SPEC OPS
10/05/65
Fisher and I stood our ground at Gate A1. I leaned on the wooden wall of the cabin, eyeing up the surveillance camera attached to the steel gate.
There were a total of nine gates leading in and out of the town. When I stated in my previous entry that the entrances were extremely well defended, I honestly wasn't kidding. Each gateway was well over 20 feet high, riddled with surveillance equipment and had at least one squad standing by it at all times. Each checkpoint was literally surrounded by sandbags and barbed wire. Squads were equipped with M16 assault rifles, and had at least one individual on standby with an M40 sniper rifle. Yep, that's right, an M40. A rifle that wasn't even used by military personnel in Vietnam until 1966, and we had full access to the prototypes. Since Baker had the best shot in our squad, he was lumbered with the ranged rifle and had to hold his ground at a concealed post over 200 meters away. We kept in contact with a receiver, and I was put in charge of monitoring the gate.
The last few months were uneventful. I made a few unsuccessful attempts to fetch another meeting with Higgins. However as time went on, my interest in the virus waned, and I managed to slip home for a week in March. Now that it had been two months since I've seen my family at that point, I had once again made trying to fetch a plane home my top priority. At least, I had for a while.
I peered into the cabin, rolling my eyes at Hafen as he burrowed his head into the palms of his hands. "Bored?"
"Yeah," he moaned. "Any chance I could open the gate? Y'know, make something interesting happen?" He indicated the gate controls.
"Negative. Unless you want another bullet up your ass."
"I think I'll pass," he muttered. I barely resisted the urge to start bursting out laughing at the recollection of his left ass cheek being ripped asunder due to Fisher's itchy trigger finger during the last week of March. The accidents may have never been fatal, but they were certainly unforgettable.
"I spot a civilian moving towards your position," Baker announced.
"Is he armed?," I asked, gripping the mic of the receiver tightly. I stole a glance at Hafen, who had just sat up to fetch his assault rifle with commendable pace. I could easily tell that the sleazy prick was just finding an excuse to keep away from the controls for as long as possible.
"Negative, but he's moving fast. Intercept him."
"We're on it." I deactivated the mic and made my way outside, only to find Fisher with his rifle pointed towards a tiny figure in the distance. His index finger was caressing the trigger of his rifle. "Hold your fire until we've identified him," I ordered. Fisher turned towards me with clear disgust, not surprising when you considered his lust for firefights.
The three of us stood by the checkpoint for a full minute before the civilian had finally arrived. He was a young and fairly overweight man, who wore a tattered brown shirt with green combat trousers.
"Identify yourself," I demanded. Hafen and Fisher had their sights set on the civilian, anxiously clenching the handguards of their rifles.
The man was exhausted, and had to wait to catch his breath before he could speak. Considering that he had managed to sprint all the way from town, especially with such warm temperatures on this side of the state, it would have completely changed my stereotypical views of overweight people if he had stuck around for longer than he did.
"Help me," he wheezed.
"Civilians aren't allowed this far out without a signed permit," Fisher stated, waving his rifle at the trespasser.
"Please, hang on." He paused to catch his breath. "You've gotta let me out of here. These people, they're fucking sick."
"Who's sick?," I pressed.
"Those scientists. Everything about them is fucking sick, man." He glared at our assault rifles. "Hang on, please listen to me."
"Just don't come any closer, and we won't hurt you," Hafen shouted. His distinctive impatience was getting the better of him.
"No, you have get me out of here. Please! They took my fucking son, man! I need to get help from the outside."
I lowered my rifle. "The scientists took your child?"
"He was only born a goddamn week ago," he sobbed. "Once the research company found out they sent four army men to take him away this morning."
I couldn't help but notice his ripped shirt. The torn fabric suggested that he was probably in a fight. "Did you resist?"
"Yeah, the fuckers dragged me outside," he sniffed. "That's when I got loose."
Fisher stepped forward, horrified by the tale he just heard. "What did they want with him?"
"Tests. Fucking tests," he whimpered. "He's only a week old." The civilian fell to his knees, tears dripping down his face. "Please, just let me out of-" His begs for freedom were interrupted as the right side of his head exploded. Lumps of meat and bone flew into the air, saturating the ground with blood. Within seconds he slumped over to the side, exposing the gaping wound and the bullet that had mutilated his skull.
"The fuck!" Hafen dived for cover, prepping his rifle over the sandbags. "Where the hell did that come from?"
"Probably rebels! They're striking from a distance!" Not only was Fisher's insinuation completely far-fetched, but his decision to remain in the open waving his rifle around was equally as senseless.
Within moments, I retreated to the cabin and activated the receiver. "Sir! What the fuck was that all about? We were supposed to intercept him, not fucking murder him," I screamed into the mic. My blood was literally boiling at that moment. The intense surge of adrenaline that flowed through my body enraged me. I almost felt like sprinting towards Baker's position and riddling it with gunfire.
"That wasn't me," he droned.
"Then who the hell was it?"
"The shot came from...I reckon a tenth of a klick, west from your position. I can't pinpoint the assailant." The tone of his voice was surprisingly calm, and Baker had always been a bit of a blunt individual, so at that point I really couldn't imagine that he was the shooter. "Get into cover until I say it's clear."
"Understood," I hissed. I rested against the wall and took a moment to ease my anger. Although it may seem that I was overreacting, actually seeing someone's head get split open after almost a year of pointless military patrols and exercises was incredibly startling.
"Contact!" Fisher's scream was followed by sharp snaps of gunfire.
"Fuck me! Tell Fisher to cease fire! Quickly!" The fact that Baker actually expressed concern over Fisher's gunfire, rather than just shrugging it off with a chuckle as he usually did, indicated that he may have actually shot a significant individual.
Using whatever adrenaline that still flowed through my system, I ran out of the cabin shouting at Fisher to hold his fire. Unfortunately, my orders were clearly not audible over the thunderous claps of gunfire, considering that Fisher still maintained his blind assault. I glanced in the direction he was aiming at and cocked my eyebrow at the lack of any visible targets.
Within seconds, the deafening sounds of gunfire ceased while he burrowed his left hand into his satchel to fetch another magazine. Hafen rose out of cover and grabbed Fisher's arm. "Eddie, quit shooting! There's nothing there!"
"There is! I saw someone over there! I'm sure he had a weapon!" He pointed at a patch of bushes in the distance. Even if someone had made it out this far, it would have been extremely unlikely that they could have concealed themselves without being spotted by Baker. Hope may have been a lush location, but the town harbored most of the forestland, and significant patches of foliage were too scarce in this area to have facilitated any stealth. Or at least that's what I thought.
I grabbed the sling of my rifle and swung it over my shoulder, before digging my hand into my pocket to retrieve a pair of 5x binoculars. "Wait a sec," I whispered. I focused in on the foliage of the bushes, spotting several blotches of blood on the leaves. "I'll be damned." I turned to my two subordinates, who were just as puzzled as I was. "Fisher, you're with me."
"What did you see?"
"Blood. Stay low and don't shoot unless I tell you to." We crouched and proceeded towards the bushes, leaving Hafen behind mumbling and cursing at the prospect of being left alone at the checkpoint.
The trek took a little over 2 minutes, and we had our sights set on the gap between the leaves for the entire journey. Despite my orders to hold fire, I couldn't help but worry that Fisher would have bombarded the position with gunfire before we had a chance to identify the assailant. Thankfully the journey proceeded without incident, and I felt extremely relieved as we closed in on the anomaly.
"I swear to fucking god, I'm going to have you bastards shot for insubordination." Fisher and I halted upon hearing the assailant's growls, maintaining our aims on the gap. A dark green figure rose from the bushes, carrying an M40 rifle. The assailant wore a dark, camouflaged uniform and bore several green markings on his face. His left arm was soaked with blood, and the wound in his lower arm continued to seep additional trails of blood down his sleeve.
"Insubordination? You're not our com-" I raised my hand to quieten Fisher, and proceeded towards the sniper.
"Identify yourself," I demanded.
"Staff Sergeant Healey, Special Forces, and I need to know why the fuck you shot me." I was almost going to correct him in order to save myself from being disbanded in Fisher's place, but it eventually dawned on me that it was Baker who had failed to inform us that special forces were operating in the area.
"Sorry sir. We weren't informed that you were in the area," I replied, lowering my rifle.
"Do you need medical attention?" Fisher stepped forward with his medical satchel.
"No, forget it. I'm going to have Baker's ass on a stick for this. Get back to your posts." Healey gripped his arm, shuffled his way through the bushes and sprinted off into the distance before his dark, gritty figure concealed itself in the depths of grassland that surrounded the checkpoint.
"He probably won't get far with an injury like that," Fisher grumbled nervously. It was understandable that Fisher was completely tense at that point, considering that it was the first time he had managed to deal a significant blow to another individual, rather than the usual flesh wound caused by his itchy trigger finger during military exercises.
"He's part of Spec Ops, he'll be fine."
11/05/65
I was called back to the campus before I had even managed to so much as say a word to Baker. The man had been absent for the whole evening as well as that morning. My primary concern was why the civilian was shot despite that he had no firearms on him. Another concern was that Baker did not inform us that another sniper was in the vicinity. What was even more puzzling was the fact that Special Forces had been assigned to kill the civilian, when Baker could have easily taken the shot himself, or have ordered us to take care of it instead. Granted I would have been hesitant at first, but even Baker would have known that Fisher would have had no second thought at shooting down a target. There were so many topics I wanted to discuss with Baker, but at that time it seemed as if he was too busy being lectured by Healey for allowing his subordinates to open fire on a friendly sniper.
The sound of Hafen's vacant cup slamming down on the table in the mess hall was the only thing that could have caught my attention at that very moment, especially when you considered his bland, monotone voice. "Peter, you want some tea or not?"
"Nah, I'm good."
He snorted, grabbed his cup and made his way towards the canteen. The food on campus was mediocre at best. Most of the time we were forced to live off boiled potatoes and lumps of chicken. Initially they weren't terrible meals but as time went on, the monotony of consuming the same food almost every day became a nuisance. Every now and again a different meal would be served, such as ham and turkey or stir-fried spinach, which was simply delightful compared to munching on chicken that tasted as if it had expired a month prior to its serving. In most cases, I ended up having to fix my own meals.
I turned to Fisher, who was glaring at his mug of tea, presumably thinking about the friendly fire he had caused the day before. "You alright?"
"Yeah, couldn't be better," he droned. It came as a clear shock to me. Fisher had never reminisced on these kind of incidents with such a depressing tone. It was probably just the sight of so much blood that had frightened him, since all of the injuries he had seen (or caused) were very minor. Knowing him, I shrugged it off thinking that he would soon reverse back into the perky man that he had always been.
"Thinking about the sniper?" I reckoned that addressing the matter would have cheered him up a bit.
"Yeah."
"You didn't know he was military personnel, Eddie. Don't beat yourself up over it." I fetched my ham and cheese sandwich from my travel bag and took a bite, satisfied by the crunch it emitted as my teeth ripped through the lettuce tucked in beneath the bread.
Fisher remained silent, glaring at his mug of tea. He closed his eyes and held his breath. "...it's not that. It's the civilian he shot."
"That guy?" I took another bite out of my sandwich. "Yeah, poor bastard," I muffled. "I still have to talk to Sarge about that."
"It wasn't the fact that he was shot that scared me." He dug his nails into his scalp. "It's just that I feel so stupid."
"Stupid?" I was literally dumbfounded at that stage. "Why?"
"It's just how frantic he was acting once his son had been taken away for tests, y'know?" Gallons of sweat were pouring out of him. He couldn't maintain any eye contact and kept jumbling up his words. It was evident that he was very stressed and for obvious reasons.
"You're worried about your own kid, huh?" While I couldn't help but feel downright terrible for Fisher, I was slightly chuffed at the fact that someone had finally expressed disgust at the prospect of newborns being taken away for biological research.
"Of course I fucking am," he muttered angrily. His brief burst of anger degraded into a soft sob, as he delved his head into his hands. "I'm sorry, man. I just can't believe that this sort of shit is happening. I didn't know they fucking take the kids from you while they're still so young." He raised his head. His face was blood red, covered with the moisture left by his tears. "I've got to get them out of here."
"Do the authorities know your wife is pregnant?" It was a largely pointless question, since the strict monitoring of the entire town would have alerted the scientists anyway.
"I don't know. They probably do."
"Then you're stuck here. That virus is their priority, and any potential test subjects won't even be considered for release."
"Fuck," he mumbled. Seeing as my family was tucked away safely in Florida, I couldn't really imagine the level of shit that must have been going through Fisher's mind at that point. I decided to postpone the conversation, and returned to my lunch.
20/05/65
Over an entire week had passed since we had last seen Baker. Our squad was put on standby temporarily by Chalmers, so we were stuck strolling around the campus with nothing remotely productive to do for the entire period.
"Hey baby." I caressed the phone booth with my index finger as I greeted my wife Gemma. I met her at my second year at college, before dropping out to work with my uncle at a garage in Tallahassee. Back then, we kept in contact frequently and we eventually hit it off at a club three years ago, which incidentally led to her getting pregnant with twins. Unfortunately, my contact with her had been severed ever since Baker disappeared.
"You promised you would call once a week." She was enraged, and I really couldn't have blamed her. The stress of coping with two kids while your husband was on duty couldn't have been an enjoyable experience. "I thought you might have been hurt."
"I'm sorry. I'm okay though. There's no need to worry." It was a fruitless attempt to comfort her, but it was better than saying nothing. "How's Jake and Tyler?"
"They're at school right now, but they're hanging in there." She sighed heavily. "They miss you. A lot."
"Tell them I was asking for them."
"Sure, as usual," she replied sarcastically. I groaned, thrusting my forehead into the phone box. "What was that?"
"Nothing." Talking with her was becoming a sharp pain in the ass. I understood that she was worried about me, but the gradual decrease in affection in our phone conversations was getting to me.
"Why the fuck didn't you call last week?"
"I couldn't get anywhere near the town hall without Sergeant Baker." Access to specific areas around the town was forbidden unless the officer in your squad was present. It was a completely ridiculous regulation, but the Lieutenant Colonel had no intention of changing it for the benefit of his soldiers. At first, I had chanced asking a few other officers to grant me access to the town hall, but they were too worried about having their wages cut rather than helping another man in need.
"Why? Where is he?"
"I don't know, baby. He's been missing ever since our last patrol."
"Why? What happened?" The constant interrogatives were becoming extremely aggravating, but I decided to mask my irritation in order to avoid being lectured for the rest of the conversation.
"I can't say. I'm sorry, baby. All I can say is that bad shit went down, and he hasn't been around for the whole week."
"I don't believe this! I spent the last week scared shitless because I thought you got fucking shot, and you won't even fucking tell me what the hell is going on," she sobbed.
"Gemma, wai-"
"No, forget it. Go fuck yourself." The line died almost immediately.
"Goodbye, I love you," I whispered satirically.
I made my way out of the room and proceeded towards the reception. I walked slowly towards Chalmers, who was talking with the receptionist, and patted him on the back.
"Thanks, sir. I really appreciate it."
He nodded in response, and turned back to the receptionist to continue their conversation. Despite how much of a little briar the man could be at times, he had certainly earned my respect for the time being.
I pushed open the double doors of the building and made my way halfway down the concrete stairs, until the presence of a bulky hardheaded individual at the end of the stairs caught my attention. That individual was good ol' Sergeant Baker.
"Sir?"
"Johnson." He greeted me with a nod.
"Sir?" I stood my ground, gazing at him as he continued up the stairs, before he brushed past me to make his way to the entrance. "Where have you been?"
"Can't say a word to anyone." I was never one for letting such information slip by without some investigation.
"Getting your ass hounded by the Lieutenant Colonel?"
He froze on the last step, as the muscles in his back tightened. He slowly turned towards me with an extremely disgruntled look on his face. While the average trooper would have immediately fled in terror, I knew the man well enough to know that he did not condone violence, despite his frighteningly huge build. I was confident enough to continue my line of questioning.
"You knew Staff Sergeant Healey was there, didn't you?"
"That's none of your goddamn business, Corporal." That was among the very few instances he had ever addressed me by my rank. It was clear to me that the conversation was going to to be far from friendly.
"We saw an innocent man get his head mashed by an M40 rifle. I believe we're entitled to know, sir."
"I'm not saying a fucking word to you. Take your head out of your ass and get out of here," he jeered.
"I'm not leaving until I get some fucking answers," I snarled. I was on the verge of losing it. At that point, not even my closest ally was trustworthy.
He cocked his head down and sighed. Baker had never been picky when it came to discussing information, so it was painfully clear to me that the information he was hiding must have been of some significance to him. That being said, if it was of some significance to him, it was probably extremely vital to just about everybody else. "We can't talk about it right now. Get back to your quarters," he grumbled. He diverted his eyes to the right, signaling me to the surveillance camera overlooking the entrance. It didn't take me much more than two seconds to acknowledge what he was implying.
"Yes, sir." Instead of sticking around and making the situation needlessly complicated, I made my way out of the area immediately. However, the journey back to the campus was not a very peaceful one. My mind was riddled with several possibilities of the outcome of Baker's sudden reappearance. His decision to remain quiet was particularly concerning, but had I known the reason behind his disappearance earlier than I had found out, I probably would have ended up sprinting towards the nearest checkpoint in an attempt to escape the nightmare that would await me.
01/06/65
Another week without Baker. Another week of standing around and doing nothing to ease our boredom. When Williams had arrived for his inspection two days earlier, I was more than adamant to aid in the cleaning effort. Mainly because it was a thousand times more enjoyable than being subject to Hafen's awkward aura in our quarters.
"This sucks." Hafen's excessive whining was one of the reasons I detested spending much more than ten minutes in our quarters.
"We heard you the first hundred times, man," Fisher scolded. Ironically, it was clear that Fisher was also incredibly bored due to the build up of anger he had gained over the last week. However, spending such a prolonged period of time without any exercises or assignments was indeed painfully dull. All we could really do to marginally ease our boredom was listen to the radio in the mess hall, or jog to and fro around the town as a makeshift form of exercise.
I turned to Fisher. "You want to walk down to the mess hall?"
"For what?"
I shrugged. "Because we have nothing better to do?"
"Sure. It beats talking with him," he sneered. Hafen merely rolled his eyes in response, and proceeded to snuggle into the covers of his camp bed as we made our way out of the room.
I peered into the room occupied by Alpha Six, tittering as I mentally compared it to the little skip in the woods that we reserved for burning litter. As any one of us would have expected, the neighboring bunkrooms were literally caked with litter, grime and all sorts of muck. I was pretty much used to seeing such messes, and our bunkroom was arguably one of the more hygienic living quarters.
We made our way to the mess hall, pausing on the odd occasion to observe the cesspits the other squads called their quarters. As we closed in on the noise polluted establishment, Fisher disappeared into the mass of troopers gathering at the canteen. I spent at least a minute searching for a place to sit, before stumbling upon an almost vacant table, with merely one seat occupied. I stood there, gazing at the occupant as he tucked into a plate of chicken and stir-fried spinach.
That occupant was Sergeant Baker.
