I didn’t know if it was the smell of old rubber and damp earth, but I felt queasy that night. Everyone was swimming in a pool of sickly blue light oozing from the fluorescent bulbs overhead. It seemed surreal to me that in such a haze lay the brain center of our battalion. The men in command buzzed like bees, exchanging ideas, marking their maps, receiving and sending messages. I sat there and watched, and when another message had gone through the machine of officers and radio operators, I took it, logged it, and stored it in my journal. I was glad I was in here. A GP tent beat sleeping on the ground, especially on a soggy night like this.
The rain fluctuated, sometimes a soft tickle on the roof, sometimes a slapping torrent. This was where chaos became order, and order back into chaos. The sounds could tell you that when the squawking radios, murmuring officers, and beating rain experimented with all combinations of each other and sometimes, eerily, slipped into mutual silence.
I couldn’t tell you how I ended up at this table. It seemed only weeks ago I was in Alpha Company, hiking with the rest of them, sharing the dirt and pain, sharing the everlasting trudges through mountains and valleys, accosted by the elements and my own run-down gear prodding the softer spots of my body. Maybe it was luck or someone senior decided I had what it took, but I found myself here drinking coffee in the
“Position report: Alpha Company moved to Grid 881 763.”
I logged it in and looked up front towards the map boards. Whole companies were closing in on the enemy, and all they were to us were colored pins marking their position. It was easy to detach yourself from the bloodshed when all you did was move pins on a board. From what I could see from my rickety field table, the red pin was now about a half inch nearer to it’s second objective. I took a sip from my Styrofoam cup, feeling the warmth spread through my chest.
The radio broke the hum with shouting. “Snowstorm, snowstorm, snowstorm! Alpha Company receiving incoming mortar fire, request Artillery on Grid 886 764.”
The hum spiked into excited shouting and movement increased. In the distance I could hear the rumble of thunder; or maybe my old company was closer than I thought. Either way, the commotion eventually died down and another message was passed to me.
“Situation Report: Alpha Company sustained zero casualties, suppressed enemy fire with artillery. Closing in on Battalion Objective Two.”
Instead of sighing with relief I shook my pen for ink when I logged in the message. I crammed it on top of all the other messages. I closed the journal and rubbed my forehead. I rested my face on my palm and allowed my eyelids to press for an eagerly desired moment of unconsciousness. Everything began to melt away and I existed for a moment only in supposition. The radio jolted me back to reality.
“Titan One, this is Alpha, we have contact!”
The radio blurted out fire requests, the sounds of combat flickering in the background as it came to life. A few moments later the little yellow messages came, flowing like water through a pipeline of hands. They dropped onto my desk one after the other. I stacked them neatly and began logging them in.
“Name: PFC Hodges, L.G. SS#: 543245768. Wound(s): Gunshot right arm, concussion. Status: Standing by for medevac.”
“Name: LCpl Reynold, H.R. SS#: 443672323. Wound(s): Shrapnel, chest, abdomen, upper thighs. Status: Standing by for medevac.”
And then one that caught my attention.
“Name: LCpl Steward, J.M. SS# 656448987. Wound(s): Gunshot, head. Status: Deceased.
I remembered the time when Steward and I fought just for kicks when we were drunk. We sat down icing our wounds with cold beer bottles afterwards, laughing about the pain we had dealt each other. And the time in
Now he was just another leaflet in my logbook. I stamped the message, filed it, and started on the next. I took a sip of coffee.
My journal began to bulge with the little yellow papers and they were still coming strong, but despite the heavy casualties it still sounded as if we were gaining ground. I never had any doubt that my boys would overcome. They were a tough bunch of bastards.
The situation reports were encouraging: “Enemy suppressed, advancing on their position.”
Or, “Enemy position destroyed, estimated twenty casualties.”
Inside I smiled. Somehow I felt part of this, maybe like a father feels when his son scores the winning goal in a soccer match. I felt sorry for Alpha Company, but even sorrier for the enemy. But then a message left prickles up my neck as the radio spit it out like rancid milk.
“Flash, Flash, Flash, unknown gas attack on Alpha’s position! I say again, unknown gas attack on Alpha’s position!”
Everyone in the tent went scrambling, donning and clearing their gas masks in a frightened fumble. Before long those with me gave a muffled shout, “Gas, Gas, Gas!” Everything warped through the lenses of my mask. Their voices became softer and robotic through their voicemitters, and the sound of my own breath rushed loudly with each inhalation. I rubbed at the irritating elastic now pressing into the back of my skull, but finding that it provided no relief, I re-donned my Kevlar helmet.
The officers mumbled phrases of dismay as the radio operator tried to reestablish contact with Alpha Company.
“Alpha, Alpha this is Titan 1, how do you copy, over.”
Only the rain could be heard between the radio operator’s repetitions. We could only wait. The moments slithered by like cold spaghetti. Finally we received an enigmatic message from our scout snipers.
“Titan One, this is Hawkeye, over.”
“Hawkeye, this is Titan One.”
“We’ve spotted Alpha Company, break. They have received extensive casualties, break. The remnants are heading your direction, over.
“Roger that.”
“Hawkeye out.”
The officers shook their heads and swore, looking like deep-sea creatures stuck in an eddy. I tried readjusting my mask without breaking the seal but it provided no relief as the edges dug into my face. The radio operator continued his search for contact with Alpha to no avail. We received another report from the snipers.
“Titan One this is Hawkeye, over.”
“Hawkeye this is Titan One, send it.”
“Alpha company not responding, break. They are scattered and approaching your perimeter, over.”
“Roger that.”
“Hawkeye out.” The officers rested their hands on their tables, hunched over and staring.
The rain stopped. The officers became quiet. The radios beeped. My breath was harsh in my ears.
Somewhere far outside, one of our men shouted a challenge. He repeated himself. He repeated himself again. There was no reply.
The sharp reports of M16’s accentuated by the occasional grenade penetrated the walls of the tent and reverberated in my mask. Everyone scrambled for their weapons. Most of the officers had pistols. I was glad to have my rifle.
“They’re not going down!” Cried someone in the distance.
“Holy Christ!” Shouted someone else.
I knocked over my coffee as I carried my weapon outside. The yellow leaflets eagerly soaked it up.
I pushed my way through the entry flaps and found myself in a kaleidoscope of
darkness. Weak moonlight snuck through the spaces in between the camouflage netting that covered our tent, covering me in ghostly speckles. The rain had turned into an irritating mist, which came from all directions. I wiped my lenses, only helping to distort my vision further. I chambered a round as I cautiously crept through one of the holes in the netting. The sounds of combat were in full throttle now, overpowering my senses. I made my way to one of our secondary positions. Should our attackers make it through our primary defense, we would be the last thing between them and our
My cover consisted only of a muddy dirt mound, which I sunk into as I lay just behind it, my rifle pointing into the blackness just over the top. I wiped my lenses again, streaking a tiny bit of sludge across them. I cursed to myself and waited as my uniform began to soak through with icy water. I began to shiver.
Slowly, the violence began to subside. The shots came fewer and farther between until at last there were no more. The queasiness grew in the pit of my stomach and worked itself up to my throat where it lodged in a hard lump. It was quiet again. On my left and right I could see the silhouettes of one or two of the officers watching intently. They only moved to wipe their masks.
I thought it was the condensation on my lenses warping the shadows before me, but something told me different. There was movement between the trees. I could hear the footsteps squishing in the mud before I could actually make anything out. The Kevlar helmet was the first thing to emerge from the darkness. A beam of moonlight highlighted the top in a downward silver crescent. It was one of ours. The figured approached awkwardly, dragging itself through the swampy area as it approached. The entrenching tool in its hand rattled metallically as it slapped against its side with each step. Then others like it began to emerge on its flanks. I desperately looked to my sides for some sort of command from the officers, but they were just as dumbfounded as I. I wiped my lenses again.
The figure before me slowly took form as it drew near. It wore our uniform, it had our gear, but it only gurgled and limped forward. Its face was a black hole beneath the helmet. In a fit of frustration and fear I ripped off my mask and squinted at the shadow.
The air was very crisp, and my face chilled quickly after being in the sweaty confines of the rubber mask. The moon caught the nametape of the thing for a brief moment. All remaining warmth left my body as I read it aloud.
“Steward.”
No. This was wrong. We were fighting our own.
“Steward, that you?” I cried desperately.
My voice was swallowed whole by the night, suffocated by grotesque silence.
The thing only gurgled.
“Reply or I’m going to open fire!” I challenged, anger overcoming the fear.
It rattled nearer.
I took aim at center mass and squeezed the trigger. The report left my ears fuzzy and squealing. Even my own breath sounded distant.
The thing lurched backwards but continued on. I scrunched my face and took another shot. It stumbled. I fired again. The officers snapped out of their daze and joined in. I fired rapidly now, finally putting the thing on it’s back. I looked to my sides. The enemy was almost on top of some of the officers’ positions. I turned back to the front. The thing was on its feet again, closer now. I recoiled in horror. Suddenly, I heard a shriek to my left. One of the things stood on one of the mounds and awkwardly hacked at the shadows. There was a faint crunch and a gurgle. I stood, taking a few steps back.
My mind refused to acknowledge when a sudden strobe of lightening caught their faces, melted and rotten. I dry heaved. I flicked my weapon to burst, spraying into the enemy as I backed away. It was only seconds before my weapon gagged on an empty magazine. The useless rifle hit the mud with a splat and I stumbled back into the tent. It was empty in here now, radios still beeping. The occasional scream or burst of fire rent the silence outside. I moved numbly to the radios, bumping into field tables along the way. I picked up a handset. My voice quivered as I struggled to stand in the liquid blue light.
“Longbow, Longbow, this is Titan One, over.”
“Titan 1 this is Longbow, send it.”
“Fire for effect on my position, over.”
“Say again your last?”
“Fire for effect my position!”
“By whose authorization?”
“Mine.”
“Who’re you?”
“The last one.”
“Roger that. Eight guns firing HE for effect on your position.” The radio went silent for a moment. “Shot, over.”
“Shot, out.”
I shakily lowered myself and sat cross-legged on the dirty rubber floor. I took off my helmet and laid it beside me. There were no more shots being fired outside. The screams had lost their way into the night. Many dry hands began to rake against the sides of the tent. I could hear their gurgling and rasping. The tent began to warp and sway from the prodding. They were all around. It was then that the flaps of the doorway began to rustle. Again the radio crackled to life.
“Splash, over.”
“Splash, out.” I dropped the handset and stared as the flaps began to part.
A distant whistle began to manifest itself overhead. It grew to a deafening shriek and then cut into instant silence.
“Try to get up from this,” I thought.
A smile passed over my lips.
No comments:
Post a Comment