Post by Nexus on Jun 7, 2008 2:22:55 GMT -5
This is a fictitious endeavor, based loosely on Milsim events that have not taken place yet. Merely a stylized dramatic tale, of what we might expect from a milsim game in the future. (Though I have never played in one)
Forgive the lack of "tabs" or other shifting properties, for some reason the forum doesn't want to accept those, even though they show up in the pre-post text box, but not the actual post itself.
The air was bristling with anticipation and mingled with a sense of dread, as the weight of the coming battle pushed down on the waiting members of Third Platoon. Pvt. Bales looked down the defensive line of his comrades, and took a quick approximation of his platoons' mental status.
Many men were beginning to fidget with their rifles, as they attempted to keep a steady aim on non-existent targets, wiping sweat from their salt stinging eyes. Others were calm and focused, panning the forest foliage as if the enemy were already behind every tree, brush pile, and group of bramble in sight; just waiting for one of them to make the fatal error of showing themselves to Third Platoons' waiting sights.
However, the figure of most interest was Lt. Blach, current leader of Third Platoon. He was only two men down in the line from Bales' position, currently on the radio, probably taking orders from Cpt. Vigerowa. Lt. Blach was facing the line, as he always was, eyes darting from tree to tree, ever watchful. More than that, there was always an edge of cool in the Lieutenants’ eyes, more than watching they were calculating. No doubt running scenario after scenario of enemy troop movements though the surrounding area, playing out the enemies strategies, and formulating his orders in response to their advancement. In stark contrast to the Lieutenant, was Pvt. Phelps, Lt. Blach's radio-man. Phelps was always nervous, and acted like every moment he was in a danger zone he was surrounded on all sides by enemies. His helmet snapped back and forth, and sweat ran down his face, as he looked nervously around the forest in his field of view. Maybe he is just nervous to be behind the highest ranking member of the platoon. Bales thought to himself. An amused smile finding its way to his face, as he continued to study the nearly trembling Private. Or maybe it was a fear of snipers. Bales continued the thought. A radio man would be a perfect target for one of them. Maybe even the LT, and you never know... they could miss. The smile was still on Bales' face while he was thinking up what some of the paranoid private's thought could be, when Phelps whipped around and looked right at him, due to the LT shifting his position. Phelps smiled back, and it seemed to have a calming effect on the poor kid. Phelps gave Bales a thumbs up, and started scanning again. If he only knew. Bales thought, and turned his head back to the line.
Just then he could overhear the Lieutenant’s radio chatter, as he had shifted closer, and a lump formed in his throat. Through the small bits of static and crackling, Bales could just make out the chaos on the other end of the line.
"First platoon is taking heavy fire!!!! Left flank collapsing!!! Two maybe three enemy platoons overwhelming us..... (static)... need reinforcements!!!! Can't hold.... longer.... sever... ualties!!!!"
The muffled sound of gunfire filled the comm, and it cut out.
Lt. Blach was poised for the orders that were sure to follow. As they did....
The booming voice of Captain Vigerowa filled the comm shortly after. "Second platoon... disengage your current ambush position, move up, and come in hard on their flank over the knoll.... Third platoon... Drop back, and move in fast on First Platoons’ position and reinforce them from the rear!"
Lieutenant Blach snapped into action and handed the radio back to Phelps, who fumbled with it as he tried to return it into the appropriate pouch. The LT jumped up on his feet, immediately gaining the attention of all his men in sight.
"Third Platoon !!!! On your feet!!!!" Blach yelled out. Drawing the immediate clamor of weapons and gear shifting to position, ruffling leaves as hard boots made contact with the leafy forest floor. "Bounding over watch !!! Due west!!! Fall to the rear, and reinforce First Platoon from the rear of their firing line!!!! DOUBLE TIME!!!!"
Bales pulled his rifle tight against his shoulder in the ready position, and began sprinting in an arc that led him south and then due west towards the failing First Platoon. He came to a large tree, and took a knee behind it, peering out from the cover it provided, and scanning the horizon for any threat, as his comrades sprinted past. When the last of them had ran by, he got up and fell in behind them, running past other men that were providing cover until he ran past, and they fell in behind Bales. Bounding over watch was a beautiful thing when executed properly. It allowed for slow or fast deployment of troops, while the same troop could provide security for itself while on the move.
It wasn't long before they reached the rear of First platoon. Battle damage was sparse but evident on the trees and foliage even this far back. It would only worsen as they continued forward. Third platoon was moving at a crawl, with Lt. Blach leading as the tip of the spear. Walking slowly with bent knees Bales kept his rifle leveled forward, keeping a steady aim as he advanced, and only lowered it when one of his fellow soldiers strayed into his line-of-fire. He started seeing the first casualties splayed and broken on the ground ahead, and his stomach tightened. Painstakingly they advanced over the bloodied terrain, and it became quite obvious that the battle had already ended, as no gun fire could be heard. The stark silence only added to the ever growing fear that all the soldiered shared, one word resounding inside their skulls in time with the pounding of their hearts.... AMBUSH. Wide-eyed and cautious Third Platoon advanced confirming the dead, the lone platoon medic busy at work on a bloody private shaking from shock. Bales saw the shaking subside, and the medic nod his head "no", and saw the medic sprint for the next unfortunate soldier, when movement to his right caught his eye. What appeared to be a bush jumped from the ground and leg swept the nearest soldier to it, causing the startled soldier to cry in alarm and smash heavily into the ground. The Bush yelled frantically and was waiving a knife around in one arm, and a hand grenade in the other, two bulbous eyes wide with blood lust peering out from the darkened hooded visage. No less than twelve rifle muzzles found their way to the crazed Bush in the few split seconds since it had fell its first soldier. Relief washed over the Bush, who now was recognizable as First Platoons' sniper, as he recognized the uniforms of his sister platoon. He fell to his knees in relief, as a still shaken private scurried to get away from his mysterious attacker. Bales let out the breath he had been holding, and dropped his rifle away from the newly identified friendly.
"Sgt. Baker… First Platoon sniper contingent," he exhaled. "We are glad to see you guys." He said, as white teeth beamed out from between his darkened lips. Returning the knife to its sheath, and grabbing his long rifle from off the ground.
"We?" The shaken soldier asked, just returning to his feet.
A pile of leaves, rustled and then seemed to explode, as another ghillied bush like mass rocked up onto his feet.
"We..." He echoed, a smile of his own glimmering out of his blackened face, as he pulled his ghillies hood off of his head.
"My spotter... Spooky." Sgt. Baker added.
"Baker!" Lt. Blach called out from a distance...."I'm going to need a sit. rep. from you! Third platoon !!! Continue checking the wounded, and form a forward line at the top of the ridge!"
"Yes Sir!" An unidentified Sergeant yelled, over the clamor of resumed advancement. His voice fading... "You heard the Lieutenant... Move Out!"
“Phelps!” Lt. Blach shouted. “Get me Cpt. Vigerowa on the line!”
“Sorry sir…” a timid Phelps responded. “Comm’s are down… seems there is some interference, or we are being jammed.”
As the rest of Third Platoon executed the LT's orders, Sgt. Baker strolled up to Lt. Blach and began filling him in on the previous battle. The Lieutenant stopped Baker for a second, and shouted, "Bales!!, you just got yourself a new assignment."
"Sir!" Bales countered, as he altered his course to come near the LT.
"You will accompany Mills, Wallace, Domingo, and Leverman, and will make contact with Second Platoon on the knoll. Deliver the following orders: When Third platoon makes it to your left flank, head north with 70% of your platoon, making a large skirmish line. Send the remaining 30% out around wide on the right flank to scout and become a flanking provision should we make enemy contact. After you deliver your orders cut west, then veer north, and scout for the large enemy patrol that took out First Platoon, ahead of the main advance."
Bales swallowed hard, and managed a determined, if not consciously forced, "Yes Sir!"
His mind racing, Bales headed to the forward line where he could collect the other members of this suicide squad, and move out to Second Platoons' position. What did I do to the LT? he thought, as he made his way forward. Talk about being at the wrong place at the wrong time... Just my luck.
After collecting the somewhat reluctant scouting party, they broke off the forward line and headed east, to meet up with Second Platoon.
Thankfully the march was uneventful, and they managed to find Second Platoon with no trouble. Short of nearly taking friendly fire as they approached the outer security of Second Platoon, due to some trigger itchy Jar Heads.
Bales asked the nearest member of the 2nd... "Where can I find Lt. Mein?"
"Mein?..." the trooper shot back, his thick Philly accent stretching out the name... "You can always find Lt. Mein at the front of the forward line."
"Thanks." Bales said, and without another word they headed off.
"There he is." Domingo said, with a pointing outstretched hand. "Right where he said he'd be."
"Right." Bales agreed. Heading off at a trot to the Lieutenants position. "Stay here!" He called back over his shoulder. "I'll be right back!" None of them objected and they settled down into a group of fallen logs.
Bales approached, and was careful not to interrupt the Lieutenant. "Excuse me sir." He said quietly and quickly in between the dialogue the LT was having with one of his sergeants. They both turned around to face him. "Orders from Lt. Blach.” Bales said without pause.
“Orders?” Mein said questioningly. “From Lieutenant Blach.” He stated Lieutenant with disdain, clearly not fond of taking orders from someone of equal rank. “Command has given him no special clearance for this mission. Orders roll down, not sideways!”
“I understand sir.” Bales continued. “I think the LT was trying to keep this mission rolling. I do not believe the LT was trying to supersede the Captain, or subject your authority… he was simply try..” The Lieutenant cut him off.
“Lets have it then private.” Mein demanded.
“Ah, yes sir!” Bales stammered. He continued to relay the… suggestions, Lt. Blach had wanted him to deliver. Once he had finished, Mein and his sergeant exchanged glances.
“Pretty textbook.” Mein offered. “That is almost precisely what I and Sgt. Vega had decided to do.” Obviously trying to downplay the fact that Blach had come to the tactical decision far before he had. “Is that all?” Mein questioned.
“Yes sir.” Bales stated.
“You have other orders? Or are you to accompany us?” The lieutenant asked in closing.
“We have other orders.” Bales said dryly.
“Very well. Dismissed.” Mein turned back to his sergeant, and a sudden hand signal had the LT immediately on the ground. Bales followed suit, and as he hit the ground he scurried across the ruff forest floor to Mein’s position and joined the others in peering over a fallen tree.
As he peered over he could see enemy soldiers, a good ways off, combing through the forest. Then suddenly they all stopped. Second Platoon’s rifles slowly but steadily rose to eyelevel, and every man picked a target. The LT raised his hand ever so slightly palm open and vertical. Bales knew that if that arm were to fall, a wave of steel would wash through the forest, and destroy every enemy it touched. But the arm remained still. More enemy troops filled in with their comrades, rifles poised in the general direction of Second Platoon. Still the arm remained still. Apprehension filled the air… if ever there was a time it was now. FIRE ! FIRE ! FIRE ! Was screaming in Bales mind, but still the lieutenant’s arm remained perfectly still. Certainly the man was inept. Then a random barrage of enemy gunfire splashed through the forest. Bales pulled his rifle even tighter, the rifle butt almost becoming painful against his shoulder, as he clung to the weapon. He squinted his eye and put tension on the trigger, but caught himself, and took a fleeting glance at the LT. Still his arm remained in place, and Bales was wishing that a competent leader like Lt. Blach was here, someone who was willing to stand against their enemy. After a few seconds passed the gunfire subsided, and the enemy paused, listened, and looked carefully around. Satisfied, they turned around and began to file out of view.
Bales let out a deep breath, and relaxed, turning over and leaning his back against the log. Slowly the LT let his arm down to his side, and relaxed himself. Then Bales understood. That was merely a probe by the enemy to get them to reveal their position, and Lt. Mein had seen right through it. Why they had turned and had gone back the way they came, Bales could not say, he only knew that a less disciplined platoon or a hasty CO would have returned fire, and now they would be in it up to their necks. He got up, and while keeping low, headed back to his squad.
“Here he comes.” Leverman said in a coarse whisper. “What was that all about? You’d have thought a whole regiment of armed ghosts passed though our lines.” He directed at Bales.
“Oh it was just an enemy probe.” Bales said dryly. Thinking about the task still ahead of them. “Mein didn’t order an attack. That’s all.”
“Good thing too. By the sounds of their firepower we would have been outgunned.” Wallace stated, turning to each man in turn.
“He must be waiting for Third Platoon to move up for support.” Mills countered, shifting his rifle, and raising his head to take a glance towards the 3rd’s old position. “No sign of them yet.”
“We had better get moving.” Bales said, and started to head out. Until a heavy hand pulled him back down into the cover of the fallen logs. “Hey!”
Letterman, still whispering, said, “Where are we going? We know where the enemy is.”
Bales looked at Wallace and Mills, neither of the men said a word, they just looked to the ground for comfort. “We have our orders.” Bales said, standing again. “Besides, there could be a larger contingent of enemy troops dead ahead of the 3rd’s position, and they would walk smack into them.” He added.
Letterman fumed. “Oh so we have to find them instead huh?” His eyes shifted to Bales. “Lt. Blach can kiss my…”
“That’s enough!”Bales snapped. “We have our orders, and we will carry them out. Period. You want to be insubordinate, take it up with Lt. Blach. I’m sure he will have another wonderful assignment for you.”
“Yeah, like meet my .45! Or how’s the brig sound?” Wallace piped in.
Letterman rolled his eyes. “You watch too many war movies Wallace. Lt. Blach wouldn’t kill one of his own men, just for not wanting to walk into a suicide trap.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Wallace said quietly. “I heard he nailed one of his sergeants in the forehead for refusing to do latrine duty in Afghanistan, with that very .45 he carries.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Mills retorted. “Rumors spread by drunken regulars, nothing more.”
“Well, dead men don’t tell any tales, so you pick what side of the LT’s you wann’a be on.” Wallace added with great sincerity. Clearly he had thought this thru before.
Mills let out a sigh, and smacked Wallace on the back of his helmet. “What are you, a fricken pirate now!”
His head still reeling from the smack, Wallace let out a startled, “Hey!” But decided to leave it at that.
“Are we done?” Bales said to the group. “Now get up.”
Begrudgingly, the posse all got to their feet and headed out.
“Now for the fun part.” Bales thought sarcastically to himself, as they left the relative safety of Second Platoon, and made off through the forest.
Some 15 minutes later, Bales signaled for his squad to hold position and to get down. He then motioned for Letterman to take out his binocs, and look to their rear to see if he could spot the advancing Third Platoon. As he did so, Mills shimmied to Letterman’s position and the men conversed in low tones that Bales couldn’t make out. Letterman, with binocs in hand, turned around and gave Bales the thumbs up, signaling that he had spotted Third Platoon.
“Well at least their close.” This thought comforted Bales, as he returned his attention forward. Then he heard some ruffling commotion behind him, and turned around again. He found Letterman and Mills playing tug of war with the binoculars, apparently in disagreement about who should be able to look at the advancing friendlies.
“Cut that out! We need to move out, and continue forward!” Bales tried to shout with a coarse whisper, but either his voice didn’t carry, or the men ignored him. He figured it was probably the later. Just then Letterman stood up and pulled the contested object free from Mills grasp, a look of satisfaction on his face. Mills started to stand up, but before he got halfway, a bullet tore through Letterman’s face, distorting his smile into an emotionless mangled snarl. The impact was so precise, and forceful that his body immediately fell backwards and landed firmly on the forest floor. A shot then echoed from the leaves overhead, its location impossibly to pinpoint. The shot had undoubtedly been made by an enemy sniper. Time seemed to nearly stop as a small spray of blood lingered in the air, giving a stark contrast in color to the backdrop of greens and subdued browns, as the rays from the sun beamed down in fanned fingers, licking the forest floor.
Initially flinching from the shot, Mills blinked with confusion and now wiped red gore from his face with his hand. Turning around he looked at his squad mates with disbelief, still frozen in the split second that had destroyed everything that was his friend, and it was this disbelief that still seemed to be overwhelming all of his other senses.
“Get down!!!” Bales was yelling, the words taking an eternity to form and speak as time moved in slow motion, but he couldn’t break through the fog of what had just happened. He thought of moving to Mills position and pulling him down, but it was too late. Some 3 to 5 shots ripped through Mills’ chest, as he dropped his rifle and was knocked backward, falling next to his comrade. This time the shots could be heard in unison with the impacts, and Bales knew the enemy rifleman was close, and his reinforcements were too far away to be of immediate assistance.
“Fix bayonets!” Bales yelled to his two surviving squad members, attaching his as he did so. “Grenades at the ready!”
No more words were needed. The air filled with the sound of sporadic rifle fire as the enemy pressed their attack. Bales fired his weapon 3 times, more at random than anything else, as this particular position had patches of scattered tall grass between his position and the enemies. He joined Wallace and Domingo in throwing a flurry of grenades at their attackers, and then ran back a few meters to a downed tree, as screams and commotion erupted from some of the grenades finding their marks. Wallace and Domingo beat him there and were returning fire the best they could through the grass and trees that were blocking their view. He joined in, and returned an entire mag at the sights and sounds of his attackers one bullet at a time. Then the second mag, clattered to the ground empty. Domingo and Wallace were firing off to their right, trying to keep the enemy from flanking them, as the sounds of Third Platoon’s rifles started barking behind them. As Bales finished inserting his third magazine, he pulled back the charging handle and let her fly forward, just as an enemy soldier came bursting out of a patch of grass in front of him. The soldier looked down and saw Bales lying behind the log, but at a dead run it was too late for him to bring his rifle to bear. Bales quickly pulled his knees under him and managed to rise up to a kneeling position, just in time to impale the enemy soldier on his bayonet. The momentum of the soldier buried the bayonet in him to the end of barrel, and toppled both men into a pile behind the fallen tree. Bales pulled himself and his rifle free, and had to immediately fire and drop two more men running though the area with his carbine. A nearby explosion rocked him to the ground. As he gathered himself to a low crouch he looked over in time to see Wallace take several stray rounds mid torso though the visual screen of tall grass, and see Domingo take one to the shoulder from the same flurry of wild shots. Domingo had to drop his rifle, and pulled out his pistol with his off hand, and began plinking shots more reservedly toward the advancing troops.
The battle was going full tilt, as metal was flying overhead from both the enemy and mingled parts of the Second and Third Platoons. Domingo had taken another round and was out of action. Bales couldn't tell if he was dead or not, but he didn't have the time to check now. Bales was down to his last mag, fear clenching his guts as he counted every jolt of his body, every ejected casing bouncing off of the tree beside him, every squeeze of the trigger, as it counted down the likelihood of his survival. Then it came, the unforgiving unmistakable “click”, as the firing pin was engaged but came into contact with no cartridge. Bales closed his eyes and let his head drop in reserved acceptance, and for a brief moment, let the sounds of the battle around him overtake him. The distinctive discharge of different calibers and models of firearms, mingled with the screams of the dying, the drums of the explosions of indifferent killing devices, was like a cacophony of the orchestra of war. Awe-inspiring to hear, the raw power of such a scene jolting through his body with concussive force, was as entrancing and awesome as being in the center of a powerful storm; only to have the bleak reality of the situation become fully prevalent at the grotesque destruction of human life all around him. Truly a remarkable feat, to behold such power and destruction all at once.
Bales opened his eyes, and they immediately rested on the rifle from the man he had earlier bayoneted. He picked it up, affixed his bayonet, and with resolute determination let out a heroic yell, and charged the enemy.
He broke though several staggered layers of tall grass, dodging trees and brush along the way, until he came at last to the place where the enemy had ceased their forward advance. He took aim and on a jog dropped 5 men with short bursts with no more than 20 rounds, who were clustered together behind a natural barricade. The bayoneted man had apparently left his weapon on full-auto, a feature that did him well on this particular occasion; he switched it back to semi, and continued his charge. He surprised another man, and as he whirled around to face this new threat, Bales bayoneted him in the midsection, following that action by firing twice into the man’s abdomen. Bales’ left leg snapped out, and he slammed his boot into the soldier, freeing the bayonets' hold on him and letting him sail to the ground for his final seconds of life. Bales finished his magazine taking down three more men in his fury. He took a hit to the left leg for his trouble. His leg gave way, and he fell down on one knee. He used the empty rifle to get back on his feet, and charged the nearest soldier to him bayonet again leveled at his targets’ midsection. However, this man at the last second batted Bales rifle to the side, and stuck his bayonet into Bales shoulder. Bales let out a yell, but drew back his rifle again, and at an angle shoved the piercing bayonet up through the attacking soldiers gut and up into his ribcage. Immediately they both fell down, drawing another yell from Bales as his shoulder arched lightning bolts of pain through his arm and torso. He slowly pulled the bayonets tip from his shoulder, rolled away, and once again returned to his feet. He only had made it a couple of steps before two rounds blasted though his lower back and exited out his belly, momentarily stiffening his entire body in a steady torrent of pain. As it subsided, he collapsed to the ground, and rolled over as he landed. Starring up at the swaying treetops the pain and the sounds of battle seemed to fade entirely from his perception as he took in the beauty of the golden rays of sun shining though and illuminating the brightly lit leaves. His shaking hand grabbed feebly for the small cross he kept on a chain around his neck. Clutching it tightly he thought about his faith, his family, his friends. He could see the enemy falling all around him, as his charge had inspired the rest of Third Platoon to rush in behind him, and friendly boots and bodies began to run past in pursuit of the fleeing enemy. One soldier stopped and looked down at Bales. Dropping his rifle beside him and taking off his helmet he kneeled down beside Bales and took his hand. The cross was pulled from his grasp and fell to his chest, as Lt. Blach took his hand. The LT’s mouth was moving, but Bales could not hear what he was saying. Blach waived someone over, and before he knew it, a medic was peering down at him; mouth moving with silent admirations of hope. Black edges began to tug at his vision, and he could see the medic shaking his head at Lt. Blach. The LT turned to Bales and gave him a proud smile, and squeezed his hand tighter. Bales managed a small squeeze, but it was all he could give as his vision faded slowly away, and a flash of white enveloped him.
Lt. Blach looked down at the young private who had just given his life for this struggle. A private he had sent to his death, a pain and a weight he would have to carry for the rest of his life. Decisions he made cost men their lives, but that was war. He slid his red tinted fingers over Bales’ face, and shut the private’s eyes for the last time. He looked down at the blood stained cross for a long moment. After which he lifted the privates head slightly, and removed the cross from around his neck, and placed it in one of his vests many pockets, intending to mail it to the poor kids’ family. He stood, collecting his rifle and helmet, took one more glance at the faithful soldier, and placed his helmet back onto his head. With that, he strode off and returned to the battle at hand, adding his own notes to the cacophony of war...
Forgive the lack of "tabs" or other shifting properties, for some reason the forum doesn't want to accept those, even though they show up in the pre-post text box, but not the actual post itself.
A Tale From Third Platoon
The air was bristling with anticipation and mingled with a sense of dread, as the weight of the coming battle pushed down on the waiting members of Third Platoon. Pvt. Bales looked down the defensive line of his comrades, and took a quick approximation of his platoons' mental status.
Many men were beginning to fidget with their rifles, as they attempted to keep a steady aim on non-existent targets, wiping sweat from their salt stinging eyes. Others were calm and focused, panning the forest foliage as if the enemy were already behind every tree, brush pile, and group of bramble in sight; just waiting for one of them to make the fatal error of showing themselves to Third Platoons' waiting sights.
However, the figure of most interest was Lt. Blach, current leader of Third Platoon. He was only two men down in the line from Bales' position, currently on the radio, probably taking orders from Cpt. Vigerowa. Lt. Blach was facing the line, as he always was, eyes darting from tree to tree, ever watchful. More than that, there was always an edge of cool in the Lieutenants’ eyes, more than watching they were calculating. No doubt running scenario after scenario of enemy troop movements though the surrounding area, playing out the enemies strategies, and formulating his orders in response to their advancement. In stark contrast to the Lieutenant, was Pvt. Phelps, Lt. Blach's radio-man. Phelps was always nervous, and acted like every moment he was in a danger zone he was surrounded on all sides by enemies. His helmet snapped back and forth, and sweat ran down his face, as he looked nervously around the forest in his field of view. Maybe he is just nervous to be behind the highest ranking member of the platoon. Bales thought to himself. An amused smile finding its way to his face, as he continued to study the nearly trembling Private. Or maybe it was a fear of snipers. Bales continued the thought. A radio man would be a perfect target for one of them. Maybe even the LT, and you never know... they could miss. The smile was still on Bales' face while he was thinking up what some of the paranoid private's thought could be, when Phelps whipped around and looked right at him, due to the LT shifting his position. Phelps smiled back, and it seemed to have a calming effect on the poor kid. Phelps gave Bales a thumbs up, and started scanning again. If he only knew. Bales thought, and turned his head back to the line.
Just then he could overhear the Lieutenant’s radio chatter, as he had shifted closer, and a lump formed in his throat. Through the small bits of static and crackling, Bales could just make out the chaos on the other end of the line.
"First platoon is taking heavy fire!!!! Left flank collapsing!!! Two maybe three enemy platoons overwhelming us..... (static)... need reinforcements!!!! Can't hold.... longer.... sever... ualties!!!!"
The muffled sound of gunfire filled the comm, and it cut out.
Lt. Blach was poised for the orders that were sure to follow. As they did....
The booming voice of Captain Vigerowa filled the comm shortly after. "Second platoon... disengage your current ambush position, move up, and come in hard on their flank over the knoll.... Third platoon... Drop back, and move in fast on First Platoons’ position and reinforce them from the rear!"
Lieutenant Blach snapped into action and handed the radio back to Phelps, who fumbled with it as he tried to return it into the appropriate pouch. The LT jumped up on his feet, immediately gaining the attention of all his men in sight.
"Third Platoon !!!! On your feet!!!!" Blach yelled out. Drawing the immediate clamor of weapons and gear shifting to position, ruffling leaves as hard boots made contact with the leafy forest floor. "Bounding over watch !!! Due west!!! Fall to the rear, and reinforce First Platoon from the rear of their firing line!!!! DOUBLE TIME!!!!"
Bales pulled his rifle tight against his shoulder in the ready position, and began sprinting in an arc that led him south and then due west towards the failing First Platoon. He came to a large tree, and took a knee behind it, peering out from the cover it provided, and scanning the horizon for any threat, as his comrades sprinted past. When the last of them had ran by, he got up and fell in behind them, running past other men that were providing cover until he ran past, and they fell in behind Bales. Bounding over watch was a beautiful thing when executed properly. It allowed for slow or fast deployment of troops, while the same troop could provide security for itself while on the move.
It wasn't long before they reached the rear of First platoon. Battle damage was sparse but evident on the trees and foliage even this far back. It would only worsen as they continued forward. Third platoon was moving at a crawl, with Lt. Blach leading as the tip of the spear. Walking slowly with bent knees Bales kept his rifle leveled forward, keeping a steady aim as he advanced, and only lowered it when one of his fellow soldiers strayed into his line-of-fire. He started seeing the first casualties splayed and broken on the ground ahead, and his stomach tightened. Painstakingly they advanced over the bloodied terrain, and it became quite obvious that the battle had already ended, as no gun fire could be heard. The stark silence only added to the ever growing fear that all the soldiered shared, one word resounding inside their skulls in time with the pounding of their hearts.... AMBUSH. Wide-eyed and cautious Third Platoon advanced confirming the dead, the lone platoon medic busy at work on a bloody private shaking from shock. Bales saw the shaking subside, and the medic nod his head "no", and saw the medic sprint for the next unfortunate soldier, when movement to his right caught his eye. What appeared to be a bush jumped from the ground and leg swept the nearest soldier to it, causing the startled soldier to cry in alarm and smash heavily into the ground. The Bush yelled frantically and was waiving a knife around in one arm, and a hand grenade in the other, two bulbous eyes wide with blood lust peering out from the darkened hooded visage. No less than twelve rifle muzzles found their way to the crazed Bush in the few split seconds since it had fell its first soldier. Relief washed over the Bush, who now was recognizable as First Platoons' sniper, as he recognized the uniforms of his sister platoon. He fell to his knees in relief, as a still shaken private scurried to get away from his mysterious attacker. Bales let out the breath he had been holding, and dropped his rifle away from the newly identified friendly.
"Sgt. Baker… First Platoon sniper contingent," he exhaled. "We are glad to see you guys." He said, as white teeth beamed out from between his darkened lips. Returning the knife to its sheath, and grabbing his long rifle from off the ground.
"We?" The shaken soldier asked, just returning to his feet.
A pile of leaves, rustled and then seemed to explode, as another ghillied bush like mass rocked up onto his feet.
"We..." He echoed, a smile of his own glimmering out of his blackened face, as he pulled his ghillies hood off of his head.
"My spotter... Spooky." Sgt. Baker added.
"Baker!" Lt. Blach called out from a distance...."I'm going to need a sit. rep. from you! Third platoon !!! Continue checking the wounded, and form a forward line at the top of the ridge!"
"Yes Sir!" An unidentified Sergeant yelled, over the clamor of resumed advancement. His voice fading... "You heard the Lieutenant... Move Out!"
“Phelps!” Lt. Blach shouted. “Get me Cpt. Vigerowa on the line!”
“Sorry sir…” a timid Phelps responded. “Comm’s are down… seems there is some interference, or we are being jammed.”
As the rest of Third Platoon executed the LT's orders, Sgt. Baker strolled up to Lt. Blach and began filling him in on the previous battle. The Lieutenant stopped Baker for a second, and shouted, "Bales!!, you just got yourself a new assignment."
"Sir!" Bales countered, as he altered his course to come near the LT.
"You will accompany Mills, Wallace, Domingo, and Leverman, and will make contact with Second Platoon on the knoll. Deliver the following orders: When Third platoon makes it to your left flank, head north with 70% of your platoon, making a large skirmish line. Send the remaining 30% out around wide on the right flank to scout and become a flanking provision should we make enemy contact. After you deliver your orders cut west, then veer north, and scout for the large enemy patrol that took out First Platoon, ahead of the main advance."
Bales swallowed hard, and managed a determined, if not consciously forced, "Yes Sir!"
His mind racing, Bales headed to the forward line where he could collect the other members of this suicide squad, and move out to Second Platoons' position. What did I do to the LT? he thought, as he made his way forward. Talk about being at the wrong place at the wrong time... Just my luck.
After collecting the somewhat reluctant scouting party, they broke off the forward line and headed east, to meet up with Second Platoon.
Thankfully the march was uneventful, and they managed to find Second Platoon with no trouble. Short of nearly taking friendly fire as they approached the outer security of Second Platoon, due to some trigger itchy Jar Heads.
Bales asked the nearest member of the 2nd... "Where can I find Lt. Mein?"
"Mein?..." the trooper shot back, his thick Philly accent stretching out the name... "You can always find Lt. Mein at the front of the forward line."
"Thanks." Bales said, and without another word they headed off.
"There he is." Domingo said, with a pointing outstretched hand. "Right where he said he'd be."
"Right." Bales agreed. Heading off at a trot to the Lieutenants position. "Stay here!" He called back over his shoulder. "I'll be right back!" None of them objected and they settled down into a group of fallen logs.
Bales approached, and was careful not to interrupt the Lieutenant. "Excuse me sir." He said quietly and quickly in between the dialogue the LT was having with one of his sergeants. They both turned around to face him. "Orders from Lt. Blach.” Bales said without pause.
“Orders?” Mein said questioningly. “From Lieutenant Blach.” He stated Lieutenant with disdain, clearly not fond of taking orders from someone of equal rank. “Command has given him no special clearance for this mission. Orders roll down, not sideways!”
“I understand sir.” Bales continued. “I think the LT was trying to keep this mission rolling. I do not believe the LT was trying to supersede the Captain, or subject your authority… he was simply try..” The Lieutenant cut him off.
“Lets have it then private.” Mein demanded.
“Ah, yes sir!” Bales stammered. He continued to relay the… suggestions, Lt. Blach had wanted him to deliver. Once he had finished, Mein and his sergeant exchanged glances.
“Pretty textbook.” Mein offered. “That is almost precisely what I and Sgt. Vega had decided to do.” Obviously trying to downplay the fact that Blach had come to the tactical decision far before he had. “Is that all?” Mein questioned.
“Yes sir.” Bales stated.
“You have other orders? Or are you to accompany us?” The lieutenant asked in closing.
“We have other orders.” Bales said dryly.
“Very well. Dismissed.” Mein turned back to his sergeant, and a sudden hand signal had the LT immediately on the ground. Bales followed suit, and as he hit the ground he scurried across the ruff forest floor to Mein’s position and joined the others in peering over a fallen tree.
As he peered over he could see enemy soldiers, a good ways off, combing through the forest. Then suddenly they all stopped. Second Platoon’s rifles slowly but steadily rose to eyelevel, and every man picked a target. The LT raised his hand ever so slightly palm open and vertical. Bales knew that if that arm were to fall, a wave of steel would wash through the forest, and destroy every enemy it touched. But the arm remained still. More enemy troops filled in with their comrades, rifles poised in the general direction of Second Platoon. Still the arm remained still. Apprehension filled the air… if ever there was a time it was now. FIRE ! FIRE ! FIRE ! Was screaming in Bales mind, but still the lieutenant’s arm remained perfectly still. Certainly the man was inept. Then a random barrage of enemy gunfire splashed through the forest. Bales pulled his rifle even tighter, the rifle butt almost becoming painful against his shoulder, as he clung to the weapon. He squinted his eye and put tension on the trigger, but caught himself, and took a fleeting glance at the LT. Still his arm remained in place, and Bales was wishing that a competent leader like Lt. Blach was here, someone who was willing to stand against their enemy. After a few seconds passed the gunfire subsided, and the enemy paused, listened, and looked carefully around. Satisfied, they turned around and began to file out of view.
Bales let out a deep breath, and relaxed, turning over and leaning his back against the log. Slowly the LT let his arm down to his side, and relaxed himself. Then Bales understood. That was merely a probe by the enemy to get them to reveal their position, and Lt. Mein had seen right through it. Why they had turned and had gone back the way they came, Bales could not say, he only knew that a less disciplined platoon or a hasty CO would have returned fire, and now they would be in it up to their necks. He got up, and while keeping low, headed back to his squad.
“Here he comes.” Leverman said in a coarse whisper. “What was that all about? You’d have thought a whole regiment of armed ghosts passed though our lines.” He directed at Bales.
“Oh it was just an enemy probe.” Bales said dryly. Thinking about the task still ahead of them. “Mein didn’t order an attack. That’s all.”
“Good thing too. By the sounds of their firepower we would have been outgunned.” Wallace stated, turning to each man in turn.
“He must be waiting for Third Platoon to move up for support.” Mills countered, shifting his rifle, and raising his head to take a glance towards the 3rd’s old position. “No sign of them yet.”
“We had better get moving.” Bales said, and started to head out. Until a heavy hand pulled him back down into the cover of the fallen logs. “Hey!”
Letterman, still whispering, said, “Where are we going? We know where the enemy is.”
Bales looked at Wallace and Mills, neither of the men said a word, they just looked to the ground for comfort. “We have our orders.” Bales said, standing again. “Besides, there could be a larger contingent of enemy troops dead ahead of the 3rd’s position, and they would walk smack into them.” He added.
Letterman fumed. “Oh so we have to find them instead huh?” His eyes shifted to Bales. “Lt. Blach can kiss my…”
“That’s enough!”Bales snapped. “We have our orders, and we will carry them out. Period. You want to be insubordinate, take it up with Lt. Blach. I’m sure he will have another wonderful assignment for you.”
“Yeah, like meet my .45! Or how’s the brig sound?” Wallace piped in.
Letterman rolled his eyes. “You watch too many war movies Wallace. Lt. Blach wouldn’t kill one of his own men, just for not wanting to walk into a suicide trap.”
“That’s not what I heard.” Wallace said quietly. “I heard he nailed one of his sergeants in the forehead for refusing to do latrine duty in Afghanistan, with that very .45 he carries.”
“That’s ridiculous!” Mills retorted. “Rumors spread by drunken regulars, nothing more.”
“Well, dead men don’t tell any tales, so you pick what side of the LT’s you wann’a be on.” Wallace added with great sincerity. Clearly he had thought this thru before.
Mills let out a sigh, and smacked Wallace on the back of his helmet. “What are you, a fricken pirate now!”
His head still reeling from the smack, Wallace let out a startled, “Hey!” But decided to leave it at that.
“Are we done?” Bales said to the group. “Now get up.”
Begrudgingly, the posse all got to their feet and headed out.
“Now for the fun part.” Bales thought sarcastically to himself, as they left the relative safety of Second Platoon, and made off through the forest.
Some 15 minutes later, Bales signaled for his squad to hold position and to get down. He then motioned for Letterman to take out his binocs, and look to their rear to see if he could spot the advancing Third Platoon. As he did so, Mills shimmied to Letterman’s position and the men conversed in low tones that Bales couldn’t make out. Letterman, with binocs in hand, turned around and gave Bales the thumbs up, signaling that he had spotted Third Platoon.
“Well at least their close.” This thought comforted Bales, as he returned his attention forward. Then he heard some ruffling commotion behind him, and turned around again. He found Letterman and Mills playing tug of war with the binoculars, apparently in disagreement about who should be able to look at the advancing friendlies.
“Cut that out! We need to move out, and continue forward!” Bales tried to shout with a coarse whisper, but either his voice didn’t carry, or the men ignored him. He figured it was probably the later. Just then Letterman stood up and pulled the contested object free from Mills grasp, a look of satisfaction on his face. Mills started to stand up, but before he got halfway, a bullet tore through Letterman’s face, distorting his smile into an emotionless mangled snarl. The impact was so precise, and forceful that his body immediately fell backwards and landed firmly on the forest floor. A shot then echoed from the leaves overhead, its location impossibly to pinpoint. The shot had undoubtedly been made by an enemy sniper. Time seemed to nearly stop as a small spray of blood lingered in the air, giving a stark contrast in color to the backdrop of greens and subdued browns, as the rays from the sun beamed down in fanned fingers, licking the forest floor.
Initially flinching from the shot, Mills blinked with confusion and now wiped red gore from his face with his hand. Turning around he looked at his squad mates with disbelief, still frozen in the split second that had destroyed everything that was his friend, and it was this disbelief that still seemed to be overwhelming all of his other senses.
“Get down!!!” Bales was yelling, the words taking an eternity to form and speak as time moved in slow motion, but he couldn’t break through the fog of what had just happened. He thought of moving to Mills position and pulling him down, but it was too late. Some 3 to 5 shots ripped through Mills’ chest, as he dropped his rifle and was knocked backward, falling next to his comrade. This time the shots could be heard in unison with the impacts, and Bales knew the enemy rifleman was close, and his reinforcements were too far away to be of immediate assistance.
“Fix bayonets!” Bales yelled to his two surviving squad members, attaching his as he did so. “Grenades at the ready!”
No more words were needed. The air filled with the sound of sporadic rifle fire as the enemy pressed their attack. Bales fired his weapon 3 times, more at random than anything else, as this particular position had patches of scattered tall grass between his position and the enemies. He joined Wallace and Domingo in throwing a flurry of grenades at their attackers, and then ran back a few meters to a downed tree, as screams and commotion erupted from some of the grenades finding their marks. Wallace and Domingo beat him there and were returning fire the best they could through the grass and trees that were blocking their view. He joined in, and returned an entire mag at the sights and sounds of his attackers one bullet at a time. Then the second mag, clattered to the ground empty. Domingo and Wallace were firing off to their right, trying to keep the enemy from flanking them, as the sounds of Third Platoon’s rifles started barking behind them. As Bales finished inserting his third magazine, he pulled back the charging handle and let her fly forward, just as an enemy soldier came bursting out of a patch of grass in front of him. The soldier looked down and saw Bales lying behind the log, but at a dead run it was too late for him to bring his rifle to bear. Bales quickly pulled his knees under him and managed to rise up to a kneeling position, just in time to impale the enemy soldier on his bayonet. The momentum of the soldier buried the bayonet in him to the end of barrel, and toppled both men into a pile behind the fallen tree. Bales pulled himself and his rifle free, and had to immediately fire and drop two more men running though the area with his carbine. A nearby explosion rocked him to the ground. As he gathered himself to a low crouch he looked over in time to see Wallace take several stray rounds mid torso though the visual screen of tall grass, and see Domingo take one to the shoulder from the same flurry of wild shots. Domingo had to drop his rifle, and pulled out his pistol with his off hand, and began plinking shots more reservedly toward the advancing troops.
The battle was going full tilt, as metal was flying overhead from both the enemy and mingled parts of the Second and Third Platoons. Domingo had taken another round and was out of action. Bales couldn't tell if he was dead or not, but he didn't have the time to check now. Bales was down to his last mag, fear clenching his guts as he counted every jolt of his body, every ejected casing bouncing off of the tree beside him, every squeeze of the trigger, as it counted down the likelihood of his survival. Then it came, the unforgiving unmistakable “click”, as the firing pin was engaged but came into contact with no cartridge. Bales closed his eyes and let his head drop in reserved acceptance, and for a brief moment, let the sounds of the battle around him overtake him. The distinctive discharge of different calibers and models of firearms, mingled with the screams of the dying, the drums of the explosions of indifferent killing devices, was like a cacophony of the orchestra of war. Awe-inspiring to hear, the raw power of such a scene jolting through his body with concussive force, was as entrancing and awesome as being in the center of a powerful storm; only to have the bleak reality of the situation become fully prevalent at the grotesque destruction of human life all around him. Truly a remarkable feat, to behold such power and destruction all at once.
Bales opened his eyes, and they immediately rested on the rifle from the man he had earlier bayoneted. He picked it up, affixed his bayonet, and with resolute determination let out a heroic yell, and charged the enemy.
He broke though several staggered layers of tall grass, dodging trees and brush along the way, until he came at last to the place where the enemy had ceased their forward advance. He took aim and on a jog dropped 5 men with short bursts with no more than 20 rounds, who were clustered together behind a natural barricade. The bayoneted man had apparently left his weapon on full-auto, a feature that did him well on this particular occasion; he switched it back to semi, and continued his charge. He surprised another man, and as he whirled around to face this new threat, Bales bayoneted him in the midsection, following that action by firing twice into the man’s abdomen. Bales’ left leg snapped out, and he slammed his boot into the soldier, freeing the bayonets' hold on him and letting him sail to the ground for his final seconds of life. Bales finished his magazine taking down three more men in his fury. He took a hit to the left leg for his trouble. His leg gave way, and he fell down on one knee. He used the empty rifle to get back on his feet, and charged the nearest soldier to him bayonet again leveled at his targets’ midsection. However, this man at the last second batted Bales rifle to the side, and stuck his bayonet into Bales shoulder. Bales let out a yell, but drew back his rifle again, and at an angle shoved the piercing bayonet up through the attacking soldiers gut and up into his ribcage. Immediately they both fell down, drawing another yell from Bales as his shoulder arched lightning bolts of pain through his arm and torso. He slowly pulled the bayonets tip from his shoulder, rolled away, and once again returned to his feet. He only had made it a couple of steps before two rounds blasted though his lower back and exited out his belly, momentarily stiffening his entire body in a steady torrent of pain. As it subsided, he collapsed to the ground, and rolled over as he landed. Starring up at the swaying treetops the pain and the sounds of battle seemed to fade entirely from his perception as he took in the beauty of the golden rays of sun shining though and illuminating the brightly lit leaves. His shaking hand grabbed feebly for the small cross he kept on a chain around his neck. Clutching it tightly he thought about his faith, his family, his friends. He could see the enemy falling all around him, as his charge had inspired the rest of Third Platoon to rush in behind him, and friendly boots and bodies began to run past in pursuit of the fleeing enemy. One soldier stopped and looked down at Bales. Dropping his rifle beside him and taking off his helmet he kneeled down beside Bales and took his hand. The cross was pulled from his grasp and fell to his chest, as Lt. Blach took his hand. The LT’s mouth was moving, but Bales could not hear what he was saying. Blach waived someone over, and before he knew it, a medic was peering down at him; mouth moving with silent admirations of hope. Black edges began to tug at his vision, and he could see the medic shaking his head at Lt. Blach. The LT turned to Bales and gave him a proud smile, and squeezed his hand tighter. Bales managed a small squeeze, but it was all he could give as his vision faded slowly away, and a flash of white enveloped him.
Lt. Blach looked down at the young private who had just given his life for this struggle. A private he had sent to his death, a pain and a weight he would have to carry for the rest of his life. Decisions he made cost men their lives, but that was war. He slid his red tinted fingers over Bales’ face, and shut the private’s eyes for the last time. He looked down at the blood stained cross for a long moment. After which he lifted the privates head slightly, and removed the cross from around his neck, and placed it in one of his vests many pockets, intending to mail it to the poor kids’ family. He stood, collecting his rifle and helmet, took one more glance at the faithful soldier, and placed his helmet back onto his head. With that, he strode off and returned to the battle at hand, adding his own notes to the cacophony of war...