Champion

Combat Outpost (COP) Mukavia The sound of the alarm pierced through the fog of sleep surrounding David, bringing him out of a pleasant dream involving him, his last girlfriend, and their favorite can of whipped cream. Reaching over he slapped the off switch, then patted his M9 pistol, making sure it was where it should be. Plenty of the older NCOs joked about sleeping with their weapons, but unless he was outside the wire he just couldn't sleep comfortably with a gun in his rack. At that thought he chuckled ruefully; comfortably was a relative term after all. As he sat up and swung his legs off his cot he remembered the time he had signed his pistol over to Doc for a mission. He smiled at the memory of his reaction when the C-RAM alarm went off while he was taking a rare and badly needed nap that same afternoon. Hearing the warning alert of 'incoming' he reached over to pat his M9 for reassurance, but it was NOT in its customary spot. He had freaked out so badly that it took ten minutes to get his heart rate back to normal. He had to shake his head at the memory; he was so used to the insurgents lobbing rounds at them he didn't even get out of bed when the alarm went off any more, but he sure as s**t jumped out of bed when he couldn't put a hand on his weapon. Since then he made it a habit of leaning his M4 next to the shelf if his M9 was out. I guess we never get too old for security blankets, David thought to himself as he looked at his pistol, they just aren't always blankets. Getting up he stretched his six foot tall, 185 pound frame, and pulled on his Multi-Cam uniform trousers. He glanced in the small mirror by his desk. His ruggedly handsome face was clean of stubble from shaving the night before, but his dark brown military-cut hair was getting long. Better get a haircut soon, or Top will start flipping his s**t he thought to himself. He also noticed that the once piercing blue eyes of his childhood had become flatter, grayer than they once were. He shrugged at his reflection. He wasn't sure when it happened, but sometime in the last few years life had stolen their vibrant luster. Reminding himself why he was awake at this ungodly hour, he started checking his trouser pockets for mission essential gear. He also double checked that they had been stripped of pocket litter. He was going outside the wire today on an overwatch mission. His team was responsible for teaching and training the local mukavian National Army (MNA) forces. Essentially their job was to convince the local army to not be a bunch of unprofessional, corrupt f**k-ups. Having only been in Mukavia for six months David already knew they were wasting their time. Today they were setting up an overwatch position on the ridgeline next to a valley that the local Mukavian commander was planning on clearing. Apparently, the villages in the valley were being forced to support insurgents coming over the border from Neptune, on their way further in to Mukavia to fight in Helmand Province in the south. He didn't think it mattered. The whole mission was a goat-roping contest, and if the f*****g Mukavians found a single insurgent he'd call home and buy a lottery ticket. The Mukavian Army didn't fight insurgents. The insurgents didn't fight the Mukavian Army. It was a losing proposition for either side. The locals didn't want Mukavians killing Mukavians, regardless of the uniform, or lack thereof. But insurgents killing Wakadans worked for both sides. The insurgents could claim they were victoriously defending their homeland from the infidel invaders, while the Mukavian Army could show how serious the "insurgent threat" was in their region, and demand more weapons, material, and equipment from the us Army. He chuckled at that thought. I imagine the only reason the us encourages the Mukavian Army use M16s now is to ensure it is that much more obvious when the local Mukavian commander sells his weapons and ammo to the insurgents. That had already happened five times in the last six months. He still couldn't understand what the hell an enemy that primarily used Kalashnikovs, Enfield rifles, and PKMs would want with ten crates of 5.56mm NATO standard ammo, but they had happily bought it from the last Mukavian commander. David shook his head again; selling ammunition, food, and military supplies to the enemy, and that commander got demoted and reassigned. The fucker should have gotten the firing squad. Strapping on his drop-leg holster, he checked and secured his M9 and spare magazine. Then he picked up his M4, inspected it, and readied it as well. Next he checked his body armor / load carrier. The new vest was a better load bearing system, and more comfortable than the old one, but it was a b***h to get in and out of. Luckily once something was woven into its webbing it pretty much stayed there. His vest was currently configured to carry his standard load-out, which was six magazines (180 rounds) for the M4, two magazines (30 rounds) for the M9, a single M67 fragmentation grenade, combat knife, and assorted other necessities for an Army forward observer (FO). While David was not actually a true FO, the duties were part of his training as an Artillery Officer and he would be required to fulfill the role on this mission, as he had a number of times before. He had already pulled the MBITR hand held radio off of his vest, in favor of the more powerful PRC-117F backpack radio in his rucksack. The larger radio and enough batteries to power it for 48 hours were a s**t load of extra weight to haul, but it was the only thing that could reliably range other friendly forces from their overwatch position. The captain in charge of this mission wanted this long range radio with the team, and David agreed with him. As a certified Joint Fires Observer (JFO) he made the most sense to carry it. After all, if they were forced to call for help, the first thing they would want is Air or Artillery Support, and that was the JFO's specialty. Next he moved on to check his rucksack. He would need to do a communications check with the PRC-117F before he stepped off today, but he wanted to make sure everything was secure before then. He had packed what he needed for the two-day mission last night. Unlike his last 48 hour mission, where he under-packed according to higher command's guidance (and spent four days starving and freezing his ass off) he over-packed this time. That was the coldest and hungriest he had ever been, and he refused to ever do that again. This time he had what he wanted, and screw anyone that didn't like it. The only thing he carried that he did not want to was the hygiene kit. He snorted ruefully at that last part. Walking out for a two-day combat mission and he had to take a f*****g razor. First Sergeant cares more about us having a clean shave than a hot meal. He thought to himself. After spot checking his rucksack and radio, he put on his combat shirt, checking that Old Abe was centered with his ISAF patch on his left shoulder sleeve pocket. Then he checked to make sure he had his smart phone, ear buds, and communications card inside. It was an old smart phone, and he had erased any sensitive information off it, but he still carried it to watch movies, listen to music, and as a training aid. It was amazing how much of the language barrier he could overcome when training Mukavians just by taking a picture of a target and pointing to it. As far as he knew he was the only trainer to use this technique, but it worked very well. Next he checked to make sure his cigarettes were inside his right shoulder sleeve pocket, and the nametape and IR flag were still attached to the outside. Lastly, he pulled his rank patch off. Brigade Headquarters had sent down a message last week that Donkavian were paying bounties for confirmed us kills by rank. NCOs were worth us $2,000, and Officers paid us $10,000. The next day their team leader, Major Deanore, allowed anyone on the team that wanted to remove their rank insignia to help counter the bounties to do so while on mission. David wasn't sure it would make a difference, but if he was going to die on the side of a mountain, then at least he could try to screw the guy that killed him out of a payday. Plus, he didn't trust the Mukavian Army. Most of them were greedy, corrupt, and you never really knew whose side they were on. Throwing on his armored vest, he slung his rucksack on his back, and scooped up his rifle and helmet. Unclipping his custom rifle sling, he stowed the sling in his cargo pocket and clipped the rifle to his vest. Shoving his helmet under his arm he backed out of his small room and into the hallway he shared with four other junior officers and one NCO. "You ready Kenny?" First Lieutenant David "Kenny" Kennisham turned to see First Lieutenant Mark "Mother" Hilliard looking at him questioningly. "Almost Mother. I'm all packed, but I gotta run past the TOC and do a commo check before I'm ready to roll," David replied. Mark nodded in confirmation, "Alright, once you're finished head over to the office and check in. Patrol brief is in the Dog House in an hour, but the Major wants to do a quick team only brief first." "Yes Mom," David replied sarcastically, grinning. "Alright smart ass, you're wasting the Almighty Army's time sassing me when you should be moving out." "Sir, yes sir. Moving sir," David faux shouted, quick stepping to the door. As he exited the hallway he heard a sleepy voice grumbling from one of the closed rooms "shut the f**k up Carl." As he walked to the Tactical Operations Center (TOC), David went over the mission plan in his head. His team (the local Security Force Advising and Assistance Team - SFAAT) was sending six advisors along with a security squad from the local infantry company. They were traveling by vehicle with a platoon of Mukavian soldiers approximately ten kilometers to an Mukavian Observation Post (OP) at the mouth of the Rukusl Valley. From there they would separate, and the six members of his team and two interpreters would trek another four kilometers up the side of the valley wall to the overwatch position. Travelling with them would be four Mukavian Artillery observers that David had trained, and the Mukavian company commander, Captain Massood, that was in charge of the clearance operation. Naturally the Mukavian commander had to travel with his four-man personal security detail (PSD), and his support staff, an additional two enlisted soldiers. So it looked like his team was taking eleven Mukavians with his six-man team four clicks (kilometers) into Indian country for a nature hike. This mission was so FUBAR. No wonder the Major opted out of it. David shook his head at that thought. Knock that s**t off asshole. David admonished himself. The Major was an exceptional leader, and a damn fine trigger-puller to boot. If he could have gone on this mission he would have. After checking in with the Fires Desk at the Tactical Operations Center (TOC) and completing a communications check David walked to his team's office. Entering the office he realized he was the last to arrive, the other five team members of the patrol and MAJ Deanore were all waiting on him. "Commo check done?" inquired MAJ Deanore when he noticed David enter. "Yes sir, we're golden. And I packed enough spare batteries we don't need to be stingy with it either." "Good man. Now drop your ruck and pull up a chair, I got some last minute intel before you head out," the major replied. David stowed his rucksack in the corner of the office and sat in the only empty chair left. Looking up he noticed that someone had set up one of the laptops and linked it to a TV to show the mission briefing PowerPoint slides. He began praying this wasn't another briefing before the briefing situation. That had happened more times than he could count, but he was sure that Captain Epps had finally convinced the major that the a two hour operations briefing the week before, and the single patrol brief later this morning was enough. Clearing his throat Major Deanore checked something he had in a file, and then looked at the men scattered about the table. "Gentlemen, this is a fairly simple op. But, getting the Mukavians to leave their bases and OPs to do any form of patrolling has been such a pain that we are going to continue to hold their hands as long as we have to, so long as they are actually doing what we ask.