NationStates Jolt Archive

Street Island, Tuan Province


The eerie chirp of insects and rustle of wind on the dense undergrowth swept through the forest. Millions of creatures stirred and began the night’s hunt for food while millions of others sought places of shelter until dawn. It was dark underneath the dense forest canopy, shutting off the pale rays of the dying sun.

Private Hayes gripped his CR60 assault rifle closer to his body as he walked, step after careful step, the toe of his boot coming down first on the wet forest floor. It was almost suffocatingly hot and stickily humid in his full combat gear, including the large backpack that carried his equipment. He didn’t mind the weight; after the thorough training at basic and the months of trudging in combat gear through Boroglia, this was nothing. But the dull heat was oppressive, beating down on the platoon’s spirits.

It didn’t help that the enemy were lightly geared, highly mobile and with a aggressive death-wish which made fighting difficult. You had to kill every one of the fuckers to be absolutely sure that there was at least some semblance of victory; while this was fairly business-like in the urban terrain of Townsville, the dense forests of Tuan was unpredictable and uncontrollable.

Three meters to his left, Private Tanya Welles was stalking quietly. Hayes knew instinctively that she’d be staring around her with those cat-like green eyes, her wiry body on the alert. Mind you, she was always like that; almost as if she didn’t know how to relax. Most of the time he saw her, she was training like a woman possessed. She’d beaten down all comers at any form of hand-to-hand combat and her marksmanship had won the company awards. If there ever was a person built to be a soldier, then it was Private Welles.

Hayes didn’t like her too much though. She was like a concentrated, pent-up force which she unleashed in combat. She didn’t talk much apart from the strict necessities and even then kept it to a bare minimum. Also, he had to admit, he was jealous of her skills and dedication, though in a fairly professional way. Sometimes it repelled him—while he was doing a job, she was living her life.

Hayes froze suddenly, his sub-conscious scanning routines disrupted by something. His mind on the present, he sank into a crouch, his rifle held high. He had been well trained by the 64th Marine Corp; they’d had extensive experience in jungle warfare… Although in a way, after the first bullet snaps past, no amount of training could prepare a soldier for the reality of battle. The trick was to make sure that the first bullet snapping past was a Marine Corp one.

Hayes breathed deeply, eyes studying the gloom intently. He reached up with one hand and activated the night-vision on his visor. The surroundings flared up in green, the heat from the plants and the ground making it difficult to distinguish shapes at first. He waited till the sensitive equipment adjusted and the flare died down. His eyes flickered to his HUD and noted that the platoon had stopped along with him.

After a minute, he activated the squad-comms unit and selected Sergeant McKinley. “Sarge, I think I saw something. I’m not sure what it was though.”

There was a pause, then McKinley’s voice sounded in his ear, “I see. Welles, take point. Lieutenant, my squad is gonna recce the area just ahead.”

There was a tap on his shoulder which was Private Karne, a Chimaean-African with skin so black that only the whites of his eyes and the flash of his teeth showed up in the darkness. Karne and Hayes had been serving on the same platoon since they had joined up.

Karne was carrying a stripped-down model of the CR60, with only the basic rifle and nothing else. The Sergeant let him get away with it because he was damned good at causing carnage with a few well-placed bullets, a skill he jokingly attributed to having trained as a civil engineer before joining the Marines.

Responding to the tap on the shoulder, Hayes got up from his crouch and edged forwards and to the left, towards Welles position. He could see almost nothing in the green darkness and kept a careful watch on his HUD, which showed his position closing in slowly towards Welles. His hands felt slippery on the grips of his rifle as he tried to keep as quiet as possible.

He got to Welles and found her already standing. He tapped her on the shoulder anyway and they covered Karne who caught up with them—all in pitch darkness, the world a green haze of night vision.

So when the shot came through the trees and dense vegetation, it burnt a hot green trail across Hayes’ night vision. He was already dropping to a crouch before the volley of machine gun fire erupted across their path, tearing chunks out of trees and felling branches. It was something that movies tended to miss; even average bullets fired through a forest ripped through leaves and branches and trees in an explosion of vegetation.

Beside him, Welles opened up with her CR60, set to fully auto. The powerful 7.62 mm rounds exploded from her gun and into the forest. Following suit, Hayes opened fire as did Karne. The comms network was fully activated now, as the platoon threw caution to the wind and hurried to back up Hayes’ squad.

Welles turned around and shouted something at him, which he didn’t hear amidst the roar of the weapons. She leaned closer and shouted, “I’m gonna try to flank that machine gun post! Cover me!”

Hayes shook his head. “Are you fucking crazy? We’ll wait for the platoon!”

But Welles wasn’t listening. In a crouching run she ran across the small clearing made by the gunfire and vanished into the gloom. Hayes pushed his visor up, swore, yelled to Karne to give covering fire and ran across after Welles, ignoring Karne’s shout of protest. He noticed with some comfort that the covering fire did come, despite Karne’s objections.

Without the visor, the world was lit by the tracers and gunfire. The distant crump of grenades exploding punctuated the steady hammering of the machine guns. It sounded like two machine guns, probably fifty-cals, mounted. Which gave them force and accuracy. Hayes hoped like hell that Welles wasn’t tracked down by any of the gunmen.

Running crouched through the dense undergrowth, Hayes suddenly felt himself falling onto his stomach. He hadn’t even felt himself trip. Swearing softly and flailing at the ground, he glanced up—to see a black-clad figure crouching j ust ahead of him.

He couldn’t make out if it was Welles or not. The figure was aiming at something in the gloom and letting off shot after shot, the muzzle-flash illuminating the nearby area. Hayes got to his feet slowly, unsheathing his k-bar knife from his hip. Then he lunged.

Hayes had stabbed someone once before, a quick slash across the throat in the midst of a pitched battle, followed by the chaos of advancing. This time it was different; there in the steaming jungle, Hayes unbending steel knife penetrated the back of the man’s neck, slid in almost effortlessly as it was propelled by Hayes weight and ripped through the other side. Hayes then collapsed on top of the man.

He desperately ground the man’s face into the mulchy forest floor. His training had been clear on this point; a death gurgle could cut through even gunfire from a close distance. He held the dying man as he twitched in his arms and rasped into the ground. Then he was still.

As Hayes watched, he noticed, in the dim light of the distant explosions, two insects fighting for possession of a leaf.

And then the reality hit him and he staggered up, slid his k-bar out with a nasty squelch, grabbed his rifle and was running again. It was unfortunate that this fairly heroic act was brought short by stumbling over Welles’ legs.

For a sickening moment, Hayes thought that she was dead. Then her arm snaked up from the undergrowth and she pulled him down to the ground roughly.

“You idiot!” she snarled. “I could have killed you!”

“Yeah I’m happy to see you too.” Hayes crawled over next to her. She was lying down at the edge of a small clearing (which, Hayes noted, he’d have stormed out into had he not tripped), staring out at it through a pair of night-vision binoculars. He didn’t need to use his visor though—the machine-gunners were on the far right, nearly enclosed in the undergrowth. There were about five people, two to each gun and one spotting through some sort of surveillance equipment. Hayes wondered if it was done with electronic trip wires.

“Those assholes have the platoon pinned down,” murmured Welles.

Hayes nodded. “Grenade?”

“No… we’re too close, and I don’t want it to hit a tree or a thicket or something. We’re gonna have to plant a claymore.”

“I knew you’d say something like that. All right, gimme the claymore and cover me, I’ll—”

“Don’t be stupid, I’m much better at stealth than you.”

Hayes bit his lip, but nodded anyway. No use denying facts. “All right… I’ll cover you. But for fuck’s sake, make sure you aren’t sighted!”

Welles shrugged, already shedding her backpack and taking out the squat shape of the claymore mine. Then she wriggled her way through the undergrowth and for a second, Hayes admired her speed. She really should be in special forces or something, he mused as he turned and covered the gunners with his rifle.

So intent was he on his targets that he almost missed the sudden change in his surroundings. Aware something was amiss, he froze and glanced around rapidly. What the hell…?

He listened. Then he heard it; or rather, the lack of it. The returning gunfire from the platoon had died down. He scrabbled for his visor, showed it down and flicked on the positioning screen. The last of the orange dots that was his platoon were vanishing from the screen’s edge.

He activated his comms unit. Nothing. The platoon was maintaining radio silence… which could only mean…

The gunners were already looking around suspiciously, wondering if the enemy had retreated. Any moment now, one of them would get up and then see Welles, who was sneaking to their left. He could see the spot where she intended to set up the claymore.

Then four things happened at once.

First, Welles realised that the returning fire had stopped.

Second, Hayes switched to burst-fire mode and took aim.

Third, one of the gunners got to his feet.

Fourth, he saw Welles.

The cry was barely out of his mouth before the three CR60 rounds ripped through his chest, making him dance macabrely before falling to the ground. Hayes was already losing off another burst into one of the others as they desperately tried to grab light arms to return fire. They were good though—the moment they had gotten hold of their weapons, the remaining three spread out into the forest in opposite directions. They didn’t waste time trying to get the heavy machine guns to bear on him and in a moment the forest was unnaturally still…

Welles was still exposed as she ignored the events around her and firmly settled the claymore into the forest floor, facing the machine gun nest. Hayes switched to fully auto and started firing above and to her sides as she worked. She finished off and primed the claymore, then glanced back at him.

And then, she stood up.

Hayes realised that she’d seen something he hadn’t, something off the edge of his vision. Before he could twist around she was shooting above him and there was a short, cut-off scream. Time seemed to slow. Hayes, looking behind Welles, saw the figure rise up out of the undergrowth, rifle aimed at Welles’ back. Without thinking Hayes’ finger tightened on his trigger and the CR60 fired a stream of bullets just as the figure also fired.

Welles went down like a cut tree, onto her face. Hayes watched without much emotion as the figure was cut to pieces by the CR60 rounds. He relaxed his finger and what was left of the man… settled onto the ground.

Where was the third gunner? Hayes wondered, but he was already up and running to Welles. To his surprise she was still alive. In a kind of daze, he dug his arms under her body and lifted her up in his arms, then onto a fireman’s lift across his shoulder. In his adrenalin driven state, she seemed oddly light.

Then, he turned around and ran. The platoon had retreated. There was only one reason the platoon retreated from two machine guns: the Lieutenant had decided not to risk any more men and had called in an air strike.

The initial stab of adrenalin was wearing off and his legs felt like slabs of concrete as he staggered on. Run, he told himself as he pushed on, guided only by the map on his visor. Just keep heading in this direction and eventually—

The world went blinding red and he was thrown forwards, Welles on top of him. He felt the wave of heat billow out over him. Ah, he thought dazedly as the world darkened again, the airstrike.

He slowly got to his feet, lifted Welles onto his shoulders, and stumbled on into the night.