The Mighty First, Episode 2

by Mark Bordner

  Standing above each hole was a pair of Marines, their rifles trained on the occupants. He realized that he had a pair of his own aimed at his head, the helmeted figures standing just behind

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  him. Like his fellow company members, Dylan slowly rose his hands in to the air. His surprise was turning to anger. How had all of these troopers managed to sneak in to the camp? The watch-standers must have fallen asleep!

  The Marine nearest him motioned with the rifle to get up out of the hole, and he complied. Dylan looked around, searching for Ford, who would be easy to spot because of his immense size, but the man was nowhere to be seen.

  “Start walking,” the trooper ordered, motioning toward the edge of the bog. B-Company was herded to the edge of the trees and lined up near the lip of the mucky water. One of the victorious members rose their visor, and Dylan recognized the young woman as Amell, the albino Attayan. The sergeant paced around the captured kids, looking smug. She was on the bog side, her boots ankle-deep in the muck, pacing slowly up the line while her platoon held their rifles trained on them.

  “The Storians don’t take prisoners, you know,” she stated in that lilt that so resembled an Irish accent. “So you can imagine why you’re lined up this way.”

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  “Have any of you been in front of a firing squad before?”

  Dylan’s resolve sank. Ford was going to be furious with them for getting snagged this way. After all of that careful preparation the night before! He grit his teeth, waiting for the paint-rounds to start slapping them.

  Amell had paused just behind him, was about to say something more, when they were all distracted by the sudden eruption of water behind her. A mud-caked monster was rising from the muck, unfolding from itself and spreading into the form of one Samoan Marine who was built like an ancient god.

  “Drop!” Ford’s voice boomed in B-Company’s frequency, even while he was still rising. It seemed both in slow-motion, yet incredibly quick at the same time.

  The kids fell to the ground in unison. As the sergeant major reached his full height, his left arm rocketed out, slamming into Amell’s breastplate with jackhammer force. She was propelled backward off her feet, arms flailing. Ford’s right arm was swinging around at the same time, his AR-40 slinging water from the end of its barrel.

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  He began free-firing as it came about, sending an arc of paint-rounds across the line of troopers still standing. Those who had been the victors only moments before were now mowed down like grass.

  Something else happened that was just as unexpected.

  As Ford completed his sweep, something plowed into the fold of his right knee, knocking him off-balance. As he came down, an armored palm crashed against his visor, rocking his head back, forcing him to fall backward into the water. When he looked up, he was staring into the end of a pistol.

  Minerva lifted her visor with her free hand and smiled sweetly at him.

  “Good morning,” she greeted.

  Astounded, he lifted his own visor and regarded her with admiration. He wasn’t about to let her have it completely for free, though.

  “You hit like a girl,” Ford stated with a grin.

  Xxxxx

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  The remainder of the week was spent practicing maneuvers both individually, and in groups. The arts of reconnaissance, and reading the terrain. By Friday, Ford felt that the kids had absorbed about all that they could and called for a pick up. He figured the last week of R & R should be spent taking it easy, if that were even possible. It would likely be busy with preparing gear for the next deployment, and dealing with that sickening anticipation that inevitably preceded a mobilization.

  During the flight back, the sergeant major tried to imagine what life would be like with the war at an end, being able to really enjoy a day without that irritating weight in the back of his mind, wondering if he would still be alive come nightfall. The most disheartening part of it was knowing that the war had scarcely begun, and could drag out for much time to come.

  Xxxxx

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  August 3rd

  New Bedford, Pennsylvania

  It was a peaceful evening, one of those summer nights where the air for some reason felt silky and calm, with a laziness that accompanied it for man and beast alike. The townsfolk strolled the streets downtown or lingered in the park. Stray dogs lollygagged in the grass, playing and nipping at one another.

  The troopers of the 83rd Regiment had been filtering into town since morning, reporting in with their platoon leaders or company commanders. Those who were in hotels checked out and gathered in the high school gym, finding empty bunks. They were slowly gathering back together, reuniting with friends, and swapping stories of their time away. Meeting the new additions to their constantly changing surrogate family.

  The new kids found themselves a bit intimidated by the older members, who were looked upon with an amount of awe. Those who had taken part in Operation Overlord II were now the veterans, the first combat veterans to be in the service in over a

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  century. It was a dubious honor. Even though those vets were barely a year or two older, the teens sported scars and the facial wearing-down that battle fatigue and fear can etch into a human. Their behavior and mannerisms were those of people much older, wiser to the stresses that had been borne.

  The vets regarded the new kids with some curiosity and disdain. The surprising youth of the privates caught them off-guard, and some felt apprehensive about getting to know them. So many close friends had been lost that becoming acquainted with the new arrivals seemed pointless. The new kids tended to weep openly for want of home, which made it a bit more uncomfortable for those who had worked so hard to adjust to those same emotional challenges.

  The corporals and buck sergeants who were squad, section, and team leaders made a point of introducing themselves, and taking the kids around to meet their fellow troopers. Integrating them and forcing the relationships to begin the process of building. It was important to remember that regardless of age or time in the unit, every one of them were fellow Marines.

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  Those who held the ranks of staff and gunnery sergeant were tasked with inventorying gear, filling out requisitions for the distribution of appropriate weapons to the varying teams, and getting armor returned to its owners.

  Those who had remained in town had witnessed droves of armored vehicles being convoyed back toward the Ohio line, along with supply shuttles dropping from orbit to deliver fresh munitions. Diesel trucks had hauled trailers of tanks and artillery pieces out as well. They knew just by reading the writing on the wall that a big push was underway. Rumors flew up and down the grapevine, laced with bits of truth making its way back from the front.

  Word had it that the relief battalions had fought their way inland from Youngstown to just outside Akron, Ohio, where the offensive had stalled against heavily entrenched Storian units. Artillery was flying back and forth, the air power of both sides constantly harassing one another. The Allied infantry units were holding, but nearing exhaustion. It was the 83rd Regiment’s turn to provide relief.

  The senior staff of 1st Battalion was in the make-shift

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  armory, signing out their personal field gear while the maintenance techs made final repairs to their armor. The sergeants took possession of their weapons, and told the clerks to make sure that plenty of ammo clips and grenades found their way back to them.

  With rifles slung over their shoulders, they returned to their berthing area lugging the heavy satchels of munitions that would eventually be strapped across their bodies when the time came to hit the road.

  Despite the cleaning and maintenance, their armor w
as still pitted, dented, and bearing the scars of having been in battle. This only contributed to the glances of amazement and respect from the new replacements. The kids knew that they were in the company of those who had experienced what the news-vids had been playing over and again across the Allied system.

  Dropping their burdens atop their racks, the senior sergeants scarcely had time to sit before Sergeant Major Ford appeared, and ordered them to their feet.

  “The Brass is calling a briefing,” He told them. “We need to muster in the high school performing arts building in ten

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  minutes.”

  Ford regarded Ecu and Amell for a moment, “I want the two of you to tag along as well,” he said. “It won’t be long before you see more stripes on your sleeves, I’m sure.”

  They walked over together, both as colleagues and friends, but the tone was drifting into more serious territory. Play time was over, and it was time to get back into work mode. Mark and Minerva walked hand-in-hand, both feeling familiar disquiet in their stomachs, neither voicing it to the other. She slipped her arm around his waist, and shivered. A terrible sensation of darkness hung in the air, and Minerva dreaded what may be soon to come.

  Xxxxx

  Once again, the officers and senior NCO’s of the 83rd Regiment found themselves seated in a darkened room, staring at a tactical map, and listening to grimly-voiced details of what they would be trudging in to. The mood was glum. No one was looking forward to going back into battle, and that trepidation was compounded by the unwelcome circumstances that awaited them.

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  It turned out that much of the grapevine rumors were true. The Allied advance had, indeed, ground to a halt ten miles east of the Akron city limits, bogging down into an artillery stand-off. The Storians had managed to throw air power at the new line, which was barely being held in check by the space-naval air wings.

  “We deploy at oh-six-hundred,” Strasburg announced at the conclusion of the briefing, “Have your people up by oh-four-hundred to get them their last hot breakfast. Gear up by oh-five and conduct your last-minute checks. I want all personnel in formation on the flight line no later than oh-five-thirty. Get some rest, ladies and gentlemen, you’re going to need it. Dismissed.”

  Outside of the P.A.C., Ford’s group waited for him until he came out among the throng of officers. He appeared troubled, but did not want to discuss it, instead making an excuse to go stock up on cigars in order to ensure he had enough to last the next mobilization.

  Amell and Ecu returned to the gym to bed down and get some sleep, and the newlyweds snuck off to find some privacy. Finding himself alone, Manny wandered the school grounds,

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  watching the buzz of activity. Things were really ramping up. He wondered what it would be like this time. The D-Day drop had really been disorganized despite all of the careful planning, and the fight had ended up lasting better than a month, beating the Storians back to Youngstown with the greatest of effort.

  Now, the ground war was fully underway, with new lines established deeper into Storian-held U.S. territory--- which he supposed was a good thing. They were going in the right direction, anyway. What mattered the most was that the Attayan space navy was holding the blockade at the Kuiper Limit. So long as Grozet could not get any resupply convoys through the asteroid belt and reach Earth, then the noose would continue to tighten on his occupation forces. The Army boys were successfully keeping the southern lines with the help of the Mexican Marines, and Canada was actually pushing south with backing from France and the European Union. It was just a matter of keeping the initiative, and praying that luck remained on their side.

  While Manny lingered on the edge of the football field, he

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  noticed an Attayan sitting alone on the bleachers nearby, watching the activity as well. She was leaning forward, elbows on her knees, humming something to herself. It was an intriguing tune, one that he had never heard before, kind of sorrowful in a touching way. He wandered nearer, listening.

  She looked down from where she sat and regarded him with suspicion, “A stalker, are you?”

  Manny was surprised, “Oh, no, it’s not like that,” he replied. “It was just that song you were humming. It was interesting.”

  “Hmm.” She replied noncommittally.

  “Is it alright if I sit?” He asked.

  She shrugged, “If it suits you.”

  Manny stepped up the rows until he was beside her and plopped down, extending a hand and introducing himself.

  She shook it, fixing him with eyes that were dark and intoxicating, slanted in a fashion that reminded him of the Asiatic type, “You can call me Rose.”

  Manny was a bit perplexed with the swirl of feelings

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  bouncing about in his head. This girl was extremely attractive, but the fact that she was an alien confused him greatly. What would the ramifications be of an Earth-Human having a romantic relationship with an Attayan-Human? The very state of her cat-like appearance set her apart from a Terran despite every other feature being similar to his own. He had heard that both Attayan and Storian DNA was no different than that of Earth’s Mankind. The entire thing was difficult for him to comprehend. All he knew for certain was that this girl was beautiful to him.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” She demanded. “I doubt it’s your first time seeing one of us, if you’ve been to boot camp.”

  Manny forced himself to look away, “No, I’m sorry. I’m a ding-dong sometimes.”

  Rose nodded, “Sounds like it.”

  He motioned out at the field, “Looks like we’re getting busy again. Which battalion did they assign you to?”

  The young woman shook her head, “I’m a pilot,” she told him. “Huey-shuttle gunship.”

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  She tapped at the colorful patch on the sleeve of her flight suit.

  Manny looked back at her again, noticing her cover-all

  uniform with its unit insignias. One in particular caught his eye, “What’s 1st HFAS stand for?”

  “First Helo Fast Attack Squadron,” she answered. “We’re the Attayan air support group for the First Infantry Battalion.”

  Manny’s eyes lit up, “That’s me! I mean, that’s us! I’m in the First. Bravo Company commander,” he said proudly.

  Rose nodded, “Small world. I guess we’ll be running into one another once in a while.”

  Manny nodded as well, grinning. He couldn’t help allowing his gaze to wander to her eyes again.

  “I may have to slap you, if you keep staring at me like I’m a dinner plate,” she warned.

  “Oh, geeze,” he stammered. “I’m sorry, it’s just…I…”

  Rose started giggling and gently punched his chest, “I’m joking, relax. You’re blushing, by the way.”

  Manny rubbed his sweating palms on his pant legs, and

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  tried to calm himself down. He was actually shaking. He had flirted with girls while still in high school, but it had never felt so darned confusing before. This girl was so mature, and confident, and appealing! He decided to take a leap of chance.

  “Say,” he started. “Would you like to go cet a gup of coffee?”

  Rose looked at him as if he were completely bats, grinning, “Cet a gup of coffee?” She repeated. “Is that a new form of pig Latin?”

  Manny didn’t realize that he had flubbed his words, and only stared blankly back at her. Rose smiled sweetly and patted his knee, “I think caffeine is the last thing you need right now.”

  She stood and regarded him with those hypnotic eyes, “I’ll see you around.”

  Manny watched her walk away, still absently rubbing his palms on his pant legs, feeling more confused than ever. H
e vowed to himself to get his head straight before trying to talk to her again, and also questioned the propitiousness of his feelings. He decided to discuss it with Ford. He would know.

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  Four

  Mobilization

  August 4th

  Dawn was breaking over New Bedford as the companies that comprised the three battalions of the 83rd Regiment formed up on the outer edge of the make-shift flight line. The residents of the town had gathered nearby, and were watching the solemn display as first squads, then platoons marched in tight formations---forming the company groupings as leaders sang the twangy cadence that had been tradition in the Corps for generations. News crews from GNN were faithfully setting up cameras to film it all.

  As the sun broke the horizon, its golden rays spilled over the lines of Marines, shining over them in a cascade of dramatic light. It cast the entire scene in an almost surreal glow that captured the hearts of everyone observing it. Clapping and cheering broke out, followed by the thunderous chant of

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  ‘MIGHTY FIRST! MIGHTY FIRST!’

  The kids felt a rush of pride shiver through them. Standing at the head of the formation, Colonel Strasburg was awe inspired. He yelled into the suit mic.

  “Regiment, about-face!”

  Everyone executed a smart spin on one heel, now facing the crowd.

  “Present-arms!” He ordered.

  The Marines, their weapons slung over their shoulders, saluted the citizens in unison. The cheering erupted thunderously.

  “That is for you, my fellow Marines,” Strasburg told them, his voice proud. “Today, we ride into battle. We are fighting for these people, the citizens of our planet. They honor you with their cheers, and in return, we will honor them with our blood! Our sacrifices will forever be written in history!”