The Mighty First, Episode 2 Page 16
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“Our losses have been nominal in the retreat,” Grozet noted. “Are the Specialized Divisions prepared for action?”
“Yes, my Lord,” Garrow answered. “They are already in place, and ready to spring the trap once the Marines have advanced far enough into the city.”
Grozet gazed at the still-photos of an aerial shot over the armored column, “I want particular attention paid to this ‘First Battalion‘. It’s time for them to see their day of reckoning.”
“It will be done, my Lord.”
“Yes, indeed,” Grozet said dreamily. “It will be done.”
Xxxxx
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Six
Decimation
South I-71 Route 3 Junction
12 miles north of the Columbus, Ohio city limit
4:00 PM
The 83rd Global Marine Combat Regiment had successfully linked up with the Army 101st Airborne Division, bringing combined troop numbers up to just over two thousand, backed by fifteen tanks from the 83rd and 108th Armored, and the remaining four artillery pieces in the convoy.
While the officers and senior NCO’s met to finalize their plans, the support vehicles moved off the highway where a rear fire base was being established. Blackhawks arrived, delivering the medical staff and their equipment so that a MASH unit could be erected. The artillery pieces positioned themselves at the ten-mile marker and waited for the order to commence.
The Attayans were already in place to the east, and the
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Army Air Cav was making a mass Huey landing as they spoke in South Bloomfield, at the 12 mile limit south of Columbus. All of the key players were ready for the go-ahead.
“I want First Battalion to lead us in,” Strasburg announced. “Followed by Second and Third; no one’s holding back in reserve on this one, we’re throwing it all at them!”
The Major that was leading the 101st disputed the decision, “You boys are getting all of the glory out here! It’s our turn for a slice of the pie! I want my Division to head the attack.”
Ford held his tongue in check, but wanted very much to slap the butter out of this guy for treating the whole thing as if it were a football game.
Strasburg looked at Lafferty, who only shrugged, “Doesn’t really matter who spearheads this thing, the outcome will be the same.”
The colonel consented, “Alright, have it your way, then. The Airborne units will go in first, then the tanks, and the Marine infantry will follow with about a ten-minute delay.”
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The Major held up a hand, “No armor! We’ll march in solo.”
Strasburg sighed, rolling his eyes, “Then the tanks will bring up the rear, behind the First. Since we’re dividing them up, they may as well space five units between each of the three battalions.”
The major nodded, accepting that.
“Should a band play Stars and Stripes as you march in?” Ford asked, unable to completely hold back his loathing of the man’s egotistical attitude. Several of the officers chuckled, but the major just glowered at him. Ford did not look away. The officer did.
The sudden, sharp percussion of artillery echoed from the city behind them, and they turned to watch as explosions rocked the eastern side.
“That’s our cue,” Strasburg said. “The Attayans have started.” He keyed the net and told his own artillery crews to open up. Soon, they were sending out rounds of their own, which made a peculiar whining noise as they sailed overhead, on their
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way toward the city skyline. Blooms of fiery smoke began to fly upward along the edges of the distant buildings.
“Start marching, then,” The colonel told the major. “We’ll form up and follow.”
The fight for Columbus had begun.
Xxxxx
The artillery had been called to a stop as the first elements of the 101st Airborne light-infantry units began to penetrate the city limits. Small arms fire immediately began to harass them, but it was nothing too heavy, and they were able to continue pushing further in toward downtown with well-organized and efficient efforts. The Storians were fighting them in small squads, continually retreating under the determined advance of the soldiers.
Citizens were running and dodging ahead of the fighting as rounds snapped and zipped about, punching into parked cars and against the sides of the buildings. As the point teams reached
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about the third block into the city, the rear squads were just entering. There was a five hundred yard gap between them and the Marines waiting to back them up, and this resulted in the Army division being truly isolated as it fought its way further in.
From an intersection to the west came a sudden barrage of heavy-weapons fire, issuing from second-story windows. The chatter of 60-watt machine guns filled the air, echoing between the skyscrapers. Rifle grenades began going off, accompanied by RPG’s streaking down at them. The sudden escalation forced the Army division to split in half, one maneuvering south, the other hunkering down slightly east.
Captain Hannock signaled for a rapid assault, and the 1st Battalion charged in, deploying by platoons and inter-lacing themselves among the maze of alley-ways and side streets. Their contribution to the firepower shifted the flow of the battle back in their favor and they began pushing westward, tearing the main streets apart in flying debris. They pumped rifle grenades up at the windows of the second floors as they went, and the blasts sent glass showering down amid the blaze of plasma rounds being
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traded. The competition ceased between the two military branches and became a team effort in order to maintain initiative.
Further up West 3rd Avenue, A- Company was heading the advance in that area, pouring fire down the street from both sides, divided by platoons. Captain Hannock led Second Platoon, and Ford had taken the First. Ford was kneeling behind a parked delivery truck, shooting at movement from down the way. Mark belly-crawled beside him and lobbed a rifle grenade toward the Storians hiding behind their own rows of parked cars.
There was a distinct ripping sound from that direction, and two objects sailed skyward, nearly straight up, then arcing overhead perhaps a hundred feet into the air. The objects seemed to be trailing a black cable behind them, uncoiling it as they went.
“What the heck is that? “ Mark wondered, watching it.
Ford knew immediately what it was, and yelled into his helmet mic, “Take cover!”
It was known as a zip-line. The rockets reached their zenith, and the cables pulled taught, jerking them downward with incredible speed and force. When the cables slammed onto the
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street, they exploded for their entire length. The thermite weapon’s detonation clapped across the intersection, shattering windows and knocking people off of their feet. The very ground bucked under the intensity of it. White-hot Thermite and phosphorus flames roiled in all directions, igniting fires. Cars shimmied on their tires as their windows spider-webbed. Had it not been for their armor, the Marines would have been horribly burned by the flames and their ears injured by the over-pressure.
The Army paratroopers were not as fortunate, their clothing and traditional Kevlar armor igniting in the searing heat. Flesh blistered and lungs were scorched just trying to breath. Their screams were wrenching. Burning figures flailed and ran in circles, collapsing to the asphalt and writhing in agony. Ford and Hannock each began shooting them, putting their comrades-in-arms out of a misery that could not be recovered from as meat melted and ran from bones. The younger troopers watched this in horror.
RPG’s began soaring down from upper floor windows again, pounding the streets in one explosion after another.
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The rifle fire from the Storians increased ten-fold. Ford wondered if this would be their last battle.
Xxxxx
Manny was leading B-Company down an alley that would intersect with 3rd Avenue when the zip-lines were fired. The ground shook beneath their feet and the air up ahead, where the alley opened, simply ignited into flames. He stumbled to a halt and decided to side-track down a west vein, dodging toppled trash cans and leaping over piles of discarded lumber, his fellow troopers close in-tow.
Ahead, perhaps a hundred feet away, a flatbed truck appeared at the alley’s mouth, and stopped. It was an anti-aircraft vehicle, armed with a quad-barrel 200-watt cannon. That platform began turning in their direction. Manny yelped and hollered for a full retreat. Bravo Company scrambled backwards and ran as fast as they were able. The massive plasma bolts began raking the alley, ripping brick and mortar from the walls,
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sending it flying all around them. Marines were tossed like rag dolls by the force of the debris flying about, others were hit directly and torn apart, sluicing each other in gore.
Xxxxx
Minerva and Amell were taking point of C-Company, following a squad of Army paratroopers as they fought their way northward across Birch Street, intending to link up with Alpha on West 3rd Avenue as well--- when the anti-aircraft truck veered from a wide alley and stopped in the middle of the street. It turned its cannon down and around, firing into an opposing alley, that being where Manny and B-Company was pin-wheeling backwards for their lives. The Airborne troopers that accompanied C-Company bravely charged it from behind, killing the driver by tossing a hand grenade into the cab through its open window. Minerva was advancing, shooting at a trio of Storians trying to flank the paratroopers, when an APC emerged from the same alley as the truck had. It had a single-barrel short cannon
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mounted above the cab, and it blasted the squad of Airborne soldiers, tossing them like so much trash in a rain of blood and blacktop. Chunks rained down on top of her as Minerva skittered to a halt.
The cannon flipped around even as C-Company was scattering and began blowing swaths of street into the air in her direction. A platoon of Storians stormed from the alley and spread a lethal curtain of plasma across the street. C-Company fled and dodged desperately, leaping into doorways and through broken windows. Marines were running helter-skelter.
In the customer area of a Starbuck‘s coffee shop, Amell and Ashley sought cover under over-turned tables as plasma rounds beat into the walls around them. There were several civilians lying on the floor, dead among broken dishes and shards of glass. From outside, a hand grenade sailed through the storefront window and landed near them. Amell picked up Ashley and threw her back toward the kitchen an instant before it went off. The sergeant was lifted through the air and pin wheeled over the counter, slamming into the wall upside down and flopping
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to the floor head-first. Plasma and shrapnel peppered the walls and ceiling, shattering the glass display case.
“ Amell!” Ashley screamed, crawling toward her while rounds snapped and popped above her. The Attayan lay still, limp.
“ Amell!” Ashley called again, but the sergeant did not respond.
Ashley suddenly felt as if she could not breathe and pulled her helmet off, her short, golden hair puffing out. Tears streaked her face as she cradled Amell’s helmeted head in her lap. She cringed as plasma continued to streak into the café, hitting things even back in the kitchen, where appliances clanged when they were hit.
“Amell, please don’t be dead,” Ashley pleaded.
The rifle fire stopped chopping up the store’s interior, redirected to other targets outside. The noise of plasma-diesel engines roared as Storian assault vehicles lumbered past. Ashley could hear heavy footfalls enter the shop, crunching on the broken glass that littered the floor. The steps drew nearer until Ashley
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was looking up at a Storian soldier, clad in grey fatigues and Kevlar-type armor. His slanted, yellow eyes glinted from beneath the brim of his helmet, looking down at her with what appeared to be a furtive expression. The chevrons on his sleeve were of the same fashion as any she had seen around camp, he was a corporal.
“A child!” He exclaimed in heavily accented English.
Ashley was frozen, unsure of what to do. She knew that she was not about to leave Amell lying there. She was helpless, her rifle lying out of reach. The girl remembered what Amell had drilled into her before; the Storians did not take prisoners.
The corporal seemed to be struggling with conflicting emotions of his own, he had drawn a combat knife from its sheath, but did not move any closer to her. An eternity passed in which she was at his mercy, kneeling on the floor with Amell’s unmoving form at his feet.
A voice called from the sidewalk, “Did you get them?”
The corporal looked at who had spoken, then back down at her. The girls were behind the service counter, out of sight from the street.
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The Storian swallowed, then slowly replaced the blade into the scabbard.
“They’re dead!” The corporal answered his colleague. He turned to leave.
“Thank you,” Ashley whispered to him.
The Storian gave a curt nod in return, then left them there.
Ashley trembled and wept, still clutching at Amell while the battle raged on outside.
Xxxxx
Minerva, dodging a storm of rifle rounds, had scrambled for cover as her unit scattered to all points of the compass. She ducked through the broken glass doors of a daycare center and ran full-tilt down the hall, which cut left and led to a row of classroom-like lounges full of toys and child-size furniture.
She skidded to halt, then back-tracked to gawk into one of the rooms, unbelieving of what she saw there. There must have been twenty kids inside, huddled with a harried-looking woman in
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a corner. The woman was reading from a story book, trying her best to distract the children from the clatter outside. Bookshelves had been moved before the broken windows in an attempt to create a barricade, and an emergency lantern provided the only light available, as the power had gone out.
All of those little faces turned to look at her as Minerva stood in the doorway, peering in at them. Their attention shifted to her weapon, which she promptly shouldered so as not to frighten them more than they already were. The caregiver stared, eyes wide, still holding the book.
Minerva stepped inside and closed the door behind her, opening her visor so that they could see her smile, “Don’t let me interrupt. That sounded like a neat story.”
The kids were riveted by her presence, though, and would not be giving the story attention any time soon. She moved to where the shelves blocked the windows and tried to see outside. It looked as if the Storians were continuing their attack while pushing down the street, thankfully away from the care center.
“My daddy is a Marine.”
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This came from a little girl sitting cross-legged at the edge of the group, regarding Minerva’s armor and unit markings with familiarity.
“He has a suit just like yours,” She added.
Minerva reinforced her smile, attempting to appear reassuring, “I bet your daddy is very brave.”
The care giver sat the book aside, “It was too dangerous to try moving the children.”
“You did the right thing,” Minerva replied, looking outside again. “The Storians are swarming everywhere.”
The sound of boot falls came from the hall.
“Kids,” The master sergeant said softly, “I want you to cover your ears and close your eyes.”
The kids did as they were asked, and she un-shouldered her rifle, taking aim at t
he door. Through its tinted-glass window, the outline of a hulkish figure was shadowed by emergency lighting down the corridor. The clear image of a rifle jutted before it. Minerva’s finger left the trigger guard and rested ever so lightly on the trigger itself.
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The doorknob turned. The latch clicked. The door swung slowly inward.
A short figure stepped in, clad in armor, black captain’s bars visible above the visor. The captain saw Minerva and held a hand out in a friendly gesture. It was Hannock.
Weapons were lowered and the captain softly shut the door, noticing the kids cowering in the corner. He realized the gravity of their situation had just become more complicated.
Minerva stepped closer to him so that they could converse privately, “What do we do?” She whispered.
Hannock shouldered his rifle and unfastened his canteen, taking a swig of water. Sweat ran in rivulets down his face, having ran for blocks during the ambush.
“They’re safest staying here,” He told her.
Minerva looked at the little faces, her heart going out to them, “Can we stay to protect them?”
The captain replaced his canteen and jerked along with everyone else as a sharp explosion outside shook the room. He dropped-visor to consult the tactical.
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The grid display revealed chaos. Troopers were being chased every which-way, and there were many being lit-up as wounded or dead.
“You can stay here,” Hannock told her, “I’ll head out and see if I can round up enough people to at least form a platoon, maybe get an Armored Personnel Carrier over here to evac these kids.”