Tales of the Ranch - Phoenix Rising

[Grand58742]

No, Grand hasn't gotten out of the writing business, just been working on something else for a change. Different style of writing set in the "Normal" universe.

I got an unusual request a while back from a member on another board. I mentioned in Tales of the Ranch - Operation Eris about Phoenix, the landings in Europe during the WWIII years. I had halfheartedly thought about writing about those actions for a while, but when asked, got the inspiration to do it.

It's a short story and told in first person for a change (a good majority of it at least) and set during the landings in Europe.

Added: PDF download now available.

[Grand58742]

PROLOGUE PHOENIX RISING



“Incoming!” screamed my Platoon Leader immediately after the first mortar shell landed. They were smaller caliber than what we had before, sixty mil or so, but dangerous nonetheless. I immediately hit the ground and covered in the larger crater serving as my defensive fighting position, waiting for the current barrage to stop so I could continue trying to find overhead cover. But we also knew the mortars were typically followed by a ground attack. We needed to stick our heads up long enough to check our assigned sectors before jerking them back in at another explosion. I checked on my battle buddy assigned to the same foxhole before looking out. Nobody was approaching in our sector for the moment and I was content to pull my head back in after a shower of dirt hit my helmet.

“Anything?” my new battle buddy asked.

“No,” I said, still getting to know him after my original partner was killed during the landing on the beach. Not really during the landing as he hadn’t even made it to shore. We huddled down together as the explosions continued, both of us silently thanking the stars it wasn’t anything bigger than the annoying mortar rounds.

“You think we’re going to hold?” he asked, a little scared.

“I think we should be able to,” I said, trying to be brave, but the fear showing out in my voice despite my efforts to the contrary.

We both prepared for the expected assault as the mortar fire died down once again. But it never materialized and was just more harassment. However, we both knew it was a matter of time before the IU massed enough infantry, armor, artillery, aircraft or various combinations thereof and struck us once again. It had happened before, it certainly will happen again before we get done here I thought as I continued peering forward into the growing light of the beach at Normandy. The clouds were breaking up a bit, but the winds still swept though the lines with the same ferocity they had since right after we landed. I tightened my grip on my rifle as I saw a figure moving through the woods towards our position. My new buddy, Private Matthias Blain from Missouri was heard doing the same thing. However, as the figure appeared, I saw it was one of our listening posts coming back in from the front of the lines. He made his way towards our position before being stopped and admitted.

“What’s going on out there?” I asked, hungry for information.

“Lots of troops, like at least a battalion worth! Coming this way! I’ve got to get to the command post!” he exclaimed after drinking down half a canteen of water.

“Where’s Smitty?” I asked.

“Dead, got caught by an artillery round,” he said and scampered off towards the rear where our command post was.

“We can hold?” asked my buddy.

“Absolutely,” I said.

“What’s your name again?” he asked after a moment.

“Sergeant Donald McIntyre, from Georgia,” I replied. I knew he was making small talk because he was nervous and I tried to remain calm. But I was nervous as well and it probably showed. We were a day and a half into the invasion of mainland Europe in the largest amphibious operation since the last time Americans had come across the beach in Normandy. However, this time, things weren’t going so well for us. We had our backs to the wall, literally, and were holding on for dear life. Rescue wasn’t coming anytime soon as the planning was out the window four hours after the landings started, but we held on. We were cornered animals fighting for our very survival on these beachheads and knew there were only two ways out. Fight and possibly live or cower in a hole and certainly die…

[qrprat77]

Whoah. awesome!
Mer'Christmas to all...

[brokedownbiker]

Wooooo-Hoooooo ! I've been waiting to see some new stuff from ya, Grand! Sounds like a good one, looking forward to reading the rest of the story.

Merry Christmas to you and yours

[Grand58742]

Okay, got everything the way I want it and I'm going to start posting.

[tech]

Looking forward to following along on this next adventure. Thanks for your efforts!

[saeb]

Looks like another great story! Thanks

[610Alpha]

Love reading your stories...looking forward to the next adventure of yours!

[Grand58742]

CHAPTER 1

[Grand58742]

CHAPTER 1 CONTINUED

[Grand58742]

CHAPTER 2


Z Day Minus 3


We woke up as usual and did our PT as dictated by the Battalion Commander. Again, he wanted us in tip top shape so we headed out into the morning drizzle and into battalion formation, getting ready to do the daily dozen and head out on our customary five mile run. It was entirely normal for the physical training that morning and we finished in a little over an hour and a half. Afterwards, we knew we had the showers first along with Second Platoon and grabbed out ditty bags, towels and fresh uniforms and scampered to get the first shot of hot water before it was all gone. And we wasted no time getting cleaned, shaved and changed into fresh clothing.

Heading back to our tents, we grabbed our mess kits just as the remainder of the company was coming back from chow. Typical English morning of rain mixed with drizzle and misery. I had learned to hate the English weather and wondered if the sun actually ever shined on this island. But we grabbed out rain coats and headed over to the second misery of the morning and ate our breakfast and listened to the local grapevine in the chow hall and passed small talk of our own. As we returned to the tents, we were actually in for two treats in one morning. First was the fact our laundry had been returned and second was mail call. We still had somewhat of access to e-mail, but on a camp with an entire brigade of soldiers along with the various support elements, getting computer time wasn’t easy. So back to snail mail we went. I got two letters and a package that morning along with clean drawers. It was shaping up to be a fine day.

“Whatcha got?” asked Corporal Devons from the heavy weapons squad as he watched me open my package.

“Mind your own business Devs,” I said with a grin.

“Come on, gots to share,” he prodded me.

“Killing me,” I said and decided to open the letters instead and read them so the others might leave me alone. He finally went back to his own letter and started reading it. I got one from my mother, which was typical and another from my uncle living in South Carolina. He wished me well, told me how proud he was of me and to stay safe. A little about the farm and how everything was going there with my extended family. Nothing critical to the turning of the planet, but it was nice to hear from my extended family. My Mother’s letter had several photographs included and they dropped into my lap as I opened the folded paper.

“Now who’s that?” asked Sergeant Winston from Second Squad on the opposite bunk of me.

I looked down and saw a picture of my sister lying on my lap. I wished my mother hadn’t included a picture of my sister. She had recently turned nineteen and was becoming an attractive woman. And I had never let on to the fact I had a sister…not really at least…or the fact others found her attractive.

“Holy crap Donnie! She’s hot!” announced Winston. “Why have you been hiding her from us?”

“Come on man, that’s my sister!” I warned him. Certain lines weren’t to be crossed.

“Come on, you have to pass that around!” he exclaimed. “At least let me borrow it to warm up.”

“Leave it alone man,” I said as he had garnered the attention of others in the tent and they started circling for a chance to sneak a peek at the picture. It was like vultures hovering over a dying carcass as they looked at the pictures I had held against my chest. But unlike vultures, I couldn’t just shoot one to make the others leave. But I quickly weighed the options in my mind as I let the others take a look. It might have been a mistake, but they would have pestered me incessantly had I not. But even Gil got in on the nonsense.

“Hey Donnie, I know I’m married, but you know, maybe those Mormons have the good idea about multiple wives,” he laughed.

“Okay, enough gawking for you buzzards,” I said and put the picture into my foot locker. The other was a family portrait and I saw how big my little brother was getting. He was coming up on fifteen and was already involved in just about everything military. He wanted to be just like me one of these days, but I hoped the war would be over before he got the chance to put his skills to the test. The letter was a compilation from Mom, Dad and my two siblings. Dad told me to go forth, shoot straight and destroy those who threatened and attacked us. There was more to it than that, but that was pretty much the gist of it. My little brother told me about his first militia weekend and how much he was looking forward to joining me one of these days. My sister was in college now, studying to become a nurse and hopefully join up to serve in the AFNAS military. Again, I hoped it would be over long before that occurred, but we had a long road ahead of us. My Mom’s letter was far more in depth as her “baby” wasn’t safe and she wouldn’t get a good night’s sleep until I wasn’t “over there.” She worried about me, which was normal and pretty much like most mothers are, so I took it in stride.

I finished reading and went back to my package. Opening the box I found a newspaper from my hometown on top and several small bags of candy underneath. And a box of hand loaded ammunition for my pistol with a note from my grandfather explaining this load worked great for him before and should work just fine for me as well. I set it off to the side and found another surprise underneath.

“Cookies! You got cookies!” exclaimed Devons who had returned.

“Is there no such thing as privacy in your world?” I asked him.

“Not when it comes to homemade cookies!” he exclaimed.

“You guys are killing me,” I said dryly. I knew I would end up sharing with my platoon since it seemed like my mother fixed enough for the entire Corps. And of course, the note of “make sure everyone gets one, I made extra” was evidence of her support for the troops. I grabbed two out as the vultures started circling once again and passed the container over to Devons who took one and started passing it around. They were my mother’s famous chocolate oatmeal cookies. Some people called them no bake cookies, but I spelled them H E A V E N. And she certainly hadn’t lost her touch on this batch.

“Your family looking for another child to adopt?” asked Devons with a smile. “Thanks bro.”

“No problem,” I said and ate one myself. Yeah, my mother could make a good cookie. The container was eventually passed back to me, still about a third full. Sergeant Winfield arrived with five large packages carried by five of the penal soldiers and set them down near his bunk.

“Okay, listen up…are those cookies?” he asked and looked at the faces around the room still savoring the sweetness.

“Umm, yeah Sergeant. They’re from Donnie Mac’s family,” said a voice from the back of the tent, completely selling me out.

“And I wasn’t invited into the little cookie party?” he asked.

I grabbed the container and handed it over to him. He looked at it suspiciously and sniffed at the interior before grabbing two for himself and taking a bite. Apparently the savage beast of Sergeant First Class Al Winfield could be tamed every so often by the well placed application of chocolate. He finished it off and turned to me.

“Okay Donnie, you can secure those in my footlocker so these other heathens don’t get any ideas about stealing them,” he said with a straight face. “I’ll take care of them for you and make sure they’re safe and sound. And of course, eating one every day to make sure they don’t go bad.”

“Sir, with all due respect…if you weren’t a Sergeant First Class, I might tell you to bite me. But since you are my platoon sergeant and higher ranking, I’ll have to kindly decline,” I said with the same straight face. The look I received wasn’t promising until he broke out in a grin himself and shook his head side to side. The tent erupted in laughter as we were all feeling pretty good right then. Sometimes Sergeant Winfield was a pretty normal guy, other times, he was a pure evil creature. But one thing he had going for him; he never put us through anything he wasn’t willing to go through himself. Any training problem, he was right there with us, any obstacle course, he was helping out, any ruck march, he was at the head of the formation, pulling us forward with his motivation. And we were thankful as we saw other platoon sergeants sitting behind the lines watching as their soldiers went through the various training tasks while sipping on coffee and waiting for them to finish.

“As I was about to say, we have good news and bad news. Good news is, everyone got two sets of new uniforms,” he said. We were pretty happy with that since many of our uniforms were starting to show serious signs on wear and tear. You could only mend them so many times and we all had just about become master seamstresses by this point in our military career. And being able to get new ones was entirely helpful.

“And the bad?” asked a Sergeant from the heavy weapons squad.

“Bad news is you aren’t going to be able to wear them yet. I want you to have the best clothing when we hit the beach and one further thing,” he said and pulled an odd looking machine out of an old ammo crate. “We are going to weatherproof one set entirely.”

The device as I could see was an old vacuum sealer. He had several rolls of the plastic sheeting needed to seal whatever we placed inside of it and set them off to the side. “So here’s what we are going to do. You also get new socks, t-shirts and underwear. We’re going to seal them up and pack them into your assault packs. I know it seems like a bad idea, but I want you to have nearly new clothing when we get into combat.”

“We heading out soon Sergeant?” a voice asked from the rear of the tent.

“Soon enough,” he replied.

********************

“So we have a slim chance of landing in three days?” asked the AFNAS General.

“The weather should break in three days. We’ll still have rough seas, but the landing craft should be okay,” said the Colonel in charge of the weather forecasters.

“Should be okay?” asked the U.S. Admiral in charge of the landing fleet.

“Moderate to rough seas, but nothing the landing craft weren’t designed to handle,” said the Colonel.

“How much of a window are we looking at?” asked the General.

“Maybe twelve hours, ten at the least, sixteen at the most,” said the Colonel.

“Can we land sufficient troops in that amount of time?” asked the Texan General in charge of the forces landing at Griffin Beach.

“The relays of departing England and hitting the beaches in France, turnaround and heading back and reloading takes about five hours,” said the Admiral. “So three waves give or take.”

“And this is assuming we don’t lose half the craft in the first wave,” said the Texan General.

“The Navy and Air Force will being bombardment of the coastal areas two hours in advance of the landings. There shouldn’t be a thing moving on those beaches when you land,” said the NESA Air Force General tasked with covering the invasion.

“Again, assumptions that are putting my soldier’s lives at stake,” said the Texan General.

“It’s not going to be easy General,” said the Admiral. “We all know that but are prepared to give you all the firepower and support you could need as well as additional assets tasked with on call demands of your forward air controllers.”

“For each beach?” asked the Mexican Colonel leading the Mexican Regiment on Griffon Beach.

“Yes,” said the Admiral. “We have three battlewagons: Segu

[kihnspiracy]

I like it.

[Grand58742]

CHAPTER 3


Z Day Minus 2 days, 12 hours


“We believe the invasion will commence in the next seventy-two hours,” said the Islamic Union General in charge of intelligence operations.

“And what gives us this idea?” asked the Marshal in charge of the French beach defenses.

“The operatives in the United Kingdom and Ireland had stated there are thousands of troops preparing to move to their embarkation points along the coasts. Aerial bombardment is at an all time low since they occupied the British Isles. Naval forces are departing their ports and we have an increase in message traffic all over the country as well as back to North America,” said the General. “We believe this only points to an invasion. Weather reports state there will be clearer conditions in the next three days, but only a brief window.”

“How brief?” asked the Marshal.

“Maybe eight to sixteen hours,” said the General.

“Enough time to claw out a beachhead,” said the Marshal.

“But afterwards, the weather will turn worse. What is left of that hurricane in the Atlantic could possibly move towards the beaches,” said the General.

“And this helps us,” said the Marshal.

“This certainly helps us,” said the General. “Weather works in our favor.”

“And our defensive plans?” asked the General.

“We would like to make some modifications based on the assumption the weather will change in our favor,” said the General in charge of operations.

“Modifications such as?” asked the Marshal.

“We would like for the landings to go relatively unopposed for the first two hours. We catch them on the beach and destroy them in place,” said the General.

“What purpose does this serve?” asked the Marshal.

“It will be several years until they have the resources and manpower to attempt another invasion. Airborne operations are much the same. We wait for them to land and cut them to shreds as they float out of the sky. We have withheld our best fighter aircraft as well as our remaining submarine forces in order to preserve them for this day,” said the General.

“What exactly are you proposing?” asked the Marshal.

“We withdraw the main body of troops from the beaches, leaving only a token fighting force in place to defend the beaches. After the landings have commenced, we move the forces forward to destroy what they have landed. The beaches are designed to be defended by a division sized force, but we have been holding two divisions there for training purposes. If we limit the amount of forces on the beach and quickly move them into position afterwards, we can toss them back into the sea and set back their invasion plans for at least eighteen months, most likely longer,” said the General.

“We let them land unopposed?” asked the Marshal.

“Not unopposed, but give them a false sense of security about the landings,” said the General. “With the main concentration of our forces behind the lines and secluded from naval gunfire and aerial bombardment, we can preserve them in intact formations and use them to our advantage. If we allow them to be bombarded at will on the beaches, it only serves the purpose of letting them be demoralized by the shock of the naval gunfire as well as the aerial attacks. They would be destroyed piecemeal before getting the opportunity to fight,” said the General.

“What kind of token resistance are we planning?” asked the Marshal.

“We have identified six beaches where we believe they will land. The same beaches plus one they used in World War Two. We can have brigade or regiment sized forces to fight a holding action until the main concentration of forces arrives,” said the General.

“And we believe this will work?” asked the Marshal.

“Our best tacticians have been planning for this. We created a blue team of sorts that have been trained by the American military a long time ago to think through the situation out of the box so to speak. They believe the FNC will have hopes the invasion forces are progressing as planned as we wait for weather conditions to worsen. If they weather turns, which our forecasters believe it will, aerial assets will not be as effective, naval forces will be forced to deal with rough seas and the land forces will be cut off from further resupply,” said the General.

“And the airborne forces? The FNC has a great amount of airborne troops available to drop right on top of our heads,” said the Marshal.

“With moving our best divisions back from the beaches, we can catch these airborne forces as soon as they land and destroy them in place. They will have little chance to capture the assets we have marked as vital to the invasion,” said the General.

“How soon before we move them?” asked the Marshal.

“I would start moving them immediately, at least the heavy assets like armor and mechanized infantry. The foot infantry can be moved say…twelve hours prior to the weather changing,” said the General.

“And the simulations?” asked the Marshal.

“The computer simulations show us victorious eighty percent of the time. We have attempted to put every conceivable variable into the scenarios we can think of,” said the General.

“And the twenty percent?” asked the Marshal.

“They succeed and establish a beachhead forcing us to draw additional forces from the rest of the continent. However, this scenario has been planned out as well as the simulations show us being able to defeat them after maybe one to two weeks of fighting,” said the General. “And it puts them back into the same boat as if we destroyed the invasion fleet on the beaches.”

The Marshal thought about the situation for a moment and decided it was probably the best idea. The General had never led him wrong and had a good head on his shoulders when it came to tactics to defeating the FNC. The plan seemed like a good one and well thought out. The fact the weather only provided a small window made it even more attractive since the FNC was hoping to catch them off guard during that time period.

“Implement your plan immediately. We do need to be careful however, with the French spies in our midst. Notify all commanders, kill anyone looking at our convoys. Shoot them on sight and jam all non-military related radio and telephone traffic in and out of the Normandy area,” ordered the Marshal.

“Yes sir,” said the General as he went off to implement the plans. It would be such a surprise to the infidels when they found out the best units hadn’t been destroyed in the initial landings or the bombardments. He would give all the money in the world to see the look on the faces of the commanders when the Islamic Union arrived in force to destroy them. And in this operation, they had no plans on taking prisoners.

********************

Z Day minus 2 days, 12 hours


“We’re heading in,” said the Captain assigned to the U.S. 7th Special Forces Group Operation Detachment Alpha. “Targets haven’t changed.”

“The invasion following soon?” asked the Master Sergeant assigned as his Team Sergeant. He had seen the increased activity around the compound as well as the base.

“We’re going to be on our own for a few days, but we should be fine,” said the Captain.

********************

“Initial invasion forces are depending on us to strike hard and fast. We cannot let them down,” said the Lieutenant Colonel in charge of a squadron of F-15H Super Eagles. “We are to strike target package Delta-Golf Two Nine and Three Zero. The Operations Officer has the plans and assignments. But make no mistake about it ladies and gents, we cannot fail to destroy those targets.”

“What’s going on sir?” asked a brand new Lieutenant recently assigned.

“The day we’ve all been waiting for,” said the commander.

********************

“Set course to 1-0-0, ahead two thirds,” said the Captain of the Mexican cruiser Veracruz.

“Course set to heading 1-0-0, ahead two thirds, si senor,” said the helmsman.

“New heading Captain?” asked the Tactical Officer.

“We are joining up with the remainder of the fleet,” said the Captain.

“And course after that?” asked the Tactical Officer.

“Towards the coast. We have a replenishment vessel joining as well. Make sure we top everything off, we might not get another resupply for a while,” said the Captain.

********************

“We can expect additional security threats as well as potential rear area actions against our bases. We have upgraded the Threat Condition to Charlie in the U.K., Ireland and Iceland. Additionally, there is a communications blackout in effect for all nonessential media,” said the Brigadier General in charge of base defenses in the U.K.

“What kind of threats could we see sir?” asked a Major.

“Probably missile and rocket attacks, but also raids and sniping activity,” he answered.

“And how long are we going to be in Charlie sir?” asked another Major.

“Until we get done with Phoenix,” he answered.

“And when is it going to kick off?” asked a Naval Lieutenant Commander.

“Soon,” was the only reply.

********************

“Watch your sectors of fire,” I said as I watched the five folks on the line in the simulator firing their nighttime course. They were getting better, but it was still not as good as I knew they were capable of.

“Can we use our night vision at least once?” asked a new Private assigned to Third Squad.

“Not until you get the basics of night firing down,” I answered as I watched them through my own NODs reloading and continuing to fire at the darker screen. It wasn’t entirely realistic as the weapons they were firing only projected lasers and bursts of air with no muzzle flashes, but again, it was better than nothing and they were being conditioned to find their targets in the dark. They had finished the latest scenario and had the sim operator loading up another one. Their scores were improving as they started another round.

Suddenly the lights came on as the sim operator got on the loudspeaker. The screen went blank and the weapons were put into standby. “Sorry for the intrusion guys, but you need to head back to your unit immediately.”

“What’s going on?” I asked.

“I don’t know and just about got my head removed by your platoon sergeant when I asked the same thing. Just told me to tell you to get back like right now,” said the sim operator.

“Okay guys, clear them out and turn them in,” I said as I grabbed at my rifle leaned against the back wall. We handed the weapons back over to the Sergeant in charge of the simulator and grabbed our things to depart.

When we arrived at the camp, it was utter chaos. People were running this way and that, carrying crates of ammo, ordnance, rations and other supplies we typically didn’t get while in base camp. It spurred us on harder and we headed into our tent where we found the chaos inside as well.

“Who’s got my e-tool?”

“Anyone seen my sleeping bag cover?”

“Mags, who needs some spares?”

“I can’t find my sewing kit!”

We saw various crates of supplies and ammo stacked up neatly in the aisles near the Lieutenant’s and Sergeant Winfield’s bunks. It hadn’t been touched as of yet and I saw a handwritten note of “Do not touch or else” with Sergeant Winfield’s name underneath. I immediately grabbed Staff Sergeant Gilbert and found out what was going on. “Gil?”

“We got a warning order for embarkation. Get your assault pack ready and the rest of your things ready for shipment,” he explained.

Lucky enough, I already had my pack ready, having put in the new uniform that morning after getting it sealed up and putting the old one in the bottom of my footlocker. “You sure this isn’t just another alert?”

“They won’t hand out live ammo for just an alert,” he explained.

“So this is the real deal?” I asked.

“About as real as it can get,” he said and turned to the other squad leaders to form a plan.

“Alright guys, listen up. Take your rations out of your assault packs. We’ve got new ones to issue out, but you are doing the same thing as before. You’re going to take it apart and pull all the things you don’t need like the cardboard and whatnot and reseal it. Just set the old one off to the side, we’ll probably end up using it,” said Staff Sergeant Thompkins, the Third Squad Leader and highest ranking of the foursome.

We stopped what we were doing and waited for Gil to come by and hand us new rations with a late date of packing on the box. Lucky for us, these were the AFNAS rations and not the Texan rations. Texan rations just ended up with too much pepper on everything I thought. But I wasn’t so lucky and ended up getting a second one, a Texan one, just the same. I immediately set to getting the extra cardboard, plastic and packing materials separating it as well as the extra things I knew I wouldn’t need like the Tabasco bottle and set them into a box. The Tabasco was claimed by someone else as well as the other little items and I sealed the smaller packages down with duct tape.

“You get the rations handed out?” asked Lieutenant Axe as he and Sergeant Winfield appeared.

“Yes sir,” said Thompkins. “Getting them sorted as we speak.”

And the tent got quiet as we expected a great proclamation from one of the two. Maybe a pep talk…just something besides the silence that was deafening.

“Okay, come on around me troopers,” said Sergeant Winfield as the Lieutenant looked to him as well. “Come on, get close, I don’t want to have to shout.”

We shuffled in tighter in a group as he stood in the center and got ready to tell us the information we had all been waiting for. Or it was just an exercise and for us to stand down.

“The Lieutenant and I just got back from Staff Call. The Brigade got the warning order to embark. Now this is just the warning order and they have all the way up until we see the beach to call it off, so no sense getting your panties in a wad before then. But for right now, it looks like we’re on,” said Sergeant Winfield. “Lieutenant?”

“Okay squad leaders, we need a complete pre combat check and inspection done by 2100 tonight. Start getting the magazines loaded up and topped off. We might get more ammo tomorrow, but don’t count on anything until we actually have it in hand. I also need a count of what exactly we are short on, be it ammo, rations, batteries, explosives, uniforms, socks or toothbrushes. I need that ASAP, so get on it. And just what we aren’t meeting for minimums, not what you’d like to have. Everyone else, just remain calm,” said the Lieutenant, starting to take a more active role in the unit. He had been under the wing of Sergeant Winfield for a few months now and was rapidly learning how to lead the platoon and not just be the platoon leader. We trusted him a lot more now that he had some seasoning and he trusted us to do our jobs as well. I headed back to the bunk and got my gear ready for inspection. We typically kept it that way, but with the actual combat loads, some things would change.

“Donnie?” called Sergeant Gilbert.

“Yeah boss,” I said and walked over.

“You’re now Alpha Fire Team leader,” he said and started getting his own items out.

“What happened to Kane?” I asked.

“As soon as the word came around, he came unglued. Complete breakdown. We managed to get him to the field hospital before it spread to others,” said Gilbert.

“That sucks,” I said.

“It happens. It’s like it’s a game until the folks find out it’s the real deal,” said Gilbert.

“Are we going with three?” I asked.

“No, we are getting a replacement from the penal section,” he said with a tone.

“Right before we go into combat? A dreg who can’t hack the mustard in normal times and someone completely unknown to the platoon?” I asked.

“Sergeant Winfield says he’s okay and will be fine when the lead starts flying,” said Gilbert. But I got the idea he wasn’t so sure himself by the tone in his voice.

“When’s he getting here?” I asked.

“He’s getting reissued his stuff and should be here in the next half hour. Give me an honest evaluation,” said Gilbert. “You got your stuff?”

“Yeah, checking one last time,” I said.

“I’m going to depend on you a lot out there. You have a fairly green fire team so I hope you can pull them up to your standards,” he said.

“I’ll do what I can,” I said and went back to unpacking my gear for inspection. I laid it out on the bunk for him to come by and started checking on the remainder of my new fire team. I wasn’t entirely comfortable with the job yet, but knew what to do. We all trained in the next position up just in case something like this happened. But still, I wasn’t exactly ready for the promotion, much less the reasons behind it. I worried about the invasion myself, as I suspected all of us did. However, it wasn’t something we could avoid and just had to deal with.

“Corporal?” a voice asked from behind me while I was still lost in thought and checking the gear of the remainder of my folks, letting them know what to take and what was “supposed” to be taken according to regs, but was dead weight and could be left behind.

I turned to find a thin soldier with no rank whatsoever on his sleeves. Apparently my dreg had arrived. “Yes?”

“I’m Private Johnny Delacruz,” he said and handed over an official form. “I’m assigned to First Platoon now.”

“Head on over to Sergeant First Class Winfield and Lieutenant Axe and report in,” I said and nodded my head in his general direction. Ammo crates were about to be broken open and the rounds handed out. I saw the Private pick up his bags and head over to check in with Sergeant Winfield and Lieutenant Axe. Sergeant Winfield gave him a once over before shaking his hand and pointing in my direction. He came back over to me and announced himself once again.

“Hang on, we’ll get you a bunk,” I said and noticed someone had already set up a new bunk near mine. He headed over and started unpacking his things and setting them out for inspection. I did happen to notice his rifle looked fairly worn, although everything appeared to be in working order. I would check it as par for the course and learn a little more about my new soldier.

The ammo was passed out and we immediately set to loading magazines and stashing them in our web gear. Mine wouldn’t take as long since I had less rounds to load, so I took the opportunity to look over my new soldiers weapons. I saw he had a non issue pistol, which was fairly typical, and looked it over first. I knew about the Sig-Sauer P220 since my father owned one as well and quickly took it apart and inspected the interior workings. Everything was clean as a whistle and oiled properly. Now it certainly wasn’t a Sergeant Winfield inspection, but with the quick once over, everything looked in order. His issued rifle, an M16A6, was again as clean as the day it left the factory floor and properly oiled. While battered slightly, everything was maintained as prescribed in the regulations. His fixed blade knife was as sharp as a razor and looked like it had seen some work at some point. The remainder of his gear looked like it had seen some service and was worn, but worked with little problems. It appeared Private Delacruz had been around the block a few times, but for what reason had he been punished I wondered.

“You’ll want to check this one as well Corporal,” he said and pulled a compact Ruger SP101 from the small of his back and handed it over. It was unloaded and I checked it as well. I wasn’t all familiar with revolvers, but it appeared to be clean, but in an unusual caliber.

“You have the ammo for this?” I asked.

“I’ve got a box of fifty,” he said. “My father reloads the brass and sends it to me.”

“Not exactly a normal caliber,” I observed.

“The .32 Mag will do just fine for a last ditch, have to kill someone right now caliber,” he said as I handed back the pistol.

“I suppose it will,” I said.

“Do we compact our rations Corporal?” he asked me.

“Yes, and if you have any leftover items, just toss them into the box at the end of the row. Someone can use them,” I said and went over to check Lomax’s gear and saw it needed some work. Still a lot to be done with my battle buddy and I knew time was short. I pointed out several items and left him to fix them as well as finish loading his magazines. I headed over to Gil who was busy loading his own. I grabbed a box of the ammo for my rifle and started to load the magazines as I spoke.

“So what’s the deal with this guy?” I asked.

“Winfield says he’s good to go, but wouldn’t elaborate further. You can ask him if you want,” said Gilbert.

“You don’t mind?” I asked.

“Nah, you might get more out since you are directly responsible for him,” said Gil.

I headed over to Sergeant Winfield’s bunk where he was also busy loading magazines. “Sergeant Winfield? You have a moment?”

“Donnie Mac, sorry we had to put you in the hot seat, but you’re the next ranking Corporal to take a fire team leaders position,” he replied.

“I understand sir and I won’t let you down,” I said.

“And you are wondering about your new member?” he asked.

“I was wondering why we would take a chance on a guy from the penal outfit right before we head onto the beach,” I stated, more of a comment than a question.

“He was vouched by a friend of mine. If you are uncomfortable with it, I can have him transferred into another team and put someone else on yours,” suggested Winfield.

“No Sergeant, they already have their team bonds. I wouldn’t want to do something like that,” I said. “I’ll give him a go if you believe I should.”

“He might surprise you Corporal. Anything else?” asked Winfield.

“No Sergeant,” I said and returned to loading my magazines and preparing my gear. It had already been given the once over by Gil, but he checked it once again. Finding nothing else to do besides worry, I started cleaning my rifle once again and was joined by the rest of my team. Since we were unsure of when we would embark, I decided to over oil the actions just to make sure everything was in working order.

“Nice pistol,” said Delacruz.

“It was my great grandfather’s when he was over here the last time,” I said.

“Can I see it?” he asked.

I handed it over and he cleared it with experienced hands. Looking over the sights, he snapped the trigger and saw it had been customized.

“Someone spent some coin on this,” he observed.

“How so?” I asked.

“New trigger, actions are a lot smoother than they should be for a pistol at least seventy years old, new sights. Probably sent it in at some point and had it reworked,” he said as he handed it back over.

“You know about that stuff?” I asked.

“My Dad was or rather is a gunsmith,” he said.

“Cool,” I said, not finding anything else to say about that. “I need to know something.”

“Sir, I’d rather not talk about why I was in the penal company. It’s behind me now,” he said.

“Listen, you’re on my team and we are heading in to combat. I need to know what kind of troops I have under me,” I said.

“I won’t disappoint you, but I really don’t want to share my faults,” he said.

“I have to know,” I repeated.

“Just know I won’t let you or the squad or the platoon down,” he said and started cleaning his own rifle. I let the matter drop for the moment, but still worried since he hadn’t been vetted by our unit yet. And we had no time to evaluate his skills either. I would just have to go on blind faith he knew what he was doing. After finishing up the cleaning tasks, I remembered not having supper that evening. I grabbed up Lomax and headed for the chow tent. They were not serving the regular meals right then and had sandwiches to grab and go. I snatched up two and we headed back to the bunks where we ate in silence and watched as the remainder of the platoon got finished with the inspections. A last minute call for supplies went out and we all started turning in for the night. However, even as we tried to fall to sleep, none of us were capable of catching anything more than a few winks here and there. I laid on my back listening to the remainder of my unit tossing and turning as we all thought about the impending invasion.

[tech]

Thanks for the continuation of this one...as usual, a great job showing us what's going on in the characters' heads as well as an intriguing storyline.

Happy New Year, too!

[Grand58742]

CHAPTER 4


Z Day Minus 2


We woke that morning to reveille and started to get our PT gear ready to go. However, in our early morning stupor of our restless night, we were stopped by Sergeant Winfield.

“Not today troops. You finally get a day off,” he said and rolled back over to go back to sleep.

“Sergeant?” the Lieutenant asked since it seemed like sacrilege not to perform our morning PT.

“We need everyone as rested as possible when they hit the beach. I can flat guarantee you not a single member of this platoon with the exception of me got a decent night’s sleep. We cannot take them into combat fatigued,” he explained.

“Training schedule for the day?” asked the Lieutenant.

“Weapons cleaning, final gear checks, last minute supply run and possibly some tabletop exercises with the platoon,” he said.

“No field exercises or anything?” asked the Lieutenant, worried he wasn’t up to the task of leading the platoon in combat.

“Not unless you specifically want. But today, we need rest more than anything,” said Winfield.

The Lieutenant ended the conversation and decided that getting a nap that day sounded perfectly fine to him. He stopped pulling on his running shoes and headed back into the bed himself. The remainder of the platoon did the same thing. We saw a few units doing PT that morning, but nothing like the typical massed formation runs we had been doing since the day we arrived. It seemed like everyone had the same idea to just sleep in, get caught up on rest and complete the tasks of getting ready to hit the beach. Even as tired as I was, I was still hungry and felt the overwhelming urge to eat something before trying to get another cat nap that day. I noticed Delacruz was sitting in his bunk looking at me.

“Want to grab a bite to eat?” I asked and saw Lomax was already back asleep.

“My thoughts exactly,” he replied and grabbed his rifle. Morning chow could be attended in PT gear although you still had to carry your weapon. I grabbed my rifle as web gear and joined him at the door. We headed to the mess tent and found they were serving a decent breakfast. Biscuits, eggs and sausage. There was even shredded cheese out on the line so it was something to behold. We were almost at the front of the short line when we were cut off by a base security patrol grabbing a quick meal before heading on out. They were dressed out in complete combat gear and looked ready for the infrequent IU raids against the bases. We finally got our turn and filled plates before heading for a table. After making our sausage, egg and cheese biscuits, I got to know my team member a little better.

“How long have you been around?” I asked.

“Got into AFNAS 2nd right before we hit Scotland,” he answered. “And you?”

“I was assigned right after the fall of Birmingham,” I replied. “You’ve been around a while.”

“You see any action?” he asked.

“A little,” I answered. Three engagements with the IU rear guard counted as action I supposed. “And you? You see much action?”

“A little,” he said and took another bite of the biscuit. I saw we weren’t heading in any particular direction so I changed the subject.

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“Florida and you?” he asked.

“Georgia,” I replied.

“You live there during the Fall?” he asked.

“Yeah, north of Atlanta near Tennessee and North Carolina. Where in Florida?” I asked.

“North central near Tallahassee,” he replied and added with a laugh. “I would start signing that Chattahoochee song, but that might be a little too clich