[furryclan] game diaries

When a game as revolutionary as Operation Flashpoint comes along, the stories told about it are guaranteed to live forever. [furryclan] reflects on tales of war.

[GhostRider]: 2002-04-24: The ambush

As we arrived at the ambush site, I felt a chill. I'm not sure if it was the crisp cool desert morning or my fear of what I was about to encounter. My partner and I were part of a larger force, but through a strange set of circumstances, we found ourselves nearly alone against a significantly larger enemy force. My partner, [_Sfly29_], was much more experienced than I. He had ambushed dozens of convoys just like this, while I had only been on one or two other operations without much success.

As we began our preparations, Fly instructed me in placing the mines and satchel charges in the proper locations. It was really a rather simple plan. Intelligence had indicated that a Russian convoy would be moving from a small village on the west side of the island to the airbase nearby to resupply the helicopter company that was based there. If everything went according to plan, the convoy would consist of a BMP leading three Urals. We would wait for the BMP to hit the mines, or take it out with an RPG. Then we'd blow the satchels, taking out the trucks, shoot whatever troops survived and make our way back to our camp. This seemed like small potatoes, but would make a huge impact if the fuel and supplies failed to arrive. That was the kind of break we needed.

And so, off we went, just the two of us. I laid a mine and several satchel charges along the middle of the road while Fly placed some other satchels nearby. The position of the ambush was tactically advantageous, if not a little obvious. It was the only real landmark on the nearly flat and straight roadway which connected the village with the airbase. The ambush point was a large outcropping of rocks and shrubs. It was a real contrast to the flat, featureless desert that surrounded us.

Soon, we heard the BMP approaching. I picked up my RPGs and my M-21. I loaded up with as many magazines as I could. I took up a position on the southwestern edge of the outcropping and waited. Fly was nearby, on the southern edge of the outcropping, slightly east of my position. As the convoy approached, I felt the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Some thing was wrong. I desperately scanned the convoy through the scope of my M-21 trying to figure out what was so out of place.

Then I saw it. A second BMP was approaching from the west. When it was about 400 metres away, I could see that it was discharging troops. Had our ambush been compromised? It was too late to worry about that now. Just as I saw the Russian officer disembark the second BMP, I heard a deafening roar. I knew that the first BMP had hit my mine. I quickly set off my satchels and heard a second, earthshaking explosion. I moved my rifle to the left and scanned the carnage that I had wrought. My quick assessment was that no enemy troops had survived the devastation. I swung my rifle back to the left, observed the second BMP approaching fast, and quickly began firing at the enemy troops. I first took out the officer, who made the fatal mistake of getting up and trying to lead an assault in my direction. Then a second shot, and the machine gunner dropped. The rest of the platoon quickly hit the deck, trying desperately to conceal themselves behind any grain of sand that would provide relief. There would be no relief today. I quickly dispatched the entire platoon, stopping to reload only once.

As soon as I was sure that there were no more troops coming from the western approach, I realized that the second BMP was still on the move. He'd passed in front of my position twice since I began firing, but my cover was excellent and I was not spotted. I called out to Fly, wondering why he had not dispatched the BMP with his RPGs. I received no response. I was gravely concerned, but had no time to react. Just then, a Russian tank crew member ran towards me from around the outcropping. Without need of my scope, I put to shots into his belly. My heart was racing. As I regained control of my sphincter, I realized that the Russian BMP was bearing down on me. I moved as fast as I could, changing from my M-21 to my RPG. I rose up just as the BMP was turning his turret toward me. I got of my shot at less than 50 metres and was blown down by the concussion of the explosion. The BMP made a terrific site as it came to a screeching halt. I quickly retrieved my primary weapon and waited for the inevitable escape of the Russian crew. But there would be no escape today. Best I can figure, either the close distance or the position of the shot were just right and killed those Commie bastards right there in their metal coffin.

This is when I started to feel really weird. I must have gotten a concussion from the BMP explosion because I swear I was hearing voices. It sounded like Fly was calling to me. I ran to him and found his lifeless form riddled with bullets. Yet the feeling persisted. "Watch the east," it was saying. I quickly took up position on the southeast edge of the outcropping and found a platoon of infantry approaching from the east. I'm not sure what they were waiting for, but they conveniently spread out into a line formation and dropped to the prone position. This made them easy prey. Following the instruction of Gary Cooper in the movie "Sgt York," I started from the rear rank and slowly picked them off one by one. In the prone position, the head shots were easy ... one shot, one kill. Within minutes, they were dispatched and I was searching for my next target.

That's when I really got scared. As I adjusted my gaze to the north, I was horrified to see a T-72 bearing down on me. I was sure that was the end because just as I began to pick up an extra RPG from Fly's corpse, I heard a Hind flash overhead. I ducked, loaded my RPG, took aim on the T-72 and fired. Before the smoke had a chance to clear, I was reloading. As I obtained a clear sight picture on the tank, I heard the sound of his machine gun. But it was too late. My RPG ripped through the hull of that metal giant like it was made of paper. The explosion was awesome. However, I was horrified to see all three tank crewmen escape without apparent injury. I again took up the M-21 and fired at them mercilessly. After loosing approximately seven rounds, I had knocked them all down.

With a moment to recover my senses, I realized that I was still in a very difficult situation. My M-21 had only 3 rounds left and I had no more magazines. I scurried as quickly as I could to the ammo crates, secreted behind my position. I was able to take four fresh magazines for my trusty rifle and two rounds for the RPG and I ran back to my original post, on the southwest edge of the outcropping. My Guardian Angel was looking out for me on this day. I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye of a squad of Russian infantry approaching from the west. A quick scan of the horizon revealed another partial squad approaching from the southwest. I was going to have my hands full with this bunch!

I decided my biggest threat lay to the west. I could still hear the Hind circling overhead, but had not yet seen it fire a single round. I worried that they were calling in my position to the ground troops, alerting them that I was alone. As the platoon to the west moved in, they were in a perfect position to exploit my right flank. I refused to allow that to happen. Through persistent and accurate fire from my M-21, I was able to drop each member of that ill-fated platoon. They managed to advance to within 50-60 metres of my position, but I held strong. Swinging my gaze back toward the southwest, I found that the officer of that squad had advanced his men to the road and they were nearly on me. I was able to take out the officer, but lost sight of the machine gunner and the medic as they moved to my left. I continued pounding away at the exposed troops, resisting their futile efforts to defeat me.

When I could see no more soldiers in front of me, I backed away from the small rise that I was using for cover. I moved to my left, toward my fallen compatriot. As I cleared a small shrub guarding the eastern edge of the outcropping, the machine gunner that I had seen earlier came over the rise. I raised my rifle to cut him down, but nothing happened. His PK had fired first, ripping through me and severing my spine. I felt very little pain as I watched my bloody, tattered body fall to the ground. It was like floating on a cloud. I saw the machine gunner contemptuously check my limp corpse for any signs of life. Seeing none, he moved on, clearing the rest of the area in search of other Resistance fighters. He would find none. And few would hear of our brave, bitter and some say futile struggle to rid our island of the Communist invaders. Perhaps we could have succeeded, if only we'd been more in number, greater in skill, or stronger of heart.

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