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The loud buzz filled my room,it was an annoying,drilling buzz that went right through my skull.

"Why did I set that?" I asked myself in an annoyed tone as I felt around my nightstand before my hand finally found the snooze button of my annoying alarm clock. I was laying on my stomach,my head on my single rock hard pillow and my shirt in a pile on the floor. My arm hung from the bed,the long scar from a knife fight I had with a Taliban solider traced down it's entire length,a stern reminder that I was not a close combat expert.

The room was well kept,with a desk,nightstand and single twin mattress on a olive drab green and lifeless military frame being the only furniture to speak of. Two guns,a Sacco Defense Mk-48 General Purpose Machine Gun and a Browning B32R rested on the table,as if sleeping. The machine gun was painted in Sahara desert camouflage and carried a Trijjicon Advanced Combat Optical Gun sight,a Wilson Combat Dragon muzzle break and a front grip as well as a tuned Giselle Automatics SGT trigger and a box that held two hundred rounds of large .30-06 ammunition. The pistol,also with the camouflage paint job,boasted a titanium slide,enhanced night and day sights,a long barrel and a laser sight,the mag well was also flared,allowing for extremely fast "knife reloads". A tactical knife with 550 grade parachute cord warped around the handle often accompanied the handgun in it's holster. The door clicked open and my friend Hudson stepped in.

Hudson,37,was my second in command and a man with a huge girth. He stands a full six feet and ten inches and is a 350 pound wall of liquid steel. His light brown,closely cut hair stands on end and perfectly complements his soft green eyes. His usual weapon was a FNH FAL OSW,a newer version of the FAL. It carried an ACOG with a stubby 25 round clip and a front support grip like my 48 with a B32R with a laser sight and bust modification,rather than full auto. He was dressed in a white shirt and tan cargo pants with his usual black combat boots,just taking it easy I guess.

"Hey John",he said loudly,"get your ass outta bed."

I rolled onto my back and pushed aside the covers,"gimme a minute brother",i said groggily,"I gotta clean myself up,meet you at the usual spot?"

"Got it",Hudson said smiling,which he rarely did.

He turned and left. With some effort,I pulled myself from bed and went into my bathroom,looking at myself in the mirror. I was an even six feet tall,a normal sized guy,but small compared to Hudson. My short black hair always stood on end and I had neon blue eyes and a well trimmed face with no hair. I was of a decent,athletic build,but again,small compared to Hudson. I smiled at myself before washing off and dressing in a white Magellan Sportswear shirt and tan cargo pants. I pulled on my boots and slid my orange and crimson military watch on my wrist before walking from my room and down the hall.

My friends and I had rooms in a barracks adjacent to the infirmary for some reason,one I'll never fully understand. The walls around me were a bright white,like what you might see in any hospital or military infirmary while the floor was concrete gray,kinda boring if you asked me. I walked from the infirmary and headed outside. The base where I was stationed,Fire base Charlie,was huge for a temporary post. A high razor wire wall surrounded the base with six guard towers,one in each of the four corners,and two at the entrance. From anywhere on base,anyone with eyes could see the large,105 howitzer cannons witch stood tall and strong,very imposing and threatening if you asked me. There was also a hanger,which held the Warthogs of the pilots who'd recently been stationed here. There were also the main barracks,a wash room,the motor pool and the landing pad as well as the basketball court,firing range and the two mile track which went around the inside of the bases wall.

My boots kicked up lose sand as I walked along. It wasn't even nine am yet and already the sun was cooking the Iraqi desert. I grew up in Texas,so the heat and the sand were nothing new to me,in fact,I felt at home here. After walking a bit,I arrived at the mess hall and went inside. The mess hall was alive with chatter. Soldiers were rushing about with full trays,empty trays or no trays at all. You could smell the food cooking in the back of the tent and it was enough to make your mouth water. I quickly went to the back and grabbed a tray. The chef had made scrambled eggs with sausage and toast,one of the better MRE's to come out of research. The cooks behind the counter put the food on my tray and I left the line. I quickly located my friends at our usual table which was way in the back corner and sat down.

"John",Jackson said,"I had no idea you could eat so much pizza."

Jackson was only seventeen and was a new addition to our team,right out of basic. He had long blond hair that he gelled to stand on end with aquamarine eyes and tan skin.He was dressed in a green sleeveless shirt and tan camouflage pants with a wrist watch like mine and his dog tags hanging in front of his shirt,he never tucked them in,said they felt cold on his skin. Jackson carried a sniper rifle,a Remington 700 that he could shoot real well,I shit you not when I say he can shoot pencil in half at a thousand yards with that rifle. It had a long Variable Zoom lens on it and was painted pitch black. Like the rest of us,he held the B32R in reserve,but his was pretty much stock,only having a gapping flared mag well.

"Neither did I",I replied sipping my coffee,"ahh,much better."

"I'm actually kinda surprised your not still sleeping",Issac said,"lately even when your not stuffed like a turkey,you've been sleeping in real late."

Issac,my older brother,was two years older than me at 32. He had brown hair that was of a medium length and eyes that were neon blue,like mine. He stood a few inches taller than me at six feet five inches and could shot the back legs off a fly with his M-16 at a thousand yards while free standing. His rifle was decked out with a reflex sight,free floating hand guard,custom compensator and a twenty round clip,all dressed in black. He held the B32R with a laser sight,long barrel and semi automatic modifaction in reserve,as well as packing some C4 that he was capable of doing some very nasty things with.

"I don't know what's goning on with me Issac",I replied taking a bite of my eggs,"just been tired lately."

"I have too brother",Wyatt replied,"but hey,is what it is."

Wyatt,only 29,was the team scout sniper. He stood at 6'2 with neon green eyes and long black hair that came half way down his forehead. He was skinny,but damn can the man lay a hit,even without his prized rifle. Wyatt's SCAR-H,was FNH's response to Eugene Stoner's AR-10,though they were quite late in arriving with it. It was equipped with a long 24 inch barrel and a fixed stock with a custom pistol grip and a bi-pod that clung to the end of the gun. Like on Jackson's Remington,a long Variable zoom lens sat on top the rifle,enabling Wyatt to hit pinpoint at crazy distances well out of reach of Issac's M16,Hudson's FAL or even Jackson's Remington,but not my 48. I could go out to a distance of 1,200 yards if I had to,but my weapon being designed for large ammounts of fire,rather than sniping,it's unlikely I could land kill shots. Like the rest of us,he holds Browning's B32R with a laser sight and long barrel in reserve.

"Anyone know where Frank is?",Hudson asked as he sat down,"I can't find him anywhere."

Frank was our team's demolition's expert. He was 34,stood at six feet and four inches with blond hair and hazel brown eyes. His skin was a tan color like Jackson's and he carried a H&K MP5 with a integrated handle grip as well as tapped double mags and a reflex sight. Just like everyone else on the team,he carried the B32R as a backup.

"I'll never understand where he runs off too",Jackson said.

"None of us will Jack",Hudson replied.

As we ate,Frank showed up,finally. "

Where the hell were you?",I asked.

"Sleeping",Frank replied,"I had too much junk food last night."

"We all did",Isaac replied,"I spent like thirty minutes on the bathroom floor throwing my guts up last night,it's like my stomach was just like Issac fuck you and expelled what was in it."

"I'm surprised it ain't hit me yet",Hudson said,"all the soda I drank last night."

"Wait till we start dailiy PT",Jackson replied,"if it's gonna get me,it'll get me during the run."

"I already got nailed",I said,"I spent fifteen or so minutes or so on the floor of my bathroom upchucking all that pizza."

"What the hell were we thinking?" Wyatt asked,"I woke up with the mother of all hangover's the morning from all the beer I drank last night."

We talked for a few more minutes before throwing away our styrafoam trays and walking out to the traning grounds. Hudson,Issac and Wyatt started running the track while Jackson and I were doing push ups. There were some other guys who were lifting weights and playing basketball,while others were just standing around talking with one another.

"Hey John",Jackson said,"five bucks says I can do fifty faster than you.",

I stopped and got on my knees to look at him.

"Mmmm",I said,"I think more like twenty."

Jackson smirked,"okay then capt,twenty it is." Jack and I both took bills from our wallets and used a rock to hold them firm from the wind before standing up.

"3,2",I said counting down,"1,go."

We both dropped and began doing the push ups as fast as we could. Jackson,despite still being a teenager,was doing them extremly fast,ahead of me by about six or seven.

"Come on John",I said scolding myself,"don't let him win."

I put more strength into my arms and sped them up,until catching up to him at 43 and over taking him at 49 and then pushing the fifty. Both of us were out of breath,but we were both smiling,I held out my hand,

"My money please",I said arrogantly.

Jack handed me both the twenties before we picked ourselves up and headed for the basket ball court.

"Hey Corey",I said as he shot a basket,"got room for two more?"

Corey was a skinny six even man with black hair,brown eyes and tan skin. He had broad shoulders and long legs and arms,his clothes were a little baggy on him and it made him look like a gang member.

"Yeah we could use two more guys",he said tossing Jackson the ball,"street rules?"

"Hell yeah",I said going to the opposing team.

"Ten points to win",Corey said,"our ball."

Corey,being the pro player that he was,began to skillfully move around the court,making the fist basket almost instantly.

"Point us",Corey said chucking the ball at me.

"Don't get cocky",I said smirking,"there's still nine to go."

I shot the ball from where I was and it went right into the basket.

"Point us",I said arrogantly.

Corey just smiled and grabbed the ball. Time passed and the game dragged on,with Corey and his friends coming out on top.

"Good game John",Corey said smiling.

"Been a while since I played",I replied,"feelin' a little rusty."

"Well ya play good brother",Corey said,"you outta..."

Corey was cut off as General Holland's voice shot from the edge of the court.

"Captian Mason",he shouted,"get over here!"

Holland was a very tall,well built man. He was around six feet and seven inches with almost blond hair and creepy,silver eyes with black slit pupils that made him look like a demon.

"Yes sir?" I called as i approached him.

"Get your team together,I have a job for you."

My team,Task Force Raven,consisted of me as the acting commanding officer,Hudson Issac,Wyatt,Frank and Jackson. Were a team the enemy told stories about around campfires,even earning the nickname "Ghosts".

"Come on Jack",I said,"let's go see what the boss needs."

Jackson and I left the basket ball court and walked across the base to the Holland's office where Hudson and the others were already waiting. Holland walked around and sat in the big office chair behind his desk.

"Raven",Holland said,"I have a mission for you."

"What's the job sir?" Hudson asked.

"A couple of our operatives have run into trouble in Cuba",Holland replied,"the Cuban's have announced the event to the public as part of an ongoing propaganda champiagn,but have not released the status of the men." "Until we hear further we can only hope for the best,officially the US is denying any knowledge but unofficially it's a different story."

Holland put out two maps,one appeared to be of a mission or maybe a villia,the other was an anrea map,a coast line from what I could see.

"Latest inteligence has the men being held captive in a converted mission on the coast",Holland continued,"you are to infiltrate the mission,locate then agents and then get the hell outta dodge,am I clear Marines?"

"Sir yes sir",we replied in unison.

"Excellent",Holland replied,"grab your gear and then get to the landing strip,there's a C-260 on stand by that will fly to the AO,after which you will insert by Zodiac and then make your way in on foot to the objectives."

"Marines",Holland began again,"the Cuban's are prepared to kill these men at the fist sign of trouble,this mission is strictly stealth only."

"Yes sir",we replied.

"Very good",Holland said,"off with you now."

We turned and left the room before walking to our barracks to grab our body armor and uniforms. We followed a different pattern of outfitting than a standard Strike Force,being a Class 2 deniable asset,which had various perks,such as traning with Delta Force,being allowed to choose our weapons and uniforms as well as what went into our kits. We walked into our barracks and then entered our rooms. I grabbed my handgun and tags from the table before taking my grey Under Armour body suit that went from the base of my neck down to my ankles as well as covering half way up my fingers. I slipped it on and then pulled my foliage green tech print uniform from the locker and slippied it on over the suit before pulling on my boots,half fingered gloves and set my vest over it. Normaly,it held four two hundred round boxes of .30-06 for my Mk-48,but today it held six triple stack pouches for my AR-10,which held a reflex sight,a free floating rail and a heavy crome lined bull barrel as well as custom stock parts and a bipod. I grabbed my AR from the locker and slung it over my shoulder before grabbing my MOLLE 3-Day pack and filling it with C4,extra ammunition for my weapons,a few MRE's,100 feet of rappelling rope,a flashlight and some smoke grenades to serve different purposes. I slung my pack over my shoulders before locking my room behind me and walking to the end of the hall to meet my friends.

"Everyone got everything?",I asked.

"Yeah little brother",Issac said in reply,"we got everything."

"Good then",I said,"lets get going."

We walked from the barracks to the C-260 that was sitting on the runway. It was a big black plane with six propeller engines and a nose resembling that of the WWII B52 Flying Fortress. This plane I could see had a near 400 foot wingspan and was armed with twin 40mms as well as quad 20's,some serious fangs for a transport aircraft. It's crew were loading long belts of ammunition into the wings which held the 20's and even bigger bets of 40mm slugs into the fuselage. As we entered the plane,I noticed it had a bad,metallic smell to it.

"What the shit?",Hudson asked holding his hand over his nose,"it smells like rotten fish!"

"It certainly reeks",Jackson said gagging,looking as if he were about to throw up.

As we sat down,I noticed a small,glowing crimson object between my boots. I reached down and picked it up,turning it around in my fingers a bit before shrugging and sticking it in my pocket. After a few more minutes of boredom,the 260's engine began to spin up.

"Looks like were on our way",Hudson said as the hatch behind us closed.

Soon the plane was rolling down the runway. It slowly picked up speed before lifting off.

"How long before we make our drop zone?" I asked the pilot.

"About nine hours",the pilot said,"get comfortable."

"Not like it's a hotel",Frank said leaning back,"but we'll manage."

I closed my eyes and leaned back,I was still feeling sleepy,so it didn't take long for it to take it's hold.