The airport's emergency siren winds up to it's maximum volume, the ear piercing noise echoing for miles around. Being near the epicenter, I jolt awake and look around the barracks. As my eyes adjust, I see the men around me frantically gearing up.
"Langst! Get your ass in gear, we're under attack!"
One man yells to me whilst putting on his kevlar. Following orders, I leap out of my bunk and fumble the lock on my foot locker. 17-4-33, and the lock clicks open. Almost panicking, I throw the lock aside and toss my gear onto the bed. With my adrenaline pumping, I put on my combat pants, shirt, armor, ammo vest, socks, and boots within a mere three minutes.
Quickly, I unhook my rifle from my bedpost and run towards the door. Standing there is Gunny Joseph, who is tossing men magazines as they rush out the door. I try to ask him about what's going on, but he simply tosses me four magazines and tells me "Get out there!"
Catching the door before it shuts again, I rush out the door and slide the magazine into my rifle. Looking around, the normally calm airport is overcrowded with tanks, anti aircraft guns, and planes on fire. I would later learn that they had been destroyed before takeoff.
In the sky, whatever planes we had left were zipping around and dodging machine gun and rocket fire from enemy planes. To my right, men are rushing onto the beachhead to return fire against the great many landing craft sailing onto their positions. "Incoming!" Yells someone from behind me, prompting me to hit the ground and cover my head.
Moments after, the ground shakes with the force of hundreds of tiny bombs impacting the surface runways on the south end of the airport. Bits of rubble and other debris fly all around, landing near me but not on me. Thankfully. Peeking up, I just manage to see seven bomber planes disappearing into the horizon while even more approach us.
These planes aren't so lucky though, and the advanced SAM missiles of the airport rocket into the sky with loud "SHOOM!"s. Most of them find their mark somewhere on the planes, sending them crashing into the ocean or the eastern sea wall of the airport.
Realizing that this whole time I've just been lying here, I jump to my feet and sprint towards the beachhead to join the fight. I get there quickly, and dive onto my stomach to avoid the machine gun fire being put out from boats just off the shoreline. Shaking a bit, I pull the bolt of my rifle back and begin firing at the landing crafts rapidly approaching the beach. The men inside are hunkered down, making a good shot impossible. But I fire any way, sending three round bursts of 556mm rounds into the boats.
Like I said, it proves ineffective, and the first of the boats reaches the shore. The ramp drops quickly, and the men inside are met with a wall of machine gun fire. None of them get out alive, but next to it on both sides more boats have landed and dropped their ramps. With this spread out of men, a few manage to take cover in the water and return fire at us, each round sending small divots of sand into the air all around us.
I line up as many shots as I can, using the green helmets of the enemy as targets to line up between the iron sights of my rifle. But even with all of us laying down fire, they continue to land and slowly build up a force taking cover behind the landing craft.
Click.
My rifle defies me, telling me that my ammo is spent and that I can fire no more. "Spare mag?!" I yell in no general direction. "
"Langst, here!" Says a nearby soldier, tossing me a single magazine. It hits the sand next to me, filling the empty spaces between rounds with grit. I bang it against the side of my rifle before clicking it in and returning the fire to my enemy. But soon enough, it clicks again.
ZIP!
I hear a round meet its mark to my right, and find a soldier lying face down in the sand. Doing my best not to throw up, I take his rifle and loot his spare magazines. But before I can begin firing again, I hear someone yelling behind me, accompanied by the sound of large jet engines. I soon hear what he is saying.
"Get off the beach! We've got incoming, get off the fucking beach!" He yells while running along behind our lines. Realizing the danger, I turn and burn as quickly as I can, my feet digging into the loose sand and nearly tripping me with every step.
Just as I get away from the beach, the bombers release and deliver their explosive payload onto the row of hangars and the beachhead on the western portion of the airport. The concussion of the blast at such a short distance throws me onto my face, sending both rifles and my spare ammo flying across the ground into the cloud of dust I'm now enveloped in.