Chapter 3: Alnus Hill, Special Reason
Itami tried to cry. That was what he was supposed to do in this situation, right? Cry because of how sad it all was. Three of his men were dead. Burned to ashes by a wizard's fireball in a battle command said was supposed to be a one-sided slaughter.
He wondered how the men's families would react to that information.
Sorry, your son was incinerated by a wizard. We really thought we had this one.
That probably wasn't the right thing to say to a grieving parent. Or maybe it was. He had no idea. He didn't even really understand how he felt about the whole thing. He wanted to feel sad, to cry and lament the loss of three dear friends, but he couldn't. He'd only been in charge of his platoon three months. He didn't know the men well enough to feel their absence. But that didn't mean he was okay either. He felt like there was a pit in his stomach. Like someone had just torn out his guts.
He'd never wanted this. A job. That's all joining up was to be. He'd become an officer because it paid better, that's it. He'd never wanted to lead. That was something other officers would do. Officers who were more qualified, more motivated, and patriotic than he was. A desk job, that's all he'd wanted.
But all of that was gone now. One missed train, that's all it took to transform him from a lazy no got slacker into the hero of Ginza, a freshly minted First Lieutenant and a platoon leader commanding an infantry platoon in an actual invasion. Except none of that was true. He was still a lazy slacker. The only difference was now he had the weight of thirty-nine lives resting on his shoulders.
Thirty-six now.
The faces of the three dead privates flashed in his mind. Then bodies, the smell of burnt hair, the way their flesh fell off their bones.
It wasn't fair.
He cursed and slammed his fist into the hull of the APC he was leaning against. At least that's what he was telling himself. Really, he was just hiding. Hiding from his platoon, from higher, from everyone. He just wanted to be left alone. Hell, that wasn't even really true. He wanted to curl up in a ball for the rest of his life, watch anime, and cry in a desperate attempt to scrub the images of three burnt bodies from his mind.
He cursed again before letting his feet gradually slide out from under him until he was sitting on the ground with his head slumped against his chest. He hated everything. He hated the enemy, he hated command, he hated himself. Hell, he even hated the privates for getting themselves killed.
Suddenly a voice invaded Itami's sound space. It was gruff and low, and he recognized it immediately. He looked to where the voice had come from, and sure enough, there he was. Sergeant Major Kuwahara.
"Hey PSG," Itami said as he whipped his eyes with one gloved hand. "What's happening?"
"Been looking for you, Sir," the NCO said. His voice was calm and cold, but not unfriendly. It reminded Itami of someone who was trying to mimic human emotions without fully understanding them.
"Something wrong, Top?" Itami asked. If something else had gone wrong with the platoon while he was sitting around feeling sorry for himself...he couldn't deal with that, not right now.
"Nothing's wrong, sir," Kuwahara said, still calm and collected. "Just thought I should come and find you. You looked like you needed someone to talk to."
"I'm fine, Top," Itami lied, "Nothing to worry about."
"Don't do that, sir," The Sergeant Major said casually. He sounded like a father trying to teach his son a lesson. At least, that's what Itami thought.
"Don't do what?" Itami asked casually. Technically he outranked the Sergeant Major, but any officer worth their salt knew that you didn't just ignore NCOs, especially not one like Kuwahara who'd been in the JSDF longer than Itami had been alive.
"Don't lie to me. You can lie to everyone else; hell, if it makes you feel better, you can lie to yourself, but don't lie to me. I'm supposed to help you, but I can't do that if you lie to me. So don't. Don't lie to me. Especially not here."
The words cut deep into Itami's soul, and that bothered him. He knew the old man was right, and that wasn't good. That's not the kind of person he was supposed to be. He was a lazy otaku, not the kind of man who should be leading others into combat.
"I told you, Top, I'm fine." Itami lied again.
Kuwahara sighed and shook his head.
"A long time ago," He began slowly. "Back when I was a buck sergeant. My unit participated in a series of wargames with the Americans. I broke my leg and couldn't participate in the final exercise. So, my squad, which was being led by one of my corporals, went off without me. The helicopter they were in crashed a few minutes after takeoff. There were no survivors."
He let that last sentence sink in for a few seconds before he continued.
"I know what you're going through. Those men we lost. You're blaming yourself for what happened. You feel guilty. You think, maybe if you did something different, they'd still be here, but you can't do that to yourself. What happened, it's not your fault. There wasn't a damn thing I could've done to keep that bird from crashing, and there wasn't a damn thing you could've done to keep those boys alive. The sooner you accept that and keep moving, the better. Because the rest of the platoon is still counting on you, and if you start second-guessing yourself, you're going to get someone killed, and that will be your fault. So, if you need someone to talk to, to help you work through this, I'm here. But if you think I'm going to sit here while you host your own little pity party, you're a damn full, and I won't hesitate to beat the self-confidence back into you, if only for the platoon's sake. Copy?"
With that, the old sergeant held out his hand to the young officer in front of him. His face was still the same unmovable stone it had been for the entire conversation, but something about it seemed kinder, at least to Itami. The young lieutenant stared at Kuwahara's outstretched hand for what felt like minutes before finally taking it. The older man helped him to his feet, and the pair shook hands.
Itami cracked a faint smile. "Thanks for this. I appreciate it, really."
Kuwahara let out a satisfied humph and nodded. "It's what I'm here for, Sir."
The pair started to walk back towards their platoon when Kuwahara stopped and looked back at his PL. "Just so we're clear, I was being serious when I said I'd beat you if I thought you were a danger to the platoon."
Itami laughed awkwardly. "Solid copy, top. Can you promise to give me a heads up if I start heading in that direction?"
The Sergeant Major didn't respond to that. He just let out another humph, the meaning of which Itami couldn't decipher, before turning around and walking back to the platoon. Itami shrugged and decided to take the exchange as a yes before jogging to catch up with the older man.
…
Ben let out a soft grunt as he tossed a small metal slug from one hand to the other before holding it up to examine. It was small, shaped like a football, and had words engraved into it that Ben couldn't understand.
"So, you know what the hell this thing is?" Dutch asked as he scratched his bushy beard.
"Yeah," Ben answered plainly. He was sitting cross-legged outside the Lieutenant-General's tent with his Mark-eleven resting across his knees like a wizard's staff. "It's a bullet. The kind you launch out of a sling, like the ones those legion-looking motherfuckers had last night."
"Figured those assholes were just chucking rocks." the big operator said as he kicked up some dust. He was leaning against a stack of crates that had been placed outside the command tent for some arcane reason.
"Some of them did, maybe," Ben said calmly. "But most of them were probably hucking these. It's called a sling bullet. Legionnaires, real ones from our world, used to make them before battles. Launched them out of the slings they all carried. Guess these guys had the same idea. Where'd you say you got this again?"
"Chief Huzu," Dutch said bluntly, "that Pararescue guy. You met him, right?"
Ben nodded to indicate that he had, and Dutch continued.
"Well, I ran into him while I was grabbing ammo, and we got to chatting. Said he pulled it out of some private's mouth. Apparently, it shattered the poor bastard's teeth and almost got lodged in his throat. He showed it to me, and I figured I'd show it to you since you're a history buff and all. Seems I was right."
Ben let out a noise that didn't have a name but definitely sounded like an agreement before tossing the small slug back to his compatriot. The bigger man caught it with both hands, letting his SAW hang from its sling. He turned it over in his hands, examining it like a kid looking at a fancy rock he'd found.
"What're these symbols mean?" The big operator asked.
"No idea," Ben answered. "I don't speak elvish or dwarven or gobblygook or whatever the fuck they speak in this crazy ass-backward shitbag of a world."
"I know, but you have a guess," Dutch said confidently.
"What makes you think I got a guess?" The sniper asked.
"Because you always have a guess. And because, you know…."
"I'm a history buff." Ben deadpanned.
"Exactly." The big man said with a smirk. "So, what's the guess?"
Ben let out a sigh and shook his head but, it was all an act. Despite his protests, he actually liked the back and forth. It helped lower the tension.
"Well," he began, "the Romans used to cover theirs in insults. So, if I had to guess, the locals do the same thing."
"What kind of insults?" Dutch asked with genuine curiosity.
"Vulgar stuff mostly. You know shit like 'I'm going to fuck your wife' and other X-box live level BS."
Dutch let out a genuine laugh and shook his head.
"I thought Romans were supposed to be all sophisticated and shit?" he asked.
"Nah, Romans were crude, childish pricks. Especially their soldiers." Ben answered as he tilted his head back to stare up at the thinning clouds passing leisurely over the grizzly battlefield.
Dutch grunted and looked down at his boots. "Guess some things never change." the operator half said, half grumbled to himself. The big man made like he was going to say something else, but he was cut off by a group of people exiting the tent.
There were three of them. The first two were operators like Ben and Dutch. Australian SAS, to be specific. The third was a JSDF officer, a young woman with short hair and manicured nails. Definitely an aid or some kind of administrator. The operators looked each other in the expensive mirrored shades and exchanged nods before the Aussies left to go do whatever it is they did when no one was telling them what to do. Then the aid, who seemed uncomfortable around the trained killers, bowed to the two Americans before motioning for them to come inside. The pair obliged and entered the tent.
There they found the Lieutenant-General hunched over a folding table. The pair positioned themselves across from the officer, snapped to attention, and saluted.
"Sergeants Hunter and Hendrick reporting as ordered, sir," Ben said in Japanese.
The officer looked up from his maps and reports and waved off the aids standing to either side of him.
"At ease, gentlemen," He said, returning the salute. "To make this easier, we can do it in your language."
"Appreciate it, sir," Dutch said, "but do you mind if I ask what is this about?"
"We're still trying to understand the situation here on the ground, so I've been debriefing the Special Operations teams. I figured your opinions would be invaluable for the next part of the operation."
"I appreciate the vote of confidence, sir," Ben began sheepishly. "But we're shooters. We were on the line last night like everyone else. There's not much we can tell you that you couldn't get from one of your officers."
"I appreciate the humility," The General said as he rested his hands on the table in front of him, "but I've read your files. I know you're more than just shooters. So use some of that fancy Special Forces training and tell me what the hell we just stepped in."
The operators shared a look as if to say; do you think we should let him in on our secret SF voodoo? A few seconds later Dutch shrugged, and the decision was made. Ben spoke first.
"Well, sir, our perspective is just as limited as yours, but we did make a few observations based on what we saw last night. The biggest one is... those monsters. The ones that came at us in waves last night. The enemy was using them as cannon fodder, and no matter what we hit them with, they kept coming. No one would send their troops into a meat grinder like that, not ones they care about anyway. To me, that means they were either conscripts or a kind of slave army. Either way, they definitely don't have the same social standing as the humans."
The Lieutenant-General sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Are you telling me the first thing we did after showing up in a new world is massacre an army of slaves?"
"In our defense," Dutch began in his baritone drawl, "The bastards weren't exactly asking us for help last night. As far as I'm concerned, everything we did last night was justified, and you should feel the same way."
"I appreciate that, sergeant. But I doubt the media will see it that way," The General said gravely. Like most command-level officers, he understood just how dangerous the court of public opinion could be to a military operation. The operators understood that fact too. They had spent most of their lives in nasty warzones fighting monsters who were actually the good guys as far as the rest of the world was concerned. But most of the time, the rest of the world was wrong. The two operators knew that. Had known it for a long time.
"Screw what they think, sir," Dutch said bluntly. "They ain't here, we are. And believe me when I say that if you start worrying about what those bloodsuckers think, this is going to turn into a shit show."
Ben was about to tell his buddy to lock it up when the Lieutenant-General laughed, stopping both of them in their tracks. The pair of killers stared at the officer dumbly for a few seconds until his sudden bout of laughter finally faded.
"Sorry about that," The older man said as he wiped his eye with one assault gloved hand. Ben thought it was kind of odd the task force CO was in the same battle rattle as the grunts but ignored it.
"I don't mean insult you too," the Lieutenant General continued "it's just that every operator I've debriefed so far has told me the same thing. Not that first part about those nonhumans being second class citizens, that's new information, but the part about ignoring the media and focusing on the mission."
The officer paused for a second, and Dutch took the opportunity to grunt in agreement. Pleased that his fellow members of the special operations community shared his opinion. The Lieutenant-General took this small vocalization as his signal to continue.
"You see, gentlemen, part of the reason I insisted on having foreign advisors here despite my government's objections is that I need your experience. I trust my people; they're disciplined, well trained, and determined to get the job done. But they don't have the trigger time you do. Not even close. And we're going to need that experience if we want this invasion, and that's what it is, no matter what the politicians call it, to go well." The officer let his last words hang to help emphasize their importance. This wasn't blustering or some kind of generic gungho, ra ra nonsense to show his superiors how highspeed he was. As far as the operators could tell, he was one hundred percent sincere, and that meant a lot. The pair had encountered a lot of officers in their long career, some good, some bad, and as far as they could tell, Lieutenant General Hazama was the former. At the bare minimum, he could talk the talk; whether or not he had to skills to back up his words was yet to be seen. But the pair would be lying if they said they weren't hopeful.
"We appreciate the vote of confidence, sir," Ben said sincerely.
"Yeah, it's good to know we've got friends in high places," Dutch added.
The trio discussed their situation for a bit longer before the officer dismissed the pair back to their platoon. As much as the operators enjoyed conversing with the old man, they were happy to get back on the line. Despite all their fancy training, they were shooters at heart, and they knew that chances were high there was a lot more shooting to be done before the day was over.
…
Kuwahara let out a short, controlled breath as he walked the line. The order had come for the task force to start digging fighting positions, and the master sergeant would be damned, dead, and buried if his platoon's positions weren't the best on the entire Goddamn hill. The enemy had apparently considered their section of the hill to be the weak link in the coalition chain. Thus their decision to commit their elite infantry to that section of the hill in an attempt to force some kind of breakthrough. With the American's help, the JSDF had shown them the error of their ways. But it'd been close, real close. No way in hell that was happening again, not on Kuwahara's watch. No damn way.
He came up to one of the weapons squad's gun pits. Sergeant Kurata was supervising the filling and placement of sandbags while one of the privates did maintenance on the type-sixty two while two of the SAW gunners from another squad covered their sector. No buddy wanted a repeat of last where they'd lost one of their guns to a malfunction at the absolute worst time. The issue had been so bad they'd had to completely replace the weapon with a fresh one brought in from the other side of the gate. That could not happen again.
"Sergeant Kurata!" Kuwahara shouted. The younger NCO looked up from the wall of sandbags he was building and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
"Moving, Sergeant!" He called back. He started to lift himself out of the pit, but Kuwahara waved him off.
"No need, Sergeant. I just wanted to see how things were coming along."
Kurata looked around at the in-progress fighting possession and then back at his Platoon Sergeant. "Things are going pretty well, Top. Soon as we get this wall built, we're gonna start on some overhead protection. I heard some of the engineers were chopping down trees to make space for tents. Was gonna see if I could snag some of the logs before they chop them up."
"You keep working on this. After I'm done walking the line, I'll head over and get as many logs you need," Kuwarahara said matter of factly. The Weasel was doing a good job improving the pit and providing the best protection he could for his gun crews. The least Kuwarahar could do was work some of his senior NCO magic to get him the supplies he needed. He was sure he could talk the engineers into relinquishing the timber without much trouble. Honestly, there wasn't much a Sergeant Major couldn't do if they put their mind to it. That rank carried a lot of weight with it. Not as much as Chief Warrant Officer, but that rank was considered magic by enlisted men, and even most officers.
He turned his attention back to Kurata. The young sergeant was rubbing the back of his neck, and his eyes kept flicking back and forth from Kuwarahara to the type sixty-two being disassembled and cleaned by one of the privates.
"Something wrong with the gun, Sergeant?" The old man asked cautiously.
The Weasel let out a heavy sigh and looked down at the disassembled weapon in front of him.
"Well, Sergeant Major," he began, "I checked the gun personally, the one that malfunctioned last. There wasn't anything wrong with it. Not as far as I can tell. I think the issue is with the weapon. These type six-twos are pretty old, and they aren't the most reliable weapons to being with. That combined with the number of rounds we've been putting through them...I don't if we can keep that kind of thing from happening again. At least that's my opinion... Sergeant Major."
The Sergeant Major huffed and looked down at the gun. Kurata was right, and he knew it. The problem was, there was nothing he could do to fix it, and that bothered him. As a PSG, he was supposed to look out for the Platoon, and that meant solving problems, particularly ones that put his men in danger, and not being able to do that made him angry.
Nothing to do but channel that anger and make it work, Kuwarahara thought as he gritted his teeth.
"I'll see what I can do, Sergeant," he said coldly, "but chances are we'll just have to make it work."
Kurata frowned and nodded.
"Roger, Sergeant Major," he half said, half mumbled. It was clear that wasn't the answer he wanted but probably the one he expected.
And with that, the two parted ways, and the Sergeant Major was back to walking the line and checking the platoon's positions. He made it about halfway to the end of the line before he was stopped again, this time by the Americans.
He saw the pair of operators returning from wherever they'd disappeared to and was going to ignore them until the little one waved him down and made it clear they wanted to talk. Kuwarahara had mixed feelings about the Americans. On the one hand, he appreciated their skill and experience, and they were both NCOs like him which did give them a sort of connection, but on the other hand, he didn't like their attitude. He knew special forces had their own rules they liked to play by, and that didn't sit right with him. Plus, the big one's beard made him want to smoke some private for uniform violations just to get the rant he'd been saving up off his chest.
"How's the line, Sergeant Major?" The little one, Kuwarahara was pretty sure his name was Hunter, asked as he and his large compatriot approached.
Kuwarahara looked back over his shoulder at the Platoon's rapidly improving fighting positions.
"It's coming along." He said, coldly, but not harshly. "If the enemy tries to punch through here like they did last night, they'll be in for a shock."
"Gave 'em a helluva shock last night," Dutch growled before launching a glob of dip spit off in a direction no one was standing in. "They didn't seem to care much."
The Sergeant Major grunted and looked off down the hill at the field of corpses arrayed before them. The bodies were baking in the midday sun, and buzzards had already started to pick through the dead. They were joined by a handful of unlucky privates who'd been ordered to search the enemy KIA for Intel. It was grizzly, to say the least.
"Well then, I guess we just have to kill them all and hope they get the message." Kuwarahara said with a huff.
That made Dutch laugh, and the big man cracked a wide, dip-filled smile.
"Damn, Sergeant Major. Damn straight." He said as he slapped his fellow Green beret on the shoulder for no particular reason.
"Just tell us where you need us, Sergeant, and we'll settle in and get ready to stack some bodies," Ben said. Kuwarahara noted that both he and Dutch pronounced Sergeant as Sarnt, which he thought was a little weird but decided not to mention.
"Well, Sergeant," he replied, unintentionally emphasizing the pronunciation of each syllable, "I was actually going to ask you for a bit of a favor."
"Whatever it is, Sergeant, we got you," Ben said with a genuine smile.
"Yeah," Dutch added with another big smile, "We aim to please."
"Orders came down about half an hour ago. Higher wants every platoon to send out an LP/PO three hundred meters out from our line to keep the enemy from sneaking up scouts or irregulars during the night." Kuwarahara said. Still just as cold calm as when they started.
"The Lieutenant is busy at some powwow with the other PLs and the Captain, so I'm in charge of putting the team together." The old man continued. For a brief moment, an image of Itami slumped against the APC flashed in his head, and he hoped that his words had actually helped the young officer. "Plan is to have a four-man in the LP/OP. I already have two, and I was hoping you two would tag along. I know you two went through some hard shit last night, and I'll understand if you say no, but I'd seriously appreciate having a pair of experienced shooters like you out there. Especially of shit hits the fan."
The pair of operators shared a look, and it seemed, at least to Kuwarahara, like the two had an entire conversation. Then, in unison, the two looked at the Sergeant Major and nodded. They were in; fatigue be damned.
…
Sergeant First Class Shino Kuribayashi scanned the darkness through the iron sights of her type sixty-four, the odd visual effects of her NVGs during the entire world into a flat green picture. This quick visual inspection of her sector of fire revealed nothing but dead bodies and buzzards who had decided to keep gorging themselves after the sun went down. And that was disappointing.
This sucks, she whisper-grumbled to herself in the darkness. She'd volunteered for this because she'd hoped the enemy would be stupid enough to try and probe their line or maybe even full-on charge like they had the night before. She wanted to fight because that's why she's joined the JSDF. She liked to fight, especially if the people she was fighting were bad guys. And these guys, the ones who'd almost overrun their position last night, were definitely bad guys. And she wanted to kill them for that. Instead, drone recon was saying they were staging at some Renaissance camp twenty clicks away and showing no sign of launching any kind of offensive operation.
Lazy cowards, she whisper-grumbled again, only this time someone kicked her in the leg. She looked to her right and saw the American, the little one, scanning his sector. His fancy four lensed NVGs were still flipped up, and he was looking down the fancy night vision scope mounted on top of his mark eleven. She huffed and looked down at the floor of the foxhole they were using as their LO/OP. There the big American and the private who'd been voluntold to be were fast asleep. Their legs were tangled up with hers, and she assumed one of them had kicked her in their sleep.
She shook her head and was about to whisper-grumbled something else when she got kicked again. She looked over and glared at the American to her right. He was looking at her now, and it was clear he had been the one to kick her. He put a finger to his lips, a reminder to maintain noise discipline, even if no one was around to see it. Then he motioned at her sector of fire and went back to watching his own.
Shino huffed again, and she thought about slugging him in the shoulder, but she decided against it. Instead, she just shook her head and went back to watching her sector. Something about the American seemed off. She had always wanted to meet a special warfare operator. To experience firsthand what kind of person it took to survive in that dangerous world. But now that she had, she was kind of disappointed. That's not to say that there was nothing impressive about the two operators. She'd seen the way they'd fought during the defense of the hill. That had definitely been some impressive soldiering, but it still didn't seem to live up to the near-mythic stories she'd heard about American Green Berets. And their looks certainly weren't helping matters. Sure, the big one looked intimidating, and she was pretty sure he could give her a run for her money in the strength department, but the little one, he really wasn't all that impressive.
He was actually a little on the short side, at least in her opinion. Sure he was taller than her, but most people were. Hell, even that new scrawny lieutenant Itami was taller than him. He wasn't that big either. Maybe she'd let her expectations et too high? There was just no way anyone could've lived up to…
Suddenly Shino felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned and saw Ben. He was still looking down the scope of his rifle, but his hand was now resting on her shoulder. Once it was clear he had her attention, he pointed in the direction he was aiming. She followed his line of sight and saw that he was looking at a small pile of bodies thirty meters to their four o'clock. She focused on that position, but she couldn't see anything. She leaned in close and whispered as much in the operator's ear. He twitched a little but otherwise seemed unaffected by the act. Instead, he held up a pair of high-tech night vision binoculars for her, all without taking his eyes away from the scope.
Shino took the nods, flipped up her own mono lensed NVGs, and brought the expensive optics to her eyes. The image quality was a lot better than what she was used to, and she quickly focused on the spot the American had indicated. She watched it for a few seconds and still didn't see anything out of the ordinary until suddenly, one of the bodies shifted. The movement had been subtle, almost imperceptible, but it definitely occurred. She kept watching, and a few seconds later, it happened again.
She immediately bent down and woke up the other two soldiers occupying the fighting position. One brief whispered conversation later, and the pair was up to speed on the current situation. Shino and the private immediately started to search their surroundings for any other signs of movement while the two operators observed the subtly moving corpse and discussed what to do next.
The pair used their radios, which were better and quieter than the one Shino had, to interface with the PL and PSG, and eventually, a decision was made. Ben would fire two rounds at the area where they'd spotted the movement, and they'd see if there was any kind of response. He was chosen since his was the only weapon with a suppressor, and if the enemy was in the area, the last thing they wanted was to give away their location.
A second later, the special forces sniper prepared his shot. He decided to aim just above the body he'd seen move since it looked like there was some kind of weird distortion in that air above it. Plus, the way the body was moving made it seem like something was jostling it around as opposed to the body moving of its own accord.
Once the shot was lined up, he squeezed the trigger twice in rapid succession sending two high-velocity seven-six-two rounds cutting through the night air like insects. And that's when all hell broke loose.
…
The two went right where they were supposed, only instead of passing through the open-air, they hit something. There was a scream, and then the air itself was covered in dark blood before suddenly unfurling like a cloak to reveal a man in dark leather armor. The man collapsed and began to scream and holler like a wounded animal. Ben knew he'd killed the man, but it was going to be a long death. A bad death. He was about to feel bad about that fact when the whole world suddenly went crazy.
Less than a minute after the man with the invisibility cloak hit the ground, the night erupted into a chorus of devilish howls that sounded like wolves mixed with some kind of demon that shouldn't exist. Then in unison, dozens of shapes appeared among the piled corpses. They were big and bestial, and their eyes glowed in the soldier's night vision like wild predators. And then, at that exact moment, is when the four soldiers hunkered down in their fighting pit realized they were surrounded by a unit of enemy werewolves. At least that's what they looked like. Big humanoid wolves in dark armor and wielding brutal-looking melee weapons.
Later, when it was all over, they would realize that the enemy had probably been sneaking their way towards the coalition lines and simply hadn't noticed them in their pit. But they, the LP/OP, hadn't noticed the wolves either. And now, they were close. Real close. So close, in fact, that one of them was able to leap through the air and come crashing right on top of the pit. Or, at least, that had been his plan.
While he was flying through the air at the pit, Dutch grabbed the eagle grip of his shotgun, wiped it out of the quickdraw holster on his back, and fired it one-handed right into the beastman's chest. The impact of the twelve gauge buckshot stopped the flying wolfman dead in his tracks, and he fell out of the air and crumpled to the ground like a bag of discarded laundry.
The big man immediately racked another shell and blasted another of the charging figures, taking a chunk out of its big canine head. While he was doing that, Shino double-tapped the wolf who'd tried to jump into the pit half a second before another beast tried to jump her. Dutch was too busy engaging his own targets to handle this one which meant Shino was on her own. Unlike its comrades, this wolf tried to snap at the young sergeant with its teeth. In one swift motion, she brought up her rifle, slamming it into the dog man's throat and using it to keep the monster's snapping jaws at bay. Without a moment of hesitation, she smashed her helmet into her opponent's muzzle, shattering his teeth and causing him to stumble backward and collapse at the edge of the pit. Immediately she slammed her bayonet into the wolfman over and over again until it stopped kicking. Then she brought her rifle up and started engaging the plethora of targets charging at them from their twelve o'clock. The direction they'd expected the enemy to come from.
Apparently, the enemy had decided not to be cooperative because they also had targets rushing in from three and six. Ben and the private were engaging those targets, dropping them with devastating semi-automatic fire.
After a full minute of close-in and brutal fighting, Dutch had fired his shockwave dry and transitioned to his SAW, but it had done its job. The Pit immediate perimeter was clear. And that meant they could activate their trap card.
"Blow the mines!" Dutch screamed at Shino over the roar of his SAW, blazing away at the incoming enemy.
Shino emptied her current mag, and instead of swapping in a new one, she reached down to the bottom of the pit and grabbed a small remote clacker.
"Detonating!" she screamed over the chaos unfolding all around them a split second before she squeezed the clacker.
In a sudden violent moment, nine MM-1 Minimore anti-personnel mines detonated. The resulting wave of steel bearings surged forward and shredded everything in their path. And just like that, every body, dead or alive, between ten and two, was turned into nothing but shredded meat.
"Front's clear!" Dutch roared before repositioning his SAW and engaging the remaining wolfmen alongside his fellow Green Beret.
Suddenly, the radio cracked to life, and the voice of Sergeant Major Kuwarahara made itself heard over the chaos of battle.
"This is Bravo One Seven to Doorstep," Doorstep was the callsign for the LO/OP. "I say again; this is Bravo One Seven to Doorstep; what is your situation?"
"This is Doorstep!" Ben shouted into his comm as he slammed a fresh mag into his Mark eleven. "We're engaged with heavy enemy irregulars at our three and twelve! We are holding but in serious danger of being overrun! Requesting immediate support by fire!"
"Negative on support by fire at this time. We are engaging hostile elements but cannot, say again, cannot engage targets in your immediate AO without serious risk of blue on blue. We have sniper teams moving into position to provide fire support, ETA two mikes."
Ben cursed and dropped another of the invisible men he'd managed to spot among the charging werewolves. Apparently, rapid movements made them easier to see.
"No guarantee we'll be here into minutes, sergeant!" the sniper shouted as he brained a wolfman holding a wicked black halberd.
"Watch your friends at your eight o'clock because we're coming to you!" The young operator screamed before calling out a mag change, turning to Shino and the Private and saying.
"You two run and gun back to our lines. Don't stop and don't bother bounding. Just all-out sprint as fast as you can. Me and Dutch will provide fire support and keep 'em distracted until you make it back. Snipers should be in a position in t-minus one mike. They'll keep you safe. Just get ready to go on three, roger?"
Shino was about to protest when Ben's face suddenly turned hard and mean like a drill sergeant she'd known back during basic.
"That's an order, Sergeant!" He screamed loud and deep.
Shino just nodded, checked her weapon, and got ready to move. As soon as she did, Ben turned back to engaging targets. Without taking his eye away from his scope, he counted down, and on one, Shino and the private jumped out of the pit and sprinted for all they were worth.
If what had been going on was chaos, then what the two JSDF soldiers had just sprinted headfirst into was something worse by orders of magnitudes.
Wolfmen were being cut down by the incoming fire, dead bodies were being kicked up and torn apart by explosions and stray rounds, and the air cracked and snapped like firecrackers as rounds passed danger close.
Shino did everything she could to block out all that chaos and focus on nothing but running and making sure no enemies appeared in her field of view. One did, and with breaking her stride, Shino aimed and dropped the wolfman with a single burst. Two more appeared on her right, and she dropped one just like the first, but her gun clicked when she tried to shoot the other one. She reached for a mag, but there were none left. She reached for her sidearm, but it was closing too fast. It lept at her; wicked mace raised and ready to deliver a devastating blow. She prepared herself to engage the beast-man in CQB when suddenly the air next to her head snapped, and the wolf's head exploded in a cloud of red mist. She chanced a look over her shoulder and saw Ben turning away from her to engage more targets.
He and Dutch had finally left the pit and were starting to fight their own way back.
She turned her attention back to her finish line, the federation fighting positions. She was almost there. Less than a hundred meters to go. She drew her sidearm got ready to engage another pair of wolves when the dogmens' chests suddenly exploded.
"Snipers in position!" The Sergeant Major called over the radio as two more wolves were killed by what must have been high caliber anti-material fire.
With one final surge, Shino got within ten meters of the coalition line and literally threw herself the rest of the way. She clattered into a sandbag wall so hard her organs felt like they'd been rattled around inside her chest cavity. Before she could even try to scuttle her way over the wall, two pairs of strong hands grabbed her body armor and dragged her into the fighting pit. After a brief recovery, the young Sergeant popped her head over the sandbag wall expecting to see private hot on her heels, but he wasn't there.
Instead, he was at least a hundred and fifty meters out, lying on the ground and surrounded by at least three dead wolfmen who looked like they'd been torn up by the same anti-material fire that had saved her earlier.
She tried to run back out to grab him, but the same hands that had pulled her into the pit kept her from leaving. She screamed and threw an elbow at one of the unseen soldiers in an attempt to break their grip. Someone swore, and she heard a crunch, but the hands wouldn't let go.
That's when she saw them. The Americans. The operators. They were fighting their way back as a buddy team. Getting closer and closer. Moving fast and yet still managing to engage targets with accurate and effective fire. Then suddenly, Ben's Mark-eleven went dry, and instead of reloading, he sprinted full tilt towards the downed private while Dutch laid down a never-ending stream of covering fire.
Upon reaching the downed soldier, Ben hoisted him onto his shoulders and sprinted the last hundred and fifty meters full tilt. All with another person in full kit draped across his shoulders and the wounded man's type sixty-four in his free hand. Then, like a scene out of some action movie where the hero manages to save everyone just in the nick of time, Ben dove over a sandbag wall, dropped the wounded private, spun around, and gunned down the two wolfmen who'd been hot on his heels with the private's out type sixty-four. Unloading on them with full auto seven-six-two at point-blank range. And then throw up. Like a hero.
A second later, Dutch joined his comrade inside the wire. After a quick jab at his buddy for losing his lunch, the big operator joined the JSDF shooters on the line, adding his gun to the maelstrom of fire holding back the enemy's latest push.
Ben, who was still recovering from the bought of sudden nausea, checked his new rifle and got ready to join his buddy on the line. Before the operator could go, he felt Shino's hand on his shoulder. He turned and saw the young Sergeant's big eyes looking up at him.
"You good, Sergeant." He asked as he slammed a new magazine into the unfamiliar weapon.
"I'm fine," She said softly. "Thanks...for everything."
The young operator flashed a smile at the young NCO.
"Don't mention it. That's just what we do."
…
A/N: Man, this took a hell of a lot longer than I thought it would. Sorry for the delay. I've been very busy and haven't had time to write. Hopefully, it was worth the wait. Please enjoy and feel free to let me know what you think. I appreciate every review.