Post

Sardakistan, Hill 3234

It was quite around the camp that early morning. A few soldiers lined the makeshift walls of sandbags mixed in with stones and rocks thrown on top for the added protection. No more convoys passed through the strategic route, the nearby FOB which had relayed information of small Mujahideen movement had been abandoned as ordered, and only a few helicopters could be heard or seen in the distance. The surrounding mountains seemed peaceful to the Airborne stationed on the hill, and any thought or menton of the elusive watching them was never brought up. Most of the heavy machine guns that were supposed to have a man on them (or near them) at all times, were empty. Their operators were relaxing in a tent, or sitting somewhere eating their rations.

"When do you think we'll be leaving?" Asked Dimitri, looking over at his comrade Sergey, who shared the same guard shift with him.

"I couldn't tell you. Anton says that if we don't get the order we'll be leaving tomorrow." Answered Sergey

"I mean, we've been up here for some time now. The only encounter we've had up here has been with passing convoys and a few goat farmers." The conscript laid his rifle up against a nearby rock, raising binoculars up to his eyes to survey the surrounding mountains.

"Well maybe the superiors are still figuring out the logis-" Sergey was interrupted by the shouts of "Mujahideen" which erupted from the other side of the camp alongside the burst of a Kord, followed by an explosion that shook the hill. Soon, the woods around the hill lit up with a hail of Ak fire, small clouds of dust erupting along the walls where the bullets hit. Around the gate where the explosion had occurred, 3 men had been killed who were too close to the front gate at the time of the explosion. Company Commander Anton Vyacheslav, who had been asleep in his personal tent at the time, had leaped out of his cot, grabbing the pistol which laid on the desk across. He began to run wild around the camp looking for the radio operator who he later found shot in the arm and laying in cover behind some sandbags.

"Does the radio still work, Artyom?" Yelled Anton over the sound of gunfire.

"Yes sir! But, I've been hit in the arm, sir!" Replied the radio operator.

"What matters is that it works, Artyom! Now, I'll go and grab the medic for you!" He turned to find the nearest medic, but quickly faced Artyom once again. "However, I need you to try and call for support from the nearest Air Assault Unit in Obran! Tell them we're under heavy Mujahideen attack, and need urgent air support. Understood?" After Artyom nodded his head in acknowledgement, Anton ran for the medic on the other side of the base. Anton later returned with the medic as promised, running over next to Artyom to ask if support was on the way. "So, are they coming?"

"Yes they are!" Answered Artyom, who was relieved the company commander had got him the medic he was in desperate need of.

"How far out are they?" Asked Anton as he fired the rifle that Artyom was not using into the woods below.

"In 45 minutes sir." Artyom replied, fighting through the pain that filled his arm.

Air Assault Unit, Obran.

A siren blared throughout the base which held the last Air Assault Unit in Sardakistan. The pilots rushed to their helicopters, of which there is only two left behind due to the exit plan currently in place. After the urgent call for help from the nearby hilltop position, the pilots are making sure to load up with as much armaments as they can. To avoid an incident with Foledonian pilots, a transmission is sent out to alert them of the urgent situation that is developing on Hill 3234.