“You want me to dig your hole personally?”
He glared once more. “Sergeant, I don’t care who digs it, but I am making it your squad’s responsibility.”
“You got it, sir. Be happy to help you do it. We’ll get on it as soon as we have these positions finished.”
He wasn’t happy, but he didn’t say anything. He left, I suspect he went straight to the platoon sergeant to make sure the task got finished.
Our next task was to place dirt on top of the timbers over our hole. Enough dirt would stop any mortar rounds the Pythans tried to drop on our heads.
Once the dirt was in place we used local natural materials to camouflage anything the Pythans might see. I trekked downhill to look at everything while a detail of four soldiers went to start on the lieutenant’s command position. Soldiers were placing mines and wire at the base of the hill, and emplacing and concealing night vision interdictors along the slopes of the hill. By nightfall, they’d have multiple layers at points up and down the incline.
I went back up the hill to check on the lieutenant’s position. It was coming along. Bob told me the LT came by once to see if his orders were being carried out, then he left again. He never lifted a shovel, pick, or an e-tool. Didn’t even fill a sandbag. That kind of behavior could get a young lieutenant in big trouble with his troops. Lieutenants that act that way get unpleasant surprises sprung on them.
I went back to my hole to position the machine gun. The tripod was already set up, held in place with sandbags and leveled. I locked the machine gun onto the tripod and attached the traversing and elevation mechanism, or as we usually called it, the T and E mechanism.
The T and E mechanism allowed for precise vertical and horizontal adjustments by securely linking the rear portion of the machine gun to a horizontal bar that spanned the gap between the rear legs of the tripod. Using the mechanism to bring the machine gun to bear on specific points within the assigned sector of fire and recording the settings, a gunner could then bring fire to those points under any conditions. Rain, snow, dust, fog, or darkness didn’t matter.
It was unusual for a soldier who leads a squad as I did to operate the machine gun. I did so because I was the best machine gunner in our battalion. The machine gun is a beast on the battlefield if properly employed. It is a far more efficient tool for killing or suppression than any rifle, submachine gun, or pistol. That’s why the two machine guns in my squad were manned by the two best machine gunners, regardless of rank.
I never wanted to be a leader. I was a superb soldier and wanted nothing more than to be just that, but Land Forces regulations say you must be a sergeant or above to stay in service more than ten years, so I became a sergeant when the time came and wouldn’t accept another promotion.
I wasn’t a particularly good squad leader, as I said, I was a soldier. I led by example, follow me and do things as I do them, that’s what I told my troops. My inbred dislike and mistrust of officers rubbed off on my people as well.
About the time the sun was going down I had the machine gun ready for battle. I squinted into the sunset and could see the troops in front putting down the last of the wire. Bob returned about the same time. He was a good soldier, and I always thought that if he stayed in the service he’d be a great one.
“You get the LT’s hole finished?” I asked as he climbed in the hole.
“Yep,” he said. “LT stuck his head in, looked at it, then headed for the company command post. Didn’t give us a ‘thanks’ or even a ‘good job troops’ for our effort. It ain’t nothing. Job’s done.”
We waited for dark. Till then we would rest. Most of us ate something, but some troops couldn’t keep it down on the eve of battle. There’s no shame in that, being afraid.
Supply section passed by each hole and left a ten liter can of water and boxes of ammo.
We filled our canteens, double checked weapons, ammo, and the wire closest to us. Some guys recorded messages for home, they would be sent to Space Forces for eventual delivery.
In the dimming light we could see landing craft flying recon patrols over the ground in front of us, moving toward the trees where the Pythans were sure to be hiding. Landing craft crew were about the only Space Forces troops worth a damn. Their job was to get us from space to ground. The recon duty they were pulling was above and beyond, they weren’t equipped for that, but they were doing it anyway.
By the time it was full dark most everyone was in position and scanning the ground in front of them through the night vision projected onto their visors.
The platoon sergeant came over the net and ran everyone through a commo check. Our lieutenant was still at the company CP.
Someone in one of the other squads said he hoped the enemy wouldn’t be coming and wished they’d just surrender come morning. Not a chance. It almost never works that way.
In the night sky we heard and saw the thrusters of one of the landing craft come on full bore. The pilot scrambled for maneuver room, the craft spitting flares and chaff as a pair of missiles burned their way toward the bird. The sizzling, coughing sound of its lower missile defense beam could be heard, one of the missiles broke apart in a shower of sparks.
A few soldiers in the line cheered, like idiots at a sporting event, stupid bastards.
The second missile closed, the landing craft pilot went nose up to bring both anti-missile beams to bear. Bob gasped as the missile appeared to be right on top of the bird, then the missile’s flame was gone and the landing craft flew hell bent for leather over our hill. Counter measures, beams, or maybe luck got them out of there, and every mother’s son and daddy’s little girl on our hill knew the Pythans were coming.
To get to the two towns behind us, the Pythans had to get by us. If they tried to bypass the hill and go straight for the towns, we’d chew them to pieces before they made it, so they had to get us off our hill. A game of king of the mountain, played for keeps.
Within thirty minutes, word had passed from hole to hole about what the landing craft recon patrols had uncovered: the Pythans were coming at us in regimental strength.
Three to one, that’s what scuttlebutt said. We can hold against that, I thought. The real question was, would we?
A lot of things can happen in a fight. A weak platoon crumbles under the first bit of pressure and panics, that panic spreads, then it’s over.
Maybe that weak platoon doesn’t panic, but they get kicked in because they don’t fight as hard as they could, the enemy exploits the hole in the line. If that happens, then it’s over.
Three to one, that’s not good odds against an opponent who knows how to dig in and has time to do it right. We had the time, and the soldiers on our hill knew how to dig in. This would be a contest of will.
From my point of view, I figured the bastards were in big trouble. They gave me too much time to build this thing, this fighting position. Bullets and shrapnel weren’t going to get through. Beams wouldn’t either. Mortar rounds wouldn’t get through. It would take heavy artillery to get us, and neither side had that available. They gave us too much time, stupid, sorry, bastards. Too damn much time to dig my own grave. If that’s what my hole was going to be, then so be it, I planned to take a lot of them with me.
The platoon sergeant called for another commo check. It wasn’t actually a commo check, he was listening to see who sounded shaky. A couple of the troops sounded scared, but they’d hold up. My squad only had one green troop, Hollis, and he was with Shiner. She’d hold till she was dead and in the meantime show the young troop what real soldiering was. Our lieutenant still hadn’t returned from the company CP.
The platoon sergeant called the LT on the platoon net, trying to goose him. He got no reply. He tried again and still got nothing.
I keyed my radio. “Sarge, Broxton here. Try company net, maybe they know where he is.”
“Roger that,” he replied. I could hear the smile on his face.
“This is Lumley,” the lieutenant said, suddenly able to hear us
now. Bob snickered next to me. The lieutenant was worried if the platoon sergeant called on the company frequency they’d know he wasn’t at his post. He’d hate me for it, but the lieutenant’s place was with his platoon.
“LT, time’s getting short,” the platoon sergeant said. “Get into position before this thing kicks off.”
“Roger, I’m on my way.” He didn’t sound thrilled about the idea.
I scanned over the top of the machine gun. There was nothing, then a quiver in the image. I could see movement at the edge of night vision, they were coming. Rifle fire, then machine guns opened up to the left. From the sound of it, I guessed it was the company next to us.
The fire slacked off. It was jitters or just a probe by the Pythans.
The movement to the front became coherent, it was infantry, a lot of infantry. It was no probe, it looked like they were trying to smash through the middle, that was us. I switched to the battalion mortar section commo net and heard the platoon sergeant calling for fire beyond the obstacles. As I switched back to the platoon net, I could see small groups of soldiers moving forward ahead of the main body. They were looking for the wire, checking for mines.
The soldiers seemed to have spotted the wire. They approached cautiously, but one of them stepped on a mine before they reached the obstacle. Suddenly range-finding lasers from both sides began crisscrossing in my visor display.
The machine gun was already covering the part of the wire where the Pythans were. I waited for the dust to clear to see if they were still there. I didn’t want to fire until I had targets.
I saw a large group moving for the wire, aiming for the point where the mine went off. That was smart, the crater was free of mines, a sign we weren’t fighting amateurs. I would have preferred amateurs.
I flicked the safety off and fingered the trigger, when suddenly my night vision began to pulse from light to dark.
Pythan night vision interdictors began pulsing their blinding strobes, with ours coming on almost immediately after. I shut my night vision off and waited for the flares.
The mines at the bottom of the hill started popping. I heard screams. I had the machine gun trained on that spot. I fired a burst. Three clicks left, one up on the T and E mechanism, another burst. I repeated that three times, then did it in reverse, chewing the area with 7mm rounds.
I heard the faint wump of mortars and the shushing sound of hand fired flares. The hand flares went up, and in seconds, they burst into life, brief and bright, drifting slowly downward under their parachutes. The mortar flares go higher than their hand-fired counterparts before they pop. The light from both created the strange atmosphere of night battles, the ever-shifting light, crawling shadows that lengthen as the flares descend lower, falling sparks, the hiss of burning heard in rare lulls between shouts, cries, weapons fire, and explosions.
The Pythans pulled back, leaving several squirming and wailing men in the wire.
The lieutenant came on the net.
“You fucking bastards! You fucking disrespectful, disgusting bastards!”
Bob began laughing. He laughed as hard as he could and still cover his sector with his rifle.
“What did you do, Bob?” I asked over the noise of battle.
“We set up the LT’s command position, sarge,” he replied with a shout and a huge grin.
Bob left a holewarming gift, a product of his bowels, dusted over with a thin coat of dirt. I imagine when the shooting started the lieutenant ran for his hole, jumped in, and got a surprise.
“Broxton, this was your doing, I know it,” the LT raged.
“Here endeth the lesson, sir,” someone said over the net. I looked at the command screen on my left forearm. It was the kid in Shiner’s hole, Private 2nd Hollis. He’d be in some hot water for his comment, but the kid was going to be okay, if he lived through the night.
The young lieutenant needed to learn not to fuck with his troops in a combat zone. Maybe he learned a lesson, or maybe he’d come after me in the morning.
“I’ll deal with you, Sergeant Broxton,” he said.
I took that to mean he wasn’t happy with me or my squad. I smiled knowing I might not get the chance again.
“LT, we have a battle to fight, remember?” the platoon sergeant said.
“I know! Damn it, I know.”
The Pythans came on again, more this time, headed for the same spot in the wire.
I unlocked the T and E mechanism and set it aside, then waited.
They were coming right at us. I let them close a bit more, let them slow as they neared the wire. Now! I thought. The machine gun sang. I fired in short controlled bursts, keeping the barrel cool, it was going to be a long night. Sorry bastards, they died in droves.
An hour into the assault and the bodies were stacking up down the slope from my position. It should have been a warning to the enemy units that kept trying to assault my little sector of the line, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Either they didn’t know any better or they had some shithead that kept saying, “Just one more assault and we’ll take it.”
“Keep trying, and I’ll keep chopping while you tiptoe through the tangle of dead and wounded,” I said to myself.
I couldn’t tell how many times our position had been tagged by incoming fire. Bullets, grenades fired from launchers, and a few mortar rounds that hit awfully close. Too many to count. Something set the leaf cover on top alight, but half the hill was burning already.
Our position took everything the Pythans threw at it. Unless they put one right in the hole we’ll be here for a long time, I thought.
“They’re inside the perimeter!” some scared son of a bitch down the line yelled out. There was no perimeter, we were a defensive line. Semantics aside, it wasn’t my problem, my job was right in front of me. The general’s reserve logistics people could deal with the guys back there. It would be good for them, character building even.
The commo net went down, a pop of noise followed by static.
The bastards kept coming on. It became obvious we were still the point of their main attack, but they kept pecking at other parts of the line, keeping our side occupied and preventing command from sending any help. So far we hadn’t needed any, but this latest assault was getting close. Too close. They must have thought we’d crack under the weight of one more massive assault.
A grenade came in the hole! Bob yelled “I got it!” as he kicked it around the corner into the sump. It didn’t go down! He tried once more instead of diving for my end of the hole. Bob took most of the blast. He screamed that sound soldiers make. I had that high-pitched tone you get when your eardrums get blasted, despite my helmet’s ear protection. Bob’s side of the hole slumped a bit. Dust was everywhere. My eyes watered from the dirt in them, I could taste the dust, my teeth felt gritty, but I was too dry to spit.
Bob didn’t live long enough for me to help him, not that I could have anyway. We had enemy troops trying to scramble over their comrade’s bodies a stone’s throw away and they weren’t gonna kill themselves.
Too many, too close. A flare floated down in the distance behind the Pythans, silhouetting them. They must have thought they had us this time, they were at the last string of wire.
I mashed the trigger, a slow traverse left to right. I saw more grenades flying my way, but they fell short, killing their own guys. I silently thanked them. I’ll take all the help I can get right now. One survivor, his data visor cracked and hanging from the side of his helmet, stood up ten meters away and looked right at me with desperation visible through the dirt and camouflage paint on his face. I dropped him with a short burst. He’d have done the same for me.
As the last soldier fell, the flare in the distance went out and the night was black again for a short time. It was like the end of an act in a play, and I was sure it wasn’t the finale.
-(o)-
A lull. They’re regrouping. I swapped barrels on the machine gun for the millionth time. I sprayed some lube into the guts of the gun
and reloaded, snapping on a couple new belts of ammo to the one hanging out of the feed tray. I was ankle deep in plastic casings and metal links. I kicked them to my left, onto Bob’s body. “Sorry Bob,” I muttered. He didn’t complain. The Pythans were still not coming, there was not much firing going on anywhere. I slugged down a canteen’s worth of water and worked the kinks out of my shoulders. I needed to be ready for the next one.
-(o)-
The sun began coming up from behind me. The light would be tricky, dusk and dawn are always like that. I tried my night vision and found the night vision interdictors were still at play. The flares had stopped.
I tried the commo net and it was still dead, just hissing static.
I thought I saw movement down the hill, but I couldn’t be sure. I wasn’t going to fire until I was sure someone was there. If they pinned down my location in the gathering light, I’d be easier to kill.
I heard men running, equipment clanking and clattering, I knew what it was. One last push up the hill. I let them get close, I watched to see if they were throwing grenades. If so, I would open fire.
No grenades, just men coming up the hill. They looked like I felt. I waited until the front line was almost to the top, then I fired into their knees. The bullets tearing through them went into the thighs of the men behind them, the stomachs of those next in line, the chests of the next line, and the heads of the next.
Somewhere to my left I could hear a 7mm rifle barking. It meant I wasn’t the only one still fighting.
The sun was shining in their faces, they never saw me. I saw them squinting, saw them fall.
They screamed as I fired. More came on, they had to climb over the wounded and dead, but they came. I stopped them and more came, and climbed, and died. One pile collapsed, an avalanche of dead and bleeding men that collected those downhill.
Finally the onslaught of men stopped. I couldn’t see any more than ten meters to my front. Nothing but dead and soon to be dead Pythans were visible. I scowled at them.
“Was it worth coming all this way?” I asked, not expecting an answer. I doubted they had much choice in the matter. Sorry bastards.
Conflict: The Pythan War, Invasion Page 6