Private First Class Donaldson cursed as he soaked himself yet again with the supposed “deep woods” bug spray. “This shit’s about as useful as my Guard enlistment,” he murmured for the tenth time.
Just another big city boy from Michigan seduced by endless Miami Beach music videos, he convinced his parents that only the University of South Florida could provide that quality education they were always going on about. For the first couple of semesters the 19-year-old did manage to live the rap star life in bikini heaven while making, just barely, the grades needed to keep the folks off his back.
At least, that was before the interest rates doubled on his student loans thanks to some weird federal legislation. His father was “very proud” how he finally found a part-time job to help out, but that between his mother’s medical bills and the loan’s new costs, they had to “make some tough choices.”
Lucky to have found even a minimum wage job these days, Donaldson jumped at the instate tuition reimbursement incentive the National Guard offered. With the ink still wet on the papers, he called his father to tell him not to worry. For serving just one weekend a month and two weeks a year, the Guard would “pay for his future.”
Turned out, he lied. He wasn’t even out of basic training when, as part of some complicated “deficit reduction deal” in Washington, the state lost most of the federal contributions that helped fund the National Guard. Barely able to provide basic pay to their guardsmen, Florida wasn’t about to foot the bill for his education as well. Contractual obligation or not.
“Fuck!” He swatted, too late, at another stinging something. How could a swamp be so alive in January? Winter was just a word in Florida. It was cool getting sunburnt on New Year’s Eve, but this was ridiculous.
When that dumbass of a governor called up the Guard, Donaldson tried to weasel out, naturally. That’s when the stick-up-the-ass, ex-active duty NCO on the other end of the phone mentioned his contractual obligations. He saw now how sassing off about government contracts being binding only one way explained why he was spending all night guarding the access road entrance to a damn swamp.
“Son of a bitch!”
The older specialist in the guard shack glanced up from his porn magazine, chuckling at the stressed out skinny kid hovering around him. “What the hell, man?”
Donaldson ground his teeth and reached into his shoulder pocket. “Just thinking about shit. Here, I’m going to burn one. Keep an eye out, Hough.”
“Ok, but do it back in the tree line. If the on-duty NCO catches you, it’s both of our asses.”
About 10 yards away, in a slight depression surrounded by high scrub palms, Donaldson finally felt safe from his real enemy: Goddamn sergeants.
It wouldn’t be the last time smoking saved his life. No sooner was he out of sight than Specialist Hough heard something moving around in the dark. He naturally assumed the worst. That the NCO of the guard force was trying to sneak up on them as part of some “gotcha” game.
Specialist Hough sprang into textbook action. He shut off the shack’s interior light, swung his M16 to the high ready and lit the road up with his pivot-mounted halogen searchlight. He expected to hear a shout of, “Well done, soldier!” At worst, “What took you so fucking long?”
“Contact, 11 O’clock!” surprised him as much as the two controlled pairs coming right on its heels. The ceramic ballistic plate in his vest was designed to stop one hit, maybe two if lucky. With so many rounds striking him center mass at close range, the body armor shattered like so much porcelain.
Ten yards over in the brush, PFC Donaldson’s heart stopped at the burst of fire. Training told him to take advantage of his lucky position and engage the enemy in flanking fire. His gut told him to run like hell. Some small, rarely used part of his brain spoke up with much more practical advice. Keep calm, don’t move, you’re vastly outnumbered!
With all the noise around, the crickets suddenly halted their incessant orgy. He noticed for the first time how dangerously quiet it got at night without the bugs. Convenient, since he couldn’t see much from his scrub palm redoubt anyway. The new voices clarified the situation just as good as seeing it.
“Clear!”
“Only one of them on duty? Fucking National Guard amateurs!”
“Does he need a medic? Maybe he’s not—”
“Ha! Way too late for that. Shit, he had a weapon, man. I mean you saw it, right? What was I supposed to do? The ROE are clear, he had a weapon…”
An older voice cut in. “Enough of that shit. You did well, but now the whole fucking camp knows we’re here. We need to get back to the ambush site at the other gate before their Quick Reaction Force (QRF) gets moving. Police this mess up and let’s go!”
Donaldson waited a good five minutes after it was dead quiet again before going back to the guard shack. His buddy’s body lay untouched. Well, almost. Someone emptied his ammo pouches and his rifle was missing. So was the shack’s radio.
At least they’d forgotten the backup phone. The warning light exploded. Thank God it had no ringer.
For the first time ever, he was glad to hear his sergeant’s voice.
“Rock on! You’re still alive. Listen up, Private. Things just got real. Enemy airborne came in about 15 minutes ago and they’re crawling all over the place. We’ve lost contact with the airstrip and the bastards are picking people off left and right. You hear anything, shoot first and ask questions later. QRF is heading your way, so don’t fire at the Humvees! They’ll reinforce your position. We need to defend the Ammunition Holding Area (AHA) until we can get the ammo and heavy weapons out, is that—”
“Sergeant, look, they’ve already taken the AHA. They hit us here a few minutes ago.” Donaldson finally admitted it to himself.
“Hough’s dead and they got our radio. I’m alive. I, uh, I got lucky.”
The NCO on the other end didn’t miss a beat. “No time for that now. You made it; that’s all that’s important. What is the enemy up to?”
Donaldson brought up the 4-power ACOG scope on his rifle. He couldn’t make out detailed shapes in the dark, but movement was clear enough. “I think they’re setting up an ambush site between the north and east gates. They can hit anyone entering either entrance from there plus cover the main road.”
“Are they now? Want to ambush my QRF?” Donaldson could have sworn he heard a purr over the phone. “You know, there’s an artillery battery that was out doing some night fire training earlier. I wonder if they still got a few rounds left. Where is the enemy exactly, Private?”
“Um, along the reverse slope of the safety berm. Straddling the access road about 300 meters northwest of my position, maybe a 100–200 meter front.” The fear in his voice finally gave way to adrenaline. “At least two platoons, but not a full company. I think they’re trying to dig in.”
“Do you remember how to call in an artillery fire mission, Private?”
Donaldson went pale thinking about this latest failure. “Ah, not really, Sergeant.”
“Don’t worry about it, kid. You just did. Find some cover. Danger close!”
Camp Blanding Airstrip
Two kilometers southeast of the Ammunition Holding Area
Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump, thump!
The barrage in the distance hit all at once, but you could hear the distinct explosions if you listened carefully. Alpha Company’s CO was not easy to make out on the radio over all the small arms fire and shelling.