Outpost

by W. P. Brothers

  Christine reached the edge of the trees, dropped to a knee, and signaled with one arm for the rest of the platoon to do the same, her other arm cradling her weapon. They came to a halt, their eyes fixed on her. Down the line, Christine could barely make out Squires, Garrett, and Rankin doing the same with their platoons, the marine platoons immediately behind them following suit, moonlight glinting off bayonets and gunmetal. She looked ahead at the dark shapes of the barracks, trying to catch any movement, but the buildings merely frowned back at her, silent and still.

  “Dammit!” Christine swore under her breath. The assholes were going to make the attack force pry them out of the buildings one by one, and that was going to take some time. There were at least two hundred buildings, all of them long, low-slung metal structures with little access paths running between them and two larger roads, one running north to south and the other east to west, cutting the complex into quarters.

  The combined assault team of rangers and marines — some five hundred in all — had arrived on the wooded ridge overlooking the barracks about an hour before dark, having followed the old road that ran north from the secondary warehouses. Private Henrikson had climbed into a tree to get a clear look of the barracks compound.

  “I see lots of activity among the buildings,” he’d called down. “Looks like a few of them are moving off into the woods on the east side of the complex.”

  Christine had wanted to cut around the southern edge of the complex and sweep its eastern edge to intercept whoever was leaving. After all, it could be a group preparing for a counter attack, and Christine wanted to eliminate the entire enemy threat in one action. However, Wilcox had already decided their plan. They were to strike the barracks themselves in force as soon as darkness had fallen.

  “And if the people Henrikson saw leaving are setting up a counter attack?” Christine had crossed her arms, not believing they were going to just attack without securing the surrounding area first.

  “We need quick, decisive action, Lieutenant,” Wilcox had said. “If we spend time searching the woods, it could delay the attack or give away our position. We hit the barracks as soon as we can.” Wilcox had looked at Major Osterman then, and she’d felt a tension pass between them.

  When she’d tried to argue further, Osterman had interrupted her.

  “Commander Wilcox is in charge here, Lieutenant. Prepare your platoon and pass the word to the other ranger units.”

  Christine had done as she was told, not because she’d wanted to, but because she was too pragmatic to waste her time when the issue was settled. She’d organized her platoon, made sure they got ammunition and grenades from the truck, then returned to Osterman and Wilcox to see what circus-ass strategy they’d come up with. This, at least, had not been the mess Christine had feared it would be.

  Four of the ranger platoons, along with some hundred or so Marines, were to attack the compound from its southwest corner. Christine’s and Squires’ platoons would wrap around the left, Rankin and Garrett would come around the right, and the marines would drive up the center. Meanwhile the rest of the marines and the final ranger platoons, Mahoney’s heavy weapons platoon — including six heavy machine guns and three 80mm mortars — would stay in reserve and provide suppressing fire. Ames’ artillery crew and their three pack howitzers would set up a few thousand yards behind, ready to obliterate stiff resistance. It was a textbook assault on a fixed position. The only problem had been Wilcox’s other order, the one saying that he would personally be at the head of the attack.

  She heard the snapping of twigs behind her, and a second later Wilcox knelt down next to her, a rifle in his hands. At least he’d swapped out his Navy blues for an olive-green field uniform, a helmet, and some armor.

  “Why have we stopped?” Wilcox’s eyes were white circles in the darkness.

  “We’re observing the site for any activity, in case they’ve spotted us and have something planned.”

  “Are you certain they’re still there?” Wilcox’s whisper was just a little too loud for Christine’s taste. He did have a point, though. Between the time Henrikson had observed the area from the tree and now, the compound had certainly calmed down. But she didn’t believe for a second it was empty.

  “Yes, sir.”

  Wilcox nodded. She couldn’t make out his face in the dark in any detail, but she could tell by his breathing that he was tense.

  “Let’s move forward.”

  Christine stood and motioned her platoon to follow. They emerged from the woods and into the open ground immediately surrounding the complex. As Christine sprinted to the left and toward one of the buildings, she scanned the darkness in front of her, looking for any warning that they were going to be fired on. If they were caught without cover…

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the other platoons moving to the right before the barracks building at the very southwestern corner of the complex blocked her view of them. Squires’ platoon paralleled Christine’s to the left. The sounds of equipment and uniforms shifting, of men and women breathing hard from exertion, were as loud as gunshots in the still air. Christine reached the closest barracks and stopped, putting her back against its cold metal wall. She saw Squires arrive at the next building over, and then her rangers were grouping around her, Wilcox right beside her. To her right, the gap between the barracks where Squires’ platoon was gathering and where she was yawned like a great chasm.

  “First Squad, Second Squad, move in!” Christine hissed the command between her teeth. While the two squads moved into the gap, two others moved along the side of the building, training carbines around the other corner. Christine, Wilcox, and the remaining squad peered around the corner and into the gap, their weapons covering the advance of the first two squads. Christine saw them stop at the barracks door, kick it in, and then disappear inside. She breathed a sigh of relief when they emerged a few moments later.

  Clear.

  “Next one, let’s go!” Christine ran around the corner and after Squads One and Two, who had stopped at the next barracks building, their carbines pointed around its sides and into the complex, covering the advance of the rest of the platoon. Christine ran past the two squads and up to the door of the building, Wilcox and Squads Three and Five close behind, Squad Four heading to join one and two in providing cover.

  Christine steadied herself and kicked in the door, the impact vibrating painfully up her leg, her body armor clanking as she moved. She leveled her carbine and stepped into the black void of the barracks’ interior, her pulse kicking up as the darkness surrounded her. She pivoted to the left and Wilcox pivoted to the right. Christine hoped to God he was sweeping behind the door. The man was not the same as Neville by any means, but he was not a ranger.

  Having secured the corner to the left, Christine aimed her weapon down the long building. She smelled the sweet odor of wood smoke, saw a clump of ashes and partially burned logs. A few metal plates, some with crusts of bread rations sitting on them, were piled next to the ashes. A rope ran across the room, with what looked like laundry hanging on it. Someone had clearly moved in, made herself at home, and moved right on out.

  “This one’s clear. Let’s keep it up!” Christine turned and followed her rangers back out of the barracks. She could make out Squires’ platoon clearing the barracks north of her, their rushing forms coming in and out of view through the little alleys between the buildings. She turned right, and sprinted with Squads Three and Five to the next barrack. They set up to cover the paths leading out from the center of the complex, and waited for the other squads to follow. Squads One, Two, and Four streaked silently over to them, rounded the corner of the barrack, and kicked in the door.

  “This is going well,” Wilcox whispered, a hint of relief showing through his voice.

  “Don’t count chickens yet, sir.” Corporal Lazaar spoke up from Christine’s left, breathing hard from the running.

  Christine didn’t know how long they continued like that, leap-frogg
ing their way from barracks to barracks, moving deeper into the complex, but in the screaming silence, it felt like hours. Sweat trickled down Christine’s temples and down the tip of her nose as she sprinted, stopped, kicked in doors, plunged into darkness, and sprinted again.

  Maybe the enemy really had left. The thought crossed her mind, but she stuffed it away immediately. She wouldn’t get sloppy, not now.

  She could see the center north-south access road ahead, and the rushing figures of the marines to their right were coming into view now, clearing buildings and advancing forward with impressive efficiency. They might not be rangers, but Christine didn’t mind having them at her side.

  Christine led her platoon forward in one final sprint, and emerged out of the barracks and onto the main road where it intersected with the east-west road. This area was a large opening, perhaps seventy yards across, no doubt where troops would have assembled for review and physical training during the war, an old flagpole sitting in the dead center, its old rope thwacking on its metal side in the light breeze. Christine looked to her left, saw Squires’ platoon emerge along the east-west road. To her right, the marines were slowing to a stop as they moved straight along the north-south road. Further still to the right were the dark forms of Garrett and Rankin’s platoons as they moved onto the east-west road on the other side of the complex.

  “Let’s hold here.” Wilcox came to stand next to Christine. He repeated the command into his radio headset, and the attack force came to a halt, crouching down to one knee. The officers from the other platoons ran over to them, circling around Wilcox, the forward observers for Ames’ artillery section following behind them.

  “Did you come up with anything in your sectors?” Wilcox looked around the circle.

  “Not a thing,” Garrett said, adjusting his helmet.

  “Looks like they’ve been gone at least a couple hours.” Lieutenant Arnot stepped forward, the other marine officers nodding in agreement.

  Wilcox looked across the road, his neck craning slightly. No one spoke for a moment as he seemed to study the rest of the complex. Christine stared at her boots, hoping to God Wilcox was about to say something smart.

  Wilcox turned back to the group, cleared his throat. “Okay. Okay. I don’t want us getting split up again as we move forward. We’re going to continue the sweep, but we’re going to move together along a north-south axis of advance. We’ll send one half of the force forward while the other half covers them. We’ll leap-frog row to row as we’ve been doing.”

  There was a chorus of “Yes, sir,” and the officers ran back to their squads while the forward observers positioned themselves next to Wilcox. Christine breathed a sigh of relief.

  Not bad, Wilcox.

  She turned to her platoon, who were crouching here and there around her, some of them kneeling behind a stack of metal barrels.

  “Squads One, Five, Four — advance to the other side of the road. The rest of you get into position to cover us.”

  Her soldiers leapt into action, the squads that were to move forward organizing themselves into a serried line while the supporting squads found cover. She watched as Accardo, one of the light machine gunners, pulled out his bipod and locked it down.

  “Move forward.” Wilcox’s voice crackled over her headset.

  She stepped next to Sergeant Néri and moved forward with the attacking squads, sprinting for the other side of the crossroads. They were moving fast, but Christine felt like she was trying to run in water, acutely aware of how exposed they all were.

  They were reaching the middle of the road now, only a handful of seconds to go.

  Everything went white. Christine blinked, recognized the shape of a flare burning against the black sky, and then the world shattered as gunfire burst from all around her. The whizzing of bullets. A scream. She fought the instinct to hit the dirt, kept running.

  “Move into cover!” She shouted, willing her voice to break over the din. “Don’t stop in the open!”

  Christine reached the other side of the road, throwing herself flat against the side of one of the bunkers. She peered around the barracks into the darkness to the north, trying to locate the source of the fire as her troops came to a stop next to her. Something strange was happening. Christine could still hear the rounds slicing the air close to her head. A second later, two of her troops jerked and tumbled to the ground where they stood against the barracks wall, gasping and choking as they fell.

  Can they shoot us through the building?

  Realization clicked just as a round thwacked into the wall beside her. She looked down the length of the east-west road, saw the muzzle flashes sparkling from the woods beyond the edge of the complex.

  “They’ve got us in enfilading fire! Move into the complex!” Unsure whether she’d been heard, Christine grabbed the closest ranger, pulled him from the side of the barracks and launched him around the corner into cover. She waved wildly to catch their attention, watched them move around the barracks and out of sight. She looked behind her, saw the other part of the force scrambling to return fire, and then ran around the building.

  Her troops were waiting there for her, flattened against the barrack, panning their carbines around, searching for targets. The blast of gunfire from behind them was deafening.

  “What the hell do we do now?” The voice was Henrikson’s.

  “As long as they’ve got that road covered, we’re cut off from the rest of the attack force,” Christine explained, catching her breath.

  “We can’t move forward without them, can we?” Lazaar spoke up from somewhere.

  “We’re assaulting those woods.” Christine squared herself to her troops, putting every bit of confidence into her voice. “It sounds like the rest of the force is already putting them under fire. All we need to do is—”

  Christine cut herself off mid-sentence, her ears sifting a new sound from the roar. She looked for Néri, met his eyes, and saw the same comprehension there. The sound grew louder, clearly audible now above the exchange of fire. It was hundreds of voices screaming, getting closer. Christine turned, jogging away from the battle behind her, and peered around the corner of the next barrack. A couple hundred yards away, she could make out the shapes of people running in a mass wave toward them.

  Christine turned, strained her voice to shout over the terrible roar of the attackers. “Take defensive positions! They’re charging!”

  The rangers filtered among the immediate buildings, scrambling to find cover and good firing positions. Néri came to stand next to Christine, his face showing the same mounting panic Christine felt. Cut off by fire on one side, attacked on the other, the rangers were going to be crushed in the middle.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jack looked across the crossroads and saw Lieutenant Flores vanishing around the corner of the nearest barracks building. All down the line, the advancing squads were doing the same, fleeing the open ground of the crossroads to other side of the first line of barracks.

  “Dammit!” He tucked himself back behind the steel barrels he had leapt behind when the firing had started, shifting to allow the ranger next to him to pop up and fire toward the woods, each shot splitting the air and vibrating through Jack’s head.

  How the hell had this happened? His mind cast about frantically for the best option, found none. His heart pounded in his temples, making it impossible to concentrate. Looking back down the north-south road toward the woods where their own support platoons were, Jack saw a series of flashes erupt from the woods. Osterman’s people had clearly seen the attack from their position in the rear and were firing on the enfilading attackers with machine guns, though they wouldn’t use anything heavier without clear fire coordinates. Then a thought struck him. He peeked around the barrel toward where the forward observers had been when the enemy machine guns had fired — and saw the lot of them lying in a heap.

  Son of a bitch!

  There was only one option. Jack tapped the foot of the ranger next to him, wh
o looked down at him.

  “Sir?”

  “Can you see a radio operator?” He’d need the longer range of the pack to reach the howitzers over the intervening topography.

  The ranger looked about. “Twenty yards to the left. One of Squires’ troops.”

  Jack cautiously peered over the lip of the barrel, saw the soldier with the radio pack partially behind the cover of a barrack. Jack waved and tried to get her attention, but the woman was firing her carbine out toward the woods and didn’t see him.

  “You’ll need to run over there,” the ranger next to Jack said. “I’ll cover you.”

  Jack shook his head. There was no way he could go out there. But then the ranger was popping off shots toward the woods and shouting for Jack to get up and go. Holding tightly to the grip of his pistol, Jack stood and ran hard toward the radio operator. He heard a bullet sizzle through the air near his head, saw a couple small puffs of dirt shoot up ahead of him. He reached the barrack, dove behind it, and landed on his stomach, covering his head.

  A pair of hands hauled him up. “Sir, have you been hit?”

  Jack looked around to see Squires examining him, his face thrown into relief by the intermittent muzzle flashes of the rangers firing nearby. Jack shook his head, pointed at the ranger with the radio nearby, unable to make a sound.

  Squires nodded, walked over to the radio operator, and tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Corporal Doussouba! Get back to the commander!”

  Doussouba fired one last shot toward the woods, then jogged back to Jack with Squires.

  Jack shook his head, cleared his throat. “Set that thing to repeat my signal. I want Ames on the line.”

  “What?” The woman tilted her head toward him.

  Realizing his voice had been drown out by the gunfire, Jack balled his hands into fists and shouted. “Set your radio to repeat. I’m going to call in coordinates!”

  Doussouba slung her carbine over her back and dropped to one knee. While she worked the controls on her pack, Squires walked to the corner of the bunker and peeked out. Jack pulled a map from one of his belt pouches, finding their location on it. Using it to call in fire would be relatively easy, so long as Squires could estimate the distances to the enemy accurately.