Story #2242

Final FTX, Sand Hill. Our perimeter is a hot mess. The company has spent the whole cycle wracked with discipline issues. We are averaging a negligent discharge every 2 hours that evening, requiring everyone to be awoken and dive into our foxholes and blindly fire at the imaginary contact (these failures at weapons safety would continue to be a theme at this FTX). We’ve all become increasingly paranoid as we know that our SDS is on OPFOR that night, and he’s a badass. He also has previously told us of his fondness for Call of Duty, and that he has a surprise planned for us during this particular FTX. All of us are eager to see if we can withstand his eventual assault, or if we’ll just end up getting our shit wrecked like every other cycle before us.

Sitting in my foxhole are Privates G (the Platoon Medic) and S. Our platoon (3rd) has as odd number of soldiers, and we are the end of the line stationed right next to the start of 4th Platoon’s section of the line. Private G unceremoniously decided earlier in the evening to piss uphill of our foxhole, and gravity decided to make its rebuttal by dragging his urine into my section of the fighting position. I am cold, tired, and soggy from lying in the prone in human urine.

At around 2300 hours, we hear the crackling of blanks being fired from an M240 and bright flash in the forest. It is the SDS himself, wearing the distinct skull-faced mask of the Call of Duty Character Ghost from MW2. He fires several bursts before darting back into the woods. The terrified 4th Platoon Privates return fire haphazardly, several of them with improperly tightened BFAs, resulting in a hilarious symphony of idiotic privates firing into the woods Predator-style with bolt-action M4s. Over the course of the next 20 minutes, the SDS harasses their positions with more sporadic machine gun fire, and they obliging return fire, revealing more and more of their positions to him with each failed attempt at suppressing fire.

All is silent for 15 minutes. All we hear next is the loudest and most drawn out burst of 240 fire I have ever heard, easily the whole belt. We later discover that the SDS had low-crawled all the way up to 10 meters away from 4th Platoon’s line, and then unloaded into them, “killing” a third of the platoon in one fell swoop. He continued to push through, firing the M240 from the high ready, deranged skull mask glowing from the flashes as he blasted away at foxhole after foxhole. He disappears for another 5 minutes.

Our fighting position is startled by a metallic “dink” sound, the sound of a human being tripping our E-tools we’d left behind the foxhole. Private G turns around and calls “Halt”, as we were instructed to earlier as chow. It is our SDS, and he decides to reply by shooting Private G, then shooting Private S to my left. Before I even know what’s going on, the SDS dives onto my legs, presses an M4 he’d apparently taken from a dead 4th Platoon Private to the back of my head, and whispers “Scream for a Medic, dipshit!”, evidently planning to lure in other privates.

In terror and confusion, I comply, and begin wailing “Medic, Medic!” Private G, still dazed and confused, rolls over and says “Drill Sergeant, I’m the medic, should I-…”

“Shut up dipshit, you’re dead!”

My frantic wails for a medic continue to be unanswered, and the SDS instructs me to get dramatic. I begin calling out “Help, I’m bleeding out! Somebody help me! Medic! Medic!” Growing impatient, the SDS tells me I’m dead, robs me of all my ammo, and continues his rampage. Private G, S, and I stare at each other long and hard in the darkness, not quite sure what had happened. Faintly, off in the distance, we hear a member of 4th Platoon calling for a medic. His cries are echoed down the line, and one by one the remainder of 4th Platoon sprints to his aid… to be gunned down by the SDS as they arrive. By the morning light, he’d “killed” 60 so Privates.

Thus is the story of our SDS’s real life Call of Duty massacre…