Chapter One - The Things They Wore

“You know a lot of motherfuckers out there think that being a Marine is a fucking cakewalk. Free food, housing, and a snazzy lookin' uniform. Maybe for fuckin' POGs it is. But, out here in the shit, it's all kinds of different. For example, look around you. Look at all of the trim ass shit you've got laying around the room you're sitting in this moment. Nice, right? At least I would hope. Grunts ain't got 90% of the shit you got. And we sure as shit only got about 10% of the shit we need. Shit like CLP, baby wipes, Dip, camie nets and PEQ-15 batteries. You know, shit that one would expect any competent fighting force to bring with them in droves.  The Army fights like that. Too bad they're a bunch of pampered frat-house pussies. Marines? We make do. Funny how Improvise, Adapt, Overcome and all that other cheesy motto bullshit actually has a little basis in reality. But, I've lost track of where I started.  I want you to do a little thing for me. The next time you walk into a Starbucks to get yourself some gay-ass expensive coffee, undoubtedly of the caramel extra faggot variety. I want you to think of all those motherfuckers who went to war for you. Think about all the wisdom, science, and civilization it took to build the machines that they fight with. Think about all of the courage that brought them forward out of the fold to take your place. Think about the love of their wives and children that's in their hearts. But, most importantly think about hate. All the fucking hate it took for them to blow those dirty backwards fucks away.” -  Corporal Kaeo Tokura assigned to 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, 1st Reconnaissance Battalion, Charlie Company, 2nd Platoon, 1st squad, Bravo Team. Callsign: Raptor 2-1 Bravo. Nampula, Mozambique

“Tokura, quit scribbling and watch your sector.”

Reality snapped back into focus. His attempt at mimicking Max's expository style had turned out better than he thought.

“Yes, Sergeant Rico” he replied quickly setting his M4 on the Humvee’s window ledge. Sergeant John Rico was a large, brown haired man. A Marine Corps Lifer with 12 years and six combat tours already on his ticket. A dedicated and professional assistant team leader as well as a generally solid individual off duty.  The sort of NCO Recon was built upon.

“The fuck were you writing at a time like is anyway Kaeo, a love letter to Suzy?” Lance Corporal Garza yelled down from his position at the Humvee's .50. Garza was the sort of tall, lanky Mexican that only appears once in a lifetime. Bespectacled and Bic'ed he was an unintimidating sight. Well, at least until you saw his handiwork with a .50.

“Fuck you, Garza, even your spic ass knows that this Marine flies solo.  Dependapotamus won't catch me.” “Both of you pipe down. Max, get the Lieutenant on comms and figure out how much longer we're gonna have to wait for that fucking engineer team to get here.”

“Got it, Sarge”

Lance Corporal Maximilian Uriarte quickly switched channels on the Humvee's radio from his position in the driver’s seat and keyed the handset. Max was a short, wiry blond on his second enlistment in the Marine Corps and his 5th stint as a Lance Corporal. His love of practical jokes and hatred of any command beyond the platoon level made sure he'd never rise above that. He didn't seem to mind in the slightest. His ability to weave the most entertaining rhetoric out of the most mundane bullshit was legendary. He was also a fair hand with a rifle and a radio.

“Raptor 2-1 Bravo to Raptor 2”

“Send it 2-1” crackled in responsive

“Interrogative, what's the ETA on that engineer platoon we've been waiting for?”

“Word from Raptor Actual is 5 mikes but he said 5 mikes two hours ago, I wouldn't know. We don't have comms with that unit”

“Solid copy Raptor 2, out”

Max snapped the handset back onto his flak.

And what of Kaeo Tokura himself? He was the middle child of a family of Japanese immigrants. They owned a sushi restaurant in Oceanside, California. He never really thought of himself as much of a cook. He coasted through highschool rather easily. The mindless monotony came naturally to him but he was left feeling lost after graduation. So he decided he wanted some adventure. The Marines seemed a perfect fit. He cruised through basic and was singled out at SOI as prime recon marine material. One tour in Afghanistan later and here he was. Out and about balls deep in the suck with the greatest, best armed, best trained gang on earth.

Kaeo scanned out his window. The whole platoon was pulled off to the side of the road just outside of the city of Nampula proper; however, they were still far into the slums that surrounded it. Their objective was a few clicks away on the other side of the town. Some big ass factory of “strategic importance to the stability of the region” or some other bullshit like that. At least it promised some action. A local woman stooped down to a spigot to fill a rusty can with equally rusty looking water. As he watched, a thought occurred.

“Hey sergeant, how come no matter where we get sent as Marines it's always some fucking shithole?”

“Same reason as always, my slanty-eyed friend. That's where the people we need to fuck up are”.

“All Raptor 2 victors be advised the Engineer team has already pushed past us toward the objective. We are Oscar Mike.” crackled over the radio
“What fucking bullshit”, Garza commented. “We wait here for four fucking hours for those fucks only to have them push past without us. Like, what the fuck?”

“Semper Gumby, gents, always flexible. Max, get us out of here.” Rico said managing a quick smile.

The Humvee thrummed into life and it began rolling down the poorly paved road that constituted the MSR. The ride was relatively uneventful right up until they reached the edge of the city.

The Factory loomed on the horizon. A drab concrete monument to the arrogance of man or, that's at least what he thought it looked like. Needless to say, it was a large imposing structure jutting out of the surroundings. The area around it was bare earth compacted flat for at least a kilometer in all directions with a single narrow curvy access road. He could just make out the Engineer’s Humvees and supply trucks.

They had already begun to fill up the numerous Hescos they'd brought with them. As they rolled up closer his eyes were drawn to the various bullet marks in the thick concrete and the brightly painted logo on the buildings west side that said 'REVOCS' in bold, red letters.

They pulled into the building's massive empty parking lot and stopped.

“Raptor 2 to all Raptor victors, let's establish our security out and make the best of this. Welcome to OP Bruno”

“You heard the man, up and at ‘em. Max, pull the Humvee up the edge of the parking lot behind those Hescos. Garza, you're on watch with him. Tokura, I'm gonna find the LT ‘n figure out much longer we're gonna be here before the rest of the company shows up. You see if you can scrounge anything off the engineers.”

“Aye, Sergeant.” they replied in unison.

Tokura quickly stepped out the Humvee and brass checked his weapon. He spotted two engineers unloading a spool of concertina wire. He quickly walked over.

“Hey, Marines!”

They set the spool down. One of them spoke up

“What do you want, Ricky Recon?”

“Any of you got any dip, batteries anything like that? Our Ops chief really fucked us this time.”

“That's a negatory on batteries, Ricky. Staff Sergeant Don't Know over there has our entire platoon's battery supply under lock and key. I'm sure if you don't mind giving a few blowjobs he'd toss a couple boxes your way”. He gestured over towards a group of marines on top of one ton unloading crates while another simply watched. “I do however have half a log of long cut to give if you got something to trade”

“I got four cans of Ripit and a copy of Hustler.”

“Solid trade Ricky, fucking staff NCOs rounded up all our porn.” The engineer extended his hand and gave a firm shake.

“I'll be right back.” Tokura jogged back to the humvee parked at the edge of the perimeter just behind a set of Hescos being filled by one of the engineer's excavators.

“Hey, Max! I need that copy of Hustler!” Tokura shouted.

“It's under the Sergeant's seat”.

“Thanks Max.”

“This Senior Lance Corporal has got your six, boy.”

He quickly lifted the seat retrieving the magazine and the Ripit then jogged back to the waiting engineer. He handed off the goods and stuck the roll into one of his pouches.

That was his best trade of the day. Staff Sergeant Wagner, or “Don't Know” as he was affectionately known to the engineers (mostly because he didn't know shit generally e.g. “I don't know marine you find out”), was unreceptive to his offers of a trade. He did manage to pick up a bottle of CLP and 8 AA batteries from other random sources.

Around sunset an army of buses and trucks arrived. Local workers clad in drab gray coveralls with REVOCS emblazoned on the breast shuffled out off of the buses. Then the previous shift shuffled back onto the buses. Unmarked sealed crates of supplies were loaded off the truck into the factory then unmarked sealed crates of finished product were loaded back onto the trucks. This happened every 8 hours. The night was uneventful. During the day they filled Hescos and setup concertina wire with the engineers, dug a silt trench latrine, and played rock toss. Garza managed a solid hit on their target: a piece of rebar on the side of the building exposed by some bullet holes. Again, the night passed uneventfully. On the second day, the rest of Charlie Company arrived along with some more POGs from H&S Company. The days dragged on like this for a week. Doing menial labor, chewing tobacco, singing anything to stave off the inevitable encroach of boredom. Until the seventh day.

That night it rained. It rained hard. Flashes of lightning briefly illuminated the landscape.

Sergeant Rico scanned the perimeter with his brick of a thermal viewer. The rain had turned the dirt field into a mudflat. Thermal spotted them easy. Small splotches of white writhing slowly across the ground. He spoke up, interrupting Garza and Max’s rendition of Toto's Africa.

“Max, wake up Tokura and get the LT on comms I got 8, no, 9 foot mobiles with weapons moving on our perimeter. Tokura, you got eyes on them? They’re about 800 meters out at out 11 o'clock”.

He was quickly jostled awake. Tokura stepped out of the Humvee and flipped down his NODs.

“Aye, Sergeant. Where the hell are you looking? The fucking lightning is washing out my NVGs.”

“Here, let me laze it.” Rico brought up his weapon and switched on his PEQ-15. Immediately a bright green infrared beam streamed out towards the horizon, completely invisible without the use of night vision or IR gear. “Wait a bit, they're timing their three second rush with the lightning.”

Lightning flashed and Kaeo adjusted the gain on his NODs. He could faintly make out their silhouettes. They were moving in short three second bursts before hitting the ground. “Professional”, he thought to himself. The very fact that they'd made it 200 meters inside the killzone before being spotted was impressive in its' self. But, why would the even make an attempt like this? Surely they must have known that we were here. Maybe not. Maybe they're working with outdated intelligence. Maybe they can't see our positions from there. The local militia who were here before us wouldn't of been able to spot them from this range he thought.

Kaeo spoke again, “Sergeant, I got eyes on.”

Max piped up holding the handset against his flak to quiet the chatter.

“Sergeant, I got LT on comms, says he wants us to hold fire until they're no more than 300 meters out. We've also got no air to call in on account of the weather and we're out of range of the fleet's guns.”

“Solid. Garza, range your .50 out to 300. Looks like we're about to get some.”

Staff Sergeant Dygalo, their team leader, ran up and dropped to one knee on the slick pavement.

“Gimmie a sitrep, boys.”

“I got nine armed foot mobiles at around 700 and closing in on the thermals. Still trying to get dialed in with NODs. The lightning is playing havoc with our shit.” Rico responded.

Dygalo stood up “I'm gonna get the rest of the team over here. I'm sure LT's already put them on alert. Stay frosty there could be more”

Max spoke up again.

“2-2's got contacts along the east side looks like the same stuff. Nine armed foot mobiles bounding in three second rushes in time with the lightning across the killzone.” The rest of the squad quietly got into position along the Hescos.

“Brass check all weapons, we're going hot when they’re three hundred meters out.”

A chorus of metallic clacks responded.

“Just like Afghanistan, Sarge.” Garza chuckled while racking his M2.

“Just like Afghanistan.” Rico replied

They waited in tense silence for what seemed like hours. The rain pelted down. Lightning and thunder clashed in the African sky. Each crash of thunder seemed to be a thump of God's own heart. Each beat resonated within the chest of every man down the line and in the chest of the poor fools crawling ignorantly through the mud. The thunder and lightning increased in frequency, personifying the growing tension. Then it fell silent, if only for a second. A cacophony of gunfire erupted. The night burst into flames, traces streaked toward their target. M4s, M16s, M249s, M240s and their lone M2 all rang out in unison. It was over in a matter of seconds. Again, the quiet was only broken by the sound of rain sizzling on top of warm gun barrels. Everyone changed magazines. Rico took a quick scan through his thermals.

“I don't see any more contacts, looks like we smoked 'em good.”

Staff Seargeat Dygalo stood up. “Alright. Alpha, hang here. Bravo, take your Humvee out and do a damage assessment. From here looks like it's gonna be nine confirmed KIA, good work boys. I'll get one of the engineer one tons to come out there and pick up the bodies. Johnson, pass the word to LT.”

Kaeo, Max and Rico loaded into the Humvee. Garza was already standing in the turret. They rolled out quickly. The engineer one ton followed behind. Kaeo flipped up his NODs and took out his flashlight.  The crimson filter preserved what little was left of his night vision. It was a gruesome sight. All nine of them were definitely out of action. Most suffering from a severe case of lead poisoning. He squatted down to get a closer look at one of them.

“Hey Sergeant, come look at this.”

“What is it, Tokura?”

“These dudes are all fucking white and Asian. I thought we were going up against locals. Furthermore, what kind of fuck dresses up like a tailor before going into combat? Look, he's got fucking sewing needles and everything, and this.” He ripped a sewing machine-gun hybrid from the man's hands. “Ever seen anything like this before? Like, what the fuck.”

The man in question was separated torso from waist; the two halves loosely connected by a mess of gore and shredded intestine. The smell was putrid. All courtesy of about six .50 rounds to the abdomen. He was groaning softly, guess he was still alive for the next few minutes, anyway. The others were all similar cases. Covered in mud and bullet holes, but also dressed rather fashionably. As well as being loaded for bear if the bear happened to need a nicely fitted suit.

They loaded the corpses and their gear into the one ton and headed back to OP Bruno for a debrief. One hell of a debrief that was going to be.