Friendly Fire

Private Bane - (1) The Elite Strike Force

The time: September 1964, my first day as part of The Elite Strike Force. A strong government military team.

The place: Base, classified location in the middle of a dense forest not far from coastal shores.

Enter the members of The Elite Strike Force. There were six of us. Six strong soldiers who are skilled killing machines. However, I haven't seen much out in the field recently and relied on the reports that made their way around the base like high school rumors. I am always ordered around and trained the hardest since I am one of the lesser ranks within the military forces. Nothing more than a Private. Meaning I am given orders and expected to obey like a mutt. No further questions. I put up with this bullshit for years now. Only put up with it because

I have the desire to protect the innocent, and those who cannot fend for themselves which drives me to improve my skills in combat. When I was recruited, these traits were seen the most by others and highly admired. It was the very reason as to why I was eligible to become a member of The Elite Strike Force in the first place. I was going to follow my father's footsteps. However, he was a Lieutenant at the time and nearly became a Sergeant. Not one day passes where I don't think about how my father never returned from his last assignment when I was merely a child. I came home from school that day and found my mother crying on the wooden porch of our house. She brought me into her arms and had to explain that my father was never going to come home. I went behind her back to read the telegram that was delivered to her. My father's status was MIA presumed KIA. I wasn't old enough to understand what those acronyms meant until I was well into my teens. I still have a long way to go before I get to his level. But we are all one and the same regardless of our ranks by serving our country. That is honor enough.

The base itself is surrounded by a dense forest. Everywhere I'd look there would be trees, followed by more trees, and even more trees. The only way to see over them would be the watch towers placed at each corner of the base. Each faced North, East, South, and West. The Northen tower overlooked the treetops, anyone could see anything coming for miles with or without military-grade binoculars. Eastern faced a series of mountain ranges which myself and new recruits are taken on regularly to help build our strength, resilience, and stamina. Down South, the tower looked over a large windy river that stretched for God knows how long. I assume it eventually met the ocean where the Western tower faces the coastal shores. It is a pretty view. I have seen many sunsets and sunrises over the past years at these towers and not one day passes where I haven't discovered a new hue pass over the lovely scenery. Then there is the barracks. A series of cabins where we all hunkered down after a long day, that is if you get an ounce of sleep knowing that tomorrow very well may be your last day to ever walk the Earth. Next to the barracks would be the mess hall, a place where we all gathered for meals.

Lastly, we have what we call the briefing room which is located adjacent to the training grounds.

The briefing room is a confined, tight, rectangular room walled with maps and bulletin boards of important intel. In the center of the room is a rather large oval table with chairs crowded around the curvature and oddly warm by the sunlight coming through the skylight ceiling.

The sole purpose of this room is for our Colonel to brief us on our assignments and missions. A place to turn in and store reports, intel, and data. A place to discuss formations, routines, rotations, and even future plans of attack when and if we needed to engage on the offense or defense. Luckily, we've never had to fight to that extreme. And I pray that we never will, however, war is upon us whether we like it or not. It's just a matter of when.

The clock on the wall struck 1200 and we all stirred to a seat at the table like school kids that entered the classroom one by one in a single filed line.