Warfighter: Operation Shatterfall

Chapter 8

2 hours later.

Sword Base, Revolt City. 1200 hours.

"Load up! Move it!" Lt. Lipton of 2nd Platoon yelled at his men.

The sun blasted down over their heads, their shadows forming an apparition of their every move. The clear blue sky still burned, anti-air missiles from USF batteries fired into the cold blue expanse, seeking and hunting down enemy fighters that still roam our airspace.

Indistinct chatter and orders filled the staging ground. The military voices of the lieutenants and sergeants rang out as they ushered their men into the vehicles. The loud whining hydrogen engines of 8-wheeled M1320 Infantry Armored Carrier cried into the cold dry air. Inconsistent rhythms of footsteps and metal clashed as the Firewalkers boarded their respective IACs, armed and ready.

Suddenly, the sound of fast paced drums and loud electric guitars played outside, drowning out the yells of the lieutenants just trying to do their job.

Lieutenant Lipton could be seen walking on top of one of the IACs. He took off his military issue shades and gave a questioning look to his men, "Who the fu- Hey! Shut it off-" The sound of the song grew louder and louder and faster and faster before drowning out his voice completely.

I was already waiting inside one of the IACs with James. Roars and hisses sounded as the drivers did their engine checks. I found myself tapping my feet to the beat. Mostly because I know this song, and I loved it.

I slapped a magazine into my loaded rifle. Of course, I switched it to 'safe'.

"Isn't that song... " James suddenly asked, eyes shut, "...what's it called?"

"Down On The Street," I answered as I counted my magazines.

Nine mags, two grenades, and all the other jazz.

"Isn't that a really old track?" he asked, "by a pretty old band?"

"Yeah," I replied, "with trillions of songs and records on the Interplanet, nobody would actually know about an artist who writes an actual good song, let alone a classic track used in the Vietnam War." I placed my rifle between my legs.

"Unless they appear on the Top 100s," James added.

"Exactly," I replied and leant back against the seat, eyes closed.

The IAC was pretty damn dark, it was close to pitch black, the only light source came from the door.

"Gun," one of the drivers said.

"Check," the other replied.

"DERA armed?"

"DERA armed and ready."

The M1320 IAC is a formidable weapon. Armed with a 50.cal remote operated machine gun that fires high explosive depleted uranium rounds and protected with a Directed Energy Reactive Armor module, the IAC is a valuable tool for ground assaults. Although it is not built to resist anti-tank warheads, it can withstand several RPGs and light anti-armor weaponry. The DERA made sure of it.

It had enough room for a nine-man squad and two drivers, perfect for a company-sized assault operation.

The same kind of operation we were about to execute.

One of the drivers could be heard hopping down from the driver compartment then I suddenly felt a hard clap on my shoulders, prompting me to open my eyes.

"Hey, privates, where the fuck is your squad?" the driver asked, his faced fully covered.

"I have no idea dude," James said, eyes still shut and legs propped up. He had been trying very hard to take a short nap since the past 30 minutes, but MREs and first assault rations made sure tiredness and fatigue does not occur in a combat zone. In short, he can't sleep no matter how hard he tried.