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She remained silent, unsure of how to respond to that.
Ford leaned nearer, until his nose was nearly touching her own. It brought memories of that same gesture back on Attaya, while she had been standing in the base graveyard.
“Your people depend on you to lead them,” he told her. “To make the difficult decisions. Sometimes, those decisions will get them killed, and they know that. If they still follow you into combat, and follow your orders the way they did today, that speaks volumes of how much faith they have in you.”
Stunned into silence, Minerva could only listen, her breath caught in her chest.
“Don’t be so damn hard on yourself, Carreno,” Ford said gravely. “I’d follow you into battle any day of the week.”
He stood, and walked away after that, not giving her an opportunity to reply, or to debate his words. They sank in, and they had meaning.
Minerva wept again in her lover’s arms, her body wracked by her sobs, but this time the tears were cleansing. Her heart was light from the guilt that had been weighing it down. For that kind of man to say such things to her, she knew without a doubt that she was doing what was expected, no matter how much it may hurt.
While she and Mark hugged, the GNN reporter was discreetly transmitting.
The entire Allied frontier shared her pain.
11:00 PM
Ford was leaning back against the base of an elm tree, lightly dozing with a belly full of field rations, and the burned-out stub of a cigar jutting from the corner of his mouth. His eyes opened at the approach of soft footfalls, and one hand instinctively slid over to the grip of the rifle that rested in his lap.
He relaxed, seeing that it was one of the sentries. The marine knelt down, squinting in the darkness to see if Ford were awake.
“Sergeant Major?” The kid whispered.
“Yeah?”
“You’re wanted at the CP. The colonel sent a Jeep for you.”
With a sigh, Ford reached out for his helmet, grasped his weapon, and stood on aching feet. Every muscle was stiff and sore, it seemed. The walk to the Jeep took forever, but it at least allowed time for his legs and back to limber up some. The night was pleasantly cool after the heat of the day, and the stench from the burning tanks and bodies within had been drifting the other direction, over the Storian side of the field.
Reaching the Jeep, he sat heavily in the passenger seat, and the driver cranked it up, using the night-vision of his helmet visor to drive without headlights. Passing back through the residential district, Ford noticed that the Army had been busy collecting the slain civilians, and giving them proper burials in a nearby park. It was pleasing to see that there was a cohesion between the different branches of service, without the historic bullshit of tension between them. Each branch seemed to be operating as best as they were able, cooperating with one another where needed. It was only the politics that ran among the Brass that was bogging things down.
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Arriving at the police station in town, Ford entered the Command Post area that was manned by at least thirty guards, with four 60-watt MG’s spaced along the sandbag fortress that had been constructed around the building. A black drape hung over the front doors to hide the light within, cast by dozens of plasma lamps in lieu of the absent electricity.
The main office was filled to the seams with armor-clad Attayans, all standing idly by against the far wall while a gaggle of officers huddled around a central table, muttering over the maps there. Correctly assuming that was where he was wanted, Ford approached them.
Attayan Colonel Lafferty noticed his arrival, and stepped over to meet him partway, bringing another with him.
“Sergeant Major Ford, this is Captain Sunwa, of the Attayan Elite Forces, Second Light Infantry Brigade.”
Before Ford could complete his salute, Sunwa extended a hand for him to shake, “Your reputation precedes you, Sergeant Major.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Ford replied, somewhat at a loss, wondering just what reputation the man was referring to.
“This special operations group has flown in to assist your battalion,” Lafferty explained in his heavy accent that so sounded like an Irishman’s. “They’ll be taking out this pesky unit of Storians that have dug in outside of town. We just need your companies to maintain security on the line while they do their work.”
“I expect to be finished before dawn,” Sunwa stated with more than a hint of pride. “It’s imperative to mop this thing up before the Canadians arrive.”
Ford frowned, looking back to Lafferty, “Canadians?”
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Lafferty grinned, exposing his sharp fangs, “Colonel Strasburg has gone around the red tape, and requested an air strike on the armored column that’s rolling in from Youngstown. It’s been covertly scheduled for oh-five-hundred.”
“How’s he plan to explain that to General Towers?”
Lafferty shrugged, grinning slyly, “The European forces operate under their own charter. They seem to have spotted a juicy enemy target, and have chosen to eliminate it.”
It was Ford’s turn to grin, “I like how you stink, Colonel.”
The Attayans laughed heartily, an act that Ford could not remember doing himself for what seemed a long time.
“Inform your unit,” Lafferty told him, “and sit back to enjoy the show.”
Ford saluted, knowing a cue to leave when he heard one. As he stepped back outside to the waiting Jeep, he wondered just what kind of show to expect.
1:00 AM
The Attayans arrived in a pair of deuce-and-a-halfs, and dismounted with a unique flare that none of the marines had seen among their own. The elite group carried themselves with an air of discipline, and confidence that was unrivaled, forming up in total silence without their NCO’s ever having to voice an order.
As they marched quietly toward the line, Ford stood nearby, watching with acute interest. He had noticed that not one of them
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carried a weapon. He reached out and stopped Captain Sunwa as he was passing by.
“Where are your rifles?”
Sunwa smiled, drawing a wicked combat knife, and showing Ford it’s coated, non-reflective blade, “We prefer weapons that produce much less of a bang.”
Ford gawked, “You mean to tell me that every one of you are going out there with the intention of knifing them all?”
Sunwa’s smile faded, “You truly do not wish to know what we plan to do out there.”
The sergeant major let out a breath, “Ooo-Rah, Captain.”
“Oooh-Rah.”
Ford stood there, watching them disappear into the night, melting within the darkness like specters of death. For the first time in his life, he actually sort of felt sorry for those Storians. Then, remembering the way they had massacred the civilians of Hubbard, decided that those bastards probably deserved what was coming to them.
4:40 AM
Refreshed after a few hours of fitful slumber, Minerva was back among her company, manning the stone wall that marked the new front line. She stared out into the darkness that was only faintly beginning to take on the subtle hint of dawn. They had all been gazing out into that darkness for hours, and even with night-vision,
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had seen not a single movement, nor heard a sound.
Finally, shapes began to coalesce from the void. Skulking, armored shapes that were fellow troopers. The Attayans were returning as silently as they had gone, and regrouping wordlessly on the friendly side of the wall. There was not an injury among them. The spec-ops teams formed up, and began marching back toward town.
Ford waited next to the tent that was the forward-most garrison, and nodded a greeting to Captain Sunwa as he approached.
“It is done,” Sunwa stated matter-of-factly.
“You killed them all? Without so much as a sound? How’d you do it?”
Sunwa shrugged noncommittally, “You’ll find the area secured when you move forward after the air strike.”
&
nbsp; “I’m glad you’re on our side,” Ford told him, only half joking.
The captain chuckled, and rejoined his unit, walking away. Ford wondered if they would be crossing paths again, and just as quickly knew that would likely be the case. The campaign was merely getting started.
A sergeant came jogging up right then, somewhat breathless, “Sergeant Major! Our patrols report Storian armor rolling up the interstate, about ten miles out!”
Ford nodded casually. He was privy to the intel regarding the Canadians, and had chosen not to voice it to anyone, including his closest cadre. Best to keep that sort of business to one’s self in case the Brass ever came sniffing around.
“I know. Return to the line, Sergeant.”
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Openly astounded at Ford’s aloofness, the marine did as he was told, glancing back as if to make sure he had been heard correctly.
Ford wandered back to the stone wall, stepped over it, and stood there watching dawn break over the horizon. It was really quite beautiful, the way the colors slowly meshed together from shades of blue and violet to oranges and reds. The distinct sound of heavy engines wafted in and out of hearing as the tank column drew ever nearer. While his battalion stiffened, and braced themselves for an attack, he took out a fresh cigar and lit it.
“What the hell?” Minerva whispered to Amell, who was squatted next to her, machine gun at the ready.
“It’s like he doesn’t even care!” Amell whispered back.
The tanks were just coming into view as the sky melted from red to a soft yellow, the sun nearly ready to break over the horizon. It was a lumbering vision of dread miles long, enough tanks to drive the entire division back to the beachhead.
Then, ever so faintly, another sound drew to the fore. It was the drone of a plane, way up high. The girls, along with many other marines, shifted their gaze skyward. There it was, the form of a Hellfire platform. A C-130 Galaxy gunship that had enough firepower to bring an advancing army to its knees.
It banked slightly, then released an incredible stream of plasma bolts, the huge, fat 200-watt variety that only cannons could fire. These came in an endless barrage that thundered across the plain as they pounded the column, throwing great gouts of fire and secondary explosions. Flame and smoke began to swirl outward, igniting a large portion of the countryside around the highway.
The C-130 passed, disappearing into the glare of the sun that was blooming over the edge of the world. Next came the roar of
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jets, coming in low, and fast. Two fighter-shuttles streaked overhead, their after-burners shaking the ground as they strafed the Storian armored column moments before dropping a path of napalm.
None of the young marines had yet to see a napalm burst, and all were shocked beyond words at how the clapping explosions of liquid fire seemed to consume the very air, setting everything ablaze.
The GNN cameramen happened to be filming from such an angle as to catch Sergeant Major Ford standing there, upright and silhouetted against the hell storm. They also caught the same images of Minerva, then Amell, and one marine after another standing up the same way.
That image was transmitted to receivers throughout the world, the Allied system, to both friend and foe. The image of hope. That no matter how desperate, or tragic the war may become…
…The Mighty First was coming….
Conclusion of Episode 1
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Follow the on-going struggle of Minerva, and the 1st Global Marine Division in the next installment--- The Mighty First, Episode 2, The Children’s War
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Works by this author:
--- The Mighty First, Episode 1
--- The Mighty First, Episode 2, The Children’s War
--- The Mighty First, Episode 3, Sorrow of Enon Pass ( Coming spring of 2015 )
--- A Room Full of Smoke
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Join the forums and fan pages, be a part of the fun! Casting calls for reader guest roles are offered when a new episode is under production. Drop your name in the hat to have a character named after you!
--- The Mighty First, Episode 1 on Facebook, the official fan page for casting calls.
--- The Mark Bordner Book Forum at Mark Bordner on Facebook for casual interaction with other members, the author, numerous sci-fi guest authors, and occasional celebrity drop-ins!
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THE MIGHTY FIRST SERIES
© 2015 All Rights Reserved
Under consideration for a Paramount major motion picture
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