by Lucas Marcum
A captain had walked out to the podium. He spoke in a business-like tone. “Ok, pipe down. We don’t have a lot of time, so here’s Major General Schaffer. For you Regular Army guys, he’s the division commander of the 28th Infantry Division of the Pennsylvanian National Guard, and currently the operational commander in the Mid-Atlantic Theater of Operations.” He looked off to the side of the stage. “Sir. All you.”
An older man with tightly cut silver hair and the two stars of a major general on his chest walked briskly onto the stage and took his place behind the podium. “Welcome to Fort Indiantown Gap. I know a lot of you have been in the shit since day one, so let me fill you in on what’s been happening.” He gestured to the captain at the side of the stage. “Slide.”
The projector displayed a map of the United States, with red dots above dozens of cities. From the dots, arrows moved throughout the country. General Schaffer spoke in a flat, methodical tone. “Four days ago, at 0500 hours Zulu, portals opened over 27 American cities. Within 15 minutes of their opening, enemy forces began moving through. They appear to be primarily infantry, from an unknown nation-state with advanced energy-based weapons technology. They are supported by shock troops who prefer close quarters combat and flying animals that can only be described as dragons. Next slide.”
There was a murmur from the gathered officers and NCOs as the image appeared, a glowing ring of violet fire with a black center, in what looked like a park. Dark armored troops moved out of it in orderly ranks. They all appeared to be carrying swords, shields, and masked helmets. In the background was a partially visible creature with dark red scales, dwarfing the soldiers in front of it. The slide clicked. The massive creature was shown again, this time more clearly, and an armored figure could be seen on its back. The next image was of a building in flames, with the dragon’s back turning, and the dark figures fanning out. Dozens of bodies in police uniforms and civilian clothing could be seen lying on the ground around multiple burned out police cars.
The general continued, “This was sent to us by one of our reservists. He was…is a JAG Corps officer whose office is in downtown Philly. He was at work when the invasion started. These were taken in Rittenhouse Square, in the middle of the city.” The projector switched back to the map, and the general added somberly. “We have since lost contact with him.”
He stabbed a finger at the map behind him. “Two days ago, NORTHCOM deemed the coastal cities nonviable for defense and ordered all organized military units remaining to fall back to the interior of the country. We have been ordered to utilize mountain ranges, rivers, forests, and any and all other natural defensible positions to slow the advance of enemy forces to allow the Fifth Army time to reorganize to defend the interior. Ladies and gentlemen, that line is here.” A line appeared on the map, running diagonally through New York, Pennsylvania, continuing down through Maryland, and into West Virginia. “This is the new main line of resistance, along the I-81 corridor, paralleling the Appalachian Mountains. All units falling back from the coasts are joining Guard and Reserve units setting up defensive positions in the Appalachians. They’re doing the same thing in the Rockies out west.”
He turned to look at the map for a second, then turned back to the soldiers in the audience. His tone grew grim and determined. “I know most of you have lost troops, and a lot of them. I know they seem unstoppable, but they aren’t. I want you to know, they can be beaten.” The projector clicked, showing an aerial photo of the carcass of a dragon entangled with the remnants of an aircraft, both mangled almost beyond recognition. The charred wreckage lay in the crushed and burning remains of a line of row homes. “This was a dragon an F/A-18 Hornet off the USS Theodore Roosevelt took down over Long Island.”
The slide changed, showing the dark, black-scaled body of a dragon slumped over the end of the familiar, pale-blue suspension lines of the Benjamin Franklin Bridge in Philadelphia. There was a large hole in the scales of its torso. The white of bone and the red and black of blasted flesh showed through the wound.
In a grimly satisfied voice, Schaffer continued, “This is one the New Jersey National Guard took down with a Javelin anti-tank missile over Philadelphia, trying to cover the evacuation.” He looked down at the podium, his hands tightening on the sides of the lectern for a moment. “The 114th Infantry Regiment was wiped out to a man for their efforts, and the city of Camden has been destroyed.”
The slide flashed again. Two dragons and their riders were stretched out on a rocky desert with dozens of holes in their sleek hides, clearly dead. A third with a shattered wing and an empty saddle lay a short distance away, also riddled with massive bullet wounds. It looked like it had attempted to crawl, leaving a trail of dark black blood. “These were engaged and destroyed in air-to-air combat by the 944th and 354th Fighter Squadrons out of Luke and Davis-Monthan Air Forces Bases in Arizona.”
From the audience someone up front let out an exclamation, “Fuck yeah! Warthogs!”
With a grim smile, Schaffer replied, “Damn right, Warthogs. Apparently, the zoomies were able to throw together quite a counterattack. Coordinated drone strikes for a diversion, and F-16s and 35s to weaken their shields and force them out of the sky. The ‘Hogs did the dirty work once they were on the ground,”—the grim smile faded—“and they paid cash for it, too. Davis-Monthan and Luke Air Force Bases no longer exist. Almost 15,000 airmen and their families gave their lives for this victory. Same with the attempted strike up in New York. The 2nd and 29th Bomb Wings tried to close a portal with a concentrated strike on the Central Park.”
The general’s lips tightened for a split second before he continued, “We lost dozens of heavy bombers and their crews and didn’t score a single goddamn hit. Worse, Bomber Command effectively no longer exists as a fighting force.” The projector turned off. Schaffer stepped out from behind the podium and put his hands on his hips. “I don’t tell you this to glorify what we’re facing or demoralize you. We lost a lot of good soldiers, and we’re going to lose a lot more.” He paused. “I tell you this to let you know we can and have hurt them, and this is OUR goddamn country, and those pointy-eared little bastards can’t just come in here and take it.”
He looked around the quiet room for a few seconds, then said, “My division operations shop will be pushing out the new defense plans within the next few hours. I know you’re all tired, but we have to hold them here. The Army…no, scratch that. The United States, and your countrymen, are counting on you.” He paused again, then added in a firm tone of voice, “Together, we’ll win this and take our country back, or die trying. Soldiers, welcome to the Army of the Alleghenies.”
-2-
“Out of the Fire”
Fort Indiantown Gap
“Bravo Company, 652nd Medical Logistics Battalion.” The major stood on the rear of a truck reading from a clipboard, then looked up and scanned the small group of soldiers. “We got a rep from the 652nd?”
Acevedo looked at O’Malley, who was staring at a roster in his hands with the missing soldiers from his company. He clearly hadn’t heard the man. She raised her hand. “Here, sir.” She nudged O’Malley with an elbow. Startled, he looked up.
The major looked at his clipboard again and made a mark. “Ok. 652nd, you’re at 32% strength, so you’ll be off the line until we backfill you. You’re now redesignated as the 652nd Rear Area Security Detachment.” A lieutenant next to him handed him another clipboard. Scrutinizing it, the major snapped, “You’ll be the security detail for the field hospital setting up in the motor pool at Marquette Lake.” He looked down at the first clipboard, then added, “Lieutenant Esposito will arrange transport and ammo.” He looked down at the clipboard. “228th Transportation Battalion?”
A soldier in the front raised her hand. “Uh. Here, sir.”
The major scowled at the soldier. “Your sign-in roster is blank for total soldiers. Where are the reps from the other companies?”
The young woman shrugged. “There’s only three of us, sir.”<
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“Out of a whole battalion?” The major’s composure broke momentarily, and he looked down, his face tightening. A split second later, he looked back up and said calmly, “Very well.” He looked at the list again, then said, “Fall in on the 652nd. You’re reassigned to them for now.”
The specialist nodded and turned to make her way to O’Malley and Acevedo. The specialist saw the sergeant’s stripes on Acevedo’s chest and came to parade rest. “Sergeant.”
“Stop that. We’re in a combat zone,” Acevedo answered irritably. “Names.”
“I’m Specialist Beck, that’s Private First Class Henderson, and this is Private Williams,” the specialist said calmly as she pointed to her fellow soldiers. “Williams is totally deaf. A grenade went off under his truck. Someone dropped it when they got wanded.”
Seeing them looking at him, Williams said in a loud voice, “I CAN’T HEAR YOU, SERGEANT. A GRENADE WENT OFF UNDER MY TRUCK.” He tapped his ear. “I’M TOTALLY DEAF.” With a cheerful grin, he added, “I CAN STILL DO MY JOB, THOUGH. DON’T NEED TO HEAR TO DRIVE.”
Acevedo smiled grimly, patted the deaf private on the shoulder, gave him a thumbs up, and told Beck, “Keep an eye on him. He can’t hear, so you’re his ears. Roger that?”
“Yes, Sergeant.” The woman hesitated. “Are we going to fight again?” She looked at her two comrades. “We didn’t do so well last time. I think we’re all that’s left.”
“We’ll do what we have to.” Acevedo turned to O’Malley. “Sir. What’s next?”
O’Malley stared at the four soldiers looking at him, then made a decision. He ripped the page with the missing soldiers’ names off the clipboard and stuffed it into a pocket. “Let’s find this lieutenant and get ammo and food. We have a hospital to protect.” He stepped close and looked into the soldiers’ eyes. “Listen. We’ve had a bad few days. We’ve all lost friends and family and a left lot of brothers and sisters out there.” He looked down at the clipboard, then tossed it into the darkness. “None of that matters now. We need to take care of each other and do our jobs. You keep me in line, I’ll keep you in line.” He looked at Acevedo. “Acevedo.”
“Sir.”
“As of now, you’re the permanent first sergeant.” O’Malley pointed at Specialist Beck. “What can you drive?”
“Anything painted green with wheels, sir,” the specialist replied confidently. She then frowned. “Probably tracks, too, but I haven’t tried. Give me a few minutes and I’ll figure it out.” She pointed at the private. “Henderson and Williams are old-school redneck gearheads. They can fix anything.”
“Great. You’re the new motor sergeant and master driver.” O’Malley turned to walk to the rear of the gravel lot where a harassed looking lieutenant was being peppered with questions by the exhausted officers and sergeants. O’Malley said, “Let’s get back to our people and get set up. If they think the hospital needs a security detail all the way on the other side of the base…” He stopped talking and grimaced.
“They aren’t confident about the perimeter,” Acevedo finished. “Yeah. That occurred to me too, sir.”
“Yeah.” O’Malley turned to Acevedo. “Wait here.” He shouldered his way past the soldiers milling around and spoke to the lieutenant. As he did, the rhythmic tramp of boots came from the small road that passed the gravel lot. Acevedo turned curiously and saw a company of soldiers in full kit with rifles coming to a halt. A shouted command, and the men relaxed and began chattering. Acevedo noted they were in clean uniforms and had all their equipment in the proper place. On their left shoulders they bore the famous red and white double ‘A’ of the 82nd Airborne Division. Two men wearing officer’s insignia broke off and hurried towards the major with the clipboards.
From within the formation, a clear voice called out, “It’s all right, Nasty Girls. The motherfuckin’ Airborne has arrived. You can all go home now. The real soldiers are here.”
A cacophony of cheers and agreements rose. “That’s right! All Americans!” “Whoo! Motherfucking death from above!” “Geronimo, baby! Get some!”
From the front of the formation, a burly man with the diamond and chevrons of a first sergeant gave a hateful look at the paratroopers and growled, “At ease, shitheads.” A few more jeers came, but when he glared in their direction, the noise stopped.
There was a rumble from the darkness, and the hooded red lights of heavy trucks came into sight. In the pre-dawn light, the soldiers in the back of the trucks were clearly visible. Filthy, with battered equipment and bloodstained uniforms, their eyes were distant, and their faces dull. Their disinterested eyes stared at the fresh airborne troops, but none of them spoke or called out. The airborne soldiers were suddenly quiet as the trucks kept coming and coming, with hundreds of battered, stunned soldiers. After the last truck had passed, the sergeant stepped in front of their formation. His low, angry baritone was meant for them alone, but all the soldiers in the personnel yard could hear it.
“I hope you wiseasses got a good look. That was the 2nd Brigade Combat Team from the 28th Infantry Division of the Pennsylvania National Guard. They just got back from Iraq six months ago.” His piercing glare swept the company of airborne as he continued, “They are battle hardened and experienced. They are tested soldiers. They are as good as any of you, and most of them are better. Many of them are tabbed airborne infantry and former active duty. Their division and its predecessors have served in every goddamn conflict this country has been in since the Revolution. They are experts at war, and were fighting for their homes and families, and THEY. GOT. HAMMERED.”
His furious glare continued across the formation, stabbing out at the young men as if daring them to speak. “We will be taking their place on the line.” He turned to look into the darkness in the direction the trucks had gone for a moment, then turned back to the company. “They’re going to be remanned, reorganized, and sent back into the fight. Let’s hope they get back before we look like they do.” He watched the men for a moment, then growled, “Squad leaders. Check your troops. We move in 15.”
Acevedo watched the scene unfold without emotion. She was startled when O’Malley appeared at her elbow. “Sergeant Acevedo.”
“Sir.” She turned to face him.
He handed her a piece of paper. “This is a resupply chit. Don’t lose it. The entire logistics system is fucked, and priority is going to the line units. We’re going to get just enough to do our jobs, and not a thing more.”
“Yes, sir.”
“There’s a Humvee waiting to take us to the field hospital. The troops are already on the way.” He looked at her for a moment, then laughed slightly. “Weren’t you trying to get out?”
Acevedo laughed tiredly in response. “I’m surprised you remembered that. Yeah. I got into Georgetown. Classes were supposed to start next week.” She regarded the young officer for a moment. “What made you think of that?”
“I just remembered that your separation packet was missing a form.” He stared at her for a moment. “You’re gonna have to fix it, or the battalion is gonna kick it back.” A split second later, they both broke into wild laughter. As the specialist and two privates watched curiously, they continued to laugh all the way to the Humvee. A tired looking private with a nametape that read ‘Lawson’ checked their names off a list, then had the five soldiers stuff themselves into the vehicle. O’Malley took the front seat.
The soldier twisted around to see the four soldiers crammed into the back, then shrugged and turned to O’Malley. “All set, sir?”
“Let’s go.”
Private Lawson put the vehicle in gear, flicked on the dim red headlights, and headed out the gate. Pulling out of the parking lot, they passed the column of Airborne, now trudging in silence towards the main gates some four miles to the east. Their previously cheerful, cocky demeanor was gone, replaced with serious looks and grim expressions. O’Malley blinked, seeing what the paratroopers were seeing. Across the street from the parking lot, previously hidden in the
darkness, was a yard full of wrecked vehicles. The rapidly approaching dawn had revealed Bradley Fighting Vehicles, armored Humvees, Strykers, and Abrams tanks, all jumbled together. Their paint was scorched, gun barrels melted and drooping. Many of them had the doors and hatches frozen partly open, stuck in place from the intense heat. Through the thick windows of the vehicle, the soldiers could smell the unmistakable scent of burned flesh drifting from the wrecks.
“You get used to it after a while,” the private behind the wheel said in a carefully neutral tone. “They bring ‘em in like that and drop them. Someone’s supposed to come get them back in action, but those things are fucked.”
There was a quiet noise of gagging from the rear seat as the smell of burnt meat wafted through the truck. Lawson grinned darkly, keeping his eyes on the road. “I guess some of the crews are still in there. The graves registration guys try to get ‘em out, but there’s not enough of them.” The Humvee turned a corner, and the wreckage vanished from sight. The man continued, “I don’t know where you came from, but things ain’t looking so good here at the Gap.” He fell silent as he drove, taking turns still barely visible in the pre-dawn light.
Suddenly he stood on the brakes and pointed down an overgrown, cracked asphalt road. “Back there, ‘bout 500 yards, under the trees.” He pointed at a small road. “The field hospital’s still setting up. We had ‘em up by the main gate, but they pulled ‘em back about 12 hours ago.” He hesitated, then added, “If you see a medic named Lawson, tell her Brett’s ok, and I’m with the headquarters detachment.” He reached into a pocket and handed O’Malley an envelope. “She’s a sergeant with the surgical unit. Tell her these are from Mike, and I’m sorry. She’ll know what I mean.”