There's a startling efficiency in modern warfare. What was yesterday a sandy hill above a beach, bordered by the crystalline waters of Mediterranean, today blooms forth grey-walled barracks, camouflaged tents, metal antennas scraping against the sky. Humvees--the actual Humvees, not what wealthy suburbanites drive back in America--carry hard-sided plastic containers along make-shift streets. A blue flag with a white insignia flies above it all.
Camp Halo--United Nations operational base, Operation Seraphim, just south of Jableh, Syria.
Camp commander is Major Sam Winchester, First Battalion commander, United States Army. He operates out of an office on the north end of camp. It's always swarming with uniformed administrators, commanders from a variety of nations, UN, governmental, and NGO officials trying to run a war that isn't a war.
The Red Cross tent is near the east edge of the base, not far from the American military field hospital. Civilians and medical corps officers mingle here, both treating the injured as well as preparing humanitarian relief packages for delivery to the hardest hit areas.
In the middle of the camp lie the mess hall, the commissary, and the barracks. It's like stepping into the middle of the UN itself--dozens of languages, a tapestry of uniforms and civilian clothes, soldiers playing volleyball, music blaring.
On the western edge sit a few trailers of a higher quality than the rest. The personnel roaming in and out of them wear dark fatigues and bear no flags on their shoulders. These are the private military contractors--soldiers-for-hire that are met with equal parts fear and admiration.
Communications tents to the south, supply units in between the buildings--it's almost like a city. And indeed, with the plethora of soldiers, relief workers, politicians, and mercenaries buzzing down its avenues, it almost is. A city with no neighborhoods, no industry, no movie theaters, no libraries.
Only blue helmets and a vague sense of purpose.
Around it all is a fence, twelve feet tall and bordered by razor wire. Towers loom over each corner, the barrel of a high-powered rifle visible even from the ground. Gates are manned by soldiers carrying automatic weapons. Some look barely old enough to drive, but they are licensed to defend the base by any means necessary.
You've received your orders, and you know why you're here. The forward deployment teams--Major Winchester's men, a few UN officials, were the first to arrive. The rest have trickled in over the last few days. Find your barracks, settle in, get to work.
