2020 Coast of Flanders, Belgium
The USS Olympia (CVN-81) the latest Ford Class super carrier floated serenely off the coast of Belgium, the flagship of the Olympia Carrier Strike Group. The two battalions were being assembled at a forward operating base.
They were the leading edge of the United States Joint Strike Force, the first and last line of defence for their nation. The three way war between Russia, the US and the European Federation had been ongoing for five months. Within the first three weeks of fighting, munitions expenditure for all involved had exceeded overoptimistic initial estimates. The 29th Special Operations and 18th Assault battalions were staffed with fresh but well trained recruits from all branches of the US Special forces. To compensate for the general lack of combat experience they had to include combat veterans from other JSF and regular military units. Five months of fighting had bled the US and Europe of their finest troops. Entire battalions had to be disbanded because their losses couldn't be replaced quickly enough. Only the Russians seemed to be able to shrug off their losses without losing momentum.
The mission of the 29th and 18th was to strike at the heart of the European Federation capital, Paris. Consistent strategic bombing raids had force the EF to shift their military headquarters first to the old NATO command at Brussels and then to Strasbourg. The capture of Paris combined with a war weary population and Russia once again holding half of Berlin was expected to knock the EF out of the war.
Down on the coast the base known as Site Echo 11 consisted of a prefabricated airstrip as well as dozens of other prefabricated buildings containing vehicles, supplies and barracks. C-5 and C-130 transports were already making supply runs almost non-stop through the Greenland-Iceland-UK airbridge. A defensive perimeter of PD-6 Rottweiler drones was established and patrols were being sent out to scout for any EF presence.
2nd Lieutenant Alan Reyes, the member of an Operational Detachment Alpha team was being sent on one of these. The youngest member at 22 out of the whole 12 man ODA team, West Point and the 'Q' course had prepared him for many things but not for making an arse of himself in front of a bunch of hardened soldiers.
He didn't have a chance to meet his team until making landfall at the base. The squat, powerfully built captain in charge gave him a once over. His disapproval was evident from the badly disguised scowl after Alan introduced himself with his best parade ground salute. This impression was further reinforced when he led Alan to meet the rest of the team without speaking. The reception from the other men was just as cold. He met them in the armoury where they were lounging about, cleaning their weapons. An awkward silence followed which was only broken by the sound of gun parts clicking together or a stifled curse as someone spilled a bottle fine grade sewing machine oil.
"So… am I the FNG here?" asked Alan, hoping to break the silence.
"We don't use that term no more," answered a sergeant who wore sunglasses, "It's NUB, New Useless Bitch."
"Now that you've gotten yourself familiarised," said the captain, clapping Alan hard on the shoulder, "We're up for patrol duty, with luck we might find some troublemakers just for you."
Half an hour later the team sat in three humvees taking a forested path south of Site Echo.
"Where's the respect," Alan wondered as he sat in the front passenger seat of the middle humvee. It sure felt like crap having to have gone through one of the world's most intensive training programs only to be looked down upon by the soldiers he was trying to emulate.
He looked out the window to distract himself, low thick vegetation all around.
"A perfect place for an ambush isn't it?" said the sergeant who driving; he was the same man who wore the sunglasses earlier.
"You read my mind," answered Alan. He turned his head to face the sergeant.
"It was like this in when we went upriver on the Amazon, Las Trinidad punks tried to jump us from the riverbeds… Course, here we don't have to contend with no piranhas, leeches or snakes," the sergeant continued.
"Remember when we warned Sanchez not to piss into the water right when he was doing exactly that?" asked one of the men in the back.
"Ahh yeah, that was fricken hilarious man, jumped a foot in the air and damned near pissed all over himself. I still can't believe he fell for that," another laughed. This was followed by a fist bump with the soldier who brought it up first.
"What was that?" Alan was curious about what could scare a spec-ops soldier in such a manner.
"Well, these two back here thought it would be a great barrel of laughs to feed corporal Sanchez who's no longer with us god bless his soul; some disinformation," the sergeant smiled as he began his anecdote, "Basically there's a myth that a small fish-like thing… I can't remember its name. Well, it's attracted to urine or something in it, so it'll swim up your urethra if you piss on its home."
"I know I wouldn't want that happening to me," said Alan, genuinely shocked.
"Normally this story would have a moral, don't piss on nature or it'll get back at you in the nastiest way possible," continued the sergeant.
"But it really isn't true," said one of the men behind.
"Which made it all the better because we told him as soon as he had calmed down," said the other.
"You guys reckon you're real bunch of laughs don't you?" the sergeant grinned, "What if I told you he dragged your sleeping arses into the path of some driver ants that evening?"
The uproar that followed distracted everyone from their vigil as a pair of MILANA-2 missiles reached out from the trees lining the road to the left. The missile gunners deliberately flew the missiles low so they could avoid the Humvees' active protection system. The lead vehicle caught a missile on the tyres, flipping it over. A loud explosion from the rear indicated a similar fate for the humvee behind.
"Out! Out!" shouted the sergeant. Immediately the two soldiers in the rear opened their doors and leapt out firing their rifles into the tree-line.
Alan opened the door while activating his Cross-Com unit. It was an important component of the Integrated Warfighter System that was integrated into his uniform, helmet, armour and weapons. The helmet projected a low-intensity laser into his retina which scanned horizontally and vertically, providing him with a 3D heads-up display. The information he was provided with was updated continually from his commanders, friendly soldiers and vehicles and other assets like UAVs, drones and satellites. The system was essentially a wireless LAN/WAN for soldiers and vehicles on the field, allowing for greater flexibility, ease of issuing orders and access to crucial tactical and strategic intelligence.
Raising his SCAR-A1 rifle his shoulder he quickly identified several moving targets, outlined with red diamonds on his HUD. He squeezed off his shots in bursts as his instructors reminded him. Two of the diamonds went white and disappeared as two hostiles were killed. Alan looked over at the sergeant who had run around to join him on the other side and was firing his weapon.
"Lieutenant! We'd better check on the others," he nodded over to the lead humvee which was a gutted smoking wreck. According to the Cross-Com two of the occupants were still alive which was denoted with a heartbeat status next to their name.
"Good idea," replied Alan in a calm voice which surprised him even, inwardly he was scared shitless.
"Why didn't I think of that?" he wondered, "No wonder why the instructors at Bragg had taught him to trust the instincts of his NCOs, now he knew that it boiled down to experience."
He turned to look at the other two men; the Cross-Com identified them as Corporal Benton and PFC Ortega.
"Give us some covering fire while we cross over to that humvee!" he ordered, "As soon as we are over we'll cover you so you can check on the other one!"
"Roger that." they complied and started firing in the direction of the enemy.
"Let's go!" the sergeant led the way.
"Shit!" Alan inadvertently blurted as he ran from cover and heard the snap of bullets hitting the pavement behind him. Before he knew it he had slid into cover behind the wreckage of the lead humvee.
"Ok, on three, two, one, go!" the sergeant started shooting and Benton and Ortega started moving to the last humvee wreckage.
"Help me out here Lieutenant!" Alan heard the sergeant shout.
How could he have forgotten he thought furiously to himself, "Alright!"
He stood up and joined in the sergeant in shooting. Another two red diamonds disappeared, there were only four left. At the same moment words flashed discretely in the corner of his HUD, announcing he'd received an email in his personal inbox. He cursed the inappropriate timing.
Just then the heartbeat status of Benton and Ortega flat-lined along with everyone else except for Alan and the sergeant.
Meanwhile back at the USS Olympia the electronic warfare officer summoned the captain over to the console he was working at.
"Yeah what is it?" asked Captain Gordon Navarro.
"Skipper, we're getting higher than usual electromagnetic interference with our arrays across the board. I've already checked with the other ships and the airforce guys and they're getting it too," said the EW officer.
"Euros must be trying to jam us, I thought everything was EMP hardened?" he suggested.
"Unlikely, this is affecting us even on the channels that we formulated the day we put out to sea, the Euros won't have enough time to crack them and besides we haven't even used them until a few days ago."
"Solar flares then," the captain concluded.
"I concur, I checked with for any atmospheric EM disturbances that could be caused by a high magnitude EMP but its field of effect and strength is growing at a rate that cannot be man-made. I calculated that we'll lose communications in 15 minutes at this rate"
The captain grunted, inwardly pleased with the initiative of the staff that he felt blessed to be commanding.
"It's out of our hands then, we'll have to sit it out until it passes." he said, "We should let everyone know before they panic when we lose comms."
Inside his quarters aboard the USS Kinnear, a new Oregon class SSN, Captain Fred Boyd had finished composing his death letter. It was a video recording that would be sent to his wife and children back home. They would be entitled to view its contents upon receiving news of his demise. As he mulled over the recording he heard over the intercom about the solar flare that would shut down all communications in 5 minutes time. Sighing he attached the file to an email and sent it to a trusted friend stateside. He shut off his computer and left the room just as all the lights turned out.
Alan and the sergeant were pinned down behind the humvee shell.
"Shit! We should have retreated down that way earlier," bemoaned Alan.
"Enough, it was worth a try saving these men, they would have done the same for you even if you're the NUB," snapped the sergeant.
He'd attempted to revive a few of the men they managed to drag from the wreckage but it was evident that he was unsuccessful.
"Listen, this is your team, on the field we're a family, we trust each other, we work together and we watch each other's arses got it?" the sergeant continued, "I know it seems like a load of horseshit considering how we've been tough on you to start with but…"
His last words were silenced by a lethal ricochet from a random piece of shrapnel. Alan stared in shock at the surreal mess where a human face once was on the dead sergeant. He sank to his knees, feeling a need to throw up. Biting his lips he forced himself to open his eyes and check the Cross-Com. The sergeant's name was Tierce and his status was a flat-line.
At that moment Alan heard voices from the other side of the road. They were taunting voices, calling out in accented English, beckoning him to surrender. A few minutes passed and then the voices called out again, speaking a foreign language. The Cross-Com translated for him, the text appearing at the bottom of the HUD.
"I dare you to cook that grenade before lobbing it."
"How many Euros for that?"
Alan checked the ammo counter for his rifle but he had less than half a magazine left. Biting his lip and trying not to look at Sergeant Tierce's mutilated face Alan reached over to his body and tried to prize a magazine from his webbing.
At that moment the Cross-Com filled with wild static and a bizarre ringing noise filled Alan's ears. He suddenly felt dizzy and his eyes started to blur as he lost control of his body and slumped over. He could vaguely hear the sound of an explosion which sounded very distant before everything went dark.
An unknown amount of time later the Integrated Warfighter System on Alan's suit ran a self-diagnostic test as it reactivated.
Status of 2nd Lieutenant Alan Reyes, United States Joint Strike Force- Alive
Location- Unknown