Posleen FanFic

by Leigh Kimmel

  Colonel Smith focused his attention on the battalion fire support officer. "Niels, do we still have priority of fires?"

  Captain Frandsen responded immediately. "Within the brigade we do sir. We will have priority of fires from 2-17 Field Artillery, and naturally we will have the battalion's mortars. Unfortunately, we will receive no MLRS support. 1st Brigade is the division main effort, and they will receive the big guns, since they have the dubious distinction of holding the most important mobility corridor within the division."

  Colonel Smith took a minute to digest this. "What do you mean MLRS? I thought that we couldn't use them against the Posleen. Won't they shoot the rockets out of the air in mid-flight?"

  "Normally that is correct sir, any munition under power would be targeted and easily destroyed by Posleen weapons. That is why we can use conventional tube artillery as opposed to guided cruise missiles. However, due to the terrain we are operating in, we have a unique opportunity to employ a wider range of weapon systems."

  "Could you please break that down in English for me FSO?" The colonel looked slightly irritated.

  "Sir, we are deployed in an area with lots of hills. Artillery, mortars, and MLRS will all be set up well behind us, normally in the low ground and valleys. If rockets are employed, it will be from positions up to thirty kilometers to our rear, well below the horizon from the Posleen. The rockets will then fire their boosters until shortly before reaching apogee. The fuel ought to burn out before our rounds come into Posleen line of sight. At this point, they will no longer be under power, and will not be tracked by alien weapons, and will act similar to conventional artillery rocket assisted projectiles." The fire support officer looked around the room to see if the intellectually challenged infantrymen fully grasped the implications of what he had just said.

  "Jesus Niels, this is news to me. Were you planning on keeping this a secret or what?" The colonel chided.

  "Well sir, we aren't sure that the MLRS is going to work. We have been basically hypothesizing whether or not we can pull it off. We won't really know until we try it on the enemy. But the bottom line is, if anyone gets it, it'll be 1st Brigade and not us, so it's really a moot point."

  "Okay I got it." The colonel was not in a good mood. He was more edgy than usual. "Listen fellas, we've got just a few more preparations left to make and not much time left to make them in. Get out there to your companies and make it happen."

  The tent was quiet, some looked around at each other, not sure what how to respond.

  "That's it. Go! You're dismissed. Get the hell outa here!" The colonel snapped.

  People jumped to their feet and headed on out. There was lots of stuff left to do and not much time to do it in.

  1012 Hours May 18th, 2002

  Phase Line "Axe"

  Overwatching "The Valley of Death"

  Specialist Cartright approached his two-man fighting position from the rear, with his M249 Squad Automatic Weapon slung across his back, his entrenching tool in his left hand, and a roll of coarse toilet paper in his right. He was returning from his visit from behind a nearby rock outcropping, where he had recently "finished his business." It was quite a relief, since he hadn't had the urge to conduct a "Class I download" for the last three days. The MREs always plugged him up like a cork.

  "You finally back?" PFC Smigelski was still in the fighting position, looking out over the defile down below him. "You took long enough."

  Cartright unslung the SAW, extended the bipod, and set it down next his rucksack. "Why? Did you miss me?" He opened up his ruck, pulled out a ziplock bag and put the toilet paper in it. He zipped it shut, and replaced it in the backpack.

  "I thought maybe you got lost back there or something."

  Cartright slid down into the hole with his battle-buddy. "Anything happen while I was gone?"

  Smigelski gave him a strange look. "Are you nuts? What have we been doing out here for the last five days?"

  "Sitting on our asses doing nothing?"

  "Exactly. Not much has changed since you left to go take a dump."

  "Well I'm glad, I didn't want to miss anything."

  Smigelski rolled his eyes. He picked up a pack of Marlboro reds sitting next to his weapon, extracted a cigarette, and lit it with his Zippo.

  "Can I get one of those?"

  "Man, I told you to pack more cigarettes before we came on this trip. You never listen to me, but noooo, what do I know? I'm just a dumb private."

  Cartright set his weapon up on its firing platform. "Okay Mom, are you done lecturing me? Can I have a smoke now?"

  Smigelski shook his head in feigned disgust. "You're hopeless. It's a good thing I like you man." He then tossed a single cigarette at his buddy.

  "Thanks dick."

  "You're welcome sweetie pie."

  "You know you wouldn't be a private right now if you hadn't been running your cock-holster and ended up in that fight." Cartright scolded.

  "Man, that motherfucker deserved his ass whoopin'."

  "Was it worth it to get busted back down to PFC?"

  Smigelski looked thoughtful for just a moment. "Sure, that dude was talkin' major smack, he needed me to thump his skull. I think I did him a big favor. Besides the courtesy patrol might've let me go without reporting it if I hadn't knocked out two of his teeth."

  "Remind me never to piss you off after you've been drinking Soju buckets."

  It was then that they noticed a lone figure that was trudging up the side of the hill toward their position. He moved with grim determination, and kicked up a bit of dust as he took each deliberate step. It was Sergeant Holmes, their team leader, and it looked like he was not terribly happy.

  When Sergeant Holmes reached their fighting position, he dropped his rucksack, sat down next to it, and placed his weapon on top of the eighteen inches of overhead cover that served as their roof. Holmes was black as night, and when he removed his Kevlar helmet, it revealed his perfectly shaved head, covered in sweat. He wiped the perspiration from his face and head with the sleeve of his BDU jacket, grabbed a canteen of water, and took a couple of gulps before addressing two of his subordinates. "What're you two heroes doin'."

  Smigelski, as usual, was the first to answer. "I was just holding down this entire sector while Cartright was wandering around fucking off."

  Sergeant Holmes screwed the cap back on his canteen and put it back into the canteen pouch that was affixed to the pistol belt on his load bearing vest. He then started looking through his rucksack until he pulled out two MREs, and then tossed them to Cartright. "Is that so? Then I suggest that you police up your buddy, Private Smigelski."

  Smigelski took a drag from his cigarette. "I would Sarn't, but Cartright is a total turd. It'll take me years to square his ass away."

  Cartright flicked his cigarette butt out of the fighting position. "Sarn't, do I have to be teamed up with Smigelski? He smells like ass and he's a known homosexual."

  Sergeant Holmes pulled out a pack of Newports and lit one up. "You two sound like you're married or something. Except you get along better than me and my ex-wife. Y'all ain't getting freaky with each other when nobody else is around are ya? Anyways, I brought y'all MREs for lunch. The LT says we gettin hot chow mermited up to us for supper."

  "What's for dinner then?" asked Cartright.

  Sergeant Holmes shrugged. "I don't know, but whatever it is, I hope that nasty bitch Allen ain't cookin' the shit. He ain't washed since we got here, and that boy stank!"

  "No shit Sarn't, Allen and Sergeant Fuentes are both fuckin' sorry. Can't the CO and the First Sarn't get some better cooks for the company?" asked Smigelski.

  "Top and the CO got other shit to worry about. But you're right though. Those two are the worst cooks I ever seen. They can't even boil water right." Sergeant Holmes seemed thoughtful as he puffed away on his menthol. "Anyways, the LT just called down and said the engineers are sending up some SEE trucks to dig trenchline, to connect our fighting positions."

  Cartrigh
t sounded surprised. "SEE trucks? You mean those backhoe-lookin' things?"

  "Yup."

  "You mean those little bastards are gonna come up here and dig trenchline? Holy shit Sarn't, I hope they bring some dynamite, this ground is hard as shit. They might break one if they try digging in around here."

  "Yeah, well I hope not, I'm tired of diggin'. I got blisters all over my hands from swingin' a pick and a shovel in this shit." Sergeant Holmes carefully placed his Kevlar on his immaculately shaved head. "This heat's gonna kill me. I gotta get back to my hole and make sure that Miller ain't sleepin'. You two hang tight."

  "Take it easy Sarn't."

  Sergeant Holmes put his rucksack back on and started back down the hill.

  2143 Hours May 18th, 2002

  Phase Line "Razor"

  Carl put on a pair of black leather gloves before he pulled his MRE component out of its chemical heater. He wore the gloves so that he wouldn't burn his fingers while handling the heated meal's packaging. He slid the green packet out and held it with his left hand while he sliced it open length-wise with his Gerber multi-tool. It was spaghetti with meat sauce, and the smell of the freshly heated meal quickly filled the vehicle. He added crushed crackers, cheese spread, Tabasco sauce, and mixed them all together before putting the first spoonful in his mouth. It tasted okay. Three months ago, Carl would have traded just about any other meal for spaghetti because it was his favorite. Now, he could barely stand the stuff. The lack of variety was really starting to get to him. With MREs there were only twenty-four different menu selections, and it didn't take long for a soldier to become very tired of even the more palatable ones.

  Lieutenant Andersen had been sitting over in the passenger seat of the vehicle, writing a letter home, when the smell of the spaghetti hit him. "Hey Myers, did you get M&Ms with your spaghetti?"

  Carl swallowed the mouthful he had been chewing before answering. This particular meal was starting to taste a lot like cardboard. "Yes sir. Why, you want to trade something for them?"

  "Yeah dude, how about tradin' for a pack of Charms hard candy?"

  This was how it always began with the LT. Anyone else in the platoon would have offered up an equitable trade, but not Lieutenant Andersen. His offers were always total shit. The worst part was, whenever a person turned his offers down, he would get completely indignant, as if it were a personal attack. "No way sir. Charms suck. You're going to have to sweeten the deal a bit before I part with my M&Ms."

  "What the fuck is wrong with Charms?"

  Here we go again. "Sir, come on. Nobody likes Charms. I bet if I went through the MRE trash out behind the truck, I would find three or four packs of 'em that were just thrown away." Carl scooped another spoonful of food and reluctantly put it in his mouth.

  "Sabre Six, this is Red Three, over." Thankfully Carl was spared the pain of arguing with his platoon leader over some trivial horseshit by the radio once again.

  Lieutenant Andersen, picked up the handmike, irritated with the interruption. "Red Three, this is Sabre Six."

  "Sabre Six, I've got beau coup movement vicinity Checkpoint Three Three, break. There is a large number of aliens moving through the valley heading from east to west, toward Check Point Three Four, over."

  Andersen pulled down his mapboard, placed it in his lap and located the checkpoints. "Okay roger, got it. How many and what type of aliens do you got down there, over."

  "It looks like Indowy, break. There's hundreds of 'em running at full speed, break. They are kind of moving like a herd of stampeding buffalo, over."

  "Roger, okay I got it, keep me updated as things develop, and try to get me more solid numbers when you can, over"

  "Sabre Six, this is Red Three, wilco, over."

  As Lieutenant Andersen sent his report up to Battalion, Carl quickly scarfed down the rest of his meal. Dinnertime was over.

  2216 Hours May 18th, 2002

  Phase Line "Axe"

  C Company, 1st Battalion, 506th Infantry

  (Attached to Task Force Manchu)

  "Sir, Manchu Six is on the radio for you. He says that it is urgent." The RTO was trying to give the handmike to Captain Marcel.

  Captain Marcel sat upon a case of MREs, with one green jungle boot off, while he changed his socks. It was a something he did at least three times a day, whether he needed to or not. He seemed arrogant as ever when he took the handmike from his RTO.

  "Manchu Six, this is Cherokee Six, over." Marcel sounded bored and just a little annoyed by the interruption.

  "Cherokee Six, this is Manchu Six, where have you been? I've been trying to reach you for the last thirty minutes!"

  "Manchu Six, this is Cherokee Six, we've been monitoring and haven't received any traffic from you, over"

  "Cherokee Six, you better stick up your long whip antenna or establish wire comms with us because I can't afford not to be able to talk to you! Fix your commo! Now, you've got a large number of refugees heading your way. The scouts have been reporting large scale movement of Indowy, pushing into Engagement Area Rifle, vicinity TRP number seven. They are moving through the low ground and should be hitting the obstacle belt any minute now. You are to hold your fire. Remember that these are friendlies! Acknowledge, over!"

  "Manchu Six, this is Cherokee Six, wilco. I will get the word out before we have any fratricide incidents..."

  Before Captain Marcel could finish his transmission, a dozen Claymore mines detonated in the distance. He jerked to his right, just in time to witness the first tracer rounds racing down range, impacting into a large group of Indowy that were attempting to run over or around several rows of triple strand concertina wire. Once the machineguns initiated fire, everyone one else in 2nd and 3rd Platoons started to join in. The volume of fire was so intense, that it sounded somewhat like a giant chainsaw, and it was doing a very effective job of annihilating the fleeing alien refugees.

  Captain Marcel felt like there was a chunk of ice sitting in his belly. He was momentarily in shock, and was slow to react. He snapped out of it when his other RTO shoved a handmike in his face.

  "Sir, the company net is out of control. Everyone is stepping all over each other trying to send reports and call for artillery. It's a total mess sir." Specialist Jones had a pleading look in his eye. He wanted his commander to bring order out of chaos.

  Just as Marcel attempted to regain control of the situation another call came in from the battalion commander.

  "Sir, Manchu Six is on battalion and he sounds pissed. He said he wants to talk to you right now." Specialist Lowthorpe wanted to hand off the battalion handmike to his commander as soon as humanly possible, it was like a hot potato and he wanted to get it out of his hand.

  Marcel steeled himself before transmitting. "Manchu Six, this is Cherokee Six, over."

  "Cherokee Six, this is Manchu Six, what is going on down there? I told you there were friendlies in the area, and not to engage! Acknowledge!"

  "Manchu Six, my men opened fire before I could get them to stop. Now my company frequency is a mess with people trying to send reports. I'm trying to get the message through, over"

  "Goddamnit Captain! Get your people under control! I don't want excuses! You have thirty seconds to make it happen before I relieve you on the spot! Acknowledge, over!"

  Captain Marcel just stood there staring at the handmike. He couldn't believe that this was happening to him. He looked like a complete fool. It just wasn't fair.

  2220 Hours May 18th, 2002

  Phase Line "Axe"

  Overwatching "The Valley of Death"

  "Man, what the fuck is going on down there?" Cartright had the butterflies, and he was starting to get them bad. They could hear a massive firefight taking place out in the distance, but total silence in their company sector.

  "I don't know, get on the phone and call Sergeant Holmes to find out what's going on." Smigelski popped the magazine out of his weapon, checked it, tapped it on his Kevlar to reseat the rounds, and slapped it back in the magazine
well of his M16.

  Cartright reached for the TA-312 field telephone that sat in their fighting position. It was connected by communication wire with the field phone in their team leader's fighting position, and was the preferred method of reaching him when they were supposed to be hunkered down in their hole. Just as he was about to pick up the receiver, the phone started chirping like a cricket, indicating that there was an inbound call. Cartright immediately answered it, "This is Cartright, over."

  "Cartright, this is Holmes. Check it out, we got aliens comin' our way, but they're friendlies... do not fire 'em up whatever you do. It sounds like those 506th guys are fuckin' this up by the numbers and are blowin' the shit out of the wrong people down there. I guess Manchu Six is going ape-shit right now. I need you two to stay cool, and keep 100% security. You got any questions?"

  "Yeah, are there Posties anywhere out there?"

  There was a pause before Sergeant Holmes answered. "Probably. Nobody's said so for sure, but something bad is happening out there. You two keep your heads down and scan your sectors. I'll keep you updated as shit changes."

  "Thanks Sarn't, out here."

  Cartright passed on the information to Smigelski, but it did nothing to ease the tension the two of them felt. Something was brewing and they knew that it was going to be happening soon.