Infection / Destruction / Hope

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jinxed247

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   When I first learned that I was getting deployed to Afghanistan, I was pumped. Finally, after all of the training and cock wagging, I was going to actually see what I was made of. In my mind, I was a death dealing, stone cold killer who would make Arnold shit in his pants just at the meer mention of my name.
   In reality, I was a six foot two, 175 pound, naive sonofabitch. I guess they are right when they say that those who yearn for war, have never actually been in one.
   How was I to know that? How was I to know that some weird ass virus was going to turn a regular old war into the mother of all calamities? I could handle being shot at and IED'd by the enemy, but for fuck sakes...at least when I shoot the enemy they should at least oblige me by staying down!
  Sorry, I am getting ahead of myself, it must be the meds talking. Let me start over.
   My name is Specialist Hayden. Cole J. Hayden that is. I am (was) a combat engineer in the United States Army and this is my story. No, it's not just my story. It's our story. The story of how a group of twenty men, alone on a FOB, watched as the world burned around them and literally became Hell on Earth.
   Luck definitely landed me on that FOB. I didn't see it as that at first. I do now. I wasn't even supposed to on that FOB...Luck of the draw I guess. So, before I give out any spoilers of the events that are about to transpire, I just want to say Welcome. Welcome to My War.
surviver5

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Reply with quote  #2 

sounds good, i think you should DEFINITELY keep going. but one thing, what is an FOB?? i dont know if im sopposed to know this, sorry.

Z

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Reply with quote  #3 
The one FOB I am familiar with is an acronym for Forward Operating Base, which is an advance position from which (most often) infantry deploy.

(You've seen 'em in Vietnam movies most likely. Those cleared-out patches of jungle where the soldiers always seem to be having barbeques and sit around in sandbagged bunkers smoking weed with Charlie Sheen and Willem Dafoe.)

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eastold

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Reply with quote  #4 

Good beginning definitly keep goin


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jinxed247

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Reply with quote  #5 
Yeah, they are Forward Operating Bases which we still refer to as a FOB. I'll try and put an explanation next to any military acronym that I use. Sorry about that. I will keep going with the story then. I will try and post a couple of things a night (barring any work or family events).
Thanks for the feedback.
jinxed247

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  "Welcome to Afghanistan, boys!" a disembodied voice shouted over the intercom.
  My heart was racing. After flying half way around the world, we were finally here. I was finally going to see a war firsthand. I couldn't wait.
  Turns out we had to do some more waiting. The military being the military (hurry up and wait) they had steps that they usually, religously took for people coming and leaving a theater of operation. First step was another fucking inventory of our gear. I had lost count of how many times we counted and recounted all of our shit. I can tell you this, I ran out of fingers and toes about three thousand miles ago.
   I am not going to bore you with the rest of our inprocessing shit so if you don't mind I'll skip ahead to when we were about to leave to our base for our AO (Area of Operations).
  "Hey, First Sargeant!" a voice called out above the noise of our convoy. All eyes turned and looked towards the guy that was sprinting towards us.
  "What is it troop?" First Sargeant Patterson shouted back towards the approaching figure.
  "I need one of your guys," he gasped as he approached the First Sargeant and immediately went to parade rest (which you normally don't do in a combat zone, but our 1st Sargeant was a stickler for such BS so I was guessing that the runner had already had a run in with him).
  "Which one and why?" came the 1st Sgt's response.
  "Specialist Hayden. We need to fill a hole out at one of our remote FOB's and he's it."
  "Why Hayden?" That's exactly what I was thinking. Everybody in my squad was staring at me and whispers started. I just shook my head at the questions that were thrown at me.
  "Because he has infantry experience as a former Marine and the members of the FOB don't want some joe off the block fresh out of AIT (Advanced Infantry Training) to go out with them."
  "Do they know that this is his first deployment? That he doesn't actually have any combat experience?" My 1st Sgt. countered.
  "Doesn't matter...my Team Leader is a former Jarhead that wants somebody that he knows is reliable at the get go...no offense 1st Sgt."
  So that was the reason why they wanted my ass. Before I joined the Army I did a stint in the Marine Corps as an 0311 (rifleman). That was before the war though. I just got back into the military after being out for eight years. The only reason that I got back in at all was because I had a cousin die by an IED last April. Before that I had been playing around with the idea of reenlisting in my head but that incident sealed the deal for me. Why didn't I go back into the Corps? Because, I made a deal with my wife that if I was going to rejoin the military that it would not be in the Marine Corps or the Infantry. That's why I chose combat engineers. We pretty much get to do everything that the infantry does except we get to look for mines. A lot of good the comprimise did me anyways. My wife and I seperated six months after I got back in.
  Bitch.
  "Hayden!!" 1st Sgt. roared
  "Moving 1st Sgt!" I shouted as I exited the vehicle. "See ya around guys." I nodded to my squad as I grabbed my gear.
  I had a feeling that this was going to suck. Suck big time. I was going to a unit that I had never trained with before and I was going to be the FNG (fucking new guy). Being an FNG sucks. I grabbed my gear and sprinted over to the 1st Sgt's position.
  "Specialist Hayden reporting as ordered 1st Sgt." I stood at parade rest and awaited further instructions.
  "He's all yours." He said to the Staff Sargeant. Turning to me, he extended his hand and simply said,"Goodluck son."
  And with that he stepped away and started issuing orders to my former Company and then they were Oscar Mike (On the Move). I was left standing there with my gear and the SSG.
  "Relax, Hayden. We don't do all of that Hooah bullshit out here. I am Staff Sargeant Walters and I am your new squad leader for the next sixteen months."
  "Sixteen? I thought that we were only here for twelve?"
  "You've just been extended." He said with a smile. "Welcome, to the asshole of the world. Com'on. Grab your shit, we have a bird to catch in about ten mikes so we need to hustle."
  Fuck me. Extended. I haven't been in country for a month yet and I am already going to be here for four extra months. I knew that this was going to suck.
  As we made our way over to our ride I asked SSG Walters where we were going.
  "We are on our way to a twenty man FOB under control of the Fifth Special Forces Group. You have just been drafted!! Ha...don't worry about it. We just snagged you so that we had somebody to burn the shitters and stand guard so we can sleep." He winked at me as we threw my gear onto the waiting blackhawk and boarded it."Might as well catch some zzz's. It's a long flight and we have one more stop to make."
  "Fuck me," I thought to myself as the BlackHawk lifted off of the ground and headed off into the horizon.
  Fuck me indeed.
ZombieHobbit

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Reply with quote  #7 
More!  More!  Want's more story or it get's mad!

Hehe.  Really good job so far.

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Killerbob101

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Reply with quote  #8 
I like it so far, keep going.
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surviver5

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Reply with quote  #9 
k-k-k-cooooool.....
sounds good, keep writing and posting
eastold

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Reply with quote  #10 
like it so far keep it goin


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Steven R. Luckenbaugh
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Reply with quote  #11 

im very much impressed with the accuracy and the dialogue, its very believable, keep it up and don't stop.


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jinxed247

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Reply with quote  #12 
*Sorry my computer was down!*

  The next stop was just a quick one to pick up some ammo and MRE's (yum!). I don't know if you have ever ridden in a helicopter but trying to communicate with the person next to you is damn near impossible, unless you both have headsets on. After fruitlessly trying to ask SSG Walters a shitload of questions, I finally gave up and sat back and contemplated on how my world just got turned upside down.
  I finally came to a conclusion...suck it up and drive on. No use feeling sorry for yourself.
  I must have drifted off to sleep because the change in pitch of the rotors snapped me back into reality. I looked down as we were descending and my heart sunk. We really were all alone out here. There was nothing around for miles but empty mountains and my new home. From what I could see we were a small community of tents clustered behind some barbed wire. Walters must not have been kidding about burning the shitters because there was a plume of smoke behind a crudely constructed outhouse and yes, the smoke was blowing my way.
  When I jumped off of the bird, I helped unload what we had brought and stood up to be face to face with the mirror image of Vic Mackey (from The Shield).
 "Hayden?" the imposing figure asked.
 "Yes, Master Sargeant."
 "I am Master Sargeant James and I am in charge of this little outfit. See that little hooch off to your right?" I glanced over to where he was indicating and nodded my aknowledgement. "Ground your shit in there and then meet me in five with a water source and anything that goes bang. Leave all the other shit on your rack. We have a mission brief in five so you better hustle." With that my new platoon Sargeant walked away and left me standing there with my jaw hanging open.
  The smell of the burning shit snapped me back and I double timed it to my new home.
  Nobody was home when I went in so, I dumped my duffle bags off on the nearest empty rack, grabbed my camelback and didi'd out of there to find MSGT James. I was already wearing my LBV (load bearing vest) so I already had my ammo and weapon.
 I saw a group of guys standing in a semi-circle so I assumed that this was the mission brief. I got there just in time to hear MSGT James start the brief.
 "As you all know, Africa is becoming a major training area for al Qaeda. They send their people there to train on how to kill us and then ship them around the globe. Everyone here has heard of what has been happening in Africa as of late correct?" small murmurs started up in response to the question. "Yes, I am talking about the so called Morningstar Strain. There is currently ongoing military operations in trying to contain that shit. Unfortunatley, al Qaeda is a bunch of sneaky little bastards and it is damn near impossible to track them all."
 Taking in a deep breath before he began again he looks around at each of us. His eye's seem to lock onto mine for a second as if he was trying to get a read on me. I met his gaze and tried to keep my expression neutral as he started again.
  "This brings me to our current mission. You all know that Pakistan is just a hop skip and a jump over those mountains and that al Qaeda and the Taliban have made it their new home. Terrorists and Taliban cross over here pretty regularly. Unfortunately, some of those Bin Laden wannabes did come from Africa. Fresh from Africa as a matter of fact. So fresh, that we have lost contact with three villages along the border that we have befriended. Our mission is to patrol out to those villages and check them for signs of terrorists, Taliban or this Morningstar strain. To keep you up to speed on this shit do NOT and I mean DO NOT let anybody that appears infected bite you, spit on you or even breathe on you. This is some seriously nasty shit. If you do come in contact, shoot to kill. Women, children, men or old fuckers. Put a fucking round through their skull. Just don't get thier brains on you. Any questions?"
  I think that everybody was to freaked out to say anything because I sure had a shitload of questions racing through my mind.
 "Mount up!!" he bellowed and we all raced to the vehicles which happened to be technicals that we took from the Taliban.
 "Outfuckingstanding," I mumbled to myself as I hopped into the back of a rusted out Toyota pickup truck.
ZombieHobbit

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Reply with quote  #13 

More, damn it! Lol.

Good stuff.


I note: for those of us who haven't had military training, could you add a side not for what some of the abbreviations and such mean?

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eastold

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Reply with quote  #14 

Keep it up. Action coming likin where this is headed.


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Reply with quote  #15 
Nice Update.

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Armydillo978

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Reply with quote  #16 
You slave drivers....give the poor man a chance to sit and eat.  Your gonna tear him apart with the constant tugging and pulling.

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jinxed247

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After a couple of minutes of eating dirt from the forward trucks, I tried to take in my surroundings. Tried is the operative word as I was bounced, jostled and thrown around the bed of the truck. How anyone was expected to shoot from the back of one of these was beyond me.

  SSG (Staff Sargeant) Walters noticed my vain attempts at trying to keep my seat and laughed.
  "Haven't got your sea legs yet? Don't worry you get used to it. Just hang on and pray to Allah that when you fall out the truck behind us doesn't run you over!"
  I just shook my head and bounced along the mountain road, while trying to keep an eye on my side of the road. At least I didn't have to mount the fifty cal and stand up the whole fucking way....that would have to suck.
  After about another twenty minutes the trucks start to slow and I noticed some of the other "operators" looking around nervously. A number of them clicked off their safeties. To see such seasoned veterans getting nervous about an area made me, understandably so, nervous.
  "What's going on Sarge?" I whispered over to Walters.
  "We usually get hit here about every other time that we go through here."
  "So why so nervous now?"
  "We didn't get hit the last time we went through, so we figure we're due."
  Fuck. Sometimes it's just better not to ask. With that new piece of intel in my head I re-doubled my efforts to scan the now narrowing mountain walls.
It looked like that we were about to exit through a narrow pass and even to an untrained eye, everybody knew that narrow places make awesome ambush sites.
  "All STOP!!" the lead vehicle screamed and we all got thrown into the cab of the truck.
  When someone yells out an all stop, you do just that. You don't do any of that Hollywood bullshit and pull over to the side of the road. You immediately stop where you are. This is because the path that you just drove is "safe" and you don't know if next to you is or isin't. The reason that an all stop is even called is because someone has seen something suspicious, either along the road (like an IED), up on the mountain or whatever. If you do have to exit the vehicle, like to pull security, you have to do your sweeps to make sure you don't trip something or step on a mine. If you aren't careful of where you step or where you put your hands you could end up in a body bag headed stateside.
  "Dismount!" came the next order. We all did our sweeps and exited the vehicles. I huddled next to the wheel well of the truck and scanned my sector while Walters ran up to see what was going on.
  When you scan an area you want to check the areas nearest to you first then walk your way out, looking from right to left or left to right. You look for anything out of the ordinary, anything that doesn't blend in or is out of place. It was during my third sweep, when my eyes picked up a dot of white bobbing along the side of the mountain and then disappearing. I blinked my eyes twice to make sure that my adrenaline pumped mind wasn't playing tricks on me.
  "Contact LEFT! 9 o'clock high about three quarters of the way up!" I yelled.
  Everyone immediately took cover and Walters came sprinting back over to me.
  "What's up? What did you see?" Walters asked as he scanned the area I called out.
  "See that rock that is a little grayer that the others?" he nodded, "I saw something white walking along up by there."
  Walters studied me for a moment before yelling out, "Sniper up!!" A peculiar looking fellow came running up to our position with his spotter in tow. This was the first time that I had ever layed eyes on SGT Becker and SSG Miller. They were quite the odd looking couple. The "shooter", SGT Becker, stood a whopping five feet five inches tall and had a handle bar mustache that would make a Texan jealous, while Miller stood almost six-six and had a mountain man beard with an honest to God ACU digital cowboy hat.
 "What do you have Walters?" Miller asked as the two busted out their gear. Now another myth that Hollywood has helped to spread is that the shooter is the brains of the team and gets all of the glory. The reality of the situation is that the spotter is the most experienced member of the team. He has the trigger time also but in reality anyone can pull the trigger. The spotter calls the wind, estimates the distance to the target, and feeds his shooter the information so that adjustments can be made on the scope. He then watches the target with his spotting scope turned a quarter turn out of focus so that he can watch the vapor trail of the bullet as it arcs it's way towards the target. If the shooter misses, the spotter can usually make adjustments based upon his witnessing of the hit or near miss of the bullet.
 Walters pointed up to the rock that I described and it wasn't long before the snipers were talking to themselves.
 "Mil it for me." Miller asked
 "Two mils."
 Miller enters something in a calculator and then puts his eye back onto his spotting scope. "Five-five-zero yards. Come up two and left one."
 "I see something...looks like a turbine? Do you see that Miller?"
 "Copy that...there appears to be two...no three people huddled over something." You could see him tense up for a moment before he turns his head to the side and pukes.
 "What the fuck," he gasps as he gets back on scope. "Their fucking eating that guy!"
 What the fuck is going on? Why in the hell they would they be eating someone?
 Walters speaks aloud what I was just thinking. "What the fuck do you mean they're eating that guy?"
 "Wait one." Miller, now fully composed again, replies. He's all business now.
 "Sniper ready?"
 "Sniper up."
 "Send it." The dialog of professionals.
 Boom!
  "Down one, left one." Miller responds after the shot.
  "Sniper up." Becker replies after he made his corrections.
  "Send it." came the monotone reply
  Boom!
  This time no corrections were given. This sequence was repeated two more times as the team took out the targets.
  "Miller!" Master Sargeant James bellowed. "Sit rep!!" (situation report)
  "Three down." Miller said, while shaking his head.
  "What the fuck did you see up there Mike?" Walters asked.
  "You wouldn't believe it unless you saw it, man. Why did we stop anyways?"
  "They found a dead villager in the road that looked all chewed up and had it's throat ripped out."
  "What the fuck is going on here?" I asked aloud. Sometimes my inner voice has a way of making itself vocal.
  "Don't worry about it Hayden. We're dealing with it." Turning to Miller he says, "You all right?"
  "I am fine."
  James studies Miller for a sec before issuing his next order. "Walters, why don't you take Hayden, Miller, and Becker up to take a look and provide an over watch for us. We aren't going anywhere for awhile. I reported what we found to HQ (headquarters) and they want us to stand fast while they figure out our next move."
  "Hooah. You heard them ladies. Let's move."
  Great. I have always wanted to see chewed on bodies...yeah right. Definitely wasn't on my to do list before I died. Shaking my head, I readied my weapon and took point up the side of the mountain.
alex51

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Reply with quote  #18 
Excellent. Love the detail.

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ZombieHobbit

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Reply with quote  #19 

Amazing! I predict you will be published someday.

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(In my defense, I had Chinese for lunch, and now I feel sluggish and content. And they barely screamed when I put them in the wok, which was a pleasant change of pace.) - Z
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Reply with quote  #20 
Kudos! Am enjoying your story.

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Reply with quote  #21 

This is great!


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I'm a beast. That's all there is to say. You can't fade me. I drop noobs and EMP's like your mom's toilet seat so your pops won't know I was there. I'll flashbang/jumpshot/tac-knife your camping ass then tea-bag your twitching body as I call in an airstrike. My kills are sick. Don't even bother watching the kill-cam unless you're a CIA code-breaker and proctologist cause it takes a genius to figure out my s**t. No matter what type of player you are, you don't stand a chance. I'll fade your punk ass then go upstairs and bang your sister
Killerbob101

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Reply with quote  #22 
This is damn good.

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floridazombiehunter

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Reply with quote  #23 

Great story! Keep it coming!

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Reply with quote  #24 

one of the better stories ever posted so far...nice writing style


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