With their platoons left to be organized properly back into its normal state after the rather smoothly hectic touchdown at the landing zone by the platoon sergeants and the squad leaders, the platoon leaders, other officers, the forward air controller and the Spec-Ops' duo of team leaders joined the bespectacled company commander for a triagedly short brief at the barren, lonely-looking tent that'd be serving as the company's humble command post throughout their indefinite stay here. The company's rowdy Sergeant Major, Shoda, the executive officer, and their little band of hastily-formed work parties were still in the process of setting up the CP, and the mortar platoon's firing positions for their tubes close by when the clustered group of officers led by Captain Kotarou arrived at the barren command group of theirs. Nobody bothered saluting or greeting their abrupt arrival amidst the eerily-darkening light of the evening, too numbed and worn-out with the anguishing work of digging up foxholes for the night, setting up tarps and tents, radios and scraped the grassy earth for their mortar positions. The Sergeant Major smiled politely at them as they passed by, the wrinkle in his face and the deep glare he held unyielding in the dusk's dim light. Monocular night-vision goggles hung on the edge of their dusty helmets as they labored in the light of the sinking sun, attached but not used yet.
Pushing past the flaps of the entrance daintily, they huddled hurriedly in a circle around the company commander – the highest ranking officer they have out here, in the foreign land of the north. Their rifles were slung over their chests and helmets taken off their heads as they shuffled about for a view of the Captain, hands gloved in anticipation for the chiller night of the boreal. Dark and gloomily-lit with the dimmed, ominous flickers of their red-lensed flashlights, Captain Kotarou promptly broke the silence with an intentionally-saccharine bellow, greeting his men into the humble little command hideout of his.
"Welcome, 5th Company and friends, to LZ Matterhorn." He stretched his hands out widely out into the corners of the command tent, darkened and dimly-illuminated by the veil of dusk. Captain Kotarou promptly began to work, kicking off the briefing with a wide topographic map being laid on the grassy earth below in view of everyone present by him and his XO. "Here lies the rough outline for our short-term plan during our stay up here."
The company commander pushed his dusty spectacles up closer to the bridge of his nose, as if to emphasize the profound words soon about to be heaved out of his lips. As promised, his brief was triaged – the planning terse and compact, and the most vital out of all information in regards to their current situation first and foremost. For starters, they knew strikingly little about this pleasant little patch of Falmart, other than the names of their objectives, a couple of important highways and half a dozen or so of the main sprawling cities north of the Row. Some parts of the laid out topographic map were almost completely blank even, a testament to the puny knowledge they held of the region's geographical features. It'd only be common sense for everyone to stay vigilant and maintain a constant watch throughout the approaching night this far out in the unknown wilderness, Captain Kotarou would tell them as he lit the laminated map with his red-lensed flashlight, the first order of business for the impending darkness. Especially so for Sasaki, and his First Platoon, the Marine FAC, alongside the attached help of Masterpool's team of spooks and fine operators – much to the yank's nonchalant delight – for they would be, throughout the entire night, the main effort of the Jieitai, the MOD back home, and the coalition forces as a whole for the offensive north of the Row. All eyes through the theater would be upon him and his little band of air assault troops, from the highest up the food-chain to the lowly Lieutenants, as they kicked off their interdiction and raiding task after being ordered to set up on the hilly ridgeline one klicks to their immediate north. With the supposed Deltas, of course.
Once Sasaki's reinforced platoon were all set on the ridgeline overlooking the east-west highway, the plan calls for them to dig in along the hilly ridgeline and establish an overwatch position for the Masterpool's Delta team from their high ground, who, in turn would crawl down the slope as the raid force itself and establish hidden ambush position down on the highway for the interdiction mission, all under the keenly watchful eyes of the First Platoon observing from the heights. Razor concertina wires – sharp and edged enough to cut even the toughest of the Empire's graceful warhorses to its bones with its blades – would be lain across the road, to halt traffics coming from both east and west throughout the night, the company commander told them, and Sasaki graciously took the vital notes on his notepad like one aspiring journalist.
And oh, try not to be decisively engaged if you came in contact with a large enemy unit, the Captain told him. Air would be used to deal with any sizable hostile elements, should the raiding group encounter any. Air support would be available with the presence of the FAC sticking with them for the mission in the form of a flight of twin-seated Marine Hornets, and a mixed section of Viper-Venoms from Pompeii. Once they had everything in place, all that is left to do is to sit back, and let the looming night unfold, and the scattered traffic it'd bring inevitably. The gloomy Masterpool merely sat at the edge of the group with another one of his fellow team leaders, nodding silently and affirmingly at the spoken mission statement with blank, numbed faces. He didn't take notes, and simply sat there wearily with hollowed, fatigued eyes, dozing off like a sleepless high school student during a tedious, lengthy class. The 81mm mortar platoon of the company would be available once they're done digging in by the command group in the center of their lines, spoke the company commander before moving on.
The manpower-reduced Third Platoon in the meantime would be set and dug-in facing west – nothing really tense or suspicious in that direction despite the strikingly little knowledge of the AO, and thus the company commander immediately sent them off to their positions about a klick away or so without much hassle. Still, they all are deep in the frigid unknown of Falmart wilderness, shrouded and impeded by the looming veil of nightly nothingness, alone and lonely, away from any friendly units for days at times, and the bespectacled Captain sternly made sure to remind Lieutenant Daiki, the platoon leader, before he departed of the dimly-lit tent and back out into the chilly void of dimming sunlight, to be constantly vigilant and wary out there of his wildly exotic surroundings. The young yet forlorn-looking officer, with gauntly grimace plastered upon his darkened face, merely nodded in affirmation at the leery reminder. Captain Kotarou nodded back, watching the man depart with his gear, field packs, rifle and the cumbersome radio bag before glancing at once, towards the seemingly casual leader of Second Platoon, Saburo, his complexion contented and serene in spite of the heavy, morose air looming over the group.
"Alright then," The Captain spoke blankly, his lips pursing calmly as he turned to the Second Platoon's nonchalant leader. "Saburo, you're up."
Like the Third Platoon and their relatively peaceful position, Saburo and his platoon would be set facing east towards the treelines of which the spook Spec-Ops and their little weary band of liberated had emerged gauntly from. Complications soon popped up in midst of the briefing in regards to the lush, vibrant woodlines shrouding away whatever lies nestled within, beneath its unyielding facade of verdant green and mottled brown. Masterpool and his other fellow team leader, seemingly indifferent and aloof to the hushed briefing unfolding mere meters away, were promptly shot out of their lethargic half-nap by a curt inquiry from the air assault company commander.
"Master Sergeant, you guys marched through those woodlines on your way here," Captain Kotarou inquired politely and haltingly, affixing his loosely-set spectacles amid his wary gaze at the nonchalantly casual Spec-Ops team leader, his leisurely posture seemingly unaffected from the deathly days he and his men had spent braving through the boreal wilderness. The Master Sergeant merely grimaced and grunted, awakening abruptly out of his terse slumber amidst the seemingly unending, methodical melody of entrenching tools and pickaxes audibly hacking away at the ground outside. "how's the terrain out there? Lieutenant Saburo right here, and his platoon, would soon be out watching the eastern approaches of the company just outside those woods."
"Thick as shit. Lots of spruces." Masterpool shrugged impassively at the mild-mannered Captain, his hoarse, drowsy tone almost casual and laid-back as he spoke. The silent team leader by his side nodded in affirmation, concurring his remark with a laconic gesture. "You can bet the Imperial fuckers won't march through all that crap to get us – they pretty much lost us once we slipped deep into the forest after we had broken out all these liberated slaves, and besides, they got more workers and slaves to replace 'em. Tanska or something was the name of the city we broke them out from. They got a garrison for an entire cohort and a legion further out but the city's pretty far-out from here to the north-east."
"That's some real reassuring thing to know, man." Saburo chipped in laconically, pursing his lips as he nodded slowly at the stream of information being spat out. Sasaki grunted softly, agreeing with the man's practical logic.
"Well, yeah." A faint, dimly-lit flicker of smile flashed across the team leader's grimy complexion. He motioned them to the east, towards the ancient treelines beyond the illusionary cover of the dull, darkly-illuminated covers of the small command tent. "But don't get all buck fever out there when you guys see movements at night. Those are the resident Elven hunters roaming the forests. We did meet a couple on our journey here – they're real friendly dudes, even offered some of the starving slaves food and coochie. So if Lieutenant Saburo right here, or one of his men, saw some bushes rustling and figures moving or some shit, don't straight up shoot."
"Don't worry man, we're too much of a pacifist pussies to even entertain the thought of getting some."
"That's my boy." The hollowed-eye team leader snorted, the grimy wrinkles on his nonchalant face deforming, his laconic words spoken just as the heavily-accented Captain carried on with the briefing – minus the presence of the Third Platoon Lieutenant who had already left.
"Masterpool, who's the other team leader with you?"
"Oh, that's Master Sergeant Holder, Captain." Masterpool motioned with a wry grin to the other cloaked figure lying forlornly on the ground below, almost dozing off in midst of the briefing. His face appeared almost serene despite the days spent trudging through the frigid country of the north with his fellow rescued compatriots in tow. "He doesn't talk much – I speak enough for both of us anyway."
"Right. So the no-bullshit, silent types."
"See it for yourself, Captain."
The nonchalant-faced man, with dried, cracked lips deforming into a wearily crooked smile, promptly raised his hands to curtly greet the Japanese company commander, much to the silent amusement of the remaining platoon leaders lounging close by.
"Sup."
"Alright then, so I'm going to be sending off you and your team down to the south to cover that approach. It's more like a R&R anyway, if they are really going to attack us they likely won't come from the south – the Row is just a couple dozen of klicks down." Once again, the company commander found himself glancing at the stockily-built Master Sergeant, and his slimmer, laconic companion. "How many operators do you guys have in your teams again?"
"Each of us got twelve guys in both of our teams."
"Alright, that should be enough to cover the quieter approaches to our south." Captain Kotarou nodded at the remark, then spoke again. Sasaki and Saburo stood nearby in silence, excluded awkwardly from the conversing group within the shoddily-set up tiny command tent. "What do you think, Master Sergeant Holder?"
"Sounds good enough for my boys." A nonchalant shrug preceded the nonchalant reply of the serene, soft-spoken team leader. Sasaki noted mentally, almost in bewildered amusement, that neither of the elite team leaders, each in charge of twelve finest special operations operators their nation could offer, look like how one would expect the man holding this rigorous profession would look like. The two of them wouldn't even look that out of place in the lecture hall of an Ivy League university, and that unsettled the silent Lieutenant deep inside slightly.
The man continued with his remark robotically, reflexively tugging his HK carbine to his chest.
"Look, gents, we're way outnumbered while we're up here, that's for sure. But with all our firepower – mortars and air – it shouldn't be that much of a problem. I think we have to kick somebody's ass once, and the word gets out."
The Captain nodded at the man, before closing his notebook for the last time. On the final note, the company commander admitted he and the higher ups couldn't exactly speculate on possible missions more than a few nights out. Their fantastical enemy – battle-hardened from centuries of wars yet hopelessly primitive – would certainly adapt as much as they adapted, so they couldn't expect to set an agenda. They would have to initiate as much as they could, but they'd also have to respond to the other side's moves. Once again, the intricate world of warfare resolved itself into a mere match of chess.
With the triaged briefing done and all matters, grievances and concerns settled within the dimly-lit, darkening interior of the shoddily-established command tent, all of the participants began to disperse back to their respective platoons and teams each with their own task to do. For Sasaki and his men of the First Platoon, along with Masterpool and his team of gloomy operators, the aforementioned task meant a relatively short ruck march up to their objective at the hilly ridgeline a kilometer to their north within the looming veil of darkness. He and Saburo tersely shook hands, and shared a soft fistbump before departing for their respective platoons, their grim faces gloomily-lit by the silver winks of the full moon high above. When he reunited with his platoon later on, they were all lounging about almost dazedly, gazing at the exotic scenery of the boreal all around them, elated and apprehensive at whatever fate has in hold for them in the coming mission – deeply conflicted. Everyone were already in his full gears, and everybody had their JGVS-V8 night vision goggles – a legit copy of the American's monocular PVS-14 – worn on its helmet mounts and affixed over their eyes, their gauntly sockets glowing a faint, eerie hue of viridescent amid the hollowed blackness of the night. He could only shook his head quietly at the sight of Ikazaki, Kurata's First Squad Zainichi Minimi gunner, glaring intensely with deathly contempt at the rising-sun headband-wearing Sergeant Major, and his unhinged clique of ultranationalist troopers as he passes by. He waved it off with a tersely shake of his head, and instead went on to curtly greet the awaiting men. After briefly filling the anxious men in on the interdiction mission and each others' assigned tasks for the op with the help of Masterpool and his platoon sergeant, First Platoon promptly began their short march into the tranquil, silvery night. Behind them, the feeble, shadowy silhouette of their fellow compatriots in other platoons disappeared slowly into the impenetrable wall of darkness in rhythm with their movement further north, the yank special operations team on point leading the way for everyone else following behind.
Kurata and his companions shook lightly beneath the mountainous pack of gears over their spine, the frigid wind of wilderness assailing the line of men like some unseen curse, as they trundled their way through the greenery wobbling with the breeze. The chilly world beyond glowed lifeless puke-green through the hazy visage of their dimmed NVGs, their eyes maddened by the dazzling hue of dizzy green, and their backs straining greatly with the thickly cumbersome field packs they had brought. Ahead of his squadmates are the gloomy, cloaked Deltas leading the way to the ridge ahead – two pairs of them carrying spooled bundles of razor-sharp concertina wires, unseen through the darkened veil even with his goggles on, and trailing in the trace of his squad, followed the Lieutenant and the attached Marine FAC, both of them further burdened with the clunky radio manpacks mounted upon their backs along with their already hefty gears and packs. The rest of the platoon followed behind in silence, struggling considerably to keep up with the seemingly unfazed march of the special operators. They treaded lightly through the grassy fields, their forlorn greenery swaying softly by the gentle gale, appearing desolate and lonely out here in the barren landscape, their leafy blades dancing pleasantly amidst the unperturbed night march of the intruding other-worlders.
It took them no more than ten minutes of constant marching through the grassy fields for them to arrive at their hilly destination, gingerly overlooking the highway down below. They immediately went to work under directions of the platoon sergeant, digging foxholes and hurriedly hacking away against the rocky soil of the ridgeline with their entrenching tools in the darkness, their night vision goggles swaying and shaking gingerly with each thud onto the ground below. The platoon leader promptly beckoned over the attached forward air controller, and the Spec-Ops team leader to his shallowly-dug hole, where he immediately made a tersely radio check first with the company commander and informed him of their arrival to the ridge, before finally going down on the details of this interdiction gig.
"Two unusually large horse-drawn carriages per night." Sasaki greeted the puzzled duo of American with the remark, his face stolidly perplexed as he hunched over a laminated, crudely-sketched map of the area of operations, lit dimly in the darkness with a red-lensed flashlight of his. Sasaki looked up, and turned towards the approaching duo, his other hands pointing resolutely at the unseen highway down below hidden beneath the cloak of darkness.
He then pointed down at the map, tracing his fingers on the black line starting from Rondel, and snaking east all the way to the unmapped beyond.
"The Captain passed down the word on the radio from the highers and wherever the hell the guys got this from. Clandestine assets report an average of two carriages per night moving further east on this stretch of highway. Who do you fellas reckon these guys are?"
"How many peasants have you seen tooling around with carriages of that size?" Masterpool kneeled by the edge of the shallow hole by Sasaki's right, eyebrows arched and his voice inquisitive as he and Lieutenant Ricci, the FAC, huddled close around the man.
"None?" Both Sasaki, and the tanned FAC replied at once, their tone one of confusion.
"You got your answers," The Master Sergeant remarked blithely, shrugging as he continued. "the only guys we knew who used carriages that big during our rescue op up in Tanska are the local legionnaires and filthy-rich archmages of Rondel."
Sasaki nodded affirmingly at the practical logic and wisdom delivered by Masterpool; he hadn't seen any local peasants. I hadn't seen any locals at all during their short time up here in the wilderness. But he knew that the Saderan Legionnaires and the nobles utilized the carriages of that size extensively in cargo transport role based on the information he had heard. They weren't quite as identifiable as a tank with the Imperial flag painted on the side, but they were close enough for him. The platoon leader and the attached Marine Lieutenant glanced at each other, and the Spec-Ops team leader promptly took it as his cue to depart for the interdiction and raiding mission down on the highway below, its graceful, stony pavement, and the travelers using it shrouded beneath the illusionary sea of impenetrable black. His radio manpack buzzed amidst the tranquil silence of the night as he passed down the word to the Captain, informing the keenly-listening superior on the other side that they're all set in their assigned position, ready to continue with the tasked main effort for the night.
Masterpool returned to his awaiting team and promptly made a quick headcount of everyone prior to their departure. They left a mere ten minutes later, treading lightly through the now dug-in air assault infantrymen with the spooled load of concertina wires bundles, trip flares, ammunition, night-vision goggles, radios and gears as they slowly and methodically made their way down the gentle slopes of the ridge, the nonchalant team leader gesturing a cheeky wave at the platoon leader before disappearing into the darkness below for good. The troops on the relatively low ridgeline, clear of trees and rolling with verdant grasses and ancient boulders, could barely make out the faint silhouettes of the departing operators through the dazzling world of their NVGs. Winking infrared chemlights, tied onto the backs of each of the cloaked Deltas, flickered back at their eyes through the goggles' puke-green world with their ever-gleaming haloes, their brilliant intensity growing fainter every second, like the taillights of cars speeding down a darkened, lightless expanse as they set off to their assigned ambush positions on both side of the highway – barely discernible down there in the darkness, even with the help of their night optic devices. They faded into the unseen expanse soon, their blinking luminescent chemlights like distant stars illuminating the lifeless nothingness of space through their night vision goggles.
Sasaki and Ricci could only watch from afar in apprehension, overlooking the progress of the Delta operators through their respective goggles, a heavy silence reigning strong within the shallow, hastily-dug hole the two men now shared on the grassy-rocky ground. Their respective radio manpacks stood by the hollowed ground, singing the symphony of crackles and buzzes amidst the tranquil night. The moon shone its silvery rays, the grasses swaying lightly with the gentle force of passing gales shimmering like the sea of innumerous emeralds. The untouched night sky high above, spared from the light pollution of biblical proportions in their old world, flashed dimly with the force of innumerable stars and unknown galaxies painted high on the darkened roof of the heavens, winking cosmic hues of white and blue onto the mesmerized ocean of earthly green beneath.
From their cozy hole perched on the low rocky ridge, Sasaki stared out into the dark horizon beyond, consumed by the wind and overwhelmed by the cosmic beauty of innumerous stars dotting the darkened sky. Infantrymen feel the immensity of the wilderness, for they are a part of the landscape, not a mere observer of it. Only the incongruous chirrup of the radio, and a light tug from behind by the FAC, brought him back from his ponderous state to real life.
"Hey bro, good news." Ricci informed him blithely, motioning towards his cumbersome personal pack of radio lying abreast. He pressed the handset closer to his ears, monitoring keenly the monotone conversations unfolding on the other side. "A Venom-Viper mixed section from the MEU should launch from Pompeii soon to be on station for a couple of hours while the Deltas are busy stopping traffic down there. A flight of two Hornet is on station to our south, checking out possible crossing sites for the MEU's Task Force Anvil."
"Right." The platoon leader smacked his lips, nodding affirmingly at the word passed down from the radio in halting, casual English. He relayed his own message, briefing the FAC on the progress of Delta raiding groups down on the highway. "Moon River is moving onto the highway for interdiction, they passed the word down the net that their ambush positions ought to be up in 10 mikes."
"Moon River?"
"Hai, that's the team's callsign on the net."
"Oh, yeah."
Silence befell the two awkwardly, nothing else left to relay to each other. They quietly shifted in their seat, eyes drifting slowly off into the darkened horizon below as they observed the unseen progress of the raiding group, their weary vision dazzled by the viridescent visage of their NVGs. Obscure stars, innumerous and in clusters of flickering light, tranquil and shimmering brilliantly as the countless cosmic creations pierced through the greenly-lit world of theirs, and only then, the heavy silence would be broken as abruptly as they had arrived.
Sasaki grunted as he sat upon the earthly edge of the shallow hole, lifting his ungainly-looking night goggles away from his eyes and back on its helmet mount, the now free eyes of his – freed at last, from the unceasing static-green assailing his sleep-deprived vision relentlessly – gazing quizzically the slim, slender figure of Lieutenant Ricci lying blithely within the hole, the unceasing crackles of the unslung ground-air radio backpack by his side relentlessly chippy and monotone as it sang. The FAC returned the gaze promptly at Sasaki, puzzled by his sudden action.
"Hey Lieutenant, uh I wanna ask you something."
"Just call me Enzo, alright? And yeah, what is it?"
"Well, man," His brows furrowed, and his eyes, unseen in the darkened world, narrowed slowly as he gazed at the seemingly nonchalant FAC lying in their hole. He spoke up in a drawl of halting English, carefully forming his words as he remarked, the chirps of their bustling radio lively and sing-song. "do you still, perhaps, remember that conversation between us back at the LZ a couple hours back, when you said you remembered me from somewhere?"
"Nah, nah," Enzo waved it off with a polite snicker, his broad shoulders shrugging nonchalantly at the curtly inquiry. Sasaki's brows furrowed even deeper. "My stupid-ass probably mistook you for someone else, it's all good, bro."
"Cut the shit, man." Sasaki's polite, professional tone changed into one of fierce, almost friendly curiosity, a gaze shot pleadingly to the tanned forward air controller much to his amusement. "Tell me what's on your mind. It's not like we got anything else to do out here besides being on watch and listening to the lousy radio buzzing the shit out of our ears."
The forward air controller snickered audibly, and he promptly threw his hands up in the air in a feigned defeat, amused by the friendly seriousness of his newly-met, slowly-bonding, Japanese counterpart.
"Alright, fine. Here's what was on my mind when I greeted you down at the LZ earlier." He paused for a moment, recollecting the thoughts he had held within his mind, before resuming back into the present. "I thought I had met you back in October last year at Fuji Viper '20. Shit, all I remembered was that I made coffees and teas for the Jap' and American grunts crowding our LSA while I was in 1/3's battalion staff. Thought you were one of the Japanese L-Ts I met and brewed coffee for. Your face looked hella fucking familiar."
"You know, I was there at that year's Fuji Viper. And my fondest memory there besides lighting up an empty wooden shack with an LMAT on a gunnery during my gig as an anti-tank platoon leader? It was the memory of bantering and drinking coffee with a bunch of coked-up jarhead officers outside their operations center." Sasaki chuckled at the recollection of memories long past, a light stutter shaking his voice amid the sweeping passage of chilly winds through the top of the ridgeline, shorn of trees and desolate from civilization out here in the wilderness. He looked down at the forward air controller with a smile, the man kindly returning it with his own. "Shit, I think it was you who brewed me and my men those, what do you Americans call them again? Bomb-ass coffees? While we're waiting for gods knows how long for our trucks to come pick us up."
"Oh shit, you Jietai dudes really are catching on." The forward air controller loosened up, an amused snort escaping wildly out of his grinning mouth amid their mind-numbing shift of radio watch in the chilly, desolate darkness of the wilderness. "Seriously though, it's real fucking great to know you're still alive and not hung up on ropes like the rest of your lonely-ass countrymen."
"Fuck you, man." Sasaki flashed him a middle finger cheekily with a grin, the two differing officers, already left alone by their subordinates preoccupied with their own sector, and left confined within this frigid hole, slowly warming up to each other's mellow presence. Maybe this whole interdiction thing won't be that tedious, after all. "How did you even end up here with me? Gay-ass fuck."
"They paired me, a shit-hot FAC, with the most shitbird platoon commander in the company." He promptly received a reply in the form of a light kick to his left thigh, an amused grin plastered upon both of their faces as the unperturbed night continued on, unyielding and desolate in all its darkened glory.
Minutes upon minutes would pass, and so would their keenness in resuming the fiery banter between themselves. Yawning and on the verge of blacking out to the mellow realm of dreams, Sasaki tapped and tugged wearily on the loosened shoulder of the now helmet-less, newly-reunited buddy with a weary grin, then turned to the seemingly unperturbed platoon sergeant sipping silently from his canteen at the edge of the hole by the FAC – recently arrived at their humble abode to report to his superior, the status of the platoon's lines of holes. He gestured at the two, unslung radio manpacks lying forlornly at the edge of their foxhole, then at the empty sleeping bag beyond collecting dust and grime the whispering breeze of the night had brought.
"Alright fellas, it's your turn for the radio watch. My shift's over." The Lieutenant forlornly spoke with a weary, almost sarcastic tone at the two, his gauntly eyes drooping low in tired sleeplessness. Natsuki, the apparently unfazed-looking platoon sergeant, and the Marine FAC Enzo, merely glanced at each other slowly, then back at him. "Wake me up when it's my turn for the next radio watch. Until then, and unless it's a real serious shit-going-down kind of emergency, thou shalt not pertube my slumber."
"You got it, boss-man." Came Natsuki's calming reply in the two's native Japanese tongue, his youthful tone and complexion a mere facade to his fine ability as his trusted executive of the platoon of airborne troopers. "I'll take care of the platoon for you while you're blacked out."
"Right, so I understand fuck all whatever the fuck you, and your platoon sarn't is saying but yeah," Enzo's mellow Brooklyn drawl, elongated and seemingly to reinforce his Italian descent, resounded seemingly chippy and reassuring. He smirked widely, crossing his hands as he stood up for his radio watch shift. "goodnight and sweet dreams, darling."
"Man, you goddamn Marines are really gay as hell, huh?"
"Of course, brother."
"Completely understandable, your name's Enzo anyway." Already half-way in his unzipped sleeping bag just outside the foxhole, the drowsy Sasaki shot back one last time in his halting, amusingly-accented English. Natsuki, already breaking out his rations seemingly out of nowhere for a bite of snack for the long, sleepless night waiting ahead, cackled and snorted hushedly in amusement at the sudden banter between his superior, and the now smiling, new friend of his. "Who the hell even thought of the name when you were born? Your parents? That name's gay as fuck."
"Sasaki, fuck you, bro." The FAC First Lieutenant simply retorted with a blithely grin and a lazily-flipped middle finger, the grimy, unworn ECH helmet of his nestled softly in his lap as he reached out for his SINCGARS radio pack and its forlorn handset.
"Yeah, yeah." He shot back with a flipped-open middle finger of his own, a frail grin plastered upon his gloomy face. Sasaki turned back to the task at hand wearily, and he hurriedly shook out his dusty sleeping bag and promptly shimmied in, his gloved hands zipping it up to his neck. And with that, he closed his eyes, and went into the dreamy world of sleep, the only sound heard as he fell asleep being a subdued chirp every time Enzo or Natsuki keyed their radio handset to relay a message.
Elated yet understandably apprehensive, Kurata and his squad's line of holes mere meters or so away to the conversing officers' right stood quietly tranquil in the looming blackness, their chippily hushed whispers and ceaseless banters silenced at once by the traveling gale of the north. The young squad leader sat perched on the edge of his hole on a frail, crudely-made dirt parapet, the grimy ground mines and dug out tirelessly by him and his ever-upbeat assistant Yaguchi no less than half an hour ago moist and chilly from the grassy dew, his hazy vision gazing blankly down into the void below the sloping ridge, and the highway straddled beyond it keenly in search of anything to break the tedious monotony. He straightened up his forlorn-looking night goggles away from his hurting vision slowly, and looked down at his dusty digital wristwatch, eyes straining sickeningly to even make out the numbers displayed dully on the screen. The device beeped feebly into the night. It was 2115 hours; the end of the desolate watch shift for him, and the seemingly unfazed Ikazaki. He shivered lightly from the cold, and groaned as he turned left towards Ikazaki, nodding back and forth at him and the two zipped-up sleeping bags snoring soundly within the sizable foxhole.
Ikazaki promptly took the squad leader's cue, and turned to face the slumbering two nestled within the foxhole. His stocky figure slid down the cold mud and grass, his packed rucksack rustling, clanking with a metallic symphony as he crouched before his sleeping compatriots. He straightened up immediately with a sigh, and promptly disturbed their much-needed sleep with a gentle kick thrice to each of the two men, awaking them from their dreams and back to the frigid, desolate wilderness they're in.
The two promptly slithered out of their sleeping bags with a groan, and the machine-gunner dropped down to sit by the muddy walls of the hole, greeting the rudely-awakened fellows. Yaguchi emerged morosely from beneath the canvas of his dusty sleeping bag with a disheartened grunt, and the squad's rifleman among many others, Naoki, followed suit with a stiffened, gravely look upon his drowsy face.
Ikazaki promptly greeted the drowsy duo with a half-hearted, dreamy grin.
"Our watch's over, man. It's your goddamn shift now."
"Bro, this sucks."
"Wakey wakey, Yaguchi. Dream's over, time for your watch buddy." Kurata chipped in snarkily, his tired voice trailing away faintly as he joined Ikazaki, and his fellow squadmates inside their humble foxhole. He lifted the monocular NVG away from his hurting eye straight back to its mount, and he immediately stretched out both his hands widely sarcastically and half-heartedly, as if to mock himself and his friends of their Spartan-like living condition. "Welcome to combat life in the field, you pitiful suckers."
Yaguchi and Naoki merely stared at the weary Kurata, their drowsy eyes blinking and drooping at the squad leader as they began adjusting to the darkened world that greeted from their sleep, stupefied and mostly unresponsive until the assistant squad leader shook his head out of the stupor, and back into the present. He grunted, and tugged on the shoulders of the seemingly numbed Naoki, finally snapping him out of his zombie-like state.
"I knew I shouldn't have fucking sign up for the Jieitai." The assistant squad leader stifled out an audible groan, his hands fumbling around reaching for his rifle propped up against the hole's dirt wall, and the rest of his gears. Naoki, still mostly new to the circle of comradery between the four, merely uttered a soft "fuck" as he rose to his feet and stretched, his helmet hanging loose with its straps unfastened.
"Should've stayed working in whatever fujoshi-ass boys love cafe you crawled out of, Yaguchi." Kurata shrugged indifferently at the half-sarcastic remark of his assistant, an exasperated grin plastered faintly on his darkened face as he took off his helmet, and set up his Howa 89 rifle against the wall. Ikazaki snorted snidely at the quick exchange, much to the mild disappointment of the rudely-awakened assistant squad leader. "I mean, you'd probably be better off making more bucks in better living condition rather than having to sleep in this fucking hole in middle of fantasy nowhere."
"Fuck you, sweaty weaboo fuck." Yaguchi promptly flipped him a half-hearted middle finger drowsily, his other free hand fumbling around in the blackened veil of the night to fix up his rifle's olive-green nylon sling and his helmet's loose straps. "And fuck no bro, I don't want to spend anymore years of my life at that wretched shithole. No way I'm gonna tolerate being kissed an-and cuddled by bigger dudes in front of no-life-having fujoshi school girls for their entertainment."
"And money." Ikazaki added nonchalantly as he cradled his Minimi light machine gun on his laps, the belt of ammunition upon its feed loose and tangled as he opened it for an inspection. The still dumbfounded Naoki, a recently-promoted leading private and a new member of the trio's little clique, snickered softly at unfolding banters, much to the apparent disappointment of Yaguchi yet again.
"Yeah, and for money of course."
"Not gonna lie buddy, you seem real goddamn proud of your old job."
"Of course motherfucker, it's my first job after I'm outta school bro. A real job, alright."
"Of kissing and making out with dudes in front of little fujoshi girls for their entertainment." Once again, the impassive-faced Kurata interjected tautly, his hands gesturing wildly in the air as if to prove his points. "And for money too, of course."
"Fuck you, Kurata. Fuck you." Stopping his attempt to fix his helmet, the pretty-eyed Yaguchi promptly flashed him a double bird, a soft grin surfacing faintly upon his seemingly amused, gleaming boyish face. "You're a hell of a dickhead, you know that?"
"You kissed dudes and fondled them all year long, you probably know more about dickheads than I do."
Amidst all the banters thrown haphazardly around with such friendly irreverence by the trio, the seemingly stupefied Naoki, hands still fumbling around his gears and eyes still straining to see in the darkness of the world, could only hang his mouth open in bewildered puzzlement at the wild exchange of words between the three compatriots of his.
"Wait up, Sergeant Yaguchi right here used to work at a BL cafe?"
"You bet your savings he did."
"Yes Naoki, I used to do that kind of work. As regrettable as it was, it's an actual job alright, unlike this lazy-ass weeaboo and his dorky hobbies." Yaguchi, finally with all his gears and weapons sorted out properly for the coming watch, remarked proudly to the green guy of the clique. He flashed a grin beneath his tipped-over helmet at Naoki much to the amusement of his buddies, his demeanor unusually upbeat after shaking off the drowsiness clouding his eyes.
He jumped out of the hole slowly and gingerly, the young rifleman trailing behind in his trace. Yaguchi, with an inquisitive look upon his face, turned one last time at the weary Kurata, a silvery wink of moonlight dimly-illuminating his pale, boyish cheeks as he spoke.
"Hey uh, do we have any observation or a listening post down there? Just asking so we don't fucking light up any random movement we see coming uphill?"
"I mean we aren't really the most experienced guys out there about these combat things." Naoki nodded sheepishly in agreement, concurring the assistant squad leader's logical inquiry with a pursed lip. The assistant squad leader stifled a groan in the background, struggling to properly put his JGVS-J8 night goggles into its helmet mount.
"Well, we got Tanaka and Hanzo from Second Squad up on an LP down the ridge," The squad leader paused for a moment, as if to sort out and recollect his deathly weary thoughts and minds to remember back the details, then resumed his remark finally with a half-hearted, almost sardonic shrug. "And about two hundred meters away from the foot facing towards the highway. So yeah, don't shoot them if you two just happen to see any movement downhill."
"Roger that, Sergeant." The assistant Yaguchi clicked his tongue at the information, his quick reply overly-saccharine and sarcastic as he glanced down the ridge – a dark, looming void, even with his night vision goggles affixed over his dominant eye. Nodding in affirmation, he beckoned over to Naoki, and motioned him over to the little mound of dirt and soil that made up their little parapet, overlooking the darkened world below with such impunity.
The two promptly settled in for the night, their watch predecessor already half-way in to falling into the deep world of slumber in their frigid, damp little foxhole up here in the cold wilderness. The night, chilly and clear, was unusually quiet and desolate. Uncomfortably tranquil, the duo thought.
The night continued on uneventfully, the only slight disturbance to the tranquil lines being Sasaki's mandatory inspection of the platoon holes, and the occasional chirrups of his radio and the FAC's, the Deltas down at the highway relaying to them the dozen, unarmed traffics they had stopped. The unarmed horses and their riders were promptly turned around by the raiding group lying in ambush much to their bewilderment, who had never seen such ghouls with gleaming green eyes prior. With the matters at hand mostly settled by the time midnight rolled around, Sasaki promptly returned to sleep and the attached forward air controller took over his radio watch shift yet again, their men lessening their tensed-up figures in the face of another false alarm. The world's brilliant night sky, so clear and unperturbed by the intruding artificial lights of the modern civilization, shone through the heavens in all its glory to the point that the airborne troops on watch, would occasionally report the flickering hues of a campfire in the distance, only to realize they were watching innumerous stars rise from the darkened horizon beyond.
The tranquility of the desolate wilderness could only last for so long, before it was once again rudely disturbed. Sasaki was awoken so suddenly from his mellow slumber less than two hours after the initial platoon inspection, an unseen figure in the darkness frantically shaking him awake. Chagrined and drowsy, he hurriedly unzipped his sleeping bag and promptly rolled over to his side, a darkened person greeting him grimly. His eyes, still adjusting to the shadowy world that welcomed him, could simply not make out the man's face.
Only when he spoke, could Sasaki finally figure out who he was facing. It was Enzo, the Marine FAC. His voice, hushed and barely-discernible in the blasting breeze, was gravely alarmed.
"Wake the fuck up and get dressed, bro. Shit's about to go down real bad."
"What the hell is it this time?" Sasaki furrowed his brows at the frantic FAC. His drowsy inquiry went unanswered in the sudden flurry of activities all along the line of holes on the ridge. Men were awoken, and those on the watch tensed their shoulders, and dropped down to the dirt, straining in the moonlight to make their silhouettes smaller in spite of the already existing camouflage of the night. The moonlit grasses and rocks of the ridge glowed dimly in the dark.
By the time he sat up, Enzo was already more than ten feet away, burrowed deep within their foxhole. Both of their backpack radios stood in the darkness just outside the hole by the FAC, mumbling off an unceasing hail of crackles and buzzes into the breezy night frantically. The ridge, situated just right for overwatch on the raid and interdiction group down at the highway, had one crucial flaw; the low, hilly ridgeline obstructed line-of-sight radio communications between the rest of the company behind them, and the Deltas down below. The two officers were appropriately tasked with being the radio link between the two by the Captain during the briefing prior.
The radios side-by-side by Enzo were singing away a jumbled mess of heavily-accented English and cool-headed responses that followed it, the frantic conversations overwhelming the net hushed by the howling winds blasting through the ridge. Climbing out of the sleeping bag, Sasaki promptly caught his breath, as if he had just jumped into an icy lake. He promptly rushed into his gears lying nearby, donning quickly the gloves and vests. The temperature was nearing freezing this far north into the wilderness, especially so on the top of this very ridgeline. A cold gale whipped across the top of the ridge, flapping his gloves and utility vests as he struggled to don his clunky night vision goggles.
With all matters settled, the still-drowsy Sasaki promptly crouched hurriedly towards the hole and slid into its cozy confines, greeting the grim-looking Marine FAC. The hushed whispers of the radio grew louder and louder in-between their incessant buzzes as he approached. Airpower, being the sole saving grace this far out in the unknown, were their lifeline, and the two promptly gazed dazedly far into the stars above in search of them, scrutinizing the clouds and the clear skies like aspiring meteorologists. From left to right, he stared down into the darkened world below through the grainy vision of his night goggles, a gloomy green enveloping the perpetual blackness prior. No lights shone from the lonely landscape below, aside from the faint, barely-discernible winking haloes of the chemlights attached to the backs of the Deltas down at the highway. No sounds, apart from the roaring breeze, and the indiscernible whispers and clanking of gears from other foxholes across the lines. No immediate threats to their presence here.
Sasaki rubbed his gloved hands together for some warmth amid the unbroken blackness, and Enzo, greeting his new friend's arrival curtly with an abrupt nod. He juggled his PRC-117 Golf radio backpack and its phone-like handset back and forth, listening keenly onto the ongoing transmission unfolding on the net and briefing the newly-awoken Japanese platoon leader in-between relays. The raid force was in place down on the highway, having spotted minutes earlier two, unusually large horse-drawn wagons – certainly not the average citizen, not with that size – coming from Rondel to the west. They had hurriedly strung a piece of concertina wire across the highway to stop outgoing traffic. A flight of twin-seated, all-weather Hornet attack jets are holding far-off to their south, orbiting high above the still-crossing force of the MEU's Task Force Anvil down at the Row River, watching over their many dozen or so TOW-mounted Humvees and LAV-25s but ready to race up north at a moment's notice in the case of any emergency.
He promptly turned towards the grim-faced Enzo, whose usually chippy disposition was masked beneath the now apprehensive facade.
"Ay, where's that Venom-Viper mixed section?" Sasaki inquired with a hushed voice, concerned and morose. Amid the slowly unraveling situation, he simply wanted the comfort of having a pair of attack helicopters floating overhead.
"They crashed, bro."
"They what?!"
"Heard on the net that at least one of them crashed after take-off at Pompeii," Enzo shrugged nonchalantly, his grim face incongruous with his blithely voice. He pressed the radio handset closer to his ears once again, straining to hear important traffic amidst the jumbled mess of crackles and buzzes. "so yeah bro, they're not coming for us."
"Oh man, damn it." The Japanese platoon leader rubbed his forehead exasperatedly, then turned towards his American counterpart juggling the radio back and forth. "You got anything from my platoon sarn't?"
"He stopped by before I woke your ass up to pass the word to you that the platoon's all awake and set. Don't sweat about it, alright." Enzo remarked calmly to his new friend, then nodded off towards the platoon lines, his ears practically glued to his radio. "Should you call in your LP?"
"Nah, don't. We'll pull them back if the shit really goes down." Reaching for his Howa 89 rifle and his radio out in the darkness, Sasaki promptly resettled back into the cozy hole, and then whistled softly to his friend Enzo. "Anything from the Deltas down? How are they doing with those two wagons?"
"The leading wagon's horse crashed into the wire and is in fucking agony, the shit is neighing so loud it went through Moon River's radio relays to the company commander. That aside, they managed to stop both of the fuckers." The attached Marine FAC stifled a snicker from bursting out at his own remark, then promptly got back on the radio. Sasaki too, began his own little eavesdropping on the net through his own radio backpack, his softly shivering hands fumbling about in the darkness for the handset before finally getting it. Everybody held their breath, tense and stiffened by the unraveling standoff.
On the net, they heard that the Deltas' raiding group were moving out of their ambush position, and into the highway itself for interdiction. The concertina wire trick had worked just as they had intended, the operators quickly surrounding the two wagons in-between frantic radio relays. The platoon on the ridge watched with bated breath, straining maddeningly with their eyes to see Team Moon River down in those dark plains. Captain Kotarou is on the radio too, talking eagerly and asking incessantly for a sitrep. Masterpool approached the halted carriages with his team and surrounded them, shouting at the unseen occupants inside, in halting Latin, to come out and put up their hands.
Sasaki had wholly expected to hear the relays of Masterpool confirming the peaceful capture of the potentially hostile occupants and the seizure of their undoubtedly precious cargoes. Instead, the net on the Delta's frequency abruptly became a jumbled mess of chagrined shouts and yells, the operators straining to control the livid occupants with their halting Latin skills. Then, gunfire resounded through the tranquil night, like sudden claps in a quiet room. The crowd had turned hostile – a messy, close-quarters free for all.
Everyone on the ridge flinched softly upon the sudden staccato of bullets let loose, their eyes assailed rudely by faint flickers of fiery crimson down in the darkened highway through the indiscernible green world of their NVGs. Desperate foreign battle cries and wails of agony, sounding gibberish and unintelligible amid crackles and buzzes, flooded the wildly-frenzied radio net, and disciplined bursts of two or three rounds answered the anguished cries appropriately. The company commander inquired eagerly on the radio amidst the ongoing carnage down below, red tracers slicing through the night down in the darkness on the plains below, and wild bursts of gunfire rattling faintly from afar. Then, the previously unceasing cacophony of pops abruptly stopped, and the agonized rattles of the wagons' occupants died down, the night's tranquility seemingly unperturbed by the abrupt maelstrom of lead seconds prior. Two faint, final shots permanently silenced the pained neighing of the mangled horses for good through the radio, and only then, the Captain's question would finally be answered.
Masterpool heaved on the frantic net, his breathing ragged and his voice unusually nonchalant.
"Avenger Actual, this is Moon River, the wagons' occupants were armed and hostile. They were attempting to attack us so we eliminated them all, break, we're gonna be displacing from our current position to somewhere closer to the ridge, break, I think our bullets ignited the flammable materials carried by these wagons; things like sensitive mana stones or somethin', how copy? Over."
The Captain promptly rogered up, and with bullet-ridden dead bodies of the reckless occupants sprawled all over the stony pavement of the highway in a bloody mess and the wagons smoldering steadily in a choking cloud of smoke, the Deltas on the scene immediately scrambled to put some distance between themselves and the ambush site. Curiously morbid, Sasaki poked his head out of the hole, and peered out into the darkness below through the nodes of his night optics, imagination running wild with the images of the perforated dead and cloaked special operators sprinting for the safety of the ridge. The chemlights tied to their packs glinted through his greenish vision faintly, and they hurriedly relayed through the radio of their hasty killcounts; 17 dead for no losses. The unseen, apparently flammable cargoes inside the now shot-up wagons lit up into the darkness of the night in a brilliant flame of blue just as Masterpool finished a hasty headcount of his teammates.
From the heights, everyone had already peered out of their holes tensely, watching in awe as innumerous mana stones cooked off, erupting wildly in the darkness below in a brightly azure halo, tendrils of blue drawn across the black canvas of the night. Crackles of secondary explosion, like the innocuous cacophony of firecrackers, rocked the night and shook the tranquility, the howling winds hushed by the unholy boom of the scorched wagons consumed by flames. Blackened smoke billowed out into the night in a gloomy haze, acrid and stinging, yet conveniently covering the raiding team's hectic withdrawal back to the ridgelines.
"Hold your fires, gents!" Sasaki passed the word down to the rest of his platoon to hold their fires as the Deltas broke out into a full sprint back to their rally point down at the foot of the ridge, and everyone promptly passed the word to each other, wildly throwing hand signs into the night for emphasis with the help of their platoon sergeant. He picked up the hook of his radio handset, and slowly turned the volume wheel to low as he spoke.
"One Actual to LP, hold your fires! Hold your fires! Friendlies ahead approaching the ridge!"
The platoon leader relayed the order to the two-man listening post of Second Squad through his radio, just as the Deltas below slipped back into their rally point down below – a peculiar tree, with half a dozen infrared chemlights tied to its mighty trunk for marking in the darkness. Everyone was just about to heave out a sigh of relief, when the net once again crackled with an incoming transmission. The coming news wasn't good.
"This is Moon River, we picked up a dust 'bout 4 klicks to the east; likely the escorts these wagons supposed to link up, break,"
The gravelly remark paused, and hushed whispers in the background ensued. Chaos unfolded throughout the traffics, the anxiously accented voices of other platoon leaders inquisitively inquiring for a situation report on the one-sided gunfight prior – it was their first time in combat, anyway.
"We think it's an entire cavalry group – equites, or something. The same ones hunting for us back at Tanska. Our little commotion got their attention I guess, over."
"This is Avenger, yeah roger that, break, break."
There was another crackle on the radio as the company commander hurriedly changed frequency to another person in mind. Then, the FAC's callsign was promptly called out over the traffic in a haste.
"Heartbreak, this is Avenger Actual, I want you to light up those incoming cavalries with air once they're close to the ambush site."
Enzo promptly picked up the hook, and hushedly replied. His tone was blithely nonchalant and his face unyielding amid the jumbled mess clogging the net. Masterpool is up on a different frequency, coordinating and requesting fires from the heavily Japanese-accented mortar platoon's fire direction center from beneath the cover of the treeline down at the ridge's foot in anticipation of the cavalry's intrusion into their sights.
"Wilco, Avenger Actual. Heartbreak out."
Sasaki dropped back into his hole hurriedly, handset pressed keenly to his straining ears, maddened with dread and struggling to keep up with hurried development over the radio. He glanced over to Enzo, and the FAC promptly shot a gaze back, his usually chippy disposition blankly grave through his NVGs. The attached forward air controller had already made his mind, and promptly looked down to his radio, keying the handset.
"I'm going to call in those Hornets down at River Row." He coldly declared, as he began setting up his laser marking system on the edge of the hole towards the darkened world below. Their minds both flashed back for a moment, to the joint American-Japanese class and slideshow brief at Pompeii regarding the formation of a Saderan legion – unsurprisingly close to the Romans. Cavalry units were a major cog in that warmachine. "Once those gay-ass cavalry fellas get close enough."
He shrugged leisurely, and promptly went back to monitoring the radio, listening keenly to the progress of the Hornets racing their way up on full throttle. Sasaki merely gazed at his newly-reunited friend in puzzlement, his face grimacing as he did his best to adapt to the fast-moving combat situation he had been shoved into, so abruptly, for the first time. His lingering thoughts were interrupted, and his mind was brought back to the cold, shivering reality that he is in right now with the methodical footsteps of innumerous giants. He popped out of his hole and dropped his night goggles back over his eyes, peering into the darkness just as a haze of grime and dust of biblical proportions came trundling out of the eastern horizon to the right. He instinctively ducked and made himself smaller, eyeing from the heights the flames of the torches held high by the curious cavalrymen in the darkness of the night, its luminance dimmed and subdued beneath the kicked-up cloud of fine dirt. The men on the ridge could barely even make out the feeble silhouettes of horse-riding legionnaires down in the dark, smoky highway, the still-smoldering shot-up wagons a jarring solace of light in a world of blackness.
The forward air controller's radio buzzed with a sudden intrusion, an unknown voice slipping into the messy net of the company in combat; the rushing Hornets, checking in with the resident FAC, Enzo. The attached Marine promptly snatched away his handset, pressing it against his ears in silent gratefulness, as he listened on to the arrival of the attack jets – airpower, their sole lifeline this far out in the cold void of wilderness. The blank, monotone call for his call sign resounded through the radio backpack, like the voice of a guardian angel swooping in to save a powerless herd of prey.
"Heartbreak, Heartbreak, this is Poppa 64, checking in, 2 ships F/A-18..."
Enzo immediately went into his own realm, his voice quiet and professional in the darkness as he replied back to the jets' challenge, continuing to coolly guide the two attack jets into their targets. Sasaki's weary eyes went shooting skywards towards the stars, narrowing and squinting maddeningly through the night vision goggles in search of the illusive pair of Hornets, hidden somewhere amidst the innumerous stars hanging above. By now, the cavalry had already reached the bloody ambush site, the dust cloud slipping away and merging back into the night as they lessened their movement. Bluish azures, like brilliant lights they are, erupted in bursts of streaking sparkles ceaselessly from the smoking wagons, their dim flames illuminating serenely the faint silhouettes of the legion's cavalry group from within the darkness. Masterpool and his raid force of operators hunkered down in the shadows beneath their wooded rally point, eager to avoid a fair fight. Then, with the final whisper of the forward air controller, the night suddenly cried out into the darkness with a wail.
"Poppa 64, you're cleared hot."
Suddenly, as if to break the night's unperturbed tranquility, the night sky moaned and wailed as the Hornets, coming in from the east after taking a detour, changed its engine pitch into a high whine abruptly. Sasaki flinched and dropped back to inside the hole, his eyes peering out cautiously into the doomed band of cavalrymen down in the smoking highway, his mind running wild with the imagination of the two pilots dropping the attack jets' nose from their altitude high above, accelerating so suddenly and dropping its nose onto their assigned targets through their sights, ballistic computers hard at work. Enzo passed the warning down to the stranded group of Deltas down below, urging them hurriedly to get low in anticipation of the drop.
Then, while everyone on the windy ridge were holding their breath, all tensed up and apprehensive, two five-hundred-pound bombs dropped off the wings of both Hornets and whistled softly through the dark night sky. The unguided munitions trundled through the darkened world, and Sasaki glanced up just in time to see the attack jets' glowing afterburner burst forth and faded into the starry night above, wailing incessantly like a cursed banshee wafting through the darkness. Ducking back down in anticipation, he and Enzo slowly closed their eyes.
Throughout his entire service in the Self-Defense Force – the Jieitai – as a leader of an anti-tank platoon and many others, he had dropped thousands of pounds worth of artillery, mortars, and aerial bombs on ranges during exercises, from the ashen grounds of Fuji to the rocky deserts of California. But this was real, and he had never witnessed so many people dying at once before. Three, two, one... He counted down to the bombs' impacts, his breathing ragged and labored. Then, impact. Two concussions cracked past, and another two followed spontaneously thereafter. The ground shook beneath their boots, dirt and rocks thrown softly about by the impact. Many dozen Saderan cavalry troops, their frightened horses, and the shot-up idle wagons lying close by, disappeared rudely in the flash and smoke, leaving in their unfortunate wake charred wooden splinters and pulped lumps of disfigured horse and human meat. They bathed the highway in a gore of blackened body pieces and unrecognizable organs, the gut-wrenching scene sheathed beneath the cover of hazy dusts and the night.
As he emerged out of his hole, morbidly curious and relieved, Sasaki stared silently out into the darkness below, eyes spying through his monocular night sights at the scorched highway. Enzo was reporting on the radio, relaying the accurate effect on targets to both the company commander, and the two Hornets now departing south in delight. But for the green platoon leader, still in shock from his first taste of the gnarly world of combat, there would be only one thing lingering in his mind. Their stay up north, in spite of the deceiving beauty of the wilderness greeting them, certainly wouldn't be a pleasant one.