by Unknown
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On the north side of the street, across from 2nd Platoon, Mark stopped his people just short of actually having a full view across Ford’s end of the intersection. Going any further would have put them right in the line of fire without cover. He watched as Ford and the corporal prepared to take on the machine gun crew that was out of his line of sight, then witnessed the sergeant major trying to back-peddle an instant before an explosion took off a great chunk of the building corner. The blast obscured everything, and Mark ducked instinctively as shrapnel sprayed at them.
Acting on pure adrenaline alone, he kicked in the door of the nearest shop, and led his platoon inside as the MG fire began to chatter again.
“Who’s got an AT-round?” He demanded.
Manny leaned his 60-watt against the cashier counter, and unstrapped the rocket tube he had attached to his combat harness in response.
There was a plaster wall between themselves, and the next store, which was the corner building on their own side of the street. Having access to it would give them an open line of fire, and offer some protection.
“Make us a hole through this wall.”
Manny primed the tube, and his fellow marines spread away from him. He leveled it, and pulled the trigger. The wall blew inward, and the sounds of things breaking and flying around in the next room accompanied the sharp concussion of the round going off.
Now with access to not only the southern-facing windows that had long-since been broken out, but the east exit, the marines were able to start lying down a sizable amount of return fire. To their dismay, a second 60-watt crew joined the first, and began sweeping the store in which they were hunkered down in. Plasma
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streamed through the open windows, peppering the walls, and clanging off of objects in the back. The marines were reduced to huddling beneath the window ledge, and shooting blindly.
Mark knew immediately that they were in a bad situation. He spied the corporal from 2nd Platoon lying motionless among the debris in the center of the intersection. Ford was picking himself up, obviously stunned by the proximity of the AT round, while his platoon waited in confusion. Meanwhile, suppression fire was pouring at an ever increasing rate into the meager shelter there was in the knick-knacks store that his own people were cowering in.
Crawling like a dog, the master sergeant made his way over to where Manny was crouched, trying to find a safe angle to set up his 60-watt in the eastern entrance. Outside on that side of the intersection, he was able to see C-Company, just as pinned down as everyone else. He felt a thrill of terror, knowing that one of those troopers was Minerva, but unable to tell who was who. With the helmet visors down, one suit of armor looked like any other.
“We already have a man down!” Manny shouted involuntarily, intending to be heard over the din of the battle, and forgetting that his helmet mic was transmitting.
Mark mentally cranked his receiver volume down, and took a moment to gain a better feel for the interior of the store. Toward the back was an open stockroom door, through which he could see a staircase. Getting a higher firing defilade would be a great advantage given the situation. He slapped Manny on the arm plate.
“Follow me!”
Keeping low to the floor, the two of them scrambled their way into the back, and hurried up the stairs. The second story opened to a grungy bathroom on the left, a mop closet before them, and a closed door to the right. Mark eased it open, finding a carpeted hall with four more sets of doors evenly spaced apart.
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Creeping on, it was evident that they must be apartments, as they were numbered with people’s names on brass plates. Ideally, they faced Main Street.
“I’ll take this first one, you shoot from the next,” Mark said as he tested the door knob, which was locked.
Manny moved to the neighboring door, and found it locked as well. They braced themselves, and each gave a solid kick at the same time. Mark’s door gave easily, flying open to reveal a dim interior that was furnished only with a ratty couch, and a small dining table tucked into the corner. Before he could react, a terrified Asian man came storming from the kitchen, screaming a war cry, and bearing a sawed-off double-barreled shotgun. The tenant let-fly with both triggers at once, the shotgun kicking back so hard that it threw him off-balance and sent him stumbling back against the frame of the kitchen door.
The blast caught Mark dead-center in the chest plate at point-blank, and literally threw him back off his feet, out of the apartment and against the hallway wall, where he slid down on his butt. While he sat there trying to draw a breath, he thought how wonderful nano-armor really was. The shot had hurt like hell, and knocked the wind out of him, but for all that he was otherwise unscathed. Luckily, the plasma grenades attached to the front of his harness had not been set off by the pellets.
The tenant was immediately at his side, apologizing profusely, his hands patting futilely atop Mark’s breastplate, checking for bleeding.
“I so sorry! I think you one of them!”
Manny emerged from the room that he had forced his way into, visor up and looking perplexed, “What the hell?”
Mark pushed the Asian man away, and rose to his feet,
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staggering back into the apartment. The tenant looked at Manny and shrugged his shoulders. Manny shrugged back, and returned to his own room.
From the Asian’s apartment, Mark pulled the window open, and began sniping at the Storians, lobbing a rifle grenade every so often. From the window next door, Manny’s 60-watt chattered, raining plasma down on the enemy gunners. It created enough of a lull for Ford to direct a marine to run out and retrieve the fallen corporal.
Ford was finished messing around. Their gunship had been shot down, and he was already taking casualties from this machine gun crew. He stood and motioned back where their tank escort was sitting idle, waiting for just that sort of signal. The behemoth’s engine roared, and it lurched forward, motoring toward the intersection as Amell hooked her hands under the corporal’s arms, and dragged him back to the safety of the sidewalk.
As the tank passed by, and lumbered into the intersection, rounds clanged off of its thick hull. The Storians focused their fire on it despite it being immune to anything less than a well-aimed rocket. Its only vulnerable point was the thin flange where the turret was mounted to the main body. The side gunner on the left spun his gatling, and unleashed a hellacious storm of plasma on the Storian detachment, forcing them to dive for cover. He had to adjust his fire as the turret came around with dramatic slowness. The tank commander was clearly intentionally putting fear into the enemy soldiers. The barrel dropped down slightly as the turret made a final jerk.
“Fire in the hole!” Ford warned over the general frequency.
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The muzzle wash of the main gun flashed to each side, the sound of it enormous. An instant later, a second profound explosion a mere hundred feet away sent the south end of the street rushing outward in a gigantic eruption of pulverized asphalt and fire. The intersection was now so choked with dust and smoke that it was impossible to see beyond a few feet.
A numbed silence followed. The Storians were either all dead, or those that remained had turned-tail, because no further gun fire came from that flank. The cloud rolled down each adjoining avenue, bringing with it utter stillness. Gradually, the marines from both companies began to emerge, taking stock of themselves.
Ford hurried to make rounds to each platoon, checking for any wounded. Miraculously, there were only five suffering from either bullet or shrapnel wounds. The sixth was an ankle that was likely broken. That was, with the exception of his corporal. He walked over to where Amell knelt on the sidewalk, holding the kid in her arms. The young man was conscious, but barely. Muttering that he wanted to get up, insisting that he was fine. The kid had no idea just how grave his injuries really were.
“Just take it easy,” Amell was saying softly. “We’ll medevac you out of here. You’ll be fine
.”
The corporal was struggling weakly to push from her grasp, but did not have the strength to do so, “I’m okay. Let me up.”
Ford gulped, opening his visor, “Relax Corporal. That’s an order.”
Behind them, Mark and Manny were coming out from the corner store on the opposite side of the street, followed by 1st Platoon. The master sergeant told them to fan out and form a perimeter before joining Ford, who had moved away, looking decidedly green.
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“What’s wrong?” Mark asked him quietly, so as not to be overheard.
Ford thumbed over his shoulder, “My squad leader had the top of his freaking head cleaved off, and he doesn’t even know it. His brains are out in full view.”
Mark glanced over, seeing the medical corpsman arriving, kneeling next to Amell. The boy that the Attayan held then began to hitch his breath, his eyes fluttering. Oddly enough, there was not much blood loss, but the damage was evidently severe enough nonetheless. The kid leaned into Amell’s grasp, hitched again, and was still. His eyes were open, but they weren’t seeing anything. He was gone. The corpsman gently laid him down, and closed his eyes with a finger. To the unpleasant surprise of all who happened to be looking, a spurt of blood and fluid released from the gaping wound, and the kid’s brain partly came loose, slipping out onto the concrete. Amell scooched backward, turned, and retched.
Looking decidedly unhappy, Ford keyed the comm-net, and spoke into his helmet mic, “Ground One to Command, over.”
After a brief pause, his headset crackled to life, “This is Command, go ahead, over.”
“Requesting a medevac, over.”
“Do you have a casualty estimate, over?”
Ford gazed at Amell, who had retreated to one side, sipping from her canteen, and wiping tears from her furry cheeks, “Six injured, one fatality, over.”
Minerva had secured her end of the intersection, and wandered over. She took her friend in arms, and hugged her tight. Mark and Manny stood by awkwardly, unsure of what to say or do to comfort her. Sergeant Major Ford came to join the girls, and looked down at the Attayan sympathetically.
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“Would you like to rotate to the rear?” He asked her.
Amell sniffled, and squared her shoulders as she fixed him with an expression that was both angry, and determined.
“No thank you, Sergeant Major,” she replied firmly. “We have to take this fucking town.”
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Thirteen
The Mighty First
Central Hubbard
5:15 PM
Minerva watched as a trio of old-school rotor-driven Hueys thumped overhead, making a wide, slow circuit over town. The Army still utilized the antiquated design, clinging to its traditional past. She marveled at how similar they were to the Huey-shuttle choppers that the Corps preferred, the major difference being that the shuttle models had no rotors, instead using the Anderson power plants that allowed for travel outside of atmosphere.
The Army divisions located in the Pennsylvania Free Zone had been moving in since morning to assist in the Hubbard offensive, taking up some of the slack in air support that the Space Navy was having so much difficulty in maintaining. Elements from the 6th Infantry Brigade occupied the reclaimed downtown, allowing the marines to prepare for yet another push, this time aimed at liberating the entire southern expanse of the township.
Sergeant Major Ford had set up a Forward Command Post in the very police station that Minerva had passed after her impromptu parachute landing, and was conferring with Colonels Lafferty and Strasburg, who had been driven in about an hour before.
The door to the CP was open, and she and her fiancée stood just outside of it, listening to the debate going on within.
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“Aerial recon has confirmed that the remaining Storians from the wall have dug in along this section of small farms bordering the extreme south-west edge of town,” Lafferty was pointing out on a map that had been gleaned from the gas station on the corner.
“The recent fly-over spotted one heavy tank, and at least three half-tracks with 80-watt cannons,” he went on. “That was what was visible. There’s no telling how many more armored vehicles may be concealed along these clumps of trees interspersed among the properties.”
Ford was frowning at the map details, “Any guess as to how much infantry remains?”
Strasburg puffed air from his cheeks, “I’m guessing regimental strength, mostly the scattered remnants of what various units survived the beachhead.”
Lafferty shifted the map slightly, and indicated the highway that stretched from Hubbard and snaked on toward the next town of Campbell and beyond, “That Storian armor is still rolling toward us from Youngstown. If they link up, which they likely will by tomorrow morning, we’re going to play hell taking them on.”
Strasburg slapped the table top angrily, “Then why the hell aren’t the air wings dropping a country ton of ordinance on that column?”
“General Towers is concerned with destroying too much civilian infrastructure,” Lafferty told him, rolling his eyes.
Strasburg gaped wide-eyed, “You mean to tell me that he’s worried more about a few hundred yards of interstate than he is us?”
Lafferty could only shrug. Ford chuckled, and lit one of his cigars.
“This is the deepest well of manure that I’ve ever stood in!”
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Strasburg turned to the communications tech that had set up the new command center, and stuck a finger at him that trembled with barely contained fury.
“You get on the horn with the Canadians, then, and you tell them we need an air strike on that goddamned column as soon as they can muster a Hellfire platform!”
As the tech nervously began to comply, the colonel sighed, and turned back to his pair of most trusted subordinates, “If the Corps, and the damned Navy won’t get off of their thumbs, I’ll go to the neighbors for help. I’ll be boiled in Satan’s pot before I sit by and watch my marines get chopped to vittles over some one-star’s qualms about collateral damage!”
“Oooh-Rah, Sir,” Ford said approvingly through a cloud of cigar smoke.
Strasburg snorted, and peered down at the map, “That leaves us with the situation at hand. We can’t bomb or strafe the Storians that have dug in here, because that entire area is filled to the gills with civilians. We can’t ignore them, either, for the same reasons. We’ve got no choice but to go in, and root them out.”
“How would you like us to go about it, then, Sir?”
The colonel fingered a highlighted area, “All that lies between us and the Storians is this last section of residential blocks, mostly middle-class homes. Sandusky Boulevard is major thoroughfare that cuts through it, and reconnects with the main highway where the enemy has dug in. We’ll bring in all three companies of the battalion, and back them with armored support.”
Colonel Lafferty chimed in, “You’ll advance down Sandusky, and spread out once you’ve penetrated beyond the edge of town. Engage the enemy at your discretion. I have a company of Attayan Elite Forces flying in from Quantico, Virginia to reinforce your position. They should be arriving before daybreak.”
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The three of them looked up as someone entered the office, a bright-eyed civilian clad in a safari outfit. A vid-cam hung from a strap around his neck. Strasburg sighed again, and motioned for him to join them at the table.
“This is a GNN reporter sent down from Division. He’ll be accompanying you in order to transmit live feed, so warn your people to watch their language.”
Ford pointedly ignored him, returning his attention to the map instead of shaking the hand that was offered, “When do we move out?
“Soon as the tanks arrive from the beachhead, which could take another hour or so,” Strasburg answered. “Brief your unit commanders, and have your people grab a bite while they have time.”
Ford saluted, and excused himself to rejoin his two company commanders waiting outsid
e.
“Did you guys hear all of that?
“Unfortunately,” Minerva quipped sourly.
Ford puffed on his cigar, and grinned sardonically, “Well, hell. Whadda ya gonna do?”
C-Company had been selected to take point, with Alpha behind, and Bravo taking up the rear. Their armored support consisted of a single tank for each company---not what anyone considered ideal, but better than nothing.
Minerva walked in the lead, with her platoons divided on either side of the road, their tank escort chugging along in the center. With a little better than 300 marines behind her, she did not feel as
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afraid as she’d expected to. A single gunship whupped overhead, making its usual wide circles, watching for enemy activity out ahead of the column.
As they transitioned from the business district of town, and began to pass through the residential neighborhood, it became evident that the Storians had been present. The once intact homes had been peppered with plasma fire, windows broken, some houses burned to their foundations. That was not the worst of it.
Bile rose in Minerva’s throat at the sight of them.
Men, women, and children had been murdered. The kids had been shot through the head, and piled unceremoniously. It was clear that many of the women had been raped before being killed. The men had suffered far worse. They had been stripped naked, and gutted like animals. The street and sidewalks were bathed in blood and gore.
Tears welled in Minerva’s eyes as guilt roiled in her innards. They had taken too long to come. These people had held out hope that the Marines would arrive and save them, and all the while the powers that be had wasted time debating stupid details. That indecision had cost these people their lives in the worst way. She couldn’t help but feel a measure of responsibility.
