AN- Next chapter in this little story series. This won't last much longer. Only a few more chapters before the conclusion is reached. Read, enjoy, and review.

CHAPTER THREE

TACTICAL PROBLEMS

One week. One full week of waiting and fighting. And for what? A bunch of conceited elves, not wishing to help a small group of humans that were fighting the same damn enemies as they were. I sighed as I tossed the last pile of the ashy dirt upon the shallow grave of the seventh man to die in this place. Jack Farley, a private who hailed from New Jersey. Now there were what? Twenty-three of us left.

Not only that, but we were running out of water and food. And ammo. How were we going to live without ammo, what with the Uglies using swarm tactics every time they came? I hadn't thought that anything could be worse then Iwo Jima, but I was wrong. The Japs, at least they were clean. Every single time these creatures attacked, the smell of death, disease, and rotting flesh would precede them and linger for hours after the last had been killed and burnt to ashes.

Folding up my shovel, I straightened, and slowly climbed the small atoll we had fortified to the best of our abilities. Pausing at the top to view the crappy vista that we overlooked, I sighed as I continued forward, heading for the tents that had been set up to act as an HQ.

Just as I entered the main tent, our mortar sounded with a hollow thud. Meant that our observation post had spotted yet another Ugly raiding party. You would have thought that the Uglies would've learned that it was a good idea to stay away from our position. Can't give the creatures much credit for brains, though.

"Sir, Jack's been taken care of. What are your orders?"

The 'ell-tee' didn't look up from the hand-drawn map of the area. Lieutenant Bill Straithairn was a career soldier who bore a lot of anger over the fact that he hadn't been promoted as much as he would've liked. Then again, he had started out as an enlisted man back in the Great War. "Sergeant, I need you to go and request supplies from our northern neighbors."

Inwardly I groaned as I snapped off a salute. I had just been to see the elves not two days ago, and they sent me away with the same answer. No supplies for the dirty humans. "Sir, who do you suggest I go with?"

Finally the lieutenant looked up, his squinty grey eyes peering sharply at me from underneath his prominent, and bushy, eyebrows. "Sergeant, you'll be going alone. I can't lend out any more men. Sorry, but that's how it will be."

I stared at him in astonishment. You dirty fifty-year-old sonuvabitch! "Sir, do you think that is wise?"

The lieutenant grinned sharply at me. "I have confidence in your fighting abilities. Don't disappoint me again, Sergeant. We need those supplies. Don't take no for an answer…"

Two hours later:

I trudged forlornly through the desolate landscape, damning the elves for their stupidity. It wasn't even all the elves, either. It was just that one that I had previously met. He was high-class nobility, and took an intense dislike for any and all humans. If only I had been able to talk with their leader himself. Under this 'Gil-Galad's' order, and person entering his camp was to be treated with utmost hospitality. This meant I was fed and given fine wine and fresh water. But whenever I asked for aid for my fellow Marines, Dickhead (as I fondly named the first elf I met) wouldn't let me have council with his king. He simply turned me down, every time. The elves around us didn't like it, but evidently Dickhead held enough power that they couldn't do anything about it.

As I trudged along, a growling caught my attention. Looking up, I saw the four Uglies looking back at me in equal surprise, though whether this was from my odd clothes or simply the fact that I was there I wouldn't know. Spotting one with a bow, I brought my rifle up and fired one quick shot, the report echoing sharply down the small ravine. The Ugly dropped heavily.

The other three howled with rage and drew their weapons. Despite the fact that I could easily kill all of them with a few more well-placed shots, I couldn't waste the ammo. As the first one came within striking range, I flipped my rifle around and held the barrel firmly in my hands. Quickly taking the stance of a baseball player, I swung my rifle just like I swung that old bat I used to have.

The stock of my M1 caught the Ugly squarely in the cheek bone, and there was a nasty crunch as its head was wrenched to the side. Few people truly understood just how much it hurt to get hit with a rifle. That was twelve pounds of hard wood and metal hitting you. The Ugly fell back, screeching as it clutched its broken face.

I dropped my rifle and drew both my Ka-Bar fighting knife and my bayonet. Reversing the bayonet so it pointed down in my left hand, I caught the first strike from the leading Ugly. I returned the favor of its strike by way of a knife jab in its throat. I ripped out the knife as brutally as I could.

As the now de-throated Ugly dropped to the ground, I spun and kicked the onrushing Ugly as hard as I could, my kick landing squarely between its legs. As it dropped to its knees and clutched its groin, I got in close and shoved both blades up under its armor and into its lungs and heart.

Within minutes my blades were cleaned and taken care of, and I was running from the site of the conflict, just in case other Uglies came to investigate. I wanted nothing more then to be amongst my comrades, where it was safe…this would prove to be one of the greatest false securities of my life.