by Unknown
Through the entire exchange, Colonel Lafferty remained a silent observer, his furry ears twitching as he strived to avoid cracking a grin.
McKee sighed, and pointed again at the image, “The U.S. Army, and the Mexican National Marines will begin their artillery barrage somewhere around oh-one-hundred hours tomorrow morning, and…”
Colonel Strasburg held out a hand, “I’m sorry to interrupt. Am I to assume that we are following Central Standard Time?”
The admiral was barely controlling his rising temper, “Yes, Colonel. The attack alignment is being centered on the central time zone.”
Strasburg nodded, and made a hand gesture to continue. McKee swallowed his anger, and went on.
“The barrage will be sustained for two hours, with a coordinated launch of an air wing from the Attayan carrier in close orbit. That squadron will act as a decoy, descending down over Arkansas, and flying northward toward the Missouri lines, this to further convince Grozet that we intend to establish a beachhead there.”
“Fascinating.” Strasburg commented.
McKee took a measured breath, “Yes, well, while that is happening, the Attayans will deploy a crack airborne division further west, dropping two thousand light infantry in a south-north line at the Illinois border, effectively cutting Indiana and Ohio off from Storian troops that might be able to be pulled in as reinforcements. This will isolate what ground forces Grozet has in the target area, dividing his entire Second Army.”
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The admiral paused, expecting another interruption, or a smart-assed look from the colonel, but none was forthcoming. He gave General Towers a meaningful look, handing the rest of the briefing over to him.
“Once the Attayan Elite Forces have completed their airborne dispersal, they will transmit the ‘go’ order. We anticipate launching our attack on the Ohio line somewhere around oh-five-hundred hours. Wake-up will be sounded at oh-two-hundred for the issuing of ammunition, with expectations to be on the ready-line no later than oh-four.”
Strasburg pursed his lips, saying nothing.
“What is it?” Towers asked curtly.
The colonel only smiled, “Sounds pretty cut and dried, Sir. Well done.”
Towers was taken aback by the barely concealed sarcasm. It had been put in such a way that to challenge the words would appear petty.
“Thank you, Colonel that will be all. Brief your commanders.”
Strasburg saluted respectfully, as did the silent Lafferty. They turned, and made their way back out to the corridor, squinting in the full illumination. Once alone, Lafferty gave his companion a sideways look.
“You did not sound entirely convinced back there.”
Strasburg stopped walking, and looked about to make certain no one was within earshot.
“Frankly, my dear Lafferty, I think the Brass has their heads stuck in their asses up to the neck.”
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Lafferty grinned, exposing his fangs, “I’m not familiar with the terminology, but the visual is amusing.”
Strasburg put a hand on his co-commander’s shoulder, “The best lain plans, my friend. Nothing is what it seems.”
“So, what do we do, then?”
Strasburg smiled, and this time it was not so menacing. He could after all, control the volume so to speak, of his venom.
“The best we can.”
For the marine contingent housed on the Goliath, the atmosphere was nearly festive.
There was only enough space to house 6000 of the total number on the carrier, and even that meant being practically shoulder-to-shoulder. The rest of the regiment, and the tank divisions that would support them, were scattered among the other vessels that were nick-named cattle cars. The transient berthings were packed, as was every spare inch of both hangar bays, with only enough room for a person to lie down with his gear next to him. There were far too many to herd through the galley, which meant meals eaten from field ration packs. The lines for the toilets were non-stop.
Despite all of this, the mood was upbeat. After so much time being restrained, and of wondering what was happening at home, the kids were on the precipice of being unleashed. Months of training and exercises would be put to the test. Payback was at hand.
Over the 48 hours of transit time in Anderson drive, yet another piece of equipment had been issued to each marine.
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Emergency parachute packs that were designed to fit over their field pack fastened on the back of the combat harness.
First Sergeant Ford had been the recipient of many a confused look as these were being handed out among his company.
“What are these for, Top?” Minerva had asked as he helped her clip it into place correctly. “We’ve never trained for airborne deployments. Are we making a parachute drop?”
Ford rolled his cigar stub in his mouth, “That would be a negative, Sergeant Carreno.” He gave the pack a solid slap, “Just a precaution. We might be taking anti-aircraft fire on the way in, you know.”
As obvious as it was, that thought had not occurred to her, “How does it work?”
“You don’t have to do anything,” he told her. “If you end up jumping, they open themselves. You just float down, pop the release when you land, and start shooting.”
She looked unconvinced, “What’s the best way to land?”
The first sergeant grinned, “Without breaking a leg.”
“Ha ha. No, really. How do you land, if it comes to that?”
“Don’t go stiff. Relax your legs at the knee, and try to just roll in.”
Minerva let out a breath, “We really should have practiced that before.”
Ford bumped a fist down on her shoulder plate, a gesture that was known to be a friendly tap among one another, “That’s what makes you such a damn fine sergeant. You use your head.”
That had been the day before. Now, as the final hours crawled by with an agonizing slowness, Minerva found that the
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growing anticipation was getting to her. Just sitting, or mingling around in her small portion of the lower hangar deck was going to drive her bats. Claustrophobia threatened to make her scream.
She had checked and re-checked her equipment ump-teen times, ran scenes through her head of what might happen on the beachhead, and made her peace with God. Whatever may come, live or die through that first day, she felt convinced that she was ready for it.
Minerva got to her feet, stretching as best as she was able in the confines of her armor, and merged into the crowd to find her fiancée. She found him with his platoon a short distance from her own, going over possibilities that could be expected once they hit dirt. First Battalion was particularly concerned with their mission, knowing that they would be making the chopper landings behind enemy held territory. One of the chief worries being voiced was the chance of becoming lost, or captured.
She came up from behind, and touched his bicep plate to gain his attention, “Mark, let’s take a walk.”
Without pause, he followed her, and they strolled hand-in-hand, weaving their way from the sea of marines and secured vehicles. It seemed that there was no escaping. The hangar was full from one end to the other. They finally claimed some semblance of privacy by climbing atop an armored personnel carrier.
She grabbed Mark by the neck rim of his chest plate, and pulled him close to her, planting a lasting kiss on his mouth.
“I love you, Mister,” Minerva told him afterward, touching his cheek in the intimate way that she knew drove him crazy.
His hand found hers, and gripped it gently, “Me, too, Minerva.”
She held his gaze, “Tomorrow’s going to be bad, isn’t it?
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Mark looked down, avoiding her eyes, but she cupped a hand under his chin, forcing him to meet hers. He finally did so, and he nodded.
“Yeah. I think it’s gonna be pretty bad.”
Minerva smiled sadly, wanting to cry, to laugh, unsure of what she was feeling. His face conveyed the same thin
gs. They had endured hard training, and done all of the things required to earn the title of a marine, but none of that changed one simple fact. They were young, and unsure of themselves.
“No hero stuff, okay?” Minerva told him. “Do what you have to, but you stay alive for me. You can’t put this ring on my finger, and promise me the future if you’re going to get yourself killed on that beachhead.”
He took her into his arms, and held her that way for a long time, both wishing that the armor was not between them, robbing each of their last moments together before the drop. After a while, they lay next to one another, and actually managed to sleep arm in arm.
High Earth Orbit
May 1st
04:30 Central Standard Time
Both of the hangar bays and the flight deck of the Goliath were busy with neatly formed companies of marines, fully laden with their
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gear, and ready to go. Much of the ship’s crew had been working through the night with the division’s combat engineers, loading and securing equipment within the larger shuttles. Those that had not were roused early by order of the C.O. Those sailors now congregated on catwalks above, leaning on the rails, watching the spectacle. To them, the marines resembled rows of armored knights, slogged down by a bunch of gear.
Pilots and their crew chiefs were winding down on their pre-flight checks. Navy red and brown-shirts labored to finish loading rockets into firing tubes, and heavy belts of munitions in the breaches of side guns.
While this went on, the marine officers clustered together for one, final briefing. Sergeants roamed the ranks, ranting, cursing, slapping shoulder plates. They were ramping up the adrenaline levels. Getting their troops pumped.
Standing in the front of 2nd Platoon, Alpha Company, Minerva bounced on her feet, hefting her rifle, getting the blood flowing. She had a crick in her neck from the way she had slept, but that bothered her little. It had been worth it, spending what was possibly her last night alive in the arms of her beloved.
She turned her head to see him. Mark was only a few feet away, at the head of 1st Platoon. He was facing the corporal behind him, checking the buckles on the kid’s harness. He seemed to feel her eyes on him, and looked over at her. Thankfully, his visor was up too, allowing her to see him wink at her.
There was far too much noise on the flight deck to be heard, with all of the aircraft engines on low-idle, so she simply mouthed the words ‘I love you’ to him. He mouthed back the same.
A slap on Minerva’s pack distracted her, and she turned to see Corporal Ecu grinning at her, fangs stained black with the licorice she was munching on. Ecu was wearing an expression of
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calm, or at least trying to. It was not only the fact that they were about to go into combat that rode on their minds. It was the hellish ride back down into atmosphere that they dreaded.
First Sergeant Ford came strolling past, his visor up. For once, he didn’t have a cigar sticking from his mouth.
“Ready to drop, Top?” Minerva shouted over the background noise. The entire company was fond of Ford, looking up to him as a father figure. He allowed a little banter from them.
Ford patted one of the pouches clipped to his harness, “Got my instant coffee!”
She smiled, trying to appear brave, but the shakes were setting in against her will. The first sergeant winked at her the same way Mark had, and kept walking. Minerva wished badly to have the casual confidence that he had.
Something unexpected caught her attention. There was a GNN crew sliding along the edge of the ranks, filming the preparations. There had been rumors circulating about news crews being embedded with the units, this confirmed them to be true. That was surprising to her, considering the dangers involved.
At length, the pilots began signaling to the tower that they were ready. The Air Boss’s voice crackled above the din on the 1MC.
“Flight Quarters, flight quarters! Aviation departments man your flight quarters stations! Marine landing forces now begin boarding your aircraft!”
Ford took a stance before his company, and gave the ‘visors down’ motion.
Minerva found that closing the visor blocked out a significant
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amount of the exterior noise. She appreciated that it could do that while in no way limiting her peripheral vision. It cut way down on
the sensation of feeling closed in within the suit. The helmet had properties that could dampen extreme noises such as the roar of engines, or sudden claps from explosives, yet allow for enhanced hearing in extreme quiet, such as sneaking through the woods.
Her transceiver came to life beside her ears, and the voice of Major Gold filled her head.
“This is it, ladies and gentlemen! God be with us all, and I’ll see you on the beach!”
On the beach, Minerva thought to herself. They wouldn’t be anywhere near a water line, yet they kept calling the landing zone a beach. She was still getting used to military terminologies.
She watched while Major Gold, the Captain, and lieutenants for the three companies of the battalion boarded the first Blackhawk helo-shuttle in line, wondering if it was wise for the entire command element of the battalion to be riding in the same aircraft. The thought was fleeting, though. First Sergeant Ford was making a circling motion in the air, and pointing at 1st Platoon, signaling for them to begin loading onto their own Blackhawk.
Mark turned to look at her briefly, but this time his face was hidden behind the non-reflective, and tinted visor. She made as if blowing him a kiss, and he was turning away, leading his marines onto the number two shuttle. The door gunner leaned to the side, making room for them as they climbed on board.
“You’re up, Carreno,” Ford was saying, his voice clear in her pick-up.
The time for pining was over. Minerva shifted her mind into work mode, focusing on the tasks at hand. She motioned for her people to follow, and started walking.
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With a platoon of 50 squeezed into each Blackhawk, it would take the first six helos spotted on the flight deck just to transport the 1st Battalion to the surface, plus the command helo that would be taking point in the formation. Doing the math in her head, Minerva figured that with the fourteen transports on the Goliath, it would take hours to get the entire regiment on the ground. A drop-and-recover, which was term for a helo taking its load of infantry to the landing zone, and returning to base to get more, averaged twenty to thirty minutes for an orbital run. That meant the first wave would be entirely on its own for the first hour. Three hundred marines against probable thousands that held a fortified emplacement. She was inwardly thankful that her own battalion would not be involved with the frontal assault.
The crew chief checked the restraints that were holding her platoon tight against the side nets, then secured the side gun within its brace. He pulled the side door closed, and the air thickened as the cabin pressurized. Minerva rested her head back, closed her eyes, and tried to clear her mind. Despite her best efforts, she still wondered about Mark, whose platoon would be flying in the helo in front of her own. She thought about Ford, who had opted to ride the number 4, behind. A gloved hand came down on hers, and she looked to see that it was Ecu. Even though it couldn’t be seen, Minerva smiled.
On the flight deck, the yellow shirts began making their ballet of hand and arm motions that only the pilots could decipher. One at a time, in quick succession, the Blackhawks began to lift away, leaving the Goliath for the open seas of space.
Large, heavy transport shuttles were joining the flight, coming from other ships, carrying the tanks and support vehicles. It was quite a sight. The sailors that remained behind cheered and waved their caps, watching the squadron recede into the darkness that lie between the fleet, and the curve of Earth.
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Minerva jumped a little when a familiar, thumping tune began to play in her helmet, and recognized it after a moment. It was the rock and roll music that Mark’s father had played when getting u
nderway. He had linked the song from AC/DC into the company frequency, in honor of his dad. It helped to hype everyone up even further, including her.
Unseen by the troops within the Blackhawks, flights of Huey-shuttle gunships fell into the fringes of the formation. Above, and ahead, a trio of fighter jet-shuttles screamed forward. The upper atmosphere of Earth became peppered with the shapes of assault craft in a fashion unseen since the first days of the invasion.
D-Day had begun.
Hubbard, Ohio
05:20
The countryside was in bloom with spring easing into summer.
Highway 62, which crossed the state line from Pennsylvania, was flanked on either side by thick stretches of woodland. Small family farms and rural cottages dotted open fields. Cattle and horses grazed pastures rich with grass already ankle deep, glistening with morning dew. Patches of mist hung in low gullies, seeming to cast a mystical glow from the first hints of morning light. Birdsong greeted a new day.
As the highway drew nearer to the outskirts of town, the sights of country homes and family-owned businesses became more frequent. As one traveled west, Ed’s Gas & Go sat off to the left,
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proudly sporting two fuel pumps, and a snack shack. The Amble In and Stagger Out, a once popular bar and grill, sat empty on the right shoulder, its doors and windows broken. Weeds poked out from its parking lot, and a sapling had taken root just inside the front entrance.
Proceeding from there into town was no longer a simple task.
Just beyond Ed’s, the tree line fell away where a 1000 yard kill zone had been cleared. This no-man’s land stretched all the way south to Campbell, and was laced with land mines. Wild deer sometimes wandered into that clearing, setting off the contact mines with imaginable results.
If one pressed onward, the blacktop crossed like an asphalt bridge through this deadly field, coming to the concrete embankment that angled downward like a dam. The only passage through it was via a tall, heavy, iron, gate. The machine gun towers jutted like a medieval row of parapets. Storian soldiers walked a protective trench along the wall’s top, a constant presence of armed sentries.
