Ron's Worst Nightmares
Rattenkrieg, First Movement
By Pat Squared
Fate had rendered its verdict.
The dice was rolled and fate once again rolled on a set of snake eyes for Vasilii Boiarskii. Every moment things were looking up, fate, a fickle bitch, would ensure that another load of shit would fall upon Vasilii Boiarskii.
Vasilii sucked it up. He always sucked up the pain like a Kurby vacuum suck up dirt. However, there came a point where the bag would burst. His bag exploded like an atomic bomb.
Dr. Parks looked in on his patient. The young marine was beyond broken. He had lost hope. He had lost everything that keep him anchored to this life. It was seven days since Kim's disappearance. Seven days of uncertainty. Seven days of the young man withdrawing into some dark corner of his psyche where he destroyed himself.
The award and commissioning ceremony came and went. The young man tried to act like nothing was wrong. He tried to act as if his girlfriend and child never existed.
However, Dr. Parks got disturbing reports from the Schlossers about Boiarskii. The young man was drinking until he was beyond fall down drunk. He awed the locals with the quantity of alcohol that he consumed on an hourly basis. Twice he came close to experiencing fatal levels of alcohol poisoning.
Last night, Dr. Parks had to talk the young man down from jumping off the top of the hospital. Thankfully, no one else was present to witness the incident.
Last night, Dr. Parks got the young man to open up.
2nd Lieutenant Vasilii Alexovich Boiarskii was a young man who was methodically striped of his dignity, his self-esteem, his sense of purpose. Fate striped him of everything that made life worth living and those that he loved. The young marine had more pain and suffering in his background than any Hollywood scriptwriter could pile unto a fictitious serial killer. Only his self-imposed duty to the redhead and her concept of right kept the young man from going down the path of damnation.
Now Boiarskii lost the last of his dreams. He lost the last chance for a real future. All he had now were the Marine Corps. Duty was a cold comfort when one has lost love.
Major Parks never wanted to kill a lady before, but now he wanted to slowly squeeze the life out of the redhead. She not only broke Boiarskii, but almost killed him with when she overdosed him with pain medication.
Dr. Parks had a quiet word with Boiarskii's new company commander. The company commander ensured that Boiarskii was going to be a very busy young marine officer. There would be no more time to get fall down drunk. There would be no more time to even think of that redhead. The young marine will be spending the next couple weeks undergoing an intensive training schedule.
Second Lieutenant Vasilii Boiarskii was the subject of awe on the base. According to the scuttlebutt in the enlisted barracks, Vasilii was some psycho-killer who the United State Marine Corps kept on a mighty short leash until they needed bodies stacked like cordwood. It was rumored that he was a sniper before he was given a commission. Everyone knew that he had a mandatory counseling session with one of the head shrinks every week.
Every morning after the mandatory physical training sessions, the marines went to the rifle ranges. There they would always see Boiarskii at the range with an old M14 rifle blasting away at some camouflaged metal pop-up plates that the range staff moved around on a daily basis.
The higher ups had mobilized the scattered units within Germany into some task force, just in case the President had the US military sort out the France situation. Boiarskii was now platoon leader, 2nd Platoon (Marines), Alpha Company, 7056th Infantry Battalion (Reinforced) of the 45th Regimental Combat Team. His company CO was an US Army artillery officer whose last command was a battery of 150mm SP Gun-Howitzers, and his XO was a former F-16C fighter jock from the Air Force. The other three platoon leaders, thankfully, all did some time in Iraqi, Afghanistan, or Sudan.
Overnight, the unofficial motto of the 45th RCT became The Blind Leading the Guide Dogs. To combat this sense of disconnect, the brass had the 45th RCT undergo a crash course in urban combat.
Part of this was daily marksmanship training. The targets were placed at various ranges, but without fail, Boiarskii methodically knocked each one down in between puffs of some non-filtered Turkish cigarettes and would push his marines to the same marksmanship standards that he exhibited. In doing so, the marines of 2nd platoon were burning through ammo like a fraternity burns though free beer.
Afterwards, the chain smoking bastard would run his platoon into the ground with Indian sprints uphill towards the barracks before embarking on the rest of the training schedule. When they first saw their new LT, the junior enlisted men thought they were getting some ROTC kid who graduated early. Once the NCO's passed down the word on the kid did the young marines start squirming in fear.
Here was a stone cold killer who had nothing to live for but converting life into death. He had no family but the Corps. He lived, ate, breathed, and shit the Corps. He was a living testament on how much the boot camp cadre could eff up a recruit's mind – Not even Private Pile of Full Metal Jacket fame was as eff up as the new lieutenant. He was the legendary killing machine that gave DI's a stiffy. He was probably the type that would order them to assault a machine gun nest with nothing but a toothbrush or assault a tank with nothing but a log.
However, the marines were not prepared for some of Lieutenant Boiarskii's more ingenious methods of training. Every time they thought it was time to rest, Boiarskii would turn wood, rocks, a hill, or even other marines into instruments of torture. Anytime on their rears, they spent being taught topics from explosives handling to combat medicine. There was not one part of Boiarskii's marines that was not bruised or blistered. There was not one marine whose head was pounding with information. Whenever there were complaints, Boiarskii silenced the platoon with a stare.
Boiarskii did not mention his medal or accomplishments. However, they all read the citation and excerpts from Boiarskii's after action reports. Boiarskii never asked them to do something that he did not do himself. He led the way. He suffered the same aches and pains. He pushed himself to the brink of exhaustion and took his marines along with him.
Ron knew that none of his marines loved him or even thought that his mind was firing on all cylinders. He knew that he was no longer just another marine grunt, but two steps removed from the right hand of God or the left hand of the devil. Everyday, Ron pushed himself and by extension his marines. He was in pain every night. He lived on a steady diet of the pain killers that almost took his life. However, the physical pain was nothing compared to the pain that she caused him.
Somewhere out in the world, there was Kim and his daughter. Fate ensured that he would never meet his child, that he would never truly be the father she deserved. However, he could protect her by protecting the world. He could protect his marines.
He had been saved because Yori that him that when he felt that he was going to fail, that he could always push pastthe limits that his mind set for him. He would push past pain, hunger, and anguish. He had nothing to live for. He had nothing binding him to this life. However, most of his marines had family. Ron wrote letters to the families of his squad mates back in the Sudan. He vowed to train up his marines so that he would never have to write another letter of condolence again.
He cursed himself for thinking that he would have a family to love and one that would love him. He was a monster. He had enjoyed the chaos of battle. He enjoyed the coppery-acid taste that one gets from smelling a vast quantity of blood. He was everything his men thought he was and more. All he had binding him to this life was the duty to his men. He knew their next assignment. The name would be changed to something that would be a nice sound bite, but operation Freakshow was an apt description.
Boiarskii did not need a course in military history to know that France was going to be a tough nut to crack. The United States was not going to accept a government that Shego help put in place, even if they turned her over. Although the French army shattered, its elite units were loyal to the junta that now was imposing order. The NCO and officer ranks of French Foreign Legion were staffed with combat veterans who seen their share of urban combat. Urban combat was the most brutal fighting that any marine or solder could be tasked with.
Tomorrow would be another day of training. Ron studied everything he could about Rattenkrieg, or literally rat warfare, and the sewers under the city of lights. Tomorrow he was going to make his Marines learn it too. It would be his task to lead his Marines into those sewers and the rubbled buildings above it. He vowed to bring them all back home. He would teach them. He would ensure that they would live. However, he prayed for death to take him every single night before he swallowed a couple pills and shut his eyes.