FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Four days. It took me all of four days to HATE Iraq. Several of the senior Non-Coms (also known as NCOs, Non-Commissioned Officers, those ranked corporal and up) had been here before and laughed at the younger soldiers, while secretly counting the days to their End of Active Service.

The first thing to understand is that in summer, it is HOT here. Up to one hundred and thirty some days, and that is in the shade. Air conditioning does not work in barracks most of the time, and when it does, it just stirrs the air that smells like stale sweat, crap, and booze. I had to bunk in the same place as Captain Gabriella Prowler's troops, which was with EVERYONE ELSE, about ninety people crammed into as many beds. The fun part? The barracks held one hundred and ninety people, with half that many beds. We took turns. Those on night shifts and patrols would come back and kick us out in the morning, meaning there was never a cool bed and pillow to come back to, and it always stank of whoever else was there last and couldn't be bothered to shower.

The squad I was attached to was a small eight-soldier unit lead by Sergeant Baker, a muscular Rhino who happened to be the ground-fighting champion. The remainder of the squad was a motly mix who I had had the chance to interview over the past few days, and most of them either didn't care I was there, or figured I was just a helpless package to be handled. It took me a few hours to get that remark, I am ashamed to admit. Apparently innocence does not get maintained by soldiers for long, and I felt mine slipping away by the hour.

However, it was what was going on right now that was putting a cap on it all. I was stripped down to a tank-top, sweating buckets, while holding a standard issue Beretta Pistol that felt like it weighed fifty pounds after four hours and eight hundred rounds. Sergeant Baker had taken an instant and profound dislike to me, and the hulking Rhino was not someone I wanted to aggravate. I had already put in four hours yesterday in hand-to-hand combat. Why would I EVER need hand to hand combat?!? I was a journalist and reporter, not a commando! But since I would be going into an active combat zone alongside them, they said I needed a basic understanding of everything they did so that I could keep up with them. My job, however, was to keep my head down and take pictures after the fact. The fact being bullets, blood, and insults in several languages.

"Draw! Ready! Aim! Fire!"

I pulled the trigger again. And again. And again... over and over, slowly until the clip was empty. Seventeen round magazine, as the little ammo box was called, and my ears were ringing even through the plugs. Peering down range, the target had two holes in it, the rest of the rounds having kept going on their journey to the end of the... wherever they went.

Sergeant Baker looked down the range through his binoculers, and then growled. "EIGHT HUNDRED ROUNDS AND YOU CANNOT SHOOT STRAIGHT!" he shouted at me, before pulling me up. "Time is up. Get your ass back inside, get some chow, and then do whatever you gotta do with your computer for your work.

That was how it had been for the last few days, and how it would be for the next week and a half at least. I had sent one terse message to my boss, but had gotten no reply as of yet to it. Presumably, he was on that vacation he had told me about, and everyone else there was hanging out in the nice... air conditioned... office...

My mouth would have watered at the thought of a room that was less than a hundred degrees, but I was parched bone dry by the oppressive heat and dry air. Did I mention that it was hot?

The inside of the barracks that I was staying in was still hot, but at least there was a tiny trickle of cool air as I sat at my computer to write up everything I had done today. When I got home, I would take everything I wrote, boil it down to the best bits, and create a great article from it. The next three hours were easy, as I typed away and got all the thoughts inside of my head out of it, until the rest of the squad and the company retured to the barracks from training. The voice of Captain Prowler pulled me out of my little world, however.

"Alright! Listen up everyone, and that includes you, Journalist!"

I stood and went over to the rest of the assembled soldiers, looking at the captain. She cleared her throat and continued, reading off of a sheet of paper on a brown clipboard.

"We are a GO for mission! At exactly Zero Dark Fourty-Five, Alpha Company will move in with two divisions and an armor collum from the Iraqi Security Force towards the north edge of the city, where they will engage the defenders. Ten minutes after that or when given the go-ahead, whichever comes first, my rangers, led by myself, will infiltrate in the south-west side of the city by way of a local resident who is sympathetic to our cause. He will smuggle us into the city past the defenders using a truck carrying weapons and ammunition to the ISIS defenders. Derrelki, you will be coming with us. I know this is a bit of a change, but this is your job. There will be active fighting in the streets, so keep your DAMN head down! Your scales are black, so you should blend in fine, but stay in the middle of our group."

"Now," she said, pulling down a chart as we all watched, "The truck will suffer a faked breakdown here in the road, at which time we will pop smoke grenades to cover our infiltration. The local will make his own way out as he insisted, while we work our way north along the side streets and alleys to the police station, where a militant by the name of Albuier Sal-Muha is holed up. We go in, we eliminate him, and then extract via helicopter from the roof. Troops will be suppressing nearby militants, meaning we should make a clean getaway. Any questions?" she said, in a voice that clearly said the correct answer was no.

As much as I wanted to raise my hand, I did not. Perhaps I should have, but right now my heart was beating with excitement. I mean, sure it could be dangerous, but the action was where all the best stories were at! And I would be in the MIDDLE of it all! I could name at least ten of my co-workers who would have traded their own mothers for this chance. I was, of course, not one of them.

Everyone remained silent, and after a moment she nodded. "Then get to it! We head out in six hours!"

0037 Hours

1 mile South-West of Ramadi

75th Rangers, CO Cpt. Prowler

To be honest, I was scared as hell, and I honestly could not think who figured this was a good idea. I was huddled in the back of a truck that seemed to have been made in 1966 Soviet Russia by the sound of its rattling, my teeth chattering in the night chill, and the sounds of soft breathing all around me as the ranger team checked their weapons under the thick tarp that covered us all. Crates were stacked around us, and the butt end of a Rocket Launcher was digging into my back. I was NOT a soldier, and I was rapidly realizing that this assignment... would probably not be as fun to do as I had thought at first.

Everyone had silencers on their rifles, and I had been told to keep my pistol unloaded, both for their sake and my own lest I accidently discharge it. The body armor I wore, while heavy, suddenly felt like tissue paper as I heard the sounds of distant gunfire to the north. Every once in a while, there was a bright flash in the sky as a flare went off, illuminating the bit of the city I could see through a gap in the tarp. The truck rumbled to a stop as there were a few shouts.

"Tawaqqaf Sayaratuk!" came a voice from outside. As the vehicle sighed to a stop, we all held our breaths, hoping our driver pulled through and managed to get us inside.

`Ana 'ahmil al'aslihat wal'iimdadat." This coming from our driver, I still had no idea what they were saying to eachother. I honestly prayed that it was something along the lines of "No americans in here".

Finally, there were the sounds of heavy boots, and a corner of the tarp was pulled up. I recognized a golden ring that our driver was wearing, and the Captain tensed. The Rocket Launcher was pulled out, and there was a whistle from outside, before a heavy weight struck Private Miko, our Assaultman, in the side of the head. To his credit, the Salamander didn't make a sound, although even in the gloom I could see his eyes watering.

After another few minutes, the truck kept going into the city. The sounds of fighting remained at about the same volume until I heard my radio earbud open up.

"Alright... all of you, thirty seconds. Derrelki, you stay put until we call for you to come out. Remember, shoot pictures, not bullets. If you get shot, that means one of us has to carry you out, and that screws the rest of us pretty hard. Corporal Shrike," she said, addressing our Sniper. "You get up onto a rooftop and shadow us. Provide overwatch, and move fast and quiet. You are our eyes and ears."

Shrike nodded. "Copy that, Cap'n!"

Sergeant Baker grunted. "And DAMMIT Derrelki! Keep your goddamn head down."

I gulped. "Yeah... I mean, yes sir!"

I was following in the steps of photographers, reporters, and journalists dating back to the Revolutionary war and before. They had risked life and limb to get the freshest scoop, to find the truth littered across a battlefield, and to make sure the public back home knew what their loved ones were doing.

Finally, the moment came. There was a loud fizzle noise from the front of the truck, and Sergeant Baker threw the tarp off of us all. I could not see what happened next, but he gave a muffled curse and fired two quick shots before Private Sybil popped three of her smoke grenades, throwing them in all directions. Her eagle eyes peered around the edge of the truck bed before she jumped out, soft "Thip-Thip-Thip!" sounds marking her shots as she fired on unseen assailents. The rest of the squad all jumped out, save the medic, Lieutenant Phylus. The aging phoenix may have been an officer, but he had enough pull up the chain of command and enough respect for Captain Prowler to have gotten himself picked for her chalk. He looked over and grimaced at me.

"Dont worry kid. I hate this part too. I might serve in the front lines, but I don't fight unless I have to in defense of the wounded."

In all four days I had spent with this squad and company, I never was able to get a read on Phylus. Everyone said he could perform a field tracheotomy with nothing but a foot of clean tubing and a ball point pen, and could pull off a full heart transplant in the middle of combat, but he never bragged and usually kept to himself. I was fairly sure the heart transplant rumor was just that though, a rumor.

It seemed nearly an hour, even if my lying watch insisted it was only fourty five seconds, before Captain Prowler said "Derrelki! Doc! Time to move!"

I poked my head up, seeing about eight bodies lying in the street, all with desert clothing and a variety of weaponry. Somehow, they had not even managed to get a shot off. Corporal Shrike was already gone, and Private Willis was scanning up the road, before nodding. "This way, Captain, I think it is. Police Station should be eight blocks forward, then take a left for two blocks."

Captain Prowler nodded. "Miko, Take point. Sybil, get his six. Davies, get on your radio and let Command know we are in. Doc, you and the reporter stay on my ass! Derrelki, I swear if you take more than six steps from me, I will have your balls for beans. Clear?"

I nodded, my heart still racing as I looked at the corpses on the ground. "I.. y-yes, Captain."

We all took off up the street, and I took advantage of the quiet to make sure my Go-Pro camera was working. In addition, I double-checked to make sure my high-gain microphone was clipped to my helmet, which it was (fortunately, since it was a 300 dollar piece of equipment) and adjusted correctly.

Every once in a while, Shrike called in over the radio to get us to hide in an alley while a patrol ran by, heading towards gunfire or towards some other emergency. During those moments, I took the chance to snap pictures with my digital camera, although I had trouble getting my hands to stand still.

Finally, we came upon a bombed-out building that seemed to be our target, according to Sergeant Baker. "Looks pretty quiet, Cap" he said, looking at Captain Prowler. She nodded.

"A bit too quiet for my tastes. Still, that is our objective, and I'll be damned if my first field op here ends in a foxtrot."

I looked to my left at the squad mechanic, Private Samantha. She preffered to go by Sam, and her wolf-ears were perked forward. "Foxtrot?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fuck-up. Letter F is Foxtrot, everyone's favorite term. Now shut it!" she hissed.

After a few moments of checking her map, Captain Prowler seemed to reach a decision. "Alright... Baker, you and Willis go first, walk across real casual like you belong. If you take fire, then run. Once you have eyes inside that window, let us know what you see. If it looks good, then Sybil and Samantha, you go. Then Me, Doc, the Journalist, and Davies. Shrike, you keep eyes up high."

Everyone confirmed their orders, and then Baker and Willis stepped out. At the lack of gunfire, they began to shuffle across the street, looking around and getting a good view. After a moment, Samantha chuckled at something she saw around the corner. "One of the wrap-heads just waved at them... dumbasses. Cap'n, looks like we got a bunch of idiots on their end, good news for us huh?"

"Stow it... alright, thats them waving. Move out!"

At my turn, I ran across the road with them, staying close to the captain and looking down the street. There were about ten militants down the street, but none of them were looking in our direction at the moment. Finally, I was next to the window with everyone else.

"Captain, I got eyes on six tangos inside. Thermal from a UAV shows seventeen hostiles inside, and a flyover showed that the Victor India Papa is in the house, on the second floor. Only one way in though."

Captain Prowler nodded, and I took the opportunity to catch a picture of her face, half in the dark, half illuminated by a flare. There was a small splash of blood from the earlier firefight near the truck across her cheek, but her expression stated that she was a trained killer. This was going on the top of the article.

I could already see the title of it. "Up and coming Ranger Captain leads team to Victory in Ramadi, Takes out Tango."

These things really did write themselves sometimes.

Finally, she nodded. "Alright, then. Miko, put a charge on the door. Sybil, pop two flashbangs, throw them both inside to the left and right. Doc, you stay next to Baker. Willis, stay with Derrelki out here... hey!" she said, snapping at him as he opened his mouth. "No butts! Keep him alive. Derrelki, you keep your head down and come in ONLY when we tell you to. Got it?"

I nodded, my throat suddenly very dry. "I... got it."

She nodded. "Damn Right. Now... on my mark."

Everyone did one final check of their weapons, and Shrike called in over the radio "I got a flare ready for the chopper. Hotel One-Five is in the air and ready for our signal, captain."

She nodded one last time, and Miko slapped a large square breaching charge on the door. "Three... Two... One... GO!"

There was a muffled "THUD", followed by the door turning into a cloud of splinters. Two loud BANGS followed with a blinding light from the doorway, and then everyone barged inside, sans Willis who was waiting by my side.

I cannot honestly say how long we waited before we were called for, listening to both silenced and loud rifle fire. Twice I saw a flash from a building nearby, presumably Shrike acting in his role as sniper, and one body fell just around the corner from us. We were cut off from the main radio, or at least I was, when suddenly Captain Prowler came over. "DAMMIT! Doc! Miko is down! Repeat, Miko is down! FUCKING BASTARDS!"

Willis cursed, before looking at me. "Dammit 'Ki! I should be in there! CAPTAIN! Request permission to assist!"

"Negative, Negative, objective is down, repeat VIP is neutralized! Shrike, pop that flare! DOC! Willis, Derrelki, get your asses in here but WATCH YOUR BACKS! Baker, shoot him one more time, make sure!"

The radio was a storm of confusion as Willis pulled me inside. After the gunfire, it was eerily quiet. The first thing that struck me was not the small fire in one corner, or the bodies. It was the smell.

If you have never been on a battlefield, the smell is hard to describe. It is more than just sweat, blood, and spilled bowl juices. You can actually SMELL the absolute terror of the people who realized, too late, just how outclassed they were. I had only just had time to register it, however, before Willis and I got upstairs and I heard the wimpering.

"Dammit Doc!"

"Private! Gimme another swab, and some coag-powder!"

On the surface of the roof, Private Miko lay, scales and face deathly pale as blood kept bubbling from his abdomen. "Doc... doc... I don't wanna..." he mumbled.

Everyone was crowded around him as the sounds of rotors came in the distance, the helicopter arriving. "Willis... Is he..." I started to say, before he shook his head. The next thirty seconds were quiet as Phylus leaned in close, murmuring to Willis and then putting his ear to the private's mouth, and then nodding. I caught only a few words, but it sounded like a prayer. Willis clutched a silver cross in one shaking hand, before he suddenly seized up, and then relaxed.

Everyone remained quiet, and only the flares overhead and the distant gunfire provided background. Miko lay on the roof, dead, while Phylus pulled his dog-tags off. "Dammit.. I did all I could cap'n. Right in the fuckin' liver, right out the fuckin' kidney. Too much damage, he was all meat down there.

Finally, the chopper came in, hovering next to the roof while a Gryphon in a flight-jacket beckoned to us. "Everyone in! Somma tha bastards got rockets! Move move move!"

We all piled on, Baker carrying Miko as we all settled into the compartment.

Just as the chopper started to lift off, however, there was a sudden burst of gunfire, and four loud PINGs as some projectiles struck the interior of the troop bay. The pilot shouted "BRACE!" before there was a Whooshing noise, and then a loud explosion. "FUCK YOU, ASSHOLES!" the co-pilot shouted, and I peered around the corner to see the building that Shrike had been in (Though he was fortunately on the helicopter now) go up in pieces. Apparently the pilot had used an Air to Ground missile on some militants who had hoped to get lucky. After a moment, Captain Prowler and everyone else started to chuckle.

"Willis.. is this normal?" I said, looking to the side... and stopping. Willis was leaning against the interior wall, face in shock, a hole where his heart should have been.

My gasp must have alerted them, because the Captain let out a long, LONG stream of curses, invectives, and oaths that would have made ANY priest cry blasphemy.

1426 Hours

Forward Operating Base

Ranger Barracks

"Well, we all knew the risks coming out here, even you, reporter" Captain Prowler said. Miko had died on the roof, and Willis had died instantly from the stray shot during exfiltration. Two stupid, meaningless losses in my opinion, although when I had shared it I earned a black look from everyone else. That was evidently the wrong thing to say, and I reflected on that as I typed up the story from the ranger team's attack on Ramadi. Their mission was a success, or so they said, but I could not help but remember the look on Miko's face as he died.

The thought of that, of dying, watching my own blood leave my body, and knowing that in less than five minutes everything I was, everything I had ever been, and everything I would ever be would be reduced to a number and date.... it terrified me. I could not wait to go back stateside now, and I was tempted to call my boss and ask him to bring me home early. For the last ten hours, I could not stop shaking, and I had thrown up everything I tried to eat. After the third time, everyone had left me alone.

Willis though... he had guarded me outside that building while his squad mates, his team, his _family_had gone inside, into danger. And then, in one moment, a _lucky_shot had gotten him. One in a million, and his life was snuffed out. He left behind a wife, two kids, and a father at home... four people who would never hear him laugh, never see him smile.

This was what war was. A bunch of young people dying because old people could not get along. Some assholes living in their desert decided that they didn't like America, or that they hated everyone else, couldnt keep it to themselves. They had to spread their message of hate to the rest of the world.

I put my head down, trying not to sob into my computer.