Collateral Damage

2, Fort Fuck Off

"I'm sorry sir, I just don't see how this can work with... them in the way," I explain. The captain doesn't look impressed, he shakes his head. "Miss Moore, you're an amazing soldier," I find myself surprised by his praise, "But?" I try to keep the conversation going, "You fail at working with those you don't want to," He finishes. Of course, everything has to become my fault. This certainly has nothing to do with the fact he's sent for idiots. "Yes sir," I reply.

I fucking hate Americans. I hate, hate, hate them.

Today is going to be a day of organising thick fucks into an army barracks, A.K.A showing Infantry soldiers how to drive and not crash. I know it's a little optimistic, but it's not like there are many other options.

A high-vis jacket, over my uniform. Ironic, a vest meant to be seen, over clothing meant to be hidden. When I was a private I didn't have to do all this stupid safety shit. Sometimes I wish I could go back to that. Not a care in the fucking world, just follow your orders and get the job done. The rest of the day was spent fucking about with your mates. Now I'm a warrant officer, I have to take the orders, then give them, make the rules, follow them and write a fucking 3000-word essay on why they are the rules; not to mention dealing with all the fucking complaints from almost every fucking rank. "Ma'am, could I borrow you for a moment?" Somebody asks. I spin around, Royal Anglians, infantry. I glance down, Staff Sergeant, another Private behind him. "Certainly Staff, how can I help?" I ask. I can foresee this is going to be a conversation about the upcoming op. I'm not in the fucking mood for battle plans, just like I'm not in the mood for Americans. "If you'd like to follow me," the Staff Sergeant says. I walk behind him, the Private passes me a folder, I flip it open, there are satellite imagines of this building. It looks rugged, very run down; surrounded by a metal fence. It's almost all dead ground: A forested area to the northeast, there's a road to the west. Vehicles parked outside, pretty outdated, some of them look run down, the rest of them may be from the 1990s. You can't see the sides of the houses, but the run-down ground hints at their entrances and exits. "What's this?" I ask, "The stronghold," the Staff Sergeant tells me. I shove the folder back into the Private's hand and toss off the high-vis. "I think we have some talking to do," I say.

I shove the door open, allowing it to slam into the wall. I sit back into my chair, adjusting a book on my desk. "So, do you have an idea? Or do I have to come up with that one?" I ask, "Well, we have a few ideas between us," the Staff Sergeant tells me. I nod, "tell me the current situation, all the work you've done so far," I ask. The Staff Sergeant nods, taking a hold of the folder, he flicks through the glossy pages, returning to that satellite image. He pulls out the photographs, laying them out, he pulls out a pen, pointing at the image. "Right here, we've had an OP set up for 6 months, we have the note right here," he begins. He pulls out a typed-up document, handing it to me. I scan it quickly, a lot of people seem to be going into this building, but not a lot seems to be coming back out. There are a few repeat patterns, this one car that going along the road regularly. A black BMW, how cliché: These rich terrorists, making money from other people's suffering, then splashing the cash and showing it off.

Apart from excessively expensive cars, there's also a patrol, almost every day at 1700 hours. They leave in intervals of 15 minutes, in groups of 4-5 people. The patrols begin to arrive back at 1900 hours, the last party returning at 2200 hours. They're armed and wearing camouflage. Every few weeks there's some sort of delivery, large trucks. Clearly a very busy site.

I toss the files down, resting my cheek on the tips of my fingers. I raise an eyebrow, awaiting further information. "So, you clearly must have some idea of what to do. Let's hear it," I say, "Private, please," the Staff Sergeant says. I'm a little surprised, a Private has a battle plan? "Well, it's a stupid idea," the Private starts. I lean back into my chair, crossing my legs, dropping my hand. The man is very well spoken and seems rather intelligent. "The only stupid idea is one not said. Continue, please, it's more an idea that anybody else has," I cut him off. The Private hesitates and nods. "Yes ma'am," he says, "Well, see, if you look at the photographs, you can tell their gate is heavily targeted. With them being at the top of a hill, adding on the fact it's mostly dead ground, an attempt to storm the gate would be fatal," he continues. I resist the urge to be sarcastic; but honestly, any idiot could have realised that. "So how do you propose we enter," I ask, "Well I noticed your American associates have the M1 with them. My proposal is that we use the road up until this point here, then section 1 and 3 split off into the wooded area, the Americans lead with the M1 to the back of the fence, section 2 following behind. Set up the ERV here, leave the medic and a QRF there. If the M1 and section 2 were to attack the fence here they could make a way through the metal. This will call attention to this section. From which section 1 and 3 can then break through the gate here, with your assistance ma'am, and if you cut through the gat secretly, then you can break the fence and past enemy lines. Then into the building, then normal clearing rules apply," the Private explains. I'm a little bit taken aback, that's not a bad idea, in fact, it's pretty fucking good. I nod my head, "With a bit of fine detailing, I should think that's going to make an excellent battle plan. What's your name?" I ask, "Lane," the Private tells me. I pause, can I praise him? Is it my place? Do I really give a shit? "Well, you're very forward thinking, well done Private," I tell him. He smiles, clearly proud of himself, the Staff Sergeant gives him a nod. I lift my radio. "This is Foxtrot-Echo, Alpha-Zulu are you receiving? Over," I say, "Yes ma'am, we are receiving. Over," the voice radios back, "Could you please send Staff Sergeant Ferenczy into my office? Over," I ask, "Yes ma'am, out," the voice responds, "Thank you. out," I reply. I put the radio down, smiling at the Staff Sergeant, "Just a moment longer, Have you met Staff Sergeant Ferenczy yet?" I ask, "No, not yet ma'am," the Infantry soldier replies, "Ah, I see, if you'd like to send the Private back now," I request. The Staff Sergeant nods at the private, and he leaves promptly.