by J. B. Craig
Greg climbed the ladder with the 90MM in his hand, and the Mauser over his shoulder. He was going to settle in on the lawn chair cushion for another night of over-watch. He did a quick radio check, to which Top replied “Go back to bed, Sir, that’s an order.”
Greg replied, “You’re not the boss of me – I’m good, Top.” Angel clicked in long enough to laugh out loud. Then, seeing the stars, and no threat of rain, Greg dragged up a crate of ammo for the 90MM and covered it anyway, with a plastic garbage bag. This crate was a hand-mixed bag of high-explosive and anti-personnel flechette rounds, He had another one just like it tucked into the secret closet. Flechettes, or anti-personnel steel darts, which had tail-fins just like dart-board darts, but were made of steel or tungsten, would shred all people in the circle of destruction with metal slivers. The high explosive rounds, or HE, were made as shaped-charge bunker busters, and would be fatal against any vehicles shy of Armored Personnel Carriers and Tanks. Combat Engineers were issued 90MM’s into the early 1990’s, when he was active duty, as field-expedient bunker busters. It’s easier, and less fatal, to shoot an HE round into a bunker than to sneak up to it with a satchel charge, for sure. Many soldiers, from Normandy to present day died trying to throw a satchel charge into a machine gun nest or bunker. The weapon was retired for several years, until they were brought out of mothballs for the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. The reloadable nature of the weapon made it more efficient than the AT-4, one-shot Anti-Tank weapon, and the LAW rocket, or Light Anti-Tank Weapon. They still were not built to take out armor of any significance, but they would breach the hell out of a house, wreck a truck, destroy a bunker if shot through the shooting port. This flexibility accounted for its resurrection as the perfect tool for those wars.
Greg kept watch for a few hours, through the “witching hours” of Midnight through 3, when most sneak attacks would happen. He got a couple more hours of sleep, even though he had to resist temptation when he crawled in with Jen, and she snuggled her fine ass up against his waist. They had plenty of time for more of the early-evening antics they had earlier – he hoped. So, he draped his arm over her side, conveniently settling it on the perfect handful of breast, and slept well for a few hours.
It’s said that when Einstein was in full-creative mode, he had several cat-naps per day. He then woke up to bursts of creativity. What’s not said is that every 3rd or 4th day, he would sleep for 11 hours straight, catching up on REM sleep. Greg slept way past wake-up and shift change, and nobody bothered to give him any crap. Even Esther had some leftover breakfast for him. She smiled as she gave it to him, and said, “You’re a good boy.”
Leadership lesson: The troops talk, there are no secrets in a war.
The Scout
It was mid-morning, after Annie and the rest of the kids were fed. Because it was Sunday, there was no school. Greg asked Annie if she wanted to play a new game. One of the salvagers had found a set of Polly Pocket miniature toys in one of the houses, and Greg appropriated it from the pile of toys in the school.
“What game, Greg?” asked Annie.
“Well, it’s called Polly Pocket, but it’s really about Bug, the super-hero fairy bug.”
“Super hero fairy bug?” Annie looked skeptical, until Greg pulled the little bug with wings from his back pocket.
“Annie, this is ‘Bug’. He’s Polly’s friend. And this little girl,” he produced a little Polly Pocket doll, “Is Polly.” He reached into a cargo pocket and pulled out another half-dozen little toys. “These are her friends. See that little house over there? That’s their village.”
For the next few hours, Greg and Annie played make-believe with the little characters, creating a fantasy world of monsters, good guys and super-bugs. Greg did the same thing years ago with his daughter, Maria. He slipped right back into the land of make-believe, glad to be relieved of the burden of leadership for a few hours. His son preferred playing jet fighter, and dropping bombs on targets, but make believe was what most of their childhood was about.
The next afternoon, Greg got another radio call from Este. “Jefe. One man. Marpat (Marine Pattern camouflage), walking down the road with M-4 and a big tube underneath. Walking with weapon shouldered, and hands up. What you want me to do? Over”
“That’s an M-203 rifle with 25 MM grenade launcher, I hope. What’s your gut say? Over”
“He’s Bueno, Jefe. He walks like a hero.”
“This is Top. I’m taking 2 Sheepdogs with me on bikes. We’ll meet you at the trailhead, Sir. Este, stay covered, that 25 MM will hurt even you, Over.”
“I’m Oscar Mike.” Greg got on the Harley Sportster in his front yard. After some wobbly training, they assigned the bike to him. He protested that he was too big, but Doc said, “You can do the least damage with it, and it will carry your 200-plus lbs. pretty well, as long as it’s not a road trip.” He smiled and winked at Greg.
Greg grabbed the Osprey Nest’s M-4 and roared off with it over his shoulder. He saw Jen climb into the Eagles Nest and take up a guard position with the Mauser. “That is so hot,” he thought to himself. Annie was in the community schoolyard, introducing her friends to Polly and Bug, and they would see her at dinner.
At the head of the Trail, Top was smiling and talking with the stereotypical Bad-ass Marine. His back was straight, he had confidence and a steely glance. Angel had his weapon, and the Marine looked like he could care less. His look was pure predator, or sheepdog. It was up to Greg and Top to find out.
Greg walked up and stopped next to Top. Top looked the man up and down and said “I know you.”
Yes, you do, Top. “Staff Sergeant Robert Pulaski. You might know me as ‘Ski’. Marine Recon out of, and I stress the “out”, Dahlgren – nobody wants to be in there these days. I worked with the big gun team. I came back to Dahlgren to a shit-storm, and I’ve been shadowing the pukes that did it. They’re not far away. I expect them to hit you tonight. All I want is the leader of the meth-heads. He got my brother hooked, and dead. I’m going to tear his spine out with my teeth!”
Top looked over at Greg. “He’s Legit, Jefe.” Then he looked at Ski and said – “Greg here is our leader. He’s a combat Engineer, and is our unofficial officer, despite how much he bitches about it. He’s smart, for an officer.” All 3 men laughed, and Este walked up, confused at the banter.”
“Este – Back in position until relieved. We’ll brief at dinner.”
“Si, Jefe. Tell Leilani to save me a seat.”
The 3 warrior leaders and their guest made their way back to the community center. Ski didn’t want to ride “bitch, or on the back seat, so he just ran behind the bikes. He kept up, while carrying his M203. He was clearly in Marine Recon shape. His backpack rattled, too. It wasn’t a full 60 lb. Ruck, but it was clear that he had some toys beyond the .203 rounds on the bandolier across his chest.
Over a decent meal, “The first real food I’ve had in weeks”, said Ski, he brought the team up to speed on what was coming, and it wasn’t pretty.
Prelude to war
Manuel took the early part of the night watch on the Osprey Nest, at Greg’s request, and Jennifer joined the group at the community center. Greg was checking on the night-shift going on duty and telling them to be on full alert. He asked Bill to take the 5-Ton and be their first responder. Bill had also briefed on how to trigger the “Sun Tzu” solution, if needed.
After giving orders, Greg walked back into the center, and joined the command group, consisting of Jennifer, Top, Gunny, Angel, Ethyl, Sam, Doc, Kim, Les and the soldiers from Dahlgren. Some had been on night-shift, but they’d tagged in day-shifters or reserve forces to cover for them for the time being. It appeared introductions had been made. Este and Leilani loitered nearby, listening in and standing really close together, but not touching. The rest of the group conversation was about getting Ski caught up.
Greg sat down and dug in to tonight’s dinner. “Leilani this is NOT a Salmon Log. I know this, but damn, it sure tastes like it. How
did you make Grandma’s secret recipe?”
“Well, you know da kine, Jefe.” She smiled when Este smiled at her use of Spanish. “I found some condensed milk, and we had lots of fish to blend for flavah, bruddah. Then I used…” She paused, with a look of disgust on her face, “MRE Cheese.”
“This is fantastic, Leilani. Thank you for the memory of my family. If we go today, we had an amazing meal.” Eyes looked at Greg, like ‘what the fuck’. “But, our goal is to send these sorry Meth-heads to their graves with no last meal. Time to talk about how we are gonna FUCK THEM UP!”
The crowd cheered. As it died down, Greg looked to Ski and asked, “What’s up against us?”
“Well, Sir, he said with no hesitation. We have a mixed gang of Bikers, Meth heads, prisoners and gang bangers, not that they’re mutually exclusive. They were recruited by a guy named ‘Phoenix’. The word from the guys I caught and, um, interrogated, is that he was the one that led the first attack here. You guys messed his shit up, and he’s got an axe to grind. He pulled together all of the local gangs, and then masterminded the mutiny at Dahlgren.”
“I was out on recon and got back too late. I followed those fucks to their next few camps. They had you in mind, Greg. They’ve taken all resources, and people along Route 3, and 202. I’ve been following, and ‘interrogating’ any of their stragglers. This guy is a tattoo-headed guy with a left arm that doesn’t work so well. He blames you, and he’s coming for you.
Doc interrupted, “Interrogate, huh? Waterboarding, or what?”
Greg tensed up, as he figured Doc would have a problem with torture. He waited for Ski to Respond.
“Yeah, man.” Ski smiled and continued. “Sticking my K-Bar in their chests, millimeter by millimeter. Going towards their heart. They all talk, eventually. If they don’t their buddy does when he sees them explode blood like something out of that movie about aliens.”
“Well Ok, then, as long as they’re not suffering prolonged agony.” Smiled Doc.
“Nope, doesn’t last long at all. They talk quite quickly, or not at all. Amazing what a K-Bar headed to your heart will make you say. Once I know they’re done talking, it’s quick.”
Doc gave a thumb’s up. Greg, surprised as hell, said “Doc, what the fuck? I thought you had taken a Hippocratic oath or something, brother.”
“Nope. I took the same oath you did, Greg. To protect against all enemies, foreign and domestic. If I’m not ordered to save the enemy’s ass, why the fuck would I? I can’t stand to see them suffer from their wounds long term. Once they’re turned over to me for care by the chain of command, I must take care of the fucks, but you have a cure for that, don’t you, Ski?”
“Well, that will make clean-up easier this time, eh, Gunny?”
“Oooh-Rah, Jefe!” She smiled, and Top looked around, wondering what just happened.
The blood rushed out of Jennifer’s face, and she looked like she was going to be sick, remembering her first execution of a biker. She took a few deep breaths, then grabbed Greg’s hand, and nodded into his face. He kissed her on the lips, and the briefing continued.
Phoenix’s second-in-command, if you can call him that, is a guy named Whip. This fuck pulled my brother into his crew and didn’t even bother to bury him when he OD’d on Meth & Heroin. They left my little brother in the dirt, in his own Puke. This was just before the lights went out, and I’ve made it my hobby to get this fuck-puddle. Unfortunately, he’s super-paranoid, and always has a dozen of his ‘Rangers’ around him.”
The Rangers around the table started to call bullshit, but Ski held up his hand. “I know, brothers. They’re big, gym-rats with Mac-10’s, Uzi’s and other pussy weapons. They try intimidation, and if that doesn’t work, its “spray and pray”. That said, I’m going to take this fuck out. That’s all I ask. I have a backpack full of fun toys, but I’m going out after him with my Beretta, canteen and my K-Bar. Greg, you and Top can inventory the toys I brought. I think you’ll find a good use for them.”
Ski went on to tell the team of the enemy’s disposition. He noted that they had about 200 “Infantry”. These were the remaining recruits from Dahlgren. They had M-4’s, M-16s, and civilian AR-15’s, but were extremely light on ammunition. He estimated about 60 rounds each, as the last act of the heroes of Dahlgren was to blow up most of the spare ammunition in the ammo dump. He said that he knew what load they were carrying, because their magazines were in his backpack, and the community was welcome to it.
Ski pointed out that, while the infantry only had 2 magazines each, the cavalry, which consisted of 30 Harleys and other bikes, had plenty of ammunition. Whip and his dozen ‘Rangers’ had a lot more firepower, including some grenades and at least 2 RPG’s. Ski wasn’t sure about the group dynamics, but his gut told him that there were some power struggles going on, with each of the leaders informally commanding about half of their infantry.
The reason for a few extra days of respite became obvious. An army can only move at the speed of its slowest members, or foot soldiers.
Ski continued, “For now, I haven’t eaten in 2 days, so thanks for this meal, ladies. Before that, it was limited rations, and I’m about tired of MRE’s. I scavenged whatever toys I thought might be useful in killing the most pukes, and Kudzu isn’t the worst food ever…” he paused. “OK, it is.” Ethyl brought him his second plate of salmon log, and he sucked it down like it was his last meal, scooping up the leftover with Johnny Cakes, or buckwheat pancakes harvested and ground from the local fields fall harvest.
Hell on Earth
After dinner, the day shift brought plates of food, and full canteens to their partners on night-shift. All locations would be manned at double-strength until Ski could call in a scouting report on the enemy’s disposition. Ski left with PFC Newman, who didn’t talk much about his motivations, other than to say “Those fuckers aren’t Rangers. Watch me prove it!”
Ski dropped off one of his 2 throat-mic radios with Top, who added it to his gear with an ease that told Greg that he was familiar with the device.
Greg and Jen were in the Osprey Nest, with Annie asleep below. They didn’t have the luxury of fooling around tonight, but they still took the time to occasionally kiss each other, or just caress. As long as they were watching, they were fine.
Leilani was on the dock, fishing again. Esteban was in his overlook, high up in the Mansion. Gunny was on the balcony with Ma Deuce. Bill was on the 5-ton, and Jaime had the front of the log barrier. Top had Angel, Cpl. Simmons, and just about everyone else, except the mortar team of Jones and Baker on the berm. Les was watching the other side of the peninsula, in case they came up the Nomini. This was less likely, as the shore approach was full of nasty thorn bushes, poison ivy, steep slopes, and nasty fallen pine trees. Greg had spent years scouting land-approaches to the water on that side of the peninsula, so he didn’t have to row around, and he never found one.
The Radio crackled to life. A whispered voice said “Sheepdogs, this is Ski-dog. 100 plus infantry advancing through the forest, approaching mine path. No sign of cavalry. ETA 10 minutes. Over”
Top, who knew his radio discipline, double-clicked twice, meaning “received”
Les, who did not have a radio, came running over to the Osprey Nest, and climbed up. “Greg, I saw several full boats, rafts, and a sailboat coming from up the Nomini. They couldn’t find a good landing, so they’re going around Golden Bell Point. They’re probably approaching the boat ramp.”
Greg got on the radio. “Top ‘dawg, we have multiple landing craft turning the point, and headed to the boat ramp. Lesser evil,” Greg made up a call sign for Les, “Headed to crater lake.” Off the net, he said “Get Leilani off the dock, and into the house. Tell her to keep her head down. Jen nodded and headed down the ladder, but returned quickly as he saw Leilani headed into his house, presumably to protect Annie.
“Copy, Jefe. Tiene Cuidado. All stations copy?”
“Eagles Nest, copy.” Gunny’s voice. “Lover Boy in place upstai
rs.” Greg smiled at Gunny’s reference to Esteban.
“Truck stop, copy. Standing by for Sun Tzu.” Bill checked in.
“Deep throat, Five-by-five.” The mortar crew was listening and ready.
“Momma Kass, all pigeons safe.” Most of the reserve team had been pulled back to Seahawk Circle, with Esther in charge.
As the moon was waning, Greg heard the boats coming before he saw them. At first he thought the waves were breaking on the sand bar, because of the rhythmic noise, but he realized it was rowers, paddling.
“Deep Throat, Can I get a little light over the sand bar? Over.” Greg requested some illumination from the mortar crew.
Greg heard the muffled “thump” of a mortar. A few seconds later, a parachute flare popped, right over the sand bar, perfectly silhouetting the 3 large crab-boats and/or flat-bottomed John Boats. Men were hanging over the side rowing slowly. Each boat was low in the water, with about 20 troops on them. Various makes and sizes made it difficult to get a good count. Greg didn’t need a count. He aimed for the biggest one and whispered to Jen. Load HE, watch back-blast.
