"What are you doing?" Quincy asked.
Johnny replied, "I'm tired." Johnny was sitting in the hangar, watching the clouds darken. He was eating lunch when Quincy showed up. Heavy rain was falling as jets and transport planes flew over the airfield. It was getting colder, and the atmosphere was a little lonely.
Quincy took out the storage box with the tools and turned it over. He sat next to Johnny and ate the cheese spread and crackers he got from his MRE. They had been doing the same work for the past few days, but nothing new had happened. It was getting boring, and the cold weather made their job harder. Their friend, Private Kyler Beverly, had to do kitchen clean-up duty. He was not happy to be stuck on kitchen duty. Kyler Beverly comes from a treacherous past. He dropped out of high school in 10th grade due to getting into a fight after being bullied. He cursed out the principal and the teacher, who decided not to help him when he needed assistance. After dropping out, he decided to sell drugs and do other irregular work. Although he didn't like it, it was the only thing he had. His family didn't have money and was far into the lower-class category. A year later, the war began, and the people he looked up to were drafted. Some tried to make a run for it, saying they'd never go to war to die. They were soon captured and sent to jail. Kyler stayed on the same corner as fewer and fewer customers came up to him. His town, along with neighboring towns, had been invaded, and a brutal slaughter took place. The military didn't realize what was happening at the time. The town was soon deserted. Almost everyone had been killed, including Kyler's family. He spent time in a shelter until he decided he didn't want to live this life anymore. He joined the long line of people wanting to join the Marines and was sent out the following week.
Now Private Beverly has become a designated marksman. He wore a necklace with a photo of his family underneath his shirt. His teeth were covered by the braces he got after enlisting. Kyler had olive-toned skin and wide eyes. His eyes reminded Johnny of Viktor. Kyler was the same height as Johnny. His trauma is hidden in the back of his memory, locked away in a chest. Looking at him, you wouldn't realize the pain he went through in his life.
Johnny sat, his eyes slowly closing. The boredom was getting to him.
"Don't sleep now," Quincy said as he nudged Johnny's shoulder.
"I'm so tired," Johnny repeated.
A man who had walked past the hangar from time to time did it again, this time looking at both Johnny and Quincy. He had darkened glasses and an Air Force patch on his jacket. He made a sudden turn and walked toward the two of them.
"Who's that?" Johnny murmured. He was seconds from dozing off again.
"Dunno," Quincy replied. He continued to eat his stale crackers and cheese spread.
The man came up to them. He had an umbrella and brown gloves that looked like they were wearing out by the minute.
"Hey," he said. "Are you guys maintenance?"
"No," Quincy responded. "Marines, infantry."
"Oh," he said. "Ah, I overheard that you guys were heading out soon."
"Huh?" Quincy said. "What do you mean? We're stationed here till further notice, and that notice hasn't come yet."
The man shrugged. He looked over his shoulder and pointed in a direction where people were walking. Quincy and Johnny looked at one another, sighed, then got up and started walking toward the same spot everyone was gathering at. Tailing them was the unnamed Airman.
"Are you some sort of pilot, Mr. Airman?" asked Quincy as he followed the muddy path.
"Transport pilot," the man said. "Ah, I never fully introduced myself, huh?"
"Nah," Johnny responded. "You remind me of something out of Top Gun."
"You like old movies like that?" The airman chuckled. "I like you, guy."
Johnny giggled as the conversation continued.
"Anyways," the man said. "I'm 2nd Lieutenant Micah Beerstedt. I fly with the 83rd Airlift Wing. Specifically the 13th Airlift Squadron. You'll see me in the skies, dropping airborne."
"You went on missions?" Quincy asked.
"Yup," he responded. "I've been on two missions. Thankfully, no bombardment."
"Is the Air Force dangerous?" Johnny asked. "I have friends there."
"Shit happens, man," Micah responded. "We lost whole squadrons in one deployment, I heard. Thank God I'm still here."
The three of them continued their walk, speaking more about the Air Force. Their curiosity made Micah excited to explain it all to them. It was as if they'd known each other since elementary school. Micah was among the younger pilots in the USC's North American Sector. He was among the 43% who were fast-tracked to an officer position and completed comprehensive pilot training. Many of the 43% were around the age of 22 when they finished their training. Transport pilots had a life expectancy of approximately two months, or eight missions. Out of every division that uses pilots in the Air Force, Airlift pilots sit second to last in life expectancy. Recon pilots have an expectancy of six months, if not more.
"Micah?" Quincy asked. "You still need to look for maintenance?"
Quincy pointed towards a tent that some pilots were walking out of. Micah patted them both on the back, smiling at them.
"I'll have to buy you guys a drink when everything's all set," he laughed.
"Not of age," Johnny chuckled.
"You are in Europe," he noted. Walking away from the two, Johnny wondered if he'd ever see Micah again. He also wondered about Mara. It all felt strange for him. He started repeatedly hitting himself on the head as he became drenched by the rain.
"You alright?" Quincy asked.
"I hope," Johnny muttered.
[Patrol]
Brmmm Chk Chk Brmmmm
"Get your gear, get your shit, because we ain't comin' back for awhile!" screamed the staff sergeant. "Fuck Priv, hurry up!"
Equipment was loaded onto transport trucks. Everyone sat close together with their rifles in a safe position. A meeting was held as Intel showed hostile movement surrounding the city of Turku. Taking Turku would be a major victory in terms of naval engagement as a whole. Still, many soldiers and even civilians wonder if these invaders, known now as Telectians, have a stronger trick up their sleeves.
"Johnny?" Quincy asked. "You alright?"
Johnny held his rifle close to him. He got into a cramped, armored personnel carrier with thirteen other people. Behind their vehicle were three transport trucks carrying both Marines and Army personnel. Leading the pack were the 37th Armored Division and their tank crews. A slight knocking noise and a slight hum could be heard in the APC. It was pitch black inside, with a red light being the only thing that could be seen. Conversations were non-existent. A man to Johnny's right took his helmet off and began vomiting. The Marines next to him could only hear his gut-wrenching hurls, which sounded like rushing waters. Johnny felt the temperature in the APC rise. Outside, however, winter came early. After driving for around thirty minutes, the APC came to an abrupt halt. Someone was knocking on the door. The heavy doors opened with a corpsman standing beside another man. With morale already low due to many new Marines and Army personnel going on their first operation, it was not needed for someone to continue to decrease everyone's morale by vomiting out of nervousness.
As the doors remained open for the lone Marine to get out, the rest of the Marines in APC could see other Marines and Army personnel being taken into another transport vehicle heading in the opposite direction. After a few minutes of waiting, the doors shut, and every vehicle began to move. It took fifty minutes to get to the city of Turku. From afar, the gunner could see nothing but ruined buildings. The line of vehicles stopped again. This time, they were ordered to get out. The Marines in Johnny's APC were being led by Staff Sergeant Emran Makrov. Emran Makrov was a fourth-generation Marine. His brothers were also enlisted in the Marines, but both had been killed on the same battlefield during the invasion of Maine. Emran Makrov was 6'1" and wore glasses. He used a rifle equipped with small armor-piercing bullets and had a deep voice. His eyes were hidden most of the time, and his leadership skills were above the rest of his fellow sergeants.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Staff Sergeant Emran Makrov ordered everyone to get out immediately. Upon exiting the APC, Johnny looked all around as the city of Turku was completely deserted. The sky went from cloudy to completely dark during his time in the APC.
"Gather up," Makrov ordered. "Listen here."
"Where are the invaders?" asked a Marine named Marcus Lazarus. He wore a neck gaiter and was the same height as Staff Sergeant Makrov. Marcus was a Private First Class and was on his second operation; his first traumatized him.
"That's what we're trying to find out," Makrov replied.
They were in the middle of Turku, and it was completely quiet. Recon drones were flown over to give them insight as to where the enemy was. After coming back clear, confusion set in, along with a mix of relaxation and anxiety. The night sky had fully set in, and the 13 men and women standing outside a building with minimal structural damage became nervous and curious. Some squads loaded up and moved throughout the city. The remaining squads were tasked with keeping the area of the city clear of conflict. Turku would be a key naval base if controlled by the United Summit Coalition.
They sat in the building, which had originally been a café with apartments above, and talked among themselves. The windows were blown out, and the eerie creaks of the structure made some Marines wonder if they'd die from a building collapse rather than gunfire. Johnny sat outside the building along with Quincy, Beverly, and another Marine. Lance Corporal Francis Almirón lit a cigarette as he leaned on the wall. He was strong, and he always wore a chain with a heart-shaped picture of his family inside it. Francis stood at 5'7" and was a true vet. This operation would be his 4th in this war and his 8th overall. He's been in the Marines for six years.
With Turku somehow already liberated, the military could now focus on securing its airport and progress toward Pori and Tampere.
As the roads became too dark to see, some squads were clearing buildings. There was only the faraway hum of a tank engine, the sounds of mice and rats running around, and the crackling of the building's foundation. A patrol rolling down the street in a Mine Resistant Ambush Protected, or MRAP for short, rolled up and stopped. The door opened, and a man slightly exposed himself.
"Are you on watch?" he asked. "We need a few for patrol."
"Am I allowed?" Johnny asked. "I've got three of us on watch."
"Orders from command. We gotta get these patrols done," the driver replied. "You either in or out?"
Johnny called over Francis and told him the situation. Francis walked into the café and brought out three Marines who looked like they were sleeping peacefully. Private Susan McMann, who had shaved her hair off, had pale skin due to the cold and hazel eyes. She was also tall, standing at 6'2". Private Michael Vern and Private Patrick Vern were twins with Irish heritage. They moved to Boston, where their father took care of them. They enlisted in the military following the destruction of Ireland as a whole.
Quincy was now placed on watch duty. He looked irritated and was half asleep, but he stood there with his rifle in hand. Johnny got into the MRAP first. There were already five people in there, including the driver and the gunner. Once everyone was in the MRAP, it sped down the road, which had blown up cars, crumbled bits from buildings, and uneven asphalt. The ride was bumpy and uncomfortable. This was Johnny's first time in an MRAP. Johnny found the vehicle itself fascinating. After driving into the night, they arrived at a military checkpoint that had been established. Leaving this checkpoint would mean entering unknown territory within Turku. Down the road, there was a Humvee ahead with its lights off. They pulled up behind it, disembarking, weapons ready, as they met up with a 5-man patrol team.
"We cleared these buildings and streets, but we still need to hit the buildings ahead," ordered Sergeant Björn Magnusson. "My team will do the right side. You and your team get the left."
"Alright, that sounds reasonable," acknowledged Sergeant Cole Woolcock. "You gonna call us if shit hits the fan?"
"We'll scream," Sergeant Magnusson chuckled.
The two squads parted ways, clearing buildings. Johnny was still new to sweeping buildings, even if he had it nailed into his head numerous times in combat school. The buildings had an eerie atmosphere, and clearing some of them was challenging. The stairs had collapsed, making it impossible to clear the upper floors. One building in particular had a video game store under the apartment. They entered the video game store at 0120.
[0120, Turku, Finland]
Sergeant Woolcock led a team of four Marines to sweep the apartments on the upper level. He instructed Corporal Capullo to clear the lower-level video game store.
The flashlight gleamed in the dark. The four of them moved together, clearing the video game store and opening a door that led into the back.
Johnny and Corporal Frank Capullo lined up in front of the store's storage room. They also had Private First Class Casey Nightingale and Private Susan McMann. Corporal Capullo was lean, with some muscle and tan skin. He was the same height as Susan, and he had a noticeable scar on his right arm. Behind him was PFC Nightingale, whose blue eyes were wide open. He looked like he was already spooked. Johnny and he were the same height. They both also had a lean build. He carried a marksman rifle that showed minor damage. Together, the four of them entered the storage room, where an unpleasant odor prompted Susan to quickly exit due to disgust.
"Shit!" squeaked Casey. "Ah, fuck man!"
"Jesus Christ almighty," Johnny murmured.
In front of them was a pile of pale white bodies stacked upon one another. To the far right of the room, four bodies were slumped over. A stain of dried-up blood was under the feet of the three Marines in that room.
"Give me light," Frank asked. He walked closer to the bodies, inspecting them. Johnny, who was helping Frank Capullo with the situation, wanted to vomit. The strong smell sent shivers down his spine. Casey exited the room because he couldn't take it anymore. Some of the bodies were intact, while two had been ripped to shreds as if they were fired upon by a machine gun. Frank picked up a bullet that had been lying around the two shredded bodies.
"What happened?" Johnny asked.
He got no response. Continuing the search, he moved more bodies off the pile.
"These bodies have been dead for a few hours," he stated.
The bodies of civilians that were stacked upon one another made Johnny annoyed. He wondered what could have happened that caused this.
"Was this a mass suicide?" asked Johnny.
"No," Frank replied. He continued to examine the bodies and pushed a little girl to the side, revealing a note. The note was in Finnish and was sticking out of her shirt. Frank picked up the note, moving it closer to his face. Johnny moved back toward the door because the smell was making him sick.
A shape of a string could be seen when looking at Frank as he lifted the note. Johnny didn't question it, but thought it was odd.
"Finnish?" Frank said it in confusion. "Uhh."
Pfkoooom Ffoooooo
A violent roar and a wall of flames filled the room. Johnny was lifted off his feet after having flames blow into his face. The building swayed violently as Susan and Casey were also knocked to the ground. The noise and shockwave were so loud and powerful that they sent windows that weren't already blown out, crashing toward the street. It also alerted the squad that was clearing buildings across the street. Buildings started collapsing due to the shockwave. Johnny was thrown toward the front entrance of the video game store. All he could see was Casey getting up and running towards him. He blacked out for a second, then came back as he was being dragged outside the building.
"We've got to—" Johnny couldn't hear the full words coming out of Casey's mouth. The ringing in his ears was painful. The bottom of his pants were darkened and his boots as well. His vest protected him from hurting his back. The building shook as Johnny was dragged out of the building and in front of the MRAP. "Niem—, Nieme—. Shit!"
The building started to collapse as Susan limped out, diving onto the street. The other squad, which had been clearing the buildings across the street, hurried over as dust and debris clogged the road. The MRAP was underneath the rubble, as were Johnny, Casey, and Susan.
"Call it in!" screamed Sergeant Magnusson. It took ten minutes to get Johnny out of the rubble.
Johnny did not suffer any injuries; he was just feeling a bit rattled. His rifle was lying right next to him. The surrounding buildings began to collapse, creating a disturbance. Two Humvees could be heard. They sped up quickly before screeching to a halt behind the pile of rubble that stretched yards down the road. Two squads jumped out, and two corpsmen were with them. It took an additional twenty minutes to get both Casey and Susan out. Susan was impaled by metal on her leg. She was screaming in pain as they carried her out. Johnny remembered that the rest of their squad had been upstairs clearing rooms. They turned their attention to the giant pile of rubble that lay in front of them. The search continued. Casey wasn't hurt, but his rifle had been destroyed. He also had a couple bruises, but insisted on helping out.
"Where's Capullo?" asked Casey, who was standing over a pile of concrete.
"I don't know," Johnny said. He couldn't remember what had happened in that split second.
"Thank God these buildings around us weren't tall ones. I don't think we'd have made it out alive," Casey sighed.
"Hey!" screamed a Marine. "Got a live one!"
Being pulled out of the rubble was Private Patrick Vern. His face was bright red, and he had blood coming from his ear and the top of his head. He kept screaming words that no one could fully understand.
"Get out!" screamed the Marine.
"You have to leave!" he screamed as he kept being pulled up. "They're coming!"
"What do you mean?" asked Sergeant Magnusson. "What are you talking about?"
Once he was pulled up, his leg was broken, and his right arm dangled, indicating that it too had been broken.
"It was a set-up!" Patrick stated. "Run! Hide! I want to go home!"
"Get him outta here, now," Sergeant Magnusson ordered.
An observer had been in one of the Humvees speaking to command. The feed was cut numerous times as he got irritated. Lance Corporal Jermaine Saint-Pierre kept getting feed cuts until communication from a platoon near the airport came through. The distressful commands came in, but it was unknown what was happening. Jermaine got out of the Humvee and spoke to his sergeant. They spoke to one another before a shrieking noise could be heard toward the airport. The airport was far away, so the noise coming from that area made them all skeptical.
"What's going on?" Magnusson asked. "What's going on?"
Johnny and Casey continued searching for more survivors while witnessing the commotion.
"Get in the trucks!" Sergeant Magnusson screamed. "Now!"
The shrieking noises got closer and closer.
"What about the rest of the Marines?" Johnny asked. All the Marines ran toward the Humvees. They managed to get the Humvee out of the rubble, but the MRAP was stuck.
In the Humvee, they sped off down another street and toward the checkpoint. The Humvees accelerated faster and faster. Over the radio, words were coming in, and the frequency kept getting blocked.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, look!" screamed Casey. "You see that shit!"
"Fuck! Artillery!" cried a Marine over the frequency in the Humvee in front. "Artillery!"
Battle of Turku