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Retreat, Hell - Episode 19
🕑 Added 2022-05-17 03:14:12 +0000 UTCA/N: Here it is at last! At 7575 words, this is one of the shortest chapters in a long time (might only need to continue in a single comment on HFY), but there's a lot that happens. The elven counter-offensive is really starting to kick off, and the war is going to start exacting its toll. A lot of character development squeezed into this one, too.
As we continue through the war, there will probably be a number of other, relatively short episodes covering single engagements or battles and the immediate events surrounding them. There will still be plenty of long chapters, but not all will be making a run at 20k words. Episode 20 will probably be of comparable length, though big things will be happening in Episode 21.
More half-episodes are coming, as well. Episode 20.5 will take us back to Tyriel and his misadventures, and Episode 19.5 will be taking a glimpse at some SOF operators in a very different theater of the war.
We also have some fanart! Radius55 commissioned https://www.instagram.com/themaskedpen/ to create this image from The Battle of the Floof:
https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/873298853972029471/972209722562318336/unknown.png
Now that I have a much lighter workload and easier schedule, I'm looking to commission more art for R,H, myself. I'm shopping around for artists, right now, but if anyone has any recommendations, I'm all ears.
Now, all that said, on to the story!
Retreat Hell – Episode 19
“Charlise Theron, George Clooney, Uma Thurman.”
“Oooh, brah …” Stephens scratched his chin. “Fuck Charlise Theron, marry George Clooney, and murder Uma Thurman.”
Kimber chuckled. “Okay. Marry George Clooney, huh?”
“Hey, brah, I would turn gay for George Clooney”
“What about you, Santelli?” Kimber asked, knocking on his shoulder.
“Well, I ain’t turnin’ gay for fuckin’ nobody, so fuckin’ murder George Clooney, straight up. Then I’d say marry Charlise, and fuck Uma.”
“Naaahhh, brah!” Stephens cried. “You can’t kill my Georgie!”
Edison laughed. “I think I’m going with Santelli on this one. Marry Charlise, fuck Uma, and kill Clooney.”
“I’d marry George Clooney,” Sampson said.
“Oh, big fucking surprise, there, Sampson,” Elder rolled his eyes. “You’re fuckin’ gay!” He leaned forward. “No, the big question for you is, which one would you fuck?”
Sampson leaned back in silence for a long moment, drawing out the suspense as the other Marines leaned in. “Uma Thurman. But only in her Pulp Fiction outfit.”
“Aright, aright, I’ll give you that one,” Kimber said.
“With a strap-on.”
“Goddamnit!”
“What about you, Shields?” Elder said, giving him a tap on the shoulder. “Who would you marry, fuck, and kill?”
Rinn’s ears twitched, and he shook his head. “Same as the last five times you asked, I still don’t even know who any of those people are.” His ears swept back. “And, um, ‘uma’ is not a polite term in my language.”
“Alright, here, we gotta get pictures for Rinn to play with us. Anyone got pictures on their phone?”
Before the search could get started, however, Kawalski ducked around the front of the Humvee they were lounging against. “Hey, guys, Staff Ser’eant’s rollin’ this way. Everyone look busy so we don’t get shit on.”
“Ah, fuck.”
Oh, praise the gods, Rinn thought, I really didn’t want to play that game …
“Who cares if we look busy?” Kimber asked. “We ain’t doin’ shit right now.”
“Uh-uh,” Kawalski said, snapping his fingers. “Up, up, up, let’s go! Sampson, get that stack of crates straightened up, or, you know what, just shift it over there next to the Humvee. Gomez, give ‘im a hand. We’ll probly have ta load it in at some point, anyway. Elder, Edison, start packin’ up those bags over there. Santelli, you and Kimber start getting’ a count of the ammo we got. Mana crystals, too. Miller, take Stephens and New Riley and see if you can scrounge up some more batteries.”
“Good work, Corporal,” Brickle said, walking around the Humvee. “I assume you’ve heard the latest report?”
Rinn saw a grimace flash across Kawalski’s face before he buried it and turned around. “Uh, no, Staff Ser’eant. What’s the latest?”
“Oh,” Brickle gave Kawalski a renewed look of appreciation. “Well, we just got an intel report on possible enemy forces sighted to the east. They’re not in our immediate AO, but if the elves are getting ready for another counter-push, General Zoro wants the next staging point set up and dug in before they do. Third Battalion’s ahead of schedule and already started setting up FOB Ripley and the new air combat hub. They’ve got a flat field long enough to land a fucking space shuttle, and the combat engineers are already in route. Brass wants us set up and dug in to screen their eastern flank ASAP. We’re moving out this afternoon. Where’s Sergeant Bradford?”
“Uh, I think she went off looking for you, Staff Ser’eant,” Kawalski said, clasping his hands behind his back, where his signal couldn’t be seen by Brickle.
It would be simpler if he had a tail, Rinn thought.
“Nah, she’s in the head takin’ a shit,” Gomez said, earning himself a glare from Kawalski.
And more reliable …
“But, uh, she said she was gonna look for you after, Staff Sergeant.”
“Alright, well, if you see her before I do, tell her squad leaders and up are mustering in the HQ tent in twenty for a briefing.”
“Aye, Staff Ser’eant!”
“Carry on, Corporal, and keep up the good work.” Brickle gave him a fatherly smile. “You’re doing a damn fine job.”
“Aye, Staff Ser’eant!”
Kawalski watched him go. Once Brickle was out of earshot, he turned around and kicked a stack of sandbags. “Fuck!”
“What?” Kimber asked. “We were getting’ bored sittin’ on our ass, anyway.”
“Not that, dipshit. Now fuckin’ Staff Ser’eant’s gonna think I’m fuckin’ reliable again. Fuck.”
“Ain’t that a good thing?” Gomez asked.
“Fuck, no!” Kawalski said, shoving a wave in his direction. “It means more fuckin’ work, that’s what it fuckin’ means! Now, go fuckin’ run off to the shit pit and tell Bradford about the brief, and that she’s supposed to be lookin’ for the Staff Ser’eant. God damnit!”
*****
“Ammo?” Bradford asked, looking over the assembled members of 2nd Squad.
“Mags and bandoleers all topped off, and everyone’s got at least an extra satchel.” Kawalski grinned. “And Gomez’s got two extra cans for Lucy.”
“Batteries?”
“Acquired a fresh box from supply,” Dubois said. “Split it between both Humvees.”
“Water?”
“Canteens and camelbacks all full, with extra jugs all loaded.” Kawalski paused to spit in a bottle. “Snagged some extra boxes of MREs and Cliff bars ‘n squirreled ‘em away, too.”
“Gear?”
“Inventoried and packed.” Dubois gave her a short tilt of his head. “We’re all ready to go, Jabs.”
“Well, damn, Kawalski, I thought Staff Sergeant was pulling my leg. You really are stepping up.”
“Oh, fuck, no, not you, too!” Kawalski said, throwing his hands in the air. “You ain’t pinnin’ any’ah this shit on me! It was mostly him!” He waved a finger at Dubois. “I just made sure we looked good when Staff Sergeant was around.”
“Well, good job, just the same,” Bradford said, giving him a wink. “We might just make a real Marine out of you, yet.”
“Go fuck yourself, Jabs.”
She laughed, shaking her head, then glanced around with a reluctant sigh. “Where’s Davies?”
“I saw him heading for the head a few minutes ago, probably taking a shit before we hit the road,” Dubois said.
Bradford nodded, resisting the urge to chew on the inside of her lip. “Well, that’s reasonable, I suppose.”
“Or he’s ‘supervisin’’ while New Riley finishes packin’ his gear, instead a’ doin’ it himself,” Kawalski added.
“That’s … not so reasonable.” She frowned. Davies is not the fireteam leader I’d pick to mentor a boot PFC normally, nevermind in the middle of a war. “I’ll have a talk with both of them.”Separately.
Putting the matter aside for the time being, she looked at her watch. “Alright, let’s start getting them loaded up.”
“Not so fast, Sergeant,” Sampson said, jogging up. “Chatter on the radio. Those Keeblers we got intel on earlier just began an assault on 7th Marines to the east. Large infantry force backed by at least two mage towers, possibly more. They just scrambled the QRF.”
As if to emphasize his point, a pair of Cobras roared up from their landing zone. Turning east, they took off at high speed.
“Mount up, Marines!” Meyers shouted walking down the line. “Time to roll out!”
“Sir,” Bradford said, turning to him as he walked by. “Should we wait? Fourth Marine just came under heavy attack. We might get redeployed.”
“Negative, Sergeant!” He shook his head. “Orders just came down for us to move out, anyway. Second Marine and the flyboys’ve got ‘em covered. Brass wants us moving out and setting up the next leap-off point while their forces are distracted in the east. We roll out now!”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Bradford said as the Lieutenant marched away. She turned back to Dubois and Kawalski. “You heard the LT. Get them loaded up. I’m gonna go find Davies.”
“Aye, aye, Sergeant!” they chorused as she turned and jogged away.
*****
“Did Meyers seem unusually happy to you?” Dubois asked, turning to Kawalski as Bradford jogged away.
“Yeah. It’s ‘cause we ain’t runnin’ to the fight this time,” he said, bringing up his bottle and spitting into it. He shook his head. “Man’s gonna get someone killed.”
“Yeah,” Dubois frowned. “But don’t let anyone else hear you say that. C’mon, let’s get them loaded up.”
“Oh, I know,” Kawalski said, spitting the old wad of dip into his bottle before sealing it up. He turned to follow Dubois, pulling out a can and giving it a few, good whacks to pack it. “Hey, make sure they load up so Jabs ain’t gonna get in the Chapel.”
Dubois sighed, shaking his head. “Bro, you should stop that and get it all cleaned off. That shit’s going to get you in trouble.”
“Naw,” Kawalski said, stuffing a fresh wad of dip into his lip. “’S fer morale buildin’!” He shoved the wad into the right spot with his tongue and spat out a loose piece of tobacco. “Gives everyone a chuckle!”
Dubois shook his head, but held off rolling his eyes. “Load it up, Marines! We’re moving out!”
*****
“Ah, fuck, there he goes again,” Kimber said, interrupting Elder’s latest rendition of Billy Joel.
“What?” Bradford looked forward, and immediately regretted it as she saw the bare ass hanging out of the ten-ton truck in front of them. “Oh, god damnit, is that fucking Thorne?”
“Yep,” Kimber said, tapping the brakes to open the gap as a stream of liquid brown sprayed out. “That’s definitely him.”
“Brah,” Stephens said, aborting his rotation of the turret and swinging the .50 cal back to the left.
“That man needs to get his guts checked,” Kimber said.
“I don’t think I’ve ever encountered him when he wasn’t shitting himself.” Bradford could hear the ear twitch in Rinn’s voice.
“Yeah,” Dubois said, “But he can also eat MREs all fuckin’ day and not have any problems from it.”
Elder chuckled. “You think if we feed him enough, they’ll plug him up?”
A wad of field paper flew out of the truck in front of them, snagging on the brush guard. “Oh, you fucking piece of shit!” Kimber shouted. He yanked his door open, half standing in the driver’s seat to stick his head out, holding the wheel with one hand. “You’re fucking cleaning that off, you fucking shithead!”
A middle finger greeted them from the back of the truck, and Kimber returned the salute before dropping back into his seat and slamming the door shut, grumbling under his breath.
“Alright, just keep your eyes on the road, Kimber,” Bradford said. “And everyone else, keep on the alert. There might be elves in the area.”
“We’ve only been on the road for fuckin’ twenty minutes, Jabs,” Kimber said. “We’re barely further from base than Third Battalion and their new FOB.”
“Yeah, and those mountains to the east are pretty rough terrain, to get across” Elder said. He pointed at the Humvee’s radio set. “Chatter sounds like all the elves are over with 7th Marine, and getting their asses pounded.”
“Don’t get complacent,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him. “We’re strung out in a narrow column on one of the few stretches of something we might call a road in the area.” She locked eyes with Elder, then Dubois. “We’re an ideal target for an ambush, so keep your eyes peeled.”
“Aye, Sergeant.”
She had just settled back into her seat, and started to sweep her gaze across the trees to her right, when the Humvee’s radio stopped its scan and squelched. “Patriot, Patriot, Patriot, this is Growler-11 We are under heavy attack! I say again, Growler is under heavy attack by large cavalry force! Request immediate reinforcement, over!”
“Growler-11, this is Patriot, report your status, over.”
“We are under assault by large cavalry force, regimental strength or greater. In imminent danger of being overwhelmed. Request immediate support, over!”
“Growler-11, stand by.”
“Ranger-37, this is Growler-11, immediate suppression, grid 221 432, danger- shit-” The transmission cut out with a click that Bradford recognized as someone changing frequencies mid-transmission.
Bradford’s personal radio squawked as the truck in front of them braked, forcing Kimber to bring them to a skidding halt. “All units, this is Firebreak Actual. FOB Ripley has come under heavy attack. We’ve been diverted to reinforce. All units, turn off road and make best speed on heading 290 until you hit the next road, then follow it west. We’re all they’ve got right now. Move out!”
*****
Michaels braced himself as his JLTV rocked over another dip in the ground.
The radio squawked; the staccato roar of close gunfire could be heard in the background, and he recognized the voice of Colonel Mayhew. “Patriot, this is Growler Actual. Where the hell is my air support?! Over!”
“Growler Actual, this is Patriot. Vipers are en route from Wells and Le Guin. ETA, one-five mikes, over.”
“Patriot, we don’t hav-“ The transmission clicked off for a moment. “Expedite. Out.”
“Pick up the pace, Sergeant,” Michaels said as they bounced over another hillock.
“Aye, sir,” his driver said, and the vehicle bounced harder over the next bump.
They timed this almost perfectly. Air support’s stretched thin, and our local birds are all tied up supporting 7th Marine. He frowned, glaring out at the overgrown field ahead of them. We’ve had so little resistance, we got complacent. We’ve out-paced our air support, and our ability to supply and maintain them this far in the field. Did they know? Or are we finally seeing their real push back?
“Patriot, this is Growler-11, the western compound has been breached. We are taking heavy casualties. Cannot hold for much longer! Over!”
“Faster, Sergeant.” Michaels braced as the JLTV jolted.
“Sir, with this terrain, I can’t-“
“To hell with the terrain, Sanders! Faster!”
“Aye, sir!”
The radio squawked again, the background gunfire louder, but more sporadic. “This is Growler-11, final protective fire, codew- Correction, Ranger-37, fire for effect, over.”
“Growler-11, this is Ranger-37, confirm fire-for-effect?”
“Confirm. Fire-for-effect. Grid 221 430. Our position is being overrun, continuous fire until all rounds expended. Cannot observe, over.”
“Fire-for-effect, grid 221 430. Continuous fire until all rounds expended, out.”
“This is Third Battalion Fifth Marine. Get some! Oorah!” Two loud gunshots boomed out of the speaker, then the transmission cut out with a heavy thump that sounded like an explosion.
The engine roared as Sergeant Sanders shoved the gas pedal to the floor.
*****
Bradford only barely kept her head from banging against her window as the Humvee bounced over another rut. A loud thunk and a muffled curse in the back told her that someone else hadn’t succeeded. At least we’re on the road, now, she thought as she felt gravity disappear for the moment while the truck roared over a rise, before slamming back down again on the other side. Not that we’re getting a much smoother ride …
The radio squawked. “All units, this is Firebreak Three. Affix bayonets.” She glanced at Kimber, then shifted to pull out her bayonet. The Mk19 on the Humvee in front of them spat a burst of smoke and fire to their left front.
“This is it, boys!” she said as the grenades detonated at the edge of a clearing. She spotted movement, and Stephens opened up with the .50 cal, joining multiple streams of tracers from vehicles ahead of them. “Time to get some payback!” And hope we’re not too late, she thought, even though she already knew the answer.
A pair of Vipers thundered low overhead, streaming smoke and fire as they strafed the elves with rockets.
The Humvee roared out of the trees, and Stephens went cyclic on the swarm of cavalry milling about in the open. The smoking remains of FOB Ripley stood in the center of the field.
Kimber slammed on the brakes, narrowly stopping them from ramming into the back of the Humvee in front of them as Marines started piling out of it.
“Dismount!” Bradford shouted, shoving her door open. “Dismount!” She hopped out, laid her rifle across the hood, and started tacking shots into the massed enemy. There’re fucking thousands of them! She thought as she lined up another shot, putting two rounds into an elf scrambling onto his queshi, and dropping him. The animal bolted. Several spellbursts stitched across the elves from the other end of the Humvee. But they’re not formed up, and the field is cratered, and littered with just as many bodies.
More Humvees and the new JLTVs drove past, shaking out into a growing line of vehicles, a few to their right, closer to the FOB, but most of the vehicles fell in to the left, stretching along the edge of the tree line. A truck pulled off behind them, and half of First Platoon piled out.
Stephens’ M2 stopped firing, and an empty ammo can came flying out of the turret, glancing off Riley’s helmet as he stacked up on the Humvee behind Davies and Edison. Bradford nodded at her squad, then cursed as she looked back across the field.
Two hundred meters away, a team of queshi trotted out of the south entrance of the FOB, pulling a sled stacked with gear. “Stephens!” she shouted, flipping her M203 sight up. “Two o’clock! The sled!” She raised her weapon and thumped out a grenade, but overshot. The explosion startled the horse-like creatures, causing them to shy away and slowing their pace, but none of them dropped.
She cursed, ejecting the spent round and grabbed for another when the M2 opened up again. Stephens hosed a long burst across the sled and queshi, and they all dropped. An elf popped up the far side of the cart, but Stephens’ second burst cut him down.
Bradford slammed a fresh round home into her M203 as a JLTV rolled up and pulled a tight U-turn behind her. Colonel Michaels stood in the open driver-side door, standing half on his seat and half on the side runner. “Lieutenant Meyer!”
The Humvee in front of her thumped out another burst from it’s Mk19 grenade launcher, and Bradford saw her platoon leader look up from the radio he was huddled over when Michaels called his name again. “Lieutenant Meyer!”
“Sir!”
“Take your platoon and push into that compound!” Michaels shouted, jabbing a finger at the southern gate. “The rest of the battalion will be right behind you!”
He didn’t wait for Meyer’s stuttered “A-aye aye, s-sir!” before he ducked his head back inside his vehicle. Bradford heard him shouting “-down the line!” at his driver as he rolled by.
Meyers glanced around, his eyes wide, until he spotted her. “Bradford! Sergeant Bradford! Take your squad and push into that compound!” he pointed at the FOB. “The rest of the platoon will be right behind you, as soon as I find Staff Sergeant Brickle!”
He didn’t wait for her response before he turned and jogged up the line to their right, in the opposite direction of Michaels.
“Aye, aye, sir!” she shouted after him. Fucking shit. What the fuck is he doing?! She grit her teeth. Fuck. She turned, sticking her head back in the Humvee. “Kimber, your truck’s on point, get ready to move!”
“Aye, Sergeant!” he said, settling back into the seat he was half out of and slamming his door.
Ducking back out of the Humvee, she looked forward, spotting one of the fireteam leaders from Third Squad. “Johnson!” she shouted, taking several quick steps over to get behind his vehicle. “Johnson!”
He pulled back under cover. “Sergeant?”
“The platoons moving up! Tell your driver he’s to fall in behind the next two trucks when we move out! Move with your vehicle!”
“Aye, aye, Sergeant!”
She turned and sprinted back to down the line. “Kawalski! We’re moving up! Your truck’s number two, behind the lead vehicle!”
“Aye, Ser’eant!” He pulled his door open and passed the word inside, then flashed her a thumbs-up.
“Stay tight on your vehicle!” she shouted after a burst from his Humvee’s M2.
“Aye, aye, Sergeant!”
She turned and sprinted back to her own vehicle. “Kimber! Roll out! Walking speed!” He gave her a nod and spun the wheel. The engine revved twice, then he shifted into gear and started off. She stayed by the front passenger door, gun up and trained on the southern gate. The rest of her squad fell in behind the Humvees as they rolled out.
Johnson’s truck turned and cut into the number three slot as Second Squad crossed its line of fire. To Bradford’s surprise, the next Humvee in the line fell in, then an LAV, and another Humvee, and another, until their entire right flank had shifted into column and started advancing on the FOB. Did Meyer actually give any coherent orders, or are they just falling in to attack in the absence of them?
A series of heavy thumps, followed by several columns of dust and debris came from the other side of the compound. Jet engines rumbled across the sky.
The stuttering roar of pair of Vipers strafed another rocket attack stitched a twin line of explosions ahead of them, and she saw a flight of Mini Birds chain a gun run along the western edge of the field.
A force of elves came riding around the eastern side of the compound, to her right, but before she could call it out, the LAV and two Humvees shattered the formation with heavy fire. Two more Vipers swung around the far side of the FOB. She heard the delayed chatter of their chin guns almost simultaneously with the flurry of explosions that ripped apart the remaining elves.
Five minutes after the order from Colonel Michaels, Bradford reached the gate of the FOB.
Four elves dashed out on foot. She and Gomez each dropped one, and a long burst from Kawalski’s SAW took down the other two.
Glancing behind her, she saw the rest of the column breaking out into a new defensive line. The rest of the battalion had shaken out, and began to advance across the field. With no formation, no clear terrain to maneuver, and many dismounted when Second Battalion arrived, the elves were being cut down in droves.
She spotted Third Squad’s leader. “Sergeant Snodgrass! Have your squad hold here and cover our asses! I’m taking my squad in. Funnel everyone else in after us!”
“Got it!” he said without question. He turned away and started issuing orders.
Technically he’s senior to me, but fuck it, authority of the moment. “Second Squad on me!” she shouted, turning back to the southern gate. “Miller, on the corner! Ahyat, shields up front! Retreat!”
“Hell!” her squad shouted back.
“Move out!” She surged forward, and Second Squad charged into the compound.
*****
Shield up, Rinn charged around the corner with his Bradford and Kawalski’s fireteam. Gunfire barked close as more elves came into view. He snapped a shardburst into a charging elf as he slid into cover behind a Humvee. Dubois’ fireteam joined them, and he spared a glance up at the turret and the gun that was still creaking and tinking as its metal cooled. Is that barrel melted?
Davies’ team bounded past them, and Rinn broke off to shield them along the way. Kawalski’s SAW roared as another cluster or elves sprinted into view, dropping most of them. Two continued their charge. Rinn snapped a shardbolt into one of them as they dodged around his shield. The second lunged at Riley, sword stabbing into his chest. The blade failed to penetrate the ceramic plate, but the blow and momentum sent them both tumbling to the ground.
The elf rolled clear, but was pinned to the ground by Sampson’s bayonet. The Marine pulled his rifle back and stabbed again, and again.
“Get into cover, Sampson!” Davies shouted, crouched against a Hescoe barrier.
Rinn rushed over to Riley, still holding his shield up for cover. He grabbed the convenient handle on the back of the man’s armor and started pulling. Tahsh, they’re all so fucking heavy!
“I’m good! I’m good!” Riley shouted, pushing Rinn off and rolling over to scramble into cover beside him.
“It’s generally bad practice to get stabbed in your first fight,” Rinn said, patting him on the back as Sampson slammed into cover with them, Dubois’ fireteam hot on his heels. The forward half of his rifle and his left forearm were covered in blood.
“You good, New Riley?” Edison asked, keeping his eyes focused down the sights of his SAW.
“Yeah, he just cut my plate carrier.”
“Try not to let them stick you, next time,” Rinn said, patting him on the shoulder. He leaped up and joined Bradford and Kawalski’s team as they bounded past, keeping his shield at the front of their advance.
They dropped into a crater for cover. “Jesus, what the hell did this?” Santelli asked.
The ground shook as a massive explosion threw up a towering geyser of dust and debris near the north entrance, followed by the rapid crackle of cannon fire beyond the walls.
“A fucking lot of C-4, that’s what,” Kawalski said before leaning up to spray a burst of rounds into another group of elves.
Rinn poked his head over the edge of the crater. Pieces of what looked like a Humvee were scattered in all directions. And bodies, too. Human, elven, queshi … To his left, the hacked remains of a Marine lay atop his machinegun. A pile of elven bodies lay before the weapon.
Davies’ squad joined them, then Rinn was up again to join Dubois’ squad as they bounded past. A queshi bolted into the open, and was gunned down before anyone could notice it bore no rider.
Two more leaps, and they reached the inner compound. Human and elven bodies littered the yard.
“Fan out and pair off,” Bradford said. “One Marine keeps eyes up, the other checks for survivors.”
“I don’t think there’s anybody alive in here, Jabs,” Kimber said as the squad spread out and started checking bodies. Artillery craters pock-marked the whole area, and many of the bodies were ripped apart by explosions and shrapnel.
“These are craters from a M-triple-seven,” Kawalski said. “They called arty on their own fucking position.”
“Jesus fucking christ.”
“They were being overrun,” Dubois said.
“Fuck. Fucking hell.”
We’re too late. Again.Rinn’s ears drooped as followed Bradford through the bodies, his stave up and at the ready.
“Command post’s over there,” Bradford said, nodding to the left. “Or what’s left of it.”
Rinn followed her through a blown-out Hescoe wall, ears swinging back up on the alert.
“This wasn’t artillery,” she said. “It’d take a lot of C4 to do something like-“ she cut herself off as she ducked inside. “Holy fuck.”
The command post had been obliterated. Bits of plastic and metal were scattered about, most of them too small to recognize what they came from. Mangled metal frames were all that remained of tables, if even that much.
Bradford carefully made her way to the door at the far end of the bunker. She stepped over what was left of an elven body and picked up the shattered remnants of a laptop. She held it up for him to see, pointing out the bullet hole in the half that remained.
Dropping the laptop, she turned towards the original entrance, but paused. “You hear that?”
Rinn quirked his head, his ears twitching. I’ll probably be deaf by the time I reach middle age from all this, but I can still hear now. He still heard the rumble of aircraft overhead, but no more explosions. All that remained was distant, sporadic gunfire. “The fighting’s mostly stopped.”
“Yeah,” she said, turning back to the door and hopping over more elven bodies on her way out. Rinn followed.
Outside, they found more Marines pouring in. Mostly First Platoon, but several Marines he didn’t immediately recognize were also funneling in, along with Colonel Michaels. The Battalion Commander made his way in their direction.
“What do you have to report, Sergeant?”
“Their command post was destroyed, sir. It was C4, and a lot of it. There’s barely anything recognizable left in there, but what remains of laptops are left have bullet holes in them. They were able to enact at least some of their Emergency Destruction procedure.”
“Thank you, Sergeant Bradford.” He frowned. “The elves are on the run, and we’re securing the FOB. Keep searching for survivors.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” Bradford said. Rinn braced at attention alongside her, then followed as she quick-marched back to the rest of Second Squad. They walked past a Humvee with a dead Marine dangling from the side, his foot still snagged in the turret mounting.
She stopped, looked at the body, then glanced around. “Kawalski! Gomez! Come help me get this guy down.”
The two walked over. “Aye, Sar’ent,” Kawalski said, looking the dead Marine up and down. “Gomez, hop up top. We’ll hold ‘im while you unhook ‘im.”
“Aye,” he said as they all slung their weapons and set to work.
“Is he alive?” Gomez asked as they eased the Marine to the ground.
“No,” Bradford said. “I just didn’t think it was good to just leave him hanging there.”
“Who is he?” Gomez asked again as Kawalski knelt down and rolled the dead Marine over.
Rinn saw his face go pale. “Bastard,” he whispered. “You fuckin’ bastard!” He slammed his fist into the dead Marine. “You were gettin’ out. You were fuckin’ gettin’ out!”
Bradford set a hand a hand on his shoulder, but the lanky Marine jumped up and shoved her hard away before storming off.
She staggered back, but Miller caught her before she fell over.
“What the fuck was that?!” Meyers shouted, walking up. “Kawalski! Corporal Kawalski!”
The Lieutenant turned to chase after him, but Bradford stepped in his way. “Let it go, sir. It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine!” Meyers frowned, trying to step around her. “He just assaulted his sergeant in a combat zone!”
“Sir!” Bradford said, stepping in his way again. “He didn’t touch me, sir. I tripped.”
“Sergeant-“
“I tripped, sir.”
Meyers stared Bradford down, “Very well, Sergeant,” he said, then turned around stormed off himself.
Bradford watched him go, then turned to chase after Kawalski, waving at Rinn to stay. He watched her go, ears waggling with concern.
“Bro, what the fuck was that all about?” Gomez asked.
Rinn shook his head, his ears twitching as he continued to stare after them. “I don’t know.”
Dubois walked over with a concerned look on his face. “What was that abou-“ He stopped, staring down at the dead Marine. “Ah, fuck.”
“What?” Gomez said. “Is someone gonna tell us what the fuck is going on?”
“It’s Jensen.”
“Who the fuck is Jensen?”
Dubois nodded down at the dead Marine. “He used to be in Two-Five. In Second Squad, actually. Deployed with is in Afghanistan.” He shook his head. “I didn’t really know him. He transferred right after Bradford and I reported. He was with Kawalski when he got his Bronze Star.” Dubois looked up. “When half the squad got wiped out.”
He looked back down at Jensen. “He saw two of his buddies take an RPG. They saved him from most of the shrapnel, but he took enough to get him sent back home for a while, and he asked to be transferred to a different unit.” He shook his head. “Didn’t want to come back with his buddies gone.” Dubois frowned. “His contract was supposed to be up five or six months ago. He was planning on getting out.” He sighed. “Guess he changed his mind.”
“Oh,” Gomez said. “Well … Fuck.”
Well, fuck, indeed … Rinn thought, his ears sweeping back. He glanced around at the blasted compound. Well, fuck, indeed.
*****
Bradford caught up to Kawalski, leaning against a hescoe wall in a corner of the bombed-out FOB that was relatively clear of bodies. “Kawalski,” she said, approaching him. “Matt.”
He turned around, then leaned against the wall and slid down to the ground. “He was gettin’ out, Jabs,” he said, looking at his hands with a thousand-yard stare. “He was gettin’ out.”
“I know. He must have changed his mind.”
“I should’ve made sure he got out.” He clenched his fists and grit his teeth. “I should’ve made sure he weren’t here.”
“No,” she said, kneeling down and putting a hand on his shoulder. “He chose to stay in. It was hischoice. You can’t make that for him.” She put her other hand on his. “It’s not your fault.”
“He was the last one, Jabs. Him and Gucci. Riley … Old Riley, not New Riley, got his legs too fucked up to stay in. Donaldson and Daffodil both got out when we got back from Afghanistan. It was just me, Gucci, and Jensen.” He looked up at her. “I told them that we would get outta there, Jabs. I promised them that they’d all get to go home. I promised each of them.”
“That’s why you re-upped last year,” she said, shifting her head to meet his eyes. “To make sure they all got to go home?”
“Heh. You got me all figured out, now, don’t you, Ser’ent?”
“Kinda already did, Corporal,” she said, giving him a soft smile, then took a deep breath. “But we got a whole new squad out there, counting on us. Can you help me make sure they get to go home?”
He took a deep, shuddering breath, and blew it out. “Yeah,” he nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”
“Good,” she said, standing up. “Because we’ve got work to do.” She held out a hand to help him up and he took it. “It’s gonna be rough, but it needs to get done.”
“Yeah,” he said, clearing his throat with a cough. “Yeah. Dumb boots won’t know what to do without us. Might start actually lookin’ for work ‘n followin’ regulations ‘n shit if I don’t guide ‘em right.”
She chuckled, nodding her head. “Exactly.”
“Oh, um, about back there, at,” he grimaced, looking away for a moment. “I-I’m sorry for shovin-“
She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “I tripped.”
He looked at her for a moment, then snorts a laugh. “Heh. Lookin’ at my ass again, Jabs? Am I gonna have to fight Shields for your romantic affections?”
Bradford sighed, stifling a smirk. “Go fuck yourself, Kawalski.”
“You know, any other day, we could rekindle our romance, but today my heart belongs to Sampson alone, because Thursday is for the boys!”
“Go get your ass back to the squad and make sure they’re keeping their heads on a swivel, you fuckhead. I’m gonna go find Staff Sergeant and see what the next move is.”
“Aye, Sar’ent.” Kawalski started walking in the squad’s direction, then stopped and turned back. “Oh, and Jabs. Thanks.”
“Just doing my job, Kawalski.”
He snapped to a half-assed attention, flopping his arm up in a Sergeant Doofy salute. “Aye, aye, Sar-Jent!” he shouted, talking with a fake overbite. He waggled his hand down as he ended the salute, then spun about and marched back to the rest of the squad with comically exaggerated steps.
Bradford watched him go, shaking her head with a sigh. He’s going to need a lot of help when this is all done. We all are. She looked about at the half-built FOB littered with dead elves and Marines. If we survive it.
*****
“Hey, Shields, can you help me with this one over here?”
“Yes, of course,” Rinn said, walking over to Edison, and the body he was crouched next to. This one is recognizably human. He helped him roll the body over, and grimaced. Another one hit by close artillery.
“Shit, man,” Edison looked away. “I was hoping this wouldn’t be another closed casket.”
“Closed casket?” Rinn latched onto the distraction, quirking an ear at him.
“Funeral. Closed casket funeral.” Edison sighed, waving a hand down at the fallen Marine. “When we have a funeral, the casket’s usually open because … I don’t fucking know why. But if the face is all fucked up like this, well, nobody wants to see that. So, the funeral is held with the casket closed.”
“Ah. I see.” He rolled his ears. “For us, the body is cleaned and dressed, and either sewn into a burial cloth or sealed in a coffin. Smaller villages and towns burry their dead, but in cities and some larger towns, the dead are burned in a pyre.” He flicked an ear. “Unless you’re a noble, or do something to gain a boon of remembrance. Then you’re placed in a mausoleum.”
“Huh. I guess that makes sense. Cremation’s pretty common for us, too. It’s a personal decision, though.”
Rinn nodded, then waved a hand at the body. “Shall we put him with his friends?”
“Yeah,” Edison said, swallowing. He took a breath to steel himself. “I’ll get the shoulders, you get the feet?”
Nodding again, Rinn stepped into position. He crouched down and hooked his hands under the fallen Marine’s knees, determinedly ignoring the lower leg that was only partially attached. His ears flicked up. “Hey, stop! He’s got a broken sword in his armpit.”
“Oh, shit!” Edison said, pulling his hand back from the blade. “Thanks.” He frowned. “I guess that’s what killed him.”
“Yeah. It’s a wonder he’s still as intact as he is. There are pieces of elf all over this spot.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m pretty sure I saw at least three left feet.” Edison shook his head, shifting his grip to the shoulder straps of the dead man’s armor. “Ready? One. Two. Three!”
They both heaved, and with a staggering gate, they half-dragged and half-carried the body to a line of other fallen Marines, staged to be loaded on a truck. They nearly fell over as they set him down, but took the time to straighten him out and arrange him as peacefully as they could.
“Fuck, man,” Edison said, rubbing his face on a clean patch of sleeve as he leaned against a pile of sandbags to catch his breath. He looked up at Rinn. “Does this ever get any easier?”
“No,” Rinn said, shaking his head as he stared off into the distance. “It doesn’t.” He flicked his ears took a breath, straightening himself. “But it does get easier to pretend it does.”
“Heh. Yeah, I guess.” Edison pulled his canteen out and took a drink, then offered it to Rinn. He shook his head, patting his own mostly-full bottle. Edison nodded, screwed the cap back on, and stowed it before standing up. “Let’s go help Sampson and New Riley over there. They look like they could use a hand.”
Rinn turned, spotting the two staring listlessly at another cluster of bodies. “Yes, they do.”
“You two alright?” Edison said as they approached.
“No, man, I’m not,” Sampson said, shaking his head. “This is … Fucking hell, man, we’re burying the whole fucking lot of them. Third Battalion’s fucking gone.”
“There’s so many bodies,” Riley said, staring past them. “And pieces of bodies …”
Damn. They’re not doing good,Rinn thought. We never handled this well. What would Jabs do? His ears waggled a circle. I know. “Hey, why don’t you two take a break? Edison and I can take over here. Go fill up your canteens, and see if you can scrounge up some MREs for the squad.”
“Okay, yeah,” Sampson said. “Yeah. C’mon, New Riley, let’s go.”
The young Private nodded, and followed Sampson away in silence.
Edison watched them go, then turned back to Rinn. “That was good, man, they needed that. Except, now it’s just us to deal with this,” he waved at the cluster of dead.
“Yes, but they needed the break. And besides,” he unslung his stave and popped a small shield into existence just above the ground, wide enough for a few bodies to fit. “This won’t be that bad. Drag them on.”
“Well, why the fuck didn’t you do this with the last guy?”
“Because it was one body and we were only going twenty feet.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Edison waved a hand at him. “Here, move that over here, I can roll this guy on.”
“Hey, hold on, I haven’t taken a picture of those guys yet!”
Edison straightened up and slowly turned to look at Davies as he walked over, camera in hand. “What the fuck are you taking pictures for?”
“General’s orders,” Davies said as Rinn dropped the shield and turned to listen. “Everyone in Third Battalion is getting a Bronze Star with Valor along with their purple heart, but General Zoro wants evidence documented of any higher award worthy shit we can identify. Like the guy who called arty on their own position, and held off half-a-dozen gemblades before blowing the command post to hell, they’re putting him in for the fuckin’ Medal of Honor!”
Rinn’s ears swept back. Why does it sound bad the way he says it?
“Yeah, but … why do youhave a camera?” Edison asked. “The battalion’s got its own photographers.”
“Sure, but there ain’t enough of ‘em,” Davies said, waving his hands at the whole FOB. “So, they started grabbin’ volunteers, and I happened to be nearby.”
“Right,” Edison said, rolling his eyes.
Of course, he was, Rinn thought.
Edison sighed. “Alright, what are you taking pictures of?”
“Anything that looks like an epic final stand, or tragic heroism or some shit.” He shrugged. “Or anything I can make look like it.” He nodded at the cluster of dead Marines next to them. “Like these guys. Which one of these looks like a good hero? Hey, you think you could stick a knife in this guy’s hand?”
“Why?” Rinn asked, pulling his head back.
“Draper, over in Bravo Company, found a dude that killed three elves with his bayonet and his bare hands. His arms were still locked around the neck of the last one he killed when they found him. I haven’t found any hand-to-hand kills myself, yet, though, figured it’d be cool if we did.”
“Dude, no,” Edison said, giving Davies a disgusted look. “That’s fucked up!”
“Yeah, bro, I’m just fuckin’ with ya,” Davies said, holding his camera up as he took a step back. “Seriously, though, what do you think their story is? Does it look any good?”
“Dude, just … Just take your fucking pictures and get the fuck out of our way. We actually have actual work to do.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll get out of your hair,” Davies said, waving Edison down. He turned around and snapped several pictures, then stepped aside.
Rinn glanced at Edison, giving him a flick of his ear, and they both got back to work.
“Here, I’ll get some pictures of you guys while you work,” Davies said, turning the camera on them. “Might get you a special award or something.”
“Whatever, man,” Edison said, rolling his eyes as he grabbed another body by the shoulder straps. With a grunt, he dragged it backwards onto Rinn’s shield.
Rinn swung his ears back, but kept his mouth shut. If you have nothing appropriate to say, keep it off your tongue.
Several minutes later, they had all the bodies loaded onto Rinn’s shield. Increasing the mana flow, he raised the shield a few inches off the ground, and carefully guided it to the row of the dead. The truck returned just as he was placing them in line. He carefully lowered the shield down to the ground, then dropped it. The bodies settled onto the ground with a faint thud.
“Hey, you guys take a break,” Snodgrass said, walking to the back of the truck. “My guys’ve got this for now.”
“Aye, aye, Sergeant,” Edison said, stepping away from the bodies. “Hey, I’m gonna go find somewhere to piss.”
Nodding, Rinn slung his stave over his shoulder before pulling his canteen out and sitting down on a pile of sandbags. He took a long drink, then placed the cap back on with a sigh, his ears drooping. No. It doesn’t get any easier.
“Hey, man. Are you alright?” Rinn looked up to see Davies walking towards him, camera hanging from his neck. “This has gotta be pretty hard for you.”
He flicked an ear. “This is not the first disaster I’ve had to pick through.”
“I know. I’m just saying. This whole situation is like when you rushed back to Laelae, but didn’t get there in time.”
Rinn frowned, his ears twitching back. I never talked to him about that …
“Jabs told me about it, about what happened, and that you broke down pretty hard over it. She said it wasn’t pretty.”
His ears swept back. She told him about that? I didn’t want her to see me like that. It was utterly inappropriate, only a moment of weakness …He felt his heart suddenly hammer in his chest. Why? She told him?
“I’m just sayin’, I know this can be pretty rough, and you’ve had it worse than any of us. If you need someone to talk to, I’m here for you, buddy.”
Rinn’s ears twitched, and he gave Davies an uncomfortable glance. “I’ll … keep that in mind.” His ears twitched again, and he stood up. “Excuse me,” he said, stepping around Davies and walking away, his mind in turmoil.
How could she tell anyone? How could she tell him?
Comments
Chet Manly
I am genuinely curious as to the reactions to Thornes incessant need to shit from his squads pov
Silverwolf
I think it's about time Keeblers come to fear AC-130 and the B-1's payload.
