"We're two clicks to the west of your position," echoed the radio.
"Niemen, hand me lighter would ya," asked Lance Corporal Niko Johnson.
"I never had one," Johnny Niemen said. He rested on a window ledge, looking up at the sky. The temperature had dropped significantly, and the effectiveness of the hand warmers was diminishing. The sky looked darker, as if large clouds rolled in. The cracking and explosions throughout the city looped in and out of everyone's ear as they sat in a bullet-riddled apartment building. Johnny was biting on an energy bar that tasted like tar. Its rough texture caused a snapping noise every time he bit into it. It was the only food available for them at that moment. Since they are far behind enemy lines, any sort of fire would alert their enemies.
"It's fucking freezing in here," shivered a Marine. "I'm so cold."
They peered out of an opening in the apartment, observing the anti-air gunfire and the two nearby jammers in action. Roughly forty Telectian soldiers surrounded the massive machinery. They walked like humans, conversed like humans, and performed all physical and mental tasks like humans. However, this was limited to what Johnny and the others could perceive. The wind blew, producing additional headaches for those suffering from the cold.
"Whatcha lookin at?" asked a Marine named Private First Class Christopher Brim. He was wearing a black balaclava with heat packs wedged in between. He was tall, as he was a college basketball player before dropping out and joining the Marines. He had a buzzcut but was naturally blond.
"Ruins," Johnny sighed. "Ruins."
"You alright?" PFC Brim asked.
"I killed someone today," Johnny sighed again. "I killed two, three, maybe even four people. I am a killer, a person who has murdered someone's child. They looked close to my age."
"Easy," PFC Brim chuckled. "Those aren't humans; we learned this before. They age differently; they think differently. They simply have a predetermined plan to eliminate all of humanity, including us. Have you ever read about their cities being occupied? They murder, rape, and pillage us, forcing their entire nation to relocate into those fortified cities.
Johnny turned around and realized he knew almost everything Christopher Brim had said. He learned this in school and during basic training. Videos depicted the damage these invaders had inflicted on cities, individuals, and the global community. Johnny sat down on the floor and yanked his helmet off. Dried-up blood coated his gear, as it did everyone else's. He took pictures out of his helmet, looking at them and tearing up. The small apartment echoed with soft sobs. It was going to be a long war, a long night, and a long battle for Johnny and every serviceman fighting throughout the world. Leaning back on a bullet-riddled wall, Johnny fell asleep.
Throughout the apartment, Marines walked in and out hauling things on their shoulders. They spent hours observing the machines, taking notes, and comprehending every routine that those Telectians performed. As the night passed, Johnny awoke to a symphony of screeching noises coming from the building's walls. He jumped up quickly, putting his helmet on and tripping over his rifle.
"Fish," said an infantryman from the 182nd Airborne Rapid Response.
"What?" Johnny said. "What's that mean?"
"We're fishing," he replied. The helmet concealed his appearance.
"Rocket, rocket!" shouted a Marine.
There was a slight thump, followed by a soft swooshing sound. After a few seconds, an explosion occurred, making everyone in the apartment view its glory. The night sky grew bright, showing the clouds that had rolled in previously. Johnny walked up to a window, witnessing a large fire engulf the area where the anti-air and jammers had once laid. An aircraft's engine began to sing through the air after thirty seconds.
"What's going on?" asked Johnny.
Patetetetet- vrooooom
"Hell yeah!" screamed everyone in the building.
"Give them hell!" screamed PFC Brim. "Fuck them, sorry bastards!"
Johnny picked up his rifle while keeping his head turned toward the window.
Patetetetet- Brrrrrrrt- Fwooosh
"Haha!" laughed Lieutenant Christopher Murphy from the 182nd. "That's how it's done, boys."
The aircraft, which had fired numerous large 30mm rounds, was the last of its kind. The A-10 Thunderbolt II, also known as the A-10 Warthog, flew by the apartment, littering its rounds throughout the ruined streets of Turku. It flew around, letting out its ammo. Its final run occurred as it flew by, once again producing a shrieking noise as it passed. It fired two missiles toward the ground, causing a loud roar. The celebrations were short-lived, as they were still behind enemy lines. Johnny stood near a window, looking at the fire and the bodies of the dead cut into pieces. His eyes, without even trying, darted towards a large brownish vehicle that looked familiar to him. It stopped short of where the fire had been before moving forward again.
"What the fuck?" muttered Johnny. "What is that?"
The vehicle suddenly extended a barrel from the top. It twisted the top, finishing off its horrific appearance as it stared Johnny in the face. Its barrel glared heavenly white light.
Johnny screamed, "Tank!" But only a few Marines nearby could hear him. "T-ank!" His legs wobbled as if he were in a dream.
"What?" asked Corporal Niko Johnson. "Tank?"
Johnny nodded quickly as he headed slowly for the door.
"Tank!" Niko Johnson cried. "Where is it, Niemen? I don't see it!"
Corporal Niko Johnson did not know what he was looking for, nor could he see anything. Immediately, a group of Marines positioned themselves with the javelin in one of their hands.
In an instant, the space where Corporal Niko Johnson stood vanished, along with the majority of the apartment's walls. Johnny, who had turned as soon as it hit, could see a light so bright it was angelic to him. Shortly after the appearance of the white light, Johnny heard the deafening roar an explosion. It was hell on earth.
[Chapter Twelve: The Second Battle of Turku: Part Two]
Fading in and out of consciousness, the world around him burned. His head bobbled before the feeling of pain set in. Looking up, he could see his body being dragged away from a five-alarm fire. The constant ringing in his ears prevented him from hearing. Someone dragged him into a small store, where he fell to the ground panting.
"Shit," a Marine said.
"Do you think this water is good to drink?" coughed another. "Help me treat these wounds."
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The screams of a Marine near Johnny fully woke him up. He groaned from the pain he felt. He had lost both his rifle and his helmet. A shelf in a small convenience store supported Johnny as he rested on the floor.
"Where the fuck am I?" Johnny gasped. "My hands fucking burn!"
"Oi," the Marine said. "The princess has woken up."
Johnny had regained his sight, albeit a little hazy. Looking at him was Private First Class Casey Nightingale, a familiar face. He took off Johnny's gloves and wrapped his hands with a burn dressing. While the stinging was annoying, there was also a cooling sensation. Two Marines were approaching, carrying a slouched 182nd soldier. His wounds were horrific, with blood dripping from his body.
"Johnny," Casey patted. "Come on and help."
Despite the pain in his hands, Johnny got up to find rations and treat the wounded. There were nine troops in the small convenience store. Out of those eight, only six could fight. Johnny didn't have a rifle, but his pistol and service knife would help. One Marine was done for. Scrap metal had immobilized his leg. His rifle was also missing. The Corpsman, who had been working on the wounded 182nd soldier, slammed his hands to the ground. A pool of blood flowed from the body. The man was dead. Johnny could see the frustration on his face. The Corpsman stood up, his pants drenched in the man's blood, walked silently behind the counter, and grabbed a pack of cigarettes for himself. He held it tightly in his hand as he rested on the counter.
"Fucking meat bags," he uttered. "Fucking government pawns."
"What's his problem?" whispered Johnny as he hauled a basket of partially expired food.
"I don't know," Casey replied. "He's losing it. We all are."
The Corpsman's hands were shaking as he held the cigarette. He had no lighter but tried his hardest to find whatever he could. His commotion became so loud that it halted everyone's movement. He continued to murmur under his breath before hurling the pack onto the ground. He cocked his rifle, aimed it at everyone, and shouted.
"We're all fucked!" he screamed.
"Quiet down," said a Marine. Phillip Baumgartner held the rank of Private First Class. Blood stains tainted his pale skin, and his eyes were large. Next to him was Lance Corporal Malik Garver. Malik had war paint on his face and rich brown skin. He had aimed his rifle at the Corpsman, who had simply lost his mind.
"Gun down, Doc," Malik uttered in a deep southern accent. "Why take your destruction on us?"
Casey had disappeared. He slowly crept up to the Corpsman. Everyone but the Corpsman could see what Casey was doing. Lance Corporal Malik Garver continued the conversation with the Corpsman. With each word, he'd take a small step toward the enraged, insane Sailor. While this was happening, Casey was getting closer and closer to the deranged Sailor. He silently walked behind the counter, leaped up, and placed one hand on the rifle and another on the neck of the deranged Corpsman. Lance Corporal Malik Garver ran towards the Corpsman, attempting to wrestle the gun away despite the counter obstructing his path. The Corpsman, who was tall, had knocked Casey to the ground and punched Malik Garver in the head before aiming the rifle up.
*Dfphm*
A body violently crashed to the ground. The man who had threatened them all looked mortified as Casey stood up. His eyes were wide open, and so was his mouth. It was as if he was being exorcised. His arms stretched out, and so did his legs. Private First Class Phillip Baumgartner took the swift shot.
"We've gotta get outta here," said Phillip Baumgartner. He picked up a wounded Marine and hauled him over his shoulder. The rest of the Marines looked toward the door as they picked up their gear.
"Where do we go?" asked Johnny. "We have no way of contacting anyone for help. We're deep behind enemy lines."
"If we don't leave now, we're as good as dead," sighed Malik Garver. He was looking over at the dead Corpsman. "Baumgartner, don't worry. You won't get court-martialed."
"Yeah, if we live long enough to even say anything about this," Casey uttered.
"Stop with all the nonsense," Phillip Baumgartner said. "We have to go now. Those fuckers are probably swarming this area as we speak. We've also got wounded men. We have to move."
The only light visible outside came from the nearby fires. Moving away without the proper gear would render them completely blind. Malik Garver took command. He assured himself and everyone else that the others made it out of the building alive. Casey slowly shook his head from right to left.
Everyone grabbed food, drinks, and medical equipment as they slowly walked out of the convenience store. Those whose NODs had broken stayed as close as possible to someone who still had them. Malik Garver, Phillip Baumgartner, and Constance "Conman" Mahogany, a quiet and fearful Marine, had working NODs. Conman was short, scrawny, and had multiple pictures of his family. His voice sounded like an alto when he was scared and like a tenor in normal conversations. During basic training, Private Constance Mahogany earned the nickname "Conman" as a reward for unintentionally persuading the drill instructors in the most foolish manner.
Conman's eyes were always droopy. If he were to return home, it would appear as though he had developed a severe case sleep deprivation. Conman walked next to Malik Garver, even though he also had NODs.
The squad of seven—once nine—traveled through the streets and into destroyed buildings and houses. They progressed back towards the railroad, trying to retrace their steps. While walking through a destroyed house. Suddenly, a bright light appeared, causing Malik Garver to stop abruptly. Those without their NODs found the house extremely dark. A rattling noise from outside the house halted everyone's movement.
"Don't make any sudden moves," whispered Malik Garver.
The crunching noise was louder than it should be. Someone outside the house was walking at a quick pace. The light dragged along the walls as they all crouched slowly towards the filthy, decaying floor.
"ASNGIANGIA?" a voice questioned.
Another voice, with a higher tone, responded, "GAIASGUAG BASLGFAJ." Their movement was getting slower, as if they were alerted by something. The crunching of the leaves never stopped. To the men in the house, it felt like a whole army was marching outside. Their language irritated everyone.
Nausea settled in. Their legs ached, and sweat trickled down their chins. As they stood there, it felt like a year had passed. The final sound of crunching ceased. The seven Marines felt a wave of relief wash over them. Even though the noises had ceased, Garver didn't want to move from the house until a few minutes later. Bombardment from their previous location had rocked the area they were in. The North American sector's air force was in full swing, along with the European sector's. Fire flew high in the air as the sky lit up with fast-moving aircraft from both sides. Every aircraft shot down looked like a shooting star.
The seven of them left the house, following the path of the invaders. Johnny looked up at the sky as it was no longer cloudy. He thought about the many Marines he had seen before this battle had started. He wondered what had happened to Quincy and the others. He had been through hell tonight, and all he could do was pray. Many people believed that Marines like him were only bait. A one-and-done. Even though it was just the first night, Johnny couldn't think straight. Fighting like this for days, months, and possibly even years would take a toll on him. He was continually contemplating the need for retaking this country. His own country was also being invaded. The invaders captured numerous states and reduced cities to rubble. The world is in pain. The Earth doesn't seem like it has much time left.
The squad moved quickly, even with wounded men. They made sure to stay out of sight. They passed by tanks that bore a resemblance to the ones that had followed Johnny and his previous squad. Bodies lay over the burning rumble. Some on the street. The words "charred" and "unrecognizable" only begin to describe the gruesome scene.
"They had no chance," muttered Johnny.
They entered a house by breaking open the door. The house remained fully furnished, yet it lacked electricity. Conman took candles from the bathroom and lit them in the kitchen using a lighter he had with him. They barricaded the windows and the front door. Phillip Baumgartner placed a wounded man on the kitchen table and removed his clothes to evaluate his injuries. Although he wasn't a Corpsman, he tried his best to treat the young Marines' wounds.
Johnny sat on the counter of the small kitchen. He was exhausted and wanted to sleep badly. The muffled screams from the Marine, who had been on the table, were a horrifying sound and sight to behold. The other wounded man succumbed to his injuries just inches away from the house. He lay dead, covered by bedsheets. Casey took his dog tags and sat next to him in a dark room. Forced to leave the kitchen, Johnny moved around the house. He walked in on Casey, sitting quietly with barely any light in the room.
"So this is our end?" Casey said. "His first battle, and he dies in such a fucked-up way."
"You alright?" Johnny asked. He stood at the door, his gaze fixed on the covered body.
"It's a fucked up world," Casey sighed. "Why are they doing this?"
Johnny had no words; he just listened in. He too wondered what caused all of this. He anticipated more words from Casey, but he remained silent. It was as if he died in the middle of his speech. He couldn't see him properly, but Casey had a stare known by many as the thousand-yard stare. Stress was starting to wear him down. The numerous bodies and gunfire he's witnessed tonight have also contributed to his depression, and this was just the first day.