Prologue Part Two: They Live
Bio Profile: Captain Pilton
Faction: The Damned
There are four types of people who join the military. For some, it's family trade. Others are patriots, eager to serve their country. Next there are those for whom it's a choice of boot camp or jail. Then there's the kind who just want the legal means of killing other people. Captain William 'Wild Bill' Pilton is one of the latter. Growing up dirt poor in rural South Carolina, the youngest of six boys, Bill was often neglected by his parents, passed over in favor of his older brothers. He struggled to make friends, and was often teased and picked on at school for his family's poverty and his short stature. Pilton trudged through it all, clawing to escape the circumstances he was born into, but the struggle left its mark. Bill Pilton grew into a bitter, angry young man, something always seemed to be smoldering inside him, as one classmate said. Beware the fury of a patient man, said another.
After graduating from high school he joined the US Army ROTC at the University of South Carolina, ostensibly majoring in Political Science, but it became clear to anyone that Pilton had very little interest in pursuing a career in anything other than a soldier. The ROTC's strict curriculum soon became an outlet for his pent-up resentments, as he channeled that into becoming the best, soaring to the top in his cadre. Pilton pushed himself ruthlessly, accepting only absolute perfection, qualifying as an expert on every weapons system available to him. While his peers would spend their evenings and weekends at the local bars or frat house parties doing keg-stands, he would take on additional duties, spending hours at a time preparing his uniforms for even the most cursory inspections. When he commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant he graduated at the top of his class, and it was no surprise to his peers and instructors when he joined the infantry after graduation.
As soon as he was able he applied for and was accepted into Jump School at Fort Benning, where once again his dogged determination and perfectionism had him earn his Parachutist Badge after the course. He went on to be transferred to the 509th Airborne, where he saw action in Afghanistan and Iraq, where he wasted no time distinguishing himself in many skirmishes and battles.
Yet for all of his achievements Pilton still struggled to connect with people, and his perfectionism alienated both his fellow officers and the enlisted men under his command alike. Moreover, his dark side revealed itself to the world with increasing frequency as he became more and more jaded from the constant urban warfare during Operation Iraqi Freedom, and manifested itself in a variety of ways.
Pilton minimized the authority of his subordinates, ensuring that power over the running of his platoon remained solely in his hands, often lost his temper with his juniors and seniors alike, and openly questioned and argued with his superiors. Despite this, he made Captain in October of 2004, and was transferred to the 33rd Mobile Infantry Battalion, nicknamed the 'Damned 33rd'.
Although Pilton initially made favorable impressions with the 33rd's commanding officer, Colonel Harvie, all of Pilton's ambitions were shattered after the IED attack in 2005 that took Harvie's life and several other senior commanders. The 33rd's command was restructured, and Harvie's XO, John Konrad, was promoted to Colonel and assumed command. Pilton was disillusioned that all of his hard work was for nothing, but the twisting of the knife, from his perspective, was that Konrad appointed LTC Long as his XO, whom Pilton openly hated.
He was further embittered when, at Long's suggestion, Konrad appointed Pilton to be in charge of Kilo Company. Pilton considered it a demotion, as Kilo was known to be a dumping ground for misfits, shammers and ASVAB waivers. In reality Konrad saw Pilton's perfectionism as a perfect cure for the mediocre aspects of Kilo.
But, in spite of his misgivings, Pilton assumed command of the Kilo Company, and ran his company through intimidation and Machiavellian machinations. Specifically through skillfully manipulating senior ranking NCO's, like Sergeant First Class Barnes, who in turn was in charge of 2nd Platoon. 2nd Platoon considered to be a dumping ground for the worst of the worst discipline-wise. Between Barnes and Kilo's 1st Sergeant Dossler, nicknamed 'The Interrogator', Pilton did turn Kilo Company around, turning them into violent sociopaths and stone-cold killers. Konrad had heard rumors of the draconian disciplinary measures Pilton used, as well as the whispers of 'blanket parties' and humiliating punishments that the platoon leaders would mete out on their charges, but in the end the colonel could not argue with the results. Kilo Company was now one of the most combat-effective infantry companies in the 33rd.
In Afghanistan, especially in December of 2011 before the fall of Kabul, Kilo Company's methods of rooting out insurgents and keeping the onslaught of Islamic Caliphate were seen as extreme even by elements of the US military contingent outside of the 33rd. Like Konrad, Pilton took the fall of Kabul extremely hard, considering it a failure of weak bureaucrats in Washington and armchair generals in the Pentagon.
In Dubai, Pilton was also enthused about defying the Pentagon's orders to leave, although his motivations had little to do with saving civilians. It was, in his own words, to "stick it to those dickless fuckups in Washington." During the preparation for the Evacuation Pilton followed Konrad's orders zealously and without question, earning him the grudging respect of the Colonel if not his trust. Pilton seemed to relish the increasingly violent measures the 33rd used to keep the refugees in line, and came to be feared and hated by the locals. It soon became clear to 1st Lt. McPherson that Pilton was losing his already tenuous grip on sanity, and he begged Konrad for a new assignment, which the Colonel denied. This only served to deepen the chasm between McPherson and Pilton.
In the aftermath of the failed Evacuation, Pilton manipulated SGM Wolfe into revealing his knowledge of LTC Long's plan to escape Dubai with the help of two intact Emirates Airways 747 jumbo jets. Blackmailing the sergeant major into keeping quiet, Pilton set his designs on Long's position as XO, and took it upon himself to confront the 33rd's wayward second-in-command on the runway of Dubai's sand swept airport.
There, he confronted LTC Long. Holding four soldiers who were to pilot the jetliners at gunpoint Pilton demanded that Long stand down and surrender into his custody pending a court-martial for desertion and dereliction of duty. When Long refused, Pilton shot one of the soldiers in cold blood, and Long order his ment to return fire. In the end, Pilton's arrogance and selfishness was his downfall, as Long's force greatly outnumbered him. He was cut down on the runway alongside Barnes and most of his company, save for those who happened to be on limited duty and LT McPherson, who was purposely left behind. Though few among the 33rd missed the erratic officer, his destruction of the 747's destroyed Long's chances for escape, and the perceived massacre of Pilton and his company sparked the Mutiny between the Exiles and the Damned.
(AN: As indicated above I will be posting bio profiles that flesh out the backstories of some of the characters. Some, like LTC Long, are native to the game SO:TL and some are OC's. If it's too annoying or if you feel it detracts from the narrative, then just LMK.
So, here's another chapter, unfortunately it's still just setting up the story and introducing more pieces to the board, so to speak. It's going to take another two or three chapters before things really get going, but the good news is these chapters should be posting fairly quickly. It should go without saying, but the SO:TL verse takes place in an alternate timeline, where the timetable for the draw down of troops in Afghanistan was moved up, and as a result Kabul fell to insurgents. I did this because several times in the game SO:TL Walker refers to the Fall of Kabul, which of course didn't happen (yet), so to make it work I just made it AU.
Also for those who aren't familiar with the game, or if it's been a while, the opening scene of this chapter is the last stage of the Bridge episode of Spec Ops: The Line, where Walker confronts one last Trooper, a .50 cal turret and several Zulu Squad soldiers before triggering the 'A Bridge Too Far' achievement award. If you've played the game, then it will be obvious...
Anyways, On with the Show!)
(June 28th, 2012, The Gatehouse, Dubai. 19:50 hours local time)
"Shit! Iceman is down, I say again Crosby is down! The command center is overrun!"
PFC Ken Mayfield shuddered and glanced fearfully at the 33rd's last Heavy Trooper, now in command of the Gatehouse that the leader of Zulu Squad was dead. Everyone thought 1SG Robert Crosby, callsign Iceman, was invincible, because he was the only member of the 33rd to survive an encounter with the dreaded Delta Force team not once but three times. Now he was gone. The voice came back on the radio, as SPC Rodriguez, one of the other Zulu Squad soldiers, responded.
"Taking heavy fire! Fuck! I'm hit!"
Rodriguez barely choked that out before the radio went dead. A cold finger of fear stabbed Mayfield in the gut as he stared out at across the sandbag emplacements and netting. The Gatehouse's last holdout, a fortified series of sandbags and a .50 cal 'Ma Deuce' emplacement on the roof, seemed otherworldly, as flares bathed the area in a ghostly greenish light. He heard a voice speak up beside him.
"I-it's okay, pri'at, everything's gonna be alright."
The private looked up at the Heavy Trooper, who continued speaking.
"Just got off the horn, all remaining units are inbound, eta five mikes."
The Heavy turned its armored head towards the Bridge.
"All we gotta do is hold them off until then."
As of now it didn't matter if it was five minutes or five hours, they were all dead, thought Mayfield.
He glanced up again at the Heavy Trooper, who had pulled down his balaclava, this one bright yellow with a smiley face, revealing a dark complexion. SSG Charles 'Chuck' Connors took over the Heavy Support Trooper cadre after 1st Lt. Gordon bought the farm at the Water Coliseum. The normally jovial Atlanta native's face was furrowed into a uncharacteristic grim face. Even he didn't seem reassured by his own words. After everything they threw at Walker, nothing seemed to stop him. Maybe the rumors were true, that this Captain Walker was unkillable, or at least had a dozen lives like in video games. Now here they were, at the top of the overrun Command Post waiting for the inevitable.
Mayfield's thoughts were interrupted as one of the his fellow Zulu Squad soldiers barked into the radio.
"They're here! Open fire!"
Connors slapped the visor down over his face and pulled the charging bolt back on his M249 SAW. The Heavy Trooper waded into the incoming fire, barking out commands.
"I'm goin' into the killzone, cover me!"
Mayfield took over, and blind fired his P90 at the two advancing enemy soldiers. He heard another Zulu go down, and saw a lucky headshot take down SPC Hawkins, who was manning the .50 cal. Finally a barrage of bullets struck his position, and a tried to take cover behind the sandbags. He heard Connors grunt,
"Taking hits!"
and then heard that crazy fuck Walker shout out
"Heavy Trooper is fucking down!"
Mayfield panicked, all order and discipline left him. All that was left was the animal instinct to survive. He dropped his weapon and made a desperate break for the sandbag wall that would lead him to the Bridge. Mayfield didn't feel the high explosive frag rounds hit his back, it just felt like someone kicking him in the spine, knocking the wind out of him. Time slowed down, and he struggled to breathe, feeling something wet and sticky foam out of his mouth and stain his skull balaclava. As he stumbled and fell to his knees the last thing he heard was the heavy gunner, Lt. Adams, say something.
"You hear that?"
As darkness took over Mayfield's vision, he heard the distinctive chopping noise of Bravo Five approaching, signalling the arrival of reinforcements. At least the reinforcements would take out Walker. Or not, it didn't matter.
Mayfield saw a bright flash of white light, for a second it blinded him. Then he heard a voice. A soft, feminine, melodious voice that seemed to sooth the fibers of his very being.
"Private First Class Ken Mayfield...You are a loyal soldier who followed your orders, even if it meant killing your comrades and friends..."
He looked around, and thought, in the bright light, that he saw a figure coalescing. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that the figure had in fact taken the form of a female. Specifically a tall, beautiful, slender and graceful young woman approached him. She wore a sparkling gown that was lavender hemmed in gold that seemed to float about her, she had long tresses the hue of emerald green that were teased by an unseen wind. Her large, beautiful eyes, the exact same hue as her hair, regarded him with a mixture of compassion and pity.
"...but within your heart still beats that of a true hero..."
Mayfield found himself ogling the beautiful lady, whose figure was all but on display thanks to her gossamer-thin raiment, but he finally snapped out of it and spoke.
"You...you want me to be a hero? After all I've done?"
She let out a musical giggle, one that piqued Mayfield to his core. He felt that if he could bottle that giggle and sell it he would become the richest drug dealer in the US. He wondered to himself what place would need someone like him as a hero.
She seemed to read his thoughts.
"There is a place, a place where you can do good, and become heroes. It is there where I will send you. And fear not, for you will not be alone in your quest for redemption..."
Before the private could react, the beautiful enigmatic Lady reached out with a slender finger and touched the tip of his assault vest.
Then he was jolted awake by the sound of loud music.
"Back in Black
I hit the sack
I've been too long I'm glad to be back..."
Mayfield opened his eyes more bright light, and for a moment he thought he was back with the Beautiful Lady, but then his eyes and hearing adjusted and he realized he was in the back of a HUMVEE, listening to the strains of AC/DC's blaring from the radio. He rubbed is eyes and stretched his stiff muscles, looking about.
It was early dusk, as the sky still was pink from the sun had not fully touched the horizon, and Mayfield could see that he was still in the desert. The brightness came from the last rays of sunlight reflecting off the sand, he glanced down and Mayfield saw that he was wearing regular ACU's. He peered through the window and saw another HUMVEE parked in front. There was a cluster of palm trees next to the lead HUMVEE. Apparently they had stopped by an oasis. He could see Lt. Bradley pouring over a map spread out on the lead HUMVEE's hood, and in deep discussion with SSG Connors.
He then noticed tanned face made up almost entirely of glowing teeth grinning at him. SGT Torrez had turned around in the front passenger seat and beamed at the private.
"Good morning sleepyhead! And how are we this fine morning, pri'at?"
Mayfield didn't respond, except to stare at Torrez. He was a gunner in Bravo Two, one of the many AH-6J 'Little Bird' choppers that had pursued Walker through the ruins of downtown Dubai after the Delta captain had hijacked one of the 33rd's Black Hawk's. He had seen Torrez's 'bird, callsign Bravo Three, crash into a crane after taking heavy minigun fire from Walker. And yet, here he was, grinning at the private with his usual carefree humor. The sergeant's grin faltered slightly as he noticed the look on Mayfield's face.
"Everything alright, sleeping beauty?"
Mayfield, pushed the thoughts out of his head. It must have just been a dream, he thought. He finally responded by stretching and pretending to yawn.
"Nothing, except my skull crushing headache being exacerbated by that loud ass music you're blaring, sarge."
"What does that mean?"
"It means turn that shit down, I've got a fucking headache!"
"No, I mean what does exacerbate mean?"
Mayfield was about to respond, but saw Torrez's shit-eating grin and chuckled.
"Fuck you, sarge!"
Mayfield watched as the sergeant opened the door to the HUMVEE and exited. Now alone, the memories came back, and the private tried to remember what they were doing here in the middle of the desert. Suddenly it all came back to Mayfield. He remembered. They had been driving in this desert for at least two days and two nights, the last of the surviving Exiles who fled after the botched Mutiny. But last night, just like the previous night he kept dreaming the same dream, that he had sided with the 'Damned', soldiers loyal to Konrad, instead of LTC Long. He remembered staying in Dubai instead of fleeing, and how after the beacon had been set up, the 33rd was then being slowly but surely decimated by a mysterious CIA-backed Delta Force team. He wondered if Torrez or Davis had the same nightmares of Dubai. His thoughts were interrupted as the driver's door opened, revealing SSG Connors, along with PVT Davis, the squad's medic. The staff sergeant had several jugs full of water, and handed one to Mayfield.
"Everything alright, Pri'at?"
Mayfield accepted the water.
"Yeah, just the same dreams."
A haunted look crossed the normally jovial sergeant's features, but it quickly left. He handed another jug to the squad's medic, PVT Davis.
"Here you go, private, fill up your Camelbak, but don't be gulping it down, we don't know when we'll find more water."
Davis accepted a bottle as well.
"Hey, at least we were lucky enough to find two sources of water in the desert, right?"
"Yeah, I s'pose."
He gestured with a gloved thumb towards the lead HUMVEE.
"C'mon, the loot wants to debrief us on the sitch."
Mayfield refilled his Camelbak, then exited the vehicle and followed Connors and Davis. Lt. Bradley was still standing at the front of the lead HUMVEE, conversing with SGT. Torrez. He turned his attention to the new arrivals.
"Gentlemen, good morning. I trust you've all be issued the new water rations?"
He got a muted chorus of "Roger that, sir", then the young officer glanced down at the map spread out on the hood.
"Well, I'm not going to sugarcoat it, gents. I can't find any landmarks that correspond to this map."
Torrez spoke up.
"So, we're lost, sir?"
Connors shook his head as he traced an imaginary line on the laminated map.
"Something's screwy, because we followed the coast on a southwest heading the first day, then yesterday we went on a northwest heading following the coast until it ran out."
He looked up at Lt. Bradley.
"Based off the distance we've covered and according to this map we should be reached Qatar by now."
Torrez grinned as he took a sip of water.
"Well, yeah, but Lt. Bradley's at the map, so we're probably lost."
He grinned at Bradley.
"Hey el-tee, I heard you got lost for three hours on your Land NAV course, is it true, sir?"
Bradley shook his head, though grinning.
"Fuck you, Torrez."
He then looked down at the map.
"Best thing to do is keep on the Northwest heading, eventually we'll either hit Kuwait, or Iraq."
He looked over to Davis.
"Davis, I want you to maintain the radio. Every top of the hour I want you to broadcast on a wide frequency, see if we can't make contact with someone."
Bradley looked over his men.
"At this point, I'll even settle for a Bedouin camel-herder with a sat-phone."
He looked up at Connors.
"Sar'ent, move out. You take lead, and follow the same co-ordinates?"
Connors grinned.
"Roger that..."
Bradley took the map and folded it up, putting it in open of his BDU pockets. He watched as Connors opened the the driver's door and start up the lead HUMVEE. The lieutenant followed Mayfield and Torrez back to their HUMVEE. As he opened the driver's door Lt. Bradley pondered LTC Long's last orders to the fleeing Exiles. His orders were simple. Survive, and tell the world what happened.
After breaching the storm wall the Exiles' goal was to make radio contact with someone, anyone, and in lieu of that make their way to Quatar, to Al Udeid Air Force Base. From there they could make contact with the US Army CENTCOM and tell them what happened in Dubai. Assuming any of them got out of this desert alive.
Pushing aside dark thoughts Bradley started the HUMVEE. The Army truck rumbled to life, spouting out gouts of diesel smoke from its stacks before settling into a smooth idle. Before he put it into gear, he squinted at the square instrument cluster just below the steering wheel. He tapped the lower right gauge with his gloved hand.
"We ought to check the gas tank manually, it looks like the gas gauge is fucked."
Torrez, still in the passenger seat, finished adding water to his Camelbak and took a swig from the rest.
"Why do you say that, sir?"
Bradley looked up.
"Because we've been driving for at least 200 kilometers and our gas gauge hasn't budged."
Torrez shrugged.
"Connors said the same thing about his Humvee. Sand must've gotten into the works."
Bradley put the HUMVEE into gear and slowly the truck lurched forward in the sand, following Connors' HUMVEE.
"Well, either way we should check the levels manually."
The small convoy made its way through the desert, and before long the sun had disappeared, plunging their surroundings into pitch-darkness. Their HUMVEE's quad high-beams barely were able to pierce the gloom. After a while the lead HUMVEE ground to a stop, and Bradley followed suit. He turned to Mayfield, who was riding shotgun.
"Get Connors on the horn and find out why we stopped."
Mayfield was about to reply when radio crackled to life and Connors' voice came through the static.
"Ah, Loot-"
Bradley grabbed the handset and interrupted.
"OpSec, sarge."
There was a pause, then Connors continued.
"Ah, Roger that Misfit One Actual, this is Misfit Two. Be advised I have eyes on...well, something at two o'clock, about five clicks out."
Bradley pulled out his binoculars and stared out into the darkness. A flash of light caught his eye, and he could see..something, it looked like a large statue in the form of the head of predatory cat. A miniature sandstorm was whipping around it complete with flashes of lightening. The lieutenant swore he saw the statue move, the lightening produced a sort of strobe effect, causing the illusion of movement. He could also make out figures in the sand.
Looks like something out of Arabian Nights, Bradley thought to himself. His thoughts were interrupted when Connors' voice spoke up again.
"Ah, Misfit One Actual do you have a visual?"
Bradley stared at the apparition through his binocs, and finally keyed the mic to respond.
"Roger that, Misfit Two...new orders. Alter course and make a heading towards that disturbance."
He heard a squawk! on the radio and saw the lead HUMVEE turn. As Bradley turned the wheel to follow, he heard Torrez speak up in the back.
"Sir, is this a good idea? What if it's one of those desert mirage thingies?"
The lieutenant stared out through the armored windscreen, the disturbance was visible now even to the naked eye. He finally responded.
"Torrez, it's the first sign of life we've seen in this godforsaken desert. You have to admit that it's weird that we haven't seen a single soul out in this desert for the last two days, until now..."
Bradley shook his head.
"I sure hope we're not getting into another shit-show like Dubai..."
(Location: ? 14:05 hours local time)
When Captain Pilton stepped through the door, he became immediately disoriented, overcome with a sense of vertigo. Only his training and willpower kept him conscious, but then just as quickly as it started, it stopped. Pilton opened his eyes, and was assaulted by bright sunlight. His eyes so accustomed to the darkness, Pilton pulled out a set of tinted Eyepro and donned them.
Scanning his surroundings the captain saw he was in the clearing of a wooded area. Off to his left was a majestic forest teeming with greenery and tall trees, to his right was a sunny meadow with bright flowers and wildlife. But, as usual, the commander of Kilo Company didn't seem impressed.
"Well, I'm not sure where 'here' is, but I could hazard a guess. The sun is shining, the birds are twittering, and I'm pretty sure that around here are a couple of cute bunny rabbits with big blue eyes screwing in their burrow."
He made a face as if sucking on a lemon.
"If you ask me, it's a disgusting tastes like diabeetus crapsaccharine world..."
Pilton turned and saw several small animals, including a faun, a small rabbit, and a skunk. They were staring at him with very intelligent eyes, and seemed completely unafraid. The 'Damned' officer frowned, unholstered his Glock-17 and fired a few rounds in the air. The effect was immediate, the animals scattered and scurried away. He glanced towards the audience.
"What? No, I'm not gonna shoot them, I'm not a devil, after all. Besides, for the sake of all you city-slickers out there, any time you run across a wild animal that has no fear of humans, chances are they have rabies, or worse."
He holstered his weapon and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, packing them with the heel of his palm.
"I'm not gonna take any chances, either way."
The captain put a cigarette on his lips, then lit it with a battered Zippo. It had the 33rd logo on it, a fanged skull with the Roman numerals for '33' and the battalion's motto. On the other side was a sizeable dent, although it didn't affect the functionality of the lighter. Pilton was regarding the Zippo, then looked up at the audience.
"'Numquam Damnati Quiescent,' that was the 33rd's battalion motto. It means 'They Shall Never be Damned'."
He chuckled as he pocketed the lighter.
"Ironic, given the circumstances."
Pilton stepped through some tall undergrowth, past a small tree where a squirrel was staring at Pilton curiously. Like the other animals before, the squirrel seemed curious more than anything. The commander of Kilo Company frowned at the little animal, then turned to the audience.
"I know you kids think squirrels are cute in the cartoons, but if you come from a rural area like Gaffney, South Carolina, we regard `em as disease-carrying pests. Tree Rats, we called `em. And lemme tell you, they taste nasty."
He took a deep drag from his cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke at the squirrel, who coughed violently and scampered off. Nodding in satisfaction, Pilton continued across the meadow, addressing the audience as he walked.
"Oh, I guess a round of introductions are in order..."
Suddenly, out of the blue a group of soldiers appeared. They were all wearing the same digital ACU's as Pilton, some wearing the black plate-carrier assault vests favored by the 33rd's infantry squads. Pilton gave the audience a smile.
"It's only fair to let you know who you'll be following in this little caper."
He walked up to the grim-looking soldier in ACU's. His black assault vest was teeming with spare mags for the M4 he had on a sling. Pilton spoke.
"You might remember him as the Interrogator, the fellow who was doing a number on Agent Gould when Walker showed up and spoiled the party. His real name is 1SG Randolf Dossler, and to say he's had a rough time in Dubai is an understatement. Got captured by the Insurgents in those bad days when the Mutiny was in its death throes, and well, you read the intel items, you heard it from the horses' mouth."
He addressed the soldier.
"What's your assessment of the sitch, Dossler?"
The Company 1st Sergeant shrugged and saluted.
"Don't know, don't care. Just awaiting orders, sir."
Pilton nodded and returned the salute, then addressed the audience.
"Like I said, man's cracked like a chestnut at Christmas, but he's also dead loyal and as you found out in following Walker's little tour of Dubai, willing to do what it takes to get the job done."
He walked up to a burly NCO with camo-facepaint covering his scarred face.
"This is Sergeant First Class Robert 'Bob' Barnes, aka 'Old Thunder.' He's called Old Thunder because he's the one of the senior ranking NCO's that's served in the Damned 33rd the longest. if Dossler is my Interrogator who's willing to just follow orders and not ask questions, then Barnes is my attack dog. Point him in the right direction, give him the command word and he bites without thinking. Amazing how easy he was to mold from a weak-willed Staff Sergeant into a hardened killing machine."
Pilton turned to the sergeant.
"Everything okay, Bob?"
Barnes let out a grunt.
"Five-by-five, sir."
The captain gave Barnes a friendly grin, which disappeared as soon as he turned away from the NCO.
"Unfortunately he's got the personality and I.Q. of a tree stump. Good thing his brutality and willingness to follow orders to the tee make up for that."
He then walked up to a 33rd soldier brandishing a sub-machine gun, wearing a balaclava and a boonie hat, and had a long sniper rifle slung on his back.
"This is Barnes' morality pet, Private First Class Drew Cooper. Nice kid, and a deadly shot with his Scout Tactical."
He turned to Cooper.
"Hey, Whooper Jr, show `em your war face..."
The soldier let his UMP-45 dangle on its sling and removed his hat and face covering, revealing a fresh-faced young man with olive skin and light green eyes. Then he turned to face Pilton, the other side of his face is a mess of ruined skin and angry scar tissue.
Pilton's face creased into something resembling sympathy.
"Poor bastard idolized Barnes, but he was caught up in that IED attack that killed Harvie. Turned his face into hamburger, so he wears that cover up."
A small smile played on Pilton's face.
"Incidentally his nickname 'Whopper Jr' has nothing to do with his face, believe it or not. It's because his first kill was some stupid kid in Afghanistan that decided to pick up an AK and go up against US Army soldiers. Baby Killer, BK, Burger King, Whooper Jr, get it?"
He turned to Cooper.
"Ready to roll?"
"Roger that, sir, but..."
Pilton paused.
"Something on your mind, Coop?"
"Sir, permission to speak freely!"
"No worries, you're cleared hot."
PFC Cooper finally blurted out.
"Sir, where are we? I'm pretty sure I saw myself die back in Dubai..."
He gave the young soldier a reassuring smile.
"Look, Coop, I know all this is really weird, but you're going to just have to trust me, alright?"
Cooper glanced over to Barnes, then pulled his balaclava and boonie hat back on. He saluted.
Roger that, sir!"
The captain returned the salute.
"Not to worry, Coop. All will be explained in due time."
Pilton turned away, and his smile wilted off his face.
"He's a nice kid, s'a shame what happened to him. But, as you just saw, he does occasionally get twinges of conscience so I need to have Barnes keep an eye on him."
He then walked up to a black soldier wearing Oakleys and a bandoleer of shotgun shells.
"This is Sergeant Barrigan, aka Big Mac, my real foil and confidant. Ex-Marine, and tough as a nail. And he's sharp as one, too. Unlike Barnes or Ross, who will follow orders without question, Barrigan's not afraid to call me out on my more...extreme orders. Good man to have around."
He addressed Barrigan.
"We good, Frank?"
"Roger that, Bill, but I second Coop's question. Where in the actual fuck are we?"
He grinned at Barrigan.
"C'mon, Frank, has ol' Wild Bill ever steered you wrong?"
The dark-skinned soldier returned Pilton's grin.
"You mean, aside from confronting Long at the airport outnumbered three to one just so you could hog all the glory? Nope, we good."
The grin faltered on Pilton's face for only a fraction of a second, but then both Pilton and Barrigan burst out into a genuine laugh.
"That's why I keep you around Frank. You keep me honest."
He turned to leave, with Barrigan still laughing. Pilton looked up at the audience.
"What? I wasn't kidding when I said I keep him close because he isn't afraid to speak the painful truth. Yeah, it was my call to confront Long solo, and yes, it was because I had a personal beef with him."
He stopped at a soldier with 2nt LT bar on his plate carrier staring intently at a laminated map and his compass.
"Moving right along, this is 2nd Lieutenant Shawn Perkins."
Pilton paused for a moment.
"There is a saying that the most dangerous thing in the world is a boot lieutenant with a radio and a compass."
He gestured to the young officer.
"Well, This mouth-breathing idiot fits all the stereotypes about butter bar loots to a tee. Self-important, know it all, and knows the FM inside and out, but when it comes going from tactical to practical, he's about as useless as tits on a boar-hog. His nickname is High Speed, and he doesn't even realize it's not a compliment."
He addressed Perkins.
"Everything good, Lieutenant?"
The lieutenant looked up from his map.
"Just trying to get our bearings, sir."
Pilton nodded and turned away, rolling his eyes in the process.
"Fuckhead's is trying to get his bearings, but he couldn't find his ass in a hall of mirrors at high noon, with both hands. Good thing he's like Barnes in one aspect, unquestioningly loyal and willing to follow my orders to the tee."
Next in line was a baby-faced soldier sporting a mohawk and wearing a red bandanna, a keffiyeh scarf and green body armor. The young soldier took no notice of Pilton, but instead was toying with his bayonet. Pilton gestured to the young soldier.
"And this is Specialist Scott Martzen, but he mostly goes by 'Bunny' on account of his preferred cartoon character tattooed on his forearm. Don't let his cherubic features and cute handle fool you, he's a stone cold killer."
Pilton nodded at the specialist.
"Everything golden, Bun?"
A savage grin spread across Martzen's face as he responded.
"Hell yeah! Just waiting for orders to kill, sir!"
Pilton again turned to the audience.
"He's a transfer from another battalion that saw a lot of action in Iraq. Some say that it was something happened there that broke him, others say he came into the Army broken. Either way, he's basically a loaded IED with a heartbeat. Oh, and if you see him pull out his bayonet? Stay the fuck out of his way."
Pilton continued further to a small improvised helipad in the meadow, where an AH6-J 'Little Bird' was parked. Unlike most 'Little Bird's used in the US military, this was had welded-on hillbilly armor on its airframe and it sported a black and red paint job, with an upside-down American flag stenciled on the fuselage. The chopper currently had its engine cover off and the pilot was up to his elbows in the open compartment, doing maintenance. Pilton continued.
"And the grease-monkey working on 'Freebird' from the 33rd's Air Wing is CW4 Cole Miller, although he likes to go by 'Goose', on account of him being a fan of Top Gun. He's my company adjunct. He took the Mutiny the hardest, but he's loyal."
He spoke up.
"How's Freebird holding up, Miller?"
The pilot turned and removed his aviator sunglasses, revealing a handsome face with blue eyes and premature silver-grey hair. Miller gave Pilton a salute.
"Freebird's doing fine, sir."
He looked around and squinted in the bright sunlight.
"But I'd sure like to know where 'here' is, sir."
Pilton nodded.
"Not to worry, as I said to Coop and Barrigan, all will be explained shortly."
He turned to the audience.
"Sorry, gotta debrief the men, if you'll excuse me..."
He turned to Dossler.
"First Sar'ant, assemble the men."
Dossler saluted.
"Yes, sir!"
Dossler then barked out in his best DS voice.
"Squad, Ten-Huit!"
All the soldiers stopped what they were doing and formed a line at the position of attention. Pilton smiled.
"At ease."
The 'Damned' all assumed the position of 'parade rest' as Pilton walked up and down the line. Then he put his hands on his hips and spoke.
"Men, I know you all have questions. All of you have experienced death in one form or another, some at the hands of Long and his traitorous mutineers, some at the hands of this mysterious Delta Force team led by Captain Walker."
He paused.
"Well, I don't have those answers for you as to why we were in Dubai and now we're here. But what I do know is that we've been given a second chance. But even if the venue has changed, the mission remains the same, to bring LTC Long to justice."
He saw several of the men make angry noises at the mention of Long's name, so he continue.
"I have it on good authority that Long and his mutineers are out there somewhere in this world and having a grand old time. Our mission is to apprehend Long and see to it that he faces justice for tearing the Damned 33rd apart. Are you with me on this?"
"Yes, sir!"
Pilton frowned.
"Bullshit, I can't hear you!"
"YES, SIR!"
He smiled.
"Good. Now, I know all of you are thinking the same thing..."
He gestured to Miller and his 'Little Bird'.
"It's gonna be a tight squeeze for all of us to fit in 'Freebird', but not to worry."
The captain jerked a thumb over his shoulder.
"-Because we have more transportation, as well."
His men looked, and as if appearing out of thin air there were three vehicles behind Pilton. Two HUMVEEs and a Stryker IFV. The HUMVEEs were not from Dubai, their desert tan paint jobs were brand-new, and upon closer inspection, had the livery of United Arab Emirates Army. The Stryker also looked like it just rolled off the assembly line, but had the more familiar US Army paint job. Pilton continued.
"We're dividing up among the ground transportation. Dossler, you're on point in the Stryker, make us a path, I'll follow in the lead HUMVEE..."
He turned to Martzen.
"Martzen, you follow up as rear guard and Miller, you're our eye in the sky. Make sure no dragons try to make us their lunch."
He heard the men snicker among themselves.
"All the original callsigns are in effect, maintain radio discipline at all times."
The men let out a collective 'Roger that', and filed away into the vehicles. The Stryker was the first to fire up, its massive wheels cut deep furrows into the soft grass as it moved out. As the two HUMVEE's followed suit, a high-pitched whine added to the cacophony as the 'Little Bird's APU spooled to life.
Inside the Stryker Dossler maneuvered the massive vehicle towards a thicket, he heard Miller's voice come through the static of his radio.
"Kilo One-One, this is Kilo One-Six, be advised it will take about ten minutes to get Freebird up in the air..."
Dossler keyed his mic.
"Roger that, Kilo One-Six. Maintain radio contact..."
The Stryker smashed through the thicket, easily felling and pushing aside trees and limbs, while the animals that inhabited the forest fled for their very lives. One animal froze at the sight of the giant iron beast, the two headlights pinned the creature in place like a bug. At the last minute she tried to flee, but was hit by the Stryker's armored flank, and flung off to the side.
Dossler saw the deer in his path, then heard a loud 'Clunk!' from the impact. He smirked from behind the wheel.
"Think the Army's insurance covers deer hits?"
Barrigan, who was standing behind the driver's seat, shook his head, chuckling.
"Damn, Randy you fucked up man...You do know that was a mama deer, right?"
As the Stryker continued, a massive branch fell and pinned the dying doe to the ground, and its offspring tried licking its mother's dead, as if trying to revive it. The two HUMVEEs rumbled past, their inhabitants ignoring the young animal's plaintive cries.
(AN: Okaaaay, so put the rotten tomatoes down. Having the Damned callously kill Bambi's mom is kind of an establishing character moment, although in fairness it wasn't Pilton who ran her over, that was the Interrogator LOL.
The next couple of chapters are going to still be introducing characters, although if you caught the easter egg at the end of the 'Exiles' part, you probably know which Disney story the Exiles 'training mission' is going to be...
As for appearances, on the 'Damned' side, obviously Barnes is based off of Tom Berenger's character in Platoon, although personality-wise he will be more nuanced than his counterpart in Platoon. Same with Martzen, aka 'Bunny' who's based off Kevin Dillon's character. Barrigan is visually based off Jaime Foxx's character Sykes from the movie Jarhead. On the 'Exiles' side, Mayfield I based his appearance off Ray Person in Generation Kill, Davis is based off 'Doc' Bryan from the same series, Torrez is based off the y*utube personality Combat Veteran. Hope this helps...
Next chapters will be introducing more characters, namely LTC Long and PFC Gobbi. Those of you who are coming on board from the previous story, there will be some minor tweaks and alterations. As I said earlier it will take a few chapters for the story to get traction so I appreciate your patience. The next chapter should be up in a week or two, give or take.)