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MC Story 1

Operation Onslaught: Introducing Michael Corvinus

The jungle heat was oppressive. It beat down on Mike's neck like a hammer, feeling like a restaurant heatlamp turned on high, hovered right over his skin. The humidity simply made it worse... he was sweating profusely, streams of sweat streaking his jungle camouflage fatigues, threatening to streak the grease paint covering his face. Being forced to lay on the damp, leaf covered jungle floor and remain motionless simply made the situation even more unbearable. He wanted to remove his boonie hat, but didn't want to make any movement... so he simply lay there, waiting.

Glancing around with barely perceptible movements of his head and using his eyes, he checked for any sign of his team. The undergrowth was so thick it was impossible to see any of them... and he couldn't hear them either. The noise of the jungle... insects, moisture dripping from the leaves, the occasional monkey screaming from the branches overhead... would drown out small sounds, but his team was far too disciplined to make any noise whatsoever anyway. They were the best he'd worked with, and more than half of them he'd been with for several years.

The team had moved into position before sunup, using the darkness to carefully position themselves along the jungle trail in a standard "L" shaped ambush at a point where the trail turned to avoid a large mangrove tree. Abrams had set up three claymores along the far side of the trail, and used the mangrove tree itself to rig up a nasty surprise there too... another claymore aimed at the middle of the trail from a branch about ten feet high. The man was a perfectionist, and never trusted trip wires; he'd detonate the mines himself when it was time. Jorgenssen was at the foot of the "L", his M-60 machine gun trained for a field of fire across the length of the trail ahead of him. Everyone else was spread out in intervals along the side of the trail opposite the claymores.

Everything was set. Ready to go.

Their target was a small unit of political cadre... and more specifically, their main political officer, a sadistic bastard who had, allegedly, comitted atrocities across the Delta region for the last few months. The mission was, in part, to eliminate the cadre, but it was also to send a message; the boys were back in town, and the surgical procedure to eliminate oppressive enemy insurgents had begun. Intelligence suggested the group to be roughly fifteen to twenty cadre. They'd be well trained, and probably well equipped. It was just now a matter of waiting for the to cross the team's path.

Mike looked around at the jungle for a few moments. He'd always thought the jungle was such a beautiful place. The area they were in was thick triple canopy jungle... the trees were tall and thick, and the canopy made it twilight at best at ground level. Thin beams of sunlight stabbed down here and there, through which the ground mist roiled and moved like the wisps of ghosts. Ferns and wide leafed plants grew all over the place thickly, and the ground was covered with dead, damp leaves. Everywhere he looked he could see signs of jungle life... the occasional monkey in the branches overhead, various insects flying through the air, and in the mangrove tree along the trail the sticky web of a large banana spider.

He took a moment and glanced at his chronometer. It wasn't yet nine in the morning, and the heat was already so bad he was glad he'd forced the team to take salt tablets. He could feel sweat running down his sides, pooling in his lower back. It was so bad it was almost suffocating... he felt almost as if he was breathing steam from a boiling pot with each breath.

A scream overhead made him glance up quickly. Just another damn monkey, he thought as he searched the branches and saw nothing. Looking down again, for perhaps the hundredth time he re-checked his equipment; three grenades lay in a row before him, their pins straightened for easy removal, his CAR-15 locked and loaded and set to single fire, the safety on. Closing his eyes for a moment he slowly counted to ten, calming himself again. This was always the hardest part. The waiting.

Several more minutes went by, agonizingly slowly.

Suddenly, he heard voices. They were low, but unmistakably Vietnamese. He glanced through the underbrush, through a break he'd found earlier that allowed him to view the trail, and just saw the point man of the group pass by. Incredulous, Mike saw he had his rifle held by the barrel over his shoulder, like he was taking a Sunday walk. The rest of the group was just turning the corner by the mangrove tree, spread out somewhat in typical formation. As Mike watched them, he began to realize, as more came into view, that the number quoted by intelligence had been incorrect. There were quite a few more than originally anticipated. A quick check showed that their tan uniforms, complete with pith helmets, matched the intelligence photos... and a moment later Mike zeroed the primary target.

Any moment now, he thought, as the group continued. He aimed his rifle and waited.

With a thunderous flash, the claymore above in the mangrove tree detonated, instantly shattering the serenity of the jungle. Screams echoed above the din... there was a sudden fusilade of shots, followed by the rip of Jorgenssen's M-60, as Mike's team opened fire. The smoke of the claymore explosion combined with the ground mist and made anything beyond a few feet hazy and indistinct.

Mike aimed and shot one cadre as he tried to stand, both rounds catching him high in the chest and flipping him backward. The din and clash of battle was deafening. He clearly saw at least two cadre take multiple hits from other team members, the bullets causing large puffs of dust and blood from the impacts, as the rest of the cadre that remained alive desperately began to shoot wildly and run for cover. Many of them jumped into the deceptive cover of the far side of the trail, but several immediately attacked into the team. Screaming at the top of their lungs, they leapt forward, firing their rifles on full automatic.

Bullets lashed through the leaves around Mike as he quickly stood to receive the charge. He raised his rifle and squeezed the trigger quickly three times... the closest cadre caught all three rounds low, flipping him round and landing him in the leaves. As he shifted his aim, a bullet snapped past his cheek, followed by another that tore through his shoulder harness. He stepped back, and another impacted him in the upper right arm, making a pop as it tore through his fatigues, the round barely cutting the skin underneath.

"Shit," he growled, trying to ignore the pain.

Another enemy troop was sprinting at him with his rifle held high, close enough that Mike had little time to react. He ducked low as the enemy's rifle, swung like a baseball bat, flashed over his back, and then he rammed his knee into the enemy soldier's midsection as his momentum carried him forward. The man wheezed as he doubled over in midair. He slumped to the ground, and Mike spun quickly, shooting him twice in the chest.

He was immediately tackled by yet another enemy troop, barely ducking in time to miss getting smashed in the face by an SKS rifle butt. They both went down in a heap, Mike losing his grip on his rifle. He rolled away quickly, lashing out with a fist that connected with the enemy's face, and put space between them as he reached down and yanked his combat knife from his boot.

The enemy soldier got up and immediately attempted to shove his rifle forward for a shot. Mike stepped foward, grabbed the barrel and yanked it up and to the side, the rifle going off and singing his fingers. He then stepped back and pulled hard. The smaller enemy stumbled forward, and Mike rammed his knife upwards into the man's chest. The man's eyes went wide, and he attempted to pull himself away for a moment, but Mike clutched him close and shoved the knife in harder. The man went limp. Mike let him slump to the ground.

Around him the firefight had turned ugly, with several small hand to hand skirmishes. Ja'Vurk was surrounded by three enemy, but he was giving better than he got, roaring at the top of his own lungs. Single shots punctuated the automatic weapons fire, and there was the flash and pop of several grenades across the trail. The noise was deafening.

A loud scream make Mike turn quickly as yet another enemy cadre charged him. Without batting an eye, he reached down, dropping knife while he did so, and yanked his pistol from it's holster. Aiming quickly he shot twice, the soldier so close the muzzle blasts reached out and touched his chest. The enemy flopped down lifelessly behind him, and Mike followed up with another shot to the head.

A moment later, there were three immense, thunderous explosions as Abrams touched off the last three claymores across the trail. The shooting abruptly lessened... there were a couple loud, flat bangs from grenades going off, and then the shooting tapered off to single, random shots.

Mike couldn't see anything to shoot at, so he crouched and picked up his knife and rifle. He held his fire and waited, listening as the battle wound down. After a few more moments, it was silent despite the vast ringing in his ears. The team waited for a couple more minutes, the now silent jungle oppressive.

Slowly, Mike knelt forward and picked up his grenades, replacing them on his web gear, and then raised himself slightly, his rifle at the ready. He could see most of the rest of his team following suit around him, tracking with their rifles as they scanned the area. When no one received any fire, he got their attention by hand signals, and indicated that half the team would move forward to check the rest of the enemy group.

He picked his way through the undergrowth to the trail, stepping around dead enemy soldiers that were scattered everywhere. He crouched once he got there, his rifle moving everywhere his eyes went. Fully half the cadre lay there on the trail, most of them torn apart from the claymore... three of them sprawled half out of the vegetation with multiple bullet wounds. Blood was everywhere, splashed on the leaves, pooling under the bodies, and the coppery stench of it was heavy in the air. As he scanned the bodies, seeing two other team members picking their way across the trail beyond, there was a groan, and one of the enemy laying partially in the bushes began to move fitfully. Mike turned his rifle on the man and stroked the trigger twice... the bullets whacked into the enemy, who stopped moving immediately.

From down the trail came another shot... Mike looked up to see Vic give the all clear signal and continue to move.

A few more minutes of hunting through the undergrowth proved the claymores across the trail had largely eliminated most of the remaining cadre. A couple had survived, one to take a grenade blast, the other having been shot by Jorgenssen's M-60. They spread out more to make sure of their work, and to count the enemy dead. A couple of minutes showed there had been twenty-seven cadre in the unit.

A few moments later, the team collected around the body of the political officer. He had apparently taken a good majority of the explosion from the initial claymore blast... his uniform was torn to shreds, and what remained of his body was little more than a bloody, barely recognizable mess. Flies were beginning to settle over the area in swarms.

"Security," Mike whispered, the ringing in his ears still loud. Two team members nodded and flanked the trail, moving into the brush. Glancing back down at the body, Mike critically analyzed the damage before looking at the rest of the team.

"Well, we got the bastard," he said. "They never had a chance. Good work."

"We take anything?" Ja'Vurk asked, his voice deep, looking predatory in his jungle fatigues.

"No, we're done here."

Ja'Vurk nodded.

The two men posting security came back then. "We're clear," Menshan said.

Mike stood, followed by the rest of his team. "Ok," he said. "Let's get the hell outta here." He looked up and pointed at Ja'Vurk. "You've got point. Let's move. I want to put a klik between us and this site in the next twenty minutes."

"Roger," Ja'Vurk said, and immediately moved out. The rest of the team spread out and followed, moving quickly through the jungle, avoiding the trail altogether.

The trek through the jungle was not easy at all. The undergrowth made moving a chore, and low hanging branches from smaller scraped across faces and bodies as they moved. The group was too experienced to get caught up in branches and undergrowth... all their open buckles and flaps were taped down with black tape, and they held their weapons barrel down. The jungle noises had returned, and the sound of their passage was barely perceptible only a few yards away. It only took them thirteen minutes, and they reached a small stream Mike had already mapped the night before as their rendevous point... exactly one kilometer from the ambush site.

Ja'Vurk was waiting for them, almost concealed in underbrush, his weapon trained out ahead of him. The rest of the team stopped and spread out in a tight, but open, circle. They were all breathing hard, their combat fatigues drenched with sweat. Holding his hand low, Mike looked around.

"Ten," he said heavily. The rest of the team nodded and relaxed somewhat.

Mike leaned back against a tree and pulled out a canteen. The water tasted of aluminum, but it was the sweetest thing he'd ever tasted at that moment. He drank until the canteen was empty to ensure it wouldn't slosh and make noise at an inopportune moment, and placed it back on his belt.

Suddenly there came a chattering beep. Mike rolled his eyes.

"Dammit, now what," he muttered. He reached into his fatigue pocket and removed his communication badge. Tapping it, he sighed.

"Captain Corvinus," he responded.

"Captain," came the voice of his commanding officer, Colonel Threed. "A situation has arisen. We need you on the bridge immediately."

Several of the team members around him who could hear shook their heads and began standing. Mike slowly stood himself, using the tree for support.

"Certainly sir," he responded.

"I'll meet you outside the holodeck, and brief you enroute. Threed out."

Crap, Mike thought. Yet another training program halted by some crisis. He lifted his head.

"Computer, freeze program," he shouted. Around him the jungle instantly froze. "Send mission analysis to my personal computer, access code Corvinus Alpha three seven niner five."

"Sending mission status as requested," came the female voice of the computer.

"Very well. Terminate training program."

Immediately the jungle ceased to exist, and Mike's team found themselves in the large holodeck room surrounded by the familiar grid pattern. The rest of his team was grumbling somewhat.

"Yea, I know," he said. "We'll pick up later. Go get squared away; I'll call you if we have a mission."

As a group they moved to the door, which opened before them. Colonel Threed stood outside, resplendent in his Starfleet Marine uniform. When he saw Mike's team, he smiled somewhat and shook his head knowingly. He waited for the team to pass by, acknowledging them all with a nod here and a salute there, before he looked at Mike standing in front of him still clad in his jungle fatigues, weapons, and grease painted face.

"Let me guess," Threed said. "Vietnam again?"

"Of course," Mike answered, as they began to move down the corridor. "You know it's one of the Earth wars that fascinates me the most. And it's a damn good scenario in which to train the team."

Threed turned and watched Ja'Vurk walk away down the corridor. He was a head taller than the rest of the group, his huge frame unmistakable. Threed chuckled lightly after a moment, and turned to Mike.

"I still can't get over Ja'Vurk," he said. "A Klingon in old Earth army fatigues." He pointed at the CAR-15. "And I still can't get over those archaic, antique weapons," Threed laughed again. "Where'd you get them?"

"I found schematics and had them made for the team," Mike said seriously. "Phasers work well enough I guess, but they are too noisy, and light up the area like a christmas tree." He patted the weapon as he continued. "Put a sound suppressor on this baby, and I'm quick and quiet."

"Yea, but they're so messy." Threed grimaced, smiling at the same time.

Mike shrugged. "Dead is dead. Doesn't matter if they're burned by a phaser or punched by an old fashioned ballistic bullet."

"Well," Threed continued, "that's certainly true." He shook his head for a moment as he looked at Mike. "I'll give you a few minutes to clean up, and then meet me on the bridge for a briefing. We may have a situation."

"Yes sir," Mike said, and saluted. Threed returned the salute, and turning, walked down the corridor toward the turbolift. Mike watched him for a few moments, and then turned and continued down the corridor towards his stateroom.

"Well, what can I say," he muttered. "Another glorious day in the Corp."

Page last modified on March 20, 2013, at 03:18 PM
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