Ross ran back to the ALSV, diving into the driver's seat, as the two SEALs crammed into the right passenger seat, grabbing a rail and hanging on. They knew what was going to happen next.
"Hang the fuck on! Merlin, this is Knight Actual, we've found two of them, one more is KIA! We're extracting now, headed north!" Ross yelled over comms, as the V8 purred into life, the engine roaring as the SEALs grinned, but were a little more than petrified. They were being rescued by the rescuers, namely, Ross and Carl, who had kicked in more than just a door to get them out of here. Releasing the handbrake as Carl got in, the ALSV span up, kicking up dust as they sped out, past the burning wreck of the blown up technical, Ross skidding the vehicle right to avoid a roadblock, as bullets hemmed in. The SEALS kept their head down, as Ross put himself to driving, flooring it down the road, aware that this was more than a "hot" extraction. It was volcanic, as Ross hit the switch attached to the wheel, hitting the NOS as the engine bursted in speed, allowing the ALSV to bolt forwards and hit 100mph. If they had the parafoil now, Ross would have been happy to use it, but there were bullets still flying, and the SEALs more than knew this, in the passenger footwell.

"Merlin copies, we've got a CH-147 headed for your insertion point. Drive in, and get your asses back across the border. Whiskey Six is on tasking for eliminating any followers." Ross heard, as he skidded around a corner, the sight of a couple of technicals enough for Ross to know that Carl was already swinging that big 40mm weapon on it, as he headed off-centre for them.
"Understood." Ross simply said, as the explosions and speed were all one, as Ross sped past the wreckage, the V8 sticking out a little in the back but roaring loudly, and covered in a light bulletproof casing. It was just awesome to do, this thing felt like it could outspeed most supercars, the acceleration was crazy- though it weighed almost 800kg now, it chucked out 400bhp, and with the Passive NOS, a little more even. It was just a machine that Ross was in awe of- and it was getting them out, alright.

Driving over a wreckage of cars, they caught air, as Ross felt the vehicle thud, chuckling through his visor, as he turned left, full beams on, the audible noise of the roaring engine and weapons from the SEALs pointing back, with Carl's 40mm too, just enough to make this an experience and a half.
"Whiskey Six, this is Knight, we've got the remnants of Viking, we're headed up to our insertion point. We need immediate Hellfire rounds, we've got several Technicals joining the road at various points, we need a strike on them. We're marked with IR strobes and we've moving fast as hell, over." Ross said, as the Northern Irelander on the other end chuckled, the Apache sticking right behind a ridge, almost 10km away. The AH1 moved up a little, and Whiskey Six's gunner was already working on having the Hellfires ready to fire, seeing the distant fight. He saw at least five targets, and all were painted up, with the SALH lasers kicking in and picking them up, the gunner letting loose the guided round. TOT- at least a minute.

And it was a long minute, as the technicals behind fired up on the ALSV, forcing the SEALs to duck, as Ross half-guessed they were just pickups with people in the back firing AKs. They were pissed, alright- they'd left the town, and driven through several roadblocks, like a gale of wind. Now they wanted blood. Oh, they'd have some, Ross thought to himself. Their own would be burned to a crisp soon enough, as Ross saw what was ahead, the blocked off grouping of technicals on the road forcing Ross to turn right, downward into a smaller dirt ditch, a minor road, as second ticked by. Then, it happened.

The minute came to an end, as what seemed like living hell ruptured everywhere. The two technicals behind the ALSV were blown off the side of the mountain road, as the checkpoint ahead of the ALSV was decimated, with a technical thrown high up into the air, blown off it's base as the fuel tank went up, the vehicle actually flying above the ALSV, Ross almost going into slo-mo as he looked up at it, barely a couple of meters above as he swiped back onto the main tarmac road, the trail of fury and wrecks behind just sheerly awesome. Turning left, onto a dirt road, the sound of brrap behind could be unmistakable- it was 30mm rounds, and it was hitting anything that was left infantry wise.
"That should do it, Knight. We've done our recce of the LZ, we'll back off now. Take care out there- the RCAF sent a CH-147, callsign Hotel Six, to evac you out of there. Good hunting." Whiskey Six's pilot said, as Ross chuckled.
"You take care, flying low. Out." Ross said, as they headed down the road, back up to their extract. It was a long and winding road, and would take at least twenty minutes, over this undulating terrain, with hairpin bends and tough, bumpy tracks to go over. The SEALs remained quiet, for now at least. Ramsay and Burns could talk later, when they were in the Chinook.

In time, they arrived to the LZ, and the sight of a CH-147, or a Canadian-specification Chinook, was a sight for sore eyes. The helicopter had expected Knight's arrival at this time, and came in, rear door open, a handful of CSOR operators in the back, armed with C8s and their standard loadout. They were covering this chopper, and as it landed, they hopped out, seeing the ALSV, with four grizzled operators, two armored like Rhinos. They gave a wave, and Ross surged the vehicle forward, braking hard before hitting the ramp and pulling in. They followed in, as the vehicle was effectively rammed inside, driven right up into the middle, and put on the handbrake, The helicopter was in the air quickly, and they were pulling out of the airspace fast. Mission complete, Ross thought to himself. Though it was never done till your wheels touched the landing pad at the FOB, the hardest part was over.

----

An hour later, and they were barely leaving Pakistan, the Chinook flying a little higher than the Apache had done- this was the return leg, not going in. Ross sat by the door M134, looking across to the four CSOR operators- who were here to provide Aviation cover for Hotel Six, and the two SEALs, who looked knocked up, but breathing. They seemed relieved, and had slept, despite the intensely loud noise of the Chinook.
"Okay, we're leaving Pakistani airpsace right about now, we're back in Wakhan. We're due back at base in 30 mikes, over these mountains..." The pilot he said, just then suddenly cut off. There was a certain panic, as Ross turned to the cabin, the sound of flares deploying, a bright orange from the rear illustrating what this was. Worst, case, scenario.
"We've got MANPADS, we're taking rounds! Everyone, brace, brace, brace!" Ross heard, as the helicopter shook, breaking away, the sight of flares out the back door a fearsome sight, as a missile flew past. The next, wasn't going to miss. The militants had gotten very lucky, using advanced Igla-N systems, almost brand-new Russian Anti-Air missiles, and this Chinook wasn't going to survive it. The second missile clipped the rear of the helicopter, and sliced almost the whole compartment off, as the helicopter began to spin, the rear rotor disabled as Ross held on, the SEALs awake and holding onto something, as the whole chopper began to go into a spin. It became a dizzying and petrifying sight, as Ross saw one of the CSOR operators fall out the back, almost yelling in shock, as he put his visor down with his only other spare hand, hanging onto a metal strongpoint, the sight of the ground coming sideways out the side window just a horrifying vision. They were dead, no doubt, and with three quarters of a helicopter left, Ross knew that even the armor they wore would probably not even do it.

---

Ten Minutes Later

Ross regained consciousness, somehow a bit bleary, but able to think, just consider the situation. His helmet had a collosal crack, and his visor was splintered, with many spiderweb cracks- it was effectively redundant, as he could guess it was the main reason he didn't have any pieces of shrapnel or impact pains in his shull. He took the strap and bunged it off, throwing it down, the neckbrace and rest of the armor system still intact, as he coughed, barely able to sit up, the CH-147 on it's side, as Ramsay ran back in. The ALSV had been pushed out, and was a total wreck, basically on two wheels and whilst the main frame survived, it wouldn't be going anywhere. Ross sat up, standing on a smashed port window, groaning as he felt general pain. He could get through this, he was sure, but he definitely had a cracked rib, from the impact.
"Fuck...Carl, he's up!" Ramsay yelled to Carl, who was at the door, of which was on it's left side, the other three CSOR operators dead, something Ross gathered from the bodies strewn by the ALSV.
"Poor bastards. Pilots alive?" Ross asked, as Ramsay came over, giving Ross a hand, the Juggernaut taking the Navy Seal's hand, as he stood up, looking around, dusting himself off.
"They're gone. Just me and Burns are alive, plus Lieutenant Cardinal." Ramsay said, as he moved up, his 416 functional, and with a magazine loaded, as he adjusted his Ops Core helmet.
"We binoculared out a whole mass movement of Taliban, AQ and some fucking tooled up guys going to our position. They got modern body armor, AK-12s, they mean business. There's at least fifteen technicals, loaded with people- so about 60 individuals rallying to us. I give them about five minutes to our position." Ramsay said, as he checked his mag, looking to the front, the whole Chinook almost completely destroyed, and in pieces. It was lucky it hadn't caught ablaze- the fuel line had at severed, and not sparked off from somewhere, with fuel pissing on the floor.
"It's that group. They fucking tracked us. Watched us, radioed in. They want us dead. Back in Wakhan, you know that urban myth? This giant Mohican and big Russian woman?" Ross said, looking over, shaking his head, almost half uncertain when he spoke.
"Yeah, what about it?" Ramsay said, as Ross shook his head, just worried now.
"They're real, and they're scared of them. They said they saw shit that shouldn't be in their hands. I dunno. This is a fuck up. You call Whiskey Six?" Ross asked, as Ramsay nodded.
"They're ten mikes out, got limited Hellfires, but they can provide cover. We're going to have to hold a lot longer for another extraction- MANPADS just scared the crap out of any aerial unit, so Whiskey's the best we have. We'll have an F15D Strike Eagle in about twenty, with about eight tons of Mk84 bombs. We've got what I heard was a British extraction helicopter coming too, at some point, they didn't give an ETA. This is FUBAR, man." Ramsay said, as Ross looked to his smashed helmet, and then at his Mk48, before then turning back.
"It is. But that's why we went into rescue you. Okay, here's what we do. I want you to grab that M134 on the left side, it's tilted up, I know, but we can smash the pintle and push it to it's maximum extent down, and use it to fire on the valley below. Get Burns to jump on the Mk19 on our ALSV- it's still got ammo, and it makes noise. I'll cover our rear, uphill, while Carl helps out down below. Got it?" Ross said, as he checked his weapon, still working and functional, as he looked around.
"Got it. Carl, over here. I think here's something I think they CSOR guys had that you might like." Ramsay said, moving to the bodies, looking at them.
"Poor bastards. They got blown apart when it hit. Fuckers." He added, more than a little bitter, aware that they'd gone through hell enough already.
"This is it. They kept a C15 Timberwolf in the chopper, as well as another C6 MMG. Could come in handy, just use it as you need, I guess." Ramsay added, as Burns moved outside, the sight of enemy closing a real shocker, as he lept on the Mk19.
"Fuck, we got incoming! Contacts close!" Ross heard, as bullets whistled through the helicopter's fuselage, Ross running out, aware that he had no helmet, and was going to be subceptible. No NODS either- they were smashed up, but no less, he could see good enough now, since the moon was completely out, and there were little to no clouds. Around the topside of the helicopter, Ross found a position by a rock, firing back uphill at contacts as the bullets whizzed by. This was an old feeling alright- the feeling that any of these rounds could take his life, and that his armor wasn't going to do squat if it hit his face. He took out a handful of militants, as Ramsay moved out, using his M320 on the first technical, which seemed to have a first responder wave. Three heavily armored soldiers jumped out, looking like they had lighter kevlar suits of armor, armed with RPKs and RPGs, moving up the hill, but found themselves cut apart by the Mk19 and then the M134, as their lack of helmets and faceplates, as well as the sheer volume of fire, cut them apart. Still, they were hard to kill, and there was a good group of them, as more moved through the field below, a rocky and boulder-strewn area that seemed like a goat-grazing area. It was grassy, but patches of snow existed, with gorse and braken intersperced around, as Ross simply fired uphill, on flankers and movers.
"Incoming!" Ross yelled, as an RPG round flew in, blowing up a whole section of the hill to their right, subsiding it partly as Ross took the shooter down, taking a breath of air as he kept his head low, and tended to expose the rest of his armored suit, rather than his head, when firing now.