January 12, 2134
Kinder, Louisiana
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I hung my bag onto the back of a MRAP. I walked towards the front, where Que was, and asked, “how do you feel about this?”
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He shrugged his shoulders, “I honestly don’t care. Just want to get this over with.”
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I nodded, “right. Of course you don’t.”
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Que Tenson, a former member of Devil Dog Division, was the only other survivor from Lake Charles. He was wounded in an attic and waited until reinforcements arrived. He was picked up, checked for wounds, and thrown back into Devil Dog Division. He got promoted and put into a squad leading position. He didn’t want it, nor did he like it. Que wanted to be sent back home and forget all of this ever happened but the NCC had different ideas.
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I wouldn’t say I hated him for not wanting to fight anymore, but I didn’t trust him as much as I used to. He gave me odd stares sometimes and watched me closely when I was with other squadmates. I didn’t understand what his issue was. I honestly didn’t care either.
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Our Division was ordered to assist a spearhead attack on Jennings. The city had been bombed for days and our planes took out a fair share of reinforcements. High Command hoped they would eliminate all Confederate morale and the enemy would give in. That’s not, nor was it ever, how the Confederates fought. I didn’t have much experience but I knew my enemy well enough to know: you could break their spirit, but not their will to kill for their country.
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Neither of us were winning. The Confederacy was putting up an astonishingly good defense, and our Commanders just kept throwing us at it. In Longville, we lost nearly a hundred soldiers in the span of two days. Confederates concealed Flak-220s two miles from the road. Reinforcements would come in, and barely anyone got out. The 220s were later taken out by an air strike.
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The circle just kept going and going. We take a city, they take it back. We drop bombs on them, they drop bombs on us. We kill, they kill. They were putting up one hell of a fight. Every civilian in every town knew how to handle a weapon, and fought until their last breath exhaled from their body.
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Frontlines were thin. From September 2133, we extended West to Sulphur, North to Ragely, and East to Welsh. Almost every single day we got reports on surrounding areas, thanks to our connections with Captain Marshall.
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The Western Front was extremely hard to control. It was easy to take land, but once we took said land it became a hell hole. There weren't a whole lot of firefights, mostly just artillery and rocket strikes. However, the area West of Hackberry was a large plot of marshlands and lakes. The Confederates were using this place to house some of their ships and trucks armed with 40mm cannons or 120mm rockets. Those rockets rained hell on Sulphur for six days straight. We couldn’t push into the marshlands with our tanks, so infantry had to get the job done alone. Airstirkes pummeled the marshlands but didn’t deter the Confederates enough to surrender. The Western Front was also extremely close to the Texas border, so any firefights wouldn’t be with conscripts or ordinary foot-soldiers, they faced highly experienced soldiers, superior tanks, and the infamous Tiger’s Breed.
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The Northern Front wasn’t good. It was the most hardened place of defenses. Flak 220s, towering bunkers, bunkered tanks, and wide open fields and dense forests, for a large range of ambushes. Air support was extremely low because of the massive anti-air presence. The Feds tended to build bunkers in the ground and placed AA guns in those locations. You could walk right by and not notice it until they removed their camo or fired their weapon. It became so destructive that High Command authorized the use of Willie Pete, flamethrowers, and toxic gas. The beautiful bronze of ripe fields began turning into a black heap of ash and smoke.
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In the Eastern Front, soldiers fought more against the weather than actual Confederates. The terrain contained the constant ups and downs of hills and multiple rivers that prevented us from advancing quickly. Even if we could advance farther, our logistics would get bogged down and our forces would be left to rot. It rained almost every day on the Eastern Front. It didn’t always storm, but there was always rain. The Confederates were putting up a good fight by taking out roads, ambushing supply lines, and playing a ‘defense in depth’ strategy with every city. We did not have air superiority on the Eastern Front. The Feds built airfields out of corn fields, turned city squares into helicopter pads, and had a carrier beached in Vermillion Bay. The carrier was protected by Destroyers, Battleships, and anti-air Cruisers. Taking out the Vermillion Carrier would prove a difficult task. But not as difficult as taking Lafayette. Lafayette was the golden jewel of Louisiana. The birthplace of Elite Tiger Group Alpha, a special forces regiment of tanks, sixty factories, two large airbases, three large military bases, and a civilian population of 250,000.
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Jennings would be the first step to taking Lafayette. It would be much, much harder than Lake Charles. Jennings wasn’t a large city like Lake Charles, but it was much more tighter and cluttered. The streets were small, which meant our tanks had to go single file down a road, the perfect setup for an ambush. Even though we bombed the hell out of the place, the Confederates shifted their defenses to outer regions of the city. They built trenches, bunkers, and fortified the nearby forest.
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I checked my watch and saw we were ten minutes from leaving. I went to the barracks, where the rest of my squad was. They were still getting their gear together. Tyrese was helping Ben and Dave by telling them how to pack their bags more effectively.
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Tyrese Robinson was a tall, muscular boulder of a man. Almost all Rangers were muscular due to our training and diet, but Tyrese was exceptionally bigger than the rest of us. Tyrese made me feel small. At 6’4 he weighed 320 pounds of pure muscle and no fat. I was 5’9 and weighed 235 with zero fat.
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Tyrese wasn’t just muscle and bronze, he was also gentle and kind. He treated new recruits with respect and taught them all the things he knew. He was gentle to the local populace, animals, and the people around him. I looked up to Tyrese and I hoped he thought as high of me as I thought of him.
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Ben Dylons and Dave Davis were two new recruits in our Division. They joined only three days ago, and were already participating in a pretty large battle. I wanted Ben and Dave to make it, but in the back of my head and deep down in my chest I knew they wouldn’t.
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I asked Tyrese, “they good to go?”
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He shrugged his shoulders, “as much as anyone else is.”
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I nodded, “okay. We need to load up soon. Have you seen Wessman or Yanks?”
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“Yeah they’re in the mess hall.”
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I dapped him up and walked over to the mess hall. Kyle and Anton were sitting down at a table, getting their last meal in before leaving.
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I told them both, “trucks are heading out soon. Don’t be late.”
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Kyle flipped me off, “fuck off Lapdog.”
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Kyle Wessman was an arrogant individual. He was drafted after he was released from jail, so he didn’t have time to reconnect with society. He complained, fought with other Rangers, and didn’t care about orders or his duties. He was a terrible Ranger, a terrible person, and an even more untrustworthy man. Either way, I had to put up with him.
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One thing I somewhat liked about Kyle was his will to fight. He could lay down some serious pressure with his M240, and when let loose, he was a high octane threat to the enemy. His passion for fighting sometimes glazed onto squadmates in resting times, but he was a man to admire in a fight.
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Anton Yanks on the other hand was our medic. He was very docile, and didn’t want to hurt anyone. He spoke very softly, his hands were soft, his face was clean shaven every time I saw him, and his eyes were filled with empathy.
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We mounted up in our MRAP at around 1230. Tyrese got on the top gun, and I drove. Que sat beside me viewing a map. He said, “just follow the lead MRAP. There’s a cluster of buildings just outside the town. I want to stop there and provide an overwatch for the main assault.”
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I nodded, and followed the two MRAPs in front of me out of the FOB. Three plumes of smoke were erected over Jennings. We drove along a dirt road straddled by medium length fields of flowers. As I drove, I looked at the different types of flowers. There were dandelions, roses, lilly’s, dog’s mercury, and brambles just to name a few. Kate gave me a lesson on flowers before I left Cameron. God I missed her. Not a day went by where I didn't think of her.
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A screeching shell swept over the hood of my MRAP. It knocked off the side view mirror and dented the window frame. Que grabbed the wheel and pulled it to the right, sending us into a ditch. I grabbed my rifle and flung the door open. Tyrese began to suppress a sandbagged position.
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The two MRAPs in front of us drove on into the city. I crawled along the ditch until I came to a turn, I took the turn and began crawling that way. A shell screeched over me, exploding in front of our MRAP. The MG fire ceased. I wanted to stop and go back for them, but I had to keep going. If I stopped another shell could land square on them. When I thought I was close enough, I primed a grenade from my chest rig and sat up. The sandbagged position was about twenty feet in front of me. I threw the grenade as close as I could to the position.
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It exploded just on the side wall. I primed another grenade, moved up from the ditch and sprinted towards the small firing hole. I chucked the grenade into the hole and lunged to the side. The grenade exploded. I got up, turned around, and pushed my muzzle into the firing hole. Two soldiers were laying with their stomachs against the dirt. Their backs were torn with shrapnel and bloodied. Another soldier was crawling out of the hole, grunting and gasping for air.
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The last soldier was pointing a pistol my way. I jumped back from the hole just in time to miss a bullet. I quietly moved around the side. I peeked in from the rear and saw the last soldier holding his pistol at the firing hole. I shot him in the chest, scaring the shit out of him whilst killing him. He glanced at me before falling to his side. The soldier crawling away had bled out not long after leaving the hole.
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Kyle and Dave pushed up to me. Kyle sighed, “aw man. Fuck you Rogers.”
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Kyle started searching the pockets of my kills. I shook my head, “that’s not your loot Wessman.”
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“Like you’re gonna take it.”
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Dave said, “MRAP’s fucked.”
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I nodded, “everyone okay?”
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“Yeah.”
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I joined the rest of my squad at a building’s wall. I put my hand on Ty, “hey are you good?”
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He smiled, “yeah I’m good.”
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I nodded, feeling relieved.
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Que led us around the corner and down the street. The buildings surrounding us were either destroyed or burning. There was almost no reason to clear them because of the intense heat protruding from them. Even I wanted to get away from the buildings and I was only ten feet from them.
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Down the road was one of the MRAPs. It crashed into the corner of a building, and Rangers were around the vehicle. One Ranger was trying to open the front door with his breaching tool. We got to their position and saw that they hit a landmine. The Ranger in the driver's seat was injured, not from the blast but from the crash. If it weren’t for the MRAP, the entire squad would have been dead.
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Ty and I, arguably the two biggest guys in our squad, helped the Ranger out. Ty pulled on the door, while I pushed it towards him, and the Ranger thrusted his breaching tool into the wedge of the door. He leaned back with all his weight but the door barely budged. I put my foot on his tool and pushed it towards him. He fell back, knocking the door off.
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I helped the injured Ranger out of the MRAP and onto the ground. Anton checked him for wounds. He had a broken nose and a shoulder knocked out of socket. Anton stabbed him with morphine and shoved his shoulder back in place.
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While he did that, Que told us, “alright here’s the plan. We’re gonna push down this road until we get to Third Squad’s position. Second Squad, you’re on rear. Rogers-”
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He pointed at his butt, “on my ass!”
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I nodded, “on your ass.”
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We moved out. I followed closely to Que and watched our right while he watched the left. There were trash bags piled against the building walls and trash strewn in the streets. Any trash bag could have been a bomb. Even though I wanted to stop and check them, I couldn’t.
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While we were moving down the street, two A-10s screamed over us. They dropped four bombs and then quickly swerved up into the clouds. As I was distracted by the A-10s, a Ranger behind me dropped to the ground. He held onto his hip and yelled in pain, “ah fuck!”
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After he collapsed I heard the shot. I yelled, “sniper!”
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Que yelled, “cover!”
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We ducked into the buildings after a Ranger grabbed the wounded Ranger. Que slid a scope onto his M4. He slapped my arm, “let’s go!”
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He ran out of the building and I followed behind him. We darted across the street, then back to the right, then back to the left, then straight the rest of the way. We took cover behind a car. Que backed up and aimed his rifle through the rear window.
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I pulled myself around the car and started shooting a few rounds at the building on the end of the street. As I did, the sniper fired again, knocking the side view mirror of the car off. I moved around to the rear again, asking Que, “you see that?”
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He answered with a squeeze of his trigger and a slight smirk. He nodded, “yeah I saw it.”
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Que pressed his mic, “move the boys up. Let’s continue our sweep.”
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We moved down to the end of the street where the sniper was. Once clearing the building, we moved around the bend and down another road. I saw Third Squad’s MRAP pinned down at an intersection further down the road. There were buildings all over the place, these ones were much more intact.
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Que told us, “keep an eye out for movement! Heads on swivels!”
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When we got to Third Squad’s MRAP, almost all of the Rangers there were wounded. I got near a concrete barrier and started firing at a fortified position down the road. It looked like a bunker with barbed wire and sandbags surrounding it. Multiple silhouettes kept popping up behind a piece of cover, fired a shot, and then dropped back down.
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Que asked Third Squad leader, Kent, “what’s the situation?!”
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Kent replied, “we got fucking T-90s hammering First Assualt Group on the overpass. I can’t move my men up, they have a MG in that bunker.”
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“Get on the horn and request airsupport.”
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“I’ve been trying! We’re too close to AA for airsupport.”
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“Okay, I’m taking my squad up Aaron road and moving around this bunker. We’ll get it cleared, once we do, take a Javelin squad and hit that overpass!”
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He nodded, “right! Will do!”
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Que pulled me from the barrier, “let’s go! First Squad! On me!”
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Our squad gathered around Que, and he told us, “we’re gonna move up Aaron Road and flank behind this bunker. Head’s low, eyes high, stay tight. Let’s go.”
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We moved a few feet down Aaron Road until we found a gap in between two of the houses. Dave laid his rifle across the fence and covered the rest of us as we hopped over. An older man stepped out of the house with a coffee mug in hand. He glared at us, and Dave aimed his rifle at him. The man shook his head and went back inside. Dave hopped over and joined us on the other side.
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There was a playground in the backyard, and a kid was sitting on a swing with a stick shaped like a gun. He aimed it at us and said, “pew.”
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Ty chuckled, “fuckin’ kids.”
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We moved along the edge of a field and against the other houses. A lot of these buildings were mostly intact. They were all civilian houses, so we couldn’t hit them with artillery. There could have been hundreds of confederates in the houses, but we had no probable cause to destroy them even if they were dressed up like civilian housing.
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Personally I didn’t agree with our doctrine. Especially since we were so deep in Confederate territory, every civilian was a soldier. Tent used a phrase that I loved to live by. ‘A Confederate civilian today is a Confederate soldier tomorrow.’
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There were so many instances where we would push out of a city and get shelled from behind. The civilians would hide their weapons and act like nothing happened, but deep down we all knew. Rangers who acted on our thoughts were protected by everyone. High Command wanted an orderly conduction of forces in Louisiana, but we didn’t care. They couldn’t court martial us all.
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We got to another house, and I moved along the house wall. I peeked around the corner and saw the fortified position. Confederate soldiers were readying a mortar. I stepped out onto the street and shot the three operators. Two soldiers at the sandbag wall noticed me and returned fire. I ducked behind a wide, steel PO box.
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Tyrese stepped into the street and gunned down the two soldiers. He looked down at me while keeping his rifle up, “you hit?!”
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I shook my head, getting up, “good!”
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Him and I walked to the door of the bunker. He primed a grenade and tossed it into a small hole on the wall. One hole was in front of me, and I saw a barrel poke out. The barrel quickly found Tyrese. I grabbed onto it and pulled it towards me. The soldier fired, emitting an intense heat blast from the barrel. I let go and pushed myself from the wall, shooting into the hole as I did.
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I looked down at my gloves, seeing they were burnt and ripped. Out of frustration I yelled, “motherfucker!”
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Tyrese primed another grenade and threw it into the second hole. I got back on the wall and faced towards the overpass, seeing my squad pushing a second fortified position of sandbags and wooden posts.
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Tyrese yelled into the hole, “fuck you Fed!”
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A voice came from the inside, “fuck you NC dog!”
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I pulled an incendiary grenade from my belt and tossed it to Tyrese. I pointed up the wall, “there might be a roof vent.”
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Most Confederate bunkers were designed in a rush and in an off-field factory. This one looked like it was built where it was, because the road was shattered where it met the bunker floor. Hopefully they didn’t seal the top vents.
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He climbed up the side and disappeared over the edge. I heard the grenade clink around inside, and then it hissed for a few seconds before exploding. People began screaming and banging on the door, but they didn’t open it.
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Tyrese dropped back down and opened the door. A charred Confederate dropped to his knees and then fell forward. Tyrese and I moved in, stepping over another charred Confederate.
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The air was thick with remaining incendiary pellets that burnt the back of my throat and made my eyes tear up. They burnt the stubble on my face and melted the wax in my ear. The concrete walls were burnt, the floor was slippery with melted flesh, and the roof was still on fire. In enclosed spaces, Mark 9s were terrifyingly effective.
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The Mark 9 Incendiary Grenade was a horrifying mixture of combustible, adhesive materials and an effective design. It was shaped like a cylinder, and was about five inches long and two inches wide. First, it fired a short fuse of napalm which affected five meters around the grenade. It made a hissing sound as multiple holes in the grenades shaft shot this napalm out. Ater a second or two, the whitephospouros in the shaft exploded. It blew the napalm out up to twenty-five meters whilst affecting a radius of fifteen meters with its burning effects. Unlike napalm, which stuck to its victims like glue, whitephospourous lingered in your lungs and burnt holes in your skin for days. It was almost lethal to just breathe, nevermind letting it touch you.
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We found a 20mm anti-air gun at the firing port in the bunker. The gun was too short and couldn’t fire out the port. Ty let out a sigh of relief, “imagine if they got to use that on us.”
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I nodded, taking out the heavy box magazine and tossing it out the port. Ty chuckled, “I saw one of these things tear apart a whole Division.”
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I nodded, “yeah. I heard about these.”
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The Confederates were getting so desperate that they started using Flak guns and anti-air weapons on us. It wasn’t seen a whole lot, but when it happened it was disastrous.
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There were two bodies up against the wall. Their flesh melted to the wall, and their skin was blacker than the darkest night. I felt bad. I didn’t want to do it. At the moment it seemed to be the only and best option for me. I didn’t think about anyone else. His face was disfigured and melted. His eyes were burnt away and his hair was gone. His skull was visible and had holes punctured in it.
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I didn’t know why I did it. I didn’t know why it happened. Why did it have to happen? Why did we have to fight? He was probably just as scared and clueless as me. He was probably a father, or a brother. Someone who he loved missed him as much as the people who I loved missed me.
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We were somewhat the same.
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Two soldiers, one war.
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*
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Que pulled out his Portable Laser Designator, or PLD for short, and marked the overpass. I saw three T-90s firing their cannons Westwards, where Assault Group One was. Once Que locked his laser in a Javlein missile fired behind us. I watched the rocket shoot up into the sky a hundred or so feet and fly horizontally until it was near the target. It crashed down into the overpass, breaking it in two. One T-90 fell off the side while the other two collapsed with the overpass.
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Que shoved his fist in the air, “yeah! You got them Kent! Form up on the highway. Let’s secure that airport!”
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We moved down the street to where the overpass was. Que mounted his rifle on a road barrier and scanned the airfield. I did so as well, trying to get a lay of the land. On the East side of the airfield there were a bunch of refueling trucks and fuel stations lining a large industrial structure. There were also a few soldiers on MGs and a mortar crew situated in a foxhole. One small runway ran in front of the structure, marked with squares and circles.
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On the South side was where all the hangars and air tower were. Behind the hangars were warehouses, construction vehicles, and farming equipment like tractors
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There was a runway that ran from the South-East corner to the North-West corner. It appeared to be the main one. A lot of soldiers were dug in around the runway, and two AA missiles straddled near the middle. There was a second runway that ran from the West, crossed over the main one, and ended on the North-East corner. At the end of that one was an APC armed with a minigun on top.
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There were probably a dozen or so soldiers moving around near the hangars. I saw some of them working on an Su-35 and others on a Havoc attack helicopter.
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Both the Su-35 and Havoc were Russian military vehicles. After Operation Wingclipper in the 90’s, the TUC air power was almost destroyed. They, like us, had American issued weapons. However once we destroyed most of these weapons, they started importing or creating new ones in house. The TUC’s doctrine focused more on hard hitting and tough land vehicles than fast and agile air vehicles. A lot of the TUCs Air Force consisted of aircraft meant to aid land forces, with little to aid the aircraft. Even low in numbers, they put up one helluva fight.
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I pointed out the Havoc to Que, who noticed it as well. As Assault Group One rolled onto the airfield with four M1A2 Abrams Main Battle Tanks and three LAV-25s, the Havoc began rolling out of the hangar. It just started spinning it’s rotors when a LAV fired a TOW missile at it. The helicopter exploded.
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The LAVs pushed near the hangars and began firing their 25mm cannons at the ground troops and structures. One of the Abrams fried a shell into the tower, causing it to crumble on top of one of the hangars. Another Abrams tore a hole through the APC, leaving it to burn.
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Que nodded, “let’s get in this fight!”
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A Confederate soldier fired a RPG into one of the LAVs, causing it to smoke from the turret. After about five seconds, the turret exploded off the hull. We pushed along the East side, picking off a few soldiers as we did. I was moving along the wall when a soldier popped around a truck. I shot at him and he shot at me. One round hit his chest, and his round skinned my knee. He retreated around the truck and began calling out, “help! Over here!”
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I sprinted to the truck and shot him on the ground.
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We got to the MG positions and the mortar foxhole. Tyrese, Dave, Kyle, and myself gunned down the six soldiers. There was almost no cover from our position to the hangars, which was about a one hundred-fifty yard gap. We got into the foxhole and behind the sandbags. While we were there, Kyle started picking through the pockets of the dead soldiers.
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He pulled out a picture and said, “look at this Fed’s bitch!”
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I shook my head and peeked over the sandbags. Tyrese asked, “any opportunities?”
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In the short amount of time we pushed to the position, another LAV was destroyed. The remaining LAV retreated behind the Abrams, providing TOW support. I looked over at the mortar and asked him, “you know how to use that?”
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He gave me a smirk, “of course.”
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We got on the mortar and I called out the distance and elevation. He nodded, ticking a knob on the tube. He gave me a thumbs up. I put a mortar shell in the tube and ducked below it. It fired, making a thumpt sound. I looked at the target waiting for the shell to drop. When it did, it crashed right into a hangar.
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Tyrese reset the mortar and I dropped another shell in. This shell landed a little behind the first one, collapsing the hangar roof. I went to load another shell, but stopped when I saw an Abrams tank looking right at us. My heart sank. He thought we were enemies. I pushed Tyrese’s shoulder, “hey man- aye man move!”
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I pulled to get his attention, and then pushed him out of the hole. We fell on top of each other. We couldn’t even stand up before the tank fired a round into the foxhole. The shockwave from the round rattled my spine and the noise made my ears bleed. Ear plugs weren’t designed to withstand HE shells.
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I looked over to see Dave and Kyle moving back towards the trucks. Que ran out from the trucks, bumping into Kyle and shouting at him for a brief second. I couldn’t hear what was said due to my ears ringing. Que slid to my side and picked up my arm. I nodded, grinding my teeth together and muttering out a few words, “I’m good!”
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Que stood up and pointed at his uniform, “we’re friendly! We’re friendly you fucking idiot!”
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I got up and shook the dirt off my legs. Tyrese gave me a pat on the back and said, “I asked for a good opportunity, one which wouldn’t get me blown up.”
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I smiled, “I thought you liked a good blow?”
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He chuckled, “only from you mate.”
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We secured the airfield later that day. Que cussed out the Abrams gunner and even pissed on his tank. Anton and I were entertained at Que’s fiery side. Anton nudged me, “how long have you two been together?”
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“Ever since the beginning. Right around Lake Charles we got seperated.”
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He sighed, “I lost a lot of good friends in Lake Charles. Too many, man.”
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“Yeah. Way too many.”
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