While not apocalyptic in and of itself, I'm sure if you're one of the Americans or villagers in this story it would feel pretty close to it.
So, enjoy reading <i>Extraction Point Cakewalk</i>. It's very long.
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<i>There was blood upon the risers, there were brains upon the chute,
Intestines were a'dangling from his paratrooper’s suit,
He was a mess; they picked him up, and poured him from his boots,
And he ain’t gonna jump no more.</i>
- from “Blood Upon the Risers,� sung to the
tune of “The Battle Hymn of the Republic�
<i><b>U.N. WORLD FACTBOOK ENTRY</b>
<b>COUNTRY:</b> The Armed Republic of West Lebetuckey (pronounced Leb-uh-tuk-ee)
<b>CIVIL RIGHTS:</b> Few
<b>ECONOMY:</b> Powerhouse
<b>POLITICAL FREEDOMS:</b> Unheard of
The Armed Republic of West Lebetuckey is a small, economically powerful nation, renowned for its barren, inhospitable landscape. Its population of 28 million are fiercely loyal to their leader, Premier Shan Nikonov, partly through choice and partly because the government tells them to and dissenters vanish from their homes at night.
The omnipresent government – a sprawling, bureaucracy-choked, corrupt morass – juggles the competing demands of defense, law and order, and social welfare. The rise of Communism has rendered private enterprise illegal.
Wilderness has been trashed with the goal of oil prospecting, teenagers are sent to jail for breaking curfew, and West Lebetuckey has recently declared war on the neighboring nation of East Lebetuckey. Crime is a complete unknown, thanks to the military-backed police force. West Lebetuckey's national animal is the white wolf and its currency is the Dakar.</i>
* * * * *
Excerpt from an interview with Major General Harold Georges conducted by Jim Lehrer. Originally aired on MSNBC December 14th, 2005:
<i>While the war in Lebetuckey is similar in ideology to Korea or Vietnam, the U.S. hasn’t had the policy of Communist containment for over a decade. So why are we going there, intervening in what is nominally a civil war? Because it isn’t very civil, that’s why.
This very network showed footage from the internment camps, images of naked men, women and children lined up so they could be put through delousing booths. You were the first to report that there was overwhelming evidence that the West Lebetuckanese used Soviet VX nerve gas to wipe out East Lebetuckanese villages, the first to show us Red Cross aid workers delivering food to towns blockaded by Communist troops.
And yet you ask me why we’re sending troops to retake the parts of East Lebetuckey that have been overrun.</i>
* * * * *
There was a racking jolt, and the sensation of tumbling end-over-end. The jumpmaster and the assistant jumpmaster were sucked out of the airplane by a vacuum, through the hole where the cockpit used to be. Airplanes usually flew better with cockpits and noses, and the loss of the C-130’s cockpit could be attributed to a Soviet-made Nike surface-to-air missile fired from a West Lebetuckanese launcher.
Some of the paratroopers tried to get up and shuffle to the troop doors during the confusion in a desperate, panicked bid to attempt a jump. The gyrations of the plummeting fuselage caused them to bang off the sides of the plane, fall out of the gaping hole in the front, and in many cases get wrapped up in and cut deeply, sometimes fatally, by the lines securing their parachutes to the aircraft.
Specialist Sam Carlisle, convinced that he was the only one keeping their sanity in the midst of the horror, hunkered down in his seat and gripped his restraints so hard that they began to cut his palms. He felt a loose cord from someone else’s equipment whip across his face and he turned his head, burying the burning, flayed skin into the rough material of his uniform’s shoulder.
The dead hulk of the C-130 cargo plane belly flopped onto the hard-packed desert floor, kicking up a massive cloud of dust, then yawed to the left and began to roll. The tip of the right wing broke off; the rest of the structure flexed but held, preventing a roll-over but causing a rocking back-and-forth on both wings that didn’t end even after the fuselage came to a stop.
*
“I don’t like the Americans; they are an impediment to Premier Nikonov’s shining vision of a unified Lebetuckey,� Field Captain Chan Kersei spoke loudly, addressing the company of People’s Defense Force soldiers in front of him. The company’s commander stood to Kersei’s left, giving the man from the Ministry of Information his full attention. Suddenly, the field captain’s lips drew up in a rictus and he began spraying spittle.
“I want their families, dead. I want their pets, dead. I want that cutesy blonde pop singer they all have pinups of, dead. I want to build a mountain with their corpses and climb my way to the top.� Kersei’s features softened into a charming smile as he wiped the saliva from his chin. “But geography limits those possibilities severely . So, we will kill their soldiers.
“The maps you have been given is this company’s area of operation. The terrain on there is a one kilometer square called a kill-box; it is this company’s responsibility to make sure no Americans are alive in the kill-box.
“I have received reports that an American aircraft containing paratroopers was just brought down by our anti-aircraft fire, and it crashed in your kill-box. You are tasked with securing the site, and for every American body brought back here – whether it’s dead or alive – the company will receive a one hour pass for some time off in Lebetuke City. Captain Druganov will brief you on the details. Get to it.�
As Kersei walked away from the formation, he pulled a pack of Marlboro reds from his greatcoat’s inside pocket. Quality tobacco products were the only thing the Americans were good for.
He looked back at the chattering, excited conscripts in the formation as they laid out their plans for the assault on the downed plane. A satisfied smile spread across Kersei’s Eurasian features – it looked as if the Combat Efficiency Rewards Program he had been sent to push would work.
*
<i>Sound like a physical force, wind ripping, pulling…ropes, cables, lines, hooked lines…
…stand up, hook up, shuffle to the door…
…He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright …
…Sergeant, Airborne. Spesh…Carlisle…up, Airborne –</i>
Carlisle woke with a start and found himself eye-to-eye with a screaming sergeant that was holding his helmeted head in both hands.
“Specialist Carlisle! Wake the hell up, Airborne!� Staff Sergeant Garret Duncan hollered into the face of Carlisle. The specialist was vaguely aware of a coating of blood and vomit on the front of his uniform that he didn’t remember emitting.
“Wha… What happened?� Carlisle stammered. Duncan let go of his helmet, and Carlisle’s head fell limp for a moment.
“The plane got shot down,� Duncan responded. “As near as I can tell, you and me are the only poor sons of bitches in this wreck with pulses.� Carlisle shook his head in an unsuccessful bid to drive out the drowsiness.
“What’s the bad news?�
“There’s two of us, so we’re outnumbered by any Lebetuckanese unit we happen across,� Duncan said as he slowly tilted his head from side-to-side, cracking his neck. “And you better believe they’ll be on a downed C-130 like white on rice in a glass of milk on a paper plate in a snow storm.� Carlisle looked at the sergeant dolefully, still strapped into his seat.
“What are you waiting for?� Duncan asked, impatiently. “Get that chute off, put on your backpack and start grabbing ammo.�
“Grab ammo off the dead guys?�
“No, from the fucking supply room back at Bragg. Of course off the dead guys!�
Carlisle stood up unsteadily, unhooked from the anchor line above him and dropped his parachute onto a seat. The C-130’s normally gray interior was now charred black and splotchy red. Chunks of meat covered in patches of white, brown and black skin spilled out of the tattered remnants of uniforms and littered the deck plates. The sights and smells brought memories of a job Carlisle had worked in a slaughterhouse flooding back to him.
Carlisle bent over and loosened the closure straps on the backpack of a nearby soldier, being careful not to read the nametape or look into the face of the corpse for fear of recognizing him. As he was extracting two boxes of ammunition from the backpack, Carlisle heard a quick rustle coming from Duncan’s direction and looked up to see the cause. The sergeant was shouldering his M16 assault rifle, pointing the amalgam of fiberglass and steel at the gaping hole in the fore of the aircraft where a Lebetuckanese soldier stood brandishing a Brazilian IMBEL MD-2 rifle.
The two soldiers stood, regarding each other, sweat beading and running down their faces. It was the first time the Lebetuckanese soldier had seen an American soldier in person.
The Lebetuckanese fired a wildly off-target shot from the hip, which imbedded itself into the skin of the C-130.
So much for live-and-let-live, Duncan thought humorlessly as he squeezed the trigger. There was an explosive spray of blood and bone as the shot connected with the Lebetuckanese soldier’s cheek. The trooper’s corpse pirouetted and fell backward onto the desert floor with a dull thud, kicking up a cloud of dry dust.
“Move,� Duncan hissed dryly. He then snapped his rifle into a combat carry and jogged out of the plane; the jog turned into a sprint once his feet touched ground so he could avoid the hail of bullets that began churning the sand around him. He dove for an outcropping of rock, cutting a gash in his upper right leg as he slithered over it. Duncan sat behind his cover, legs outstretched, lamenting his lack of a submachine gun.
The Lebetuckanese ceased fire as Duncan disappeared behind the rocks, trying to conserve their meager supplies of ammunition. They stared at Duncan’s hiding place like hungry wolves, weapons brought to bear on the spot. They were so fixated on the spot that when Carlisle sprinted out of the C-130 and dove behind the outcrop, they did not fire a single shot at him.
“Glad you could join me,� Duncan said sarcastically as a few angry shots plinked off the rock.
“Airborne, sergeant,� Carlisle responded, smiling. “You got a plan to get us out of here?� As Duncan was about to respond with a negative there was a roar in the sky. Vapor trails clearly indicated an incoming airplane, and more vapor trails detaching from the main body indicated that the airplane had launched something.
“Cover up!� Duncan screamed as he curled into a ball with back to the sky and his arms over the back of his head. Carlisle followed suit.
The guided bomb dropped by the United States Airforce F-15 fighter jet plummeted to Earth, landing squarely on the crashed C-130 cargo plane and vaporizing a platoon of unfortunate Lebetuckanese soldiers moving in to secure the crash site. An intensely hot pressure wave from the explosion rolled over and around the outcrop, making the two Americans extremely uncomfortable and sucking the air out of their lungs.
“What… was that?� Carlisle gasped.
“Airstrike to make sure the bad guys couldn’t salvage the plane,� Duncan responded, then pointed. “Let’s head for those hills.�
*
Chan Kersei was listening to U.S. Armed Forces Radio – he enjoyed listening to music, and it was the only station that broadcast in the middle of the desert – when Captain Niya Druganov and his lieutenant approached him. The men looked frantic; Kersei turned the volume down on his transistor radio as they jogged towards him.
“Something wrong?� Kersei asked, not moving from where he was seated on his jeep’s hood.
“The plane was destroyed by a U.S. airstrike before we could secure it,� Druganov responded, resting his hands on his knees and panting.
“Huh,� Kersei responded. “Did you manage to recover any American corpses?�
“Comrade field captain, the company lost about three dozen men --� Druganov began, but was cut off by a glacial gaze from the younger man.
“Did… you… recover… any… American… corpses?� Kersei repeated slowly.
“No.�
“Isn’t that a shame,� Kersei said non-committaly.
Druganov didn’t like Kersei’s cold, impersonal demeanor, icy blue eyes or East Lebetuckanese accent. And he thought that there was something amiss in the fact that the man was seven years his junior and one rank his senior.
“At any rate, I have a new task for you,� Kersei announced, pulling a map out of his cargo pocket. “It seems that the nearby East Lebetuckey village of Quatran is harboring guerilla fighters. As a result of their insolence, the village is to be made an example of and your company is to perform the task.�
“You want us to kill a village full of civilians?� Druganov asked.
“That is the way the Lebetuckanese Unity Front generally makes examples of people, yes,� Kersei responded. “You are going to carry out this lawful order… are you not?�
“No,� Druganov said softly, shaking his head. Kersei lit a cigarette, hopped down off of the jeep’s hood and stepped towards the captain.
“What did you say?� Kersei asked, placing his face inches from Druganov’s.
“ ‘No.’ �
Kersei gave an amused chuckle and switched his cigarette from his right hand to his left as he took two steps backward, then reached into his greatcoat to produce a magazine-fed semi-automatic pistol. Kersei then placed the barrel against Druganov’s forehead.
“Last chance.�
Druganov met Kersei’s gaze, the fire of defiance burning brightly in his eyes.
“You don’t have the guts,� Druganov growled.
Kersei pulled the trigger and proved the other man wrong, blowing Druganov’s brain pan out the back of his head. He watched as the body dropped straight downward, just like one of those two detestable American buildings that he had seen collapse in news footage of the terrorist attack on New York.
Kersei put his cigarette to his mouth, letting it dangle from his lips as he produced a cellular phone from his pocket. He sent a text message to his commander informing him that Captain Druganov had been uncooperative. Once the message was sent, Kersei dropped the instrument back into his pocket and holstered his gun before acknowledging the lieutenant’s presence.
The lieutenant was mortified as Kersei flashed him one of his charming smiles.
“You’ll help me carry out these orders, won’t you, Lieutenant Toreski?� Kersei asked. The younger man nodded.
“Good,� Kersei responded as he put an arm around Toreski’s shoulders and laughed a little. “Good!�
*
Duncan smacked his squad radio in exasperation, swearing under his breath. Much smaller and weaker than the backpack radios, squad radios were virtually useless for long-range communication. Raising an airplane on it would be a long shot, but it was the two Americans’ only hope for rescue.
Duncan sat the radio down and waited to see if there would be a response to his distress call. He spat out a stream of tobacco juice as they sat in silence, like they had each time they waited for a reply.
“I only joined for the tuition,� Carlisle said, staring off into the distance and taking a swig of water from his canteen.
“Beg your pardon?� Duncan responded, startled by the abrupt beginning to the conversation. Carlisle looked directly at him.
“I was in ROTC in college; hell, I got my Airborne wings over the summer of my sophomore year,� Carlisle said.
“Cut the bullshit. ROTC trains officers, it doesn’t make enlistees.�
“They do when you breach your contract in your senior year,� Carlisle responded. “I failed two physical fitness tests in a row and got a DUI citation. That bird don’t fly in an Army with too many lieutenants. Now I owe those fuckers six years and sixty thousand dollars. This is really, honestly, the last place on Earth I’d like to be.�
“After this tour, you’ll get sent to Afghanistan or Iraq. Done ‘em both, and I never got blown out of the sky either of those places. Afghanistan’s the place to be, though; there’s hardly ever any shooting over there anymore,� Duncan said, trying to reassure the other soldier.
“I’m going to do my best to make sure you don’t die, sergeant; I like you. But I’m not going to buy it here, that’s for damn sure.�
“And what makes you think that?�
“I refuse to die a virgin.�
Duncan looked at Carlisle and wondered why God would kill the eight hard-working, dedicated troopers he had been in charge of, only to grace him with this shitbag. The only outward of display of Duncan’s perturbation at Carlisle’s Hollywood cliché attitude was a heavy sigh.
Duncan reached for the radio so he could click over to the next frequency and retry his distress call. As he touched the dial, the device burped out a crackling response.
“… this is Viper Five… request… UTM coordinates… confirm...�
Duncan and Carlisle had a map spread out between them, which they had used to figure out their coordinates earlier, and Duncan picked up the radio and recited the numbers off of the strip of paper they were written on. There was a pause, and vapor trails appeared in the sky.
“Roger that, we have a visual on your location,� the radio informed, the sound coming in crisp and clear.
“This is Bravo Kilo Six,� a new voice said. Duncan recognized the callsign as being from 82nd Airborne Division headquarters. “We need you to head into the village of Quatran – which is marked on your map – so we can extract you. The village is held by friendly guerillas who expect your arrival; the perimeter password is ‘sheepshead’ and the challenge is ‘oscar.’�
“Airborne, Bravo Kilo. This should be a cakewalk. Out,� Duncan said into the radio as Carlisle began plotting a course on the map. The sergeant looked over at Carlisle, thinking dark thoughts about today’s youth.
*
“So, no chance of getting VX?� Kersei sighed into his phone. The West Lebetuckey Peoples’ Defense Force used cellular phones for communication when not in combat, as it was almost always guaranteed that calls would go through. There was also the added bonus of not having to worry about radio range.
“There have been… reports of live Americans in the area,� came the response from Major Bederov, Kersei’s commander. “If they turn up gassed, the U.S. will have proof that we have such a weapon, and we don’t need them or the U.N. riding our ass anymore than they already are.�
“Americans?� Kersei said brightly. “How many?�
“Two.�
“Sounds like two too many.�
The officers talked for a little while longer, then terminated their conversation. Kersei lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply as Britney Spears’ “Toxic� gave way to Incubus’ “Megalomaniac� on his transistor radio.
*
“Did you watch the Oscar ceremony?�
“I keep my lambs in the sheepshead.�
The challenge and password set successfully completed, the guerilla who began the exchange popped out of a camouflaged trap door set into the side of a box canyon.
“My name is Ling Beruski. The oasis and the village is this way,� the guerilla said in passable English. “Follow me; we must be quick.�
Duncan and Carlisle followed the guerilla in a file, the three of them scanning for threats with their weapons as they jogged. The box canyon they were entering had steep, high walls, perfect for protection from prying eyes or the elements.
Or for shooting down into.
As they moved along, Duncan wondered how many other resistors were hiding the hills.
*
Lieutenant Toreski entered the command vehicle – a Soviet T-72 main battle tank – after Kersei, nausea gripping him. He had watched Kersei excitedly arrange which troops would ride in what personnel carriers and how the gun jeeps would protect the formation, glee in his voice and a smile on his face all the while. Kersei seemed to Toreski like a child playing a game instead of a military commander; it was as if Kersei had been looking for an excuse to off Druganov so he could steal his toys.
Toreski glanced back at Kersei balefully from his position in the gunnery seat, with a burning desire to cram that incessantly blaring portable radio down the field captain’s throat and to shove that obnoxious flip-phone – carefully encased in an empty cigarette pack – up his ass. He pressed a button for the tank’s automatic loader to chamber a high explosive round as visions of a double-stuffed Kersei danced in his head.
*
Duncan, Carlisle and Beruski came to a bend in the canyon. Once they rounded it, the village of Quatran lay before them.
Built next to an oasis, Quatran was set into the back of the box canyon. It looked lush, verdant and inviting, a welcome change from the miles of sandy desert and a wonderful place to wait for a helicopter ride home. It looked so much like paradise that Duncan didn’t even notice the sandbag defensive positions and the stationary machine gun limply hanging on a pintle mount.
As they entered the village, they saw children playing, women going about their daily business, and men standing guard with MD-2 rifles just like the West Lebetuckanese used. Something that served as an advantage to all participants in the war was that the MD-2 used identical magazines to the American M16.
On a table inside a tent made of camouflage netting sat a full-size radio. Beruski walked over to it and picked up the handset.
“Bravo Kilo Six, Quatran Eight, package is secure,� he said.
“That’s good, but we have some bad news,� came the reply. “You have approximately two-hundred mechanized infantry soldiers and one tank headed towards your location. We cannot reinforce at this time, but air support is on the way.�
“Will the enemy force arrive before extraction can be affected?�
“Afraid so.�
“You better have that air support, and you better bring in those helos once the landing zone is clear. Quatran Eight out.� The guerilla hung up the handset in anger, and returned to the two Americans.
“The landing zone is going to get hot before the choppers can arrive,� he informed them, “hot� being the slang term for an area under attack. “We’re going to get air support to help us deal with a company of attacking West Lebetuckanese.�
“So we don’t go home until we help you fight the bad guys?� Carlisle said. “Wonderful.�
“Do you have enough weapons?� Duncan asked, ignoring Carlisle.
“We have plenty of weapons, and thousands of rounds of ammunition. Problem is we only have fourteen men capable of shooting effectively. We’ve gone over the plan dozens of times; we have our sectors of fire plotted, and the women and children will be used as magazine loaders and ammunition bearers while they are hiding underground.�
“Is there some kind of tunnel system they can escape through?� Duncan asked. The Lebetuckanese lived by a strong traditional code that disallowed the use of women and children as combatants, and it didn’t sit easy with the American sergeant to have non-combatants around when the shooting started.
“Quatran isn’t some ancient village,� Beruski responded. “It’s a refugee camp. It’s futile to run, with a mechanized company bearing down on us; vehicles move faster than people. We can die running, or we can die fighting. And quite frankly, Sergeant Duncan, these people are sick and tired of running.�
A beep sounded, and a voice came over the blue Motorola walkie-talkie hooked onto Beruski’s combat harness.
“The first troop carriers are in sight,� one of the perimeter guards informed. “There are twelve of them, eight jeeps and one tank. The jeeps are armed with a mixture of machine guns and rocket launchers, and the tank is, well, a tank.�
“Use your rocket launchers and pull back,� Beruski replied into the radio. He then looked at Duncan and switched back to speaking in English. “The enemy is in sight. Still think we should try to run?�
*
Two rockets, launched almost simultaneously, reached out from defensive positions on the side of the box canyon and disabled two West Lebetuckanese armored personnel carriers. The soldiers inside frantically got out of the ruined vehicles and pressed toward their objective on foot. A deluge of rocket and machine gun fire from the West Lebetuckanese jeeps flailed the positions the rockets had been fired from, eliminating the guerillas responsible.
Kersei flung the commanders hatch of his tank open and gripped the handles of the .50 caliber machine gun above him, using them to pull himself up. He tracked the weapon’s barrel across the side of the canyon, firing two short bursts while doing so.
Kersei was shocked when he saw a spark on the armor plating in front of him, and the bullet responsible ricocheted and grazed his arm lightly. The field captain quickly decided that sticking his head out of a tank was not the safest thing he could be doing, and dropped back down into the commander’s seat and closed the hatch behind him.
Toreski looked over his shoulder, trying to hold back laughter as Kersei rubbed his stinging bicep.
*
Beruski received a report from his heavily camouflaged sniper that, despite killing or wounding many of the enemy, he was completely out of rifle ammunition and needed to come back for more. Beruski, sighing heavily, ordered him back.
No sooner had the sniper come into view at the top of a canyon wall was he shot in the back by the encroaching enemy force. By the time his body had slid to the bottom of the incline the first West Lebetuckanese troops were in sight of the village. The attackers arranged themselves along the top of the canyon wall, setting their weapons for full automatic fire and blasting away at Quatran.
Duncan was lying behind a low sandbag defensive position with Carlisle, but only the sergeant was returning fire. Because of the volume of fire being directed his way, all Duncan could do was prop his M16 against a sandbag and fire in the general direction of the enemy. This worked fine, until a lucky burst shattered the plastic fore-end and twisted the barrel of his weapon. The sergeant made a series of disgusted, animalistic noises as he chucked the ruined weapon to the side.
“You actually going to shoot that fucking thing?� Duncan growled at Carlisle, who had his arms wrapped around his M16 like a scared child wrapped their arms around a parent. Carlisle just stared at him blankly, whimpering softly.
“Fuck you!� Duncan spat as he snatched the rifle away with ham-fisted force. Carlisle feebly tried to hold on, but was rewarded with a gash in his forehead where the front sight smacked him.
To Carlisle, the situation seemed much more real than the C-130 crash. He felt the bullets ripping the air, clearly heard which screams belonged to who. And he definitely felt his rifle’s front-sight bash him in the head as Duncan snatched it.
His senses came into jarring focus as he heard one of Quatran’s huts topple behind him. Carlisle realized that most of the fifteen able-bodied Lebetuckanese resistors were dead, and that poorly-aimed shots in the general direction of the enemy were not doing anything to make the shit storm of enemy fire subside.
With a primordial yell, Carlisle leapt over the barricade in front of him and began sprinting to the canyon wall. The blood-curdling scream and the suddenness of the action shocked the battlefield, and for a moment everyone on both sides stopped shooting.
Carlisle grabbed a grenade from his combat harness, pulled the pin and lobbed it as hard as he could, and then tucked into a ball and rolled into the canyon wall as the Communists started shooting at him. The grenade sailed up over the heads of the West Lebetuckanese and detonated, killing none and wounding all thirty of them. The sensation of shrapnel entering their bodies momentarily incapacitated the enemy force, and during this moment Duncan and the six surviving guerillas stood up and began firing at them. They were firing single shots in order to increase their accuracy, which was the only advantage they had; this had the effect of turning the fight from a blindsided slaughter going in one direction into a mass execution by firing squad going in the other.
Once the shooting had stopped, Carlisle got up, spat, and stripped an MD-2 off of a dead West Lebetuckanese that had slid down the canyon wall.
“We’re not going to be able to survive that again,� Beruski said, looking over his shoulder as women exited their hiding places and tended to the wounded. He was going to say something else, but his train of thought was derailed by a rumbling in the sky.
Coming in low over the distant mountains the form of a large airplane could be clearly seen. Evidently, if Beruski was promised air support from the Americans he would get air support from them.
*
The AC-130 gunship was the same make and model of aircraft as the C-130, but that’s where the similarity ended. Instead of being built to haul people and cargo, the AC-130 was built as an aerial weapons platform. Boasting 105mm, 40mm and 25mm cannons and an array of high-velocity machine guns, it carried more heavy weapons than some small countries.
And it certainly carried more heavy weaponry than Kersei’s battered company.
*
There was a series of racking explosions, rocking the world with a staccato rumble. The blasts tore Kersei’s company to bits, and his T-72 shuddered violently as it was bombarded by shockwaves from the AC-130’s cannon rounds. The field captain frantically tried to raise his platoons on the radio, but was only able to get in contact with a panicked assistant platoon leader. The man told Kersei that him and his men were in retreat; that Kersei was a raving lunatic, that Druganov would have never gotten them killed liked this; and that Kersei could take his sergeant’s stripes, roll them up real tight, and shove them up his ass.
Kersei began snarling a reply into the radio as a series of cannon rounds detonated right next to his tank, knocking it on it’s side. Momentarily stunned, he managed to work the hatch open despite a sharp pain in his gut. He ungracefully flopped out of the vehicle and onto the ground, slamming the hatch shut behind him and silencing Toreski’s pleas for help. He struggled to his feet and removed the .50 caliber commander’s machine gun from its pintle mount, and as he hefted the extraordinarily heavy weapon upward and propped the barrel on the side of the ruined tank he felt something tear inside of him.
The AC-130 swung back around, coming in low in a straight line towards Kersei. He lifted his left hand skyward and extended his middle finger as the plane began to bank. As he brought his hand back down so he could wrestle the machine gun sights onto the airplane, he was knocked backward by a shockwave from another cannon round. He looked down at his body and noticed a dark trail in the sand that led from his starting point to his new position, and also saw a bloody piece of metal on the ground to his left. And last, but certainly not least, he noticed the gash in his stomach that his intestines were hanging out of, which had been caused by the metal shard slicing him open.
With nothing better to do, Kersei packed his bowels back into himself the best he could and laid as still as possible while he coughed up blood. He heard several, dozens, countless more rounds from the airplane detonating, and then its engines eventually trailed off into the distance.
<i>Come back and face me, you cowards! And see how a West Lebetuckanese field captain dies on the field of battle!</i> Kersei thought with even measures of vehemence and incoherence. He then proceeded to pass out.
*
A Blackhawk transport helicopter landed in the center of Quatran, and the door gunners began throwing boxes of rifle ammunition and non-disposable Stinger missile launchers out of it.
“What is this for?� Beruski asked one of the door gunners.
“Apparently you pissed the West Lebetuckanese off majorly,� the American responded. “An armored column is coming to get revenge that company of infantry.�
Duncan stood frozen at the door gunner’s words as he felt the group of women and children pressing behind him.
“After all that… there’s more to do,� Beruski mumbled in disbelief.
“We’ll be able to land reinforcements in about three hours, and we can keep up the air support until then, but… the tanks are going to be here in about an hour,� the door gunner said sheepishly.
Duncan gritted his teeth, the pressure of the panicked group behind him mounting.
<i>Why, oh why, did they only bring one helicopter?</i>
“I’m staying here until relief arrives,� Duncan announced, surprising everyone around him.
“You’re crazy,� Carlisle, who was already on the helicopter, said as he shook his head.
“I’m not crazy; I just signed up for ideals higher than college tuition,� Duncan responded. He then turned his attention to the door gunner. “Take as many of these unarmed civilians as you can in my place. Children first, women if you can.�
“Sergeant, you are crazy,� Carlisle smirked. “But hell, I’m crazy, too.�
The specialist then proceeded to step off the helicopter. Duncan flashed Carlisle a beaming grin, and gave the younger man his M16 back.
Extraction Point Cakewalk
Extraction Point Cakewalk
"You're going to have a tough time doing that without your head, palooka."
- the Vault Dweller
- the Vault Dweller
