Civil War

Have you ever heard the sound of a machine gun firing off in the distance? Maybe you have; maybe you haven't. I'll tell you my experience. The first time I heard it, the sound instilled a bit of fear deep in my chest. The shots echoed as they traveled some 1500 meters and onward. It made me realize the true power of man-made weaponry. All from an echo.

A few times after that, I got the same feeling of fear when I heard it. Then, it began to be replaced by a sense of pride. You can't mistake the noise of machine guns. You learn it. You memorize it. You realize that those sounds mean your boys are still in the fight. Someone is suppressing, covering, or neutralizing.

An extended period of time passed. I then found comfort when I heard the echoes in some unknown battlespace, kilometers away. On a single warfront, the machine guns became the only way I could fall asleep. It's like I needed them going to feel safe, to feel like I could risk taking a nap.

Now, once again, I feel fear when I hear it. It took so long to get comfortable with the noise. All that time, and it never truly helped when you realize the enemy has your machine guns. Pride became anxiety. When I hear it, I wonder if it's us or if we're the targets. Hard to get sleep when you can't answer that question.

My eyes snap off to the horizon, where I heard the tat tat tat of a machine gun burst. It's night. I have PVS-31's on, but they don't help pinpoint where the shots are coming from. I hope they're using tracers. If they're using them, I'll know it's our boys. Another burst, no tracers light up the night. I pray it's too far away to worry about it.

I tighten my grip on my AR-15. Normally, we'd be using XM4's, but the military didn't really care if we used our personal weapons after the first few months. Hell, I'm one of the few that still reported to my unit when the war started. I can't blame the ones who didn't. When your home and family are threatened, I think that's worth desertion. I had neither of those things.

"Where they coming from?" A whisper with a southern drawl came as Corporal Trimmier knelt in beside me.

"Can't tell, shots sound too far off. It's a 240. Haven't seen any tracers," I reported in a quiet voice.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see John flip down his tubes. He levels his rifle, and an IR flood illuminates the scene in front of us. It's a light only someone with night vision would be able to see. A pile of rubble makes up what used to be a building on our left. It's all chunks of concrete, wiring, and rebar. It must have been an unfinished commercial building.

On our right, storefronts line the street. Some have broken windows and open doors. Some are chained up and any visible windows have been boarded up. The street itself is intact, but it doesn't look normal. Counter-mobility has been set up. Hesco barriers overlap each other in rows, so someone would have to drive very slowly to weave through them.

C-wire covers the edges of the lanes, making a target funnel. I know there are probably some mines somewhere further out of town. The point is that someone would have to be either very brave or very stupid to threaten our position.

We're held up on the second floor of a bank, scanning through a square cut in the blinds so we can see. The windows haven't broken yet, but that's good. It will mask our presence. Nowadays, there's not a lot of places where you find windows intact. Luckily, this town was occupied early, and a patrol base of sorts could be established.

"I wouldn't worry about it. The LT (Lieutenant) said this town was cold. We're moving on tomorrow anyway, right?" John asked.

I nod, but he can't see it, "Yeah, we're trying to meet up with Cav and formulate a push into Dallas. Some Lieutenant Colonel thinks we've pushed them back enough to take it."

"Roger that, Sergeant. It would be nice to get Dallas back."

"Yeah, it would have been easier if the 3 corps traitors didn't steal half the Apache's and Blackhawk's from Hood. I have yet to find out where they're finding jet fuel and ammo for those puppies," I say, my thoughts wandering.

"Shit, half the military are traitors now. I bet some truck drivers hijacked them fuel tankers and drove them straight into Dallas," John chuckled ironically.

"Doesn't matter now. Point is, if they have air, we're gonna need stingers. Cav should have anti-air assets we can access. But that's a tomorrow problem. I got watch. Get some sleep."

"You never sleep Sergeant. Let me take it," John replied.

"I told you to call me Tyler. That rank bullshit doesn't matter anymore. For that, I'm taking watch," I tell him with a smirk.

"Old habits die hard. I miss the old Army, you know. But alright, Tyler, see you in the morning," the Corporal caved in and I heard him scoot off to find his spot somewhere in the bank.

Once he was gone, I take my dip can out of my shoulder pocket. I tried to use it sparingly, but I'd need it to stay awake. I place a conservative pinch of grizzly wintergreen in my lip and wipe my hand off on my OCP trousers. A familiar buzz weaves its way up to my head, and I practically sigh in relief.

I can feel myself relax a little. Another tat tat tat sounds somewhere outside, but it's getting easier to hear it. I turn off my night vision, flipping up the tubes until I hear a familiar click. My eyes take a minute to adjust back to the darkness. Outside, a single streetlight flickers on and off. I breathe out, and I say to myself, "Just another day in paradise."

I cursed as I looked at my watch. It was now 0400, and it was time to move. Leaving my post, I weave my way through sleeping bags, rucks, and rifles. It's almost eerie, but when you have a ton of soldiers sleeping in one room, the whole place seems to breathe. Occasionally, a cough or a grumble reminds you that the breathing is coming from humans and not the room.

The upstairs to the bank is really just an office space. Bland cubicles mark out the greater portion of the room, with spaces for copying machines, desks, and tables. A few doors lines the back wall, but I'm looking for the supervisor's office. A small chuckle finds me. Ironic that's where the LT chooses to sleep.

I knock on his door, which is more of a warning shot, before I open it. He's still in his sleeping bag, a steady up and down rhythm coming from the outline of the fabric. My eyes roll at how well the LT's intuition would work if someone snuck up on him.

"Sir?" I ask in a loud whisper. Nothing.

I sigh, "Sir, it's time to get rolling," I speak up, causing the man to stir. His sleeping bag makes that irritating sound when the nylon fabric rubs together and then he unzips the outside lining. A small head pops out from within the fabric.

"Sergeant Graham, that you? Is it time?" A groggy, formal voice says.

"Yes sir, I'll rally the boys. Thought I'd let you know."

"Alright, I'm up. See you in a few," he replies before starting to crawl out of the sleeping bag.

I nod, popping back through the door and clicking it shut behind me. This next part always sucks. There's something unethical about waking up soldiers. Everything is peaceful; something that's hard to find during wartime. These poor souls are getting the only rest they can, and now I have to ruin it.

As I go to speak up, a thumping sound stops me in my tracks. I know that thump anywhere. It's a vibration you can feel in your body before you actually hear the sound. Instantly, I drop to my knee and pull out my 152 radio. I key in, waiting a second so my voice is picked up properly.

"1-3, this is 1-6, do we have any assets filling the airspace currently?" I ask before taking my thumb off the push-to-talk.

A moment of silence passes before the speaker crackles to life, "1-6, 1-3, that's a negative. We hear it too. Advised you get your team up and expect hostile air assault. Good luck brother, out."

My skin feels cold and my heart races. The thumping grows louder. Deep in my bones, I know they're coming. I curse and jump to my feet. It was about to go from a moment of solace to absolute chaos. And I had to be the one to initiate it.

"Everybody up! Up right now! We've got enemy air moving in on our position!" I yell at the top of my lungs, but it's too late.

A flash of yellow lights up somewhere through the blinds. I hear a whistle, a crack, and then I black out.