Strike Force Black

by C T Glatte

  Joe shook his head. “No, we are different. For one thing our translators won’t make us docile and subservient. And we’re highly trained operatives, they’ve never seen anything like us. We’ll fight our way out if we have to.”

  “Hmm, wish I shared your optimism.”

  “You’ll see, it’ll work out fine.”

  Joe and Rex left the village after a robust send-off party. They rode camels, moving slow, not wanting to draw attention to themselves. Travelers were common in this region, however the practice was shunned. So, they moved slow and avoided the bigger population densities. Rex saw first-hand how the land and the people changed the further north they went. The scrub grass and occasional oases around Joe’s village made it seem like the most lush and vibrant place in Africa, compared to land they traveled through now.

  There were no more borders per se, but Joe noted after two weeks of riding that they were in the country of Niger. Before the Korth, the area was hard desert and not much else. It was still that way, however the towns and villages were nearly all empty and the people that remained were thin and sickly.

  “They suffer not just from hunger, for that has always been a problem here, but from the sickness,” Joe said. He sniffed the hot air and scowled, “You can almost smell it.”

  Rex nodded, but kept his shroud over his head and face. “I’ve noticed it. I suppose whatever it is will kill us too.”

  “It’s a slow process from what we’ve seen, but yes, eventually. It’s why we must find the roundups soon.”

  “There aren’t many people left here. Perhaps they’ve already taken everyone.”

  “The patrols travel far and they all lead to that town.” They sat upon a high escarpment of rock and sand looking out over the shimmering expanse of Niger, spreading toward Libya. “See it? It’s where the patrols take their charges. We’ll go there and await another caravan.”

  A few hours later, right at midday, they entered the town. It was far busier than any town they’d seen in days. There were open markets filled with haggling sellers and buyers. The people were dressed similarly in off-white robes and all had their faces mostly covered. Joe and Rex fit in seamlessly and no one gave them a second look.

  Rex asked, “Why is this town so vibrant? Why is no one sick? What’s the difference?”

  Joe shifted his chin forward, “That.”

  Rex looked beyond the hustle and bustle and saw a large building in the distance. It sat upon the highest point in the area. The severe angles and deep insets of the supposed windows made it look angular and menacing. A long snaking dirt road led to the base. The cobalt black of its walls shimmered with heat. Rex shook his head. “And what, pray tell, is that monstrosity and what dolt decided on black in this part of the world? Surely it’ll melt.”

  “It is Korth built. It’s where the Army patrols take their charges. The soldiers leave, but the people they bring there, don’t.”

  “So that’s the big project? That’s where it’s happening?”

  “We don’t know, but it’s where countless people have disappeared. We suspect it’s the cause of Africa’s death.” Joe looked at Rex, his bloodshot eyes the only part of him visible. “And it’s where we’re going.”

  20

  PFC Jimmy Crandall and the rest of the ragtag group of soldiers from the company were asleep inside a bunker near the bridge. They’d been relieved after the battle with the paratroopers and given hot food as a reward for surviving. The food tasted wonderful and every one of the sixteen survivors from the bridge defense fell asleep soon after finishing. There’d been no action since stopping the attack and the few hours of sleep felt wonderful.

  Jimmy opened his heavy eyelids, stood and stretched. Corporal Grothing stirred at his feet and turned away, continuing to sleep. Jimmy carefully walked between the slumbering soldiers and found the metal back door. He pushed it and it swung open with an awful squeak. There was grumbling from the men and he quickly stepped through and closed it again shutting the afternoon light out.

  He adjusted his M1 on his shoulder and covered his squinting eyes to keep the harsh winter sun out. He felt the chill of the wind coming off Chesapeake Bay. His eyes adjusted and he took a short set of stairs out of the connector trench and surveyed the land. The Chesapeake Bay Bridge met the banks of Kent Island forty yards away. There were GIs manning formidable defenses everywhere he looked. The ground was churned up and muddy from the constant foot traffic and occasional passing vehicle.

  He heard the distant rumble of continuous battle to the East and realized it was such a constant, he barely noticed it anymore. There was still the buzzing of aircraft, but the stout AA defenses surrounding the Bay Bridge had discouraged air attacks, at least for the time being. Vehicles and men continued to trundle across the bridge, but the flow had died down to a trickle compared to earlier in the day.

  Jimmy walked to the edge of the water and took a long overdue piss. He gazed across the bay trying to make out the other side, but there was a haze and he couldn’t see the low flat scrub he knew was there. He zipped up and was about to head back to the bunker to get more sleep, when something got his attention. He looked south, he’d noticed something on the water. He squinted and held his hand up against the sunlight. The mist swirled on the water, sometimes thick and sometimes wispy and light.

  He extended his neck forward, there was definitely something there. Boats, lots of boats churning up the bay toward the bridge. The longer he looked the more he saw until the entire bay was filled almost bank to bank. He pulled his rifle from his shoulder and looked around. Had anyone else seen them and more importantly were they friendly forces or not?

  The answer came seconds later when there was a rippling of fire from the first rows of boats. Jimmy got on his belly as shells arced over his head and slammed into the completely caught off-guard GIs. Explosions rocked the area and Jimmy watched helplessly as men and material were obliterated. A tank, one of the new Pershings, rotated its turret and got a shot off, but a second later blossomed with fire as a shell slammed into the less armored rear compartment. Fire and smoke billowed from the hatches.

  Jimmy was frozen to the spot, the gunboats were targeting the defense installations, but the roar of shells passing close was terrifying. A machine-gun nest, one of only a few facing the bay water, opened fire and raked a nearby boat. Jimmy saw it was an LVT and could see the tops of helmeted enemy soldiers. The bullets sparked against the metal sides and the water around the boat churned and spouted. The machine-gun nest was immediately met with withering fire from other LVTs, armed with mounted MG42s, and was put out of commission.

  Jimmy saw the bunker he’d just left erupt in fire and smoke and saw chunks of concrete flying off in every direction. He thought of the men inside. Had any survived? Had his full bladder saved his life?

  Anger welled in him and he brought the M1 to his shoulder and aimed. He sighted on an enemy gunner, sweeping the banks with deadly fire. He was sideways to Jimmy, exposed. Jimmy pulled the trigger and watched the soldier’s head snap and he fell out of sight, the weapon’s barrel aimed at the sky. Another soldier quickly took his place and Jimmy fired the rest of his clip and felt satisfaction as that soldier met a similar fate as the first.

  He couldn’t stay here. He’d be gunned down as soon as they saw him. He sprang to his feet, ran inland a few yards and launched himself into the irrigation ditch running alongside the bay.

  He splashed into the frigid water and bullets whizzed and snapped over his head. His head submerged but he quickly got his feet beneath himself and took off running south. The ditch water was waist deep and the muddy bottom made running difficult. Soon he was overheating and breathing hard but he kept churning his legs until he thought his lungs would burst.

  He stopped and threw himself along the edge, hiding himself in the tall grasses trying desperately to get control of his breathing. He shook the mud and dirty water off his M1 as best he could and reloaded, hoping the wet and dirty ammo wouldn’t
jam his weapon.

  The sound of battle was intense and close, but by the sound of it, he thought he’d moved past the main push. He crawled up the embankment until he was on top of the ditch trail and lifted his head. The sight took his breath away and he nearly panicked and ran.

  The enemy gunboats were against the bridge struts and continued firing their cannons into the defenders. He saw men being cut down everywhere. A few Pershings had managed to turn and were picking off boats with accurate fire, but there were far too few and too many boats. LVTs ran aground and their fronts were down spewing men like deadly spawn. The enemy troops ran forward, guns blazing and were making huge inroads into the defenses which were mostly turned the wrong way.

  Forty yards away the nearest LVT churned to the bank and stopped. The front door opened and soldiers spilled out. Their helmets looked different from the Germans he’d seen and he wondered where these soldiers originated from.

  He didn’t dwell on it long. He positioned himself, brought his weapon to his shoulder and from a prone position, aimed at the first man he saw, someone waving men forward, perhaps an officer. He fired three times in quick succession and saw the man flinch and drop, holding his leg and screaming.

  Jimmy pulled the trigger again but nothing happened. He rolled onto his back and pulled the bolt, trying to release the clip, but it was jammed and he couldn’t move it. He could see the bent shell casing firmly stuck. “Dammit,” he cursed and dropped the weapon.

  He rolled back to his belly and looked up. The LVTs continued to disgorge troops and the gunboats continued to fire. The defenses had stiffened and there were multiple machine-gun nests coupled with tanks and AA guns that managed to turn and get into the fight. The enemy troops were stalled, taking heavy fire.

  Jimmy wished he had his sniper rifle, he could do real damage from this spot, but he’d left it inside the smoldering bunker. He looked right, seeing the road paralleling the bay and the ditch. He saw the furthest most south machine-gun nest. The crew was dead, or wounded, but the machine-gun, as far as he could tell from this distance looked intact. If he could make it there, he’d be able to lay down lethal fire into the enemy’s right flank.

  He looked at the momentarily stalled enemy only thirty yards away. They were focused forward, not worried about the deserted area south. They were firing and maneuvering on the rejuvenated defenses, trying to roll them up once and for all.

  Jimmy made his choice. He crawled back to the irrigation ditch, slid into its icy waters and climbed the far bank on his belly. He glanced left but no one was paying any attention to him. The terrain was mostly thigh high grass all the way to the road. The MG nest was on this side of the road, in a sandbagged foxhole. He pushed his way through the grass quickly until he got to the sandbags. He couldn’t see inside the hole but there were no signs of life. The .30 caliber machine-gun was aimed toward the sky but looked intact. A wisp of smoke curled from the barrel.

  He lunged and rolled over the two layers of sandbags and fell into the hole. No bullets followed him and he took a deep breath and evaluated the position. There were three Bridge Defense Brigade soldiers. Two were obviously dead with seeping, heavy caliber bullet holes in their chests. The third was faced away, and there was caked blood on his coat.

  They were in the way of him manning the machine gun, so he pushed them away. He nearly shit himself when the soldier facing away called out in a panicked, scared voice. Jimmy reeled back, clutching instinctively for the knife at his side. The soldier turned wide-eyed and pushed his way up the side of the hole, trying to get away.

  Jimmy relaxed his grip on the knife handle and lunged forward before the soldier’s screams drew unwanted attention. “Hey, shut the fuck up!” He seethed. “It’s okay, I’m on your side.” Finally the soldier’s darting, wide eyes settled down and he focused on Jimmy who was inches from his face. “You okay? You hit?” The soldier shook his head and let himself relax into the bottom of the hole. “You able to help me with the gun? I need a loader.”

  The man’s eyes once again widened and he shook his head emphatically. “No — No, don’t do that. They — they’ll kill us, you’ll kill us.”

  Jimmy’s eyes turned hard and he seethed. “You got two choices, go out fighting or run like a coward and leave your buddies to die.” The soldier shook his head and without a word crawled out the back of the hole and never looked back. Jimmy watched him snake away and whispered to himself, “That didn’t go the way I’d hoped.”

  He checked the machine-gun over, it looked okay to him, but he wasn’t an expert machine-gunner. He wouldn’t know if it worked until he pulled the trigger.

  Staying low, he lifted the breech and adjusted the ammunition belt snaking from a tipped over ammo can. Everything looked okay to him. He took one last glance behind him and shook his head at the departed soldier. Probably should follow him. He grit his teeth and pulled the bolt back, feeling the satisfying tension. He looked over the barrel, lining up a group of completely unsuspecting and exposed enemy soldiers only forty yards away, getting ready to rush a position. He lined them up, aiming slightly low and pulled the trigger.

  The heavy weapon sent .30 caliber bullets into the men who never knew what hit them. They toppled over like bowling pins. Jimmy adjusted his aim and shot up an LVT whose front end had just dropped. The debarking soldiers were met with withering fire. They dropped and those behind tripped and fell trying to get away but were unsuccessful.

  Jimmy stopped firing, remembering how easy it was to burn out one of the finicky machine gun barrels. He fired shorter bursts. A group of exposed soldiers leaped up and ran headlong at him, trying for the safety of the irrigation ditch. He swept right to left and they tripped and fell into the grasses. A thin red mist hung and fell over their bodies. The power of the weapon was intoxicating, but soon he noticed the snapping of return fire.

  He’d been seen. An explosion to his right made him cover his head and he felt clumps of grass and dirt clods land on his back and legs. The gunboats were firing on him. He wouldn’t last long. He coughed and spit out dirt and aimed at more exposed troops and sent a long burst, not caring about burning up the barrel anymore, more interested in taking as many with him as he could. He yelled in triumph as his stream of fire cut men down, cutting a swath through their right flank.

  Another explosion in front of the hole obscured his vision and he ducked, releasing the handle and covering his head. The nearby explosion seemed to rob the air of oxygen and he struggled to take in a breath. The sandbags rolled onto him and he knew the next few seconds were his last.

  There was a booming roar to his right and through the haze of smoke and debris he caught a glimpse of something large and menacing and very close. There was another blast and the shape rocked back on its chassis then clanked forward. Through his shockwave-addled mind, Jimmy realized it was a Pershing tank and it wasn’t alone.

  Jimmy marveled that he was still alive. He looked behind him, there was a line of Pershing tanks on the road, firing into the enemy troops and boats. The constant chatter of the machine guns poking out the angled front glacis and the booming of the 90mm main guns was deafening and tearing holes in the enemy line.

  The return fire was stiffening and Jimmy hunkered low in the hole. A tank hull suddenly appeared behind him and the memory of the Alaskan front and being trapped beneath a Russian tank flashed through his mind. He thought of his best friend, Hank, remembering how scared they both were. He didn’t want to repeat the experience.

  He grabbed a Thompson submachine gun he’d noticed earlier, propped along the wall and rolled out the side of the hole toward the irrigation ditch. It would provide cover and protection from the onslaught of fire. He stayed on his belly, crawling as fast as he could. The Pershing tank, completely unaware of him rolled over the MG nest. It stopped and fired its cannon and Jimmy felt the shockwave pass over him.

  He rolled into the ditch and landed on his feet with a splash. He checked the Thompson, it was loaded with a ful
l magazine and seemed to be in working order. He listened to the battle and watched the ditch, the Thompson leveled. It would be a natural avenue for enemy troops to try to get behind the Pershings. He would keep that from happening, at least until his magazine ran out.

  The battle continued to rage around him. The sky never stopped dropping debris as the gunboats continued raining shells around the Pershings. Jimmy felt the cold water seeping into his legs and he involuntarily shivered. He couldn’t stay in the water much longer, or he’d be too stiff to move. He could only see ten yards in front, before the irrigation ditch made a slight turn. There was a spot of land sticking into the ditch at the corner. It would provide him a dry place out of the water but still give him cover.

  On stiff legs he moved forward. He had to lunge to get his feet unstuck from the sticky mud he’d sunk into. Each step was exhausting, but he finally arrived at the corner. He pulled himself up onto the spot of land and hunched. It would work for a while, but he could feel himself sinking slowly, like he was standing on a huge sponge.

  He adjusted his body until he was somewhat comfortable, then leaned out to see around the bend. His eyes locked with a soldier only a few yards away. Jimmy reacted quicker and fired the Thompson from the hip. The big .45 caliber bullets slammed the soldier back and he kept the trigger depressed hitting the soldiers behind the first. They never knew what hit them. He stopped firing when all six were down, slowly floating in expanding pools of blood.

  The Thompson’s barrel smoked and hissed as water droplets turned to steam. He knew he must be near the end of the magazine. The shock of seeing the soldiers so close had him hyperventilating. He forced himself to calm down, to take deep breaths. He needed another weapon.