Carpe Diem

One

By Nathan Lear 

'I have visual on the target.' The captain muttered as he scanned the horizon through his binoculars. 'Three kilometres. Advise headquarters of-' 

'I can't, sir, the sat-phone is down.' 

The captain lowered his hands and turned to the source of the interruption - a burly corporal called Wiseman. 'What?' He asked the soldier gruffly, 'That's not possible. That means they've knocked out our satellites.' 

Wiseman said nothing, but handed over the phone. Captain Jameson took it and realised the corporal was right. There was no uplink. 

It didn't make sense. Why would the Chinese spend a fortune to bring down a satellite? There was just an airfield and a vast expanse of infertile scrubland in this sector. The war had been raging for over a decade - both the Allies and the Communists had depleted their resources to point of stalemate. To send a missile into space seemed unnecessarily costly. It made the captain uneasy. 

He passed the phone back, 'No matter. The bombers are inbound. We need to get the transponder into that airfield otherwise our birds will just blow holes in fuck-all. We're moving out.' 

Jameson turned and raised the binoculars as the corporal moved to where the squad were waiting by the humvee. Movement caught the captain's eye - a dot bobbing just below the horizon. He took several steps to his left and saw the smoke trail. 

'Incoming!' He bellowed, causing the squad to dive to the ground. 

The rocket-propelled grenade slammed into the humvee, followed shortly by a second. The vehicle exploded into greasy flames sending metal fragments outward. 

'Hostiles southwest quadrant - return fire!' 

The squad rushed to take defensive positions and soon the air was ripped with rifle-shot. 

'Target down!' called Wiseman, a cry echoed by two other squad members. Jameson looked to confirm the enemy unit was eliminated, and then turned to the burning Humvee. They had lost their vehicle and, worse, the transponder was inside. 

'We'll have to find another way to signal the bombers. Move out!'  

'Clear! There's nothing here, Captain.' 

They had run to the airfield, stopping to loot the fallen enemy of their radio and ammo, only to find the base deserted when they arrived. 

'Does that radio work?' asked Jameson, 'We need to abort. This airfield's a ghost.' 

'It's shot up pretty bad, sir.' 

'Find a secure channel - tell those bombers to...' 

'Captain! You need to see this now!' Wiseman shouted from atop the control tower. 

The captain ran up the stairs and entered the desolate room at the top. All around were smashed monitors and scorched wires. 

'What is it, private? Of course they trashed it-' 

'Not in here, Cap'n, out there.' The young private pointed to the plains east of the airbase. 

Jameson put the binoculars to his eyes, 'Holy mother of God!' 

As far as the captain could see in every direction were men and machines. Infantry, tanks, APC's, artillery - measured in battalions, not companies. This wasn't a battleforce -this was the invasion of Europe. This was the end of the war. 

'The day is lost - we're getting out of here. Double-time!' 

As the two of them sprinted down the stairs, the captain missed his footing and fell the last few steps to lay spread-eagled on the floor. Pulling himself to his feet, he noticed his lighter on the concrete and bent to scoop it up. It was a gift from his wife and he paused a moment to read the inscription, before slowly lowering his head. 

'Orders, Cap'n?' he heard a voice ask. 

'Find a vehicle,' he said quietly, 'Drive as far as you can, as fast as you can. Head for the mountains - they should shield you from the worst of it.' 

Jameson raised his head to see Wiseman regarding him with eyes wide, 'Captain?' 

'Do it now! Leave me the radio.' 

The squad rushed away, while Jameson lifted the radio pack and once again climbed the tower. 

For an hour he waited, watching the enemy get closer with every minute, before he made the call. 

'This is Captain Jameson of strikeforce November Lima reporting massive enemy movement in sector three-eight Delta. I'm requesting an immediate nuclear strike.' 

'What is the target, Captain?' A voice crackled in his ear. 

'Your target is my position. I repeat - bring her down on this signal.' 

Nothing but interference and Jameson looked at the red orb on the radio pack. The light flickered, fighting to stay on, then faded. 'Fuck.' 

He could only hope they had received it in time.  

The Captain reached for his cigarettes, his eyes returning to the Zippo in his hand. He smiled as he read one side - 'I Love You. 12/4/2028', before flipping it over and reading the inscription there: 

Carpe Diem. 

'I love you too, sweetheart, and I did. I'm sorry.' He whispered. 

Captain Jameson took a long pull on the cigarette and exhaled slowly. 

Then everything went white. 

© Nathan Lear 2015. All Rights Reserved.