hole punched through his head, eyes gone, brain and skull shattered and strewn across some crates we were using from cover.

Our mission was simple: get in the base, destroy all traces of weapons research, then blow the base sky high, preventing a possible nuclear threat. We also had to take out the person operating the base, wipe him from the face of the earth. We thought our plan would work, and that was the mistake we made...

The plan was to start an initial explosion to draw the enemies' attention, then the electrical specialist would cut the power to the entire base, causing everyone to panic, leaving me and the point man to go unnoticed to plant the charges while the sniper covered us. As soon as we cleared radio surveillance, we could call in for evac. In case of mission failure, we were to call in the back up strike team as a last resort and a hazmat team to clear the base for nuclear weapons. Casualties would be disavowed from the registry and it would be like we never existed.

The firefight left most of the base on fire, we detonated most of the explosives, but my point-man screwed up, unable to plant the charges efficiently, leaving some crucial target buildings intact. The main target was still alive, and through the commotion planned to get away. I couldn't move, helpless. My morale drained along with my blood, and I felt weaker and weaker by the second. My role as team leader was to organize the effort, and I failed, paying the price with my teams blood and my own. Now the only role I could fill now was calling in the mop-up operation.

I reached first for the detonation switch to terminate each of my dead team mates in an atomizing explosion, leaving no traces of equipment or DNA. Guilt swam through me as I thought of each member of my team, their dead bodies, the last remnants of them on this earth all blown to ashes by my hand, removing them from existence.

I closed my eyes as I flipped the first switch, hearing an explosion to the west, where the electrical specialist died. All I could think of was her dossier going through the shredder, being tossed into the fire to burn, becoming nothing more than a sad memory later forgotten through a visit to the pub for her friends and family. I should have known something was wrong the moment her communication dropped. She used to talk about an invention she worked on, one that would help other countries obtain fresh water supplies in area's where water was scarce. I thought of how that invention would never be finished, now that it's creator was dead in a ventilation shaft, ashes soon to be scattered in the wind.

I flipped the second one on the detonator with trembling fingers, to no result. It was the sniper's, blown up by the missile. The charge on him must have gone off already. He challenged me once to a shooting competition, hoisting French pride of his skills as a crack-shot with a sniper rifle. I matched him with a mere M1911 against a Beretta .50cal. All that skill with a rifle had no change against a guided missile, even if he had noticed the drone in time.

I coughed, barely audible over the chaos and confusion of the raging fires and fleeing guards on fire. I skipped the demolitions expert and eased my thumb down to point-man’s switch. When I was new to the branch, he challenged me to a sparring match. He had a larger build than me but still agile, pinned me to the mat in less than 10 seconds. He taught me to always have the drive for combat, even when you were about to go to sleep. Now his brain, along with all the lessons and skills he taught me as an instructor, wasted, covering supply crates that may or may not have already been destroyed. I opened the cover of the switch, turned off the safety, and pressed the button, an explosion scattered splinters and shrapnel near my position.

I dropped the detonator, the first half of the clean up phase done, then pulled out the radio, clenching my teeth in pain as my arm drew out the emergency radio, My throat was dry, gasping for air as I tilted my head to the side. I held down the button and started to speak out orders into the radio, my voice rasping and gurgled.

"This... is... Alpha-27, the mission... failed... RGHH... Initiate clean up. Authori-*wheeze*-zation *hack*: Damocles..." I let go of the button, dropping the radio from my grip... and spotting the target with two armed guards trying to take a jeep and escape. I reached for my pistol, scooting it towards me, then grabbing it. I saw the two guards opened the door to let the target enter the vehicle.

To my relief, the vehicle flooded and stalled, failing to start. Thoughts burned into my head like wild-fire when I heard the ricketing creak of the engine.

'This is your last chance, you can still finish the mission.... TAKE THE SHOT!'

I brought the pistol into my line of sight, lining the target's head right between the iron sights. I struggled to keep my arm from shaking, but the fatigue set in, causing my arm to rebel. Pain raced through my arm, beckoning it to fall and let them go. Each second went by like an entire minute, a war between my bones and muscle waged to instate dominance, the ache and pain being the deciding factor. But like an oppressive monarchy, my brain screamed for obedience.

'YOU WILL AIM, AND YOU WILL SHOOT!' I swayed my aim towards the guards, firing 4 rounds.

*PAP, PAP, PAP, PAP*

The guards dropped as my stray aiming was rewarded with them falling to the ground. The target looked around to see where the shots come from, his head darting around to find the source of the gunfire. My vision blurred, making it difficult to aim the last round. My ears detected the target trying to start the engine again. The focus from my eyes distorted and blurred, my depth perception failing to acquire a clear view of the target. I had lost too much blood. My arm losing strength, dropping slowly from the pain and fatigue. Thoughts screamed through my head.

'TAKE HIM DOWN! LET ME TAKE THE SHOT!' But my vision still rebelled. A single thought raised it's voice above all others in my mind.

'YOU WANT YOUR REVENGE DON'T YOU? IF YOU TAKE THE SHOT, YOU STAY ALIVE!' Like that my arm stabilized, my vision becoming clear enough to see the iron sight line up with the target's face, who looked right at me, his own gun pointed at me. Instinct took over.....

*PAP, PAP*

*SPLAT, DOANG*

...

"Yatta... (I did it...)"