Canalzone
Seven chapters of a battle loosely based on Canalzone (the original) and TF.
— [P]Asphyxia
Chapter 1
It Begins...
War sucks. There is never anything enjoyable about the experience except when it’s over and everyone gets
to go home. I tell you, I miss Sundays of watching football on television, sucking down a few brews, and
charring some form of domesticated farm animal over an open fire. Tonight is one of those nights that make
it that much more miserable.
I suppose I should introduce myself. The name’s Asphyxia. Yea, it’s a real mouthful, but it’s the truth. I
have the reputation of making people stop breathing whenever I’m around. I’m a sniper. You know, those
one-shot, one-kill bastards that you never see. If you do get lucky and see me, it means that I missed
you, but that doesn’t happen too often.
It’s a cold, damp night. The rain has finally stopped, at least the downpour. It’s now only drizzle that
soaks everything and drains the heat from your body. I have the dubious assignment of watch commander this
night. Not much happening here in Firebase Victor since we heard that the enemy had withdrawn from this
sector to regroup after being routed at Port Royale. We really handed them a beating there. But
nonetheless, they aren’t here, so all is quiet. It’s 0105 and I submit my hourly report to HQ a few
minutes late. Of course, I get an earful, but getting angry with those anal retentive pencil pushers up at
Brigade keeps me up on these long nights.
Ten minutes later, my radio crackles to life with a panicked voice. It’s Hammer at Sentry Point Three. “SP Three to base! SP Three to base!”
“Relax three, this is base. Go ahead.” I calmly reply. He’s about as green as they come so I figure that I should try to keep him calm.
“Sir! I’m hearing inbound aircraft from the South! Sounds like several helos! What do I do?!” he continues with a very scared voice.
I glare at the radar operator who is sitting there with a confused look on his face. “Just take it easy, Hammer! You are to hold position until positive ID can be made. I will attempt to make out who it is. Sit tight! Base out!”
“What the HELL are you doing? Picking your nose? Did you not see the inbound?” I yell at the radar operator.
I notice him turning just about every knob on his equipment. “No, sir! I don’t have them at all! I think that the radar has gone dead again!” Great. Just lovely. Fighting a war with equipment that doesn’t work. We’re all dead if these are hostile.
“Firebase Victor, this is Helo 224 on approach with a flight of six aircraft. Authentication code is being transmitted. Request clearance for landing.” I look over at the commo operator. He looks at me and gives a nod to indicate that their code is good.
“Helo 224, you are cleared to land.” I let out a sigh of relief. Thank God that they are friendly. But this whole thing seems to strike me as odd. I had no message from HQ about this flight. It seems strange that six aircraft would fly into our base at 0115 unannounced, unless this was the start of something big.
I sling my rifle over my shoulder, grab my bag of animal crackers, and head out of the tent over to the mess hall for a cup of Joe. This is another thing I hate about this war. It’s very difficult to get a good cup of coffee around here. This stuff they pass as coffee could fuel these arriving helicopters. I guess I found some combination of coffee and animal crackers that makes it tolerable. I dispense two cups, one for me and one for my commander and friend, Totentanz. I know that he’ll need it since he’s not a morning person, but who is at this hour. I leave the mess tent and walk over to his tent. He steps out with this look on his face that would kill a normal man.
“You look like you are having a fine Army day.” I say as I hand him his cup. He gives me a sneer as he does the last button on his medical BDUs. He fishes out a Pall Mall and lights it up. He offers me one, but I shake my head and go for the Marlboro pack that I have in a pocket myself. I really ought to give them up, but I figured in this war a bullet will kill me before those things do. Tot looks at me and says, “What is going on here?”
“Looks like a resupply run. Several Chinooks with Apache gunships riding shotgun. I think that we have some newbies coming in. I didn’t hear anything from Brigade on this shipment. They just showed up unannounced. I can’t figure it out why at this hour though. I hope that they have a new radar set on one of those things.”
“That piece of crap dead again? Oh well, let’s go see what all this noise is about. Get some troops on detail to assist in unloading.” I motion to Jiminez to get on it. He moves without hesitation and gathers some troops staggering out of their tents. Man, sometimes I love authority.
As we are heading to the LZ, a jet black Osprey swoops in and touches down, almost unnoticed. This one must be one of those new covert ops stealth versions that I heard about back at Brigade. The engines whisper, no running lights, and almost no radar signature due to the absorbent paint. The hatches open and out pour several troops dressed in all black. They take up positions around the aircraft, ready for action.
We continue to walk over to the Osprey. Suddenly, there is a very familiar glow that is emanating from Tot’s forehead. Sniper laser sight. I’m guessing that if he has one, I’ve got one too. We freeze. I hate when friendly snipers lock in on you. I’m very tempted to unsling Jessica, but I would be dead before I hit the ground. That would really put an exclamation point on an already miserable night.
Our personal radios screech to life. “All command personnel to operations center in 10 minutes. No exceptions.” Just as the message completes, a man steps off the plane and surveys the scene. He is dressed in all black, just like all the rest, but there seems to be a difference with this one. This guy is completely midline. Average height and average weight. Completely forgettable, in fact, until you look in his eyes and see death staring back at you. As he looks at us and begins to walk towards us, Tot looks at me and says, “What the Hell is Special Ops doing here?” I just shrug.
As he gets closer, I notice this rather large sheath on his belt that contains what one could surmise to be a wicked combat knife. Only these Special Ops guys had access to those things. He stops about two paces from us and says, “I am Lieutenant DeWalt of Echo Company Special Ops. My callsign is Nightmare. Who’s in charge here, Sergeant?”
I point at Tot and say, “He is.”
“Where is your military bearing, Sergeant! Do you know who I am?” he yells at me.
I stare him dead in the eyes and reply in my usual tactful manner, “Three things, Sir. One, it’s too damned early in the morning for you to ask me about military bearing. Two, I don’t care if you are the President of the United States. And three, I get really annoyed when ‘friendly’ snipers think of me as target practice. So, until you call off your dogs, I can safely say that you shouldn’t expect anything civil from me.”
He motions to his snipers to lower their aim and they comply. He stares at me as he stomps off toward the command tent. I let out a small chuckle. “Well, I think that we got off on the right foot, eh?”
Tot just looks at me and shakes his head. “You really ought to work on your first impressions, my friend. I suppose we will find out what is going on from him in about ten minutes, huh? Well, I guess that we have time for another cup of coffee. Care to join me?”
“Great idea.” I reply. We head over to the chow tent as the activity of unloading cargo choppers continues around us.
 Back: Index
 Next: Chapter 2: The Briefing…
|
RSS Feeds
