"****. What a mess. Makes our jobs easier though. Nothing left of the facility to sweep out. Perfect time to call in evac," I heard Mark say behind me. I was thinking the same thing. Though I knew that there were still zombies about, I also knew that we had done our job as stated. We had inserted, taken out contacts we had encountered and assessed the situation. Although, at this point, I did begin to wonder why Umbrella hadn't favored a different, more thorough method of cleaning up. Oh well. "Yep. Let's set up the radio!" I yelled. At this, I looked to one of the new guys who was supposed to have it. His face was pale. "I don't have it. I, I left it on the plane!" He managed to stammer before I drew my pistol and whipped him in the face in a fit of anger. "God****it! What the hell do you mean you don't have it!? Everyone here managed to grab all of their equipment before bailing out but you, and now because of it, we're ****ed! It's not like we can get it back, it's in the middle of the ****ing OCEAN!" I screamed into his face while gesturing wildly with my pistol.

"It's not my fault!" He tried to say, but I hit him again and again until his face was a bloody mess and yelled back, "Not your fault? Then who's is it? You had it, you were supposed to grab it, and you didn't!" Then I saw him start to sob and the blood on my pistol from whacking him so much and realized I had definitely gone way too far. He was new and on any other mission, would have been a relatively small screwup because everyone would have a radio. But due to the long range neccesity to call for evac, he had the big one. I suddenly yelled in disgust and shoved my pistol back into its holster. I walked away from the group pushing my thumb and forefinger into my eyes and gestured for them to help him up. Mark walked up to me and asked, "So, what do we do now? We can't communicate with anyone and this place is destroyed, so obviously there's no radio we could salvage."

I thought for a while and remembered the other teams, and almost considered trying to find them, but they were all in completely different areas and the odds of meeting up with them were slim at best. Then I remembered a small harbor I had seen on the map, to the southwest of the facility, just a couple hundred yards. I suddenly jerked my head up and looked where it should be, and saw a few smashed docks jutting into the water five hundred yards away, with one rusty old yacht still anchored there. I stared in awe at the rusted piece of crap that was now the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life, and ran for it. "Whoah! Guys! Move it, follow the commander!" Mark yelled back to everyone after seeing what I was sprinting towards. It was a long run, I encountered several still squirming zombies buried by rubble, but paid them no mind and jumped over them. After a couple minutes, I finally reached the dock. A lone zombie was crawling on it and I quickly threw my knife into its skull and jumped onto the boat and headed for the helm. The other seven showed up just as I finished hotwiring the thing to start and I motioned them all on. We were heading home!

Two weeks later and I'm sitting in a cell in Guantanamo Bay occupied by me and my seven squadmates...