September 14th,[REDACTED]
Sergeant Percival "Scotty" Cameron
Afghanistan, [REDACTED]
0935 Hours
It's been five days since we've left the base. Five days searching for an invisible enemy. One that you can't see, can't hear and sure as hell can't predict. But you could feel their eyes constantly staring at the helmet you were wearing, waiting to put a bullet in between your eyes. I sat on a rock in the middle of Konar near Afghanistan's Eastern border with Pakistan. Mountains rose behind me and the sun glittering through the cracks of the ice-capped peaks. Fogs of heat escaped my mouth with every breath I took, but it wasn't that cold. I've had worse in Arctic warfare training. I heard someone sneeze from behind me. The new recruits fresh out of boot camp was under my command, Lieutenant Able had sent us out in search of a fleeing Sangvis Ferri guerrilla force, we've been chasing ghosts ever since...
From inside a heavy jacket covered by a tactical vest, I pulled out a letter and a picture. It was from my ex-wife. One six year old boy and a four year old girl sat in a couch with the woman I married four years ago. They smiled holding up the Christmas presents I sent them from a shithole in Eastern Europe before we were redeployed to Afghanistan. This unit, 2nd Marines, 6th Marine Regiment had a reputation of getting eighty percent of fresh recruits killed in their first tour. I had survived in Europe. My buddy from boot camp, Private John Ink hadn't. He died from stepping on a mine while our young squad fooled around just outside the base. His parents received his paycheck and a letter saying their son died in glorious battle...
Lies...
"Sarge, when are we going to get back to FOB Utah? We're getting low on rations," PFC Jimmy "Draco" Wilkins, he was a natural born leader, the smart one of the rookie group.
"When we find the Sangs or die trying," I whispered, he was also my second in command.
I looked back to see fifteen Marines no older than twenty huddling around in sleeping bags, trying to gain warmth. The sight brought back memories of countless tours of duty. The last one was suppose to be the final deployment, the doctors were afraid that I would have Traumatic Brain Injury. That is, until the squad leader responsible for training the recruits were killed from a roadside bomb.
Just before I left, there was a letter on the kitchen table from my wife. The last words were, 'I'm taking the kids to their grandmother's.' She took everything. My money, my kids, even the house that I used to live in. I had to build everything from scratch. I sighed, slipping the picture and letter back into my vest. Why I didn't burn it, I don't know. Maybe it was the kids, maybe it was the only thing keeping me connected to home while I was in this alien world...
I grabbed my M16A4, propped up against a nearby tree and stood up to shake off the frost that had coated my clothes since the past night. Layers of crystallized water cracked and fell onto the ice covered ground like leaves in a fall wind. I walked over to Corporal Wilkins and told him to wake up the green Marines.
"Hey, 3/6 Charlie it's time to move. Up and at it, let's go!" PFC Wilkins slapped each of the fifteen Marines on the head to give them a head start.
"Is it morning already Jim? Fucking hell, give me five minutes," Private Joshua Townsend, the trouble maker of the group and former American football star from high school.
"We're moving out Townsend. Get up before the Sangs put a mortar round in your mouth," PFC Wilkins moved to his ILBE (Improved Load Bearing Equipment) pack and started to fold his sleeping bag and mattress.
"Sarge, we just slept three hours. Can't we just move out at high noon?" Private First Class Jake Simmons, Fireteam Bravo's Automatic Rifleman, he was solidly built and could dish out punishment like a tank.
"Well do we want to vote on it?" I asked turning around, my bag already packed and ready for travel.
"Yes Sarge," they murmured and slowly crawled out of their warm bags to meet the shivering cold breeze.
"Well I have bad fucking news. This isn't a democracy you little shits, what comes down from the top you execute. I have a job to get you into a firefight with a hiding enemy and come back in one piece and that's exactly what the LT expects me to do. Now get your ILBE loaded and on your backs in five mikes or they'll be high hell to pay back at the FOB." I shrugged on my pack, double-checked my rifle and made sure a round was inside the chamber.
"Yes Sergeant," they grumbled back and pulled on their desert MARPAT jackets.
It took the entire squad thirty minutes to become fully awake and finish packing up their gear. When we moved out, the sun had come out of the mountains and was sitting on the peaks. Ice started to melt into water, the liquid streaming down from the ice caps high above us. It amazed me that the guerrilla fighters didn't take this advantage to attack us. Rocks, gravel, and bits of dead vegetation crunched under my boots as we walked across the ridge and deeper into enemy territory. Over the mountains to our right stood Pakistan, flat plains lush with shade from the sun. It was cold now but soon it was about to become boiling hot. Sweat dripped down my face and into my jacket, adding to the grime that was already thick on my skin. Throughout the entire march, the Marines kept complaining about each and everything. Why we were walking on the mountains, why they had to go into the Marines and not college, why Afghanistan? I was walking behind two Marines in a single file line. Lance Corporal Jack Davis, Fireteam Alpha's leader, he was a reliable man and cool under fire. Behind him was the radioman, Private First Class Lucas Hayes, part of Fireteam Bravo. He was caring but quaked under fire and was a known coward. Maybe that's why he's radio operator. I heard a crackle in the distance. Everyone kept moving except me. Dust kicked up just next to Hayes.
"Contact, contact!" Hayes screamed, and the entire squad went prone.
"Where the fuck are they firing from?" my heart raced as my eyes darted around the entire mountain.
"Sergeant, the mountain just off to our right. I saw muzzle flash from inside one of those caves," Wilkins quickly reported, as dust kicked up just down the slope. Too close.
"Alright, fuck," I grumbled looking behind me to see an outcropping of rocks protruding from the mountain.
"Hey Charlie, get your ass up there and give us some suppressive fire!" I yelled seeing the young Marines still frozen by the sudden ambush.
"Charlie!" I screamed, only their squad leader got up.
"Get your asses up there right now," Corporal Nicholas Taylor bellowed at his subordinates and grabbed them by their packs.
"Yes Sarge!" They yelled, suddenly realizing their orders.
"Bravo, give me precision strikes on those mother fuckers!" I tapped Hayes on the back and ran behind Bravo towards a small dip in the mountain, wither natural or artificial I didn't care.
"On it, Sergeant," Corporal Sam Griffin, an expert marksman replied.
I slammed my shoulder against the rock and turned the already-scared-shitless Hayes around. I pulled out the radiophone and listened for incoming traffic. The loud thrumming of the machine gun was distinct against the sporadic fire of the rifles. Townsend was up on the M27 Infantry Automatic Rifle, his finger jammed on the trigger. The thirty round magazine ripped through like fire and before you knew it, he was swapping out mags. Griffin fired once every fifteen seconds or so and paused to watch his rounds arc down towards the cave several hundred meters below. Alpha was right next to Bravo and wisely fired a couple of bursts into the caves to match or surpass the level of violence. Just then, a flash of light lit up the mountainside. One bang echoed through the mountains. One loud fucking bang. An RPG had been fired on us from one of the caves.
"Bulldog Actual this is Bulldog One One, we are at..." I paused and pulled out a portable GPS device.
"Grid 835 968, we have contact with fleeing guerrilla forces, over," I paused once again waiting for the reply.
"I've got a fucking jam!" Townsend's IAR was glowing a dull red with smoke rising from the barrel.
"Then fucking fix it and get some lead on those fuckers!" A round ricocheted off the rock in front of him, the zing fading right after the hit.
"Roger that Bulldog One One, what do you need, over," The reply finally came as another loud bang shook the Earth next to us...
"Fucking hell!" Hayes screamed, my hand gripping his pack kept him from moving.
"Taking fire! Light Weapons! Rocket Propelled Grenades! Requesting Air Support! Wait. Out," I yelled into the radio phone.
"Sergeant!" Townsend screamed just as an RPG streaked past the rock formation his was hiding behind.
"Bulldog One One, we have four F-35Bs in the skies. Callsign Dragon Five, expect them inbound in fifteen mikes," The radio crackled, Townsend was firing back at the caves with frantic ferocity.
"Fifteen fucking minutes? We can't survive that long with Sangs firing at us!" I yelled back into the radio.
"It's the best we got Bulldog One One. Take it or leave it," the harrowing noise of whistles echoed throughout the mountain, I looked over to Bravo and then back to the little dip.
"Hayes, get the fuck out of here," I ordered but he didn't budge.
"Hayes, get the fuck out!" I screamed and kicked him out from the cover we hid behind.
"But Sergeant, the enemy -" Hayes sputtered.
I saw him trip on a rock. Grabbing the back of his ILBE, I dragged him away from the cover and slowly ran towards Bravo. The entire Fireteam stopped and stared at the both of us. My left arm burned with lactic acid, my legs crying for oxygen. The edges of my vision started to darken and all I heard was my breathing. I heard a giant bang. The air rippled with heat. I felt something cut into my neck, arms, and legs. Warmth dripped down the cuts and into my clothes. I reached Bravo and dumped the radioman in front of them.
"Sergeant, you're hit." Private Hogan Gerald said from his entrenched position.
"No shit." I looked at my arms to see blood seeping out from the small red, exposed cuts.
"You should get it bandaged." Griffin suggested as I ignored him and crouched down.
"Sergeant, we're getting pounded! We need to get the fuck out of here!" Private Clark Johnson screamed from behind Townsend, he was Charlie's Assistant Machine gunner.
"Just simmer down, air support is on the way!" I screamed and slowly crouch to the right, a bullet zipping right next to my ear.
The bullet had already rocketed past my ear. I grumbled and lifted up my rifle until the sights cut into my eye line. Firing a few rounds into the cave, I continued to look out for small black specks in the sky. The whistling came again. This time I could feel the whistling shaking the ground through my boots. Left of me, Private Haye's eyes widened. His panicking and fear started to consume him. He started shaking horribly. He fell backwards and started to back away into a nearby crater.
"Hayes, get the fuck back here!" I yelled, he didn't respond.
"Hayes!"
I got up to follow him, my gear weighing me down. Hayes pushed himself off the ground and started running towards the dip. The training drilled into his muscles overriding fear and even common sense. Adrenaline coursed through my veins and placed me in a high even that drugs couldn't match. I was addicted to combat. Hayes was far faster than I was. He ran towards the ditch. The ground shook with the crater exploding into a cloud of dust. I felt heat tingling my body and liquid dripping down from my cheek. My entire body was numb, but I was focused on Hayes. The brown fog stung my eyes and itched my throat. Fuck, this was annoying. I heard a groan. Slowly the dust dissipated to reveal a mangled body covered with dirt and blood.
"Shit," I grumbled taking off my helmet and placing it next to the body.
"Medic!" I screamed shrugging off my ILBE.
"Yes, Sarge?" Lance Corporal Hughes Douglas, the team's medic and assistant machine gunner from Bravo asked as I groped around for my blowout kit.
"Oh shit, Hayes!" He crouched down and pulled out his own kit, "Come on buddy, stay with me."
Hayes was groaning as blood leaked from the corners of his mouth.
"Put pressure on his wound!" I screamed seeing a giant cut on one of his thighs.
"The mortars sliced into one of the major arteries Sergeant! If we don't clamp it, he's going to die," Hughes quickly explained as he pulled out a clamp.
"Hey, Campbell!" I yelled waving at the Alpha's Automatic Machine gunner.
"Yes Sarge?" He asked and fired another round into the caves.
"Come and give some help to Hughes," I ordered grabbing his weapons from his hands.
"Roger that, here's some extra clips," Campbell tossed me a bag full of ammunition.
"Come on man, stay with us," Campbell whispered.
I growled, angry and frustrated at both the enemies and the rookies. This was the second man I lost on the tour. The first one was sent back home in a coffin from an accident at the firing range. He forgot to put on his helmet and was practicing alone. An unlucky bullet ricocheted off a loose steel plate and straight into his brain. He was dead before he knew it. Screeching filled the air as four black specks darted through the blue skies. The F-35Bs have arrived. I slowly inched away from the squad's formation and made my way to Hayes.
"Lift him up," I ordered.
"But Sarge, he's -" Hughes sputtered with blood all over his hands.
"Now, damnit!" I had no time for this bullshit.
Hughes and Campbell looked at me with anger. They both gripped Hayes and pushed him upright. Hayes groaned with anguish and pain. I grabbed his radio pack and tried to pull the straps out from his armor. He screamed, blood pouring out from his wounds. I pulled out my combat knife and cautiously cut the straps loose. His screaming stopped, I nodded to the two Marines and held the radiophone up to my ear. The blood slick on the radiophone assaulted my senses.
"Bulldog One One, Bulldog One One, this is Dragon Five, respond over," The radio crackled as the jets darted over the mountains once again.
"Dragon Five, this is Bulldog One One, we are under heavy enemy mortar fire. We have a man down," I screamed into the radio.
"Roger that Bulldog One One, we are over the mountain range but you have to mark yourself. We wouldn't want a blue on blue now would we?" The pilots asked, as I groped around for a smoke grenade in my backpack.
"Dragon Five, I am popping orange smoke just a few meters from our position. The enemy is to..." I paused and looked at my GPS once again.
"…our East, give'em hell!" I lofted a smoke grenade down the mountains and looked up to see the F-35Bs banking back towards us.
"Roger that Bulldog One One, Dragon Five going hot. Attacking from South to North with two cluster bombs," I watched Hayes's chest moving up and down with his mouth gargling blood.
"Bulldog One One, report," the radio squawked in my ear.
"Bulldog One One has suffered casualties, one Marine, Private First Class Lucas Hayes. Requesting MEDEVAC and a transport chopper to grid 835 968. T2 Casualty," I whispered into the radio with the distinct pops coming from mortars hidden behind or inside the caves.
"Roger that Bulldog One One..."
Everything was dead quiet.
The enemy had stopped firing.
"Bring them home. Alive..."
The F-35Bs swooped in low over the mountain caps and deployed their ammunition. The CBU-97 cluster bombs dropped in pairs.
"Yes, Sir..."