Strike Force Red

by C T Glatte

  MaryAnn nodded. “Yes, fine. That first blast startled me, but I feel like I’m in the best of hands.”

  Rodrigues smiled and looked to Captain Willis who was leaning over the navigator table. “He’s the finest sub captain in the fleet, ma’am. No doubt.”

  Before she could respond Burnett raised his voice, “Clear all the way to the surface, Captain.”

  He gave a curt nod, “Bring us to periscope depth.”

  “Aye.” The submarine tilted up and soon leveled out. “Periscope depth, Captain.”

  “Up periscope.” Henley scurried to the other side with his pencil and notebook ready. Willis first spun the periscope around 180 degrees and whistled. “The carrier’s a few hundred yards off our stern. She’s burning. We hurt her bad, boys.” He didn’t wait for the cheering to subside but spun back 180 degrees and found the dark shape of the cruiser. “Target, Mark.”

  Henleyt immediately read off the numbers and the navigator read them back. Soon after the navigator instructed the suggested course and Captain Willis ordered the move.

  “Ready to fire on your command, Captain.”

  Before he’d finished speaking, Willis barked, “Fire.”

  The gunner mashed the red button, “Fire one, fire two. Good tracks, sir,” the Mark 18 torpedoes were activated and doing what they were supposed to do, streaking toward the enemy cruiser at 29 knots, taking their course from the Torpedo Data Computer.

  Henley was concentrating on his stopwatch. Willis didn’t wait for confirmation but called out a new course, one which would put them parallel with the aircraft carrier. “Five seconds to impact…Impact.” There was a rumble, followed closely with another.

  Captain Willis had kept the periscope directed at the cruiser while the submarine changed course. He could just make out the white streaks of churned-up ocean put off by the Mark 18s. He knew before Henley completed the countdown that he’d score hits. “Hot damn!” He exclaimed. “Direct hits.”

  Seconds later, Burnett put the headphones back over his ears and listened intently then reported. “I hear sounds of flooding and rending metal. She’s going down.”

  A great chorus of cheers went up. They’d finally struck back at a ship whose sole purpose was to kill them. The hunted had become the hunter.

  Captain Willis let them rejoice but for only a couple of seconds. “All right men, we still have a carrier to sink.” The men settled back into their routines instantly.

  “Course steady, Captain.”

  “Ready gun crews. Bring us up, Suman.”

  Once surfaced, men streamed from portholes and scattered to the two machine guns and the one 3” deck gun. Three men manned the big gun and worked to load it while cranking it toward the looming shape of the aircraft carrier. Lieutenant Rodrigues was in charge of the crew and kept them focused, urging them to move faster.

  The diesel engines engaged and they could feel the propulsion on the deck. They were slightly behind and off the starboard stern of the carrier, which was on fire and smoking heavily. Even in the darkness they could see Russian sailors backlit by the flames, darting this way and that, spraying water onto the conflagration. Gunner’s Mate Smoky Smith manning the dual .50 caliber machine gun, had his muzzles aimed at the scurrying enemy sailors, ready to open fire.

  The 3” gun was also ready and aimed at the waterline just forward of the stern, in hopes of damaging the massive ship’s screws. Rodrigues was about to give the order, when tracer fire lanced from the carrier erupting all around the Sea Serpent. “We’ve been spotted. Open fire!”

  The twin .50s opened up sending huge spouts of flame from their muzzles and launching tennis ball sized tracers into the Russian sailors on deck. Smith leaned into the harness and deftly shifted fire back and forth. The 3” gun fired and the shell transited the short distance in less than a second and there was a muted explosion. The crew worked the gun and within five-seconds another shot rang out and exploded in the same spot.

  The Russian gunners found the range and their 20mm cannons swept the Sea Serpent’s deck, sending up chunks of metal and sparking like a fireworks show. Lieutenant Rodrigues slumped over and clutched his gut, pulling a bloody hand away. He sat down and when the loader noticed him down, yelled, “You hit?”

  Rodrigues shook his head, “Keep firing, keep firing.” He yelled toward the fifty caliber, “target that gun,” but they couldn’t hear him through all the noise, so he clutched a nearby sailor who was keeping the gun’s ammo supply healthy, “Tell them to target the Russian gun.” He pushed him away and noticed the swath of blood his hand left on the sailor’s shoulder. The sailor gave him a worried look but did his bidding. More 20mm fire swept the sub near the water-line and Rodrigues hoped the metal held.

  The twin fifty shifted fire to the winking gun embedded just beneath the deck of the aircraft carrier. For an instant there were crisscrossing trails of tracer fire. The Russian shifted his fire toward the immediate threat and Rodrigues watched helplessly as they found their mark and the loader and gunner were literally torn apart. The second fifty had them zeroed and sent a hail of bullets into the Russian gun crew, silencing it.

  The 3” gun fired three more times, scoring hits each time. More Russian gunners were waking to the threat of the surfaced submarine and soon probing fire rained down.

  A klaxon blared and the men immediately moved to secure the guns to submerge. They worked as fast as possible in the darkness. They sprinted away toward the hatches even as the sub started to angle down. Rodrigues pushed himself onto his feet and the pain that wracked his body nearly made him pass out. Seaman Conway was at the hatch and saw his officer struggling. He leaped out, even as water lapped into the hatch. He ran the few feet to Rodrigues. He pulled Rodrigues to the hatch and pushed him through, then jumped in himself and latched and bolted it in place, taking a mouthful of sea water in the process.

  He slid down the short ladder and yelled, “Rodrigues is hit. Doc, doc!” Rodrigues was on his back, and looked to be passed out. His eyes were shut and Conway wondered if he’d hit his head when he pushed him through. Then he saw the growing mass of blood near his belly and knew the fall was the least of the officer’s worries. He ripped open his shirt and reared back when he saw the extent of the damage. Glistening internal body parts mixed with seeping blood and what looked like a jagged piece of metal made him nearly gag. He overcame his revulsion and reached down to remove the metal when Pharmacy Mate Logan slapped his hand away.

  “Wait. Don’t touch that. Might be the only thing keeping him from bleeding to death.” Logan yelled, “We need a stretcher,” but it was already being unfolded and laid out. “Get him on there and back to sick bay, quick.”

  The stretcher bearers didn’t need coaxing, they lifted him by the armpits and boots and placed him onto the stretcher and were weaving through the tight confines and gone in seconds.

  The Klaxon bell was still blaring and Conway picked himself up and wiped his bloody hands on his coveralls and took position at the navigator’s station.

  Twenty

  Jimmy and Hank stayed beneath the dead Russian soldiers for an hour. The sounds of fighting never abated, but they could tell the main battle was raging along the main defense line and not on the ridge any longer. Jimmy whispered, “I’m gonna take a peek.” Hank tensed but didn’t otherwise respond.

  Jimmy turned his body until he was facing upright then gingerly pushed up on the stiff body. Jimmy’s helmet pressed hard against the top of his head but he was glad there was a barrier between his head and the rotting soldier. He was facing downhill and when he’d pushed as far as he dared, he scanned the area. It was broad daylight, the middle of the day. The slope was completely changed, covered in bodies and body parts. The Russians had succeeded but they’d paid a heavy price for the ridge. He could see the road leading from the woods, it was still alive with enemy T34s and armored troop carriers. They weaved between burned out husks and scorched bodies. Jimmy wished he had some way of calling in an artil
lery strike but shook his head doubting if there was any friendly artillery left to call.

  He shifted and slowly turned to gaze up the hill. So far all he’d seen was dead bodies. There was no movement up the hill either, so he took a deep breath and propelled the dead Russian off, letting him roll away. He tried not to notice the blank eyes staring at him, but he couldn’t help staring back. He briefly wondered about the man’s family, but didn’t allow the thought to fully form. He whispered to Hank, “I don’t see anyone. Lets move.”

  Hank grunted and pushed his dead Russian off. He took in the scene, searching for danger, then licked his lips and asked, “Where to?”

  Jimmy pointed to the left. “Lets get into the gully. It’s good cover and we can move up to the saddle and see what’s going on.” Hank nodded and checked his M1.

  Jimmy grabbed his hand and shook his head. “Lets leave these and use the Russian machine guns. There’s plenty to choose from and plenty of ammo.”

  Hank was unconvinced. “I like my M1, I know it.”

  Jimmy shrugged, “If we have to shoot it out, you don’t want to be firing the M1. They’ll be able to pinpoint us. These might confuse ‘em,” he pointed to the PPSH-41.

  Hank nodded, agreeing with the logic. He reached out of the hole and pulled the machine gun held by the stiff hand of the dead Russian. He had to give it a good tug before he finally broke the grip. He looked the weapon over. He’d shot one the day before from the OP. The big drum magazine made it look bulky and unwieldy. He pulled back the side bolt, and could see a golden round in the breach. He pushed the bolt forward and noticed a notch and a metal tab. He whispered, “this must be the safety.” He pushed the tab and it slid into place but he didn’t dare test the trigger. He figured out how to release the drum, it felt heavy and full of bullets. He wanted to check inside but thought better of it. “How many rounds does it carry?”

  Jimmy Shrugged, “don’t know, but it seems like a lot.” He reached into the pack on the Russian’s back and pulled out three more loaded drum magazines and two block magazines. He found a nearby PPSH-41 and pulled it into the hole. He ejected the drum magazine and pushed the block mag into place. It clicked in perfectly. He whispered, “Interchangeable. These are easier to carry I think.”

  Hank nodded, “But less ammo?”

  “Probably, but we hopefully won’t need any at all if we’re careful.”

  Hank loaded his pack with more drums and blocks. “Okay, lets get outta here.”

  It was midday, and overcast. Once out of the holes they felt exposed. If they were seen they wouldn’t last long. They maneuvered around the dead bodies, avoiding their dead eyes. Their blood was congealed and their bodies stiff. Flies buzzed and Jimmy was thankful it wasn’t the height of summer, or the smell would’ve been intolerable. They stayed on their bellies, pulling themselves a few feet, surveying the area then moving again. They didn’t see anyone, but could still hear the constant gunfire and rocking explosions of battle.

  Finally they moved into the cover of the gully. All the trees were cut off a few feet above the ground, victims of multiple artillery and mortar strikes. It looked completely different from the last time they’d been there only a few short hours before. There were a few dead Russian soldiers scattered throughout the gully but not nearly the concentration as on the main slope.

  Despite moving slowly, they were both out of breath. Thinking a Russian soldier would come over the crest at any moment, was exhausting. They both pulled their canteens off their belts and took long drinks. Jimmy finished his. “Damn, I could use another drink. None of these Russians have any damned water.”

  Hank screwed the lid back on his canteen. “Hmm, hadn’t noticed, but you’re right. Maybe keep ‘em lighter for the uphill attack?”

  Jimmy shrugged, “I guess so. Seems strange though.” He noticed a body wearing a more familiar uniform. He gestured and whispered, “A GI.” Hank finished attaching his quarter full canteen to his belt and watched Jimmy scurry and crouch beside the American, checking his vitals. He shook his head and whispered, “Didn’t make it.” He reached for the canteen, but when he was inches away he stopped as if frozen. Finally he balled his hand into a fist and pulled it back to his side. He shook his head and moved back to Hank’s side. Hank raised a questioning eyebrow and Jimmy said, “Just doesn’t seem right somehow.”

  Hank slapped his shoulder, pulled his canteen off and held it out. “Have a slug of mine.”

  Jimmy shook his head, “Nah, it’s alright. I’ll find some along the way.”

  They both went to their bellies when they heard Russian voices. They sounded like they were on the ridge, not too close. Jimmy slowly raised his head until just one eye was above the lip. He saw five Russians strolling along the top of the ridge, surveying the destruction of tanks and men along the downward slope. He couldn’t see ranks from this distance, but he could tell at least three of them were probably officers by the way they walked and held their hands behind their backs as if inspecting troops.

  Jimmy slipped back into cover and whispered to Hank, “Five of ‘em along the top of the ridge.” Hank clutched the submachine gun to his chest and nodded. Suddenly a flight of Russian fighters flashed over the ridge so close Jimmy could see their goggled faces. Neither man moved and soon the deafening roar subsided into a dull hum as the fighters contoured over the ridge and into the valley attacking whatever remained of the defenders.

  Jimmy struggled to breathe. The sudden roar made him feel like his heart would burst from his chest. He raised his head again and saw the Russians on the ridge standing from crouches. Two were dusting themselves off, as if they’d dove for cover. They all looked the other way tracking the fighters. Jimmy heard one man laugh uproariously and tilt his head back in glee. The Russian officer stood next to a charred and still smoking Sherman tank with a large hole beneath the turret where a 76mm shell had burst through and destroyed everyone inside. The image enraged Jimmy and he clutched the machine gun until his fingers turned white.

  Hank noticed his sudden change and gripped his arm hard, making Jimmy wince and look his way. “Get control of yourself, dammit.” Hank continued to squeeze. “You’ll get us both killed.”

  Hank felt the tension release as Jimmy took a deep breath and settled into the soft dirt. Jimmy shook his head and whispered, “Sorry. The laughing next to all that hell…it’s just, I don’t know…not right somehow.”

  Hank nodded. “Look, we just need to concentrate on getting back to our lines without getting killed or captured.”

  Jimmy knitted his eyebrows and shook his head. “I’m not getting captured. You’ve heard the same stories I have. They feed you to the Scalps and they pull your limbs off one by one and eat ‘em while you bleed out. I’ll save a bullet for myself before I let that happen.”

  Hank shook his head, but knew his friend was deadly serious. “Those stories are bullshit.” Jimmy raised his eyebrow at him and Hank added, “At least I think they are.” He peeked over then ducked quickly. “They’re moving to the other side. We should move.”

  Jimmy looked and saw the Russians disappearing over the ridge. He nodded and got his feet beneath him. He licked his lips and looked at Hank. “You ready?” Hank nodded. “Follow me.”

  Jimmy moved from rock to rock, stepping around more bodies and fallen trees. The gully got less and less deep the further up the ridge they went, until finally it was no more than a ditch. Jimmy went onto his belly and low crawled the last thirty yards to the top. When he got there, he stopped and waved for Hank to come up beside him.

  The scene took their breath away. The front lines, the seemingly impenetrable and intricate trench system was a blackened wasteland. The grasses and shrubs they’d ran through were simply gone. There was nothing living, only smoldering tanks, trucks and bodies. The Russians had plowed a path through the detritus of war and even now more T34s and troop carriers moved through the carnage. There were foot soldiers as well, moving in ranks along the side of the road.
They heard singing rising up from them as they marched and Jimmy felt the familiar rage building. “My God. Did anyone survive?”

  Hank answered, “I don’t think the Russians are shooting at ghosts.”

  Jimmy realized he was right. The battle was still raging further up the road and Jimmy imagined the fight was probably happening where the road once again narrowed and entered thicker forest. “They’re probably making a stand where we came out of the trees. Remember?” Hank didn’t immediately answer, so he continued, “Where we dropped off the artillery. That little town.”

  Hank nodded, “Yeah, makes sense. The ridge pinches down there. It would be a good spot to make a stand.”

  Jimmy nodded, “once they’re past that, it’s a straight shot to Anchorage.” There was a huge explosion, louder and deeper than the rest. “Sounds like they’re catching hell.”

  They lay there taking it all in. Jimmy touched Hank’s arm and pointed down the hill toward the road. “Look. That what I think it is?”

  Hank searched where he was pointing then whispered, “Holy shit. It’s one of them for sure. Look at it’s red head.”

  Jimmy watched the armored car with the large alien standing in the center behind the driver. It had two of it’s four hands hanging onto the metal roof, beside the Russian manning the machine gun. It’s head dwarfed the Russian’s even though the human wore a helmet. “Damn, sure wish I had my sniper rifle. That’s an easy shot.”

  Hank responded. “After the last time, who knows how they’d react. Best to leave those damned things alone.”

  Jimmy shook his head, “They’re the whole reason we’re at war. If they hadn’t shown up we’d have gotten along fine. They started this war. I have no doubt about that. I won’t hesitate to kill more of ‘em if I think I can get away with it.”

  “Well, just don’t do it when I’m around, Okay?”