Marine George ‘Bray’ Brayford, HRMC, ran across the desert, rifle held using one hand due to its bullpup nature. He moved along with his section – four other Marines, led by a corporal – as machinegun fire roared in the background.
The maneuver was simple. While the GPMG laid down suppressing fire, each section moved one by one, advancing towards the enemy position. After running for a distance, they would hit the dirt, put their rifles forward, and lay down suppressing fire as well, while the machinegun repositioned. When the GPMG was in range to perform its prime task – suppression – his section along would move up again and repeat until they’ve closed in with the enemy positions. There, individual section leaders would coordinate their men to conduct a smaller version of the advancing maneuver, using automatic rifles to suppress the enemy into cover and flank them using part of their section.
Locate, close with and destroy the enemy by fire and maneuver and/ or repel enemy assault by fire and close combat. Brayford thought, remembering the job description on the Infantry page when he logged on to the website of the Royal Marines.
In the desert heat they drilled this technique to perfection. Aside from the damning heat, the equipment each Marine carried – about 80 pounds of water, rations, ammunition, body armor, supplies, extra skivvies, bayonets, and their own weapons – was another challenge. However, any infantryman would have to get used to carrying up to 135 pounds of gear during training, so the carry weight was more or less an extended body weight for each individual Marine. But it never would be bad if the weather had been slightly milder, wouldn’t it? Brayford gave a sigh of relief that the actual mission would take place at night.
“Down!” yelled Corporal Leandros Kyrgiakos, the section leader. A robust, short man with brown crisp complexion, Kyrgiakos was twenty-six and a career Marine. He joined in the corps when he was eighteen and had been here ever since, going through all kinds of gung-ho, high-speed courses – zero-gravity courses, para school, arctic warfare school, and even the hellish Mountain Warfare School, among others. The only thing he hasn’t done was Special Service Selection, the hardest, most grueling course training could give, where in the end, if passing the 5% selection quota, one would be assigned to LASF Lazarus Alliance Special Forces.
Following his orders, the men of 3 Section hit the dirt and started commencing controlled amounts of blanks onto the ‘enemy’ ‘positions’, which were nothing more than a set of abandoned houses. This (notional) target was 4 (Orisan’s) Troop’s objective today, and they had wasted little time to get there.
When the machinegunner shouted that he was in position, the section ran forward again. They set down once more behind a set of rocks. 1 and 2 sections were on their left and right.
Laying down cover fire once again, Kyrgiakos told the men to fix bayonets. They took out their bayonets from their sockets and attached them onto the end of their weapons.
“In Position! Firing!” Bray could hear Smitty, the troop’s GPM-Gunner, yell.
“Alright, lads!” kneeling over the set of rocks, Kyrgiakos looked like one of those old paintings where the leading soldier yelled orders to charge the breach in a fortress. “Up and over! Chaaarge!”
The Marines went on their feet, and advanced as fast as they could to the arrangement of ruined buildings, with Kyrgiakos at the head of the formation. They stacked up on an old sandstone building. A fireteam, sub-units of a section commonly led by a lance-corporal, took positions by a corner and started opening fire. Assault rifles cracked as the shouting of orders and the smell of smoke dominated the background. Kyrgiakos led the rest of the men to a door.
“Bray! You’re up!”
“Corporal!” Bray yelled. He lunged towards the door and kicked it down, the door falling with a loud crash-and-bang.
“Go! Go! Go!”
In a mere seconds, the Marines occupied the establishment. They repeated it over the next several houses, while another section raced to the center of the small settlement. Not before long, the village was theirs. Captain McAllister came in with a jeep, a stopwatch in his hands.
“Well, that took some time, didn’t it, Sergeant Orisan?” in his salty khaki utilities and in the Marines’ green beret, he said as he stood over his jeep’s seat.
“Yes, sir.”
“But congratulations, you lads broke the company’s record of three minutes clearing out this damned shithole. Extra rations for all of you.”
The whole troop cheered. Brayford had a wide smile about his face, and took a pat to the back from Smitty, who held his GPMG by the carrying handle.
“We got some arrivals later. A navy ship is going to come to orbit for repair and resupply, so some of the crew are getting lent to help us out here. They’ve been in space for the last four months stacking bodies, so show a bit of respect. Oh, and I heard they got some good looking lasses up there, so don’t go screwing around what ain’t-fockin-yours. That understood, lads?”
“Aye, sir!”
“Alright. Go get a fockin shower, all of you, ‘cos thanks to your record you’ll be the welcoming party. That clear?”
“Aye-aye, sir!”
“Good! Now get the fuck out of here ye damned scoundrels.” He said and sat back on the jeep’s commander seat. He rode away, leaving a trail of dust.
Orisan forwarded his orders. “You heard the man, scram you lousy fuck-cunts!”
On the march back, which was a five-kilometer tab, Bray talked with Smitty. “Hey, Smitty, mate, I’m wondering. About how those spacers on the new ship look like.”
“Well I don’t know, mate, really depends on where you end up. Some ships got the good-looking nurses and spacers and pilots and whatnot, but the last time we were on a ship it was filled with fockin cows.”
“Not all of ‘em-“
“Yea, yea, I know. But whatever’s gonna happen we’ve got to look smart in front of the ladies, eh?”
“Yea. True that. True that.”
“Welcoming parties, huh?” Smitty said after a long pause. “You know what’s the best welcoming party you’re ever going to get here, Bray-oh?
“What’s that?”
“A sandstorm and a hail of artillery shells at the same time.”
A grin came on Brayford’s face. “And the fucking heat. And the fucking dust. Could’ve been worse, you know.
“True. But you get what I mean.” Said Smitty.
“Yeah, yeah.”
“By the way,” Smitty said. “Ten pounds on who gets pussy from the new ship.”
“Deal, mate.” Bray said. He extended an arm. Smitty took it. “Ten pounds, yeah?”
“Ten pounds. I’m on high libido levels here, mate.” Said Smitty.
“Fuck off, mate. You couldn’t even get into Emmsy, got a good slap to the face in the end as well.”
“Hey, fuck Emmsy. We’re looking at some premium, clean, one-shower-a-day, navy pussy here and me damned mouth’s waterin’ just by thinking about it.”
“Ten-fucking-pounds and your cigarette pack, mate.” Bray said.
“Fockin’-A.”
***
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