The Free World War

by Matthew William Frend

  Corday lamented how his battalion had been used in the past, then added fervently, “My Hellcats are a fast-moving armored vehicle. We should use that mobility to advantage … by having them constantly on the move just behind the very forward armored units.”

  He stroked out more arrows on the board, “As the enemy tries to hit our armored columns from the flank or even our rear, we can protect them by repelling those counter-attacks and then quickly resume our position behind the main advance.”

  Patton agreed, “We’ll bring this into our overall planning … General Wyatt if you’ll arrange a briefing with my staff this week it would be much appreciated.”

  The 3rd Army commander thought for a moment, then asked Corday, “Where did these ideas come from?”

  Corday, already enthusiastic at being able to present his plan to one of the greatest generals of the war, was now euphoric, “Why … it was inspired from something you once said sir… from a football analogy, about the armored division being the running back of the team.”

  Patton chuffed, “Yes, the running back. So how do tank destroyers fit in to that picture?”

  “With due respect sir, the mobile defense provided by the tank destroyers will add to that concept … by giving the running back some defensive accountability … I call it the Blocking Running Back.”

  “Ahhh … of course! The running back that blocks any moves from the defensive team … giving the quarter back more time to keep the drive going – interesting.”

  Wyatt shook his head at the two, wondering how this was going to affect his division. He’d gone along with Corday’s ideas before as they’d been so effective, but in isolation. Now the Colonel had Patton’s ear, and those ideas were going to be influencing his entire division directly. He felt he should remind the other two, still talking excitedly about football, that their decisions would have consequences in the real world – in a real war.

  As though to symbolize his perspective, and that of the division, he reached into a drawer beneath the table and picked out an object. Placing it on Minsk with a loud thud the other two would hear, he said, “And so we prepare to storm the next castle … into the breach dear friends.”

  On the map, the objective now lay marked in readiness for the 10th Armored … with the black rook.

  ∞

  Mojave City

  2265 CE

  Rilith read from her holo-card. “The Soviets exercise their veto in the United Nations Security Council which prevents the policing of nations who are claiming disputed territory within the Arctic Circle. The North Polar War begins in 2023.”

  “Qwerty! Another war …” said Lorman, Rilith’s date, “… I don’t think this game is going to last much longer.”

  “Oh, why not?” asked Eya.

  Lorman looked at his hostess like a serpent coiling around its prey, “Surely this alternative world is going to destroy itself? Or be destroyed … because its people are so focused on the business of killing each other that they’re going to miss developing some crucial piece of technology … one that will be needed to defend themselves?”

  “Defend themselves … against what?” asked Arjon, pouring a faintly glowing purple liqueur into his glass.

  Lorman thought for a moment, then smiled with satisfaction as though his prey were about to be devoured, “Oh, remember that asteroid in the news about twenty years ago, the big one with a composition similar to stainless steel?”

  “Yes!” added Macrose, “It was named Amen2248 because it was on a collision course with the Earth.” Then he added thoughtfully, “Because of its size and mass, didn’t we have to use some kind of kinetic energy mechanism to change its trajectory?”

  “Yes … multiple kinetic drives installed on its surface months in advance,” answered Grillon, and then his tone dropped down an octave, “… or else it would have hit us with the equivalent of a million-megaton impact. The End.”

  Arjon could feel the effects of the liqueur washing over him. Picking up the bottle, he read aloud from the label. “A nectar sourced from the moment sunlight and chlorophyll were destined to meet. The heat and humidity of the Colombian jungle summon forth a resin of mystical potency from only the purest sinsemilla.” He smiled at his guests.

  “Weed! Who brought a cannabis liqueur?” he asked in an amused tone.

  Macrose owned up. “Oh, now Arjon don’t be a fuddy-duddy. It’s been legal everywhere for over a century.”

  Arjon just shrugged, becoming intensely interested in the violet glow swirling around in his liqueur glass.

  His thoughts wandered. Asteroid impacts, world wars … tyranny and oppression. He could see the tragic and simply turn it into the ridiculous.

  The Alternative Reality game had become a kind of psychotherapy session. He looked at his beautiful wife surrounded by their wonderful friends. Then he thought of the matrix and its world of alternative madness.

  He realized that he and Eya had been suffering from an insidious lament. Their carefree and blissful happiness had been undermined by depression and anxiety – the result of the enhanced emotional impact from experiencing the enacted global events of the matrix.

  He watched Eya laughing and smiling, and realized that being able to laugh and mock the matrix’s claims was having a healing effect on them both.

  Macrose, as was his way, brought a competitive element back to the game. “Forget about the meteorite apocalypse … you still haven’t guessed why the polar bears became extinct.”

  “Because all those explosions in the Polar War melted the ice?” Rilith offered meekly.

  “Good try …” said Macrose.

  Grillon tried to explain a pattern he could see emerging. “It seems there’s a common theme here … that an ineffective United Nations – note the name change … is a major influence on the affairs of our alternative world.”

  “Good point!” barked Arjon. “See why this game is so great … it allows us to see what is so good about our world, from the perspective of what could have been.”

  “So … does the matrix show why such an outcome would have transpired?” asked Macrose.

  “Yes!” Arjon could hardly contain his enthusiasm. “Because the alternative United Nations was created in an environment overshadowed by a global power struggle between the communists … and those endorsing a popular form of government.”

  He added on a more serious note, “From my reading of articles from Hesta’s matrix, people were living under the cloud of imminent attack from ballistic missiles during the ‘Cold War.’ The articles used terms such as ‘nuclear deterrence,’ ‘mutually assured destruction,’ and believe it or not, ‘backyard fallout shelters.’”

  The host allowed his stunned guests to digest his words. He’d had time to adjust to the frightening madness of the matrix, but from their expressions he was sure his guests thought he sounded slightly mad himself.

  Despite their looks of incredulity, he continued buoyantly, “But behold! We live in a magically positive existence … with empowered individuality, and the freedom and prosperity of a sane world. And it has all transpired because our predecessors stamped out humanity’s oppressors!”

  The bemused looks around the table awaited further enlightenment.

  “This game … Hesta’s matrix, it’s all been an exercise in self-actualization. With all our wonderful technology, arts and inspiration, we still find it hard to realize just how much we have to be thankful for. The free world rolls along, humanity prevails over its own flaws and limitations, escapes the gravity of self-destruction, and heads out into the solar system.”

  Eya leant back and rolled her eyes at his expansive dialogue.

  Arjon noticed her expression and looked around to check he wasn’t boring his friends. They appeared to be in the same frivolous mood as before, so he kept postulating, “Onward we go …” he raised his glass, “… not really knowing where we’ve been!”

  Glasses clinked in salute, and Eya, feeling some relief that the preaching
was over, added an addendum, “… or knowing what could have been.”

  ∞

  Death is nothing, but to live defeated and inglorious is to die daily.

  Napoleon Bonaparte

  Bialystok, Poland

  April 23rd, 1946

  Miles of marching GIs and slow-moving supply convoys streamed across the rain-soaked landscape. General Patton’s staff car splashed through muddy potholes as it got waved through an intersection by an MP. With him in the rear compartment sat Colonel Corday, who leant out to the side so he could see the insignia on the soldiers’ shoulder badges more clearly.

  “This is the 144th Infantry … they’ve just moved up from Brest.”

  Patton nodded. “This weather has only slowed down the build-up … it won’t delay the operation.”

  “General, the enemy’s resistance has been stiffening the closer we get to Russia, how do you see this panning out once we approach Moscow?”

  “That’s a good question Colonel,” answered Patton, gazing out the window and far into the distance, as though he were casting his mind a thousand miles and six months into the future.

  “Remember, this is a people who burned their own capital to deny it to Napoleon,” he said ominously, “but communism is a sickness, a sickness that afflicts the weak minded. I liken it to the same deficiency in spirit that characterizes those who endure life beneath a monarchy. To appease their fate, they convince themselves it will provide them with security and stability … but it ends up as slavery.”

  “Slavery?” asked Corday, sensing an opportunity to draw more of the pressurized inspiration contained within his commander’s mind.

  “Yes slavery. If a man can’t aspire to the highest posts in his own country, can’t speak his mind for fear of persecution … then he is not free. His existence is nothing more than indentured servitude … perpetually serving the state – or crown.”

  His blue eyes blazed at the thought of the war with the communists as a whole. He remembered the reports from the Eastern Front where hordes of poorly armed and untrained Soviet troops had been decimated by the Nazis. During Operation Barbarossa one German general had even described it as infanticide.

  “God-damn it! Why are there so many ignorant sheep! Slaves to their state! They’re like cattle to be slaughtered!”

  His liberty-fueled passion abated, and in a more measured tone he added, “… and slaves to the tyrant at its head.”

  Corday was slightly taken aback at the outburst, “Yes sir, but aren’t they also just patriots?”

  “Hmmph … yes … perhaps, but they’re patriots of evil.”

  The infantry were cheering as they passed, so the general leaned forward and tapped the driver on the back. The driver flipped a switch and the klaxons mounted on the front of the car blared loudly to return the greeting.

  “Morale’s high …” said Patton, looking out at the waving soldiers and almost shouting to be heard. “How is it in your battalion?”

  Corday smiled. “Sky-high.” He also had to shout, “Another one of the benefits of playing on a team.”

  The wailing sirens stopped as they moved beyond the intersection.

  Patton lowered his voice, “Are you saying your men are more motivated because they think war is a sport?”

  “Not exactly sir … but that kind of thinking would be a good outcome. I’d say high morale is more a result of the whole process we use in our game plans – the positive language, calling plays … encouraging each other. The spirit of brotherhood we already have in the military is enhanced by the close teamwork and synergy that arises from working as a group of men who support each other, and depend on each other for everything.”

  Corday elaborated, “As you know, during the last war there could be problems with maintaining morale – even though we were winning. Like the military, the game of football is a system where all players work together to achieve a result. By superimposing the concept of a sport over that of fighting a war, we help the men handle their situation … and take the fear of being in an armed conflict out of that situation. Fear is an obstacle to clarity of mind – to thinking clearly under pressure – so we remove that obstacle, and replace it with a will to win.”

  Patton listened thoughtfully, his mind working on ways to include Corday’s game-plans into basic military training.

  “Agreed. There are many facets of the sporting mindset that are not incompatible with the military,” he said. “I can see how this approach could help the men … and if you continue to have success, I’ll work on getting it presented to the Chief of Staff.”

  A huge blast rent the air as a Red Army artillery shell exploded nearby. Patton, as usual didn’t bat an eyelid. He looked off to the side of the road and watched the infantrymen who’d dived for cover picking themselves up from the mud. He sighed and added, “It might also help to reduce the amount of laundry they need to do.”

  ∞

  New York Times

  April 24th, 1946

  “KIEV FALLS!”

  “The key city of Kiev in the Ukraine has been taken by Allied forces. The city was a major objective of the war’s south-eastern theater, and the city’s capitulation was the culmination of advances made by the Allies from the south. Those advances had been initiated by a series of landings by the Marine Corp and several Allied Armies in the Black Sea. Admiral Chester Nimitz has stated, “These victories have been made possible by the achievement of complete naval and air superiority in the region, and by the unmatched valor and determination of the men who comprise those forces.”

  April 24th, 1946

  Supraśl River,

  North-west of Bialystok, Poland

  Patches of early morning sunlight, yellow-gold splashed on slick red-brown mud, sparked boyhood memories of eating breakfast in Kansas for Captain Deming.

  Shucks, could I ever go for a bowl of cornflakes …

  He lifted his field glasses and scanned the opposite bank of the quiet, swollen river. A wall of riotous greenery climbed up from the edge of the muddy bank, strangling the trees and making them appear as a forest of wild topiary. At the end of the trail below them, the slowly flowing water was disturbed where it bulged over a submerged crossing. Another one of the temporary bridges left behind by the retreating Soviets.

  He ordered his driver to cut engines so he could listen for sounds coming out from the opposing wilderness.

  Just echoing bird calls, and the agonizing silence of a waiting ambush.

  They’re always so goddamned quiet. Nothing but the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears … before you hear the crack of that first shot. That’s if you live.

  He spied the far trees again, then, scrutinized the bridge. The cold, rusty water simmered its way over the base of rocks and logs covered with gravel. The rutted tracks cutting their way down to the water’s edge below, confirmed that Taskforce Barkley had passed this way during the night.

  How far ahead they were now he wouldn’t know until radio-silence was broken. Deming gave the signal to start engines. Dark birds took flight from the tree-tops on the far side. A murder of crows. An omen? Not for Deming – he saw it as something positive.

  Good. If we startled them then there’s little chance of there being anyone in there.

  He waved the Hellcats behind him to go through, while his own troop remained in position to provide covering fire. After Veste Oberhaus, the battalion had been rested. It had given them time to train alongside some of the new tanks the 10th Armored Division had received. A task force of M26 Pershings and motorized infantry were the spearhead. Following Colonel Corday’s tactical planning, the tank destroyers together with their half-tracks full of combat engineers were acting as a mobile defense, following up behind so they could protect the column’s rear.

  After the first three Hellcats had crossed, Deming knew that there were no Reds waiting for them on the other side. He waited for a half-dozen of the mixed M9s and M16 quad 50 caliber “meat choppers” to cross over
, then got his driver to push their Hellcat back into the column.

  Once across, the upland forest provided thick cover on both sides of the dirt trail. Fifty yards inside the trees they spotted the signs of Task Force Barkley’s progress. Camouflage netting hanging from the branches, had been ripped apart by multiple explosions. The clinging vines and creepers were scorched to a shiny black-green, where a massive blast, probably from exploding ammunition, had destroyed an anti-tank emplacement.

  The watchful eyes of the engineers peered into the gloom for any signs of life. The wreck of the dug-in howitzer, blackened and broken, looked like a distorted and macabre metal sculpture. Around the scattered bodies of the Red Army defenders, nothing stirred.

  As the column left the scene of destruction behind, the crows returned to pick on the remains of their grisly morning meal.

  Further down the trail, a burnt-out Pershing marked where the Soviets had deployed a second anti-tank gun to cover the first. The column swept past without sighting the source of the kill.

  After another half-mile of nervous progress, and no further signs of resistance, Deming allowed himself to relax. He quickly shook off the moment as his battle experience forced him to stay frosty. They’d only been past a light defensive position … there must be more ahead. As if his instincts were serving him well, seconds later a huge thump shattered the peace.

  The surrounding trees seemed to shudder from the shockwave. Helmeted heads lowered into their vehicles, and the Hellcats at the front of the column slowed cautiously, ready to take cover to the side of the track.

  “Close up!” Deming called into his mike, and he saw the commanders of the lead tank destroyers drop down and close their hatches. The trees thinned to reveal pillars of smoke filling the sky.

  They’d found the battle.

  The tank destroyers pulled off the trail and formed up along the top of a low hill. Ten thousand acres of carnage confronted them. Hatches opened and the crews peered out in awe at the grim spectacle. Barbed wire and trenches stretched for miles. Flaming wrecks and smoldering bodies littered the battlefield. A current of warm air flowed off the plain carrying the smell of cordite, burning oil and death to the silent watchers.