Shades of War: A Collection of Four Short Stories

by Ashton, Josh

The soldier smiled.

  "No problem. We had nowhere else to go."

  "Well, I wasn't going anywhere."

  "Is it true you hid under those bodies all day?"

  "Yeah."

  "Wow, that must have fucking sucked."

  "I wouldn't want to do it again."

  "I have to ask, sir. Are we going to make it back to our own lines?"

  The question made the officer feel old. He did something every leader has done in every war since time immortal, he lied.

  "Sure, Ford seems pretty squared away. He'll figure something out."

  "Cool, sir."

  The officer and private split off and worked separately for a few more minutes until Ford came back down from upstairs. The Captain motioned for Ford to step away from where the soldiers were creating barricades.

  "All right, what is it?” Ford demanded.

  Cringing, the Captain made his request.

  "We need to hold this building."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "We need to hold this place."

  "Why?"

  The Captain looked up at the floor above his head as he spoke.

  "The intelligence up there is a treasure trove."

  "Bullshit. We're going to wait for a bit and hope the slanties calm down and then we're slipping out the back door."

  The Captain hesitated. He didn't know what to do. He was out of his element. He dealt in languages, history, courses of action, plans and plots. Not the hard cold reality of combat. But here he had to convince a veteran to not only sacrifice himself but also his men along with him. With all the sincerity and honesty he could muster, the Captain tried to convince a man he just met to die in some random building that was worth nothing.

  "Sergeant, I technically outrank you, but I'm not going to play that game."

  "No shit, Sherlock. You're out of your league, sir. You wouldn't know what orders to give. And I'll be damned if I'm going to listen to some Intel puke get my men and I killed."

  The Captain played the only card he knew. He played the card of life.

  "Sergeant, if you guys go, I'm not going with you. I will stay here by myself dying to protect what's upstairs."

  That got Ford's attention. Eyes glaring his next words were more of hiss.

  "You better explain to me what's so damn important up there."

  The Captain got scared as he explained it to Ford.

  "This is going to get worse. It's all written in those files up stairs; thousands and thousands of pages. They wrote it all down as if they knew the power was going go out."

  Picking at a nasty scab on his face, Ford looked hard at the Captain.

  "What the hell is worse than this?"

  "Sergeant, those EMPs are going to change us. It lists a series of effects that will change humanity forever."

  "Change?"

  "Yeah, they call them ghosts and monsters."

  "This isn't a time to joke, sir."

  "I'm not joking."

  "Bullshit."

  "Do you know anything about North Korean psyche?"

  "No, just that they're right bastards."

  "Well I do. Their military doesn't have much imagination. If they state that something is going to happen, they believe it will."

  "They could be mistaken..."

  "No, here's the rub, Sergeant. Here is what scares me. Here is why I will die here. This wasn't some hypothesis on their part. They tested this shit. Those files upstairs are referring to tests, tests that had scarily positive results."

  "Fuck. You really believe it?"

  "Yes, I do."

  "Fuck."

  Ford sat there for a moment mulling things over. The Captain and Ford sat there in silence. The Captain didn't want to interrupt Ford's thinking. The longer Ford thought, the bleaker his face turned. As if before his eyes, Ford's face became gaunt and old. Finally Ford looked desperately at the Captain.

  "Do you have any idea what you're asking?"

  The Captain met Ford's eyes.

  "Yes, we have to hold this place until we can get the information back even if we die trying. If there are survivors to the south they will need this intel."

  Tiredly Ford rubbed both hands across his face.

  "OK, so how do we let people know where we are. This plan sucks unless we get word to someone."

  "I have an idea. Have you heard of a man named Chuikov or the 62nd?"

  "Who? What?"

  The Captain was not a combat officer. Aside from some basic combat skills he had practiced in ROTC, he had very little combat training. But the Captain was also a history geek and he knew a few things. He began to tell Sergeant Ford about a place that used to be called Stalingrad, a General named Chuikov and the 62nd. After spending a few minutes on the history lesson, the officer was honest with Ford.

  "Sergeant Ford, I have no idea how they did it. I'm not infantry. But the 62nd held out for months. Can you tell me how they did it? More importantly can you show me how they did it?"

  Ford's eyes had taken on a faraway look as if he was running a thousand scenarios through his mind.

  "Stalingrad, huh?"

  "Yep."

  "You want me to hold this place, sir? Are those your orders?"

  The Captain was shocked at Fords change in demeanor.

  "Yes, we have to hold this place."

  Ford's eyes met the officer's.

  "Oh, we'll hold this place, sir. This building is now ours. I'll make the Koreans hate this damn building once I'm done. This is now my Stalingrad."

  Chapter III

  The early morning had dropped a silence around the building. The sporadic firing of the last few hours had petered out. Nothing surrounded the building but darkness and silence. Even though it was two in the morning everyone knew the NKs were still out there waiting.

  Inside the building the red glow of shielded flashlights centered around one conversation. Jones was glaring with both Ford and the Captain. He was a very unhappy man. In reality none the men involved in the conversation were very happy.

  "No disrespect, but are you fucking kidding me?"

  The Captain decided not to answer his rhetorical question. Ford, who was leaning against the wall, also remained silent. Jones, who was still not any happier, looked over at Ford.

  "Sergeant, tell me you're not in on this with him? This idea sucks. And more specifically, this idea is going to get me killed."

  Ford had his head bowed, but when he spoke his voice was clear and solemn.

  "I don't know, Jonesy, you read those files. You tell me, you can read some Korean, is the Captain telling the truth?"

  Jones didn't answer the question immediately. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he appeared to be thinking.

  "Yeah, I know what it says. But I didn't say I believe what the NKs wrote. Do you really believe that crap, sir?"

  The officer didn't hesitate.

  "I do. I already told the sergeant here that it’s worth staying here and dying for it. I'm the one that asked him to make the platoon stay here."

  "Shit."

  Ford spoke up again.

  "If we stay and hold this place someone has to go for help or it's all for shit."

  "Great. So you guys get to play Alamo while I try and Call of Duty my ass south dodging the entire North Korean Army. Thanks guys."

  Jones wasn't trying to hide his sarcasm.

  "So, why me?"

  Ford fielded the next question.

  "Because, you've been to Ranger School, you speak Korean, and to put it simply, I trust you the most to operate independently."

  "What happens if I don't go?" Jones demanded.

  "Then we pick someone else. I'm asking, Jonesy. But I will keep asking until someone volunteers. If we hold, we need to know we have an out."

  "Who were you going to ask next?"

  "I don't know, I figured if you turned it down, I would ask Davies."

  "Davies, he's a great soldier but he'd never make it."
r />   "OK, Jones, then tell me who I should ask?"

  Jones only had one answer to that question.

  "You bastards."

  The Captain and the Sergeant waited. They had picked the right man. The man just needed to come to grips with his own decision.

  Jones leaned his rifle against the wall. Took off his helmet and laid it next to it. Then he started shrugging out of his tac harness and body armor. He stripped himself of most of his gear. Then he glanced at Ford and the officer.

  "OK, sir. Give me your pistol."

  The Captain hesitated not understanding the request.

  Jones gave the Captain a condescending look, and then looked at Ford for help. Ford just shrugged.

  "Explain it to him. He doesn't know what you need."

  "Sir, I'm going to be traveling light and fast. I need to average about four to five miles an hour. That means no armor, no gear, and no rifle. But I need a couple of things to help out just in case. So I'll need a pistol with a couple of mags and just in case a few frags. If I get popped at night, I don't want to use any kind of firearm. It will be all knife work and grenades."

  The Captain handed Jones the pistol and unclipped the holster from his belt. He also pulled a couple of pistol magazines from his harness. Jones checked the pistol and dropped the magazines in a pant pocket.

  "OK, sir. How far do you reckon I have to go?"

  "Seventy miles, due south."

  "Just seventy, huh?"

  Jones asked sardonically.

  "For a Ranger that should be a walk in the park," the Captain replied jokingly, taunting him.

  "OK, right. So how do you figure seventy?"

  "That's where phase line four should be."

  "Phase line what?"

  "Phase line four. This invasion has been planned for almost a hundred a years. Different plans have been looked over, drafted and re-drafted hundreds of times. The most recent plan that I saw had us retreating to a series of phase lines. If we couldn't hold one, we would automatically retreat to the next, and so on."

  Ford apparently did not like that answer.

  "So how are you so damn sure that our forces will be at Phase Line Four?"

  "There were only four phase lines. Phase four was the last line. If our forces aren't there, that means the Army has ceased to exist as a fighting force."

  The Captain paused and then tried to convert Jones to his old religion.

  "You head south and they'll be there. They have to be or it just doesn't matter."

  Jones suddenly grinned at them. It wasn't a happy smile. It had a macabre deaths head look to it.

  "Shit, just seventy. No problem."

  He looked at both the men.

  "You want me to go tonight don't you?"

  Ford just nodded.

  "All right, I assume you have a plan to make it easy for me to slip out the door."

  "Yeah, we're going to cause a bit of distraction and sneak you out."

  "All right, Let's do it."

  Chapter IV

  Jones leaned against a wall crouched next to a window on the first floor. The Captain was crouched next to him. Jones glanced at the Captain. The officer appeared more nervous than he was. Jones decided to help him out.

  "You've never done this before."

  It was a statement, not a question.

  "Done what?"

  "Sent someone out to do something that may get them killed."

  "No,” the Captain answered flatly trying to hide his discomfort.

  Jones' white-toothed smile was visible even in the dark room.

  "Hell, sir. It's all good. But you better get used to it, if this bitch of a fight goes on like you think it will. You're going to send a lot of people out. Just be glad this time you had such a willing volunteer."

  Jones' attitude was contagious.

  "You were willing?"

  Jones chuckled.

  "Well, semi-willing. I'll make it, sir; no matter what. I promise."

  The dull thunk of grenade launchers firing echoed in the building. Several explosions ripped in all directions outside the building. Then the entire platoon opened fire. Jones and the Captain turned to watch four men bolt out the front door of the building screaming and firing.

  "Crazy, mother fuckers."

  Jones shouted over the shooting.

  "Well, that's my cue. You better be here when I get back, sir or I'll be pissed."

  "We will be."

  Jones didn't have anything else to say. He slapped officer on the side of the shoulder and rolled out the window and was gone into the night.

  The Captain stared at the empty window for a moment, then went to see if he could help the four men who were out in the open. Once they had heard what Jones was doing, the four had volunteered to provide a distraction. That's what kind of platoon they were. That's what you do for family.

  Chapter V

  The explosion picked up the Captain and slammed him into the wall, knocking him senseless. He wasn't sure how long he was out for. Slowly the fog cleared from his mind, and he came back from the blackness.

  His hearing returned before his vision. All around him weapons fire roared. And even though he was not totally with it, the Captain smiled. He recognized the weapons firing. They belonged to his men. They were alive and they were killing. He pushed himself to his knees trying to regain his senses. Then for his own encouragement more than his soldiers he screamed the command he had been repeating over and over for the last three days.

  "Hold them! Hold them!"

  His vision was back. He found his assault rifle, picked it up and automatically checked to see if it was damaged. It looked OK. At least he thought it did. Lifting his eyes he searched for his men. They were where they should be. He could see eight of his men scattered around the room crouched next to windows. Occasionally one would rise and fire a few rounds outwards towards the enemy. Even without him, his men knew their business.

  Crouching he walked over to the closest soldier he could see. Murphy was mumbling as he crouched by a window.

  "You little bitch. Come on, you mother. Don't be a tease."

  His harsh accent somehow made the crass vulgarity even worse. Murphy of course was Irish. Not just Irish. All Boston on top of it. He had to yell so Murphy would hear him over sound of machine gun fire.

  "Where is Ford?"

  Murphy didn't even bother from turning from his window. He just let lose three rounds as fast he could pull the trigger. Dropping back down he grinned at the Captain.

  "I knew the shithead would poke his head out again."

  As he spoke Murphy scratched at a nasty cut that ran along his cheek.

  "He went downstairs as soon as the rockets started slamming into us. You OK, sir? That explosion looked like it rocked you pretty good."

  "I'm OK. Oh, by the way, get that wound looked at by the medic." The Captain pointed at Murphy's face.

  "Fuck it. Doc Jensen has bigger problems than this shit."

  The Captain couldn't argue that logic. He nodded at Murphy and slapped his shoulder and moved away.

  The Captain took a few minutes to stop and talk to all the guys on the second floor. The entire time the firefight didn't stop. His men knew what to do. Actually they knew better than he did. At each stop, he asked them how they were doing. Did a quick ammo check and basically told them to keep it up. Three days before, he would have had no idea what to do in this situation. But he was learning. His mentor and three days of almost constant fighting had taught him. As he finally moved towards the stairs, the same insecure thought blared into his mind like blaring song off the radio.

  Who did he think he was? He had no fucking business leading these men.

  It didn't matter. He had to lead. They had to hold this building.

  Not sure what would greet him, he warily checked out the stairwell before he slowly worked his way down the steps. Whereas the firing upstairs had been loud and constant, no one was firing on the first floor. This was all part of the pl
an that he and Ford had set up. There weren't that many men down here. They were tucked well back from the windows and doors. The entire floor had been set up as a kind of fortress. Over-turned tables and chairs had been set up as a barricade. If any of the enemy made it past the fire coming from the second floor, they would have a nasty surprise waiting for them on this level.

  Even though it was midday outside, the building was a typical Korean government piece of crap. Too much cement and too few windows made it hard to see inside; however the Captain wasn't about to complain. The building had made a great place for a last stand. Peering into the darkness he made a out a figure waving at him.

  Ford was huddled up next to a soldier named Smithy. The Captain moved over to them. Ford greeted him in his typical cynical manner.

  "You look like shit, sir. You got crap all over you. What happened?"

  "I just did a dance with a RPG round," explained the Captain.

  "Ouch. I figured when they opened up with the rockets that they might get serious so I slid down here to make sure the guys down here were OK."

  "I just checked on the second floor. After I found you I was going to check on the guys on the third floor, then I was going to see what's down in the basement. That door bugs me. I want to know why it was locked from this side."

  "Are you sure that door needs to be opened? It scares the hell out of me. Why don't we leave it alone?"

  "Tell, me you haven't wanted to check it, sergeant?"

  "Oh, I want to but it still scares me and you know why."

  "Yeah, but I have to do it."

  "OK. Don't worry about the third floor. I'll take care of that. I'll hang down here for a few minutes. Are you sure you don't want company in the basement?"

  "No. We can't spare the men."

  The Captain moved back towards the waiting basement door. Ford followed him. Feeling that Ford had another comment, he raised a questioning eye at the NCO. Ford as usual gave it to him straight.

  "Sir, we're screwed."

  "Tell me something I don't know."

  "We could break out of here, sir. Let the night settle in and try and get out of here."

  The Captain sighed. This had been a frequent discussion between the two men over the last three days.

  "Sergeant Ford, we have to hold. This place is important."