The Foxy Grunt: Chapter 1-2
The Foxy Grunt
Nicky "Darkfawx"
It seemed like just yesterday that I had graduated from Embry-Riddle Aeronautical University. The day before, from Willow Canyon High School. Life just seemed to go too fast. I couldn't help but reminisce on the days of ROTC training, though...
"Get up, you motherfucker!" shouted the cadet officer at my face. He was bent over me, pulling me up by the sleeve of my uniform blouse. I staggered to my feet, trying to get a good grasp of my M4 Carbine paintball rifle, my helmet shifting over my eye.
"There are fucking mortars! Why the fuck would you prone in the open?" he continued to shout, speckling my goggles and face with spit, and pushed my sleeve into the direction of my squad, hidden behind a wooden barrier. "Get some fucking cover!"
"Yes, sir!" I barked, fixing my helmet as I began to sprint towards my group. Paintballs zipped past my person, going by with a high-pitched whiz as the enemy gunner continued to spray them in my direction. I slid behind the barrier into a crouch, sitting back against it as each paintball shot from the gunner made the barrier vibrate.
I looked over to my left, a couple of my comrades, Cadet Private First Class Jackman and Cadet Private Williams peering over the barrier to shoot in the enemy's direction. Between them sat our squad leader, Cadet Staff Sergeant First Class Breston, sitting back against the barrier, hiding in his shoulders as he shouted into the radio.
It was then Williams fell back, grabbing his neck and biting at his teeth. I instantly crawled over on hands and knees, shouting "Medic!" removing William's paws and revealing a bruise, covered in red paint. I put my own paws over the bruise, simulating a neck wound as the medic, Cadet Private First Class Thompson, crawled over with his pack, moving my paws away as he began to dress it.
I looked back at Breston, who glanced up at me, instantly yelling "Get some damn support fire! Echo Squad needs to flank!"
I nodded and slammed myself against the barrier, peering over it, instantly flinching as a paintball grenade landed mere feet from us. I swung my gun over, resting it atop the barrier by the hand guard, and blindly began to fire at the enemies taking cover behind their own barriers.
It was then that a paintball headed at me. The red orb travelled through the air at a high velocity, but to me, it seemed to travel slowly. My eyes widened as I didn't have enough time to react, my goggles suddenly hued with red. I blinked in confusion as I tried to gather what happened, only to be greeted by a sudden, sharp sting on my cheek. I instantly put a paw over it, yelling in pain and falling back.
26 FEBRUARY 2017
1327 HOURS
The hot, afternoon sun brightened up the sand on desert hills, reflecting its heat back up as it caused the sky to ripple. Small clouds of dust rose off from the top of the mounds, flowing in the direction of the wind. A group of shadows travelled this desert, climbing up and down the hills at high speeds.
A formation of UH-60M Blackhawks flew in close quarters. I looked down between my dangling boots to observe the desert below me, and then back up at a neighboring chopper where others let their feet hang from the sides, as well.
"Two minutes." I looked over my left shoulder towards the pilots, who held out two fingers. I then leaned forward a bit, gripping tight to my safety line as I looked past the side of our flying machine, an airbase appearing in the distance. I looked to my right, where the two corporals were also leaning over to catch a glimpse of the base, letting out a quiet chuckle and soft smile.
"There it is, boys," I said into my headgear, smirking a bit. The two looked at me, leaning back once more.
"What do you think, sir? Think we'll get some action, there?" said one, Corporal Ryan Frinnet, in a worried tone.
I looked over at him and shook my head assuring. "This place hasn't been hot in a long-ass time. I think we'll be just fine." I tried to mask my own worries, for I knew this was a new place with new rules. This was no America.
The chopper landed on the warm pavement of the airbase, touching-down with a soft thud. I immediately unhooked my safety cable and jumped off, fastening my pack straps as I hustled the others out. "Let's go, let's go! Into formation! Move it!"
The other younger furs, dressed in their Army Combat Uniforms, marked with one or two chevrons, hopped off the chopper with their bags, hustling over to where Sergeant Davids barked at them. "Move! Move! Get your asses in formation!"
I gave the pilots a thumbs-up as the last private hopped out, grabbing my duffle bag and walking away as the winds from the blades picked up once more, the Blackhawk lifting back into the sky. I ran my paw through my headfur, taking a deep breath of the new air, tainted by heat and sand.
I padded over to the sergeant, who instantly commanded to the formation, "Atten-tion!" and turned to face me with a salute. I returned a salute and said, "Get your men all situated and carry out the orders."
"Yes, sir!" he barked back, giving another salute. After returning one, I turned and began walking over to the officer's quarters. Looking back over my shoulder, the air pad was decorated with other formations amongst my own.
My sleeping quarters consisted of a small desk, a dresser and a twin-sized bed. I closed the door behind me, throwing my rucksack and duffle bag next to the bed, and sat myself on the springy mattress with a soft sigh. I wiped my paws over my face slowly and leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. I glanced at a pocket on my duffle bag, and reached to unzip it, pulling out a couple photos.
I peered at the pictures, and smiled softly. My eyes began to moisten at the pieces of paper: the first consisting of a myself, dressed in bathing shorts, white Hollister Co. t-shirt and aviator sunglasses, an arm over the shoulders of a black fox with red headfur, sporting cargo shorts, a white V-neck, and plad shirt with his sleeves rolled up. Both seemed very happy.
Flipping the second picture over the first, were the same two characters, sporting the same clothing as before. However, my aviators were pulled up, and my lips were pressed against his, a soft blush staining both our cheeks.
I reached a finger up to wipe my eye of an escaping tear, turning that picture over to reveal writing.
You are my heart and my soul. You are always on my mind, and you never cease to stay there. And although we are separated for now, I know that, one day, I can hold you in my arms once again. Rest easy, and be patient. I will love you always. Never forget. Stay beautiful. Never change. I will see you soon, sweetie.
_ ~ XOXO Patrick_
I couldn't help but let a smile creep between my cheeks, despite watery eyes and sniffles. I reached back down and placed the photos back into their respectable pouch as my door opened.
"Captain Darks." Said a raspy, low voice. My eyes shifted upwards to see a husky, Major Crements, within the door's frame. I stood up and padded over, giving him a quick salute before sticking out my paw. "How's it going, you crazy bastard?"
He laughed and took my paw, shaking it, and then gently punched my shoulder. "Nothing much, bitch." He took one look at me and cocked his head a bit, leaning in to look at my eyes as I tried to divert them away.
"Woah, man, you alright? You look like shit."
"Oh yeah, I'll be fine. Just a little homesick, is all."
He laughed. "Already?"
I looked up at him with a grin, nudging his shoulder. "Better to have it now than later."
He laughed once more, swinging an arm over my shoulders and guided me towards the door. "True that, man. But hey, since the Colonel wanted to see us, I brought it upon myself to grab your ass on my way there."
I looked back at my room and stuttered a bit, "But, uh... I still have to-"
"You can do it after. It shouldn't take that long."
I replied with a nod and he reached back to close my door. We then began to walk alongside each other down the whitewashed hallways of the quarters.
"Major Brandon Crements , Captain Nikolaus Darks... please, take a seat," said the tall polar bear after returning a salute. He was dressed in his Blues, Class A, uniform, displaying his ribbons and medals proudly. He seemed to press his chest out as he stood, as though bloating of the array of colors decorated above his pockets. The marksman and heroism medals shimmered against the light that seeped through the paper blinds of the window, a typical feature you'd see in a mobster movie where the Don sits. His nameplate, black, displayed his name in white, bold letters: Huttson. As he sat, the eagle ranks displayed atop his shoulder glistened.
Crements and I followed, setting ourselves in fairly comfortable seats on the opposite side of the colonel's mahogany desk, littered with paperwork, pens, a computer and photos of, what seemed to be, his family. As I shifted my focus from his desk to the colonel, I can see that what he is about to say wouldn't be as great as I expected it, and shifted in my seat, preparing for the worst.
"Alright, I'm not going to sugar-coat it for you boys. I know as well as you do that none of us likes to beat around the bush, either." He shifted in his seat, putting his elbows on the desk, clasping his paws together as he looked sternly at the two of us.
"You know those requests you put in for job swaps. Due to the current times and needs of the operation, they've been pushed aside for now."
"What?" I instantly sat up on my seat. You see, a few months prior, Crements and myself had put in requests for a different MOS. I'd requested for aviation officer, wanting to work in the air control towers, given I'd received a diploma specifically for that at Embry, and Crements requested for aircraft maintenance officer. We were wanting to open up our current positions as infantry officers to younger officers to take-up. However, each month passed, and news just got worse each time, hence taking this as a shock.
"But, sir, I-"
"I'm just as frustrated as you are, captain. The last thing I'd want to do is let you guys wait longer and longer for something you specialize in. But you know the army's needs come first, and right now, they need you two leading those boys out there."
The colonel stood up, placing a paw in his pocket as he padded over to the window, using a finger to push down at a couple blinds to peep at the pad. Outside, you can hear the other soldiers talking, walking by and playing, what sounded like, football.
"To think just last week, this place was nothing but a deserted airfield. Now? It's littered with the US."
The blinds popped back into place as he paced back over to his seat, but not sitting; instead, pushing the chair aside as he leaned forward on the desk and moving a folder to the center. The beige filing folder was labeled with the traditional "CLASSIFIED" stamp, another stamp labeling it as "OPERATION RUSH; MARCH 2015."
Clements and I leaned forward as he opened it, spreading a couple aerial snapshots apart.
"This is Operation Rush. This was planned specifically by SECDEF and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. It's a very sensitive operation," said the colonel, looking between the both of us, his tone slightly lowered.
"We had received intel that Al-Qaida leaders are being harbored at a village south-southeast of the capital. Heat signatures suggest that various buildings consists of large weapons supplies."
Clements stuck his paw out, staring at the photos, his face appearing to be lost.
"Sir, didn't we... neutralize Al-Qaida a few years ago?"
"That's what we thought, too," the colonel replied, straightening up his posture and placing his paws behind his back. "Unfortunately, there were a couple disciples that managed to lay low until the heat died down. Then they began using old funds, not seized by the government, to recreate the militia." He shook his head with a sarcastic grin. "And this is what we get; another clusterfuck to extinguish."
I felt my paw clench, biting my teeth together in a display of anger. My body sat up on the chair once more as I pounded the armrest. "Fucking A..."
The colonel turned his attention to me and replied with a sarcastic grin, "Exactly what I said when I received the order, captain." He straightened his posture and gathered the photos and papers, placing them neatly into the cream file folder and clipping the top with a clamp. Holding it over the desk to Clements, he said, "The WARGO is in your mailboxes. Go ahead and brief your platoons this evening with that. I'd expect the OPORDS to be finalized by tomorrow morning."
"Yes sir," Clements and I synched, standing up to the position of attention and giving him a salute. The colonel sat up as well and saluted back. "That'll be all. Enjoy your first day back."
We turned and walked out of the office. As I closed the door behind me, I caught a glimpse of the colonel just before the door shut closed; he buried his face in his paws, clearly troubled.
As we walked down the whitewashed halls once more, Clements patted my arm with the folder. "Hey, I'm gonna go ahead and finish unpacking. Meet at 1600 in the conference room for this shit?"
I nodded and replied, "Yeah, see you then, man."
He smiled and gave a mimicked salute, his path changing course to the adjacent hall as I continued straight onto my own.
Reaching my quarters once again, I stopped outside the door as a sergeant paced towards me from the opposite direction. "Sir!" he repeated, putting his paw up.
He stopped in front of me, giving a quick salute as he panted. The tiger had clearly been sprinting, or catching up on some PT. "What's the matter, sergeant?"
He straightened his composure as he pointed his thumb back over his shoulder. "Sir, we need some mediation. There's a couple staffs out there that are getting some friction, and you're the closest one."
My ears perked at the thought of two E-6's arguing. You'd think that they'd have some sort of control, rather than publicly humiliating themselves in front of their subordinates. I nodded and began walking hastily in the direction of the sergeant's origin, nudging his elbow as I pass him, saying, "Come on."
We approached the hangar, where I can certainly hear two voices barking back and forth at each other. Rounding the opening of the hangar, I approached the two, surrounded by other corporals and privates.
"What the Hell is going on, here?" I barked, packing into the middle of the scuffle. All eyes turned towards me as I stepped between the staff sergeants.
One of them, a brown bear, pointed over at the other, a gray wolf, and said, "This asshole thinks that he can take control of my squad!"
"Hey, I was ordered by Sergeant Major to take control temporarily and go over those battle drills!" the wolf retorted.
"Fuck that! I'm the damn squad leader so I'm in ch-"
I interrupted with a thunderous "At ease!"
The hangar grew silent.
I turned towards the wolf and said, "Do you have written orders for this?"
He nodded and reached over to a binder that sat next to his feet, opening it up as he walked over to me, and pulled out a paper. I grabbed it and quickly scanned it. Sure enough, the memorandum supported the wolf's claim.
I then turned to the bear. "Did he let you see this, Hughnuff?" The bear snorted and replied, "Yes sir, but I took it as forged. That's clearly not Sergeant Major's signature."
"At ease, Hughnuff. This is certainly his signature," I said, showing the face of the letter.
"Like fuck it is, sir!"
"Sergeant, at ease! I would know Sergeant Major Timmon's signature anywhere. Respect your officers, Hughnuff," I barked, my tone slightly angered.
He then paced angrily to me, poking his claw against my chest. "Listen here, Captain Faggot. I know what's right for my soldiers. All you do is sit behind a line of men as they get shot. You wouldn't know what they need to know and what they don't."
I snapped.
Shoving the memo against the wolf's chest, I stepped mere centimeters from the bear, nose pointed up and near his as I yelled, my finger right under his chin as a drill sergeant would, "I expect better from a staff sergeant, Hughnuff! I know damn well how to run my platoon! My main priority is to get each and every one of these young Soldiers back home to their families!"
The other Soldiers, a surprised expression on their faces, stepped back a bit as I continued.
"'I am an expert and a professional.' What you just did, Hughnuff, was nothing near professional!" My other paw clenched into a fist. "If Sergeant Brings, there, had fucking clearance from Sergeant Major, as well as a piece of fucking paper that says so, you fucking respect that! Understood, Sergeant?!"
The bear growled to himself as he replied, "Yes, sir!"
I repeated, even angrily, "Don't you fucking growl at me, is that understood, Sergeant?"
"Yes, sir!"
"Good!" I lowered my finger and turned towards the wolf, but then turning once more to the bear.
"And even though I'm a "faggot," I'm still your fucking commander!" I could hear the other Soldiers around us chuckle in their paws and comment between each other. "At ease," I said, looking around.
My attention focused towards the bear one last time, glaring at him as he glared back at me. "You'll be speaking with the company commander this evening; a nice conversation on professionalism over a candlelight dinner."
He replied within another snort and turned around, storming out of the attention of the circle, pushing a couple privates out of his path. The group slowly began to disperse, the action having been cooled.
"Sorry about that, Brings," I replied to the wolf, regaining my composure. "That was a little unprofessional of me, itself."
"It's quite alright, sir. Thank you for helping me clear things up," he replied, nervously.
I nodded and noticed his combat patch; a circle with a dark background, displaying an eagle talon in a lighter shade, under an "Airborne" arch patch. "Ah, you must be one of the new transfers."
He nodded and grinned, "Yes, sir. Staff Sergeant Daniel Brings from 17th Airborne at your service."
I stuck out my paw for a shake, replying as he stuck his paw out, "Well, welcome to 11th Airborne, sergeant."
"Thank you, sir," he replied, stuttering a bit as he proceeded. "So, that thing about "faggot"..."
I smirked and nodded, "Yes, sergeant, I am a homosexual." Releasing his paw, and gave him a nudge. "I don't plan on fucking you in the ass, though."
Muffling his laugh, he said, "Yes, sir."
"Alright, sergeant," I said, patting his arm as I peered around the hangar and began to walk away. "Carry on with your orders. And again, welcome to the 17th."
"Thank you, sir," he said, turning to the direction I was going and giving a quick salute, returning one, myself.
As I stepped out of the hangar and into the warm desert air reflecting off the base cement, I let out a long, inaudible sigh, placing my cover atop my head and covering my eyes. I felt, both, enraged and disappointed, not from the argument, but the intolerance of his Soldiers.
Having a history of intolerance, starting with my ROTC career, has left me with scars that I often ignore; but of course, there are those certain times in which I release the beast.
I ignored my surroundings and let my mind wander as my feet subconsciously lead me back into the officer quarters building.
2014 HOURS
The evening was rather cold; colder than usual for a desert. I entered my quarters for the second time since arriving; my bags still neatly packed and room still quiet. The angel blue lighting promoted a sentimental environment. There were the four blank white walls: one had an average-sized window, centered vertically and horizontally. Another had a white, wooden door, next to a wooden sliding door. Those must be the bathroom and closet, respectively. Then there was the wall behind me; a door leading to the halls, a long mirror planted to the right of it, then a good-sized desk next to that.
I took a slow breath of the wooden aroma, which I found strange; given the floor was a simple, beige carpet. But I didn't care.
I let out another soft sigh as I placed the packet from the briefing on the desk, then slowly making my way to the sheetless bed. I sat myself down on the edge, resting my elbows on my thighs and hanging my head. My mind was racing with various thoughts: about the mission lying ahead, what to expect. What bothered me most, though, was Staff Sergeant Hughnuff for earlier... the way he had acted. The words he had said.
"Faggot" kept appearing in my thoughts. The word seemed to echo as my other thoughts cleared. That was all I could hear. Faggot. You fucking faggot. You don't know what's right.
I felt my body jolt, my paws instantly gripping the edge of the mattress tightly as I gasped. My heart began to beat faster, and my vision began to fade. I could feel my breathing get heavier.
"But this seems so wrong."
"No, it's perfectly fine. I promise."
"I... I don't wan-"
"No, you do... just relax..."
"B-But..." "Shh. Just relax... relax and take it like a faggot."
"W-What? Wait... I--.. Ah!"
"That's right. Take it, you queer. Such a good little faggot."
I screamed. Panting and sweating as I felt my claws had born into the fabric of the mattress, legs quivering. I looked around the room. Nothing. Everything is the same as it was before. My gaze came across the mirror; a scarred fox looked back at me. Surely, nobody would think someone like him has gone through something like that. Nobody would second-guess that he's pretty level-headed. If only they knew.
It was then I heard a couple knocks on the door before it swung open. First Lieutenant Richardson, a generic tabby cat and one of my platoon commanders, stood at the door's opening, a clearly-nervous expression on his face.
"Are you okay, Cap'm? I was walking across and I heard-"
"I'm fine, Richardson. Thanks, though," I interrupted, trying not to show any emotion.
He gave me a stern look before stepping in and closing the door behind me. Shit, he could read me like a book. He was always good with that. It's as though he has a sixth sense. He gave himself a seat on the bed next to me, placing a paw on my shoulder. I'd also forgotten he sits where he pleases, but I didn't seem to mind this time.
"Something is clearly bothering you, sir," he replied, leaning forward.
I shook my head and gave him a forced smirk. "Just a nightmare."
He looked at the mattress and then at me with that look a woman would give you when you lie; that level-eyebrow, shifted lips look. "I doubt you tried to sleep on a bed that's missing a pillow."
I grinned at the thought, not faked this time. "You got me there."
I felt his paw begin to rub my shoulder. "What's really bothering you?"
I turned my head to face him. My vision became a little blurry and I can feel my nose at the verge of running. He observed for a moment, and then grew wide-eyed, moving his head back slowly. "Ohhhh..."
I nodded and returned my head to its hanging position. He gave my shoulder a squeeze. "I'll proceed with the necessary procedures. Give you a few minutes and come back with some food and an ear."
I grinned once more, closing my eyes, and nodded. "Sounds like a date, lieutenant," I replied.
Chuckling, he gave my arm a playful slap and stood up. "I'll be back," he said, starting to pace towards the door. He then stopped, reached over behind my bag, and took my black case; the same black case that contains my M-4 rifle. "But I'm taking this with me... for now."
I nodded once more and shifted my head up, watching him step out the door and close it behind him.
My smile slowly faded. I leaned forward and reached into my bag, pulling out a precision cutter, protected by a sheath cover. I brought it closer, observing its steel cleanliness. Slowly, I pulled the orange sheath cover off, turning the cutter to view its sharp angle in all directions, glistening against the light. I could see my reflection along the sharp of the blade. I moved the blade to press against the underside of my forearm. I moved some fur out of the way, but the blade hadn't broken my skin. I stopped, looking at the scars from previous times. Running a finger along the fur to reveal my skin, the scars got lighter and lighter the father away it was from the blade's current position. My gaze then shifted towards the blade that pressed against my skin.
Shaking my head and sighing, I withdrew the blade, leaving nothing but a gentle crease in my skin. I sheathed the cutter and placed it back in my bag. Not tonight, I thought. There was something that had told me that it wasn't appropriate at that time. I took a moment, simply sitting, trying to set my mind on the simple positives.
Standing up, I brushed my pants and fixed the sleeves on my blouse. I made my way towards the door, grabbing my cover from the desk, and closed the door behind me, meeting Richardson as I stepped out. With a bag of food in paw, we walked down the whitewashed halls of the officer's quarters, simply talking and joking.
27 FEBRUARY 2017
0806 HOURS
The dust picked up this morning. A sandstorm last night had covered everything in a thin layer of sand, giving a hot hue. The chow hall's blue roof was now a tint of green, and the air smelled of dirt. Nothing new to me; having grown up in Arizona, this was nothing short of rudimentary.
I walked across the wide road, or what seemed to be a road, to reach the front of the administration building, which lied south of the chow hall. Upon entering, I was greeted with "good morning, sir" in all directions by privates and sergeants I happened to pass. I walked up to the front desk where Sergeant Kiyon sat. The tiger continued looking through her documents, inputting data into the computer, but proceeded to say "Good morning, Captain."
"Good morning, gorgeous," I replied with a chuckle, leaning over the desk. "Are my boys in there?" I continued, pointing towards a conference room door at the end of the hall.
She smiled and nodded, looking up at me, "Yes, sir. They're all yours."
"Thank ya, sergeant," I replied, gently patting the counter before continuing on.
"No problem, sir. Have a nice day."
I walked down the hall, my footsteps a bit louder than usual. Must be the boots, I thought, having bought a new pair prior to my deployment. As I stepped into the room a "Group, attention" was said, and everyone got to their feet.
"As you were," I replied, passing by the Soldiers to the front as they shuffled back into their seats.
I took my place on the podium, crossing my arms on it and leaning forward to observe the elite of my company. Soldiers of all species, of all ranks, dressed in their combat attire as though ready to engage the mission. In front of my arms, I pressed the projector button, turning on the overhead projector to illuminate a screen on the white sheet that hung behind me. I took another moment to look around; trying to pick out those that may not come back today.
It's difficult to think that way; that an officer, or any leader for that matter, can be one-hundred percent assured that all their Soldiers will return safely from a mission of this degree. That's what the army teaches us to believe. However, despite the vast amounts of training that the higher-ups throw at these guys, there's always a situation that prevents at least the one poor Soldier from returning back to their family. But who knows... maybe this will be a flawless objective.
I straightened my posture and picked up the slide clicker that someone had placed neatly on the podium. "Good morning, company," I said, moving next to the white sheet.
"Good morning, sir," they chorused back.
I felt my lips form into a weak smirk. "We got word from HQ that some Al-Qaida stragglers had managed to keep refuge a few years ago and had, since then, acquired WMDs."
First Sergeant Roosevelt of Charlie Company dimmed the lights as I pressed the clicker, a thermal image of, what seems to be, an underground bunker. The images were dark, but where speckled with white that formed walls, enemies and other objects.
"We don't know the danger of these WMDs. They can be simple Inter-continental Missiles up to a couple Black Missiles."
Quiet chatter began upon the mention of "Black Missiles." These were missiles that scientists had accidentally stumbled upon three years ago after a mishap from the Large Hadron Collider, located in Switzerland. Multiple particle collisions, instead of the safe one, had occurred in a chamber, causing a miniature black hole. This black hole caused the electronics in all of Western Europe to fail, and wiped out a third of the Swiss population.
Since then, all particle acceleration projects have been outlawed and disbanded. However, few scientists continued to work under secrecy, and had found ways make clashing particles collide within a warhead. When this warhead is ignited, it forms a black hole, that slightly larger than that from the mishap in Switzerland. The missile was used only once, in the Korean-Chinese War, where the Chinese set-off a Black Missile over North Korea, wiping out half its population and neutralizing it entirely. It was destruction worse than that of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in World War II.
The Soldiers were clearly troubled. The idea that a guerilla force with WMDs such as that is sure to cause problems. What concerned me was the fact that intel wasn't exactly accurate as to what WMDs they actually had. Doubt lied that urban forces such as Al-Qaida would have such weapons, but it was still unsettling.
"At ease," I said, trying to calm my own thoughts. "As I was saying, this bunker is located about 20 miles, 6 clicks due west of Baghdad. The surface obstruction is surrounded by enemy forces with mounted machine guns and steel barriers."
As I continued, the photo slideshow progressed behind me, showing visual aid, then freezing on a recon photo of a coyote, dressed in multicam attire.
"This is Muhammad Ali Quido, the figurehead of this whole operation. What we need to do is capture him, neutralize the area, and acquire control of the weapons. We will do so by launching Big Bird around 2300 hours and dropping in at about 2330 hours."
I turned to the squad leaders seated alongside the aisle. "Each squad will have a DZ around the perimeter. Squad leaders, you know what to do. 2nd platoon squad 3 and 1st platoon squads 1 and 5 will be accompanied by one of us on company staff."
I moved back to my position behind the podium, leaning forward on it. "This is a sensitive mission, Rangers. Stay on high-alert and kick some ass, hooah."
The room repeated with an echoing "hooah." "On your feet," I replied, standing at attention myself.
"I'll see you all tonight at 1700 for the final OPORD. Dismissed."
The room began shuffling, as well as chatter, and I grabbed the papers and folder that had been set for me on the podium. While I waited for the room to clear, standing-by for any questions my platoon commanders had, I skimmed through one of the papers amongst the pile. Once again leaning forward onto my elbows atop the podium, I held the paper out. It was a list of other units that would be in the operation with us. Supply units, communications units, security units, even a squad of aviators.
I chuckled soft-heartedly at the sight of a diver unit. What do they expect to do... flop in their wetsuits on the sand? I thought. In either case, this mission seemed to have more importance than the colonel had given the impression of.
27 FEBRUARY 2017
2320 HOURS
The plane roared within the cabin and the single light gave everything an orange hue. It was dark and quiet amongst the Soldiers. I looked around, holding on to the loop that hung from above, and then at my watch. Speaking just loud enough to be heard over the plane's low murmur, I stuck up my paw.
"Five minutes!"
The plane shook in turbulence, causing the heads of the Soldiers to rock from side to side in unison. Their faces looked determined. They have been training for missions like this. It seemed simple enough, but there still was that doubt in my mind.
At that moment, the plane rattled a bit more than it would have if it was turbulence. I peered out the small, round window behind me, only to squint away from a blinding flash. I looked away rubbing my eyes with my other paw. Chatter started amongst the others.
"What the fuck was that?" "That was a big flash." "I wasn't expecting a storm, tonight."
The plane rattled again as another flash brightened up the cabin from that window. The sound of the plane's engine grew louder and the feeling of gravity took place as I felt force push down against me. The cargo bay of the cabin began to open. The sound of wind rushing past the plane and quiet bangs could be heard.
I looked at my watch again in confusion. We still have five more minutes... what the Hell's going on? Over my headset, the pilot stressed, "You need to jump now! They're firing some sort of... flash missiles at us!"
I looked up at the bulb above the open cargo bay door as it lit bright amber. "Roger," I replied, taking the headset off.
"Alright, Rangers," I yelled, standing up. "Line-up, let's go! We're moving out!"
The others quickly got up, holding their safety packs to their chest, and lined up behind each other, closely, and keeping their heads bowed slightly. I walked up and down the line, ensuring the safety cable was hooked to each of my Soldiers. As I did so, I gave the platoon commander a thumbs-up.
Returning back to my position by the cargo bay door, I held to the bar, and looked up at the red light. It then changed to a bright green. Instantly, I waved them to jump, repeating "Go, go, go!"
One by one, they jump from the cargo bay door, a line of falling bodies and parachutes under the trail of the plane. As the last Soldier jumped out, I tightened my own chute, pressing a button near the bar that would send a buzz to the pilot, signaling that all have jumped.
I then made my leap.
At first, the free-falling effect made my stomach soar, but then quickly adjusted myself so that I may pull the cord. At the moment of pulling the cord, my mind began racing with thoughts in the fraction of a second. What if this doesn't deploy... what if the safety doesn't deploy... Shit, I hope those missiles stay clear of us. I heard a loud ruffling noise, followed by being dragged upwards. I clung to my stabilizing cords and looked up at the round, white parachute bringing me safely down. A bit beside that, I can see the strobe lights of the C-130 fly away from the area.
It was then I heard a quiet zipping noise, and a small bang. Another blinding ball of light appeared next to the aircraft, but it kept on moving. I rubbed my eyes once more, shaking off the dots left behind in my vision from the blast.
From then, there was no sound except the quiet flapping of the round parachute; below me in the dark landscape, a row of round white 'chutes progressively getting smaller. The DZ came into sight; a small clearing surrounded by a formation of hills.
Just before hitting the ground, I flared my parachute and landed with a quiet thud. Ditching my 'chute, I slung my rifle to my front as I stepped over to the squad leader. Staff Sergeant York was kneeled in the center of his squad as they maintained 360-degree cover. Next to him was Corporal Nyugen, who was the squad navigator. They waited for me to approach as Nyugen unfolded the mission map.
I kneeled down next to them, resting the front hand guard of my rifle on my thigh. "What do we got?"
"Sir, we're about a half mile away from the objective at 214 degrees true. The RP is a quarter mile in the same direction, located behind this cluster of ridges," the corporal whispered, pointing to the objective, rendezvous and DZ points on the map. "Roger that," I said, looking at my watch. 2326. We were still a bit early.
"We're going to go ahead and proceed with 'Go' status, roger?" I said, looking over at York. He nodded and replied, "Roger, sir."
He let out a quiet whistle to capture the squad's attention and motioned his paw up towards the hill. The squad quickly shuffled together in a line formation, York and myself in front. As we approached the top of the hill, we went into a prone, keeping our heads down as our view began to peer over the objective area.
At that moment, a bit in the distance, shots that appeared as white arrows, began shooting into the sky, exploding into small balls of light. These shots seemed to be firing at a Chinook. At that moment, a light ball engulfed the chopper, followed by a large, fiery explosion. I couldn't believe my eyes. The objective, which was supposed to be a simple raid of a guerilla force's weapons shack had escalated into trying to infiltrate a fully-equipped base. Spot lights were scanning the grounds around the area, and vehicles could be seen driving around its perimeter.
I froze.
The platoon leader, also in a trance, looked over at me. "S-Sir?"
"York."
"Y-Yes, sir?"
"I think this mission just became much more fucking difficult..."