[GZG] Fiction - Month in Marin

G¹day Guys,

Finally got some time to write some Mars stuff again. Sorry for the
cross
post but still in the process of moving websites so no where to post it
as
yet (hopefully not too much duplication of readership).

Cheers

Beth

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

A Month in Marin

The fight to oust the Kra¹Vak from Mars has stretched on for nearly
three
long years now. For my part I have been with the OU-2/34 for eight
months.
During that period we have been in scenting distance of the enemy the
entire
period. And despite being on rations and short sleep rotations
throughout,
morale is high and growing. There is a sense that this war won¹t last
much
longer. It¹s an old cliché, but the general opinion is we should be
home for
Christmas.

When I first arrived hundreds of mortars and rockets fell daily, the
constant explosions became as common as sounds of trams and mono-lines
back
home. Now though it is quiet in comparison, the rate of attacks on our
compound having sharply decreased to only tens per day ­ perhaps you
can
hear the rockets zooming over head as I record this, sitting in the unit
combat dining facility. I feel relatively secure however, as the recent
pattern analysis shows that the sangar is the place to avoid for the
next
few days. That¹s not to say you can get complacent, that would be a
fatal
mistake. Still I can risk uploading a summary of the last month or so of
action here in the northern warzone.

When discussing a unit it is often good to give a sense of their
leadership.
In this case that¹s ³Iron George² Baxter. This steely bristled Lt
Colonel is
the image of a hard-arsed leader, a man afraid of nothing who inspires
his
men by living the risk with them. He currently has plastifast bandages
about
his forearm and a sutured split along his eyebrow, courtesy of a strike
on
his APC earlier this week. The same strike saw his driver invalided out.

³Poor Davey bought a ticket home.²

³You do realise he likes to be called David, Sir?² I quizzed

³If he hasn¹t had the balls to correct me in the last two-n-half years
then
he¹s got fat chance now lad² was the dry reply.

The window of Baxter¹s office is covered with sandbags. During my first
meeting there (and just about everyone since), we took fire. SNAP, SNAP,
SNAP, sniper fire rapping the frame. It didn¹t make an ounce of
difference
to the Lt. Col apparently, who was so used to it he didn¹t so much as
flinch. Another day, mortars landed just outside the office wall,
heavily
damaging a stowage truck parked there and clipping Baxter, who was
coming
back from breakfast, but as far as he was concerned it was no
showstopper. I
caught up with him about a month after he was airlifted out, just as he
was
coming back to the unit in fact. ³Dented my fox-trot, but then I always
had
two left feet² he said tapping his new titanium ankle and quickly
stepping
off to the ops room.

The men of 2/34 do not all share their leader¹s ferocious nature, but
they
do share his dark humour. Above all else they respect and love him.
³He¹s
like my Dad² attested one young soldier, whose boyish face belies his
two
years at the front. This is perhaps the true measure of this legendary
leader¹s worth, for after years at the front under intense contact for
many
hours each day the morale of his troops is high. They are tired, but
still
positive, still sharp and eager. They¹re fighting for Mars and
humanity, but
more importantly for their family, both here and at home.

They are a chirpy and sarcastically funny bunch, even often a touch
crazy.
They spend most of their time while in the compound dressed in dusty
fatigues and rust coloured fleeces. The fine red Martian sands have
stained
everything orange-pink. Most wear full-face filters as none have the
³gills²
that mark out Mars natives, being OU nationals in the main. The two
Polynesians in the unit are big men (who proudly defend a culture that
lost
its homeland beneath the waves nearly a century ago now), while the two
Papuans are small and contagiously cheerful. Many of the troop are from
the
cities of the OU, both from Sol and the inner colonies ­ like Turps,
who¹s
squat form tags him as a native of the high gravity world Beta Canum
Venaticorum (better known to most as New Gascoyne or to followers of the
drama series ³Deakin¹s Wake² as ³Betsy¹s Paradise²). The ones with
the
wildest streak however are all from outback stations (born riding,
wrestling
and cursing) or from missions across the north of Australia. Then there
are
the ringers, the ones with more exotic homelands. Midge for one; at over
two
metres tall his gangly frame catches your eye. His politely precise turn
of
phrase marks him out as someone who grew up in the stations around
Jupiter.

While English is the common language of the unit, they often slip in to
any
of their shared tongues. This simultaneously lends a delightfully
musical
tone to the place and provides for some colourful expressions. I have
picked
up the odd word, particularly Krek and Paitya. The former play on words
epitomises the dark humour of the unit, as it means crack, shred or tear
in
the Kriol tongue of northern Australia and was coined after the Kra¹Vak
started using shrapnel spewing mines and mortars in their attacks. The
moniker Paitya is far less flattering, meaning vermin in Kaurna (a
language
from the Adelaide region of South Australia).

So let¹s get to the point of this upload and live through a month on
the
line with Iron George and the 2/34. Much of the action here occurs on
patrols along the blocks around the compound. The 2/34 has control of
roughly 2 blocks west, 3 north and all the way east and south to the
river.
At least in theory. Night strikes by Kra¹Vak in their Houdini suits
means
nowhere is really safe outside the wall. For my first patrol of the
month
I¹m tasked to a section on foot. Two other patrols strike out further,
riding in 2 Wombat IFVs.

We have barely been out in the maze of rock-crete buildings and rubble
for
10 minutes where we hear THUD. THUD.

³Shit² is Smitty¹s (Corporal Trevor Smith) immediate response. He is
immediately on the blower back to base and then issuing orders. ³Baz,
Nic,
Al, CB cover the alley, Scary you take that corner, Midge that door. The
rest of you get ready to jump piggyback.² In under two minutes we hear
the
vibrating rumble of five Wombat¹s, kicking up dust as they glide in by
our
position. We roll in the back and are immediately immersed in radio
chatter.
The other two Wombats are under heavy fire, NAC jets and support VTOLs
are
inbound and we¹re to watch for ambushes on the route. The attack site
is
only a further three minutes away and that time is quickly filled with
orders and weapons checks. As we slow to a halt, the ramp goes down and
they¹re out at full pelt, taking up position and laying down fire. The
air
is thick with smoke, its acrid scent detectable even through the filter
mask. Moving past the besieged vehicles they take up firing positions in
buildings to the east and are immediately drawn into an intense
firefight
with a Kra¹Vak unit in the next building. Sniper teams peel off to
adjacent
roofs and the air support skims the battleground, so the whole place is
roaring and shaking. With a slight lull in the fire, Smitty asks for an
ammo
count and a familiar gravely voice comes over the headsets to inform us
that
we¹re going to make a push on the Krek position.

³Go, go, go²

We¹re flowing out of the building, sprinting in spurts from doorway to
doorway down the alley before rolling in the front door of the target
house.
Gunfire is rattling all around, grenades thudding to my front and above
me.
Calls of ³clear² and ³down² in my earbud. The blood is roaring in my
ears
and I can feel my heart beat in my temples.

I¹m here to take pictures, but the only thing I can actually see is
thick
smoke, flashes, short-lived bursts of flame and green and purple symbols
projected on my spec¹s, to indicate the locations of friend and foe.

³Grenade²

THUD. Four purple symbols flicker out on the floor above.

³Target down²

Through the hall, into the landing, up the stairs. Rattle of more
gunfire.
SNAP, past my ear. Duck and cringe, squinting. The full mask on means my
eyes are fine, but the smoky gloom is impenetrable. THWACK. Suddenly I
can¹t
breath. A freight train has hit me in the solar plexus. I¹m flying
backwards, arms flailing, landing unceremoniously behind a cabinet.
Still
can¹t breath, my lungs are aching, burning. My vision is black edged,
noises
are sharp and lights shoot across my sight.

³Ahh there you are. Up you jump Jock. Took one of them Krek pellets to
the
gut huh? Bloody stings don¹t it? Yep hole through the first two layers,
can
get my finger in to the first knuckle see.²

I¹m staring dumbfounded, all my senses numb and here is this silhouette
of a
man who is sticking his finger into my body armour and wiggling it
around.
Over looms another silhouette, emerging from the haze.

³Jock ok?²

³Yes sir. Gut will ache a bit I reckon, but there¹s no claret.²

³Good. Out front in four.² The silhouette with Baxter¹s growl
disappears
back into the haze.

³Come along Jock. No time for snoozin¹². My brain is starting to
clear now
and it finally dawns that Nic is standing there with his hand out to
help me
up. We bustle down the stairs and back into a Wombat just as the ramp is
rising. There¹s the crackle of adrenaline fuelled chatter, some big
grins,
Smitty with his head rocked back against the wall pretending to kip, but
with a Cheshire grin on his dial as he listens to the banter. Over in
the
far corner QJ is throwing up into a bag.

³Don¹t worry lad, it gets easier.² Smitty reassures QJ.

The Wombats head back to base, pulling up in front of the hospital.
First
out are the badly wounded. Ten in total. Well ten serious. Phil was in
charge of triage, directing bodies in the door. He handed me a chit as
he
passed his palm scanner over my gut.

³Bruises. You¹ll be fine, but we need your blood. Short on A positive
founder factors so take that and head in the door over there so we can
start
a new batch.²

It felt good to be contributing something however small. Iron George
came
through about an hour later.

³I¹m sending the walkers back to the line, you should go too, we¹re
likely
to have an early start tomorrow. Go clean-up after today¹s party.² So
he
chased us back down to the dorms and mess hall.

Day Two

I noticed that when we loaded up the next day that Iron George came down
from the hospital. I later confirmed that he¹d sat by the wounded all
night
and was with Bear when he died about 04:00. Bear was barely 24 and a
father
of twin girls. He kept their holo in a tin stowed safely in the centre
of
his bedroll.

When we got back to the scene of the fight from the day before it looked
like nearly every other block in this sector of Marin. Cinderblock-like
construction, typical rusty Mars red plaster covering, now cracked and
chipped and falling away, looking like the internal structure was
sloughing
of its skin. There was still a haze about in the thin air, but it was
much
clearer than the day before. Engineers had secured two Kra¹Vak bikes
and
were sweeping back up the alley with what looked like a Kra¹Vak mortar
tube.
Recon elements had been posted about the adjacent square and down the
alley,
anchoring the far corners. Two snipers teams had taken up perches on
rooves
across the street. It wasn¹t long and we were all back in the Wombats
again.
However, just as we got rolling we came under rocket and small-arms
fire.
The smaller Kra¹Vak slugs made a tinging sound against the armour
plate, but
the rockets were a different matter. Striking nearby they made the
vehicle
shudder. A glancing blow shook us up pretty bad and just as I was
breathing
a sigh of relief, BOOM! The loudest noise I have ever heard,
reverberating
around the cab and my chest, my ears rang, the lights cut out and I
could
feel heat licking along my leg and up my body. And someone slumped
across my
legs. We¹d been hit full on.

³Everyone OK?²

³No sir Nic and Al are down.²

³Noted. Everyone out.² came the call. ³Out! Get that back hatch open
so we
can move these boys! Out! Move it! We have ammo in the bin!²

³Can¹t sir, its jammed!²

³Right forward hatches only. Corporal keep trying for now.²

I was trying to move, but was stuck under the weight of two bodies now.
I
felt the space closing in on me, the dark becoming oppressive as I
strove
for the pockets of light up front. Almost unconsciously I was lifting
the
weights, helping pass them along as a steady CLONG, CLONG reverberated
behind me. Cpl McKenzie desperately trying to pound the ramp loose.
Everything was warm and sticky and annoyingly my eyelid kept twitching
shut,
as if it had a mind of its own. I could hear my filter mask labouring
now
too. I was starting to wheeze and cough and the heat through my body
armour
was becoming uncomfortable, the wombat was on fire. Hands were reaching
in
helping to lift out the moaning dead-weight bodies. At least McKenzie
had
stopped his solemn tolling and joined the push to exit the belly of the
vehicle by the forward hatches. Finally I was pushing up and out, the
heat
replaced by the chill wind typical of Mars. Jumping to the ground, I
bent
double trying to suck in deep breaths, fighting the inherent urge to
pull
off the constrictive feeling mask. Without it the air on Mars would
prove
awful thin.

A hand cocked my head up and I was given the once over. It was Reg, the
section medic.

³How many fingers Jock?²

³Two and a thumb²

³Smart arse, put this on your eyebrow. Rest isn¹t yours. Keep your
head down
there¹s more coming in.²

Eyebrow? Not mine? I put my hand to my head and it came away sticky and
red.
Blood. On my fingers, arms, legs, chest. Not mine though.

³In coming!²

Then we were diving for cover, I ended up in the remains of a vegetable
patch, over a small wall from the remnants of the Wombat. I¹d stay
there for
another 4 hours before we ended up legging it back to base.

Day Three

Issued new plates for my back armour this morning. Shrapnel from the
direct
hit had cut it up like Swiss cheese, but apart from a bunch of small
pin-prick scratches I was actually just fine. This stuff is like magic
to
me.

We had to return by foot to the site of yesterday¹s contact, make sure
all
equipment we hadn¹t been able to carry out the day before was squared
away
or disabled. NAC VTOLs were running close air support for us. And I mean
close. I could have hit the nearest one with a rock it was flying so
close.
It meant they could spot any threats for us, but gees that low down they
didn¹t stand Buckley¹s of avoiding a shot if the Kra¹Vak took aim.

As if on cue, right as we reached the contact site, the lead VTOL
started
taking fire. Over the radio came the voice of the pilot, ³Delta confirm
arrival at target location. I¹m getting raked. They¹ve locked up the
door
gun and some belly gear. I need to check how bad they¹ve buggered my
duco so
I can give the bastards what forS after sale value is gonna be shot.²

Smitty chuckled, ³Pippa wants to check for scratches so she¹s got an
excuse
to kick butt. Gotta love her attitude.²

As I watched the VTOL bank left and drop to earth another call came in
my
earbud. It was the recon platoon calling in a contact. They were taking
mortar fire and could see a Kra¹Vak attack force advancing. We were
headed
into another firefight.

Day Four

It was just after noon when we rolled for a house clearing. Over the
previous month the 2/34 had worked hard to secure another ring of blocks
around the compound. Forcing its way out one concentric onion ring at a
time. If there was no sign of Kra¹Vak in the target building or its
neighbours then we¹d go through the door. Otherwise we¹d just blow
straight
through walls or whatever other surface gave us a protected point of
entry.

We pulled up at the other end of a network of alleys and moved down to
the
target location. In through a side gate, deploy along the walls. Al and
Nic
on corner posts to look out for anything coming down the sides. Smitty
waves
Mark up, crawls his fingers across his palm and points at a window. Mark
gives a brief nod and crouches down under the sill. Pulling a box from a
small pack on his back he opens it and stardust flows out into the air.
Settling to create a grey film in Mark¹s immediate area. He runs his
fingers
over a keypad on the box lid and the motes writhe up into the air and
are
gone. Mark stares intently into a small screen also on the box lid. He
motions Smitty over and points to glowing purple points forming on a 3D
projection of the inside of the building. This building is going to need
clearing the hard way.

Smitty forms 3 teams and leaves Al and Nic covering the corners. SMASH,
team
one is in and immediately the firing begins. I go in with team three.
Running bent over and sticking next to walls and out of the way. The
gunfire
is continuous as are the THUDs and flashes of grenades. Bottom level is
clear, as is the second, but the third and fourth have connecting
passageways to buildings next door and across the road. My team is sent
straight to the fourth floor, team two covering their crossing of the
landing on the third. The first two rooms are clear. The third is too
after
a short exchange of rifle fire.

BOOM and I¹m pitching forward, sliding and falling as the floor gives
way
beneath us. They¹ve brought the ceiling down intentionally and now
we¹re
amongst them. They¹re big and fast and strong. Instinct sees me dodge
out of
the way as one dives at our big gunner Pancho. Its arm clips me on the
way
past and I¹m slammed into the wall. Ears ringing, eyes stinging. Even
through the filter mask I can smell them, it¹s hard to describe, but
it¹s
all wrong.

I¹ve seen plenty of firefights, but never hand-to-hand, well not like
this.
Bodies struggling, dodging, slamming into furniture and fittings. The
Kra¹Vak were overwhelming us, I could see 3 down and Pancho was really
the
only one holding his own. Usually such a big gentle, generous and
cheerful
guy here he was in full strength. Smashing down the arm of one, Pancho
swung
around and threw another to the ground. Kneeing the back of the
monstrous
skull as he rammed a knife home. But two more were coming and without
really
thinking I leapt forward, scrabbling onto the back of one, holding on to
its
tendrils and not letting go. It swung this way and that, slamming me
back
into walls and the crumbling remains of the room¹s contents. It was
scrabbling over its back trying to get purchase on my armour, its
steel-like
digits making an awful scritching as they slid off my shoulders and
arms. My
hands were getting sweaty and my lungs were burning, but I was desperate
not
to let go.

Pancho had the other hard up against a wall, forearm across its throat,
ramming his knife home. It head butted him and as Pancho semi-staggered
it
bit into his forearm, ripping through the armour and into his arm.
Pancho
responded by pounding it in the face, smack, smack, smack with the hilt
of
his knife before flipping his blade over and burying it through its
forehead.

Meanwhile, I will still whirling around on my ride, its arms still madly
scrabbling behind at me. We swung round once more, its body facing the
door.
SNAP, SNAP. It crumpled, pitching me over the top, like a kid over the
handlebars and I slide on my face across the floor.

³Clear² roared Iron George.

I shook myself and raised my head to see an all too familiar pair of
boots.

³When you quit fooling about Jock, help carry the wounded out.² Baxter
orderly crisply before stepping back through the door and disappearing
down
the hall.

I pushed up and rolled into a sitting position, arms behind me, knees
bent,
sucking oxygen and looking at the mess around me. Plaster dust floated
in
the air, everything was splintered and smashed. Blood was streaked
across
the floor, up walls and across the ceiling. Alfie and Wal were obviously
dead, lying in odd and crumpled forms. Pancho was leaning against the
opposite wall cradling his arm looking grim. He nodded toward Two-J and
tossed me a med-pack. I scooted across and started to try to staunch the
blood flowing from what was left of Two-Js right arm. Two-J moaned as I
touched him, his eyes coming open, but all glassy. ³Jock, I got hit
Jock.
It¹s my arm. Can you find it Jock?²

Another block was ours, another 12 Kreks down. Although at the cost of 4
dead, 7 wounded for us.

Day Five

Up with the dawn for a patrol along the eastern blocks down to the river
this time. There were no challenges until we reached the water¹s edge
and
then over the radio came ³This is Alpha Two, visual on four Krek attack
teams running on the port side of the river, approaching position of
Delta
Four from the northeast.²

Everyone was already alert, but you could see their stances tighten.

We kept at a steady pace, eyes scanning left to right, right to left,
challenging each corner. The lack of contact was actually becoming
unnerving, the tension growing. My shoulders were starting to feel
tight.

Off in the distance we heard the dull thud announcing a mortar shot, the
whine heading for us.

³Incoming! Take cover!²

Everyone moved to the alley edges, crouching down in behind anything
that
would provide hard cover.

WHUMP. Just on the other side of the short wall I was crouched behind. A
dull hollow sound rather than the usual maelstrom. ³Wow a dud.² I felt
extremely lucky as I pushed up off the ground. There was a dusty cloud
about, but no rain of shrapnel.

Turning my hand in front of my face and then my arms, there were
sparkles
everywhere, as if I¹d been dusted with glitter. ³Hey it looks like
Mark¹s
motes.² I noted as I looked at my out stretched arms, rotating them
this way
and that, sparkling in the cloud.

³Shit! Nano-drop! Smitty declared leaping up behind me and doing a
quick
once over of his torso. ³Delta four to Alpha Two. Nano-strike, we need
wash
down pronto! T+16 and counting.²

A small dial had appeared my spec¹s, counting up, the bar filling from
green
toward orange.

³Alpha Two to Delta Four, ETA 6 minutes.²

Six minutes. Looking at the counter we had 3 tops before we hit the red
zone. I¹d heard of weaponised nannites, but didn¹t realise the
Kra¹Vak were
using them up here. These nasty little killers had been developed in the
bitter unrestrained conflict of the Mercenary War, but had been banned
under
the Freisland Charter of 2132. They had been used on the Kra¹Vak in the
Dhanus campaign a year and a half ago, the only acknowledged
contravention
of that section of the Charter in sixty years, but they¹d said it was
justified. Initially it had a devastating and one-sided effect, dropping
large units of Kra¹Vak on the plains west of Lethbridge on the enemy
side of
the Margritifer Line. The Kra¹Vak had turned the tables on us not too
long
after though and there were sporadic nano-drops for about 9 months
after.
There hadn¹t been a strike in about six months though and never in the
north
before. Nano-drops are one of the most feared aspects of this war. Just
the
rumour of it had caused a riot amongst the militia around Phan Tau.

The fear is well justified however. If the nannites are not washed from
the
body within minutes of exposure they burrow in, causing excruciating
pain
and an unnerving feeling of the skin moving over the muscular tissue.
They
shred the bronchial lining leaving their victim retching, choking and
drowning in their own fluids. If they penetrate any major organs there
is
severe haemorrhaging. Reports from medical teams active during the
Mercenary
War are explicit in how horrific a way this is to die.

Looking about the sky I could see no sign of any relief forces. My
breathing
was shortening, my heart racing. The counter had passed through yellow
and
paler orange and was starting to nudge deep orange bordering red. My
arms
were starting to tingle and itch, as was the soft tissue around my nose
and
across my upper lip.

³Alpha Two, how far are you?² Smitty asked, tension laced through his
tone.

³Sorry Delta Four, still 2.5 minutes to you, they¹re rattling us with
pretty
serious rocket fire here.² You could hear the explosions in the
background
and warning sirens.

³Acknowledged Alpha Two.²

The itch had turned spikey, like a mild burn.

³Delta One we are going to have to go native here, wash down potential
negative.² Smitty called in to the base as I watched the counter slide
into
red and my chest started to burn, it felt like I needed to tear
everything
out to relieve the unnerving feeling.

³Acknowledged, Wombat relief on its way, ETA 4.5 minutes.²

Then as the counter hit deep red a warning beep sounded through my
earbuds.

³Right everyone everything off now! Use the river.²

³River?² The query slipped out unbidden, shocked at the thought of
diving
into that glacial body. Embarrassed I opened my mouth to apologise, but
Smitty clapped my arm and moved me toward the water. ³Sorry Jock
nothing
else big enough for us all in sprinting distance and if we don¹t get
these
nannites washed off pronto we¹re in shit.²

As one the squad starting pulling off their armour and then their
fatigues.
Desperately fast, bits of clothing flying as if in some mad race. Men
and
women together shivering in the frigid Martian air, boots off and under
socks and then the underwear. Last of all their masks. Palming rod like
re-breathers one after another they jumped, dove or waded into the icy
river. The river a murky orange and none to inviting, but it felt like
my
body was on fire. As I swiped at my arms, it felt like tiny slivers
prickling my skin. I took three steps across from my gear and jumped out
into the water. Even before it closed over my head the cold sucked my
breath
away. It was shockingly cold, my limbs immediately numbing. As I came up
I
started sucking in big gulps of air, gasping with the cold. But I
couldn¹t
get enough in, without the mask the air was thin. My lungs were aching
with
cold and the need for air now, but at least the all over itchy burn had
ceased and I no longer wanted to rip out my lungs. I tried to get the
rebreather pen between my teeth, but my fingers felt like clumsy rods
and I
was shaking violently with the cold, flipping the pen out into the murk.
Panic threatened.

³Jock share with me² Robin said grabbing my hand and pulling me into
shallower water, where we could stand.

We pulled ourselves ashore, teeth chattering, shivering and hugging
ourselves, slapping out sides to try and warm up. I noticed that I
wasn¹t
the only one who¹d dropped their breather pen. There were quite a few
buddy
breathing.

³Huuu-uddle up, 10 potattrrrro in annd then rrrrrotate out. Brrrrrr.
Keep
moooving, it¹ll heellp.² Smitty ordered through bone rattling shivers.

It felt like an eternity until the Wombat¹s turned up. The severe cold
and
thin air had robbed me of the ability to think and it was almost with
neutral disinterest that I watched the support teams roll out and formed
up
around us, putting down fire on a Kra¹Vak force that had almost been
upon
us. I was positively overjoyed however when the medics debussed and
started
handing out big padded blankets (some cammo¹ed, but many silver) and
full
masks. With the welcome ³whoosh² of a full seal, the tightness in my
chest
finally started to relax, the panic subsiding, tingling pain running
through
my extremities. I wasn¹t sure I¹d ever truly be warm again.

Day Six

After the excitement of the last few days I was ordered to stay on base.
I
spent the morning cleaning my kit, as best as I could in my 2 cups of
water.
Hung around the chow tent for a while before I got bored and headed up
to
the sangar.

³Not sure you¹re allowed up here, but if you keep your head down we
won¹t
tell if you won¹t.² Scary smiled leaning in behind the big machine gun
in
the forward quadrant of the sangar.

The next few hours were spent watching sniper teams pick off Kra¹Vak
moving
amongst their lines on the hills opposite. Then Paulie¹s ears picked up
the
mortar even before the sensors did.

³Incoming, big one, headed our way!²

I dived into the sangar amongst the sandbags, the whine coming closer.
WHAM!
It had hit right we¹re I¹d been sitting on the edge of the rooftop.
Grins of
relief all round and then.

³Incoming, going left chimney.²

Down again, arms over my head, knees pulled in tight.

WHAM.

Then a call came over the blower that a sniper in the twin sangar across
the
compound had downed the mortar team and we had an all clear. The guys
herded
me down off the roof. So I headed off to the ops room, it always had
something going on. The guys looked up as I slipped in. They were
sitting
round mostly in fatigues, though the poor sod by the sandbagged window
had
some torso armour onS just in case. Sergeant Higgs was leaning against
the
back wall, one foot pressed up under him, chewing a big wad of
something. He
pushed off and leaned over to offer me a bag of whatever it was. It
didn¹t
look altogether appetizing so I politely waved him away.

Three heads swung round to the young private manning the main screen. He
waved his plastic over the readers in the outstretched palms of Chris,
QJ
and Jaqi. ³Dammit Jock, I thought you¹d be braver, accept anything as
a way
of getting in good with us, build a rapport so we¹d spill our guts to
ya and
all that.²

³Even Jock¹s not desperate enough to risk one of the Sarge¹s wife¹s
little
love parcels² Chris laughed, leaning back in his chair and swinging his
feet
up on the desk his set was sitting on.

³Nothin¹ wrong with my wife¹s cooking.² Higgs defended.

³Yeah maybe, but that was probably before it spent five months in a
Martian
post truck² Chris quipped back.

The banter dropped off as another contact was called in and I spent the
rest
of the day listening to radios buzz with calls about incoming fire,
rocket
attacks and firefights. Locations being tied down, artillery or
airstrikes
being called in. All occasionally punctuated by a distant rumbling BOOM!

Day Seven through Twenty-Two

So the first week came and went in a continuous cacophonous blur of
relentless air strikes, fire-fights, rocket and mortar attacks, long
range
sniper duels, pop-n-go Wombat patrols. While I was allowed to roll with
the
patrols for most of the first week, in the second week I took heavy fire
to
the torso and ended up with a bunch of cracked ribs that sat me in the
ops
room wrapped in plastifast bandages for a fortnight. There was no less
action going on, I just got to listen to it rather than participate.

We got airdrop resupply about once per 10 days. Mmmm fresh tomatoes are
like
gifts from the gods. And eggs, now that is a rare commodity! Had one
³hit-n-run² reporter too, who only came in for the length of a supply
drop.
Down with the first crate, up with the last. Don¹t know what he thought
he¹d
learn in that short space. He did get to see a nice big Kra¹Vak
artillery
display, which he plastered all over the news for the next 3 days.
Missed
all the real action, like Baz turning 21 and celebrating in true sniper
style by taking down heads 97- 105 on his tally.

Day Twenty-Three

With the excitement of Baz¹s birthday a small group of us sat talking
quietly in the dark well into the next morning. Watching the dawn crawl
over
the horizon about 05:11. We were laughing over old gags, discussing home
and
people we were missing. Talking over plans for when this war was all
done.
Midge was going to law school, Paulie was going to marry his girl and
start
a dive shop in Tahiti, Higgs was going to go back to teaching high
school.
Most of these guys are in their twenties. Some of their number have
already
departed. Wounded or dead, there is no rotating out. The tours of past
wars
are obsolete here. The 2/34 will stay until the Kra¹Vak are gone.

Looking around I can¹t see a face, or at least a body, that is free
from
scars. All of them have been wounded, all in combat. Most have been
patched
up in the local hospital tent, healed in the lines for light scratches,
in
the ops or mess halls for more moderate knocks. A few of those here have
been sent away to more serious medical outfits and have made it back
somehow
- hitched rides in with reinforcements or resupply drops.

The dull, haze marred disc of the sun was just creeping above the
adjacent
hills when Scary bustled over with a steaming pot and mugs shot out for
another round of coffee. As he moved around the circle topping us up I
watched a string of VTOLS and airships coming in across the morning sky.
Another day, another action.

Day Twenty-Four

Smitty went out on patrol with the Recon platoon in support. They are
headed
into the border blocks searching for the enemy. I¹ve been ordered to
stay
behind, so I¹m heading to the ops room to see what¹s happening. Jaci
let me
ride shotgun on her monitor, so I could follow the icons for Smitty and
the
Recon lads as they moved across town.

Smitty radios in that Mark¹s motes have identified enemy in a mall
nearby.
There are bursts of radio chatter as QJ directs traffic and Iron George
communicates a quick plan to hit the mall and houses around it. Within
minutes the Wombats carrying the lads and their support have rolled up
to
the buildings, dropped ramps, de-bussed and burst into the bottom floor
of
the mall.

Jaci blows up the scene and lets it slowly rotate with the action,
drawing
the eye to the critical junctures. Smitty¹s lead team securing the
rooms to
the immediate left and right of the bottom floor entry way, while
another
two teams flow up the stairs.
Scary is on point, in the most dangerous
position. We can all see the two purple enemy on the balcony, Mark¹s
motes
have identified them and a half dozen other Kra¹Vak in the building
along
the first floor.

Over the radio we hear a long burst of Kra¹Vak small arms fire, a fire
icon
obediently forms on the projection, spraying a cone of fire out across
Scary¹s icon. The icon drops. The four behind him push forward though
and
the blinking symbol of a flash-bang slides along the balcony, as do
cones of
return fire from the remainder of the team. As they pass by scary, two
other
symbols marked with small green crosses approach and all 3 slide back
down
out of the mall to the vehicle markers. Two minutes later we get the
news
that Scary is dead.

Things were only getting worse. As the first round of wounded are being
pulled back to the Wombats a Kra¹Vak rocket buries itself in the IFV
closest
to the Mall doors, rupturing the fuel tank and exploding. Fire symbols
spread across the scene, lighting up on six of the eight green icons
around
the mall entrance, though their suit systems quickly douse them. With
our
men engulfed in flames, Jaci cuts to a live feed, smoke filling much of
the
scene, but we can hear screams and see crumpled or flattened bodies and
bits
of vehicle strewn about. It looks as if many had been catapulted about
or
knocked flat when the Wombat blew. Smitty is obviously severely injured
(his
icon on QJ¹s screen across the way has begun to blink ominously). His
suit
is broken apart, ripped open like a can attacked with an old style
opener
and he was missing one leg below the knee.

 ³WE¹VE GOT 12 WOUNDED, NEED IMMEDIATE SUPPORT.² Smitty¹s 2inC
radios in.

³No need to yell Steve² QJ responds calmly, trying to keep control of
things.

³WHAT? CAN²T HEAR A FUCKIN¹ THING AFTER THAT BANG² shouts Steve. On
the feed
Jaci and I are following Steve can be seen and heard trying to direct
the
team members who were down in the square and still ambulatory. Most of
them
are obviously stunned and deafened.

Within minutes support is on the scene. Not surprisingly Iron George is
there, to lead cover fire while the medics treat the wounded. One medic
bends to tend to Smitty while another moves over to apply tourniquets to
a
soldier with mangled legs. I couldn¹t see the kids face, but it had to
be
someone I knew. I knew them all by now. Through the clearing smoke I
noticed
a third medic had moved over to a young private, Ross Parish, 19. He
tapped
him on the shoulder and motioned to the waiting support vehicles. Ross
looked back and shook his head, indicating he had a job to do where he
was.
The medic points to Ross¹s side where there is a gapping hole in the
armour
and blood is trickling down, dropping to pool by Ross¹ feet. Ross
finally
acquiesces, but only after ordered to by Steve and even then he waits
until
another soldier had taken his position covering the corner of the
building
and the connecting alley.

When they finally get back to base it turns out that even Steve was cut
up
worse than anyone had realized. He¹d been hit in the upper thigh and
lower
back by chunks of shrapnel. He hadn¹t noticed until he¹d been heading
into
the hospital helping one of the wounded and a medic had asked to be
allowed
to look him over for holes, given all the blood on his fatigues.

That contact had been bloodier than most. Twenty eight dead, forty six
wounded.

Days Twenty-Five to Twenty-Eight

The rest of the month rolled on with the same relentless to and fro and
continual fire. After the successes earlier in the month the Kra¹Vak
pushed
back, regaining some of the higher terrain and taking back some of the
hard
won city blocks, particularly those most easily defensible. They set up
ambushes, one stretched for five blocks, though the 2/34 fought through
it
ok. Took them 45 minutes to clear the kill zone initially, but then Iron
George, who was in the thick of it as usual, turned them straight around
and
sent them back through to clean-up, which they did, 139 Kra¹Vak dead.

The Kra¹Vak also increased the rate of their rocket and mortar attacks,
for
a while before dropping back. This development has been quite positively
received, despite the fact they put one packet of rockets right through
the
dorm roof and another through the mess hall wall. Thankfully no one was
hurt, barring the pride of our combat cook, who lost his best pots and
all
the eggs. The bastards!

_______________________________________________
Gzg-l mailing list
Gzg-l@mail.csua.berkeley.edu
http://mail.csua.berkeley.edu:8080/mailman/listinfo/gzg-l