Conflict: The Pythan War, Invasion

by DK Williamson

  Scales climbed up to the top of the ridge to speak with the lieutenant.

  “That’s our best bet, LT,” he said pointing down the ridge.

  “Why not up here, sergeant?”

  “The slope that comes off the flat down there and leads to the woods is steep, sir. If the Pythans do try us on and they made it to the base of that slope they would be in defilade if we were positioned up here. Setting up down there gives us a clear line of sight to the treeline.”

  “Couldn’t we call in artillery to cover the dead spot?”

  “That’s awfully close, LT. Too damn close unless we are in the middle of a shit storm. Trust me on this, sir.”

  Sealy nodded. I hope Scales knows what he is doing. We’ll be just two hundred meters from the tree line. This is insane.

  Over the next two hours Sealy’s platoon dug fighting positions, starting with the primary positions facing the tree line where the trail exited the marshy woods, These positions were given overhead cover and were camouflaged.

  A small command position was next, centrally located slightly higher and behind the fighting positions and would serve as Sealy’s command post and a place to shelter the wounded if there happened to be any. His vantage point from there provided him with a view over all of the platoon’s emplacements.

  Service trenches were dug, connecting the positions to provide a means of movement under cover, although the narrow and shallow trenches would necessitate crawling until they could be enlarged if and when time permitted.

  Soldiers ran a maze of wire that crisscrossed the area to their front, an ancient and proven method of impeding attackers. The wire would slow or stop the Pythan soldiers, and make them easier targets should they try to assault 4th Platoon’s position.

  Anti-personnel mines were placed, fields of fire from each fighting position were determined and plotted, with range cards for the machine guns and grenade launchers.

  Sealy and Scales made commo checks: with company command, the other platoons within the company, medevac assets, artillery nets, and most important of all, the platoon’s own communication net that allowed platoon members to speak to one another via their helmet’s built-in system.

  The members of 4th Platoon and their positions were as ready as they could be for what might come, given the short time they had to prepare. The soldiers felt confident they could hold under whatever assault the Pythans might bring, except for Lieutenant Sealy whose unease was growing.

  Most of his men were in their positions making final preparations for the fight. A pair of soldiers moved along behind the line from position to position distributing ammunition and grenades, while Sealy sat huddled in his command post occasionally looking out the firing slit at the front of his position.

  As preparations moved along, so did Sealy’s trepidation. He mulled over the unknown perils ahead, worried of failure, while the fear of his own death hung paramount over it all.

  Sealy’s mind hatched wild schemes that would allow him a way out of the coming battle. An excuse to get to the rear is what I need, he thought. An illness, a supply run, maybe some of the enlisted men will get wounded and need assistance to get to the field hospital, surely something will come up. There has to be a way out of this.

  The soldiers of 4th Platoon heard single explosions thumping in the distance to the east. Scales came over the platoon net and said it was artillery, two or three klicks away.

  He’s full of shit, thought Sealy. How could he know that? He was a private in a war fought sixteen years ago. How does that make him an expert? He’s just guessing, trying to impress us, trying to impress himself. He’s as scared as I am. They all are, despite how calm they look.

  A massed chain of thudding explosions sounded from the east, an artillery strike.

  “Is it ours or theirs,” Sealy asked over the net.

  A chorus of laughs came from the platoon.

  “Good one, LT,” Scales said. “For those of you who don’t understand, the biggest artillery the Pythans will have is light mortars and rocket propelled grenades. They have the numbers, we have heavy artillery. That’s why we’ll beat them.”

  He thought I was cracking a joke, Sealy thought. I have to find a way out of this madhouse.

  Automatic weapons fire erupted to the west near 5th Platoon’s area. Sealy switched his radio to the company net using the touch screen on his left forearm.

  “—it’s a small element, sir,” Oakes said. “I think it’s just as you said. The Pythans are probing.”

  “Roger that, Orange-Five-Bravo,” the company commander responded using 5th Platoon’s call sign. “Looks like Regiment was wrong about a night attack. Elements east of us reported a company-sized Pythan unit engaging them from the tree line. They dropped an artillery barrage on them. You do the same if necessary, lieutenant. Out.”

  Sealy heard a tone over his helmet radio. He knew the tone meant someone was calling on the platoon net.

  He switched frequencies.

  “Last calling,” he said.

  “It’s Scales, LT. I caught Fifth Platoon’s traffic on the company net. The Pythans will test us next. Orders, sir?” the platoon sergeant said.

  Sealy felt like he could vomit with little provocation.

  “Are the men in position?” he asked.

  “Roger that, LT. If the Pythans show, we’re ready.”

  “Then we wait, sergeant.”

  Sealy looked out of his position to the rear, up the heavily wooded ridge toward the trail that would lead him out if he chose to go.

  “Movement, I’ve got movement in the trees, three hundred meters out,” a voice said over the radio.

  Sealy looked at the screen on his arm and saw: Maholm, Private, Machine Gunner, 3rd Squad, blinking at the top of the call log.

  “Everyone watch front and stay quiet,” Scales said over the radio, his voice soft and calm.

  Sealy looked out of the firing slit to the front of his platoon’s position, looking for movement in the trees, seeing nothing.

  To the west, a burst of automatic weapons fire broke the quiet, then a brief respite followed by dozens of weapons firing at once, then dozens more.

  “Hold steady,” came the calm voice of Scales over the radio. “Fifth Platoon is in it, but we have our own job to do. Watch your sectors and report if you see something.”

  The fight to the west continued.

  Sealy moved out of the of the command position and down the short trench that connected to the other service trenches. He leaned against the dirt berm that provided cover from the north and looked west through the trees hoping to see something of the fight, but all he could see was the dense forest.

  Grenade explosions sounded from the west.

  They would only be using grenades if the Pythan were close, or maybe those are Pythan grenades! I have to get out of here.

  Sealy started for the trench that would take him south when the radio crackled.

  “Oscar-Four-Bravo, this is Oscar-Five-Bravo,” Oakes said on 4th Platoon’s net, his voice sounding tight and stressed, the racket of weapons fire nearly drowning out the lieutenant’s voice. “We are being overrun. Will try and move to your—”

  Static hissed over the net.

  “Pythans, to the left of the trail, ten meters inside the tree line,” a soldier said. Sealy thought it sounded like the machine gunner from earlier, but his mind was too occupied with concocting a way out and away from the fighting to look at the screen on his arm.

  Fire erupted from most of the 4th Platoon positions, sending rounds into the trees two hundred meters away. Numerous voices clogged the platoon radio net.

  Sealy moved into the trench and turned south, intending to run up the ridge and follow the trail east, when fire from the Pythans in the trees sprayed across his position. Dirt from the berms flew everywhere as the bullets narrowly missed him when they passed overhead. He scrambled back into the command position.

  Another burst sliced across the front of the positi
on making thudding sounds in the dirt, one round flying through the firing slit and burying itself in the back wall of the tiny bunker.

  Sealy screamed.

  More screams came over the commo net, cries of, “medic, medic!” with others calling for machine gun fire or grenades on certain targets.

  “LT, we need artillery support,” came Scales voice, boring into Sealy’s head.

  The lieutenant buried his face in his arms and said nothing.

  How do I get out of here? he thought, his mind racing.

  “LT?”

  “Lieutenant Sealy?” Scales said. Concern was discernible in his voice.

  “Damn it. I think the LT may be down,” Scales said. “I am switching to the arty net and get us some fire support. Sergeant Baxter, get the company on the horn and apprise them of our situation,” he said, speaking to one of the squad leaders.

  Grenade explosions tore the ground to 4th Platoon’s front. The Pythan forces were still too far away to land grenades in the platoon’s positions.

  “We have a rocket battery assigned to us as support,” Scales said. “They’ll be coming onto our net shortly, platoon. Baxter, you get the company?”

  “Affirmative. They are in danger of gettin’ overrun as well. We’re on our own for now, sarge. I think—” A loud pinging noise came over the net. “I’m hit! I’m hit.”

  “Get a medic!” a voice said.

  “I’m—”

  The platoon net became garbled with radio traffic.

  “To senior ranking member, Oscar-Four-Bravo, this is Big-Steel-Five-Niner,” came a transmission over the chatter.

  “Big-Steel-Five-Niner, this is Oscar-Four-Bravo, Glad to have you with us,” Scales said.

  “Oscar-Four-Bravo, Big-Steel-Five-Niner, our logging system is down for the count. Confirm you are senior ranking member, Fourth Platoon, Bravo Company, Third Battalion.”

  “Roger that, Five-Niner.”

  “Affirmative. We are ready to execute fire missions as necessary, Oscar-Four-Bravo.”

  “Five-Niner, Four-Bravo. We have work for you. Stand by.”

  Sealy crawled to the door of his position and was sure the Pythan fire had slackened.

  Now is the time to escape.

  Sealy stayed low and crawled from the hole. He looked to the top of the ridge and saw men moving from the west.

  Oakes! They are coming to help, he thought.

  “Fuck! Pythans behind us on the ridge,” a soldier said over the net. “Thirty or forty of them.”

  “Sergeant Scales, this is Maholm. I’ll take my MG and pin them down till you can get arty on them.”

  “Roger that, Maholm. Take your assistant gunner with you.”

  Sealy scrambled back into the command position.

  Through the door, he saw two soldiers moving toward the south at a sprint thirty meters away. A hail of fire kicked up dirt around them as tracers flew by.

  Both soldiers went down. A helmet rolled away from one of them.

  “They’re down, sarge,” a voice shouted over the commo net.

  “Fuck!” another voice said.

  One of the soldiers rose with a bloody face, a rangy redhead. He hefted his machine gun and picked up his helmet, then dashed south, out of Sealy’s line of sight.

  “This is Maholm. I’m still in the game,” he said in a grim voice. “AG is dead.”

  Maholm’s machine gun began to bark with staccato bursts from somewhere behind Sealy’s position.

  Scales came on the radio again. He called for fire on the trees behind the platoon, near the top of the ridge.

  “I know it’s inside safe range, but the Pythans are there. This is not training. It’s my call, you just make sure you hit the coordinates I sent,” he growled in a voice edged with anger.

  “Roger, Orange-Four-Bravo, stand by,” the artillery operator said.

  Less than a minute later the radio crackled.

  Orange-Four-Bravo, this is Big-Steel-Five-Niner. Rocket, out.

  Scales quickly sent an alert tone on the platoon frequency.

  “Maholm, get your head down,” he said with some urgency. “It’s gonna be close.”

  Scales watched the tree line.

  A few seconds later he heard, “Impact, out,” over the radio an instant before an explosion ripped through the trees above where the Pythans were seeking cover.

  “Big-Steel-Five-Niner, this is Orange-Four-Bravo. Impact, roger. Fire for effect, out.”

  The ensuing rocket barrage destroyed the trees in a storm of explosions and left dead Pythan soldiers buried in a pile of split and broken trunks covered in dirt and twisted branches.

  Scales called the results of the fire mission over the radio and the rocket fire ceased.

  “Nice job, Maholm,” Scales said over the radio. “You saved our asses. Stay low and make your way back to the rest of us. We have trouble coming and we need that machine gun.”

  A few minutes later Sealy heard the sound of a person nearby, and seconds later he saw the form of Private Maholm, covered in dirt and grime, crawling down the shallow trench that ran past the command position.

  The redhead had his helmet in one hand, its fastening harness obviously broken. In his other hand, he carried his machine gun, a short belt of less than twenty rounds hanging from the side.

  The soldier saw his lieutenant in the hole and paused. The look he gave Sealy was one of contempt. The soldier’s eyes bored into the lieutenant. Sealy thought the private looked insane, drying blood on his filthy face and rage in his eyes. Maholm didn’t say a word. He shook his head and moved down the trench, out of sight.

  Sealy peeked out of the front of his position and saw carnage. Dozens of dead Pythan soldiers scattered across the open ground between the defensive line and the trees, which were largely splintered wrecks now.

  The wire was nearly gone, and it was obvious to the lieutenant that his platoon had suffered heavily.

  The lieutenant shook his head. Not me. I’m not dying here.

  Sealy dashed from his position and saw that a pile of broken timber and dead Pythans blocked the way to the ridge.

  Bullets pocked the ground near him, and Sealy climbed from the trench and ran a short distance west to a small gathering of trees that still stood.

  He dropped to the ground and looked for a way over the ridge.

  “They are coming again!” Scales bellowed over the radio. “Give them whatever you got left.”

  A rocket barrage fell among the shattered forest to the north. Sealy never heard Scales call for a fire mission.

  He used the artillery preplots, passed through his mind.

  Some of the Pythan infantry were past the artillery barrage and pressing on the tiny force that was all that remained of 4th Platoon.

  Sealy hid behind a tree, prone and peeking around the side of the trunk. He saw Scales leading a few men to the last clump of fighting positions still in functional condition, while the redheaded machine gunner poured fire into the assaulting infantry from a forward position.

  Madness. Stark raving madness! Sealy thought.

  The lieutenant looked through the broken trees, trying to find a gap through which to flee. He could hear Scales calling for another fire mission.

  If I try to go over the piles of broken timber, I’ll get shot. Damn it! Where do I go? he thought as he tried to contain his panic.

  “Say again, over,” Sealy heard the artillery net radio operator say.

  “Big-Steel-Five-Niner, this is Orange-Four-Bravo. I repeat, bring it down on my pos. We have Pythans in our perimeter. Bring the artillery down on my position,” came the staticky reply. The voice of Scales sent a shiver through Lieutenant Sealy. He didn’t know why. There was something in the tone of the sergeant’s voice he couldn’t comprehend, something he would never comprehend.

  “Uh, roger, Orange-Four-Bravo. It’s your call. Stand by.”

  “They are right on top of me. Fire for effect. Advise regiment. This is my final transmission, out.
”

  What is he doing? He’ll kill us all! Sealy thought as Scales and his remaining men continued to fire at the Pythans. Artillery is coming down on us and they keep firing? What is wrong with them?

  The artillery began to fall less than a minute later. Sealy screamed in terror and ran for the nearest fighting position twenty meters away. The top cover was partially collapsed, but the lieutenant hoped he might fit inside.

  It’s the only option I have, thought Sealy.

  As he neared the hole, he screamed again, this time in pain, as a shell fragment tore into his left thigh. He fell and tumbled into the fighting position as shells churned the earth all around him. A 4th Platoon soldier in the hole looked at him with dead eyes.

  “I don’t even know your fucking name!” yelled Sealy at the dead man, his voice lost in the maelstrom of the artillery strike. What does it matter now.

  The noise was deafening and he was bucked and thrown from the ground over and over. The fighting position began to disintegrate and collapse.

  Everything went black.

  It’s over for me….

  -(o)-

  “Sergeant, we have another survivor!” Sealy heard someone shout. He felt hands grabbing him, dragging him, dirt and debris sliding from him. He opened his eyes and saw it was night. A pair of soldiers looked down at him.

  “Sarge, it’s their lieutenant,” the soldier to Sealy’s left said. “He’s been hit. Medic!”

  Keep your mouth shut until you know how much trouble you’re in, he thought. He grimaced as the soldiers carried him to some clear ground nearby and put him on a clean tarp.

  “What about the other guy?” a voice asked.

  “Dead, like the others,” another voice answered.

  “Sit tight, LT. I’ll have you patched up in no time. You hit anywhere else?” the medic asked as he cut Sealy’s pant leg to get access to the wound on the lieutenant’s leg.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

  “I’ll look you over as soon as I get your leg taken care of, sir.”

  “What happened? The battle?” Sealy asked weakly.

  “We won, LT. I dunno what you did here, but they say you kicked ass,” the sergeant replied. “Your company got chewed up and spat out, but fuck all, you should see how many Pythans you piled up.”