Rage & Fury

by Darryl Hadfield

  “Nothing for now, Master Corporal – and congratulations, by the way! It’s not often we see someone bump up two ranks at a time, you must be packin’ some serious power in that hatrack of yours.”

  “Yes sir, thank you sir. May I go? I’d like to get started on acquainting myself with my troops, as well as ramping up for the deployment.”

  “By all means, please do, Master Corporal, and welcome aboard, we’re glad to have you, and I’m positive you’ll make a great addition to the team. Did you have any other questions?”

  Goddamn, would this dipshit ever shut up? “No sir, no questions at this time, but I assure you I will broach them to you – or Sergeant Toomey – the moment your wisdom and intelligence are key to correct issues which I’m unable or uncertain how to, sir.” Maybe if I play his game, he’ll stop.”

  He beamed at me. “That’s the spirit! Well done, well done! Have at it dude, and let me know if you need anything.”

  I stood, saluted, and after he’d returned it, I left.

  What the fuck had I gotten myself into!?

  My guys – Chang, Pangan, and Feltsin – and their squads were mostly good to go. We had no issues integrating with the rest of the platoon for our pre-deployment workup; it was mostly refresher training at a platoon level, as well as several exercises with the entire company. The deployment called for the whole company to work from a Forward Operations Base out in the middle of no-where; B, C, and D were equally dispersed at other FOBs in the AOR. For those of you who haven’t had the pleasure, that’s “Area of Responsibility.” Geez. Damn civilians.

  Our mission was originally intended to be peacekeeping, but things had flared up like they had, so many times in the past. One of the items that Colonel Haskins had mentioned in the leadership school, was that history often repeats itself. Further, it behooved us as senior enlisted leaders (which, uhh, I wasn’t) to pay attention to any sort of similar conflicts in the region, or involving the people in the region, historically speaking.

  I did some brief reading in the history section of the online library (goddamn I LOVED my implant, especially after that headache finally went away!) when I had downtime. As it turns out, this area is generally where things have always turned to shit in the past.

  World War 1? Yeah, some dude got shot and everyone else in the world started picking sides.

  World War 2? It didn’t start here, but then Italy and Germany decided to invade Yugoslavia in 1941, it sure didn’t help things.

  The period after WW2 wasn’t really an identified conflict, but most of the world called it “The Cold War” – spanning literally decades, in the latter half of the 20th century.

  It didn’t get any better during the Eight Day War in 2063 – and while the majority of that conflict was on the Pakistan-India and North Korea-China borders, the Muslim population of most of Europe went bonkers when Pakistan (the largest Muslim country on the planet at that point) and India duked it out and both lost.

  Yeah, this was going to really suck.

  We relocated to Fort Knox, Kentucky a month prior to our actual deployment, to complete our work-up, and we were living in temporary quarters. I was sharing a room with Satish and Toomey – the latter of which was constantly gone. He was, much to my frustration and disappointment, far too much like the Lieutenant for me to be comfortable about our upcoming deployment.

  Satish you’d heard of before – he’d been a Master Corporal previously, and was present during my first time participating in the Oath of Blades. When we first crossed paths as teammates again, we greeted each other warmly - It was nice knowing there was at least one other guy with his head screwed on straight, in this outfit. He’d been promoted some months before, and had already moved to 1st Platoon A Company back before I’d left for my AELS course.

  I won’t bore you with supply details (does everyone have the regulation quantities of all of their issued gear? Is it in good, serviceable order or does it need to be replaced?), or with transport details (or that numbskull Toomey taking his section to the wrong fucking plane). You know what, let’s just fast-forward to where things REALLY turned to absolute shit.

  We’d been in country for maybe six weeks – we’d settled into our routine (okay, not ROUTINE, because we didn’t want to be predictable) but we were doing patrols, had limited light-weight engagement with enemy combatants, but on the whole, things were mostly quiet.

  It was, I think, a Friday – which some Muslim cultures (including the 50%+ percent of Bosnian Muslims) view as a religious day. That meant no alcohol, and the four or five prayers they have to go through. We’d already heard the noises from the nearest city – “Salat al-`isha” was the prayer between sunset and midnight – and we figured things were going to be mostly quiet. First platoon was on downtime; Second platoon was pulling security, and Third platoon was on patrol. It’s all good, right?

  I was doing my own rounds, even though we were on downtime; I made sure my guys had their gear straight and were ready. You never can tell, and I didn’t want to be the one taking the pounding if somethi-KA KA KA KA BOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM

  “INCOMING!” I screamed, looking for the nearest shelter.

  We were a hot mess; I saw a mortar round land right on top of the Lieutenant’s hooch. That was… not good. He was an idiot, but he was MY idiot, and I didn’t wish him dead for any reason. I heard screaming, and could hear all of second platoon “standing to” – preparing to repel invaders. Sergeant Satish’s hooch was next to mine, and unfortunately, mine had taken a direct hit. Good planning, James – you didn’t take THAT pounding. Unfortunately, Satish had caught shrapnel from the round that would have killed me.

  We were ready and waiting for a follow-on attack: It didn’t come.

  That’s good news, right? Wrong.

  Turns out Satish was Wounded-In-Action and was headed to a field hospital back at our deployment base. He was okay, but needed to get patched up.

  The LT and Sergeant Toomey however… oh boy.

  Turns out there was a lot more going on with the “Manchin-Toomey” team. Lieutenant Toomey had taken minor shrapnel from that mortar round across his right-hand side; he wasn’t seriously wounded. Well, he wasn’t seriously wounded, depending on your definition of “seriously” – Sergeant Toomey, on the other hand, was quite dead. He’d taken the largest piece of shrapnel through his neck, and bled out all over the Lieutenant, who happened to be… right on top of him.

  Yeah, you’re probably reading that right. I had to clamp down on the first section medic who was attending to the Lieutenant; he’d lost… some very important flesh to him. I couldn’t afford for this news to spread around.

  Look, I’m not squeamish, okay? At the same time, there’s something especially gruesome to seeing your commander’s dick hanging out of the mouth of your platoon sergeant, whose head is several feet away, not attached to his body. Apparently the shrapnel had caused some degree of nervous stimulation, and Toomey’s attempt at…a promotion, maybe… meant that the Lieutenant got a harsh lesson in, “conduct prejudicial to good order and discipline.”

  Do the math. 1st section’s leader was medevac’d and likely wasn’t going to be back any time soon. 3rd section’s leader was not just WIA, he was KIA – but he was also the platoon leader. No problem, right? The lieutenant will tell us what to… fuck. Yeah.

  I was less than a year into my rank as a goddamn Master Corporal and now I’ve gotta run a fucking platoon.

  Shit.

  I had to make a command decision, and that was… stay put. Second platoon had taken some minor casualties, but it wasn’t enough to put us ‘out of the fight’ – and Third platoon had also taken some minor wounds, but nothing serious.

  Captain Cacken, our company commander, along with our company staff, were also based in the same area, but they tended to get out and patrol as well. When Third Platoon rolled back in, a few hours later, the platoon leader and Captain Cacken essentially shrugged and said to carry on. I’d mustered everyone together
and was tracking my own section as well as Satish and Toomey’s. Toomey had already been bagged and was set off to the side for transport to graves registration on our next supply run.

  “Captain Cacken, I need to speak with you sir.”

  “I’m busy, Wolf, get back to me later.”

  “I’m sorry sir, this cannot wait.” The look of disgust on his face when I didn’t ‘get back to him later’ was surpassed only by the look of disgust and horror that replaced it when I told him about Sergeant Toomey and Lieutenant Manchin.

  “You’ve got to be kidding, Wolf. Not now..”

  “No sir, I am not. I have already counselled Private Chang, as the responding medic, to keep his mouth shut, but if it gets out, it’s going to be a serious problem sir.”

  “No, I mean there’s no way he and Toomey….” His voice faded and he looked a little green.

  “No question about it sir. I retrieved Lieutenant Manchin’s penis and it’s on ice, in a makeshift cooler next to him in the aid station, sir. Sergeant Toomey is already prepped for Graves Registration, and Sergeant Satish is already Medevac’d out for more attention than we could give him here.”

  “Seems like you have it in hand, Sergeant.”

  “I’m a Master Corporal sir, the sergeants are WIA and KIA, respectively.”

  He sighed, and ran a hand through his hair. He looked frazzled, and tired. It was 4am, and none of us were doing too well after our first major engagement, in this deployment. “You’re right, and, you’re a Sergeant now, battlefield promotion. You’ve kept things together even though Lieutenant Price with second platoon was here – course, she was busy with perimeter security, anyway.” His eyes glazed over for a moment, and my implant pinged. “MCpl Wolf Battlefield Promotion Sgt Wolf, 1st PL Leader effective immediately.” There, that should handle that. Now, sergeant, I need time to address larger issues.”

  “Wilco sir.”

  I left, a little bewildered. I’d never figured I’d make sergeant, not this fast, anyway.

  I was headed back to my hooch, and rolled my eyes when I saw it shredded, along with Satish’s, next to it.

  Toomey’s got a hooch he won’t be using, guess it’s time for me to scrounge that one.

  Things were quiet; it was, as we’d learned years ago in basic, the worst part of the day – BMNT, or “Before Morning Nautical Twilight”. We were tired, it wasn’t quite morning but it wasn’t really night anymore, and we were frazzled from that limited-scope attack… Oh fuck. That was a probing atta-KAKAKAKAABOOMBOOMBOOMBOOM

  “INCOMING!” Fuck, not again, I thought to myself.

  This time, it wasn’t just a probing attack, I could hear gunfire all around the camp; the mortars were impacting the HQ tent, the aid station, and damn near every private or squad tent inside the wire.

  Multiple mortars screamed down on the headquarters tent. I should have pushed harder to put that somewhere other than the center of camp.

  I was running towards the nearest edge of the camp, and I could see shadowy silhouettes all around, easily pinpointing them by the flashes from the rifle fire each was spewing. I raised my M34 and engaged my implant’s targeting function – I could see nearly as clear as day that way, whatever I was aiming at. One, two, four… enemy combatants fell as I cycled through semi-automatic fire at anyone in my range of vision. The mortars were still fal… shit. They weren’t. Why the fuck would they let up the barra-

  “ENEMY IN THE WIRE!”

  I ran towards the sound, on the northern side of the camp. There were still literally hundreds of us, we should be able to repel these fuckers in no time.

  I joined teammates, firing selectively, aiming only for those who were still firing.

  First Platoon/Sections 1 and 2 to the north side! Section 3 to reinforce Second platoon at their discretion!

  The implants made it easier to flip between my intended radio audience; I jerked my rifle back and hollered at the soldier to my right, “Heading south! Sending two sections Platoon 1 here to reinforce!” and I broke away, sprinting in a southerly direction.

  Lt Haberdasher, sitrep? I have combat effectives; are you solid?

  Third platoon had the eastern line. There was no answer.

  First Platoon ALL SECTIONS reinforce eastern line!

  I hated jerking my guys back and forth like that, but if we didn’t reinforce, whoever was assaulting would split us in half and roll us up.

  Price! Are you up? Do you need reinforcement?

  Solid on the South. Hold the eastern side.

  At least something was going right. I was late to the game on the eastern side of the camp; the concertina wire we’d laid out to create an artificial border showed bodies strewn across it, and an unpleasant number of them were in our uniforms, glowing brightly through the optics on my M34 thanks to their IR treatment.

  At that point, I heard a huge explosion coming from the south. I swung around, using my night vision through Fury (Yeah, remember? Her cousin, or… sister, or… fuck, whatever. My head wasn’t focusing on my goddamn rifle’s name) to get a better view of what was happening.

  I started running towards the mass of bodies I could see – some sort of bomb had been used, and Lieutenant Ashley Price was injured or dead. I ran into the brunt of the attack at that point – and I swore I could feel the bullets caressing my skin, ready to take me to the next life… but not yet. I threw myself down, easing to one side so I could pull two grenades out of a pocket on my LBE. I yanked out the pins, popped the spoons and cooked both for a couple of seconds, then tossed them each a dozen or so yards to either side. I hunkered down, using the bodies of my fellow soldiers, as well as the bodies of the slain enemy in our midst as cover.

  The grenades went off, the noise shocking me even though I was expecting it. I followed it up with a fast volley of fire to the left, then rolled over on my back to do the same to the right. To both sides, I could see multiple bodies falling as I stitched them up with several rounds each. A quick glance to the front showed two insurgents crawling forward – I donated an unhealthy dose of lead to their daily meditations and they decided to take a nap instead of coming any closer.

  I leapt to my feet and ran back towards the northern edge, only to find that there were only several enemy combatants still functional – I skidded to a stop, and a single center-of-mass round from my rifle to each corrected that.

  I turned to the west where I’d heard nothing for a while – and slowly crept towards that line, my heart beating loudly enough to use it as a drum to send messages back to Battalion.

  Chapter 19: Vacations Aren’t Always Fun.

  First Platoon, harbor in place, hold what you got. I’m gonna recon the west side.

  Wilco, came the reply, and I didn’t even think to ask who. I was running a whole goddamn platoon and no idea who my section leaders were, or who was still alive or not. Battlefield promotions suck ass.

  I eased to one side – some of the hooches were still upright, and were in the way of me seeing what was going on. As I edged over, I could see someone holding up.. oh fuck. He’s got a goddamn AT-8, one of our anti-tank rockets. I raised my M34, and… click. FUCK. I dropped the rifle, knowing it would remain on it’s sling, and pulled my M20 pistol out of the holster on my chest – one round, center mass aaaaaand not enough, another round… he’s down. I ducked back and jammed the M20 back into it’s holster, and pulled up the rifle to yank it’s charging handle – nothing. I dropped the mag, and shoved in a spare off my LBE. That could have been really, embarrassingly lethal, was the only thought I had about it at the moment.

  I crept forward, looking to either side and occasionally glancing behind me. Coming around another hooch was another one of those bastards, this one trying to get… what the fuck, these guys liked our AT8s. I raised my rifle, and pulled the trigger… click. MOTHERFUCKER. I yanked the M20 out again, *pop* and that’s one less rocketeer.

  I left my rifle down, it was dead. Pistol time.. not ideal, but viable.

  First
Platoon status? I inquired via implant.

  Solid. Enemy activity decreasing. The response had Corporal Pangan’s ID on it – Brice knew his shit, I could trust him to keep things rolling.

  Pangan, you’re acting Platoon Sergeant. Keep shit straight over there. I blasted a quick platoon-wide battlefield notice promoting him to Master Corporal and identifying him as acting PL SGT so no-one gave him any shit.

  The South was quiet. East, my guys had under control. North I didn’t know, and West was up in the air. Pings to second and third platoon, platoon-wide inquiries, got no response. That… was not good. VERY not good.

  I continued my creep, hearing sporadic fire from the east. Sounds like my guys are okay for now.

  At that point, I felt a massive punch on my chest, followed by a loud bang. I landed on my ass, gasping and unable to breathe. I’d been shot.