The Guaranteed Ones

The day was the fifteenth of September 2025. The location bombed out London. Through the teeth of the American machine the Houthi Rebels made their advance. Gaining military might with every passing day. First came the jets. Then the submarines. Then the laser weapons.

In fact, there was talk that the Houthis had developed a machine that could destroy continents. The Americans wanted to help, but earlier in the summer, the country was hit with a series of six nuclear weapons spread out across its continental area. The nukes all went off within an hour of each other, not adjusting for time zones.

The American forces were left without a leader, without any way of contacting home or getting the news. Stranded in a foreign land.

The Baker Squad was known as a statistical force, made in the Air Force to fight today’s war. Right. These kids were still half in diapers, the drool still slipping from the corner of their mouths. They were the guaranteed ones.

Their leader, Commander Shakestint, was “a man after the army’s own heart.” But this was the air force. Beating your head against a rock until water came out was neither feasible nor advisable at 25 thousand feet.

“Well, what is the news from back home?” said Shakestint, speaking to the cowering radioman.

“I might as well be dialing the Houthi rebels,” said Marcus Manna, the squad’s radioman.

“Keep trying. We should be making it towards the ridge by the end of nightfall.”

“Who told us to take that ridge?”

“Headquarters said…”

“When did they say that? I’ve been standing on this radio since we jumped. They never told me to…”

“Look, an order is an order, soldier! Carry out your duty…!”

“Are you sure that headquarters told you that we should take that ridge?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

“I am an officer in the US Air Force. It is your duty. You are compelled to obey my commands.”

“What happens if there are no commands? No orders? What if the whole structure has come down about our ears?”

“Don’t let the secret hit you…”

“I’m telling you something.”

“What are you telling me, private?”

“Corporal.”

“Well, we’ll see about that when HQ finds out about your little…outburst.”

“Jamestown got sniped the other day.”

“It was friendly fire.”

“So? Bullets kill nonetheless!”

“He was a casualty.”

“He was our marksman!”

“Well, this is a war, private, and I…”

“Corporal!”

“Listen to me, Corporal Manna, we will make it home. I guarantee you this. And – and when we do…”

“Who died and made you Santa Claus.”

“Uncle Sam did!”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“You’re Santa Claus?”

“That’s what’s written on my taxes.”

“Well, that marksman of ours isn’t going to be making any moves for a while.”

“Our grenadier…”

“He’s not a marksman. He’s only rated to 400 yards. And he’s…”

“He’s trained on the marksman’s TeddSIE rifle. He can make the adjustments…”

“Balderdash! I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Technically, you did.”

Suddenly, a gang of jets flew overhead. Soon after, a series of explosions occurred, shaking the ground and further crumbling the surrounding ruins. Luckily, it was still light out. But maybe unluckily.

“This is the army.”

“This is not the army. This is the air force!”

“This is the US military, and if you’re not ready to…”

Suddenly, Manna’s radio flared up. A voice was heard over the intercom.

“Hello? Do you copy?” said the voice on the radio. “Combat HQ. Do you read me? Please comply. Do you understand?”

“Combat HQ, this is DOGE squad, located in X5 location. Please transmit transponder code Alpha.”

“Transponder code Alpha-362-Beta-95. Secured.”

“What?”

“Transponder complete please relay your specific location for extraction.”

“What’s wrong?” said Shakestint.

There was a long pause on the other end of the radio.

“GHQ? Do you read me? Transponder codes incomplete. Please compile and say again.”

“Transponder codes incomplete?”

“I repeat. Transponder codes incomplete. Please recompile and say again. Over.”

Just then,, there was a giant explosion in the vicinity. Soldiers could be heard shouting.

“Well, I’ll be a cowboy’s uncle. He wants transponder codes.”

Just then, the two air force officers realized that they had been had. The Houthis had captured GHQ and were now transponding on the Army’s secret frequency.

“Now you listen to me, mister Corporal Manna – if that is your real name.”

“Yeah? What do you want?”

“I’ve got fifteen thousand tons of custard pies sitting here with your name on them. Now, do you want this custard pie, or should I send it back to Walmart?”

“You’re gonna need a new custard pie-shaped hole when I get a hold of you, Houthi.”

“Now, now, now. The American can’t touch what the American can’t grab. Don’t let your prior successes crown your head.”

“You’ll do that for me, I’m sure.”

“He’s manipulating you,” said Shakestint. “Hang up.”

“I’m not under the command of Houthis. I am an American paratrooper.”

“I said hang up, Manna!”

Just then, hysterical laughter could be heard over the radio. Moments later, both Shakestint and Manna had left the area, the laughter on the radio being heard only by the worms in gerbils who hadn’t been liquefied by the advancing jet fire.

Shakestint and Manna walked over towards base camp, Shakestint carrying his weapon across the middle because it had no ammo. They came across an injured man laying among sandbags, a medic tending a wound to his chest.

“This is the air force,” said Shakestint.

“I know that,” said the wounded man. “Are you a comedian, or something more sinister?”

“We need you firing that rifle.”

“Well, I need me breathing through my nose and mouth. The conflict of the ages has come upon us.”

The injured man then began coughing, a slight amount of blood being expended from his mouth.

Suddenly the sound of a thousand motorcycle engines came.

“Tank. Quiet,” said Shakestint.

All the men sank as the Dragonzilla main battle tank rolled by. Were they ashamed?