Chapter 5: Californian Front

Location: Near Visalia, California, United States of America

Unit: Company A, 184th Infantry Regiment, US Army

Date: April 30th, 2021 CE

The world had been at war for a month now; tens of millions already dead, nukes owned by UN countries made redundant and the fear of another enemy nuclear attack grew larger by the day. Then came the attack on Hawaii. By the end of the week, not a single soul was left on any of the islands.

First came the airstrikes; the newest fighter jet was created to look like a mix of the A10 and an F35 which have been identified as AH-P1s on cracked enemy transmissions. Then came the navy, they launched everything they could. All their railgun battleships launched round after round at the major civilisation centres. Finally, came the landing forces. Hundreds of soldiers stormed the island, taking airfields, naval ports and other important locations. The few remaining American civilians came out of their houses to fight the invaders but were ultimately crushed by the overwhelming military might of the NZA, some tried to surrender. But the robotic-like NZA marines showed no mercy to the non-combatants. That dark day was soon to be dubbed the Hawaiian Massacre.

Not even two days after the attack on Hawaii, with a victorious NZA, the enemy fleet appeared off the West Coast again. Instantly the US launched several hundred non-nuclear cruise missiles sinking one of the battleships, two destroyers and a light aircraft carrier while disabling the first main fleet carrier. The rest were either ineffective or shot down.

Very few NZA marines were killed in the missile strikes leaving them to confront the US National Guard stationed there.

It had been a few days since then and a stalemate had formed thanks to militia groups employing guerrilla warfare but they just had to hold out until the rest of the guard got there so the full might of the US armed forces could push the NZA out. But like all things, it's easier said than done.

A small platoon of thirty US soldiers stood inside a wrecked compound in the city once known as Visalia, where their HQ used to be nearby. But was inevitably levelled by NZA bombardments. Now they just had to hide in nearby buildings, resupply the militias and provide training on weapon systems.

A Lieutenant, who went by the name of Joe Royston, smashed his fist against the wooden table before bringing it back and shaking it, "Dammit all! Where are those fuckin' reinforcements, I have to have my corporals lead whole militia groups like they are Lieutenant FUCKIN' COLONELS!" by the end of his sentence he had completely lost his cool, "We are stretched too thin, we need to pull back troops and get everyone here faster!"

Across the room, a Sergeant sat in the corner smoking a cigarette, "Calm down, Sir. We have confirmation they'll be here in a week at maximum."

The Platoon leader stopped moving before raising his fist and pushing his nails so tight into his palm that it looked like they might come out the other side, "That's the problem! Seven days! And when has the military ever known to be on top of things? Sure we put all this money into gear and training but we can't use it as politics get in the way."

The Sergeant stood up, "Calm down, this isn't the time to be pissed at the military, Sir," the second in command had an unimpressed look on his face with several rings forming under his eyes.

"I know, I know. But I'm still pissed at them," he paused, whispering to himself, "Seven days at a minimum." He turned away and inhaled plenty of air before an exhale came, only to lead to a sigh, "We have a drop to make, inform the rest of the unit."

The Sergeant nodded before leaving the run-down room.

***

Some time had passed and everyone was loading up the heavy supply crates. Some of the newest vehicles sat on the baron roads, they were the replacements for the old Humvee which had been in service since 1983. These four-wheeled monsters were called the Joint Light Tactical Vehicles or JLTVs.

Two of the Platoons Corporals stood looking over the crates, checking that all the supplies were in order.

"10 chests of ammunition?" One asked.

The other started to look through them, "It would seem we have 11," he said surprised, "Looks like the logistics are fucked as well."

"It would seem so, Turner," the first corporal responded. These two corporals had gone through training together six years ago and both decided to join the 184th after basic training. To be put simply these two had formed an unbreakable relationship throughout their time across the globe. Whether it was in the US or halfway across the globe in the Africa, they fought together.

The first man was Corporal Lee Mounts and the second was Corporal Harry Turner.

"You know, I was told I might become a Sergeant by the end of this year, Mounts?" Turner said bubbly. This is always how Turner had been, he acted like a naïve little kid. The rest of the squad found it more funny than annoying. However, when he needs to be... he became dangerous. Extremely dangerous. Turner was a crack shot at times and had even competed against members of the sniper corps and won, he'd been asked to join the USMC sniper unit but declined as it 'Wasn't his thing'. Mount on the other hand was more conserved and less open to chats, but he would occasionally play right off Turner when he felt like there was no danger.

"Oh cool," Mounts said, still focusing on the supplies, suddenly his head flicked to look at his friend. His face was filled with shock, "Oh God, I'm gonna have to take orders from you."

Turner was smiling from ear to ear, "Yep and that is where the fun will begin, for me at least."

Horror filled Mount's face realising how problematic this would be for him, "Dude, you won't make my team do the hard jobs right," he paused clearing his throat, "right Turner?"

Turner was rubbing his gloved hands together like he was some sort of pre-2000s Hollywood supervillain, "Oh who knows, you might get a few more jobs."

Mounts let out a loud sigh before he heard footsteps approaching. As he turned he fixed his eyes on the supplies while Turner exited the cargo hold. Suddenly, he noticed two figures approaching. Smiling, he corrected his posture and stuck his arms by his sides, bracing up and saluting the Lieutenant as he approached, "Sir!" he said.

"Salute me again, Corporal, and I'll make your life a living hell," the Lieutenant waving away the salute the Corporal tried to give, "Understood?"

Turner nodded, struggling to hold in a grin, "Understood, Sir."

The Sergeant of the unit, Oliver Roden, stood behind the Lieutenant looking like he was pissed off for some reason, which there was probably a good reason for, "Everything better be ready to go," Sergeant Roden crossed his arms, fiddling with a small brass ammo cartridge.

The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow talking to his Sergeant, "Weren't you the one telling me to be patient a minute ago?"

"Yeah, but these two were fucking about a second ago," the Sergeant shrugged, "Anyway let's get these supplies dropped to the militias."

The Lieutenant shook his head and turned to the 20-odd privates who were lazing about the JLTVs and the trucks, "To your vehicles, we roll out in 5!"

A uniformed "Yes Sir" shout came from the crowd of soldiers before they all leapt into their vehicles, loading weapons and preparing for combat.

***

The troops left their forward operating base, taking all their supplies with them and not leaving a trace of their existence. The road was calm, there was nothing awkward along the way. All the wrecked cars from the missile retaliation had been moved on prior transport runs. Everyone just sat in their vehicles, watching and waiting.

The .50 calibre Browning Heavy Machine gunners stood twisting in their positions watching the rooftops and windows. Lurking in the shadows they knew forces would conduct ambushes to disrupt unsuspecting convoys of supplies from reaching the front lines.

In the lead JLTV, Turner sat gripping his M4 in his left hand while patting his leg with his right and whistling. The whole team in the JLTV knew exactly why Turner was doing all these small movements... he was bored.

"Fuck it," he finally spoke before grabbing the radio, "Hey anyone heard that apparently, a raiding party of NZA guerrillas made it all the way to Texas before being ambushed by Texan cowboys with rocket launchers."

The radio went silent for a second until the voice of Corporal Mount spoke back, "Please be quiet, for once in your life."

Suddenly, another voice came back on the radio, "I swear on the mother of God himself, if you say one more word on this fucking radio, I will hang you by your sling," it was Sergeant Roden.

The Corporal's head shot forward and his face went pale, "Sorry Sergeant."

He dropped the radio and smiled to himself, still being observed by the rest of the privates in the car, before nearly breaking down in laughter. That laughter wouldn't last.

"Look in your mirror," Sergeant Roden said through the radio. As the Corporal turned his head to look in his side mirror he saw Roden in the vehicle behind him giving him a death stare, "When we get back..." he trailed off nearly laughing, "You're gonna have a nice workout."

Sweat trickled down the Corporal's face, "S-sorry Sarnt," he stammered.

He sat there petrified in his seat while the rest of his team was giggling about the events that just unfolded in front of their eyes. Eventually, everyone went back to normal, just driving through the decrepit old ruins that were once Visalia.

Playgrounds were empty, streets abandoned; houses and car dealerships were blown to pieces along with anything or anyone inside. Under the rubble, hundreds of skeletons must remain under the collapsed roofs and walls that once held this proud American city up to the sky.

In the third JLTV, Lieutenant Royston had his helmet covering his face and was trying to fall asleep on this shitty journey.

"7 days," he said to himself, "it really couldn't get any worse than this..."

The Private behind him kicked his chair, "Oh, come on, Sir, it could get much..."

Then the soldier was cut off as his head was blown to pieces. A bullet had just pierced the side of the JLTV while several others hit the armour plating and windows.

"Right side! Right side!" the gunner yelled before opening sustained fire with his heavy machine gun.

Flashes came from the window of the building to their left as the soldiers scrambled out of their vehicles. A large firefight ensued as the soldiers rushed the building while under fire.

"AT4 open fire!" the Lieutenant yelled.

Corporal Turner stood next to him, yelling over the ensuing gunfire, "Sir! He's dead."

"Dammit," the Lieutenant shook his head and rubbed the chin strap on his helmet.

Turner smiled, "I'll get it, just give me cover."

"Roger, Corporal, go!" he patted Turner on the back.

The Corporal moved out of cover and broke into a run gripping his M4A1 assault rifle in a tight hold. All around him, 5.56mm bullets hit the ground and small pieces of stone were flicked up near him.

In response, the other soldiers in the platoon lit up the side of the building with all they had. Gunfire started to break out everywhere, and soldiers on both sides were falling left and right.

Turner snatched the launcher from the dead body of one of his fallen comrades. Spinning it around he smiled aiming it carefully, "hasta la vista, motherfuckers," he said before pulling the trigger.

A rocket shot out of the barrel of the disposable launcher and struck the building at full speed causing a massive eruption of flame and shrapnel, immediately erasing anyone inside. A puff of black and red smoke moved out of a once-prominent NZA ambush location.

The American Lieutenant moved out into the open, rifle raised, "Move forward! GO!"

Indicated for Sergeant Roden to come to him, he spoke, "Sergeant, give me a causality report."

"From a rough headcount, we look to have lost three in the initial ambush and then two more during the firefight, all privates."

"Shit," He mumbled moving his hand to his face, "Shove their bodies in the remaining space in the vehicles and we roll out to complete the mission."

"Understood, Sir," The Sergeant walked away and told two privates to help him with the bodies and to grab one of their dog tags. The attack was finished. Weapons and ammunition were annexed from the enemies along with any military gear and any documents found. Everything was a completely normal routine until Corporal Turner stumbled across the charred body of the NZA officer.

"Holy shit, come look at this, Sir," he called over the Lieutenant, "This looks important."

Turner handed Royston the slightly black documents and as the Lieutenant analysed them his eyes went wide, "No fucking way, they know our convoy times," the officer bit his lip, "how the hell... no, we need to inform command," he turned his head and called out, "Get me a radio to command!"

A Private came running up with a radio slung over his back, "Sir!" the Private saluted.

In Royston's typical manner, he waved the salute off and the Private crouched down to set up the equipment, "Wager-Six-Romeo, this is Checkmate-Red-Eight, do you copy, over?"

A static-filled voice came through the large radio box, "Go for Six, we read you loud and clear, Checkmate-Red-Eight, what's going on, over?"

The Private passed over the radio to the Officer, "This is Red-Five, we just stumbled across some important documents, we thought command may want a look, over."

The radio operator responded confused, "Send it through, over."

Royston knelt flattening the page before taking a small camera from his backpack and hitting record.

The radio operator nodded, "Roger, images received, stand-by," quickly printing a copy he looked over it reading it, "What the..."

Hitting a button on his desk he resumed the radio message, "Understood, command will deal with this, you have permission to do as you see fit. Out."

The radio operator's voice on the other side went silent.

Royston nodded standing up just as another call came in.

A new voice came over the radio, "Red-Five, are you sure this isn't misinformation?"

The Lieutenant raised an eyebrow, "Six?"

The feminine voice spoke again, "For now... however, are we sure? Over."

Royston nodded, gulping, "Pretty sure, they know ours at least, over."

"That's very worrying," the voice said, it was a feminine voice of an older person, someone that had been in the military a long time.

"Why?" the Lieutenant asked.

The feminine voice spoke again with distress in her voice, "Detachment 2 are already dead, the NZA ambushers managed to kill all of them."

"Shit," the Lieutenant swore, "Why weren't we informed of this then?"

The voice responded, "We didn't think we needed to trouble you, and that it was a random attack," the voice paused, "This information will be very useful, however. Get the sheet back to base and send us the original, Six out."

The Lieutenant shook his head, he had thought it might be the leader of the battalion, "Five, out."

Within a few minutes, they were back on the roads tenser than ever. The enemy knew their position, their EXACT position. No one wanted to die like those in Hawaii did. Burned to ash. It was horrifying when the American government saw the drone footage. However, how the Americans got that drone footage was strange, anytime an armed drone was sent over to Hawaii, it was shot down instantly. However, if the drone was unarmed... nothing happened. The operators were allowed to watch and record everything that was going on down there but they could do nothing to intervene. It's like the NZA were proud of the mass killings they had conducted, it was horrific.

The rest of the journey was quiet, with no more attacks, and no more disturbances, it looked like the only NZA forces in the area had been killed in the ambush. But if there's one thing everyone should know about this enemy, it's that they are always watching. Whether it's in a sniper's nest or a drone they know where you are, they just choose not to strike.