“2 section this is Raven-22, over,” I say into my radio headset. It’s currently about 3 fucking am, I’m tired, and the patrol sent out still hasn’t returned yet. I’m so sick of sentry.
“Juliet-16, 2 section, over.” A voice crackles out over the line.
“Raven-22, when are you back? Over.”
“Juliet-16, ETA 2 minutes, out.”
“Raven-22, hurry the fuck up. Out.”
Guess I’m just stuck here. With Robin, somehow still alert on sentry.
I’m pretty sure this is our last night in the field. It’s been, what, 3 nights out here? Too long. We attached to some regular soldiering units, too. “Special Forces Support Group” are taking up most roles, but we’re taking the lead as 1 platoon 1 section. Nice.
“PAN-PAN, PAN-PAN, PAN-PAN.” A voice blares out over the radio. A fucking urgency call now? Fuck. You.
“One platoon, one platoon, one platoon.” And it’s for us.
“This is Juliet-16. Full section of enemies seen approaching harbour from south-west. PAN-PAN, PAN-PAN, PAN-PAN. This is Juliet-16, out.“
That’s not just fucking urgent, thats a full fucking emergency.
“Robin. Wake up everyone else.” I spit at him. I hate being section commander.
I tighten my grip on my rifle as I adjust the strap. We’ve been given simunition rounds, so we aren't truly shooting each other, but it feels real enough. Still hurts beyond words. 7 magazines of them, though, it gets painful to carry. Where did I put my helmet…?
Wait.
There’s someone there.
“Halt.” I whisper loudly. I can just barely see a figure in the clearing in front of us.
It stops.
“Advance to be recognised.”
I can still barely see it, even when it comes dangerously close.
“Halt. Foxtrot X Ray.”
No response.
“Foxtrot X Ray.”
click
Shit.
“CONTACT FRONT!” I shout out before diving behind some trees. There’s the deafening bang of a grenade, before all hell breaks loose.
“MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY. This is Raven-22. Contact at harbour, grid reference 638641. MAYDAY, MAYDAY, MAYDAY. Raven-22 out.”
I know my life isn’t really at risk. But god fucking damn, it feels like it is. All of 1 platoon is now awake, and returning fire, 2 platoon should be enroute.
That buck of my rifle feels good, and watching the enemies collapse as we fire on them (yeah they silly like that) feels oddly rewarding, too. Just trigger squeeze, after trigger squeeze.
“Raven-22, this is Raven-21. Out” Why is Robin speaking?
“Raven-22, over.” The enemies are falling back.
“Raven-21, we have an enemy detained with us near central bashar. Out.”
“Raven-22, Enroute. Out.”
That firefight was stupidly quick. Obviously, 2 platoon isn’t even here yet. Fun.
Still, I make myself over to the central bashar, where lo-and-behold, they’ve captured an enemy. Ziptied and everything. Of course, this is a paratrooper playing the enemy. Still embarrassing how they got caught. Even got his weapon, a cheap AK clone. Cliché.
“So, what do we do with him?” Isabella asks me. How am I supposed to know?
I quickly send out a message to 2 platoon for them to guard our harbour before responding,
“Have you searched him?” I respond.
“No traps or anything. Just regular kit, and some paper detailing plans.”
“Take his weapon, ammo, radio and everything else. Give me the plans. Oh, and throw him near the shit trench.” Did I mention we made a trench for burying our shit? I love living out here…
Opening up the plans, it’s a goldmine. Apparently, they’re expecting a resupply truck full of explosives in about 60 minutes. Why would a section attack us so close to a resupply?
It’s HMX, though. Highly reactive.
That’s good. Real good.
“Control, this is Raven-22, over.”
“Control, over.”
“Raven-22, is the HMX real? Over.” This is still just an exercise, no matter how real it feels.
“Control, the HMX is real. The resupply is unmanned. Do what you will. Out.
“Raven-22, out.”
You can guess what I’m thinking.
“All stations, this is Raven-22, 1 section. Preparing to move. Out.
“1 section, bergans and on me.” I shout out. We’ve already gone loud, no point in staying quiet. I’ve already got my bergan since I had it on sentry. Hate this fucking thing, heavy beyond words and bigger than me.
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Carries a shitton, though.
“Nice being shot at, isn’t it?” Says Isabella, taking position behind me. I should say, our callsigns are in our rank order. They were actually given to us when we got our uniform, remember the number on the blackout shirt? Apparently, purple is also call sign “Raven”. I’m not complaining, 2 is still my favourite number. Anyways, we got:
Charlie fireteam,
Raven-21, Robin, as scout, and grenadier.
Raven-22, me, as section in-command.
Raven-23, Isabella, as sharpshooter.
Raven-24, Hiroshi, as a rifleman.
Delta fireteam,
Raven-25, Abdullah, as section second in-command.
Raven-26, Carlos, as rifleman.
Raven-27, Emma, somehow the other fucking grenadier.
Raven-28, Ethan, as the machine gunner.
Long list, but that’s just one section. There’s 2 more in one platoon, then there's also two platoon.
There’s a tap on my shoulder, meaning Ethan (the last man) is formed up. God, I need to stop zoning out.
“Alright. We’re snap-ambushing a truck with explosives. Grid reference 7245 6152 (long as hell, somehow still remembered it), Robin. Emma, Robin, use live grenades for this. Control implied we could blow it up, since it’s unmanned. Still, don’t fire if anyone’s there. Got it?” I snap at them. Nods all round. “Robin, single file.” He gets up, and signs to me single file. Hand signals are a bit confusing in the dark, but they work.
I pass it back and keep walking, with some space between me and him.
The wind is cold tonight, as expected, yet it’s somewhat pleasant. Walking through fields, scanning around, and walking yet. Oddly calming, considering what we’re going to do. Hopefully, we get to get off this exercise after this. The goal was to disable the enemy, blowing up their supplies might do that?
I’ll make us raid their FOB after, if it doesn’t.
Sometimes it’s boring walking so much. I keep tripping over my feet, my rifle hurts my arms from carrying it, my hip hurts from my pistol smashing it (i think im wearing the holster wrong).
But, it’s still nice.
I’d rather be here than school, or in the care home, or in the hospital. I can trust these people here with my life, more than I could say about people at school.
I’d say they know nothing about me. Lies, deceit, I’ve practically used every trick in the book to keep my actual life secret. Hell, some people in school don’t even really know what gender I am (despite the fact i literally wear a skirt??). They don’t know about my parents, my past, present, future, anything. Fuck, it is really setting in how much I lied. Is it bad if I used the lies so that people didn’t treat me differently?
If I told everyone I was orphaned, they would all force themselves to be nice. “She lost her parents, don’t be rude.” Shut the fuck up. I shouldn’t be different because of what happened.
It killed me, but. But.
But what?
All it really did was kill me. Numb me. Make me hate myself, and for a while, everyone else.
All it did was anger me. That fucking smell of metal and smoke and sweat and blood and-
Shit, Robin’s signing for a snap ambush.
I pass it back and lay on my bergan, hidden but with a clear view to the road.
It’s something like, 0402h (4am twats) now. Should be here any minute.
“Remember, live grenades.” I say over the radio. I can’t be asked to follow radio protocol when I’m talking with my own section, they’ll understand. “If it doesn’t blow, keep firing.”
And now we wait.
I should probably tell control about this.
“Control, this is Raven-22, over.”
“Control, over.”
“Raven-22, confirming permission to detonate HMX resupply. Over.”
“Control, just don’t kill anyone yet. Out.”
“Raven-22, out.”
Yet? Funny.
There’s rumbling. I can just barely make out headlights to the far left, too.
“Standby.” I whisper over the radio. I don’t really wanna give out a fire control order, either.
Why did they make me section in-command, again?
As the truck approaches, there seems to be no front cabin or driver's seat. Guess it is unmanned. It’s literally just a white container on wheels.
“Grenadiers, 150, front of axis, deliberate.” I say into the mic.
You can just barely hear the rounds being fired off before it feels like the sun crashed into earth.
Deafening fucking explosion, even with the ear defenders we have on. The heat burns, as debris shatters everywhere. It looks like we nuked the area. Which I guess we kinda did?
Maybe 150 metres was too close.
“PEEL RIGHT!” I shout out. No point staying here.
Kinda boring now, just running, kicking boots to indicate i’ve passed, and diving to the ground again. There’s still pieces of the truck lit on fire, igniting the dry ground around it.
Not my issue, the Royston fire station can deal with it.
After about 700 metres of fleeing, I guess we all just collectively decide to stop.
“Fucking hell,” wheezes Isabella, out of breath.
“Nice shots.” Says Ethan, somehow still standing after running with the gimpy and his bergan.
“Don’t get comfortable, yet,” I yell at them. No time for rest here. “We probably need to clear the FOB that 3 section scouted before.”
“Fuck you,” says Abdullah. “I’m hungry, tired, and dirty. Ion want to do shit.”
“Too bad. You knew what you were getting yourself into. Deal with it.” Robin snaps back. Sorry, big man.
While they keep arguing, Emma and Hiroshi are munching down on some of the snacks they put in the MREs, and Carlos is somehow already back to fucking sleep against a tree.
“You have 3 minutes.” I shout at them. I should stop shouting. “Reinforcements have probably already arrived at the explosion site.”
“Thank you.” Abdullah replies, almost taunting. Mong.
While they all do their own stuff, I check my rifle and ammo. I’m down to, what, 6 and a half rifle mags? My two pistol mags are untouched, obviously. Probably will stay like that unless we’re breaching.
Calling over the other platoons and sections might be critical, now that I think about it.
“All stations, this is Raven-22. We are enroute to enemy FOB, grid reference 8363 5172. Requesting standby for fire support. Out.” I state into the radio, after getting the location from Robin. God, these grid references are long as hell. They just shoved the lesson down our throats in about 20 minutes, too. Why is our training so short?
After taking in some water, I think it’s been 3 minutes? Not my issue, I call out “On me,” before I’m asked to check. “Robin, FOB. Abdullah, you take delta and approach from the east instead. Alert when in position.”
Once again, we’re back to walking. Thankfully, it’s only about a single kilometre from here. We’re all tired…
More crunching of twigs underneath me, more tripping over my feet. I tightened my holster though, so no more painful hip. Little things out here improve your quality of life by tons. Like, when we figured out if you oiled your rifle parts, the carbon would come away with a single swipe of a rag, it was glorious. It no longer took 30 minutes for a single field clean, more like 30 seconds.
“Raven-22, this is Echo-2. 2 platoon in position west of FOB. Waiting on your call, out.”
“Raven-22, received, out.”
I’m pretty sure we’re almost there, too. The dirt road we’ve been following has become more used, and you can just see the sandbag walls.
“Isabella, that guard tower,” I command her while pointing at a lone tower, looming over everything around it. “Shoot whoevers on it, and get on it yourself. Robin, Hiroshi, on me.”
My heart feels like it’s going to beat out my chest. I don’t think we’re expected to be here, but we’re still outnumbered.
“All stations, this is Raven-22, standby, Over.”
I’m so ready to be done with this.
“Breach.”