The rest of us would go in with trucks. Our many now fixed cargo trucks would serve as our battle chariots. Each of us would get 20 ammo magazines, two grenades, one knife, and two days worth of rations. A lot of math went into divvying up all our supplies, luckily we had scientists to do that for us. So all the calculations had been done, it was just up to us to carry out the mission.
I wake up and look directly at the clock, which reads 9:00. It is the day before the mission's set starting point, except it's a bit later time wise. The mission is planned for 7:00 am tomorrow morning, which means that everything that hasn't been done as of yet needs to be done. I suit up in my day clothes, olive drab shorts and shirt, and walk out of the barracks into the long corridor to the front doors of the facility.
I walk out and feel the warmth of the summer sun against my skin, and turn toward the back of the facility. Here the planes sit, taking up space in the parking lot as they are prepped for tomorrow's mission. The mechanics work feverishly on them, piles of tools and parts strewn around each of the planes. The one with the most issues though, was the crop duster. Supposedly built in the 1950's, this machine had more problems than any other vehicle on the lot. A small amount being; it leaks oil, it won't start all the time,it wont stay running, the frame is cracked and broken, the propeller is old and doesn't pitch right, etc... Because of this it was the surrounded by the most mechanics. "Of course." I thought "It had to be the one plane that we need the most."
I walk up to one of the mechanics and ask him "How's it going?" He looks and responds "Better than yesterday, sir. We got it to start, but it won't run without the choke fully on. So we're working on getting the carb out so that we can tune it. With luck, it should be ready for the runway by tonight." "Great!" I say with genuine enthusiasm. "You boys are doing an excellent job, keep up the good work." I then walk out and around the fence to check on the runway.
The back of the facility serves as the drain for all our runoff rainwater, so the ground behind it is eroded into downward sloped beach. The plan was for this to be our runway, after many hours of planning and scheming. The plan was for a winch to be attached to the concrete wall of the facility, and the winch hook will be attached to the rear of the plane. It will then be hoisted as high as possible up the slope, the engine will get up to max speed, and then be released with the hopes of using the downward slope and gravity to help get the plane up to speed in time, and into the air.
The odds of the plane making it into the air are slim to none, so to boost the odds a bit in our favor we made up a two bit ramp at the end of the beach to launch the plane into the air. Hopefully by then it would have achieved the velocity needed to stay in the air. Hopefully.
As I round the corner I see the men securing a pallet of cinder blocks to the winch cable at the bottom of the hill. I walk down and greet them. "Hows it going boys?" I ask them. "Good sir, we're testing the strength of it now." "How much can this thing hold?" I ask him. "Well, it estimates about 4 tons, and this is about 5 tons of cinder blocks. So if it can hold this, it can hold the plane for sure.
He hits the winch button, and the hum of the motor picks up from the top of the hill. Slowly, the pallet drags across the sand, up the hill to the marked line in the dirt at the very top of the hill. It holds firm, thus completing the test of the winch and wall strength. I then walk down to where some of the men are constructing the ramp. "Going alright?" I ask. "Yes sir." One of them says. "Should be done in a few hours. Oh...um...Can I ask you something, sir?" "Go ahead." "Well...Do you think that all this will actually work?" The group all turn to me, including the men working on the winch.
"To be honest, I think that we have a slight chance in hell that all this will work. But, I think that it'd be worth our while to give it our best shot with everything weve got, rather than sit in the base and die or be captured. I know all of this is absurd, what with the crude airforce and the only a few hundred men rushing in on the ground. But it has to work. It has to." All of them stay looking at me, until one of the men on the winch says "Well, we're with you sir. One hundred percent." The rest of them agree with "yeah's" and nods of the head. I then walk back to the garage bay to check on the transportation situation.
Lined along one of the walls are nearly 50 repaired Barracks Utility trucks, with the remaining few still being serviced. Even though they have been repaired, most of them are still pretty rough. Dents and dings in the fenders and rips in the seat weren't on the priority list for us though, only the basic engine functions and frame support. If they could hold troops and run long enough to get the men to the front lines, it was good enough. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that some of these trucks weren't gonna make it any farther than the front gate, let alone the airport.
"Almost good to go?" I ask into the garage bay, non specifically. "Almost." one of the mechanics says, not looking up from his work. Another mechanic speaks up: "Murphy, when you address the General you are to face him." He turns, embarrassed, and salutes me. "Don't worry about it, as long as you get this stuff done, I could care less about the formalities." He nods to me, then turns back to the truck he was working on. In my head, the doubts I had about the attack begin to fade a bit, but my nervousness only grows with each passing hour.
Seven o clock rolls around, and the sun begins to glow red over the horizon. At about that time, I get word that all the trucks have been repaired and fitted with the necessary gear. Not long after that, I'm informed that all the planes have been repaired, and that the slingshot is in working order. Easy company reports to me that all the enemy forces have been repelled back just a bit farther than the Palmer-Taylor power station. At this point, I call off the artillery strikes, and order all personnel to the front parking lot.
The sun is even lower now, as the whole ISA stands in front of me. Taking a breath, I climb on top of one of our trucks and begin to speak. After all, morale is an important thing to have."Gentlemen, this is it. Tomorrow could very well be the last stand for the ISA...make that the last stand for San Andreas. Sure, even if we fail the U.S will take over eventually, but dammit that's not the point. Do you wanna be known as the men who stood by after their homeland was taken over? Who stood by even after their brothers were massacred at the airport?" "Sir no sir!" The crowd booms. "That's what I thought. We'll win this, because we're better than them. This is our home, and we are the ISA. And we will not go out quietly, we will fight to the last man, the last breath and we will not surrender even in the face of death. So help me god, even if there is a knife to my throat, or a gun to my head, I will spit in the face of my enemy, defiant to the end. Would you?" "Sir yes sir!" "God damn right! Who are we?" "The ISA!" "And what are we gonna do?" "Win!" "And how are we gonna do it?" "Any way!"
"That's right. Men, you each have a back pack with your gear at the bottom of your bunks. Your mission forms will tell you where you should be and who you should be with. Are we good?" "Sir yes sir!" "Alright. Report to your bunks and get some sleep, we're gonna need it. Dismissed."