No Alarms and No Surprises

Porteus, their platoon commander, leopard-crawled through the rocks to them with Muldoon, the long-suffering platoon sergeant, in tow. Mickey and Dook exchanged a private look which Muldoon must have seen. "Enjoying yourselves lads?"

They grunted their monosyllabic replies.

"Nice day for it, eh?" He looked in vain for enthusiastic responses. "You'll be delighted to know we've just ordered up a little lunchtime entertainment for our ragheaded friends over there."

On queue, a Harrier jet screeched overhead. It performed a first pass - presumably to check what it was supposed to be attacking - executed a long sweeping turn and came back around to unload both of its rocket pods into one of the hills they had been watching all morning. It erupted in a series of explosions, the sound rippling across to them moments after the vision.

"Those bastards'll be back in the bar for a beer and a blowjob before you can blink," alliterated Porteus.

He seemed to be expecting more action so they all dutifully watched and waited until it became clear that no more Harriers were coming to the party after all. Dook thought aloud: "What if they hit the wrong hill?"

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