Crashed Desert Commando

He had been sent in for a routine mission.
Wolfe had his l120-Isolater resting in his lap and was polishing his Python vigorously, trying to obtain a sheen that marked it as well cared for.His helicopter was cruising low over the desert, his buddies Romkelol and Dasher seated next to him, and his commander, Daniel, pilotting. "We're almost to the drop point," said Daniel, trying to make himself audible under the loud chachacha of the helicopter blades. His French accent didn't help anyone.
Suddenly, the chopper swerved to the right, the occupants looked out of the windows to see a rocket propelled grenade hit the tail."Going down!" yelled Dasher.
"We gotta jump, otherwise we'll be blown to bits when this thing hits the ground," Daniel's voice conveyed the emotions of all the crew, predominantly panic.
"Frickin' suicide, idiot!" Romkelol shouted.
Wolfe didn't listen. He holstered his Python and strapped his Iso to his back. "For Leroy!" he screamed into the wind. Then he jumped.The ground came at him very slowly, he still blacked out when he hit a massive sand dune.
"You are one lucky son of a gun, Wolfe," said Romkelol when he finally came to. "You jumped from fifty feet in the air, had that sand dune not been here, you would have broken a whole lot more then your arm. Immediately, he felt the excruciating pain in his arm. "You also gashed open your chest and your cheek."
"Crap, I murdered myself."
"No bull, Sgt., Leroy would be proud." Romkelol smiled smugly and handed Wolfe an unlabeled can from one of the pockets on his flak jacket.
"What's in here? Pain killer?" He popped open the top, not taking a sip.
"Just soda, probably pretty flat by now." Romkelol opened his own and took a swig.
Wolfe did the same. "Coke?"
"Yeah. Old fashioned, isn't it?"
"Yup ... so where are the others?"
"Full of questions, aren't we?" Romkelol chuckled, then turned grim. "Dasher made it, he's on the other side of the dune picking through rubble. Daniel, on the other hand, just respawned in the town fifty miles back."
Wolfe stood up, unsure whether or not his legs could support him. They could, fortunately. He shuffled down the dune, his broken arm hanging at his side. Romkelol followed.
"Good to see you, Rom and Sgt, how have you been doing? I found something pretty bad." Dasher rummaged through a canvas bag full of salvaged goods and pulled out amisshapen metal cylinder. "Look at the logo. Very carefully."
Wolfe stared at it, and realized that it was no terrorist attack that had brought them down, it was Flux, one of the most powerful military clans in existence.