First In, Last Out
The Siege of Combat base Gloria
A/n: Quick note, if you're expecting Jim Raynor to walk in and lay out the plot piece by piece you've come to the wrong fic. This story is less fiction than it is attempting to be military history. I've actually modeled this battle after Operation Buffalo, which occurred in 1967 during the Vietnam War. 1st Battalion, 9th Marines really was involved although their battalion commander was a much better man than Taggart is. The strip linked Con Thien (my Gloria) to another firebase. If you don't like military history, cram it ( j/k. To streamline the writing I'm just going to start abbreviating ranks.
Taggart awoke to a gentle knocking on his CMC suit. He cracked his eyes open and was again looking into the battered face of SM Hatfield. "Jesus, a man could have a heart attack waking up like this" Taggart wisecracked and started to rise, a task particularly hard in several hundred pounds of armor. Hatfield was glad for the joke, his battalion commander had been worrying lately, he had been acting more like a machine than a man.
The ground was cloaked in a dense, low fog that reduced visibility to several hundred meters. The coolness of the morning belying the fierceness of the sun when it burned away the protective gray shroud. It was another morning on Taurus III, peaceful and quiet, not prepared for the earth shattering violence that would happen today.
The battalion commander stood, his joints popping and creaking in protest. He was standing in a foxhole big enough for four people in CMC armor, his radioman and FO curled up around their rifles. Looking north he could see the main battle line of his battalion coming alive. Marines cautiously stood up and stretched after hours clamped down in their fighting positions, Goliaths rotated their turrets to ensure that the all the mechanical parts were aligned and working. It had been quiet night, the Zerg had only probed the line twice, resulting in eight Zerglings and three Hydras KIA'd, Taggart hadn't even awoken for both contacts. The crackling of small arms fire during the night made no more impression on him then if it had rained instead.
There was some shouting and several marines appeared from the fog, running back into the battle line. The platoon leaders were pulling the men they had placed on listening post back in. Listening posts were placed out in front of platoons during the night to give them early warning of an attack or enemy movement. Most grunts considered them a nice word for suicide. More than one LP had disappeared into the night and was never seen again.
Taggart woke up his remaining radioman and FO, who came awake rather slowly. Taggart sat with Hatfield on the lip of the foxhole and cooked their F-ration breakfasts. None of them bothered to look down at what they were eating. It was just food to fuel their bodies, and looking at it wouldn't make it go down any easier. Marine Corps field rations were designed with minimum space with maximum calories in mind. Palatability wasn't very high on the priority list.
As he ate, Taggart lightly nudged his FO with his foot. Between mouthfuls of food he said "Tell Captain Wilder I want a rolling barrage 1,000 yards out in front of our axis of advance." The FO yes sirred and got on his radio. Taggart went back to eating.
The barrage started soon enough. The Arclites cranked their Siege Cannons almost straight up and fired. The ear splitting cracks of the cannons shook the sleep out of the weary marines. The concussive force of just the back blast from the rounds was enough to cause vibrations in the rocks beneath their feet. The Arclite's had been pounding the jungle ahead of the marine's all night, but this was a concentrated barrage, working from the marine position forward. Anything caught in it without cover would be completely destroyed in a curtain of white hot metal shards.
With every blast, a massive brass 120mm shell casing was tossed from the ejection port on the side of the Arclite's Shock cannon. There were already small mountains of expended brass lying next to the tanks, muted and dull in the gray fog. Some of the tank crew were crouched by the sides of their tanks, unlocking new cases of ammunition and loading them into the ammo compartment of their tanks. Along with the 120mm shells went the 80mm gun rounds and belts of 20mm machine gun ammo for the Arclite's co-axial machine guns.
Several jumpsuit-clad figures were loading belts of 30mm ammunition into the gun pods of the Goliaths. Missiles were also being slid into missile racks. The massive armored walkers had taken the worst of the pounding yesterday, every Goliath was covered in dents and penetrations from Hydra spines; several had destroyed missile racks or autocannons. They had also
Marines were also reloading their ammo. By teams they came off the line to where Taggart had placed the battalion supplies. They clipped fresh magazines and more grenades onto their armor and dropped off their spent magazines for reloading. Hatfield oversaw the distribution of ammo while Taggart briefed his company commanders on the plan of advance, marking out objectives and details on his tactical map, which he then forwarded to his commanders. For the second day in a row, Taggart's battalion prepared to go to war.
The shroud of fog surrounding the men quickly began to burn off, revealing the blazing sun overhead. It was going to be another hot day and Taggart had his commanders' check to make sure each marine had a full supply of water.
A shrill screaming sound filled the air; everyone on the battlefield craned their heads and looked up. Two dozen Wraith fighters screamed low over the marine's heads, waggling their three wings as they did so. As they passed the CAB they opened fire, darts of ruby light streaming into targets the marines couldn't see. Taggart heard a few of the marine's yelling a quick 'Get some' as the fighters streaked out of sight still firing. It would be the last of the air support the marine's would receive as the T.C.S. Concord was breaking out of high orbit in less than a half hour.
The laser fire continued along with explosions and inhuman screams from the hidden battle. Taggart grabbed his radioman and had him turn into the Wraith's communications channel. Pressing the headset against his ear he listened to the radio chatter filled with the sounds of war.
"Delta two and three rolling in hot" "Watch it two" "Heads up, spore colony at point oh five!" "Echo squadron is on it, all Echo units, fox one" "Delta two, you're leaking smoke bad, pull out! Six, seven, and eight, cover him!" "Roger one, six is in hot" "Seven is in hot" "Eight is rolling in hot" "This is two, they're all over me, get them the fuck off me six!" "I've got you bud, hold on, Delta six, fox three, fox three!" "This is two, I'm almost out but I'm shot to shit" "I'll keep them off of you, seven, eight, cover those spore colonies"
"Six, this is one, you've picked one up" "I'm covering two, fox three" "Six break now" "Two is almost out, fox two" "Six they're beating the crap of you, break now" "This is two, I'm out! Six break now! Get out of there! FUCK!" "Six just went down" "No chute, six is gone" "GOD FUCKING DAM-" "Knock it off two" "Delta, Echo squadrons RTB repeat, return to base"
There were a chorus of acknowledgements and a few seconds later twenty-three Wraiths flew back overhead. Taggart had just listened to a pilot by the farm covering his squadron mate. Taggart offered a silent salute. He may not believe in heroics anymore, but that still took guts. Taggart would lift a glass to Delta six the next time he got the chance, but for now he had his own men to worry about.
He turned and prepared his men to advance. His men loaded their weapons and Taggart dramatically yanked back the charging handle on his C-14. The chorus went down the line "Lock and Load, Lock and Load" Each marine readied their own weapons, and the Goliaths and Arclite's locked shells into their cannons.
Lieutenant Jason Harold replaced the handset to his radioman's radio; he had also been listening to the Wraith's fight. He prayed to whatever God there was that he wouldn't have to be that brave today.
Taggart ordered his battalion north again. The long line, of men swinging into action, the Arclite's lurching forward behind the line of armored infantry and walkers. Smashing their way through the jungle in front of them, much faster then yesterday now that the jungle was almost leveled by firepower. The battalion broke out of the shattered jungle to the field where they had their attack had stalled earlier. Taggart sent scouts out into the field, when they reported negative contact; he ordered the rest of the battalion out into the field. They passed through their battle lines from the previous day and continued into the tree line. They struggled through this new jungle, which while pitted from air strikes and Arclite pounding, was still relatively intact. The jungle collected the heat of rising sun, turning the terrain into a steam bath. Most of the marines clamped their visors shut against the oppressive heat.
The battalion cleared the jungle and come upon a new field. This was in almost pristine condition. There were a few shell craters and foxholes, but nowhere near the moonscape near the strip.
Taggart took a single step out into the field, when a sudden sensation hit him in the gut. It was something he hadn't felt for almost four years, honest, naked fear and apprehension. It was like cold ice in his stomach, and he swallowed hard trying to drive it away. He wondered what the hell had brought that on. He hadn't felt like this since. since.
He almost gagged; he hadn't felt like this since he watched his company, one by one file into the jungle where every one of them had been killed.
A/n: Quick note, if you're expecting Jim Raynor to walk in and lay out the plot piece by piece you've come to the wrong fic. This story is less fiction than it is attempting to be military history. I've actually modeled this battle after Operation Buffalo, which occurred in 1967 during the Vietnam War. 1st Battalion, 9th Marines really was involved although their battalion commander was a much better man than Taggart is. The strip linked Con Thien (my Gloria) to another firebase. If you don't like military history, cram it ( j/k. To streamline the writing I'm just going to start abbreviating ranks.
Taggart awoke to a gentle knocking on his CMC suit. He cracked his eyes open and was again looking into the battered face of SM Hatfield. "Jesus, a man could have a heart attack waking up like this" Taggart wisecracked and started to rise, a task particularly hard in several hundred pounds of armor. Hatfield was glad for the joke, his battalion commander had been worrying lately, he had been acting more like a machine than a man.
The ground was cloaked in a dense, low fog that reduced visibility to several hundred meters. The coolness of the morning belying the fierceness of the sun when it burned away the protective gray shroud. It was another morning on Taurus III, peaceful and quiet, not prepared for the earth shattering violence that would happen today.
The battalion commander stood, his joints popping and creaking in protest. He was standing in a foxhole big enough for four people in CMC armor, his radioman and FO curled up around their rifles. Looking north he could see the main battle line of his battalion coming alive. Marines cautiously stood up and stretched after hours clamped down in their fighting positions, Goliaths rotated their turrets to ensure that the all the mechanical parts were aligned and working. It had been quiet night, the Zerg had only probed the line twice, resulting in eight Zerglings and three Hydras KIA'd, Taggart hadn't even awoken for both contacts. The crackling of small arms fire during the night made no more impression on him then if it had rained instead.
There was some shouting and several marines appeared from the fog, running back into the battle line. The platoon leaders were pulling the men they had placed on listening post back in. Listening posts were placed out in front of platoons during the night to give them early warning of an attack or enemy movement. Most grunts considered them a nice word for suicide. More than one LP had disappeared into the night and was never seen again.
Taggart woke up his remaining radioman and FO, who came awake rather slowly. Taggart sat with Hatfield on the lip of the foxhole and cooked their F-ration breakfasts. None of them bothered to look down at what they were eating. It was just food to fuel their bodies, and looking at it wouldn't make it go down any easier. Marine Corps field rations were designed with minimum space with maximum calories in mind. Palatability wasn't very high on the priority list.
As he ate, Taggart lightly nudged his FO with his foot. Between mouthfuls of food he said "Tell Captain Wilder I want a rolling barrage 1,000 yards out in front of our axis of advance." The FO yes sirred and got on his radio. Taggart went back to eating.
The barrage started soon enough. The Arclites cranked their Siege Cannons almost straight up and fired. The ear splitting cracks of the cannons shook the sleep out of the weary marines. The concussive force of just the back blast from the rounds was enough to cause vibrations in the rocks beneath their feet. The Arclite's had been pounding the jungle ahead of the marine's all night, but this was a concentrated barrage, working from the marine position forward. Anything caught in it without cover would be completely destroyed in a curtain of white hot metal shards.
With every blast, a massive brass 120mm shell casing was tossed from the ejection port on the side of the Arclite's Shock cannon. There were already small mountains of expended brass lying next to the tanks, muted and dull in the gray fog. Some of the tank crew were crouched by the sides of their tanks, unlocking new cases of ammunition and loading them into the ammo compartment of their tanks. Along with the 120mm shells went the 80mm gun rounds and belts of 20mm machine gun ammo for the Arclite's co-axial machine guns.
Several jumpsuit-clad figures were loading belts of 30mm ammunition into the gun pods of the Goliaths. Missiles were also being slid into missile racks. The massive armored walkers had taken the worst of the pounding yesterday, every Goliath was covered in dents and penetrations from Hydra spines; several had destroyed missile racks or autocannons. They had also
Marines were also reloading their ammo. By teams they came off the line to where Taggart had placed the battalion supplies. They clipped fresh magazines and more grenades onto their armor and dropped off their spent magazines for reloading. Hatfield oversaw the distribution of ammo while Taggart briefed his company commanders on the plan of advance, marking out objectives and details on his tactical map, which he then forwarded to his commanders. For the second day in a row, Taggart's battalion prepared to go to war.
The shroud of fog surrounding the men quickly began to burn off, revealing the blazing sun overhead. It was going to be another hot day and Taggart had his commanders' check to make sure each marine had a full supply of water.
A shrill screaming sound filled the air; everyone on the battlefield craned their heads and looked up. Two dozen Wraith fighters screamed low over the marine's heads, waggling their three wings as they did so. As they passed the CAB they opened fire, darts of ruby light streaming into targets the marines couldn't see. Taggart heard a few of the marine's yelling a quick 'Get some' as the fighters streaked out of sight still firing. It would be the last of the air support the marine's would receive as the T.C.S. Concord was breaking out of high orbit in less than a half hour.
The laser fire continued along with explosions and inhuman screams from the hidden battle. Taggart grabbed his radioman and had him turn into the Wraith's communications channel. Pressing the headset against his ear he listened to the radio chatter filled with the sounds of war.
"Delta two and three rolling in hot" "Watch it two" "Heads up, spore colony at point oh five!" "Echo squadron is on it, all Echo units, fox one" "Delta two, you're leaking smoke bad, pull out! Six, seven, and eight, cover him!" "Roger one, six is in hot" "Seven is in hot" "Eight is rolling in hot" "This is two, they're all over me, get them the fuck off me six!" "I've got you bud, hold on, Delta six, fox three, fox three!" "This is two, I'm almost out but I'm shot to shit" "I'll keep them off of you, seven, eight, cover those spore colonies"
"Six, this is one, you've picked one up" "I'm covering two, fox three" "Six break now" "Two is almost out, fox two" "Six they're beating the crap of you, break now" "This is two, I'm out! Six break now! Get out of there! FUCK!" "Six just went down" "No chute, six is gone" "GOD FUCKING DAM-" "Knock it off two" "Delta, Echo squadrons RTB repeat, return to base"
There were a chorus of acknowledgements and a few seconds later twenty-three Wraiths flew back overhead. Taggart had just listened to a pilot by the farm covering his squadron mate. Taggart offered a silent salute. He may not believe in heroics anymore, but that still took guts. Taggart would lift a glass to Delta six the next time he got the chance, but for now he had his own men to worry about.
He turned and prepared his men to advance. His men loaded their weapons and Taggart dramatically yanked back the charging handle on his C-14. The chorus went down the line "Lock and Load, Lock and Load" Each marine readied their own weapons, and the Goliaths and Arclite's locked shells into their cannons.
Lieutenant Jason Harold replaced the handset to his radioman's radio; he had also been listening to the Wraith's fight. He prayed to whatever God there was that he wouldn't have to be that brave today.
Taggart ordered his battalion north again. The long line, of men swinging into action, the Arclite's lurching forward behind the line of armored infantry and walkers. Smashing their way through the jungle in front of them, much faster then yesterday now that the jungle was almost leveled by firepower. The battalion broke out of the shattered jungle to the field where they had their attack had stalled earlier. Taggart sent scouts out into the field, when they reported negative contact; he ordered the rest of the battalion out into the field. They passed through their battle lines from the previous day and continued into the tree line. They struggled through this new jungle, which while pitted from air strikes and Arclite pounding, was still relatively intact. The jungle collected the heat of rising sun, turning the terrain into a steam bath. Most of the marines clamped their visors shut against the oppressive heat.
The battalion cleared the jungle and come upon a new field. This was in almost pristine condition. There were a few shell craters and foxholes, but nowhere near the moonscape near the strip.
Taggart took a single step out into the field, when a sudden sensation hit him in the gut. It was something he hadn't felt for almost four years, honest, naked fear and apprehension. It was like cold ice in his stomach, and he swallowed hard trying to drive it away. He wondered what the hell had brought that on. He hadn't felt like this since. since.
He almost gagged; he hadn't felt like this since he watched his company, one by one file into the jungle where every one of them had been killed.