Snippet #1337123

Swagger cocked an eyebrow. "Negative," he said sternly. "Unless Pup trades rifles with me, that's just wasting soldiers. Mick," he called to his spotter. "Trade out."

His spotter, who'd grabbed the Russian who'd taken a shot to the chest, tossed his M4 Tactical Carbine to Swagger, who returned the favor by tossing Mick the Barret. "Don't fire unless you can smell them," he muttered. Then he took position and awaited the others to assemble behind him. "Mick, keep them straight. Pup, with me up front. We blaze the trail, you show them the way. If you hear gunfire, bunk down until it stops. We'll call back the signal to show it's clear," Swagger rumbled over the noise of combat. Then he stood up, jumped over a body, and shoulder rammed the door of a nearby building in the way they wished to go.

Right off, a Chinese soldier lunged at him, some form of long blade in his hands. Swagger blocked with his rifle, but couldn't use it. 'Game time, Grim,' he thought. Swagger lunged to the right, then to the left, forcing the Chinese blade to follow him and smashing the butt of the gun into the enemy's face on the second lunge. Wasting no time, he reached behind himself, latched onto the machette handle sticking out just behind his waist, then drew it out and blocked the next blow of his enemy. Metal slashed at metal for a pair of precious seconds before Swagger gained the upper hand. He dropped back, accidentally slammed into something behind him, then lunged forward and kicked the foe in the chest as if he was breaking down a door. The man recoiled just enough for Swagger to switch the blade's position in his hand and go in. He lunged low, under the target's guard, and slashed from bottom to top, sparking the blade on the ground before swinging straight up and having to spiral with the motion, making a bloody figure 9 in the air. Just for good messure, Swagger landed smoothly and launched a vicious side kick to the man's ribcage. Bones, weakened by the ferocious slice, cracked and shattered. The man fell back, neatly split at his chest cavity, inards open to the world, dead.

Swagger retrieved his rifle and called back, "Clear!" as he waited for the pup to come up.