Thank you for reading Irregulaire! This was one of my many war story ideas, however only a few turned into a meaningful fruition, including this one. I usually draw instead of write, and this is my first ever completed work. However, a few sketches were made, but since this platform doesn't have that feature yet, I have not been able to include any of the pictures I have made outside the covers. Like a lot of stories, it began with a what if. It did take inspiration behind an amalgamation of various historical wars involving separatist groups and invading forces, such as the Vietnam War, Korean War, Russo-Georgian War of 2008, etc. with one question: "What if a ragtag band of college friends was asked to protect a VIP?" The result was quite fun, with worldbuilding (that had not yet been completed as of this publishing date) that takes ages to write and carefully spun-off historical events. I get to experiment with a lot of ideas for the storyline, and it turned out pretty good. Any
2IC: Second in Command, i.e., assistant leader. ACOG: Advanced Combat Optical Gunsight, a type of telescopic sighting equipment used on rifles and machine guns. AK: Automatic Kalashnikov. Introduced in 1947, its design evolved into a wide variety of firearms. Bandolier: ammunition pouches sewn into belts or sling. Boobied: slang for booby-trapped Booby Trap: traps set up to maim or kill enemy soldiers. The term came from how it fools the enemy thinking it was safe, hence the term booby (=fool). C2: Command and Control center Cal.: slang/short for Caliber Company: a unit of soldiers consisting of roughly three to four platoons plus their commander Compound: a military encampment Detcord: A type of explosive charge, shaped like a cord (hence the name, detonating cord) DMR: Designated Marksman’s Rifle Friendly Fire: incidents where soldiers opened fire on their own comrades, whether or not the shots hit FN: Fabrique Nationale, Belgian arms manufacturer GPMG: General Purpose
I took Red to the casualty collection point near the temporary aid station. Blood was still dripping down her face. Q followed close behind, with Mason and Vic walking alongside her. That 50-meter trip was the longest walk I had ever walked my entire life. The fountain we passed by became crowded with wounded men as temporary aid station was placed there. Bloomberg was talking to Stubs. Major Patterson was seen organizing the men, telling people where to go and stuff. I put Red down near the building on the east side of that fountain. A medic then approached us, asking whether or not he could’ve helped. After putting her down, I reached into one of her pockets to retrieve our diamonds, figuring I would sell them later to make it easier to distribute among us. I had also taken Red’s leather sling off her gun before we pulled back. I figured I’d take it home. Near the fountain, Q sat and stared blankly into the ground while Mason was beside her, caressing her. Vic offered them cigaret
We then occupied the building, which turned out to be a bakery, with Bloomberg and Vic clearing the other rooms. I instructed Q to stay away from the windows and Mason to guard the entrance to the rear. I then took a good look of the dead enemies laying around. They have similar weapons as we do, again, but they are now in uniform. It’s the ANB again. “Red,” I called out, “These are Broenis again,” “No, shit,” she exclaimed. “Where the hell are the Marines?” Yeah. Where the hell are the Marines? We’re sitting ducks here waiting for them to break through and relieve us. it’s five past two, and the Marines are supposed to be here. Bloomberg and Vic were already done clearing the room and joined us downstairs. From our position, we could see the rest of the platoon lining up along the rubble I mentioned. “Mason, get on the radio and—where the hell is your radio?!” Red asked. “Lieutenant Stubs told me to leave it at the base, Sergeant,” Mason replied, to Red's disbelief. “Bloomberg!
“GET THE HELL OUT OF THE STREETS! GO!” Stubs commanded the rest of his men. “Get away from the windows! Mark!” Red instructed. The explosion then rang all around us, rattling windows and kicking dust. A few rounds landed really close to the building we were in—thankfully, none of those landed on top of us. The shelling lasted for only less than a couple minutes, but it surely scared the hell out of us. when it fell silent, we poked our heads out and looked out the windows. Most of the platoon seemed to be okay, and we got out of to the streets again. Stubs then told us to move across the intersection and take the now empty machine gun nest and settle there. “We’ll stay here for the moment,” he said. “Dukeman, take three men and cover our south. Hal, take four and face east. They might be coming down on us really soon,” The Platoon then took a little break, drinking water and such. A few of them even lit cigarettes, thinking this break would be long. The rest of them checked for am
By 12.15, we were already out front, lining up for the vehicle we were boarding to head closer towards our objective. “I thought you said we’re walking,” I said to Stubs, who was getting his driver ready. “I thought so, too,” he answered, “But Major said we could use the vehicles halfway through. Don’t want to tire this little lady over here,” he added, looking at Q. she grinned. These trucks are big, and it could be a bullet magnet if we drive all the way up to the front. Besides, we’re supposed to be a surprise element. It makes sense if we were to be dropped halfway. “Oh, yeah. Tell your radio guy to leave his pack. I got one with me,” “Alright,” I said, “Mason!” I called him. “This is it, folks,” Red announced up front. “Go for equipment check,” We did as we were told, and found nothing wrong. We carried enough ammunition and explosives—even Q carried 8 magazines—and brought water and several food items we can fit inside our vest. Because we were going far from base, we didn’
With Beavers gone, we’re down to only 12 men. The only team with four men would be mine. With that in mind, I returned to the men. A thought had occurred to me that we would volunteer to try and find Price, but I chose not to. Seigers was still mourning his deceased friend. Victor and Mason knelt beside him, as they had served together. “We found Price,” Hal approached us, “But not in the ideal state,” “What do you mean?” Red asked. “He’s dead,” Hal answered, “The shelling and machine gun fire had blown him away,” “That figures. Now we’ll never know what they were all up to,” I joined in. “We still have something,” Stubs appeared behind me. “What is it, sir?” Hal asked. “Identification papers. It might sound normal, but there were two of them,” “I figure one of them was forged?” “Yes, and it doesn’t match as well,” “doesn’t match… how?” Red asked. “It didn’t say that he’s 2nd SOD. It said that he was 18th Highlander, and his name was Matthieu Price. Now that can already mean
Out of anger, a few of the officers and NCOs ran off to catch those three men. They had already gone into the tall grass towards the South at this point, and a few gunshots can be heard. An eager officer later, a handful of men had already run outside, carrying only rifles and what little ammunition they could immediately take with them. It soon erupted into a firefight, as they had been walking—or running, rather—straight into an ambush. They soon pull back, with the rest of us standing by near the outer fence providing cover. I left Red and Harrison with Stubs to try and assist those who pulled back. It turned out, they somehow managed to capture Price, which was surprising. A corporal said he tumbled over a rather large rock and fell. He took a fair case of beating, but was brought in relatively awake. He was relatively calm; he didn’t try to fight back or escape—probably because he was beaten up first out on the field. His hands were tied, and he was then handed over to Major Patt