July 6th 2000 Twilight. Command Post of 5th Mechanized South of Kalisz, Poland
001
It was not the pain that bothered me so much as that had been an almost constant since the war had really gone pear shaped, limited meds, lack of Medical resources and God forbid a fully equipped aid station let alone ER. No. Not the pain, that was not the top of the list. Nor was it the buzzing in my ears that told me or rather reminded me where I was, how I got here and what had happened. As I flexed fingers and wiggled toes, tentatively assessing what was still attached, I mused that the Soviet rocket barrage, a rare sight these days with both sides reduced to limited ammo and re supply was surely a doozie, at least it was not a tacnuke. Probably a last gasp like our Operation RESET. The attack had faltered at the Prosna river. 35th Guard Airborne a Soviet crack unit or what was left of it had fought us to a stand still.
A smart guy would have realized when I saw the initial rounds land several hundred meters off that this was no ordinary lack lustre probing attack. Nope.
But the hunger, the bone tired ache and burn of residual nerve agents still leaving my body and my steadfast desire to get as many troopers to cover as possible had cost me, valuable moments. Just how much I still did not know. Was my mission even viable any more?
But first things first I had to deal with what bothered me at number two on my hit list of shit that annoyed me.
Yep, the God damn smell in my nostrils. Wherever I am stinks and was claustrophobic. Clawing, scraping, and heaving I dug space around myself and attempted a press up. I moved barely an inch. Rich damp heavy soil cascaded down threatening to smother me, “I fucking hate summertime ” I said to no one. A smidge of panic flickered though my gut. Lungs tightened and ass clenched, I’m gunna die, here with this fucking smell aren’t I? Was what flashed through my whiney inside voice. A panic stricken massive, thrashing heave, made more space, just as an arm from what looked like Pfc Morales fell right into my field of view. “Damn it, Morales, you are as fucking useless in death as in life. You stink boy.” Morales had nothing to say. “Get off of me you dead shit bag.”
My gag reflex, kicked in, bile rose. Shit..shit..no. I will not smother in vomit.
Wrenching to the side pressing hard against the stiffening, vapouous dead weight of Morales I squirmed to the surface. Gasping for air, shaking dirt from nose and eyes and squinted into the pale twilight. Fumbling for a helmet, which I jammed on my head, I did a quick body check and came up thinking I’m in one piece unbelievable. Well lucky fucking me. Ain’t that just a treat. After I extricate my legs I realize I have basically no kit. Morales is now on top of most of it most likely.
Looking around I took in the situation. As far as I could see overturned vehicles, bodies, body parts and fires burned. The ground had taken on the look of ancient Norse or English burial mounds. Except none were grassy and smooth. Instead, churned soil and sod mingled with command tents, generators and equipment. Chaos. Destruction. Mostly Death. Yeah “War sucks.” I said and hawked a loogie full of dirt and who knows what else out on top of the nearest mound of sod.
The message had been right. And this was what pissed me off the most, to be really honest about it. The number one on my hit list. “Good luck you’re own now.” I didn’t know who had sent that patently un-American message or why. But that was just not how we got shit done. RESET failed… oh well we out?
Bullshit. Without the support of 5th, and not being able to connect to other assets to continue my mission is going to make life a bit of a challenge, I suppose. Still. I want to wring the neck of the prick that gave that order. One of these days I will. In the meantime, I, I…
>The throbbing in his head returned, the pain swelled like a rock guitar screeching solo and he faded to darkness.
Swirling colours…flickers of ember ridden oily light.
Then Night. Voices. American and Polish voices. Nathan lay still, zeroing in on the distance and direction the quiet murmurs were coming from. Close.
‘I’m telling you, you dumb Polack, we got to find ammo and food, the command center was here somewhere, stop jacking with all those broken electronics.’ Said the American with a Southern twang.
‘We take, we sell for food and ammo stupid Americanish.’
‘You need electricity to run electronics last time I checked you pin head.’ Replied the American, who was clearly Louisiana or maybe Alabama?
‘What is the pin head you speak of?’ Said the Polish accent. <
Well at least the searing guitar solo is gone. I assessed my body one more time, could I move and fight? Maybe? Would I need to? Maybe. I must of passed out, from… what? Bio weapon residuals? Hunger? Concussion shit, who knows. I’m a mess.
I reached for my holstered service pistol…gone. No sign of my carbine in the dark either. Probably buried underneath Morales, useless kid. I needed to salvage his kit too. If the news was true the world had turned yet one more time. This time, shit was about to get and probably stay all Medieval.
Well we may as well get this resolved. You see I’m not one to dilly dally or make small talk. “Hey you two, yeah you, front and center on the double, and give me a hand up.”
Click, clack. One of them had chambered a round. “You won’t need that weapon racked soldier, I need a hand now get your ass over here. I got nothing you want…and everything you need.”
I could hear the two of them mumbling to each other, and begin to argue. “You know I can hear you right, so put your shit on safety and get your Polish friend to calm down. And for fuck sake keep the noise down.”
“ok, um sir..is it sir? We are just nervous and lost, don’t shoot or nothing.” Said the swamp rat as he approached I could see he was in about as bad a shape as me. I held my hands out, and gestured him closer. “Easy lad, help me dig out my kit here oh and tell your Polish friend behind me to put that pistol away before I shove it up his ass.”
‘eh..well he kind does his own thing sir, I’m no good with ranks but you out rank me so let me help ya. He on the other hand will do his own thing, kind of one of those moody tech nerd guys sir. Just don’t turn your back on him.’
I turned slowly and approached the thick stocky Polish man. His clothes and shoes were worn, the gun in his hand was shaking. ‘Stop there Americanish, or…” he backed up a step.
“Or what, you’ll shoot me? Go ahead, but take the safety off first.” I know, oldest lamest trick in the movies right. But he looked, and I lunged. In a moment the gun was in my hand not his and he had received one solid strikes to the face.
“Whats your name?”
“Ow..that hurt!” He cried. “You tricked me, Officers don’t do tricks. My name is Zarek, give me my gun and get off me please. I will not shoot you yet.”
“You are a cocky bastard. I’ll keep the gun for now, the two of you dig here with me and help me get my kit. Morales down there has a back pack on too and a weapon.”
As I figured, that got their attention. I rummaged around for my med kit and chewed on some aspirin for the headache that was slowly receding, while they scavenged for my kit and went through Morales stuff.
A few minutes later the men had cleared the area. “so fellas listen up, are you part of a larger group, or a formation? What do you know?”
Swamprat spoke first ‘Everyone cut out. We got left behind and Zarek here has been trying to either help us or steal us blind. I ain’t really sure. So ahh what’s your deal sir?’
I smiled at Swamprat, well ‘my deal’ is we got enemies to kill, and shit to do. But first we got to get to some sort of rally point and see what we can cobble together. Since you cant seem to identify yourself I’m gunna call you Swamprat since you seem to be from Louisiana, and Zarek – here is your gun back. Never point a weapon unless you going to use it, never point at me unless you intend to kill me. You hear me? ‘ I tossed the gun to him, which he fumbled and dropped in the dirt. Yeah. This was going to be great. Not.
‘Ahh ok sir, I think the war is over. Why we gotta go fight anyone? We got no food, no ammo and our little group is a ragtag bunch of misfits..ah sir. We cant beat nothing.’ Swamprats voice took on a plaintive tone.
‘Either way, if they are still shooting or we have to fight for resources or we need to get back to a base some where we are gunna need to fight. So check your head, and get your shit squared away, you are still the US Military’s property. Now where is this camp?’ I looked expectantly at them. This was the problem. Conscripts, recruits whatever. The war had dragged on, the will to fight was almost non existent as most of the good officers were dead, the NCOS were dead and command was becoming more and more politicized. The Warrior caste was being killed off, along with half the worlds population.
Well screw that. Regardless of the actual status of the war, peace or defeat I have a mission, and these pukes will help or be cannon fodder.
‘Lets go, lead on to your camp.’ They moved out in file, I joined at the end, keeping a wary eye on both for now. In the distance a summer storm flickered lightening, but the flashes to the North were from Arty. The battle raged on. RESET was broken and Kalisz was now the memorial for the 5th. I had things to do.