by Leigh Kimmel
It wasn't long before they last of the humans were silenced. Some had tried to run but must stayed and fought. In the end it didn't matter, they were slaughtered.
The God Kings reigned in their oolts, and brought them under control inside of the wire. They howled in ecstasy as they hacked their quarry into chunks of meat.
The feeding began soon after that.
"Manchu Steel, this is Dragon Steel, over!" Jimmy Ngyuen threw the transmitter to the ground. "Jacobson, give me Company."
Specialist Jacobson complied, and then checked to make sure that his weapon was still loaded.
"Dragon Six, this is Dragon Steel, over."
"Dragon Steel, this is Six. You have any luck raising anybody on the fires net?"
"Negative Dragon Six. There are plenty of people talking on the fires net, but not Manchu TOC. I can't raise them on command either, I think they are off the air."
"Jimmy, I need you to take over as the battalion fire support officer until Manchu TOC comes back up on the net. I need you to send all fire missions to the mortar and artillery fire direction centers for the time being, over." Steve's voice cracked as he spoke, he was starting to get hoarse.
"Roger that Dragon Six, just be advised that my vehicle is gone and I am on foot. I'm talking on my dismount radios, and their range is limited, over"
"Yeah, I got it. Just do the best you can. Things are a little fucked up right now. Acknowledge."
Jimmy could hardly argue with that. "Roger, I'll be dropping off your company internal net for awhile Dragon Six. Sergeant Sanchez will take over for me until things change, over."
"Okay Jimmy, talk to you again soon. Dragon Six, out."
"Dragon Seven, this is Six, over"
First Sergeant Taylor was up in the hatch of his M113 armored personnel carrier cresting the hill on the backside of the company's battle positions. During the lull in the fight, he was racing around, picking up wounded with his vehicle and bringing them back to the casualty collection point located back in the company trains. "Dragon Six, this is Seven, go ahead, over."
"Roger, we have just completed our move. We have pushed back down the hill to re-occupy our primary positions. We need emergency re-supply though. Most elements are "Amber" or "Red" on water, ammo, and the tanks need gas too, over."
The first sergeant pulled up behind a Bradley that was a total wreck. An orange VS-17 panel was attached to an antenna, indicating that there were wounded crew members that needed to be evacuated. The back ramp was down, and the entire crew was lying on it, with an assortment of injuries. It was the company XO and his crew.
"Roger, I've been talking to Manchu Four on A&L. He says that he'll be at the LRP in fifteen mikes. I'll head back there in a minute to bring up re-supply. Oh by the way, I'm down here at the XO's track. Him and his crew are all alive, but they'll need evac, over."
"Roger, understand. Hey, tell the XO to quit malingering and get his ass back to work. Dragon Six, out." Steve checked to make sure that his gunner wasn't watching, then pulled out his mouthwash bottle and took a swig. The bottle was starting to get low, he'd have to go in the back of the track and top off pretty soon.
* * *
Sergeant Holmes crept forward cautiously as he approached the empty fighting position from the rear. He looked back behind him and felt a bit reassured when he saw the other three members of his team in a proper wedge formation. He raised his right hand into the air, and gave the "halt" signal to the other members of his element. All of them stopped, crouched down on a knee, and faced out, providing security. Things were somewhat quiet in their sector at the moment, but fighting could be heard both to the north and south, for hundreds of miles.
This calm wasn't going to last long. The squad leader had called on the ICOM earlier and told him to re-occupy their primaries, because another wave of Posleen was on the way. He had moved his guys out immediately, but carefully. The area was covered in Posties. Practically all were dead, but a few were just wounded, and still armed. Every time they came across an injured one they would quickly administer a killing shot to the head, and move on. They had to get back in their holes; there was no time to waste.
He looked over to the right and saw Delta Two Two ablaze, and then back behind him at Smigelski and Cartright. "Okay you two, back in your hole. Give me a commo check on the TA-312 when me and Miller get back to ours."
Smigelski and Cartright nodded in understanding, moved forward and slid back into their position. Sergeant Holmes headed off with Specialist Miller in tow.
Neither one of them was very excited about moving back down the hill and back into their original spots, but at least this particular hole had their ammo cache. The alternate position didn't, and it was starting to become a real problem up until they broke up the first wave of Posleen. The two of them immediately set to work reloading their ammo pouches, clearing empty ammo cans, empty SAW drums, and other garbage from their cramped little foxhole. A commo check was conducted with Sergeant Holmes, sector stakes were replaced and canteens refilled.
When the work was finished Smigelski pulled out a zip-lock bag containing a smashed pack of Marlboros. He pulled out two, handed one to Cartright, and lit the cigarette for him. "You doin' okay man?"
Cartright took a long pull on the cigarette before answering. "Yeah. I'm good. Just a little shook up. You?"
Smigelski lit his smoke. "I'll be okay. You think that this next push is going to be worse than the last one?"
"Hope not. If it is, I think we're screwed. We barely made it this last time."
They both stood there quietly smoking. The sounds of battle raged in the distance all along the line. It wasn't going to be long before they were thrown back into the mix again themselves, and they knew it.
0214 Hours May 19th, 2002
Phase Line "Axe"
Colonel Smith continued trying to raise the XO and the S-3 on the radio to no avail. He could speak with his companies and to the scouts, but not with the TOC or his operations officer.
The colonel was having his worst fears realized. Charlie Company hadn't reported in a long time, and their sector was quiet. The S-3 didn't answer the radio. The TOC was off the air. Communication with Brigade was breaking down. Last reports had 1st of the 503rd on his right flank hanging on by a thread, and then nothing. It was entirely possible that the Posleen had steamrolled over Charlie Company, were now in the battalion rear area, wreaking havoc, and effectively cutting the battalion off. The thought sent a chill up his spine.
The scout platoon out front was still intact; they had managed to keep themselves concealed very well as they sent valuable reports back, and called in dozens of deadly accurate fire missions.
The Bravo Company Maddawgs had received a bloody nose along their section of the line, but they still held. Captain Jake "The Snake" Rodriguez had lost half his company, but didn't give an inch of ground to the enemy. Things were quiet there now, as the Maddawgs licked their wounds and awaited the next inevitable enemy push.
Team Demon, the attached tank company, still occupied positions to the north side of Engagement Area Pistol. They had lost a Bradley and three tanks, but were still in relatively good shape. Their commander, Captain Hans Eichelberg, was killed early on in the fight, but his company XO had quickly taken command and was doing a superb job. Their biggest concern at the moment was getting an emergency re-supply of fuel for their M-1s.
Team Dragon to the south of EA Pistol had been hit hard, and pulled off a brilliant maneuver under pressure. They had succeeded in bounding their platoons back up the hill to their alternate positions just before being overrun. This was in no small part thanks to a certain First Lieutenant Jimmy Ngyuen who directed the battalion mortars to put white phosphorous almost on top of their own men, while they pulled out. It didn't sound very impressive, but the timing was perfect, and timing was everything. Captain Steve Murphy still had two M-1 tanks, seven Bradley Fighting Vehicles, most of his dismounted infantry, and he had just reported that th
ey had re-occupied their original positions, overwatching the Valley of Death.
The $64,000 question was now, "what was the status of Charlie Company, 1st of the 506th?" They had fought the hard fight, in the rock outcroppings and cliffs located roughly in the middle of the battalion's center. The Posleen had a difficult time clawing their way up the ridgeline just to get at the Cherokees, and they paid heavily to do so. But once there, they exacted a terrible toll on the light infantrymen. The S-3 was supposed to take the counter-attack force up the one trail that could support vehicle movement, and occupy an attack by fire position that would have certainly relieved pressure along the entire company's line. As it was, the Cherokees and Manchu Three weren't answering the radio, and Colonel Smith had just about mentally written them off along with Manchu TOC. But he had to be sure.
The scouts were reporting a second wave of Posleen about to hit them along the entire battalion frontage again. He needed to know what the status of Charlie Company was. He needed to know what the status of Manchu TOC and the battalion rear was. The scouts were for all intents and purposes, stuck in their forward positions, and were totally unable to send any elements to the rear to recon and give him a report. He didn't dare to have one of his heavy companies dispatch a reconnaissance element, not when enemy action was imminent. His only option right now was the Bulldogs.
The task force engineers weren't decisively engaged right now. They weren't scouts, but they did know where all of his positions, obstacles, and engagement areas were, and they could get to them quickly, even in the dark, with nasty aliens shooting at them. They were the only option at the moment.
"Bulldog Six, this is Manchu Six, over"
"Manchu Six, this is Bulldog Six." The engineer company commander sounded even more exhausted than usual.
"Jonathan, I need you to take some of your sappers on a recon. Need to know what the status of Cherokee is. I also need you to send someone back to the rear, vicinity Manchu TOC and see if we've got enemy elements in our rear. Acknowledge."
"Manchu Six, this is Bulldog Six, wilco. I'll take a squad up to check on the Cherokees and send another to check the rear areas along 'Route Willow' and 'Route Alder,' over."
"Sounds good. Get me a SITREP as soon as humanly possible, over."
Captain Jonathan Powell wasted no time getting prepared. His engineers had been ready to do something, anything, for quite some time now. They were ready to go.
* * *
"Did you just hear that sir?"
Captain Krieger spat out the window of the cargo Humvee. "What are you talking about Jones?"
Krieger's driver was focused on his driving, but he was also paying close attention to the radio traffic coming across the net. The speakers in the truck were difficult to hear when they were moving, but not impossible.
"It sounded like the colonel just ordered somebody to recon the rear to see whether or not there are Posleen running around back here." Jones said.
"Are you sure?" It felt like electricity shot through Krieger's body.
"Roger sir."
"Stop the fuckin' truck!"
Jones slammed on the brakes, which caused every other vehicle following him in the convoy to do likewise. There were a lot of drivers cursing at the top of their lungs as the cargo trucks narrowly averted collisions with other vehicles along the dusty, darkened trail.
Krieger was about to call the battalion commander to request guidance when the first Posleen rounded the corner only twenty meters in front of his Humvee.
"Oh my God!"
The first normal was followed by dozens more, and they swarmed over the convoy before anyone could react. The occasional truck driver would get to his .50 caliber machinegun and get off a few rounds before he was shot down, dismembered, or worse. A God King fired a plasma round into the melee only to have it strike a truck carrying white phosphorous mortar rounds. The entire column, loaded full of precious fuel and ammunition, created a cataclysmic explosion.
* * *
The engineer company commander yanked back on the charging handle of his M2 Heavy Barrel and then toggled the transmit switch on his CVC to the rearward position for a quick commo check. "Jackson, can you hear me okay?"
His M113 driver had his hatch open, and turned around to look at his commander before answering. "Roger sir."
In the back of the track was an entire sapper squad, standing up through the open cargo hatch, with their weapons oriented in every direction. When Captain Powell turned to check on them, the squad leader simply gave him the "thumbs up," acknowledging that they were ready to go.
"Okay Jackson, let's go."
The M113A3's Detroit Diesel came to life as the driver gently applied pressure to the accelerator. He had adjusted his seat so that he sat high up, with his head completely outside of the vehicle, in order for him to see better. The M113 had a night vision block that fitted in through the normal periscope mounts, but hardly anyone ever used them, since they were cumbersome and difficult to see through.
"Where're we going boss?" Jackson asked his commander.
Powell scanned the scene with his night vision goggles while the vehicle rocked and jerked up and over every small bump in the trail. He rotated the .50 caliber machinegun off to the side and locked it in position. Many an inexperienced track commander had left the weapon in the forward position. Inevitably the driver would hit a stump or rock, causing the "TC" to slam violently forward and "eat" the weapon. Usually a concussion and or broken teeth resulted.
"Just follow this trail forward for about a klick. When it forks, we'll turn right, up and over the hill and go straight into Cherokee's battle positions."
Jackson had driven around the battalion sector so many times within the last week, he was intimately familiar with every route, battle position, engagement area, obstacle, and goat trail within twenty kilometers.
"Roger, got it. What happens if we make contact with some baddies?"
Powell continued to scan while he talked to his driver. "We haul ass."
"Hooah." Jackson smirked while giving the patented generic Army response.
0228 Hours May 19th, 2002
Phase Line "Axe"
Overwatching "The Valley of Death"
"Dude, here they come!" Cartright loosed a long burst from his SAW into the front rank of charging centaurs. This triggered a reaction along the entire line, as dismounted positions came to life, and a storm of small arms fire tore into the charging beasts, ripping gaping holes in their lead ranks.
The second wave of Posleen took heavy losses as they charged forward, but not nearly as bad as the wave that had preceded them. Artillery was doing a good job, but everything else was degraded in effectiveness. The mortars were practically out of ammunition, the Brads and tanks had taken significant losses, and most of the obstacles had been reduced or breached in some way. Entirely too many of the creatures succeeded in reaching small arms range. A situation, that was highly alarming.
As Cartright and Smigelski shot at a small group of Posleen running over a small pile of carcasses, they were jolted by a mass of directed fire on their position. 3mm railgun rounds, flechettes, and shotguns blasted their foxhole and the area immediately surrounding it. The eighteen inches of overhead cover, consisting of railroad ties and sandbags, disintegrated, having never been designed to survive such punishment. Both soldiers were knocked backward into their hole, and were partially buried when it caved in. Their position silenced, the Posleen focused their attention on other positions along the line.
"Sarn't Holmes! I think Cartright and Ski just bought it!" Miller was trying to clear a double feed from his rifle when he saw the other two members of the fire team get hammered.
Sergeant Holmes jacked the M203 grenade launcher open and the spent 40mm casing fell to the ground. He jammed another grenade in the breach, and slammed it back shut. "What the fuck're you talkin' about?"
Miller was firing his M16 like a madman down the slope, into the screaming mass of carnivores. U
n-aimed fire beat their position sending chunks of dirt and rocks flying everywhere, making it difficult for him to return fire with any degree of accuracy. Sergeant Holmes shoved him out of the way in order to get a better look up the slope at his two subordinates. It was hard to see, but the burning Bradley just a bit further down the line cast enough light. The roof of the fighting position had caved in and he couldn't see either one of his guys.
"Miller, when I tell you, I want you to blow the last of our Claymores and then lay down some fire while I go check on those two! You got it?"
Miller's eyes were wide as saucers. "Sarn't, you want me to stay here by myself?"
"I ain't gonna leave you behind. I'll be back in a minute. Just do what I tell you!"
Miller swallowed hard and nodded. "Roger sarn't."
Just down the line to their left a dismount position took a nasty hit. Someone over there started screaming for a medic at the top of his lungs. His voice was barely audible over the deafening rifle and machinegun fire.
"Now! Blow the fuckin' Claymores!"
Miller picked up the two remaining Claymore clackers and detonated a half-dozen mines that were "Daisy-Chained" down the slope behind a final protective obstacle. Twenty Posleen that were trying to tear their way through the wire were blown into scraps of bloody flesh and shattered bone. Miller then laid down the best suppressive fire he could manage with his rifle; just like he had been taught back in Fort Benning.
Holmes scrambled out of the fighting position and ran up the hillside for what seemed like a mile until he reached the smoking hole in the ground that contained the other half of his fire team. When he got there he dove in head first, as the ground around him was beaten with flechettes and railgun rounds.
He found both Cartright and Smigelski buried up to their waists, blood running from noses, ears, and other assorted cuts. Holmes leaned forward and started slapping them in their faces, trying to revive them.