- May 4, 2021
- 2,373
Bordering Soil Attack
Prelude
The Sungai Kolok Border Checkpoint, nestled at the edge of Narathiwat near the symbolic Thai-Malaysian Friendship Bridge, was enveloped in a serene, chilly night. The clock showed 2055, just a handful of minutes before the checkpoint's nightly closure. The bustling activity of the day had dwindled, giving way to a tranquil atmosphere. Most of the two thousand well-equipped members of the Republic Thai Paramilitary Force had already settled into their nocturnal routines. The day had been busier than usual, a reflection of the growing unrest in neighboring Malaysia.
In the quiet of the evening, an unexpected development stirred the stillness. A convoy of ten vehicles, their headlights piercing the darkness, approached the checkpoint. They rolled steadily across the bridge that stood as a testament to the friendship between Thailand and Malaysia. The sight was unusual for this hour; the checkpoint was on the brink of closing, and the night typically brought a sense of finality to the border's daily passage. What urgent mission or unexpected circumstance had prompted this late-night crossing? The convoy's arrival at such an uncharacteristic time hinted at underlying currents, possibly linked to the escalating tensions in the south. The border force, ever vigilant, embraced themselves to respond to whatever the night might unveil.
The radio in the border control room crackled to life, disrupting the stillness of the night. "Station One, Station One," the voice on the other end announced, its tone urgent yet controlled. "Approximately ten vehicles are crossing the bridge. Hold the checkpoint closure, extend operations for another thirty minutes. The reason for this unexpected crossing is unclear. Stay alert. Out."
Inside the softly lit control room, two men stood in stark contrast to the cool, velvety night outside. The warmth of the fluorescent lights cast a mundane glow on the scene. One of the men, slumped in a chair by the window, exhaled a frustrated sigh. "Oh, come on! Not today, please," he grumbled, his voice tinged with the fatigue of a long shift. He peered through the window, his gaze fixed on the approaching convoy. "What could those Malaysians possibly want at this hour? Why couldn't they just travel in a single bus?" he mused aloud, his tone a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.
With a resigned gesture, he reached for a button on the control panel, pressing it firmly. In an instant, the area around his checkpoint was bathed in bright light, illuminating the surroundings and casting sharp shadows. The checkpoint, now fully awake and alert, braced itself for the approaching vehicles.
The rhythmic roar of car engines approached, blending into the night like the low, insistent strings of a violin, subtly yet unmistakably altering the quiet atmosphere. In the corner of the room, another man, seemingly detached from the escalating situation, was engrossed in his phone. "This Angry Birds game's really something, huh?" he commented casually, his attention more on the screen than the scene unfolding outside. "Just give me a shout if you need me. I'm pretty good at multitasking, you know," he added with a hint of nonchalance, seemingly lost in the world of his game.
The man by the window, burdened with the responsibility of the main shift, let out a resigned sigh. "Do whatever, mate. Just keep your ears open, okay?" he replied, his voice tinged with a mix of annoyance and resignation. As he spoke, the lead car of the convoy came to a halt before his window, the bright lights of the checkpoint casting a stark glow on its sleek surface. With practiced ease, the man at the window leaned forward, his eyes meeting those of the car's occupants as the window rolled down. He switched seamlessly to fluent Malaysian; his tone professional yet friendly. "How are you? What brings you here tonight?" he inquired, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and official duty.
The Thai guard, maintaining his professional demeanor, faced a man in sunglasses, who sat alone in his dark car. The man's voice, tinged with urgency, conveyed a depth of personal tragedy. "My family died a few hours ago. It’s an emergency, I am in a hurry," he revealed, his tone a mixture of command and desperation.
The Thai guard, adhering to protocol yet sensitive to the situation, continued his questioning. "I understand, sir. Could you please provide your passport, visa, and car insurance for verification?" he asked, his voice steady as he prepared the identification machine and computer beside him. "And how long do you plan to stay? Where will you be staying?"
Fumbling in his bag, the Malaysian man responded, "Probably a day or two. I'll be staying at my family's home here." His voice was steady, masking the turmoil beneath.
"Alright," the Thai guard acknowledged, his tone remaining professional yet empathetic. "And what's your occupation back home? Do you have any specific plans while here? Are the other cars with you part of your group?"
Glancing to his left, where the other vehicles lined up, the Malaysian man nodded. "I work at a home improvement store just across the bridge. My plans are not set yet; I might travel around a bit. Yes, those cars are with me – they're my relatives and some friends."
Observing the Malaysian man ceasing his search in the bag and shifting his hand towards the car's gear, the Thai guard swiftly turned to his colleague. "Kob, check the vehicle, will you?" he requested with a sense of urgency. Abruptly, the car's engine thundered to life, and an object, hard and round, struck him. "Ouch! What was that?" he exclaimed, bewildered. As he spun around, the car was already retreating rapidly in reverse.
Kob, previously engrossed in his phone, snapped to attention. "What's wrong?" he queried, his tone laced with concern. Rising to his feet, he spotted something ominous on the ground. His heart pounded alarmingly. "Oh no, a bomb!" he yelled, a mix of fear and urgency in his voice. Without hesitation, he dashed towards the door, shouting, "RUN!" His companion was already in flight, adrenaline fueling their escape. The night air was abruptly shattered by a series of deafening explosions. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Flames erupted, engulfing the area in a bright inferno. Amidst the chaos, the men struggled to flee the control room, their escape hindered by the sudden, violent tumult.
As the clock inched towards 2100, the standard hour of closure, an orchestrated turmoil unraveled under the deceptive guise of a mundane border crossing. Ten vehicles, seemingly innocuous in their approach, initiated a synchronized assault, shattering the night's calm.
The serene sky, embroidered with stars, contrasted sharply with the chaos unfolding beneath. The tranquil night sky, a velvet tapestry, bore witness to an unfolding nightmare. Infernal flames erupted, voraciously consuming the Sungai Kolok Border Checkpoint. This juxtaposition of celestial beauty and terrestrial havoc painted a surreal picture—a tranquil universe above, indifferent to the fiery maelstrom below.
In this abrupt descent into chaos, the checkpoint, a symbol of order and routine, succumbed to the ferocious blaze. The night air, once crisp and still, now roiled with heat and turmoil, as the flames danced their destructive ballet, reducing the structure to a mere shadow of its former self.
In the quiet of the evening, an unexpected development stirred the stillness. A convoy of ten vehicles, their headlights piercing the darkness, approached the checkpoint. They rolled steadily across the bridge that stood as a testament to the friendship between Thailand and Malaysia. The sight was unusual for this hour; the checkpoint was on the brink of closing, and the night typically brought a sense of finality to the border's daily passage. What urgent mission or unexpected circumstance had prompted this late-night crossing? The convoy's arrival at such an uncharacteristic time hinted at underlying currents, possibly linked to the escalating tensions in the south. The border force, ever vigilant, embraced themselves to respond to whatever the night might unveil.
The radio in the border control room crackled to life, disrupting the stillness of the night. "Station One, Station One," the voice on the other end announced, its tone urgent yet controlled. "Approximately ten vehicles are crossing the bridge. Hold the checkpoint closure, extend operations for another thirty minutes. The reason for this unexpected crossing is unclear. Stay alert. Out."
Inside the softly lit control room, two men stood in stark contrast to the cool, velvety night outside. The warmth of the fluorescent lights cast a mundane glow on the scene. One of the men, slumped in a chair by the window, exhaled a frustrated sigh. "Oh, come on! Not today, please," he grumbled, his voice tinged with the fatigue of a long shift. He peered through the window, his gaze fixed on the approaching convoy. "What could those Malaysians possibly want at this hour? Why couldn't they just travel in a single bus?" he mused aloud, his tone a mixture of curiosity and annoyance.
With a resigned gesture, he reached for a button on the control panel, pressing it firmly. In an instant, the area around his checkpoint was bathed in bright light, illuminating the surroundings and casting sharp shadows. The checkpoint, now fully awake and alert, braced itself for the approaching vehicles.
The rhythmic roar of car engines approached, blending into the night like the low, insistent strings of a violin, subtly yet unmistakably altering the quiet atmosphere. In the corner of the room, another man, seemingly detached from the escalating situation, was engrossed in his phone. "This Angry Birds game's really something, huh?" he commented casually, his attention more on the screen than the scene unfolding outside. "Just give me a shout if you need me. I'm pretty good at multitasking, you know," he added with a hint of nonchalance, seemingly lost in the world of his game.
The man by the window, burdened with the responsibility of the main shift, let out a resigned sigh. "Do whatever, mate. Just keep your ears open, okay?" he replied, his voice tinged with a mix of annoyance and resignation. As he spoke, the lead car of the convoy came to a halt before his window, the bright lights of the checkpoint casting a stark glow on its sleek surface. With practiced ease, the man at the window leaned forward, his eyes meeting those of the car's occupants as the window rolled down. He switched seamlessly to fluent Malaysian; his tone professional yet friendly. "How are you? What brings you here tonight?" he inquired, his voice carrying a mix of curiosity and official duty.
The Thai guard, maintaining his professional demeanor, faced a man in sunglasses, who sat alone in his dark car. The man's voice, tinged with urgency, conveyed a depth of personal tragedy. "My family died a few hours ago. It’s an emergency, I am in a hurry," he revealed, his tone a mixture of command and desperation.
The Thai guard, adhering to protocol yet sensitive to the situation, continued his questioning. "I understand, sir. Could you please provide your passport, visa, and car insurance for verification?" he asked, his voice steady as he prepared the identification machine and computer beside him. "And how long do you plan to stay? Where will you be staying?"
Fumbling in his bag, the Malaysian man responded, "Probably a day or two. I'll be staying at my family's home here." His voice was steady, masking the turmoil beneath.
"Alright," the Thai guard acknowledged, his tone remaining professional yet empathetic. "And what's your occupation back home? Do you have any specific plans while here? Are the other cars with you part of your group?"
Glancing to his left, where the other vehicles lined up, the Malaysian man nodded. "I work at a home improvement store just across the bridge. My plans are not set yet; I might travel around a bit. Yes, those cars are with me – they're my relatives and some friends."
Observing the Malaysian man ceasing his search in the bag and shifting his hand towards the car's gear, the Thai guard swiftly turned to his colleague. "Kob, check the vehicle, will you?" he requested with a sense of urgency. Abruptly, the car's engine thundered to life, and an object, hard and round, struck him. "Ouch! What was that?" he exclaimed, bewildered. As he spun around, the car was already retreating rapidly in reverse.
Kob, previously engrossed in his phone, snapped to attention. "What's wrong?" he queried, his tone laced with concern. Rising to his feet, he spotted something ominous on the ground. His heart pounded alarmingly. "Oh no, a bomb!" he yelled, a mix of fear and urgency in his voice. Without hesitation, he dashed towards the door, shouting, "RUN!" His companion was already in flight, adrenaline fueling their escape. The night air was abruptly shattered by a series of deafening explosions. BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! Flames erupted, engulfing the area in a bright inferno. Amidst the chaos, the men struggled to flee the control room, their escape hindered by the sudden, violent tumult.
As the clock inched towards 2100, the standard hour of closure, an orchestrated turmoil unraveled under the deceptive guise of a mundane border crossing. Ten vehicles, seemingly innocuous in their approach, initiated a synchronized assault, shattering the night's calm.
The serene sky, embroidered with stars, contrasted sharply with the chaos unfolding beneath. The tranquil night sky, a velvet tapestry, bore witness to an unfolding nightmare. Infernal flames erupted, voraciously consuming the Sungai Kolok Border Checkpoint. This juxtaposition of celestial beauty and terrestrial havoc painted a surreal picture—a tranquil universe above, indifferent to the fiery maelstrom below.
In this abrupt descent into chaos, the checkpoint, a symbol of order and routine, succumbed to the ferocious blaze. The night air, once crisp and still, now roiled with heat and turmoil, as the flames danced their destructive ballet, reducing the structure to a mere shadow of its former self.
"Attention, Attention," echoed a sudden, urgent broadcast, interrupting the regular programming on all televisions, radios, and even transmitting messages to nearby phones. "This is an emergency broadcast. Repeat, this is an emergency broadcast. A major, coordinated attack has occurred at the Sungai Kolok Border Post. We strongly advise all citizens to remain indoors, secure their doors and windows, and avoid venturing out at night." As quickly as it appeared, the emergency alert faded, the regular shows resuming as if the ominous warning had never been, leaving behind a silence that was almost more unsettling than the announcement itself.
A sharp burst of static pierced the calm of the night as the military helicopter cut through the star-studded sky. Below, a fierce tapestry of orange and yellow flames painted a scene reminiscent of Dante's inferno. "Fire engines are on the scene. Efforts to contain the blaze are underway. Your task is to scout from above for any signs of survivors within the inferno," crackled a voice over the radio, fading as quickly as it had appeared.
"Roger that," replied the pilot, his voice calm yet authoritative through the headset. He reached for another microphone, connecting with the crew in the cabin. "We're nearing the target. Prepare for low altitude hovering. Our primary objective is to identify any survivors amidst the flames." His words were clear and concise, echoing the gravity of their mission.
In the cabin, four soldiers, clad in full combat gear, remained alert and ready. Two of them manned FN MAG machine guns, one positioned at each of the forward windows, their eyes scanning the fiery landscape below. The other two, though armed, seemed more focused on reconnaissance, their gazes sharp and assessing, trained to spot life amidst the chaos. The helicopter hummed with a sense of purpose as it hovered above the blaze, a lone sentinel in the night sky.
A sharp burst of static pierced the calm of the night as the military helicopter cut through the star-studded sky. Below, a fierce tapestry of orange and yellow flames painted a scene reminiscent of Dante's inferno. "Fire engines are on the scene. Efforts to contain the blaze are underway. Your task is to scout from above for any signs of survivors within the inferno," crackled a voice over the radio, fading as quickly as it had appeared.
"Roger that," replied the pilot, his voice calm yet authoritative through the headset. He reached for another microphone, connecting with the crew in the cabin. "We're nearing the target. Prepare for low altitude hovering. Our primary objective is to identify any survivors amidst the flames." His words were clear and concise, echoing the gravity of their mission.
In the cabin, four soldiers, clad in full combat gear, remained alert and ready. Two of them manned FN MAG machine guns, one positioned at each of the forward windows, their eyes scanning the fiery landscape below. The other two, though armed, seemed more focused on reconnaissance, their gazes sharp and assessing, trained to spot life amidst the chaos. The helicopter hummed with a sense of purpose as it hovered above the blaze, a lone sentinel in the night sky.
