by Leigh Kimmel
"Yes sir. Most of the 506th survived, but their command and staff hasn't been heard from; we're assuming that they're dead. We've regained contact with their surviving companies and they report that they are in decent shape, but they have been bypassed and are well behind Posleen lines now. They are going to exfiltrate back to us, but they are pretty far forward and on foot. It could take them days to get back here. 503rd is in much worse shape. We've got communication on and off with one of their companies. They report that they've got most of their people, but they are in the same situation as the guys from 506th. They are on foot, behind enemy lines, and will take a long time to get linked up with us."
"Okay Rick, let me see if I got this straight. The division is in retreat. We've got no communication with higher headquarters. We've lost contact with the units on both of our flanks. Our sister battalions within the brigade are behind enemy lines and might catch up with us in a few days. My battalion is down to one-third of its strength, and the line is currently being held by mechanics and fuel handlers. Is that an accurate assessment?"
"Yes sir."
"Is it also a fair assessment to say that the enemy is hot on our heals and should be here soon?"
"Yes sir. In fact, I estimate that they should be here in just over an hour."
"Great. So give me one reason why I shouldn't order a general evacuation and get every surviving unit within radio range to start falling back until we regain contact with someone, anyone else, with some combat power left?"
"Well sir, our support personnel have established fairly decent positions and we've got some good leaders out there in charge. Plus, we've had some unexpected help in our defensive preparations."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, there are hundreds, maybe thousands of Indowy running around all over the place. They have been digging holes, and helping to prepare fighting positions and obstacles everywhere. It's unbelievable."
Just as the colonel was about to respond Captain Murphy walked in the tent with a furry little Indowy in tow.
"Manchus sir, I've got my guys heading toward the refuelers and the cargo trucks loaded with ammo. We should be ready to roll within the next half hour. What are your orders?" Murphy asked.
Colonel Smith gestured toward the map on the wall and addressed his senior surviving maneuver commander. "Steve, I need you to take your people and place them..."
"Sir, there is no time for this." Captain Fontaine interrupted his battalion commander in mid sentence. "You are the ranking commander on the ground within the brigade right now. You need to take command of all the battalions and try to get communication reestablished with Division. If you don't, the brigade will fall apart in no time."
There was a pregnant pause within the tent. The only sounds were of Corporal Ahn talking on the radio, and hissing sound of Sergeant DuBois heating instant coffee on a propane stove.
Colonel Smith's guts churned inside of him. He had to take command of the brigade, Fontaine was definitely right about that. It sickened him to think that he would have to give up command of his Manchus though, not at a time like this, not when they needed him most. As much as it hurt, there really wasn't any decision to make, the only correct thing to do was give his beloved battalion to the next in the chain of command.
"Okay. You're right Rick. Are there facilities available here for me to regain command and control of the brigade?"
"Yes sir. The FSB TOC has communications gear and all the other facilities you need."
"Alright then, I'll go up there and try to get things under control. Rick I'm placing you in command of the battalion. Don't let me down... Manchu Six."
Sergeant DuBois handed the colonel a hot canteen cup full of instant coffee. The colonel took a careful sip before he spoke.
"I should have asked you for a 'To Go' cup. I need to get out of here and get to work. You don't have a set of wheels for me do you Rick? I seem to be short a Humvee at the moment."
"No problem sir, you can have my truck. It's parked just outside, I don't have a driver for you though." It dawned on Fontaine that the colonel's Humvee and driver were at the TOC when it was overrun by Posleen. He didn't want to think of what had probably happened to Corporal Shin.
"No big deal. What else needs to be discussed before I take off?" Colonel Smith started putting his helmet back on.
"Sir, before you leave I think that you need to hear this. It's a pretty interesting development that may be pretty helpful." Steve said as he pulled a pack of Marlboro Lights out of a ziplock bag and lit one.
"Let's just make it quick Steve, I need to go." The colonel took another sip of the hot coffee. The stuff tasted better than any other coffee he had drunk in his entire life. It seemed to give him renewed strength.
"Roger sir."
The little Indowy that had followed Captain Murphy into the tent, stepped forward and wasted no time addressing the new brigade commander.
"Colonel Smith, my name is Aelool, and I am the leader of my clan."
The colonel was taken aback by the small creature and its ability to speak English. It spoke well, but with an accent that seemed "old" to him.
"Before this great battle I was a 'dishon mentat,' a simple tech among my people, and had no particular leadership role. Now I have the great burden of taking charge and caring for my people. I am here today because I feel that it is in the best interests of my race to assist you in any way that we can. We are at your disposal, to help you in any way possible." Aelool wanted to tell the colonel that he was a member of the Bane Sidhe, and to explain the relevance of the organization to which he belonged, but decided there was not enough time for that. If they all survived to see the sun rise again, he could make that known, when the situation was more appropriate. He then continued with his story. "When the senior members of my clan were killed, the responsibility of leadership fell upon me and I took that opportunity to begin aiding your soldiers during the fight."
"That makes sense to me, we're all in the same boat. So it is you that is responsible for the assistance we have been receiving from all of the Indowy in the area?"
"Partly. There are fewer than fifty members left in my clan, so I went and talked to another more powerful clan leader in the area and convinced him that it would behoove him to lend help to you and your soldiers."
"I see. So how willing were they to come to our aid?"
"Not very Colonel. My people are afraid of you and your soldiers. But I convinced the other clan leader that his fate, and the fate of his people are intertwined with yours. Only if you prevail will we survive. He seemed to accept that and begrudgingly offered his support."
"Well Aelool, I'm glad to have the help. If you'd like, you can come with me and help me as a liason with your people. We can better coordinate our efforts that way. You can also better explain to me how you can best assist us during the fight."
The Indowy bowed slightly to the colonel. "It would be my pleasure Colonel."
"Well alright then. Why don't we head up to the TOC and get to work."
Colonel Smith turned to face Captain Fontaine and Captain Murphy. "Okay guys, let's get this thing rolling. Stay on the radio and get me SITREPs on our hasty defensive prep. With any luck we'll live to be old men and tell our grandkids about this."
0614 Hours May 19th, 2002
Phase Line "Razor"
Carl gently leaned the heavy five-gallon "Jerry Can" forward until water flowed out into his canteen. He had to hold it steady so that he wouldn't spill water all over the place. After filling both of his canteens, he screwed the cap on the plastic water container, and put it into its bracket on the back of the Humvee. When he came around to the front of the vehicle he tossed the canteens onto his seat and lit a cigarette. He shivered a little in the early morning chill.
Lieutenant Andersen was working hard in the truck, trying to figure out a plan to get the scouts back to friendly lines. While he did that, PFC Moulton scanned the horizon occasionally with their only set of binocula
rs.
"Hey Myers, you're the only white dude I ever saw smoking Kools."
Carl was hardly in the mood for their morning ritual of giving each other shit. "They're Newports, not Kools you retard." Myers retorted.
"Whatever." As usual, Moulton had a witty reply.
"LT, you want me to try and raise somebody from Battalion again?" Carl asked.
Lieutenant Andersen didn't even look up from his map to answer. "No, don't bother. They are well out of range by now. We could barely understand their broken transmissions an hour ago."
"So what are we going to do? The whole scout platoon is stuck out here." Carl took a deep drag from his menthol and looked out at the rolling hills in the distance. Morning fog filled the low areas, and made it difficult to see.
"Like the colonel said, we're going to have to E&E our way back to friendly lines."
E&E stood for "Escape and Evasion." It was the standard Army vernacular for sneaking around in the woods in small teams, with few weapons, while a better armed and numerically superior enemy hunted you down. If you were lucky, or skilled, or both, you would make it back to your lines where hot chow and a hero's welcome awaited you. If you weren't so lucky, you would end up eating fish heads and rice in a bamboo cage. Of course, since the Posleen tended to eat their enemies instead of incarcerating them, the latter outcome was quite unsatisfactory.
"When do we go?" Carl thought about the half-filled water can, and the last case of MREs on board the vehicle. They had to be moving out soon, they just didn't have the food and water to hang out on their happy little rock outcropping for long.
"We move tonight. Everybody gets some sleep today, then after the sun goes down, we move under the cover of darkness on foot. We can't move through the valleys or the low areas, 'cause that's where the Posties are, so we're going to have to stay up high, in the rocky shit, where they won't be."
"LT, don't we have to move something like forty kilometers on foot?"
"Yeah, at least that far. It's going to take a long time to move that far through the hills, especially humping rucks and weapons. It'll take us a couple of days minimum."
He looked down at the ground next to his door and saw a growing pile of cigarette butts. They had been accumulating nicely.
"This is going to be a suck-fest. How are you planning to brief the platoon?"
"I'll have to give an oral operations order over the radio. I'll be sending it here pretty soon so that everyone has enough time to start getting their shit ready for the long walk." Andersen put the map down, and pulled a can of dip out of his pocket.
"What kind of equipment are we going to bring with us?"
"Personal weapons, ammo, radios, batteries, some snivel gear, and all the food and water that we can carry. We leave the rest of it."
"What about the stuff we leave? Are we going to blow it in place?"
"No. We have survived this long by not compromising our positions. If we blow this shit, we will draw unwanted attention to ourselves." Andersen stuffed a small pinch of dip in his lower lip. "We'll just abandon it, and sneak off into the night. Not very sexy, but probably the best course of action."
Carl shivered some more. He decided to go grab the poncho liner from his rucksack. It was going to be a few more hours before it started to get warm again.
0616 Hours May 19th, 2002
Phase Line "Katana"
Cartright rocked back and forth in the back of the Bradley as it covered rough, broken terrain. The blue-filtered lights were on in the back and they cast just enough light so that he could see everyone else jammed in the belly of the iron beast. As they rocked and swayed, he became more and more conscious of how nauseous he was getting. If they didn't stop soon, he was going blow chunks all over his buddies.
Smigelski sat next to him, asleep, his head rolling from side to side under the weight of the heavy Kevlar helmet. On the other side was Miller, who was also sleeping, his head occasionally rolling over and resting on Cartright's shoulder. Sitting on the opposite bench was Davis, Montavor, and Sergeant Holmes. Sergeant Holmes was wearing a CVC and was communicating over the intercom with the platoon sergeant. It was extremely loud inside of the vehicle while it was moving, and he couldn't hear a word of what Sergeant Holmes was saying.
Davis and Montavor were from Alpha Team, and were the only two other surviving members of the squad. The squad leader, Staff Sergeant Jessup, had been killed along with the Alpha Team leader and his SAW gunner. That left six guys left in the squad, with Sergeant Holmes in charge. Six guys in a squad wasn't a lot, but they had faired better than most compared to the other squads in the battalion.
After the company arrived back in the BSA, the column came to a halt, and the drivers shut down their engines and dropped their ramps.
The CO gave some quick instructions to the first sergeant before he left to go talk to the battalion commander. Everyone took that opportunity to un-ass the vehicles, stretch legs, and light up cigarettes. It became readily apparent to Cartright that they weren't stopping for rest and recuperation. The job wasn't finished yet.
First Sergeant Taylor started giving out orders to the NCOs in the company and actually had everyone form up in company formation! The only ones that didn't fall in were the medics; they continued to load wounded onto their track, and shuttle them over to the FSB medical company which was only a few hundred meters away.
"FALL IN!" The first sergeant barked.
The dismount squads wearily shuffled over and the track crews hopped down off of their vehicles, and took their places in each of the platoons.
The Indowy that had arrived with them milled around and watched the spectacle. They weren't quite sure what to make of the whole thing. It seemed like some sort of primitive ritual that they couldn't understand taking place right before their very eyes. It seemed pointless and a waste of time. Nonetheless, the whole thing aroused their curiosity, and they watched in utter silence.
The formation was reminiscent of the countless others that had preceeded it, except that it was noticeably smaller. Corporal Kim came running up to the front of the company with the guidon in hand, while the unit mascot, a skinny in-bred mutt named "Coax," sniffed around, looking for a good place to pee.
The first sergeant took that opportunity to get a good count on his personnel, and to reorganize the chain of command. He called the NCOs forward while the enlisted men stood at the position of "At Ease."
The NCOs received a quick briefing from Top in a small huddle, and came jogging back to their platoons, falling back into formation.
Once everyone had resumed their positions, First Sergeant Taylor stood there in front of the guidon bearer for just a minute as he looked at the assembled group. Their faces had the look of the walking dead. They were pale, expressionless, and cold.
"Company!"
The platoon sergeants snapped to the position of "Attention" before echoing the command.
"Platoon!"
"Atten-shun! Platoon Sergeants take charge!"
The platoon sergeants saluted, faced about, and immediately started issuing orders. Cartright's platoon sergeant, Sergeant First Class Hernandez, addressed the eighteen remaining members of the platoon that stood in front of him.
"At ease! Okay check it out. This fight ain't over yet. Top says that the Posties will be here soon. We gotta go get refueled, get more ammo, and follow the CO up to our new positions. He says that the positions have already been picked out for us so all we have to do is occupy 'em. After this, all remaining wounded are to be placed over next to the FTCP so the medics can come back and police them up. He also said that all the support platoon personnel are up on the line right now, so when we get to the refuelers it's 'self serve.' Any questions?"
"Hey Sarn't, is it too late to cancel my appointment with the re-enlistment NCO?"
The platoon sergeant ignored the one smart-ass in the formation.
"Okay then, let's hustle. Fall out!"
The platoon scattered immediately.
The wounded were carefully moved over next to the field trains command post, while squads reorganized, and reloaded tracks. Surprisingly, the Indowy also reloaded the vehicles with the members of Delta Company. They made it quite clear that they were part of the company now, and that they were going back into battle with them. Nobody argued with them.
As Cartright loaded into the back of his platoon sergeant's track, the small Indowy that had been helping their squad scampered up the ramp, and squeezed into the back of the overfull Bradley. In his arms was a seemingly new SAW, and he handed it to Cartright.
"What's this?"
"It is your weapon, and it is repaired." The Indowy replied.
Cartright studied the weapon and was in awe. The serial number was the same as his weapon, but that is where the similarity ended. The receiver had been repaired, and other changes had been made to the small machinegun. The butt-stock had been replaced with a skeletonized version, with a cheekrest that perfectly fit his face. The iron sights had a glowing material added to them, similar to tritium, making them visible under low light conditions. On top of the feed tray cover a three-power scope had been added, which amplified ambient light, making it useful in the dark also. The pistol grip fit his hand better than it had before, and the bipod was sturdier. The barrel was fluted, which enabled it to radiate heat faster, and the overall weapon felt lighter. The weapon had been completely rebuilt, and customized for him.
"What the hell did you do to this thing?" Cartright asked.
The Indowy seemed puzzled by the question. "It has been repaired in one of our workshops. Is it not to your satisfaction?"
"Yeah, it is to my satisfaction. This thing is fuckin' great. Where did you say you brought this thing? I haven't seen any workshops around here."