Chapter 1: Easy Company

The world lay shrouded in darkness. The sun had not yet hinted at its return, leaving the sky a canvas of deep, inky blackness. The stars twinkled like scattered diamonds, and the moon, in its luminous glory, cast a gentle glow, illuminating the night and its celestial companions. 

In a distant land, the darkness was thick and all-encompassing, broken only by the soft, eerie glow of the moon filtering through a veil of clouds. The vast expanse was dominated by towering walls, their silhouettes stark against the night sky. The base was a sprawling maze of shadows and muted lights, where the occasional flicker of movement hinted at a hidden world of intense activity.

The air was filled with the low hum of machinery and the distant, rhythmic thrum of engines. Massive structures loomed in the darkness, their shapes indiscernible but suggesting significant, unseen operations. High above, a solitary control tower stood, its windows illuminated by a persistent glow that hinted at a hive of controlled chaos within.

Runways stretched into the distance, their precise lighting marking them as crucial conduits of the base's operations. The distant roar of engines and the steady, purposeful movement of personnel created a symphony of organized activity. Occasionally, the silence was broken by the clatter of equipment or the murmur of hurried conversations over radios.

Hangars, vast and shadowy, held secrets behind their partially open doors, revealing only fleeting glimpses of the activity inside. The whole scene conveyed a sense of urgency and meticulous planning, the intricate ballet of preparation and readiness unfolding against the backdrop of the encroaching night.

As the hours passed and the veil of mystery began to lift, the true nature of the compound became clear. What had been an enigmatic and secretive hub of activity was, in fact, the Basa Air Base of the Philippine Air Force. Here, beneath the cover of darkness, the base buzzed with the preparations and operations crucial to national defense, its identity now revealed in the heart of the night.

Currently the base is buzzing with life, ignoring the quietness outside as it usually does. However, this time, the noises seem more unusual.

12/12/27

0300H

Basa Air Base, Floridablanca, Philippines

A man outfitted in a slick urban or i must say jungle-patterned camouflage, its design seemingly blending with environments of jungles and forest or even the grass, adorned with pockets in the chest space and might one call an insignia, that symbolizes where they are attached to. He walks with neither hurry nor relaxed pace to their barracks.

"Lieutenant!" a voice rang out, the single word stretching across the distance. It wasn't loud or forceful, but it had enough clarity to bridge the gap between them.

The man turned his head sharply, his eyes darting around to pinpoint the source of the sound. Amidst the shadows and dim lights, he spotted another figure clad in the same camouflage uniform, though with slight variations in the pattern and insignia. The other man's presence stood out as he moved deliberately through the haze of the early morning, his uniform catching the faint glimmer of the surrounding lights.

He halted mid-stride, his boots crunching softly on the gravel as he turned to face the approaching figure. The chill of the early morning air made his breath visible in small puffs. As he recognized the man's distinct silhouette against the muted light, he offered a nod of acknowledgment. "Oh, morning, Sergeant," he greeted, his voice carrying a blend of casual familiarity and professional respect. The dim light illuminated the Sergeant's face, revealing a tired yet alert expression.

The man who had called stepped forward and gave a sharp salute. "Sir Howard, all transport planes are cleared and ready. "Sir Howard, all transport planes are green, Command wants your platoon to be loaded immediately at 0325H" he conveyed, his tone steady and direct. The early morning light cast a serious expression on his face, reflecting the urgency of the orders.

Lt. Howard returned the salute with a sharp, deliberate motion, his face reflecting the early morning seriousness. "Alright, Sergeant, thanks for the update," he said, his voice steady and focused. Both men held their salutes for a brief moment, the crisp snap of their movements resonating in the quiet of the pre-dawn hours. As they lowered their arms simultaneously, the Lieutenant's gaze remained fixed on the Sergeant, acknowledging the importance of the message. The cool air seemed to amplify the sound of their boots shifting on the gravel as they resumed their positions, ready to proceed with their duties.

Both men went their separate ways, the Sergeant returning to his duties while Lt. Howard resumed his brisk pace. He made his way toward the armory with purpose, his footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor. Once inside the armory, he navigated through the narrow hallways, each step measured and deliberate. The walls were lined with equipment and weaponry, dimly illuminated by the flickering overhead lights. Lt. Howard moved efficiently, heading straight for the area where his platoon was likely gathered. His focus was unwavering, each turn and corner bringing him closer to the heart of the action.

A man spotted the approaching higher NCO and immediately straightened up, his voice cutting through the murmur of the room. "Attennnhutt!" he barked. Instantly, the room fell into an abrupt and complete silence. The grunts and NCOs, caught mid-task, snapped to attention with disciplined precision. The rustling of gear and muted conversations ceased as every soldier assumed a rigid, upright stance, their eyes fixed forward in readiness.

The Lieutenant stood by the door, his gaze sweeping methodically from left to right as he assessed the room. With a commanding tone, he called out, "Alright, lads! Chop-chop! Get ready. The transports are green-lit. Assemble at the Assembly Area. We're heading out to tackle some uncontrolled fires, so make sure you're prepped for anything that comes our way!"

Lieutenant Howard's voice carried firmly across the room, cutting through the ambient noise of clanging gear and muffled conversations. The grunts and NCOs, momentarily paused in their tasks, responded with renewed focus. "As you were!" the Lieutenant added, signaling them to resume their preparations.

With a final nod and a smile, he turned on his heel and strode purposefully back through the hallway, heading outside to coordinate the next phase of their operation.

A man sat in a chair, methodically inspecting his camo uniform under the harsh fluorescent lights of the armory. His expression darkened as he noticed a tear in the fabric, revealing a patch of bare cloth underneath. "Ah, crap, there's a hole in my camo," Staff Sgt. Amaro muttered, his voice laced with frustration.

He frowned as he examined the damaged area more closely. The hole was situated near the knee of his uniform, frayed edges poking through the worn fabric. Amaro tugged at the material with a mix of irritation and disappointment, his hands deftly smoothing out the creases around the tear. The sight of the damage, combined with the stress of the upcoming operation, only added to his unease.

A man adjusted the top of his uniform with quick, practiced movements, smoothing out creases and ensuring everything was in place. He glanced over at Staff Sgt. Amaro, a grin spreading across his face as he shook his head. "It's the third damn time, Sarge," Cpl. Romolo said with a teasing tone. "Maybe you should check your locker. There might be holes in there big enough for a mouse to set up camp."

Romolo gestured toward Amaro's locker with a playful nudge. "You've got to stop leaving snacks in there. At this rate, you're going to have an entire rodent family living with you." His grin widened, adding a touch of levity to the otherwise tense atmosphere.

Staff Sgt. Amaro shot Romolo a sharp look, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, yeah, Romolo. Save the jokes for later. I've got a uniform to fix and no time for your stand-up routine. Just get ready for the mission."

He waved dismissively as he turned his attention back to his gear, effectively cutting off any further commentary from Romolo.

Sergeant Ricko, clad only in his lower half, let out a hearty chuckle as he watched the scene unfold. "Looks like he'll probably forget about it again," he said with a grin, shaking his head at Amaro's habitual clumsiness with his gear. "Classic Staff Sgt. Amaro—always something to laugh about when it comes to personal stuff."

Amaro, adjusting his uniform with a resigned sigh, shot back with a smirk, "Yeah, yeah, just keep laughing. I've heard enough from you already." He then turned away.

Specialist Raggy, meticulously adjusting the straps of his bulletproof vest, looked up from his task with a focused expression. His fingers deftly tightened the straps, ensuring a secure fit. The dim light of the armory cast shadows on his face, highlighting the intensity in his eyes. 

"Hey, I heard there's a pretty strong chance we're going to switch to Plan B," Raggy remarked, his voice steady despite the undercurrent of anticipation. He glanced around, catching the eyes of a few nearby comrades who were also busy preparing their gear. The air in the armory was thick with the smell of leather and gun oil, mingling with the low hum of murmured conversations and the occasional clink of metal. 

Raggy's statement was met with various reactions—some with raised eyebrows, others with knowing nods, as the reality of the situation began to sink in.

Private First Class Raf, leaning casually against a stack of crates with a playful grin, commented, "Plan B doesn't sound bad at all." He chuckled lightly as he adjusted his helmet at a rakish angle and winked at his comrades. Raf's easygoing demeanor was a familiar sight, and he often used humor to lighten the mood.

His relaxed stance and playful attitude, while comforting to some, also made him a frequent target for friendly ribbing among his peers. He seemed almost too laid-back for the serious circumstances, and his habit of finding levity in tense situations was both endearing and amusing to those around him. His lighthearted comments and antics were a well-known part of his personality, often providing a brief respite from the otherwise intense and focused atmosphere..

Amaro stood in front of a large mirror, his reflection showing him striking various formal poses as he meticulously adjusted his uniform. With a critical eye, he smoothed out creases and ensured every detail was in place. The reflection revealed the seriousness in his face, tempered by a hint of camaraderie as he interacted with his fellow soldiers.

"Looks like we're gonna find out later," Staff Sgt. Amaro remarked with a hint of anticipation in his voice. He then turned to address Sergeant Ricko, who was still half-dressed and leisurely lounging. "And Ricko, for crying out loud, get your goddamn uniform on and be ready," he snapped with a mix of exasperation and humor. His tone was sharp but not unkind, indicating both urgency and a level of familiarity with Ricko's typical habits.

Inside the dimly lit barracks, the light bulbs above flickered intermittently, casting uneven patches of illumination across the room. The once-white walls were now scuffed and discolored, and the worn-out floor tiles creaked with every step. One of the overhead lights blinked erratically before finally going out, plunging part of the room into deeper shadow.

Staff Sergeant Amaro stood in the middle of the room, his frustration palpable. He glared up at the flickering bulb and muttered, "What the?! I swear to God they need to renovate these buildings! This place is falling apart."

Beside him, Sergeant Ricko adjusted his gear and glanced at the faulty light. "You're not wrong, Amaro. This place has seen better days. We're always fixing something."

Private First Class Raf, who was in the middle of organizing his gear, looked up and nodded in agreement. "Yeah, the last time we had a solid repair was, what, a couple of years ago? And even then, it was just a quick fix."

Specialist Raggy, standing near the window, peered outside as if hoping for a better view. "I wouldn't be surprised if the plumbing started acting up next. It's like they've been waiting for everything to break before doing anything about it."

Corporal Romolo, adjusting the straps of his bulletproof vest, shook his head. "It's always something with these old buildings. You'd think with the amount of money we spend on military equipment and upgrades, they'd at least keep the basics in decent shape."

Amaro threw his hands up in exasperation. "Exactly! For a country that spends a ton of money on military hardware and new technologies, you'd think they'd invest a bit more in maintaining our living quarters. I mean, come on, we're out here doing high-stakes missions, and the place where we sleep is a mess."

The room's atmosphere lightened slightly as everyone shared a knowing chuckle. Despite the grim situation, the camaraderie and shared frustrations provided a brief moment of relief from the tension.

As they continued their preparations, the flickering light served as a constant reminder of the less glamorous side of military life, yet their shared humor and solidarity kept their spirits high.

0325H

Basa Air Base, Floridablanca, Philippines

Assembly Area

A man in a high-ranking green military uniform ascended the stage, his face set in a stern expression. Standing before the speech podium, he faced a company of men clad in green camo and tactical gear, their appearance both imposing and intimidating.

He cleared his throat to garner attention, "Good morning ladies and gentlemen, Today, we face a critical mission. Our objective is clear, and every one of you has a crucial role to play. We've trained hard for this moment, and I have full confidence in each of your abilities. Remember your training, trust in your teammates, and stay focused.

The Major's speech was abruptly interrupted by a sudden, loud ring that sliced through the room's tense silence. Heads turned in unison as everyone, including the Major, searched for the source of the intrusive sound.

The Executive Officer, caught off guard, hastily fumbled through his pockets and pulled out his ringing phone. With an apologetic expression, he held it up and said, "I'm sorry, Major. It's an urgent call." He quickly gestured toward the phone's screen, which displayed an incoming call. The Major, his expression shifting to one of annoyance and concern.

The Major sighed and nodded and continued his speech "This operation is vital not just for our success, but for the safety and security of others. We're a team, and we succeed together. If you have any doubts or questions, now is the time to speak up.

Let's stay sharp, stay together, and execute our plan with precision. You've got this." As the Major wrapped up his speech, the Executive Officer quickly approached him, his face etched with urgency. Leaning in close, he whispered urgently into the Major's ear, "Sir, Command has just informed us that we're switching to Plan B."

The Major's face tightened in a mixture of frustration and resolve. He sighed deeply, nodding in acknowledgment of the new orders. With a quick adjustment of his stance, he turned back to address the assembled troops.

The Major returned his head to face the men again, "Alright everyone, we are switching to Plan B. I know we trained and practiced a lot for both of the plans, so we expect at least the same expected results. DISMISSED!" As the Major concluded his speech, the soldiers in front of him snapped to attention, their movements synchronized and precise. They rendered a sharp salute, their eyes locked on their superior with disciplined focus. The Major returned the salute with equal precision, his expression a blend of authority and reassurance.

As the Major stepped off the stage, the room erupted in a flurry of activity. Orders rang out with urgent clarity, cutting through the organized chaos. "Alright, final gear checks!" bellowed one officer, his voice commanding attention. "First Platoon, on me!" he continued, rallying his men. "Second Platoon, on me!" echoed another officer, while the call for the "Third Platoon, gather up!" followed closely behind. Platoon leaders quickly assembled their respective units, meticulously conducting final inspections. Soldiers adjusted their gear, double-checked their weapons, and ensured their equipment was secure, all while preparing to move out. The intensity and urgency of the moment were palpable, setting the tone for the operations ahead.

On the airstrip, the rumble of jet engines grew louder as multiple fighter jets, including the formidable F-15E Strike Eagle and the versatile F-16 Block 70/72, were lined up along the taxiway. Their sleek forms glinted under the floodlights as they prepared for takeoff. Behind them, an array of drones—Hermes 900 and RQ-7 Shadows—awaited their turn, poised for reconnaissance missions.

Simultaneously, on the ramp, six C-130J Super Hercules stood ready, their engines idling in anticipation. The massive cargo planes were fully prepped, their engines throbbing with power as they awaited the arrival of their loads. The scene was a blend of precision and urgency, 

Inside one of the C-130J Super Hercules, the interior was bathed in the soft glow of dim lighting, which flickered intermittently as the aircraft was being prepared for takeoff. The air was filled with the low hum of engines and the shuffling of personnel as they completed their pre-flight checks.

Lt. Howard, seated near the center of the cabin, moved with a practiced ease as he checked his equipment. His presence was calming, his demeanor one of focused authority mixed with a touch of camaraderie. He leaned slightly to his right to address his platoon, his voice firm but friendly.

"Make sure everything's secured and ready to go before we land. We don't need any last-minute surprises," he said, his gaze sweeping across the seated soldiers.

Staff Sgt. Amaro, the 1st Squad Leader, sat with his back straight, methodically checking and rechecking his gear. His attention to detail was evident as he adjusted straps and buckles with practiced precision. "Everyone, make sure your equipment is properly stowed. We don't want anything bouncing around during the drop," he instructed, his voice carrying a note of authority.

Private First Class Jacky, a rifleman, was seated cross-legged, adjusting his weapon. He glanced around with a smirk. "Got it, Sergeant. Everything's locked and loaded. But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't looking forward to a bit of downtime back at base." His tone was light, but his eyes remained sharp.

Nearby, Sergeant Ricko, the 1st Fireteam Leader, relaxed against the side of the cabin, his gear neatly arranged beside him. "Yeah, this beats the hell out of office duty. At least we're out here doing what we're trained for," he said, his voice laced with a hint of humor as he chuckled.

Private First Class Homer, the automatic rifleman, was seated with his legs stretched out, adjusting his weapon with focused attention. "True that. Let's just make sure we keep the enemy's head down while we're at it," he replied, his voice steady but carrying a note of determination.

Private Paddy, the grenadier, checked his gear with a focused demeanor. He adjusted his grenade pouches and tightened his harness. "We've faced tough situations before. This is just another mission. I'm more concerned about what's waiting for us," he said, his tone serious.

Cpl. Romolo, the 2nd Fireteam Leader, leaned back in his seat, his gear meticulously arranged around him. He offered a reassuring nod. "We've got this. We're prepared for anything. Besides, it's not our first rodeo," he said, his voice calm and steady.

Specialist Raggy, the combat medic for the 1st Squad's 1st Team, was seated with his medical kit open, checking supplies with practiced efficiency. "Just hope we won't need too much of this stuff, but it's better to be overprepared," he said, his tone practical.

Private First Class Raf, the automatic rifleman from the 1st Squad's 1st Team, leaned forward slightly, his gear neatly arranged. He added with a chuckle, "If the enemy's got any sense, they'll be making a run for it. We're ready for whatever."

Private First Class Robert, the grenadier, and Private Isaac, another rifleman, exchanged a few words while seated next to each other. Robert adjusted his gear, saying, "Let's hope we can wrap this up quickly." Isaac, seated with his rifle across his lap, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I'm ready to get this done."

A soldier from another squad, known for his humor, stretched his legs and grinned. "I'm just hoping we don't run into anything too crazy. We're all set to handle whatever comes our way," he said, his tone light-hearted.

Another soldier, quick with a quip, leaned against the cabin wall and added, "Yeah, and if anyone's looking for a memorable experience, this mission will definitely provide it." His voice carried a mix of humor and anticipation.

The cabin filled with laughter as the squads shared a moment of levity. Lt. Howard, taking note of the camaraderie, leaned in to address the entire group. He stood up, moving smoothly despite the cramped space, and spoke with an encouraging tone.

"Seriously, this is why we train. We're prepared for this mission, and we'll face it with the same dedication and spirit we always do," he said, his gaze steady and reassuring.

Private Jacky, sitting with his back against the cabin wall, nodded in agreement. "We're ready, sir. We've got this," he said, his tone confident.

Howard's smile grew wider as he looked around at his platoon. "That's what I like to hear. We'll tackle this mission head-on, together."

As the C-130J continued its flight, the shared jokes and Lt. Howard's encouraging words fostered a sense of unity and resolve among the soldiers. Their collective spirit and readiness transformed the tension of the impending mission into a moment of camaraderie and mutual support.

A man seated near the center of the aircraft, clad in a standard airborne uniform and gear, leaned back in his seat. His face was partially illuminated by a small overhead light, casting a focused expression as he reviewed the mission details. He spoke aloud, his voice reverberating gently in the confined space of the aircraft.

"For Plan B," he began, his tone measured and deliberate, "our primary objective is to secure all exit routes of hostile elements within the eastern sector of San Lorenzo Forest. Easy Company will deploy as the advance party to establish defensive positions, ensuring initial coverage until the Armored and Infantry divisions arrive to consolidate our defense perimeter."

He continued, his gaze fixed on a set of operational maps spread out before him, "Able and Baker Companies will secure the West and North sectors, while Dog and Charlie Companies handle the southern sector. Once our defensive groundwork is laid, the Air Force will execute precision airstrikes against enemy encampments."

The man's eyes narrowed slightly as he went over the details. "Following these strikes, we'll have a 15-minute window to intercept any enemy forces attempting to escape. Afterward, we'll initiate clearing operations with Air Force support, utilizing assets such as the A-10 Thunderbolt II 'Warthog,' T-129 ATAK, and AH-64 Apache, supported by reconnaissance from RQ-7 Shadows and Hermes 900 drones."

He leaned back in his seat, allowing himself a moment to absorb the magnitude of the operation. "This plan is designed to ensure comprehensive control over the operational area, neutralize enemy threats effectively, and secure our objectives with minimal risk to our forces."

With a final nod to himself, he closed the operational map and prepared for the imminent mission, his mind sharp and focused on the tasks ahead.

The man beside him, leaning casually against a nearby seat, looked over with a teasing grin. "Why'd you lay out the whole plan like that?" Sgt. Ricko asked, his voice laced with amusement. "You nervous or something?" He chuckled, the playful tone contrasting with the seriousness of their mission.

He turned his head to Ricko, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Just a little bit," Staff Sgt. Amaro replied, his voice steady despite the hint of nerves.

Both men shared a look, with Ricko chuckling warmly. "Well, it's normal to be a bit nervous, especially considering you've been doing this for six years now. HAHAHA, you'd think you'd be used to it by now. But look at you, still as jittery as ever!" Ricko laughed, shaking his head as he glanced down at the floor. Amaro smirked, the camaraderie easing his tension.

Everyone nearby couldn't help but smile and chuckle, the lighthearted moment bringing a brief respite from the tension. The shared laughter and camaraderie among the troops helped to lift their spirits, creating a sense of unity and easing the nervous energy before the mission..

"Up, up, and away we go!" the pilot of the C-130J announced with a confident grin. The aircraft's engines roared to life, and the plane began to taxi toward the runway, ready to embark on its mission.

To be continued…