Interim

            The violence of the wind shook the plane with the ferocity of a lion tearing at a freshly caught animal, ripping the flesh from bone. Sergeant Gunther White gripped to the bucket seat of the U-34 Golden Hawk with an engrossed propensity that hadn’t overcome him since the first time they got into one of the new fangled contraptions.

“I hope we don’t get blown off course,” he said under his breath.

            It had been four months since the end of training, and only one since they’d left the mainland for the Island. Only two weeks ago they had received orders that they would be making their first combat jump. Little did any of them know they were going to spark the War over the Islands with Burgandy. It didn’t seem logical to start a war over some insignificant Islands, but Gunther was a soldier and not a politician.

“I do what I’m told, and don’t ask questions.” He’d once said before going into training.

            Long ago he’d found that looking out the window was a bad idea, for it gave him more of a fear of heights than he already had. He’d gone into the new wing of the army, the Chutenfentari because he wanted to challenge himself to get over his fear of heights. He hadn’t known it would only make it worse.

            Turbulence continually began to shake the aircraft violently, and he offered a silent prayer that it wouldn’t fall apart on them before they reached the Drop zone. Black puffs of smoke could be seen out the opposite windows, and all the men knew their worst fear had arrived. The deadly Anti-Aircraft guns on Grebst were firing away, causing the transports to sway this way and that to dodge the incoming projectiles.

“I SHOULD HAVE GOTTEN SICK BACK AT THE BASE!” Private Gorman yelled over the noise.

“YEAH, YOU SHOULD HAVE!” Private Grazinski said with a smile.

            Everyone laughed at the quip and then returned back to their own thoughts. Just then the plane broke in half. One of the deadly “Beringer 73’s” had opened a gash in the plane that looked as if someone had haphazardly taken an axe and chopped through it. Shrapnel tore through the plane and spewed lead and metal haphazardly. Grazinski had been hit and killed, and so had five other men. The plane began to spiral downwards, leaving the men little choice but to jump. Gunther leapt from the gash left in the belly of the plane and then pulled the ripcord on his reserve chute, and it opened just in time.

            As he had been trained he counted the seconds before the chute opened. When he reached three the chute opened and he felt the shock of the canopy unfurling overhead, checking his swift descent; but not enough to make it a slow one. He could feel himself plummeting to earth, much faster and closer than he had expected. The wind began to toss him around like a ragdoll, not caring that he was going to hit ground any second. Between the bursts of wind tossing him back and forth he could see two distinct features of the land; one was that there was a farm below him, one filled with corn and wheat fields. The other thing that stuck out was that quite close to the farm was a lake, and of course with the wrong cross-wind, he could be blown into the lake and possibly drown.

“I guess I’ll see in a second!” he said to himself, tensing for the familiar feeling of hitting the ground.

            Solid earth contacted his feet and he slammed into the ground hard. The breath was taken from his body, and it took a minute for him to regain his stunned composure. Slowly he sat up and rubbed his head, thankful his helmet had stayed on. In the dark sky he could see the forms of some of his fellow troopers falling to the ground, though they were farther away than he was. From what he could tell, he was the only one around for quite some distance. Far off he could see the silhouette of the plane going down in flames.

            He bowed his head in reverence, and then hastily gathered his thoughts. His leg roll had snapped when the blast of wind hit him, and so he would have to find it first.

“Thank God I still have my rifle!” Gunther said.

            All Chutenfentari made it a practice to sling their rifles around their necks and over their chests so they would not only be able to access the weapon quickly once land had been reached, but it also prevented the rifle from tearing from the body or ripping off after the initial prop blast. Gunther grabbed the parachute and stuffed it into a corner of the field and he then dashed along the edge of the woods that bordered the wheat field he’d seen while he was airborne.

            It felt comfortable for him to hold the K-21 in his hands, the smoothness of the stock and the cold feel of the steel barrel. He could hear the sounds of the farm grow nearer, and then he saw what he dreaded the most. The lights went on in the house. Each man in the outfit had been briefed about the farms in the area they were to drop into. They were told that this area was a very agricultural area, and that farms were prevalent, but also run by the Burgandy Government.

            This meant that troops were stationed on the farms and as a part of their training they would work on maintaining and running the farm. This was one of those farms. Quickly Gunther dove for the underbrush that was on his left and faced the house, fully ready to unleash a hail of bullets on the coming enemy. He could hear shouting in the distance above the wind that nearly drowned them out, and could see that they were all dressed for bed, looking up at the sky to see the planes going overhead. It didn’t seem that they knew he was there, but he wanted to make sure that they didn’t follow him before he was ready to leave.

            He lay motionless on the ground as they ran around, not too close to his spot, and so he felt safe, for now. As he watched them run around down there he almost felt like laughing at the comical spectacle before him. All the tiny soldiers confused at the magnificent events going on around them that they weren’t even sure were happening. But what happened next was something not even he knew was possible.

            One of the U-34’s flew over and men began to disembark from it, most likely confused thinking that this was their intended drop zone. Gunther knew that if he didn’t do something the men descending would be shot to pieces by the alert garrison below. Using his right hand he searched for the small bi-pod he’d specially purchased for defensive fighting, while still keeping an eye on the soldiers running around near the farmhouse. He let out a sigh of relief as he pulled it from his top pocket and he clipped it on the front of his rifle.

            Flipping off the safety, while leaving the dial on “semi-automatic” he aimed at the farthest man on the right he slowly squeezed the trigger. The rifle bucked against his shoulder as he watched the man go down, flailing his arms in the air while dropping his rifle. Quickly he aimed at the next soldier and fired, dropping him fast as well. The adrenaline rush that many of the instructors had said he would feel came like a torrent, raising his senses to a new high. Knowing it would be useless to leave the rifle on semi-auto he flipped the dial to fully-automatic and then let several bursts go towards the many figures that were streaming towards his position.

            One by one they dropped all pitching face forward in mid stride, desperate to kill this “ghost” that was wreaking havoc among them. He threw one final burst into the chest of an oncoming soldier, not more than fifty feet from him, stopping him dead in his tracks. In dramatic fashion the soldier dropped to his knees, rifle still clutched in one hand, eyes glazed over. He just seemed to stay in that position, on his knees almost in a silent prayer. Slowly he fell over, dead.

            Just as all the enemy soldiers had begun running toward Gunther had the first Troopers hit the ground safely. It looked like all fifteen of the men had dropped in orderly fashion, and from what Gunther had seen before unleashing the hail of bullets only minutes before, the plane that had been transported them looked like it was undamaged by the flak that was destroying the integrity of the mission.

            Gunther was breathing heavy, the rush had left him. Reality came slammed home, and changed his perspective on the moment. The dead Burgandy soldier in front of him made him stare and wonder. Wonder who he was, if he had a family, why he was even here. Shaking off the feeling of remorse, he got up and jogged into the open where he saw the squad that had dropped was gathering.

“Nice shooting Sergeant.” A lieutenant said to him, “What outfit are you with?”

            When men in the Chutenfentari asked “What outfit are you with” back in ’39, they wanted to know what Battalion you were with (or what Company if you had the leisure of being dropped in the correct place at the right time.) Since the Chutenfentari were an experimental outfit, they didn’t have more than a Regiment in action at the outbreak of the Delta War.

Gunther gathered his thoughts and swiftly replied, “1^st Platoon, D Company, 1^st Battalion sir.”

“First Battalion eh?” the lieutenant said thoughtfully, “Well you’re a long way from home son. This here’s 3^rd Platoon, A Company of the Second Battalion.”

            Gunther was shocked. He knew that their departure was premature, but he hadn’t thought they were that far from their objective. Come to think of it, he hadn’t seen any of the men from his platoon since he’d landed.

“Can I tag along with you until I can find a way to hook up with my outfit?” Gunther asked.

“Why not?” the Lieutenant asked, “we can use an extra hand; alright everyone, here’s the situation. This farmhouse could still be infested with enemy soldiers, so I want each of you to pair up and then search the house, the Barn and the barracks. Any soldiers that fire at you, you fire back. But I don’t want anyone to be trigger happy and shoot an unarmed soldier that tries to surrender. Is that clear?”

            There was a resounding “Yes Sir!” and everyone broke into pairs. Since Gunther was the sixteenth man, he paired up with a Private Yoller. They sprinted in a half-crouched manner over to the barn and then braced themselves up against the door frame, not ready to burst through the front door unannounced. Gunther signaled that he was going to kick in the door and that Yoller should be ready to open fire if need be.

            Slowly he stepped back and then gave the door a resounding kick, sending it flying into the barracks with a loud crack. Shouts resonated from within the barn, which turned out to be the barracks, and Yoller froze for just a moment. Gunther could hear a shot come from within the barracks and he turned back to see to his dismay that Yoller was dead where he stood. A bullet hole now resided in his forehead, blood beginning to ooze from the fresh wound. He collapsed in a heap, and Gunther stared for only a moment.

            Snapping back to reality he turned to the task at hand. He pressed himself against the stone wall just to the right of the door frame, rifle at the ready. Taking one of the grenades on his jumpsuit he pulled the pin and then hurled it around the corner into the dark. Surprised shouts began to manifest as soon as the soldiers inside knew that they weren’t in a favorable position, and there was loud crashing and banging as he knew many of them were trying to escape before the grenade went off.

            A loud explosion followed by mass amounts of smoke billowed from the open door, and Gunther took advantage of it. Spinning into the doorway he lay down a devastating burst from his K-21, bullets slapping into the bodies of helpless soldiers rendered incapacitated by the blast. Intuitively he rolled back just as one of the soldier’s had come to his senses and grabbed a rifle to return his fire. Groans could be heard echoing from inside the barracks. Rapid fire began to echo all around him and it was at that very moment that Gunther wished he’d never volunteered for this war at all.