Ghosts of California Pt II

The summer wind waved the tall grass and the low bushes in the South Georgia heat. A tall rock to the east stood well above the meadow and commanded an excellent view all the way to the pecan orchards in the south. To the west there lay a few small trees and some thicker underbrush. Two men walked around that area and beat the bushes with sticks. Apart from the cracking of brush and the whisper of a specter audience from the fields there was a nerve-wracking silence, broken only by the muted static of a two-way radio.
Suddenly there came a deafening crack and a piece of metal clanged and then swung back and forth. Immediately the radios came to life and orders flew from the vehicles parked north of the target. The two men with sticks were joined by four more that were now searching with renewed vigor. Two officers stood in the back of a truck and scanned the brush with binoculars. One stared at a spot for a moment, and then tapped the other to draw his attention to the object. The second smiled, “We’ve got him this time. This will be one of my most enjoyable days.”
They both chuckled and then one spoke into a radio. The men out in the brush converged on the spot and poked their sticks into the bush that stood there, yet again, they did not find what they were looking for.
Again, there came that unnerving sound of impact and again the target swung in the breeze.
The senior officer swore, “Damn! How did he do that? We had him for sure.”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Well, he’s a fine soldier.” He picked up a bullhorn and spoke into it, “You win! You can come out now.”
The two waited expectantly to see a shadow move and their man appear, but nothing happened. There came a startled cry from the men in the brush and one of them gestured toward the rock formation. On the top of it stood a bush carrying a rifle.
The bush turned and jumped down from the rock. It began walking to the vehicles.
When it arrived it appeared to grab its chin and throw its head back, revealing the face of a grinning young man, smeared with dirt and charcoal.
The senior officer stepped down from the truck and extended a hand, “Congratulations, son, you passed. Better head back to the barracks and get cleaned up before evening role call, you look like you crawled out of a sewer.”
The young man saluted, “Thank you, Major. I did, on maneuvers this morning.”
The Major laughed and patted the young man on the back.

It was the ninth of September, when that young man walked into the recruiting office and joined a fledgling outfit known as the GHOSTs. The nickname stood for Guerrilla and Hidden Operations Strike Team. Many said that the ‘s’ on the end stood for Snipers. Be that as it may, it was an elite unit, intended for extremely dangerous missions behind enemy lines. The men were taught to live off the land, how to track, how to hunt small game with only a knife and, most importantly, how to do as much possible damage to the enemy without being harmed themselves. All that, and they were only just finished with Basic.
After that, things got tougher, guerrilla tactics, operating and disarming nuclear devices, jumping from airplanes, operating stolen equipment, sniping, camouflage, and psych warfare.
Then came the final test. The boots, often called ‘spooks’ or ‘haunts’ by the drill sergeants, were taught how to fly. Not how to pilot, they could already do that in their sleep, no, they were taught the fine art of being launched from an airplane several hundred feet above the earth at several times the speed of sound and coming down safely ready to fight. Since the system is wonderful to watch in use, I would love to explain it to you, however the technical details are highly guarded military secrets and I cannot reveal them lest I commit treason. Let it suffice to know that there was a special suit worn by the Ghosts for this kind of mission that enabled them to glide for short periods provided their speed was great enough.
After this training, the young man emerged alongside his mates, a lieutenant in charge of the 2nd platoon of the famous, in fact legendary, Ghost Company.

“Cass, you see that stump over there.”
Sergeant Jeffery “Casper” Kentworth nodded.
“Just to the right of it, behind that bush. You see it?”
“Yeah, lieutenant.”
“Range?”
“I make two hundred and fifty yards.”
“Close enough, I make it two forty-five.”
The lieutenant’s rifle barked.
“Good call, lieutenant, you got him.”
Lieutenant James Carver grinned, “Sure did. That will irritate Corporal Zane and Cpl. Logan.”
The two laughed together. It was about eighteen months after they had joined up; they had completed their intense training and were now simply staying prepared in case they were ordered out to battle.
Carver slowly stood, checking his surroundings all the while. It was habit now; it would have felt strange not to check. Cass rolled to his left and then rose so that he was several feet away from the lieutenant but still close enough for easy communication.
These two had been leaders from the start. The commanding officers had chosen them early on as possible officers and had made them buck sergeants. From that day forward, they had attracted attention as leaders. Many others came and went but these two stayed, and not only did James Carver do his best to keep his own boot chevrons but saw to it that Casper kept his. The men that had trained under their command had excelled all others. Now James was a lieutenant in charge of the 2nd Platoon and Casper had taken his place as Assistant Platoon Leader and commander of the 1st Squad in that platoon. What had set them apart was that they led instead of pushed; James was a firm believer in never asking his men to do something he would not do himself. He led the charges on fixed positions, if there was a difficult shot to take on maneuvers he took it. Any dangerous ‘missions’ were under his command or, if he was needed with the rest of the unit, Cass would lead. So it was that they were in command of one of the most lethal platoons in the most elite unit in the world when the war started.

I will not go in to the politics of the war, how it started and why, who was right and who was wrong. Some say that the U.S. had it coming to them. Others say that tyrannical dictators, trying to crush any semblance of freedom in the world, started the war. All I know is that it was war and there was a job for the Ghosts. Killing was their business, and business was good.
A coalition of Central and South American countries had invaded the Southwestern United States. It was broadcast on the news that there was sporadic skirmishing south of San Diego and east through Arizona and New Mexico, then down into West Texas. The real story was that San Diego fell, and two weeks later Los Angeles followed it. San Antonio was in danger and the enemy was overrunning Silver City and Tucson. The Americans were reeling back and trying to regroup after the onslaught. Someone decided that this was the perfect place to test how good the Ghosts really were.