by Mark Bordner
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question at the same time. They had been robbed first of their innocence, then their lives.
Hold to your faith, here comes the Mighty First!
Hold to your faith.
Almost absently, Reyes opened a desk drawer, and ran her fingers over the leather cover of a book there, thinking a silent prayer. She felt so lost, so unsure of what more to do. She picked the book up and clutched it to her chest, eyes closed. She was empty and ready to listen.
The Holy Bible comforted her.
Xxxxx
New Bedford, Pennsylvania
August 23rd
The Headquarters of the regiment was housed in an empty home that the town had donated to them, and it was a dismal meeting that was taking place that morning.
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The living room was full of top-ranking officers and the senior staff of each battalion. Lieutenant General Towers and Rear Admiral McKee had flown down from orbit to attend in person. Colonels Strasburg and Lafferty headed the briefing, detailing the current situation before them.
“First,” Strasburg said, “I want to voice my relief that my three out of my four key company commanders are still alive and well. Sergeant Major Ford, Master Sergeant Minerva Corbin, and her husband, Mark, who are all seated near the back of the room, we’re truly glad to see you here, today.”
The officers voiced agreement, some clapping, those who were nearest patting them on the shoulders.
“The assault on Columbus was a costly one,” Strasburg announced. “We advanced on three fronts, believing that we held the upper hand in troop strength, and eventually did liberate the city, but I have to admit that it was not by our efforts that this happened. Columbus was a trap set by the Storians, intended not as a face-on confrontation in defending real estate, but specifically to annihilate our First Infantry Battalion. Once the Storians were
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confident that this task had been achieved, they simply pulled out, relinquishing the city to us.”
“Our current areas of control reside as follows; the Canadian, French, and United Kingdom Alliance are holding the northern front across the borders of Michigan, Wisconsin, and South Dakota. The U.S. Army and the Mexican National Marines are still strong on the southern front, across Arkansas, Tennessee, and South Carolina. The Surface Navy has parked carrier task forces along both coasts, and are conducting support and suppression operations in those areas. What remains of the Air Force continues to keep supply routes moving while backing the Space Naval air wings in their duties of maintaining air superiority. China has also been providing aid to the civilian communities utilizing long-range air drops. The Army Air Cav, the Hundred and First Airborne, and the Seventh Attayan Elite Corps, are backing our Second and Third Marine Infantry Divisions in Columbus and the surrounding prefects. The Eastern Front now resides at the Columbus line.”
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“So, you see, though we did take extremely heavy casualties in that engagement, we are certainly still in the game. We hold the initiative of being on the offensive.”
Captain Hannock raised a hand. “What will become of the First Battalion? Do you plan to dissolve it, and integrate us into other units?”
Colonel Lafferty shook his head, joining the conversation, “We believe that would be a monumental mistake. The public has raised this battalion to a national stature, it’s a symbol of their belief in our ability to defeat Grozet. Therefore, it’s imperative that we re-staff it and push forward.”
Sergeant Major Ford, his arms crossed, spoke from his seat in the back. “With more children, I assume,” He stated with audible disdain.
General Towers fixed him with an icy stare, “As a matter of fact, the Attayans have another graduate detachment on the way. The combined space navies have dedicated an entire task force for the sole purpose of transporting replacement troops from Attayan space to our own, with fast-attack star-subs providing security.”
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Ford met his gaze with one of his own, “What’s the minimum age at now?”
Towers clenched his jaw, his face reddening with anger, but kept his voice even, “It’s at twelve, now. Twelve years old.”
Murmurs of disbelief echoed about the room, and everyone muttered curses. Ford stood, slowly rising to his full height of over six-feet, the tendons standing in his neck and eyes alight with rage. He was about to voice his opinions, Colonel Strasburg was about to intervene, and Towers was preparing to retort with threats of his own to stand-down--- but all of this was interrupted by the front door flying open and a lance corporal dashing in, breathless from running.
Strasburg turned on the young man, “Who do you think you are, busting in here like this? This is a meeting of the Joint Chiefs!”
The kid was trying to catch his breath, panting, “Sirs, my apologies, but this is something that you all need to see! Come to the airfield, quick!”
Without waiting, the kid took off again. The officers rose
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to follow, and they piled into jeeps, racing across the neighborhood in the direction of the high school. Other vehicle and foot traffic was converging on the same area. Something significant was evidently taking place. News crews were already setting up banks of cameras as crowds gathered. The senior staff parked on the outer edge of the flight line and got out, standing slack-jawed at what they were witnessing.
There were dozens upon dozens of troop shuttles filling the sky, hovering down and landing in rows on the tarmac. There were groups of soldiers in a multitude of different uniforms. Some of the higher-ranking individuals approached General Towers and Admiral McKee, saluting as they neared.
“Australian Army, reporting for duty, Sir,” One captain announced.
“South-African Corps, Sir.”
“Russian Republic.”
“European Royal Marines.”
“Empire of Japan.”
“Korean Royal Marines.”
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“Chinese Republican Guard.”
The introductions went on, district after district of military alliances who were arriving to volunteer their services. There was also a huge influx of Attayan troops disembarking from their own shuttles. The air field was filled with adult troopers, ready to commit themselves to the liberation of Earth--- and to relieve some of the weight resting on the youth of the Allied systems, who had been volunteering for service since the very beginnings of the war.
Ford and his circle of close friends looked at one another with astonishment and renewed hope. He nodded his approval, as did they all.
Xxxxx
The trauma ward that now dominated the high school gymnasium was the over-flow facility that housed those who had survived the surgical efforts to stabilize them at the Medical Center, and were now in the recovery mode. The worst off had been flown to the orbital hospital ships.
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A great number of the service members there would be facing a long road of rehabilitation and physical therapy, some would be discharged as a result of their injuries, but for the most part the kids there were looking forward to getting back on their feet and rejoining their units. Even at their tender ages, the kids had already formed the bond of comradeship that can only be forged when under fire. While they still loved and missed their parents, the kids felt a greater obligation to one another. It was a sense of loyalty that only a combat trooper could ever understand.
Amell was sitting on the edge of Ecu’s bed, reading the girl’s mail to her. A few of the letters were from her parents, back on Attaya, but there was an impressive stack that was fan mail and well-wishes--- sent by total strangers.
Sergeant Major Ford stopped in, carrying a bag of black licorice jelly beans along with a wilted flo
wer that he had picked along the way over, and told the two of them about the arrival of the sympathetic nations.
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“I imagine you’re looking forward to going home,” He said, looking at Ecu’s bandaged stump, which was lying out on top of the sheets.
Ecu sniffed the limp daisy and tore into the candy, sharing some with Amell, who was also a big addict of the stuff. “They did come by and offer me a discharge, “She told him, munching on the beans. “ When they delivered my Purple Heart medal. I told them I wasn’t interested.”
Ford and Amell gawked, “You turned down a ticket home?” He asked, astounded.
“They’ll have my prosthetic ready in about a week,” Ecu explained. “It’s made of the same stuff as the armor, and the Doc says that the nano-bots will merge with my nervous system, so it will feel like my real leg, and I’ll be able to walk on it and control it without needing therapy. I’ll be back in the unit by the end of this month.”
Ford shook his head, grinning, “You’re really something, young lady. Nuts, but dedicated. It’ll be good to have you back.”
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“I got tapped up to staff sergeant, too, so I’ll be one step closer to being a millionaire,” She joked, grinning with licorice-stained fangs.
Minerva arrived as well, and gave Ecu a big hug. The two of them got teary-eyed with their reunion, and Ford backed up a bit, not entirely comfortable with the emotions that it triggered. He was still dealing with losing so many of his troopers, and did not want to visit that part of his inner self quite yet, if ever.
“Where’s Manny goofing off at?” He asked Amell, picking up some of the letters from the pile beside her and looking at the return addresses. Mail was coming in from all over the system. He noticed an unopened manila envelope from the casting department of Paramount Pictures, still producing movies after two centuries. Ford shook his head, and replaced it with the stack atop her sheets.
“He’s across the way, and down about twenty beds or so,” She answered.
Ford thanked her and headed that direction. He spotted the gunny, noticing that a tall Attayan girl was sitting with him,
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one arm around his shoulders and whispering into his ear.
“What’s up, you big faker?” Ford joked.
Manny was sitting up, his chest wrapped in thick bandages. Bruises covered his upper body in a roadmap, but the kid was still all smiles.
“You think a plasma round to the lung is enough to get you out of duty?” The sergeant major pretended to chastise.
Manny held out a fist and they bumped one another. The girl sitting next to him smiled and introduced herself.
“Nice to meet you,” Ford told her. “Are you taking care of this guy?”
Rose kissed Manny’s cheek, “Someone’s got to, because he likes to get himself hurt.”
“Doc says I can return to the unit in two weeks,” Manny grinned, his voice still gravelly.
“When you’re ready,” His boss stated. “Get your rest. Do what your woman tells you to.”
Rose pinched Manny’s shoulder, “You see? Do as I say!”
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“I’ll leave you two alone,” Ford said, turning to go. “ I’m glad you’re okay. Who else is there to poop at Grozet’s feet when we get to him ?”
Manny laughed and groaned because it hurt to do so, drawing a confused expression from Rose. “What’s that mean?” She wanted to know.
Ford was laughing now, “I’ll let him tell you about it.”
The first sergeant happened upon Lance Corporal Brion, who was sitting up in bed, reading her mail. The girl’s face was a mass of bruises on one side, her left eye nearly swollen shut. She looked up at him and managed a grin.
“Got a letter from my dad,” She told him happily.
He took an envelope from his pants pocket and gave it to her, “This came down this morning from regimental headquarters. I was going to give it to you when you got back to the battalion, but I suppose now’s a good a time as any.”
Jovannah set her father’s letter down and opened the envelope, scanned the communiqué, and broke into a grin.
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“Congratulations, Sergeant,” Ford told her, “When they let you out of Medical, head on over to Supply for your stripes.”
The girl beamed, “Dad’s going to flip out!”
Ford cracked a grin, “Word’s getting around about your little escapade with the fire hose. People are nick-naming you ‘Hoser.’ ”
“That’s Sergeant Hoser, thank you,” She quipped happily. Her purple heart was pinned to her pillow. Every bed in the gym sported at least one.
Ford winked and headed out.
As the battalion vice-commander exited the gym, he ran into Lisa McClain and Mac, about to go in. Instead of carrying their camera equipment, the two of them had arms-full of gifts. Lisa smiled at him as she passed by, and Mac voiced that he was glad to have made it back alive, that it wouldn’t have been possible were it not for Minerva.
“That’s the kind of girl she is,” Ford answered proudly.
He walked from there to the road and intended to stroll downtown, perhaps get a cup of bean and burn up another stogie.
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The morning was bright and clear, and he felt oddly at peace with the world. It was a familiar sensation that visited him after a particularly difficult campaign. The sense of having survived. The relief of knowing that at least for a short time, he would not be heading into battle. His plans for the day were not to be, though, as a Hummer-Jeep pulled up to the curb in front of him and the passenger door opened--- the driver having reached over to pull the latch.
“Sergeant Major Ford,” The guy said. “The Regimental Commander requests your presence at once.”
Ford sighed and got in, wondering what could possibly be wrong.
Xxxxx
Colonel Strasburg was sitting at the dining table just off of the kitchen in the house that served as the headquarters, nursing a glass of liquor despite it being only mid-afternoon. He was glowing smugly at Ford, waiting for the man’s reaction to the news that had just been told to him. The officer was evidently very happy with his idea, and eager for the sergeant major’s input.
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Ford was still trying to digest what he had heard. It was ridiculous, as far as he was concerned, but tact was important here--- especially judging by Strasburg’s expression. The old guy was really proud of himself.
“A military ball,” Ford said, weighing the words as he repeated them.
“Yes,” Strasburg affirmed. “Invited by the President herself! We’ll fly to the secure bunker, where she’ll honor both the survivors and the fallen of the battalion on live television. Full dress uniforms. She’ll issue the medals, make a speech, and the troops will have a big, formal dinner and dance just for them. It will reassure the populace that we can bounce back no matter what the Storians throw at us. It will also serve to royally piss off Grozet!”
The sergeant major considered that, pulling out his cigar tin from his jeans pocket and popping it open, “Mind if I smoke?”
“Not if you share one.”
They lit up and puffed the dining room full of peppery clouds.
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“The wounded won’t be able to be up and about for at least two more weeks,” Ford informed him. “So, I’m assuming this meeting with the President will wait until then.”
The colonel nodded, “Of course. Not until the kids can do it. It’ll allow time for us to integrate all of these international volunteers into the units, anyway.”
“In the meantime, what about the campaign?” Ford asked.
“All of the fronts are quiet,” Strasburg told him, regarding his cigar w
ith approval, enjoying the taste. “The Storians are dug in at Dayton, and we have a solid hold on the Columbus line. Everyone seems to be taking a breather.”
Ford raised his eyebrows and shrugged, “I suppose the kids deserve some Presidential praise. Lord knows they’ve earned it.”
Strasburg puffed deeply on his cigar, “Where did you find these? They’re freaking delicious!”
“They’re Attayan,” Ford answered absently, his mind already on another subject. “Sir, I need to speak frankly with you about something, it may or may not piss you off.”
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The colonel made a dismissive gesture, “You know you can speak your mind to me any day of the week, Dwaine. What is it?”
“GNN,” Ford stated. “I don’t just mean these embedded reporters. Hollywood is capitalizing on these kids, on their personal lives and their tragedies. It’s sick and immoral. What’s more, there’s money flying in all directions over it, and it’s my troopers who will likely never see a dime of it. I want something done.”
Strasburg nodded again, “I know. I promise to talk to the President about it while we’re there. She can stomp on a few toes.”
“I’m also pretty certain that the Brass is in on it, Sir,” Ford ventured on. “The media knows things that they possibly couldn’t without having a source somewhere up the chain of command. That sort of thing could border on treason, don’t you think?”
The colonel balked, shifting in his chair, “Be careful with talk like that. I’ll look into it, let’s leave it there.”
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Ford rose and went to the kitchen counter to retrieve an ashtray, “Maybe we can use this publicity thing to our personal advantage.”