Death is to love like hate is to...
Carpacci grabbed the radio phone and screamed into the receiver as a hail of lead bullets tore apart the sky above him.
"Black hawk down! Repeat, black hawk down! We are bein' overwhelmed!"
That code, singular among the U.S. military, sent a shock wave through the chain of command.
Base Center Zero. Being overrun.
General Andrew's airmobile division -- essentially a squadron of attack choppers, backed by the 1st and 31st Cavalry -- dropped in behind the front lines, deploying a fresh regiment of armed troopers.
A volley of rockets, launched from a hidden silo, hissed through atmosphere. Explosive shells detonated against reinforced armor, and the attack 'copters erupted into a half-dozen balls of flame.
The soldiers already deployed clicked off their safety levers and squeezed their triggers. A satanic fury of depleted uranium shells tore the now-exposed rocket launchers to pieces.
They had landed amidst the heart, the very heart, of the enemy. Jaxon, their radio controller, was down with a bullet wound in the throat. Carpacci, the grunt from Alabama, stooped over the receiver, pleading for more reinforcements. They were hopeless, without a leader... The major had bought it during the drop; an anti-aircraft shell, 6 inches in diameter, had blown a hole through his torso, shredding the tender meat of his body into fleshy chunks.
An earnest private pulled Carpacci from the trench and screamed over the hail of concentrated destruction: "She's a tough nut to crack, sir." The private died moments later, a bullet lodged into the back of his skull.
Carpacci, king of corpses, lifted the phone's receiver to his mouth to speak his final words:
"We are being overrrun. Attack has failed. They were just too smart for us, sir. They knew our weaknesses and exploited them. We've been reduced to less than half our initial strike force. Everyone's dead. Dead. Dead."
Command understood. The assault was pointless. Somewhere a general nodded and it was all over.
As the relief chopper carried me back to Base, a single thought played over and over in my head like a broken record:
"They will forever be fortified. No offensive, no matter how intricately planned, will penetrate their defenses. Nukes are useless. Atomic destruction will not suffice."
And thus the enemy overtook us. Special forces fell in, their guerilla warriors overhanding grenades and burrying mines.
All love, all hope... most importantly... all love... had been destroyed.
"Black hawk down! Repeat, black hawk down! We are bein' overwhelmed!"
That code, singular among the U.S. military, sent a shock wave through the chain of command.
Base Center Zero. Being overrun.
General Andrew's airmobile division -- essentially a squadron of attack choppers, backed by the 1st and 31st Cavalry -- dropped in behind the front lines, deploying a fresh regiment of armed troopers.
A volley of rockets, launched from a hidden silo, hissed through atmosphere. Explosive shells detonated against reinforced armor, and the attack 'copters erupted into a half-dozen balls of flame.
The soldiers already deployed clicked off their safety levers and squeezed their triggers. A satanic fury of depleted uranium shells tore the now-exposed rocket launchers to pieces.
They had landed amidst the heart, the very heart, of the enemy. Jaxon, their radio controller, was down with a bullet wound in the throat. Carpacci, the grunt from Alabama, stooped over the receiver, pleading for more reinforcements. They were hopeless, without a leader... The major had bought it during the drop; an anti-aircraft shell, 6 inches in diameter, had blown a hole through his torso, shredding the tender meat of his body into fleshy chunks.
An earnest private pulled Carpacci from the trench and screamed over the hail of concentrated destruction: "She's a tough nut to crack, sir." The private died moments later, a bullet lodged into the back of his skull.
Carpacci, king of corpses, lifted the phone's receiver to his mouth to speak his final words:
"We are being overrrun. Attack has failed. They were just too smart for us, sir. They knew our weaknesses and exploited them. We've been reduced to less than half our initial strike force. Everyone's dead. Dead. Dead."
Command understood. The assault was pointless. Somewhere a general nodded and it was all over.
As the relief chopper carried me back to Base, a single thought played over and over in my head like a broken record:
"They will forever be fortified. No offensive, no matter how intricately planned, will penetrate their defenses. Nukes are useless. Atomic destruction will not suffice."
And thus the enemy overtook us. Special forces fell in, their guerilla warriors overhanding grenades and burrying mines.
All love, all hope... most importantly... all love... had been destroyed.
posted by Billy at 11:38 PM
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