Death on the Nile: Hammer and Sickle, Part I

Journal Entry: October 5th, 1976. Day 37 of the Great CC (Communist Crocodile) Wars. The Commies have begun to seize northern Mexicrocian territory and were pushing closer to the capital.

The dust had only begun to settle, yet half our reptilians were lost to those damned commies. Noon struck with the scorches of the west Nile sun and our men grew weary, as noted by their lackadaisical and improper military formations. Sargeant Tooth ordered a retreat for all 112 of those that remained - we began the day with 225 - but most of us were too far in, or had our eardrums burst by artillery, to hear the call.

Clawd, Skale, Chomps, and I made it back in one piece, though. The four of us, that was it. A third of our platoon.

"Those Red Tides!" Skale lamented. "I'll get them back for everything they've done to us." He pounded his stubby foot in the sand, it didn't go very deep.

What started as a simple operation turned into an ambush. Normally, a single Croc could take on about 3 or 4 commies no problem, just a few quick bites, toss 'em around a bit, and you're done, but today was different. Not only did they know we were coming, but they were also prepared for combat thanks in part to a small group of mercenaries known as the Armoured Allies: 5 dangerous Alligators that even us Crocs fear.

"The Allies!?" Skale cried out. "How did they get them?"

"They are scum. Only the Commies would stoop that low," said Clawd.

The last few artillery strikes could be heard cracking the sky in the distance. One last hurrah by the enemy for their victory. Blast them!

"Tuna, you got the closest out of any us. Any word on them following us back?"

"No," I said. "From what I could gather they were pretty satisfied in staying put." That's right, I do recon. I have basic arms and jaw training like any other, but I'm mostly chilling in the Nile, gathering intel and sniping as many Commies as I can through stealth mode. Us Crocs are best at that. Ever seen a log or a big tree branch in a river or swamp? Yep, that's probably me.

"Arrogant nobodies. Hey Sarg, where is everyone?" Chomps cried out, looking over a few more Croc bodies that were rolling in.

"This be all of 'em," Sarg yelled out in that raspy, Irish accent of his. I usually understand about a third of what he says, to be honest. "We got separated from the last morter hail of theirs. Some be o'er there, and the rest be across the river!" He pointed his claws around the vast Mexican desert. We crawled in from Mexico CrocCity, about 100 kilometers southeast from here. Took us days!

"Sargeant Tooth!" That was Crocadrian, the radio transmitter Croc. In a past life he made film and cinema for Crocollywood, so we put him up to the coms as the tech-master. He got drafted into the war and boy was he not happy. "Command says we need to vamos to Crancún. Says we got to regroup there."

"Crancún? We just got our butts kicked and they want us to restock now!" Sarg believed in taking life the hard way, but he certainly wouldn't sacrifice his men if it meant exhausting them like a bunch of mules.

"No, Sarg, they said our squad's getting special training. Something about matching los Allies." His Spanish would sneak into his sentences every now and then. I still can't tell if he's doing it on purpose or he's failing to kick the habit. I know it drives Chomps crazy.

"Gah, fine. Crocs, gather up!"

We gathered. The six of us is all that remained of Platoon 50, and I guess it'll have to do for now. The rest of the separated herd was really just newbies who just got squared in with us as support. I felt bad for them, they didn't expect any fighting to this degree. Nor did we, of course. So many Crocs gave their lives.

"Crancún's our next stop. We go at dusk. For now, hydrate and find some food along the river."

"What's this about training, Sarg?"

"Beats me, but you good fer nothins need it more than ever! What was that formation? It was downright disgusting!"

"The sand is way too boggy. It's hard enough to zig and zag for us," I explained. Us Crocs are great in a straight line. But if you throw in some cuts and agility, its game over. Sarg hates excuses, though...

"The only one who needs more of it is Tuna!" Chomps just has to grill me about not being part of the infantry.

"You know, he's got that perfect jawline. Now that the Commies got the Allies, Tuna's the best man for the job."

"Say, you got a point there," agreed Sarg. They're referring to my bottom teeth that don't fit perfectly into the top. I guess it does make me look like a Gator, from far away at least, but do they really need to mention that?

"Shut up," I said. "I'm going to fill up some canteens." I grabbed a couple from the bunker behind Clawd.

"I'll help you," Clawd yelled after me.

Clawd and I are probably the closest of the bunch. He was my bunk mate back at base camp and we bonded over our love of Capybaras and Jazz. Clawd can list every jazz bassist out there right now, pretty impressive.

I waddled into the water and Clawd stood outside the ridge. He sits a couple of centimeters taller than me, ironically, he makes the better lookout in these situations. I filled the canteens with some fresh river water, but added a bit extra pebbles for Chomps for his earlier comments. It won't harm him, but it'll tick him off just a bit, which is all I live for; we Crocs eat just about anything, so it wouldn't be the first time a pebble or rock gets down our throats.

"What do you think of this training of ours?" Clawd asked me, as we pepped on back to our squad.

"I suppose its worthwhile. If the Allies are really teaming up with the Commies, then we could certainly use it."

"I agree, special-ops, it sounds like, yeah? Our elite groups are definitely dwindling now that they're getting older."

I nodded, the ropes to the canteens teetering in my mouth as it dragged along the sand.

We made it back to our team, but noticed a solemnness to the air. They looked at us, slightly horrified and pitiful. Sarge was holding the coms this time. He never does that, not unless its important.

"Tuna," he said. "Your brother..."

I opened my mouth, hearing the words come out of Sarge but refused to believe it...

End....

Catch Part II.... Next Week!

Thanks for reading!