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The deafening roar of the C-130's four churning turbo prop engines drowned out any chance of conversation, enveloping the cabin in a cocoon of white noise as Captain Price gazed pensively out the small vibrating side window into the vast pitch black night sky.
He and the rest of his elite SAS team - Ghost, Soap, and Gaz - were beyond exhausted after completing their latest harrowing covert operation deep in hostile enemy territory. The highly sensitive mission had been an unmitigated success, dealing a crippling blow to the terrorist network they had infiltrated and disrupted for months now at great personal risk. But the unrelenting stress and repeated brushes with death during round-the-clock action had taken its toll on the hardened soldiers. Price took a long swig from his canteen, the tepid metallic-tasting water doing little to perk up his foggy mind and aching body. He longed for the first sip of bitter black coffee upon returning to the Hereford base. Glancing over, he saw Soap meticulously cleaning his field-stripped M4A1 rifle on autopilot, muscle memory guiding his hands as his heavy head nodded inconsistently, struggling to resist the urge to sleep.
Dark circles hung under Soap's bloodshot, dry eyes, and coarse stubble covered his grimy, sweat-stained face. Price gave him a gentle kick with his boot to rouse him, knowing dozing off could be deadly this close to friendly lines.
"Stay alert, we're not home yet," Price grumbled, his gravelly voice barely audible over the rumbling drone of the engines.
Soap nodded blearily, blinking hard as he tried to keep his gritty, bone-tired eyes open and focused. Across from him, Gaz sat slouched in his seat, head tilted back at an uncomfortable angle and eyes closed as he tried to get what little fitful rest he could before they finally touched down safely back on British soil. His right leg bounced rhythmically against the vibrating cold metal fuselage, a nervous tic betraying the frayed nerves and adrenaline still simmering inside him even now after the firefights had ceased.
Across from Gaz, Ghost simply stared straight ahead, as silent and unreadable as ever behind his signature skull-patterned balaclava. The ghoulish mask marked him as an ominous specter to their enemies, but Price knew the man beneath it to be the most steady, loyal soldier under his command. Though clear exhaustion emanated from the rest of the team, Ghost remained vigilant, ignoring any discomfort or desire for rest. Price allowed himself a rare hint of a proud smile beneath his thick, greying mustache.
The mission parameters had been hazy at best, with scarce reliable intel to guide them through the fog of war. Yet they had succeeded against all odds and ripped the heart out of this terrorist faction, no doubt saving countless innocent lives. It had been a job well done, with his best men at his side. Now all that remained was getting back to Hereford in one piece, debriefing this unholy mess, and preparing for the next deployment. There was always a next mission. Price took another long swig of the metallic water and leaned his head back, allowing his weary eyes to close for just a moment as the engines droned on. He mentally recited an old SAS prayer - one taught to every new recruit from Selection through training.
Without warning, the C-130 suddenly lurched violently to starboard, throwing the elite SAS soldiers from their seats in a tangle of flailing limbs. Deafening alarms instantly mixed with the groan of stressed metal as the aircraft's nose pitched into a terrifyingly steep nosedive. Price was slammed against the cabin wall but immediately scrambled against the violent turbulence, half crawling and dragging himself toward the distant cockpit. The plane careened sharply, plunging toward the dark churning ocean below that was growing larger by the second out the reinforced windshield.
"Brace for impact!" Price bellowed at the top of his lungs over the cacophony, though whether his men could even hear him was doubtful.
The C-130's right wing brutally clipped the peaks of the tumultuous ocean swells, sending the aircraft into a vicious downward corkscrew roll as it began to rapidly break apart around them. Loose gear and debris swirled through the cabin with lethal force. Before the sea could fully rush to meet them, Price caught a fleeting glimpse of a small, densely forested island jutting up from the otherwise empty watery abyss. Then, the world went black as his head slammed against the cabin wall with crushing force.
When Price groggily came to, the smoldering, flaming wreckage of the mangled C-130 was scattered across a moonlit white sandy beach, waves gently lapping against the debris. The faint hiss and pop of burning aviation fuel punctuated the otherwise eerie silence. As his vision slowly focused, Price could make out the limp but breathing forms of Soap, Ghost, and Gaz splayed nearby amidst the wreckage - all miraculously still alive. Price coughed harshly several times, regaining his breath as he slowly, painfully rose to his feet. His head was spinning and caked blood marred his weathered face.
"Sound off, lads! Anyone seriously injured?" Price barked, his usual gravelly voice now hoarse and raspy.
"Aye, I'm banged up but in one piece," Soap groaned as he came to, gingerly rubbing his head where a nasty gash was visible.
Ghost gave a silent thumbs up as he slowly sat up, the iconic skull balaclava still concealing any emotion.
Gaz nodded weakly nearby, wincing in obvious pain as he tried to put weight on his badly bleeding left leg.
Though battered and concussed, by some providence it seemed the team had survived the catastrophic crash remarkably intact. As their senses returned, it was clear they were alone - no aid or rescue was coming to this small forested island anytime soon. Price scanned the ominous tree line and saw no signs of life. But something had triggered those old naval flares during the crash. They were stranded in hostile territory, injured and low on supplies. But they were SAS - they would adapt, survive, and find a way home. Failure was never an option, whatever the odds. Price set his jaw in determination. "Alright lads, listen up. We need shelter, fresh water, and get a proper assessment of our injuries. Soap, gather anything useful from the wreck and scout the tree line. Ghost, secure a perimeter and prep a camp..."
Price began barking orders, his instincts and training immediately taking over now that the initial shock had worn off. There could be no rest yet - survival was now the priority.
"Soap, gather anything useful from the wreck and scout the tree line. Look for fresh water sources or any natural shelter," Price commanded.
"On it," Soap confirmed with a nod, limping over to sift through the smoldering debris.
"Ghost, secure a perimeter and prep a campsite area. We need shelter and fire before nightfall," Price said.
Ghost silently affirmed the order and began surveying the beach's tree line for defensible positions.
Price helped Gaz over to a flat area of sand, away from the lapping tides. "Let me see that leg, soldier," he said, examining the injury. The gash was deep but the bleeding had slowed. Price tore a medical kit salvaged from the wreckage and began dressing the wound.
Gaz winced but made no complaint as Price worked. "Hell of a landing, eh sir?" he said with gallows humor through the pain.
"Could have been worse..." Price replied, finishing the field dressing.
He looked around, the reality of their dire situation sinking in. No comms, dwindling supplies, and seemingly no way off this isolated island. But they'd been in desperate straits before. His men were survivors - and he'd make damn sure they made it home, no matter what it took. They needed shelter fast. Price finished tending to Gaz then went to check the perimeter Ghost had established. Soap rejoined them, having collected some parachute fabric for shelter and scavenged supplies. So far the island seemed deserted, but he knew well that looks could deceive. There was no telling what unseen dangers lurked within the island's interior. Water and food would be their first concern come daylight. Perhaps some of the radio gear could be salvaged to re-establish comms.
Price chewed some flavorless emergency rations from his pack and took a swig of tepid water. He would need to conserve what little food and water they had. Hopefully Soap could locate a fresh water source soon.
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