No One Left Behind
TheForceWithinUs
A Star Wars Fanfiction
Rated M
-•-
Copyright Disclaimer: I have no ownership of any characters, concepts, settings, or any other entities of the Star Wars franchise, as this is reserved to George Lucas, and now Disney. This is purely Fanfiction, but any original characters are my own creations. The cover artwork of this fic is also my own creation.
Rating Notes: This Fanfiction is rightfully rated as M for the following: Graphic Depiction of Warfare, Explicit Language, and later suggestive themes (Alcohol and Drug usage, etc.)
Author's Note: N1LB is an immensely large work in progress, so any support such as reviews are greatly appreciated. I'm willing to read any constructive insight, but pointless criticism will not be tolerated.
Now that I've got the boring part over with, let's get the show started.
Read on!
Prologue
Through the slightly frosted door window of the transport, Corporal Matthew Sanford's glistening brown eyes followed the passing horizon of the seemingly endless Norwegian Sea. His mind was relaxed, and for once he would have nothing to worry about – for now.
He was seated alongside his fellow marines on board a single UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter – steadily crossing the vast expanse of the churning Polar ocean in tactical formation with five other transport aircraft.
The chilling high-altitude breeze bit deep into Matthew's skin and bones, and his gloved hands shivered as they wrapped firmly around the barrel of his weapon. Even with a second layer of thick garments bundled tightly around his uniform, the Corporal struggled in his attempts to keep warm.
The sky was completely blanketed in a thin layer of silver clouds for as far as the eye could see, and a light fog saturated the air.
All of a sudden, Matt's superior – Sergeant Keith T. Ray – spoke with a gruff voice; "Prick up your ears, I've got our intel."
The marines in the squad instinctively straightened out and gave their highest attention – and Keith confidently proceeded, his shoulders lowering slightly. "As all of you know, forces of the Eastern Dissolution Insurgency have invaded the north-eastern coastline of Norway within the last few weeks."
The blonde-haired Sergeant pulled out a small map from his backpack, and crinkled it open to reveal a diagram of the local environment and detailed intel on the whereabouts of hostile forces. "Our company has been given orders to sweep through the region of Nordland and suppress the EDI into withdrawing from the area." Keith explained hastily, "Currently, our target is the small coastal island of Røst, where the enemy has engaged NAF in an intense skirmish. Word's come in that it's not going well for the Norwegian Army... they're getting the shit kicked out of them. Once we touch down, we'll push up the main road and towards the contended airstrip in the center of the island – allied forces are not going to hold out forever."
"Sir, yes sir!" The squad responded, saluting proudly.
A few silent moments passed, and out of the corner of his eye, Matthew spotted a long chain of islands fast approaching in the windows of the cockpit. The cluster of archipelago was crowned by a significantly larger piece of land at the farthest side, and the somewhat exotic name sprung into the Corporal's mind.
Røst.
Small flakes of snow flicked past the windows of the helicopter as Matthew leaned slightly closer to enlarge his view. The Corporal soon spotted what appeared to be medium-sized structures abundantly dotting the surface of the Norwegian island, and could make out the distinct shape of a small airstrip at the heart of the landmass. Very small patches of crisp-white snow could occasionally be seen on fields and rooftops, contrasting greatly with the dark-green grass and forests of the island. Matthew was quite astonished at this fact, as the island of Røst is actually within the boundaries of the Arctic Circle, but still most commonly experienced rainfall and below-freezing temperatures.
Upon reaching the edges of the island chain, the transports merged with an accompanying group of attack helicopters, and created a large vee formation. The sound of gunfire soon rose, and Matthew tensed up quickly.
Suddenly, a man pushed out a terrified scream; "Oh, fuck! An RPG!"
In a matter of seconds, a streaming projectile whipped from the coast of Røst and pounded straight into the belly of a Black Hawk in the squadron. A powerful blast rung through the icy air, and a fireball erupted in the sky.
The helicopter split into two sections and tumbled helplessly towards the sea, engulfed in a vibrant inferno.
A large piece of the aircraft's rotor blade twisted off and flew into the side of Matthew's transport, knocking the breath out of every marine on board.
The Black Hawk lost control and steeply veered to the side, a weary warning tone blaring furiously from within the cockpit.
The vehicle quickly evened out, and the men aboard the transport recovered their senses.
The young corporal spotted oily clouds of rising smoke and the flicker of gunfire on the island's surface. "We've got enemy infantry on the ground with surface-to-air missiles!" Sergeant Rey shouted into his radio, "Men, get those doors opened, and lay down some fire on those ground targets!"
Two crew members dressed in the usual drab-beige pilot-garb jumped on a pair of window mounted M240 machine-guns – located just after the last row of seats, and behind the exposed cockpit. Both men readied up a fresh box of rounds in a matter of seconds, and scanned the moving landscape beyond for hostiles. At a moments notice, both weapons came to life with aggressive bursts of automatic fire; sounding similar to a chattering jackhammer.
A heavy anti-aircraft gun lit up from a nearby roadway and projected an almost whimsical display of tracers into the sky.
"Goddamn, that's a quad!"
Wonder turned to horror as the underside of another Black-Hawk helicopter shot out sparks as large-caliber rounds pierced through. One shot slit the forward section of the aircraft's cockpit and eviscerated the pilots inside, and within seconds the transport flipped forward and entered a full nose dive.
The chopper tumbled towards the earth and crashed with a powerful explosion, and a swath of flames rose into the sky.
"Fucking s-shit!" A door gunner exclaimed in shock. "We've gotta get off this thing!"
The squadron made a precarious descent to the surface, nearly clipping the tops of evergreens. Matt's transport swooped to a large clearing between a forested patch and the outskirts of the town. The large, yet maneuverable aircraft fluttered down towards the grassy field, and Sergeant Rey sharply yelled his commands; "Men, we're headed for the main local highway!"
The machine-gunner's mind was racing wildly; this was his first combat situation in a place like Norway. 'You got this.' He assured himself in his mind, preparing for the landing.
The helicopter came to a hover only a few feet from the ground, and Keith hastily shouted; "Let's get moving, Echo squad! Go, go, go!"
One at a time, each marine disembarked from the aircraft for dashed across the clearing for cover. Matthew grabbed ahold of the door handle as he hoisted himself out of the Black Hawk.
As he landed on the ground, Matt stumbled slightly, but recovered his bearings and broke into a full sprint towards the expanse of the village ahead. "Staggered column formation! Watch your spacing!" His sergeant said sternly.
The group of infantry aligned themselves accordingly as they swept into a dense woodland, cautiously advancing as intense gunfire cracked in the air.
In an instant, one of the men fell to a powerful rifle shot and stumbled towards the frozen earth.
"F-fucking shit! Santinelli is down!"
The soldiers frantically scrambled flat onto the ground as several more shots could be heard in the distance.
"Anyone got a fuckin' visual?"
"It's coming from the ridge line— in one of those buildings!"
Matt gasped slightly when his eyes locked with the sight of a young Alex Santinelli lying motionless on the grass, with a large piece blown out of the side of his cheek. A vibrant crimson soaked the dirt beneath his body, and his final expression was not one of fear or terror, rather one of a simple and pure surprise. The squad's corpsman (medic) stooped over the Italian boy's lifeless remains, tears streaming down his face, and shouted to the sarge in a disheartened voice:
"We... We lost Alex."