0110 Hours
Waypoint White
The Marines of 4 Troop exited the compound and acquired a couple of serviceable Arcturian jeeps to ensure quick transport to the fallen enemy corvette, which was ways downhill. At the head of 4 Troop, 3 Section rode with Corporal Kyrgiakos, Smitty, and Bray–who was in the driver’s seat–leading the way. Before they rode, however, Jonesy ran over to the three, carrying a large missile launcher with him. Shaped like a thick tube and equipped with infrared optics, the Velites Anti-air/ground Missile System (VAIMS) was a specially-designed personal anti-armor system that fired infrared-guided missiles, capable of taking even the toughest AFUs with one shot. However, due to the relatively complicated comprehension needed to operate it, VAIMS required a specialist to man it. Each troop usually had one or two anti-tank specialists, among them were Jonesy and Sergeant Orisan himself. As Smitty fixed his GPMG on the top of the jeep, he saw the troop commander carrying the large missile system on his back, his assault rifle slung behind him.
Jonesy, a young, loud, lance corporal who was technically in command of Smitty and Bray’s fireteam, vaulted onto the back of the jeep and set his VAIMS down. “Fuck, that was heavy.” He said. Jonesy had a habit of listening to loud rock music, and sported a thick handlebar mustache. Due to his young complexion, however, it made him look like a kid with a stash, which was weird.
Orisan shouted from behind. “Andy! Let’s get a move on!”
“Alright. Let’s do this, boys.” Said Kyrgiakos.
Bray changed gears. He lifted his foot off the clutch and hit the gas, going down the rocky hill through a curve-full road courtesy of the Arcturian Dominion Corps of Engineers, navigating through the hard turns and rocks through the lenses of his night vision goggles. They went down the road with no hindrance, until they had the damned enemy ship in sight. On their right, the AFUs were clashing in the air and ground. The guns of the Destroyers pounded. Smitty, manning the machinegun, could not help but observe in awe.
While he admired the grace and beauty of the AFUs – blue jet tails dancing, twirling, and clashing against each other with steel and energy weapons – the crack of gunfire was heard from the distance. Then tracer fire came in, skimming the jeep by inches. Accurate rifle fire came at them. It hit the hood of the jeep, and ricocheted into the windshield, cracking it.
“Fuck!” Kyrgiakos, on the seat next to Bray, exclaimed. “Keep driving, Bray!” he put a hand on his earpiece. “Charlie Four-Zero, Charlie Four-Zero, shots fired! Shots fired! Over!”
“Copy. Keep moving.” Orisan said calmly through the radio.
Smitty ducked as the bullets whizzed past him. At one point, he braved himself and went on both his feet. He sprayed the enemy positions with his GPMG. As bullets whistle passed, he heard the sound of metal hitting metal. There were several holes in the hood. One had smoke coming out of it, black smoke.
Bray tried hitting the gas pedal and changing gears to no effect. The car was slowing down. “Corp, the car’s busted!”
“Turn it! Use it as cover!” Kyrgiakos said.
Before the car ultimately decelerated, Bray hit the brakes and made the car’s flank face the enemy. Jonesy, Bray, Smitty, and Kyrgiakos quickly dismounted, hugging the dirt. Smitty, Bray, and the corporal quickly put their backs behind the cover of the jeep’s shot-up body, while Bray crawled behind some rocks and took cover behind it.
“Firing!” Bray yelled. From prone position, he fired at the enemy position. Crack-crack-crack! Crack! Cra-crack! However the fire did not last long, as the enemy pinned him down good, forcing him into cover.
The other jeeps rode past them, and quickly formed up a police barricade-esque formation. 4 Troop took cover behind the jeeps. Fire quickly shifted from Kyrgiakos’ downed jeep to the rest, who replied with a more concentrated rate of fire. Dust went about their faces.
Orisan yelled from afar. “Andy! Get your arse over here!”
“Roger!” Kyrgiakos yelled. He pointed to Jonesy and Smitty. “Get your GPMG and cover our arses. Once we’re there, go after us, you copy?”
“Roger, corp!” Smitty and Jonesy said at the same time. Smitty crawled to the end of the jeep and set down his GPMG. He opened the dust cover and took another box of ammo, attached to his vest. He attached the ammo box of 7.62mm rounds and lodged in the first round in the ammo bolt into the receiver. He shut it down and cocked the mechanism. Without second thought, he went down the sights and lay down bursts of three. When the suppressing fire was lit, Kyrgiakos and Bray quickly went on their feet and ran to the rest of the jeeps. Once reaching it, Jonesy–the large VAIMS on his back–and Smitty picked themselves up and dashed after them.
As he ran however, Smitty heard the sound of gunshots whizzing past his ears; but this time it was real close. They landed near him. Jonesy kept running ahead of him, but Smitty felt like he was slowing down, and his one leg weakening. He fell to the ground.
“Fuck!” he yelled. “Whatthefuckwasthatmanshit?!”
There was blood going out of his right calf. He did his best to address the wound while staying as low as possible, but with the armor about his chest, it was quite the effort. He managed to take the trousers out of his boots. Jonesy, having gone three-quarters to the jeeps, saw Smitty getting shot and dropped his rifle and the VAIMS. He quickly turned around, yelling Smitty’s name. “Smitty, you idiot,”
“Sorry, Jonesy.”
“Whatever, mate, up we go!” Jonesy grabbed both his arms and put Smitty on his back. Picking up Smitty’s GPMG, he ran as fast as he can to the rest of the jeeps, fire blazing around him, bullets whizzing past him. The two however, made it relatively safely. “I need a medic over here!”
The Troop medic, Caylie, a medical assistant from the Royal Navy Medical Service, quickly went to Smitty and slid next to him. Her radiant green eyes met Smitty’s, giving him a sense of calm and relief. “Calm down there, Smitty. You always manage to get yourself hurt, do you?”
“Sorry, Caylie.”
She addressed the wound on his leg. It wasn’t bad. A round ricocheted off the rocky ground and hit him in the dry bone. No surgery was needed, as it didn’t sink too deep. She used a tweezer to pull the fragmented round out. He wrapped the wound with a set of bandages.
“You want some morphine with that?”
“No need, doc. Thanks.”
“No biggie.” She said. Caylie had blonde hair and a sweet face. She was both the troop’s sweetheart and big sister, presenting a mature personality in the midst of young, reckless men who were crazy enough to run at an enemy machinegun. As she packed up, there was another, frantic call for a medical specialist. “Gotta go, Smitty. Don’t get yourself hurt again, yeah?” She pat his helmet with her gloved hands, and went off.
Smitty put his back on one of the jeeps. Corporal Kyrgiakos carried two rifles, the other one had blood all over it. It seemed to belong to a dead man, rest his soul. “You patched up, yeah? Take this.” He threw the SA45A2 at him, which he caught. “GPMG’s ain’t got no use in close-quarters.”
“Close-quarters? Corp? You mean, we’re actually going inside there?”
“Right you are, son.”
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