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Here we go again. Lcpl Grey thought to himself as he and the rest of the platoon fumbled their way out of the back of the armadillo 7 ton truck, clambering over their main packs and other randomass gear that they had somehow cramped into the truck along with themselves. It has been hours since their last stop, having to endure another seemingly endless rough and bumpy ride over nonexistent dirt tracks, heading off to who knows where. Technically where they're heading to, and what they'll be doing, all had been told to them through a mountain of briefs and announcements prior, but as always it's in one ear and out the other. About the only thing he remembered is that they're liberating some 3rd world country that's been doing some fucked up shit and that they are absolutely going to get at least a couple of ribbons out of this deployment.
Not sure if it's worth the effort though. He thought to himself as he stepped off the last rung of the ladder and yet still hit the ground hard. A string of foul language exiting his mouth as he stumbled a few steps to give space for the guy behind him to do the same. So far this supposed deployment felt more like an over glorified FEX. Heck, he didn't even recall ever boarding onto a plane or ship, just into the trucks and off they went.
There's no way that they're driving their way into a 3rd world country right? That's like, more than 20 miles, which is like all the distances before something goes wrong.
And yet they have been going at it for days, and of course things have gone wrong. Many things in fact, which is part of the reason they're even making a stop in what appeared to be another unremarkable clearing in the seemingly endless forests.
"Alright, let's get this over with." Sgt Kingston, the platoon sergeant half mumbled and half slurred the words in exhaustion as the platoon shuffled into what passes for a formation. The light outside implies its morning but his internal clock is all but screaming midnight. "Rifles, RCOs, PECs…" he carried on with the check, receiving a chorus of confirmation in return as the marines held out the various pieces of gear to show that they actually have them.
No one bat an eye when a string of loud angry curses emanated from one of the neighboring platoons as someone there had apparently lost something or another. That has been happening quite a bit even before they stepped off from base, and only seemed to have increased in frequency since then. So still pretty much par the course for a FEX. A few groans came out though, as many already anticipate what's to come: A police call of the surrounding area, as futile and pointless such an activity is. Either that stuff's just misplaced somewhere among their main packs and other packings, or lost miles back.
However they do have the time, because the convoy of trucks, Humvees, ATV's, and even the odd JLTV has made the stop more for necessity than anything else, for the engine hunger endlessly for the sweet, sweet nectar of JP-8. And while the vehicles await for their feeding the marines they carry need to be kept busy, for idle hands are the devil's workshop, the ones from jarhead especially so.
Thus Lcpl Gray and the rest of the platoon soon found themselves shuffling amongst the trees, their glazed out eyes not really looking at the ground in front of them as they waste the time right back at command- a pointless and unnoticeable gesture, but one made on the regular nevertheless.
Thus when an arrow whistled past them it took the platoon by surprise. However after the initial moment of being caught off guard the troops quickly snapped into action as long dormant skills were put to use. Magazines quickly inserted, charging handles racked, selectors clicked, and soon short bursts of fire spewed forth from the barrels of over a dozen M4 and M16A4 rifles as they snapped off rounds at what appeared to be sinister shadows among the trees all around.
Round after round they sent forth until they clicked upon empty chambers, as they changed mags the sgt finally gave the order to cease fire, and recollect his platoon from their frenzy of action. At his signal they patrolled forth, eyes much more alert for a very different police call of sorts.
After a handful of minutes that at the time seemed to have lasted far longer they finally stumbled upon them: a group of corpses, so fresh that the blood was still oozing from the various bullet wounds. A few among the platoon quickly took out their personal smartphones and began taking pictures, some of which would carry grave repercussions for them down the line. For the moment though, the undercurrent was one of accomplishment: guys who went on deployments flexed over those who didn't, and ditto with those who saw action over their less lucky counterparts. The fact that the bodies seem to be particularly malnourished and emaciated was not noticed by most…
"Wonder what they are, what they're thinking really?" Lcpl Gray asked, to no one in particular, dancing around the real questions he wanted to ask but simultaneously afraid to know the answers to. Sgt Kingston nodded, almost immediately picking up some of the subtext.
"Probably bandits, or something like that." Sgt Kingston replied, partly to assure everyone the righteousness of their actions, and partly to save his own hide if it comes down to it, but mostly to sooth his own conscience. For all the bravado and bragging of committing war crimes, none of them have actually done that, or really wanted to if given the opportunity to do so. It’s one thing to joke about buttstroking orphans, quite another to do something of that nature in the flesh…
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… and they might just have done that. Sure, they are fully in the right to fire back, being shot at first and all, but all those technicalities and legalities feel hollow to the conscience of the heart. The collections of skin and bones barely worthy to be dignified as bodies, the rags they wore, the other brokens pieces of trash and pieces that might have been the entirety of their worldly possessions… he shook his head to clear those pointless speculations.
“Yep, definitely bandits.” He repeated, before turning back to the platoon again, most of them were still gaffing off and technically committing what the media would consider war crimes. “Alright guys, get your shit together, and remember to hydrate. There might be more of them scumbags out there.”
The last bit quickly sobered everyone up, and in a handful of seconds the platoon returned to their task at hand. Belatedly Sgt Kingston realized that the rush of combat and the idle musing after he had forgotten to report in this turn of events. He quickly pressed the PTT mollied at his flak………
“... 6 hostiles neutralized. 12 mags expended. No casualties. Fireteams will continue to seek and destroy hostiles. Over.” The voice of Sgt Kingston cracked over the radio.
“Acknowledged Funko 1. You may proceed. Over and out.” SSgt Juan replied as he tapped on his own PTT. He, and the rest of the leadership of the company were standing outside of the lead JLTV, trying to unfuck at least the most critical of the seemingly endless issues that need dire attention right at that moment in time, and the flow of information was only increasing, threatening to overwhelm them where the enemy’s physical weapons had failed to do so.
“That’s the third platoon that’s come into contact with hostiles.” 1st Lt. Cameron quipped, looking up from the tablet he’s using, worry lined his aged face despite his actual age. “How many more have we simply driven past for the last couple of days then?” He asked out loud to no one in particular, not sure if he wanted to know the answer. If there is one.
“Unknown, but if I were to guess, a shit load.” Gunny Haddox said bluntly, with grimness in his voice. “We better give 4th Co and COC the heads up.” He noted as he turned around, looking for a comms guy to get the warning out.
“Please do.” Lt. Cameron said half absentmindedly as his attention by then had gravitated towards something else. “What the flying fuck-”
From a distance of around 100 yards and trotting towards them at a stately pace was a group of mounted knights, as if straight out of one of them old picture books, of what people imagined what those medieval warriors were idealized. Majestic steeds, flurrying banners, plate armor of the Greenwich style… not that any of the marines would know the specifics of that last bit. It’s fancy shit so far as they’re concerned. The clattering of their horses only became audible in those handful of moments over the sound of the idling engines of the vehicles… and apparently none of the perimeter guards have stopped them so far. The last part being less of a surprise than it should have been. After all, they are the 6th MLG, aka POG central, the only gun most of them touch on the regular being the one between their legs.
Fancy shit, and really out of place. It’s one thing to listen to some junior enlisted from S-2 regurgitating shit from some CIA spook that none of them really understood or cared, quite another to see the nonsense in the flesh. It finally dawned on them the significance of what it means to be in another world.
Ssgt Juan was the first to react, as he turned and slowly walked towards the group of knights, holding his M4 rifle up at the ready stance. “Halt!” He barked, with the smoothness of someone who has done that plenty of times, both in practice and actual experience.
However, those were not some civilians in some random 3rd world country being stopped at a checkpoint, and as if in reaction to the Ssgt’s order though in hindsight more due to the closing distance, the knights lowered their lances and the trot of their horses quickly rose to that of a roaring gallop. Shouts of ‘death to the demon hellspawn!’ were heard, oddly in understandable English despite the weird accents, making their intentions rather clear to their opponents.
The reaction from the marines was immediate: The bark of 5.56mm and 9mm rounds from the M4 rifles and M18 pistols, quickly followed the buzzing of 7.62mm and 12.7mm from the machineguns, and finally joining in the fray the thuds of the 40 mike mikes of the Mk.19 grenade launchers. The group of knights promptly disappeared in a maelstrom of fire and smoke, almost as if they were smite by the forces of demons…
After the orgy of fire that in all likelihood lasted no more than a handful of seconds the firing stopped almost, with the various weapons dropping out one after another as the cease fire order was finally heard over the din of the weapons, though in a few cases the gunners were physically tapped on the shoulders to get them to stop. The smoke quickly cleared to reveal a grisly sight: for on top of the now blackened dirt lies little that could be identified as man or beast. Rather, chunks of flesh and metal were strewn about, all heavily scorched and marred. The stench of burned flesh and gore slowly made their way even over the smell of smokeless powder that still hung in the air. Barring the rumbling of the idling engines of the vehicles nary a sound could be heard, not from the people, or their guns. Not even from the wild beasts of the forest, who had since long fled the scene. Not even the buzzards, not even a crow in the skies. It was as if the world was stunned at what had just transpired.
The moment was only broken as a couple fireteams of marines gingerly moved forward towards the spot where the knights had been, pointing their rifles as if expecting some sort of devious licks or magic tricks to suddenly pop out, the notional triggers of training scenarios still weighing heavily as they fall back on the familiar in the face of the unknown and uncertain reality. After a few long moments and no signs of potential ambushes or booby traps they relaxed their posture, and began rummaging through what bits and pieces were lying about, pocketing just about anything and everything. Lt Cameron was about to put a stop to the blatant looting, but noticed that the SNCOs didn’t even bat an eye, and thus decided to let it slide for the time being.
They’ll have plenty of time to deal with that shit, time that they only have because of supply fuckups forcing all these unplanned stops…
Which reminds him that he still has a shit ton of paperwork to deal with. With a sigh he took out his tablet again, trying to make a dent into all that trash, hoping that at least the other units are having a smoother time…