Wed AM, March 19th 1966

When I woke this morning the light was still dim and there was an unsettling quiet laid over the camp. Apart from the rumble of Hodges snoring, there was just the quiet background of insects and birds chirping.

This brought me awake fast. A forward operating base is a hubbub of activity and noise. Soldiers are always moving, announcements are being made and even at night there are search lights flickering around the surrounding jungle.

Today the camp was a ghost town. Leaving the others sleeping I stepped into the camp proper. Apart from the lack of people, everything was as it should have been. The defenses are intact, but there is no sign of where everyone had gone, or more importantly from my perspective - Why we have been left behind.

The others are waking up now, hopefully the Sarge knows what to do.

--

"Peters, what the fuck is going on here?" Robinson's eyes were wide, and his pupils flit around frantically as he approached me. "Where is everyone?" he asked plaintively. The man appeared to be on the verge of losing it. His temper was always on a hair-trigger, and he looked about three seconds away from taking a swing at me.

Backing up, I raised my palms towards him. "How should I know? I've only just woken up." I made a point of theatrically looking around, "They're all gone, everyone." Then, as if to contradict what I'd said, the sound of a cough echoed through the camp. It had come from the infirmary. Robinson and I looked at each other. Then, as one, we bolted towards the noise.

The infirmary was an austere tent. Within it, a dozen immaculately made beds were arranged in regimented formation. Only one was occupied. A sweat covered marine lay upon it, covered only by a slightly damp white sheet. The man's skin was pallid, and his bloodshot eyes unfocussed.

Robinson backed away, "Shit, malaria. I hate this country."

Pushing down my own fears, I picked up the medical chart from the end of the bed and forced myself to look Robinson right in the eye. My hand shook slightly as I held the clipboard, this was my chance to prove that I wasn’t totally useless.

"You know it's not infectious, right? It's spread by mosquito bites."

"You know something about medical stuff, then Peters?" Sarge asked as he walked into the tent. The man looked as unruffled as ever. Somehow he'd already assessed the situation and focussed on the task at hand.

"Not really, Sarge." I fidgeted with the chart I held. "According to this, Private Westcott has malaria. He only arrived in base a week ago, poor bastard."

Sarge nodded, "How are they treating him?"

I flicked through the mass of papers on the clipboard, "500ml of Chl-Chloroquine." I had no idea what that was, heck I could barely pronounce it, but according to the papers, the private had to take a dose once a day.

"Very good. Peters, as you seem to have this in hand. You're now in charge of his treatment." An audible groan escaped me. This was the military way. Never show competence at anything you don't want to do yourself. Volunteering in the corps was not stepping back from a task quickly enough to avoid it.

"The rest of you, form up. We're going to patrol the perimeter and find out where everyone else is."

My task didn't seem so bad suddenly. As they left, I took a seat next to my patient and pulled out a battered science fiction novel. 'The Genocides' was a novel by Thomas M. Disch about alien plant-life invading earth. It was so optimistic in tone that it made even our current predicament seem cheerful.

I was three chapters in when a nasal voice boomed across the camp.

"As part of your planet's obligation to this sector, you have been conscripted into the Imperial Numeri. If you survive this period of assessment, then you may consider it your training. In two hours' time this .." there was a pause while the voice searched for the right word, "base will be attacked. Your mission will be to ensure the survival of the invalid in your infirmary. If you succeed in this mission, then you will be rewarded, should you fail then your sacrifice will not have been in vain. Your death will still contribute towards fulfilling this sector's requirement for planetary muster during the immediate time period."

The speech had sounded monotonous and stilted, like the reader was reciting an unfamiliar script. It had been impossible to ascertain where the speaker had been. His voice had seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

I looked down at my novel questioningly; perhaps I imagined this. Looking at the situation logically, strange voices booming out of nowhere, it didn't seem likely. This must be a fever dream, perhaps Robinson was right - Malaria was transmitted through contact. That must be it. I must be lying on the floor with a fever right now.

That pleasant delusion was dissolved by the sound of the Sarge barking orders outside. I was certain that any fever dream of mine would have had more naked women and fewer Sargeants.

"Schmidt, to the armory. I want to know what munitions we have available."

"Robinson, Hodges, patrol the perimeter. Don't take any chances and get back inside the wire at the first sign of anything."

A few seconds later, the tent curtain opened. Sarge entered and quickly sank into one of the empty chairs opposite me. I put the novel down and looked through the medicine bottles. It never paid to look idle in the military, not unless you wanted someone to assign you a new task.

"How is he looking?" Sarge tugged a boot off as he asked the question and wriggled his toes experimentally. Sighing in pleasure as blood circulated into them. His old leathery face suddenly seemed less harsh and more human to me.

"Same as before."

Sarge stood up and walked over to me, picking up my discarded novel. "What did you make of the announcement?"

Damn him and his direct to the point attitude. I'd been hoping to slip into procrastination and eventually a denial of our situation. I shrugged, "Dunno, it was a bit strange. I thought perhaps I'd imagined it?"

He blinked a couple of times and then let out a gentle chuckle, "I wish that were true kid, but there is definitely something strange going on here. Everyone is gone and the radio is down." He took a pack of Chesterfields out of his pocket and proffered the pack. "Smoke?"

"No, thanks."

"Your loss, I find they help me concentrate." Shrugging, he tapped the packet and freed a cancer stick from the embrace of its siblings. A zippo emerged from his breast pocket, and I caught the engraving of a naked woman on its side as he flicked it alight. Moments later, a gentle plume of smoke drifted upwards as Sarge took a deep drag on a cigarette. Closing his eyes, he held the smoke in his lungs for several long seconds, before allowing it to escape from his mouth in small circular rings. He looked strangely at peace, considering how batshit crazy things were.

Opening his eyes, he continued. "The announcement said we'd have incoming," he checked his pocket-watch, "in around an hour, give or take a few minutes."

I nodded, "Sounds about right." My eyes were fixated on the watch. It was a genuine antique. I could see engravings upon it. Not the type of thing your average grunt carried around in 'nam.

"My great grandfather's watch. According to my father, he carried it at Waterloo. Stupid bastard didn't make it out of that battle alive. I expect one day someone will lift it from my corpse. It'll probably end up being pawned by whoever kills me." Flipping it closed, and he tucked it back inside his pocket. "Anyway, we've only one Fire Team to cover the entire base, it's not possible in a traditional manner. I figure we'll plant surprises across all the entranceways but one, and then we'll watch that entrance. We'll need everybody we can get out there."

"Yes, Sarge." I stood, then looked at the unfortunate Private Westcott, "Do you think he'll be alright on his own?"

"If we lose this firefight, then he'll be dead either way."

That bleak summary of our situation effectively curtailed further discussion, and Sarge led us outside to where the others were waiting to report in.

"Sarge, the armory is fully equipped. M-16's, M-60's, anti-personnel mines." Hodges grinned. "The M-113 is parked near the dump, I've always wanted to drive an armored-personnel carrier."

"You might get a chance before the war is over," Sarge said, causing Hodges' grin to grow further.

"SITREP Robinson," Sarge ordered.

"All quiet, no sign of enemy movement, Sarge."

Sarge nodded, not even pausing for thought. It was obvious he'd already planned everything out in advance and was just confirming that his chess pieces were ready to move. Calm assurance radiated from the man, and I was confident that whatever his plan was, it would work.

"Hodges, Schmidt, I want you to shift the unconscious private in there to the armored-personnel carrier." Sarge waited for the two men to move, then rounded on the rest of us, "Robinson, you and Peters will help me set up some surprises for whoever is attacking the base."