Ron's Worst Nightmare

Staring Down the Muzzle

By Pat Squared

Sorry for the long hiatus,

I had to get my muse back to work in my KP AU.

Chateau Thierry, France

0328

Ron Stoppable looked down the wrong end of the barrel of a French made FAMAS 5.56mm automatic assault rifle. Vasilii Boiarskii had virtually decapitated the sentry's companion and left Ron to deal with the pissed off sentry. One shot and the plan to sneak up on the island in the middle of the small French town would be in tatters.

Ron Stoppable somehow resisted the urge to run screaming in terror. The sudden wetness in his crouch told him that his body did not resist the urge to wet his pants. If he just did not wade in the river, everyone would know that Ron Stoppable just wet his pant.

The sentry pointed his weapon at Ron's face. The sentry was five paces, three paces too far to lunge and tackle the French solder.

Ron freaked out and run through the sentry knocking the surprised sentry over. Thankfully the other marines heard the tussle and were on the poor Frenchmen before an alarm could be raised.

"Sir, you were lucky. The bastard had his safety on and no round in the chamber."

Ron reluctantly looked on the faces of his men. They didn't know that he was just a twenty year old kid, not even old enough to buy liquor in America and yet he had to made life and death decisions, not just for himself but for a hundred men. They depended on a messed up SOB like him to bring them back home. He had to play along with the act. He was the old man. He took a deep breath.

"We stick with the plan. Tell first and second squads to sweep the bank for sentries. Then they are to hold this place until relived. Try to do so quietly. If all hell breaks loose, this is the fall back point. If we end up back here, it's over, we all just won a free body bag."

Ron pointed to a line of houses.

"Stealth is the word. But once we lost surprise, we are going to do dynamic entries and rush the bastards before they can pin us down. Remember bayonet and bullets. Once we go dynamic, don't stop for anyone. Keep going until we have secured this island. You know the plan."

The squads fanned out as Ron and his signalman set up the CP. Ron took up position with his M21 7.62 semi-automatic battle rifle. He would be the only overwatch his men would have this morning.

"I'll be on the roof. Don't break radio silence until you hear shooting, corporal."

Ron looked down at his US army signalman setting up the satellite radio in the predawn darkness. He did not know the kid's name. He did not yet know the name of most of his men. In twenty four hour, he had sent men to the death and he could not recall their names or faces.

He replayed the event of the past 24 hours. Captain Vasilii Alexovich Boiarskii, USMC, had an island to seize and hold until relieved.

He scanned the windows with his NVG compatible binoculars looking for any French sentries.

Shego's twins were constantly hungry.

How on earth did mom manage to fed and change Wego, I don't know?

It seemed the instant Shego's kids were fed and had their diapers changed, they were crying for more food.

Max Standard, the last of Drakken's henchmen, was out on another scavenging mission, while Shego was hiding in an Persian basement trying to keep her twins happy, or at least fed. Shego managed to rig two canvas slings to keep her children attached to her sore breasts while leaving her hands free. At her side was a loaded Austrian-made GLOCK 17 9mm pistol and two loaded seventeen round magazines. It was just a firecracker in comparison to the fireworks her enemy would use on her if they could find her.

Shego knew that she was losing too much weight too rapidly. Shego knew that she was terribly weak and was in danger of losing her ability to continue producing breast milk for her twins. If that happened, they would die.

Shego slowly gnawed on some liberated crackers that Max found in an old restaurant. They were stale, but the former ruler of France did not care. Looking down on the two lives she brought into this world, she knew how Marie Antoinette felt when she was captured by the French revolutionaries. She was more afraid for her children than herself.

Max believed that there was a way out. He believed that they could somehow escape this mess. That they could sneak off and start a life somewhere. Lay low for the next forty to fifty years.

Shego was nowhere near that optimistic. The best case scenario for Shego was that some authority restored order. Hopefully, whoever they turned out to be, would allow Shego to give her children to a loving home before having the former teen hero turned villain pose for rifle fire. However, she had to act like there was hope. Max deserved that final illusion. He was the last friend she had in this world.

Sometimes, she wished there was a future.

Max loved her and the kids. He willingly went above ground every night, risked his life, and would return with something approximating food. Shego had long since added cats, rats, and dogs to the list of species she had consumed. Soon she would willingly add cockroaches and other insects to the list. She now dreamt of prison food like it was a Surf and Turf at a five star restaurant. She dreamt of a real hot dog with all the fixing like she used to eat when her father took her out to the baseball games. Even a damned naco would be fine meal for the condemned.

Shego silently wept for three lost innocent lives – Max and her two children. As for her own life, she did not wept for she had long earned the privilege of posing for rifle fire.

It was 0421 when the sounds of gunfire told Ron Stoppable that the fight for Chateau Thierry had transition from the shadows into a living dynamic conflict.

Ron had twice moved the CP to get a better shooting position.

He mounted the rifle to his shoulder and scanned the streets. He spotted four French troops running. Automatically without thought, Ron lined up the crosshairs and squeezed the match grade trigger.

Bang. Line up. Bang. Line up. Bang. Lineup. Bang.

Four shots and four lives taken. Ron displaced knowing that to stay was to invite a mortar shell on his position.

The radio awoke as Ron's platoon and squad leaders radioed in their reports. One this small island in the middle of this small town, one hundred men had to take and hold this piece of real estate from a two companies of French regulars.

Ron reached into his pocket and grabbed his pack of Turkish cigarettes and Zippo. His hands shook uncontrollably, but he managed to light a cancer stick. It was the last vice of the battle field. It was the last vice a man would taste before his execution. It was a fitting that someone who sent many on a quick ride to hell would slowly sentence himself to a slow, lingering death.

"Sir, third squad wants an air strike on..."

"Tell them no. We have units scattered around. I can't afford an air strike that goes long or short. It's too crowded here. Tell them I'm personally coming over from black ten. Just pin the frogs down until I can blast our way in. Tell the rest of the company to focus on seizing the enemy CP and mortars. Tell battalion to have mortars ready to fire on my command. Lots of HE and Wily Pete's. Don't waste precious fire with smoke. We will be melting tubes later. Have first squad prep a medivac LZ."

The popping sound in the distance told Ron that the French were using mortars. He had to get his men moving. To be pined down meant sucking up another mortar attack.

Ron ran down the street dodging gun fire and occasionally returning it when the opportunity arose.

"Sir, we've found the big cheese. They are in the schoolhouse. I don't know how many, but they got overlapping fields of fires. I have six wounded out in the open."

"Sergeant, I want a mad minute of gunfire on the enemy CP on my command. I will pick off any gunners I see. When the mortars start falling, have two fire teams grab the wounded and fall back while the rest provide covering fire and smoke. The mortars are going to smash down around the enemy CP."

It was time to gamble. It was time to just suck up all the terror and do it.

I'm sorry that I got you all in this mess.

"Men, start praying. We either win here or die here. No retreat, no surrender, we got to just get going. Oorah!"

"Oorah."

Ron Stoppable wondered if his men would ever see their loved one again. As for him, there was nothing left to return to but the Corps. He had long since lost any hope of ever seeing Kim Possible or his child.

"Corporal, call Thumper and tell them I want them to rain doom on the enemy CP in three."