This week I am posting a short-story I wrote many years ago for one of my elective classes. In the past, I put up another short-story I wrote on blog. This story I wrote is about a fictional SEAL team waiting to get pulled out after a mission. The focus for me here was primarily on character development and dialogue. I wrote this from the viewpoint of a fictional SEAL Lieutenant by putting myself into his shoes.
A little background.. As you may know, the U.S Navy Seals take on the toughest missions. SEALs might be the best trained soldiers on Earth as they go through very rigorous training where more than 80% of people fail. Most people trying out are usually soldiers from other military branches first that might qualify for SEALs BUD/S training (tryout), and yes 80% of the failure rate is from already trained soldiers. Very few get past Hell Week where..
The fourth week of training is known as Hell Week. In this grueling five-and-a-half day stretch, each candidate sleeps only about four total hours but runs more than 200 miles and does physical training for more than 20 hours per day. Successful completion of Hell Week truly defines those candidates who have the commitment and dedication required of a SEAL. Hell Week is the ultimate test of a man’s will and the class’s teamwork (BUD/s training).
I found that pretty badass. Only the best with the greatest fortitude end up becoming SEALs through this gruesome tryout so that is my inspiration for this story.
When I was writing this for class, this was actually going to be part of another short-story I had planned out where I went into the actual mission itself. I did basic planning, but I never had a reason to write it or even a blog at that time to put it on. Initially, I was going to take another Creative Writing course for fun and use it there. The time never came for that course so blog it will be! I did not write it yet.. At a future time, I shall revisit this story with same characters and same mission to go into more of the plot (consider this chapter 1 of a novel).
Without further ado..
The Holdout
“Ortega calling Red Wing. Respond Red Wing. I have a few men down, requesting immediate air-evac. Over,” yelled Lieutenant Root on the radio frequency provided during the operation briefing. Ortega was the codename for his 12-men special-operations unit, Red Wing was the codename for the extraction choppers. Today they were on top of a building inside Belize in the middle of the largest compound, owned by a rich tycoon. They were taking constant fire while trying to hold ground until the Black Hawks arrived.
Lieutenant Root was the man in command. He was a slender figure that was often underrated in fights. Even in his younger days, nobody had expected him to pass the excruciating SEAL training when he was even slimmer. The other trainees would often laugh at him behind his back for even attempting the SEAL training. Most of them were built much tougher physically than Root, but majority of them ended up failing. The training required a lot more than physical strength. It was probably all for the better since the missions were no joke; only the best made it and even the best were not good enough to survive many of the deadly missions. Root had the last laugh as he proudly walked up to the podium for SEAL graduation. Root eventually became one of the most highly decorated soldiers in his regiment, which was truly an accomplishment.
“Sir, I just ran out of gauze pads and just about out of morphine. How long we holdin’ out here? I am running out of supplies and options,” yelled the squad’s medic moments later. He was busy tending to his injured men; many of them refused medical treatment to ensure that only the ones in the worst conditions received the remaining medical equipment. Luckily, the medic was able to stock up on extra equipment earlier from within the building they were in. Unfortunately, it was several floors below with no way of getting back down since it was enemy infested.
“What the hell do you want me to do? I got somebody on the radio after many tries. This mission has become a god damned mess we did not expect,” bellowed the Lieutenant. He was getting nervous as the minutes ticked by and so were his men. His biggest worry was the ammunition count. Clips were being used and dropped like flies with the enemy not giving up. The SEALs still had their hopes up high while completely outnumbered 5 to 1. As the perspiration and the chaos ensued, the men continued to do what they were ordered to without complaining. A few of them were shot, but they kept firing at the enemy even through blood and tears. The SEALs were known to have very high pain-threshold; that was one of the things that made them special and well-respected warriors.
“WHAT THE HELL IS THE HOLDUP, RED WING? JESUS CHRIST,” hollered the Lieutenant once again on the radio. Lieutenant Root was anxious to have the squad pulled out and angry at how long it took. He had to deal with waiting during a few previous missions he led his squad on, but he usually kept his cool. Today was the longest he ever had to wait since the aircraft carrier was about 35 miles out to sea and could not provide air-support. No air-support was something they were used to as their missions were often classified to the point that air support was too risky.
The mission was to take out a classified target in Belize, but even Root was not sure who the target really was. All he knew was what his briefing said: the target was supposedly some very rich business tycoon that directly funded a terrorist organization and was involved in cocaine business on the side. Supposedly, he was also suspected to be the mastermind behind several other international terrorist incidents throughout Europe and Latin America. With him taken out, the only thing left was to pull out of the privately owned compound of the late businessman that consisted of various buildings. They were on the tallest building the Lieutenant knew from the compound blueprint he was shown during the briefing.
“Look son, let’s not get carried away over the radio. The choppers will be there very soon. Hold out until then, I know you and your men can do it. I am dispatching couple birds out there to help you out. Meanwhile, keep the damn line clear or I will personally make you sweep the floors for the rest of your career, IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?” barked the Colonel from the other line.
“Yes, sir. Ortega out.” Afterwards, Major Root said to himself, “Damn you Colonel, if only you were down here to see this for yourself.”
“Men, we need to buy some time. Do NOT waste any more bullets unless if you truly have to. Setup a defensive perimeter and keep your heads ducked behind cover. Less firing,” yelled the Lieutenant moments later for every man on the ten-story roof to hear. Moments later, a distant booming sound could be heard.
“Shiiit, is that what I think it is?” exclaimed a soldier that went by the nickname of ‘Juggernaut’ based on the way he was built from extremely buff biceps and quads the size of a tree. He seemed to be pointing towards two silver objects flying directly towards them at supersonic speeds. The Lieutenant followed Juggernaut’s finger, and in moments it struck him.
The two objects turned out to be the ‘birds’ the Colonel had mentioned. They were in fact a couple Harriers ripping through the air at top speeds coming in ready to blow everything out of the sky.
Suddenly the radio crackled.. “Ortega, this is Blackfox flying in hot. I heard you needed some assistance, over.”
“Hooya. Harriers got our backs until those damn Black Hawks get here. Now, let’s fuck ‘em all up as they retreat, boys” chuckled one of the younger Privates, laughing as he shot enemy units in the back as some of them tried to retreat. Many of them left running after throwing their weapons onto the ground and sprinting out of the compound like cowards.
“I will never understand what part of killing do these kids enjoy,” yawned Lieutenant Root as he watched some of his younger men continue to shoot retreating enemy mercenaries.
As they wait for the extraction and shooting at the few lingering enemy soldiers, Root begins of recollect the mission from the beginning. It was a mid-April morning when he was called in for a meeting with his Navy Commander……
…..To be continued
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