The New Departure Part I

This is the first part of a series of stories I'm going to write.It's Partially inspired by watching Kelly's Heroes the other night (If you haven't seen it I'd highly recommend it). The New Departure is about a group of soldiers in the middle east, not too far in the future. I'm trying to focus on the characters themselves this time rather than the events occurring. Feedback is always appreciated.

The New Departure
Part I

‘Who’s Camilla Wergeland?’ asks the taller soldier.

‘You wouldn’t know her. She’s really only popular in Norway.’ He pauses to look at the screen on his left wrist. He taps it a few times and says ‘Camilla Wergeland’ at it.

‘Here, have a look.’ He points the console in the other soldier’s direction. There is a small picture of a stunning woman with a microphone in her hand, various coloured lights shine behind her and her small army of dancers. The tall soldier seems impressed.

‘Christ.’ He looks out the window across from him. Smoke obscures the view somewhat but form the noise it’s clear what’s going on. The sound of heavy machine gun fire and high explosive discharge interrupt their conversations every few seconds.

The men are sting with their backs to the wall, inside an empty house. To their left is the front door, securely bolted. The wallpaper is fresh and clean and the whole place seems just built. A set of stairs lead to the upper floors. No furniture, except a small swivel chair and a desk opposite the door with a laptop on it, occupy the room. At the chair is a woman in army fatigues. All three are wearing the same camo save for a tiny flag just below the right shoulder. The tall soldier’s moniker is a Union Jack, the smaller one a Norwegian flag. The Woman carries only the UN symbol with no indication of her nationality.

Her helmet is lying on the floor and her hair is pulled back in a ponytail. She’s working silently at the computer with a frown on her face, her tongue clenched between her teeth.

Two Assault Rifles lie beside the men, along with their packs and helmets. Neither shows any sign of worry at the battle outside. If anything they appear annoyed at the racket.

‘So why did you join?’ says the British soldier.

‘Join?’ the Norwegian replies. ‘I was conscripted. I spend six months here and I get all my tuition paid in University. Better than working in those fucking soup kitchens for two years.’

‘Huh. I guess I joined cause of my brother. He’s in Iran. He says to me ‘Darren, the last guy I saw killed in this war was a bloke who drank too much and fell out the window of his barracks in Basra. It’s a sweet deal and no mistake.’

‘Was he right?’

‘About what?’

‘Is it a sweet deal?’

‘Well the foods frankly shit and I’m not a fan of taking orders. But I haven’t been killed. Or had to kill anyone as a matter of fact. So yeah, I guess you could say that. Pays better than what I was doing.’

‘Does it pay enough?’

‘Nah.’

‘Does anything?’

‘Nah. Not without a degree it doesn’t.’

‘So why don’t you get a degree?’

‘Can’t mate. Costs too much.’

‘Well that’s fucking true. Lucky me eh?’

‘Yeah. Lucky you.’

An explosion particularly close rattles the window in its pane. Dust streams from the ceiling. Outside it’s nearly dusk and a red glow is creeping over the city. The battle is dying off now. The woman seems calmer and she types slower.

‘Done yet?’ asks the Norwegian. There’s no answer from the woman for a few seconds, then she turns in her seat. Her voice is clear, with a faint trace of an east coast American accent. ‘Just about. It’ll be a few minutes before we can leave though. I’ve got the Rangers scouting for IED’s.’

‘Who’s your friend?’ She inquires.

‘I’m Darren.’ He pauses. ‘You?’

Again she waits a few seconds before answering. Just as he is going to open his mouth she turns again and says ‘Angelina. Erik here calls me Angel though.’

‘Sweet.’

‘Hmm, not really. It’s short for Angel of Death.’ Darren can’t help laughing at this. She smiles briefly and turns back to the computer. ‘I’m glad you find it so funny.’

‘Lay off him Angel, he’s new.’

‘Yeah, and British.’ She adds.

‘What does that have to do with anything’ he snarls, suddenly angry. Erik laughs again.

‘She’s making fun of you Darren. It’s the oldest trick in the book. He’s French so he’s a coward, he’s German, so he’s a psycho, she’s American, and so she’s a cold bitch.’ Angel tosses an empty coke can at Erik, who dodges it in a routine manner, as if this happens all the time.

The battle is clearly over. No sound except a faint mechanical groaning emanate from the window. The sun is sinking behind the skyscrapers, and the day’s extreme heat is fading. In an hour it’ll be colder than winter.

‘The rangers back?’

‘Most of em’.’

They pull their gear together, clearly in no hurry. Angel closes her laptop and pulls the tie from her hair. Darren sees her properly for the first time as she stands up. She’s of middle height, about 5’ 6’’, with ash blond hair and earthy green eyes.

Erik smacks Darren across the back of the head, waking him from his reverie.

‘Don’t bother. You’re barely high up enough to say hello to her. Ask her out in the middle of a war and you’ll be court marshalled. Save it for Camilla Wergeland.’

‘Shut up Erik.’ Is his only response.

Angel pulls the bolt on the front door and pulls it open. Dust is everywhere. The entrance opens out onto a broad street near the city centre. Tasteless steel and glass skyscrapers poke out of the ground, torn apart by missile and gun fire. The road is strewn with chunks of metal and husks of machines. Down the road a squadron of Mark III Predator Unmanned Arial Vehicles take off, their Hellfire missiles glistening in the late sun. Flanking them is a collection of other UAVS. Pathfinders, EagleEyes and a large group of Mark II Rangers are all in evidence.

One Ranger flies down the broadway and up to Angel with the eagerness of a puppy. Angel pats it and sends it on its way. Noting Darren’s stare she says ‘They need recognition when they’ve done well. Good dog, y’know?’

‘But it’s just a machine.’

‘This machine may have saved your life today. Would you like to be tramping through Dubai knowing that there could be a nail bomb around every corner?’

The Ranger pulls up to Darren and nudges him on the arm. He half heartedly pats it on where he thinks its head should be.

‘Anyway this is T Rex, he’s my favourite.’ Erik looks at him with a warning in his eyes.

‘Right. OK. Good boy Rex.’ Says Darren

All around is the smell of gunsmoke. Gaping holes pour it out incessantly. Smashed UAVS lie strewn on the ground, twitching uselessly. It’s finally night in the city. A deathly silence descends. It’s a battle without the smell of blood. No bodies can be seen.

Down the street the Predators clear the buildings and drift out of sight. The rest of the UAVs join them in stages. Finally the three soldiers are left alone in the empty street.

‘What next?’ Asks Eric.