A few hundred meters above land, RIM-controlled area

"All right, seven minutes! 122 Company, gas mask on!" The company commander stood up from his seat and looked out at the crowded cargo compartment of the transport air plane.

"Gas mask on!" the paratroopers repeated in unison.

The paratroopers started pulling out the masks from the bags and putting them on. Normally the regulations stated a maximum 10 seconds to put on the gas mask, but parachuting with the mask on required extra care. The troops took their time.

Private Jimm Timmlu carefully pulled the straps to tighten it, then he blocked the air inlet on the filter with his hand and inhaled. There was no hissing sound along the mask's contact areas with his skin, which meant no gas could leak in. He then inspected the gas mask on the soldier next to him, who returned the favour, doing thumbs up.

When finished, he could hear loud mumbling. The soldiers passed on what the company commander had said. It was hard to make yourself heard from inside the gas mask. It was almost comical. Almost.

"Five minutes, ready to jump!"

Timmlu passed on what he had heard, then he stood up. The ramp opened.


The faint moonlight barely penetrated the dense forest. Hip-hop could barely see the faces of the platoon and company leaders of the airborne companies that had gathered around him. And it was getting harder as they put on the dark masking paint. At least they didn't have to wear the gas mask any more. There was no indication of gas.

"Please continue as I proceed with the briefing" said Hip-hop. "We have scouted two trails, which we should avoid leaving as I can't guarantee there won't be mines. We will lead you to good positions west and south of the airfield as marked on your maps. The deception worked, as late as one hour ago the RIM garrison detached reinforcements to the other airfield. Ours should be manned by a skeleton crew, about two platoons."

"The saturation attack took out the missile battery but not the autocannons. We need to take them out before the airmobile brigade can land their troops."

"I have marked the positions of the IFV's and other dangerous stuff on your maps. I leave it to to company commanders to come up with a battle plan."

"The building marked with the letter A is the main quarters of the garrison. It will take them about one to two minutes to start pouring out and reinforce their positions. The other building, marked with B, is where we suspect they store chemical weapons. Do NOT let the RIMs enter as a contamination will jeopardize the entire operation."

"That concludes my little story time. Questions?"

There weren't any. The commanders returned to their units to plan the attack.


Private Timmlu couldn't believe how lucky they had been. The landing had been unopposed, and there was no gas. The midnight air was nice and clear, making the fast paced 15 km walk towards the RIM airfield that much easier. Still, he had to suppress hard panting as the column signalled 'halt'. Were they finally there? There was almost immediately a hand signal to continue forward. A hundred meters farther down the trail he could see why they had stopped. There were two dead RIM soldiers, both shot in the face, apparently with suppressors. Tough guys, these commandos.


Timmlu followed one of the commandos, crawling to the top of the small ridge overlooking the airfield. It was the one who had introduced himself as 'Hip-hop'. A ridiculous name, just like Operation 'Musical Cartography'.

Hip-hop picked up a large binocular-like device and looked into to it for a few moments. Then he gestured at Timmlu to cover his head.

A few moments of silence followed while the commando continued pointing that binocular thing in the same direction. Then Timmlu remembered, it was a device to guide missiles and artillery. A deafening explosion made the air tremble as what must have been a cruise missile hit something on the airfield.

"Fire!" a sharp voice ordered from somewhere and Timmlu picked up his sniper rifle to start looking for targets on the airfield. He could hear the platoon's recoilless anti-tank rifles opening fire, and some anti-tank missiles joined cacophony. The first thing he could see was some kind of armoured vehicle taking several hits and burning wreckages of what must have been IFVs. Then he saw someone running, trying to get to cover.

He took a deep breath and exhaled a bit, stabilising himself. He followed the soldier with the crosshairs. And took the shot. The soldier collapsed.

"Third platoon, alternately forward!" The sharp voice shouted again. It as a command for his platoon, but his individual order was to remain on the ridge to provide cover fire. He watched half of the platoon advance, then stop to provide cover fire as the other half past them, repeating the same manouvre.

He aimed the crosshairs at the largest entrance of building A. There he saw movement. He shot instinctively and could see how a man collapsed. A fellow RIM soldier tripped on him and fell. Timmlu shot him in the back before he had the chance to get up. He then gazed at his platoon to see how it fared.

They were still advancing towards building B, but he was horrified to see that two of his comrades were laying on the ground. He couldn't see who, but one of them was missing a leg and was squirming, and the other wasn't moving at all. An anxious voice calling for his mother could be heard over the noise of weapons fire.

"Focus on the enemy, ranger! Dammit! Building A, top window!" yelled Hip-hop.

Timmlu swore and aimed his rifle towards the windows of building A. But it was too late. A machine gun salvo mowed down three soldiers from one of the other advancing platoons. He emptied the entire magazine into the window where he could spot the flame from the barrel. The shooting stopped.

Such was private Timmlu's baptism by fire. It would haunt him for the rest of his life. The airborne companies managed to take and hold the airfield without more losses. A few hours later the first strategic transport craft started landing the airmobile brigade, and an airhead had been created.