Celtic Fury

Forward Outpost Gamma Four
Classified Location
June 17, 1304 AD; 9:37 AM (Himalayan Standard Time)

It was a bright, clear morning in the foothills of the Himalaya Mountains as Sergeant Ryan MacSchwartz sat in his observation post. The Sergeant, however, was not there to observe the ascent of the sun to its peak in the sky or the grass and trees surrounding his camouflaged tent, but to observe any military activity in the valley. But despite being assigned to the post nearly eight months earlier, there hadn’t been a hint of activity from anyone but some engineers that had travelled through on the railroad that snaked along the sides of the hills.

Frankly, he wasn’t happy. Sure he had an easy job pointing his camera at the roads and taking pictures of everything that moved. Sure there were worse places to be stationed, like Washington in the Siberian Highlands or the Jungles of Eboracum. But forward observation had to be among the worst, especially in the Himalayan District. It was below zero every day in the winter, and stifling in the summer.

But today already was shaping up to be a good day.

Scanning the valley floor, the young Sergeant saw a bright reflection of the sunlight near the poorly paved road that paralleled the rail tracks. As there was nothing naturally metallic in the area besides the railroad, this meant that something was moving or his eyes were deceiving him. He picked up his standard issue binoculars and stared at the bend in the road. For a minute, nothing was visible, then the rumble of what could only be a truck reached his ears.

Cautiously, he flipped his radio transmitter on with his left hand while continuing to bore into the road with his eyes. The sound grew in intensity as his eyes grew tired. He didn’t blink. Then in the road a military truck came hurtling around the bend, followed closely by dozens more. Mentally, he counted them and grew concerned, then worried as the number reached above twenty.

Thumbing the transmission button on his radio, he called into HQ to report the movement as trucks continued to roll by. No convoy was expected according to the latest reports from Celtic Military Intelligence, and no other observation posts had reported anything moving within miles of the border.

Despite the relative calm of the operator’s voice, Sergeant MacSchwartz could tell that something was amiss. The trucks were obviously carrying soldiers and since no movement at all was expected in the area, they had to be up to no good. The convoy continued to roll by until it was followed by something that couldn’t be possible: a radar truck.

Flipping open his identification book, he found no trace of the truck’s figure. In fact, the only reason that he knew by sight that it was a radar truck was that his previous job had been guarding Celtic radar equipment near Grand River. They had only military applications and none were friendly.

He leaned in closer for a better look but then heard a loud crack followed rapidly by a tear. As he fell backwards off his seat, more rapid gunfire, for that was the only possible explanation, tore through the walls of his observation post. Ramming his finger into the transmitter, he shouted a call for help into the radio as the walls were shredded with bullets.

He didn’t know if his message got through or not, but it was his duty to his country. He was under attack and if he was to survive, he would have no choice but to fight. Surrender was not an option as the assailants clearly would not accept it. Grabbing his pistol from its place at his hip, he fired off several shots at his adversaries before a round struck him in the shoulder. Pain shot through his body as his gun fell to the dirt floor. Three more bullets struck his vulnerable form as Sergeant Ryan MacSchwartz succumbed to the darkness.