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((This is just the first journal, not meant to be exciting, just meant to give a background of the characters.))

It was to be my easiest mission since I had begun training with the Special Forces, just a simple mission; drop off some supplies for a civilian checkpoint, stand guard there for a few days, then leave, easy enough right? Wrong... We were on a jumbo carrier, and I was passed out, partially rocked to sleep by boredom and by the calm turbulence. Suddenly I heard a clapping sound; I opened my eyes slowly. Sgt. Sullivan was standing in front of me, "Don't want you sleeping while we drop son." He said to me with a friendly yet frightening grin, something he was known for. "Not like we're anywhere near the drop zone sarge..." I retorted in a droopy tone. Almost immediately after I heard a filtered voice over the intercom, "10 minutes to drop zone, get ready back there." One of the pilots said. "You were saying?" Sgt. Sullivan asked with a laugh.
I let out a tired moan and stood up. "Alright, circle up!" Sgt. Sullivan called. The lot of us moved over to see what he wanted. "You all know what we're here for, meet up with allied forces at the airport and transport the goods to the nearby town, only problem we may encounter is some raiders, nothing we can't handle, right?" He called, the men responded with a hearty "Hooah!". "That's what I like to hear!" He said, then let the men off to gather what they needed. There were 5 men in our squadron, myself; being Pfc. Nations, Pvt. Jason Parts, Pvt. Nichole Sounds, Cpl. Anders, and Sgt. Bill Sullivan.
I went over to the weapons rack and grabbed a M16, my line of profession, that and a Colt was all I needed. Pvt. Parts was out team sniper, he was a scrawny guy, but that shouldn't let you think he couldn't kick someone's a** if need be. Pvt. Sounds was on recon, she was a tall and pretty fast woman, always carrying a sub machine gun. Cpl Anders was our team heavy, he was a slightly obese black man who could kill any man he saw, he always carried a heavy machine gun and a grenade launcher. Finally there was Sgt. Sullivan, a rather old fellow who was almost completely covered in scars, he had seen more in his life than any man ever should, he always carried around a simple pair of Desert Eagles with plenty of clips. We were indeed a rag-tag team if ever there was one, but we worked together like a well-oiled machine, nothing could stand in our way.