The Mighty First, Episode 3

by Mark Bordner

  Bringing up the rear of this were hundreds more support vehicles hauling the equipment, munitions, and supplies; along with trucks pulling additional artillery pieces that had been flown in via cargo shuttles.

  The 3rd Marine Battalion had been rotated to the rear for a rest period. The Mighty First was mobilizing, still back in New Bedford, Pennsylvania. Now refitted and re-manned, the 1st was ready to get back into the action. Its arrival was much anticipated by both the media and the general populace, who had been rooting for them since D-Day.

  As the battle column advanced, scores of supply shuttle-helos filled the sky and began landing at various points around the region, dispensing food-stuffs to the populace. The Chinese were also flying over in their mammoth C-130-type shuttles and making air drops of goods, sending them floating down in clouds of parachutes. Communities erupted in celebration. As evening approached, some person somewhere had come across an old cache of fireworks and began popping them off, making an improvised 4th of July in October. The smells of charcoal barbeques wafted in the air as people grilled the first meat that they had been able to enjoy in an eternity. Freedom was cherished as it had not been in ages.

  Springfield, Ohio

  9:00 PM

  After 15 hours of forced marching, the column arrived in this next major city, utterly exhausted. Mercifully, there had been no enemy activity whatsoever, and Springfield itself had been abandoned by the Storians hours prior. The city was intact and celebrating its new-found freedom. The troops were greeted with the same elation as before, much pleased with the attention. Unit commanders set about quartering them among the apartment buildings downtown while the rows of vehicles and tanks tried to park along the curbs to avoid clogging the streets more than necessary.

  The troop shuttle Blackhawks from New Bedford arrived shortly thereafter, and delivered the 1st Battalion with its command structure, landing in the city park. GNN crews captured the arrival of the armed forces in their usual over-romanticized form, playing on the crowd’s enthusiasm for the evening news feed.

  With all of the elements of the 83rd Regiment now in place, the command staff gathered in the park while company commanders figured out where their people would receive their shelter for the night. The entire scene looked like a new invasion with the huge influx of men and material, and the squadrons of Blackhawk shuttles coming and going.

  Sergeant Major Ford, Captain Hannock, Attayan Colonel Lafferty, and Marine Colonel Strasburg met up with Major Rogett of the Army 101st Airborne Division, Lt. Colonel Harper of the Army Air Calvary, and Captain Sunwa of the Attayan Elite Corps-2nd Light Infantry Brigade. It was decided that the Springfield Museum of Art would serve as their Forward Operating Base (FOB), and they piled into an armored personnel carrier to follow the staff vehicles to that location, where aides and staffers would set about getting everything in working order. The senior officers made their way to the rooftop, admiring the commanding view that it offered in every direction. It would make an excellent observation post.

  While they dined on field rations, Attayan Captain Sunwa briefed them on what intelligence he’d had a chance to gather in the two days that his brigade had already been in place.

  “The Storians have solid control over the Dayton province,” he was saying in his Irish-like accent. “They have captured Wright Patterson Air Force Base intact, and are utilizing it as their FOB. Their air superiority seems to hang west of the north-south I-Seventy-Five line. They also have a rather heavy concentration of armor in and around Dayton itself, which is thick with a civilian population.”

  Major Rogett made a tsk-tsk sound, “That means no air strikes.”

  Lt. Colonel Harper scanned the western horizon with the old-school binoculars that the Army was still saddled with, “Eliminating their air power will be an essential task, if we expect to make any headway on the ground. It’s going to be difficult enough facing their tanks.”

  Ford was gazing up at the odd, diamond-shaped object hanging over the north-west horizon, glowing blue; high in the sky over distant Indianapolis. From their distance, it appeared no larger than a grape, but that only testified to its true size, being visible from so far away. It was disconcerting. A symbol of the Storian occupation, and their grasp on weapons technology that mankind had let fall to the wayside. He shivered, thankful that the reaction was hidden within his armor from the others around him.

  Strasburg was studying his visor tactical, “We could park some of our short-range artillery about eight miles south-west of here, in the town of Enon. They’d be able to rain plasma down on Wright Patterson, and take out their aircraft on the ground. Fast-movers could then drop from orbit, and engage any enemy craft that make it into the air.”

  Sunwa was looking at the same display on his own visor, “I could take my brigade north, utilizing Route Forty-One, then drop south on I-Seventy-Five to attack from the northern flank.”

  “Then, we could take the Eighty-Third straight in on I-Seventy, and hit them from the eastern limit,” Strasburg added. “With the Army Hundred and First backing us up.”

  “How about I have some Air Cav units land to the south, at the Seventy- Five-and Six Seventy-Five interchanges?” Harper chimed in. “We’ll have them boxed in on three sides once again. Our air power should be able to keep any Storians at bay from further north. It sounds like a solid plan.”

  Sergeant Major Ford, who had remained silent during the exchange, finally spoke up, “So did Columbus.”

  The sarcasm did not go unnoticed, but the officers chose not to comment on it. They looked at one another uncomfortably, knowing the losses that the man had taken during that action, and none were willing to chastise him for his sourness.

  Strasburg, who considered the senior NCO a friend, took him aside so that they could speak in private, “What’s eating at you, Dwayne?”

  Ford drew a deep breath and let it out slowly, his gaze out on the western horizon, “ Sir, doesn’t it strike you as a little odd that the Storians have been in constant retreat since D-Day? Sure, they’ve beaten us up along the way, but these are battle-hardened professional soldiers that we’re up against, and we’ve yet to see any real hard-core resistance from them. It just makes me wonder how we’ve made it this far with a Corps that has consisted almost entirely of inexperienced teen-agers!”

  The colonel nodded, “Believe me, I’ve considered that. I’d like to believe that Grozet’s commanders have grown so over-confident that when we caught them off-guard, they weren’t able to organize an effective counter-offensive. We also have to take into account that these kids have hearts of gold, they’ve been giving this thing their all.”

  Ford pulled his helmet off and rubbed the top of his shaven head, “I don’t dispute that at all, but dedication can get them only so far. After that, it gets them killed.”

  “Maybe they have someone very influential on their side,” Strasburg stated meaningfully, gesturing upward toward the heavens.

  The sergeant major tried not to sound cynical, “If God is on our side, where was He back in Columbus? Or in any of this at all for that matter?”

  His friend put a hand on his shoulder plate, “Try to keep your faith. We don’t always see His works until enough time has passed to look back. When things are at their worst and you look down to see only one set of footprints, they aren’t necessarily your own. That’s when the Good Lord is carrying you, and those are His footprints. “

  Ford hung his head and clenched his jaw, reflecting. Without saying anything further, he turned and walked away, leaving to rejoin his unit. Strasburg watched him go and thought a silent prayer for the man. There was an internal turmoil going on there that no mortal would be able to help him with.

  The 1st Battalion found themselves quartered in an apartment building situated over a Barnes & Noble bookstore equipped with a coffee shop. The troopers settled in with their rations and helpings of the flavored brew, both hot and iced. The store manager had insisted they take the drinks for free, voici
ng his support for their efforts.

  Near the top floor facing the street, the company commanders had camped together in an apartment offered from an older gentleman who identified himself as a trauma surgeon from the local hospital. Presently, they were lounging on his balcony,

  chatting and enjoying their drinks. Mark and Minerva were sharing a cushioned deck loveseat. Minerva reflected on the times that she had enjoyed sipping java back home, in Mojo’s Coffeehouse, and felt a pang of homesickness. Ecu, Amell, and Manny were seated near the open French doors, and Ford leaned on the rail, smoking his cigar while he stared out at the darkened city. Black-out rules were in effect, being this near to the enemy line. The apartment owner, Whittney, was seated nearby, smoking a briarwood pipe.

  “I’ll never forget the day that everything fell apart,” he was saying. “My daughter and grandkids were going to fly out from Chicago to see me. She called from the airport to give me the arrival time, and the line just went dead.”

  “They ended up being stranded there?” Minerva asked.

  The doctor slowly shook his head, “No, my dear, you don’t know about Chicago, do you?”

  Minerva admitted that she didn’t, “Most of us were on Attaya when the war broke out. Not much word made it out that far, beyond the basics.”

  Whittney puffed on his pipe, the sweet-smelling tobacco wafting across the balcony, “Chicago was one of the first cities that were nuked,” he told her. “That was the line going dead.”

  The master sergeant squeezed her husband’s arm, “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

  Whittney waved it off, “It’s alright. At least they died instantly. Mercifully. It was those of us who survived that suffered, being under Grozet’s boot.”

  Ford tapped his ashes, watching them drift away, “I imagine Storian rule has been brutal. We’ve heard the rumors.”

  The doctor nodded, sipping his coffee, “Those rumors are all very true. The public whippings. The executions. Once the Regent was in place, he established a curfew, work assignments, and food allotments. Then he rounded up a lot of people that were considered capable of causing trouble. School teachers, politicians, the police chief; they were never seen again. There was also the Secret Police, they would come in the wee hours of the morning, and take anyone who was unfortunate enough to fall under their attention. It’s been a nightmare.”

  They were silent for a while, imagining what that must have been like; always looking over your shoulder, measuring your words for fear of being turned in, and of constant hunger.

  Whittney held up his coffee cup in the gesture of a toast, “To the Lord, and to the Mighty First.” he said reverently. “For restoring our hope.”

  Humbled, they held up their own cups, in tribute to freedom.

  Enon, Ohio

  October 5th

  This small community nestled just south of I-70 had been one of those few that miraculously slipped through the occupation practically unnoticed. Other than an occasional patrol, the Storians had taken no interest in this neighborhood for whatever their reasons may have been, and the residents there watched the outside world crumble under the alien occupation.

  The men in the community had banded together and agreed to take turns venturing into nearby Springfield in order to take part in the work programs and earn grocery commodities. A fair amount of pilfering and making connections with the Underground also took place. In this way, information was able to flow in and out to aid in giving the American forces valuable intelligence on Storian movements. The men of Enon also had organized watch schedules, always subtle in their observations of the enemy, and guarding against raiding parties of fellow citizens out to steal supplies for themselves.

  The women cooperated in covertly schooling the children, keeping stock of the community stores, and providing improvised medical services by consulting reference books from the library. Life there managed to go on in this make-shift way in relative success, keeping a low profile and giving the rare Storian patrol no reason to take undue notice of them.

  During the recent shuffle of forces, Enon had fallen into that narrow de-militarized zone that lie between each line, and the stress level had risen beyond the previous tentative calm that they had been privy to for so long. The uneasy quiet was broken on this morning when the Allied artillery unit arrived, driving in from the freeway and clamoring down the central street that ran through the community. Residents emerged from their homes to watch the trucks rumbling past, pulling their cannons behind them on trailers--- escorted by Hummer-Jeeps with those mammoth Bushmaster machine guns mounted on their roofs.

  The convoy proceeded to the center of the neighborhood and veered into the long un-used school yard, crashing through the chained gates. The trucks spread out and began backing into position, marines jumping out to begin unhitching the pieces and securing them. Other troopers were unloading the plasma ordnance from the cargo trucks and making neat stacks while others yet labored to distribute the camouflage netting.

  The doors to the empty school were forced open so that the building could be used as a headquarters for the gun crews.

  While all of this activity was taking place, the ad-hoc leader of the community watch cautiously approached a group of the Marines that were laboring to unload the trucks.

  “Good morning, Gentlemen,” He greeted in what was an attempt to sound as unthreatening as possible without appearing to be a total noodle. “Could you point me to the officer in charge, please?”

  The Marines paused long enough to give him a disinterested look, and one of them pointed toward the field, “He’s by that first cannon, right there. Lieutenant Bolton.”

  The man thanked them and walked over. The officer was busy chewing someone out for some inane reason, and did not notice his arrival--- his back turned to him. When the castigation was over and the private hurried off to carry out his orders, the officer still did not turn around. The watch leader reached out and tapped on his shoulder plate to get his attention.

  The lieutenant turned in irritation, ready to dish out more berating, and looked at the man in surprise upon seeing that he was a civilian, “Where’d you come from?”

  He held his hand out in greeting, “Sir, I’m Connor Woods, the neighborhood watch leader. Nice to meet you.”

  Bolton seemed baffled by his frankness, but shook hands with him anyway, “What can I do for you? I’m kind of busy right now.”

  Connor took in the sight of the heavy weapons being staged on the soccer field, “I see that. What’s going on?”

  The lieutenant chuckled, “What’s it look like?”

  Connor could tell that this was going nowhere fast and tried a different approach, “I don’t intend to seem out of line, I mean, we’re all grateful that you’re here. It’s just that, well, do you think this is wise, setting all of this up here in the middle of our community?”

  The officer shrugged, “It’s not up to me, man, the Brass says park it here; I park it here. We’re going to give the Storians a pounding.”

  Connor was taken aback by the nonchalant attitude, “But, this is our school! Kids play here! Look back behind me, there are homes all along here, just on the other side of the road!”

  Bolton sighed, “No one will bother you, Sir. We’ll be quartered here in the school building, we have our own supplies, and none of my troops will leave this property. Give it a few days, and we’ll be gone again.”

  Connor relented, knowing that he was helpless to change anything. He turned to leave, but the officer stopped him, “Let your people know that it’s going to get real loud when we start up. Maybe you’ll want to move the children to the far end of the neighborhood so that it doesn’t scare them.”

  The watch leader nodded and continued on his way.

  Bolton watched him go, feeling a little regret at having been short with him, but there was so much to do! He didn’t have time to coddle the masses. The lieutenant returned to his work.

  Springfield

  It was very busy
in the city as well. Normal daily traffic had been re-routed around the avenue where all of the military vehicles had parked, and that area was the scene of organized chaos. Troopers were setting up defensive posts, hustling to prepare for some units to move rapidly if the need arose, and positioning anti-aircraft batteries near the western boundaries of downtown.

  Captain Sunwa had already departed with his Light Infantry Brigade, heading north-west to reach the I-75 interchange before nightfall. The Army Air Cav was being ferried south via Blackhawk shuttles, where they would be dropped off twelve miles down the way. The U.S. Army had their own rotor-driven helicopter squadrons waiting. The Air Cav clung to their traditional original Huey-model choppers, manufactured and maintained by the ages-old design.

  The 83rd Marine Regiment and the 101st Airborne would stay on-station in Springfield until the artillery units could hit the air force base to put a dent in the Storian air power. This was not to say that they had nothing to do. The troopers busied about like a colony of ants, carrying out countless tasks.

  PFC Dylan Briggs, a 17 year-old volunteer, had been assigned to work with one of the anti-aircraft crews near the edge of downtown. At first, the crew chief had him performing mundane tasks, such as cleaning the breach-loader and assisting with the pre-fire maintenance checks. Dylan did as he was asked without complaint until there was nothing more to do. The crew began lounging around and he felt self-conscious, being the only one who did not know anyone. The chief came by and inspected his work, grunting with approval.

  “So, you ever fire one of these things?” The man asked him.

  Dylan shook his head no, “Only ones I ever saw up close were Storian, and we were blowing those up. Theirs are smaller than this one.”