Posleen FanFic

by Leigh Kimmel

  "Come on you two! Wake up! You ain't dead yet!"

  An illumination round popped overhead, producing an eerie light inside of the hole. The two injured soldiers looked like they had been dead for days.

  Cartright started to regain consciousness first. He started coughing violently, and then his eyes slowly opened. It took him some time before he fully realized where he was, and what was going on.

  Smigelski jolted back to reality. One minute he was out, the next he was lucid. The young soldier was in rough shape though, he looked like a heavyweight boxer after fifteen rounds; his left eye was swollen shut, and his nose was broken.

  The both of them groaned as they came around, to find their big, black, bald, team leader grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  "So how are my two white brothers feelin'?"

  Smigelski coughed hard. "Like shit sarn't."

  "How 'bout you He-ro?"

  Cartright slowly wiped blood from his nose. "I'm okay I think."

  "Good. Dig your weapons out of this mess and get hot. We ain't out of this shit yet."

  As the two dazed soldiers started to dig themselves out, their fire team leader stood up and started popping off rounds and engaging targets just down the hill.

  "BACK UP! BACK UP! BACK UP!" Captain Powell was yelling into his CVC boom mike while he unlocked the .50 caliber.

  Jackson hit the brakes and everyone in the vehicle flew forward. The squad in the back of the M113 piled on top of each other in a big heap, Jackson hit his chin so hard it started to bleed, and Captain Powell was almost thrown out of the cupola. Jackson put the vehicle in reverse and gunned it. Powell was hanging on for dear life, but still oriented the M2 Heavy Barrel over the front deck of the track and pressed the butterfly trigger, slinging lead in the general direction of the enemy.

  The engineers in the back of the track tried to get back on their feet while the vehicle bounced backward down rough trail, at top speed, straining the vehicle's suspension. Captain Powell's nods fell off and he could see absolutely nothing except for the massive muzzle flash of the .50 caliber machinegun, and the bolts of plasma that screamed past his head.

  The engineer commander had just established that the Posleen had indeed overrun Charlie Company's position. Now all he had to do was live just long enough to report it over the radio. At the moment he wasn't all that sure he was going to be able to accomplish that simple task.

  "MANCHU SIX, THIS IS BULLDOG SIX! THERE IS AN UNDETERMINED NUMBER OF POSLEEN CURRENTLY OCCUPYING BP CHEROKEE!" A flechette ricocheted off the front slope armor and almost nailed him in the face. "THERE ARE HUNDREDS OF THEM PUSHING THROUGH THE HOLE IN THE LINE TIME NOW! OVER!"

  Jackson suddenly jammed on the brakes, the squad in back suffered from a chronic case of inertia and again piled on top of each other against the back ramp. Captain Powell's head snapped back with such force, his CVC came clear off. Jackson pivot steered the vehicle in position, and swung it around 180 degrees, put it in drive and punched it. A couple of sappers in the back untangled themselves, got back to their feet, put a couple of machineguns over the back deck and sprayed rounds at the enemy while the driver attempted to get them out of there as fast as he could manage.

  The Detroit Diesel screamed as they bounced down the trail. Mission accomplished.

  * * *

  Colonel Smith had pulled his vehicle back into a shallow ravine while he feverishly worked out his next move. He didn't have any time to waste, or else the battalion was lost. Things were starting to get hairy, and if he didn't come up with a plan fast, they were screwed.

  He had confirmed that 1st of the 503rd had been routed and was in full retreat; the right flank was wide open. He couldn't raise anyone from Brigade. The adjacent unit to his left had just told him that they were making preparations to pull back, on orders from the division commander.

  It was settled. He was going to retreat. He would try and reestablish contact with the other battalions within the brigade along the way, but until he could raise someone, anyone, on the radio, he was just going to have to do what he had to do to keep his men alive.

  His most immediate problem was how to fall back from his current positions, while still in contact with the enemy. With the Cherokees destroyed, Bravo Company was cut off from Team Dragon, and Team Demon. He had to get them linked up somehow. The scouts were out front, but every single route back to friendly lines was swarming with Posleen; they were stuck. Everyone else was okay, the battalion aid station, the combat trains, the unit maintenance collection point, and the mortars were close to secure routes and could bug out easily, as long as they started moving soon.

  The colonel relayed word back through the S-1 at the combat trains, to have the HHC commander start picking out battle positions back vicinity of the brigade support area, which was over thirty kilometers to their rear, and get guides ready to place surviving combat units into position. Once he got the battalion back there, assuming he could pull it off, the companies would have to occupy hasty positions immediately, in case the Posleen were in pursuit.

  It was bad. Things were going to shit.

  "Guidons, guidons, this is Manchu Six. Make preparation for withdrawal. Maddawg, you will fall back along 'Route Alder,' to 'Phase Line Hatchet,' then push north until you reach 'Route Willow' vicinity 'Check Point One One.' You will have focus of fires as you fight your way through Posleen formations in order to make link up. Bulldog, linkup with Maddawg at 'One One.' Demon, on order you will pull back along 'Route Willow' and link up with Maddawg at 'Check Point One One.' Dragon, on order you will fall back along 'Willow' also. You are the rear guard protecting the back door. Sabre, there are no clear routes for you. Leave your vehicles. Head out on foot. You need to E&E back to friendly lines. Manchu One, take the aid station, combat trains, the UMCP and the mortars back to the BSA, time now. Once you arrive, Havoc Six will take over from there. Once the companies have consolidated at 'Checkpoint One One,' we push along 'Route Willow' all the way back to the brigade support area vicinity grid AV 268835. Order of march Maddawg, Bulldog, Demon, then Dragon. We've got to make this fast guys, time is running out. All stations acknowledge, over."

  The company commanders sounded grim as they responded to their march orders. They were pulling out, quickly as possible in an orderly manner and the clock was ticking.

  * * *

  Sergeant Holmes fired the last round in his magazine, killing the last Posleen normal that was charging their hole. As he dropped the empty mag he noticed the sky to his left and right shimmering with green fireworks. It was green star clusters being fired into the air by several people all along the line, and it was almost pretty. It was also the signal for everyone in the company to fall back to their alternate positions.

  "Cartright, Ski, both you guys need to fall back to the alternate position. The signal just went up all along the line!"

  "Aren't you coming with us Sarn't?"

  "Not yet. I gotta go get Miller. That kid ain't too bright. If I don't police him up, he's bound to get left behind. Now both all y'all get movin'!"

  Sergeant Holmes leapt from the hole and raced down the hill toward his fighting position and Specialist Miller.

  "Come on Cartright, let's get the fuck outa here!"

  "Okay, I'm ready. Let's go." Cartright slowly got up and grabbed his SAW.

  The two of them pumped their legs furiously up hill toward the crest of the ridgeline. Their muscles felt weak as they made the move, their lungs burned after each breath, and their legs ached. All around them the ground was pummeled by enemy fire, motivating them to push harder and get to some cover. Once they reached their position, they hopped in, and oriented their weapons back down the hill and began immediately scanning for targets. They could barely aim their weapons while hearts pounded, chests heaved, and eyes watered from the acidic smoke that hung in the air.

  "Ski, I think my weapon is fucked up!" Cartright was wheezing as he gasped for air.

  Smigelski moved over to his battle buddy
and shined his red lens Maglite on the weapon. The SAW had taken a direct hit, and the receiver was bent inward and cracked. The bolt was jammed in place, and the machinegun was completely useless.

  "You think I should go back down the hill and look for another weapon?"

  "Negative. Sit tight man. We'll find another one for you later."

  The situation was total chaos. Posleen bodies lay everywhere, their blood soaking the ground. Vehicles burned in their positions, while the ammunition inside cooked off. Tracers criss-crossed the killing fields, and explosions rocked the valley.

  In the north, the armor company was firing madly down into EA Pistol at targets that were invisible to the naked eye. There were three machineguns on each M-1, and tank crews fired them simultaneously, raking the valley floor, as they desperately tried to beat back the steadily advancing Posleen formations.

  It looked as if organization were starting to break down as practically every surviving member of the company struggled to get up the hill, trying to put some distance between themselves and the enemy.

  A few Bradleys along the line maintained position in order to provide cover while the rest moved back. Their fire was inconsequential in the face of such overwhelming odds. The remaining vehicles climbed the steep grade at sprint speeds, the crews doing their best to get into better vantage points and rejoin the fight. The dismounted infantry could be seen everywhere, running under fire, some being cut down in mid stride. Others dragged wounded comrades and heavy equipment under a hail of fire. From behind the First Sergeant brought his track, the company mechanics, and the commander's Humvee over the crest of the hill, and used their crew-served weapons to try and lend some meager support to the move.

  "You see Sergeant Holmes or Miller down there anywhere?"

  Cartright tried to focus. It was practically impossible for him to tell who was who as individual infantryman and crews tried to fall back.

  "I can't tell Ski. There's people running around all over the place."

  "What a fucking mess! Where the fuck is the artillery? I haven't heard from them in a long while!"

  Just then somebody else jumped in the hole with them. Both soldiers were startled to see that it was an Indowy, and it was trying to communicate.

  "Do either of you need assistance?" It said.

  Cartright and Smigelski looked at each other dumbfounded.

  The creature had a weird, almost archaic accent, but neither of them had any problem understanding what the little Indowy had to say.

  "What are you doing here?" Smigelski asked.

  "There is no time for questions now. I am the leader of a small clan of my people. We have a small workshop hidden in the hills not far from here. We can repair or fabricate equipment and tools for you. If you don't need my help please tell me, so that I can move on to find others in your unit who might."

  Cartright stood silent for only just a moment. "Can you fix this?" He showed the smashed machinegun to the hairy little creature.

  "Yes. Is there anything else?" The Indowy gently took the SAW from Cartright.

  "No, I guess not."

  The Indowy leaped up to the edge of the fighting position, and strained a bit as he pulled himself out. He cradled the SAW in his arms as he ran back to two other Indowy pushing some sort of cart that hovered a few inches above the ground. The cart was loaded with broken weapons, night vision gear, radios, and other equipment. The three of them then quickly pushed the cart back over the crest of the ridgeline, and out of sight.

  "What the fuck was that all about?" Smigelski asked.

  "Fuck if I know. You got any empty magazines? I'll start de-linking some of my SAW ammo and reload for you. At least I can do something around here."

  0257 Hours May 19th, 2002

  Manchu Field Trains

  Brigade Support Area

  "Havoc Six, this is Manchu One. Manchu Six wants you to guide all elements into position back in your area once they arrive. He says that he hasn't had time to do terrain analysis, so you get to pick the battle positions for the surviving units, and firing points for the mortars, over."

  "Manchu One, Havoc Six, wilco, I'll do what I can. Just be advised, it's a big goat-screw back here. Roads and trails are jammed with vehicles trying to retreat, and it doesn't look like anyone in particular is in charge, over"

  "Roger, understand, I'll pass the word along, over"

  "Hooah, Havoc Six, out."

  Just as the Headquarters Company commander put his handmike down, the company XO walked into the Field Trains Command Post through a partially open tent flap.

  The Field Trains Command Post was one of three fully operational command posts within the battalion. It normally functioned as the primary support element for the battalion, pushing supplies forward, and taking requests for parts, personnel, and equipment to the brigade. It was the direct support link between its parent battalion, and the Brigade Support Area. It was also the command and control for the rest of the Field Trains which was made up of the battalion's Support Platoon, the Mess Section, a slice from the Headquarters Company Maintenance Team, representatives from the S-1 section, reps from the S-4 Section, and the supply sergeants from each of the rifle companies.

  Basically, the Field Trains was a hodge-podge of over a hundred support personnel, run by the HHC Commander, his XO, and the First Sergeant. It would typically take logistical requests from the TOC and give them to the brigade support elements, while delivering logistical packages forward to the company first sergeants at designated logistics rally points, or LRPs for short. The logistical packages, or logpacks, would be pushed forward on a small convoy of trucks under the leadership of the support platoon leader or his platoon sergeant. The logpack was the battalion's logistical lifeline.

  The Field Trains Command Post itself was not much more than a small tent attached to the back of an M577 armored command post vehicle with tracking charts, maps, overlays, radios, field tables, folding chairs, and a small pot-belly stove. The FTCP was the domain of the HHC training NCO, Sergeant DuBois, and his assistant Corporal Ahn.

  Sergeant DuBois was a portly NCO, with bad knees, a bald head, and a normally upbeat demeanor. He was an infantryman by trade, but had been stuck in the HHC training room for his bad knees, and his unfortunate ability to use a computer. He was always accompanied by his KATUSA assistant, Corporal Ahn. Ahn was a poor Korean rice farmer from the east coast before being drafted into the army. He had huge braces, liked to drink copious amounts of Soju, and enjoyed telling stories about his failed sexual exploits with young Korean college girls. The two of them spent hours playing video games on government computers, smoking cheap Korean cigarettes, processing paperwork, and pulling radio watch. An existence perfectly suited for the both of them.

  "Well XO, could you find out what the fuck is going on out there?" Captain Fontaine asked.

  Second Lieutenant William Pfeil placed his M4 Carbine on a field table and removed his Kevlar helmet. He was six-foot two, 200 pounds, blonde hair, blue eyes, and two eyebrows that almost touched each other. He had the look of a really dumb football player.

  During his enlisted days in the 10th Mountain Division, 2LT Pfeil had made a reputation for himself as one of the finest NCO's in his battalion, and was assigned to the reconnaissance platoon. While there he earned his Expert Infantryman's Badge, went to Airborne School, Pathfinder School, Ranger School, and was getting ready to go to Air Assault School before he left the Army and went to college. After four years of school and ROTC, he was commissioned a Second Lieutenant in Military Intelligence, and was sent to Fort Huachuca for his Officer Basic Course. Upon graduation he was sent to Korea and assigned as the assistant to the battalion intelligence officer, or S-2. It wasn't long before Pfeil established himself as a rock solid performer, with plenty of potential.

  When the vacancy for the HHC Executive Officer opened up the battalion commander hand picked him for the position. The HHC XO slot was easily the most demanding and difficult job that a lieutenan
t could tackle within a mechanized battalion, and Bill Pfeil was the obvious choice. The HHC Commander, Captain Rick Fontaine, was more than happy to have him, and in the following months proved to be a tremendous asset not only to the company, but the battalion overall.

  As talented and experienced as the HHC XO was, nothing had prepared him for what he saw when he went to the 2nd Forward Support Battalion's TOC.

  The 2nd FSB was the primary logistical unit that supported the brigade. They were responsible for maintenance of weapons, vehicles, and equipment. They were responsible for pushing water, fuel, parts, and rations to the maneuver battalions. And they were responsible for treating casualties received from the battalion aid stations. It was also the core element that composed the Brigade Support Area, which encompassed the 2nd FSB, the brigade S-1 and S-4 shops, and the field trains from each of the battalions within 2nd Brigade.

  The FSB commander was in charge of the Brigade Support Area, and he was responsible for ensuring that maintenance, re-supply, and casualty evacuation were occurring within the brigade. At the moment however, he wasn't in charge of anything.

  "Sir, you wouldn't believe what is going on over in Mustang X-Ray right now." Pfeil said.

  Captain Fontaine was nonplussed. "What? You mean above and beyond the absolute insanity that is taking place outside right now?" Fontaine was biting his fingernails again, just like he always did when he was getting really stressed out.

  "Colonel MacMillan was trying to prevent people from deserting their posts after word of the retreat got out. He was flagging down trucks loaded with FSB personnel on them, trying to get them to stop and return to their positions."

  "Well, I'm glad he was trying to do something, although it hasn't done any good. Those FSB pukes are still bailing out of here like rats from a sinking ship."