From: Beth Fulton <beth.fulton@m...>
Date: Thu, 7 Jan 2010 01:21:13 +1100
Subject: [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 > [quoted text omitted] 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!