“Noticed break in enemy fire patterns, left open corridor down the valley. Led Thunder Red and White platoons down open corridor. Thunder Red broke south and are actively seizing the second gunline. When northern guns focus fire on Thunder Red elements, Thunder White will assault the second gunline. Thunder Red Actual ordered radio silence since we still use Loyalist comms gear. Will update as situation permits, break.”
Pausing again, Xavier prepared for his brazen request.
“Request Thunder Green assault southern ridge when the guns go silent. Further, jam or flood the comms upon receipt of this transmission. Chaos is our friend, how copy?”
The radio silence felt as if it lasted forever.
“Good copy. Will assault at first opportunity. Thunder 6, out.”
His commander bit out each word. The undercurrent in her abrupt message was clear, and Xavier knew it wouldn’t end well for him. It’s worth it if I ended the stalemate, he thought. Resigned to accepting the fallout from his decision, he disconnected his communication device and handed it to the radio operator. He switched to his local comms and heard his NCOs ordering the platoon to move out. Not wanting to be caught with a defective carbine, he performed another quick functions check and verified that his magazine was fresh. Assured that his gear was sound, he fell into the platoon formation.
The trek across the hilly terrain was brutal. Time was of the essence, and the NCOs pushed the legionnaires in 4th Platoon hard. Under Xavier’s watchful eye, they made good time. It was crucial to hit while the sun was still at their backs. It’d give them an advantage, one he hoped to utilize with brutally lethal efficiency. They were successful, having taken the initial part of the journey at a quick loping pace. Xavier let his mind wander, analyzing the situation and war gaming it in his head. He was lulled by the concussions of the enemy guns firing.
Jerked out of his musings by the sound of silence, Xavier came to a stop. The Dagdan guns were still, and then 4th Platoon began taking fire. The Loyalist troops had abandoned their guns and grabbed their carbines. Xavier noticed that the enemy hadn’t bothered to dig defensive trenches here either. The Dagdans stood tall, firing at his platoon—likely to miss as they essentially fired blind.
I’ll have to say I factored that bit of dumb luck into my plans when I stand before the brass. He chuckled to himself.
“Halt!” he roared over the platoon net while simultaneously using the hand signal.
The troops of 4th Platoon spread the order up and down the line while his seasoned NCOs took charge. They began ordering the legionnaires to fire into the enemy, taking maximum advantage of their tactically superior positioning. They drastically thinned the Loyalist numbers. Soon, more Loyalists peeled off, heading away from the legionnaires. Using his HUD to zoom in, he saw troops rushing out of the trenches around Fortress Ancion.
“That’s 1st Platoon!” Xavier yelled excitedly. “Charge!”
Roaring with wild abandon, the platoon took off running and firing toward the enemy. He knew that most of their rounds would miss, but it would distract the enemy long enough for them to close the distance. Xavier had already seen how brutal his platoon was when engaged in hand-to-hand combat. He almost pitied the Loyalists—almost. Echoing his platoon’s battle cry, he joined them in their charge.
The battle lust was on him. Time slowed, and his vision tunneled. One lone Dagdan Loyalist stood on a boulder, carefully picking off legionnaire troops. Xavier lowered his carbine and rushed toward him. He wasn’t sure how long it took—one moment, he was running forward, and the next, he was close enough to engage. He screamed his pent-up frustration, reliving every shelling he’d endured. He thrust his bayonet at the enemy.
He wasn’t quick enough, and the Loyalist soldier jumped to the side. He didn’t remember all his training, but his muscles did. He followed his failed thrust with a butt stroke that caught the Dagdan in the face. Not letting up, Xavier returned to the basic stance he’d spent hours training as a plebe. Thrusting again, he got lucky. He hit the enemy and felt his blade slide into the Loyalist’s belly.
Xavier tried to pull his bayonet out of the enemy’s guts, but it was stuck. He struggled, pissed at the dying man for slowing him down. He’d been taught that the blade’s blood groove prevented this. The training cadre had made it sound so easy—stick in, pull out, repeat. It wasn’t working. Xavier fired a few rounds into the enemy’s guts, trying to loosen the blade while he simultaneously jerked his carbine back. Weapon free, he screamed his victory and searched for a new target.
Scanning the field around him, Xavier missed the Loyalist charging his flank. He felt a searing pain in his side, a burning sensation that pulsed and shuddered throughout his frame. The impact of the hit knocked him to the ground. He lost control of his carbine, the shock of the assault catching him unprepared. He rolled into the fall and stood in time to dodge the next thrust. Leaping to the side, Xavier grabbed the stock of the enemy’s carbine. He used his forward momentum to get in close and head butted the enemy.
Taking advantage of the Loyalist being off balance, Xavier swept the soldier’s legs out from under him. He managed to wrest control of the carbine from the enemy and flipped it around. Rearmed, he began firing round after round into the prostrate foe. He fired until the metallic click told him he was out of ammunition. After reloading the weapon, he began searching for another target. He saw that the last of the enemy had been dispatched.
“Not dispatched—killed,” he muttered to himself.
He saw his platoon sergeant and strode toward him. The pain reminded him of his wound, pulsing through his left flank. Fighting the pain, Xavier reached for the first aid pouch on his armor and grabbed the anticoagulant spray. Gritting his teeth against the pain that was coming, he shoved the nozzle into his wound and depressed the lever. The pressurized spray shot out and began foaming immediately. The initial application of the anticoagulant pain medicine forced him to groan. Xavier tried to maintain the illusion of toughness in front of his troops. He failed. The pain eventually lessened as the medicine worked its way through his system. Finally, he could focus again.
“Don’t worry—ladies love scars,” Boswell told him as he inspected the injury with the skilled hands of a combat veteran.
“Master Sergeant, Lieutenant Pitera should be advancing on the remaining guns with 3rd. See if we can ease their assault. Get the captured guns firing on the enemy. We’ll shell the hell out of the Loyalist scum. Return the favor,” Xavier said.
“I knew you wouldn’t remember that shit. No LT does. I’m already on it,” Boswell responded as he snapped a crisp salute. “Now I imagine brass will want to claim all the glory, so bend over and pucker up, sir!”
“Why should we LTs sully ourselves with that, Master Sergeant? Why else do you think the gods gave us NCOs?” Xavier asked, the mirth thick in his voice.
Xavier dismissed Boswell and turned to his radio operator. “Sergeant Andrews, get the company commander on the line.”
Nodding an affirmative, the comms sergeant moved closer to Xavier. While he knew that his comms sergeant could establish a link at great distances, close proximity was necessary for secure messaging. Xavier had a feeling that an ass-chewing was coming, and he didn’t want that openly available on the comms networks.
“Thunder 6, this is Thunder Red 6. Enemy guns on southern ridgeline secure. Will update once Thunder White element secures gun batteries on the northern ridge. How copy?”
“Thunder Red 6, this is Storm Actual.”
Shit, Xavier thought, when the Legion commander talks to a second lieutenant, it never ends well.
“Well done, Lieutenant. Fortress Ancion will soon be secure. With the opening you created, we can drop in reinforcements to secure the northern ridge. Today, Fortress Ancion. Tomorrow, all of Gakawen! Your company commander’s brilliant leadership is remarkable. I’m eyeing her for promotion to my staff. Until she is transferred, you’ll be her XO. Learn everything you can from her. Storm Actual, out.”
Author Bio
J. R. Handley is a pseudonym for a husband-and-wife writing team. He is a veteran infantry sergeant with the 101st Airborne Division and the 28th Infantry Division. She is the kind of crazy that interprets his insanity into cogent English. He writes the sci-fi while she proofreads it. The sergeant is a two-time combat veteran of the late unpleasantness in Mesopotamia, where he was wounded, likely doing something stupid. He started writing military science fiction as part of a therapy program suggested by his doctor and hopes to entertain you while he attempts to excise his demons through these creative endeavors. In addition to being just another dysfunctional veteran, he is a stay-at-home dad, avid reader, and all-around nerd. Luckily for him, his queen joins him in his fandom nerdalitry.
I can be found fumbling around the interwebs on my blog, Twitter, and Facebook accounts. If this story piqued your interest, be sure to check me out!
LZ New Birth: New Carthage Republic Page 3
