World War III

by Heath Jannusch

  “Yes sir!” Said Sgt. Powell, handing the Lieutenant a confirmed count of the enemy. “Go ahead sir,” he added, handing him the radio.

  The Lieutenant took the receiver and held it to his ear. “Briar Patch, this is Rabbit Actual, over.”

  “Go ahead Rabbit, over.”

  “Briar Patch, I’ve been advised of some type of cyborg Super Soldiers in the enemy’s ranks, can you verify, over?”

  “Negative Rabbit,” replied Mason, “overhead view is not adequate, over.”

  “Roger that Briar Patch. Is Firefly up and running, over?”

  “Affirmative Rabbit. Firefly is in the air and awaiting command, over.”

  “Requesting immediate air support, over.”

  “Request for air support acknowledged and confirmed,” replied Mason. “Please designate target, over?”

  “Target enemy ground troops,” said Lt. Sawyer. “I repeat, all enemy soldiers are open targets, over.”

  “Are you sure?” Asked Mason. “You’ve got a lot of armored vehicles descending on your position, over.”

  “Affirmative Briar Patch. I repeat, target all enemy soldiers, over and out.”

  Mason turned a knob, changing the channel on his radio. “Firefly! Firefly! This is Briar Patch, do you copy, over?”

  “Briar Patch this is Firefly, we read you loud and clear, over.”

  “Firefly what’s your twenty, over?”

  “Right above you, over,” replied Lt. Colonel Williams, as he tilted the stick, putting the old fighter into a barrel role.

  “Don’t do that again!” Hissed Sampson, sitting in the back seat with his eyes covered and a crate of Molotov Cocktails resting on his lap.

  “Sorry,” laughed Kye, “you can open your eyes now!”

  Sampson spread his fingers apart slightly, just enough to be able to see through the cracks. This was his first time riding in the Firefly and although he’d never admit it, he was scared of heights.

  “Roger that Firefly,” replied Mason. “You’re needed in quadrant three, over.”

  Kye fumbled with the map Mason gave him, outlining ten quadrants around town. He opened it in his lap and looked for quadrant three. “I can’t read this thing,” he said, as a gust of wind swooped into the cockpit and blew the map out the window. “Shit!”

  “What?” Asked Sampson, trying to see what was happening from his seat in the back.

  “I lost the map,” explained Kye, as he pulled the window closed.

  “Firefly, did you copy my last, over?”

  “Uh, copy that Briar Patch,” replied Kye. “Where exactly is quadrant three, over?”

  “It’s labeled on your map, over.”

  “I, kind of lost the map,” admitted Kye. “Can you be more specific, over?”

  “Rabbit is located at the base of Kingsbury Grade,” replied Mason. “They’re vastly outnumbered and requesting immediate air support, over.”

  “Where’s Kingsbury Grade?” Mumbled Kye.

  “Head southwest,” instructed Sampson, peering out the canopy at the mountains below.

  “Copy that Briar Patch,” answered Kye, “we’re on our way, over.”

  “Rabbit has requested a flyby, targeting Super Soldiers on the ground, over.”

  “Roger that,” replied Kye, “targeting Super Soldiers, over and out. Which ones are supposed to be Super Soldiers?” He asked, pointing the nose of the aircraft southwest.

  “No idea,” answered Sampson, as he opened the canopy window and got a Molotov Cocktail ready to drop. “Just target them all!”

  Kye could see Lt. Sawyer’s Marines waving at him from the ground, as he flew by and opened fire on the enemy convoy. Rounds from the Firefly’s 4x20mm cannons peppered the road, sending troops fleeing in different directions. A small group of soldiers stood their ground and returned fire, as if impervious to the barrage of bullets.

  “There!” Shouted Kye, pointing to the group of soldiers wielding machineguns and firing at the fighter as it flew passed. “I think that’s them! I hit several, but they get back up!”

  “Make another pass,” advised Sampson, as he lit the end of a rag, stuffed into the top of one of the cocktails and dangled it out the window.

  “Roger that!” Kye circled back around and dove on the enemy convoy, spraying the area with cannon fire. “Get ready!” He shouted over his shoulder, as they approached the Super Soldiers standing defiantly in the middle of the road.

  Sampson dropped the Molotov Cocktail directly on top of them and watched, as the Super Soldiers burst into flames and began screaming and flailing about. “They may be bulletproof,” he chuckled, getting another cocktail ready, “but they aren’t fireproof!”

  Kye circled around and repeated the process over and over, until Sampson had depleted his supply of cocktails. “We’re running low on fuel and ammo,” he said, after Sampson dropped the last Molotov Cocktail.

  “Yeah,” agreed Sampson, watching the cocktail explode on top of a tank, “I’m out too!”

  “Rabbit, this is Firefly, do you copy, over?”

  “Firefly this is Rabbit Actual, I read you loud and clear,” replied Lt. Sawyer. “From what I can see down here it looks like your causing a lot of damage, over.”

  “We’re doing our best,” said Kye, veering right to avoid fire from a soldier standing on top of a tank and manning a .50 Caliber machinegun. “Be advised, we’re out of bombs and running low on fuel and ammo. I’m gonna make one more pass, before heading back to rearm and refuel, over.”

  “Understood. Did you see any Super Soldiers?”

  “Affirmative Rabbit. Bullets didn’t work, but the Molotov Cocktails did, over.”

  “Good to know,” replied Lt. Sawyer, as the Firefly soared passed him on its final attack run. “Get back here as quick as you can, over!”

  “Roger that Rabbit, over and out.”

  Kye pointed the nose of his aircraft down and dove on the enemy convoy, emptying the remainder of his ammo on the troops below. Trapped on the narrow and icy road, the soldiers had nowhere to run and many were caught out in the open. The tanks and armored vehicles were piled so close, it was like shooting fish in a barrel. Targeting the tank with the machine gunner on top, he riddled the soldier with bullets, before pulling up and heading north to Sampson’s Ranch.

  “We’re gonna be on our own for a while!” Shouted Lt. Sawyer, walking back and forth behind his men. “Be ready and if you see any Super Soldiers use grenades and artillery guns!” He added, checking for holes in their defensive line. “Take deep breathes and stay calm! Target officers whenever possible! We’ll hold this position as long as we can, before falling back to Clearview! Stay alert and watch for friendlies, we’ve still got men out there!”

  Although it felt like eternity, less than thirty minutes passed before the lead tank came around a bend in the road and headed straight for them.

  “Here they come! Get ready men!” Shouted Lt. Sawyer, peering through binoculars at the approaching convoy. “Hold your fire until I give the command!”

  The Lieutenant watched and waited, as the convoy drew close. If he opened fire too soon, their tanks would pound his position and annihilate his entire command. His only hope of causing damage and slowing their advance, was to wait until the enemy was right on top of them.

  “Steady men!” He whispered, as the convoy snaked its way down the mountain toward them. “Steady!”

  When the convoy reached the blockade of fallen trees, the lead tank smashed through without slowing its advance.

  “Damn!” Hissed Lt. Sawyer, who’d been hoping the roadblock would stall the enemy, even if only for a few minutes.

  “Look!” Whispered Sgt. Powell, pointing to the head of the convoy.

  The first three tanks rolled over the trees without hesitation and formed a line of defense in front of the blockade. The next vehicle in the convoy was a troop transport. Incapable of driving over the trees as the tanks had done, the truck pulled to a stop and soldiers piled out.
More men joined them from the rear of the column and together, began removing the logs blocking their path.

  The Lieutenant grabbed the radio. “Morgan, do you copy, over?”

  “I read you sir,” replied Sgt. Morgan, positioned on a hill between the Lieutenant and the enemy convoy.

  “I’ve got hostiles on my doorstep. Are they Super Soldiers, over?”

  “No sir, over.” Answered Jesse, watching the soldiers through the scope on his rifle.

  “How can you tell Sergeant, over?”

  “They walk different than the rest,” explained Sgt. Morgan. “More like a machine than a man, over.”

  “Roger that, over and out.”

  Lt. Sawyer glanced around at the men in his command. “Alright men, you know what to do. On my command!” He’d trained his platoon meticulously and each soldier knew exactly what to do, without being told.

  The Marine positioned to the far left of the defensive line, targeted the first enemy soldier on the left. The second Marine targeted the next soldier and so on and so forth, until every Marine had a separate target in his crosshairs.

  Lt. Sawyer raised his hand and waited for as many soldiers to be visible as possible. When there were more men exposed than Marine’s in his command, he dropped his hand and yelled, “Fire!”

  The morning erupted in hail of gunfire, as the Marines opened fire on the exposed troops, dropping over twenty soldiers in the first volley alone.

  The gun turrets on the three lead tanks, rotated toward Lt. Sawyer’s position and belched flame. Artillery shells began raining down on the drastically outnumbered Marines, as they scrambled for shelter. With their tanks providing covering fire, enemy soldiers emerged from hiding and resumed the task of moving logs.

  “Those tanks are killing us!” Shouted Sgt. Powell, after a shell landed a few feet away, killing two Marines. “We need to get out of here!”

  Lt. Sawyer looked at the remainder of his platoon, before nodding in agreement. “Start pulling the men back, two at a time!” He ordered.

  “Yes sir!”

  Concealed on a hill overlooking the carnage below, Sgt. Morgan and his men watched, as their platoon was decimated by the tanks’ heavy bombardment.

  Peering through the scope on his rifle, Jesse noticed each of the tanks had an open hatch, with the Tank Commander’s head and shoulders exposed. Using binoculars to direct their tank’s cannon fire, the Commanders shouted orders to the men below.

  “Target the Tank Commanders!” He ordered, taking careful aim at the closest Commander. He squeezed the trigger on his rifle and saw the bullet smash through one of the lens on the Commander’s binoculars, and into his eye. The man’s head snapped back and his body slumped forward, before disappearing into the hatch.

  Malarkey eliminated another Commander with a head shot, while Harris and Shepherd killed the third, riddling him with bullets. Without direction, the tanks began to miss their mark and the Marines started to retreat.

  “We need to get back,” said Sgt. Morgan, after seeing a small group of enemy soldiers advancing on the Lieutenant’s position. He grabbed the radio from Malarkey. “Rabbit, do you copy, over?”

  “This is Rabbit Actual, go ahead, over.”

  “Rabbit Actual be advised you’ve got Super Soldiers advancing on your position, over!”

  Lt. Sawyer peaked over the Humvee providing him cover and saw three dozen soldiers marching toward him. “I see them. I’ve ordered a general retreat! You need to get back here and fast, over!”

  “Copy that, we’re on our way back, over.”

  “Sergeant, I need you to bring up the rear and defend our six, over!”

  “Yes sir, over and out.”

  Jesse glanced at the other three Marines. “Alright boys, you heard the Lieutenant. We’re gonna hightail it down there and provide the platoon with rearguard cover. Stay close and stay low. Let’s move!”

  As they hurried down the mountain, bullets whizzed past and thudded into the trees around them. When they reached the platoon, they stopped and turned around, dropping to their knees.

  “Here they come!” Shouted Sgt. Morgan, as a dozen Super Soldiers ran straight for them.

  “Why won’t they die?” Screamed Pvt. Malarkey, as he unloaded a clip into one’s chest.

  “Use grenades!” Shouted Jesse, using his mouth to rip pins from two grenades, before hurling them at the advancing soldiers.

  Pvt. Malarkey followed the Sergeant’s advice and threw a third grenade. Three separate explosions reverberated around the Marines, showering them with dirt, snow and severed limbs.

  An arm landed on the ground beside Pvt. Harris and he screamed, kicking it away with his boot. “What in the hell is that!”

  Although covered in flesh and bleeding into the snow beneath it, the inside of the arm itself was mechanical. Jesse reached down, grabbed the severed arm and stuck it into his pack.

  “You’re not bringing that with us, are you?” Asked Pvt. Harris, horrified by the idea.

  “Hell yes,” said Jesse, “it’s good Intel. Let’s go!” He ordered, jumping to his feet and running after the convoy, which was already leaving.

  “Come on!” Shouted Lt. Sawyer, waving to them from the back of the last Humvee.

  The four Marines ran behind the vehicle and one-by-one jumped inside. Sgt. Morgan was the last man on-board, after turning and firing one last round into the head of the nearest Super Soldier. He waited and watched the man go down, before climbing aboard.

  The Arrival

  World War III – Day Twenty Five

  Clearview, Nevada

  After landing the Firefly at Sampson’s Ranch, Kye and Sampson climbed down from the fighter and headed into the barn. They found Rollin Hicks lying on his back underneath the Tiger Tank, with his legs exposed.

  “How’s it coming?” Asked Sampson, excited by the prospect of seeing all of his prized possessions running like new.

  Rollin slid out from under the tank and wiped his hands on a dirty rag. Wearing overalls and a baseball cap, the mechanic was covered in grease. “I’ve got the M-4 Sherman up and running, along with most of the other vehicles,” he said, nodding to a much smaller tank, parked in the back of the barn. “But I’m still having issues with this one,” he added, leaning against the German tank and wiping sweat from his brow.

  “The Firefly needs to be rearmed and refueled as quickly as possible,” said Kye, as Sampson gathered more Molotov Cocktails from one of the stalls.

  “If the rest of these babies are in working order, why aren’t they in Clearview?” Asked the old man, returning with a crate of cocktails.

  “I radioed Ian and told him,” said Rollin. “He’s sending some men to get them, but they haven’t arrived yet.”

  “They’d better get here soon,” spat Sampson, “or it’ll be for nothing.”

  “They should be here any minute,” replied Rollin, as he wheeled a portable gas tank out of the barn and began pumping fuel into the Firefly. “Where’s the enemy?”

  “The last we saw they were fighting with Sawyer’s Marines at the base of Kingsbury Grade,” answered Kye, loading the fighter’s wings with more ammo. “God knows where they’ll be by the time we get back.”

  “If that Tiger is gonna join the fight, you’d better hurry up and finish the repairs,” added Sampson.

  With the Firefly refueled and rearmed, Kye and Sampson climbed into the fighter and strapped themselves in. “Thanks for your help,” said Kye, before firing up the engine.

  Rollin nodded and handed Sampson the crate full of Molotov Cocktails. “Be careful!”

  “You too,” replied Sampson. “And get that tank running!” He shouted, as the Firefly pulled away and taxied onto the makeshift runway.

  When they were in the air, Sampson glanced out the window and saw a small column of vehicles headed to his ranch. “Those must be the fellas from Clearview coming to get the armored vehicles,” he said, pointing to the convoy below.

  “Good, we’
re gonna need them,” said Kye, as he headed southwest to Kingsbury Grade. “Look!”

  Sampson peered out the canopy and saw Lt. Sawyer’s platoon, racing to Clearview in full retreat. Chasing after them was the entire enemy convoy. “We’re too late!”

  “The hell we are!” Kye put the nose of the aircraft into a dive. “Get ready with those cocktails!” He squeezed the trigger on his stick and unloaded a barrage of bullets on the enemy below.

  Flying directly over the convoy, Sampson leaned out the window and dropped one Molotov Cocktail after another. The lead vehicle burst into flame, bringing the entire column to a halt.

  Taking advantage of the sitting targets, Kye made one pass after another and caused as much damage as possible, while providing the Marines with time to escape.

  *******

  Shiloh rode down Main Street on a neck breaking run, pulling the Appaloosa to a stop in front of the clinic. “This is where most of the wounded will be brought,” he said, lowering Scarlett to the ground.

  “Where will you be?” She asked, concerned for his safety.

  “I’ll be around,” he replied, handing her a radio. “You’ll be able to get ahold of me on this. When the shooting starts, keep your girls inside and don’t come out until you hear from me.”

  “And if we lose the battle?” She asked, worry reflected in her eyes.

  “There’s no telling what’ll be in store for prisoners, especially female captives,” admitted Shiloh. “It’s up to you, but ya might consider saving a bullet for yourself, just in case. Here,” he said, handing her a box of cartridges and his childhood pistol. The same gun he’d used to kill the giant, Marcus Parish.

  “Do you think it’ll come to that?”

  “God I hope not,” he said, glancing up at the heavens, “but it’d be wise to prepare for the worst. Here,” he added, handing her the keys to his Chevy, “my truck is parked around the corner. If it looks like we’re gonna lose, save as many as you can. I’ll try to get back here if possible, but don’t wait for me.”

  “Be careful Shiloh!” Scarlett called out, as he turned and rode away.