Group 3
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Hey there writers, this is my first time here in this section of FAKKU! I've done a variety of role play's over the internet, and despite how short these lasted, I enjoyed it. I'm a pretty creative person if I do say so myself, and usually the things I RP in are fantasy based. However, sometime last month I got the inspiration to write a more down to earth story, particularly about characters in a war based setting. This story (which I only just started) is set in the world of Modern Warfare 2, which has only been out for a few months. The great thing about this world, is that it's so dynamic. Very little is explained, which will let me take quite a few liberties with the people in this story. So without further ado, here's the first chapter (which is really a sort of prologue to be honest)
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Me? Oh yes, I was there. I was everywhere as a matter of fact. There wasn’t a civilized place in the world I couldn’t reach, not a single set of stairs I couldn’t travel, or one single cockroach that could have escaped my notice; hence the name †˜Godeyes’. Of course, despite my egotistical ranting, I only saw those things from a single room. I was…well… I still am I suppose. I am a computer god, and my domain was cyberspace. Shepherd gave us the very best in everything, even until the very end, but I’m getting ahead of myself. I suppose I should start from the beginning, that’s how all good stories start, right?
It was a black flag day, which meant no one went outside. Of course, that was assuming that inside was cooler than outside. The air-conditioning unit in the barracks we were issued was non-functional, so we sat outside, sitting in the shade cast by the main complex we should have been, all puns aside, chilling in. We weren’t the only ones though, the entire base was running on emergency generators, and that meant no wasteful use of electricity. Some extremists had bombed their way past the perimeter and blew themselves up with the power complex. No one had been killed, but the Sergeant in charge had been hurt pretty bad, it could have been worse. We should have just went inside the main complex where it was cooler, but Shepherd had forbidden it. He had said it was a show of character, since at least 10,000 soldiers were outside in full gear, walking around in the same heat we were. Personally, I thought it was a foolish sentiment. My job was to sit in a controlled environment and stare at a computer screen for 18 hours a day. Theirs was to hoof it about and guard whatever it was we decided was important enough to guard. That’s how it was, or, how I thought it should have been.
Just ten hours ago, I had been sitting comfortably in front of a robust but reliable computer system in Germany that tracked every Predator, F-15, and APC at any location in the world. Now here I was, cooking like a turkey while waiting for our UH-60 to take us out to Fire Base Phoenix. My only consolation was that I was not sitting there all by myself. A small group of people, as well as General Shepherd himself, were getting cooked right along with me. It was at that point he had earned my respect, and all he had done was sat next to me in 130 degree weather. With him were the three other soldiers who had been there when Shepherd came to collect me. The first one was a bit portly, looked to be about my age, and had an Irish complexion just like me. The second was a bit younger than me, but was a bit skinnier than his friend. He also had what I like to call a mountain man beard, which was actually a moustache and beard put together. . These two had treated me cordially enough on the plane ride here, but had refused to give me their real names. The portly one called himself Pirate, while the other called himself Hollywood. The third one was about the same complexion as the second, but a bit shorter and without the facial hair. He had not spoken to me at all, save for his nickname of Canyon.
I certainly felt like I was back in basic; no one liked you because you were the new guy, and if anyone talked to you it was to tell you to do something. These men had not actually asked me to do anything yet, or acted like a TI, but they definitely gave off that air of †˜significant importance.’ I figured it would pass, it always did for new guys. Do the chores, grab the coffee, and don’t talk much and eventually you were treated like a regular. That, or wait until the new guy came along, which lucky for me, was not too far off. Shepherd had mentioned something about one more to the team, though had not mentioned a specific name. Whoever it was, they were certainly in for a surprise. I had no prior warning that I was about to be shanghaied into a so called †˜Elite Task Force’ until I found my bags packed and Pirate sitting on my cot telling me to pick up the stuff and go. Whoever these 141 guys were, they were all business.
My kind of people.
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Me? Oh yes, I was there. I was everywhere as a matter of fact. There wasn’t a civilized place in the world I couldn’t reach, not a single set of stairs I couldn’t travel, or one single cockroach that could have escaped my notice; hence the name †˜Godeyes’. Of course, despite my egotistical ranting, I only saw those things from a single room. I was…well… I still am I suppose. I am a computer god, and my domain was cyberspace. Shepherd gave us the very best in everything, even until the very end, but I’m getting ahead of myself. I suppose I should start from the beginning, that’s how all good stories start, right?
Bagram Airfield – Afghanistan
It was a black flag day, which meant no one went outside. Of course, that was assuming that inside was cooler than outside. The air-conditioning unit in the barracks we were issued was non-functional, so we sat outside, sitting in the shade cast by the main complex we should have been, all puns aside, chilling in. We weren’t the only ones though, the entire base was running on emergency generators, and that meant no wasteful use of electricity. Some extremists had bombed their way past the perimeter and blew themselves up with the power complex. No one had been killed, but the Sergeant in charge had been hurt pretty bad, it could have been worse. We should have just went inside the main complex where it was cooler, but Shepherd had forbidden it. He had said it was a show of character, since at least 10,000 soldiers were outside in full gear, walking around in the same heat we were. Personally, I thought it was a foolish sentiment. My job was to sit in a controlled environment and stare at a computer screen for 18 hours a day. Theirs was to hoof it about and guard whatever it was we decided was important enough to guard. That’s how it was, or, how I thought it should have been.
Just ten hours ago, I had been sitting comfortably in front of a robust but reliable computer system in Germany that tracked every Predator, F-15, and APC at any location in the world. Now here I was, cooking like a turkey while waiting for our UH-60 to take us out to Fire Base Phoenix. My only consolation was that I was not sitting there all by myself. A small group of people, as well as General Shepherd himself, were getting cooked right along with me. It was at that point he had earned my respect, and all he had done was sat next to me in 130 degree weather. With him were the three other soldiers who had been there when Shepherd came to collect me. The first one was a bit portly, looked to be about my age, and had an Irish complexion just like me. The second was a bit younger than me, but was a bit skinnier than his friend. He also had what I like to call a mountain man beard, which was actually a moustache and beard put together. . These two had treated me cordially enough on the plane ride here, but had refused to give me their real names. The portly one called himself Pirate, while the other called himself Hollywood. The third one was about the same complexion as the second, but a bit shorter and without the facial hair. He had not spoken to me at all, save for his nickname of Canyon.
I certainly felt like I was back in basic; no one liked you because you were the new guy, and if anyone talked to you it was to tell you to do something. These men had not actually asked me to do anything yet, or acted like a TI, but they definitely gave off that air of †˜significant importance.’ I figured it would pass, it always did for new guys. Do the chores, grab the coffee, and don’t talk much and eventually you were treated like a regular. That, or wait until the new guy came along, which lucky for me, was not too far off. Shepherd had mentioned something about one more to the team, though had not mentioned a specific name. Whoever it was, they were certainly in for a surprise. I had no prior warning that I was about to be shanghaied into a so called †˜Elite Task Force’ until I found my bags packed and Pirate sitting on my cot telling me to pick up the stuff and go. Whoever these 141 guys were, they were all business.
My kind of people.
0
Chapter Two
Now, getting on a UH-60 is not as simple as you might think. It’s a complicated process which involves numerous gestures and hand signals so that you don’t get chopped to pieces if a sudden gust of wind smacks you into the tail rotor and turns you into pureed C-rations. Sometimes though, you get some lazy crew member who thinks that just looking at you is enough of a signal to get you on the chopper. Then they get pissed off because they don’t know that no one can see through those reflective visors. That’s when they actually get up and make the appropriate signals to get you on the craft. Usually it ends with him flipping you off and then practically shoving you off the Blackhawk once you get to where you need to go. The case of a screwball on the UH-60 crew was the one I was greeted with once the helicopter came in. I was actually about to get the bird before the smartass caught sight of Shepherds rank insignia. It was a priceless sight, and seeing the crew member’s reaction to the scowl on Shepherds face was worth the hour I had spent sitting in the blistering Afghani heat.
It was a vocally silent trip to the Fire Base. One might usually just say †˜silent’, but there is nothing quiet about a Blackhawk. If you thought that the rotors whipping through the air was deafening, wait till you hear the wind as you zoom by mosques at 100 miles per hour. Another note I’d like to make about my trip; the wind blowing at your face makes it difficult to breathe, doubly so when the wind blowing in your face is 120 degrees. So my trip was anything but quiet, and there was no relief from the heat, even with a †˜breeze’ licking my face. Blackhawk rides are miserable, and I’m glad that this was one of the few times I would ever have to ride in one of those things.
It was about 20 minutes out that I got the first-person experience of seeing a mini-gun do its stuff. Passing by a small village, a group of white pickup trucks came to my attention out the right side of the chopper. It seems Toyotas had no problems with carrying .50 caliber machine guns in their truck beds, because that’s exactly what a few Afghanis had in the back of the trucks. It was impressive to see that a couple of 1990 pickups could keep up with a US. Army chopper, and even more so to see that they could actually gain a few feet on us.
As a standard operating procedure, everyone had to put on a headset for two reasons. One was to make sure you didn’t go deaf from the noise Blackhawks made, and the second more practical reason was so that everyone in the chopper could hear each other. It was about the time that the lead truck started to gain on us that my headset crackled to life. It was the door gunner. “Hey Prewit, we got some flatbeds on the right side of the chopper.” The pilot popped back in within a few seconds “Roger that, they armed?” “That’s affirm, looks like they have a few MGs strapped to the back”
Now, usually, hostile intentions have to be established before you go lighting up anyone who has a gun in their hands. That is unless you have common sense, and shoot first and ask questions later. Common sense seemed to flow freely from these people, because no sooner had the pilot confirmed the MGs in the back than the gunner was given the go ahead to make mince meat of the apparent insurgents. As the door gunner lined up his sights to target the first truck, I could see smiles spread across the face of Pirate and Canyon. I couldn’t see Hollywood’s face, because he was hovering over the gunner’s shoulder to apparently see the Afghani’s demise first hand. “Eat this you dirty sand niggers” It took three seconds for the gun to spin up, and another two to completely demolish the first truck. It was like watching molten fire erupt from the engine, and the sound was equivalent to hearing the sky tear itself apart. The lead trucks companions opened up on us, but to no avail. With another three short bursts, the small convoy of trucks had been turned into smoldering swiss cheese a la one smoking mini-gun. The only evidence of our exchange was three bullet holes in the side of the chopper; which hadn’t even come close to the gas tank, and a few shells on the floor. Canyon picked one up and tucked it inside one of his pockets. He saw my puzzled look and smiled. “Memento” Odd habit to collect gun shells as a memento of a run in with eight stupid terrorists.
I’d be collecting a gun shell or two myself before my job was over.
0
Yeah, this is long overdue. No excuses or explanation, but here is the next chapter
Chapter 3
One of only two Fire Bases in Afghanistan, Phoenix was nestled in a green little valley just a stones throw away from Pakistan. A large part of the Kunar province was quite the opposite of the sand and desert image you get when you think †˜Afghanistan’. Though it was just as mountainous as the rest of the country, it reminded me a lot of the Smokey Mountains. Just with shorter trees.
Originally just a lumber yard, FB Phoenix’s primary purpose was to put a †˜wall’ between the villagers of the area and the not-so-friendly Taliban (ACM for the politically correct). The villagers, as it turned out, were not so friendly either. Although they never did chuck grenades and take pot-shots at the usual patrols, they made it blatantly obvious that they didn’t want us here. I stayed indifferent; I didn’t get paid to voice out my opinions on national television. They had plenty of cushy politicians and bloggers to do that back home. Our job here was, according to Shepherd, to get some one for a black ops mission. He didn’t specify anymore than that, but promised us that we would get the full story when we returned to Germany.
The weather that day was “Hot and muggy, hold the dust.” as Pirate put it. “Sounds like your sex life Pirate.” Hollywood chirped in, wide grins all over his face. Pirate gave what any respectable man would do when insulted like that; Sneer like a 5th grader and give that sarcastic †˜real f-104ing funny’ laugh to the insulter. It was all in good fun though, because a genuine smile cracked after he looked away. Canyon smirked, and I tried hard not to laugh. I had a very pronounced sense of humor, even it was directed at myself. This either got me accepted into a circle, or rejected because most of my jokes were at others expense. Shepherd was like a stone, and the look on his face didn’t was not one of amusement. It pretty much quelled everyone except Pirate, whose apparent good mood was not to be ruined by anyone. We weren’t staying long, but Shepherd had a change of heart and had us wait in the central building, which was much cooler than outdoors, while he picked out who he needed for the op. I was relieved to be out of the sun, being fair-skinned made outdoor excursions nigh impossible without extensive use of sunscreen. The others did not make such an obvious show of relief, but still took the chance for a break.
Canyon took charge of the situation by making use of the water dispenser nearby. As he handed out a paper-cup full of heaven, they finally started talking to me. Hollywood was the first to speak up. “McCamish right?” I nodded. Using last names was common for members of the service. In fact, I hadn’t heard someone use my first name since I got my last check-up six months ago. “Well McCamish, where you from?” “Spangdahlem” I replied. “Well, kinda. Officially that’s where I was stationed, but I actually worked with some coalition guys on the other side of the country. It used to be an old KGB store house that the German Army converted into a communications outpost.” I took a pause to gulp down the little bit of water that the paper cup could hold, and got up for a refill. Pirate was next “So what’d you do? You look kinda...you know.” I smiled and gulped down another shot of water. “Not exactly built am I?” He nodded “Nah, being physically fit was never a strong point for me. I pretty much did Air Battle Management Systems without the Air part. I’d tap in to satellites, AWACS, feeds from Predators or the occasional U2, and spot for troops on the ground. Handled some cyber security a well, playing operator to connect Al Qaeda phone calls to JDAM’s. All that jazz.” “So you’re our controller for this crap?” “Well yeah, pretty much. Only thing is that I have no idea what the f-104 I’m doing here” Hollywood nodded in approval. “I know what you mean, Shepherd really likes to keep people guessing until he knows that he can trust them. I won’t spoil anything for you, but if you get in, you’re in for a hell of a job.” I didn’t like not knowing the full story; someone like me was kind of used to having everything sitting there right in front of him. I understood well enough though, if TF 141 was as special as I gathered it to be, I’d be handling info way above Top Secret. The prospect was very exciting, and I hoped that when the time came I wouldn’t screw it up. I was just about ready to ask my own questions when alarms started going off. Shepherd burst in through the door, with a few Army Rangers tailing close behind. “Looks like our business is getting cut short gentlemen. Taliban have been making some pretty big gestures lately, and this time some of our boys got caught in it.” Canyon stood up quickly, gear in hand “We’re ready to go sir” Shepherd put a hand out as soon as he was off the couch and shook his head. “Hold your horses Canyon, this is the perfect time for Mr. McCamish to show us what he has.” He turned to a nearby Sergeant. “Sergeant Foley, get these men set up with a computer ASAP, I’m going on ahead with the regiment. Meet with us as soon as you can.” Foley saluted smartly and ushered us in past the break room we had been sitting in and into the brains “You should find a terminal in here somewhere. Sorry, the only bit of tech I work with regularly are laser designators.” He gave us a salute and rushed right back out of the double doors, leaving me to pick my favorite computer of the bunch.
It wasn’t much different than working back in Germany, durable laptops hooked up to port replicators. At least the screens weren’t the standard 800x600 crap the Heer used. I spied one empty workstation that looked good enough and set myself up. First was first; music. When I got down to the nitty-gritty, I liked to have some good synth to back me up. I hit shuffle and the first song to greet me was Phoenix by Daft Punk. I smiled to myself, Daft Punk always had some good stuff for any situation. Though usually it might have played in some old warehouse, getting cheers from the ravers, today it would accompany me to marking down some radicals. Almost forgot, my flash drive. I unclipped a simple 8GB Cruzer USB device and plugged in. This little thing let me work from anywhere in the world. Automatic 512-bit encryption, access to any standard (or non-standard) military grade satellite in the world, and an odd assortment of whatever bit of programming I might need if someone thought it cool to try and tap into my data stream. Now, some of this might not have been exactly legal, but Uncle Sam liked to turn a blind eye now and then. “Ok, bypassing login, connecting tooooo, Armed Forces satellite Argos.” Now, piggybacking off of anybody’s stuff is not easy. Masks have to be put up so that you look like you belong there, making sure whatever signal you’re using doesn’t get mixed up with the locals radio station, all sorts of charades and such. Luckily, Armed Forces and I were on the same side, so hooking up was no problem. “Ok. Ah, there we are.” Simple matter to find this place, and the convoy wasn’t too far off. “Oh I’m just in time, looks like those Rangers just made first contact near some busted up bridge.” Canyon and Pirate leaned in closer to the screen. First looks appeared to have the Rangers at a standstill with the Taliban settled in on the other side of the river. One more piece to my puzzle; a headset. Hooked up and ready to go, I began patching in to the Rangers communications protocols. “..ar…d, d..opy ov.r?” Ah, f-104ing static. I gave the earpiece a good rap, and it seemed to do the trick. “I repeat, Warlord do you copy over?” Warlord seemed to be my call sign for now, I guess it’s what they called their controller. A Tech Sergeant sitting a few feet away at another terminal was about to pick up the call when I called out to him. “Excuse me Sergeant..?” The man snapped to attention, seemingly aware of who my company and I had come with. “Sergeant Trells sir” “Sergeant Trells, I’ve got control of this, thank you” He nodded curtly and returned to his station, appearing to want to keep an eye on things.
I switched in. “Roger this is Warlord, go ahead” “Warlord Warlord this is Hunter2-1 requesting Airstrike in grid 252171. Target is a white twelve story apartment building, over” I zoomed out of the river zone and then forward towards the target area. God damn this was hardcore danger close. On my side monitor connected to an overhead AWACS, I caught sight of two F-15’s loaded and ready for orders. “Hunter 2-1 this is Warlord, solid copy. I have uhhh…Devil One-One, flight of two F-15’s online. Standby for relay.” Quick key strokes and I had Devil Flight on comms. A few copies and one confirmed airstrike later, the F-15’s were on their way. “Nothing to do now but wait.” So there we sat, watching as our boys hammered down the insurgents and pushed them back into the city limits. Good and bad. Immediately of course, relieved the troops from fire. Once they got in that city though, it was bound to be a nightmare. Bridge-layer was done with its business, and all we were waiting for was that airstrike. I zoomed out to 700 feet, ready for a good glimpse at the incoming crap-storm. There wasn’t any sound, but we sure saw it. Devil Flight came in low, dropping off the payload and zooming out on the double. JDAM’s impacted the building and reduced it to nothing. Dirt, dust, and debris spread out everywhere around the demolished building. Canyon grinned wide, and Pirate and Hollywood high-fived each other. Hunter radioed in “Hunter 2, breaking away” I gave him a copy and switched over vision mode thermal. The dust disappeared, and a majority of my screen turned a light blue. Down the center came Hunter, showing as bright red, with a white dot from the IR beacons in the center designating friendlies. A few hundred yards ahead, dark orange filled the screen, no dots. Whoever they were, they grouped close together, and an occasional blip would move from place to place. Behind them sat what looked like crates, and a few blips messing around with whatever was in them. I knew what was probably in there, but I couldn’t tell with the thermal. I switched back to regular, and my heart sank. They were insurgents as I thought, only Battalion sized and armed to the teeth with AK’s and RPG’s. It was an old bombed out school, and it looked easy enough to set up defensive positions “Hunter 2-1 Actual this is Overlord-” (Overlord was a universal name for Controllers, Warlord was just person specific) “Battalion strength hostiles 200 yards from your position, holding position at an old school, over” A familiar voice came over the comms, sounded like Sergeant Foley. “Overload, Hunter 2-1 Actual, copy that. Closing in now”
For the an eternal 10 minutes, Foley and his men moved room by room, clearing out the Taliban faster and faster, until eventually the battalion sized group and been reduced to a few dozen retreating men, with U.S. Rangers hot on their tail. Foley checked in after the school was clear. “Hunter 2-1 Actual to Overlord” “Hunter 2-1 Actual, this is Overlord, send traffic” “The school is secure and hostiles are withdrawing from the area. We’re just mopping up now.” “Solid copy Hunter 2-1 Actual, proceed with caution to the rally point. EPW’s are still in the area. Over” He thanked me for the heads up, and my job was pretty much over. The other Hunter units had little to no contact with any other combatants, and made it to Shepherds rendezvous point within minutes. With a half dozen men wounded, and no casualties, it was a great success. Even against an overwhelming enemy force, Shepherd and his men had pulled through virtually unscathed. Canyon spoke up as I logged out of Argos and shut down my terminal. “Pretty impressive McCamish, I see why Shepherd wanted you for this job” “Simple matters really” I replied “It’s just what I do.” “Well lets hope that you can do just as well when you’ve got us to work with, Pirate can get pretty chatty on the radio” Another middle finger thrown, and more laughter around the circle. I still knew very little about these men, but I liked them well enough. When Shepherd came back, he had a medium built Private at his side, and addressed the rest of us on how we did. “Gentlemen, Sergeant Foley told me how big a help Mr. McCamish was to the assault, and that without him they probably would have been caught completely off-guard when they hit that school yard. Excellent work Lieutenant.” He shook my hand and introduced the private by his side. “This is Private First Class Allen, he’ll be the center piece in the black-op operation over the coming months.” Private Allen gave us a quick salute and a confident smile. “Good to be working with you guys, look forward to it” We each took turns shaking his hand, and then followed Shepherd back to our chopper. I was still all questions, but Allen beat me to it. “General Shepherd, if you don’t mind my asking sir, what am I being picked for? Where are we going?”
“Russia”
Chapter 3
One of only two Fire Bases in Afghanistan, Phoenix was nestled in a green little valley just a stones throw away from Pakistan. A large part of the Kunar province was quite the opposite of the sand and desert image you get when you think †˜Afghanistan’. Though it was just as mountainous as the rest of the country, it reminded me a lot of the Smokey Mountains. Just with shorter trees.
Originally just a lumber yard, FB Phoenix’s primary purpose was to put a †˜wall’ between the villagers of the area and the not-so-friendly Taliban (ACM for the politically correct). The villagers, as it turned out, were not so friendly either. Although they never did chuck grenades and take pot-shots at the usual patrols, they made it blatantly obvious that they didn’t want us here. I stayed indifferent; I didn’t get paid to voice out my opinions on national television. They had plenty of cushy politicians and bloggers to do that back home. Our job here was, according to Shepherd, to get some one for a black ops mission. He didn’t specify anymore than that, but promised us that we would get the full story when we returned to Germany.
The weather that day was “Hot and muggy, hold the dust.” as Pirate put it. “Sounds like your sex life Pirate.” Hollywood chirped in, wide grins all over his face. Pirate gave what any respectable man would do when insulted like that; Sneer like a 5th grader and give that sarcastic †˜real f-104ing funny’ laugh to the insulter. It was all in good fun though, because a genuine smile cracked after he looked away. Canyon smirked, and I tried hard not to laugh. I had a very pronounced sense of humor, even it was directed at myself. This either got me accepted into a circle, or rejected because most of my jokes were at others expense. Shepherd was like a stone, and the look on his face didn’t was not one of amusement. It pretty much quelled everyone except Pirate, whose apparent good mood was not to be ruined by anyone. We weren’t staying long, but Shepherd had a change of heart and had us wait in the central building, which was much cooler than outdoors, while he picked out who he needed for the op. I was relieved to be out of the sun, being fair-skinned made outdoor excursions nigh impossible without extensive use of sunscreen. The others did not make such an obvious show of relief, but still took the chance for a break.
Canyon took charge of the situation by making use of the water dispenser nearby. As he handed out a paper-cup full of heaven, they finally started talking to me. Hollywood was the first to speak up. “McCamish right?” I nodded. Using last names was common for members of the service. In fact, I hadn’t heard someone use my first name since I got my last check-up six months ago. “Well McCamish, where you from?” “Spangdahlem” I replied. “Well, kinda. Officially that’s where I was stationed, but I actually worked with some coalition guys on the other side of the country. It used to be an old KGB store house that the German Army converted into a communications outpost.” I took a pause to gulp down the little bit of water that the paper cup could hold, and got up for a refill. Pirate was next “So what’d you do? You look kinda...you know.” I smiled and gulped down another shot of water. “Not exactly built am I?” He nodded “Nah, being physically fit was never a strong point for me. I pretty much did Air Battle Management Systems without the Air part. I’d tap in to satellites, AWACS, feeds from Predators or the occasional U2, and spot for troops on the ground. Handled some cyber security a well, playing operator to connect Al Qaeda phone calls to JDAM’s. All that jazz.” “So you’re our controller for this crap?” “Well yeah, pretty much. Only thing is that I have no idea what the f-104 I’m doing here” Hollywood nodded in approval. “I know what you mean, Shepherd really likes to keep people guessing until he knows that he can trust them. I won’t spoil anything for you, but if you get in, you’re in for a hell of a job.” I didn’t like not knowing the full story; someone like me was kind of used to having everything sitting there right in front of him. I understood well enough though, if TF 141 was as special as I gathered it to be, I’d be handling info way above Top Secret. The prospect was very exciting, and I hoped that when the time came I wouldn’t screw it up. I was just about ready to ask my own questions when alarms started going off. Shepherd burst in through the door, with a few Army Rangers tailing close behind. “Looks like our business is getting cut short gentlemen. Taliban have been making some pretty big gestures lately, and this time some of our boys got caught in it.” Canyon stood up quickly, gear in hand “We’re ready to go sir” Shepherd put a hand out as soon as he was off the couch and shook his head. “Hold your horses Canyon, this is the perfect time for Mr. McCamish to show us what he has.” He turned to a nearby Sergeant. “Sergeant Foley, get these men set up with a computer ASAP, I’m going on ahead with the regiment. Meet with us as soon as you can.” Foley saluted smartly and ushered us in past the break room we had been sitting in and into the brains “You should find a terminal in here somewhere. Sorry, the only bit of tech I work with regularly are laser designators.” He gave us a salute and rushed right back out of the double doors, leaving me to pick my favorite computer of the bunch.
It wasn’t much different than working back in Germany, durable laptops hooked up to port replicators. At least the screens weren’t the standard 800x600 crap the Heer used. I spied one empty workstation that looked good enough and set myself up. First was first; music. When I got down to the nitty-gritty, I liked to have some good synth to back me up. I hit shuffle and the first song to greet me was Phoenix by Daft Punk. I smiled to myself, Daft Punk always had some good stuff for any situation. Though usually it might have played in some old warehouse, getting cheers from the ravers, today it would accompany me to marking down some radicals. Almost forgot, my flash drive. I unclipped a simple 8GB Cruzer USB device and plugged in. This little thing let me work from anywhere in the world. Automatic 512-bit encryption, access to any standard (or non-standard) military grade satellite in the world, and an odd assortment of whatever bit of programming I might need if someone thought it cool to try and tap into my data stream. Now, some of this might not have been exactly legal, but Uncle Sam liked to turn a blind eye now and then. “Ok, bypassing login, connecting tooooo, Armed Forces satellite Argos.” Now, piggybacking off of anybody’s stuff is not easy. Masks have to be put up so that you look like you belong there, making sure whatever signal you’re using doesn’t get mixed up with the locals radio station, all sorts of charades and such. Luckily, Armed Forces and I were on the same side, so hooking up was no problem. “Ok. Ah, there we are.” Simple matter to find this place, and the convoy wasn’t too far off. “Oh I’m just in time, looks like those Rangers just made first contact near some busted up bridge.” Canyon and Pirate leaned in closer to the screen. First looks appeared to have the Rangers at a standstill with the Taliban settled in on the other side of the river. One more piece to my puzzle; a headset. Hooked up and ready to go, I began patching in to the Rangers communications protocols. “..ar…d, d..opy ov.r?” Ah, f-104ing static. I gave the earpiece a good rap, and it seemed to do the trick. “I repeat, Warlord do you copy over?” Warlord seemed to be my call sign for now, I guess it’s what they called their controller. A Tech Sergeant sitting a few feet away at another terminal was about to pick up the call when I called out to him. “Excuse me Sergeant..?” The man snapped to attention, seemingly aware of who my company and I had come with. “Sergeant Trells sir” “Sergeant Trells, I’ve got control of this, thank you” He nodded curtly and returned to his station, appearing to want to keep an eye on things.
I switched in. “Roger this is Warlord, go ahead” “Warlord Warlord this is Hunter2-1 requesting Airstrike in grid 252171. Target is a white twelve story apartment building, over” I zoomed out of the river zone and then forward towards the target area. God damn this was hardcore danger close. On my side monitor connected to an overhead AWACS, I caught sight of two F-15’s loaded and ready for orders. “Hunter 2-1 this is Warlord, solid copy. I have uhhh…Devil One-One, flight of two F-15’s online. Standby for relay.” Quick key strokes and I had Devil Flight on comms. A few copies and one confirmed airstrike later, the F-15’s were on their way. “Nothing to do now but wait.” So there we sat, watching as our boys hammered down the insurgents and pushed them back into the city limits. Good and bad. Immediately of course, relieved the troops from fire. Once they got in that city though, it was bound to be a nightmare. Bridge-layer was done with its business, and all we were waiting for was that airstrike. I zoomed out to 700 feet, ready for a good glimpse at the incoming crap-storm. There wasn’t any sound, but we sure saw it. Devil Flight came in low, dropping off the payload and zooming out on the double. JDAM’s impacted the building and reduced it to nothing. Dirt, dust, and debris spread out everywhere around the demolished building. Canyon grinned wide, and Pirate and Hollywood high-fived each other. Hunter radioed in “Hunter 2, breaking away” I gave him a copy and switched over vision mode thermal. The dust disappeared, and a majority of my screen turned a light blue. Down the center came Hunter, showing as bright red, with a white dot from the IR beacons in the center designating friendlies. A few hundred yards ahead, dark orange filled the screen, no dots. Whoever they were, they grouped close together, and an occasional blip would move from place to place. Behind them sat what looked like crates, and a few blips messing around with whatever was in them. I knew what was probably in there, but I couldn’t tell with the thermal. I switched back to regular, and my heart sank. They were insurgents as I thought, only Battalion sized and armed to the teeth with AK’s and RPG’s. It was an old bombed out school, and it looked easy enough to set up defensive positions “Hunter 2-1 Actual this is Overlord-” (Overlord was a universal name for Controllers, Warlord was just person specific) “Battalion strength hostiles 200 yards from your position, holding position at an old school, over” A familiar voice came over the comms, sounded like Sergeant Foley. “Overload, Hunter 2-1 Actual, copy that. Closing in now”
For the an eternal 10 minutes, Foley and his men moved room by room, clearing out the Taliban faster and faster, until eventually the battalion sized group and been reduced to a few dozen retreating men, with U.S. Rangers hot on their tail. Foley checked in after the school was clear. “Hunter 2-1 Actual to Overlord” “Hunter 2-1 Actual, this is Overlord, send traffic” “The school is secure and hostiles are withdrawing from the area. We’re just mopping up now.” “Solid copy Hunter 2-1 Actual, proceed with caution to the rally point. EPW’s are still in the area. Over” He thanked me for the heads up, and my job was pretty much over. The other Hunter units had little to no contact with any other combatants, and made it to Shepherds rendezvous point within minutes. With a half dozen men wounded, and no casualties, it was a great success. Even against an overwhelming enemy force, Shepherd and his men had pulled through virtually unscathed. Canyon spoke up as I logged out of Argos and shut down my terminal. “Pretty impressive McCamish, I see why Shepherd wanted you for this job” “Simple matters really” I replied “It’s just what I do.” “Well lets hope that you can do just as well when you’ve got us to work with, Pirate can get pretty chatty on the radio” Another middle finger thrown, and more laughter around the circle. I still knew very little about these men, but I liked them well enough. When Shepherd came back, he had a medium built Private at his side, and addressed the rest of us on how we did. “Gentlemen, Sergeant Foley told me how big a help Mr. McCamish was to the assault, and that without him they probably would have been caught completely off-guard when they hit that school yard. Excellent work Lieutenant.” He shook my hand and introduced the private by his side. “This is Private First Class Allen, he’ll be the center piece in the black-op operation over the coming months.” Private Allen gave us a quick salute and a confident smile. “Good to be working with you guys, look forward to it” We each took turns shaking his hand, and then followed Shepherd back to our chopper. I was still all questions, but Allen beat me to it. “General Shepherd, if you don’t mind my asking sir, what am I being picked for? Where are we going?”
“Russia”
