Disclaimer: Avatar is the property of James Cameron. I do not own anything other than my original characters.

Chapter 3

In the days after the reception of the communique, and the revelations about the doings on Earth, the air of agitation had grown to a feeling of genuine terror. For the sense of helplessness that one feels when one is mired in affairs that one has no real influence over is not a pleasant sensation. The Marine and Army engineers had indeed arrived several days later as stated by the message and had immediately set to work expanding the road networks and other infrastructure. Of chief interest to Clewell and the other base personnel however was the expansion of Hell's Gate, and it's subsequent renaming. Due to it's growth and future accommodation of civilian personnel to serve as a sort of government for the planet, the base had been renamed New Saigon.

The new name was largely to appease the P.R. hacks back on Earth, but also to conform with the new tradition of naming bases and other installations after Vietnam War era bases and cities. And New Saigon was a perfectly suitable name for so large a location. The conurbation was still roughly pentagon-shaped, but massive tracts of land had been cleared away from the surrounding areas. New Saigon's equally new air base, dubbed "New Tan Son Nhut" was possessed of two airstrips, each capable of carrying a Valkyrie shuttle, and a large central terminal, which conducted the entirety of traffic, both outgoing and incoming. And finally, there was the new STG Complex, which was expanded into it's current form to support the Defense Command and all planned troop deployments. The overall size of the "city" was several dozen hectares, and had within it's walls some 25,000 miners, logistics personnel, and soldiers of the New Saigon Guard Regiment were domiciled. The Engineers had finished with the city and had moved on to the New Da Nang base complex and the headquarters for the 2nd Marine Division at a location dubbed "New Chu Lai".

Clewell had expected problems, but the resulting debacles regarding logistics and how to expand the base had given him headaches and he wasn't even a member of the logistics group. The migraines Clewell was certain they suffered would have been the sort that would've put him on medication. But as he looked over the holo-table, and saw the number of thermal signatures, he knew that logistics were the least of his problems. The map showed, fifty miles from the outpost furthest north, a concentration, or a group of concentrations, each about five thousand strong. Of the number of concentrations present, there were three, each clustered around a central camp and what amounted to a command post. And each had large amounts of Dire Horse and Banshee riders. War forces. Even more, their layout showed the growing military organization of the enemy.

"I was right." Clewell thought to himself. "This was only going to get bigger. Now we've got what amounts to an old style infantry division camped out right on our border." For such there indeed was, though the enemy was spread out, there was a force comparable to an old Viet Cong division. Now the force was beginning to advance to the furthest edge of the perimeter. The force was, as suggested by the images, in the process of joining together for some major operation. And it was rather obvious to the group, what that purpose was. The "division" was approaching the Home-tree Pandorium mine, the farthest from the Marine bases, and the forces approaching were apparently intent upon mayhem. What was necessary now was a plan for defeating the enemy forces and safeguard the investment.

"Gentlemen," said General Richmond, his tone of voice hard and sharp as iron, "the enemy has come to us again. We must meet him on the field and decide this issue through force of arms." Clewell had to resist rolling his eyes somewhat; though he respected the General, the man had a tendency of turning even simple briefings into speeches at any moment that suited him. Minor eccentricities aside, Richmond was still a capable commander, and his prowess showed itself in the Ops Center as he triangulated and calculated outcomes of whatever strategy he might create. Now his abilities were exploited once more. He and his Chief of Operations began shifting around icons and images on the holo-table and after a few moments of rapid movement, a battle plan lay before the assembled officers. "Now the enemy has fixed himself in position near the coast, close to the region of Swotulu. With this in mind, I have created a rough outline for the battle. The working title for this mission is Operation Satellite."

The holo-table flashed and the image of the three regiments had advanced to the Toruk river, one of the tributaries of the Txan'pximaw, one of Pandora's many river systems. General Richmond began to outline his plan for the battle. "The enemy has a clear line of advance to the mining site, there's only one natural obstacle to their advance, the Toruk river. Which is itself crossable via several naturally occurring wooden bridges." He gestured to to the aforementioned river. "And this is where we will trap him. Two battalions of the 9th Marines will take up blocking positions along the south bank of the river to deadlock the enemy." General Hatfield then raised a certain point.

"Only two battalions to stop a brigade? Forgive me if I'm skeptical of this plan's success General. Despite the fact that we are the best of the best, even my boys can't fight an army, no matter what amount or level of technology they're possessed of." said the Marine Corps Brigadier.

"Not to worry General, there's more to this plan than simply two battalions." General Richmond gave a placating smile to the the Marine Corps officer and waved his hand again. Now the three Na'vi regiments had advanced to the river and had two battalions blocking the enemy, but with four highlighted zones to the west. "The jungle in this region is quite thick, and our line of sight will not be able to strike many of the enemy forces. However, their purpose is not to stop the enemy forces. Merely to delay him. What comes next will be the hammer to the river's anvil."

"The remainder of the 9th Regiment will reinforce its' engaged battalions, then the other three regiments of the 3rd Brigade and the New Saigon Guard Regiment will transport themselves from New Da Nang and New Saigon, then they will disembark at Landing Zones Red, Gold, White and Blue. Then, with support from their transport and attack helicopters, they will envelop the enemy from the east. And finally, with promiscuous amounts of air support from the 366th Tactical Fighter Wing, the enemy shall be hounded west and north along the river and towards the sea, fixed in position, and destroyed by superior fire-power."

That was the plan, as Richmond had put it down for the commanders. There was some minor hemming and hawing over the exact positioning of the Landing Zones, but for the most part, the issue was settled. Save for one question on everyone's mind, which Clewell gave voice to. "When do we move?" Clewell asked of the General.

"At 0500 hours tomorrow. We have reports from the remaining science officers as have not deserted or been locked away in the brigs that the Na'vi cannot see well in the dark, something to do with the naturally occurring bioluminescence in plants and themselves not necessitating the natural development of nocturnal vision. So in theory, if we move in the predawn hours, they will not see us coming, and they will just be rousing themselves from their bivouacs, giving us ample time to fly the 9th in and then dig in on the south bank. That is our position. That is how we shall defeat the enemy." the General said with no small amount of finality.

So the briefing was concluded, and Clewell departed the base to his jeep and garrison. The trip back to New Da Nang in the afternoon dusk was a really terrible thing. The sensation of complete isolation, save for his silent unsmiling driver was not at all pleasurable. And this aforementioned feeling was only exacerbated by the queerly raucous chirruping of hidden Forest Banshees and the kaleidoscopic imagery projected over lakelets and streams by creepily dancing Fan Lizards. Almost unconsciously, Clewell looked around his vehicle repeatedly as for some menace which only he could see.

But before an hour was over, the three story perimeter fences loomed up through the jungle, and the wide kill-zones beyond showed the vast low slung hangers and barracks of the Marine Corps fortress. So dark and jagged were the outlines of those buildings in the late afternoon semi-darkness that they suggested the daemonic appearance of some long dead cyclopean city. Whilst the fighters raced overhead, only a few kilometers above the dense canopy, their engines seemed to project the same sort of shrieks as might have been vocalized by the monstrous Night Gaunts of Lovecraft's "Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath".

The sentries atop the nearest watchtower shouted down to the gate operator and in short order the constructs swung inward, thus allowing the jeep to enter unhindered. Clewell slowly exited the vehicle and marched toward the Ops Center. "The boys need to hear what's happened. They're going to need to know that we're headed for the first brigade sized battle fought by the Marines since the fall of Pyongyang." he thought grimly as he marched toward the central tower which held the main operations room.

So possessed of his own mission was he, that Clewell could scarcely remember traveling to the control room, and before he knew what had happened, stood in front of the main PA announcement system. He felt his spine shiver and his nerves so on edge that he might have fainted. But he had a duty that was necessary to complete, a duty to his men and the rest of the brigade. General Hatfield wouldn't arrive until 10 o'clock, so he would have to do it himself. Before he knew what he was doing, his mouth was moving and words were coming out of his mouth.

"To the officers and men of the 9th Marine Regiment and the 3rd Marine Brigade. This is Colonel Robert Clewell." His voice rang out over the compound and all the men and women heeded it's words as if they were the words of a god. "I have just returned from Headquarters at New Saigon with the information that at 0935 hours this morning, infrared satellites discovered a force of 15,000 native troops fifty miles from the northern outpost. As our brigade and the New Saigon Guard are the only ground combat forces on hand, General Richmond has decided to deploy our forces and the Guard Regiment to defeat this enemy force. Now at 0400 hours, tomorrow, we will move out and begin operations to confront said enemy forces, and destroy them."

"And to the men of the 9th. You will have the most important task of all. You will be the ones to protect the crossings on the Toruk river, where our enemy will focus all of his efforts. This is going to be the first of many battles in a long war. So harden your hearts and prepare to march to war and glorious battle. But not for a corporation, and not for any mere country or alliance. We will be fighting with a greater responsibility than any other before, for we are fighting for the future of the human species and I can't tell you if we will win or not. That is up to you. The soldiers of the United Earth Marine Corps. You are Humanity's finest. I know that we will all do our duty, which is handed down from God himself. That of the defense of our species."

"So sleep now, for tomorrow we will fight for our future. All of us." And with that, he made an about face from the microphone. It was a rather poor speech in his opinion, now that he had time to think about it. He simply rambled off what ever he could think of. But as he looked around the room, and saw the determined expressions on the faces on the orderlies, the thought struck him that maybe he might have actually accomplished something. A slight feeling of pride was stirred in his chest as he beheld the ramrod straight marines that saluted him as he walked down the corridors.

Bob walked down the hallway of the collective building that housed the command staff and the Ops Center and arrived at room 378, his quarters. Entering, he closed the door behind him and looked over the small amount of personal belongings that he had brought with him when he was assigned. There was a picture of himself and a woman and two boys at a park. His wife and sons. There was another of himself at his boot camp graduation at Quantico. Finally, there was a picture of himself and his family in their house in the L.A suburbs. These three pictures, and a few other small paraphernalia were all that he had brought with him from earth. Thinking of that only depressed him. Here he was, on a moon several light years from his family and his home. Wasn't that a lonely feeling?

But duty came first. He needed his strength. A battle would be fought tomorrow and he would be one of the people depended upon to win it. "No pressure. Only the future of humanity is riding on the outcome of this battle." he mockingly said to himself as he reflected on his present situation. Looking at the clock, he saw that it was nearly seven. "Best make sure I'm rested. Can't be failing the boys due to lack of sleep." he thought. With that in mind, he walked over to his bunk and stripped himself of his uniform and allowed himself to collapse onto the bunk, nude but for his undergarments, and floated off into the world of dreams.

Clewell did not sleep well. His dreams were filled by images of fear and of the coming battle. One scene in particular, was very frightful. In his dream, he was seated in a Super-Huey, among a swarm of other machines flying toward the landing zone in the stultifying darkness of the early morning. Then as the helicopter began to descend into the jungle toward the small clearing, a shocking roar rang out above the flock of vehicles. "No..." Clewell thought. "We were supposed to surprise them!" Then as he looked out of the Super Huey and above, he saw a massive, red, four winged beast. As large as one of the Huey's, it darted down from it's pursuant course like a monster of feverish nightmares and seized the roof his vehicle, it's steel-sharp claws penetrating

It then flung it's prey towards the ground, and as the wounded vehicle spiraled down to the earth, Clewell chanced to look above him. The sky was black with nightmarish fiends, banshees rode by Na'vi, their blue skin disgustingly contrasting with the blood red paint upon it. But that apocalyptic vision was shattered by the crashing of the Huey onto the hard rocky river banks. Pain overwhelmed Clewell's mind, and for several moments he felt blackness creeping in on the corners of his vision. But it cleared as a new pain spread through his body, his stomach, his face... his face. There were pieces of multiplex glass embedded in his face when the visor had shattered, and even as he felt this, his lungs began to burn with the noxious CO2 infused atmosphere.

Suddenly as Clewell saw all this in his dream, he felt as if he were looking from outside himself at his own body. And it was the sight of this horrifically savaged figure, it's armor mangled, the face almost unrecognizable and with a six foot shard of metal in it's torso, that drove him to give vent to the piercing scream that woke him from the nightmare and to forced him to sit up straight in an icy perspiration. Looking around in the darkness, which had acquired the consistency of pitch, he fumbled for the light switch and, finding it, flipped the switch and allowed the crisp yellow light to fill his room. He steadied his breathing and felt over himself, making sure the dream was not real. The thing to do now, he decided, was to dress and then wake the battalion commanders.

Slowly, and after his eyes adjusted, Clewell slid his uniform on and edged out of his room, taking care not to alert the rest of the base. Then he located the bunks of his Battalion Commanders. After the four Majors were roused from their sleep, they and Clewell roused the regiment's bugler and marched out to the base's new flagpole. "Reveille was always something I never really liked, then again, no one likes waking up early." Clewell thought as the bearer attached the flag to the post. Then the dreaded notes began pouring out of the bugle and Clewell could almost see the Sergeants leaping out of their bunks and calling their men to action. Though he would have to explain himself to Hatfield afterward for this. For the General, despite his soldierly occupation, was not a morning person, not least an early morning person.

But such things could wait until afterwards. Within half an hour, the entire brigade was grumbling and fumbling their way to the the mess halls to fill themselves up, with what some feared might be their last meals. Clewell also had to explain himself to General Hatfield for breaking protocol and sounding Reveille without his person present. And he did catch flack for it, the Brigadier being a real stickler for conduct, at least when out of combat. On the battlefield, the man was as much of an improvisor as any Marine. Tangent aside, the men finished their meal, and were soon piling into the choppers. Normally they would have had marches and orchestral pieces like "Ride of the Valkyries" or "The Battle-hymn of the Republic" blaring out their speakers, but this time, surprise and stealth were key.

And so the choppers flew on in relative silence, the only noise heard by the Marines being that of the rhythmic thumping of the rotor-blades. For three quarters of an hour, Clewell and his men said nothing to each other, save what was absolutely necessary. Normally these men would be joking and betting on their projected kill tallies, but here it was different. This world was not Earth, it was foreign to all the soldiers, and had an ecology of unparalleled ferocity. So the normally exuberant and boisterous troopers now wore sober, and thoughtful expressions, and perhaps Clewell thought, as he studied the faces of the Marines behind their visors, almost of genuine sadness.

"Maybe it's because they're so far from home. Or maybe they just never thought they'd be fighting giant blue Indians." Clewell thought with an obscene zestful irony at their position. Three hundred years ago, the Army were the ones fighting Indians, now the Marines were doing the same thing over a light year away. Just as he thought of this fact, the alert lights came on in the sealed cabin of the Super-Huey. Then the pilot's voice came in over the intercom. "Colonel, the LZ is five clicks out. Making our final approach."

"Alright. Game time." he thought as the choppers began to descend. Then the double doors on either side of the fuselage, and Clewell hopped out of the cabin and onto the Pandoran riverside. Truly it was not so dark as many nights on earth, but then again, light was always present on Pandora in one form or another. If the intelligence reports were correct, then the Na'vi forces would be just rousing themselves from their bivouacs and starting on the move. They were supposed to be moving towards the river, and would probably arrive in two hours or so. This was not going to be easy, two thousand men against fifteen thousand Na'vi who knew the territory better than any other, it was the Marines that were flying blind.

"Get your asses squared away boyos! They're gonna be here in not but two hours and I want to be able to roll out the red carpet for them! I need foxholes dug and room for the Reavers to set up!" The EMC-200 Reaver was a short range support platform equipped with grenade launchers on either arm and mortars on the back, especially handy in small unit engagements or in jungle and urban combat. In this region it, would be essential, until artillery could be deployed. Normally Drachen suits would be deployed to act as defense for the Reavers, but in such tight conditions and with the jungles behind them, it was decided to leave the flame suits behind. Especially considering that they would be engaging well past the Drachen suits range.

The two hours slid by as if everything else had ceased to matter, aside from the preparations for slaughter. The foxholes were dug and some of the smaller trees were cleared away for the landing zones that would facilitate the easy deployment of reinforcements. Sentry Turrets had been emplaced in front of the line and both battalions had a clear line of sight all the way to the north bank, which was where the Na'vi would be marching to. This was the moment that everyone had been waiting for and the atmosphere was truly extraordinary, heavy with tension and excitement. Clewell was studying the north bank for possible enemy forces, when there was a great whooping and roaring from the forests on the opposite side of the river. Then the arrows began to fly and Banshees started to zoom down from the sky like great sparrows and bluejays with the warriors on their backs.

"Eyes up! The Indians have come out to play!" one of his lieutenants called out, and the firing started up from the marines. Clewell could see what had happened. They had been busy digging their foxholes, and not taking one look to the opposite shore. Not to mention the fact that satellite coverage was rather spotty in this area. But the battle at hand was more pressing. And while arrows could not penetrate Marine armor, their faceplates were vulnerable, hence the foxholes. Besides, some habits died hard, and digging foxholes on these sorts of operations was one of them. The rifles fired controlled clipped bursts, the machine guns setting down a layer of suppression fire, and the Reavers grenade launchers and mortars were constantly spewing lead death upon the opposite bank. But for all their drill and precision, the forest was too dense for the Marines to put much of a dent in the Na'vi's forces.

This went on for thirty minutes or so, during which perhaps ten men were killed and somewhat more than twice that lightly wounded, when the Na'vi began to surge across the natural bridge. It was a calculated rush, with mounted archers at the front and Banshees as cover. "Sully's taught them well." Clewell thought as he aimed his rifle at the center of the native forces. Even near four hundred years after it's inception, every marine was still a rifleman. Perhaps some two dozen fell in the charge, and still they came on. Then a great roar shook the forest and a Leonopteryx dived like a falcon and gripped up one of the Reavers. That was most likely Sully, and Clewell rose his rifle and let off one or two shots in it's direction, but they missed their mark. It wouldn't have made any difference anyhow, that was a wild one.

"This keeps up, it won't matter how good we are! They'll overrun us!" Shouted a sergeant. And he was right. There were still over fourteen thousand enemy warriors on the north bank dug into the woods. More than enough to wipe them out, if they came fast enough. They nearly did, but there was still only one bridge, and the river was wide. Easily thirty meters at it's narrowest. But that advantage was somewhat negated by the fact that the enemy had airborne forces, though each could only carry one Na'vi, or two for the strongest of them.

"Hold out for a bit longer! The rest of the 3rd will be here soon! We'll get through this, we can! The Marines never fold!" Clewell bellowed over the din. Then there was a rattling, rolling, thumping and cheering, such as no things of Pandora could raise up. Then the rest of the 9th Marines came rumbling down in the Super-Hueys and dismounted, three copters at a time. This certainly put the Na'vi forces on edge, and Sully knew that they would need to strike at once. So they did, a whole regiment came on banshees and on horseback, but this, in spite of itself was halted. The bridge was too narrow and there were too many Marines. This dance went on for as long as an hour, and by the time the enemy forces had withdrawn to the north, they had lost nearly five hundred dead and wounded.

Then there came the trumpet call of victory and with it, hundreds of turbojets. The 366th had arrived, right on cue. The screams of rockets and trails of smoke told of the first salvoes and then there came the distinctive leaf tumble fall of napalm canisters. Then, seconds after the first canister fell, the north bank erupted in fire. And in that flame, Clewell could see Na'vi dancing, and screaming. Some were tearing off into the forest, too blinded by fear and pain to try and put the flames out, and the flesh sloughed off their bodies in slabs. Others were more intelligent, and they leapt into the waters of the wide river, heedless of the rushing tides in an attempt to douse the flames. They should have simply slit their throats. Napalm had advanced since the days of Vietnam, and advances in chemistry had enhanced the foul substance to a hitherto unprecedented degree of lethality.

"Never thought I'd say this, but God bless the United Earth Air Force!" Normally, no self respecting Marine would say that, but these were different circumstances. And the battle continued, the combined forces herding the Na'vi along the river bank, towards the sea, and destruction. But though the casualties to the blueskins were enormous, they were robbed of final victory by the very jungle that had trapped their quarry. The Na'vi knew it better than anyone, and used it to slip away into the twilight, for the battle lasted the day. This was the worst thing anyone could have asked for. Because as they knew, their enemy may have been beaten, but he was not broken, and he would live to fight another day. Word would be spread, and the war would shift from open battle to a guerrilla conflict. And as Clewell's regiment returned to New Da Nang, he could only think, "Well, those reinforcements are sure going to come in handy."

Authors note: Here's chapter four finally! I may have to go back and edit the battle scene, I find I'm not very good at it.