The sun was setting over the ruins of the city, rays of light streaming through the stagnant smoke hanging in the air. Humvees and tanks rolled through, kicking up dust in their wake, making it impossible to tell the difference between where the smoke ended and the dirt began.
Simon Riley sat on a concrete wall on one of the few spots it hadn't been utterly demolished. He was hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands dangling between them. He watched as vehicle after vehicle rolled out; the operation was finished, it was time to pack up and move on to the next.
As the adrenaline that had pumped through his body for a solid three months started to wane away, a screeching ache took it's place. His shoulders flared with pain, his knees burned, every inch of his body enduring a searing reminder of the toll war had taken on him.
Blue eyes stared out from behind his infamous skull mask, taking in the destruction that lay before him. Bodies lay in piles, rubble, chaos. Soldiers worked to pull as many casualties from the debris. Medics bustled through their tents, screaming orders.
Simon leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. He pressed his palms to his forehead and tried to massage the growing migraine away. Was it worth it? Was anything worth it?
A static came over his comms and the voice of his Captain came through.
"Ghost," Price hailed.
A skeletal glove reached up, pressing the button to relay Simon's comms in return.
"Yes sir."
"141 is regrouping at Location Delta 12," Price stated.
"Yes sir."
Simon released the button on the device on his vest, bringing his arm back to rest on his knees.'Fuck,' he thought. 'It just never bloody ends."
He pushed himself off the edge of the wall, snagging up his gear and making his way to the meeting spot. Those stormy blue eyes stared straight ahead, daring not look at the corpses that littered the roadway. Though he avoided their lifeless gazes, it was as though he could still feel their eyes burning holes through his back.
____________________
Simon reached the buildings of Delta 12, a stucco and concrete compound that had remained mostly in tact. One edge of the property had been demolished by a mortar, but everything else seemed spotless in the wake of such a brutal assault.
The sun was fully set now, and as it had disappeared in the distance, the cold night of the desert had taken it's place, nipping at Simon's heels.
Johnny "Soap" MacTavish stood leaning up against the wall of the main building, one foot propped up behind him, his arms crossed over his vest.
"Took ya long enough, L.T," he nodded, pushing himself to stand on both boots to greet his superior.
