A/N : The full title is Chapter 20.1, Midget Porno and the Attack of Butt-Naked Marines but since is such a dick about long titles I unfortunately have to shorten it
Wilderness of the Duma Mountains Plateau, Several Dozen Kliks Away from the Fort. (0320), April 9th, 2021.
The roaring clatter of the venerable Humvees and the similarly loud whirrs of the escorting tanks traveling past through the rough roads of the countryside woke up the sleepy nature nearby and rudely disturbed its peaceful tranquility as the sound pierced and reverberated through the calm air. Swirling dusty smoke and dirt kicked sky high were left in their immediate wake, as the lumbering convoy of 80-something vehicles rocketed past the seemingly innocent rows of villages and livestock grazing on the lush plains flanking both sides of the route used by the battalion, a far cry from the previous scenery of the grassy fields paralleling the stream and its crystal clear water sparkling under the beautiful night's distant stars. They had been racing away from the small waterway and the surrounding area which had been their screening position and closer to their next objective, some Saderan fort dozens of miles away, which apparently happened to be set firmly on Godfather and the Division's CG eyes. Their job is to make sure the flank of RCT-5's and to an extent, the division itself, is clear and the only thing preventing the decision-makers high up from being sure of their flank security, is the existence of the fort in question on their screen.
The snaking rural path was uneven and dark even when seen through with their NVGs, and thus resulted in a pretty rocky ride as the lumbering Humvees and trucks of the battalion's convoy continuously bounced back and forth through the unpaved, winding route. Everyone was on edge ever since they received the orders to move, and fatigued too, although the relatively quiet night – distant artillery and air bombardment relentlessly falling upon the Saderans notwithstanding – did manage to slightly ease up the tense Marines a bit as their respective vehicles continue to bump up and down through the twisting road of the countryside.
The first apparent sign of the earlier aerial attacks soon began to make itself visible, slowly surfacing from the hazy shadows of the dark and into the eyesights of Marines lumbering past it. A still-smoldering wreck of the smashed remains of a horse-drawn wagon lay in disarrayed pieces of blackened splinters and charred planks nearby, the mangled body of its occupants hung grotesquely at an unnatural by the carriage's entrance. The corpse of the horse that drew the vehicle was perforated with bloody holes blown wide open by a Marine attack helicopter gun and rocket run, as half of its body lies in gory bits of minced meats and organs splattered all over the what would have been otherwise a majestic verdant patch of grassy fields. No one knew, whether the dead were simply innocent refugees trying to escape the wrath of the coalition's relentless bombardment, or some slave-owning Saderan lord running away from the consequences awaiting him either in the hands of the recently liberated demi-human crowds or the other-worlder's jaw-dropping wonder weapon.
Still, despite the existence of such a sight by the roadside, the men of the battalion, exasperated, numb, and pretty much desensitized to the horrible images that seemed to have popped up anywhere they went during their lightning-fast advance as they merely raced past the lifeless group of shredded bodies in silence. They're too preoccupied with their forthcoming assault on the fort potentially crawling with legions worth of men to even barely bat an eye towards the morbid scenery outside.
With the 4 M1A1 tanks and 1 M88 ARVs of Lt. Connolly's Centurion-1 unusually placed at the tail end of the battalion's convoy, the crucial task of guiding the entire column through the snaking route of the countryside in the darkness of the night ultimately fell into the hands of Hitman-2 and its fatigued men. Occasionally squinting their eyes as they attempted to scrutinize every detail of the road ahead through their barely functioning night vision devices and without the help of the vehicle's headlight, the platoon's drivers skillfully lead the way for the entire 1st Recon, albeit at the irritating cost of having to endure a seemingly continuous rocky ride.
All was silent inside Hitman 2-1's Humvee, as everyone was either preoccupied with scanning both sides of the road for any signs of hostiles with their respective rifles, keenly studying the maps to make sure they were using the correct route, or were simply enjoying the breezy night, as the soft winds leisurely swept through the majestic fantastical fields and covered their face in a comforting chilly sensation in the already clear, starry night with the full views of heavens above in all its mesmerizing glory for everyone to bear witness to. Just then, a slight, blemish abruptly steered the grassy plains' tranquility away as the brunette's headset buzzed and reverberated with the inquisitive voice of their platoon commander.
"Hitman 2-1 this is Hitman-2 Actual, interrogative, where is the next turn? Over." The young Lieutenant calmly inquired, patiently waiting for their next turn in their journey towards the fort as indicated by the map sheet held in his hand. Nobody was completely sure that the map was right, as they were going to violently bust into the fortifications themselves without the crucial, much-needed intelligence of the exact enemy composition, which irritatingly was further reinforced by a series of confusing orders issued on the behest of their superiors whose competences are questioned and the continuous fuck-ups itself.
Soon, Simon, who had been intently gluing his verdant eyes on the map's zig-zagging outlines finally answered the officer's short inquiry with a seemingly uncertain voice, something rare for the cool-headed competent young team leader NCO.
"2-1 to Hitman-2 Actual, the turn's coming right up at around 200 meters, over."
" It better be, 2-1, I can confidently assure you Godfather's watching." The Lieutenant immediately replied before curtly ending the transmission, silently hoping that his team leader's assessment is true, the correct one.
As he released his grip on the headset's receiver and ended his part of the traffic with a curt beep, Simon can't help but audibly whistle in clear exasperation before promptly shooting a glance to his left and towards the seemingly serene Evan on the vehicle's wheels.
"Dude, I'm so fucking lost right now." The brunette suddenly spoke tiredly, breaking the silence that had been lingering inside the vehicle for quite some time since they began their journey with an ill-concealed whine, something certainly out of character for the usually composed Sergeant. "Looks like we won't be getting any sleep tonight."
"Don't worry Sai!" Evan quickly answered with a cheery disposition that swiftly and temporarily drowned out other noises within the vehicle, as the driver leisurely slapped the shoulder of his team leader affectionately. His speech is exceptionally energetic and breathless, clear evidence of him tweaking on his Rip-Its drinks. "I know where we goin' exactly, we already passed 3 villages and some scared teens trying to lose their virginity in the night, which means we have one more village to go at the turn."
Inexplicably giggling immediately afterward, Evan continued skillfully maneuvering the Humvee through the rough dirt route with a wide grin on his face, curtly followed by a spontaneous snort heaved out in slight amusement. It seemed to be that any traces of his previous instance of lashing out in anger at the layers of incompetence inside the battalion and the near-miss friendly fire had been completely swept away, as the chippy driver glanced towards the brunette for a moment before speaking.
"Hey Sai," He abruptly snickered, chippily whistling towards Simon in an attempt to gain his attention as he quickly shot a slight glance at the brunette through the grainy green vision of his NVGs. "Do you remember that Filthy Frank episode, where Frank and some retarded midget black dude made a fucking episode pimping up some motorized wheelchair and shit?"
Not quite expecting the silly inquiry from his boisterous companion, Simon promptly answered with an exasperated voice as his face turned to meet the grinning driver with a tiredly stoic expression.
"Yes, Evan," Panning his head to his left to look at the cheery driver, Simon exasperatedly replied as he wrapped the map that had previously been on his lap and neatly placed it on the dashboard's holder before returning his attention to the boisterous driver. "I don't, however, see the relevance it has in our present situation."
Before the upbeat Evan could remark any further, something up front momentarily grabbed his attention away from his exasperated but still composed team leader. Just then, the boisterous Evan temporarily snapped out of his usual cheeky persona as he suddenly remarked with an almost robot-like voice towards the brunette, who by now had his rifle and its under-barrel grenade launcher pointed firmly outside towards the seemingly continuous lines of lush vegetations swaying lightly in the night's breeze.
"There, that's our turn." Not wasting a moment, Evan was quick to nonchalantly alert his stoic friend concerning the small, barely discernible through his shoddy NVGs, rural intersection ahead. It was their final turn in their journey towards the fort. Soon enough, the Humvee, followed by other vehicles of the platoon trailing behind swerved to the left, then to the right again just as Simon calmly grasped his headset's receiver and promptly spoke into it smugly.
"Hitman-2 this is Hitman 2-1, we're making that turn now, over."
"Roger that 2-1, nice job, over." With an affirming smile complimenting his reply to the delightful traffic from the Sergeant, the Lieutenant promptly answered with a similarly upbeat tone before abruptly ending the little chatter on the radio net. Just then, with nothing else interrupting him from continuing with his earlier goofy remark, Evan suddenly spoke as he bemusedly snorted.
"Hey buddy," He suddenly called out with his usual cheery disposition, his gaze meanwhile occasionally alternating between the seemingly stoic and silent team leader and the dark rural road ahead. "do your impression of that retarded midget black guy."
Simon stayed silent and paid no mind to the cheeky request from his boisterous companion, as his steely eyes merely spied out of the Humvee's windowless door and firmly held his gaze towards the luxuriant fields of knee-high grasses and vegetation swaying scenically by the path they're traveling on, softly whispering with the nightly gusts of breezes calmly passing through the truly lush foliage. Still, it certainly wasn't enough to make the driver give up on his goofy attempt, as he once again pleaded mischievously.
"Come on Sai, do your best impression for your dear pal!" Not pleased with the silence he received, Evan cheekily pleaded with a wide grin written across his dusty face, as he playfully patted the shoulder of his brunette compatriot in an attempt to gain his attention. "Do it for me, the one fucker that made the right turn for the battalion!"
Finally giving in to the cheeky pleas of his teasing friend, Simon abruptly broke away from his intent gaze on the picturesque countryside outside and instead turned to face the boisterous Evan. The stoic brunette promptly heaved out a sigh that feigned defeat, before suddenly speaking with a brash, mocking voice mimicking.
"I want more pussy," The usually stoic Simon suddenly quipped, his composed persona slowly disappearing with the slowly widening smile contorting on his pale white much to the delight of his driver heartily guffawing. "I need more. See this bottle of liquor? This nigga's midget dick need pussy just as much."
"Fuck yeah, dude." Evan audibly giggled along with his similarly amused red-haired buddy at the brunette's brashful mocking tone as he cheekily mimicked the disabled black character of the show in question.
Just then, a Brooklyn accent-ed remark drifted into the both men's ears as Clancy suddenly spoke up from behind with a chuckle.
"Speaking of midgets," The Corpsman casually bellowed from the backseat, at the same time doing his best fighting the urge to yawn from the exhausting fatigue as he continued on with his remark. "back when I was some fucking boot, celebrating the end of my medical courses during the Corpsman graduation ball at Fort Sam Houston down in the cowboy land, me and some other guys in my classes decided it'd be a good idea to end the day by watching some low-budget midget pornos while being fucking drunk as fuck on cheap beers and shit."
Immediately, the Corpsman's sudden remark and the story following in its wake promptly gouged out a hearty snicker from the amused Evan, as the quiet Simon merely shook his head in silence as a reaction to the wild chronicles told by the uncomfortably casual Clancy.
"By morning we had like bunch of fucking MPs busting through through our barracks thinking we're screening child porn. They certainly didn't expect us to be jacking off while drunk to some obscure midget porn VHS." Amidst the retelling of his shenanigans back in the Corpsman school courses, Clancy can't help but cackle slightly in amusement at all the batshit experiences he had endured much to the bemused delight and clear, wil dismay of the driver and brunette at the front seat respectively. "They had to ship us off early to our new units to avoid having that shit embarrass the whole command. I ended up being sent to fucking 3/3 where I met Evan."
The Traveler merely shot an amused bewildered glance at the red-haired Clancy just as the ever-talkative Evan opened up, his journalistic notebook open and ready for another round of scribbling bullshit on the pages worth of material.
"Yeah, yeah but did I tell y'all that back when we get back home, I'm gonna open a gay midget strip club. Shit's gonna be super fucking lucrative yo." Not even a moment after Clancy finished recounting his tales, Evan swiftly and audibly quipped with a cheerily deadpanned, sarcastic remark. Immediately, Simon, who had been previously focused on the red-haired Corpsman, promptly panned his head at neck-breaking speed to the left as he stared at Evan with an unamused facial expression at his usual cheerfully homoerotic quip. "It's gonna have this, long, poles in middle of the bar like all gay strip club do but instead of fucking fags in bondage clothes, I'm gonna hire bunch of gay-ass homosexual midget strippers to pole-dance in middle of the whole place so when you people enter, there'll be all these retarded midget homos on the strip pole dangling their humongous fucking cocks all over the place while you were drinking some cheap moonshine cocktails in the club."
"Bro, what are you?" Clancy merely snorted in slight amusement as his own response at the long rambling fueled solely by his friend's lack of sleep and overconsumption of Rip-Its energy drinks. "Fucking Epstein but for extremely retarded gays and midgets or what? With all these plans for gay strip clubs and shit."
"I haven't jerked off to gay midget porn, where you, meanwhile, has." Evan promptly retorted with him lazily pointing an accusatory hand back towards the red-haired Corpsman. "And these plans doesn't count, I mean think about all the fucking money that'll rain down, It'll be a great idea to franchise all these shit don't 'cha think Doc? You know what? I'll give you the New York franchise and I'll take California. You're gonna get some very, very lucrative gay-ass territory, looking from homosexual aspect that is."
"Ha-ha, very funny, you cousin-railing KKK redneck motherfucker." With a faked laughter cackling out of his mouth in a sarcastic manner, Clancy was quick to throw the grenade back by simply kicking the driver's seat in front of him as a retortion, nearly sending Evan flying ahead if it weren't for him gripping his hands on the steering wheel.
"Evan, give it a rest already." Simon merely snorted in exasperation at the duo's little banter, his stoic expression notwithstanding as he amusedly cackled whilst keenly looking at the unveiled map of the Duma Mountains on his hands.
The journey continued on, as the lively back and forth slowly died out and the quiet tranquility of the night returned as the convoy lumbered down the unpaved dirt path towards their objective. That is, until, the familiar buzz of the radio once again slipped into their ears, promptly disturbing the temporary calmness inside the vehicle. Simon's lean figure subconsciously recoiled a bit, not anticipating for yet another round of transmission to break his little sight-seeing of the picturesque scenery of Falmart's verdant countryside outside, completely untouched by the snidely effects of modern technological wonders, the 22,000-something mechanized and motorized infantry troops of the 1st Marine Division nearby blitzkrieging their way through the valleys and plateau of the scenic Dumas notwithstanding.
"Hitman 2-1 Actual, this is 2-1 Bravo, interrogative, how far away till our objective?" Suddenly, the raspy voice of his black assistant team leader resounded throughout the radio in an inquisitive manner, his voice meanwhile hushed and crackling from all the bumpy and unstable motions his open-top venerable vehicle had to endure rolling through this piece of unpaved road.
"Negative 2-1 Bravo, I have no idea." Just then and before Dow could inquire any further on his radio headset, a loud pang immediately brought him out of his earlier conversation and sent his head turning towards the source of the sudden metallic rattle, which had disappeared into the night just as quickly as it previously resounded through the darkness.
Swiftly panning his attention away from the radio traffic at hand and instead towards the source of the sudden rattle at the back of his open-top, age-old Humvee. Dow's face, with confusion written across it visibly, was promptly met by the apparently dejected and gloomy gunner of his team, Cortez as the bespectacled Corporal continued staring at him keenly with jaw hanging in the air.
"Sergeant, I just lost my fucking rifle!" Cortez stuttered for a moment, as he audibly called out to his flabbergasted superior with the hope that he'd hear his disheartened yell amidst the rough ride through the countryside path. Speechless by what had just slipped into his ears, Dow's jaw slightly dropped in a stupefied daze in response to the ordeal.
Cortez meekly beckoned his head to wildly flabbergasted Dow in the direction of the dirt road behind him that they had just passed as slowly, as it eventually disappeared into the cloak of the night as if to mock the duo over the ordeal that had just happened. To add insult to the wound, he could barely make out the outlines of his M4A1 rifle through the greenly-lit world of his NVGs that had unfortunately, fallen out of his hand when he was adjusting his quite unreliable piece of machine gun, before it too were swept away by the enveloping darkness.
"Sergea-" Before the bespectacled gunner could say anything any further, his already faint, dejected voice were swiftly cut off and drowned by much more audible remark from his team leader, now staring at him with a dazed flabbergasted half-smile as he glared at him through his barely-functioning piece of trash NVGs, his tone a mix of amusement and disbelief.
"What, what the fuck do yo' think we gonna do dawg? Hold a fucking funeral?" Dow immediately interjected in clear dismay, his eyes firmly set on gazing at the apprehensive gunner as he slightly shook his head in morbid amusement at the sudden ordeal. Cortez meekly lowered his head in disappointment, quite disheartened by the fact that he had just lost his rifle at the hands of callousness. "We ain't goin' back for that shit, man."
Dow simply shook his head in clear disbelief at the passing ordeal, as if the abandonment of the two supply trucks of the H&S weren't enough fuck-ups for them to handle in a single night. He merely heaved out a dazed snicker towards the slightly disheartened gunner, before returning his attention back on his sector of fire on the right, his rifle pointed towards the grassy vegetation and empty lush plains lining the bumpy roadside.
While Dow's 2-1 Bravo is preoccupied momentarily with the ordeal of their Mexican 50 cal machine gun gunner and his recently lost M4A1 rifle, the Humvee rolling directly ahead of them, in spite of the chilly night and its gusting winds sweeping through the mountainous fields nearby in waves of breezes, seemingly reeked off the characteristic energy of an crackhead as the cramped insides of the aged venerable vehicle were suddenly brought to life with the boisterous yet lyrical cackles of a certain upbeat driver. In an apparent opposite of the distraught and dazedly amused men of 2-1 Bravo, Simon's Hitman 2-1 were clearly cheery and joyous in their mood as Evan audibly screeched out his own cover of a certain Tears For Fears song energetically, seemingly his only available cure to push away the lingering fatigue and the snidely effects of lack of sleep overtaking his bodily functions besides his usual overconsumption on Rip-Its energy drinks.
"Welcome to your life!"
"There's no turning back!" Not even a moment after he finished blurting out his own take on lyrics, Evan cheekily turned his head to right towards the silent team leader who seemingly paid no mind to the ongoing shenanigans by his energy drink-fueled driver.
"Even while we sleep,"
Suddenly, just as Evan continued on with his little sing-song session of actively screeching out lyrics of "Everybody Wants To Rule The World" memorized from weeks worth of exposure to crappy Ipods back in Camp Alnus, the previously stoic and composed Simon immediately chipped into the moment, his apathetic complexion and intentful gaze outside as composed as before, a contrast to the seemingly cheery lines unexpectedly chanted by the aloof leader of Hitman 2-1.
"We will find you,"
Evan merely heaved out an amused curt snicker at the in response to the sudden chanting of the lyrics by the usually stoic and aloof Simon, before promptly returning his attention and line of sight back on the rural route ahead as he continued on with the little lyrical back and forth between the two men much to the amusement and delight of both the red-haired Clancy and the albino journalist riding in the back of their cramped Humvee as soon enough, they too join into the fray of badly sung chorus and rhythmic beat fueled purely with energy drinks.
"Acting on your best behavior,"
"Turn your back on mother nature!"
"Everybody wants to rule the world!"
Fields 9 Kliks Outside the Saderan Fort, 1st Recon Temporary Encampment. (0839)
After having spent the whole night rolling towards the fort through the uneven and unpaved roads of the Dumas countryside, the battalion has finally arrived on the outskirts of their objective and swiftly, each company and its subordinates platoon promptly took up their respective positions all around the temporary camp's relatively wide stretch of perimeter. Shrouded under hastily set up camouflage 'cammie' nets, the heavy machine gun and automatic grenade launcher turret of their Humvees were oriented north-west towards the direction of the fort, who, later in the day, will be under assault from the weary Marines of the 1st Recon. However, that was still far from happening, as the morning was peaceful and very tranquil, with not a single living sign of hostile Saderan forces lingering around their position at all for some reason. Majestically verdant grasses forlornly weave about, as the chilly morning breeze of the mountains leisurely swept through the brilliantly lush fields of the temporary encampment, further blessed by the warm, sunny sun of Falmart that coupled with its shining rays, compelled the ever-extending plains of viridescent vegetations covered in moisty dew to brightly shimmer under the orange sunlight.
For a moment, the fantastical scenery of the continent made it seem like there wasn't even any war raging on all around them. The Marines who weren't up on radiowatch, operating the turrets of their respective vehicles or pulling security, were either lounging around the lush fields of knee-high grasses that they had settled on, or were sound sleeping under the warm cover of their issued poncho liners. Unfortunately for a certain Lt. Colonel Garcia of the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion, better known to his subordinates by his characteristic callsign Godfather, that wasn't the case for the commanding officer as he silently brooded over all by himself, his hands crossed over his chest and his eyes furrowing from pressure that felt like it was breaking his back to pieces as he quietly leaned his back against the dusty hood of his command Humvee, situated under a venerable green camouflage net and staffed with Marines, enlisted and officer alike, deprived of their much-needed sleep.
This made up the 1st Reconnaissance Battalion's hastily set up COC, as along with the sing-song chirps of birds greeting the morning sun and the rustling of the lush viridescent grasses swaying from the mountain's breeze, the static buzzing and inaudible chatters of the radio communications equipments all around his shoddily-made command tent obnoxiously intruded Godfather's thoughtful mind process. The officer yawned for a moment, before suddenly shifting his line of sight to his right towards the Battalion's XO preoccupied with operating his Humvee's radio.
An hour ago, he had ordered Alpha Company to send a reconnaissance team towards their objective to observe it and the countryside surrounding it for any signs of the previously reported presence of a hostile Legion lingering nearby in anticipation of their impending assault to secure the fort in question. But so far, he had received no positive reports from the scout foot patrol affirming any possible presence of enemy forces around their objective. This, coupled with the fact that he is being relentlessly pressured by his direct superior, Major General Kelly, to launch the assault to secure the fort that's threatening the western flank of the 1st Marine Division's main body no sooner 0920, greatly irritates the officer, who had stayed up all morning instead of snoring away in exhaustion like his fatigued subordinates in anticipation for an update on their current progress. Slowly, he turned towards the second-in-command operating his vehicle's radio with a firm complexion.
"Get me General Kelly." Firmly and with seriousness in his voice, the Battalion Commander demanded as he swiftly approached the Humvee before he curtly gestured towards his XO to hand over the radio handset to him. The second-in-command keyed with the radio for a moment under the intentful gaze of Godfather as the man momentarily leaned his back against the opened doors of his Humvee's seat just as the radio audibly buzzed in anticipation of a remark, his heavy eyes meanwhile keenly scanning the sizeable map board of the AO placed nearby.
"Havoc, this is Godfather, standby for traffic, over."
"Roger that Godfather, send traffic, over." Not even a moment had passed since the second the XO began the conversation on the crackling radio, a response quickly came in the form of a certain burly, firm voice resounding through the device's handset.
"Sir, Havoc Actual's on the net." Hearing this, Godfather immediately took away the radio handset from the gloved hands of his second-in-command, before promptly pressing it onto his ears as he merely let out a frustrated sigh as his reply to the gesture. Deeply inhaling the fresh moist air of the morning for a moment to compose himself and his palpable pressure, the battalion commander firmly spoke.
"Havoc, this is Godfather, break, The officer coolly spoke into the radio and paused for a moment, before proceeding the ongoing conversation as he slid in the details of their ongoing progress on the fort's assault to the anticipating Divisional Commanding General of the 1st Marine Division, awaiting a report from the hoarse-voiced Lt. Colonel.
"Teams are now out on the fields getting eyes on the fort, break, we'll have complete sit-rep in approximately 5 mikes how copy? Over."
"Solid copy Godfather, out." The Division's CG merely replied with a word of affirmation to the earlier update by Godfather, before curtly cutting off the transmission.
Slowly placing down the radio handset back onto the vehicle's dashboard, the hoarse-voiced Italian-American officer turned towards his silent subordinates gathered nearby with a frown visibly seen on his complexion. Godfather paced around the shoddy tent for several short seconds, deep in thought, before promptly remarking lividly.
"Havoc's waiting," Godfather grimly remarked to his subordinate, his voice hoarse and a frown befittingly complimented his glum disposition as he gestured towards the map board of their area of operation lying nearby. "he wants the fort secured in our hands by 0920."
"But the fucking thing is, some of our surveillance UAVs picked up several thermal signatures around the area an hour ago and if our eyes on that fort affirms this intel as the defenses, we'll be up against a force much bigger than ours." The officer's frown grew wider as he continued on with his exposition on their palpable situation. "So where the fuck are my eyes on that fort?!"
Godfather swiftly averted his attentive gaze towards his second-in-command Major Ross operating the radio like usual, as he immediately gestured towards the XO, then to the unusually silent radio on the command Humvee's center console. Picking on the hint not even a moment thereafter, the Major immediately went to work as he steadfastly grabbed the device's handset upon receiving his superior's order.
"Ajax Actual, this is Godfather, Godfather Actual wants your sit-rep ASAP, over."
"Roger that Godfather, stand-by for sit-rep break." There was an eerily long silence immediately after the buzz of the transmission faded away into the moist air of the shiny morning, as the attention of almost everyone within the hastily set-up COC were intently placed on the radio, the swelling sense of foreboding visible throughout the eyes of everybody that had gathered nearby. Just then, a reply came in the form of a transmission from the crimson-haired commander of 1st Recon's Alpha Company.
"We are 2 klicks out, 50 mikes out from the objective, I say again, Five-Zero mikes, how copy?" The Captain calmly responded to the increasingly impatient Battalion XO, whose frowning superior were mere inches away from where he's at as he anticipatedly awaited for the little back-and-forth on the radio to be over with a visible look of grim on his face.
"Solid copy Ajax Actual, Godfather out." Immediately upon hearing the words conveyed through the radio by Alpha's commanding officer, the Major's previously emotionless blank-face, bespeckled with dusts and grimes from their continuous non-stop journey towards Sadera, swiftly contorted into a grim frown as he slowly placed back the device's handset back to its place before turning towards similarly apprehensive Godfather.
"Ajax's 50 mikes away from the objective." Swallowing his saliva in apprehension, the Major truthfully reported Alpha Company's present situation to his superior, silently brooding nearby as he stared down on the grasses below with an ill-conceived lividness clearly displayed on his ghastly face.
Grimacing in complete silence from disappointment coming from Alpha's inability to scout the objective for any enemy presence around it in time, Godfather merely grumbled in frustration as his eyes, previously set on the ground below, suddenly shot away from the moisty grasses on his feet and towards the small gathering of his subordinates.
"Ever since we stepped off Alnus, these fucking bitch-asses have been moaning and bitching that I haven't given them an actual reconnaissance mission and now that I have given them one, they fucking failed me!" Lividly grumbling in grimace, the battalion commander grimly cursed and bellowed in clear disgust at their current situation and the irreversible damage the severely delayed scouting mission had on their upcoming assault. His attention soon shifted to the map board situated nearby, eyeing it with his piercing eyes as he stared at it with frustration and irk barely concealed on his complexion, his veins visibly popping out on his forehead under the shining rays of sun protruding through the holes on the venerable fabrics of hastily set up COC's tent. "We are outta fucking time, and we don't have any other options either. We'll have to blast our way through the fucking objective blindly and we're going to secure it. General Kelly wants it safely under our control by 0920."
Suddenly, Godfather stopped right in his tracks as he swiftly sketched a red circle around the outlines of their objectives clearly displayed on the dusty layout of his main map board of their Area of Operations. Just then, he nonchalantly turned towards the quiet gatherings of his staff nearby, their varying faces nervous and their eyes set firmly on the authoritative figure ahead of them, embroiled within his own conflicting thoughts on the next course of action as he sulked for a moment under the orange rays of the morning light in silence. His facial expression, previously plastered with a mask of barely conceived furiousness, had now turned into one of resolve and fierce determination.
"Get everyone and their shit together, I want the whole battalion Oscar Mike within 10 minutes!" Turning to face his fatigued staff with visible resolve, the battalion CO audibly bellowed out an order with a rough and hoarse voice accompanying his directive to his subordinates, as he immediately gestured over towards the relatively quiet and sleepy perimeter of 1st Recon.
Promptly taking hint at the face value, several dozens of the lower-ranking officers and enlisted Marines merely replied back to the quite rash order with a curt nod as they swiftly took off in a rush towards the rest of the battalion and its subordinate units temporarily resting in the hastily set-up camps in the lushy knee-high grasses of the verdant fields nearby, each of them bearing a message towards each of the line companies and platoon of 1st Recon idling by, doing nothing in particular as those who either weren't manning the turret of their Humvees, pulling security or preoccupied with radiowatch, were sleeping soundly after a long, exhausting night of foul-ups and incompetence stemming from their own leaders itself. Godfather watched in grim determination as the group of staff steadily scattered away, bearing his message as they all scurried about to the nearest radio for the current task at hand, their faces similarly donning the undeceiving facade of glum and exasperation like their CO.
However, two men in particular stands out amidst the relatively sizeable sea of MARPAT-donning grunts and other Marines that had long dispersed away from the shoddy tent, leaving the duo all alone along with the battalion's commander and his second-in-command along with some staff operating vital equipements. The expression on both men's face is one of apprehension and worry, as they both ghastly strided forward towards Godfather and approached him by his side, the CO preoccupied with the map outlining clearly the objective about to be assaulted by his unit of elite albeit severely misused Reconnaissance Marines.
One of the agitated men just so happens to be one of his most vital staff : The S-3 Operations Officer, Major Andy O'Sullivan and clearly, a facade of worry and ghastly apprehension were visibly plastered on his face as he voiced his alarmed objections.
"Sir, I don't like this," The experienced operations officer of the battalion bluntly remarked, his tone grim and apprehensive on what he thought to be an incredibly rash decision by his superior. "I don't mean to sound like Lt. Superman but Sir, this is dangerous, we're literally going in blind into that fort. Shit, we might even have to fight our way through the fucking objective against a much bigger force."
"He has a point, this is reckless and we might get bloodied if there really is a defending Legion around the objective." The second, similarly apprehensive man – the 1st Recon Battalion's Surgeon, Navy Lieutenant Michael Anderson, merely nodded in agreement at the cautious warning given by the Irishman operations officer. Slowly, the slight frown on Godfather's wrinkly face, soon grew wider as he continued gazing grimly into the map in front of him, simply acknowledging the duo's existence and their concern with an extremely exasperated sigh.
"I'm aware of that." Godfather merely replied to the spoken concern with willful nonchalance, as immediately, he turned towards the duo with a look of resolve and determination on his face. "The violence of action is on our side right now, and with it the elements of surprise."
Expectedly, the battalion's much more experienced S-3, Major O'Sullivan, simply grumbled and cursed under his breath upon hearing the casual words of his superior, who's about to send the entire Reconnaissance Battalion straight into the fort thought to be defended by a numerically superior cohort or perhaps, legion sized unit of Saderans. Still, he couldn't go against Godfather's exact order, even if it's quite reckless as his superior continued further with his reasoning, before beckoning to the operations officer.
"My only request for the Division is for them to allow us to adjust the ROE as we see fit for our mission." Godfather continued, the look of reckless determination written across his eyes as he nodded towards the Marine-Sailor duo, his mind already made up about the impending charge into the fort as he gestured towards the radio inside his Command Humvee. "Get on the net."
Reluctantly, as he held his apprehensive gaze towards his superior, the Major meekly broke off his stare with a curt sigh as reached towards the radio on the Command Humvee to convey the wishes to the Divisional HQ with a distraught expression, much to the dismay of the accompanying Navy Lieutenant.
"Roger that, Sir."
All was quiet and tranquil on Second Platoon's verdantly green and grassy staging position, which had been temporarily occupied by the Marines of Bravo Company while they waited in anticipation for Alpha Company and its detachment of reconnaissance team to complete their survey on their objective for any enemy presence, the result of which will decide whether they'll be going with their current plan to assault straight into the fort or instead, wait for some reinforcements to come in aid to help them with their original mission. Taking the momentary lull as the whole battalion waited for the foot patrol to return with results, the men had decided, in fatigued and exhausted state, to catch up with the much-needed sleep that had been deprived of inside their respective vehicles, the shining rays of brilliantly bright morning light flashing down on rows upon rows of venerably old broken-down Humvees of 1st Recon and with it, its tired men.
Those in Hitman-2 who weren't sleeping away under the warm cover of orange sunlight, were busily preoccupied with their own series of tasks from manning the heavy machine guns and automatic grenade launcher mounted on the Humvees; pulling security for the platoon; jerking-off to the much-traded polaroid picture of the Traveler's gorgeous black-haired girlfriend in complete silence or simply handling their shift of radiowatch. Inside a certain vehicle led by a certain green-eyed brunette, all was silent and peaceful, as everyone soundly snored away in morning's chilly atmosphere as not even the usually chippy and talkative Evan stayed awake, especially after such long night rolling through bumpy countryside path wearily, merely powered by irreverent dark-humor, Rip-Its energy drinks and bizarre recountings of bullshit stories.
Wide awake, albeit tiredly so, were the usually timid and quiet gunner of Hitman 2-1 Kirito, and the albino journalist uncomfortably sitting in the backseat of the already cramped and rusty age-old Humvee, whose theory of origins were rumored by the Marines to be straight from the Corps' junkyard. The Traveler paid no mind to the current miserable seating condition of his, as he, red-eyed from the lack of sleep and similarly shy as the Japanese turret-operator, minded his own business as a meekly civilian in a platoon of elite Recon Marines as he continued scribbling away on his dusty notebook with materials gathered from throughout their on-going maneuver warfare campaign through the heart of the giant Saderan Empire.
The young albino man thought for a moment, stopping with his previously uninterrupted schedule of scribbling as he slightly turned his head and glanced to the right towards the sleeping Marines, snoring away in spite of the uncomfortably cramped interior of the team's Humvee. He deeply stared at the sleepy men of Hitman 2-1 for a moment, thinking of further materials to be added onto his notebook, the only rays of warm sunlight illuminating him and his small sheet of papers slicing through the miniscule bullet-holes left behind during the friendly fire incident last night. Besides occasionally chipping into Evan's little sing-along session fueled primarily by Rip-Its and sometimes heaving out a laughter alongside them in their shenanigans and the usual rounds of banter hurling all kinds of friendly insults to each other, he hadn't really talked deeply with the Marines. He felt like an outsider in the platoon, and rightfully so.
The Traveler was still mired within his own train of thought when a barely audible metallic bang from the Humvee's rusty roof suddenly resounded through the vehicle's interior. Without any time wasted, he promptly snapped out of his earlier thoughtful state and looked up to the turret cupola, only to be met by the neck-gaiter-covered face of Kirito, a faint chuckle heaved out of his mouth as he gazed at the albino embedded journalist.
"How are ya feeling buddy? considering we're about to bust straight into some Roman looking-ass fort?" The team's gunner nonchalantly asked in an inquisitive manner, his tone sounding as if his lips were contorted into a friendly smirk in spite of his sardonically quippy question.
"Embedded, more than ever." It didn't take long however, for the usually timid Traveler to sarcastically reply – a habit picked up from days spent with a certain brunette and his lousy driver. Kirito merely wheezed at the quippy remark, before climbing back to his turret cupola as the journalist returned back to scribbling on his notebook just as a snicker faintly howled from above.
"Sure hope you don't pussy out before we're Oscar Mike, but then again you still chose to be stuck with us even after Italica and that town yesterday."
"Exactly." The young embedded journalist proudly shot back, as he shot a glance to the front towards the sleeping driver, blanketed under the woodland-colored poncho liner of his and apparently donning a soft beige-colored fleece cap instead of the usual LWH helmet which is quite understandable inside the cramped vehicle they're riding on.
He merely stared blankly at the fleece cap-wearing Evan for a moment, before proceeding on with his usual scribbling routine. However, just as he was about to return his weary eyes back on his small but still sizable notebook, a similar metallic bang resounded, this time louder in several magnitudes and instead of coming from the roof, it clanked audibly from the windowless door of Simon's seat. Immediately, both the gunner and the journalist shot their looks at the direction of which the sound emanated from, an action that by now had been joined by the previously sound sleeping trio as they irritatedly grunted in response to the unexpected noisy disturbance. Before long, the three previously sleeping men grumpily woke up with reddened eyes and grimly tired faces, the complexion promptly met in kind by a certain Lt. Mistral leaning on the frames of the brunette's seat.
His face was glum, tired and at the same time, composed and befitting of a fine officer in the Marine Corps. The perpetrator that had been the lousy announcer of the metallic disturbance to the sleeping men of Hitman 2-1 wasted no time as he immediately spoke with whatever he felt necessary to say. As if the gunner of 2-1 Bravo's Humvee losing his rifle – a grave blunder in the Marine Corps, as rifle's a man's best friend – amid the rocky ride together with the abandonment of the pair of trucks carrying battalion's vital supplies last night during their journey to the fort's surrounding field wasn't bad enough, it'll certainly get worse from now on.
"Sai, wake up." He blankly remarked with a hushed but nevertheless audible tone loud enough to be heard by the still drowsy and unresponsive sleeping brunette, as the officer frantically shook his body with his own hands in a hurry. "I need you to get your team ready right now 'cause we'll be assaulting the fort in around 10 mikes."
"I thought we're waiting for Alpha's recon team to come back with their reports?"
"Godfather slashed it, they're way too far away from the objective and we're outta fucking time apparently."
The still drowsy Simon merely stared at him, his weary yet stoic face gazing at the grim-looking officer composedly with no visible reaction at all to the sudden order to move, although his complexion had darkened subtly under the glowing orange hues of the morning light basking warmly upon his pale white face. He unexpectedly replied to the order with a nod of affirmation much to the confusion of the young Lieutenant, who earlier had been grimly expecting his subordinate team leaders to lash out and protest the Godfather's clearly reckless course of action.
The Lieutenant promptly replied back to the composed, almost serene expression of the similarly young brunette team leader with an affirming nod of his own, before hastily taking off from the Sergeant's passenger seat's door as he strided back to the Platoon's Command Humvee with a grim expression on his face and the apprehensive dread and feeling of hopelessness looming over his back like a demon.
Simon, who by now had fully recovered from the previous drowsiness from having his much-needed sleep interrupted by none other than his platoon commander himself, promptly went to work as he immediately shifts his attention to the sleeping Evan to his left, apparently unaware from the shitshow that is certainly going to unfold sooner or later. He briskly shook the driver's arm, swiftly provoking his fatigued compatriot to heave out grunts and groans in exasperation as a reply.
"Evan, wake up." The brunette shook his companion's arm again, this time much more hurriedly and coarse than before all while he calmly urged the sleepy Evan with a composed voice. "We're going to assault the fort right now, wake up."
The sudden escalation of force jiggling his hands and the increasingly hectic activity by the platoon's Marines outside who had just been made aware of the impending assault on the fort happening earlier than they had previously expected – courtesy of Godfather's apparent rash decision – seemed to have did the trick, as Evan simply groaned yet again as a response before promptly rising from his slumber, all while groggily rubbing his eyes, clogged with dusts and bespeckled finely with the rusty particles from the venerable interior of his vehicle.
"Man, what the fuck." Evan groggily mumbled under his breath in reply to the brunette's action as he tiredly rubbed his eyes, slowly coming to his senses after having his excellent much-needed sleep abruptly disturbed thanks to the earlier-than-expected impending assault. "At this point Godfather's playing fuck-fuck games with us."
As he hurriedly took off his beanie-like fleece cap in favor of his much more armored LWH helmet, Clancy, who had been slumbering right behind the driver's seat, joined the recently awakened boisterous driver in a similar state of mild confusion at the increased activity happening all around them as he fumbled around in confusion.
"What about Alpha's recon?" He perplexedly inquired as he hurriedly clutched his M4A1 rifle lying between his legs, cramped and aching from the night's spent inside the claustrophobic interior of their Humvee. "Whatever the hell happened to those guys?"
"They're out of time." The brunette was swift to answer, his voice calm and composed as he slid back the charging handle of his rifle before pointing it outside the seat's window towards the grassy wilderness outside with nonchalance. "They fucked it apparently."
Settled and satisfied with the placement of his M4A1 rifle and its attached underbarrel grenade launcher and his earlier brief conversation Simon swiftly turned his gaze towards the gunner of the Humvee's Mark-19 turret, Kirito, with a reassuring smile on his usually stoic and aloof pale complexion.
"Kirito, range the Mark-19 as far as you feel comfortable engaging targets with." Immediately after the instructions given by the Sergeant were heard by the vehicle's gunner, Kirito merely responded to the remark with a determined nod before swiftly returning his attention back on his automatic grenade launcher, his hands sliding back and forth the turret's charging handle hurriedly.
"Fuck, I gotta take a piss." Curtly grunting with a hushed voice, Clancy quickly flung the door open and hurriedly left the vehicle in a rush with a roll of toilet paper gripping on his hands, as he promptly took off across the lush fields, illuminated brilliantly by the morning's sun in search for a place to relieve his full bladder. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"Great choice! Because once we step off I will not turn back for anyone!" Evan, who by now had gotten past his earlier drowsy fatigued state, immediately replied to the hurried actions of the Corpsman with snide sarcasm just as he took a sip from a dusty can of Rip-Its for the energy that'd be certainly needed later on.
All around them, the temporary camp of Bravo Company and the entire 1st Recon Battalion as a whole slowly came to life, as frenzied Marines who previously had been sleeping or lounging around doing nothing in particular, frantically rushed back for their respective teams and vehicles in anticipation of the earlier-than-expected assault on the fort, which had been put ahead of the initial schedule. Those who were preoccupied with the usual routine of jerking off, had their little session rudely interrupted as they hurriedly tried their best to finish earlier, while those who were taking a dump in peace in the nearby fields, had chaos intruding abruptly into their tranquil morning routine. Butt-naked troops with rifles and light machine guns in heavy gear characteristic of their Reconnaissance nature ran across the moistened grasses in a hectic manner, and trails of used toilet papers and human waste were left in their wake.
Mischievously enjoying the abrupt frenzied situation inside the battalion's camp perimeter, is a certain driver of 2-1 Bravo's beat-up Humvee. Allie merely cackle silently at the ongoing hectic movement by the Marines of his platoon and gripping in his hands filming his butt-naked and masturbating comrades trying to finish their business, is a video camera he brought for the purpose of recording their violent invasion through the heart of the Saderan Empire.
"Fucking Marines and their love for last minute combat jack." The young Brazilian Marine snidely commented under his breath, amusement laced throughout his snide remark as he zoomed in with his camera on the butt of his half-naked frenzied comrades.
Just before he could continue on with his snidely shenanigans however, a force hurriedly shook his arm and a voice accompanying the frantic action in question abruptly interrupted his sardonic commentary.
"Allie!" The voice behind him audibly called out and it seemed at first, to be ignored and waved off by the amused Allie. Nevertheless, the voice tried again and this time however, it did the trick as the Brazilian promptly turned towards the perplexed source of the voice, who happens to be none other than his team leader Dow. "Allie! Dawg!"
"Wha-"
"Move it already, we're fucking Oscar Mike, man." The black team leader disappointedly remarked as quickly racked the charging handle of his M4A1, before swiftly averting his gaze on the Humvee's driver onto the camera held within his grip. "And dawg why the fuck are you filming naked-ass grunts running around tryna return back to their teams? You really are a gay nigga aren't ya Allie?"
"Bro, what?" Taken aback by Dow's quip, Allie immediately interjected as he swiftly shoves his camera back onto his field pack hanging nearby, before finally starting the vehicle's venerable engine with a screeching roar. "That ain't fucking cool."
Soon enough, the whole platoon, along with the entire battalion and its attached elements, roared to life suddenly amidst what had previously been a tranquil field of grasses and dew. All throughout the temporary perimeter, venerable engines were cranked up and an ear-splitting roar followed in its wake immediately afterwards, as the varying vehicles of 1st Recon jerked forward and relentlessly plowed through the moistened fields and lush plains of what previously had been their camp. Greasy smoke emanating from the age-old exhausts of the battalion's beaten-up Humvees filled the clear morning air with a dusty loom hanging under the shining rays of sunlight of Falmart's sun, as they sped through the grassy patch of land in a rush and in its immediate wake, tiny bits of vegetations were flung into the air and dirts were kicked up in all directions from the force exerted by the hurried Recon Marines.
Besides some empty can of energy drinks various MRE litters and brown-stained toilet papers scattered widely around the now deserted yet scenic patch of grassy plains, nothing else remained that indicated the presence of Recon Marines there after they hurriedly left, as their convoy of 80-something vehicle furiously rolled out of the camp's perimeter and into a small rural dirt path leading north eastwards to the fort, their gunners keenly scanning the surrounding wilderness along the route leading to the objective for any signs of hostile forces with focused eyes. In spite of the rocky, uncomfortable ride on a uneven countryside road of the mountain's valley verdantly green plateau, all was silent inside the brunette's Humvee and the only sound heard, was the constant buzzes of the radio coming to life with reports from the battalion's units, the audible metallic clanks of their Mark-19 turret being operated by the gunner and the loud whirrs of the vehicle's archaic engine. Everyone stared blankly out of the door windows with their M4A1 rifles gripping tightly within their gloved hands, their complexion cavalier and composed in spite of the tense atmosphere lingering inside.
However, just then and seemingly out of nowhere, the scenic orange-hued skies of the morning suddenly roared to life amid the tense silence enveloping the already apprehensive mood within the brunette's Humvee, as a thunderous booming screech from the heavens above abruptly swept away the nerve-wracking silence of the Recon Marines inside and rudely interrupted the scenery's calming tranquility in the face of frantic maneuvers by them. It barely took even a moment for the men inside Simon's Humvee to immediately register the booming sound sweeping through the sunny sky as one single thing they're already familiar with so far into their journey to the heart of Empire : Artillery rounds. Everyone's head swiftly turned at neck breaking speed towards the shrieking heavens, just as the first of the shells began to find their marks distance away from them near their objective as preparation for their upcoming assault.
As if on cue with the rounds landing on their distant, unseen target as indicated by the faint booms erupting in the distance, the dusty PRC-119 SINCGARS radio on the center console of their Humvee suddenly crackles for a moment, before coming to life with the voice of their First Sergeant conversing nonchalantly with an artillery FDC on the other side.
"Hotel-1-8 This is Hotel-2-4, Suppress Alpha-Bravo 3-1-0-4, over."
"This is Hotel-1-8, Suppress, Alpha-Bravo 3-1-0-4, authenticate Delta Juliett, over…"
Not even a moment later, Simon's usual aloof and stoic complexion were promptly swept away as his eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion at the conversation currently unfolding on the radio nearby just as the boisterous driver to his left spoke, his tone bemused and quizzical.
"What the fuck, man." Evan suddenly remarked, his voice quizzical as he bemusedly stared out of the windshield ahead towards the sky, bustling with unholy shrieks of artillery rounds zooming past. He merely shot a disapproving glance at the radio and the similarly quizzical Simon, before returning his attention back on the road. "Motherfucker's calling in a suppression mission on targets he couldn't even see."
"Well, that's just wonderful isn't it?" Simon heaved exasperatedly, as his stoic face and steely stare surveying the roadsides for any hidden enemy position incrogously accompanied his sarcastic comment.
Their journey through the uneven unpaved path of the countryside continued on, and soon enough, after several dozens intervals of artillery rounds being relentlessly lobbed over their heads and onto the targets unseen ahead, it stopped, and greasy black smoke billowed skywards in the distance as a reminder of the earlier brief yet destructive barrage. Birds, previously dancing and chipping carefree through the orange skyline, flew away from the earthquake-like booms of the shells crashing down on what had once been a tranquil and picturesque grassy horizon. All along the lushy plains flanking both sides of the road, wild Ma-nugas paid no heed to the ongoing orchestra of death as they coolly continued on grazing upon the knee-high grasses of the verdant fields amidst 1st Recon's hurried assault.
"This is Godfather-3, Godfather's actual has declared all personnel near the proximity of the objective as hostile, how copy over?" Amid the rocky ride through the characteristic unpaved roads of the countryside of Dumas' valley plateau, the PRC–119 SINCGARS on Alpha Company's Command Humvee's central console buzzed and crackled with the frantic yet exasperated voice of the battalion's operations officer, Major O'Sullivan accompanying their drive to the objective.
Immediately responding to the sudden radio transmission through the vehicle's radio, a certain crimson-haired Company Commander of Alpha swiftly clutched the radio handset and pressed it closer to his ears as he formulated a reply. His eyes merely eyed the console with barely concealed expression of disbelief as he replied back to the other side.
"Yeah, copy that." Captain Wileman blankly replied as he ended the conversation unceremoniously. Placing down the handset back to its place, he grimly stared out of the window of his seat towards the empty patch of grassy fields outside, his face glum and sullen upon receiving the news regarding their new ROE.
Quickly stealing a glance at the suddenly grim-looking and sullen company commander of his all while driving the Humvee through the uneven path leading to the fort, First Sergeant Goodson merely furrowed his brows in confusion at the change of mood for the usually cool-headed and reasonable Captain. With his eyes still set firmly on the road ahead, he was quick to question the sudden glum expression contorting on Captain Wileman's face.
"What's up?" Breaking the tense silence inside the disheveled-looking interior of the Command Humvee, the First Sergeant inquisitively asked his grim-faced silent superior with a somewhat concerned tone.
The company commander merely replied to the concerned inquiry of his trusted SNCO side-kick with an exasperated sigh, before turning towards the man himself with expression of disbelief written all over his eyes.
"Godfather's changed the rules of engagement," The Captain grimly replied back to the SNCO commandeering the vehicle, whose eyes are occasionally weaving back and forth between the road ahead and the crimson-haired officer. "he's declared all personnel within the fort's vicinity to be hostile and cleared us to engage them freely, and by all, I mean all of them."
"Even fucking civilians along the way?" Finally understanding the reasoning behind the sudden change of mood for the Captain, First Sergeant Goodson continued on as his face too – similarly like his superior, went from slight puzzlement to clear disbelief at the newly modified ROE.
"Yeah." Captain Wileman nodded glumly at the assumption, as he continued pondering on the subject of the newly-changed ROE and its unusual permission to give them free reign to engage all kinds of targets. "Fucker really lowered the bars."
He silently went into deep thought, his face just as grim and distraught like minutes ago as he stared out of the window pondering in silence and within the grips of his hands, he subconsciously clutched his M4A1 rifle amidst the train of thought running within his mind. Similarly, the SNCO commandeering the venerable Humvee too, seemed to have been uneased by the new ROE. Just then however, the officer's eyes suddenly widened in realization not even moment after he went into thinking-mode and swiftly, he turned towards the First Sergeant with a clearly distraught expression on his face.
"Fuck me, he's removed the bars entirely."
"Jesus, that means the whole place's a free-fire zone."
"I know." Affirmingly nodding in agreement with the statement, the Captain fought back the urge to pick up the radio to contest the unusually relaxed ROE, before turning to face his First Sergeant once again. "I'm not gonna pass down these fucking word down to our platoon. Keep this order out of our comms net. Our guys already know what to do if they see hostiles anyway."
In the officer's apprehensive yet quite reasonable mind, turning the whole MSR and the areas leading to the fort as free-fire doesn't help his men a bit. If his Marines were to blast their way into the objective, cutting people – both hostile and unfortunate, innocent civilians who just so happens to be within the crossfire – left and right with machine gun fires and grenade barrage regardless of whether they're armed to teeth or not at all, it certainly won't aid them in battling an entire legion holed up inside a defensive, Romanesque structure. In fact, most it would do would probably further add the bodycount of innocent bystanders into the growing list of mangled, unarmed bodies of civilians they've rolled past by the roadsides since the start of the invasion, either cut down by the coalition's relentless fires of varying calibers or the retreating Saderans itself.
It certainly is a shame though, his Company's role in this last-minute assault doesn't include rolling into the objective itself though, as they had received FRAGO previously from the battalion's S-3 himself – who in turn, got it from the rash battalion commander himself, Godfather – ordering them to instead break away from the main column of battalion, along with the escorting tank platoon, to set up a support-by-fire position on a small, hilly patch of verdant rolling plains several hundred meters away from the fort overlooking it, with the intent of supporting the main assaulting companies with sniper and tank fires from their elevated position. Still, the crimson-haired officer stuck on with his decision to not pass down the asinine change of ROE down to his Marines, currently driving furious along the picturesque rural path of the Dumas countryside heavy heartedly upon the cancellation of their scouting mission.
Notes (including some that I missed in the last chapter.) will be on the next chapter. As a reward for patiently waiting for a month or so for an update, I give y'all two, very thick chapters with some meaty storyline as a gift.
Special thanks to my buddies Lewistern and capitalistpaintrpyro/John for proofreading and making sure I didn't make grammatical mistakes while writing this story.
A/N : And oh yeah, Lt. Superman's back in the next chapter.