Dragon_Scribbles
patreon
Retreat, Hell - Episode 18
🕑 Added 2022-01-09 19:52:13 +0000 UTCA/N: Hey, guys! Finally got this episode hammered out! We're into Act IV and back on the offensive!
This episode is a bit short, for what they have been lately, only 8600 words or so, but we're getting back into the action.
I've got a good handle on what happens in Episodes 19 and 20, and decent outlines for both, though future updates will continue to be slow. I'm moving at the end of the month, and work will continue to be busy right up until I leave. Hopefully I'll have everything set up and settled into my new place by the end of February, and I'll be able to get into a more regular posting schedule after that. The new job is a much lighter workload, and I should have a lot more free time to do all the things I want to do outside of work.
I've got some maps of Gahla that I've been working on, too, that I'll be sharing here at some point. They still need some work before I'm happy with them, and the map files are also on my desktop which is on its way to a container ship with the rest of my household goods, so it'll be bit before I'm able to share them.
Once I get settled into my new place, I'll also be looking to start commissioning character and story art again, since I'll have more time to reach out to and work with artists.
In the meantime, though, here is the next episode!
EDIT: Made a change to some character interaction in the final scene. Kawalski's lines/actions were something he might do, but going that far in those circumstances was out of character for him.
It did, however, better fit the personality of another member of the squad, and the interaction has been updated accordingly.
Retreat Hell – Episode 18
“Three fucking weeks.”
“Say again, Sergeant?” Meyer turned to look at Bradford as she stared over the hesco wall.
“It’s been three fucking weeks, sir, since we finished getting this FOB set up, and we’re still sitting here.” She snorted. “It’s bad enough we haven’t seen any fucking Keeblers since the first week of the war. We’ve built eight FOBs chained out over five hundred kilometers without seeing a single elf. Now we’ve been twiddling our thumbs up our asses for so long, the goddamn Army’s caught up.” She waved at the latest in a line of trucks and Humvees rolling up to the gate in the compound’s southern wall.
“Disappointed the elves aren’t giving us any resistance, Sergeant?”
“Sir,” she said, turning away from the wall. “We’re Marines. We exist to fight and kill the enemy, and right now we don’t have an enemy to fight.” She frowned. “We’re all on edge, sir, with nobody to take it out on but each other.”
“I hear you, Sergeant.” He sighed, shaking his head. “The thing is, the elves have rolled over with so little resistance that top brass is getting unnerved. We’re finally starting to get some satellite coverage, and between those and recon flights, we’re seeing evidence that they have a lot more forces left. But they’re not engaging us, and we don’t know why.”
“So we’re just going to sit here and diddle our own assholes until they decide to come out and play, sir?”
“Ha! Not quite.” He chuckled. “We’re consolidating. Top brass is worried about being lured into over-extending. We’re letting everyone catch up, so we can advance across a consistent front.”
“Any word on when we’ll be moving out, then, sir?”
“Soon, Sergeant,” he said, clapping a hand on her shoulder. “Soon. Then we’ll really show these Keebler bastards how the Marine Corps kicks ass.”
***
“The trick is all in the wrist,” Kimber said. “You gotta get a good swing going, but you gotta use your wrist, and just your wrist. Use your whole arm, and you’ll over shoot. Watch.” He flicked his wrist up, releasing the string pinched between his thumb and first two fingers as the small rock tied to the string reached the peak of its arc.
It flew forward, arcing down to drop into the wide end of a traffic cone lying on its side. It bounced twice, pulling the string into the cone after it, but didn’t bounce out the narrow opening at the top.
“Strings all in, three points!” Kimber said, to mild applause and cheers. He tapped Rinn in the chest with the back of his hand. “You’re up.”
“Nice throw,” Rinn said, walking up to the cone to retrieve the rock-on-a-string. “Have you been playing this game long?”
“Eh, a year or two. Picked it up from some sub guys. Was visiting an old buddy of mine in the Navy, and he got me a tour of one of the subs. It was a weekend, and the guys on duty came up with it, bored out of their skull.” Rinn’s throw skipped across the ground into the cone, but just barely. “Rock’s in, string’s out, two points.”
“Where the fuck did you get the traffic cone, anyway?” Santelli asked as he walked down to retrieve the rock-on-a-string for his turn.
“Bro, this bad boy here is our lucky traffic cone,” Kimber said. “They shipped a lot of stupid shit out here. Been with us since we first rolled out to set up FOB Rebound three months ago.”
“Fuck, it’s been almost four, now,” Santelli said just before tossing his shot, and completely whiffing.
“Jesus, Santelli,” Kimber shook his head. “Am I gonna have to carry you the whole match?”
“Heh,” Elder chuckled. “You’re as lucky at hitting the cone as you are at hitting with the ladies!”
“You know what, fuck you!” Santelli said, pointing at him. “I hope you get testicular cancer and die in a fucking fire.”
Elder just laughed more.
“Gomez,” Rinn said, tapping his teammate’s shoulder. “You’re up.”
“Heh, yeah,” Gomez said, stuffing his notepad and pencil into a cargo pocket before walking over to retrieve the rock-on-a-string. Turning back to them, he stopped, then smiled. “Hey, guys, watch this.”
Uh-oh …
“What are we watching?”
“Shhh,” Gomez said, nodding at Kawalski, lying sprawled out asleep against a pile of sandbags they had filled a couple days before. He started swinging the rock-on-a-string, lining it up with Kawalski’s spread legs.
Oh, this isn’t going to end well …
Gomez let fly, arcing the rock up, to drop squarely in the man’s groin.
“Goh! Fuuuuckkkk!” The rock hit, jolting Kawalski awake, and he immediately curled into a ball, his face turning red as he cried in pain. Rinn’s ears flicked back in sympathy.
The rest of the squad laughed as he rolled around in pain. Clutching at the ground, Kawalski grabbed a rock and chucked it in the general direction of the others. They easily dodged, but a Marine behind them did not.
“Ow! Fuck! You fucking assholes!” The rock came flying back, glancing off of Gomez’s shoulder.
“Hey, man, what the fuck?!” Gomez said, bending over to grab another rock and lobbing it in return.
Rinn’s ears shot up, then flattened as he dodged the ill-aimed return throw. A blink later, and several rocks flew out as Second Squad fell in around him, screaming their offense.
Another salvo returned, then chaos broke out as Marines across the yard started hucking rocks and dirt clods at each other.
In only moments, Rinn was dodging rocks flying around from most of Echo Company.
Taking advantage of Gomez’s utility as cover, he started grabbing a few rocks of his own. With a massed cry, what looked like half of Delta Company ran into the fray, chucking rocks and clumps of dirt at each other as much as the already-engaged Marines.
Peaking around Gomez as the big Marine wound up, he flinched back from a spray of gravel. A rock glanced off his right horn, and he stumbled as much as dove behind the stack of sandbags for cover.
“Look at these fucking yokels. Leave ‘em alone, and they fight each other.”
“Fucking dumbass Jarheads …”
Rinn turned, spotting a group of humans in slightly different uniforms walking past the yard. Ah. The Army. He tapped Kawalski’s shoulder, nodding in their direction.
Kawalski smiled. “Heh. Can’t leave ‘em out of the fun, can we? Hey, fuckface!” he shouted, hefting a rock. “Eat this!” He lobbed it hard in the direction of the new humans.
The stone arced through the air in a high parabola, then dropped down to bounce off one of the soldier’s helmets.
“Hey, fuck! Who the fuck threw that?!?!”
“You’re mother’s taint!”
“Alright, you fuck, that’s it.” The soldier leaned forward, marching in their direction, several other soldiers at his back.
“Let’s show ‘im, Sarge!”
“TWOOO FIIIVE!” Kawalski shouted at the top of his lungs, drawing the attention of the surrounding Marines. “RETREAT!”
“HELL!” several Marines shouted back. Half a heartbeat later, a hailstorm of rocks and dirt clods rained on the Army platoon.
The soldiers dove for cover, quickly grabbing up their own ammunition and sending off a return volley.
Another Army platoon rounded the corner, and swiftly charged to their comrades’ aid. The rest of the Marines dropped their local squabbles, and a line of battle formed as the Army pushed into the yard.
***
“Everything’s packed and as ready to go as it can be, sir,” Bradford said as she walked back from the outer wall with Meyer. “We can be rolling out in less than twenty minutes from the order to-“ She cut herself off as they cleared the taller portion of the inner wall. That’s not general base noise, that shouting sounds like a fight …
Ahead of them, an Army platoon stopped at the unfinished gate in the inner wall. They dropped gear, and charged into the yard with a chorus of battle cries.
Bradford exchanged a glance with Meyer, then sprinted for the gate alongside her Platoon Lieutenant.
Rounding the corner of the gate, they both came to a skidding halt and stared agape at the general melee before them. Lines of Marines and Soldiers were hurling rocks and dirt clods at each other. Several groups were wrestling each other on the ground. A tiny shield flare drew her attention to a pile of sandbags staged for finishing the gate, where most of Second Squad had hunkered down and was in the middle of wreaking havoc on an Army platoon from their entrenched position.
A Humvee rolled to a stop just short of Bradford and Meyer. Doors opened, and several Soldiers stepped out. Bradford didn’t know any of them, but one was a full bird colonel. Ah, shit …
“ATTENTION ON DECK!” The voice of an Army Sergeant Major cut across the yard with parade ground volume. Soldiers and Marines immediately dropped whatever they were holding, mostly rocks but sometimes other humans, and snapped to attention. A few were slow to respond, or didn’t hear it, and continued their struggles until receiving a few kicks from their compatriots.
Silence fell over the yard just as Michaels walked in from the far end, Colonel Anders, the CO of 5th Marine, on his heels.
Bradford sighed. Well isn’t this just lovely …
***
Rinn stood at attention next to the other members of Second Squad. Almost the entirety of Second Battalion was lined up on one side of the yard. Across the way, the Army soldiers were at attention opposite them, getting screamed at by their Sergeant Major. Rinn’s tail tucked between his legs as Marines around him suppressed flinches at the man’s words, clearly audible despite the distance.
On their side, however, was absolute silence. Colonel Anders stood off to the side, silently watching. Lieutenant Colonel Michaels just stared at them with cold detachment. His gaze swept across the Marines for what felt like hours as the Army Sergeant Major made his best attempt at yelling himself hoarse.
“Company Commanders and Senior NCOs in the auditorium tent in five minutes,” Michaels said. He didn’t shout, but his stern voice cut across the battalion. “Sergeant Major, I want this fixed. You got ‘em.” With that, he turned on his heel and marched away. Colonel Anders turned and left beside him.
“You heard the Colonel,” Barakis said, his voice drowning out his Army counterpart’s. “Company Commanders and NCOs fallout! Everyone else, stand by!” The officers and senior NCOs fell out and started a double-time to the tent on the far side of the FOB.
“Platoon sergeants,” he continued once the company triads had moved out of the way. “Form up by squad for inspection. Squads will group PT until all hits are corrected! Move it!”
***
Six …. Tahsh. Seven …. Fuck. Eight … Tahsh. Fuck. Tahsh. Ow. Fuuuuuck. Rinn’s arms shook as he pushed himself back up. What number am I on? Fuck. I don’t know. He lowered himself down, just barely able to avoid dropping face-first into the dirt. Round four of fifty … Because the first three didn’t fix the squad’s uniform deficiencies … Stifling a whine, he shoved himself back up, elbows quaking all the way. Fuck. I don’t know what I’m on, but I think I’m something like twenty behind …
He was steeling himself for another drop when a messenger ran up to Barakis. Across the yard, the Army Sergeant Major finally fell silent, another messenger speaking to him and his CO.
“Battalion!” Barakis shouted, turning back to his Marines. “Recover!”
Rinn collapsed as most of the battalion dropped out of the push-up position and slowly heaved themselves to their feet. He tried to push himself back to his feet but found himself laying cheek to the dirt as his arms refused to move.
It took Gomez and Sampson hauling him to his feet for him to stand, though he was barely able to do it under his own power. Push-ups weren’t the only exercise they had been doing. Ow. Everything hurts …
“Marines, fallout and hydrate! Sergeants, once your men have recovered, get them packed up and ready to move. The Keeblers have finally come out to play!” Barakis turned and marched away.
The Marines looked at each other, panting for breath almost as much as Rinn, not sure how to take this news.
“About fuckin’ time!” Kawalski said, wiping sweat off his brow. “Bastards couldn’t have come out an hour earlier?!”
***
Bradford settled into whatever seating could be found in Echo Company’s HQ tent, alongside the
other squad leaders and platoon leaders. A smattering of pens clicked as they pulled out notebooks and pocket brains, a few fidgeting as they waited. The damn keeblers took long enough to try something, whatever it is they’re up to. Timing was pretty convenient for us, too. The rock war’s been all but forgotten in the last few hours. She clicked her own pen a couple times. Though it wouldn’t have happened if hadn’t been sitting idle for so long …
“Alright, everyone, listen up!” Spader said, walking into the tent. It was an actual tent this time around, rather than some camo netting strung between a couple trucks. Had time to set up some real luxuries here.The murmur of conversation and penclick fidgeting died down as Spader walked to the front of the group. A couple staffers followed behind carrying an easel and what looked like maps. Bradford noted his movements were a little stiff, and the edges of his collar were crusted with dried sweat.
“As you’ve no doubt heard by now,” he said as the staffers set up the easel and hung the maps on it. “The elves have finally started a counter-attack.” He glanced at the maps being stacked on the easel, and frowned. “That’s not the one I told you to put up first.”
“Sorry, sir,” the corporal said, taking a step toward the easel before Spader waved him off.
“Doesn’t matter,” the Captain said, waving them away. He flipped through the handful of maps clipped to the easel until he found the right one, folding the others over the top, out of the way. “We’re here,” he said, tapping a blue circle on the map. “Recon has picked up a large elven force over here.” He tapped a region to their northwest. “It’s moving south, and maneuvering to slip between us here at FOB McCaffery, and Third Battalion over at FOB Glenn, to our west.”
He turned away from the map. “Intel on the exact nature and content of their forces is limited. We’re not sure how, but they seem to be able to pick out our recon flights, even the high-altitude ones, and get under cover or go invisible before we’re able to get a good look at them. We’ve surprised them a couple times, but most of our intel on this force is coming from some new tech the geek squad back home has cooked up, and satellite recon. The tech is experimental, and sat coverage is spotty, at best, but it looks like this force is about half the size of the force we wiped out at FOB Williams.”
“That’s still a lot of troops, sir,” Lieutenant Reed said, getting nods from half the company, not just his own Second Platoon.
“It is,” Spader said. “But satellite photos and a couple recon flights that surprised them didn’t see any towers, nor has any of the radar sweeps picked up any returns that would indicate a three-story hunk of metal, so they don’t seem to have brought their big guns. That leaves them prime targets for everything we can throw at them.”
He flipped the maps back down, then flipped the top map back over. “Now, intel thinks they’re heading down this valley, here,” he traced a line between the two FOBs, but closer to 2nd Battalion’s position. “The hills on either side give them some cover to slip between us and Third Battalion, and the terrain isn’t great for moving directly against them from our positions.” He paused. “Or it wouldn’t be, without modern vehicles.”
Paper ruffled as he pulled the top map back down. “Intel thinks they’re going to move near this position, here,” he said, tapping a low rise in the center of an open plain, at the mouth of the valley the elves were moving into. “It’s one of the spots we considered for setting up this FOB, before we found the better spot, here, but it’s still a good, defensible position. That’s where we’re going.” He tapped the spot again. “At their rate of travel, it’ll take them two or three days to get there, if not longer. We can be there in a matter of hours. We’re going to race ahead of them, and dig in in their line of advance. We’re the anvil.”
Two maps flipped over the top of the easel. “The Army’s First Battalion of the Sixteenth will move in behind the keeblers as they advance on us. The doughboys are the hammer. We draw the keeblers in, get them to commit to attack us, then the Army hits their flank from the east. The objective is to pin them against this ridgeline here,” he traced a rise to the northwest of the Marine position. “Set up a crossfire between us and the doughboys, and pound them flat.”
“The Air Force has three flights of warthogs prepping to provide Close Air Support, and they’ll be trading off in pairs. We’ll also have the two Viper flights that just set up here at McCaffery and the Army just moved half a squadron of Apaches into FOB Ermey. More air power is prepping to have a go, but the big, new airfield at Tolkien only just went fully operational last week. Most of the big stuff the flyboys have to send will still be coming from the other side of the portal.”
Sergeant Mayfield, one of Third Platoon’s squad leaders, raised his hand. “Sir, why don’t the flyboys just bomb the fuck out of them before they even get close?”
“Because we don’t actually know their exact position,” Spader said. “We know their rough location, and we can guess at where they’re at, but the area they could be is miles across.” He shook his head. “Top brass isn’t ready to commit that much ordnance without a sure target. If they drop it all, and miss, we’ll still be facing twenty thousand pissed-off keeblers, and all our big air power’s on its way back through the portal to rearm and refuel. For now, we’re holding it in reserve. Once we pin the bastards down, the flyboys’ll be standing by to come in and pound them flat. Oorah?”
“Oorah,” everyone echoed back.
“The Army’s also setting up an artillery company in FOB Ermey. They’re just moving in now, but they’ll be available alongside our own boys in One-Eleven. That gives us two-and-a-half companies with one-fifty-five mike-mike on call, though you can expect the flyboys to pull back if they start lobbing shells.” He chuckled. “They’re still a bit sensitive about sharing airspace with artillery after they found out how much fire we were lobbing across the sky while the bombers were pounding the keeblers at Williams.” The rest of the Marines chuckled along with him.
Turning back to the easel, he flipped to the very last map, a blown-up photo of the rise they were heading to. “The battalion will be setting up here. We figure we’ll have two or three days to dig trenches and stack sandbags. We’ve got good overlook from where they’ll be coming out of the valley. Echo Company is responsible for this quadrant here,” he tapped a set of lines drawn on the eastern half of the position. “Delta Company has the other quadrant. Weapons Company will be setting up machine gun positions all along the line, with mortars on the back line. When the time comes, First and Second Platoons will be on the front line. Third Platoon will hold on our rear quarter in case they try to encircle us somehow, and will act as a reserve. We don’t expect them to get past us to our rear, not in significant force, and this rock outcropping provides some protection for our back line, but we still don’t want to leave ourselves exposed. Mortars will be in the center, and we’ll have a platoon of Abrams and a platoon of LAVs as support.”
He turned back to the lieutenants and sergeants before him. “The rough plan is to have two rows of trenches and sandbag bunkers, but we’ll make final plans and assessments when we get there. We’re bringing two M9 dozers, one of the big loaders, and a pair of backhoes with us to help dig in. We roll out in an hour. Any questions?”
Lieutenant Thrombert raised his hand. “Why are we the anvil? Wouldn’t it make more sense for the Army to go there, instead of us? Half of them aren’t even here yet. Divert the units that are still in transit, and they could start digging in before we could ever get there.”
“Because we’re ready to go, and the Army isn’t,” Meyer said. “The units are trickling in because they’re hauling extra supplies and equipment. They’ve got to drop all that extra gear, refuel, then head back out. That all takes time, time to dig in that they would lose, and they didn’t bring any heavy earthmoving equipment. We’ve been ready to go now for weeks, and in case you forgot, our men have been a little too short in things to occupy their time.”
Reed raised his hand. “Do we have enough of those anti-stealth rods, in case they try to come in all invisible and get the drop on us?”
“Yes. We’re still ramping up production of them back home, but we’ve got plenty enough for this op. We’ll have to pull them out with us when we’re done, or we won’t have enough for the next FOB, but we’re taking all the extras the battalion has. Plus, we’ve got our artificers.” He nodded at Lord Ayan. “That’s the other reason we’re the anvil.”
“What about back-up or reserves?” Staff Sergeant West asked. Bradford saw him nudge Thrombert. It was subtle, and she doubted anyone else was positioned to see it.
“Third Battalion will have units on standby to airlift in if we need them, and First Battalion will be doing the same here. We can’t know for sure that the keeblers won’t divert to attack FOB Glenn or FOB McCaffery, so First and Third will be staying put unless we need them. They’ll also be ready to move out and cut the elves off in case they manage to slip past the doughboys and retreat back up the valley.”
He glanced around the room. “Any other questions?” Nobody raised their hand. “Good. We’ll make a final assessment and decision on how to dig in once we get there. I’ll expect inputs from you all then. Retreat!”
“Hell!” they all chorused back.
“Dismissed.”
*****
“Man, this fucking sucks. How many more of these fucking things do we have to fucking fill?” Sampson dropped his shovel in the dirt, leaning against it while the latest sandbag was tied off.
“We fill ‘em until Staff Sergeant says we have enough,” Kawalski said.
“Man, there’s hescoes and sandbags all over the place. You’re fucking sittin’ on a stack of a hundred of ‘em, at least! We damn near made ourselves a whole ‘nother outpost!” Johnson said, a couple of his buddies from Third Squad nodding in agreement.
Tambor, another rifleman from Third Squad, wiped sweat from his brow. “It’s like my old pappy used to say, ‘If the cow’s already growin’ a calf, lettin’ the bull fuck ‘er again ain’t gonna get you another one.’”
Kawalski covered a laugh with a cough. “Just keep packin’, bitch tits. Sandbags save lives.”
“Well, then, how come you ain’t packin?” Kimber asked.
“’Cause I’m supervisin’, duh.”
“Yeah, and who’s keepin’ watch?” Johnson asked. “What if they invisible their way right up to us? How would we know?”
“Didn’t your Sergeant tell you what the plan was?” Kawalski asked.
“Nah, never got the chance to.” Johnson shrugged, holding open another canvas sack for Sampson. “The LT blabbered on about heroics ‘n patriotism ‘n shit fer twenty minutes, then sent us all over here to pack sandbags, ‘n Staff Sergeant Rickles pulled Sergeant Byrne away for somethin’.”
“Well, we got the heavy equipment diggin’ trenches ‘n fillin’ hescoes, right?” Kawalski said, leaning forward, waving at the loader dumping a bucket full of earth into another hescoe bag. “And us over here diggin’ fightin’ holes and packin’ sandbags, while Second Platoon is posted up on lookout. They’ve got them anti-invisibility rods all set up in a perimeter at two hundred meters, and had enough extra they scattered them out across the field around us.” He settled back on his sandbag couch. “Plus, scuttlebutt says the geeks back home’ve figured out some bullshit that can pick up when elves are invisible and nearby.” He pointed above him. “Our eye in the sky up there’ll let us know if they try to pull any sneaky fuck-fuck games.”
“What about claymores?” Grimes from First Squad asked.
“Did you haul up enough to blanket a whole field in your pack?” Kawalski glared at him. “Didn’t think so.”
“We have some,” Edison said, dumping a shovel full into the bag Grimes was holding. “But if they’re tripping them, we’re about to get overrun.”
“Alright, boys, that’s enough sandbags for now,” Bradford said, walking up to the working party. “Take what you’ve made and stack them in another row behind this wall, here.”
“But, Jabs,” Davies said, looking up from where he had been organizing the empty sacks, “That wall’s already two bags thick!”
“Yeah, and a third row makes it that much harder to knock over, Corporal Davies. Stack it up!”
“Aye, aye, Sergeant …” he grumbled as the Marines formed a line to start passing sandbags.
“You, too, Kawalski. You’ve skated enough.”
“… Aye, Sergeant.” The lanky Marine reluctantly slid off his throne of sandbags and joined the daisy chain.
Bradford slung her rifle, and fell in beside him.
“Yo, real talk, tho,” Santelli said, grunting as he passed a sandbag. “Are these fuckin’ pussy ass elves eva gonna show up? I’ve been schvitzin’ my ass off in the hot-ass sun all fuckin’ day here, all fuckin’ day yesterday, and all fuckin’ day the day before, and I swear to fuckin’ god, if I have to pack another goddamn fuckin’ sandbag, Imma flag down the nearest fuckin’ Keebler and have him put a fuckin’ spellbolt in my fuckin’ brain, bro.”
“Don’t hold back, tell us how you really feel,” Edison said, taking another bag from him.
“Fuck you. I hope your fuckin’ cat gets fuckin’ rabies.”
Bradford shared a chuckle with the other Marines. He’s gotta be the most entertainingly angry person I’ve ever met.
“Hey, Jabs, where’s Shields?” Kawalski asked, taking a bag from her. “You two havin’ a lover’s quarrel? I do couples therapy on the side.”
“Fuck you, Kawalski.”
“Nah, seriously, Sampson and I break up so often, I figured I’d put all that experience to good use. I’m real cheap, only charge fifty bucks a session.”
“Kawalski,” Sampson shouted from further down the line, “Being too stupid to know you’re not ever going to beat a gay man in a game of Gay Chicken is not the same as having a relationship!”
“My love for you, Sampson, is wild and free, like a stallion on the open prairie, but you keep trying to take my chocolate cherry out of wedlock!”
“Goddamnit, Kawalski.” Bradford chuckled, shaking her head.
“Seriously, though, where is Shields? I’d hate for us to be missin’ our portable shield generator when the Keeblers finally show up. Ain’t fashionable.”
“He’s taking a shit. That double hit of hot sauce finally cleared last week’s MREs out.”
“Speaking of taking a shit,” Thorne said, grimacing as he passed off a bag and stepped out of line. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Dude, again?” Johnson called after him, but he was already gone.
Bradford turned to receive another bag, and found Rinn stepping into the line next to her. He wrinkled his nose, taking a bag and passing it over. “I think Thorne just shit himself.”
“I fucking swear,” Johnson said. “This mother fucker is always shitting himself. I don’t know how he keeps his underwear clean!”
“Hey, you remember when we hit that Keebler camp at Backstreet? He dropped a whole-ass turd in his drawers before the elves showed up.”
“Fuckin’ hell, man.”
“Didn’t he do that to get out of losing an argument about sucking dicks?”
The Marines chuckled.
“Fuck. Dude.” Johnson shook his head. “This mother fucker. Day Fuckin’ One. I was ridin’ shotgun in the Humvee behind his on the ride out from Tolkien, before the big battle. I had to stare at his pale fucking cheeks as he hung his ass out the door of his Humvee and shit a fucking firehose.”
“God damn!”
“That mother fucker needs to get his guts checked.”
“Fuckin’ IBS, brah.”
“Ain’t that disqualifying?”
“Only if it’s bad enough. And even then, not if you lie about it.”
“Lock and load, Marines!” Meyers shouted, walking up to the wall with Staff Sergeant Rickles and the remainder of 1stPlatoon. “Flyboys have picked up Keeblers coming in, tryin’ to be sneaky! You boys ready to bring the pain, and teach them not to fuck with America?! Oorah!”
“Oorah!” The Marines replied, though a bit lacking in enthusiasm. Jeez, he’s laying it on a bit thick, isn’t he?
Stowing their shovels, the Marines picked up their rifles and took their places on the line. The ratchet and clack sounds of magazines being checked and actions readied rattled sporadically across the trenches.
Rinn took his place, resting his stave on the sandbag wall that topped their entrenched position as he looked out at the mouth of the valley across the field.
Silence fell as the last weapons were checked and readied, and the Marines waited.
And waited.
“Where they at?”
“LT said they were coming.”
“Yeah, but, like, they’re almost here, coming, or, we’re gonna be staring at an empty field for three hours, coming?”
“I’ll stare at your mom for three hours, cumming.”
“Man, fuck you.”
“No, fuck you.”
“All of you shut up and listen,” Miller growled, his cheek welded to his buttstock as he scanned his rifle along the field.
“What? I don’t hear anything …”
“The birds.”
“Yeah? I don’t hear ‘em … Oh, fuck …”
“I still don’t see them! Should we shoot? When will we see them!?”
“Relax, we’ll know well before they get close,” Rinn said, flicking an ear at the nervous Marine. “We didn’t have enough disruption rods to create a second perimeter further out, so we buried them across the field, set to the widest effect area.” He rolled his ears. “They won’t disrupt more than a small group of elves at that setting, but they will ping an alert to the controlling artificer if anything passes through their area.”
“So you made a minefield of invisible motion detectors?”
Rinn flicked an ear, not entirely understanding the reference. “Sure. Any invisible elves pass by, and we’ll-“ he cut off mid-sentence as several alerts pinged in his ear. “Multiple rods just pinged. Tahsh!They’re already half-way across the field!” He readied his stave, but a massive disruption spell burst from the opposite side of the battalion before he could ready his own.
The burst was so powerful, and noisy, he could see the hairs on the back of Bradford’s neck standing on end. “Well, there goes a whole mana crystal,” he said. She’s getting better, but still bleeding way too much energy on her projection spells.
The spell blast hit, sending disruptive shockwaves across nearly three quarters of the plain. Like a mirage ripped away, a massive line of elven cavalry was revealed a quarter of a mile away.
Their invisibility disrupted, the elves dropped the remains of the spell. Dozens of formations were revealed, each with three waves of double-ranked cavalry in shining plate armor. They were already on the trot, closing the distance.
Several horns sounded across the field, and the elves spurred their armored queshi mounts into a gallop, lowering long lances into attack position.
Shouts and orders to open fire were passed over the radio, accompanied by a long whistle. Kawalski didn’t wait for the order to finish, and it took barely a moment for machine guns across the line open up.
Lead and tracers streamed across the field, biting into the elven formation as they started their charge.
The Abrams each fired in turn, their godhammers thumping in fury. No explosion followed, but their shot ripped down whole segments of the elven formations.
The elves continued their charge, undeterred.
The LAVs opened up with their rapid-thumping guns. Stitching 25mm explosive charges across the elven line, they shredded queshi and elves alike.
Rinn’s chest thumped as another salvo from the Abrams punched more holes in the elven formation. Every machine gun mounted on each tank opened up, streaming fire across the field as the main gun reloaded.
Despite all the gunfire, the thunder of the queshi hooves could be felt through the ground as they continued their charge.
Four hundred tails. Elves continued to drop as a rapid salvo of mortar rounds thumped around them, spraying dirt, smoke, and gore into the air. But there were thousands of them. The marines were all firing with their rifles, picking more of them off, but still they came.
Three hundred tails. More explosions rippled across the elven line as the tanks fired, their shells tearing craters into the ground but no longer ripping down whole swaths of the elven formation. Kawalski burned through belts of ammunition as fast as he could reload them, and so was every other machine gunner.
Queshi tumbled to the ground as their bodies were riddled with bullets and shrapnel. Many of their riders fell with them, just as torn and punctured. Often the rider survived his mount, jumping clear as the beast fell. Drawing long cavalry sabers, they continued the charge on foot.
Multiple streams of machine gun fire from the far side of the entrenchment lit up with Yahgi’s trademark enhancement glow. The rounds punched through elves and kept going, taking out the elf behind it, sometimes even an elf or two in the second wave. Only the long body of a queshi was enough to stop them.
Along the elven flanks, hundreds of soldiers, perhaps a thousand or more on each side, split to pass around the Marine fortification and encircle their position.
Kawalski burned through another belt, the barrel of his gun glowing hot. Cursing, he pounded on the handle until it popped free. Quickly jamming his spare barrel home, he lifted the top cover and slapped a new belt on the tray before slamming the top cover back down. His hands moved so fast they were a blur.
Davies switched to full auto and dumped his magazine. With shaking hands, he fumbled for a replacement before jamming it home and dumping it again. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”
Miller kept his cheek welded to his rifle as he fired a steady beat even as more Marines around him switched to full auto and started dumping ammunition. An elf or queshi dropped with every squeeze of his trigger.
The elves kept coming.
Bradford thumped out a 40mm grenade. The explosion took down two queshi and one of their riders. Flipping to full auto, she stitched rounds down the line before reloading.
Two hundred tails. The line was chaos. A constant roar. All but the Abrams’ main guns buried in the indistinct drone of massed machine gun fire.
Still the elves came.
Queshi who survived their riders continued forward in the charge, caught in the press as the elven formations converged on the much smaller Marine battalion.
Rinn started pouring out spells as fast as he could form them. Spellshards. Firebolts. Lightning bursts. Anything that came to mind, as fast as he could think it.
His mana crystal ran dry. He jammed another one in. And soon another.
One hundred tails. Rinn jammed another mana crystal into his stave. Everyone was on full auto now.
Fifty tails. The queshi were in full sprint. How do they have anyone left?! We’re going to be overrun.
Forty …
Thirty …
Twenty …
Ten.
The last surviving elf stumbled and fell to the ground ten meters from the Marine trenches, his body and mount ripped apart by two dozen machine guns and hundreds of rifles.
As the echo of the last shots rolled back to them from the ridge at the western edge of the field, the silence that fell was deafening.
***
“Holy shit.” Bradford looked out across a field of carnage. Hundreds of the elk-like horses had survived. Some screamed in the throes of death, others fled in panic. Not a single elf remained alive.
“Is … Is that it? Is it over?”
“I think so …”
“Fuck. That was close.”
Bradford looked at her watch. Holy fuck. That … That all lasted less than a minute … She looked back out across the field, what once was so peaceful, now strewn with mangled corpses. On reflex, she pulled her half-spent magazine out of her rifle, looked at it, then stuffed it in her dump pouch before replacing it with a fresh magazine.
Kawalski looked over his shoulder at the noise, blinking at her, then shook his head. He turned and popped the still-glowing barrel off of Lucy, swapping the first barrel back on. “Gomer! Where’s that extra ammo I made you carry?”
The rest of the squad quickly followed suit, replacing magazines and ammo belts, triggering a wave across the battalion.
Bradford turned and saw Staff Sergeant Rickles talking to Meyer. He was talking low, and she couldn’t hear what he was saying. Or maybe I just can’t hear shit right now … Meyers wasn’t saying anything. He just stared out at the field, his face pale. The magazine in his rifle was empty, the bolt still locked to the rear.
Rickles locked to attention. “Aye, aye, sir!” he said, loud enough for the Marines around him to hear. Stepping away from Meyer, he grabbed two Marines from First Squad and sent them running back to the supply depot in the central fortification.
“Well, so much for the cavalry,” Sampson said.
“Heh, yeah,” Kimber said, pulling out a water bottle and taking a swig. “Taught ‘em the hard way why you don’t charge massed machine gun fire.”
“Haha. Yeah.” Edison chuckled. “That was like one of those battle simulator games.”
“Guess they didn’t think we kicked their ass hard enough the first time around,” Kawalski said.
The Marines started to chuckle and laugh as the tension eased. Bradford started to smile with them, then Rinn’s ears shot up in rigid surprise.
She followed his gaze as he stood and looked over the sandbags, out at the chewed-up field, and she registered the gaping holes their own fire tore into the disruption fence. Rinn’s ears drooped. “Tahsh.”
He swung his stave up and spat a disruption burst across the battlefield. His pulse was much smaller and far less energetic than Yahgi’s, but his spell structure is flawless. The pulse burst across a quarter of the field, revealing an elven Infantry formation at close range.
Like the cavalry, the elven infantry dropped their invisibility, revealing thousands of soldiers in rank formation, just two hundred meters.
Two hundred meters behind them stood two mage towers.
One of the Abrams snapped off a shot, striking the tower to Bradford’s right just below the cupola. The exploding HEAT round ripped the top of the tower apart, sending the mangled remains of its top tumbling in one direction as the tower toppled in another.
The other tower popped up its shield, blocking two tank shells fired into it. The bubble that formed didn’t cover the entire elven force, but blanketed a large portion of the infantry on the western side of their formation.
The remaining tanks and Marines opened fire. No order needed to be given.
As the rounds started to cut into their lines, the elves swung large, scutum-like shields in front of them. The ornate shields resisted rifle fire, but the heavier rounds from the 240s and M2s still punched through.
Bradford thumped a grenade into the front of the elven formation. Several elves dropped, opening a brief hole in their shield wall, and showing the shields were not proof against explosives.
The surviving mage tower began its slow advance, following behind the elven infantry. It opened fire, slapping one of entrenched Abrams with a heavy spellblast. The Abrams spat fire and fury in return.
“Where the hell is the goddamn Army?!?” Kimber asked.
Another heavy spellblast slammed into one of the center trenches, sending dirt, sandbags, and bodies tumbling into the air.
“Forget the goddamn Army, where the hell is our fucking air support!?!” Kawalski said, slapping another belt into his gun.
No sooner were the words spoken than a pair of Cobras roared overhead, dumping rockets into the tower’s shield and completely ignoring the minimum aircraft stand-off range.
They broke away as the tower fires at them. Splitting to either side of the shield bubble, they narrowly evaded an airburst.
Shardbursts from elven mages slapped into the sandbags in front of them and flashed overhead. The Marines continued to pour heavy fire despite being peppered by spellfire from elven mages. The elves maintained their advance.
The tanks thumped their furing in a joint salvo, focusing their fire on the tower. More lights flashed from the western trenches as Yahgi spread her enhancement. Bradford counted glowing streams from ten machine guns now. Each round ripped straight through infantry shields, armor, and multiple elves.
As the Cobras circled around to make another pass, several explosions ripped through the closing elven formations on eastern flank. Directly in front of Second Squad a wave of elves started dropping as streams of tracer fire cut into them from the edge of the field to their right.
Bradford looked to the edge of the field, her heart leaping as several Abrams, Bradleys, and Humvees roll out of the trees. The Army had arrived.
The elven formations shifted to their right as their eastern flank started to crumble. Trying to fit as many soldiers under the tower shield as they could, they stalled their advance.
One Abrams revved its engine up as the tower spat another shot at the entrenched Marines, chewing another hole in their fortifications. With a growl, it drove forward, up and out of its hull-down position. Slamming back onto the ground as it bounced hard on its treads, the tank began charging the tower.
The other three Abrams roared out of their dug-in positions moments later, spitting MG and cannon fire into the elven shield as they followed suite.
More gunfire tore across the elven formations still exposed as a series of missiles slammed into the shield. Looking past the elven formation, Bradford spotted a flight of Apaches hovering above the trees, unloading fire. The two Cobras rumbled back overhead, strafing the elves’ right flank with guns and rockets.
The Abrams’ tracks were painted red with blood as they rolled over the fallen bodies littering the battlefield. Shardbursts plinked against them without effect. The tower hit one in the front armor. It shuddered, chunks of metal flying off, but it kept driving.
Another took a glancing hit down its side. The tank survived, but its left track was ripped apart, bringing it to a grinding halt as it spun a quarter circle. The remaining Abrams continued their charge forward.
A third shot missed as the first tank swerved around an obstruction in the field, then it breached the shield. The coax spat a stream of lead as the main gun swung on target and fired. The tracer was barely visible before the 120mm HEAT round slammed into the cupola at the top of the tower. The explosion ripped it to pieces. The tower stumbled and fell as an uncontrolled current of mana arched across its spines and loops, ripping it apart as the shield collapsed.
The shockwave of the 120mm gun’s report flattened the elves in front of it before the tank slammed into their formation. The tanks continued their charge, smashing more of the tightly-packed infantry under their treads than with their machine guns.
The Army charged out of the tree line, pressing into the elves’ left flank with two full tank platoons, six Bradleys, and a two dozen Humvees.
The elven lines collapsed into a full retreat.
“Up and at ‘em, boys!” Spader shouted, crawling up onto the sandbag wall. “They’re on the ropes! We can’t let the Army have all the fun!”
“Two-Five!” Bradford shouted, crawling up out of the trench half a second behind Kawalski.
“RETREAT, HELL!” the Marines roared as they charged out of their trenches and fighting holes in pursuit.
The Army vehicles spread to the North, cutting off the elves path of retreat, forcing them to collapse against the steep ridge to the west of the field. The Marine tanks halted as the elves retreated around them, waiting for their own infantry to catch up before advancing.
Pressed against the ridge, their numbers severely diminished the elves engaged invisibility.
The humans slowed their approach, their fire trickling off.
“Are you fucking idiots?!?” Kawalski shouted. “They’re still there!” He brought Lucy up to hose into the elves when they suddenly reappeared.
The entire surviving elven contingent returned from thin-air, and promptly fell over dead, their own swords in their guts.
***
A blood-curdling shriek right in front of her nearly jolted Bradford out of her skin. “Fucking shit!” she shouted, stumbling back and nearly falling into the blood-soaked mud. The Queshi in front of her had renewed its exhausted struggles as she approached.
“You good, Jabs?” Dubois said as chuckles spread around the squad.
“Yeah,” she said, recovering from the start. The wounded animal’s cries had grown softer again, gurgling from blood in its lungs. She drew her sidearm and stepped up to the dying creature, putting it out of its misery with a single gunshot.
Sporadic gunfire echoed across the field as Marines and Soldiers picked through the remains of elven army. Looking for surviving elves, useful equipment, and ending the suffering of dying mounts they could do nothing else for.
Bradford holstered her pistol, the magazine already half-expended. There’s a lot more of the creatures alive than I would have expected. And none of the elves, again. “Anyone find anything?”
“I got a sword,” Kawalski said as he walked by. “It ain’t one of them fancy lightsaber-edge ones, but it’s still got the sheath thing.”
“Anything useful, Kawalski,” she rolled her eyes. She kicked the mangled legs of the elf next to the queshi, a female who had caught as many machine gun rounds as her mount. “This one has fancier armor, might have been an officer of some kind.”
“She’s a pretty one,” Kimber said, coming over to take a closer look. “Well, she was before she took a bullet to the face.” He knelt down and started searching the body, pulling the armor off as he checked for pockets or hidden pouches.
“Heh.” Davies said, wandering over. “Your mother know you like to feel up corpses?”
“Fuck you, Davies.”
“You sure you don’t want a selfie with your new girlfriend?” he asked. “We can post it online, show your mom who you’re bringing home for thanksgiving.”
“Shut the fuck up, man.”
“Nah, seriously, lean in and give her a smooch,” the chunky Marine pulled out his phone.
“I said fuck off, Davies,” Kimber said, turning to glare at him.
“Hey, man-“
Bradford stepped in front of him, getting in his face. “Drop it,” she said. “Go check those bodies over there.”
“Look, Jabs, I’m just trying to have a bit of fun, you-,” he said, setting a hand on her shoulder.
She reached up and yanked it off, bodily shoving him back a step. “I said drop it, Corporal. Now go check those bodies over there, that’s a fucking order.”
Davies glared at her, gritting his teeth a moment. “Aye, aye, Sergeant.” He turned and walked away in the general direction Bradford indicated, but didn’t stop to check any bodies.
She watched him go, clenching and unclenching her fists, her nose twitching as she ground her teeth together. With a deep breath, she looked her hands out straight and exhaled slowly, pushing the matter aside.
With another breath, she turned back to Kimber. “Find anything?”
“Nothin’ that’s intel,” he said. Neither he nor Dubois gave any reaction to the incident. “Just shit that looks like medieval field kit.” He frowned, standing up. “And this.” He passed her a gold and silver chain attached to a moderate-sized pendant made of white gold or platinum. “It was tucked under her armor.”
She took the jewelry from him, and upon closer examination realized it wasn’t a pendant, but a large locket. Popping the clasp and opening the locket revealed a portrait of an elven woman in the same armor as the corpse and a matching face, minus the bullet holes. She stood beside two elven children. One was a boy who looked to be in his late teens, the other was a girl who was barely a toddler. Both children bore strong resemblance to the woman in the portrait.
Bradford stared at the portrait for a long moment.
“A buddy of mine is in Three-Five,” Kimber said. “He helped sort through the bodies after the first fight. He didn’t talk about it much, but he said he found a couple things like that on a few bodies, and on as many of the ones that killed themselves as the ones that didn’t.”
“That’s fucked up,” Dubois said, looking at the portrait as Bradford handed it to him. “Don’t they want to get back to their families?” He handed the locket back.
“We don’t know their culture,” she said, taking the locket back. “They might think they’re already dead, or glorify dying in battle, or consider defeat to be the ultimate dishonor, or something.”
“Still fucked up,” Kimber said.
“Yeah,” she said, tucking the locket into a pouch.
“Hey, Sergeant Bradford,” Gomez said, stepping over and looking like he very much wanted to be holding a hat in his hands.
“Yeah, Gomer, what’s up?”
“I’ve been thinkin’, about the fight and all, and … What do we do if they come at us like this when we’re not all dug in?”
“Probably just run away,” she said, turning to face him. “Pack it into a Humvee and drive away faster than they can ride. Then, when they’re all gassed out, swing back around and pick ‘em off at range.”
“Okay, but …” he frowned. “Packin’ everyone into trucks ain’t quick. What if they get the jump on us?”
“Well, we should know they’re in the area, at least,” Bradford said. “I don’t know what it is, but the Intel weenies have figured out a way to tell when the elves are nearby, even if they’re invisible. I also heard Captain Spader talking about artillery shells. Sounds like the brass have started ordering up the rounds that drop mines. Same for cluster bombs. If they want to throw a cavalry charge at us like that again, we’ll just drop a minefield in their way.” She patted his shoulder. “And if that isn’t enough, we’ll just stab ‘em with our bayonets, oorah?”
“Oorah,” Gomer said with a smile.
“Fuck!” They all turned to face the wet thud that followed and found Elder scrabbling to his hands and knees, half-covered in mud and gore. “Oh, fuck, eughh! Plegh, ugh! It got in my fucking mouth! Eugh!” He retched, puking up the contents of his stomach.
The Marines around him laughed.
“Oh, oh no, I can’t- I can’t handle-“ Sampson turned and vomited.
The Marines cursed and laughed as they jumped out of the way, even as Santelli joined the wave of sympathetic puking.
Comments
Joshua
Can we get another .5 chapter, this one on Yahgi? Where she drummed out of the Royal Host and enlists in the Marines, because it's the only way the Lord Commander can save her life.
Craig Dunlap
any logistics and support commands are definitely putting in work.
aerolyte
God my Unit “I MSB” must be working overtime since it is in Del Mar which is LITERALY next to the 5 freeway and it also being the company that supports the entire MEF
ImezRuez2
The sheer level of balls to charge an entrenched modern unit while on horseback gave me goosebumps.
