Lost Sight - NATO-Russia Conflict 2018

October 2018 #4 - Rick

October 30th, 2018

0700 Hours

The two Marine Ospreys landed, followed by a cloud of dust caused by the double tiltrotors from each gunship. The gunships, their pilots experienced warrant officers from Iraq and Afghanistan, landed easily on what had been a football field at the outskirts of Constanta. There were three football fields and all three had been converted into a military basecamp. HESCO boxes surrounded the perimeters, and a hastily-made makeshift gate was erected to keep the refugees out of the military base. Romanian guards, men wielding Kalashnikovs and wearing woodland camouflage and helmets, stood on watchtowers. The ones off duty played around the base, smoking or talking about less-depressing things to pass the boredom and the looming fact of a Russian advance on the border. Helicopters flew to and from the airbase’ considerable helicopter landing zone.

As the Marines landed, a group of Romanian soldiers, red berets on their heads and customized, non-standard weapons slung behind their backs, walked to the back of the Ospreys to greet their newly-arrived allies. The one at the head was a pale, intelligent-faced female officer with a slim body and trained back. From what it looked like, she didn’t seem like the army-type.

When the ramp at the back of the gunship opened, the young female officer was met by a set of ready US Marines. Weapons shouldered, the marines had the bulk of their equipment on their backs packed into large bergen rucksacks. Every Marine’s pack was as heavy as their own bodies. Officers led the Marines in exiting the gunships; thirty Marines, looking more like pack horses than troopers, formed a ragged line once they stepped off the Ospreys. Soon after the Marines unloaded, the loadmaster gave a thumbs up to the pilot and the Ospreys tilted its rotors 45 degrees forward and lifted up, ascended, and circled back to the Fleet. A sense of abandonment was felt by the Marines; MAGTF (Marine Air Ground Task Force) emphasized on the use of light infantry in forward positions to identify enemy targets for the air arm. An empty sky was the least thing they wanted, even this far into friendly territory.

Upon landing, a young Marine said, “Hell, man, we’re the first Marines to set foot in Romania... That’s pretty fucken’ awesome.” He had a sly Bostonian accent.

“Shut up, McMartin. Save your shit for later.” Said another Marine. He was young, but he was slightly older than PFC McMartin. He looked oriental but with a touch of Caucasian. His pack weighed him down on his back.

“Yes, Lance Corporal Wong.”

On the other side of the platoon, another Marine humped a slightly larger weapon – an M40 Sniper Rifle. The Rifle was in its khaki-colored gun bag. He carried an M4 in his arms. The man’s eyes were significantly larger than the rest, and his nose was curved like an eagle’s beak. He was not a large man, but the eyes behind his black sunglasses had a flame that no other man had. It was a weird flame, a kind of blue icy flame that only spoke one word: Kill. As the two platoon’s officers and the company commander discussed something with the Romanian officer, he took his time to observe the area around him.

On one side, the city of Constanta stood in a kind of invisible chaos. The gray city lines – and the dead-cold autumn breeze – made the situation indescribable with words. The big-eyed Marine spoke to the Marine next to him. “This place is very, very Slavic.”

“Gotta agree with you, Arky. This place feels like a shithole.” Said another Marine. He hugged the M4 Carbine that lay between his arms. It had identical paint with the weapon Arky carried. This Marine wore glasses and had fair skin. Looked like a beachboy. His hair was a mix of brown and blonde, covered by the standard-issue Lightweight Helmet given to Marines.

“Feeling so liberal now?” asked Arky.

“Heh. I saw a lot of refugees from the gunship earlier. Helping them by killing Ivan is probably the most liberal thing we can do now.” Said Walt.