by Unknown
“Yes, sir. Thank you.”
Strasburg returned to his side of the desk, and put the cap back on his whiskey, “You gentlemen can go. You should start trying to put your companies back together, and restore some kind of semblance to an organized battalion. We have people spread all over this county.”
“Given the number of casualties, we may have to absorb the
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remnants of several different units,” Ford pointed out.
The colonel nodded, “Understandable. Do what you have to, Sergeant Major. Anyone gives you any flak over it, tell them to come take it up with me. I want us operational by tomorrow morning at the latest. This FOB is our stepping off point, and we need to liberate Hubbard as soon as possible.”
Ford saluted since they were safely within the confines of a tent, and his companions followed suit.
Strasburg returned it, his eyes cold fire, “Go get ‘em, boys.”
The Crossroads
Minerva had started walking, and the rest of the marines fell in behind her with Lieutenant Irvin in the lead just behind the sergeant. She strode in a straight line right across the open field, heading in the direction that the AA fire had originated from. Once reaching the edge of the woods, She realized that she had just executed an unforgivably stupid mistake. Leading a platoon-strength number of marines across an open field without any noise discipline at all could have brought horrible results, had the enemy been waiting for them.
Chastising herself, Minerva swore to be more vigilant. As an NCO, she should have known better. It had either been dumb luck, or something more divine that kept things from being ugly. She looked back, and made the basic hand signals that they had been taught in bootcamp, indicating she wanted combat spacing, and quiet. Irvin passed it on, and the signal made its way on down the line in that fashion.
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Minerva returned her attention to the front, and stepped into the shade of the woods, pushing through the thick outer brush that gave way to a slightly clearer terrain that spread out beneath the canopy of leaves. There were still a lot of saplings and vines to weave through, and trying to do so quietly ate up a significant amount of time.
They wandered back and forth in a grid pattern for over an hour without finding so much as a hint of enemy activity. After a time, the lieutenant took over on-point, and continued on with the same result. Another hour passed, and Irvin signaled a halt, thoroughly discouraged. Everyone crouched down where they stood, and popped-visor so that they could take a drink.
Minerva noticed that the afternoon light was waning within the density of the trees, and checked her visor display. She was astounded to discover that it was already pushing four-o-clock. The notion of creeping about in the woods at night did not appeal to her. She was also desperate to find out how Mark was doing. The net was as cluttered as ever with radio traffic.
Shifting from her position, she made her way up to where Irvin was sitting, looking frustrated and tired. He was using his helmet as a seat, chomping on an energy bar while glowering at the foliage around him. The lieutenant glanced up at her as she neared, and shook his head in disgust as she squatted next to him.
“I don’t get it,” the young man complained, his short blonde hair matted with sweat. “We know darn well that battery is out here somewhere. All of us saw it firing from these woods.”
Minerva nodded in agreement. She wasn’t sure what to say, or how to help the situation; this entire thing was new to them all. Most of the troopers, like herself, were kids in their high teens. Those in their twenties, considered ‘older’ by the kids, such as the lieutenant, had taken
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part in only a few exercises before the war. There was not a single veteran among them to draw any advice from.
“I mean, an AA gun is truck-mounted, right?” Irvin was saying around a mouthful of food. “How do you hide something that big? How do you even get the damned thing into the woods?”
His words brought sudden realization to her, and Minerva slapped him on the sleeve plate, causing him to nearly choke, “That’s it!”
Trying to cough quietly, Irvin looked at her in confusion, “Yeah? What is?”
“You can’t just drive a truck over trees,” she explained. “You need a road, or a trail. Look at your visor tactical.”
She flipped hers closed while Irvin donned his helmet, keying his own. Minerva spoke to him on the suit-to-suit mic.
“On the way in, I noticed a fence line way off to the west,” she said. “Following another section of woods. There might have been a farmer’s service path following it. I’ll bet they drove in following that.”
Irvin studied the map, “If it’s there, it ain’t on the map.”
“It can’t be much further,” Minerva insisted. “If we straight-line west, we’re bound to intersect with it. If it’s a logging road, that’s how they got so far inside the trees.”
The lieutenant regarded the angle of the sun, seeing that it was getting late. He didn’t want to be out there after dark, either.
“Well, Sergeant,” he said, standing and extending a hand to help her up, “it’s worth a shot. And, by the way, hitting an officer is a punishable offence.”
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Minerva opened her visor, grinning, “You can court-marshal me later.”
Irvin motioned for the platoon to get up, and he began making his way westward. Minerva followed, glad that the initial hostility between them had cleared up. In the past year, she had learned that earning the trust of one’s superiors was just as important as having it from your subordinates. If anything, it simply made life a little easier.
Omaha Beach FOB
Back in the headquarters tent, the radio operator had his system up and running at last, helping to clear much of the overlapping transmissions that were so cluttering the comm-net. It helped immensely in being able to better sort out the multitude of reports flooding in from units still making their way in, and patrols reconnoitering the area.
Strasburg leaned over a table that had been thrown together from a salvaged wooden door lain atop more ammunition crates, studying the area map that someone had brought in from Ed’s Gas & Go up the highway. Not unlike the Storian over marshal had been doing that morning, the colonel was using a pencil to notate where the enemy was being spotted or engaged.
“Well, there’s no doubt about it, my dear Lafferty. The Storians are regrouping just south of Hubbard. It’s going to be hairy clearing that town, with so many civilians still in it.”
Lafferty pointed to a highway interchange further south-west that led into town, “Some of the troops from Third Battalion were
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contacted by the local resistance. There’s a guerrilla unit covering this section of the interstate, about thirty-five miles out. They’re holding back a convoy of Storian reinforcements trying to link up with Hubbard. They don’t have the resources to delay that convoy for long.”
Strasburg grunted, “We can’t spare any marines to back them up. How about calling in an air strike?”
The Attayan shook his head, “Already tried. Admiral McKee nixed it.”
“What the hell for?”
Lafferty smirked, “He’s concerned with the losses his carrier air wing suffered during the initial assault. No flights beyond the controlled areas of our own units.”
Strasburg gawked at him, eyes wide. His counterpart could only shrug.
“Does McKee realize that this is a war we’re fighting?” Strasburg asked bitterly, tossing his pencil down on the map.
Two miles south-west of the crossroads
Lieutenant Irvin had begun to grow concerned that his large group was making far too much noise despite their efforts to move quietly through the undergrowth, and so opted to have the majority of them hang back while he took a squad of eight that included Minerva the remainder of the way to the fence line that she had seen earlier. In only twenty minutes from doing that, they did indeed find what they
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were looking for. A two-lane trail that ran the length of the fence from the dirt road, and meandered on through the woods.
What they spotted on the ground raised some apprehension, though. There were a pair of deep ruts dug into the earth, of a unique type that only a certain kind of tread would produce. That of a tank. This gun battery was mounted on an armored vehicle body.
“Great,” Irvin moaned. “Anyone carrying an ATR?”
Of course, nobody had one.
The lieutenant muttered curses under his breath while he considered his next move. His squad watched expectantly, the tension in the air growing. They were tired and hungry, and wanted their leadership to show some decisiveness. Minerva made the decision to help him save face.
“You suggested earlier that we might just do a little recon from this point,” she stated, “and see what we’re up against.”
Irvin knew he’d said no such thing, but caught on to what she was doing, and inwardly appreciated it.
“That’s right, Sergeant.”
The lieutenant began following the tread path on the assumption that doing so would not only be faster, but quieter. Again, it was sheer fortune that the trail had not been mined. The rest of the squad spread out behind him, keeping a weary eye on their surroundings. The trail wound through the thinner areas of underbrush, flattening saplings, and steering around the larger tree trunks, continuing on for a considerable distance.
Irvin signaled another stop when the sounds of voices began wavering in and out of hearing. The squad crouched and waited while he eased forward, stepping gingerly. Again, he squatted, and looked back, pointing at Minerva and motioning for her to come to
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him.
Minerva advanced as light-footed and swiftly as she was able, coming up alongside. Irvin left the path, and crawled through the brush as deftly as a cat on the prowl. She followed. The ground began to rise slightly, changing from level woodland floor to layers of mossy shale. At the crest, they found themselves beneath the low-hanging boughs of a thick ring of pines that provided excellent cover. From where they lay on their bellies, it was easier to see why the AA gun had been so difficult to find.
The trail that they left snaked further west before curving around the shale ridge, and dropping down into a deep gulley. The layers of foliage created by undergrowth, the pine ridge, and higher lay of the woods created a thick visual barrier from any lateral direction. The canopy opened above it, though, allowing for a fairly wide field of aerial fire.
The gulley floor looked to be a good fifteen feet down, with what appeared to be a full company of Storians.
“Holy crap,” Irvin whispered. “There’s at least a hundred of them down there!”
Minerva was studying the surrounding terrain, “We have about half that number, but we should be able to take them, since we hold the high ground.”
Irvin shook his head, “Trying to move fifty people into position would make too much noise. We’d lose the element of surprise, and likely get overrun.”
The sergeant thought about that, still eyeballing the pine-covered ridgeline, and the way it wrapped almost all the way around the gulley.
“How about this, then,” she suggested, “you stay here with half of the patrol. I take the other half around to that other lip across
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from here. Then, we both start laying down grenades. That will surprise the Storians initially, and force them to lay low while the noise draws the rest of our platoon to add to our firepower. It’ll be like shooting fish in a barrel.”
The lieutenant nodded toward the gulley, “What about the damned tank?”
Minerva sighed, and rolled her eyes, “Let’s cross that bridge after we blow it up.”
Irvin grinned while the sheer silliness of that statement sunk in, “You’re crazy, Sergeant, you know that?”
“You’re just now figuring that out?” She grinned back.
The officer looked back down into the gulley one more time, considering her plan. It was as good as any. He made his decision, and gave her the go-ahead. Minerva crawled back down the way they had come, and returned to the waiting squad to explain what was going to happen. While half peeled away to spread out on either side of Irvin, the other followed Minerva around the curve of the trail, keeping to the cover of the underbrush.
It took her nearly half an hour to sneak around where she wanted to be, due to the care she was taking to avoid making noise. The light was steadily growing dimmer as the afternoon waned, which aided in their maintaining concealment. Another aiding factor was that the Storians did not appear to be too overly concerned with being discovered. The soldiers were lounging about, talking and laughing loudly, and passing around bottles of what looked to be wine.
Minerva distributed her squad at intervals along the ridge line, each beneath a pine tree of their own. She, herself chose to slither between a pair of car-sized boulders that offered a great field of fire across the clearing while still providing protection. She keyed the suit-to-suit, and connected with Irvin.
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“We’re in position, Lieutenant.”
“Roger that,” Irvin acknowledged. He had been waiting, wondering what was taking so long. Now the ball was in his court. The lieutenant pulled a grenade from his harness, and took a breath before straight-arming it toward the nearest cluster of Storians below. The instant it left his hand, Irvin realized with horror that he had forgotten to thumb the priming pin.
The grenade thumped squarely in the center of the six Storians that had been chatting, and passing around a SafeSmoke. They looked down at it, understood what it was, and cried out as they scattered.
Across the ridge, Minerva groaned in exasperation, and began firing. The rest of the squad took her cue, and joined in, turning the gulley into a churning free-for-all with plasma rounds and rifle-fired grenades.
The Storians scrambled for cover, shooting wildly back, throwing grenades of their own. Dust quickly obscured the area, forcing the marines to simply sweep back and forth, hoping to hit something. Leaves rained down around them like rain as the return fire chopped the branches overhead.
Visible above the roiling clouds of dust, the turret of the aircraft battery began to lower, bringing the barrels toward the side that Minerva’s team was hiding. She noticed it just as the turret was adjusting its angle on them.
“Scatter!” She yelled, rolling backward to put the boulder between her and that gun.
The 200-watt blasts were like glowing freight trains roaring over her head. Tree trunks exploded, sending their upper halves crashing down all around. The air and ground shook in unison. The power of the plasma bursts were overwhelmingly terrifying.
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Minerva held her arms protectively over her helmet as panic threatened to swallow her.
“Skywatch! Skywatch! Ground One, Alpha!” She screamed into the command frequency with desperation.
To her great relief, there came an immediate reply.
“Go ahead, Ground One, over.”
It was irritating how calm that voice sounded, “We need air support! Please!”
There was a pause that seemed an eternity, then, “Stay calm, Ground One. We’re zeroing in on your suit transmission. A gunship is on the way.”
Stay calm! Minerva had no time to reply, nor to fume over the ridiculous statement as she rolled to avoid another falling tree top. Doing so brought her from beneath the direct streams of plasma, and allowed a moment for rational thought. She crawled back to the ridgeline, and blindly swept some fire, adding a few pumps from the grenade launcher just for general purposes.
It was madness. Her third firefight of the day, and it was definitely the worst yet.
The colonels happened to be standing near the radio console, listening to calls bouncing back and forth from the field to the command ship in orbit. Most were run-of-the-mill sit-reps, but one in particular had caught their attention. A frantic transmission that was backlit by the unmistak
able sounds of a pitched battle.
“That call came from a Sergeant Carreno, A-Company, First Battalion,” the radioman stated, reading the data on his monior.
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Colonel Strasburg’s eyebrows went up, eyes taking on that familiar dance of enthusiasm, “First Battalion. Why am I not surprised?”
Lafferty was studying the grid coordinates that had been provided, “That’s pretty close to the edge of town, and it looks like we haven’t yet moved any organized patrols to that sector.”
Strasburg immediately grabbed a headset, “This is Reg-Com to Air Support, over.”
The pilot responding to the call answered straight-away, the whine of the gunship audible, “Wasp Five, go ahead, over.”
“Wasp Five, that is heavy contact, I say again, heavy contact in Grid Seven, coordinates Two-Five-Delta. Friendlies are in close-fire proximity, over.”
“Roger that, Reg-Com. I’ll be careful, over.”
The noise from the fight could actually be heard all the way to the FOB. Both of the colonels moved to the open tent door, gazing out in the direction of the battle. Other marines about the base were pausing in what they were doing as well.
Lafferty consulted the printout flimsy that the radioman had given him, “This Carreno is an eighteen year old platoon leader. Volunteered from the South-West district. It seems she has taken on an anti-aircraft battery.”
Strasburg chuckled, highly amused, “That battalion is something else again. An eighteen year old girl with that kind of ambition could only come from the First. That Ford has really shaped them into a force to be reckoned with.”
Lafferty nodded in agreement.
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Minerva had not even realized that the gunship had arrived, so great was the onslaught that dominated her attention. The woods around her had become defoliated against the plasma streams. It was impossible to see where her fellow marines were, or if they were even still alive. She had begun to wonder if the enemy were managing to breach the fire zone.
