(Author's note: This is my first written AAR, and I apologize if I have messed any details up or am lacking clarity. Being the stupid idiot that I am, I failed to grab screenshots so this was all from memory. A synopsis is below for those who want to avoid my terrible fiction writing. )

Location: Camp Gibraltar

The sounds of bullets whizzed overhead, punctuated by the occasional “hiss” of a live grenade and the “whiz” of a rocket sputtering overhead. Camp Gibraltar was a warzone, one that Vortex had witnessed far too many times from both sides of the fence. There were two ways to fight at a location such as this: Make a quick strike at the enemy’s entrenched rear, hoping to avoid mines and the battlewalker that inevitably would be lurking close by, or play a game of siege warfare with the EU troops guarding the facility and hope your patience could outlast theirs.

Well-placed RDX had neutralized any hope of a quick strike – an attempted FAV run had resulted in disaster when a well-hidden Spec-Ops soldier detonated RDX under the FAV, sending it and its occupants sky-high in a column of smoke, body parts, and smoking tires. Vortex had quickly abandoned any chance of a breakthrough through the speedy but vulnerable means, so he was left to the slow and steady.

He had managed to put together a squad of various elements from the army. One (Thedogwarrior) was a fellow brother from the PAC’s 8th “Mercenaries” Squadron, one (Repaq) had come from the noble but deadly 21st, another (whose name I did not save!) from the relatively (to him) unknown 12th, and two (Vertomac and Skullhedman) more had been operating independently.

The Harbor checkpoint had fallen easily enough to the PAC forces that were surging forward like a tidal wave. There was sporadic gunfire from the buildings as small groups of EU soldiers were discovered and wiped out. One or two were fortunate enough to break through the front, but they were quickly annihilated by the secondary troops also moving up. Occasionally a small group of soldiers wearing the orange lion insignia would brave the gunfire and rockets to try and flank their besieging force, but more often than not they were quickly spotted out by UAV or drone and became the targets for destruction.

Vortex’s squad had set up camp on the eastern side of what had once been a refugee processing facility. Looking down, he could see the head of a little plastic doll, partially deformed and ground into the red clay dust that was everywhere and invaded everything – body armor, guns, even drones. (Vortex was not about to admit that his skivvies were likely filled with the stuff as well – he’d worry about that later) The doll was a reminder of how terrible this war was, how horrible it was that war should come to a world that was desperately struggling through an ice age. There were many in Vortex’s squad that had families back home in the shrinking habitable zones of the PAC affiliate nations. Some likely had children this age. It was for them that this war was being fought – and the sooner that Vortex and his fellow soldiers could take Camp Gibraltar, the sooner they could help bring this war to an end.

The fire ahead of him slackened off as the haunting whine and concussive waves of an orbital strike rang out directly in front of him. He had just gotten word from his commander a moment before that an orbital strike was commencing in his sector. Bracing himself, he signaled the rest of his squad to move in closer, looking for the hole in the defenses that the orbiting satellite’s barrage would be sure to open up. As the last sounds died away, Vortex rushed forward along one of the entry paths, hugging the wall with his Voss Light Assault Rifle at the ready. His visor-mounted HUD showed the green circles of his squad slipping into line behind him.

A single wave of his hand brought the line moving forward, guns at the ready. Seeing no enemy infantry there to greet him, Vortex broke out into a sprint, with Skullhedman and Vertomac, two soldiers he had picked up in his squad, close behind. They rounded the corner of a building, close to the wall that housed the refugees, and almost ran straight into an orange-clad infantryman who was hurrying towards the sound of the firing. Swearing in Russian, Vortex raised his gun and snapped off half a dozen shots in full-auto mode, catching his surprised quarry square in the chest even as he raised his own gun and popped a pair of rounds into Vortex’s body armor. Staggering back, both from the recoil of the gun and the hits, Vortex barely had time to react as a second soldier came hurtling into view from an opening in the wall directly ahead.

Before he could snap off a shot, Vortex was down, the enemy’s shots peppering his armor. He fell slowly, the sounds of battle, of yelling dimming as his vision went hazy. Death was coming for this young soldier… but he did not want to die. There was too much yet to do. Vortex wanted to see the war completed, wanted to return to his friends and to his family back home. He had almost given up hope when a voice rang out, clear as a bell in Russian, “CLEAR!” The whine-thunk of a defibrillator sounded, and a jolt of electricity went through Vortex’s chest, causing him to reflexively suck in a breath of the warm, humid air in a gasp.

“You’re alright, now get back in the fight!” The words from Repaq were music to Vortex’s ears, and he reminded himself to write the man into his will. As he got back to his feet, he grabbed for the nearest gun – a HMG - and got his bearings. They were behind the enemy lines. The breakthrough he had been looking for had been achieved.

“Alright, let’s move out! We can’t stay like this for long – sooner or later, the enemy will be after us like hounds!” The squad moved as one, bypassing the nearest interior checkpoint (called “Central Camp”) and proceeding instead for the point known as the “Ruins”, where a gunship strike two weeks before had leveled three refugee residences. The result was twisted metal and fallen structures, with buildings that looked like they were ready to cave in. But Ruins was also a good place to sap the enemy’s strength, to wear them thin and to draw their forces away from the real frontlines located near the toll station that had been used to see refugees through to safety.

The squad had not gotten more than a hundred meters when an anguished cry rang out behind them, the sounds of a soldier’s last breaths. Turning around, Vortex saw Thedogwarrior go down, a knife in his back and an EU soldier with a maniacal grin approaching, another knife at the ready in his hand. Without hesitation, Vortex raised the bulkly HMG and sighted down the barrel, waiting until his prey was close enough. Depressing the trigger, the HMG jumped and kicked, sending shot after shot into the orange-clad soldier’s body until he went down, twitching from the pain.

Dogwarrior had been like a brother to Vortex; they had fought in many battles together and had come from the same parts of the PAC. But Vortex was lacking the kit and the time to revive his comrade. Motioning to the body, he gave the order for Verto to tend to their wounded comrade and catch up as soon as they could.

The remainder of the trek to the Ruins was met with gunfire and rockets. At first resistance was light as the squad overwhelmed the meager defenses that were behind the lines. Once the point had been secured, though, the enemy awoke like an angry dragon. Vortex posted his squad in defense of the point, buoyed every few minutes by reinforcements from his commander. Wave after wave of enemy soldiers pushed against the defenses, trying to reclaim their lost point, but the squad held as Vortex moved from point to point, patching soldiers up with a medkit he had snagged from a fallen comrade, and laying down cover fire as needed.

It was late in the evening before the firefight stopped and the EU forces withdrew to lick their wounds. Vortex had quickly lost track of the number of enemies he had felled and the number of clips of ammo he had gone through, but as dusk set in, the bodies of EU soldiers were everywhere around them. Some had penetrated this bastion of defenses, making it inside before going down. Here and there the wounded moaned for water or medics, who tended to them as fast as they could. Vortex did not relish the burial detail that would inevitably come in the following day or two – no matter what side these men had fought on, they were still accorded the same rights.

At a ceremony that night, Vortex was honored with the PAC Silver Star for his hard work, and his makeshift “squad” was honored with the distinction of having been the hardest-fighting and toughest squad in battle that day. Though the awards did not mean much, Vortex was satisfied knowing that he had brought the bloody war one step closer to completion. That was all that mattered.

(Synposis: Played Gib on PAC. EU had it pretty well sealed beyond Harbor. Stalemate for about 15 minutes until a squad I was leading got lucky and made a breakthrough past the EU defenses to Ruins. Took and held Ruins the remainder of the game. Wound up with ~35 kills, 7 deaths, and 25+ teamwork points as we held off a few tough waves of enemies trying to re-take it. Game finished with victory for our side, about 70-80 tickets being the difference. Had a heck of a squad and we had a lot of luck fall on our side in managing to elude anyone who was chasing us down.)