Rallying the Troops
Disclaimer: Same as before. The Doors own the lyrics to the song This is the End. Some of the weapons described can be found on hiveseeker.com, look under the Alien Resurrection page.
Eternity – Again, thanks for reviewing when no one else does.
AN: The term ol' Gollum or Gollum refers not only to the main creature faced in the Biohazard, but also to enemy forces in general. Some of the characters in this story are a tribute to one of my favorite stories, Salute Your Shorts.
~ ~ ~ ~
South America, 2143: Team leader. Every decision I make means life or death for myself and the three guys under my command. Arnot, myself, Link and the new guy, Farley are in patrol formation with Farley as lead scout. This is a LRRP, meaning we check for the presence of enemy troops, call in fire and pull the hell out.
As we walk through the jungle, I keep my thumb on the safety of my L-99 Pulse Rifle. I usually flick it to single whenever patrolling, because when in combat I prefer rapid single shots. Arnot, lugging the radio behind me, always sets it on burst. Farley's carrying a burner, most lead scouts prefer carrying either it or the shotgun. Link's got the most firepower out of the four of us, because he's got the M206 rifle/grenade launcher combo. It's basically an aluminum tube that holds a single 40mm grenade bolted under the L-99.
The jungle is abuzz with the noise of animals and birds awakening to business as usual in the morning. You learn gradually to filter it out as you patrol through the jungle. It's when its quiet that you start to worry, because it means either a predator's on your tail (a pissed off jaguar is just as dangerous as a marauding zombie any day of the week, insomuch that it can kill you just as easily), or the enemy's tailing you.
Trooper (Private) Farley's new; a bit of a smart mouthed know it all, about nineteen years old. He gets on my nerves sometimes, with that mouth of his, especially if he happens to overhear me talking about Kate. But I can't afford to dislike anyone on patrol, because Farley could well save my life as I could his.
Farley's hand goes up, it's the hand sign for mines. Shit. Landmines. Usually that means an ambush is nearby. It happened to some guys from Air Troop. They ran smack into a minefield, and as soon as one of their boys got blown to shards, ol' Gollum decided to pounce. Several ogres had killed two more patrol members and if it hadn't been for the signaler calling in an air strike, they'd all have been wasted.
A loud bang shatters the morning tranquility. The next thing I know is myself and the rest of the patrol hits the dirt. "Where's Farley?" I shout.
"He's dead sarge!" Link shouts, firing a 206 bomb downrange, killing a quartet of zombies.
"God damn it!" I shout, "This is Alpha One One to Hotel Zero Two we're under attack, need extraction, over!"
The skimmers come fast and one of them, an SK-70 Black Hawk touches down. Arnot and Link are covering me as I grab Farley's misshapen body and haul it into the aircraft. When we're all aboard, the pilot lifts off.
As I sit in the cabin of the skimmer, I see an OK-3 observation skimmer flying a perimeter with a couple Predator gunships circling. They're firing rockets into the jungle, setting fire to the foliage, blasting anything that was lurking around the mines and the mines themselves into oblivion. All they do is fly circular orbits, blasting rockets into the jungle. The rockets are loaded with an incendiary compound that sets fire to almost anything it touches, foliage, earth, human flesh, it makes no difference.
I see several burning zombies, ogres, and Gollums staggering, cloaked in flames from the burning jungle. Like grotesque, life sized plastic toys their flesh melts before my eyes. The smoke wafts into the skimmer, and I smell smoke that is tinged with the aroma of scorched earth, foliage and flesh.
This is the end, beautiful friend.
This is the end, my only friend, the end. Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
I'll never look into your eyes...again
Can you picture what will be, So limitless and free
Desperately in need...of some...stranger's hand
In a...desperate land
Lost in a Roman...wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane, All the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain, yeah.
~ ~ ~ ~
Ft. Bragg, 2146: My first op as team leader, three years ago. After surviving as a newbie to the theater in 2141 and for half of 2142 before I got sent onto the Counter Terrorism unit. Every six months the 22nd Special Forces and both the Territorial Special Forces Regiments provide a squadron apiece to cover any sort of terrorist activity worldwide.
The spinning ceiling fan in the B Squadron interest room is reminiscent of the rotor blades of a skimmer as it flies overhead. A history of the 21st Special Forces, written in the souvenirs and pictures is all over the place. A few pieces of Gollum weaponry are mounted on the wall, the ones that guys didn't trade for booze or anything else when on R&R. Pictures of our history, including our recent adventures in South America, are numerous.
"Merde." A familiar voice sounds. I turn to see Arnot walking into the room. He's about 5'11", and recently put a lot of muscle on his upper body. He hit the weights heavily when he joined us back in 2142, when we were on the Counter Terrorist Team. He's still keeping up the weight lifting program evidently.
Like me, Arnot's wearing civvies. "Just get in?" I ask.
"Yeah." Arnot replies, "Jack's on his way over. Everyone else is on their way over, we're still trying to find Shorty."
"Don't tell me. We're combing every bar in Fort Bragg to find his Filipino ass." I reply.
"We are. Time to get on the bus, we don't wanna be late." Arnot says.
I grab my bergen (field pack) and walk off to where a Greyhound bus awaits to take us to the airport.
~ ~ ~ ~
"Be good for mommy sweetheart." Bobby Budnick said to his newborn son. He had gotten married to his college sweetheart, affectionately nicknamed Z.Z., after the war.
"I'll see you soon too." Budnick said, kissing his wife.
"Hey, are you gonna take all day!" Donkey Lips shouted from his pickup truck.
"Time to visit my other wife." Budnick said, jokingly, "The Army awaits."
Z.Z. handed him a bag, "All your favorite fattening foods. Though why you eat this stuff I can't figure out, I know you'd appreciate it."
Budnick blushed and after a final embrace he went into the truck. His wife was a classic Greenpeacer, an environmentalist. She had come down with the Peace Corps after the Amazonia campaign to rebuild destroyed towns and villages in 2145.
"Who'd have thought a bet would do this to me?" Budnick smiled, "A bet to join the Army gives me a wife, a baby, and everything I could ask for."
Donkeylips impatiently beeped the horn again on the Dodge Durango he drove. "Budnick! Get your lazy butt away from the domestic scene before I flatten you!"
"Uh oh, looks like you'd better go. I've got two Big Macs in the top of the bag." Z.Z. said.
"If Donkeylips doesn't eat them all." Budnick replied. He laughed at his own joke as he stepped inside the Durango.
~ ~ ~ ~
"Darling you've got to let me know." Shorty said, as he danced around the bar, "Should I stay or should I go?"
He was singing the song by the Clash, Should I Stay or Should I Go. A tall, blonde woman smoking a cigarette at the bar watched him impassively. He was wearing a brown collared shirt, untucked, jeans and a pair of Timberlands.
"If you say that you are mine. I'll be here till the end of time." Shorty sang as he air guitarred and danced around the bar, "So you've got to let me know. Should I stay or should I go?"
~ ~ ~ ~
"Hey, where's Shorty?" Dave asked Stoney as he walked into the bachelor enlisted quarters, where many of the single soldiers in the unit, territorial and active alike, lived.
"Shit." Stoney said, "Hey bring my pack, will ya dude."
Dave saw a breeze block and grinned as he picked it up and stuck it in Stoney's pack.
"Anyone seen my thermals?" someone asked in the barracks.
"We're going to fucking Egypt not Alaska."
"Wake up you lazy bugger, c'mon."
~ ~ ~ ~
"Should I stay or should I go now?" Shorty sang, slinging the woman's arm around his shoulder. She still wasn't interested, "If I go there will be trouble..."
~ ~ ~ ~
"If anyone touches you while I'm away, I'll knot there bollocks so tight they'll be pissing out there ears." Falstaff said.
He was securing his bicycle to a rack within the confines of Fort Bragg. The 21st Special Forces Regiment's B Squadron was being mobilized for the Sinai operation. Already A and D Squadrons were based out of there, with G Squadron on counter-terrorist duty in North America.
~ ~ ~ ~
"Should I stay or should I go now..." Shorty said, dancing on top of a chair, he stopped short when he saw Stoney walk in and shake his head.
"Aw mate," Shorty said. Stoney picked him up over his shoulder, as the half-Filipino, half-Australian said, "Mate? Easy. Whoa...."
~ ~ ~ ~
"Room for a midget?" Stoney shouted amid the laughes of the B Squadron troops on the bus.
"No!" Falstaff laughed, "No!"
~ ~ ~ ~
"Every soldier hopes for a major war in his lifetime. This one was mine."
The words of SAS Sergeant Andy McNab, twentieth century Britain's most decorated solider echoed through my mind. I'd already had my major war. This mission was mine and it had to be a damn big mission if three squadrons that would be on reserve duty were called up from the 21st Territorial Special Forces.
The lot of us crowded on the bus were the last of B Squadron to depart. At the airport, we just sat around, waiting for our flight out to Egypt and our transport into the desert FOB (Forward Operating Base).
I already knew our mission. Our task was to infiltrate the Sinai region to discover what had caused contact to be lost with many settlements in the area. Officially that was our task. It hadn't yet been confirmed but rumors were flying around squadron lines that we were being tasked with not only armed reconnaissance but strike missions as well against strange missiles that have been hitting cities and towns all around the Middle East. The strikes seem to originate from the Sinai.
~ ~ ~ ~
El Alamein Hangar, Egypt
"It's not yet been confirmed but it seems our primary tasking will be against missiles, since various cities around the Med have been taking hits." Captain Kevin "Ug" Lee says. He is a fellow with longish blonde hair from upstate New York, near Buffalo, he took command of Mountain Troop back in '44 during the Atacama Campaign.
"Warning order, you'll be taking command of a patrol." Ug says, "Mission: To find and destroy mobile missile sites operating in the North Western Sinai that have been launching missiles at targets in Crete, Israel, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia."
Planning takes place as we gather supplies for the operation. We're short on 10mm ammunition, having been given only two sixty round magazines apiece when we checked in. The guys carrying the Wiraway squad automatic weapon only receive one two hundred round drum of 10mm ammunition.
We approach the SQMS (Squadron Quartermaster Sergeant) section of the hangar. "As much link as we can carry for the Wiraways, and 40mm grenades for the 206s." Jack says.
"Are you out of your minds?" Sergeant Cyril Carey says, "This is the first time the Regiment's been together in this great of numbers since '45. We don't have that much kit, we're short."
"Who's is all this then?" Arnot demands.
"A and D Squadrons." Carey says.
"Hey, we're operational in three days." Jack growls.
"Well so are they." Carey retorts.
"What's the sodden point of dragging us out here if you haven't any kit?" Arnot demands angrily.
"Jack, go see if you can't find any more supplies. And take Arnot with you." I say, "Cyril, you're gonna have to have a word with the other squadrons. See if you can't get us any more kit."
"Hah." Cyril laughs, "If you can find anymore, you're lucky."
~ ~ ~ ~
"What do you want TACBEs (Tactical Rescue Beacons) for?" Mike, the Squadron Sergeant Major, asked Budnick as they moved through the Head Shed (Command Area) where radios and communication gear were stored.
"To order Chinese takeout." Budnick remarked, chewing on a lit cigarette as he spoke, "I need eight."
"Eight? You work in pairs don't you?" Mike replied.
"Fine, four will do." Budnick replied.
"Four TACBE's then, they're to call in air support, you understand, they're not for any other purpose." Mike replied.
"What's this?" Budnick asked.
Mike's hand clamped down on the foil wrapped rectangular object on his desk. "That is a shiny thing?"
"Well I want one." Budnick said.
"You don't even know what it does, do you?" Mike's replied.
~ ~ ~ ~
"What's all this?" I ask Budnick as I lie on my improvised bed, between a stack of crates.
"206 bombs." Budnick says, "I got them from a guy in A Squadron that owes me a favor or two."
"Where are going?" I ask.
"Under your bed, of course, sarge." Budnick says, as he goes into his own improvised bed.
The lot of us are crammed in amongst supplies stacked in the hangar. Other than marked eating and bathroom facilities, we sleep wherever we can find a space to put our beds. Mine consists of my sleeping bag and a mattress I 'requisitioned' from D Squadron area. These are all atop a couple cargo pallets where Budnick goes to shove the 206s grenades in a case underneath.
"Talk about blowing your ass off." Budnick jokes.
"Ha ha." I reply, then noticing Budnick holding a shiny object in his hands, "What is that thing?"
"That's a shiny thing. And I love it." Budnick says.
Shiny Kit Syndrome is what we in the Special Forces refer to as requisitioning 'shiny' bits of kit that could prove useful. One case of this applied when I requisitioned a shiny thing back in 2142. When the patrol got lost in the jungle it turned out the shiny thing I got saved our asses, because it was a GPS receiver.
"What is that shiny thing, by the way?" I ask.
"Oh, it's a SATNAV, satellite navigation beacon. I'll test it tomorrow when I sign for the codes." Budnick said, "I've got our call sign. We're Kilo Two Zero."
"Kilo Two Zero. Right, I like the easy to remember ones." I reply.
I write a letter home to my family as I'm talking to him. "Uncle Shaggy, If you're reading this, I'm dead. Collect the insurance money and do what you will. Don't mope around. P.S. Don't forget, 500 credits is to go behind the bar at the next squadron pissup. P.P.S. I love you."
"Brilliantly concise pal." Budnick jokes, "I hope what you write Kate is a little more sensitive."
"Z.Z.'s rubbed off on you, eh?" I joke back.
I start writing my letter to Kate as the night darkens, "My Dearest Kate, My dearest, dearest shiny thing..." Budnick remarks.
"Hey! Who put this in my pack?" Stoney shouts.
"A cinder block? Very thoughtful Stoney, just what we need." I reply.
"Ha ha." Stoney laughs and lobs it.
"Whoa! Jesus!" Dave shouts.
Engineers. A tense lot they are. I compose my letter to Kate, knowing that if she reads it, I am very likely dead or wishing that I am somewhere in the Sinai. It contains everything. What I feel about her. Why I extended my tours in South America. The time I spent constantly training when I was on the Counterterrorism Team back 2142, I nearly messed up our friendship that way and hadn't really apologized.
Somewhere out there, Kate is enjoying some time with Scott and I'm again off to war...
~ ~ ~ ~
A meeting with the wedding planner was next on the agenda. Kate realized she should be feeling gushy new bride feelings, but all she could think of was how nice a guy Scott was. Even tempered, pleasant, treated her well. She began to wonder about Hiram, just why had he extended those tours in South America during the war?
He drove a Mercedes Benz, a leased C class, but a Benz nonetheless. He was working for a pharmaceutical company, which meshed well with her job as a veterinarian. Why then did she feel trapped by the relationship? And why did she feel that this trap was of her own design.
She turned over in her bed. At her father's insistence, she and Scott weren't sharing a bed. That felt good because she didn't want him catching onto her feelings about this wedding. She couldn't help but wonder about the sadness she saw in Hiram's eyes when he shipped out to South America for the first time, or the haunted look they held when he returned.
She sighed as she tried to get some sleep, 'Now I know how Hiram feels.' Kate thought, 'I can't help but worry about him right now. God this feels like the war all over again!'
Scott was dragging her off to visit some of his family living in Orlando tomorrow and she needed every bit of sleep she could get to at least act civil. She heard a knock at her door, "Kate, it's Dad, can I come in?"
"Come in Daddy." Kate said.
"Worried again?" Robert Barnes said.
"You could tell?" Kate asked.
"Hiram's your best friend, of course you worry about him. I can't say anything to help you through this, but you know you have your father to talk to if things are..." Robert said.
Kate hugged her father fiercely, "I just hate this whole communications blackout thing. Not even a phone call allowed..."
Robert Barnes hugged his daughter back letting her fall into a restless sleep before tucking her in and leaving the room, whispering. "Katherine, you've always made the right choice growing up. I've never had to be afraid for you. You'll do what's best for you."
'God I hope Becker gets back here alive.' Barnes thought, 'Because if he doesn't he's gonna be one unlucky soul when I finally get to Heaven.'
~ ~ ~ ~
TBC
Disclaimer: Same as before. The Doors own the lyrics to the song This is the End. Some of the weapons described can be found on hiveseeker.com, look under the Alien Resurrection page.
Eternity – Again, thanks for reviewing when no one else does.
AN: The term ol' Gollum or Gollum refers not only to the main creature faced in the Biohazard, but also to enemy forces in general. Some of the characters in this story are a tribute to one of my favorite stories, Salute Your Shorts.
~ ~ ~ ~
South America, 2143: Team leader. Every decision I make means life or death for myself and the three guys under my command. Arnot, myself, Link and the new guy, Farley are in patrol formation with Farley as lead scout. This is a LRRP, meaning we check for the presence of enemy troops, call in fire and pull the hell out.
As we walk through the jungle, I keep my thumb on the safety of my L-99 Pulse Rifle. I usually flick it to single whenever patrolling, because when in combat I prefer rapid single shots. Arnot, lugging the radio behind me, always sets it on burst. Farley's carrying a burner, most lead scouts prefer carrying either it or the shotgun. Link's got the most firepower out of the four of us, because he's got the M206 rifle/grenade launcher combo. It's basically an aluminum tube that holds a single 40mm grenade bolted under the L-99.
The jungle is abuzz with the noise of animals and birds awakening to business as usual in the morning. You learn gradually to filter it out as you patrol through the jungle. It's when its quiet that you start to worry, because it means either a predator's on your tail (a pissed off jaguar is just as dangerous as a marauding zombie any day of the week, insomuch that it can kill you just as easily), or the enemy's tailing you.
Trooper (Private) Farley's new; a bit of a smart mouthed know it all, about nineteen years old. He gets on my nerves sometimes, with that mouth of his, especially if he happens to overhear me talking about Kate. But I can't afford to dislike anyone on patrol, because Farley could well save my life as I could his.
Farley's hand goes up, it's the hand sign for mines. Shit. Landmines. Usually that means an ambush is nearby. It happened to some guys from Air Troop. They ran smack into a minefield, and as soon as one of their boys got blown to shards, ol' Gollum decided to pounce. Several ogres had killed two more patrol members and if it hadn't been for the signaler calling in an air strike, they'd all have been wasted.
A loud bang shatters the morning tranquility. The next thing I know is myself and the rest of the patrol hits the dirt. "Where's Farley?" I shout.
"He's dead sarge!" Link shouts, firing a 206 bomb downrange, killing a quartet of zombies.
"God damn it!" I shout, "This is Alpha One One to Hotel Zero Two we're under attack, need extraction, over!"
The skimmers come fast and one of them, an SK-70 Black Hawk touches down. Arnot and Link are covering me as I grab Farley's misshapen body and haul it into the aircraft. When we're all aboard, the pilot lifts off.
As I sit in the cabin of the skimmer, I see an OK-3 observation skimmer flying a perimeter with a couple Predator gunships circling. They're firing rockets into the jungle, setting fire to the foliage, blasting anything that was lurking around the mines and the mines themselves into oblivion. All they do is fly circular orbits, blasting rockets into the jungle. The rockets are loaded with an incendiary compound that sets fire to almost anything it touches, foliage, earth, human flesh, it makes no difference.
I see several burning zombies, ogres, and Gollums staggering, cloaked in flames from the burning jungle. Like grotesque, life sized plastic toys their flesh melts before my eyes. The smoke wafts into the skimmer, and I smell smoke that is tinged with the aroma of scorched earth, foliage and flesh.
This is the end, beautiful friend.
This is the end, my only friend, the end. Of our elaborate plans, the end
Of everything that stands, the end
No safety or surprise, the end
I'll never look into your eyes...again
Can you picture what will be, So limitless and free
Desperately in need...of some...stranger's hand
In a...desperate land
Lost in a Roman...wilderness of pain
And all the children are insane, All the children are insane
Waiting for the summer rain, yeah.
~ ~ ~ ~
Ft. Bragg, 2146: My first op as team leader, three years ago. After surviving as a newbie to the theater in 2141 and for half of 2142 before I got sent onto the Counter Terrorism unit. Every six months the 22nd Special Forces and both the Territorial Special Forces Regiments provide a squadron apiece to cover any sort of terrorist activity worldwide.
The spinning ceiling fan in the B Squadron interest room is reminiscent of the rotor blades of a skimmer as it flies overhead. A history of the 21st Special Forces, written in the souvenirs and pictures is all over the place. A few pieces of Gollum weaponry are mounted on the wall, the ones that guys didn't trade for booze or anything else when on R&R. Pictures of our history, including our recent adventures in South America, are numerous.
"Merde." A familiar voice sounds. I turn to see Arnot walking into the room. He's about 5'11", and recently put a lot of muscle on his upper body. He hit the weights heavily when he joined us back in 2142, when we were on the Counter Terrorist Team. He's still keeping up the weight lifting program evidently.
Like me, Arnot's wearing civvies. "Just get in?" I ask.
"Yeah." Arnot replies, "Jack's on his way over. Everyone else is on their way over, we're still trying to find Shorty."
"Don't tell me. We're combing every bar in Fort Bragg to find his Filipino ass." I reply.
"We are. Time to get on the bus, we don't wanna be late." Arnot says.
I grab my bergen (field pack) and walk off to where a Greyhound bus awaits to take us to the airport.
~ ~ ~ ~
"Be good for mommy sweetheart." Bobby Budnick said to his newborn son. He had gotten married to his college sweetheart, affectionately nicknamed Z.Z., after the war.
"I'll see you soon too." Budnick said, kissing his wife.
"Hey, are you gonna take all day!" Donkey Lips shouted from his pickup truck.
"Time to visit my other wife." Budnick said, jokingly, "The Army awaits."
Z.Z. handed him a bag, "All your favorite fattening foods. Though why you eat this stuff I can't figure out, I know you'd appreciate it."
Budnick blushed and after a final embrace he went into the truck. His wife was a classic Greenpeacer, an environmentalist. She had come down with the Peace Corps after the Amazonia campaign to rebuild destroyed towns and villages in 2145.
"Who'd have thought a bet would do this to me?" Budnick smiled, "A bet to join the Army gives me a wife, a baby, and everything I could ask for."
Donkeylips impatiently beeped the horn again on the Dodge Durango he drove. "Budnick! Get your lazy butt away from the domestic scene before I flatten you!"
"Uh oh, looks like you'd better go. I've got two Big Macs in the top of the bag." Z.Z. said.
"If Donkeylips doesn't eat them all." Budnick replied. He laughed at his own joke as he stepped inside the Durango.
~ ~ ~ ~
"Darling you've got to let me know." Shorty said, as he danced around the bar, "Should I stay or should I go?"
He was singing the song by the Clash, Should I Stay or Should I Go. A tall, blonde woman smoking a cigarette at the bar watched him impassively. He was wearing a brown collared shirt, untucked, jeans and a pair of Timberlands.
"If you say that you are mine. I'll be here till the end of time." Shorty sang as he air guitarred and danced around the bar, "So you've got to let me know. Should I stay or should I go?"
~ ~ ~ ~
"Hey, where's Shorty?" Dave asked Stoney as he walked into the bachelor enlisted quarters, where many of the single soldiers in the unit, territorial and active alike, lived.
"Shit." Stoney said, "Hey bring my pack, will ya dude."
Dave saw a breeze block and grinned as he picked it up and stuck it in Stoney's pack.
"Anyone seen my thermals?" someone asked in the barracks.
"We're going to fucking Egypt not Alaska."
"Wake up you lazy bugger, c'mon."
~ ~ ~ ~
"Should I stay or should I go now?" Shorty sang, slinging the woman's arm around his shoulder. She still wasn't interested, "If I go there will be trouble..."
~ ~ ~ ~
"If anyone touches you while I'm away, I'll knot there bollocks so tight they'll be pissing out there ears." Falstaff said.
He was securing his bicycle to a rack within the confines of Fort Bragg. The 21st Special Forces Regiment's B Squadron was being mobilized for the Sinai operation. Already A and D Squadrons were based out of there, with G Squadron on counter-terrorist duty in North America.
~ ~ ~ ~
"Should I stay or should I go now..." Shorty said, dancing on top of a chair, he stopped short when he saw Stoney walk in and shake his head.
"Aw mate," Shorty said. Stoney picked him up over his shoulder, as the half-Filipino, half-Australian said, "Mate? Easy. Whoa...."
~ ~ ~ ~
"Room for a midget?" Stoney shouted amid the laughes of the B Squadron troops on the bus.
"No!" Falstaff laughed, "No!"
~ ~ ~ ~
"Every soldier hopes for a major war in his lifetime. This one was mine."
The words of SAS Sergeant Andy McNab, twentieth century Britain's most decorated solider echoed through my mind. I'd already had my major war. This mission was mine and it had to be a damn big mission if three squadrons that would be on reserve duty were called up from the 21st Territorial Special Forces.
The lot of us crowded on the bus were the last of B Squadron to depart. At the airport, we just sat around, waiting for our flight out to Egypt and our transport into the desert FOB (Forward Operating Base).
I already knew our mission. Our task was to infiltrate the Sinai region to discover what had caused contact to be lost with many settlements in the area. Officially that was our task. It hadn't yet been confirmed but rumors were flying around squadron lines that we were being tasked with not only armed reconnaissance but strike missions as well against strange missiles that have been hitting cities and towns all around the Middle East. The strikes seem to originate from the Sinai.
~ ~ ~ ~
El Alamein Hangar, Egypt
"It's not yet been confirmed but it seems our primary tasking will be against missiles, since various cities around the Med have been taking hits." Captain Kevin "Ug" Lee says. He is a fellow with longish blonde hair from upstate New York, near Buffalo, he took command of Mountain Troop back in '44 during the Atacama Campaign.
"Warning order, you'll be taking command of a patrol." Ug says, "Mission: To find and destroy mobile missile sites operating in the North Western Sinai that have been launching missiles at targets in Crete, Israel, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia."
Planning takes place as we gather supplies for the operation. We're short on 10mm ammunition, having been given only two sixty round magazines apiece when we checked in. The guys carrying the Wiraway squad automatic weapon only receive one two hundred round drum of 10mm ammunition.
We approach the SQMS (Squadron Quartermaster Sergeant) section of the hangar. "As much link as we can carry for the Wiraways, and 40mm grenades for the 206s." Jack says.
"Are you out of your minds?" Sergeant Cyril Carey says, "This is the first time the Regiment's been together in this great of numbers since '45. We don't have that much kit, we're short."
"Who's is all this then?" Arnot demands.
"A and D Squadrons." Carey says.
"Hey, we're operational in three days." Jack growls.
"Well so are they." Carey retorts.
"What's the sodden point of dragging us out here if you haven't any kit?" Arnot demands angrily.
"Jack, go see if you can't find any more supplies. And take Arnot with you." I say, "Cyril, you're gonna have to have a word with the other squadrons. See if you can't get us any more kit."
"Hah." Cyril laughs, "If you can find anymore, you're lucky."
~ ~ ~ ~
"What do you want TACBEs (Tactical Rescue Beacons) for?" Mike, the Squadron Sergeant Major, asked Budnick as they moved through the Head Shed (Command Area) where radios and communication gear were stored.
"To order Chinese takeout." Budnick remarked, chewing on a lit cigarette as he spoke, "I need eight."
"Eight? You work in pairs don't you?" Mike replied.
"Fine, four will do." Budnick replied.
"Four TACBE's then, they're to call in air support, you understand, they're not for any other purpose." Mike replied.
"What's this?" Budnick asked.
Mike's hand clamped down on the foil wrapped rectangular object on his desk. "That is a shiny thing?"
"Well I want one." Budnick said.
"You don't even know what it does, do you?" Mike's replied.
~ ~ ~ ~
"What's all this?" I ask Budnick as I lie on my improvised bed, between a stack of crates.
"206 bombs." Budnick says, "I got them from a guy in A Squadron that owes me a favor or two."
"Where are going?" I ask.
"Under your bed, of course, sarge." Budnick says, as he goes into his own improvised bed.
The lot of us are crammed in amongst supplies stacked in the hangar. Other than marked eating and bathroom facilities, we sleep wherever we can find a space to put our beds. Mine consists of my sleeping bag and a mattress I 'requisitioned' from D Squadron area. These are all atop a couple cargo pallets where Budnick goes to shove the 206s grenades in a case underneath.
"Talk about blowing your ass off." Budnick jokes.
"Ha ha." I reply, then noticing Budnick holding a shiny object in his hands, "What is that thing?"
"That's a shiny thing. And I love it." Budnick says.
Shiny Kit Syndrome is what we in the Special Forces refer to as requisitioning 'shiny' bits of kit that could prove useful. One case of this applied when I requisitioned a shiny thing back in 2142. When the patrol got lost in the jungle it turned out the shiny thing I got saved our asses, because it was a GPS receiver.
"What is that shiny thing, by the way?" I ask.
"Oh, it's a SATNAV, satellite navigation beacon. I'll test it tomorrow when I sign for the codes." Budnick said, "I've got our call sign. We're Kilo Two Zero."
"Kilo Two Zero. Right, I like the easy to remember ones." I reply.
I write a letter home to my family as I'm talking to him. "Uncle Shaggy, If you're reading this, I'm dead. Collect the insurance money and do what you will. Don't mope around. P.S. Don't forget, 500 credits is to go behind the bar at the next squadron pissup. P.P.S. I love you."
"Brilliantly concise pal." Budnick jokes, "I hope what you write Kate is a little more sensitive."
"Z.Z.'s rubbed off on you, eh?" I joke back.
I start writing my letter to Kate as the night darkens, "My Dearest Kate, My dearest, dearest shiny thing..." Budnick remarks.
"Hey! Who put this in my pack?" Stoney shouts.
"A cinder block? Very thoughtful Stoney, just what we need." I reply.
"Ha ha." Stoney laughs and lobs it.
"Whoa! Jesus!" Dave shouts.
Engineers. A tense lot they are. I compose my letter to Kate, knowing that if she reads it, I am very likely dead or wishing that I am somewhere in the Sinai. It contains everything. What I feel about her. Why I extended my tours in South America. The time I spent constantly training when I was on the Counterterrorism Team back 2142, I nearly messed up our friendship that way and hadn't really apologized.
Somewhere out there, Kate is enjoying some time with Scott and I'm again off to war...
~ ~ ~ ~
A meeting with the wedding planner was next on the agenda. Kate realized she should be feeling gushy new bride feelings, but all she could think of was how nice a guy Scott was. Even tempered, pleasant, treated her well. She began to wonder about Hiram, just why had he extended those tours in South America during the war?
He drove a Mercedes Benz, a leased C class, but a Benz nonetheless. He was working for a pharmaceutical company, which meshed well with her job as a veterinarian. Why then did she feel trapped by the relationship? And why did she feel that this trap was of her own design.
She turned over in her bed. At her father's insistence, she and Scott weren't sharing a bed. That felt good because she didn't want him catching onto her feelings about this wedding. She couldn't help but wonder about the sadness she saw in Hiram's eyes when he shipped out to South America for the first time, or the haunted look they held when he returned.
She sighed as she tried to get some sleep, 'Now I know how Hiram feels.' Kate thought, 'I can't help but worry about him right now. God this feels like the war all over again!'
Scott was dragging her off to visit some of his family living in Orlando tomorrow and she needed every bit of sleep she could get to at least act civil. She heard a knock at her door, "Kate, it's Dad, can I come in?"
"Come in Daddy." Kate said.
"Worried again?" Robert Barnes said.
"You could tell?" Kate asked.
"Hiram's your best friend, of course you worry about him. I can't say anything to help you through this, but you know you have your father to talk to if things are..." Robert said.
Kate hugged her father fiercely, "I just hate this whole communications blackout thing. Not even a phone call allowed..."
Robert Barnes hugged his daughter back letting her fall into a restless sleep before tucking her in and leaving the room, whispering. "Katherine, you've always made the right choice growing up. I've never had to be afraid for you. You'll do what's best for you."
'God I hope Becker gets back here alive.' Barnes thought, 'Because if he doesn't he's gonna be one unlucky soul when I finally get to Heaven.'
~ ~ ~ ~
TBC
