Post by CPL. Victor Halder on May 20, 2011 2:08:02 GMT -5
Vic awoke to banging doors and yelling NCOs.
“Formation in 10 minutes. Loddy-Doddy-Everybody. Get the FUCK up. CO’s orders!” was the clarion call bringing Vic from his entirely too pleasant dream about the girl he had met a couple nights back at the bar. Amber was it? Or Alyssa? He’d have to check his phone…SHIT FORMATION IN TEN MINUTES!
Vic threw a shoe at Stinson, knowing even the NCOS kicking the shit out of the door kickplates wouldn’t stir him. “Dude, get up. STINSON GET UP!!! We’ve got formation in ten minutes!”
“Huhwhatthefuhsgoinonow?” was the almost intelligible jumble from under the bundle of blankets that enclosed his roommate and fireteam buddy, Derek ‘Stinson’ Collard, so named for his wannabe ‘legendary’ lady moves.
As Vic was pulling his pants up and looking at the stubble on his face with contempt, he reiterated “You better get the fuck up real quick like, there’s formation in probably nine minutes now.”
“But its……..its 0330 man. No fucking way.”
“Does it sound like they’re playing around, idiot? Just get your shit together and let’s go. And hide the damn Playboys or SSG Smith is going to be pissed if this is a health and welfare inspection.1 You know how uptight he is about naked chicks.”
-----------
As they stood at parade rest, Vic used his peripheral vision to look around. The whole Cav Troop, every Dragoon that lived on post and all the officers, were already in formation, and the NCOs and married guys from off post were streaming in. Most of them looked really disheveled, and Vic saw a few shave jobs that were obviously razor-in-the-rearview-mirror work.
CPT Jackson came up to the Troop standard as the 1SG bellowed “Troop, ‘Ten-SHUN!" and the click of 83 heels coming together in unison silenced any of the talking the junior officers and senior NCOs were doing in the back of formation.
“At ease! Listen UP, this is your WARNO for the mission I’ve just received from LTC Berk. At 0230 hours the total quarantine for NYC has been selectively lifted as the military already down there is trying one last EVAC before they lock the city down. Our mission is to reopen Staten Island In Order To allow the medical units coming in behind us to set up temporary clearing stations and allow one final evacuation of any civilians in the area. White Platoon! You and Headquarters are getting moved via Blackhawk to the Verrazano-Narrows bridge to relieve-in-place the units there and facilitate a secure Access Control Point through which the medical teams can move civilian evacuees. Red Platoon! Your mission is to Seize And Hold the St. George Ferry Termninal In Order To allow a bunch of SF Yahoos to clear the building and assist with security while the medical teams process civilians for a final Staten Island Ferry run. You’ll be choppered in via Blackhawks as well. 2LT Pritchard will have more info for you.
Special notes: everyone, EVERYONE is carrying a double combat load of ammo2 and packing two days worth of rations and water in their assault packs, Hooah! We don’t know for sure when we’ll be relieved, or what the hell is even going on down there, and I won’t have my boys sitting high and dry for anything. Your PLs will have more info.
SP is 0430, wheels up at 0440. Let’s get moving, we don’t have time to waste.
Specialist Halder, my office in one minute. Dismissed!”
As the whole Troop snapped back to attention and let out a thunderous “DRAGOONS! STRIKE HARD, STRIKE UNSEEN!” and ran off in every direction to begin their preparation for the mission, Vic was wondering why the hell he was getting called before the TC before this mission. As he ran to CPT Jackson’s office he thought back over the past week. He hadn’t been late to formation, he hadn’t been sloppy at PT, he certainly hadn’t punched anybody out at a bar recently, so it COULDN’T be disciplinary. He stepped into the office as CPT Jackson turned around in his chair with an OPORD shell in his hand.
“Specialist Halder, reporting as ordered, sir!”
CPT Jackson stared at Vic, hard, for a few seconds, and Vic wondered to himself if he missed something in his mental checklist before formation. CPT Jackson had an incredible eye for detail, no doubt having picked it up at the Academy like Vic had years before.
“Shut the door behind you, Halder, and sit down.”
As Vic sat down, he knew it wouldn’t be anything bad, he’d never sat in CPT Jackson’s office and the only other time he’d been in here was the time he got called in to make a sworn statement with regards to an accident on post that he saw.
“Vic, I’m promoting you to Corporal, effective now.” Jackson flipped the ACU patch with black chevrons at Vic, who caught it, more than a little surprised. “You know SGT Taylor is still in the hospital from his motorcycle wreck, Bravo Team needs an NCO in charge so SSG Smith doesn’t have to worry about babysitting both teams, and you’re honestly better than most of the non-coms in this squadron. I can do that since it’s a lateral promotion, you're not actually moving up in rank, and I’ll send you off to BNCOC3 and all that after this shit dies down, and your five year non-promotable suspension officially dried up in January, so I’m giving you another shot at Army leadership. Besides, I heard the rumors around the Academy when you got the boot, you were doing what any of us would have done, and I can’t begrudge you that. You got me?”
Vic was dumbstruck. He knew he’d missed something coming in, but Taylor not being at formation wasn’t what he thought of. “Yes sir. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me for shit yet, Vic, If you fuck up your LP/OP assignment, I’ll just pretend I never gave you those chevrons, get me?” CPT Jackson said with a smirk on his face.
“Roger sir, so I’m LP/OP for Red Platoon?”
“You know better than to ask two ranks up what the hell your specific mission is,” CPT Jackson chuckled, “but yes, tell SGT Davis you’re pulling an M-14 instead of an M-4, get him to get you some M-14 pouches and bandolier since you probably still don’t have those from the last exercise, and make sure you and PFC Collard pack some coffee, you’re going to be lonely and tired out on LP/OP. That is all.”
Vic stood up and snapped to attention again and saluted, but CPT Jackson stood up and shook Vic’s hand instead. “Don’t fuck this up and maybe we can get you back into the officer Corps in a year or two, okay?”
“Yes sir!” Vic said, a little too giddy, and then ran back up to his room to start getting his gear together. He had a lot to pack. Body armor, shoulder protectors, neck protector, reinforced gloves, extra knife, bayonet, extra batteries for his NODs and PAK4 and flashlight. Better double up on baby wipes and socks, and his Urban Ops FM, and…….
--------
It was damn hot in the sun, as Vic paced from building corner to building corner and peering over the edges to see if anything was coming. They had chosen a building for his Observation Post that was pretty far away from the ferry station, ¾ of a mile, but it was a good vantage point and him and Stinson could see the main avenue of approach towards the ferry.
They had already seen some weird shit in the half hour they’d been on the roof, and had sent up what they’d seen to 2LT Pritchard. There were several dead bodies lying in the streets, and a lot of very sick people moving towards the ferry. There had been a flurry of activity as soon as the SF teams had hit the station with the rest of Red Platoon surrounding the fenced complex and closing it off and moving barriers around to create an Access Control Point to operate the last evacuation out of. There had been a bunch of gunfire from inside the complex, but even at this distance Vic had heard the telltale *POP* of far off rifle fire, and 2LT Pritchard hadn’t said anything significant over the radio to Vic, just a single terse radio exchange: “Lima Pa-pa Alpha, Dragoon Red 6. Weapon Status is YELLOW until I say otherwise, over.” “Dragoon Red 6, Lima Pa-pa Alpha, good copy, over.” “Lima Pa-pa Alpha, sit-rep every three zero Mikes, Dragoon Red 6, out.”5
Since then a bunch of the sick people had been moving towards the Terminal, obviously attracted by civilian radio and tvs spewing out that the ferry was making one more run before Staten Island went into total lockdown.
No information, no “Hey, the SF guys were shooting rubber bullets because the sick people are somewhat hostile” or “There’s fucking terrorists in here and we wasted them, they started this.” So Vic and Stinson sat, watching but unwatched, hearing unheard, and silently trying to figure out what the fuck had happened to Staten Island.
“I still can’t believe he promoted you right before a mission. That’s like a bad war movie, man, seriously” Stinson whispered with a chuckle as he passed by.
“Can it, PRIVATE FIRST CLASS Collard” Vic retorted with a grin, and Stinson came to a mock attention and rendered a salute with his scoped M4. “So sorry CPL. Never happen again, CPL. Care if I lick your boots, CPL? What the hells going on anyways, this isn’t normal and those people don’t look normal.”
The fuck if Vic knew, to be honest. The back of his mind was running doomsday scenarios as per his usual train of thought, but contrary to the Army’s usual rumor mill, no one knew ANYTHING about what was going on down here. Vic ‘knew’ from the news, as much as any unreliable news station could tell, that there was a viral disease of some kind going through NYC. It wasn’t airborne, or they would have been choppered in wearing full MOPP4 NBC6 gear, but they were only required to wear gloves(and who didn’t anyways?) and have their gas masks attached to their Vests as part of their standard equipment.
“ ‘Fuck if I know, but they look real sick, and we just need to make sure they don’t see us up here or they’ll think they need to ask us for help instead of going to the Terminal.”
Shit. They were lighting those people up, weren't they?
Vic ran to the radio and picked up the handset. “Dragoon Red, this is Lima Pa-pa Alpha. Where’s the fire coming from, over?”
*WHUMP-BOOM*
“ -zhzksh-Say Again, All units this net, this is Dragoon RED 6. Weapons –zhhsszkzhs- AT WILL all hostiles. Frags allowed! Sitrep Lima Papa Alpha!” “Red 6, Lima Pa-pa Alpha. People are coming your way in droves now. What’s going on over there, over?”
*WHUMP-BOOM*
Pritchard’s voice came in static-y. Damn military equipment. Built to last forever, but never works when shit starts going down.
“–zshhszkzh-ong range comms down. Can’t contact Capta –zkskzkzskshhs- fuckers BITING our guys –zhskhzkshzhhs- swear they’re fucking zombies!”
The word ‘zombie’ crept down Vic’s back like a terrible chill. This was NOT FUCKING HAPPENING this way. He was either being paranoid and hearing things, or Pritchard had seriously just lost his shit over the radio and needed to be relieved.
Vic was about to key the mic on the headset again and ask for a clarification when an unfamiliar voice came over their closed frequency with crystal clarity. Something was up…. “All units this net, this is Enforcer 7. Stand down. Say Again. All units this net STAND DOWN. Weapons Green. Enforcer 7 out.”
*WHUMP-BOOM*
“Halder, this is Pritchard, you –zkhhzshsk-en to anyone but me. Kill the-kzhskzskhzkh- if they come close-khkszzzshs- *CRACK CRACK* ot human, I swe –hhzshshzkh” “All units this net, be advised, Total Quarantine is reinstated. Failure to comply with orders will be considered insubordination. Enforcer 7 out.”
“-shzzkzzkshzkhskzhz-ow –hszhkshhzskzkhshzs-eliev-kzshzkskhskshhzks-shit!”
Vic, mouth agape, looked at Stinson, who was staring through the scope down towards the Terminal. “They are turning that crowd of people into fuckin' swiss cheese man. Do we help? What the fuck did they say on the radio?”
Weighing the options and angle, Vic responded quickly and with command back in his voice. “Pritchard said they’re not people. Fire on anyone sick looking that won’t have you flagging7 the Terminal. If you tag one of our guys you’ll be next.” Vic took a knee by the edge of the building and steadied himself against the low brick wall that around it.
Sight picture.
Exhale.
*CRACK*
A direct hit, center of mass. Vic switched to his next target a tinnier, higher pitched *CRACK* resounded from Stinson’s M4. “Hit. Switching targets.”
Sight picture.
Exhale.
Squeeeee-what the fu- *CRACK*
Vic had jerked the trigger and the shot went wide. He stared at the first target (he had been thinking of them as ‘just targets’ since his first kill in Afghanistan, it was easier to deal with in combat and face what he had actually done later) he had tagged, staggered back to his-it’s-feet. A 7.62mm round, center of mass, would put anyone in the world not wearing body armor on the ground, bleeding out within minutes if it was a good chest shot, and stone dead within seconds if it caught the heart. They CERTAINLY shouldn’t be getting BACK UP and moving again. Maybe he just winged him-it DAMNIT. He moved his aim back to the first target and took aim again. *CRACK* center of mass again. “Get up from that” Vic whispered as Stinson said “Hit. Switching targets” again.
As Vic started switching back to his second target again, he stood awestruck. “Stinson, check me, is my target standing again?”
“-the fuck?” Stinson muttered as he adjusted his sight to Vic’s just before they were both heard the telltale whine of attack craft. Vic had time to get the words “COVER NOW-“ as they were both dropping below the wall when the first JDAM SCREAMED into the building next to them.
*BOOOOOOOOOM* The shockwave rattled their bones, rattled Vic’s brains and almost made him lose control of EVERYTHING. As dust filled every bit of light around them they heard a number of distinct separate strikes further out.
All Vic could hear was high pitched ringing as he patted himself down. Nothing broken, no blood that he could feel. He reached for Stinson, who, coming to, swatted him away and gave him a thumbs-up. Vic crawled over to where their assault packs were, wiped his eyes, and put his ballistic goggles on. “Let’s get the FUCK off this building! That first hit was meant for us man!” Vic yelled at the top of his lungs and Stinson gave him another thumbs up as he grabbed up the ASIP radio and tossed it into his assault pack as he followed suit with the ballistic goggles. Vic was proud to see Stinson was focused even after that close blast. They had to get moving, NOW. That enforcer dick had had them purposely targeted, and he had to have hit the Terminal, that's what the other JDAM strikes were... Vic and Stinson needed to get anybody alive out of there and Bug Out. This mission was FUBAR.
Vic ran to the fire exit and saw a couple of peo-targets for now- staring up at him. They looked at him like he was a piece of steak and they were newly christened non-vegetarians. He hesitated before throwing open the grate and pulling his sidearm, a regulation 9mm. “CPL Halder, United States Army. You are ordered under Martial Law to disperse. Now disperse Goddamnit. Get out of here before they drop more bombs!”
1: a common army practice of 'inspecting' the living conditions in a barracks or even the house of a subordinate to ensure cleanliness, health, and blah blah are maintained. Makes sure people don't have too much alcohol in their barracks rooms and don't have smut lying around.
2: typical combat load for a soldier carrying an M4 is one magazine for the rifle plus 6 magazines in pouches for a total of 210 rounds. So double that is 14 magazines all told for 420. Since Vic is carrying an M-14, which is a different caliber and different weapon altogether, it only has 20 round magazines, meaning Vic started with 280 rounds.
3: Pronounced "B-Knock" Basic NCO Course. Most NCOs go through it before assuming any command. there's also ANCOC, which, contrary to all common sense in lettering and ordering, comes AFTER BCNOC, since its 'advanced.'
4: NODs are soldier slang for Night Vision Goggles(NVGs). PAKs are IR light transmitters that are invisible to the naked eye but allow persons wearing NVGs to mark and see targets. Can even be given distinctive heads like a star, cresecnt moon, square, so that different units or unit leaders can mark targets and everyone knows who's pointing at what. Like a laser dot sight, except without the corny movie 'there are red dots all over my chest' scenes before a guy gets shot.
5: What was actually said, so one can understand military radio etiquette: "You, this is me. You can put magazines in your rifles but do NOT chamber a round. I am done speaking so you can speak." "Me, this is you, i heard and understand what you said. I am done speaking so you can speak." "You, this is me, tell me what's going on over there every thirty minutes. I am done talking for now, bye."
6: NBC is nuclear/biological/Chemical equipment. Gas masks, coveralls, all sorts of good heavy non-porous materials.
7: pointing the business end of a firearm at something you don't intend to kill. Not recommended in the military unless you like getting yelled at.
“Formation in 10 minutes. Loddy-Doddy-Everybody. Get the FUCK up. CO’s orders!” was the clarion call bringing Vic from his entirely too pleasant dream about the girl he had met a couple nights back at the bar. Amber was it? Or Alyssa? He’d have to check his phone…SHIT FORMATION IN TEN MINUTES!
Vic threw a shoe at Stinson, knowing even the NCOS kicking the shit out of the door kickplates wouldn’t stir him. “Dude, get up. STINSON GET UP!!! We’ve got formation in ten minutes!”
“Huhwhatthefuhsgoinonow?” was the almost intelligible jumble from under the bundle of blankets that enclosed his roommate and fireteam buddy, Derek ‘Stinson’ Collard, so named for his wannabe ‘legendary’ lady moves.
As Vic was pulling his pants up and looking at the stubble on his face with contempt, he reiterated “You better get the fuck up real quick like, there’s formation in probably nine minutes now.”
“But its……..its 0330 man. No fucking way.”
“Does it sound like they’re playing around, idiot? Just get your shit together and let’s go. And hide the damn Playboys or SSG Smith is going to be pissed if this is a health and welfare inspection.1 You know how uptight he is about naked chicks.”
-----------
As they stood at parade rest, Vic used his peripheral vision to look around. The whole Cav Troop, every Dragoon that lived on post and all the officers, were already in formation, and the NCOs and married guys from off post were streaming in. Most of them looked really disheveled, and Vic saw a few shave jobs that were obviously razor-in-the-rearview-mirror work.
CPT Jackson came up to the Troop standard as the 1SG bellowed “Troop, ‘Ten-SHUN!" and the click of 83 heels coming together in unison silenced any of the talking the junior officers and senior NCOs were doing in the back of formation.
“At ease! Listen UP, this is your WARNO for the mission I’ve just received from LTC Berk. At 0230 hours the total quarantine for NYC has been selectively lifted as the military already down there is trying one last EVAC before they lock the city down. Our mission is to reopen Staten Island In Order To allow the medical units coming in behind us to set up temporary clearing stations and allow one final evacuation of any civilians in the area. White Platoon! You and Headquarters are getting moved via Blackhawk to the Verrazano-Narrows bridge to relieve-in-place the units there and facilitate a secure Access Control Point through which the medical teams can move civilian evacuees. Red Platoon! Your mission is to Seize And Hold the St. George Ferry Termninal In Order To allow a bunch of SF Yahoos to clear the building and assist with security while the medical teams process civilians for a final Staten Island Ferry run. You’ll be choppered in via Blackhawks as well. 2LT Pritchard will have more info for you.
Special notes: everyone, EVERYONE is carrying a double combat load of ammo2 and packing two days worth of rations and water in their assault packs, Hooah! We don’t know for sure when we’ll be relieved, or what the hell is even going on down there, and I won’t have my boys sitting high and dry for anything. Your PLs will have more info.
SP is 0430, wheels up at 0440. Let’s get moving, we don’t have time to waste.
Specialist Halder, my office in one minute. Dismissed!”
As the whole Troop snapped back to attention and let out a thunderous “DRAGOONS! STRIKE HARD, STRIKE UNSEEN!” and ran off in every direction to begin their preparation for the mission, Vic was wondering why the hell he was getting called before the TC before this mission. As he ran to CPT Jackson’s office he thought back over the past week. He hadn’t been late to formation, he hadn’t been sloppy at PT, he certainly hadn’t punched anybody out at a bar recently, so it COULDN’T be disciplinary. He stepped into the office as CPT Jackson turned around in his chair with an OPORD shell in his hand.
“Specialist Halder, reporting as ordered, sir!”
CPT Jackson stared at Vic, hard, for a few seconds, and Vic wondered to himself if he missed something in his mental checklist before formation. CPT Jackson had an incredible eye for detail, no doubt having picked it up at the Academy like Vic had years before.
“Shut the door behind you, Halder, and sit down.”
As Vic sat down, he knew it wouldn’t be anything bad, he’d never sat in CPT Jackson’s office and the only other time he’d been in here was the time he got called in to make a sworn statement with regards to an accident on post that he saw.
“Vic, I’m promoting you to Corporal, effective now.” Jackson flipped the ACU patch with black chevrons at Vic, who caught it, more than a little surprised. “You know SGT Taylor is still in the hospital from his motorcycle wreck, Bravo Team needs an NCO in charge so SSG Smith doesn’t have to worry about babysitting both teams, and you’re honestly better than most of the non-coms in this squadron. I can do that since it’s a lateral promotion, you're not actually moving up in rank, and I’ll send you off to BNCOC3 and all that after this shit dies down, and your five year non-promotable suspension officially dried up in January, so I’m giving you another shot at Army leadership. Besides, I heard the rumors around the Academy when you got the boot, you were doing what any of us would have done, and I can’t begrudge you that. You got me?”
Vic was dumbstruck. He knew he’d missed something coming in, but Taylor not being at formation wasn’t what he thought of. “Yes sir. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me for shit yet, Vic, If you fuck up your LP/OP assignment, I’ll just pretend I never gave you those chevrons, get me?” CPT Jackson said with a smirk on his face.
“Roger sir, so I’m LP/OP for Red Platoon?”
“You know better than to ask two ranks up what the hell your specific mission is,” CPT Jackson chuckled, “but yes, tell SGT Davis you’re pulling an M-14 instead of an M-4, get him to get you some M-14 pouches and bandolier since you probably still don’t have those from the last exercise, and make sure you and PFC Collard pack some coffee, you’re going to be lonely and tired out on LP/OP. That is all.”
Vic stood up and snapped to attention again and saluted, but CPT Jackson stood up and shook Vic’s hand instead. “Don’t fuck this up and maybe we can get you back into the officer Corps in a year or two, okay?”
“Yes sir!” Vic said, a little too giddy, and then ran back up to his room to start getting his gear together. He had a lot to pack. Body armor, shoulder protectors, neck protector, reinforced gloves, extra knife, bayonet, extra batteries for his NODs and PAK4 and flashlight. Better double up on baby wipes and socks, and his Urban Ops FM, and…….
--------
It was damn hot in the sun, as Vic paced from building corner to building corner and peering over the edges to see if anything was coming. They had chosen a building for his Observation Post that was pretty far away from the ferry station, ¾ of a mile, but it was a good vantage point and him and Stinson could see the main avenue of approach towards the ferry.
They had already seen some weird shit in the half hour they’d been on the roof, and had sent up what they’d seen to 2LT Pritchard. There were several dead bodies lying in the streets, and a lot of very sick people moving towards the ferry. There had been a flurry of activity as soon as the SF teams had hit the station with the rest of Red Platoon surrounding the fenced complex and closing it off and moving barriers around to create an Access Control Point to operate the last evacuation out of. There had been a bunch of gunfire from inside the complex, but even at this distance Vic had heard the telltale *POP* of far off rifle fire, and 2LT Pritchard hadn’t said anything significant over the radio to Vic, just a single terse radio exchange: “Lima Pa-pa Alpha, Dragoon Red 6. Weapon Status is YELLOW until I say otherwise, over.” “Dragoon Red 6, Lima Pa-pa Alpha, good copy, over.” “Lima Pa-pa Alpha, sit-rep every three zero Mikes, Dragoon Red 6, out.”5
Since then a bunch of the sick people had been moving towards the Terminal, obviously attracted by civilian radio and tvs spewing out that the ferry was making one more run before Staten Island went into total lockdown.
No information, no “Hey, the SF guys were shooting rubber bullets because the sick people are somewhat hostile” or “There’s fucking terrorists in here and we wasted them, they started this.” So Vic and Stinson sat, watching but unwatched, hearing unheard, and silently trying to figure out what the fuck had happened to Staten Island.
“I still can’t believe he promoted you right before a mission. That’s like a bad war movie, man, seriously” Stinson whispered with a chuckle as he passed by.
“Can it, PRIVATE FIRST CLASS Collard” Vic retorted with a grin, and Stinson came to a mock attention and rendered a salute with his scoped M4. “So sorry CPL. Never happen again, CPL. Care if I lick your boots, CPL? What the hells going on anyways, this isn’t normal and those people don’t look normal.”
The fuck if Vic knew, to be honest. The back of his mind was running doomsday scenarios as per his usual train of thought, but contrary to the Army’s usual rumor mill, no one knew ANYTHING about what was going on down here. Vic ‘knew’ from the news, as much as any unreliable news station could tell, that there was a viral disease of some kind going through NYC. It wasn’t airborne, or they would have been choppered in wearing full MOPP4 NBC6 gear, but they were only required to wear gloves(and who didn’t anyways?) and have their gas masks attached to their Vests as part of their standard equipment.
“ ‘Fuck if I know, but they look real sick, and we just need to make sure they don’t see us up here or they’ll think they need to ask us for help instead of going to the Terminal.”
Shit. They were lighting those people up, weren't they?
Vic ran to the radio and picked up the handset. “Dragoon Red, this is Lima Pa-pa Alpha. Where’s the fire coming from, over?”
*WHUMP-BOOM*
“ -zhzksh-Say Again, All units this net, this is Dragoon RED 6. Weapons –zhhsszkzhs- AT WILL all hostiles. Frags allowed! Sitrep Lima Papa Alpha!” “Red 6, Lima Pa-pa Alpha. People are coming your way in droves now. What’s going on over there, over?”
*WHUMP-BOOM*
Pritchard’s voice came in static-y. Damn military equipment. Built to last forever, but never works when shit starts going down.
“–zshhszkzh-ong range comms down. Can’t contact Capta –zkskzkzskshhs- fuckers BITING our guys –zhskhzkshzhhs- swear they’re fucking zombies!”
The word ‘zombie’ crept down Vic’s back like a terrible chill. This was NOT FUCKING HAPPENING this way. He was either being paranoid and hearing things, or Pritchard had seriously just lost his shit over the radio and needed to be relieved.
Vic was about to key the mic on the headset again and ask for a clarification when an unfamiliar voice came over their closed frequency with crystal clarity. Something was up…. “All units this net, this is Enforcer 7. Stand down. Say Again. All units this net STAND DOWN. Weapons Green. Enforcer 7 out.”
*WHUMP-BOOM*
“Halder, this is Pritchard, you –zkhhzshsk-en to anyone but me. Kill the-kzhskzskhzkh- if they come close-khkszzzshs- *CRACK CRACK* ot human, I swe –hhzshshzkh” “All units this net, be advised, Total Quarantine is reinstated. Failure to comply with orders will be considered insubordination. Enforcer 7 out.”
“-shzzkzzkshzkhskzhz-ow –hszhkshhzskzkhshzs-eliev-kzshzkskhskshhzks-shit!”
Vic, mouth agape, looked at Stinson, who was staring through the scope down towards the Terminal. “They are turning that crowd of people into fuckin' swiss cheese man. Do we help? What the fuck did they say on the radio?”
Weighing the options and angle, Vic responded quickly and with command back in his voice. “Pritchard said they’re not people. Fire on anyone sick looking that won’t have you flagging7 the Terminal. If you tag one of our guys you’ll be next.” Vic took a knee by the edge of the building and steadied himself against the low brick wall that around it.
Sight picture.
Exhale.
*CRACK*
A direct hit, center of mass. Vic switched to his next target a tinnier, higher pitched *CRACK* resounded from Stinson’s M4. “Hit. Switching targets.”
Sight picture.
Exhale.
Squeeeee-what the fu- *CRACK*
Vic had jerked the trigger and the shot went wide. He stared at the first target (he had been thinking of them as ‘just targets’ since his first kill in Afghanistan, it was easier to deal with in combat and face what he had actually done later) he had tagged, staggered back to his-it’s-feet. A 7.62mm round, center of mass, would put anyone in the world not wearing body armor on the ground, bleeding out within minutes if it was a good chest shot, and stone dead within seconds if it caught the heart. They CERTAINLY shouldn’t be getting BACK UP and moving again. Maybe he just winged him-it DAMNIT. He moved his aim back to the first target and took aim again. *CRACK* center of mass again. “Get up from that” Vic whispered as Stinson said “Hit. Switching targets” again.
As Vic started switching back to his second target again, he stood awestruck. “Stinson, check me, is my target standing again?”
“-the fuck?” Stinson muttered as he adjusted his sight to Vic’s just before they were both heard the telltale whine of attack craft. Vic had time to get the words “COVER NOW-“ as they were both dropping below the wall when the first JDAM SCREAMED into the building next to them.
*BOOOOOOOOOM* The shockwave rattled their bones, rattled Vic’s brains and almost made him lose control of EVERYTHING. As dust filled every bit of light around them they heard a number of distinct separate strikes further out.
All Vic could hear was high pitched ringing as he patted himself down. Nothing broken, no blood that he could feel. He reached for Stinson, who, coming to, swatted him away and gave him a thumbs-up. Vic crawled over to where their assault packs were, wiped his eyes, and put his ballistic goggles on. “Let’s get the FUCK off this building! That first hit was meant for us man!” Vic yelled at the top of his lungs and Stinson gave him another thumbs up as he grabbed up the ASIP radio and tossed it into his assault pack as he followed suit with the ballistic goggles. Vic was proud to see Stinson was focused even after that close blast. They had to get moving, NOW. That enforcer dick had had them purposely targeted, and he had to have hit the Terminal, that's what the other JDAM strikes were... Vic and Stinson needed to get anybody alive out of there and Bug Out. This mission was FUBAR.
Vic ran to the fire exit and saw a couple of peo-targets for now- staring up at him. They looked at him like he was a piece of steak and they were newly christened non-vegetarians. He hesitated before throwing open the grate and pulling his sidearm, a regulation 9mm. “CPL Halder, United States Army. You are ordered under Martial Law to disperse. Now disperse Goddamnit. Get out of here before they drop more bombs!”
1: a common army practice of 'inspecting' the living conditions in a barracks or even the house of a subordinate to ensure cleanliness, health, and blah blah are maintained. Makes sure people don't have too much alcohol in their barracks rooms and don't have smut lying around.
2: typical combat load for a soldier carrying an M4 is one magazine for the rifle plus 6 magazines in pouches for a total of 210 rounds. So double that is 14 magazines all told for 420. Since Vic is carrying an M-14, which is a different caliber and different weapon altogether, it only has 20 round magazines, meaning Vic started with 280 rounds.
3: Pronounced "B-Knock" Basic NCO Course. Most NCOs go through it before assuming any command. there's also ANCOC, which, contrary to all common sense in lettering and ordering, comes AFTER BCNOC, since its 'advanced.'
4: NODs are soldier slang for Night Vision Goggles(NVGs). PAKs are IR light transmitters that are invisible to the naked eye but allow persons wearing NVGs to mark and see targets. Can even be given distinctive heads like a star, cresecnt moon, square, so that different units or unit leaders can mark targets and everyone knows who's pointing at what. Like a laser dot sight, except without the corny movie 'there are red dots all over my chest' scenes before a guy gets shot.
5: What was actually said, so one can understand military radio etiquette: "You, this is me. You can put magazines in your rifles but do NOT chamber a round. I am done speaking so you can speak." "Me, this is you, i heard and understand what you said. I am done speaking so you can speak." "You, this is me, tell me what's going on over there every thirty minutes. I am done talking for now, bye."
6: NBC is nuclear/biological/Chemical equipment. Gas masks, coveralls, all sorts of good heavy non-porous materials.
7: pointing the business end of a firearm at something you don't intend to kill. Not recommended in the military unless you like getting yelled at.
