Uprising

I was roughly woken up by Paul by the violent shakes of his hand on my arm. I look around to the left and right of me, thinking I was back in battle and being attacked by someone. Then I saw Paul who was sitting in the drivers seat of his car and calmed down a little bit, realizing that I wasn’t in a battle of any kind...just at the Navy base.

“YO! Wake up, sunshine!” He yells.

“Wh-what!” I almost scream.

Paul smiles. “We need to get to the staterooms and get into our whites. The ceremony will start in a half an hour.”

I roll my eyes. “Alright, lets get going.” I admit.

Paul and I jump out of the vehicle and enter the Navy base through the front entrance. It was just as busy as the last time I was here. Young Petty Officers and old Commanders in dress whites rushing everywhere with either garrison caps or papers in hand. Pauls stateroom was down the long hallway that we had been through the first time. Its completely identical to the last time we were here, nothing at all had changed...with the only exception being the absence of Captain Flint or Commander Harrison, replaced with a strong gust of peace throughout the Navy base. Whizzing through some of the Officers and other Petty Officers, Paul and I finally made it back to the stateroom that he had shared with me and one other sailor that never seems to be there.

“Quick, change out and get out onto the field for the awards ceremony, I have a little meet with the other intel guys, then i’ll be out with you shortly.” Paul advises.

And with that, he rushes back out of the room just as quickly as he walked in. Wasting no time, I spend about 10 minutes getting into the whites, making last minute final touches to my white shoes. I could see my reflection in them through looking into the fine layer of shine applied to the shoe. There was a heavy silence that fell upon the base. The absence of the sound of shoes constantly clacking on the floor meant that the award ceremony was going to start very soon. I snatched my wallet and phone and made my way to the award site, which was a 100 yard field of the greenest grass i’ve ever seen. There were chairs, tables and other conveniences assorted throughout the field, able to seat and serve maybe 55 to 70 people if some are willing to stand. There was a small podium on top of a portable wooden stage, no higher than 2 feet. There was Admiral Dawson, Commander Harrison, and JG O’Hara up on the podium, just making their way back down.

Admiral Dawson approached the microphone and began to talk. “Ladies and gentlemen, if you would please take your seats. The ceremony is about to begin.”

He stepped away from the podium and picked up a small box, probably containing awards and new ranks for the candidates. His 4 Admiral stars gleaming in the sunlight, and his medals were practically a small mirror, giving off their brilliant shine in the sunlight. His combination cover had a gold reef on the visor, signifying rank and authority. It didn’t shine like the rest of his uniform did, but it really did look amazing...kinda makes me wish I went through OCS instead of basic training. But I know that going through basic training instead of OCS was the right choice. I looked over a little more and saw O’Hara coming in to greet me. He was very happy to be here, i’m willing to bet that he knew he was getting promoted, while receiving a high-merit medal soon after.

“Dude! You came!” He practically yelled.

“Yep, im here. I presume you know what you’re getting?”

“No way man, but I know i’m getting something!” He proclaims.

I giggled a little bit. “Well then I guess you’ll have to sit your happy a*s down and wait! Hey, are there any seat reservations or just sit anywhere?”

O’Hara looked around, and pointed in the direction of a table that sat 5. There was only one guy who was sitting there, probably Harrison II. He was in dress whites like the rest of us, we couldn’t really tell who it was.

“Reservations are optional, but I got you, Paul, Harrison II, and myself some reservations.” O’Hara admits. “Come, lets get to the table.” He says, motioning me to follow.

“But it seats five people, you reserved 4...who else is sitting with us?” I ask, sliding the white chair out to take my seat. O’Hara sits next to me as well.

“Admiral Macdonald, you don’t know him do you?” O’Hara asks.

“No...no I can’t say I do.” I reply, interested in finding out who this man is.

“Oh my god, you’ll f*****g love him, dude…” He stops, taking a sip of wine from the table. “...He’s a two-star, he doesnt pop up all the time, so nobody really knows him. But I had the pleasure of meeting him while you were MIA back home. This guy is awesome, and he requested he take control of Team Five, because he, too, is a SEAL. Let me tell you, he is the LIFE if the party!”

He looks over his shoulder to look for the Admiral. He spots him looming over another table, probably looking for his reserved seat. O’Hara called for the Admiral by calling his name and waving for him. The old man finally caught his sign and rushed on over to the table we sat at. He wasn’t that old, looked around middle 50’s, but he also looked like he could still get the job done. His medals and stars on his shoulder boards glistened like stars in the night sky. His SEAL trident was placed perfectly on his uniform, and it shined in the sunlight. He took his reserved seat and smiled when he sat. He looked over at me and nodded his head.

“So you’re Locksmith.” The Admiral says.

“Yes, sir, its a pleasure meeting you.” I said, moving to shake his hand. He had a powerful hand, it almost crushed mine.

“Yes, I heard a lot about you. Mister O’Hara here told me most everything that you did in the Navy. You haven’t had a tour to the stans lately?”

By “stans” he meant anywhere in the Middle East that ended in “stan”, namely Afghanistan, Kazakhstan, or Pakistan. Usually, we SEALs get tours on Afghanistan and Iraq, but because of the little problems we’ve been having with Baas, some of the teams have been unable to do so.

“No, not yet. I expect to go on a tour after we kill this Baas guy.” I reply.

“I imagine thats just about what the other SEALs said!” He almost yells. He was a lively individual.

“Ladies and gentlemen, if you could please divert your attention to the podium.” Admiral Dawson requests. He was standing on the stage, his body as stiff as iron. He kind of popped his chest out to establish authority. “We are now going to begin the ceremony. If you would please stand for the pledge to the flag.”

Dawson directed his attention to the flag that flew proudly behind him. We all stood up, and placed our hands over our hearts, and began to recite the pledge of allegiance. I felt my phone vibrate, but I dismissed it, knowing it was frowned upon to answer the phone during the pledge. But something about this didn’t feel right…

“...and justice for all.” Admiral Dawson finishes.

“...and justice for all.” The rest of us repeat. We raise our hands to salute the flag, while the civilians in the back began playing TAPS. We stood through the song of memory, saluting the flag as it flew high and flicked in the wind with the gusts that blew right by it. I felt my phone vibrate again. I dismissed it once more, not even presenting the thought of dropping my salute to the flag. My phone vibrated a few more times before the song ended. When we sat down, I took out my phone real fast to see who was trying to contact me. 4 missed calls from Paul, and a text.

“What does he want…” I whisper to myself. I saw O’Hara looking at his phone as well.

I opened the text and read it to myself. “GET OUT OF THERE NOW” it read.

“What the f**k…?” I say to myself. I look around for anything that might seem out of place. I dont see anything, just fresh grass and trees in the distance. I heard Dawson begin the ceremony, fully unaware of what was to come...as were the rest of us.

“O’Hara, you get Paul’s text?” I whisper.

“Yeah man...what’s going on? Do you know?” He replies.

I look around one more time to spot anything. I still didn’t see anything, maybe Paul was trying to spook us.

“...The first nominee for promotion to Lieutenant is…” Dawson pauses.

I noticed something a little off balance in the wooded area to our west. It gave off a few temporary shines of light, lasting only but maybe a second or two. The shine was about 50 yards away, in the top corner of a palm tree. What the shine was, I have no clue.

Admiral Dawson looked up from his document. “...Lieutenant Junior Grade Sebastian O’Hara.”

As he said that, and the moment when everyone congratulated his promotion with claps, O’Hara looked at me, signaling the shine in the trees back there, he noticed it too. As he began walking up to the stage, time seemed to have slowed down a little bit. I saw the flash of light in the trees again.

A sinister chill shot down my spine. “Oh...s**t…” I thought to myself.

At that moment, I heard a sharp crack coming from the west of our location. I looked over to see a small streak of light coming from the trees, and rapidly heading towards the stage. I looked over towards the stage where Dawson was standing. I saw his head snap violently to his side, and blood came spilling from his head. His cover fell to the ground, laying still in a pool of his blood. Some of his medals fell off his chest, as he slipped off of his feet and onto the ground. He finally hit the ground, and blood was rapidly seething from his head. Everyone instantly dropped to the ground, unaware of who just shot Admiral Dawson.

Time regained its speed. “SNIPER!!!” I scream.

Another shot rang out from the trees, narrowly missing O’Hara, vaporizing a nearby glass of wine. He dove out of the way just in time, some of his medals almost falling off his chest.

“This f*****g snipers got a bead on us, dude! We need to get out of here!” O’Hara yells.

I look around for a minute, while throwing down a table for cover, not that it would do me any good. I tried to direct the other sailors and their families to escape the killzone. I tried speaking to O’Hara, but the sniper kept ringing out shots, one of them narrowly missing my head, making a large exit hole next to me in the table I used for cover. I flinched back for a minute, knowing how close I came to death. More sharp cracks rang out from the treeline, and more people running off, or not getting up from a headshot. I poked my head out from cover to look for Macdonald, but he was nowhere in sight. I retracted my head before I got shot at again, and looked at O’Hara, who was freaking out behind his table of cover.

“Wheres Admiral Macdonald??” I start.

“What??” O’Hara yells in response.

I flinch again with another bullet ripping off a good portion of the table I was using for cover. Pretty soon, there will be no cover.

“WHERES ADMIRAL MACDONALD!?!?” I scream over the rifle fire.

“He ran inside with the others, I don’t know what he’s doing, but we need to move, too! We’re practically the only ones left out here!” O’Hara advises.

I look around for a little, and see that O’Hara really meant what he said. I notice a pause every 5 shots that rang out. This guys rifle must only hold 5 rounds in his magazine. I examined the exit holes in the other tables, as they were bigger than any other semi-automatic sniper rifle carrying a 5.56 bullet. The muzzle velocity of a semi-automatic rifle isn’t very powerful, which, in turn, leads to a smaller entry and exit hole in whatever target it hits. Semi-automatic sniper rifles are mainly used as a suppressing fire type of rifle for some recon teams. This guy was using a bolt action rifle, and he was a trained marksman.

“This guys rifle holds five rounds, and its bolt action! We can make a break for it now!!” I advise.

“But, dude, hes gonna-”

“JUST F*****G DO IT!!!” I scream.

O’Hara breaks from cover and bolts to the building. I could see the ground beneath him rippling with the bullet impacts, as he jumps and swerves his way around trying to dodge the bullets that could hit him. As soon as he got to a nearby wall, I knew it was my turn to make a break for it as well. When he got behind the wall, and into a more structurally stable position of cover, it was my turn to run in. I just picked myself up off my ankle to get up to my feet when another sniper round came busting through the area in front of me, and ripping off another portion of the table. I felt the sound waves pulse past my face. Once again, cheated death another soul. I launched myself up to my feet and took off to the cover point as fast as I possibly could, feeling the shockwaves that pulsated as each bullet smacked into the ground. Sniper rounds are coming faster, it was clear this guy was getting frustrated trying to kill me. What he didnt know is how to compensate a shot for a moving target. Idiot.

“GET THE WHITES OUT OF THERE, KEEP MOVING UP!!” I hear from the building.

There were other sailors in NWU and AOR1 digitized uniforms, flak jackets on body and rifles in hand, and one plainly obvious commander that held the biggest f*****g gun out of the group. They all began firing in the same direction, and everyone scattered. The commander back there screaming orders, but not shooting. Aiming his weapon every now and then, but never pulling his trigger. We began hearing helicopters coming into the airspace. Looking up, we saw a single MH-60 with two AH-64 escort gunships. O’Hara must have known what it was, because he took off like a lightning bolt back into the base. More sailors in flak jackets were pouring out of the building like water from a broken dam.

“O’Hara! wait up!!” I attempt to yell over the gunfire.

As I suspected, he heard nothing from me, and advanced further into the base.

“Ah, f**k it.” I think to myself.

I rush out from the wall to the door to enter the base. I saw Paul running from another door adjacent to mine. He was heading in the same direction everyone else was, which was the front exit. He was dressed in his NWU’s, with a flak jacket swiftly thrown over top of it, and his Sig Sauer P226 in his hand. He looked at me and motioned me to follow him, then screamed my name.

“RPG!!!” I hear in the background.

I hesitated for a minute, then came an ear-splitting explosion that knocked everyone to their knees. That had to have been an incendiary rocket, because there was no other rocket that could knock everyone to their knees with only a noise, and those within the blast radius instantly vaporize. I have a ringing sound in my ears, I could hardly hear anything. I quickly got back up on my feet and book it toward Paul.

“You okay??? The base is under a massive attack, enemy QRF is inbound! Air Force is scrambling F-35’s and will be here in 10 minutes!” Paul yells.

He carries me into another hallway, and through a door, through which he entered his passcode. In this room there were were two locked boxes made of steel, each having an embroidered SEAL trident on the top and sides, then the letters “USN” below it. He slammed the door behind him and then proceeded to open the boxes.

“Quick, take yourself out of those whites. I got something that the Admiral got for us.” Paul said.

Wasting no time, I quickly removed my uniform and placed it on a nearby shelf. I was in nothing but boxers and a white shirt. When he opened the box, I saw a multicam combat shirt with built in tactical arm-pads and tactical sleeve pouches on the sides, with an American flag patch on one side, and a SEAL team 5 patch on the other. Both were velcro patches, colored black, and had a fine layer of plastic to cover it. This was some expensive gear. I picked up the shirt, it was a sturdy, yet comfortable, material of what felt like polymer and cotton. It was smooth to the touch, and could take a serious beating and vicious abuse. Below that were multicam pants, with tactical knee pads and a multitude of pockets all over. I counted 6 pockets on the pants alone, the shirt had 4 more, each pocket holding a specific purpose. Next to them were a pair of Crye Precision condor tactical multicam boots. These were steel toe, stiff-body, lightweight boots with a multicam finish to match the uniforms. They were brand new, too. On the other side of the uniforms was a multicam FAST helmet, also brand new. It had a US flag patch on one side, a morale patch that said “terrorist hunting permit, no. 91101” on the other side, and an IR strobe on the back. I look at Paul, with heaven in my eyes and gunfire in the background.

He smiles, “This is your RDG uniform. Wherever you go, the Navy makes sure it follows.”

“What’s RDG?” I ask.

“Rapid Deployment Gear, and its purpose is its name. Getting into this uniform in a hurry will take less time than getting into the other combat uniforms. Only a few SEAL operators will get ‘em, and all of DEVGRU gets ‘em. I filed a special request for you, O’Hara, and myself to get them issued to us.” He replies.

I heard a shotgun from behind the door, the insurgents have made it past the sailors that first arrived. I quickly threw myself into the RDG uniform. It was slick and smooth to slip into, and there was already a belt that was on the pants. I quickly tucked in the shirt, and laced up the boots. The helmet fit me perfectly, and the buckle to strap and secure the helmet to your head didn’t even feel like it was there. I turned around to Paul, who was just getting up after opening the second box. Inside was a Barretta M92FS suppressed tactical handgun, a heavily modified suppressed SCAR-L with a wide selection of accessories already on it, a combat tomahawk, and the tomahawk sheath. There was a tactical vest that was laid above the weapons, also colored multicam. There was room for 6 magazines for the SCAR, another 4 magazines for the pistol, a chest rig to holster the pistol, and adjustable straps to secure the vest to your body. Constant gunfire was heard throughout the hallways, at this point, the insurgents are probably well past our door. I threw on the vest and secured it, and holstered the pistol to the chest rig. A magazine was already loaded, and a round was in the chamber. I clipped the sheath to my waist and holstered the tomahawk. Finally, the SCAR I was given was already loaded with a magazine, and a round in the chamber. I slung it over my shoulder, and placed the rifle and pistol magazines into the corresponding pouches, and secured them shut. I picked up the rifle and scanned it for a second. This felt a little weird, I was used to being with my HK rifle, but this was a change I was willing to make. I looked back at the box, with Paul standing next to it, and wondered why the rifles weren’t cleared while they were inside the boxes.

“Whoever packed the weapons clearly didn’t know weapon safety.” I proclaim.

“Well...you know the Navy.” Paul replies.

I laugh for a minute and turn around to the door behind me, and booted that m**********r with all the strength in my legs. The door nearly fell off the hinges. I look back at Paul, who had a shocked look on his face. “Holy s**t.” He said.

Paul and I booked it out of the room and headed towards the sound of tyranny and gunfire. I checked my rifle off safety and on semi-auto. I confirmed this action with “safeties off” and gradually swept down the hallway, hugging the wall so we arent out in the open. More gunfire came from deeper in the building, as I swung my sights instantly into the direction of the gunfire. I wondered if the insurgents knew we were behind them, but thats the least of my worries. The shotgun blasts kept getting louder as we moved down hallways, towards the entrance. There were a couple of ERDL prestige uniforms holding AK47s and mossberg shotguns at the end of another hallway. Then came screaming from the other side of the wall we were hugging. I looked over at Paul, who was also glancing at me every now and then.

“Go and take care of the guys who are at the entrance. I’ll go see where the screaming is coming from.” I advise.

“Rog’.” He replies, as he quickly sweeps the end of the hallway and pivots to his right at the end of the hallway towards the main doors.

I move over to where the screaming was coming from. It sounded like a woman screaming for her life. I kept my SCAR close to me, turning on the LED laser on my PEQ-16. Nearing the location of the screaming noises, I began hearing a male yelling, which could very well be triggering the screaming. The sound came from behind a locked door, like a lock was going to do anything. I slung my scar across my shoulder and unsheathed my tomahawk and hacked at the doorknob a few times, instantly tearing it off the door. Kicking it open, I saw that there were two African fighters, both in an ERDL prestige uniform and red berets, and a middle-aged woman in a blue and grey dress. Without giving any second thought, I swung the tomahawk at full power into the first guys shoulder, impaling it through the bone. I swung my victim around to cover my body and pulled out my M9 from its chest rig to aim at the other fighters head. In that time, he dragged the woman to her feet and pulled the barrel of his AK to her head, using her as a human shield. There was a moment of silence within the standoff between the African fighter and myself. I examined his AK47, and noticed his weapon was on safety, even though his finger was placed on the trigger.

“Safety’s on, dipshit.” I say, pulling the trigger of the M9 quick enough so I didn’t lose my line of sight.

The fighter flopped backwards, blood seething from his forehead, releasing the woman and his AK, both falling to the floor like lifeless birds. I yank my shield away from me and tear out the tomahawk still impaled into him. He was gripping his wound heavily, almost passing out from the pain. I embed another suppressed bullet into his skull, and kicked him down to fall upon his deceased brother. I looked over toward the woman, who was still covering her entire head in her arms, completely unaware of what just happened.

“Ma’am, you are not safe here, you need to follow me.” I order.

She looks at me, the look in her eyes told of fear and abject misery, but she nods her head and slowly rises to her feet. I hold my hand out to her, where she took it almost instantaneously. I tried calming her down for a little bit, telling her that her family is safe, unaware if they actually were. She managed to calm down enough to walk out of the room, gripping my hand as if in attempt to break it.

“Whats your name, ma’am?” I ask, trying to make small talk as we got through the hallway.

“Eryn.” She replies. “Please get me out of here…”

“Not to worry Eryn, we have the whole place locked down and secure, nobody else is coming to hurt you again.” I assure.

I saw her smile for a second as she kind of looks toward the ground, while still maintaining a good enough speed to follow me through the base. I heard helicopters coming in from outside, and knew I had to hurry. Holstering my M9 in its chest rig, I picked up the woman, carrying her like a prince would a princess as you would see in the movies, and rushed my way out to the entrance. We eventually ran through the front door, where O’Hara was standing with his P226, aimed directly at the heads of captured African fighters, all on their knees in a single file line. I spotted Paul talking to some guys in dress whites, probably the other Executive Officers of the base. There were body bags full of bodies, and helicopters everywhere. The Air Force F-35’s doing some fly-bys overhead, and a whole lot of people talking to each other. I put Eryn down and pointed towards the safe zone, behind the helicopters that touched down on the ground.

“Behind these helicopters is the civilian safe zone. Head there, and you will find your family.” I assure.

As soon as I put her down, she immediately turns around and throws herself towards me, giving me the biggest hug I had felt in a long time. She lets go after a few seconds and looks up at me.

“Thank you so much!” She said, then turns tail and runs to the safe zone.

“LOCKE!!!” I hear somewhere in the background.

I look over towards the origin of the voice, and I saw a man in a pitch black suit and shades, walking towards me with Paul at his side.

“What are you, CIA?” I ask.

“Dont worry about it.” The man replies. “Just call me Red.”

“...Okay, Red. What brings your business to me?” I ask.

Paul looks at me with his signature look that only I knew what it meant. “Get ready.”

“We looked into the attack and found out that it was directed by Baas. He banded with the Taliban and Al Qaeda to form an even larger army, all former Taliban and Al Qaeda commanders submitted to his authority, he directs all operations in his geographical area. Needless to say, this man is trained in combat, and he is a leader. DEVGRU is out on missions to destroy supply lines, so you SEALs are what he have left that can be anywhere in a day, and we believe we have found a location.” Red said.

“So...what does this mean for us?” I ask.

“We have services available to your family to explain to them why you won’t be coming home today.” Red says.

He looks over to Paul, then over at me for a second longer. “...Oh yeah, I forgot to mention, this is 100% mandatory.”

My eyes widen to the size of golfballs, I thought for a minute that my ears were deceiving me. I remember the operation that Paul described back home, and I didn’t exactly look forward to a last minute operation prep.

Red smirks a little bit. “Pack your bags, Locke. You and your buddy are vacationing to Afghanistan.”

Author's Note

Another chapter in, another step closer to the end! Any comments or reviews you wish to make, please take a minute and say what you feel! All are greatly appreciated!