Note: Chapter has been revised and reposted as of November 2014
X James X
We kept an even pace with the militia forces. It was clear they were nowhere as fit, as organized, or as well-armed as a professional unit, but they had spirit. That spirit had gotten them this far, but how long could spirit last? War was ugly, and sometimes you relied on your tools more than yourself.
"How many non-combatants are in the school?" Anderson called.
"About thirty kids, plus some adults. We've been using it as some sort of a community center," their leader explained. "We keep a few guns there, so some people are probably fighting back already."
"Any idea on the equipment the raiders got?" Anderson was trying to gather some intel. I listened closely. Just what had they escaped with?
"Bikes and jeeps mostly. We think they got a tank. Some artillery leveled a building a week ago, but we haven't heard it again." The militia leader was counting off his fingers. A week ago? So that was an old assessment; they might be weaker now. But even if they didn't have much, they still had vehicles. To those like us without anti-vehicle weapons, they might as well have more tanks. I kept my eyes on the surroundings so much I didn't have an exact number on the number of streets we passed. Eventually, we turned down one and there was the school.
It was a large, two-story brick building situated between a few houses, and it was clearly meant to be within walking distance for its students. Situated in the streets in front of it were three Humvees and two bikes, their machine guns firing mercilessly on the building. Several over soldiers had deployed around the vehicles for extra fire, and there were over ten in total. Oddly, they hadn't chosen to post a rear guard of some sort. Sporadic fire came back at them from the school, but missed.
"Advance on the side of the street. Keep low and use the cars for cover, don't fire till your close," Anderson breathed. Sensing his capabilities as a leader, the militia decided to follow his orders. Anson took position behind a car to fire from afar while the rest of us slinked along the left side of the street. The militia went along the right side. I moved stealthily with the ease of constant training, dashing bravely between gaps till we were right behind the bastards. They still didn't notice us. Anderson propped his gun on a hood and the three of us reached for grenades. "I got that bike," Sam volunteered.
"I got the third Humvee." Anderson took aim.
"We'll take the other Humvee." Peter and I nodded. Anderson counted down his fingers, and at three we gave them hell. Sam managed to land his grenade in the sidecar, killing the driver and gunner immediately. The heavy bullets of Anderson's gun killed the gunner and ripped three other soldiers to shreds. Our grenades managed to land in the middle of a group of fanned-out soldiers behind the second Humvee. They didn't have time to react before the grenades detonated, killing all of them and tossing their bodies like some kid's ragdolls. The gunner spun around in surprise, only for a sniper round to obliterate the top of entire head. The militia emerged on the other side of the street and opened fire at the remaining Humvee and bike, catching any remaining raiders between three directions of fire. In less than thirty seconds it was over.
Silence overtook the immediate area, and we hung back for just a second to make sure no other raiders were around. Once Anson caught up, we moved forward. We all quickly rushed towards the school's front entrance. The set of metal doors were flung open to reveal two more members of the militia. They quickly waved us in and padlocked the doors back shut.
"Damage report!" Anderson barked at the bewildered civilians. Only when the band that had come with us nodded did they answer.
"Upper floor is destroyed, but all the kids are hiding in a class room," he said, "and an artillery shell landed earlier, took out D Hall."
"Any wounded?" Peter demanded. The militiaman shook his head.
"Only dead." I gritted my teeth again in anger.
"Wolf Pack-Six, provisional company, we met up with a band of civilians and helped them defend a school from enemy attack," Sergeant Anderson reported back to HQ.
"Any casualties?" Captain Brenner asked in a worried voice.
"The kids are okay, but some civilian fighters were killed in the skirmish."
"Understood. Check if the civilians can continue defending it for the time being. Make sure the school is secure and then move to reinforce other units. If not, stay there."
"Yes sir. Out." Sergeant Anderson turned to the two militiamen who'd let us in. "How many other fighters are here?"
"Twenty of us."
"We're staying here," the leader of the band who had come with us said, "and you can go. We'll make sure this building stays safe. It'll be over quickly if you five just go." Sergeant Anderson and the man stared at each other for a minute. If we left now, we could push the raiders further away from the school. But if some were still hiding around here and attacked once we left...
"All right." It was a tough call, but Sergeant Anderson made it. "Spread out and make sure you got a stable perimeter. Be careful who your guys shoot, 'cause we got some of our guys coming into the city. Got it?" The leader nodded. "Okay." Anderson turned his attention to us. "Let's go, boys; we still got work to do!"
We emerged through the front doors and dashed across the schoolyard to the street. "Now, where to?" Anderson asked out loud. We took a pause to listen to the sounds of combat still echoing throughout the city. It only sounded like gunfire really; their stock of vehicles must've been depleted. We moved across two streets, trying to locate a firefight. We found ourselves towards another main road, lined with shops on each side. Several burning wrecks were in the middle of the road while gunfire was flying from each side. Which side was ours?
A motorbike came speeding down the road, only for fire across the street to focus on it and tear it to shreds. That had to be us; we knew the raiders used bikes and that we didn't. "Hurry up!" Anderson called. We took off in a run across the street for a flower shop whose front windows had been entirely destroyed. Gunfire behind us, as well as in front of us, whizzed right past our heads. We practically flung ourselves through the windows.
"Our own guys!" Sam complained, leaning out with his rifle.
"They can't tell the difference," Anderson reminded him. I felt that uncomfortable feeling again at the confusion always present in battle. Could I be sure I wouldn't make the same mistake? These raiders looked a lot more like our own guys. I joined Sam at the left window while Sgt. Anson and Anderson set up on the right.
"Think I see some over there," Sam pointed out with the barrel of his gun towards an old and abandoned gas station. The boards that covered the windows had been torn down in places. I looked down my sights and aimed while keeping an ear on the exchanges of gunfire around me. A head poked out from the window; I could tell it was a raider because his helmet had rather crude symbol scratched into it. I opened fire and Sam followed suit, and we sprayed the area with suppressing fire before ducking down to reload, unsure if we'd hit him. "I can't believe we're fighting in a fucking flower shop," he muttered, kicking at an empty pot.
"In urban warfare, you always seek shelter," Anson told him, squeezing off another shot from his rifle at a bank's parking lot across the street. We took aim at the gas station again, but after a few seconds we were forced to change our positions because of fire coming at us. Several of the raiders had hidden in the bank itself, using its small, steel bar-reinforced windows as sniping holes. I aimed my shots carefully at one of the windows and squeezed off a round when one popped his head up. It exploded in a mist of blood. Satisfied, I turned and glanced at the gas station. Still, nothing. That bastard was dead.
"Aren't we supposed to push them out of the town?" Sam ducked to reload again.
"These guys are dug in, no other option but to kill them," Anderson answered. I fired at another window and ducked again. They had a better defensive position than us. The radio was becoming alive with chatter by this point.
"One enemy tank down."
"Bandits are dug in around the church."
"Can we get some artillery over here?"
We clearly weren't the only ones in a tight position. A few moments passed before the Captain Brenner's voice came over the radio.
"Wolf Pack-Six to all units, we have permission to fire artillery into the non-housing areas of the city." Permission? Permission from who? I looked up and down the street. I sure didn't see any houses, though there were definitely some behind the bank. Sure enough, artillery fire started coming down, precise and controlled. The first shell went right through the roof of the bank, busting through any defense the structure had. We watched as smoke billowed out of the small windows. Slowly, but with deadly accuracy, shells landed along the other side of the road, destroying all of the businesses and parking lots the raiders were using as cover. Once the horrible barrage ended, we exited the shelter of the flower shop. Down the street other 12th Battalion soldiers emerged from their cover and exchanged glances. A lone raider stumbled out of one of the buildings. As soon as he looked up and moved his gun, a hail of bullets hit him.
"Any idea where else they're dug in?" Anderson called down to another group. They shook their heads. A light tank, one of the few modern M2s the Battalion had, turned down the street and steadily rumbled towards us—it was one of ours. It passed and we all fell into a jog beside it along with the other soldiers present. The armor went where the enemy was.
"Is it over?" Sam wondered. I wouldn't be surprised; all it had been the past few days were quick, spread out, and deadly exchanges rather than a regular battle between two conventional forces. A lone rocket was fired from a bail bonds office, striking the tank in the front. Undamaged by the attack, it returned fire with its cannon and obliterated the whole building. A group broke off to search for more raiders. The sound of gunfire was becoming more sporadic with each passing moment. They couldn't have much more left.
We walked beside the tank for much of the road, keeping a close eye on the surrounding buildings for any sign of the enemy. The sound of gunfire was dying off even more around here, though the radio said otherwise.
"Confirmed kill on tank."
"There's a whole platoon of them hiding somewhere."
"The enemy is digging in inside the town," another reported. I guess the raiders found out they were being led to slaughter. There goes the element of surprise.
The tank turned down another street, past a gate, and into another housing division. This place looked well kept. The raiders would definitely come here if they wanted expensive stuff.
"Come out, come out," another soldier taunted. Some of the houses showed visible signs of looting. I growled and gripped my rifle harder. How could they go on tormenting innocent people? Even in the midst of battle they were looting—
The ambush was sudden and deadly. I don't even remember hearing it. One moment I was beside the tank, the next I was on my back on the side of the street behind a garbage can. I dragged myself up groggily.
"Guys!" The others—were the others okay? I looked out to see the tank in flames and heard gunfire raining down from two second-story windows and a balcony. Other soldiers were stumbling for cover No one was hurt, but the tank crew was certainly dead. There was little cover here, either. We got a break when they retreated to reload. We all took this opportunity to return fire at the windows and chuck a few grenades. The explosions tore them to shreds; one bastard's corpse even cart wheeled out a window and into the ground.
Sam panted and jogged up to where I was, Anderson behind him. I could see Sgt. Anson standing a little further away. We'd been scattered, but we lived. The remaining infantry were unhurt as well, thanks to the raiders' horrible aim. We all silently nodded at each other and fell in as other groups continued clearing the area. The sounds of combat were gradually fading.
We continued along the street and around a curve to see a Humvee parked haphazardly on the curb, with the driver's door ajar. Above the usual combat calls, Captain Brenner's voice came over the radio.
"Wolf Pack-Six to all units, we've confirmed the raiders are in full retreat. Stragglers may still be in the city. All infantry units are to secure the city while the tank companies are to run down any remaining enemy units outside the city. Out."
"The engine's still runnin'; one of those little bastards is around here." A soldier spit on the ground as he leaned out from the Humvee. We all fanned out towards the surrounding houses to search for the little coward. I moved over to an old sedan and peered through the windows into the back seat. Nothing. I opened the door and popped the trunk—it was a stupid thing to do, really, but a veteran had told us he'd done this trick in the last Great War while fighting insurgents. It was empty this time. I shut it and stared at the houses on each side of the street. Maybe they were in there? There was a crash and a scream. I turned around to see a trashcan rolling down the street before banging into a car. A body fell out, holding its head.
"Found him!" Another soldier called. We all aimed at the prisoner. He stood up and started babbling something I couldn't understand. He was lacking a full combat uniform; in fact, he was just in his underwear! Had be abandoned it in the hope we wouldn't notice? "Hands up and shut up!" The soldier growled. The raider was sweating and shaking wildly as he raised his hands above his head. A wet patch started spreading across his underwear and down his leg. This only drew cruel laughs from some of the other soldiers. Poor bastard was starving and scared shitless. Since he was a deserter, he would likely be dead this time tomorrow.
"Hey boys, come look at this!" Another soldier was looking in the back of the Humvee. "Food, ammo, and gas!" He pulled out a canister of gas and shook it, confirming it was full. "She's ours to use now!" Even if it shouldn't have had to be fought twice in different places, the battle against the raiders had turned out well.
Two hours later, tired and worn out, we all trekked back towards the camp that had been set up next to the highway. The battle had only just ended. Once the raiders had gotten more than five miles away, we broke off our pursuit. Their casualties? Heavy. Along with the militia, the entire battalion cleared the town of stragglers, capturing a few and killing a few hold outs. When the town was finally cleared, we'd been allowed to return to camp.
"That was boring," Sam yawned. Our group hadn't found anything during our sweep. "We ain't trained for counter-insurgency," Sam complained.
"We're trained for insurgency, Private. They're the same thing," Sergeant Anderson told him.
"Bah, it still ain't our thing." Sam yawned again.
"How the hell did a whiner like him make it into a special purpose brigade?" A grunt behind us called.
"I ain't sure myself." Anderson laughed. Sam grumbled something under his breath.
"Man, I'm just wondering why we're killing our own people." Sam shrugged.
"Sergeant, permission to help at the medical station?" Peter asked as we entered the camp.
"Go ahead, Private." Anderson let him go and the rest of us kept on our way. It didn't take me long to notice that something seemed different: it was louder and a lot more packed. The reason soon became clear to me.
"Civilians?" It was. A few hundred people of various ages had gathered here at the camp, trying to stay out of the way.
"They must've evacuated the town while we were clearing it," Sergeant Anson realized, "and they'll probably move back in soon."
"Huh." I was surprised there had been so many living people still there; there were more people in this one city than the Battalion had rescued from several different cities. And it wasn't just the young and strong: there were older people, pregnant women, and small children who all looked perfectly healthy and happy. I found myself smiling as I looked. This is my reason for doing this—right here.
We headed to our own section of the camp and waited for further news. Since the city was in good condition, we might stay a while—I wouldn't mind that. Sure enough, a gathering for all 12th Battalion personnel was announced later in the day. We all gathered around the tank Captain Brenner was standing on. Peter joined us not too long after we arrived.
"Casualties were light—both we and the civilians," Peter began," but some of our people were killed." We all hung our heads at that. After a few minutes, the civilians started forming around too, sometimes milling among the crowd of soldiers. This must concern both our groups, then. Something that caught everyone's attention was the people at the base of the tank.
Unsurprisingly, the first was the lieutenant, her face in a perpetual frown. Some of the civilians got scared just by looking at her. The other three people were a little odder. Two of them were just kids, though one of them looked like he was wearing a cadet uniform. An officer in training? The other kid was leaning on his shoulder, some girl with dyed hair. Why were they up there? The last man was about as bulky as Captain Brenner, with white hair and a lab coat. Was he the civilians' leader or something?
Atop the Abram, Captain Brenner observed the massive crowd and waved for silence. Everyone became quiet and gathered closer; civilian and soldier mingled together just to get into earshot.
"I would like to call for a brief silence in honor of the twelve men who died here today, and for the civilians who died defending their town." He hung his head, and a solemn silence seemed to cover the entire world just then. When he spoke again, he was directly addressing us soldiers.
"As some of you may have noticed, the entire population of New Wolfington is here." That was kinda ironic: an army battalion called Brenner's Wolves and a town called New Wolfington. "They will be accompanying the battalion from now on." This caused an outbreak of murmuring in our crowd. Sam cursed under his breath.
"How the hell are we gonna feed them and ourselves?" A soldier behind me muttered to his companion. He had a point, I knew—but they were civilians. Once the chatter subsided, he continued.
"I understand your worries. Since the disaster, supplies have been scarce, and we have yet to find a permanent home." He paused for a moment before continuing. "I believe those days may be over soon. We believe we may have found a permanent source of food production that won't be hindered by the recent changes. I'll allow the civilian representative to explain." Brenner stepped down from the tank while the wide man in a lab coat stepped in front of it and began talking.
"Hello there!" He said energetically, smiling at the crowd. "My name is Dr. Morris, and I am the elected leader of New Wolfington. I must say, we are happy you've come, we were having trouble with those scoundrels!" They must've elected him for his spirit; there was something about hearing him speak that was reassuring. "Now I do have good news indeed, something I'm sure everyone will howl at. Oh ho!"
We were all silent. Maybe it was something else.
"Um, yes." He recovered his composure, and then began to speak. "Located some ways further east is a very special factory. This factory runs on very special components, that—" He launched into a random assortment of scientific jibber jabber that I, nor anyone else for that matter, didn't understand. Everyone exchanged glances. It was only after Captain Brenner cleared his throat that the doctor realized he'd lost the audience. "Oh, sorry. The short version: a factory that can produce unlimited food without any sort of input!" The crowd went into a frenzy of whispering and muttering. I felt my stomach growl again. "And with your help now, I'm sure we can get it running again!" That last part was barely heard.
"A factory that makes food?" Sam's mouth was watering. The knowledge seemed to have temporarily sapped any discipline from both groups. People were whispering, yelling, or cheering excitedly. The idea was certainly appealing, but was it real?
"That's one of the dumbest things I've ever heard off." Anderson didn't sound convinced. The doctor stepped down and Lieutenant Lin stood up next. Her presence immediately silenced the crowd gathered.
"The next few days will likely be rough while we travel toward this factory, and I want you to understand this: we will not tolerate trouble of any kind from either side. We expect the soldiers to be welcoming and we expect the civilians to be cooperative. Understand?" She put it bluntly to the point that it was no longer a question; it was an order. Her words restored order in our ranks and startled the civilians into silence.
"I want everyone to remain positive; this is a very important step in our efforts." The Captain took over again. "It's been a long day, so we'll move out tomorrow. I want patrols set up, all supplies gathered from town, and proper burials for the dead." As the crowd dispersed I watched the civilians. Although scared, they were eager. They were alive. They didn't want to die. They had hope. Watching them restored a little of my hope as well. I hadn't thought about the long run, but now seemed a good time to be upbeat. A permanent food source meant a permanent base to work from, a place where hopefully we could restore human civilization. Maybe, things would go back to normal again in my lifetime. Maybe…
