Marine Summer: Year 2041

by B. E. Wilson

  “It’s going to be all right. Death is part of what we do.”

  “I know, sir…but…” I tried to say. I couldn’t get the words out before my eyes swelled up again.

  “No ‘buts,’ son. It’s normal to be scared. It’s normal to hurt. Don’t be upset with yourself for what you’re feeling. There will be time to mourn our fallen later. Right now, we need to try and save those still living. But remember this—look at me son,” he ordered me, bumping my chin upward with his fist. “We’re Marines too. We will avenge their deaths!”

  I nodded to him, biting my lip. I knew he could see the anger in my eyes.

  “Okay then…take a few to get yourself together. Okay?”

  I shook my head yes, then wiped my eyes with the bandana.

  “All right, but hurry. We need you.”

  As he jogged away, I turned and leaned against the tree where I had just lost my guts. I was standing next to a small clearing, untouched by anything. Two rabbits were playing, dancing across the snow, leaving small tracks in the fresh powder. They were oblivious to the death that surrounded their peaceful forest home. The blood that was soaking into that white blanket clouded my mind; I couldn’t stop thinking of Sanchez closing his eyes and wondering, will I die the same way?

  “Not without taking a few of those bastards with me,” I sneered to myself. “I promise both of you that. Lee and Sanchez: I’ll kill those alien bastards!”

  6

  The platoon was decimated. Only ten of us were still standing, eight recruits and two D.I.s. We could only find seventeen bodies. The rest were just…gone, as if they had never existed. Keller and Houserman had both taken shrapnel to the legs. They could walk, but it was going to be a long hump back to the base.

  I think I had the worst job to start out with, collecting dog tags. The others were tasked with clearing debris out of one of the smaller craters.

  “Here, sir,” I said, handing Buckley the tags. “Why are they clearing that hole?”

  “To do the unthinkable,” he answered, his eyes fixed on the crater.

  Collecting the tags wasn’t the worst job; Buckley reserved that one for himself. He had us line the bottom of the crater with our fallen.

  As the last guy climbed out, Buckley was waiting, “Men!” he said. We were all lined up on the edge of the crater. “This is unlike any war our country has ever faced. These valiant men laying before us deserve better than this. There will be no long ride home in a pine box for them. They will rest here! Our enemy has never attacked us in winter! They usually can’t tolerate the cold. But today,” he bowed his head, “they came for us! We’ve already lost San Diego and Parris Island, homes to many of us, homes that have bred many a fine Marine! We moved to the safety of the north to breed more, breed the finest, and now, in this godforsaken hole, lay those fine men! Do not,” he paused, pulling a lighter out of his shirt pocket, lighting the torch in his hand, “do not let their deaths be for nothing!”

  It was eerie watching him throw the torch into the pit. Some of the men tried to look away, but he ordered them to watch. He said it was respecting our fallen. Some huffed in response. Maybe they thought it was disrespectful. I didn’t when I watched him climb over the side, shovel in hand, as he started covering the bodies. Keller was next to join him; then I followed suit. Not a word was spoken after that, just the sound of shovels digging and slinging dirt as the others climbed back in to join, covering the smoldering bodies of our brethren.

  We rested until dusk. Buckley thought it would be safer to travel at night back to the base. He didn’t permit us to walk on the road, so we stayed in the woods, keeping the road in sight and taking numerous breaks to let the injured rest. Buckley would scout ahead for the enemy, then return to give us the all clear.

  As the morning light from the sun shined over the horizon, its rays showed us more smoke billowing in the distance. We were within a mile of Fort Rice. Crossing the last hill, she came into view. My heart sank in my chest. I saw nothing but flames.

  “Get down,” Buckley said, waving his arm back to us.

  We watched as he belly-crawled to the edge of the ridge, pulling his binoculars from his pack to study the damage and look for signs of hostiles. He pointed back at me, then to the ground beside him. I released my grip on Houserman and crawled over to Buckley. I could feel the snow piling in front of me, falling into my shirt and melting on my skin.

  “Tell me what you see,” he said, handing me the binoculars.

  I studied the base, I saw nothing but rubble, bodies, and rust-colored snow. Very few buildings were left standing. The front gate was in shambles.

  “What do you see?”

  I could barely answer him. “Death,” I breathed.

  Keller flopped down next to me, snow flying up into my face. He yanked the binoculars from my hands.

  “Mother of god,” he said. “Looks like a cluster-fuck down there.”

  “Think you can back me up?” Buckley asked him.

  “I’m pretty banged up, but I can go.”

  “No, you stay here. I’ll take the pup with me. Watch for my signal to bring the rest down.”

  “I can go, damn it. He has no business down there. He’ll get you killed. No offense kid,” Keller said elbowing me on the shoulder.

  Timidly, and before I even knew what I was saying, I blurted out, “I can do it.”

  “You sure, kid?” Keller asked.

  I could feel his eyes on me. I knew he doubted me.

  “Yeah…I can do it.”

  “Roger that. Don’t get your ass shot off,” Keller’s big paw smacked me on the back of my helmet as he handed me his rifle. “Keep your finger off the trigger unless you have no choice. Keep the barrel pointed down so you don’t shoot Buckley’s head off.”

  “Yes, sir,” I muttered.

  “Grow a set, would ya? This is the real deal here!” Keller said, grabbing a fistful of my coat and pulling me near him so that our eyes were only inches apart. “No time for hero shit. You have to guard his six o’clock! If those alien fucks are down there, you could make him a sittin’ duck if go all chicken-shit and try to run home to your momma!”

  I knocked his hand away, freeing myself, I could feel my upper lip snarling. I didn’t like him touching me. He had put his hands on me too many times as it was.

  “There ya go…can you feel those nuts finally dropping?” Keller said mockingly.

  “Fuck you,” I blurted out.

  “Ooh, somebody thinks they’re a badass now.”

  “Shut your holes! Both of you!” Buckley said. “Let’s go, kid.”

  We stayed on our bellies, crawling through the brush till we neared a drainage ditch on the side of the road. Buckley had climbed to his feet, squatting down behind a tree. So I did what he did and took my place beside him.

  “In the ditch,” he said shoving me.

  As I took that first step the icy ground gave way. I went down face first into the ice and snow, rolling up into a ball when I hit the bottom.

  “Smooth, dickhead,” he hissed at me.

  Looking back at him, I observed the proper way to do it. It was like he was playing baseball, sliding into second base. He slid down the steep slope feet first, but when he hit bottom he was swiftly back into a squatting position.

  “Get your ass up!” he said, gritting his teeth. “Stay three meters off my six. When I stop, you stop; when I move, you move. Got it?”

  “Yes sir,” I whispered back.

  We made our way down that hill slowly, Buckley stopping every so often and motioning for me to get down on my belly while he checked over the edge of the ditch. When the coast was clear, he’d point at his eyes and then in front of him, signaling for me to follow.

  Once we ran out of ditch, he dragged me back into the woods. We only had a small field, fifty yards or so, to cover before hitting where the back gate used to be.

  Buckley clicked off his rifle’s safety. I thought he wanted me to do the same thing, but he covered
my hand. As I looked up, he shook his head no. I didn’t understand how I was supposed to cover him if I couldn’t fire my weapon.

  “Stay here. Don’t make a sound. Keep your eyes forward and watch for me,” he whispered before sprinting off through the woods to our left.

  He was only gone a few minutes before reappearing in front me, crawling across the frozen terrain, holding his rifle in front of him and pushing snow as he went. When he hit the gate he sat up, placing his back against the concrete wall. With a quick twist, he turned upward onto his knees to face the wall, his rifle drawn and sticking though a blown-out section as he swept the area. I was impressed with how clean his movements were. With a blink of the eye, he sprang back to a sitting position. He signaled for me to come to him, so I started crawling in the same way that he had. But that wasn’t what he wanted. He angrily gestured for me to stop, get up, and run. I rose up, trying to run, but my feet slipped as the snow gave way. The more I stumbled, the angrier Buckley got.

  I collapsed next to him. “Sorry,” I breathed out.

  His hand immediately covered my mouth, “Control your breathing,” he said in my ear as eased his hand away.

  “What now?” I asked.

  “We’re going through that hole, I’ll go first and you’ll take position behind me. When I signal all clear, you come through.”

  “Got it.”

  Like a cat, he was up and through the hole. Much to his distaste, I grunted as I tried to copy what he had done earlier, my rifle banging against the concrete. He tilted his head sideways looking back at me, flipping me the bird.

  Way to go dickhead, I thought. I was pissed at myself. I told that cocksucker on the hill that I was capable of doing this and now I keep screwing it up.

  I went through the hole and followed him through the rubble of burnt-out buildings, upside-down vehicles, and a few of what I thought were dead bodies. It was hard to tell.

  We came in south of the grinder (parade grounds), where he stopped behind the destroyed remnants of a tank.

  “Holy fuck!” he said speaking normally. “Get your ass up,” he ordered.

  Standing up beside him, I saw other Marines wondering about aimlessly. I had a clear view of the base then. It had been destroyed.

  “No threat. Go get the others and bring them down. Meet me back here on the edge of the grinder.”

  “Sir, yes sir!”

  There had been, by Buckley’s count, 3,000 men on that base the day before. Our ten and the others who were left totaled 29. Once we gathered everyone together. Buckley would be the highest ranking, which meant he was in charge. We never found Gunny’s body, but we found his head. His head was on a spike in front of the chow hall, next to the CO’s (commanding officer) and few others, I didn’t know who they were.

  “This is a goddamn disgrace!” Keller said.

  “These alien assholes are gonna pay!” Buckley said.

  I couldn’t help but gawk at the heads. The scene was haunting. Part of me was still angry over Sanchez, but the other part didn’t want to wind up like Gunny.

  “Keller, get yourself and the others medical attention. I’ll go try to salvage some comms and get help,” Buckley said. “The rest of you, help Sergeant Keller and quit the fuckin’ rubbernecking. Butler, you take two healthy men and stand watch. Nothing, and I mean fucking nothing, gets on this grinder. We’re exposed. We’ll need to find some cover before nightfall!”

  “Sir, yes sir!” I shouted.

  I took two guys from our platoon and set them up, but I didn’t know how they would stop anything; I was the only one with live rounds. But, I did what he asked of me and we stood watch for hours before he returned, calling us back to join the others.

  “Those bastards took out Lexington too, but we got Southern California back!”

  Lexington was the other M.C.R.D, that and the one in Seattle. That’s where I hoped to be after boot camp, because that’s where the suits were.

  “When’s help coming?” Keller asked.

  “It’s not!” Buckley answered.

  “What the fuck do you mean, not coming? This location is F.U.B.A.R [fucked up beyond all recognition] and we’re compromised!”

  “Pipe down Keller! Our orders are to hold this position!”

  “Are you kidding me, Chris?”

  Is that his first name? I wondered.

  “These are our orders, and we will follow our orders!”

  “Well fuck me running!” Keller said, taking off his Kevlar helmet and chucking it away.

  “I don’t like it either, but this is what the corps has asked us to do, and we’ll do it!” Buckley said, picking up Keller’s helmet. “Half the armory is still standing—we’ll take refuge there.”

  “It’ll be the dead of winter soon. We’ll freeze to death in this shit-hole,” Keller said.

  “No, we improvise, adapt, and overcome! That’s what Marines do. Right, sergeant?” Buckley said, tossing his helmet at him.

  Keller let out a huge sigh. “You’re right, staff sergeant, you’re right!”

  “Time to play house, ladies. Get the wounded to the armory. Then we need to search this shit-hole for what supplies are left!” Buckley nodded to Keller. “Let’s move!”

  7

  Our home for the next three months was a snowy graveyard. It no longer looked like a base, more like a Civil War fort—at least, like how I remembered them from my history books in school. Rubble and burnt-out jeeps were covered in sheets of snow, blankets of white powder hiding their hideous appearance. They no longer reminded us daily of our losses, but we were all sure that when the spring thaw came, they would show their ugly faces once more.

  For that first month after the attack, I was assigned to the tree-cutting detail. From reveille to taps, I swung that heavy-bladed tool till it became light in my hands. Buckley would preach to us, “A Marine with an ax is a very dangerous man!” I hated that sermon at first, but by the end of that detail, I enjoyed having that bladed demon by my side. Since ammunition was scarce, the thought of having another weapon helped me feel safer. I even took it with me when I stood watch, strapping it right to my side as if it belonged there.

  There was always some reason or another for why help never arrived. Battles in the south were raging, and most of the troops had been dispatched to war. The Canadians came through once; we thought we were saved, but it wasn’t to be. Their Army was just on its way to join the fighting. They did, however, give us some encouraging news. The Brits had pushed those alien bastards back across the Mediterranean into Africa, and the Aussies who lost their land during the invasion, with the assistance of Japan, had won numerous sea battles in the Pacific and were getting closer to taking their home back. It wasn’t much, but it gave us hope. Not to mention they gave us rations. Military MREs (Meals Ready to Eat) can get old after a while. Even Keller and Buckley struggled to choke them down, and they had been eating them for years. When weather permitted we sent out hunting parties. Venison cooked over the fire was a treat for us. I remember being able to sleep better on those nights with a full belly, but always dreaded the prospect of that breakfast MRE when I woke up, I didn’t know how many more mornings I could stand those powered cardboard eggs before I lost it and went section-8 (crazy).

  It was evening time. The light was quickly disappearing as I stood watch at the makeshift gate. The gray layers of clouds overhead signaled that another winter storm was on its way. Houserman was pulling duty with me. We took turns, with one of us staying close to a small fire trying to keep warm while the other watched over the wall. I pulled my turn as I was ordered to do, shivering as my teeth chattered like a wind-up toy, but I stood my post. But Houserman kept running back to the fire when it was his turn. He was constantly moving.

  “Fuck this, fuck this, fuck this cold,” he said, standing over the fire rubbing his hands together.

  “Get your ass on the wall before Keller catches you,” I ordered him.

  “You’re not my commanding officer, asshol
e,” he replied, play punching my arm.

  “Keller walks out here right now and you’ll get us both killed.”

  “Quit bitching, Butler. Ole limp-dick can’t even catch us now, hobbling around with that dead leg dragging behind him,” he laughed.

  “Yeah, but you gotta sleep sometime, and you bunk’s too close to him. He’ll kill you in your sleep.”

  “All right, I’ll go, I’ll go…just let me warm up a bit.”

  Houserman turned his back to the fire, both hands rubbing his buttocks trying to warm up, but a noise came from over the wall alarming us both. I took hold of my rifle, which had been propped up behind the bench we’d been sitting on, and ran to the wall. Houserman, who had left his against the wall, went to retrieve it, knocking it over in the process. A single shot fired.

  “Shit!”

  “Sorry dude, my finger hit the trigger. It was an accident, I swear.”

  “Fuck you Houserman, if that fell this way you’da killed me.”

  “I’m sorry, dude!”

  I hushed him by placing my pointer finger to my lips. Searching the tree line, I looked for the source of the noise. It was like a clap of thunder, muffled from behind the trees.

  The other six on watch who’d been guarding the other three walls came running to us.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Keller said, appearing out of nowhere behind me.

  I shrugged to him. I didn’t know. I pointed to the tree line as the brush shook, snow falling from branches as trees began to sway.

  “Houserman, go ring the bell!” Keller demanded.

  We took an old Navy bell that hung in front of the galley and turned it into our warning system. Houserman took the clasp and gave it ten chimes, signaling to the others in the armory that there was trouble.

  The longer we stood there peering into the darkness, straining to see the tree line, the louder the roar became. The trees were quivering faster now, violently wobbling.