The peaceful pre-dawn silence of Fort Gideon was shattered as Sergeant First Class Hofmann and 1st Lieutenant DuPont stormed through the corridors of their barracks. Their boots echoed loudly against the floor as they hastily threw on their uniforms in response to an urgent early morning call.
Hofmann was the first to hit the dorm room door as he barged in with a thunderous crash. "Get up!" he roared as he repeatedly slammed his fist against the wall. The sound reverberated through the room like gunfire as he kept banging his hand on the wall until the men in their bunks shot up. "Get the fuck up and get your kit on!"
Across the hall, DuPont mirrored his actions as he threw open the opposite door and barged in. "On your feet! We got shit to do!"
More of the platoon's senior Non-Commissioned Officers (NCOs) marched down the hallway, each taking a room and adding to the cacophony of shouts and banging. The once-quiet barracks erupted into a frenzy of activity as every floor of the building became the personification of chaos.
Confused and groggy soldiers stumbled out of their bunks with the fog of sleep still clinging to their minds. But even in their half-awake state, muscle memory kicked in. Hands fumbled for uniforms, feet slipped to boots, and laces were tied almost on autopilot.
"Move it, move it! Full battle rattle in five minutes!" Hofmann's voice boomed down the corridor.
DuPont clapped his hands together loudly as he entered another room as the sharp sound cut through the growing din. "I want to see you at your vehicles in ten! Wake up, people!"
Sergeant Kim and Corporal Santiago were already rolling out of bed when Hofmann stormed into their room next. When he came in, their vehicle commander only gave them a quick look and a nod of approval. It was apparent they had heard the commotion and were stumbling around in a frantic attempt to get dressed.
"Jesus Christ…" Kim muttered, fumbling with his boots as Santiago wrestled with his pants.
Once sufficiently dressed, Kim stumbled out into the hallway while still trying to lace up his boots. Santiago, on the other hand, was close behind, trying to tuck his shirt into his pants and half-tripping on his unlaced boots.
As they emerged into the corridor, they spotted their Lieutenant marching out of another dorm room and marching towards another.
"What's going on, LT?" Kim called out in a voice that was still rough from sleep.
DuPont didn't break his stride as he moved towards the next door. Before he opened it, the Lieutenant glanced over his shoulder at his subordinates and shook his head. He stood there momentarily thinking about the call he had received from the company commander, before his expression hardened.
Kim was taken aback by the look on his superior's face. It was the most honest and nervous expression Kim had ever seen on the usually composed officer.
"I don't know… Just get to your vehicles and get your shit up and running," Dupont replied tersely with a voice tight with tension. "I think it’s go time.."
The admission of ignorance from their lieutenant sent a chill down Kim's spine. He and Santiago shared a quick, worried glance before picking up their pace.
"You heard him," Kim whispered harshly to Santiago. “Let's move."
As they rushed down the corridor, Santiago and Kim found themselves dodging other soldiers in various states of dress. Seeing so many people coming out simultaneously and the flustered looks of officers and NCOs really caused the reality of the situation to sink in. This wasn't a drill. This was something big, something real, and it was happening now.
The two soldiers, along with their comrades, burst out of the barracks into the cool pre-dawn air of Fort Gideon. They sprinted across the quad and common areas, confusing or spooking the few remaining NATO partners awake and lingering outside. However, it didn’t take long until the soldiers of the 1st Calvary reached the motor pool, a large, fenced-in area not far from their dorms that housed their heavily armored vehicles.
When they finally entered the sector holding their Bradley, Kim heard the distinctive whine of an M1A2 Abrams spooling up nearby. The tank's commander was hanging out of the hatch, frothing at the mouth as he pointed toward one of his soldiers.
"Peters! Where’s your goddamn helmet!?" the commander bellowed at a flustered-looking soldier scrambling towards the tank.
Just a few vehicles down, another Abrams commander clapped his hands together as he marched toward his tank. "FIRE IT UP!" he yelled at his tankers that were already inside with a voice filled with urgency and excitement.
Santiago slipped into the driver's compartment of their M2A3 Bradley and adjusted himself as he tightened the straps of his tanker’s helmet. Once he was situated and his hand was free, his fingers flowed over the controls as he flipped switches and pressed buttons, as he was trained to do, and brought the powerful engine to life. The vehicle rumbled and shook as it awakened, sending familiar vibrations throughout the hull.
"Engine's lookin’ pretty," Santiago called out, his eyes scanning the gauges and readouts in front of him.
Above them, they could hear Hofmann's sharp and authoritative voice bellow out as he stood he stood atop the Bradley yelling at people. "Hastings! Make sure you do a weapons check! I don’t want your gun to shit itself again, especially when things go hot!" He shouted over the din of engines and bustling soldiers.
Not second later, Hofmann jumped into the commander's seat and settled into the familiar confines of the Bradley's interior. For a moment, he just sat there, taking in the controlled chaos around him. Then, with a deep breath, he smacked his helmet, as if trying to psych himself up for what was to come.
"I think this is it, boys." Hofmann spoke up over the Bradley’s local network.
Kim looked over at his commander with a difficult expression on his face. He opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come. What could he say in a moment like this?
Sensing the tension, Hofmann fist tightened as he tried to process what was happening himself. "Look," he said, addressing both Kim and Santiago. "We all know what to do. We’ve been training for this for over half a year now.” He looked at Kim dead in the eye before he panned to his commander’s screen. “We all knew this day was eventually going to coming, and it looks like it looks like it chose to happen right-fuckin’-now."
He paused, letting his words sink in. "Just kill whatever's waiting for us on the other side of that rift, and we’re good.” He smacked his a few times for his own motivation.
Kim nodded as he turned back to his own screen. "Roger that, Sarn’t," he replied in a steady voice while shifting a more comfortable position.
"Can I take home an alien as a trophy?" Santiago chimed in from the driver's compartment, his hands firm on the controls.
A collective groan echoed through the Bradley's interior. Kim sighed and said, "Shut the fuck up, Santiago..." Santiago always had a way of diffusing tension in any situation, a trait not lost on the crew as they waited their turn to leave the motor pool. “Jesus… Always gotta say something goofy.”
"Alright. Driver, move out," Hofmann ordered as their Bradley finally got the green light to exit the motor pool.
The Bradley's engine rumbled to life as Santiago eased the massive vehicle forward. Soldiers scrambled to get out of the way, trying to get their bearings in the chaotic mess they found themselves in. Behind Hofmann and his crew’s vehicle were their platoon’s sister Bradleys, falling in line behind them.
Following an entire convoy of Abrams tanks, Hofmann and his crew found themselves finally outside of their motor pool and in a convoy heading directly for the fort's exit. The whine of the tanks' turbine engines grew in pitch as they started to accelerate. A symphony of raw power and military precision echoed in the early morning as they all powered to their predesignated staging areas.
Everyone already knew where they needed to go and what they needed to do. A strategy had already been established, and each unit had been drilled relentlessly in preparation for crossing the rift. It was only a matter of time until Brass pulled the trigger.
Now, they were off to give their uninvited guests a rebuttal for their unwanted intrusion.
A rebuttal in the form of steel and fire.
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After a few minutes of following the main convoy, Hofmann's voice crackled over the intercom. "Alright, Santiago, we're breaking off here. Take a left at the next junction."
The Bradley peeled away from the line of Abrams, turning onto a smaller road leading toward the infantry's designated pickup point. As they neared what looked to Hofmann like the armory, he climbed up the turret until he was standing and popped out of his commander's hatch.
"There they are," Hofmann called down to Kim and Santiago on the radio. "Looks like they're still getting their shit together. Pull up over in about 30 meters or so."
Santiago maneuvered the Bradley off the street and beside the soldiers, causing the tracks to crunch over loose gravel. As they came to a stop, Hofmann could see Dupont gesturing aggressively to the soldiers, trying to get them to speed up.
"Jesus Christ," Hofmann muttered as he scanned the area to see a veritable horde of infantry in a similar state. Some were piling into Bradley’s, trying to squeeze in with their equipment, and others were trying to cram as much crap into the back of Humvees as they could.
"We're ready to load up whenever you are, sir." Hofmann looked over to the side of his Bradley at his approaching platoon leader.
DuPont nodded acknowledgment. "Roger that, Sergeant. Give us two mikes.” He said before turning around at a pair of his men trying their damnedest to get a sleeping back into place. “I think we're just about set."
Hofmann watched as their assigned infantry rushed to finish their preparations. They racked weapons, checked ammo, slung heavy rucks onto their backs, and felt for their individual first aid kits (IFAKS) one last time. It was obvious that whatever was coming next frazzled their nerves. Every single one of the soldiers found themselves checking and then double checking every little thing.
But it wasn’t muc h longer until DuPont and his men finally approached the M2A3 Bradley with their rucks. "Hey LT, you got any idea what we're doing yet?" Hofmann called out from his position in the hatch.
Dropping his ruck with a heavy thud, DuPont looked up at Hofmann and let out a deep breath as his eyes momentarily went wide after thinking it all over again. "Yeah… Sorta.” He said unassuredly, glancing around. “From what I can gather from the Major, we're hitting them hard and fast in order to set a perimeter for Army Corps of Engineers and the Seabees. It's a shaping operation, but I think this is the real deal."
Hofmann interest were piqued at that. He wasn’t much of a strategist, but he assumed that they’d be running the gauntlet deep into enemy territory, not baby sitting engineers.
"Really now? What are they up to?" He responded as soldiers waddled over to the Bradley and up the ramp.
With a quick look around to see if any other officers were in earshot, DuPont lowered his voice a little, but he still found himself shouting over the sound of the Bradleys motor.. "I think they're going to start building logistics points on the other side.” He said, lifting his ruck sack over his shoulder again. “1st Infantry is already moving into the rift, maneuvering and seeing if they can draw any of those fantasy fucks out. Us on the other hand…"
"We’re the sledge hammer." Hofmann muttered as the weight of the mission finally settled in the pits of his stomach. "So we're not just poking the bear, we're ramming straight through its den and setting up shop."
DuPont nodded grimly. "That's about the size of it."
Around them, the organized chaos continued. Soldiers were cramming into Bradleys and Humvees, gear was being double-checked, and last-minute orders were being shouted across the assembly area.
"Shit, you hear that, boys?" One of DuPont’s soldiers spoke up as he hobbled over with his rucksack towards the lowered ramp of the Bradley. "Looks like we're invading the fucking shire!"
As the soldier approached with his gear, he called out jokingly, "Hey Sarge, you think I'll get to shoot a hobbit?"
A chorus of chuckles erupted from the nearby soldiers. "Nah, man," The sergeant responded as he hefted his ruck. "We're going after Sauron's ass."
A chuckle left DuPont’s mouth as he shook his head. “Ya, Ya. Really goddamn cute.” He said, clapping his hands again to spur his platoon into action. “Hurry the hell up. You can continue the chatter after we mount up!”
As the last of the squad shuffled into the troop compartment, DuPont squeezing in with his men inside of Hofmann’s Bradley. As the ramp slowly raised, sealing them inside with a metallic clang, the armored vehicle lurched forward as it followed after the rest of the company.
Hofmann couldn’t help but audibly gasp as they passed one of the many tarmacs that held a literal horde of specialized MH-60K Blackhawks and MH-6 Little Birds spooling with their crews doing last-minute checks. Not too far away from the helicopters were the soldiers of the 75th Ranger Regiment performing their own preparations for whatever operation they were going to conduct.
"Looks like every-goddamn-body came out to play.” Hofmann keyed his crew-wide intercom. “The whole damn army is on the move." He continued, looking around and seeing that the entire base had come to life.
A sea of lightly and heavily armored vehicles rumbled to life, speeding to their preassigned staging areas in order to hurry up and wait. While nearing their destination, Hofmann could not help but wonder if this was just another surprise exercise or readiness check. The thought nagged at him, even as the sheer scale of the operation suggested otherwise.
With the staging area coming into view, Hofmann caught sight of a sprawling expanse of organized chaos as his Bradley came to a gentle stop in their designated spot in the staging area. The vehicle's powerful engine idled, a low rumble that blended with the cacophony of sounds around them.
The staging area was a hive of activity, serving as a focal point for force accumulation. It was clear they wouldn't be moving out immediately; this was a place to gather, organize, and prepare for the massive operation ahead.
All around them, similar scenes played out. Bradleys and other armored vehicles were arranged in neat rows, their crews performing last-minute checks or simply waiting for orders. Hofmann could see soldiers from other units milling about, some stretching their legs, others huddled in small groups, talking in low voices.
Fuel trucks moved methodically between the vehicles, topping off tanks to ensure every vehicle was at maximum capacity. Ammunition carriers stood by, ready to distribute additional rounds if needed. The air was thick with the smell of diesel and gun oil.
Near the center of the staging area, a collection of command vehicles had set up a mobile headquarters. Officers moved between these vehicles, carrying maps and tablets, coordinating the intricate dance of units and assets that would soon be unleashed.
In the distance, Hofmann could see more vehicles arriving - a seemingly endless stream of military might pouring into the area. Heavy transport trucks carried everything from spare parts to field kitchens, emphasizing the scale and duration of the operation they were about to undertake.
As Hofmann scanned the area, he noticed something that drove home the reality of their situation. Mixed in with the standard military vehicles were unfamiliar shapes - equipment he'd never seen before, likely developed specifically for whatever they might encounter on the other side of the rift.
Suddenly, the rear of the Bradley lowered with a hydraulic hiss, and DuPont began squeezing past his men to get out. A chorus of disgruntled "heys" and complaints followed him as he jostled through the cramped space, but he paid them no mind. Stepping down the ramp, he paused, his eyes drawn upward to the sky.
The air above was alive with aircraft. F-35 Lightning IIs streaked overhead, their sleek profiles barely visible as they climbed higher. They were quickly followed by F-16’s Fight Falcons and F-15E Strike Eagles, so heavily laden with air-to-air and air-to-ground ordnance that it made DuPont's head spin. The sheer volume of air assets in play sent a deep sense of unease through him.
Hofmann's voice cut through DuPont's thoughts. "I don't think this is an exercise or readiness check, sir," he said, his tone completely convinced.
DuPont didn't even look at him, his eyes fixed on the sky as he caught sight of B-1 Lancers joining the aerial armada. Every aircraft was dipping low, clearly intending to enter the rift. "No..." he replied quietly, "no, I don't think so either."
He turned to Hofmann, trying to find the right words as the soldiers inside the Bradley, overhearing the conversation, began to speak amongst themselves. Their voices joined the growing buzz of chatter spreading across the entire staging area. Some voices were tinged with worry, others with excitement.
"This is it, isn't it?" DuPont finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "We're really doing this. We're invading another world."
Hofmann nodded, his expression grim but resolute. "As per the mission parameters, we're forming a 'beachhead,' not invading," he said, making air quotes with his fingers. His voice carried a hint of irony, acknowledging the thin line between their official mission and the reality of what they were about to do.
Suddenly, a distant thump caught Hofmann's attention. He turned his head, gawking at the horizon where he saw the 160th SOAR's MH-60K Black Hawks he had driven past earlier. The specialized helicopters were now flying towards the rift in the distance, their sleek profiles barely visible against the sky.
Turning back to DuPont, Hofmann continued, "It was only a matter of when, sir. We’ve been rehearsing and training for this exact mission for months. We know where to go and what to do with every route like the back of our hands.” He said trying to seem as if his nerves wasn’t starting to get to him. “The only thing Brass didn’t do, was tell us when it was going to go down."
DuPont nodded slowly as he came to terms with reality. "That’s true," he mused while his eyes still followed the path of the helicopters. “At least we’re not going in deaf, dumb, blind and without a clue.”
As DuPont finished speaking, a sudden crackle of static filled the air. Every radio in the vicinity came to life simultaneously, causing soldiers to pause and listen. The familiar voice of their battalion commander, Colonel Hawkins, known by his call sign "Saber 6," cut through the static.
"All units, this is Saber 6 actual."
There was a brief pause as every soldier in every vehicle tensed in anticipation. A call from the battalion commander over the net could mean only one thing.
This was it.
"We are go for Operation Basilisk . I say again, we are go for Operation Basilisk." The colonel's voice returned with its steady southern drawl.
DuPont and Hofmann exchanged a knowing glance.
"You all know your mission. You know what needs to be done. The 1st Infantry has crossed and engaged the enemy. Now it's our turn."
There was another brief pause before the colonel outlined their role.
"We're the sledgehammer, people. Our job is to punch through their lines, create chaos, and keep pushing. Never stop, Never hesitate. We're going in hard and fast, creating openings for our follow-on forces. Break their lines, disrupt their command, and don't give them time to regroup."
The colonel's voice grew even more stern, emphasizing the gravity of their task.
"Remember your training. Trust your equipment and trust each other. We're making history today by showing these goddamn lizards who the just fucked with. Saber 6 out."