The AC-130 rumbled through the pitch-black sky, deep behind enemy lines. Inside, the Crows sat in silence, waiting for the call. No nervous chatter. No last-minute checks. Just the steady hum of the engines and the occasional creak of their gear shifting with the turbulence.
A voice crackled through Captain Crow’s earpiece.
"Crow ready to finally fly?"
The captain let out a grim chuckle, adjusting his mask. "Ready as always."
The jump light turned green.
One by one, the Crows threw themselves into the night. The air roared past them as they cut through the sky, freefalling toward their target—a heavily fortified military base.
As they broke through the cloud cover, the sky below turned even darker. The Crows’ parachutes deployed in unison, their black canopies blotting out the moon. From the ground, it looked like the night itself was swallowing the base whole.
The enemy didn’t notice.
Not until hellfire rained down.
Mid-air, the Crows fired rockets downward, their trails cutting through the sky like falling stars. The first explosions ripped through armored vehicles and ammo reserves, setting off chain reactions that engulfed entire sections of the base.
By the time the first alarms blared, it was already too late.
The Crows hit the ground fast and hard, landing in formation. They moved like ghosts, their black gear blending into the shadows, sweeping through the base with lethal precision. No wasted movements. No mercy.
Vega watched it all from HQ, her eyes locked on the live body cam feeds. Soldiers screamed. Skulls split open. The so-called "impenetrable" base crumbled in a matter of hours.
Hours filled with nothing but fear.
The last few survivors managed to send out a distress call before their throats were slit. Moments later, headlights appeared on the horizon—reinforcements.
A full convoy of tanks and armored vehicles.
A normal squad would have retreated. Fallen back. Waited for air support.
The Crows?
They grinned.
"Bitch, this is all because of you! You just had to attack the radio tower!" one Crow yelled over the gunfire, taking cover behind a wrecked truck.
Another ducked behind cover, scoffing. "Because of me? You piece of shit—"
Instead of staying down, he sprinted across open ground—straight through enemy fire—just to throw a punch at the first guy.
The two started brawling, fists flying, while explosions shook the battlefield around them.
One of the Crows lining up a shot groaned, "These fucking idiots can’t stop fighting for a single moment. I swear, one day, I’m painting their clothes neon green so they’re the first targets upon landing."
The squad burst into laughter while still dealing with the convoy.
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The enemy soldiers, watching from inside their tanks, weren’t scared because the Crows were retreating.
They were terrified because these maniacs were smiling.
Even under heavy fire. Even as the sky turned red from the flames. They were grinning.
Inside one of the tanks, a gunner locked onto a Crow reloading his rocket launcher.
The Crow didn’t see him. His back was turned. He was exposed—an easy kill.
The gunner gripped the trigger. This was it.
Just as he was about to fire—
The Crow turned his head slightly.
Just enough for the gunner to see his face.
A wide, unshaken, entertained grin.
The Crow winked.
Then fired first.
A second later, the tank erupted in flames.
Missiles streaked through the sky as the Crows flanked the convoy, raining hell down on the enemy. The battlefield burned, turning armored vehicles into twisted wreckage, bodies into ash.
The fight was over before the enemy even understood what happened.
As the convoy was reduced to nothing but burning scrap, the rest of the squad turned to the two Crows still throwing punches like rabid dogs.
One of them, speaking in a heavy British accent, snarled, "You fucking idiots. I hope you two die one day, you piece-of-shit, worthless garbage. Now you cun— 'takes a deep breath' clean up the bodies. Stack them into a pile. And until then, we're not leaving, even if the enemy sends their entire fucking army."
The two Crows, still mid-swing, suddenly burst into laughter. Without a word, they let go of each other's collars, dusted themselves off, and got to work.
Night turned into day. Day turned into night.
Vega’s voice screamed through the Captain’s earpiece, ordering them to retreat to the border. He didn’t listen.
The Crows weren’t done yet.
As the sun rose, a small convoy of enemy vehicles rolled into the ruined base. The soldiers inside expected the battlefield to be abandoned. A graveyard of their fallen.
Instead, as they stepped out of their cars—
One of them pissed his pants.
Because before them, the Crows were still there.
Drinking. Laughing. Goofing around on a mountain of enemy corpses.
One was balancing on a body, pretending to surf. Another was using a severed hand to slap his friend in the face. Someone had set up a small fire and was casually roasting meat on a bayonet.
And at the center of it all, a Crow lifted a hollowed-out enemy skull, casually sipping beer from it like a chalice.
It wasn’t just disrespect.
It was mockery.
Before the enemy convoy could even blink, sniper rounds tore through them.
A second later, the last two Crows casually dragged in the final bodies, tossing them onto the twisted, blood-soaked monument they had built overnight.
The message was clear.
They weren’t just winning.
They were enjoying it.
------
As the Crows left the base behind, they didn't even glance back at the mountain of bodies they'd stacked. Well, except for one—who was still carrying a severed arm for God knows what reason.
They knew a simple walk to the border was out of the question. Ten kilometers, multiple enemy outposts, and heavy patrols stood in their way. So, they did the most logical—no, the most Crow thing possible.
They spent three hours reinforcing a truck. Not just any truck—one big enough to fit the entire squad and strong enough to ram through anything in their path.
And when it was ready?
The Crows whooped and screamed like it was some joyride, firing at outposts as they plowed straight through them. To anyone watching, it didn’t even look like an escape—it looked like they were just having fun.
At one point, the Crow still holding the severed arm decided it would be hilarious to steer the truck with the hand.
It was hilarious—until he crashed the truck.
Pinned down by three Crows, he got his ass beaten into the dirt. A few minutes later, swollen eye and all, he just dusted himself off, strapped the arm to his backpack, and kept moving like nothing happened.
With the truck gone, they continued on foot. Five kilometers left. Almost home free.
Until a scouting party blocked their path.
Not just any scouting party.
This one was custom-built to stop the Crows.
Armored ranks. APCs. Jeeps surrounding them on all sides.
The Crows?
They glanced at each other—then started giggling.
The Captain?
Already rubbing his forehead, because he knew what was about to happen.
One Crow disappeared into the shadows, sneaking up to the convoy. A few minutes later, a tank turret rotated in the wrong direction.
Then a maniacal laugh erupted from inside.
BOOM.
The stolen tank blasted the surrounding vehicles apart. The remaining enemy tanks spun their turrets toward it. But before they could fire, the Crow inside used his own turret to shove their aim off-course like some twisted playground game.
The rest of the Crows?
Dying of laughter in the distance.
The Captain?
Already walking away.
He knew they’d handle it. No point sticking around.
From far ahead, a massive explosion rocked the battlefield. The Captain sighed into his radio.
"You fucking group of brain-dead children. If you’re not at my position in 30 minutes, I swear—"
The laughter? Dead silent.
Every Crow who had been joking around immediately turned serious. They ripped through the convoy like rabid animals and started sprinting to the Captain’s location.
Exactly 29 minutes later, they arrived—begging for forgiveness.
One was literally kissing the Captain’s boots.
The Captain sighed. No energy to deal with this.
As they reached the border and crossed into safety, Vega was already waiting with a chopper behind her. Arms crossed.
Not mad about the mission.
Just disappointed in the absolute circus of idiots she had to work with.
As the Captain walked past her into the chopper, the others followed—except for one.
The idiot with the arm.
He handed it to Vega like it was a gift.
"Didn’t know what to do with it, so… figured I’d give it to you. Anyway, what’s for lunch? I’m fucking starving."
Vega stared at him.
Then she slapped him with the same arm he gave her and shoved him into the chopper.
Just as they all settled in, one Crow’s eyes suddenly went wide.
"WAIT. THE CURSE. THE CROW CURSE—"
Silence.
Then? Panic.
Every Crow immediately jumped out of the chopper, cursing and swearing.
The Captain, still inside, just leaned back, waved them off, and smirked.
"Enjoy the 30km walk home, then."
The chopper lifted off, leaving them behind.
They stood there in betrayl
"That bastard....."
A long-standing superstition among the Crows—whenever they use a chopper, it ALWAYS crashes.
Nobody knows why.
