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The silence of the night was broken by the ringing of a telephone.

I open my eyes on a world not yet touched by the light of the coming day. I answer the phone wiping the sleep from my eyes.

"Hello?" I say as I clear my throat.

"Lieutenant Muglack?" says the voice through the phone. If it had sounded any younger I would of expected it to crack.

"Speaking. What went wrong?"

"Sir we've been told not to discuss operations over the phone. You've been ordered back to the base for immediate deployment. Wheels up in one hour sir."

Shaking my head I tell the slightly post-pubescent voice on the other end of the phone I'll be there. Like all things CAF related efficiency is key. I grab my quick deployment bag that I have prepared for just this kind of situation. It seems like an odd thing to keep on hand, but unfrotunately these late night calls are not as few and far between as one would hope. It's less stressful this way. With my bag under my arm I head out into the dew laden pre-dawn air.

I throw the bag into the passenger seat of my old jeep. It's not the prettiest thing on the road but if these WW2 era jeeps were good enough for "Old Blood and Guts" Patton they sure as hell were good enough for me. As I drive through the neighbourhood I see lights coming on from other CAFer's houses. If they're waking up everyone it must be a big deal. The hopes that maybe something went right for once and this was a low key Elites mission quickly gets thrown out the window.

As I pull up to a stop sign I glance over at a house as the door opens. A kid who couldn't be older than my boots runs out of the house. Shirt half tucked in, belt undone, and only one shoe on. He takes 5 steps out the door yells, out a word I care not to repeat, drops what's in his arms and runs back inside. A quick deployment bag is a mobile soldier's best friend.

Once I leave the residential area and get out onto the highway to the base things are relatively uneventful. Aside from the occasional soldier heading in the same direction as me the road is completely empty. For the first time since leaving the house I take a look at the sky. Cursing quietly under my breathe I see it's a red full moon. Never a good sign.

As I pull onto the base there's people everywhere. The best !! what's happening around me is organized chaos. I park my jeep and enter the fray. Before I can take more than 5 steps a Private looks like he's still wetbehind the ears is standing in front of me.

"Lieutenant Muglack, please report to briefing room 2 immediately. They're waiting for you."

No salute, no sir. New recruits forget everything they've been taught as soon as sh!t hits the fan. It's hard believe at one time I was just like them. But there was bigger issues at hand so the refresher course would have to wait. I head to the briefing room at a run.

Just like the wet behind the ears private told me I was the last person to get there. Most of the elites lived on the base for precisely this reason. Maybe it was time to reconsider my own living arrangements but there was no time for that now.

"About damn time" said Chucky_Norris looking up from his lecturn as I walk in. "Take a seat so we can get started."

I drop into the nearest open spot as the lights dim.

"As you may know the US planned an offensive against the Serbian stronghold of Liaonang in Central East Asia. Unfrotunately since it was the worst kept secret in military history PHOENIX has beat us to the punch. With coordinated strikes in the Rhone Alps and Aquitane in Spanish controlled France, an attack on Southern Thailand by Indonesia and 9 other strikes PHOENIX is hoping to gain the tactical advantage and put off the American attack on Serbia. The bad news for them is that EDEN isn't going to let it happen. I hope you boys packed your flipflops, because we're going to Spain."

"How long we going to be there sir?" I hear a voice ask from the back of the room.

"I don't know. As long as we need to be. Could be a day, could be a week. All I do know is that we're there till the job gets done. Now get your asses out of those seats and into the plane. T-15 minutes till the wheels are up. Now get moving."

As I head back onto the tarmac the level of controlled chaos is significantly less than it was before I went inside for the briefing. There's still quite a few people running around some of them with missed button holes on their shirts, and others with running shoes on instead of the standard issue boots, but for the most part it appeared that things on the tarmac were becoming more control and less chaos.

After walking across the airfield I find my plane and get on board. I exchange pleasantries with the few soldiers I recognize, find an open seat and settle in for the flight across the Atlantic. All I have to do in the immediate future was to try and get back some of the sleep that was taking from me when the phone rang, and to wake up long enough before we landed to prepare myself for the scene that was undoubtredly waiting for me once I got off the plane. So I close my eyes and go back to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~

The calmness inside the airplane is the exact opposite of the scene I see when I disembark into the Asturias airport. As is fairly standard practice in times like this the Spanish military had taken over the airport itself. The inside of the airport itself had been further broken down into sections for all of the countries involved with the operation. Ranging from entire hangers and terminals for the larger armies to one or two gates for the smaller ones. Luckily Canada's alotment of space was decently sized so when I got off the plane I was in the middle of our area. After looking around the airport for a few minutes it was time to get in line and find out where I was headed.

At this point years of military training came in handy. There's a few things that years in the army will eventually allow you to do. One of those things can literally mean the difference between life and death. After years of service and countless battles the mind has the ability to start reacting out of instinct instead of having to think about each individual action. With each step parts of a second can be shaved of an action, the end result is that these minor savings can add up to a significant amount of time and could eventually mean the difference between life and death. Another thing that comes in handy is that not only do the constant battles allow you to run on instinct, but the events leading up to the battle also become instinctual. This happened as I was standing in line for my gun and ammunition.

The next 30 or 40 minutes is a blur. I was handed a gun, I was told where to go. I got on a bus with other soldiers, and we were driven to a secondary airstrip that was being used to shuttle troops closer to the front. Once there I got onto a plane and we took off. This flght was much shorter than the last one. It seemed like we were barely taking off before we started to land again. The airstrip we landed on seemed to be cut into the side of a mountain and was surrounded by thick forest. This battle would not be fun. Guerilla tactics were no doubt the order of the day.

The next few minutes are a blur. I got off the plane rifle in hand and went to the Command Tent to check in. I don't know how it happened but about halfway across the tarmac I heard a loud whistle then an intense heat and pressure behind me. Next thing I knew I was lying on the ground face in the dirt. I looked up behind me and the plane I had just gotten off was nothing but a burning hulk of twisted metal.

So it had begun.

I got to my feet and ran to the woods. There were people and faces around me that I didn't recognize, but at this point it didn't matter. They were running with me, and not at me so the odds were good they were on my side. We made it to the woods and I started looking at patches on people shoulders to see which countries they were from. I saw Spanish, Croatians, Polish, Irish, and American crests. We were a regular hodege podge of EDEN nations just inside the treeline.

That's when I saw the shadows coming at us. It turns out the attack on the plane was only the first strike and PHOENIX planned to take this airstip.

There's no way to tell who shot first. But as soon as they did the forest errupted in fire fight. The Croatian soldier beside me's skull exploded like a Watermelon at a Gallagher show. The onsluahgt of the Huns and the French was seemingly endless. Every wave that was turned back had one more in his place. I don't know if I was lucky, or if it was just a coincedence but the majority of the enemy forces seemed to be coming right at me. As they were rushing at me, more allies were doing the same. Our group of 10 or so quickly grew to 20 and eventually 35. After the last silhouette was killed it was time to assess the situation.

One of the Spanish soldiers had the rank of Comandante which is the equivalent of a Major so we were his to command. We quickly found a radio on one of our dead allies and tried to raise EDEN command. Finally after 5 minutes we got our orders. Push through the forest and capture the PHOENIX airfield on the otherside of the valley.

We broke into 7 teams of 5 based on language. Spread out a bit, and started making away through the dense vegetation. The best estimate anyone had was the the airfield was about 15 miles away. So to say we had a hike ahead of us would be understatement.

The next hour or so was completely uneventful. We made our way through the forest as silently and effectively as we could. Balancing speed and silence. As the sun began to go down (luckily we were on the west side of the mountain, other wise it would of gotten dark hours earlier) we saw them. Across a clearing we spotted a scout for a group of Hungarians that were probably given the same orders we were, "Take that airfield". Well only one of us were going to be successful, and I was going to do everything in my power to make sure it was us.

The battle itself is a blur. Instincts took over for most of it. It started with dropping the scout. Once he was killed the Hungarians knew we were there waiting for them. They had us out numbered, but not by much. The 3 groups in the middle of our line took up positions along the clearing and started exchanging fire with the Hungarians once they moved up their position. The two flanking groups each went around on their respective sides. It seems the Huns had the same tactic. Unfortunately for them we were ready for them. The first one dropped before he heard the shot. The fire fight that followed was short but intense. We lost 2 of our 10 men, but killed all 8 of theirs.

Advantage Us.

We continued pressing forward in an attempt to flank their main grouping. We then heard a fire fight erupt on the other side of the clearing. We hoped our allies on that side faired as well as we did. There would be no way to tell until the end when we were either going to have on fight left, or we'd find out that we had won. We moved through the forest like death itself. Moving from tree to tree not allowing ourselves more than a fraction of a second in the open to eliminate the chance of the enemy getting a bead on us. The plan did not work as planned. As I ducked behind a large oak they opened fire. Before I knew it our group of 8 was down to 4.

All that remained was myself, 2 Irishmen, and an english speaking Croatian. We were all pinned behind our trees, and couldn't move or we would most likely be shot before our second steps. Seconds seemed like hours, and minutes seemed like days. That's when it happened. I heard the most random and welcome thing I have ever heard in my entire life. It turns out I had counted wrong. There wasn't 4 of us left, there was 5, and the 5th wasn't pinned under a tree. I don't know what he was yelling, or what it meant but when that Irishman started screaming in Gaelic as he charged at the Huns guns blazing it was the most incredible thing I had ever seen. That's when my instincts kicked in.

I dove out from behind my tree and started shooting in the direction of the muzzle flashes from the enemy firing at the screaming Irishman. One, two, three, four. With each pull of our triggers a Hungarian fell. The few that remained soon realized what was happening and returned fire on us. The Croatian and one of the other Irishmen went down hard. Still we fired. There were two Hungarians left, and 3 of us. I opened fire on the left one as he killed the last pinned down Irishman. Then the screamer jumped back up and opened fire on the last of our enemy and killed him. After he fell the Irishman and my eyes met and in that moment with the gunfire still ringing in our ears, the silence was deafening. We quickly checked our fallen comrades to see if any were still alive. None were. We took ammo where we could find it, and then moved on to the Hungarians. Of the 12 that ambushed us only 1 was still clinging to life. As we approached he looked me in the eye and smiled. Then said what I'm assuming is the only word of English he knew. "Finish" then broke off eye contact and stared at my rfile. I denied him his last wish. Why should I do him any favors?

We were at a crossroads. Two of us were an easy mark for any Hungarians hiding in the trees, but at the same time we weren't quitters so we pushed on. As we approached where we thought the Hungarian central line was we heard all hell break loose. It turns out our boys circling around the otherside had won their battle handily, and didn't run into an ambush. The fight against the central force was a slaughter. With everyone focused on their northern flank the two of us approached without being detected and brought hell down on them from the rear. They didn't stand a chance. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.

By the time it was over the sun had set and it was night. We had 4 miles more to go but moving through the forrest in the pitch black was foolhardy to say the least. We set up camp and set our watches to go off an hour before dawn. We assigned sentries and went to sleep.

For the second time in as many nights I was rudely awakened. A young Spanish soldier was shaking me awake. He shock was almost as great as mine when out of instinct I pulled my sidearm out from under my pillow and stuck it to his temple out of instinct. That would be the last time the young man would ever use that tactic to wake up a soldier in the field. As the colour returned to his face he told me in his broken english, "Commandant want you go tent." I nodded my head in comprehension and made my way to where the Commandant had set up shop. Most of the other had already arrived.

I saw the Screamin' Irishman as I had started calling him and went over to ask if he knew what was going on. He said he didn't but that the radio we had used to contact EDEN back on the airfield when this whole clusterf@#$ had started had been going off in 3 or 4 different languages ever since he got there, and none of them were English. I started walking around asking if any of the foreign soldiers spoke English and finally found a Spaniard that did.

He told me the good news. PHOENIX had failed. Not just in Spain, but all over the world. Their great offensive had managed to capture only one of the territories they had tried for. Southern Thailand. Strategically relatively unimportant. It gave Indonesia a border with India again, but overall not a major loss in the grand scheme of things. Both Spanish controlled territories had been held, and it was time for those of us that made it through to celebrate.

Of the 250 people on the airstrip (40 of which were on the plane with me when I landed) when PHOENIX hit I knew of only 18 that managed to survive, and we had killed in excess of 150 Hungarians once it was all said and done. But I guess that's the way war goes. It's not how many men you lose or how many you kill, it's how many more you've got standing on the battlefield when all of theirs surrender, retreat or are dead. Because in the end that's the only way you measure victory.

What's the plan now you might be wondering? Well there's only one thing to do in times like this. Head back to Canada and wait for the next phone call to wake me up in the middle of the night and do it all over again. Because that's the life of a CAFer.