The First Encounter

An unexpected battle.

He was staring hard at the map before him when one of his captains burst through the door, panting. He barely managed a proper salute and quickly said through short breaths, “Colonel, *wheeze* they’ve taken *gasp* the eastern front!” He stopped to catch his breath after sufficiently delivering the news the general had feared to be true but did not want to hear. He brought his fist down with great strength upon the table, causing several of the figures on the map to vibrate and fall out of place.

            “Damn it! Damn it all to hell!” He pushed away from the table in a huff, clearly distressed at the situation. He brought one hand up to his chin and rubbed it vigorously while placing the other firmly on his hip. Without looking back at the captain, he gestured towards him and inquired, “How far have they gotten?”

            “Last I heard they were about thirty miles northeast of us and steadily growing closer.”

            The colonel continued rubbing his chin, thoroughly searching his mind for some resolution to the nearing threat. He let out a sigh and without turning his gaze back to the captain, waved at him and gave him a command, “Radio to the artillery emplacements and tell them to prepare to be met by one hell of an army.” The captain saluted and left with haste as the general sought to devise a proper strategy to fend off the impending attack. Outside the tent, the staff sergeant that had gone with him stopped to ask what the general had said.

            The captain quickly replied, “Got to radio the artillery, tell ‘em to expect a big attack.” With that, he sprinted off to the communications post at the western end of the camp with the sergeant following close behind. They passed by a large number of other Marines who had apparently already received the news and were readying themselves. NCO's, SNCO's, and officers alike were barking orders at their subordinates while moving themselves to prepare for the attack. Every enlisted man was hurrying to their barracks to arm themselves and collect their ammo. Several squads were lined up at the camp entrance; others were placed around the camp’s perimeter, and a few platoons were set at potential choke points the enemy could gain a hold of.

Hopefully, if the artillery emplacements were unsuccessful in defending the camp from the onslaught, or at least from a little more than half of their force, they should be able to hold off what remained with only a little difficulty. But that was only a hope, and from what they knew, this portion of the enemy’s military was large and formidable even though they had taken a lot of casualties. This particular force was at first about 30,000 men strong including about 5,000 land based craft, composed of tanks, artillery transports, and other armored vehicles, and 1,500 aircraft, which consisted of transport and attack helicopters.

 The Siege of Cairo is where it first appeared, and there it wreaked havoc in a sound victory on the Egyptian Republic’s forces along with the American ones stationed there. It was a devastating loss; but fortunately, it deprived the enemy of the majority of its ground vehicles, a good portion of its troops, and a handful of the aircraft. This base was vital since it had stationed there a large cache of anti-tank weapons. The Germans had just produced a modern and technologically updated version of the Tiger Tank which had proven to be quite the thorn in, to now give them a name, the Iranian Coalition’s side. But, since the Americans were ever wary, or more accurately, paranoid of a sudden change in the allegiance of their once enemies, produced an anti-tank rifle, the AAR-343 which could cause significant damage and, if aimed correctly, destroy the new tank. So, to their misfortune, the base and those weapons were seized.

This was early in the war, but it was still a terrible way for IADF (International Armed Defense Force), an allegiance that was hastily and somewhat shoddily formed out of necessity due to IC’s surprise nuking of Moscow. It was actually a dirty bombing, but it gave them enough publicity to gain enough followers and eventually enough power to finally prove a threat, requiring the formation of the IADF) to begin the war. Ever since then, that specific IC force has, for the most part, soundly defeated any IADF men, armor, and aircraft they have come into contact with. The one IADF group that they had difficulty with was in Iraq, where a division of Sikh’s, allies with the US, combined with several highly skilled Marines were able to fend them off due to the tacticallity of their position. They were stationed at a fair sized bunker in the middle of a city in India that was bombed by IC about a week ago. Fortunately, IC left it alone afterward, since they were unable at the time to send in the necessary forces to clear up the rubble. The city was necessary to establish a trade route from India to Egypt, so, the IADF, seeing this as an opportunity, sent in a small force of about 300 men to take refuge in a still standing bunker.

The IC sent out a RAP (Recon Assault Party) to deal with any potential threats that might prevent the clearing of the route. It consisted mainly of ground forces which included a couple of tanks and several squads of men. Upon arriving at the site, they were met by a prepared IAF platoon who had planted landmines the night before and were armed with a significant amount of anti-personnel and anti-armor weapons along with the resolve of a 100 platoons. To their luck, the IC tanks were unable to drive around the city and gain a good vantage point from which to fire upon the encampment due to the constant obstruction of the fallen buildings. Therefore, the IADF group successfully repelled the IC as they were able to avoid being shot at themselves whilst inflicting heavy casualties on the IC battalion.

The captain and SSergeant arrived at the communications post to find the place in a state of chaos with operators frantically radioing to other bases and encampments, requesting reinforcements and warning them of the coming danger. Chances were, that even if the only thing the camp had left to face was at least over half of the remaining IC force, they wouldn’t be able to hold them for long until they were overwhelmed or reinforcements arrived. The captain scanned the group frantically until he found his other friend who was shouting over the operators to relay information with another one to the west of them.

The captain's voice broke over the rest of the calamity. “What the hell are you doing, damn it? Leave that job to the other operators. I need you to radio the artillery emplacements now and warn them about the attack!”

The operator hesitated for only a moment and then realized his mistake, “Damn it, I’m going to have to call you back. Remember: If they get through us, they’ll meet you in about a half-hour afterward.” He pushed some buttons on the setup in front of him and waited until he received a response: “This is Bunker 7C, Over. What’s the situation?”

With earnesty the operator replied, “This is an emergency, we are under threat of a large scale attack by the IC!”

“The IC?! The hell!?! I thought we had them at the eastern front? Damn! How long do we have until they get here?”

“They’re about seventeen miles out and advancing. Quickly. So, you have yourselves about twenty minutes to prepare.”

“S**t. S**t, s**t, s**t, s**t. Alright, I’ll tell the men to get ready.”

“Don’t forget to signal the other emplacements!”

“Aye, aye sir!” He put down the radio headset, jumped to his feet and ran out to meet the Sergeant standing guard at the radio tent. “Sergeant, tell the men operating the cannon to prepare for an attack and then tell the others to muster at the perimeter! We’re going to be getting company soon. Now, Marine! We don’t have time for you to sit on your a*s!”

“Aye, aye sir!” He saluted the 2nd lieutenant and took off running. The emplacement was hidden by a grove of trees and other forest greenery while built into the side of a hill. The sergeant sprinted down a path from the top of the hill to the cannon and began shouting as he went down. “2LT needs that canon loaded yesterday! The rest of you, get your asses to the perimeter and set up. Fast, now! Come on! We've got hell rollin' our way and it ain't gonna be pretty!” And he continued down the path into the bunker entrance, shouting similar instructions. Several of the artillery operators had just started playing a game of poker and one of them was napping in the viewing seat of the cannon, but the sudden shouting of orders from the sergeant caused those sitting to nearly knock over the table and the man sleeping to fall out of the seat. They moved with as much speed as possible, opening the hatch to the chamber to load the 40mm shell into it and aiming the cannon at the chokepoint of the path marked out by 5 miles of tall, sturdy trees and large, jagged boulders.

The others along with the Sergeant came pouring out of the bunker and lined up along the perimeter, weapons loaded and ready. All they had to do now was wait and hope that the other emplacements were signaled as well. A corporal was already radioing the anti-air cannon emplacements now and had received word from the one furthest out that they had already spotted something moving on the horizon, most likely several helicopters. He was growing irritated, not because of the radio operator on the other line, but because he was anxious. This was not something they expected, in fact they had been told that the eastern front was an assured victory. After sustaining all that death and damage, surely that IC force would be too crippled to make a successful attack, even with the aid of the stolen anti-tank weapons. Even if they were to reach the emplacements, they would have certainly been able to clear the skies of their air support, and, just like that battle in India, they should be able to prevent their advance with the obstruction of the trees and thus lay down heavy fire. Maybe here the IADF could deal a crippling blow and wholly wipe out this force that had been plaguing them since the beginning of the war.

The corporal finished transmitting, stood up, picked up his rifle and left his tent to join the men at the perimeter. He took one step, and if anyone was around him, they would have heard a wet thunk and a sigh, then a body hitting the forest floor. The other men were growing worried. The highest ranking officer there right now was the now present 2LT and he was wondering what had happened to his corporal. Head count after head count, and still one short. They were all still fairly green, this war was sudden anyhow and hadn’t even lasted a full year yet. For the majority of the time that they’ve been here, they simply trained, relayed back and forth between the emplacements and the camp, talked, drunk, slept, and played poker. Like the now dead corporal, they were all assured that the fighting was going to be contained to the eastern front and soon pushed back.

The 2LT figured he'd have to go looking for the missing E-4, so he stood up. Another wet thunk, and another body falling to the ground. The men, startled and terrified, began panicking. As they frantically spun their heads to pinpoint the direction of the silent shot, artillery fire was heard off in the distance, giving the signal that the IC force was here, but where!? The sergeant on the cannon spoke out in a harsh whisper as he got down from his seat and joined his comrades, “Everybody, shut up and calm down! The more movement you make, the more they have a chance of seeing you!” This helped a few of them to ease their minds and regain their focus, but most were still terrified to the point of shaking. The sergeant continued whispering, “Okay, none of us have any idea where the hell that sniper shot came from, but what we can do is try and coax him out, but whatever you do, do not f***ing stand up! You got that?” They all nodded in an affirmative yes. “All right, here’s what’s going to happen:

“First, a squad of about 4 is going to move back into the bunker and take cover from in there while still looking for the flash of a sniper scope. Heck, I bet we’re dealing with more than one. Maybe even three, better to cover every angle then. All right, another is going to up to the radio tent. Keep to the cover of the trees and shadows. The rest will remain here at the cannon, taking cover behind the concrete. What I want you to do is that if any of you see a flash in the trees, hoot for generally northeast and snap three times for generally northwest. What will happen next is that two of you from each squad will aim in that general direction while the rest lay down random covering fire. Alright, that’s all I’ve got. Any questions before we start?”

He glanced over the crowd and found one hand slowly being raised, as if the man who raised it hardly had as much trust in his own capabilities as he did in this shoddy strategy.

“Yes, Sarge, what is it?”

“Arty,” he replied shakily, “Look, you have to see here that this is pretty much hopeless.”

“Tell me how, Michael.”

“Don’t you see? Just look around you. Look at us. We’re a ragtag bunch of PFC's and NCO's, with the only Sergeants being you, me, and the Dick from the radio post. This isn’t a game of toy soldiers any more, Arty. This is war. What do we know about war? Sure, we may be “highly trained” and all, but at the end of the day, we’re no more than men with bodies that have zero to resistance to hot lead flying at us at 100mph. How can we face a threat that we have been told is absolutely massive, dangerous and now invisible? Arty, we don’t have a chance. Not in a million. We should just call it quits and return to camp. Maybe there we'll get a better shot at surviving what’s coming”

His friend was never the best at boosting spirits, but he could appreciate his realism. It had more than once proven to helpful in many precarious situations. But all that was before the war, before the regiments, before the real threat of a real enemy that now loomed menacingly over them. Michael was right, this wasn’t a game of toy soldiers and Arty doubted that it ever would be. He knew that he had to give the men more than just some flimsy, off-the-cuff tactic that he only hoped would work. And by his own insanity along with the stupidity of the enemy and possibly a miracle from God, he stood up…and did not get shot.

He sighed, but he put his shoulders back and raised his head and voice. “Men, I will tell you something which you already know. I am not fit to run this platoon. The now recent 2LT was far more qualified than I. But, what I do know is that if we don’t do something, something that is actually fighting back, this whole war has the potential of completely screwing us over. This plan is not the best, but it’s the best we got and the only way for it to have even the slightest chance working is for all of us to actually be Marines. We are trained to fight for our country, for our fellow citizens, for our friends and family back home, and for each other. We are brothers. Now, all of you look at me. Look me right in the eyes. Do you trust me?” He at first got a few reluctant nods and mostly worried stares. So he repeated himself, louder this time, but cautiously so, “I said, do you trust me?” This time he got slight nods from pretty much everyone and for him that was good enough. “Alright, Semper Fi.” The men replied with the same words. In his head there was one phrase that rang out which he then muttered to himself, “Once more unto the breach.”

The teams were assigned, the motions were made and soon they were in their designated positions and waited. Time seemed to slow to a maddening crawl as silence filled the forest, causing the men to grow more anxious. Mike had gone up to the tent with his crew while Arty remained at the cannon. None made a sound, lest they suffer an unwanted penetration to the head via a high-speed piece of metal. One could only imagine what ran through the Marines’ heads as they sat motionless in their positions, hearts pounding. Some feared death, others wondered about the afterlife, others thought about what they were going to have for dinner, others said prayers, and still others had mix of these things swirling through their minds in an almost nauseating way.

But, if one were to peek inside the heads of either Arty or Mike, you’d see them both thinking about their home. They had grown up together as kids. They were best friends of course and both had the luck of being put together in the same platoon when they joined up. The same goes for when they were deployed on this front and even more so to the same bunker. The odd thing was that they were different specialists. Arty, was, as stated earlier an artilleryman and Mike was an engineer who had been called down to work on the bunker’s plumbing. He eventually was given orders to remain there, since the one he had substituted for had received a terminal injury. So, things worked out for the two and funnily enough, they were given the nickname as children, “The Inseparables.”

A sharp crack sounded as a bullet ricocheted past Arty’s head, nearly hitting the PFC beside him. One thought was prevalent throughout the men, “It’s time.”