First in, Last out
The Siege of Combat base Gloria
Taggart was shaken from sleep by a harsh knocking sound. His eyes cracked open individually, seeming to scrape open against his eyeballs like razor blades. He discovered several things at once, he had slept in his clothes and with the light on. He got up slowly, his joints popping and his muscles screaming in protest. Fighting in CMC suits gave marines a tremendous advantage against the Zerg, however, it took a lot out of man after the fight.
Taggart sat up on his bed "Enter!" the door swooshed opened and Sergeant Major Bob Hatfield walked in, he was clean shaven with a new pair of utilities and his boots freshly polished. How the hell does he do it? Taggart grumbled to himself he's at least at old as me but he looks like a bright eyed and bushy tailed Second Lieutenant. Hatfield was holding two cups of coffee. He saluted smartly still holding a cup in his right hand. Taggart lazily returned his salute "Gimme that, smart ass" he said and took the proffered cup. The Marine Corps had trouble doing a lot of things right, however, it had perfected the art of making good coffee. Taking a couple of sips, Taggart let the caffeine jolt him full in wakefulness.
"Since your so squared away Sergeant Major, what's the sitrep?" Hatfield cocked his head, "Let see, we're currently in the Epsilon Delta system loitering for a few stragglers. Word has it some of the fleet is gonna set up defensive positions here, but nearly everyone else is heading back to their original positions."
Taggart got up and walked into the small bathroom that contained a shower, the Sergeant Major continued talking. "Our current status isn't too good, Alpha Company has about 50 effectives, two radios and one heavy machine gun. Bravo's Vultures are gone, they have about 7 personnel left. Charlie has 7 Goliaths left and two we can probably salvage. Delta has five Arclites left. Now, the good news, all our company commanders made it."
"Second Louies?" Taggart called from the shower
"Not so good, only one made it, 2nd Lieutenant Bryan Hobbes from Alpha Company, the rest bought it although we're being completely reinforced as of 1000 this morning."
"Newbies?"
"No, actually, we're getting a bunch of guys and 'quipment from the… " there was a tapping sound as Hatfield searched his notepad "…the Second of the Fifth Air Assault Battalion.
"That's good, they'll have drop experience" called Taggart
"Yeah, I was looking over their files, pretty experienced bunch. There are some pretty green ones though."
"That's what I thought, we start a complete training regimen as of 1100 hours. You know what replacements mean."
"An operation"
"That's right, lets go, we got work to do."
Taggart stepped out of the shower feeling almost human. The horror of the last operation and his dreams pushed back out of his mind for now. He had marines to train.
Taggart and Hatfield stepped into the mess hall. Unlike normal Marine mess facilities, CAB officers and enlisted men ate together. There was a clear division between the replacements and the survivors of the fight on Char. A young marine bawled out "Attention on Deck" and the mess rose as one person in a cacophony of clattering chairs and boots striking the deck. Taggart started his little speal. He had lost count of how many times head given it. "Men, I am Major James Taggart, 1st Battalion, 9th CAB Regiment. As of this second I am your CO. I expect the best and get the best because we are the best! We will start training at 1100 hours. Everyone will train. We will not stop until we are actually in combat. That is all men. As you were." The men dropped back to talking and eating, although it was noticeably quieter.
Taggart grabbed some food and sat at a table with his Company commanders. Chris Ryan commanded Alpha Company, Tim Elliot commanded the remainder of Bravo and looked like hell. Michael Woo had Charlie Company and Bill Wilder was the hell raising commander of Delta. Wilder was something of a black sheep, most tankers in the marines were, tanks were considered more of an army department. Wilder played the part well though, often having a crunched up cigar in his teeth. Taggart was glad he hadn't lost any of them. It was hard to nail down just how a commander would react to commands and Taggart hated having to figure out new Company commanders. The talk almost immediately settled down to business.
Crackcrackcrack. Taggart walked the line of men pouring lead down range at targets that bobbed, weaved and even blinked out of existence. All the marines on the firing range were wearing full CMC armor and even with the computer aided targeting they were doing miserably. Hot brass filled the air as marines desperately tried to hit the bulls eyes that seemed to zip in random directions. Taggart had deliberately set the target pattern at its maximum difficulty. He considered the normal practice of shooting at non moving targets a waste. Anyone could hit a target standing still, it took practice to hit even a slightly moving target and Taggart had yet to see a Zergling sitting still. Taggart was throwing stuff at his troops that usually only Ghosts and other special forces practiced. He could feel their frustration building, they were marines, they were used to being excellent marksmen but right now they were shooting like civilians. Taggart was also making them use magazines, normally their C-14's were fed through belts that linked into their suits. Magazines forced the marines to reload, something they weren't used to, and watch their ammo counters. Taggart had seen too many marines die trying to clear jammed belts of ammo, all it took was a twisted link or something snagged or cut during a battle to stop the flow of ammo. A normal firing period lasted about fifteen minutes. Taggart's was going steady past twenty.
Four hundred yards away, "Horrible" Hatfield was torturing the marines in slightly different way. He was sitting in a small control room filled with video monitors and computer keys. The monitors displayed a column of forty marines running through the jungle. Third platoon, Alpha company, under the command of 2nd Lieutenant Jason Harold was charging hell for leather for a distant hill. Hatfield, playing the battalion commander was screaming in his ear for him to advance. Harold at the lead of the column was pushing his men hard and fast, just like his simulated commander wanted him to. He was also doing everything wrong. Hatfield slapped the "Execute" command on the keyboard in front of him.
Harold saw a line of Hydralisks rise out of the ground in front of him. He screamed "Ambush!" and rolled to the side. A streams of spines caught the strung out marines in a cross fire. Ten were hit in the first volley, falling to the ground dead or wounded, their CMC armor easily defeated by a hail of point blanks spines. The two surviving men in the lead squad went to their knees and opened fire with their rifles. The squad behind them quickly fanned out and came online, shooting as they moved. The Hydralisks started to fall too and soon a pitched battle was under way. Harold, confused and disoriented ran down the column to the last squad, his radioman tagging along behind. He was shouting at them to come on line behind the second squad when a single spine took the top of his radioman's head off. The simulation didn't model gore too well but it was enough to further unnerve him. Harold got both of his remaining squads online and was trying to get fire support hooked up when Hatfield came back on the line. "Lieutenant, your platoon is moving entirely too slow, MOVE IT, NOW!" Harold tried to reply "Sir. I…"
"I will have you relieved, move to your objective"
"We're in contact and…"
"I don't care about a minor scrap, just get to that hill"
Hatfield allowed himself a small grin and watched the Lieutenant do his thing.
Harold, shouting for third platoon to assault on line, made a "lets go" motion with his hands and charged forward. The platoon was well disciplined and followed orders. They were all dead in less then twenty seconds. Fourteen men we're hit in the initial rush, falling every which way. The remaining twelve men, leaderless as Harold went down, hit the deck. They tried to return fire and withdraw but they were scattered throughout the jungle. They were picked off one by one.
Hatfield killed the simulation as the last marine was overrun by a hoard of Zerglings that had burst from the jungle. The jungle faded to white and the computer generated Hydralisks froze in position. Hatfield stepped into the bright white room as the marines, who were frozen when killed, slowly stood up. "Congratulations third platoon, your leader should get the record for killing his platoon faster than anyone else in the entire Corps." Harold looked as if he was about to throw up, sure that he was about to be relieved of command on the spot. "Unfortunately," Hatfield continued "That honor is taken by Jack Westfield and second platoon" The marines of third platoon suddenly noticed a group of marines sitting against the far wall with embarrassed looks on their faces. Suddenly the jungle leapt into existence. It was a replay of second platoons advance. A line of marines was again running through the jungle, urged on by Westfield who was urged on by the Sergeant Major. A line of Hydralisks again popped out from the jungle floor catching the lead squad in a crossfire. Harold noticed that Westfield was one of the first to go down, a bloody hole in his chest. Momentarily leaderless, the platoon continued moving forward and collected more casualties. The platoon sergeant took control and kept his men moving forward. By the time what was left of the platoon broke contact after a bloody ten second charge it was too late. The Zergling counter attack broke the back of assault and killed what was left of second platoon.
The jungle disappeared revealing Hatfield clapping sarcastically with a small remote control in his hand.
"Ok, lets evaluate shall we? One, both of you were going ENTIRELY too fast. If you had slowed down you would have seen that I had scattered hints of an ambush all across your path. Two, both of you were out of contact with your company commander, NEVER take orders from a battalion commander, too often he doesn't have the whole picture and will order you to do something stupid. Let your captain run interference for you. Three, when you were hit, you tried to just run through the contact, good if you're up against a couple of Zerglings, bad if your up against a squad sized unit of Hydras. The Zerg usually don't open up an ambush with ten or twelve Hydra's unless they're planning a full out contact. Five, Lieutenants listen up, the Marine OCS program basically taught you how to manage that fancy land-to- ship radio your Radiomen carry, yell follow me then kicked you out the door. You are here to LEAD not DIE. Both of you should have been at least behind the lead squad if not in the middle of the column. If you die, your platoon dies. That's about it, next simulation in ten minutes."
Both of the Lieutenants looked as if he had just dumped a load of bricks on their heads, combined with the fact that ten minutes was barely enough time to make it back to the ready room they looked as if they didn't know which way was up. Well they'd learn Hatfield thought grimly as he headed back into the control room, or they'd die, thousands, if not tens of thousands of 2nd Lieutenants already had.
It was ten o'clock in the morning on the planet Taurus III. The planet was mostly scrub brush, elephant grass and the occasional patch of jungle. It's normal ambient temperature was about ninety degrees Fahrenheit with a normal humidity of around 90%.
Colonel Archer Christifori listened to the firefight raging to the north of his position. He was sitting on top of the command bunker located in Combat Base Gloria. The base sat on a small hill which was only a couple of hundred meters high, still, it gave him enough elevation to watch one of his battalions being torn apart. Da-dow, Da-dow, dow dow, dadadadababbrbrbrbrbrbrrrrrrrrVVRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. Christifori had been in the Marines for almost twelve years and had never heard a firefight reach such a high intensity for so long. Christifori, who commanded the Seventh Marine Regiment, had sent a battalion, which was more like two under strength companies, north of the strip on a sweep.
The strip was a bulldozed area that was three hundred yards wide and three miles long. It extended from the east side of Gloria and ran in a straight line to Combat base Flash. The bull dozed strip acted as a natural landing zone and allowed the weaponry of the two Combat Bases to be employed against any Zerg infiltrating between the two to reach the major population center of New Charleston.
Every few days a battalion or so from either Gloria or Flash, minus a company left on defense, did a sweep north of the strip to clear out any Zerg. Second Battalion, normally stationed on Gloria, had run into something, big time. Christifori was beyond pissed. If he had his way, his three marine battalions would be doing some offensive operations. Instead, he had two tied to firebase defense and the third was pulled back in reserve around New Charleston. Instead of running a sweep every day, it was only every few days, this gave the Zerg time to prepare all sorts of nasty surprises for the next sweep. Hoping to stop this, Christifori had sent Second Battalion hard on the heels of First Battalion. Well, they had definitely caught something.
The engagement had started with a few Zerglings rushing Second's Bravo Company. Soon Bravo was being swarmed to death with hordes of Zerglings, Hydralisks and Ultralisks. Alpha company had immediately rushed into the fray, unfortunately in their rush to get to Bravo, they ignore their own casualties which started piling up. A sudden Zerg rush overran one platoon, forcing another to spin about and deal with that threat. Only a single platoon made it to Bravo company. Charlie company, which had been in reserve during the sweep was now being committed to battle. Christifori had little doubt that little more than pieces of the battalion would make it back to the strip. As a regimental commander, all he could do was scream for support which he had done at the outset of the fight, now he watched the figures running from place to place. As he watched, two figures he identified as Charlie company marines fell and did not get up again.
The Siege of Combat base Gloria
Taggart was shaken from sleep by a harsh knocking sound. His eyes cracked open individually, seeming to scrape open against his eyeballs like razor blades. He discovered several things at once, he had slept in his clothes and with the light on. He got up slowly, his joints popping and his muscles screaming in protest. Fighting in CMC suits gave marines a tremendous advantage against the Zerg, however, it took a lot out of man after the fight.
Taggart sat up on his bed "Enter!" the door swooshed opened and Sergeant Major Bob Hatfield walked in, he was clean shaven with a new pair of utilities and his boots freshly polished. How the hell does he do it? Taggart grumbled to himself he's at least at old as me but he looks like a bright eyed and bushy tailed Second Lieutenant. Hatfield was holding two cups of coffee. He saluted smartly still holding a cup in his right hand. Taggart lazily returned his salute "Gimme that, smart ass" he said and took the proffered cup. The Marine Corps had trouble doing a lot of things right, however, it had perfected the art of making good coffee. Taking a couple of sips, Taggart let the caffeine jolt him full in wakefulness.
"Since your so squared away Sergeant Major, what's the sitrep?" Hatfield cocked his head, "Let see, we're currently in the Epsilon Delta system loitering for a few stragglers. Word has it some of the fleet is gonna set up defensive positions here, but nearly everyone else is heading back to their original positions."
Taggart got up and walked into the small bathroom that contained a shower, the Sergeant Major continued talking. "Our current status isn't too good, Alpha Company has about 50 effectives, two radios and one heavy machine gun. Bravo's Vultures are gone, they have about 7 personnel left. Charlie has 7 Goliaths left and two we can probably salvage. Delta has five Arclites left. Now, the good news, all our company commanders made it."
"Second Louies?" Taggart called from the shower
"Not so good, only one made it, 2nd Lieutenant Bryan Hobbes from Alpha Company, the rest bought it although we're being completely reinforced as of 1000 this morning."
"Newbies?"
"No, actually, we're getting a bunch of guys and 'quipment from the… " there was a tapping sound as Hatfield searched his notepad "…the Second of the Fifth Air Assault Battalion.
"That's good, they'll have drop experience" called Taggart
"Yeah, I was looking over their files, pretty experienced bunch. There are some pretty green ones though."
"That's what I thought, we start a complete training regimen as of 1100 hours. You know what replacements mean."
"An operation"
"That's right, lets go, we got work to do."
Taggart stepped out of the shower feeling almost human. The horror of the last operation and his dreams pushed back out of his mind for now. He had marines to train.
Taggart and Hatfield stepped into the mess hall. Unlike normal Marine mess facilities, CAB officers and enlisted men ate together. There was a clear division between the replacements and the survivors of the fight on Char. A young marine bawled out "Attention on Deck" and the mess rose as one person in a cacophony of clattering chairs and boots striking the deck. Taggart started his little speal. He had lost count of how many times head given it. "Men, I am Major James Taggart, 1st Battalion, 9th CAB Regiment. As of this second I am your CO. I expect the best and get the best because we are the best! We will start training at 1100 hours. Everyone will train. We will not stop until we are actually in combat. That is all men. As you were." The men dropped back to talking and eating, although it was noticeably quieter.
Taggart grabbed some food and sat at a table with his Company commanders. Chris Ryan commanded Alpha Company, Tim Elliot commanded the remainder of Bravo and looked like hell. Michael Woo had Charlie Company and Bill Wilder was the hell raising commander of Delta. Wilder was something of a black sheep, most tankers in the marines were, tanks were considered more of an army department. Wilder played the part well though, often having a crunched up cigar in his teeth. Taggart was glad he hadn't lost any of them. It was hard to nail down just how a commander would react to commands and Taggart hated having to figure out new Company commanders. The talk almost immediately settled down to business.
Crackcrackcrack. Taggart walked the line of men pouring lead down range at targets that bobbed, weaved and even blinked out of existence. All the marines on the firing range were wearing full CMC armor and even with the computer aided targeting they were doing miserably. Hot brass filled the air as marines desperately tried to hit the bulls eyes that seemed to zip in random directions. Taggart had deliberately set the target pattern at its maximum difficulty. He considered the normal practice of shooting at non moving targets a waste. Anyone could hit a target standing still, it took practice to hit even a slightly moving target and Taggart had yet to see a Zergling sitting still. Taggart was throwing stuff at his troops that usually only Ghosts and other special forces practiced. He could feel their frustration building, they were marines, they were used to being excellent marksmen but right now they were shooting like civilians. Taggart was also making them use magazines, normally their C-14's were fed through belts that linked into their suits. Magazines forced the marines to reload, something they weren't used to, and watch their ammo counters. Taggart had seen too many marines die trying to clear jammed belts of ammo, all it took was a twisted link or something snagged or cut during a battle to stop the flow of ammo. A normal firing period lasted about fifteen minutes. Taggart's was going steady past twenty.
Four hundred yards away, "Horrible" Hatfield was torturing the marines in slightly different way. He was sitting in a small control room filled with video monitors and computer keys. The monitors displayed a column of forty marines running through the jungle. Third platoon, Alpha company, under the command of 2nd Lieutenant Jason Harold was charging hell for leather for a distant hill. Hatfield, playing the battalion commander was screaming in his ear for him to advance. Harold at the lead of the column was pushing his men hard and fast, just like his simulated commander wanted him to. He was also doing everything wrong. Hatfield slapped the "Execute" command on the keyboard in front of him.
Harold saw a line of Hydralisks rise out of the ground in front of him. He screamed "Ambush!" and rolled to the side. A streams of spines caught the strung out marines in a cross fire. Ten were hit in the first volley, falling to the ground dead or wounded, their CMC armor easily defeated by a hail of point blanks spines. The two surviving men in the lead squad went to their knees and opened fire with their rifles. The squad behind them quickly fanned out and came online, shooting as they moved. The Hydralisks started to fall too and soon a pitched battle was under way. Harold, confused and disoriented ran down the column to the last squad, his radioman tagging along behind. He was shouting at them to come on line behind the second squad when a single spine took the top of his radioman's head off. The simulation didn't model gore too well but it was enough to further unnerve him. Harold got both of his remaining squads online and was trying to get fire support hooked up when Hatfield came back on the line. "Lieutenant, your platoon is moving entirely too slow, MOVE IT, NOW!" Harold tried to reply "Sir. I…"
"I will have you relieved, move to your objective"
"We're in contact and…"
"I don't care about a minor scrap, just get to that hill"
Hatfield allowed himself a small grin and watched the Lieutenant do his thing.
Harold, shouting for third platoon to assault on line, made a "lets go" motion with his hands and charged forward. The platoon was well disciplined and followed orders. They were all dead in less then twenty seconds. Fourteen men we're hit in the initial rush, falling every which way. The remaining twelve men, leaderless as Harold went down, hit the deck. They tried to return fire and withdraw but they were scattered throughout the jungle. They were picked off one by one.
Hatfield killed the simulation as the last marine was overrun by a hoard of Zerglings that had burst from the jungle. The jungle faded to white and the computer generated Hydralisks froze in position. Hatfield stepped into the bright white room as the marines, who were frozen when killed, slowly stood up. "Congratulations third platoon, your leader should get the record for killing his platoon faster than anyone else in the entire Corps." Harold looked as if he was about to throw up, sure that he was about to be relieved of command on the spot. "Unfortunately," Hatfield continued "That honor is taken by Jack Westfield and second platoon" The marines of third platoon suddenly noticed a group of marines sitting against the far wall with embarrassed looks on their faces. Suddenly the jungle leapt into existence. It was a replay of second platoons advance. A line of marines was again running through the jungle, urged on by Westfield who was urged on by the Sergeant Major. A line of Hydralisks again popped out from the jungle floor catching the lead squad in a crossfire. Harold noticed that Westfield was one of the first to go down, a bloody hole in his chest. Momentarily leaderless, the platoon continued moving forward and collected more casualties. The platoon sergeant took control and kept his men moving forward. By the time what was left of the platoon broke contact after a bloody ten second charge it was too late. The Zergling counter attack broke the back of assault and killed what was left of second platoon.
The jungle disappeared revealing Hatfield clapping sarcastically with a small remote control in his hand.
"Ok, lets evaluate shall we? One, both of you were going ENTIRELY too fast. If you had slowed down you would have seen that I had scattered hints of an ambush all across your path. Two, both of you were out of contact with your company commander, NEVER take orders from a battalion commander, too often he doesn't have the whole picture and will order you to do something stupid. Let your captain run interference for you. Three, when you were hit, you tried to just run through the contact, good if you're up against a couple of Zerglings, bad if your up against a squad sized unit of Hydras. The Zerg usually don't open up an ambush with ten or twelve Hydra's unless they're planning a full out contact. Five, Lieutenants listen up, the Marine OCS program basically taught you how to manage that fancy land-to- ship radio your Radiomen carry, yell follow me then kicked you out the door. You are here to LEAD not DIE. Both of you should have been at least behind the lead squad if not in the middle of the column. If you die, your platoon dies. That's about it, next simulation in ten minutes."
Both of the Lieutenants looked as if he had just dumped a load of bricks on their heads, combined with the fact that ten minutes was barely enough time to make it back to the ready room they looked as if they didn't know which way was up. Well they'd learn Hatfield thought grimly as he headed back into the control room, or they'd die, thousands, if not tens of thousands of 2nd Lieutenants already had.
It was ten o'clock in the morning on the planet Taurus III. The planet was mostly scrub brush, elephant grass and the occasional patch of jungle. It's normal ambient temperature was about ninety degrees Fahrenheit with a normal humidity of around 90%.
Colonel Archer Christifori listened to the firefight raging to the north of his position. He was sitting on top of the command bunker located in Combat Base Gloria. The base sat on a small hill which was only a couple of hundred meters high, still, it gave him enough elevation to watch one of his battalions being torn apart. Da-dow, Da-dow, dow dow, dadadadababbrbrbrbrbrbrrrrrrrrVVRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. Christifori had been in the Marines for almost twelve years and had never heard a firefight reach such a high intensity for so long. Christifori, who commanded the Seventh Marine Regiment, had sent a battalion, which was more like two under strength companies, north of the strip on a sweep.
The strip was a bulldozed area that was three hundred yards wide and three miles long. It extended from the east side of Gloria and ran in a straight line to Combat base Flash. The bull dozed strip acted as a natural landing zone and allowed the weaponry of the two Combat Bases to be employed against any Zerg infiltrating between the two to reach the major population center of New Charleston.
Every few days a battalion or so from either Gloria or Flash, minus a company left on defense, did a sweep north of the strip to clear out any Zerg. Second Battalion, normally stationed on Gloria, had run into something, big time. Christifori was beyond pissed. If he had his way, his three marine battalions would be doing some offensive operations. Instead, he had two tied to firebase defense and the third was pulled back in reserve around New Charleston. Instead of running a sweep every day, it was only every few days, this gave the Zerg time to prepare all sorts of nasty surprises for the next sweep. Hoping to stop this, Christifori had sent Second Battalion hard on the heels of First Battalion. Well, they had definitely caught something.
The engagement had started with a few Zerglings rushing Second's Bravo Company. Soon Bravo was being swarmed to death with hordes of Zerglings, Hydralisks and Ultralisks. Alpha company had immediately rushed into the fray, unfortunately in their rush to get to Bravo, they ignore their own casualties which started piling up. A sudden Zerg rush overran one platoon, forcing another to spin about and deal with that threat. Only a single platoon made it to Bravo company. Charlie company, which had been in reserve during the sweep was now being committed to battle. Christifori had little doubt that little more than pieces of the battalion would make it back to the strip. As a regimental commander, all he could do was scream for support which he had done at the outset of the fight, now he watched the figures running from place to place. As he watched, two figures he identified as Charlie company marines fell and did not get up again.