The Mighty First, Episode 2

by Mark Bordner

  The master sergeant was visibly relieved, not for herself, but the fact that she would be able to mother over the children. Hannock cautiously left the room and disappeared down the corridor, leaving her there with the caregiver and her charges.

  Minerva joined their group and pulled her helmet off, shaking her hair free. The kids were all smiling at her, comforted by her presence. She smiled back, ruffling the hair of a red-headed boy adorned with freckles. The master sergeant analyzed herself again. Only a few short months before, during the D-Day drop, she had been an emotional wreck. Doubts had plagued her; worrying over her boyfriend, civilians, fellow troopers, and incompetent officers. It was a wonder that she had even made it

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  through, but make it, she had. Through the series of combat engagements that followed, she had found an inner strength and confidence that she was not even aware existed.

  Now, here she sat, in full control of her fears.

  Minerva was confident in the abilities of her new husband, and sure that he would be able to take care of himself--- wherever he might be at the moment. She now had the trust of her senior officers, and most importantly, trust in herself.

  Another explosion accompanied by an escalation in small-arms fire rocked the building, drawing screams from the kids. Dust and acoustical ceiling tiles fell around them and the emergency lights flickered. The unmistakable drone and squeak of a tank approached.

  Minerva donned her helmet and keyed the tactical, her nerves jangling. Sure enough, enemy armor was rolling right toward the care center--- with better than a dozen Storian infantry indicated in its wake. She needed to act, and quickly.

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  “Stay here!” She told the caregiver, then more with a gentler tone to the children, “I’ll be right back. You’re going to be alright.”

  The master sergeant left the room and peeled down the hall, crashing through a fire exit that led into the alley. She hurried to the mouth and crouched behind a steel dumpster, peaking around it. The tank was half a block away and coming steadily, its side guns pouring 60-watt fire to both flanks, ripping through storefronts without discretion.

  Minerva reached over her shoulder for the one Anti-Tank Round she had latched there, and brought it down, priming the one-shot tube and taking a careful aim at the thin flange separating the turret from the main body. This was the only weak spot when facing one of those behemoths, and it was imperative to make that one shot count. Her finger began to squeeze the firing pin.

  The tank’s main gun fired first.

  The world erupted. The flash of light registered a micro-second before the concussion slammed her backwards, embroiled in a supernova filled with shattered brick. She seemed to tumble

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  for an eternity, crashing painfully into the close walls of the alley and propelled helplessly with the jetsam.

  When she at last came to a stop, Minerva had no concept of what had just happened, momentarily stunned beyond reasonable thought. She lay in a heap among the rubble, body as numb as her mind, only aware of the ringing in her ears. After a few moments, she was able to rouse herself to a sitting position and attempt to collect her senses. Her visor tactical was scrambled, and the visor itself cracked. She flipped it open to draw fresh air, but only took in the dust that hung around her like a cloud, and it made her gag.

  Her weapons were nowhere to be found.

  She could see down the shadowed canyon that was the alley, and observe that the tank had turned and moved past. The enemy infantry was gone as well, the sounds of their shooting sounding further away. The wall on her left had a huge, gaping hole blown out of its side, still swirling with dust and smoke.

  Terror registered.

  Minerva first crawled on all fours, then forced herself to

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  her feet, and on rubbery legs, she made her way back up the alley to the damaged portion of the wall. Looking in, leaning against the bricks for support, her bottom lip quivered as hot tears welled and coursed down her cheeks. She was not aware that her bladder had released into her suit, or even of the blood that oozed from the ugly scrape on the side of her face.

  The tank round had obliterated the care center.

  Holding a gloved hand over her mouth to stifle the sobs, she stumbled away, back down the alley and into the darkness that could hide her there. Minerva berated herself for having failed yet again. This time, twenty young children had paid the price. Collapsing behind another dumpster, she held her head in her hands and wanted nothing more than to find Grozet himself and make him pay by her hand alone.

  Xxxxx

  Lance Corporal Brion found her squad holed up in the garage bay of a fire station. Using the huge, red engines as cover,

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  the eight of them were shooting out at what appeared to be a full platoon of Storian infantry outside. Rounds showered around them, punching into the trucks and the walls, snapping and sparking.

  She glanced back into the interior of the station, searching for an avenue of escape, but the firefight was too intense to allow her to really concentrate on anything other than shooting back.

  A hand grenade came sailing into the bay, clattering off of the concrete and skidding right next to her. Brion rolled under the fire truck. The marine that had been next to her reached over, grabbed it, and was rearing to throw it back out when it detonated, incredibly loud in the confined space. Shrapnel sprayed in all directions and the force of the blast flung the girl trying to throw the device into the wall. She slid to a sitting position, looking down at the torn stump of her left arm---everything below the elbow gone.

  Brion rolled back out, firing as she went, and grabbed the wounded trooper, dragging her further back into the bay, ducking behind the fire engine. She assessed the damage to her arm.

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  The blood flow had already been stanched by the reactive quality of the nano-armor, but the kid was limp, in shock. She wished that they had a machine gunner, or a grenadier, someone who could provide a better blanket of covering fire.

  Her eyes fell upon a thick coil of hose on the wall, attached to a brass valve, and she lifted her visor, wanting to look at it with her own eyes. An idea blossomed. She risked running through the veil of plasma rounds to reach it. Grabbing the hose by its nozzle, Jovannah uncoiled a few feet, then cranked the valve as far open as it would go. With a yank on the handle, a powerful jet of water erupted out toward the street, so strong that she nearly lost her balance.

  The unexpected distraction provided enough of a lull in the firing for her team to skitter back into the bay and flee through a side door. One marine dashed over to grab the wounded kid and threw her over one shoulder. Only when her team was safely through the side door did Brion drop the hose and join them.

  The short hallway led to an outer door, which opened into the alley behind the station--- mercifully clear of Storians.

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  Her fire team fled, following it north, hopefully away from the ambush and toward their fellow Marines.

  Xxxxx

  The 1st Battalion had been rapidly pinned down and surrounded, with still additional Storian units forming a perimeter to keep the 2nd and 3rd Battalions at bay, fighting them fiercely in what amounted to a concentric ring of circles around the block. The Army 101st units were scrambling from the outer fringes of the city, fighting their way inward in an attempt to provide aid to their Marine counterparts, but the Storians countered their every move, effectively holding back the waves. Overhead, Blackhawk-shuttle gunships cruised throughout the canyons of high rise buildings, their side door gunners pouring covering fire into the droves of enemy platoons. Ground-to-air rockets lanced upward from a multitude of directions, smacking into buildings, or sailing off into the sky. A Blackhawk
received a solid hit to its tail, ripping it free, and sending the aircraft spinning downward,

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  crashing into an intersection.

  The outer ring of Storians held fast.

  That inner ring was slowly closing in. The Storians were claiming more and more marines as the soldiers tightened the noose. The 83rd Regiment fought back valiantly, protecting one another under the withering fire, trying to link up with other platoons as they did so, but the counter-offensive was simply too overwhelming. The results were devastating. Kids were falling left and right.

  The Allied tanks finally broke through the outer perimeter of Storian infantry to the south and began blasting their way in, using both side guns and their main guns to rip a path through the city. Huey gunships swarmed down and raked the canyon of steel and glass, laying down as heavy a blanket of covering fire as possible--- attempting to help the encircled 1st Battalion, but the effort, as massive as it was, appeared to be of no avail. The screams of the dying filled the command frequency with heart-wrenching agony.

  Xxxxx

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  Alpha Company, 1st Platoon, had retreated into the confines of a Dunkin’ Donuts, and were doing their best to defend their last bastion of safety. The tiny eating area was littered with debris, and more than a dozen wounded troopers. Those that could still fight were shooting from behind the concrete lip of the blown-out window, firing the occasional rifle grenade when the opportunity presented itself. The rain of plasma that was pouring into the shop was unbelievable.

  At some point, Ford realized that they had failed to remember that there was a back door to the joint which might provide an avenue of escape.

  “Can you stay with these guys and hold the fort down?” He asked Mark. “I’m gonna check for another way out!”

  Mark nodded, free-firing over the ledge.

  Ford tapped little Timothy on the shoulder, motioning for him to follow. They crawled into the kitchen, staying down while they avoided rounds that were punching into the appliances around them. Sure enough, there was an alley door in the far corner. The sergeant major reached up and pulled the handle down, easing

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  it slowly open. The alley was clear where he could see through the gap. He risked sticking his head out to check the other direction, and that was mercifully clear as well. To add to their advantage, it was beginning to get dark, and the alley was cast in shadow, which would contribute to their ability to hide.

  Ford looked back at Timothy and nodded. He keyed the platoon freq, “We can scoot out through the alley, you guys, if---”

  At that moment, an RPG sailed in through the front window and detonated in the center of the shop. The blast blew a gout of fire out of the front of the store, and slapped against Ford and Timothy as it raged through the kitchen, throwing them out the back door, trailing flame and smoke that careened down the alley.

  Xxxxx

  Manny and Ecu were fighting their way down another alley with what remained of their company, trying to find a way around the ring of Storians that had them hemmed in. All four exits of the alley were covered, and their only real option was to force their

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  way into one of the back doors of the buildings and try to hole up.

  The gunnery sergeant fired a rifle grenade at one of the doors, instinctively turning his head away from the blast, and they piled through into a darkened stock room filled with pallets of boxes. The marines charged in, easing toward the front of the store, hoping to be able to detour through there and back out onto the opposite street.

  Storians were already waiting in the lobby, and opened up as soon as they peeked around the corner. Desperate, Manny lobbed a hand grenade and dodged back, avoiding the blast. Ecu was pointing at a stairwell, and he nodded, running toward it during the brief lull in rifle fire. The others began to follow.

  A rifle grenade sailed through the doorway from the front of the store and went off low against the rear concrete wall, the explosion ripping outward laterally at knee-level. Ecu was knocked sideways and rolled across the concrete floor, her 60-watt flying from her grasp.

  Manny looked back into the haze and saw her lying prone, stunned. He motioned for the others to continue upstairs and he

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  darted back to where she lay. Three Marines were still by the door, shooting into the front of the store, trying to keep the Storians at bay. Manny knelt by Ecu and could not fathom what he was seeing. Her left leg had been taken off just below the knee, the armor and flesh meshed together. The nano-armor, having sensed the injury, had constricted around the left femoral artery to stanch the bleeding. It had also injected her with a pain suppressant, so she was handling it well--- if not a little foggy. Her leg was lying nearby, next to her weapon.

  “Help me up,” She told him throatily.

  Manny lifted her, and Ecu used him for balance, hopping on her one foot. She drew her service pistol from her hip, and nodded that she was ready. They made their way upstairs with the last three troopers covering their retreat, shooting as they went.

  Xxxxx

  It was full dark now, and the intense battles still raged on. The Allied tanks had advanced nearly to the inner ring, literally

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  blowing everything to pieces that stood in their path. The gunships raked the streets mercilessly. The 2nd and 3rd Battalions, with assistance from what remained of the 101st Airborne Division, were stubbornly fighting their way in as well, determined to rescue the 1st Battalion from what was now evidently an ambush planned specifically for them.

  In the confusion of the fray, Minerva had somehow linked up again with Captain Hannock of A-Company’s 2nd Platoon, having what few troopers he had left with him. They were running east, away from the worst of the barrage, having found a miraculous gap in the enemy ring. Hannock was charging full-tilt down the sidewalk with Lisa McClain and her cameraman, Mac, following on his heels. Dylan Briggs, two Marines from B-Company, and Minerva brought up the rear, racing toward a group of others that were covering their retreat, firing past them at the Storians hot on their path. Lisa lost her footing when 60-watt plasma rounds raked across the sidewalk before her, angled in such a way that they must have come from windows above her and across the street. She ducked into a doorway, panting, and Mac

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  tumbled in beside her while Minerva and Dylan returned fire toward the windows.

  Captain Hannock noticed that they were no longer behind him and feverishly back-tracked to where they were crouched. The seven of them evaluated their surroundings, which were an inferno of plasma no matter where they looked.

  Lisa was rubbing gingerly at her elbow, “I really smacked myself against this funny-looking thing,” she complained.

  Hannock glanced over to see what she was referring to, and lifted his visor, eyes bulging, “ That’s a Claymore mine!”

  Everyone took a look at it, then moved in unison as quickly as they were able, dashing back out into the storm of rifle fire. Lisa followed out of instinct, having no idea what a Claymore was, but she soon found out. The mine detonated when they were in the center of the street, the blast knocking them to the ground and collapsing the store awning. The only thing that saved the anchorwoman’s life was Dylan, who had protected her with his body. She heard shrapnel sand-papering harmlessly across his armor as they fell.

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  Mac had the benefit of having reached the other side of the street first, and was protected by an automobile. Its tires spewed air as they were shredded by the fragments, and its glass shattered. The Marines were thrown face-down.

  A Huey gunship roared overhead, its Gatling’s blazing. The stream of tracers tore across the intersection and into the second and third
story windows as it spun about, providing cover for them. Hannock gathered his little group, and they ran the rest of the way to where the tanks had established a defensive line. More gunships were appearing, sending rockets and plasma streams into the Storian positions, punctuated by blast after blast from the tanks. The barrage was so intense that some of the building facades began to collapse into the streets. Traffic lights and light poles keeled over, joining the growing piles of rubble.

  As the battle entered its seventh hour, at half-past mid-night, the Storians abruptly seemed to just melt away into the darkness. The weapons fire from their positions ceased and they disappeared, abandoning their heavy vehicles and vanishing. Once the Allied units realized that the gunfire was all one-sided,

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  they ceased as well, and the dark was filled with sudden silence. Shadows danced, cast by the orange glow of fires. Smoke and dust formed an undulating haze that hung in the air like low-lying clouds.

  At first, no one dared move, sure that it would flare up again, but that was not to be the case. The battle had ended. Tentatively, a few at a time, Marines and Airborne troopers began to emerge, taking in the torn city landscape with numb incredulity. The entire eastern approach of Columbus was a no-man’s land. It was reminiscent of Youngstown. Not only were the streets and storefronts in shambles, but many buildings were burning unchecked.

  Bodies were strewn everywhere, civilian, allied, and Storian.

  The GNN crew recorded it all, and the surreal image would haunt viewers across the galaxy. It would delight Grozet.

  The arduous task began of finding the wounded, and rounding up the dead.

  Xxxxx

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