AUTHOR'S NOTE: If any military folks are reading this, please forgive any discrepancies or misinformation on my part. While I do research, I do not have any military adviser proofing what I write. I try to be as realistic and honest as possible to be as respectful as I can be. IF there are any glaring errors, please let me know. Thank you.
Bonesteel, TX
The pungent aromas of dead men's defecation, blood, sweat and gunpowder commingled to foul the air. They were the smells of war, familiar to Frank but not so much to the roughly one hundred and thirty young men under his command. They were bloodied and tested now, he reckoned, having seen combat for the first time. Smoke simmered in the background, the ghostly remains of homes departing this earth. Frank's company, as well as three others, were charged with securing refugees and driving out the marauders.
Random pops announced a mercy killing of an enemy soldier. They had been given instructions to take no prisoners of war. That suited Frank just fine. He might be the faithful husband and good father at home, but out here he was hard as nails Captain Frank David Castle.
Frank barked at his platoon leaders to bring in the men from the fight, so that casualties could be cared for, men fed and the perimeter guarded. HYDRA was still out there, he thought, in that dusty plain filled with thorny tumbleweeds. The company's telepath monitored their movements. The HYDRA battalion was pinned down. The telepaths that were employed by the Marine Corps, made it so the enemies would not move until the lieutenant colonel gave word. That would fall to another company, Frank decided, my men are played out.
Lines of men came back to the encampment, bedraggled and dazed, weapons hanging low as they trudged back to relative safety. One platoon also had a raggedly dressed woman, dark haired and sloe eyed who carried a bundle tightly in her arms. She walked in front of them and they let her set their pace. The looks on those men's faces were alarmed and troubled. Some were shell shocked, numbed by the visceral violence they had partaken in.
Frank approached them and the platoon stopped at a gesture from their captain. He peered at the woman whose crystalline blue eyes were wild and shattered—the woman was in her twenties and was not malnourished. He noted the unfortunate woman was clearly not sane. She held up her carefully wrapped bundle to Frank—she instinctively recognized him as an authority figure.
"Please save my son. Please." Her voice, cracked and worn, was tremulous. The men behind her shifted nervously. Frank took the burden from her and pulled back the cloth to reveal a dead child. A child that had been dead for half a day, maybe. He caught the whiff of death now, the eyes were clouded over and there was something akin to sympathy for the mother. He did not display that sympathy.
He waved over the platoon leader, a dependable lieutenant, and gave him orders. Frank also passed him the deceased infant. "Give her baby a decent burial—get the chaplain to make arrangements. Take the woman to a female nurse or medic and make sure she gets medical attention and rations. Perhaps Chaplain Matthias will be able to locate her people, if she has any people still living. She'll need more care than we are able to provide."
"Sir, we're running low on rations." The lieutenant warned. "We'll be getting some tomorrow, but…"
"Then she can have mine. I've done without, Marine. But she needs it." With that, he turned on his heel. The men had their orders and knew to obey them. When Frank had taken command of the company, he drilled it into their heads that he was in charge and that he expected his men to adhere to his rules and a strict moral ethic.
Captain Castle had a brief meeting with his first sergeant Orlando Ortiz in his tent, relayed orders from his superiors, and dismissed him. As First Sergeant, Ortiz would instruct the platoon leaders and they, in turn, would tell the rest. He pulled off his boots and began to unwind. A tablet beeped on his makeshift table, and he awkwardly fumbled with it before he managed to pull up Skype. It was Rogue. She usually called about this time, so that she could have a few words with him and for Sarah to continue to connect to Frank. Rogue wanted the small girl to always feel loved and wanted. She knew that having a father—a good one—was important to the wellbeing of a daughter. Fathers set the tone for future interactions with men.
It's odd to have instant communication, so different than 'Nam. Maybe that would have helped Maria. Maybe not.
Rogue showed up on the screen as she fed Michael, his original dog tags hung around her neck. It was her way of keeping him close. Sarah popped into view to say hello and to get a few fatherly words from him. Sarah scampered off to bed when Rogue asked her to. "Hard day, wasn't it? Ah can see the tension in your shoulders, and a touch in your eyes." Rogue looked tired herself, with frazzled hair and circles underneath her eyes. But she was lovely, he thought.
"There was heavy fighting today, "Frank admitted, "but that doesn't bother me." He told her about the unnamed woman, crippled with grief and insanity. The dead child would haunt him along with the mother's profound sense of loss.
"Oh, that's horrible." Rogue gripped Michael just a little more firmly. "You're doing right by her, though there's not much you can do for the poor lady."
"No. There's not." He said. The conversation turned to more pleasant and mundane topics before Frank reluctantly ended it. "I'm sorry. I need to go. I have work that requires me to rise early tomorrow."
"Ah understand. Ah need shuteye myself." After she blew him a kiss, he lightly tapped the end call button. He put the tablet away and went for a quick shower.
When Frank woke up, he read the orders forwarded to him. From Hicks, no less. Bring your men up to Antelope Ridge. March them up here, it's only about a two-mile journey to the east from your location. Too rocky for Jeeps. We'll need your men for an offensive. Along with the instructions, came a map that showed Hicks' current whereabouts.
The next morning began with the solemn burial of the child. The entire company of Marines attended, at least those not on guard duty. Frank was surprised to see that the mother managed to make an appearance. It was also clear to him that she understood the situation though lightly medicated on some sedative. The chaplain recited the words of sorrow and sympathy, designed by the living to honor the dead. Frank barely heard them; he never was good at funerals.
When the ceremony was over, Captain Castle told his men to load up their backpacks and be ready to haul ass in ten minutes. As a rule of thumb, he always kept his pack ready to go unless his clothes or other necessities needed to be cleaned or repaired. But as it was, all he needed was his weapons load out then he would join them. He picked up his pack and retrieved his standard issue M16A rifle.
Before they left, the woman wobbled over to him and tried to smile. "My name is Constanza. I want to thank you for your kindness, Captain."
"It's my duty to protect people and do what I can." Frank said, solemnly, voice heavy with gravity. He told her good bye then turned back to his men.
He made everyone line up in formation before heading out. He reminded everyone regarding their orders. Frank assured himself that every man had their rifles. Fortunately, no one had misplaced their weapons, a serious offense for any soldier. The penalty for that out on assignment, Frank knew, was a Field Grade Article 15. The consequences for that kind of dereliction of duty could be the loss of up to three ranks, half pay for two months, and forty-five days' extra duty. If the chain of command was feeling generous, that is. Frank was not feeling particularly generous. Being irresponsible with one's own gear was not a thing to be tolerated and the military came down hard on those moronic and unprofessional soldiers.
The march was not horrible, they started before the blistering heat of the Texas sun kicked in. They reached their destination before noon and caught up with a vast gathering of men. Frank's company joined the others and Frank went to convene with Hicks. He caught a glimpse of what was down in the valley; a HYDRA encampment. A large one.
Roughly about twenty-five, thirty thousand men. They're watching us too, I bet. He caught the sharp flares from glass, like binoculars. He came to Hicks, who unlike most generals, preferred to be among the troops. War Horse Hicks warmed immediately when he noticed Frank.
"We're going to attack later today. When the sun isn't in our faces. It'll be in theirs, though." Hicks stated. The crusty general was not above using anything that might give his men even a slight advantage. "Let your men relax until I give the word."
Frank relayed the order but with a note of caution. "Stay watchful." The platoon leaders gave their assent and the whole company began to do commonplace tasks to vent some of the nervous energy they had. Some men pulled out a notepad and wrote a note to a wife or a girlfriend, some prayed and asked God for forgiveness. Others stayed quiet and reflected on what brought them to this point. Frank remained at the ridge's edge and studied the men down below.
Frank kept a trigger finger on the rising tension of the Marines, especially his Marines. It rose along with the sun. The growing reaction to the fight was natural, he knew, but a He remained unnaturally calm and so could see with absolute clarity what the best tactic to take would be. He asked for Hicks' attention, received it, and he outlined his plan.
"I'll take two companies over there," Frank pointed to the eastern part of the ridge, "You and your men take point over there. We'll smash them in-between."
Hicks mulled it over. "A pincer movement is a good plan for this scenario, a basic one, but effective. You take Grey Wolf company along with yours." For a moment, Hicks wanted to tell him the nickname for Castle's own company—the Punisher company—but thought that Castle would not particularly enjoy that. He'll find out soon enough. "Work with Major Jackson on your end. I'll control this part of the plan. Move out, Marine."
Thirty minutes later, both the Grey Wolf and the Eagle—otherwise known as the Punisher—companies moved into position. Major Jackson and Frank observed the terrain and found the easiest routes for their Marines to follow. The officers observed both the position of the sun and waited for the signal to attack. They all waited patiently as the day labored on, pouring heat on their helmets. Everyone talked in spurts at first, then they fell silent. War was about waiting and boredom, mostly, but frenetic spasms of violence and mayhem were interspersed. Frank relished the coming battle.
Frank became acutely aware of every sound, every sniffle a man made in his general proximity. He refocused on the enemy in front of them and vowed to get as many of his men through this ordeal as possible. They are my responsibility. He shifted his rifle into position, and his men followed suit.
A quick spark of light from the opposite end of the ridge gave Castle and Major Jackson permission to let loose their men. "Semper Fi!" They shouted as they ran over and down the escarpment. Fury raged in their eyes and the willingness to kill fueled their hearts.
The fighting began and Frank lost himself in the brutal ballet of the kill, let loose the savagery upon the enemy as the adrenaline rushed within his veins. Guns burst into fiery bloom, men's heads disappeared, blood stained the uniforms as they fell to the earth. Crimson blood soaked into the heat hardened ground. The loud noises of guns and screaming deafened people. Chaos reigned on the field, but to men like Frank, they lived for that chaos and thrived from it.
Pain filled cries littered the air and Frank fired his rifle. Men were cut down before him. The rifle jammed, he cleared it, and managed to shoot a nameless HYDRA before the enemy could think to do the same. His Marines fought faithfully beside him, each one remembering the carnage at Camp Lejeune, of their brothers and sisters needlessly killed.
The skirmish passed paradoxically both in a blur and in utter lucidity. It seemed that time had stopped but the battle only taken roughly about an hour. Frank stood in the middle of the killing field, up to his knees and elbows in blood, breathing heavy and coming back to himself. When he did, Frank inventoried the losses to his company. One dead, ten lightly wounded and a man that would require serious care and a medevac, which the medics would see to. He'd write up the condolence letter to the man's next of kin.
Frank gathered up the rest of his company and told them they did a good job. He reminded them to think of people like Constanza and her son whom they were defending whenever their resolve to win started to fade. "Let's try to prevent more losses like hers." He concluded his little speech. Frank's Marines had listened to him attentively; it wasn't often their commander expounded upon some deep thought. "Time to get on our feet and find food to eat."