Modern War: First Month

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A rumble shakes the camp. You roll over in your bed to check the time a sit drags you out of the haze of sleep that you're in. 01:00 says the clock. A second rumble shakes the camp again and you hear the stirrings around you. You know it's not a local tremor as you hear the distant whining and ratatata of the guard posts around the camp opening fire into the night. You leap out of your bunk, hastily bundling your gear on as a Sergeant comes marching into the room, yelling for mobilisation and assembly in the yard.

Jamie had almost fallen off of the roof when the first explosion hit. He didn't even get time to react to it, as one of the other sentries called out that he was taking fire. As Jamie heard this, a flash went off to his right. Going prone and bringing the scope of his rifle to his high, he scanned the desert for targets.

Charles came half running out the barracks, leaving his boots behind. They weren't important right now. Half the squad was already gathering in the yard and being sent to defensive positions around the base. Some of them looked scared to death. It was likely their first real night attack. He felt sorry for them, remembering how it'd been the first time for him.

Jamie continued to scan the pitch-black desert, until a flash drew his eye. He flinched as a small plume of dust flew up from the sandbags nearby, but held his composure; calmly exhaling as he brought the crosshairs over the silhouette he couldn't see. He squeezed the trigger. He couldn't tell if he'd hit the mark or not, it was too dark. Another flash, not far, and Jamie repeated the process.
"We need light!" He shouted, hearing someone closer to the perimeter begin calling for flares.

Charles ran to the centre, was promptly yelled at, tossed a rifle and three flares and sent to the eastern watchtower. He sprinted across the sandy yard, the crack of what was definitely AK's mixed with M4's all round him. He took the steps two at a time, passing up the fifteen in less than three seconds. Once he reached the top, he looked to see who he would be spending the night with. It wasn't anyone from his squad. All the same, he took a low stance and light one of his flares, tossing it in a wide arc out field.

As the desert outside of the walls began to light up, Jamie found it much easier to aquire targets. He fired at anything that moved outside of the walls, quickly using up his first magazine. He repositioned himself, hiding his body from the incoming fire, and changed magazine.

When the first of the explosions detonated Max was already out of his bunk and slipping on his boots, not bothering to tie them.  Nor did he strap his plate carrier when he flung it over his head.  After grabbing his M4 he darted out of the tent.  Once outside he immediately locked eyes with one of the sergeants barking orders who pointed him to one of the foxholes.  Right after sliding into cover, two more infantry followed suit.

Now in a cramped foxhole Max thought that someone here probably didn't follow the sergeant's instructions properly, maybe it was him.

Tossing a second flare to the east of where he had thrown the first, Charles stacked his rifle onto the metal barricade he had been crouched behind and began to open fire on the silhouettes outlined by the flares. A quick count told him there were six. No, five. One went down, crumpling into a heap.

With more bodies on the walls and returning fire, Jamie could focus more on placing accurate shots instead of trying to supress the attackers. He dropped down from the roof, sprinting over to another firing position they'd set up earlier. Hopefully hidden from enemy shooters, Jamie deployed the bipod on his rifle, line up a shot on one of the silhouettes and-
Crack
His rifle kicked back into his shoulder, his target stumbling back from the dune it was climbing and falling. Jamie pivoted his rifle, already lining up another target.

A radio crackled to life and the call for cease fire came over it. Charles stopped firing immediately. It was clear that any targets still moving outside of the camp were running as fast as they could. He knew the night sentries would pay hell for letting them get this close.

As soon as shots started going off SSGT. Weiss sprung from his bunk, he was on the top so he didn't have to worry about hitting his head.
He thought to himself as he was throwing his plate carrier over his fatigues which he always slept in, I mean, their was a lot to think about. How badly he was gonna fuck up the night sentries for not saying a thing, if he had enough ammo in his vest to get through a firefight, and most of all, he was trying to keep down the excitement of finally getting to kill some motherfuckers.
He got all his gear on, snatched up his rifle, and was out the door within thirty seconds. This most certainly wasn't his first time seeing combat, but it never failed to sky rocket his adrenaline.
When he made it outside, the night was nearly pitch black, and bullet catchers were scrambling around everywhere. (Infantrymen)
He dived for the closest HMMWV, and used that as cover.
Every once and awhile he would lean out and fire off a few shots, but he never got too greedy.
He could barely hear some men yelling from nearby him, and then saw a flare get flung into the night sky, it landed revealing a few Afghans. "Good arm on whatever son of a bitch threw that!" He shouted to the burn bag crouched next to him. He unloaded some led in the direction of the Afghans, and he could have sworn at least two dropped.
As time passed, the gunshots became less and less frequent, until he realized all the Afghans had started running. He lifted his radio to his mouth and shouted, "This Charlie Foxtrot has finally ended, CEASE FUCKING FIRE!"