It was July 31st, 2015—my birthday. Election results are coming out, and people are dissatisfied with these results. Incumbent government led by President James Widows won against Dennis Pieterzoon’s opposition by a tiny margin. Less than 3%, even. Still, Jacktown became very unstable in just a week.
The whole country then turned unstable in just days. This situation was then taken as an opportunity by our neighboring country, Broenland, to retake what they had. They launched an invasion from the North with two prongs meant to encircle the capital city of Jacktown, a mere month since the election ended.This country, Griesia, was once part of Broenland before we decided to split up. Back in the 1980’s, we had a civil war which then had an impact on how we came to be. It was short, but effective. We stated that we wanted independence and would fight for it. Then we did it. With UN assistance, we established independence from Broenland in 1986. Tension never ceased, however. We still had border clashes every now and again. Our respective diplomatic representatives even once got caught in a fistfight.A portion—more than 10 percent—of our population were of Broeni origin. This would prove to be a little hassle, as they would be potential guerillas aiding Broenland Invaders. Speculations floated around whether or not this could happen, and it eventually showed. These collaborators, called the Liberators, poured on to the streets on mid-August—a week after the invasion.
Some people would speculate that they were actually plain-clothed Broeni soldiers who infiltrated our borders. Armed with anything they could’ve found, they started opening fire at military outposts. It was rush-hour on a Monday morning, where chirping birds were made fleeing by loud bangs out of AK-47s and M16s. Big, crowded cities like Jacktown, Haier, Sauerchar, and Goodwill were attacked by armed guerillas. These skirmishes happened most frequently in Seedland Provinces, but were a bit bigger in Cleavess, where the enemy already took half the province by late August. And as it turned out, some armed forces personnel had joined them, making them even deadlier.
They basically pounded us up inside and out. ANB—Armee Nationale Broenland—invaded, while Diorne’s Liberators stirred us up from the inside. If the Liberators were professional army, we’d be dead by now. These two happened almost simultaneously, with the Liberators started opening fire on civilians and law enforcement alike only two days after the start of the invasion. The Army got pretty busy that week.
But here in Prawndale—a small town just south of the city of Haier—things were not that bad. Haier even got the best defense anyone around here can offer—a Navy Headquarters. These bases proved to be one tough nut to crack. Problem is, there is this big airport laying right in-between our city border with Haier. Even though the Navy has an airbase there, airports are usually a target of high value. The Marines and the Navy ground personnel were spread thin on urban combat, making the defense of the airport harder. Don’t get me wrong, these men fought hard, but there are concerns about the Liberators’ ability to take on the Navy and the Marines, as they grew stronger.My parents moved out of town when things got sour, right around early September. They moved out to Windfeld, my father’s birthplace. That town was relatively safe at that time. They told me they’d stay there until things get better—or worse. I was still in Pouvre at that time—I was getting out of college, for God’s sake—and they wanted to take me with them. I didn’t want to come, told them I stayed with some friends. I maintained contact with anyone I know, especially old friends outside Pouvre, to keep me fed about occurring events. Until one day somehow, I was moved to go home to that abandoned house. There was a little surprise for me, though.As things got worse, some civilians had these ideas of helping the armed forces by forming their own security wing. They wanted to be able to protect themselves, repelling any harassment from the Liberators. They formed small, local pockets of militia, using the army’s outdated weapons at first, then looting any Liberator member they manage to eliminate. I joined them in just two days after finding out. Armed with just a .38 caliber revolver I got from a neighbor, I made my way, joined patrols and hit-n-runs where I finally made my first kill.Pulling the trigger was quite hard as I was shaking. Had to do it with both hands to make it steadier. “BANG!” I let out a shot. He fell on his butt. I pulled the trigger again on double action. “BANG!”, and there he was, like having a little seizure that stops after just 2 seconds. That was it. I killed a man. I finally got to taste blood.A short firefight ensued. We managed to kill three of them, fending off the Liberators from our neighborhood with just old rifles and a handgun. I figured those were low level fighters, new to the organization—they couldn’t stand a chance, even against us. We then took their weapons and ammo, putting them for our own use against their previous owners.I then proceeded to take the rifle and ammunition from the guy I killed and made it my primary weapon. Its steel construction was stained by the man’s blood. It will function, though, and 7.62mm lead ball with copper jacket sure will go through almost anything the Liberators had. But it was heavy. Not my favorite rifle either, mind you, but it was enough.I could hear pops and bangs every night, making sleep a little harder. Eerie, sometimes. I reckon some of my friends would, too. It was kilometers away, but it felt like mere 50 yards. I’m telling you, though, when you started to get the hang of it, it began to sound like those ASMR podcast that can bring you down to sleep. If that happens to you, then you started to not care. It’s actually kind of good to feel that way, as it left no burden. But not to be careless, still.Within these days, I joined several anti-raid ambushes afterwards and scored a handful more kills myself. As it started growing on me, killing suddenly feels... not wrong. If a kill made me uneasy about it, the distant battle sound calms me down every night. Sometimes, I wonder how Mom and Pop are doing just before falling asleep. I was out of their sight, but probably not out of their mind. Hopefully not.---A few weeks later, on early October, a Colonel, who was the father of someone I was fond of, contacted me and offered me a job as a part of a security team. The team, however, has yet to be assembled, and I was given the honor to do it. It would have to consist of at most 13 men, with various roles mirroring a squad. Promised with new equipment and a somewhat large pay, I set out to do just that. The team would then have to assemble at the Colonel’s house, which would be their staging area. But first, they would gather at my place.---“The roster goes as follows. Anna will lead Hans, Ryan, and Mark in a fire team. I will have Dan, Jimmy, and Kris in mine. Buck will lead the Machine Gun team. Anna’s team would be Red, mine would be Blue, and Buck’s would be Grey. Red Team’s role will be that of providing bases of fire. Blue Team will be the assault team, charging forward or flanking the enemy, but this can change in a defensive scenario. Grey team would be additional support for either softening up the targets or as a bug-out cover,” I explained. “Who wants to be the squad leader?” I then asked, giving others a chance to channel their opinion. “I think you would do,” said Mark. Franz and Dan agreed. “Anna would fit more,” Karl replied. “She’s in the first team, too. She can direct everyone while providing base of fire,” he said. Jimmy and Hans backed that up. “How about Buck?” said Anna. “No, no, no... I’m already in charge of this big ass gun. It’s either you or Mick,” denied Buck. “Karl’s got a point,” I join
The Colonel’s house was surrounded by other houses except on the Southeast flank. There’s only a wall out there, separating land owned by farmers and the compound. To the front of the house, that is the East, there’s a house with a caved-in roof. Looks like a close call on them. Mortars, I think. Attacks on military bases have increased in frequency, making daily patrols necessary, but on a housing complex? I mean come on. There were a couple of waypoints up to the North, with one going westwards, that narrows down to one heading South. These waypoints are closely guarded, with entrance to the Compound from the Northwest guarded with Marine personnel, as well as the exit, to the far West. There were low fences around the house, made out of cement, the kind you see on old rural house. The house itself would be the designated inner compound, along the fence, with the main objectives being there, namely the Colonel and his family. Before we came in, these parts were being guarded by a pl
We pretty much enjoyed that evening, hanging around with the Marines. I had a little chat with the Lieutenant, about what he did before the war. Well, he was already an officer back then, so that hadn’t changed. He used to be a respected family man, graduated from officer school. But then he lost contact with his family after this thing started. Last thing he knew, he was called to action and his family had to move somewhere. From then on, he lost touch. “I haven’t the slightest idea of where they are now, or how they are. I can only hope they are alright. Stubs has this similar problem. But at least he knows where his family went,” Poor guy. Tears started rolling down his face, his hand shook a little. “You're in love with Colonel’s daughter, right?” “Sort of, yeah,” I answered rather awkwardly. “Your family safe?” “That, I don’t know either. Last time I contacted them was before I got here,” “At least you get to be in touch with them. Let’s hope they’re okay, both our families,”
I caught a glimpse of the blast just before I got thrown into the air. Is this it? I don’t think so. My ears were ringing due to the blast. I’m supposed to be dead, you know. But here I am, breathing heavily with blood running through my nostrils. Dirt was all over my face. I tried to get up when I felt a sharp pain in my left side, around the ribs. A fragment, from that mortar round. A similar piece struck my left cheek. When I fully regained consciousness, another round had fallen into Ruud’s spot, killing him. I came to realize that the round that fell in front of me was a small caliber. “Grace,” I said to myself, still trying to get up. “GRACE!” I screamed as I grabbed my rifle. She laid there with Ian trying to pick off shards of glass that’s been embedded into her skin. “IS SHE OKAY?!!” “Yea!” “Let’s get her inside!” I shouted as another round fell quite close to the house “ANNA!” “Yea!?” she answered “Organize the guys, I’ll be with you!” I then proceeded to help Ian lift u
“Doctor!” I called as I went inside to check on my wounds with the only Doctor in the house, Ian. The guy was still running back and forth trying to deliver medication to those who needed them. I had to wait for several more minutes before he finally came up to me. “Alright, what do you want?” “I just need this wound checked out, think you can do?” “Yes. One moment,” I don’t remember much about what he did to that wound. Probably because he gave me anesthesia when it’s not actually necessary. Moreover, he gave me a total knock-out instead of the local one. But the fragment was plucked out of there. Strangely enough, he waited for me to wake up. Maybe because he panicked after mixing up the drugs. So there he was, with Red and Dan opposite him, waiting for me to wake up. When I did, I saw Red speaking to him. I think it was along the lines of “Alright he’s waking up,” or something like that. She sure did fit into the role of Squad leader. Dan was just looking at me. Trying to make
“Damn those pigs,” The Colonel said, clenching his teeth. “Stubs, you take care of the defense here. You’re a platoon leader now,” Stubs was surprised. With a mutter under his breath, he replied, “yes sir,” The Colonel then went back inside. Sergeant Major followed him. Stubs stayed with us—yes, even though he’s unofficially a lieutenant now, he’s still okay with it. He’s about to be our new platoon commander, and with 2 Marine squad left, they were about to count us in. Hopefully they captured the Lieutenant instead of killing him. He was a good man, to be frank. We were just standing there, not really back on our position. There were too many holes to fill in after we lost that one squad the Lieutenant brought. We were spread too thin, or at least so I thought. Spreading too thin doesn’t really look like this. It’s like five men covering 100-yard line. But for us, less than 40 people covering 200-yard line was quite little. “You really okay?” I asked Red. “I am, why?” “Nothing,
I was humping that M60 around when another explosion went off near the fence, followed by a bunch of gunfire. It was a little past 3AM. A little more probing, I think. Lucky, I had that gun locked and loaded. Let’s just hope they don’t find the Colonel, now. But he did have his pistol ready. Red and I jumped out and stormed towards my position. “GET THAT DAMN MACHINE GUN FIRING, GUNNY!” she commanded. I rushed towards the fence, then aimed the gun off hand while kneeling. You know, when you fire that thing, you’ll feel an overwhelming force pulls you into shape, protecting you. A steady stream of thumps hurt you a little at first, but it made you feel stronger over time. And with cartridge that powerful, the weight seemed not to be a problem for a while. I kept pulling the trigger until I run dry. That gun fires rather slowly, but 200 rounds don’t seem to be that much. I wondered why. Red was still behind me, covering me while I reload. “Damn, where’s my can?!” I was sure I put it w
“FUCKING BASTARDS!!” Red let rip with her 416, switching it to full-auto mode, expending the rest of her magazine. I got back to the machine gun, handling it as furiously as I could get from Karl’s death. But the wave got so close we needed to call in support. We don’t have mortars, and our grenades would’ve had little effect. Not long after that, two planes flew overhead and pulverized the rear portion of that wave with some napalms and machine gun fire. We saw this beautiful stream of red tracers flying all over the place with all the explosions from the bombs and rockets. It was very much like Independence Day celebration. It turned out a radio man called in the help for us. Either it was from another squad, or it was from the C2. Lucky he got it in time, we were. But the wave didn’t really stop, up until the point that we need to find another ammo can for my machine gun. Now where is that M60 ammo I left in the bushes? “Red! Last can! I need to find some other cans!” “Alright,