EPILOGUE
As the sky cleared up and the sun emerged from the horizon, the remains of the night’s AFU battle began to be visible.
Soldiers from the Stahlven 71st Panzergrenadier Regiment, followed by an advancing formation of M51 Schwarzprinz tanks from the 54th Panzer Regiment, began advancing to their next target, entering the hills to the south, striking deep into Arcturian territory. The wounded of the night’s battle lay under a tarpaulin erected by the 621st Field Hospital Company of the Stahlven Army, and the dead were slipped into black body bags, ready to be shipped home to their families and loved ones.
That night, 126 Royal Marines Commando lost 21 rank-and-file, 3 NCOs, and 1 officer, Major Edward Bastion, who was lost during the crash of the shot-down Pericles Vanguard. 211 Attack Squadron AAC fortunately did not receive any casualties. 102 Commando Helicopter Force lost a Pericles Vanguard (Tail number: 4008XA) and almost its entire crew: two officers and a crew chief. However, the door gunner managed to jump out before it was shot down, and joined the Marines in their assault. 62 Squadron was entirely disposed of their TF-07 Destroyer AFUs, although three of the five pilots that participated survived the battle. 187 Squadron was destroyed, with only one pilot remaining for service. However, they managed to hold out an attack against 11 enemy AFUs, and destroyed an entirety of 15 enemy Armoured Fighter Units that night.
On the other hand, the Arcturians lost one battalion of infantry, one battery of mobile artillery, two squadrons of AFUs, an AFU-capable corvette, and a tactically-valuable compound that proved to be a fatal error.
Sergeant Orisan, his shirt bloodied and dirty, stood before the bodies of the dead. His troop had lost three men to enemy fire, alongside a complement of nine light-and-heavy wounded. Among the dead was Marine George Brayford, who laid in front of him, his body half-covered by a black body bag. He could see the face of the young, black-haired demolitions-trained Royal Marine. The blood had been wiped off his face, and his usually-cheerful face lit expressionlessly as streaks of the dawning sun touched the ground around him.
A chaplain went onto the bodies of the dead Marines and mumbled them their final prayers.
Jonesy came next to Orisan, dressed in his sweaty undershirt. There were bits of sand on his black moustache. “A cigarette, boss?”
Orisan said nothing, and took one of the cigarettes he offered. He lit it. The warmth of the desert sun touched his back. “You’ve told Smitty yet?”
“Yeah. Went batshit. He demanded to see Bray’s body but fell over. Apparently the wound was fucked when we came into the ship. Ripped open.”
“Andy?”
“Corp’s good. Lucky bastard. Stable and getting evacuated to one of the flotilla stations.”
“Thank God.” Orisan said.
Knowing that there was some down time, the Marines slept where they could. On the sidewalks, near the tents, on top of buildings, everywhere. Their weapons set aside, they closed their eyes and laid in the most absurd positions.
Lieutenant Errik Knuttson slept with his legs on a low window and his body on the ground. A passing group of Panzergrenadiers – mechanized infantry of the Stahlven Army – with the trapezoid-shaped M167 APC behind them, saw the lying Marine, having taken his Armour off and his weapon set to the wall. He used his helmet as a pillow, as it had cushions inside it. The large transmitter on his back was set next to his rifle.
“Hey, unteroffizier, look at this idiot,” said one of the young soldiers. He was dressed in khaki overalls with a flak vest, ontop his head the distinctive stahlhelm used by the Stahlven Armed Forces.
The unteroffizier came next to him, and saw Knuttson lying on the floor. He quickly smacked the head of the naïve soldier. “You dumbass, that’s a Royal Marine, show some fucking respect. Keep moving.”
“Sorry, unteroffizier.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
***
Smitty managed to pick himself up from the field hospital’s makeshift bed. With a crutch assisting his steps, he found his way to the exit. Dressed in his unbuttoned khaki utilities, he limped his way to the bodies. He found Sergeant Orisan and Jonesy putting their backs on the front of a Stahlven 5-ton truck, smoking themselves out, the bodies not far away from them. The medics of the Stahlven 621st Field Hospital Company, signified by the red-cross on their armbands, made final preparations to carry the bodies away. Tired-eyed, the two saw Smitty coming.
Smitty limped his way to the bodies. He went to one of the medical personnel and asked, “Excuse me, is there a Marine Brayford here?”
The medic, a Stahlven with brown hair and tired eyes, replied, “Sorry, friend, we’re packing up, so what about you fuck off, huh?”
Smitty threw away his crutch in anger. Offended by the man’s ultimate disrespect for his late best friend, limped over to him and took him by the collar. The man’s eyes changed completely, showing fear and panic. “Now you tell me, you rear-echelon shitcunt, where the fock’s me mate? YOU FUCKING TELL ME. YOU FUCKING TELL ME YOU PIECE OF SHI-“ He raised his fist, but before he was able to beat the shit out of the medic, Orisan and Jonesy rushed to him. Orisan wrestled him to the floor.
“Calm the fuck down, mate. Calmthefuckdown!” Orisan said, a cigarette still in his mouth, as he held the Marine down. Smitty, still enraged, was breathing heavily.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Jonesy said. He was holding the medic back, assuring that he was alright. “It’s a mistake, alright? He just lost his best mate. Scram. Go back to your job, yeah? Here, have a cigarette. We cool, yeah? Yeah?” He pushed the medic away and pat him in the back.
Orisan went off Smitty and picked him up. Tears were going down his eyes, cleaning the trails of dirt and dust that caked his face.
“Smitty, get control of yourself, mate.”
“No, fuck that! He was me mate, sarge, and I wasn’t even there, I should’ve stayed, I should’ve-“ He fell into the sergeant’s shoulder.
“It’s alright there, lad. It’s alright. He’s over there. Come on, let’s get to him, yeah? Say some final goodbyes.”
They did. Orisan carrying the wounded Smitty, they went towards the already zipped up body with the tag ‘MARINE BRAYFORD, GEORGE C.’ and kneeled before him. They opened the zipper, and his face, eyes closed and at peace, was seen.
“I’d give you some time alone, alright, Smitty? I’ve lost friends too. Some of them my best mates. I know how it feels. I’ll leave you to it, yeah?”
“Sergeant.” Smitty said to his platoon commander. He tried to stop sobbing. Smitty and Brayford had been together since basic, them having each other’s backs in every situation, in any circumstance. He was the machinegunner, Bray was the ammo man. They were best buddies, and maybe the only best buddy he ever had all his life.
He sat there, next to Bray’s body. “Hey, mate.” He put a hand on his cold shoulder. “Fuck,” he said. He did not know what to say.
“I’m really sorry, mate. I’m really fucking sorry. I’m really sorry you can’t have your show anymore. No more big parties, no more fun, no more DJ-fockin-Brayford,” Smitty could not afford anything but an ironic laugh. “I’m really sorry I couldn’t be there, mate. Should’ve been there for ya.”
He sighed. He sat there in silence, lost in his thoughts. He heard steps coming towards him.
“Cigarette?” He heard a female’s voice from behind him. He looked up. The first thing he saw was her icy blue eyes, her soft lips, her black hair strung up into a ponytail. She sat next to him, and smiled. It was Sophie. She was in a black tank, her shoulder patched up by a ton of bandages. A cigarette in her mouth, she offered Smitty her pack.
Smitty took one. He lit it.
“A friend of yours?” Sophie asked.
“Closest friend I ever had.” He said.
“I’ve lost some friends today, too. And a couple of days ago.”
“I saw Norican’s fighter go down.” Said Smitty.
Sophie paused. She took a deep breath and sighed. “He got shot down, but he took almost half-a-dozen with him last night. The left side of his body got pulverized by shrapnel, he’s on emergency. Getting flown over to one of the better hospitals behind the lines.”
“But he’s alive, yeah?”
“Barely.” She sucked on her cigarette. “Got fucked up.”
“You got quite fucked up yourself.” Smitty nodded to her fractured, bandaged arm. She returned with a low laugh.
“Yeah. You too.” Sophie said. “Should say your goodbyes first. They’re sending the bodies home.”
The medics were picking up the body bags and heaving them into the 5-ton truck. Orisan and Jonesy and some other Marines were helping them out as well.
Sophie looked at Smitty, and smiled. “Stay strong. War’s not over yet.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll be over there if you need me.” She nodded to a spot at the corner of the compound. It overlooked the carcasses of the destroyed AFUs. Ruined body parts of the fighters, burn marks on the ground, the bodies of dead pilots in bodybags. Beyond that, however, was an astounding, almost limitless view of the desert horizon, of the rising sun. She sat there.
Smitty said his final words to Bray’s lifeless body. “Goodbye, friend. I’ll see you again one day. Just watch over me, yeah? War’s still a long way off, and, heck, keep having my back, alright? Like you always did.”
He paused and looked at him. He remembered the laughs, the fun, the crazy shit they’ve done; getting drunk, getting into bar fights. It’s not going to happen anymore. Smitty zipped the body up and went onto his feet a changed man. He was no longer Smitty the teenager, the toy soldier.
“Goodbye, mate.”
He was Marine Trevor Smith, an instrument of war.
Limping with every step he took, he picked up the body of his dead comrade, his brother-in-arms, his best mate. He set it upon the back of the 5-ton truck. He stood there, at attention. He raised his arm in salute.
The truck started. The medics closed the rear ramp of the transport, and banged the sides, signaling the driver it was good to go. The truck drove down the streets, slowly disappearing from sight. Smitty was never going to see Bray again, and the truth of that hurt him.
He stood there in silence and went away. He sat next to Sophie, overseeing the vast landscape, the carnage of dead metal and remains of the pilots in the distance. A group of Pericles Vanguards belonging to combat transport squadrons started picking up the salvageable parts.
Sophie went closer to him, and put her head on his shoulder. He put his arms around her back. The cold night slowly turned to a warm morning, the sun emerging in the distance. The two enjoyed the beautiful sight, the faraway center of the Stahlven System lighting up the dark, deadly, and dry desert.
***
The opening stages of Operation TOBRUK were a complete success. Front-line enemy installations and defences were quickly overrun by the Alliance’s 8th Planetary Army. Stahlven infantry and armour, supported by quick-responding elements of the Hrasvleg Army Air Corps, took ground quickly, surprising the outstretched, undersupplied enemy forces in fast succession. Concentrated artillery from both the air and indirect fire conducted by regiments of the Royal Artillery and batteries of the Stahlven Artillery Corps were followed by fast, gut-coordinated maneuvers of infantry and armour throughout the entire front. An admirable feat by any means, the first twenty-four hours of the operation managed to ultimately rout the enemy troops and force them to engage in a fighting withdrawal.
After twelve days of continuous fighting, on 8th June 2199 AD, the Arcturian planetary army, scattered throughout the desert and easy pickings for Alliance armoured and air forces, finally regrouped and formed a pivot at the small desert town of Sidi Barani. Knowing that they were defeated and with no reinforcements coming close, the Arcturian Naval Forces formed an evacuation plan before everything was lost.
Hrasvleg and Stahlven forces, highly motivated and with momentum by their side, attacked the enemy at Sidi Barani, eventually breaking their lines and forcing them to retreat. Scattered and defeated throughout the desert, the Arcturians were encircled by the 8th Army, forcing them to cut short the evacuation process. Deserted and left to die on a planet so far away from home, the 40,000 Arcturians remaining on the hellish deserts of Ghalzar IV surrendered.
The victory on Ghalzar IV signified the first major victory for Lazarus Alliance forces since the last thirteen months.
Due to the quick capture of Waypoint WHITE by 57 Commando Brigade, counterattacks were quickly dispersed and routed. Being a pivot in the Alliance offensive during Operation TOBRUK, 126 Royal Marines Commando, 187 Squadron RN, and 62 Squadron AAC were given royal battle honours to commemorate their service. If not for 57 Commando Brigade, Operation TOBRUK might not have succeeded.
Lieutenant Errik Knuttson was given the Conspicious Gallantry Cross for leading the defence of Waypoint WHITE, being the one credited with the kill of an enemy AFU. He was subsequently promoted to captain and was given command of C Company, 126 Royal Marines Commando.
Due to the empty billet in 126 RMC with the death of Major Edward Bastion, Captain Ellis McAllister was promoted to major and assigned battalion executive officer.
The documents recovered by Sergeant Michael Orisan, Corporal Leandros Kyrgiakos, Lance-Corporal Alexander Owynson-Jones, Marine George Brayford, and Marine Trevor Smith contained the exact coordinates and a recordings of the positions of every single enemy artillery and armoured battalion on Ghalzar IV. Marine George Brayford was posthumously promoted to Lance-Corporal of Marines and was awarded the CGC, while the four other members were awarded the Military Cross for their actions.
Ensign Sophie Deschamps, Royal Navy, was promoted to sub-lieutenant and subsequently full lieutenant due to her actions during and before Operation Tobruk. For a previous action, she was awarded the Military Cross for her gallantry. By the end of Operation Tobruk, she tallied 8.5 enemy kills to her name. Three months after Operation Tobruk, she was assigned to Royal Navy Armoured Fighter School Colonnus-2 in the Hrasvleg system as an instructor pilot. However, she remained restless, knowing that many lives remain at stake, longed for the opportunity to jump back into combat.
Lieutenant Karl Jensen recovered from his wounds and rejoined the forces, becoming commander of 351 Squadron RN, continuing to fly Daggers in space and ground operations.
Warrant Officer 2 Ryck Norican was placed under intensive care in Royal Navy hospital ship HMS Cameron and remains under coma from wounds received during Operation Tobruk. In his absence, Norican was commissioned Lieutenant-of-Marines. Due to his actions during and before the operation, and by far the Royal Marines pilot with the highest number of enemy kills (with a tally of 27), he received the Victoria Cross for immense gallantry under enemy fire, in particular the sacrifices he endured to down the Arcturian Navy’s top ace, Spade-77.
The Victoria Cross is the highest award for gallantry His Majesty’s Armed Forces.
The war to preserve the integrity of both the Stahlven Republic and the United Kingdom of Hrasvleg and Surrounding Territories went on. Despite having a major victory, the war in the infinite plains of space was far from over for the Alliance. However, the victory on Ghalzar IV has proven that the chances of winning the war were not as slim and pessimistic as they were before.
***
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