The sound of rounds bouncing off of the APC’s armor was nothing new to the Specialist. She had been on at least three tours of Afghanistan before she was brought into the Pararescue group and had witnessed more ambushes, road-side bombs and RPG attacks than most individuals should have to. After listening to her squad leader’s orders, she nodded to him silently before lifting up the jet black FN Scar-L that had rested on her lap up until this point, slamming in a fresh mag and hitting the slide-release to chamber a round. Oakley flicked the button to power on the EOTech on the rifle and rolled the rifle on it’s side to double check that the safety was on before feeling the vehicle come to a stop. Time to give em hell.

Empty cartridges from the .50cal rained down as Oakley hit the ground running, her combat boots slamming down on the cracked and worn out asphalt as she moved towards a small chest high wall for cover. She slid to a halt behind it, flicking the fire-selector on her rifle to semi before popping up and nailing a few tangos in the courtyard, the crackle of the Scar resonating throughout the area. While she never fired more than three shots at a target, her training as her squad’s designated marksman years before had taught her how to take down a target very quickly. The brass cartridges bounced off of the ground as she engaged target after target, partially to provide cover fire for the rest of her squad, partially because she couldn’t help it. There was something about shooting the people that had once tortured her and held her for ransom that was oddly satisfying. 

"Three at my one o'clock, engaging!" she called out, before turning towards them and unleashing a burst of 5.56 hollowpoint rounds to deal maximum internal damage. Oakley may have seemed level-headed on the outside, but inside she resented these people and what they had done to her and was willing to torture them as much as possible before they died. 

"Technical, nine o'clock! Lay it out!"

If she’d had a dollar for every time she’d heard someone say that, she could’ve retired three years ago. Oakley shot her eyes to her left to see the .50 gun light up the truck, a few squad members following suit shortly after. She decided that they had a good handle on it and turned to re-engage the targets to her front, only pausing to quickly flick out an empty magazine and slam in a new one with the click of the bolt being released as her queue to resume combat. She then began firing mainly as cover so that the rest of the team had a chance to move up without being gunned down. The recoil jarred her shoulder after every shot, but it was almost nothing to her preferred rifle which wasn't practical for the current circumstances. After noticing that the rest of her squad was beginning to moved up, she took one last look around her before hopping the barrier and rushing the building, pressing herself against the wall on the opposite side of the door as Niko, looking to him for orders.

"Ten four." was all that she said, confirming the order to defend their six as they moved into the building. She kept her off hand hovering over the pressure switch wired to her flashlight, ready for anything that jumped out. She peered through the small crevasses in the wall, spotting a few members from blue outside before she turned to look back at the door they had come from. She held position as the Canadian came to a halt, her dimmed helmet light illuminating the hallway behind them.