Out of the Sky (Part 1 of 2)

Day 761, 16:49 • Published in United Kingdom United Kingdom • by Asher Di Immortales

Rolls Royce engines roared like angry beasts as squadrons upon squadrons of RAF machines motored past overhead, raining fire and death beneath them as they went. Huge sheets of flame sprang into existence, momentarily illuminating the entire landscape in an eerie orange light whilst countless bombs rained down upon the blasted earth, creating a cacophony of noise that blasted the eardrums of even the most battle-hardened soldiers. The Swedish fighters were forced to seek shelter, cowering in their fortresses, watching helplessly as the RAF systematically destroyed all physical presence of Swedish imperialism.

Along a river of the sleekest black running through the dead centre of the battlefield came the Royal Marines, the elite corps of the Royal Navy. Wearing specially camouflaged suits with volume-distorting headsets, we were on a mission of the utmost stealth and importance.

“Marines, Paratroopers deploying in five minutes! Get a move on!” roared the operations coordinator through our intercom, but even as the words were spoken a shell burst on the bank of the river, sending clods of dirt flying in all directions, some crashing into our dinghy and knocking us off course. The plan in the ops room had been to launch a joint assault of the Royal Marines and Para-shoot regiment, while the Swedes would have been wiped out by the RAF. However, the power of the RAF had been underestimated and we Marines were consequently facing huge problems getting to the rendezvous point, not to mention the difficulty of remaining undetected.

The aerial bombardment began to slow – perhaps our luck was in? After all, there were only a certain number of planes available in the RAF.

In the darkness ahead of us we glimpsed the vile head and beastly protrusions of a gargantuan Swedish redoubt. It bestrode the river like a mechanical colossus, its loathsome gun turrets and beastly protrusions dominating the river, so that nothing could pass under it without being seen and destroyed.

Panic spread like wildfire through the Marines. The RAF bombardment had ceased by now and we could see no way to bring down the redoubt that was blocking our way, stopping us in our tracks. A deathly silence ensued, the only sounds being the distant bombardment of the Navy guns on the shoreline and the rapid breathing of the Marines.

Suddenly the battlefield erupted into life again, as quickly as it had stalled. To our right a group of gigantic shadows, blacker than the black of the night, rumbled into animation, their monstrous snouts revealing that they were an elite Swedish tank regiment. Cheers erupted from several redoubts, the loudest coming from the redoubt directly ahead of us, as Swedish planes shot across the sky, streaking it with their tracer bullets as they rushed to meet the British battleships on the shoreline. My fellow Marines’ faces became illuminated once again, and in them I saw a deeper sense of despair than I have ever seen before. All that was in our favour, the last clinging vestige of hope, was that we could remain unseen, while lined up against us was everything the Swedish army had.

A shell hit the boat.

What happened next?

This article is the first half of a duo of articles. The next shall be released on Wednesday 30th December.

Part of a series of articles aimed at Recruiting new players into the Military - subscribe for more tales of the Marines' valour