[ IP ] Another daily writing prompt that I 'm sharing ( storycubes again )

The fallen hero 
 
 She comes from a long line of heroes, her family has always come through in the nick of time. Her grandfather singlehandedly took out a tank battalion in World War 2, his father got in a headshot against an enemy Maschinengewehr wielder during the Great War, saving the lives of his men. Her mother was involved in something unmentionable during the Cold War, but had apparently fulfilled the great expectations laid before her. And now it is her turn. Right now, in fact. 
 
 This mission seems doomed to fail from the start. Everything about it feels like an ingredient in a demented, deadly cocktail. From starting an assignment based on bad intel ( only 5 digits of a 6 digit security code ), to dealing with a two-faced double agent—codename: The Clown. How appropriate. She ’ d been afraid of clowns when she was little, but she grew out if that fear. Looking at his bleeding, twitching corpse at her feet, she feels that familiar nausea rushing back at her with a vengeance. And here she is, hiding from his buddies in a *swamp* of all places. Surrounded by god-knows-what kind of animal and other wildlife, Objectively she knows that this might even be a tactical advantage, but after the day she ’ s had doubt is creeping in. 
 
 She can ’ t suppress a shudder, finally releasing some of the tension that had kept her going these last 2 horrid hours. She casts another look at her erstwhile partner whose from is slowly sinking into the muck. Good riddance; he has no answers for her anymore. Not that he ’ d been much help before. 
 She starts moving again, trying to reach the extraction point from this side of the complex they ’ d infiltrated earlier. Getting through the tunnel should put her in the clear, the bogeys have lost her scent. 
 
 “ Evac, confirm position, I think I ’ m in the clea— “ 
 

