by Mark Bordner
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Minerva could only shake her head, “All we can do is practice maneuvers with them and hope they learn enough to keep themselves alive. Get them used to the sounds of the battlefield, scare the daylights out of them.”
Ford knew she was trying to think of the best option among the few that they had, but he didn’t want to agree with it. The logical thing to do would be to assign these kids to rear positions, working Supply or Administration. Putting them into a front-line infantry unit was absurd. The choice, unfortunately, was not his to make.
He grudgingly nodded, “I’ll go over to Headquarters and make the arrangements to fly over to North Carolina. You guys have your people get their gear ready.”
xxxxx
A war game had been put together in advance of the 1st Battalion’s arrival, called in ahead of time by Ford to the base commander of Parris Island once the travel orders had been
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authorized. The military reservation spanned thousands of acres, with a wide variety of terrain to offer, ranging from forest to swamp, which would give the kids a good taste of life in the field.
They had been issued AR-40’s, a training version of their 44’s, which fired kinetic rounds of paint with the whollop of .22 bullet. Not enough to injure anyone in armor, but enough to give a good sting and mark the recipient with bright, fluorescent pink. There would also be hollow flash-bang grenades to simulate the real McCoy, along with a healthy mix of fake artillery rounds for the audible effect. It was the most realistic that the base had to provide.
The kids were divided into platoons, riding in the Blackhawk model helo-shuttles. Ford had devised a scenario in which the three companies would be pitted against one another. When the exercise was declared finished, the company with the most people remaining would be the winner. He also planned for each company to experience different conditions in their deployments, wanting the kids to be confronted with the unexpected and to learn to adapt to changing situations.
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They had five days in which to absorb as much as they would be able, and he planned to utilize them to the fullest.
Charlie Company occupied the first two Blackhawks in the formation, which was descending from five hundred feet to treetop level, flying in a tight V-pattern among the other six. The pair carrying C-company veered left and sped south over the canopy of trees. They flew about five miles out, then began circling a clearing in the forest that stood out higher than the surrounding terrain, a grassy hill in heavy bloom with wildflowers. The helo-shuttles slowed to a hover, then eased downward side by side, just far enough apart to avoid one another’s jet wash.
In the crew bay, a buzzer sounded and the side doors slid aside. The troopers had already unstrapped themselves as was taught in training, and were ready to deploy, weapons at the ready.
“Go! Go! Go!” Minerva shouted.
Visors down and rifles up, the kids piled out of both side doors and dispersed by fire teams, covering one another as they spread out far enough to form a rough perimeter. Sergeant Amell ran at a crouch from squad to squad, checking their positions and
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making adjustments to cover the gaps, explaining things as she went. Lance Corporal Brion already had her fire team assembled and set for proper coverage of over-lapping fields of fire. Amell knew that this girl would be one of the level-headed ones when things got thick. Minerva had chosen an excellent leader, one that would likely climb through the ranks quickly once casualties began to rack up.
The rest of the kids were keyed up on adrenaline, excited. This was fun to them, just another war game. She knew that misconception would change soon.
Minerva signaled to the helos that her people were in place and the shuttles rose skyward, banking away, leaving behind the quiet that reigned in the forest. The master sergeant scanned the clearing, pleased to see that the majority of the squads had secured the perimeter properly, utilizing the cover of tall grass near the tree line. No one appeared to be overly exposed, and all of the flanks were manned.
“Check your visors,” she spoke over the helmet-comm, “Look at our present position and take note of the map grid.
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“Does everyone understand how to read your tactical?”
There was a flood of affirmative replies.
“Alright, now open-visor and look around,” Minerva said. “Who can tell me which direction is north?”
There was a significant pause.
“Sometimes, the comm-net may not be available,” the master sergeant explained. “You have to be able to read your surroundings and determine where you need to go on your own.”
One of the troopers spoke up over the helmet mic, “I can hear the other choppers to my left,” the girl stated. “If I’m reading the angle of the sun correctly, they would be to our north.”
“Very good,” Minerva told her. “Who said that?”
“Ashley Starr, Ma’am.”
Minerva remembered that this was the sixteen-year-old who had so touched Ford that morning, “Alright, Private Starr, you take point. Those other choppers are the enemy. Everyone fall in behind her by squads, combat spacing. Keep on your toes.”
Their little adventure had begun.
xxxxx
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The pair of Blackhawks carrying Bravo Company had peeled north, these climbing abruptly as they sped away. Inside, Manny watched as his platoon squealed in fear of the sharp ascent. The climb continued, then leveled without warning. An instant later, terrible claps of thunder banged just outside the hull and the chopper began to buck back and forth.
“That’s anti-aircraft fire!” Manny yelled.
The simulated flak slammed them side to side, and an alarm began to bray, followed by the pilot announcing over the helmet mics, “Bail! Bail! Bail!”
The kids just gawked at one another, eyes wide with fright. Manny undid his harness and moved for the door, shouting and berating them.
“What the heck are you waiting for? We’re going down! Jump out!”
The doors blew open and wind rushed through the bay. The kids were galvanized into panic, but managed to unbuckle and move for the exits. The gunny shoved and tossed them out into the air, their screams echoing on the comm-frequency.
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The emergency chutes deployed automatically, filling the sky. When the last was out, he followed.
Manny was floating above and toward the end of the trail of chutes, drifting to the ground above an open swamp, flanked on either side by a forest of cedar trees. The two Blackhawks were already receding in the distance, leaving the company on its own.
The simulated flak had been replaced by ground-to-air small arms fire, snapping all around them from the trees to the south. The kids were not aware of it, but this was being delivered by Base Marines that had pre-positioned themselves there earlier. This was to give the effect of an emergency bail in enemy-held territory such as the ones experienced on D-Day. Even though they were not trained or designated as an Airborne unit, they needed to understand that there would be times where it would be necessary to jump out of a perfectly good aircraft.
The kids began touching down in the mucky, knee-deep water, splashing all over the place, thankful that their armor was water-proof. Enemy fire was crackling all around them, both above and across the surface of the swamp.
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The tall reeds danced around the marines as paint rounds zinged past, leaving pink trails through the cattails. Mortars began exploding in the muck, whistling in and filling the air with sharp blasts. Mud and water flew in all directions. The kids scrambled for the opposite wood line, returning fire behind them as they ran. Many were struck right away in the back, buttocks, and arms, marking them as wounded.
The firefight lasted perhaps twenty minutes, then ceased as quickly as it had begun. The Marines from the base were instructed to merely give the kids a scare, then leave. The sudden silence was deafening.
“Squad leaders, account for your people,” Manny ordered. “Set a perimeter, let’s go!”
The kids began getting organized, regrouping into their fire teams and assessing the simulated wounded. Manny walked through the edge of the trees, where the ground was more solid, watching as they did so. Sergeant Ecu did the same, offering advice, and marking two of them as K.I.A--- as they had paintball hits to the backs of their helmets. Those two would have to
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shoulder their weapons and merely observe throughout the remainder of the exercise.
“This is taking too long,” Manny hassled them. “The enemy is out there, closing on our position!”
At last, the squad leaders reported that they were ready. A defensive line had been established at the edge of the mud, just inside the trees, the wounded were tended to, and the dead accounted for.
“All right, now what?” The gunny demanded. “Do we just sit here and wait for them to come?”
One of the boys answered him on the comm, “Actually, that’s a good idea, Sarge.”
“Who said that?” Manny asked.
“Dylan Briggs,” the boy replied.
The gunnery sergeant looked around and the boy raised his hand from the brush where he had taken cover.
“Ah, our Elite Forces hero,” Manny stated with a hint of sarcasm. “Explain to us why we should just wait here, then.”
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The boy did not seem fazed by the teasing, “We know that the enemy is to our south. They’re going to have to cross that swamp to reach us, and it will make a lot of noise sloshing through that muck. We hold the high, dry ground. It’s to our advantage to post here.”
Manny was impressed, “That is absolutely correct. You’re the acting platoon leader, Mister Briggs. Set up your watch outposts and tighten the perimeter.”
Ecu, who was standing nearby, nodded her silent approval at Manny. Maybe these kids had some potential after all.
Xxxxx
The final pair of shuttles had continued east, down the center of the original flight plan. They reached the five-mile marker and slowed to a hover just above the leaf canopy, their jet wash roiling the treetops back and forth. The doors slid open and rappel lines were tossed out, disappearing into the carpet of green below. Mark and Ford watched while the kids practiced rapid deployment, four lines from each side door.
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Within a few minutes, Alpha Company was on the ground and the lines retracted. The pair of Blackhawks closed their doors and lifted away, allowing peace to return to the forest.
Below the rooftop of leaves, the company had spread out in a wide circle, covering all approaches. With hand signals, the sergeants directed the squads to begin advancing into the brush, heading west in two long columns.
“When you deploy the way we did,” Ford was explaining over the mic, “It’s important to put as much distance between the LZ and yourselves as you can. The enemy will be zeroing in on the noise of the choppers.”
They kept moving forward for some minutes until Ford called a halt, “First Platoon, cut south. Second, fall in behind me.”
The company split, disappearing in two directions through the brush, nearly silent as they went. In less than a minute, it was as if they had never been there at all.
Xxxxx
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Charlie Company had been trudging through the thickening forest with poor noise discipline, snapping twigs and shoving branches aside. Minerva could have said something, but she was waiting to see if the kids realized what they were doing on their own. When after an hour had passed with no improvement, she decided that enough was enough. She discreetly took a flash-bang grenade from her battle-harness and pulled its pin, then tossed it ahead of the squad in the lead.
It detonated with a shocking bang and blast of light right in front of Ashley’s feet, throwing her backwards in a shower of dirt and old leaves. The kids yelped and dove for cover, some began firing blindly into the trees. The squads behind bunched up and joined the free-for-all, wasting ammo and giving away their position to anyone in hearing range.
“Cease fire!” Minerva commanded.
The shooting tapered to a stop. The master sergeant walked over to Ashley, who was picking herself up, stunned by the proximity of the explosion.
“Are you all right?” She asked.
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Ashley nodded that she was, and Minerva immediately slapped the side of her helmet, “The heck you are! You’re dead!”
Amell strong-armed a few stragglers into the center of the group and told them to pay attention.
“We’re not out here on a nature hike!” Minerva chastened them. “You can’t stomp through the forest sounding like the Jolly Green Giant and expect to survive! You move quietly by squads, spaced at least ten feet apart. Your point-man leads the way, the next two behind scan left, the next two watch right, the person in the rear keeps checking the rear! Every squad in the line should be doing so, watching and listening for signs of enemy activity, ambush, or booby-traps!”
The master sergeant checked her chronometer and looked at the dwindling light of day. It would be nightfall, soon. They needed to make camp, but that display of wasted firepower would certainly be drawing some attention. She devised a plan.
“Alright, gather around and listen to me carefully…”
Xxxxx
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Mark’s platoon had been advancing south, making their way over and around large crops of rock that formed gullies and draws full of thorny brambles that scraped against their armor. The going was rough and slowed them down considerably.
It was beginning to get dim with early evening when the sound of a not-too-distant explosion split the quiet, followed by an intense volley of rifle fire. The din echoed through the small canyon around them. Mark signaled a halt and they took cover. The master sergeant climbed to the top of the nearest ridge and scanned the western approach, which was a wide, hilly field spotted with clumps of young trees and giant stones left by the glaciers an eon before. The next tree line was perhaps a mile distant.
One of the squad leaders had climbed up next to him to take in the view. Far out in the middle of the field were a pair of deer, standing stock-still, and their hair aglow with the setting sun as it cast its golden, evening light across the grass.
“The gunfire came from that direction,” Mark told him, pointing at the woods.
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“It didn’t last very long,” the private mentioned. “I wonder what they were shooting at.”
“So, what do you want to do?” Mark asked.
The boy, Timothy Starr, didn’t hesitate, “Let’s move in and take them on!”
The master sergeant looked at the quickly approaching evening sky, “You don’t want to set up a forward outpost and some watch-standers? Maybe send out a patrol after you’ve established a base camp?”
The private thought about it, then shook his head no, “Let’s hit them full force.”
Mark nodded, “Alright, it’s your call. Signal for an advance.”
Xxxxx
Minerva and Ashley crouched in a hastily dug foxhole, watching the northern approach as they munched energy bars. The rest of their platoon was flanked out to either side in holes of their own. Amell and Jo, as Lance Corporal Brion preferred to be called, had taken Second Platoon and vanished into the trees to the west some
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time before
It was full dark now, a moonless night that was pregnant with bright stars in a clear sky. Seeing it
reminded Minerva of her first space flight. That, in turn, brought her mind around to her husband, and she toyed with the wedding band beneath her armor-mesh gloves. She forced herself to focus on the training exercise.
Crickets and tree frogs sang the symphony of summer, in cohort with a sea of fireflies flitting over the field of grass. The heat of the day had lifted and was becoming cool and damp, smelling of earth and leaves and pine. It was deceivingly peaceful.
“Everyone lift your visors,” Minerva said into the helmet mic.
Murmurs went up and down the line of how dark it was, how no one could see anything.
“There may be times when you can’t key your night vision,” she told them. “The com-net isn’t always there when you need it.”
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“We went through the entire first half of the D-Day landing without it. You have to learn to use all of your senses. Listen to the night, what do you hear?”
A few answered regarding the crickets.
“Exactly. Nature can be your observer, but in a different way,” the master sergeant tutored, “If someone were approaching, those crickets would suddenly fall silent. That would be your warning that danger is near.”
Minerva dropped-visor and scanned the field, looking for the tell-tale sign of nano-armor blending with the environment. The camouflaging feature was not entirely flawless, motion could give it away. That was precisely how she spotted the line of troopers creeping toward them about a half-mile out. Vague, ghostly images of shadows that blended in and out of the grass, cast in the greenish tint of night-vision. They were still near the middle of the field, moving carefully at a crouch.
Not carefully enough.
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“Alright, guys,” Minerva said calmly. “Drop your visors and take a good look out at this field to the north. Tell me what you see.”