From SC Creator: Antonio and I have been talking about him writing a fan fiction piece for quite a while now. I am pleased to have him share his story with us. Especially since hes a native Englishman writing about the invasion of England. Its always a pleasure reading my fans interpretation of Shattered Citadel. 02052012 Part 1. 21072012 Part 2 added.
From Author: I was thinking of submitting a story to your site (by the way I just love it). It'd help a lot if you'd read over what I have so far and tell me what you think. I know its not a lot but I plan to type a lot more. Make changes as you see fit but please let me know. Dunno if you read the other draft but I'm sending an updated one. Its not long at all, its only 14 pages, but its chapter one basically of a multi-part series about the Battle of London.
SCFF: Battle of London
By: Antonio Phillips of England
“European soldiers defending London, this is Prime Minister David Andrew. I just wanted to let you know how proud I am of all of you. You made the Hegemony pay for every house taken, you fought for every street, and you turned every block into a mass grave for Hegemony troops. In doing this though I know that there have taken casualties. Let us continue fighting for those men and women we have lost. Soldiers like Private Erik Muller from Ramstein, Germany! Sergeant Major Alice O’Brian from Cork, Ireland! Colonel Jean-Pierre Foch from Quebec City, Canada! Leftenant Anna Grindheim from Telemark, Norway! These and many others died believing they were doing their part to beat back the Hegemony! Let us not fail them! Let us never forget these brave men and women! Let us fight on in their memory! For if we stop now, the many hundreds of thousands of soldiers that died did so in vain. Let us honour those men and women who so valiantly gave their lives so that others may live. Let us push forward and show the enemy how the sons and daughters of Europa fight! We will push them out of London! We will push them off this island! We will push them off the Continent! We will be the victors!”-Prime Minister David Andrew’s Speech Broadcast throughout London via loudspeakers.
Picadilly Circus, London, United Kingdom, European Union, Earth [Sol]
Sergeant Alistair Smith shivered when a CFR Walker burst through the Criterion Theatre. He’d faced these things before. They were big, ugly, and slow but he’d seen them wipe out entire companies of men. He felt like its two Gatling guns were pointed right at him at the moment.
Calm down, he commanded himself. They had the firepower to take the hulking machine down. He and the thirty-five men under his command were hidden pretty well amongst the ruins of the London Trocadero. He watched as dozens of CFR infantry cautiously made their way through the ruins of the Criterion Theatre. They looked like a force to be reckoned with and they were. He’d seen how stubbornly Russians fought and they seemed perfectly at home in urban combat.
One thing at a time, he reminded himself. His immediate concern had to be the Walker. He looked over at Corporal David Pire to make sure he was okay. He couldn’t make out his facial features because of the black paint that covered his face. He did see however that his gaze was locked on the CFR Walker. He slowly inched his hand over and tugged on his tactical webbing. Corporal David slowly turned his head towards the Sergeant careful not to make any sudden movements.
“Yeah?” he mouthed. Sergeant Alistair took a detonator from his pocket and held up three fingers. Corporal David got the message and tapped the man next to him. He did the same and it went like that all the way down the line. When the tap came back to Sergeant Alistair he knew his men were ready. He put one hand on his 6.8mm M7A4 Assault Rifle and clutched the detonator tightly in the other.
One…two…THREE!
Sergeant Alistair squeezed the detonator and held his helmet on his head with his now free hand. The Mephisto Picadilly Circus to their right shook as over three hundred pounds of American made C4 brought the building down. The explosion rattled Sergeant Alistair’s brains inside his head. The CFR Walker and accompanying infantry responded instantly by shooting blindly at the now destroyed building. Several rocket pods jettisoned from the Walker and streaked forward hitting nothing but vacant ruins.
“NOW!” Sergeant Alistair barked as he stood up. He let fly a 40mm high explosive grenade from his under slung grenade launcher at the Walker. It didn’t do anything but chip the paint. The dozen or so 140mm HEAT rockets fired from aging M47 Dragon Anti-Tank Missiles on the other hand did much more than scratch the paint. The pilot of the Walker didn’t stand a chance. The Walker doubled over and twitched as internal explosions shook its frame. When the 20mm cannon rounds for the Walker started cooking off Sergeant Alistair took cover. What looked like flaming red hot darts started shooting around burrowing in both men and buildings. The second he thought it was safe he stood up and fired blindly at the confused CFR soldiers. Yet, these soldiers weren’t confused. They were quick to take cover and even quicker to return fire. These soldiers weren’t like any other CFR.
Sergeant Alistair watched a fragmentation grenade arc through the air and land amidst the CFR positions. One brave Russian picked up the grenade to throw it back but it went off in his hand. Half of him simply disappeared while the other tattered half landed somewhere in the rubble. Sergeant Alistair ducked as a flurry of bullets cracked past his head and immediately stood up to return fire. He popped a Russkie square in the chest sending him to the ground. Another one of his quick bursts took the top portion of another Russian’s head clean off.
“We got Ka-60s inbound!” someone yelled. Sergeant Alistair flinched instinctively at the call. He wished they could use their radios but CFR artillery in particular had gotten pretty good at tracking their signals and sending them to tea parties in the clouds.
“We have any Stingers left?” Sergeant Alistair barked.
“Nein! We have only Blowpipe Missiles!” a German soldier a bit further down replied.
“Get those launchers up! Get the bloody things up!” Sergeant Alistair shouted frantically. He could already hear the distinctive thump, thump, thump of the dreaded Akulas as the Russians called them. The first Akula that came around the edge of a destroyed building was met with a missile to the cockpit. It smashed into the ground in a flaming ball and crushed a few Russian infantry still holding out. The others were smarter. The six helicopters broke up into three groups and circled his men. The chat, chat, chat of the Akulas’ 30mm cannons were one of the few things that really struck fear in him. He turned over on his back and emptied an entire magazine at a circling Akula. It didn’t do anything but piss it off. He felt the cannon train on him as the Akula jinked to dodge a missile.
At least if he’s shooting at me he won’t be shooting at me men, Sergeant Alistair thought. It was a strange thought but it was the way he felt. Just as he thought it was his time to bite the dirt not one but two missiles crashed into the helicopter. The Russian aircraft broke in two flaming bits and crashed somewhere out of sight.
“I got you, sir!” Corporal David yelled over the sound of gunfire. Suddenly Corporal David turned into chunks of meat and pink mist. Sergeant Alistair looked dumbstruck at what was once his friend. An Akula streaked past; its chin mounted cannon was red hot and smoking. He slapped in a new magazine and put in another grenade. Missiles crisscrossed the sky but the Ka-60s dodged most of them. He fired off a grenade but the nimble helicopter easily dodged it by strafing. Unfortunately the Akula strafed right into the firing line of another Akula. The helicopter shrugged off the first few rounds but the dual rotors took a few heavy shells demolishing it. The Akula spun around and crashed nose first into the remains of the Walker.
Sergeant Alistair was tossed through the air by the combined explosions of the Walker and the Akula. He came down several feet away in a bed of glass. The explosion caused two of the Akulas to spiral out of control and crash into each other. He and his men were showered with bits of oil and metal. Another Akula lost lift and nosed over crashing into the street. The last Akula wobbled in the air for a few seconds before being swatted down by no less than ten missiles.
“Orders, sir?” a soldier with a Spanish flag on his shoulder asked as he helped him up. Sergeant Alistair picked up his rifle and shook his head to clear it.
“Get a count on our wounded. Get the tags from the dead. Check the CFR dead. Shoot any survivors. Collect all of their weapons and ammunition. We could use that later. Make sure to check for intel too.” Sergeant Alistair said. It was strange. To him it didn’t seem like he was talking. It seemed like someone else; someone who knew what he was doing. He sighed and sat down on a large piece of granite. He took out a pack of cigarettes and tapped one out on his palm. He let it hang limply from his lips as he lit it with his prized Zippo lighter and puffed thoughtfully. He’d survived another battle. That makes his fifth. He was an Old Dog now. He was no longer just a Puppy or FNG. He was an Old Dog. Sergeant Alistair said it a few times to get the hang of it. He liked the way it rolled off his tongue. He let his shoulders sag as the stress started to bleed off. He listened closely to the distant BOOM of heavy artillery. He remembered his first combat deployment, along the Hamburg Line when he was but a lance corporal, and how he jumped every time he heard artillery. It didn’t matter how close or how far it was he still jumped. Not anymore though. He didn’t even jump when artillery exploded near him now. He didn’t know whether it was he was just too tired to jump or what and honestly he didn’t care.
“Signore.” An Italian soldier said as he saluted.
“No, no, no. We don’t salute in the field. CFR snipers are real good around ‘ere. Now if I get me head blown off I’m gonna haunt your arse.” Sergeant Alistair said waving his index finger. The Italian soldier looked confused and dropped his salute hesitantly. He had to be a Puppy.
“Umm, signore. We have a count on our killed and wounded.”
“Well spit it out, mate.”
“We have 5 men dead and twice that number wounded. One man is missing though; Corporal David Kingly Pire.” The Italian reported.
“He’s dead. Saw it with me own eyes.” Sergeant Alistair blurted out. It was happening again. It felt like someone else was talking for him again. He just lost his best friend and he reported just like a football announcer at an Arsenal game.
“NYET! NYET! NYEEEET!” a Russian pleaded. His cries were silenced by a single gunshot.
“Sergeant Smith?” someone asked from behind.
“Oi.” He replied and looked over his shoulder. A woman in a crisp, clean officer’s uniform carefully stepped over mounds of rubble. She kept her head low and on a constant vigil. Her G7 looked brand new and looked as if it hadn’t been fired once. Sergeant Alistair could tell this was a desk jockey. Her ten man entourage was heavily armed and looked more battle weary than her.
“I’m Major Susan Pennting. I’d like to say congratulations on another successful ambush. I understand this would be your third one?” she said smiling. Something about her Sergeant Alistair really liked. Maybe it was the way her smile lit up her entire face. He couldn’t decide now.
“Yeah. Thanks I guess. I lost a few men though. At least we took down that Walker.” Sergeant Alistair said and jerked a finger towards the blackened twisted remains of the Walker and Akula.
“About that Walker, Sergeant Smith. You and your men just killed the world famous Major General Anatoliy Anatolyevich Stalin, commander of the Communist Federated Republic’s 1st Honour Guards Heavy Walker Division. God knows how many of our troops he’s killed. You me dear boy just killed the Steel Commander.”
Sergeant Alistair let his mouth hang slightly agape. He didn’t notice when his cigarette fell out of his mouth and brushed up against his shirt. Everyone had heard of the Steel Commander. His kill count was legendary. No wonder those Russkie infantry reacted so well to the loss of the Walker. They normally just stood around and got picked off.
“Damn.” Was all Sergeant Alistair could mutter.
“Well High Command watched the take down via a UAV. We saw his Walker go down before a Chinese aircraft took our drone down. Good job, mate. I proudly bestow upon you the Distinguished Service Order.” Major Susan said as she pinned the medal onto the breast of his BDU uniform. Most of the surviving soldiers crowded around Sergeant Alistair to see what was going on. Only a few stayed with the wounded.
“Good job.” A soldier said in heavily accented English. The flag on his shoulder told Sergeant Alistair he was from Portugal.
“Let’s keep knocking em’ down, sir.” A soldier from Switzerland said and patted him on the back.
Everyone got their turn to pat him on the back and congratulate him. When it was all done he turned towards Major Susan. He was blushing harder than he’d ever blushed in his life. His normally pale skin (his Mother attributed to him staying indoors all the time as a child) was now bright red.
“Once again I’d like to congratulate you. If we had more men like you we’d be in Moscow by now.” Major Susan said with a faint smile. It was then he broke the cardinal rule. Without thinking he brought his hand up to salute. Before he even got there a sharp crack briefly overcame the sound of distant gunshot.
“Where the fuck did that come from!?!” Someone screamed.
“I don’t bloody know!” Another replied.
“I didn’t even see a frickin muzzle flash!”
Everyone had hit the ground except Sergeant Alistair. He just stood there covered in blood and unable to move. Major Susan was on the ground. Her head was still there but it was unrecognizable. It looked more like a smashed grapefruit than a human head. Someone took him and threw him on the ground.
“Can’t you hear hijo de puta loca. Get down.” A Spanish soldier hissed.
“Where did the shot come from?” Sergeant Alistair asked regaining his senses.
“Da drüben!” a German soldier said as he got on his knees and pointed towards 5 Royal Opera Arcade. Not a second later there was another crack and the German had a gaping hole in his chest. Sergeant Alistair had picked up enough German to know what he said.
“Get me a radio someone!” Sergeant Alistair barked. “And don’t move if you don’t bloody ‘ave to!” he added. He probably didn’t have to tell his troops that but he felt better doing so.
“Radio coming down the line!” someone shouted. A radio that Sergeant Alistair thought came from one of the Yank Vietnam War movies was passed from soldier to soldier. When it got to him he positioned the long antenna towards where he hoped satellites were and started talking.
“This is Sergeant Alistair Smith, 7th Infantry EuroCorps Division. We have a major down and we are pinned down by a sniper. Is there any fire support we can get?” Sergeant Alistair held the receiver close to his ear. All he heard was a feint static. After several grueling seconds someone finally came on.
“Roger, Sergeant Smith. This is Leftenant Courtney Rodriguez call sign Stonehenge One. Me and me birds just got called off a mission. We have multiple payloads of Mark 84s that are just taking up space.” Sergeant Alistair let out a sigh of relief. First off he would be getting air support and secondly the lead pilot must have been English due to her pronunciation of the word lieutenant.
“Roger that Stonehenge. Relaying target information to you now.” Sergeant Alistair said. He took out his PDA and quickly tapped in the coordinates. A round cracked past his head and embedded itself in the ground. “Please hurry Stonehenge.”
“We have eyes on target, Sergeant. Target lazed…finalizing flight path…bombs away.”
A flight of six Eurofighter Super Typhoons skimmed the tops of what buildings were left standing and loosened their ordnance. Before the bombs even hit the target they pulled up and turned out of view.
“Good luck boys. Those bombs should be hitting about…..now.”
Just as she predicted the bombs struck their targets. The building shook violently and slowly began to collapse upon itself. Men stood up and thrust their fists in the air triumphantly.
“Good run Stonehenge. Target is destroyed.” Sergeant Alistair said speaking into the receiver.
“Nice to know that I could he-” Stonehenge’s sentence was cut short by a burst of static. “Holy shit! Where did those MiGs come from!?!”
A flight of two Super Typhoons zipped past them at low altitude. That was four less than before. Five CFR MiG-50s streaked past sticking on the trails of the surviving Super Typhoons. All they could do was watch as the marginally superior MiGs closed in on the Super Typhoons. One of the Super Typhoons was blotted out in an orange and white fireball by a missile. The other did a variety of maneuvers to lose its attackers. Sergeant Alistair jumped when the Super Typhoon took several cannon rounds along its midsection and split in half.
“You manky Russian wally!” one of his English troops yelled as he shook his fist up in the air at the retreating Russian jets.
“Stow it, mate.” Sergeant Alistair ordered. He had a few choice words for those Russian pigs but he’d keep them to himself for now. He looked at the ten men that the now deceased Major Susan brought with her. “Five of you stay here. You are now part of the First Platoon, Bravo Company, Third Battalion, Second Rifles, 7th EuroCorps Division. The other five get the wounded out of here first. Then come back with any civilians you find to pick up the dead.”
The men just nodded and went about with their duties. Sergeant Alistair thought how HQ would take the loss of a major. They’ll find someone else to replace her, Sergeant Alistair thought. The men started to stand up and relax a little; key word a little. They knew an attack could come at any moment. They kept their rifles close and their heads on a constant swivel. Sergeant Alistair tapped another cigarette out of his pack and lit it.
Just as he did so he heard a sound similar to fabric tearing; only it was coming from above him.
“ARTILLERY!” Sergeant Alistair screamed at the top of his lungs. Moments later the first round exploded about thirty feet above them. Red hot shrapnel peppered the ground all around him. Some pieces found their way into some of his men creating horrendous wounds.
Sergeant Alistair threw himself down right in front of one of those torn bodies. It was a young Polish kid. He couldn’t have been older than sixteen. His eyes stared vacantly upward and had this gazed over look. A jagged piece of still steaming shrapnel the size of a butcher’s knife protruded from the center of his chest. His belly was torn open and his intestines bulged out. His left arm was nothing more than a bloody stump at the elbow. His helmet had been blown off revealing a profusely bleeding gash along his forehead. Blood streamed from that wound into his scruffy blonde hair. It took everything in him not to vomit. Slowly but surely the artillery barrage started to thin out. When what he thought the last artillery round exploded overhead he stood up on one knee. He listened closely and stared at where Hegemony troops were most likely to come from. Artillery usually meant an attack was coming. For the moment though all he heard was more artillery streaking through the air. It was friendly artillery though. Probably bombarding the positions of the CFR guns that just shot them to shit.
Sergeant Alistair’s suspicions were confirmed when he spotted a shadowy figure crawl over the rubble of Criterion Theatre. The Russians easily fell into routine when it came to things like this.
“Contact front! Open fire!” Sergeant Alistair barked as he fired several bursts from his assault rifle. The men who had survived the artillery strike turned their weapons towards the new threat. Sergeant Alistair emptied his entire magazine into the oncoming hoard of Russians taking down a half dozen of them but it seemed like for each one he killed three more took his place. A bullet grazed his shoulder severing the strap to his pack and causing a flesh wound that probably looked worse than it really was. It did burn like Hell though.
The close call made Sergeant Alistair throw himself forward on the ground. Some was screaming bloody murder behind him but he didn’t have time to peek over his shoulder. He didn’t even have time to move the chunk of cement that was squishing his groin. The CFR soldiers were carefully moving up making use of every piece of cover they came across. There was no way his meager force could hold them off.
“Runner!” Sergeant Alistair yelled. Two young soldiers plopped down right next to him and fired a few burst from his rifle.
“Rifleman Stefan Junes, sir.” the soldier with an Irish flag on his shoulder said.
“Corporal Jonathan Mitchel, reporting.” The other who had the Union Jack on his shoulder said. Sergeant Alistair fired off the last of his magazine and reloaded before he spoke.
“Third Platoon is one klick behind us. Tell whoever the bloody ‘ell is in charge of ‘em that our situation is a bit sticky.”
“Will they challenge me?” Rifleman Stefan asked as he scribbled the order down on a piece of paper that was stained yellow with age.
“The challenge will be purple. You’ll say Windsor. Now get along with it.”
“Yes, sir!” Corporal Jonathan barked. They fired a few more rounds from their G7s and went to stand up. Rifleman Stefan’s head snapped and he collapsed in a tangled mess. Corporal Jonathan looked at his dead ally for a moment before tracers kicked up dirt up around his feet prompting him to run.
The CFR soldiers were close enough to where Sergeant Alistair could hear them yelling orders at each other. It sent a chill running down his spine. If the Russians were good at anything it was close quarters combat.
"Chyort! Boitsa ranilo!"
"Derzhisʹ, tovarishch!"
"Mne nuzhny patrony!"
"Ne vysovyvaisya, my syeichas!"
"Golovy! Granata k boyu!"
“Grenades out!” someone yelled. Sergeant Alistair heard the distinctive whomp sound of an American made M-44 Grenade Launcher. About a dozen 40mm high explosive grenades tore through the CFR troops giving his troops time to better organize themselves. Remembering his own grenade launcher he squeezed the trigger to his 40mm grenade launcher.
Click. Click. Click.
“Sod all!” Sergeant Alistair swore as he reached in his pack and retrieved his last grenade. Once ramming it in the launcher and sliding the tube back he squeezed the trigger.
Whomp!
His grenade arced gracefully through the air and landed somewhere in the smoke caused by the other grenade launcher. There was a high pitched scream as it detonated but it soon stopped.
“Keep them suppressed and move back!” Sergeant Alistair yelled. Despite still seeing numerous muzzle flashes in the setting cloud of dust he stood up and jogged back of a few meters. He plopped himself down behind a junk of the CFR Walker that had been blown off. He allowed himself a few moments to collect himself. He wasn’t hit. His bullocks felt much better now that he didn’t have a rock poking him in them. His shoulder still burned but he could deal with it. Looking through his ancient SUSAT scope he put a single round wherever he saw a muzzle flash.
The dust was now really starting to settle and he could see the CFR soldiers clearly now. There seemed to be more than he remembered. One of them let loose a grenade blowing two of his men sky high and sending a third to the ground howling in pain.
“Medic!” Sergeant Alistair yelled not daring to take his eye away from his scope. He saw one Russkie stand up and pull his arm back like he was going to throw a grenade. Sergeant Alistair sent three 6.8mm rounds downrange taking him out. As suspected a grenade rolled out his dead hands prompting his comrades to break cover and run. This made them easy targets. Not one of them made it more than three steps before being shot down. One of them lay on his back holding his innards with one hand while waving his other in the air frantically. This only made him a target. Sergeant Alistair, doing it out of remorse, put one round through the soldiers steel helmet ending it for him.
“Shit!” Sergeant Alistair screamed as a round pinged off his cover and fragmented peppering his face with hot bits of shrapnel. He went to wipe his face and simply smeared blood over it. He opened his eyes and saw everything was tinted a light red.
“Vy angliĭskiĭ svinʹya!” a voice above him yelled. He looked up and saw a Russian standing over him with his rifle pointed at him. His outline was fuzzy but he could tell it was standard CFR infantry. He looked bulky because CFR soldiers typically wore their body armour beneath their uniforms. Sergeant Alistair knew his luck had just run out. He went to bring his rifle up but the Russian quickly kicked it away. He shoved his rifle into Sergeant Alistair’s forehead and squeezed the trigger. At that moment something Sergeant Alistair never thought would happen did happen. A Kalashnikov type weapon jammed. The Russian looked at his rifle in disbelief. Sergeant Alistair didn’t hesitate for a second. He grabbed the barrel of the Russian’s rifle and jerked it forward. As the Russian went to fall on top of him Sergeant Alistair tore his combat knife from his boot and stabbed the Russian in the neck. The Russian let out a inhuman roar and flipped Sergeant Alistair on his back.
Sergeant Alistair was surprised that the Russian still had enough in him to start choking him. He was so surprised that he loosened his grip on the embedded knife and tried to pry the Russian’s hands from his throat. He looked up at the man who was probably going to kill him. He looked like the typical Slavic person. A narrow face with prominent cheeks. His face was covered in dirt and mud but two bright blue eyes stared at him. It looked like there was no life in those eyes. Feeling the life being slowly squeezed out of him, Sergeant Alistair did what the Army taught him to do; fight dirty.
He frantically patted the Russian’s inner thighs until he found what he was looking for. Once he had the man’s testicles firmly in his grip he gave a mighty squeeze. The CFR soldier howled in pain and let go. Sergeant Alistair spit in the Russians face and pushed him off. Now it was his turn.
Sergeant Alistair unclasped his helmet and held it high above his head all in one swift motion. He brought the helmet down on the Russian’s head again and again. Every time he smashed the Russian’s face the soldier let out a low whimper. Sergeant Alistair didn’t know what he was doing anymore. He was screaming all the names of men he’d loss. It was like he was taking out all his anger, his frustration, on this one enemy combatant.
“James! Jonesey! Lucas! Alfred! Daniel! Jacob! Sterling! Tyler!” Sergeant Alistair just couldn’t stop. He felt light headed but the adrenaline was already pumping. He couldn’t even recognize the man’s face anymore but he just kept going.
It was only when he heard a wet plop he froze. It felt like someone had kicked him in the right shoulder with a steel toed boot. He looked down and saw a bayonet sticking out his chest. It twisted with a sickening crunch and disappeared. He slumped to his side and immediately felt the life start to leave his body. Through his blurry vision he saw a bulky figure; a CFR soldier most likely. Several more ran past firing their rifles on full auto. Six or seven bulky figures joined the other one and they began speaking to each other.
“Tak chto eto odin ubityĭpolkovnik?”
“Da.”
“On vse yeshche dyshit?”
“YA tak dumayu. Davaĭte vozʹmem yego obratno v komandu. Eto dast nam nekotoroe oblegchenie ot etoĭ proklyatoĭ boevykh dyeĭstviĭ.”
“Zakhvat nogi. Vy sdelali khoroshiĭ shtykom Vladimir.”
“Da , tovarishch polkovnik.”
Sergeant Alistair felt like he was going to cry but he didn’t have any tears. He felt strong hands grab him by his boots and start dragging him. With the remaining strength in him Sergeant Alistair plucked a fragmentation grenade from his tactical vest. He pulled the pin and let his arm fall to his side.
“Yebatʹ! Granata!” one of the Russians yelled a split second before 16oz of high explosives went off. Once the smoke cleared a large chunk of Sergeant Alistair was gone. Around his mangled body lay several Communist Federated Republic soldiers dead from shrapnel wounds.
“I don’t bloody know!” Another replied.
“I didn’t even see a frickin muzzle flash!”
Everyone had hit the ground except Sergeant Alistair. He just stood there covered in blood and unable to move. Major Susan was on the ground. Her head was still there but it was unrecognizable. It looked more like a smashed grapefruit than a human head. Someone took him and threw him on the ground.
“Can’t you hear hijo de puta loca. Get down.” A Spanish soldier hissed.
“Where did the shot come from?” Sergeant Alistair asked regaining his senses.
“Da drüben!” a German soldier said as he got on his knees and pointed towards 5 Royal Opera Arcade. Not a second later there was another crack and the German had a gaping hole in his chest. Sergeant Alistair had picked up enough German to know what he said.
“Get me a radio someone!” Sergeant Alistair barked. “And don’t move if you don’t bloody ‘ave to!” he added. He probably didn’t have to tell his troops that but he felt better doing so.
“Radio coming down the line!” someone shouted. A radio that Sergeant Alistair thought came from one of the Yank Vietnam War movies was passed from soldier to soldier. When it got to him he positioned the long antenna towards where he hoped satellites were and started talking.
“This is Sergeant Alistair Smith, 7th Infantry EuroCorps Division. We have a major down and we are pinned down by a sniper. Is there any fire support we can get?” Sergeant Alistair held the receiver close to his ear. All he heard was a feint static. After several grueling seconds someone finally came on.
“Roger, Sergeant Smith. This is Leftenant Courtney Rodriguez call sign Stonehenge One. Me and me birds just got called off a mission. We have multiple payloads of Mark 84s that are just taking up space.” Sergeant Alistair let out a sigh of relief. First off he would be getting air support and secondly the lead pilot must have been English due to her pronunciation of the word lieutenant.
“Roger that Stonehenge. Relaying target information to you now.” Sergeant Alistair said. He took out his PDA and quickly tapped in the coordinates. A round cracked past his head and embedded itself in the ground. “Please hurry Stonehenge.”
“We have eyes on target, Sergeant. Target lazed…finalizing flight path…bombs away.”
A flight of six Eurofighter Super Typhoons skimmed the tops of what buildings were left standing and loosened their ordnance. Before the bombs even hit the target they pulled up and turned out of view.
“Good luck boys. Those bombs should be hitting about…..now.”
Just as she predicted the bombs struck their targets. The building shook violently and slowly began to collapse upon itself. Men stood up and thrust their fists in the air triumphantly.
“Good run Stonehenge. Target is destroyed.” Sergeant Alistair said speaking into the receiver.
“Nice to know that I could he-” Stonehenge’s sentence was cut short by a burst of static. “Holy shit! Where did those MiGs come from!?!”
A flight of two Super Typhoons zipped past them at low altitude. That was four less than before. Five CFR MiG-50s streaked past sticking on the trails of the surviving Super Typhoons. All they could do was watch as the marginally superior MiGs closed in on the Super Typhoons. One of the Super Typhoons was blotted out in an orange and white fireball by a missile. The other did a variety of maneuvers to lose its attackers. Sergeant Alistair jumped when the Super Typhoon took several cannon rounds along its midsection and split in half.
“You manky Russian wally!” one of his English troops yelled as he shook his fist up in the air at the retreating Russian jets.
“Stow it, mate.” Sergeant Alistair ordered. He had a few choice words for those Russian pigs but he’d keep them to himself for now. He looked at the ten men that the now deceased Major Susan brought with her. “Five of you stay here. You are now part of the First Platoon, Bravo Company, Third Battalion, Second Rifles, 7th EuroCorps Division. The other five get the wounded out of here first. Then come back with any civilians you find to pick up the dead.”
The men just nodded and went about with their duties. Sergeant Alistair thought how HQ would take the loss of a major. They’ll find someone else to replace her, Sergeant Alistair thought. The men started to stand up and relax a little; key word a little. They knew an attack could come at any moment. They kept their rifles close and their heads on a constant swivel. Sergeant Alistair tapped another cigarette out of his pack and lit it.
Just as he did so he heard a sound similar to fabric tearing; only it was coming from above him.
“ARTILLERY!” Sergeant Alistair screamed at the top of his lungs. Moments later the first round exploded about thirty feet above them. Red hot shrapnel peppered the ground all around him. Some pieces found their way into some of his men creating horrendous wounds.
Sergeant Alistair threw himself down right in front of one of those torn bodies. It was a young Polish kid. He couldn’t have been older than sixteen. His eyes stared vacantly upward and had this gazed over look. A jagged piece of still steaming shrapnel the size of a butcher’s knife protruded from the center of his chest. His belly was torn open and his intestines bulged out. His left arm was nothing more than a bloody stump at the elbow. His helmet had been blown off revealing a profusely bleeding gash along his forehead. Blood streamed from that wound into his scruffy blonde hair. It took everything in him not to vomit. Slowly but surely the artillery barrage started to thin out. When what he thought the last artillery round exploded overhead he stood up on one knee. He listened closely and stared at where Hegemony troops were most likely to come from. Artillery usually meant an attack was coming. For the moment though all he heard was more artillery streaking through the air. It was friendly artillery though. Probably bombarding the positions of the CFR guns that just shot them to shit.
Sergeant Alistair’s suspicions were confirmed when he spotted a shadowy figure crawl over the rubble of Criterion Theatre. The Russians easily fell into routine when it came to things like this.
“Contact front! Open fire!” Sergeant Alistair barked as he fired several bursts from his assault rifle. The men who had survived the artillery strike turned their weapons towards the new threat. Sergeant Alistair emptied his entire magazine into the oncoming hoard of Russians taking down a half dozen of them but it seemed like for each one he killed three more took his place. A bullet grazed his shoulder severing the strap to his pack and causing a flesh wound that probably looked worse than it really was. It did burn like Hell though.
The close call made Sergeant Alistair throw himself forward on the ground. Some was screaming bloody murder behind him but he didn’t have time to peek over his shoulder. He didn’t even have time to move the chunk of cement that was squishing his groin. The CFR soldiers were carefully moving up making use of every piece of cover they came across. There was no way his meager force could hold them off.
“Runner!” Sergeant Alistair yelled. Two young soldiers plopped down right next to him and fired a few burst from his rifle.
“Rifleman Stefan Junes, sir.” the soldier with an Irish flag on his shoulder said.
“Corporal Jonathan Mitchel, reporting.” The other who had the Union Jack on his shoulder said. Sergeant Alistair fired off the last of his magazine and reloaded before he spoke.
“Third Platoon is one klick behind us. Tell whoever the bloody ‘ell is in charge of ‘em that our situation is a bit sticky.”
“Will they challenge me?” Rifleman Stefan asked as he scribbled the order down on a piece of paper that was stained yellow with age.
“The challenge will be purple. You’ll say Windsor. Now get along with it.”
“Yes, sir!” Corporal Jonathan barked. They fired a few more rounds from their G7s and went to stand up. Rifleman Stefan’s head snapped and he collapsed in a tangled mess. Corporal Jonathan looked at his dead ally for a moment before tracers kicked up dirt up around his feet prompting him to run.
The CFR soldiers were close enough to where Sergeant Alistair could hear them yelling orders at each other. It sent a chill running down his spine. If the Russians were good at anything it was close quarters combat.
"Chyort! Boitsa ranilo!"
"Derzhisʹ, tovarishch!"
"Mne nuzhny patrony!"
"Ne vysovyvaisya, my syeichas!"
"Golovy! Granata k boyu!"
“Grenades out!” someone yelled. Sergeant Alistair heard the distinctive whomp sound of an American made M-44 Grenade Launcher. About a dozen 40mm high explosive grenades tore through the CFR troops giving his troops time to better organize themselves. Remembering his own grenade launcher he squeezed the trigger to his 40mm grenade launcher.
Click. Click. Click.
“Sod all!” Sergeant Alistair swore as he reached in his pack and retrieved his last grenade. Once ramming it in the launcher and sliding the tube back he squeezed the trigger.
Whomp!
His grenade arced gracefully through the air and landed somewhere in the smoke caused by the other grenade launcher. There was a high pitched scream as it detonated but it soon stopped.
“Keep them suppressed and move back!” Sergeant Alistair yelled. Despite still seeing numerous muzzle flashes in the setting cloud of dust he stood up and jogged back of a few meters. He plopped himself down behind a junk of the CFR Walker that had been blown off. He allowed himself a few moments to collect himself. He wasn’t hit. His bullocks felt much better now that he didn’t have a rock poking him in them. His shoulder still burned but he could deal with it. Looking through his ancient SUSAT scope he put a single round wherever he saw a muzzle flash.
The dust was now really starting to settle and he could see the CFR soldiers clearly now. There seemed to be more than he remembered. One of them let loose a grenade blowing two of his men sky high and sending a third to the ground howling in pain.
“Medic!” Sergeant Alistair yelled not daring to take his eye away from his scope. He saw one Russkie stand up and pull his arm back like he was going to throw a grenade. Sergeant Alistair sent three 6.8mm rounds downrange taking him out. As suspected a grenade rolled out his dead hands prompting his comrades to break cover and run. This made them easy targets. Not one of them made it more than three steps before being shot down. One of them lay on his back holding his innards with one hand while waving his other in the air frantically. This only made him a target. Sergeant Alistair, doing it out of remorse, put one round through the soldiers steel helmet ending it for him.
“Shit!” Sergeant Alistair screamed as a round pinged off his cover and fragmented peppering his face with hot bits of shrapnel. He went to wipe his face and simply smeared blood over it. He opened his eyes and saw everything was tinted a light red.
“Vy angliĭskiĭ svinʹya!” a voice above him yelled. He looked up and saw a Russian standing over him with his rifle pointed at him. His outline was fuzzy but he could tell it was standard CFR infantry. He looked bulky because CFR soldiers typically wore their body armour beneath their uniforms. Sergeant Alistair knew his luck had just run out. He went to bring his rifle up but the Russian quickly kicked it away. He shoved his rifle into Sergeant Alistair’s forehead and squeezed the trigger. At that moment something Sergeant Alistair never thought would happen did happen. A Kalashnikov type weapon jammed. The Russian looked at his rifle in disbelief. Sergeant Alistair didn’t hesitate for a second. He grabbed the barrel of the Russian’s rifle and jerked it forward. As the Russian went to fall on top of him Sergeant Alistair tore his combat knife from his boot and stabbed the Russian in the neck. The Russian let out a inhuman roar and flipped Sergeant Alistair on his back.
Sergeant Alistair was surprised that the Russian still had enough in him to start choking him. He was so surprised that he loosened his grip on the embedded knife and tried to pry the Russian’s hands from his throat. He looked up at the man who was probably going to kill him. He looked like the typical Slavic person. A narrow face with prominent cheeks. His face was covered in dirt and mud but two bright blue eyes stared at him. It looked like there was no life in those eyes. Feeling the life being slowly squeezed out of him, Sergeant Alistair did what the Army taught him to do; fight dirty.
He frantically patted the Russian’s inner thighs until he found what he was looking for. Once he had the man’s testicles firmly in his grip he gave a mighty squeeze. The CFR soldier howled in pain and let go. Sergeant Alistair spit in the Russians face and pushed him off. Now it was his turn.
Sergeant Alistair unclasped his helmet and held it high above his head all in one swift motion. He brought the helmet down on the Russian’s head again and again. Every time he smashed the Russian’s face the soldier let out a low whimper. Sergeant Alistair didn’t know what he was doing anymore. He was screaming all the names of men he’d loss. It was like he was taking out all his anger, his frustration, on this one enemy combatant.
“James! Jonesey! Lucas! Alfred! Daniel! Jacob! Sterling! Tyler!” Sergeant Alistair just couldn’t stop. He felt light headed but the adrenaline was already pumping. He couldn’t even recognize the man’s face anymore but he just kept going.
It was only when he heard a wet plop he froze. It felt like someone had kicked him in the right shoulder with a steel toed boot. He looked down and saw a bayonet sticking out his chest. It twisted with a sickening crunch and disappeared. He slumped to his side and immediately felt the life start to leave his body. Through his blurry vision he saw a bulky figure; a CFR soldier most likely. Several more ran past firing their rifles on full auto. Six or seven bulky figures joined the other one and they began speaking to each other.
“Tak chto eto odin ubityĭpolkovnik?”
“Da.”
“On vse yeshche dyshit?”
“YA tak dumayu. Davaĭte vozʹmem yego obratno v komandu. Eto dast nam nekotoroe oblegchenie ot etoĭ proklyatoĭ boevykh dyeĭstviĭ.”
“Zakhvat nogi. Vy sdelali khoroshiĭ shtykom Vladimir.”
“Da , tovarishch polkovnik.”
Sergeant Alistair felt like he was going to cry but he didn’t have any tears. He felt strong hands grab him by his boots and start dragging him. With the remaining strength in him Sergeant Alistair plucked a fragmentation grenade from his tactical vest. He pulled the pin and let his arm fall to his side.
“Yebatʹ! Granata!” one of the Russians yelled a split second before 16oz of high explosives went off. Once the smoke cleared a large chunk of Sergeant Alistair was gone. Around his mangled body lay several Communist Federated Republic soldiers dead from shrapnel wounds.
SCFF: Battle of London
Wed, 2nd May, 2012
An English soldier fights through London as the Hegemony invades the British Isles. A fan fiction story set in WW3 based on the Shattered Citadel Universe. Written by Antonio Phillips.
Poplar, London, United Kingdom, European Union, Earth [Sol]
Private Dana Turberville
The inside of the FV610 Scorpion II Infantry Fighting Vehicle was lit by a dull red light that cast ghostly shadows across everyone’s faces. The soldiers were deathly quiet and stayed still for the most part. The only time they moved was to check and recheck their weapons.
Private Dana Turberville was one such soldier. Her L110 5.56mm Light Machine Gun felt bulky in her slightly petite hands but she had grown use to it. She lifted her helmet and wiped her brow with a gloved hand.
She looked around at the four other men in her section. They had originally had nine all together including her but two days of combat had whittled them down. She dug in her uniform and removed the small picture from a specially sown pocket on her bra. She looked at it and frowned. It was a memory of a happier life. The man in the picture stood erect as a street sign. His face was baby like but his smooth square jaw portrayed a sense of manhood. His hair was red as fire and it went well with the red freckles that dotted his pale face. His emerald green eyes were stern yet inviting. His most striking feature however was his smile. That what was what made Private Dana fall for him. His straight white teeth lit up his entire face. That was the face of her fiancé, Howard Dunham.
“I miss you, Howard.” Private Dana muttered as she rubbed the engagement ring on the chain around her neck.
“You okay, Dana?” Corporal Dieter Mellenthin asked. Despite him being a German national his English was flawless. His face, although partially obscured by shadows, had a frown on it. He was what they called the “Old Breed”. He’d been fighting the Hegemony since he was first deployed on the Hamburg Line. He took part of the bloodbath that was the retreat to the British Isles. He fought the initial CFR landings at Folkestone in southern England and participated in God knows how holding actions against across southern England in an attempt to buy time for the beefing up of the London Line. All this and he was only twenty-one.
“Yes, sir. Just a bit worried.” Private Dana replied as she gently put the photo in its secret pocket. It wasn’t her first time in combat but she still never got over that initial feeling of dread.
“It okay to be worried. I no even begin to describe how scared I am right now.” Private Anker Møller said. The Danish national’s English was a bit harder to understand and was heavily accented. He shifted in his seat and put his G7A4 in between his legs with the barrel pointed towards the floor.
A piece of hair fell from the inside of her helmet and onto her forehead. Her sweat acted like an adhesive and made the lock of hair stick. Private Dana haphazardly shoved the piece of black hair back under the helmet and wiped her forehead again.
“Warum gehst du nicht schneiden?” Private Hans Schmitt asked as he tapped his fingers nervously on his M-30 Grenade Launcher. He was the section’s grenadier. His job was to blow the enemy to whatever God they believed in. A German national like Corporal Dieter, he knew a lot more German than he did English. Private Dana couldn’t blame the man though.
Kid you mean, Private Dana told herself. Private Hans was only sixteen and the FNG in the section. They were supposed to get four more men last time reinforcements came up but the helicopter that was carrying them got shot down and Private Hans was the only survivor.
“I’m sorry but you’re gonna have to speak English.” Private Dana said slowly so the kid could understand.
“He asked you why you don’t just cut it all off.” Lance Corporal Anthony Nuccio said without opening his eyes. Private Dana almost jumped but caught herself. She could have sworn that he was sleeping. Then again the Italian national had a reputation of being able to fall into the deepest of sleeps and waking up at the sound of a pen dropping. He used to be one of the most upbeat members of the team but ever since Italy fell to the Islamic hordes he was quiet as a rock.
“I didn’t know you spoke German.” Corporal Dieter said.
Lance Corporal Anthony yawned and put his old TGR-42 Sniper Rifle on his lap. He had the option of using one of the newer sniper rifles but he preferred to use the same sniper rifle his grandfather used in Afghanistan.
“Took it in primary school. Mother wanted me to learn a third language and I sure as hell wasn’t learning French and Spanish didn’t appease to me so much.” Lance Corporal Anthony said as he wiped the sleep from his eyes.
An explosion outside shook the IFV and rattled the men inside.
“We’re almost there lads.” The driver said over the intercom. They all tensed as they heard small arms fire ping off the armour outside.
“Final gear check. Make sure the weapons are clean and ready to fire.” Corporal Dieter ordered.
Private Dana checked everything on her L110 and again just to be sure. She made sure the grenades on her tactical vest were secured and had the safety rubber band around the spoon so if the pin was accidentally pulled she wouldn’t get fragged. She checked the two spare cans of ammo attached to her outer thighs. Lastly she patted side to make sure her 9mm pistol was there. She only had two magazines for it including the one in the weapon already making it nothing more than a last resort weapon. She hoped it didn’t come to that but she had enough time on the weapon to know if a Russkie did pop up and he was in range of her he was going down with three messy holes in his head.
“I’ll outline the situation as quickly as I can people. The Russian pigs crossed the Thames and landed on Poplar two days ago. The unit stationed there did their best but they were pushed back. We’re here to push them back into the river. The Fifteenth Armoured Battalion blasted a hole through the initial defenses but has taken heavy casualties doing so. We’re here to finish the job. Now do not think that the Russians are all but defeated here because they have not. We have reports of bunkers, crow nests, trenches, mine fields, and even Walkers in the area so stay alert and keep moving.” Corporal Dieter said. His face was now as indifferent as a slap of marble. It was a look Private Dana had seen before. He only had that emotionless look when he thought the battalion was going to take a lot of casualties.
“Yes, sir!” they all barked.
“Okay, freunde. Safeties off.” Corporal Dieter said. His voice was barely above a whisper. Small arms fire was being deflected off the armour in ever increasing amounts. The entire vehicle shuttered as its 50m cannon fired away. The grinding of the treads on the concrete seemed enough to make someone go mad. Then, Scorpion II stopped suddenly like it ran into a brick wall. Private Dana looked at Private Hans who sat across from her. His face had lost all colour and he shook a little.
“It’s going to be okay.” she said as she put a hand on his knee.
“Ja. Ja. Wir werden gewinnen.” he said quickly. A little of the colour returned to his face and he held his weapon across his chest. They were going to be the first ones out of the IFV and had the highest chance of being hit.
“Night vision on.” Corporal Dieter said. Private Dana reached up and pulled down the night vision goggles that were attached to her helmet. They powered up with a whir and everything was bathed in a slightly grainy, radioactive green, glow.
The initial groan of the IFV’s back ramp lowering sent a chill running down Private Dana’s back. She patted her chest and felt the reassuring firmness of the picture.
“GO!” Corporal Dieter barked. Training took over the second she heard orders. She got up and ran down the ramp. Her goggles flared as a bright light shone on them blinding her. She tore them off and kept moving.
Bullets tore up the ground all around her coming closer and closer to hitting her. Private Dana threw herself at a wall hitting it with a solid thud and knocking the wind out of her. She did so just in time because the soldier that was running right behind her caught a burst of fire in the waist cutting him nearly in half. She just sat there panting for a second and took the time to pat herself down. Good, she hadn’t been hit. She peeked around the wall and saw an intersection. At the intersection CFR troops had constructed a barricade that blocked off the entire intersection. Muzzle flashes from the windows lining the street told her that Russians were occupying the building leading up to the barricade too.
A lone Scorpion II braved the fire and rushed the barricade. No less than six RPGs slammed into the IFV setting it ablaze. She wasn’t sure if she was hearing things but she swore she heard the cries of the crew in the burning vehicle. She just wanted to crawl in a hole and get away from all this. However she had a job to do and she knew it.
She peeked around the corner to see if she had a clear shot at anything. Nope. She looked over her shoulder and saw that a dozen or so troops were facing the same hell from a different barricade the next street over. Taking a deep breath, in her mind the last one she might take, she cracked her neck and prepared to do her job. Breaking cover, she rounded the corner and kicked in the door to the first shop to her left. A quick scan of the room told her no hostiles were there. Clicking on the flashlight under the muzzle of her L110, she slowly walked forward with her light machine gun raised. She was in some kind of clothing store. Naked manikins stood everywhere; their clothes long stripped by civilians in desperate need of clothing. She jumped when one of the manikins suddenly fell over.
Homed by weeks of constant combat, Private Dana’s natural reflex was to fire several bursts into anything that scared her and wasn’t friendly. She slowly trotted over to the fallen manikin and kicked the figure. Next to it lay a chunky rat with three large holes in its belly. She sighed and lowered her weapon.
“Just a bloody rat.” she murmured to herself. Suddenly a firm grip clasped her shoulder and threw her to the ground. She opened her mouth to scream but a gloved hand covered her mouth. Corporal Dieter metalized in front of her face with his index finger on his lips.
“Shhh.” he cooed and pointed at the back of the store. Corporal Dieter helped her up and they took cover behind a counter. Private Dana watched as Corporal Dieter sketched the situation out using only hand signals. According to him there was five Russians coming into the store via a hole in the wall the connected this building to the next. They didn’t seem to know they were there though.
Private Dana peeked over the counter and saw four….no five men slowly walking through the store. If it wasn’t for their raised rifles they looked like they could have been shopping and not trying to kill her. She didn’t see Corporal Dieter pull the pin off a grenade but she heard it. The Russians must have too because they all stopped and exchanged worried glances. The ping the grenade made when Corporal Dieter let go of the spoon was enough to send a flurry of fire from the Russians in all directions. Corporal Dieter lobbed the grenade over the counter and ducked. Private Dana braced herself for the explosion. All she felt was a solid thud as the grenade went off sending pieces of manikin and Russian flying in the air.
Private Dana stood up and fired her L110 in a wide arc. Corporal Dieter was up a split second later doing the same but firing in short controlled burst. The Russians that had survived the grenade were disoriented and fell quickly. Following her combat instinct she aimed her L110 at the hole the Russians came from. Unlike the rat instance her instinct proved to be right. A Russian poked his head through the whole to see if any of his comrades survived.
Private Dana fired a six round burst at the bobbing head. Five round missed by a few inches but the last smacked home blowing the helmet off the trooper and dropping him. Corporal Dieter already had another grenade primed and threw it in the hole. Several Russians shouted warnings a second before the grenade detonated. Corporal Dieter and Private Dana waited for any survivors to come through the hole. One staggered through the hole clutching his intestines in his arms. He took one labored step and stopped. Neither Corporal Dieter nor Private Dana knew what to do. Their dilemma was solved when three European soldiers came through the door and lit the wounded Russian up like there was no tomorrow. The now dead Russian hit the ground more or less intact. The three soldiers charged forward into the hole just as a grenade rolled to a stop in front of them. One opened his mouth to shout a warning but it was too late. The grenade went off turning the three soldiers into nothing more than red chunks.
“Stack up.” Corporal Dieter ordered as he wiped off a piece of Human meat off his shoulder. Private Dana obeyed trying not to think about how she was stepping on fellow soldiers’ remains. Private Dana put her shoulder against the wall on the left side of the hole and Corporal Dieter took his position on the other side. “You have any grenades?” Corporal Dieter whispered.
“What?” Private Dana whispered back leaning forward a little. It was more habit than anything else. Corporal Dieter’s eyes went wide as he bolted forward and tackled her just as a hail of gunfire erupted from the hole.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Private Dana thought. She shouldn’t have exposed her head like that.
“Are you okay?” she asked Corporal Dieter who still lay on top of her. “Sir?” she asked when he didn’t respond. It was only then she became aware of the salty taste in her mouth. Blood. Next she became aware that it wasn’t her blood she was tasting. “Dieter!” she cried trying to push him off. She didn’t have very good leverage so he only moved a little. She pushed with all her might and he rocked a little. Keeping the momentum going she rocked and rocked until the corpse of Corporal Dieter rolled off her….and right onto the foot of a Russian soldier climbing through the hole.
The Russian soldier looked down at her and started to bring his rifle to bear. It all went in slow motion for Private Dana. Relying on instinct once again she pulled her 9mm P227 Pistol from its holster and aimed it one handed. The Russian fired first. Three 7.62mm smacked into the ground a few inches left of Private Dana’s head. She fired one round that hit right under the Russian’s left nostril and exploded out the back of his head. Private Dana just lay there panting. Her ears were ringing and she felt blood trickle from her left one. She touched her ear and her idea was confirmed when she saw red on the glove. She scooted herself up against the wall and put her pistol back in its holster. She checked how much ammo she had in her L110 and got ready.
She hesitated for a second though. Her thoughts drifted towards Howard. What would he think about what she was about to do if he was there. They very thought of Howard still being alive brought her to tears. They came hot and plentiful.
“Not now.” she ordered herself. The sound of Russian soldiers not far from the hole was all the encouragement she needed. She rounded the corner with her L110 already raised. The barrel of her LMG stuck a Russian in the chest. Private Dana didn’t think twice as she pulled the trigger. The Russian’s chest cavity was tore up as 5.56mm bullets plunged into him. The four Russian soldiers behind him didn’t even get a chance to raise their weapons. Satisfied that they were all dead, she continued on through the building. This one was a tea house of some sort. All of the tables were flipped over and sandbags blocked the windows and door leading out. She saw no way out. Standing in a puddle of Russian blood she thought about her next move.
Reload, was the first thing that came to her mind. She pulled the charging handle back far enough to where it locked into place. She thumped the magazine release button sending the mostly empty ammo can falling to the ground. She tore the spare ammo can from its Velcro pouch and slipped it into the magazine well. Pulling the charging handle back once more she completed the reloading process. All in the space of three seconds. Her instructor would have been proud.
The echo of footsteps behind her made Private Dana do an about face and aim her LMG at the hole she just came through. A stray piece of blonde hair fell from her helmet and attached itself to her sweaty forehead. A head poked through the whole and quickly withdrew. Her index finger tapped the trigger impatiently as she waited for whoever it was to reveal themselves again.
“Private Turberville. It me, Anker.” the voice said. Hearing a friendly voice she began to lower her weapon but immediately brought it back to her shoulder.
“What’s the anthem of the European Union!” she barked harshly. She was not about to let a Russian trick her and get a free kill. An explosion outside rocked the entire building signaling the loss of another brave Scorpion II crew.
“Ode to Joy.” the voice replied instantly. Only then did she lower her L110. Private Anker’s cherubic face poked through the hole with a sly smile on it. It would have been cute but his face and a good portion of his body was covered in blood.
“I thought you blow my head off.” Private Anker said making a pistol with his hands and holding it to his head.
“If you wouldn’t have known the answer to my challenge I would have made you a religious person.” Private Dana said turning around to look for an exit.
“How you make me religious by shooting me? I do not get.” Private Anker said as he walked next to Private Dana.
“It’s a joke the Old Man told me,” Private Dana said referring to Corporal Dieter. “I was going to fill you full of holes. Make you holy you see.” Private Anker laughed a good natured laugh.
“Where Corporal Mellenthin?” Private Anker asked after a few more seconds of laughter.
“Shit.” Private Dana muttered under her breath. She hurried back to the clothing store and searched Corporal Dieter’s body for anything important. When she rolled him over onto his back her flesh crawled. His eyes were wide open like he was the victim of a horrible joke. Corporal Dieter’s cold grey eyes, somehow made colder by death, stared through her not at her. Despite it being quite humid she shivered. Picking through his pockets and pouches she came out with a letter addressed to Corporal Dieter’s child. He never mentioned he had one. She didn’t find anything else of significant importance. Looking once more longingly at her section leader’s face, she reached down his shirt and pulled one of the oval dog tags from the chain and closed his eyes.
“Min Gud.” Private Anker said when he walked through the hole. He made the sign of the Cross and patted Private Dana on the shoulder. “I found way out.” he said glumly. Private Dana just nodded and followed him. Private Anker, being observant as always, found how the Russians got into the building. A hole behind a water boiler in the back allowed the Russians to get men and supplies through. How they got bigger weapons through the hole was a mystery to Private Dana. She had to squat to go through the hole and even then it was a tight fit. This hole, instead of leading to another store, stopped at a drop off.
“Damn, Russkies are using our own sewers to sneak around. No wonder bloody air support couldn’t find any major troop concentrations before the attack.” Private Dana said as she looked down the gaping hole. She could hear the faint sign of rushing water. “Yep the sewers.”
“Will this lead us past Ivan defenses?” Private Anker asked peaking over her shoulder.
“Maybe. But what we want is to come up right in the defenses and catch the bastards off guard.” Private Dana said as she plucked a grenade off her tactical vest. It was about a ten foot drop. They could do that easily. “Fire in the hole.” she said sarcastically as she pulled the pin, released the spoon, and dropped the grenade down the hole. It exploded with a muffled boom just as it hit the grenade. “You’re going to come down right after me. As soon as I roll out the way you jump.” Private Dana said as she checked her L110.
“I try not to land on you.” Private Anker joked.
“Good boy.” Private Dana said and stepped forward. She covered the ten feet in less than two seconds and landed in ankle deep water. She bent her legs and rolled forward coming up with her L110 raised. The first thing that hit her was the smell. It smelled like two thousand years of rotten garbage times two. Taking a few steps forward through the murky water she waited for Private Anker. He hit the water and rolled.
“What the fuck is this?” Private Anker said totally disgusted.
“Just pretend its chocolate. Try not to eat it.” Private Dana said with a smile. A burst of static startled both soldiers. It came from something lying face first in the dirty water a few meters away. Keeping her L110 trained on the form she slowly moved forward with Private Anker covering her. “A dead Red.” she said finally being able to make out the figure. The body must have been down there for a while because most of the skin was gone revealing muscle and in some parts bone.
“Good. The only Red I like is dead Red.” Private Anker said spitting on the corpse. Private Dana squatted down and rolled the body over. She jumped when she saw the dead man’s face. It was nothing but a skull attached to the body by a few decaying tenants. It seemed to smiling her like it was saying you’ll be like me soon. She pulled the tactical radio off its vest and rolled it back over. “What you doing?” Private Anker asked.
“You never know when this might be useful.” Private Dana said and started walking. Private Anker shrugged and followed her. After about ten minutes of walking they could hear heavy gunfire; except it was coming from above. Private Dana got closer to a wall as they neared a ladder that led to the surface. The manhole cover was off allowing the sounds of combat from above to echo below. It surprised her that she didn’t hear it before. Private Dana got on one side of the ladder and Private Anker on the other. It would be like breaching a door except vertically. Private Dana swung under the manhole and pointed her L110 up.
Up into the butt of a Russian soldier. She locked eyes with the man coming down the ladder for a second that felt more like a hour. The Russian reacted first. He tried to quickly climb back up the ladder but Private Anker grabbed his ankle and yanked him down. With a yelp the Russian soldier fell and hit the ground hard. He opened his mouth to yell but Private Anker clapped a hand over the Russian’s mouth and punched him twice. It didn’t even seem to faze him. Private Dana tore her bayonet from its sheath and lunged forward to stab the Russian. Before she got to him though he kicked her in the stomach making her double over and fall in the murky water.
“Dana! Shiiiiit!” Private Anker cried as the Russian bit his hand. He followed up with two quick punches that made Private Anker roll off him.
“Vragi!” the Russian cried as he stood up and tried to head towards the ladder. He didn’t make it far. Private Dana caught him by the collar of his armoured uniform and jerked him back. She did so with just a little too much force and he landed on top of her. She flipped him over and went to stab him in the face but he grabbed her wrist and did his best to fight her off. “Net, pozhaluĭsta. Net, pozhaluĭsta .” he begged. Private Dana ignored his pleas for help and kept on pushing. When the tip of the seven inch blade pierced the skin of his neck he howled in pain. With a final jerk she pushed the bayonet in all the way until a strong squirt of blood hit her in the face. The Russian still tried to resist but she could feel the power ebbing from his grip. She dragged the knife across his throat causing a fountain of blood to erupt from it. He stiffened a final time and then went limp.
She stood up and picked up her L110. Apparently the Russian had failed to alert his friends considering they weren’t neck deep in enemy infantry at the moment. Private Anker slowly got up rubbing his jaw. “Svin.” Private Anker muttered as he picked up his rifle and joined Private Dana by the ladder again.
“You okay?” she asked as she pulled a grenade from her tactical vest.
“Hurt like hell. Look like you decide to bathe in our buddy over there eh.” Private Anker said as he slapped another magazine into his G7A4. Private Dana couldn’t help but smile as she pulled the pin to the grenade but held the spoon.
“You ready?” Private Dana asked putting her no nonsense face on.
“Ja. Let’s go. Try not to stick your gun up Russian’s røv next time.” Private Dana couldn’t help but laugh.
“Dimitri! Dimitri! Ty luchshe davaĭ syuda pryamo syeĭchas! Vy teryaete na zaklanie!” a voice called from above. The smile was all but swept from Private Dana’s face. She let go of the spoon and lobbed the grenade up the hole hoping it didn’t fall back down. For a split second she caught a glimpse of the Russian soldier calling down the manhole. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates when he saw Private Dana. “Yevro po-” the Russian’s words were cut off by a muffled boom. Private Anker threw a grenade up the hole and started up the ladder. Private Dana was not far behind.
Private Anker basically propelled himself through the hole and disappeared Private Dana had to climb out the hole slower than she would have liked so she wouldn’t get any of her equipment snagged. As soon as she climbed out the hole she felt a sharp crack at the base of her neck that made her go limp and fall face first on the ground. It felt like someone had taken an ice pick and drilled it into the back of her head. She rolled herself over and saw a Russian standing over her with a AK style weapon pointed at her. Private Anker was right next to her. His nose looked like it was broken. Private Dana looked the Russian in the eyes. It seemed like the two grenades had killed everyone occupying the position but him.
“Ty ubil ikh!” the Russian screamed. For the first time Private Dana noticed how young he looked. His boyish face couldn’t be a day over fifteen even though it was bloodied. A stream of blood flowed from both his ears telling Private Dana that his ear drums were probably ruptured. His left arm was bloody and he seemed to be having trouble holding his rifle up. “Pochemu? Pochemu? Pochemu?” the kid yelled thrusting the barrel of the rifle into Private Dana’s forehead.
“Stop it!” Private Anker shouted and reached for the rifle. He grabbed the barrel and tried to yank it out the Russian’s hand. Private Dana closed her eyes when she heard the harsh report of the rifle. She opened them and immediately wished she wouldn’t have. Private Anker lay sprawled out with his chest caved in. Blood poured out of a good twenty fresh holes in his body. The Russian just stood there with the AK in his hand staring at Private Anker’s body. Private Dana locked eyes with the Russian.
“Go on! Do it!” Private Dana screamed. Tears ran down her face cutting a path through the blood caked on it. The Russian hesitated for a second. “Do it you Commie fuck!” she screamed. It didn’t matter that he probably didn’t understand a lick of English. The kid brought his rifle up to his shoulder and looked down the optics. Private Dana braced herself for death. “I’m coming Howard.” she murmured. Just when she thought it was all over the young Russian’s body jerked involuntarily as dozens of rounds peppered him. He collapsed into a bloody heap. Friendly soldiers scrambled over the sandbag barricade and fought on.
“Mein Gott.” a familiar voice said. She looked over her shoulder and saw Private Hans. He looked different than the last time she saw him. His uniform was no longer crisp and clean. It was cut, torn, bloody, and had scorch marks all over. His face was covered in dirt and blood. He helped her up and handed her her L110.
“They’re falling back!” someone yelled. A triumphant roar resounded from the troops.
Private Hans looked down at Private Dana. No words needed to be exchanged. They still had a war to fight. Now she had two more reasons to make the Russians pay. She took a last look at Private Anker’s torn body and headed off towards the sound of battle with Private Hans right behind her.
Private Dana Turberville
The inside of the FV610 Scorpion II Infantry Fighting Vehicle was lit by a dull red light that cast ghostly shadows across everyone’s faces. The soldiers were deathly quiet and stayed still for the most part. The only time they moved was to check and recheck their weapons.
Private Dana Turberville was one such soldier. Her L110 5.56mm Light Machine Gun felt bulky in her slightly petite hands but she had grown use to it. She lifted her helmet and wiped her brow with a gloved hand.
She looked around at the four other men in her section. They had originally had nine all together including her but two days of combat had whittled them down. She dug in her uniform and removed the small picture from a specially sown pocket on her bra. She looked at it and frowned. It was a memory of a happier life. The man in the picture stood erect as a street sign. His face was baby like but his smooth square jaw portrayed a sense of manhood. His hair was red as fire and it went well with the red freckles that dotted his pale face. His emerald green eyes were stern yet inviting. His most striking feature however was his smile. That what was what made Private Dana fall for him. His straight white teeth lit up his entire face. That was the face of her fiancé, Howard Dunham.
“I miss you, Howard.” Private Dana muttered as she rubbed the engagement ring on the chain around her neck.
“You okay, Dana?” Corporal Dieter Mellenthin asked. Despite him being a German national his English was flawless. His face, although partially obscured by shadows, had a frown on it. He was what they called the “Old Breed”. He’d been fighting the Hegemony since he was first deployed on the Hamburg Line. He took part of the bloodbath that was the retreat to the British Isles. He fought the initial CFR landings at Folkestone in southern England and participated in God knows how holding actions against across southern England in an attempt to buy time for the beefing up of the London Line. All this and he was only twenty-one.
“Yes, sir. Just a bit worried.” Private Dana replied as she gently put the photo in its secret pocket. It wasn’t her first time in combat but she still never got over that initial feeling of dread.
“It okay to be worried. I no even begin to describe how scared I am right now.” Private Anker Møller said. The Danish national’s English was a bit harder to understand and was heavily accented. He shifted in his seat and put his G7A4 in between his legs with the barrel pointed towards the floor.
A piece of hair fell from the inside of her helmet and onto her forehead. Her sweat acted like an adhesive and made the lock of hair stick. Private Dana haphazardly shoved the piece of black hair back under the helmet and wiped her forehead again.
“Warum gehst du nicht schneiden?” Private Hans Schmitt asked as he tapped his fingers nervously on his M-30 Grenade Launcher. He was the section’s grenadier. His job was to blow the enemy to whatever God they believed in. A German national like Corporal Dieter, he knew a lot more German than he did English. Private Dana couldn’t blame the man though.
Kid you mean, Private Dana told herself. Private Hans was only sixteen and the FNG in the section. They were supposed to get four more men last time reinforcements came up but the helicopter that was carrying them got shot down and Private Hans was the only survivor.
“I’m sorry but you’re gonna have to speak English.” Private Dana said slowly so the kid could understand.
“He asked you why you don’t just cut it all off.” Lance Corporal Anthony Nuccio said without opening his eyes. Private Dana almost jumped but caught herself. She could have sworn that he was sleeping. Then again the Italian national had a reputation of being able to fall into the deepest of sleeps and waking up at the sound of a pen dropping. He used to be one of the most upbeat members of the team but ever since Italy fell to the Islamic hordes he was quiet as a rock.
“I didn’t know you spoke German.” Corporal Dieter said.
Lance Corporal Anthony yawned and put his old TGR-42 Sniper Rifle on his lap. He had the option of using one of the newer sniper rifles but he preferred to use the same sniper rifle his grandfather used in Afghanistan.
“Took it in primary school. Mother wanted me to learn a third language and I sure as hell wasn’t learning French and Spanish didn’t appease to me so much.” Lance Corporal Anthony said as he wiped the sleep from his eyes.
An explosion outside shook the IFV and rattled the men inside.
“We’re almost there lads.” The driver said over the intercom. They all tensed as they heard small arms fire ping off the armour outside.
“Final gear check. Make sure the weapons are clean and ready to fire.” Corporal Dieter ordered.
Private Dana checked everything on her L110 and again just to be sure. She made sure the grenades on her tactical vest were secured and had the safety rubber band around the spoon so if the pin was accidentally pulled she wouldn’t get fragged. She checked the two spare cans of ammo attached to her outer thighs. Lastly she patted side to make sure her 9mm pistol was there. She only had two magazines for it including the one in the weapon already making it nothing more than a last resort weapon. She hoped it didn’t come to that but she had enough time on the weapon to know if a Russkie did pop up and he was in range of her he was going down with three messy holes in his head.
“I’ll outline the situation as quickly as I can people. The Russian pigs crossed the Thames and landed on Poplar two days ago. The unit stationed there did their best but they were pushed back. We’re here to push them back into the river. The Fifteenth Armoured Battalion blasted a hole through the initial defenses but has taken heavy casualties doing so. We’re here to finish the job. Now do not think that the Russians are all but defeated here because they have not. We have reports of bunkers, crow nests, trenches, mine fields, and even Walkers in the area so stay alert and keep moving.” Corporal Dieter said. His face was now as indifferent as a slap of marble. It was a look Private Dana had seen before. He only had that emotionless look when he thought the battalion was going to take a lot of casualties.
“Yes, sir!” they all barked.
“Okay, freunde. Safeties off.” Corporal Dieter said. His voice was barely above a whisper. Small arms fire was being deflected off the armour in ever increasing amounts. The entire vehicle shuttered as its 50m cannon fired away. The grinding of the treads on the concrete seemed enough to make someone go mad. Then, Scorpion II stopped suddenly like it ran into a brick wall. Private Dana looked at Private Hans who sat across from her. His face had lost all colour and he shook a little.
“It’s going to be okay.” she said as she put a hand on his knee.
“Ja. Ja. Wir werden gewinnen.” he said quickly. A little of the colour returned to his face and he held his weapon across his chest. They were going to be the first ones out of the IFV and had the highest chance of being hit.
“Night vision on.” Corporal Dieter said. Private Dana reached up and pulled down the night vision goggles that were attached to her helmet. They powered up with a whir and everything was bathed in a slightly grainy, radioactive green, glow.
The initial groan of the IFV’s back ramp lowering sent a chill running down Private Dana’s back. She patted her chest and felt the reassuring firmness of the picture.
“GO!” Corporal Dieter barked. Training took over the second she heard orders. She got up and ran down the ramp. Her goggles flared as a bright light shone on them blinding her. She tore them off and kept moving.
Bullets tore up the ground all around her coming closer and closer to hitting her. Private Dana threw herself at a wall hitting it with a solid thud and knocking the wind out of her. She did so just in time because the soldier that was running right behind her caught a burst of fire in the waist cutting him nearly in half. She just sat there panting for a second and took the time to pat herself down. Good, she hadn’t been hit. She peeked around the wall and saw an intersection. At the intersection CFR troops had constructed a barricade that blocked off the entire intersection. Muzzle flashes from the windows lining the street told her that Russians were occupying the building leading up to the barricade too.
A lone Scorpion II braved the fire and rushed the barricade. No less than six RPGs slammed into the IFV setting it ablaze. She wasn’t sure if she was hearing things but she swore she heard the cries of the crew in the burning vehicle. She just wanted to crawl in a hole and get away from all this. However she had a job to do and she knew it.
She peeked around the corner to see if she had a clear shot at anything. Nope. She looked over her shoulder and saw that a dozen or so troops were facing the same hell from a different barricade the next street over. Taking a deep breath, in her mind the last one she might take, she cracked her neck and prepared to do her job. Breaking cover, she rounded the corner and kicked in the door to the first shop to her left. A quick scan of the room told her no hostiles were there. Clicking on the flashlight under the muzzle of her L110, she slowly walked forward with her light machine gun raised. She was in some kind of clothing store. Naked manikins stood everywhere; their clothes long stripped by civilians in desperate need of clothing. She jumped when one of the manikins suddenly fell over.
Homed by weeks of constant combat, Private Dana’s natural reflex was to fire several bursts into anything that scared her and wasn’t friendly. She slowly trotted over to the fallen manikin and kicked the figure. Next to it lay a chunky rat with three large holes in its belly. She sighed and lowered her weapon.
“Just a bloody rat.” she murmured to herself. Suddenly a firm grip clasped her shoulder and threw her to the ground. She opened her mouth to scream but a gloved hand covered her mouth. Corporal Dieter metalized in front of her face with his index finger on his lips.
“Shhh.” he cooed and pointed at the back of the store. Corporal Dieter helped her up and they took cover behind a counter. Private Dana watched as Corporal Dieter sketched the situation out using only hand signals. According to him there was five Russians coming into the store via a hole in the wall the connected this building to the next. They didn’t seem to know they were there though.
Private Dana peeked over the counter and saw four….no five men slowly walking through the store. If it wasn’t for their raised rifles they looked like they could have been shopping and not trying to kill her. She didn’t see Corporal Dieter pull the pin off a grenade but she heard it. The Russians must have too because they all stopped and exchanged worried glances. The ping the grenade made when Corporal Dieter let go of the spoon was enough to send a flurry of fire from the Russians in all directions. Corporal Dieter lobbed the grenade over the counter and ducked. Private Dana braced herself for the explosion. All she felt was a solid thud as the grenade went off sending pieces of manikin and Russian flying in the air.
Private Dana stood up and fired her L110 in a wide arc. Corporal Dieter was up a split second later doing the same but firing in short controlled burst. The Russians that had survived the grenade were disoriented and fell quickly. Following her combat instinct she aimed her L110 at the hole the Russians came from. Unlike the rat instance her instinct proved to be right. A Russian poked his head through the whole to see if any of his comrades survived.
Private Dana fired a six round burst at the bobbing head. Five round missed by a few inches but the last smacked home blowing the helmet off the trooper and dropping him. Corporal Dieter already had another grenade primed and threw it in the hole. Several Russians shouted warnings a second before the grenade detonated. Corporal Dieter and Private Dana waited for any survivors to come through the hole. One staggered through the hole clutching his intestines in his arms. He took one labored step and stopped. Neither Corporal Dieter nor Private Dana knew what to do. Their dilemma was solved when three European soldiers came through the door and lit the wounded Russian up like there was no tomorrow. The now dead Russian hit the ground more or less intact. The three soldiers charged forward into the hole just as a grenade rolled to a stop in front of them. One opened his mouth to shout a warning but it was too late. The grenade went off turning the three soldiers into nothing more than red chunks.
“Stack up.” Corporal Dieter ordered as he wiped off a piece of Human meat off his shoulder. Private Dana obeyed trying not to think about how she was stepping on fellow soldiers’ remains. Private Dana put her shoulder against the wall on the left side of the hole and Corporal Dieter took his position on the other side. “You have any grenades?” Corporal Dieter whispered.
“What?” Private Dana whispered back leaning forward a little. It was more habit than anything else. Corporal Dieter’s eyes went wide as he bolted forward and tackled her just as a hail of gunfire erupted from the hole.
Stupid, stupid, stupid, Private Dana thought. She shouldn’t have exposed her head like that.
“Are you okay?” she asked Corporal Dieter who still lay on top of her. “Sir?” she asked when he didn’t respond. It was only then she became aware of the salty taste in her mouth. Blood. Next she became aware that it wasn’t her blood she was tasting. “Dieter!” she cried trying to push him off. She didn’t have very good leverage so he only moved a little. She pushed with all her might and he rocked a little. Keeping the momentum going she rocked and rocked until the corpse of Corporal Dieter rolled off her….and right onto the foot of a Russian soldier climbing through the hole.
The Russian soldier looked down at her and started to bring his rifle to bear. It all went in slow motion for Private Dana. Relying on instinct once again she pulled her 9mm P227 Pistol from its holster and aimed it one handed. The Russian fired first. Three 7.62mm smacked into the ground a few inches left of Private Dana’s head. She fired one round that hit right under the Russian’s left nostril and exploded out the back of his head. Private Dana just lay there panting. Her ears were ringing and she felt blood trickle from her left one. She touched her ear and her idea was confirmed when she saw red on the glove. She scooted herself up against the wall and put her pistol back in its holster. She checked how much ammo she had in her L110 and got ready.
She hesitated for a second though. Her thoughts drifted towards Howard. What would he think about what she was about to do if he was there. They very thought of Howard still being alive brought her to tears. They came hot and plentiful.
“Not now.” she ordered herself. The sound of Russian soldiers not far from the hole was all the encouragement she needed. She rounded the corner with her L110 already raised. The barrel of her LMG stuck a Russian in the chest. Private Dana didn’t think twice as she pulled the trigger. The Russian’s chest cavity was tore up as 5.56mm bullets plunged into him. The four Russian soldiers behind him didn’t even get a chance to raise their weapons. Satisfied that they were all dead, she continued on through the building. This one was a tea house of some sort. All of the tables were flipped over and sandbags blocked the windows and door leading out. She saw no way out. Standing in a puddle of Russian blood she thought about her next move.
Reload, was the first thing that came to her mind. She pulled the charging handle back far enough to where it locked into place. She thumped the magazine release button sending the mostly empty ammo can falling to the ground. She tore the spare ammo can from its Velcro pouch and slipped it into the magazine well. Pulling the charging handle back once more she completed the reloading process. All in the space of three seconds. Her instructor would have been proud.
The echo of footsteps behind her made Private Dana do an about face and aim her LMG at the hole she just came through. A stray piece of blonde hair fell from her helmet and attached itself to her sweaty forehead. A head poked through the whole and quickly withdrew. Her index finger tapped the trigger impatiently as she waited for whoever it was to reveal themselves again.
“Private Turberville. It me, Anker.” the voice said. Hearing a friendly voice she began to lower her weapon but immediately brought it back to her shoulder.
“What’s the anthem of the European Union!” she barked harshly. She was not about to let a Russian trick her and get a free kill. An explosion outside rocked the entire building signaling the loss of another brave Scorpion II crew.
“Ode to Joy.” the voice replied instantly. Only then did she lower her L110. Private Anker’s cherubic face poked through the hole with a sly smile on it. It would have been cute but his face and a good portion of his body was covered in blood.
“I thought you blow my head off.” Private Anker said making a pistol with his hands and holding it to his head.
“If you wouldn’t have known the answer to my challenge I would have made you a religious person.” Private Dana said turning around to look for an exit.
“How you make me religious by shooting me? I do not get.” Private Anker said as he walked next to Private Dana.
“It’s a joke the Old Man told me,” Private Dana said referring to Corporal Dieter. “I was going to fill you full of holes. Make you holy you see.” Private Anker laughed a good natured laugh.
“Where Corporal Mellenthin?” Private Anker asked after a few more seconds of laughter.
“Shit.” Private Dana muttered under her breath. She hurried back to the clothing store and searched Corporal Dieter’s body for anything important. When she rolled him over onto his back her flesh crawled. His eyes were wide open like he was the victim of a horrible joke. Corporal Dieter’s cold grey eyes, somehow made colder by death, stared through her not at her. Despite it being quite humid she shivered. Picking through his pockets and pouches she came out with a letter addressed to Corporal Dieter’s child. He never mentioned he had one. She didn’t find anything else of significant importance. Looking once more longingly at her section leader’s face, she reached down his shirt and pulled one of the oval dog tags from the chain and closed his eyes.
“Min Gud.” Private Anker said when he walked through the hole. He made the sign of the Cross and patted Private Dana on the shoulder. “I found way out.” he said glumly. Private Dana just nodded and followed him. Private Anker, being observant as always, found how the Russians got into the building. A hole behind a water boiler in the back allowed the Russians to get men and supplies through. How they got bigger weapons through the hole was a mystery to Private Dana. She had to squat to go through the hole and even then it was a tight fit. This hole, instead of leading to another store, stopped at a drop off.
“Damn, Russkies are using our own sewers to sneak around. No wonder bloody air support couldn’t find any major troop concentrations before the attack.” Private Dana said as she looked down the gaping hole. She could hear the faint sign of rushing water. “Yep the sewers.”
“Will this lead us past Ivan defenses?” Private Anker asked peaking over her shoulder.
“Maybe. But what we want is to come up right in the defenses and catch the bastards off guard.” Private Dana said as she plucked a grenade off her tactical vest. It was about a ten foot drop. They could do that easily. “Fire in the hole.” she said sarcastically as she pulled the pin, released the spoon, and dropped the grenade down the hole. It exploded with a muffled boom just as it hit the grenade. “You’re going to come down right after me. As soon as I roll out the way you jump.” Private Dana said as she checked her L110.
“I try not to land on you.” Private Anker joked.
“Good boy.” Private Dana said and stepped forward. She covered the ten feet in less than two seconds and landed in ankle deep water. She bent her legs and rolled forward coming up with her L110 raised. The first thing that hit her was the smell. It smelled like two thousand years of rotten garbage times two. Taking a few steps forward through the murky water she waited for Private Anker. He hit the water and rolled.
“What the fuck is this?” Private Anker said totally disgusted.
“Just pretend its chocolate. Try not to eat it.” Private Dana said with a smile. A burst of static startled both soldiers. It came from something lying face first in the dirty water a few meters away. Keeping her L110 trained on the form she slowly moved forward with Private Anker covering her. “A dead Red.” she said finally being able to make out the figure. The body must have been down there for a while because most of the skin was gone revealing muscle and in some parts bone.
“Good. The only Red I like is dead Red.” Private Anker said spitting on the corpse. Private Dana squatted down and rolled the body over. She jumped when she saw the dead man’s face. It was nothing but a skull attached to the body by a few decaying tenants. It seemed to smiling her like it was saying you’ll be like me soon. She pulled the tactical radio off its vest and rolled it back over. “What you doing?” Private Anker asked.
“You never know when this might be useful.” Private Dana said and started walking. Private Anker shrugged and followed her. After about ten minutes of walking they could hear heavy gunfire; except it was coming from above. Private Dana got closer to a wall as they neared a ladder that led to the surface. The manhole cover was off allowing the sounds of combat from above to echo below. It surprised her that she didn’t hear it before. Private Dana got on one side of the ladder and Private Anker on the other. It would be like breaching a door except vertically. Private Dana swung under the manhole and pointed her L110 up.
Up into the butt of a Russian soldier. She locked eyes with the man coming down the ladder for a second that felt more like a hour. The Russian reacted first. He tried to quickly climb back up the ladder but Private Anker grabbed his ankle and yanked him down. With a yelp the Russian soldier fell and hit the ground hard. He opened his mouth to yell but Private Anker clapped a hand over the Russian’s mouth and punched him twice. It didn’t even seem to faze him. Private Dana tore her bayonet from its sheath and lunged forward to stab the Russian. Before she got to him though he kicked her in the stomach making her double over and fall in the murky water.
“Dana! Shiiiiit!” Private Anker cried as the Russian bit his hand. He followed up with two quick punches that made Private Anker roll off him.
“Vragi!” the Russian cried as he stood up and tried to head towards the ladder. He didn’t make it far. Private Dana caught him by the collar of his armoured uniform and jerked him back. She did so with just a little too much force and he landed on top of her. She flipped him over and went to stab him in the face but he grabbed her wrist and did his best to fight her off. “Net, pozhaluĭsta. Net, pozhaluĭsta .” he begged. Private Dana ignored his pleas for help and kept on pushing. When the tip of the seven inch blade pierced the skin of his neck he howled in pain. With a final jerk she pushed the bayonet in all the way until a strong squirt of blood hit her in the face. The Russian still tried to resist but she could feel the power ebbing from his grip. She dragged the knife across his throat causing a fountain of blood to erupt from it. He stiffened a final time and then went limp.
She stood up and picked up her L110. Apparently the Russian had failed to alert his friends considering they weren’t neck deep in enemy infantry at the moment. Private Anker slowly got up rubbing his jaw. “Svin.” Private Anker muttered as he picked up his rifle and joined Private Dana by the ladder again.
“You okay?” she asked as she pulled a grenade from her tactical vest.
“Hurt like hell. Look like you decide to bathe in our buddy over there eh.” Private Anker said as he slapped another magazine into his G7A4. Private Dana couldn’t help but smile as she pulled the pin to the grenade but held the spoon.
“You ready?” Private Dana asked putting her no nonsense face on.
“Ja. Let’s go. Try not to stick your gun up Russian’s røv next time.” Private Dana couldn’t help but laugh.
“Dimitri! Dimitri! Ty luchshe davaĭ syuda pryamo syeĭchas! Vy teryaete na zaklanie!” a voice called from above. The smile was all but swept from Private Dana’s face. She let go of the spoon and lobbed the grenade up the hole hoping it didn’t fall back down. For a split second she caught a glimpse of the Russian soldier calling down the manhole. His eyes widened to the size of dinner plates when he saw Private Dana. “Yevro po-” the Russian’s words were cut off by a muffled boom. Private Anker threw a grenade up the hole and started up the ladder. Private Dana was not far behind.
Private Anker basically propelled himself through the hole and disappeared Private Dana had to climb out the hole slower than she would have liked so she wouldn’t get any of her equipment snagged. As soon as she climbed out the hole she felt a sharp crack at the base of her neck that made her go limp and fall face first on the ground. It felt like someone had taken an ice pick and drilled it into the back of her head. She rolled herself over and saw a Russian standing over her with a AK style weapon pointed at her. Private Anker was right next to her. His nose looked like it was broken. Private Dana looked the Russian in the eyes. It seemed like the two grenades had killed everyone occupying the position but him.
“Ty ubil ikh!” the Russian screamed. For the first time Private Dana noticed how young he looked. His boyish face couldn’t be a day over fifteen even though it was bloodied. A stream of blood flowed from both his ears telling Private Dana that his ear drums were probably ruptured. His left arm was bloody and he seemed to be having trouble holding his rifle up. “Pochemu? Pochemu? Pochemu?” the kid yelled thrusting the barrel of the rifle into Private Dana’s forehead.
“Stop it!” Private Anker shouted and reached for the rifle. He grabbed the barrel and tried to yank it out the Russian’s hand. Private Dana closed her eyes when she heard the harsh report of the rifle. She opened them and immediately wished she wouldn’t have. Private Anker lay sprawled out with his chest caved in. Blood poured out of a good twenty fresh holes in his body. The Russian just stood there with the AK in his hand staring at Private Anker’s body. Private Dana locked eyes with the Russian.
“Go on! Do it!” Private Dana screamed. Tears ran down her face cutting a path through the blood caked on it. The Russian hesitated for a second. “Do it you Commie fuck!” she screamed. It didn’t matter that he probably didn’t understand a lick of English. The kid brought his rifle up to his shoulder and looked down the optics. Private Dana braced herself for death. “I’m coming Howard.” she murmured. Just when she thought it was all over the young Russian’s body jerked involuntarily as dozens of rounds peppered him. He collapsed into a bloody heap. Friendly soldiers scrambled over the sandbag barricade and fought on.
“Mein Gott.” a familiar voice said. She looked over her shoulder and saw Private Hans. He looked different than the last time she saw him. His uniform was no longer crisp and clean. It was cut, torn, bloody, and had scorch marks all over. His face was covered in dirt and blood. He helped her up and handed her her L110.
“They’re falling back!” someone yelled. A triumphant roar resounded from the troops.
Private Hans looked down at Private Dana. No words needed to be exchanged. They still had a war to fight. Now she had two more reasons to make the Russians pay. She took a last look at Private Anker’s torn body and headed off towards the sound of battle with Private Hans right behind her.
