He wiped the sweat from his brow as he exited from the hot, dense, Vietnamese jungle. Two ammunition belts were wrapped around his broad shoulders, and their corresponding machine gun was slung across his back. His trousers were ripped as if he had fallen many times, and his entire body reeked of sweat, piss, and MREs.

A leader in the US Army, Brian Kellers headed Echo Squad in the 3rd Ranger Battalion. They were here under a classified mission to assassinate the leader of the IFC, a global terrorist group centered in Asia. Behind him, his last 3 remaining squad members burst from the jungle.

"Where the fuck did the IFC go, sergeant? They've been tailing our asses all night, up until now!" Terry Squire said, a PFC fresh from training.

"I have no idea, spitfuck. But we better keep moving or-"

Suddenly, a bullet struck Terry in the chest, sending him to the ground like a falling sack of bricks. Hitting his bullet-proof vest chest plate, he rebounded up and sprinted towards cover, following his 2 other comrades and his squad leader.

"Guys, 3 o'clock, top of the ridge! Terry, you take Bob and flank around the stream to the left, I'll stay put for suppressing fire, and Kevin, I want you to radio into battalion were trapped like fuckin' sitting ducks."

The plan initiated, Terry and Bob low-crawled from their position to the stream, quietly making their way towards the ridge.

Brian set up his M249 Squad Automatic Weapon and spewed lead towards their position. He went cyclic, not stopping for a second. The barrel became red hot, and sent steam flying into the already humid sky.

Terry and Bob eventually made it to the stream, to find the rest of their squad firing upon them. They had been split up in the night from the IFC, and had mistaken them for their enemies.

"What the fuck are y'all doing? You're firing at the fuckin' sergeant!"

Embarrassed, the rest of squad ceased firing, and they recommenced their mission: assassinate the leader of the IFC.