Chapter Ten - The Things They Wore

Chapter 10 - Falling Stars

	As the day dragged on, the rain slowed to a miserable drizzle. Kaeo had quite liked his time in Africa so far with a few exceptions namely, the rain and the people trying to kill him. Although each had their own charms. Africa had a certain hallmark wildness to it, something primal moved and flowed through the people and landscape. If the land between the Tigris and the Euphrates was “The Cradle of Civilization”, then this was the land where the human soul was born. A lot of thoughts throughout history had been given to the nature of the soul. Max was rather keen to share his.

“You know, many ancient cultures believed blood to be the vehicle of the soul and, from their perspective, it makes a lot of sense. Too much falls out, you die. Your soul leaves your body. Everyone has this ethereal fluid. It flows through and binds us all. It is the very substance of life itself, and the heart its focal point. Thus the heart became important as a center of the soul, it would eventually eclipse the blood symbolically, but the blood is still the root all the same. The role of blood still persists in our language after countless generations. Someone who is passionate, in tune with their primal desires or their soul is described as ‘hot-blooded’. Conversely, someone who is soulless is described as ‘cold-blooded’. Cold, like a corpse, an object that has lost the special spark that makes it alive.

Animals have souls too. The comparative strength or even presence of these souls is again often apparent in the language. Someone who is very brave is described as having ‘the heart of a lion’. Cold-blooded animals though, reptilian and alien to us, have always been regarded as less brave than the lion, despite both being killers. Where the lion is brave, the snake is cold and underhanded. Again, think about that, cold, like a corpse, soulless. The lion kills because it is brave and has reason to. The snake kills because it is spiteful and remorseless.

Throughout history, men have often tried associate themselves with such animals. The ancient Spartan warrior-king Leonidas took his namesake from the lion, with Leonidas literally meaning ‘lion-son’. Some cultures go so far as to create entire rituals based around the killing and sometimes eating of such an animal. The Masai people ritually hunt down a lion to prove one's bravery and in a way steal its strength. Similarly, the Knights of Medieval Europe were often said to have hunted down bears to show their bravery. Few warriors have chosen to associate themselves with the snake though, and those that are generally speaking are represented in a bad light. So we see a dichotomy form among the warriors of the world.

There are those that are brave, with strong souls: they are lions, and there are those who are cold with no souls: they are snakes.

This begs the question: Which are we?

Well, we're not either, really. Modern war is a different environment and it has bred a new category of man-made, half-souled hybrids. These are your devils. We may have been lions or snakes at one time, but now we're devils. Now obviously you're asking, ‘What the hell is the difference?’ The Lion kills out of something positive, the snake the negative. Both are human attributes, although we would not like to admit it. We devils are neutral and THAT is truly unnatural. Devils aren't born, they're made.

We kill both out of love and spite in a way. We're neutral. This neutrality and duality gives us an edge over those emotion rooted fighters of the past. Our butchered half souls let us bridge gaps and commune with the one true god, violence, more directly than any other. We each manufacture our own justification for our actions. Rico explains it as ‘a debt owed to generations past.’ I'm pretty sure McGraw's got the same view. Garza just likes killing people and I don't have anything else in life. That just helps us sleep at night. At our most base level we do what we're trained and told.

Like on my first deployment to Iraq with Rico, we had this one corpsman. Like third week we're there some Mahdi Army fucker lights up this Hadji kid, fucks her all up, and the Doc's trying his fucking damnedest to save this kid's life. He would've done anything to help that little girl. Fucking less than a day later we get ambushed and he perforates two fucking dudes. He's a life saver one day, killer the next, like that one scene in Full Metal Jacket where Joker has the peace sign and 'born to kill' on his helmet. Duality. That's the devil's greatest weapon. Hell, what did General Mattis say: ‘No better friend, no worse enemy.’ Fucking Chaos Actual just laid it out for you right there.

The Marine Corps is America's little devil in a bottle. There when they need us, quiet when we aren’t. Their panacea of directed and applied violence. They feed us, mistreat us, hate us, but they always keep us around. And, every once in a while, they shake the shit out of the bottle and let us out to attack someone.”

“Max, that is both the stupidest and most insightful shit I've heard come out of your mouth in a long ass time.” Kaeo commented as they bumped down the road.

“What was that bit about the god of violence?” Logger asked.

“Oh, that's right, you weren't here for that, were you?” Max said taking his eyes off of the road and Alpha's Humvee for a second to glance back at Logger who was sitting behind him.

“You're a Jesus freak, right?”

“Yeah, what of it?” He asked in response. Max paused, clearly trying to figure out the best way to summarize that particular monologue.

“Basically the gist of the whole thing is that God is an asshole, but he's our asshole.”

“Yeah, that's pretty consistent with what I've read in the Old Testament. You know while you we're on that track, I'm pretty sure that Ragyō woman is the anti-Christ.” Logger stated flatly. The Humvee fell silent for a few moments.

“Oh, yeah? Enlighten me, Bible-scribe.” Max said while raising a can of Rip-it to his lips.

“Well, Biblically speaking, we're already living in the end times. It's a lot of little things that add up, but I don't really want to get into that. Anyway, Mathew 24:24 states ‘For there shall arise false Christs, and false prophets, and shall sew great signs and wonders.’ You've all seen her lightshow. There's no fucking way that's manmade. The rainbow glow of hers ain't natural. Plus, she's got a veritable cult of followers. Like have you seen any of those REVOCS corporate staff? They look fucking identical and they got that look in their eye, same with that small army of bodyguards she's got. Anyway, did y’all here about that assassination attempt on her? Some Bosnian Nationalist shot her in the head with something big, I think it was a .50 but I'm not entirely sure. Either way, she shoulda been fucking dead. Plus all those other pseudo-miracles she done. Revelation 13:12 states 'And he exerciseth all the power of the first beast before him, and causeth the earth and them which dwell therein to worship the first beast, whose deadly wound was healed.'

Revelation 13:14 continues ‘And deceiveth them that dwell on the earth by the means of those miracles which he had power to do in the sight of the beast; saying to them that dwell on the earth, that they should make an image to the beast, which had the wound by a sword, and did live.’

Hell, we're exercising her fucking will right now, killing her only competition until the ones professing their monetary loyalty to her are the only ones left.

Finally, Revelation 13:15 states ‘And he had power to give life unto the image of the beast, that the image of the beast should both speak, and cause that as many as would not worship the image of the beast should be killed.’

You heard about how Alpha schwacked that Indian businesswoman, right? She worked for one of the three non-REVOCS affiliated textile manufactures left in the fucking world.”

“Let me stop you for a second there, bud. Doesn't the gender thing kinda disprove your theory?” Kaeo asked.

“This is a creature spawned of Satan himself, Corporal. John 8:44 states 'Whenever he speaks a lie, he speaks from his own nature, for he is a liar and the father of lies.' I wouldn't bet on gender being disqualifying. Another thing about that glow of hers, the first horseman, and the white one called Conquest, often incorrectly interpreted as infectious disease and called Pestilence, is more correctly interpreted as the anti-Christ. Revelation 6:2 states 'And I saw, and behold a white horse: and he that sat on him had a bow; and a crown was given unto him: and he went forth conquering, and to conquer.' Crowns from a biblical standpoint can sometimes interpreted as halos. She's got a fucking rainbow halo, she's white as all hell, and she's off to conquer the global clothing market.”

“What about the bow?” Kaeo interrupted.

“I haven't really figured that one out yet myself but I'm fucking sure she's the anti-Christ.” Logger continued.

“Uh, I have a question. If she's the anti-Christ, then why are you working for her?” Garza shouted down from the turret.

“Well, unlike you heathens, I'm one of God’s chosen and will be saved when shit gets hairy. So while I'm here, I should do everything in my power to bring on the apocalypse to speed the second coming of our lord and savior Jesus Christ.” Logger responded.

Max's jaw hung open slightly as he turned back to Logger

“You are quite possibly the craziest motherfucker I have encountered.”

“Well, I think he fits right in.” Kaeo said.

“Bravo, this is Actual. Break off of the road and get into overwatch positions.” Kaeo snatched up the handset to respond.

“Solid Actual, breaking off the road.” Bravo's Humvee rolled off left side of the muddy road while Alpha's went right. Both proceeded a dozen yards off the road into the tall grass and stopped. They were positioned around 150 yards before a sharp bend. They'd be completely out of sight until the enemy rounded the corner. McGraw and Dirty dismounted and hiked up to an overwatch position up on the right side of the hill, giving them eyes around the bend. McGraw took his baby with him, the Mk 153 SMAW. Dirty was acting as his assistant gunner which mostly meant packing around all his ammo. After the two of them got into position, McGraw took a couple shots with the spotting rifle attached to the SMAW to get an idea of how much the rocket would drop at that range.

After that, they deployed their camo nets and waited. Kaeo was prone in a little two man position with Lance Corporal Logger behind a fallen tree. Garza and Johnson were crouching in the turrets of their respective Humvees which were almost completely invisible to the untrained eye with the nets deployed. Johnson watched the likely direction while Garza was assigned to watch the other direction with his .50. Max and Steven formed another observation post on the hill a hundred meters in the other direction. Dyaglo was lying perfectly motionless with his Mk 17 propped up on a rock, ready to kill.

It was, for the most part, not a particularly long wait by Marine standards. Only two hours, but it was quiet. No talking, no discussions on the nature of man. Just quiet.

It was a nice change.

“I got eyes on four victors closing fast, two supply trucks, two technicals.” McGraw whispered into his mic.

“Solid, fire on my lead.” Dygalo responded and shifted a little in his position.

The first vehicle, a beat up looking jeep with a Russian manufacture heavy machine gun mounted in the back, rounded the corner. Behind that there were two KAMAZ 4x4s with the cloth covers on and behind them presumably another jeep like the first. Three skinnies in the first jeep two in each of the cabs of the trucks behind it. They rolled forward ignorantly for another few precious seconds. Through his optic, Kaeo watched the man in the driver's seat of the second to lead vehicle rub his tired eyes. He wouldn't be tired for much longer.

A sharp crack rung out. A 7.62 diameter bullet exploded out of the back of the lead gunner's head. He slumped forward and for a split second and it was quiet again.

The Marine's weapons had a peculiar sound to them. All of them had suppressors (with the exception of their heavy weapons like the M2, M240, and Mk19). This had a few advantages, namely, it killed the flash from their weapons which kept it from washing out their night vision. It also significantly reduced the sound of the shot. It didn't exactly silence it as Hollywood would like to believe, more disguised it and prevented you from blowing your own eardrums out when you fired in an enclosed space. But, one thing it did not do was remove the supersonic crack of the bullet as it flew through the air and into that particular poor bastard's face.

Then, all hell broke loose. Johnson put five 40mm grenades from his Mk19 into the cab of the jeep, ripping it apart in a series of small explosions. Kaeo fired off a quick controlled burst into the second vehicle's driver’s side. Logger fired off two quick bursts from his M4, taking out that vehicle’s passenger. A rocket exploded off the hill and smashed into the rear vehicle, completely annihilating it.

The first vehicle swerved off the road while the second turned sharply as the driver slumped forward onto the wheel, flipping it onto its side. The driver of the third vehicle slammed on the breaks and jumped out. His passenger followed suit. Kaeo shifted his weapon to engage him but was a little too slow. Another sharp crack. The driver's head snapped backwards and exploded in a red mist. The passenger sprinted out, jerking his head around looking for the threat.

Not good enough.

A final crack echoed through the landscape. The passenger took a dive into the dirt with a cavernous hole in his head. It was quiet for a full minute before they moved from their positions to slowly approach the trucks. Kaeo scanned around for more movement as he stalked up to the rear of the second overturned truck. He took a quick look inside. It was full of smashed and opened crates.

“All clear over here. Looks like it was just local trash, no Frenchies.” he called out.

“All clear over here too.” Logger called out.

Kaeo flipped his weapon's safety on and crouched down to examine a scrap of striped cloth trapped under a crate. Upon closer inspection he discovered it was just part of something larger wedged under the crate. As he yanked, he discovered it wasn't a scrap but was a sleeve, a blue and white sleeve. He pulled harder and slipped, stumbling backwards a few steps with the piece of clothing in his grip. He held it up. It was a sailor uniform, a girl's sailor uniform with a single star holding the ends of the scarf.

He smiled wickedly and turned to the other approaching marines.

“Hey Max, I think I found your new uniform.”

Max was unfazed and walked closer to get a better look at it. He grabbed the uniform and pressed it against his chest dramatically.

“Oh, thank you brave warrior! I'll treasure it forever and ever!” He squeaked out while spinning around hugging the item of clothing.

Logger pulled another one star sailor uniform out of the padded crate.

“Oh damn, this is soft. McGraw come feel this shit.”

McGraw turned his head to look at Dirty and gestured to the still dancing Max as the two approached.

“You see this, Dirty? This is what happens when you leave Whiskey Tango around with women's clothing. They start crossdressing because of all the homo shit that's been imbedded into their brains since day one.”

Redmann paused and blinked “Whiskey Tango?”

“Oh that's right, you're a fucking boot, aren’t you? It’s Military phonetic alphabet for white trash. You have two perfect examples right there. One overzealous Jesus freak and Max. I have no fucking idea how you get a Max but you certainly have to go digging around in SOMEONE'S trashcan.”  McGraw responded.

“Hey, I resent that you Ivy League prick.” Logger retorted.

“You know you two, not all of us have the benefit of being raised in a shit hole trailer park by worn out dubya-em whose sole qualification for motherhood was a stretched out uterus that happened to catch the sperm of a passing truck driver in a single, methamphetamine-fuelled, twenty dollar an hour night of passion.” McGraw explained.

“At least my mom took me to NASCAR.” Max responded with a shrug while draping the sailor uniform over his body to check it for size.

Kaeo turned and shot a confused glance towards McGraw.

“What Ivy League school did you got to and how the fuck did you end up a grunt?”

“Princeton, I broke into the Dean's house and stole a bunch of photos of him with his mistress and posted them all over campus. Apparently, he didn't think it was very funny and expelled my rich white ass. Although if that never happened, I would never have joined the Marines, so it probably ended up for the best.” McGraw explained while rolling one of Dygalo's kills over with the toe of his boot. Dygalo himself strutted up at a leisurely pace. The rain that pattered down onto the barrel of his Mk 17 sizzled gently and drifted off as steam.

“Max, Logger, put the girls clothes back where you found them. I don't care that Don't Ask Don't Tell has been repealed you can wait until you're back to home to play dress up.” He calmly instructed.

Max let out a melodramatic sigh and looked longingly at the sailor uniform before unceremoniously tossing it back where Kaeo had found it. Logger did the same. Dygalo retrieved a red M14 incendiary grenade from a pouch on his vest.

“Uhh, Staff Sergeant, what are you doing with that?” Dirty asked.

Dygalo pulled the pin and tossed it over his shoulder into the back of the munitions-filled truck.

“Denying the enemy.” He pulled another one out of his vest and tossed it into the other truck.

“Shouldn't we be far away for this? What if the ammo starts to cook off?” Kaeo interjected.

“You're right. We should.” Dygalo said as he began his walk to the Humvees. The grenade entered the ignition phase in a bright flash of sparks. The Marines all looked at each other expectantly before taking off, running towards the Humvees. The vehicles burst into flames and rounds began cooking off, flying around every which way. Kaeo was the first to reach their Humvee and he turned to look back at the devastation. The smoke would be visible for miles around.

Kaeo thought he saw something rising up in the smoke, a single bright red thread. An instant later, it was gone.

“Corporal?” Garza asked.
Kaeo turned to face him. For some reason, the bespectacled Mexican looked very frustrated.

“What is it?”

“Corporal, I didn't get to shoot.”

Max plopped himself down in front of the Humvee's right front tire and tore open a First Strike bar

“Oh man, that fucking sucks.” Max joked before taking a bite. “Did your recruiter tell you that you'd get to kill people, Garza?” Max spat out while chewing on a large piece.

“Fuckin' A' he did.” Garza affectionately rubbed his M2 “She didn't even shoot off round one.”

Logger looked up at Garza with a hint of contempt.

“You know, if you keep talking to your weapon like it’s fucking trim everyone's gonna know you're a total sociopath.”

“Someone like you wouldn't understand. I don't blame you though. You just got too much Jesus in your life, and not enough Satan.” Garza responded.

“Good, Garza. Be magnanimous.” Kaeo said.

“The fuck does that mean?” Garza asked.

“Lofty and king-like.” Kaeo answered as he settled into his seat.

“2-1 Bravo, 2-1 Actual mount up we're Oscar Mike. Intel suggests they don't send more than one group of vehicles up the road per day.”

Kaeo motioned to Logger and Max to roll up the camo nets. Max stuck his First Strike bar in his mouth to hold it while he got to work. Kaeo checked his watch and map too see that it was barely noon and they were already half done with their mission. A short fifteen click drive up the road and hill and they were there with plenty of time to do actual reconnaissance. Before long, they were on the road again singing 2-1 Bravo's version of NWA's Boyz in the Hood.

Around one in the afternoon, they were up at the top of the squat hill setting up their observation post. Just as predicted, the hill had a commanding view of the train yard. The hill had two peaks, a smaller, flatter one and a steeper, higher one. For now, Dygalo and Alpha waited on the lower one with Bravo. Once the sun started to set, they'd hike up to the far side of the higher peak.

Kaeo quickly set up his tarp so he could get out of the rain, took out his journal to make a range card and scanned the trainyard with Rico's old thermal viewer. It was bustling with activity despite the weather. A lot of it looked like legit business, but he could tell from here there was some shady shit going on by the staggering number of armed patrols that wandered about.

“Hey guys, get a load of these faggots. Armed guerrillas walking around in broad daylight like it's fucking cool.”

Max pressed his eye against his spotting scope.

“You know, there's a long tradition of AK wielders in this country. After all, it’s on their flag.”

“Hey Kaeo, how the fuck are we supposed to range this shit? They're what, like, three and a half clicks from us on average? That's way too far to laze.” Garza asked whilst surveying the landscape.

“I don't know, we could do mill reading and get a good estimate but that'll be a pain in the ass.”

“Not necessary, gents.” Logger squatted down and pulled a sleek looking pair of binoculars from his rucksack, except they weren't binoculars.

“Oh shit. Is that what I think it is?” Max breathed.

“Yep Vectronix VECTOR TWENTY-MOTHERFUCKING-ONE. This bitch'll range out to ten clicks.”

“Don't tell me you bought it legit. What, do those cost, like, $19,000?” Kaeo asked.

“Nope, courtesy of our thirteen Foxtrot friends from the seventy-fifth Ranger Regiment camp Bastion, Afghanistan.” Logger responded, rolling it in his hands proudly

“Damn, that's ballsy. I bet they were looking for that for fucking days.” Max added in.

“Honestly, it's like they wanted me to take it. They literally just left it sitting out. Hell, I didn't even make out half as good as my old buddies from Alpha Company.”

“Fucking spoiled ass Army. Probably got lost inside the PX looking for tampons.” Garza spat out.

“Remember what Rico says, Garza. ’Always be nice to the Army, because eventually you're gonna need to steal from them'.” Max added in again.

“Wait a second, Logger, isn't stealing a sin?” Kaeo asked.

“Well, they're a bunch of heathens so fuck 'em.”

“You called us heathens earlier, so does that mean you're gonna take all our Dip while we're asleep?” Max asked as he narrowed his eyes.

“Nah, of course not. Y'all are honorary members of the church as far as I'm concerned. I ain't no Blue Falcon.”

Max wasn't convinced.

“Here,” tossing the rangefinder over to Max, “a twenty thousand dollar symbol of my trust.”

“Guess I was almost right.” Kaeo quipped.

Max caught it and that seemed to do the trick. He swapped it out with his spotting scope on his little tripod, the human hand was just too shaky to get a good hit on anything out past about two kilometers.

Kaeo gestured with his pen after making a quick sketch of his view of the area. “Alright, let's try this bitch out. How far do you make it to that stack of fuel drums beside those four skinnies?”

“3,627 meters flat. I feel like a fucking kid on Christmas morning. Check this out. It automatically calculates the flat and slant range. Oh shit, I can even get the distance between two points!” Max was clearly enjoying himself. Kaeo jotted the measurement down on his range card.

They went on like this for an hour or two, plotting out the train yard, taking note of all enemy emplacements and important positions as well as all routes of approach. They ranged the positions then turned the range and degree measurement into a deflection off of their known position from there. Next, they turned that deflection into a ten digit grid reference ready to be given to artillery. After that, there wasn't much to do. Mostly wait, watch, and feed SALUTE reports back to McGregor.

This was the recon half of their mission set. Go out paint and a picture of the battlefield and feed that back to the upper echelons of command. The other half was direct action missions. Which mostly meant raiding, breaking shit, and killing people. Swift, Silent, Deadly and all that jazz.

Kaeo toyed with the ring for a bit to pass the time. It felt actually odd on his finger. It was just a little too small, meant for slimmer feminine fingers. He couldn't seem to get it off.

Would it ever come off? Would he have to carry this burden for his whole life? He looked over to Dygalo who was sitting by himself under a tree wiping down his weapon in silence.

Maybe it was time to ask. Kaeo crawled out from his position under his tarp and handed his thermal viewer to Logger.

“Take over.” he instructed as he walked over towards Dygalo. The Staff Sergeant glanced up from his work to the approaching Corporal.

“What do you need, Tokura?”

“It's nothing critical, Staff Sergeant, it's just that I wanted to ask you-”

“It's about ‘that’ isn't it?” Dygalo cut him off.

“I, uh... I guess it is, Staff Sergeant.” he responded, with a slight tone of anxiety in his voice.

“Sit down, it’s a long story.” He gestured to a patch of moss next to him. Kaeo sat as instructed. Dygalo took off his helmet and Comtacs then set them aside.

“Tell me Tokura, do you know how long I've been in the Marines?” Dygalo asked while running his hand across his prominent widow’s peak. His closely buzzed hair still held the dark brown color of youth, but his dark eyes betrayed wisdom far beyond his years.

“No, I don't.” Kaeo answered.

“Fifteen years, thirteen long years of war. I've been deployed to Afghanistan five times, Iraq three. The first deployment in any country is always the worst. I was probably more mentally prepared than most to go to Afghanistan back in '01. My old man went to Afghanistan back in the 80's with the 345th Guard’s Independent Airborne Regiment. That was some heavy combat, nothing like what you get there today. After the Union fell, he decided it was time for a change and decided to live out the rest of his days in the middle of Utah. When I told him I was shipping off to Afghanistan myself he just shook his head and told me he fought there so that I wouldn't have to. He told me Americans never learned a damn thing from other people. They always had to stick their hand into the bear trap for themselves. Apparently, I was shaping into a fine young American and I didn't even know it yet.”

Dygalo stared off into the distance for a long second before continuing.

“Iraq and Afghanistan were completely different. I came out of my first Afghanistan deployment with Corporal chevrons, some combat under my belt and a lot to prove to myself.”

He made a quick glance to Kaeo before looking back out over the valley.

“The invasion was probably the most organized chaos I've ever seen in my life. Maneuver warfare is like that, we crushed the once feared Iraqi army in twenty-eight days. Twenty-eight days was all it took to conquer a whole fucking country.  That was back when they called me “Amerikanski” and I still hadn't quite beaten my accent out. I still remember that day perfectly.” Dygalo continued.

“We were out hunting for enemy mortars up just north of Ar Rifa in support of RCT One's advance towards Al Kut. They'd been dropping them on our position all night and we were all jumpy and hungry for a little vengeance. Around 0900, we zeroed in on a hamlet that we were pretty sure they'd been using to shoot at us. We rolled up in full assault mode and my team and I jumped behind this little berm. Someone over to my right started shooting and before I knew it, everyone around me was opening fire. I popped over and caught some movement in my sights then let off a few rounds. Tagged 'em right in the guts. Then someone else, I think our FAC or the LT that cleared this Cobra hot, lit up the whole fucking hamlet with cannon and rockets. Then just like that, it was over. We moved into do a battle damage assessment and I saw what I'd done. I shot this little ten year old boy in the stomach.”

Dygalo fell silent for a while and examined his hands.

“He was doubled over lying on the ground crying his eyes out holding his destroyed guts. I held him, I held him until he died and then for a little after. It didn't go down like rumor would have you believe. Nothing came of it, no one got court marshalled, not even an NJP. That was probably the worst part. I wanted someone to punish me for what I did. And yet, nothing. When I asked my Platoon Sergeant about it he just told me to shut my big Russian mouth. After that, they stopped calling me Amerikanski and gave me just a little distance. This boot Private came up to me and asked me if I enjoyed killing. I just told him that it was a grim business we were in, and that the more we killed, the more violently, aggressively, and efficiently we attacked and engaged, the shorter this conflict would be. After that, I heard whispers in the other platoons about the Grim Reaper's human avatar from there the legend spread and grew. Everywhere I went and everyone I talked to seemed to already know of me. They had that hint of fear in their eye. I hated it, but that wasn't the worst part. Every time I tried to sleep I saw that little boy and, I killed him. I must've killed him in my mind at least a thousand times.” Dygalo ran his thumb over the creases in his right hand for a while.

“Did the dreams ever go away?” Kaeo asked intently.

“No, I still see him every so often. It's different now though.”

“What happened?”

Dygalo looked up and smiled a distant smile.

“I made friends with him, and accepted who I am.”  The smile faded and Dygalo glanced at his watch. “Sun’ll be setting soon I should get moving.” He stood up put on his Comtacs and helmet on before turning back to Kaeo. Dygalo nodded and said, “Stay frosty”, before turning to rally up Alpha Team. After a short while, Alpha rounded up their rucks and set off to establish their OP on the other side of the hill, leaving Bravo in position all by their lonesome.

Just as night fell, Kaeo caught sight of the LAV-25A2s with his thermals. The Light Armored Vehicle were sleek, eight wheeled, armored, amphibious recon vehicles armed with a 25mm Bushmaster autocannon and two M240s, one mounted co-axially to the autocannon and the other on top of the turret. This particular four vehicle platoon was from the 3rd Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion. They constituted some serious ass kicking but they were primarily there for support. McGregor's plan was to prep the strong points with arty and swoop in while they were still disoriented. It was a solid plan with size of the element that they'd brought. The strike force consisted of Raptor 1, Raptor 3, Hitman 2, Dagger 1 (the LAV Platoon), and Black Horse 3-2 and 3-1 (two teams from Raptor's attached engineer platoon) and finally, Raptor Actual's small Command element. They were all in position and ready to fuck shit up at 7:32. The civvy workers meandered home around eight and at precisely 9:55 PM, the fireworks began.

The first target was a post of two technical and saw around nine personnel guarding the main entrance to the train yard.

McGregor had already called in the mission by the time Kaeo was listening in on the radio

“Raptor, this is Sledgehammer, Message to observer: Mike Victor One-Four-Niner-Two-One-Tree-Four-Four-Five-Two, Bravo, five guns, one round, HE delay in effect. Target number Juliet November One-Zero-Zero-One. Splash in five seconds.”

Kaeo looked at the position in quiet anticipation. Suddenly, five rounds bursted over the position in quick succession, completely destroying the vehicles and killing any personnel. McGregor moved onto the next target, a vehicle staging area and barracks of sorts.

“Sledgehammer, this is Raptor. Adjust fire, system aided, over.”

“Raptor, this is Steel Rain. Adjust fire, system aided, out.” Sledgehammer's radio operator parroted.

“Ten digit grid Mike Victor One-Four-Niner-Two-One-Tree-Niner-Five-Seven-One. Five vehicles in the open numerous personnel, request splash, over.”

There was a small pause while Sledgehammer adjusted its guns.

“Raptor, this is Sledgehammer. Message to observer: Charlie, two rounds, five guns in effect, target number Alpha Bravo One-Zero-Zero-Four, Splash in five, over.”

There was another pause. Several shells burst over the barracks and motor pool. It was slightly off target but still good enough to completely destroy several of the vehicles, blow huge chucks out of the Barracks building and invariably kill plenty of skinnies.

“Sledgehammer this is Raptor, Ten digit impact grid: Mike Victor One-Four-Niner-Two-One-Tree-Niner-Six-One-One, correct fire for effect. Record this target, end of mission, target suppressed, out.

The line went silent, McGregor switched channels to strike force's combined net.

“All Victors, this is Raptor Actual, Goldilocks, I say again Goldilocks.” Humvees and LAVs tore out in perfect synchronization. The remaining outer defenses of the trainyard were swiftly destroyed by coordinated fire from the LAV's bushmasters. Hitman 2 broke through the main gate guns blazing and tore into said trainyard. Kaeo watched one vehicle in particular very closely. Raptor 1-2 Charlie's Humvee along with the whole of Raptor 1 flanked around the train yard perimeter wall and dismounted to blow holes to allow entry. Zhang looked like he'd won the lottery in his particular section.

Kaeo dialed his thermals in on the other side of the wall which was populated by the glowing white forms of several enemies. He keyed his mic.

“Raptor 1-2 Charlie, this is Raptor 2-1 Bravo, be advised we've got eyes on what looks like eleven enemy personnel on the other side of that wall.”

“Solid 2-1 Bravo, thanks for the tip.”

Zhang secured the charge and ducked around the corner and threw a frag grenade before setting off the main charge, with the ensuing explosions incapacitating all of the skinnies on the other side. Afterwards, Zhang and his team stormed through the breach. A previously unseen enemy spun around the corner and pointed his weapon at Zhang.

Zhang, instead of raising his weapon and shooting him, charged straight at the enemy and tackled them before they could fire and stabbed them repeatedly with his knife. Kaeo lowered his thermal view.

“Max, our Bruce Lee impersonator is going apeshit on a skinnie.”

“No Shit? Let me see!”  Max snatched the thermal viewer from Kaeo's grip. “Oh damn, he stabbing that fucker up!” handing the viewer back to Kaeo. “You don't see that every day.”

Kaeo raised the thermal viewer up to continue observing the battle raging below. As he did, the blinking battery bar seized his attention. He shut the unit off.

“Hold on, I got to go get some batteries from the Humvee.” Kaeo crawled out from the comfort of his dry position into the rain and walked back around to the Humvee. He moved around to the back side of the vehicle and lifted Logger's seat to look for the batteries.

Just as he rounded the corner, a figure appeared out of the darkness. He reached for his weapon only to find it wasn't there, he left it under the tarp.

“Hands up.” The figure instructed.

Oh shit. Kaeo’s eyes shot to the weapon in said figure’s hand.

A Suppressed Heckler & Koch HK45 Compact Tactical pistol protruded out from under a camouflaged, rain-slicked poncho, and attached to that was a slim but still quite toned arm covered with twisting tattoos. The figure was hooded, night vision goggles hung over their eyes and cloth masked their face, but at least they had good taste in firearms

He still had his M45A1 pistol on him, but a quick draw and shoot seemed like a stupid idea by the way their pistol was aimed straight at his face. It burned within him to resist to do something, anything but a deeper more powerful part of his soul beckoned him to comply. The ring felt like it was cutting off all the circulation to his finger. His mind flashed to the girls. He straightened up and raised his hands.

“Good.” The figure drew the pistol close to their body as they approached but still keeping it trained on him preventing him from using his MCMAP to get his hands on it. They reached out and slid his M45A1 out of its holster and tossed it away into the grass.

“Kaeo, what the fuck is taking so long!?” Max called out impatiently.

The figure made several quick hand signals and a dozen more similarly dressed figures appearing out of the brush. They stalked over towards the position Kaeo had come from. The bushes rustled as a fistfight erupted between the two parties. The Marines outnumbered, more than two to one were quickly subdued and marched out next Kaeo. Max was the last to go down and he shot Kaeo an accusing look as they marched him out next to them. Kaeo motioned one of his raised hands toward the armed figures and gave him the "What the fuck was I supposed to do?" shrug.

The first figure just gestured to the four of them with their off hand as the holstered their weapon.

“Franco, handle them.”

In response, a large imposing member of the masked figures stepped out. The largest one among all of them, he placed his hand on Kaeo's shoulder and yanked on the quick release to his armor which promptly fell off. He did this to each of them.

“Your headgear too.” the large one instructed. They unbuckled their chinstraps and set their pots and Comtacs on top of the Humvee and stepped away to raised their hands again. He expertly kicked Kaeo's knees out and flex cuffed his hands behind his back. It was odd being on the opposite side for once.

The original masked assailant pulled down their mask and hood revealing long, golden blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. Turns out “they” was a “she”. She lifted the goggles off of her face to reveal piercing azure blue eyes. Kaeo's finger felt like it would drop off at any moment. The rain slowed and stopped. She held out her hand and looked up at the sky, then took off her poncho. Underneath, she had a pistol gripped Mossberg 590 shotgun slung across her chest.

She quickly unslung the weapon

“Who are you?” Kaeo asked in a slightly unnerved tone. An illumination round from Sledgehammer suddenly burst to life bathing the area in brilliant light.

She turned, smiling slyly and spreading her arms. “The name's Rikka Mannerheim, and I'm a mercenary.”

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