by Leigh Kimmel
* * *
"Bushwhacker One-Six, this is Manchu Three, over." The battalion operations officer didn't bother to remove his Nomex glove as he stuck his finger into his mouth, scooped out the old Copenhagen, and flicked it off the side of his Bradley.
There were four Bradleys parked roughly in line on the backside of the ridgeline where the battalion was fighting for its life. The battalion operations officer, or S-3, was in his Bradley, and he had rounded up three Bradley Stinger Fighting Vehicles from the attached air defense artillery platoon. Since there weren't going to be too many enemy planes to shoot down, the battalion commander kept most of his air defenders back in the vicinity of the TOC as the task force reserve. Now the S-3, Major Gianforti, was preparing to lead the reserve into the fight, to counter-attack and keep Charlie Company, 1st of the 506th from disintegrating.
"Manchu Three, this is Bushwhacker One-Six, over."
"You guys ready to roll yet?"
"Manchu Three, Bushwhacker One-Six. Bushwhacker One-Two can't get his gun to go into 'sear.' He's trying to fix it right now, over"
Gianforti bristled at the news. The air defenders had always been a problem, their maintenance was substandard, their gunnery skills were lacking, their ability to navigate on the ground was non-existent, and their platoon leader was an idiot. All in all, they were a big pain in the ass. Now a whole company relied on them to come to the rescue, and they were ill-prepared for the task.
"Listen Lieutenant, you had better get your guys unfucked right now! There are a bunch of light-fighters on the other side of this hill that need us, and they can't wait! Do you read me?"
"Manchu Three, this is Bushwhacker One Six, wilco, over."
MAJ Gianforti checked his equipment again while he waited for the air defenders to get their weapons ready. His mapboard was laid out in front of him, he had a loaded port-firing weapon, a pair of night vision goggles hanging around his neck, his spall vest secured around his torso, and a nine-millimeter pistol in his shoulder holster. He looked over to his left to find that his gunner was standing up in the hatch, looking over the left-hand side of the vehicle.
His gunner, Sergeant Lightfoot tapped the S-3 on his shoulder. "Hey sir, get a load of this."
Major Gianforti had to climb out of his commander's hatch in order to see what was on the left side of the vehicle. The "spaghetti cable" that connected his CVC helmet to his radios was stretched as far as the coiled little cable could reach. When he looked down he saw an Indowy standing next to the vehicle, motioning with his hands, trying to get their attention. About thirty meters away, was a small group of Indowy, hiding behind a large rock, obviously frightened, looking like kids caught in a tiger pen but not willing to leave their comrade behind.
Gianforti looked at his gunner. "What do you suppose he wants?"
Before Lightfoot could answer, and strange voice came over the intercom. "I would like to help you."
Both of them did a double-take at the hairy little creature. In its hand was a small metal box, and Gianforti immediately recognized it as an AID. He had heard about the AIDs, but he had never actually seen one. The Indowy was using the AID to translate language, and then transmit it to the Bradley's intercom. It seemed like absolute magic.
Gianforti felt a little silly talking to the small alien, but he decided to do it anyway. "What do you want there little fella? I don't really have time now, I've got more pressing matters that require my attention right now." It was then that the S-3 became very aware of the radio traffic that was going crazy on the battalion command net, and the noise of battle just on the other side of the ridgeline.
"I simply offer my expertise. I can fix things for you, and help your people in this fight." The Indowy had strange gestures and body language that made no sense to Gianforti.
The S-3 didn't know how this small unarmed creature could help them at a time like this, and he didn't really care. Right now, there were much bigger fish to fry. "Listen little friend, I've got to go now, but Delta company is over that way. They need all the help that they can get. If you want to help, head that way, and up over that hill." Gianforti pointed in the direction of Delta Company, and The Valley of Death.
The Indowy looked to where the S-3 pointed and then looked back at him. "Thank you. I will go there and do what I can." He then scurried off with his friends to the sound of the guns.
Major Gianforti watched them as they disappeared into the darkness. "Good luck little guy."
* * *
Jimmy Ngyuen lay on his back against a hard clay berm next to his wounded driver and RTO. His sweat-soaked BDU shirt stuck to him like a second skin, steam rolled off his body in the evening chill. He pulled the pin on the M67 fragmentation grenade and heaved it down the slope of the hill. It landed in amongst a group of three Posleen who attempted to claw their way through some wire. When it exploded all three fell to the ground, one dead, and the other two writhed in the dirt, bleeding profusely.
He looked over at his FIST-V. It burned brightly and did a good job of illuminating the immediate area. "How you feeling Bennett?"
The FIST-V driver, Specialist Bennett, lay next to Lieutenant Ngyuen. His shoulder was a bloody mess, and it was bandaged as well as possible under the conditions. He was conscious, but moaned softly, in absolute pain. On the other side of Ngyuen was his RTO, Specialist Jacobson. Jacobson would alternate between talking on his PRC-119 radio, and popping up over the berm to fire his M16 at the Posleen. Jimmy Ngyuen did his best to contribute to the fight, considering that there wasn't nearly enough artillery to go around.
Jimmy peered over the berm to try and size things up. The company had been pushed back earlier that evening to their alternate positions, located much higher up on the ridgeline. It was a nasty little maneuver that cost them a tank, a Bradley, and a bunch of grunts, all of which littered the hillside just down the slope from them. As bad as it was, the move saved the company team from total annihilation as the Posleen breached the last of the protective obstacles and started overrunning sections of the line.
As it was, the company was down to two tanks, seven Bradleys, and fourty-four dismounted infantry. The alien attack had bled to death after throwing themselves against a buzzsaw. It hadn't been an easy fight, but it had been a successful one, at least up until now. Jimmy monitored the battalion command net and knew that Delta Company and Team Demon to the north had only defeated the first wave, and that the scouts were reporting a second wave, of undetermined strength, heading their way. It was enough to make a grown man cry.
* * *
"Sabre Six, this is White One, over"
"White One, this is Sabre Six Delta, send your traffic, over." Carl held the handmike up to his ear while trying to read the map with a red lens flashlight.
"Six Delta, I've got another large group of Posties, approximately 3000 of them pushing past Checkpoint Three Four. Can we get some fires on Target 0024, over?"
"White One, standby." Carl leaned over from the driver's seat of the Humvee, to get his platoon leader's attention. "Sir, White One reports about 3000 Posleen pushing past Three Four. He wants to know if he can get some fires on Target 0024."
Lieutenant Andersen was busy talking to the S-2 on the O&I net. "Manchu Two, this is Sabre Six, standby, over." He turned his attention to Myers. "What did you say?"
"Sir, Sergeant Jiminez wants fires on Target 0024, he says there's 3000 Posties pushing through Three Four time now."
"Tell him that I'll check." Andersen reached over and switched his radio to over to the battalion fires net. "Manchu Steel, this is Sabre Six, over."
The fires net was busy, but not as chaotic as it had been earlier. "Sabre Six, Manchu Steel, send it, over."
"Roger, can you fire Target number 0024, we've got 3000 Posleen pushing through Checkpoint Three Four, time now, over."
"Sabre Six, can't do it right now. I've got the big guns servicing another target in Maddawg's sector, and the mortars are "Red" on ammo."
"Manchu St
eel, roger, understand. Sabre Six, out." Lieutenant Andersen shook his head in disgust. He was starting to feel helpless.
Carl didn't waste any time. "I monitored sir. I'll pass the message along to White One."
Andersen just nodded, as he sent White One's report to the S-2.
* * *
"Manchu Three, Bushwhacker One Six, we're up, over."
That was music to Major Gianforti's ears. "Good, let's go. You guys follow me in. Guns free on anything running on more than two legs. You got it?"
"Roger sir."
Before the S-3 could give the order to move out, his gunner cut loose with a long burst with the coax machinegun. Gianforti was so startled he almost jumped clear out of the turret.
"SIR! POSTIES COMING OVER THE CREST OF THE HILL!"
The S-3 looked up at the hill directly in front of him, and saw hundreds of Posleen coming over the crest, running at full speed down the slope straight toward them. It was crystal clear that the Charlie Company had finally broken, and that the counter-attack was too late.
"BUSHWHACKER, THIS IS MANCHU THREE! CONTACT FRONT! GET ON LINE NOW!"
The four Bradleys were in a column, prepared to follow the S-3 up and over the hill. They were in a poor position to engage the Posleen unless they spread out. Which is exactly what they attempted to do.
The air defenders pivot steered their vehicles and began to peel off in each direction in order to get a clear line of fire on the enemy, as they raced down the ridgeline. As they did so, they were riddled with fire from 3mm railguns and flechettes. The rounds did not cause significant damage to the vehicles themselves, but they were deadly to the exposed Bradley Commanders.
Bushwhacker One Six, Second Lieutenant Voorhees, took two flechettes to the chest, and one in his left eye socket. He dropped like a bag of wet cement into the turret of his vehicle, while his gunner cut loose with the 25mm auto-canon. The driver hammered the accelerator as hard as he could and broke to the left of the S-3's track numbered HQ 33. The driver then pulled the steering yolk to the right while the vehicle was at speed and succeeded in throwing track clear off of the road wheels on both sides. The vehicle was effectively immobile.
The other three Bradleys fired a mix of 25mm and coax machinegun fire up the slope erratically. The fire was panicked, and unfocused.
It was then that the first God King flew over the crest of the hill and unleashed his energy weapons on the stunned counter-attack force.
The first vehicle hit was HQ 33. It took a solid hit to the right track and lengthwise along the armor plating. Sergeant Lightfoot fired back but his rounds flew wide. A hyper-velocity missile then hit the left side of the vehicle at an oblique. The missile didn't explode, it just passed in one side of the turret and out the other. The over-pressure it created crushed flesh and bone. Major Gianforti and Sergeant Lightfoot never felt a thing.
The surviving crews didn't last much longer. They were quickly destroyed without giving much in return. The Posleen continued to push their attack, running past the burning piles of slag, hunting for more prey.
* * *
Manchu TOC was a frenzy of activity. People darted around inside of the modular tent passing messages, updating charts, answering radios, and processing calls for fire. The assistant S-3 was sending and receiving situation reports while motioning in a primitive form of sign language to the S-2 NCOIC that he needed another dip of Wintergreen Longcut. The battalion fire support officer and his NCO sat on folding chairs in the back of their M577 with the ramp down managing the traffic that was flooding in over the fires net, while chain smoking Marlboro reds and using an old coffee can for an ashtray. The S-2 paced in front of "the big map" and listened to the hundreds of urgent transmissions coming in over the loudspeakers, and would move small unit icons, update the combat power chart, and write battle damage assessments on a large dry-erase board. Sergeant Major Branaugh stood quietly in a corner, watching the staff scurry around on the wooden floor pallets, drinking his millionth cup of coffee.
Major Jaeger picked up the transmitter for the Administration and Logistics net, while staring at the posted maps, constantly updated by the Assistant S-3 and the rest of the staff. The atmosphere in the TOC was tense, but everything was running as smoothly as could be expected.
"Manchu Four, Manchu Five, over." The XO decided that now was the time to get the emergency resupply pushed forward.
The S-4, Captain Krieger, sat in his Humvee with the engine idling. He was in the lead vehicle in a convoy of cargo trucks. They had been positioned there for the last few hours, waiting for the word to head out with their emergency re-supply of fuel, water, and ammunition. In the meantime, he listened to the battalion command net, and how the fight was going.
"Manchu Five, this is Manchu Four, over."
"Manchu Four, need you to move your element from the Combat Trains to the logistics rally point at this time. Expect representatives from Demon, Dragon, Thumper, Bulldog and Maddawg. We can't raise Cherokee at this time. Be prepared to run support packages to their company trains and to conduct hot refueling there. Acknowledge."
"Manchu Five, this is Manchu Four, roger, moving." Krieger picked up his ICOM hand-held radio and gave the order to the drivers and vehicle commanders in his convoy.
The ungainly group of vehicles consisted of refuelers, large cargo HEMM-T trucks, smaller LMTVs, and a couple of Humvees. They were stacked with crates of ammo, water cans, thousands of gallons of fuel, and they started down the rough trails with their headlights turned off, the drivers relying on night vision devices.
As Major Jaeger set the handmike down he heard someone fire a SAW just outside of the TOC. Everyone in the tent stopped in their tracks and froze for just an instant.
"EVERYBODY GRAB YOUR SHIT AND GET OUTSIDE!" The XO screamed. "MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!"
The assistant S-3 dropped his spit cup, snatched up his load bearing vest in one hand, his carbine in the other, and bolted out the exit and toward one of the handful of perimeter bunkers. The rest of the staff sat there stunned and did nothing.
"Come on you sonsabitches let's go!" Sergeant Major Branaugh grabbed the S-2 NCOIC and the S-3's Humvee driver by the back of their BDU jackets and dragged them outside.
Upon seeing the sergeant major manhandling two full-grown men out of the TOC, the rest came to their senses, picked up their weapons and ammo and ran outside to man their fighting positions.
The XO was pushing and pulling people out the door until he found himself outside in a jumble of bodies. His eyes weren't adjusted to the darkness yet, and everything was black as a coalminer's ass. The one thing that was visible were the tracers being fired from a machinegun on the perimeter, and Posleen plasma weapons firing back at them. He could hear soldiers screaming orders at each other and could start to make out people running all about, looking for cover as the TOC and everything in its vicinity got pelted with shotguns and flechettes.
"This is a complete cluster-fuck!" He said to himself as he tried to get his bearings, and do something to get the defenses somewhat organized.
"Major Jaeger, is that you sir?" The S-2 was standing next to him. He was starting to regain his night vision, and could just make Captain Gaston out.
Before the XO could respond, the S-2 lurched backward like he had been hit in the chest with a Louisville Slugger, and fell flat on his back, dead.
Major Jaeger didn't move. He was kneeling on the hard clay with his sidearm drawn, trying to figure out what to do. It was obvious that most had found their way to some form of cover and the volume of small arms fire increased dramatically. He squinted hard, and began to see the enemy.
There were hundreds of them, charging the perimeter wire at a full gallop. Many were being shot and killed by the pathetically inaccurate fire coming from his men, but most kept coming. When they hit the protective concertina barrier the first twenty or so got themselves hopelessly entangled, but by doing so, flattened the wire with their bodies, opening the floodgates for others to flow thr
ough.
The creatures poured into the perimeter and fired their weapons at everything. Sergeant Major Branaugh stood at the front of an M577 with two other soldiers, holding their little piece of ground, until they were dismembered by Posleen blades. The assistant S-3 rallied a small ground of drivers and radio operators, and attacked the aliens at the breach in the wire and got torn to shreds. The S-3 NCOIC tried to use his empty M16 like a club, but was pounced upon by three normals. His screams were horrible as they sank their teeth into his flesh.
Major Jaeger got to his feet and stood in the middle of the perimeter, while the defense crumbled around him. Carnivores and defenders fought and died. The shrieks of young kids being torn apart while still alive, raised the hairs on the back of his neck.
He looked to the sky and saw the stars, and how they illuminated the hills. He felt a cold breeze on his skin. He felt the hard clay under his boots, and smelled the spent gunpowder hanging in the air. And he distinctly saw the dozen or so Posleen normals coming straight at him. The XO pulled the hammer back on his pistol, brought it up and held it in both hands. When the creatures closed the distance and were almost upon him he fired. He fired his pistol quickly, killing one after another, but still they came. He kept firing until the slide locked to the rear, and the bullets were gone. He closed his eyes and flinched just a bit when the creature chopped off his head.