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The Culmination - Chapter One
Posted By: russ687<russ687@hotmail.com>
Date: 7 December 2006, 4:35 pm
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The Culmination
Chapter One
"We fight not for the sake of victory, triumph, or pride—which are tangible reasons for war and aggression—but rather we fight for our mere subsistence; the very essence of life itself."
"SIMPLEX One, priority artillery support my location plus one hundred meters due west!"
A deep, thundering explosion resounded through the muddy ground, followed a second later by a thick bombardment of rocky fragments, finished off by an obscuring haze of debris that floated in the air. Soldiers shuddered in panic as the warmth from the explosion washed over them, the smell of death clearly portrayed by the searing heat that consumed flesh and earth alike.
"SIMPLEX One, I say again, I need priority artillery fire on my location plus one hundred meters due west!"
Enemy fire wisped overhead, producing ghostly faces among the men pressing against the ground. Wide, vacant eyes darted about as the gray skies overhead mixed hauntingly with ascending black smoke, and distressed expressions dominated the weary faces as the muddy scene mixed coldly with the sounds of war.
Small drops of rain descended upon them, cutting the visibility down beyond the smoke and haze that already filled the air, adding edging dread to the troops occupying the landscape littered with burning vehicles and smoldering corpses. Delirious men trembled at the sight of mutilated figures—men who once lived among them but now lay motionless in the mud, never again to see the light of day among the living. Body parts and limbs added to the sickening sight as the rain mixed with pools of dark red blood, streaming over rocks and running into puddles.
The smell was a twisted mixture of singed flesh and steaming weapons. The sight coinciding with the nauseating aroma was of no less harm to the mind. Quivering and terrorized men cowered under the constant stress that was bound to end their fearful lives. Trembling hands tightly grasped their long instruments of war, as if keeping it close could keep the touch of death away. The white in their eyes hauntingly stuck out among the dull rain and mud that covered everything in this atrocious battlefield, and their bare knuckles bore testimony to the distress running through their minds.
Another explosion erupted nearby, showering them with debris and sizeable rocks. Relentlessly, every man within range was bombarded with pain and a new wave of fear. Mud splashed thickly over their helmets and faces, and heads turned back and forth rapidly as the growing sense of inevitable death consumed their thoughts. Men were not made for war of this nature, and the body and mind did not cope with the constant pressures, apprehensions and fears that tormented each warrior sprawled against the ground.
"Incoming!"
The yell of warning was drowned out by an instant deafening explosion, sharply followed by an intense influx of heat. The officer's head snapped back at the shock of the blast and impacted sharply into the ground, consciousness seeping away and flowing endlessly with foreboding, disappearing into another world where darkness crept around the edges and magnificent lights flashed in an array of patterns. A numbing feeling washed over the prior fears and despair, and brought a new sense of being into the sentiments of the life.
This distant reality did not last forever, and the consciousness began the painful process of reinserting itself into the forefront of the mind. Those patterns and colors that were manifested in this dark void slowly began to fade as the sounds of war pierced through, gasping for attention. The numbing feeling that had severed the agitation from the mind was beginning to wear off, and the former existence of terror began to retake its rightful place among the wretched.
Vision returned as the eyes parted slowly, revealing a blurry rendition of the scene prior to the smashing explosion. The sky above was still a thick complexion of grays, sending rain down upon them. The wet, black ground was still torn up, and the horrifying sight of bodies still resided. Bright flashes still shot overhead, and haunting screams still split the background noise, piercing into the ears like knives through meat. Shell-shock once again threatened to take over, looming precariously close to eradicating all rationale and hope.
"Lieutenant, I've got artillery on the way!"
Walter Fallon blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision and thoughts to comprehend the situation around him. He was immediately hit with painful throbbing in his body and a thick concussion, offset by a fast heartbeat and shaking hands. Instinctively, he grasped quickly—for anything—but found his muddy hands empty. With no weapon, his arm shot out for the pistol holstered in his Load Bearing Vest as more charges of enemy fire erupted overhead, the heat nearly burning his exposed skin.
He looked over at the Marine near him who was completely prone and staring back, the telephone end of the Long Range Field Communicator in his hand. The eyes stared back at him from behind a brown, muddied face, and the man cringed as distant explosions reverberated around them. The antennae of the black device on his back stuck up awkwardly in the air, as if taunting a plasma charge to hit it.
A quick look around reminded the Lieutenant of their situation, or rather, their predicament. A large crater just over a meter deep had been their cover for the last stretch of time—a now relative perspective. Five other Marines pressed hard into the grimy earth, gripping their rifles with a consuming mix of adrenaline and fear. Around the crater was the occasional tree, devoid of branches or foliage, and burnt underbrush—now mostly nonexistent in this muddy field. Black plumes of smoke rose from several directions as destroyed tanks burned, and tracers shot out wildly from unknown locations, passing by plasma charges in an unnerving display of friend verses foe firefights.
The whistling of shells sounded overhead as the artillery requested moments ago began raining down. Deep explosions vibrated through the earth as sharp, painful shock waves shot out. Out of sight, the large shells began decimating the terrain ahead of them, flattening most of the remaining tree coverage and churning what little ground was left untouched into depressing craters of mud. The bombardment lasted several seconds, suddenly ceasing and allowing the sound of small-arms fire to regain its rightful supremacy.
"Lieutenant?" came another voice.
Fallon's eyes darted over to the Marine who yelled at him, fear and apprehension clear in his voice. The young man stared at him from behind disturbed eyes and kept his chin pressed against the ground. The man—or rather kid—was desperate for something to keep him alive, something that could lead him out of this literal pit in a ferocious hell. Perhaps it was the Lieutenant's bar embroidered on his helmet, or maybe because the Radio-Telephone Operator had addressed him earlier. Either way, he wasn't sure, but he knew that regardless of how he was recognized in the pit, he needed to take charge of the situation.
He looked over at the RTO, who waited in anxious silence. "Contact SIMPLEX, find out who's still around here and what we can do." The Marine nodded, and Fallon turned to the young Marine that had addressed him. "Get a view of what's up ahead."
The soldier paused, obviously considering the order, trying to overcome the fear that dictated him to keep his head as low as possible. Fallon recognized the delayed reaction to the order, and knew that this was the fundamental reason why Marines were killed in combat. Could he blame the kid? The thought bounced around inside his head, painfully playing along with the headache. Why didn't he just do it himself? That was the true question.
I am just as much afraid as he is.
Two other Marines stared in utter shock as the young man swallowed his fears—or at least tried to—and began crawling slowly for the top of the crater just above him. Fallon found himself staring as the kid gripped up the muddy slope to the crest and paused, breathing hard. Charges of plasma shot overhead, searing through the air with defining sizzles that portrayed a clear sense of death. The young Marine's head eased up over the top.
The ground around him ripped up into a flash of charges and debris. Fallon instinctively ducked further down as the Marine screamed and rolled back, fragments falling down upon everyone in the crater. He slid to a quick stop at the red-drenched bottom of the shallow pit, resting back-first in the thick complexion of mud and blood. Charred hands reached out awkwardly and grasped at his face.
The two Marines next to him cursed in shock, while the third remained in his fetal position, hugging the earth, trying to exit this cruel reality. Fallon holstered the pistol and crawled over, wincing at the sharp, foul smell that emitted from the Marine, now struggling blindly and wailing in a chilling voice that sent devilish, infectious fears into his thoughts.
"Speak to me!" He shouted as he grabbed the burnt hands. Charred skin slipped off and revealed bloody tissue and bone underneath, producing an agonizing scream from the Marine. He let go of the hands and looked at the face of the soldier, seeing nothing but black, burnt skin. The helmet atop his head was blackened and disfigured, and the chest protection that covered his shoulders and lower neck was steaming in a sick broiling scene as blood burnt quickly onto the armor.
"Oh my god…" a Marine behind him looked away and vomited as contrails rose off the face and helmet into the air, spreading the smell. The mutilated face of the soldier, a mixture of blisters, missing skin and swelling sores stopped moving. The hands that once continued to grasp at anything ceased to move, and the wails of pain out of the mouth died away as explosions and gunfire resounded around them.
Fallon tried to suppress the nausea and looked away, coughing as the Marine's pulse vanished. He had ordered this kid to look out! He had just condemned him to his death! Anger fought to takeover as terror and pain rushed through his veins, reminding him with every beat of his heart, we're only human.
He turned to face the two Marines who looked about wildly. One of them wiped a trail of regurgitation off his face, dazed and disoriented with the fight raging on around them. The second shook in fear, his teeth chattering as rain ran down his blood-splattered helmet. These men were already casualties of this war, and would never sleep again.
"Eyes open, Marines!" Fallon ordered shakily, trying to overcome the same feelings within and give purpose and hope to the men quivering near him. "Keep those weapons up!"
They responded better than he would have thought, bringing their long rifles to bear and pointing them out of the crater, just in case some foe appeared. Their eyes scanned back and forth rapidly, and their nervous fingers played over the triggers of the weapons, as if expecting a large, ominous figure to emerge out of nowhere. Despite this newfound authority, they kept pressed against the muddy earth as enemy fire continued overhead, as if to remind them that death was only a short step away. The smoldering body lying in the center of the crater proved yet again why they were afraid.
"Lieutenant, SIMPLEX reports that less than a Platoon's worth of soldiers remains in our vicinity," the RTO said finally. "All armored platoons have been destroyed, and artillery units are pulling back due to pressure from enemy forces pushing forward."
The situation was bad. "What are our aerial recon—" an explosion erupted ten meters away from the crater, deafening the Marines and sending smoldering fragments into the crater. A haze of dirt floated over, turning the gray scenery into a brownish complexion. Fallon shook his head as ringing in his ears kept sounds from being distinguished.
"What of aerial reconnaissance?" He yelled conspicuously, unaware that his shouting was loud enough. The RTO spoke back, but the explosion had drowned out nearly all sound, and not a word could be heard. Fallon pointed to his ears.
"…Sir, at least two Company's worth of Charlie remains!" RTO shouted back, this time louder.
Fallon nodded in bleak acknowledgement, the ringing in his ears slowly beginning to subside. Thirty minutes ago two Company's of his Battalion were deployed to assist a Company of tanks in securing a large, wide valley leading to the mouth of Mari Crosse, a town harboring at least five-thousand civilians who were still in the act of evacuation. The force delegated to secure the only main ground entrance to the city—the force he and his Platoon had been assigned to—had met impossible odds; encountering a Covenant force on its way to the city easily twice as large.
Artillery and aerial bombardments helped knock out a large portion of the Covenant attack force, but in the long run it was not enough. The tanks were lost quickly, and the two Companies of foot soldiers were sheared to pieces, only remnants remaining on the battlefield that had been churned to mud and debris. His own Platoon was nearly completely killed in the first ten minutes, and after everyone simply scrambled for cover as a barrage of enemy fire rained down upon them, accountability had all been lost. The RTO cowering in the crater next to him wasn't even from his Company, and the Marines hopelessly hiding in the pit were from some other Platoon. Nobody from his own unit, the unit he led, was near him.
For all he knew, they were dead.
Now they were pinned in the middle of a wide open field that was once an attractive thin forest. All the vegetation was flattened, and only a few fortunate trees remained upright. With the ostensibly global invasion by the Covenant, it seemed as if everyone was left to fend for themselves; or in the terms of his training, a situation where success probabilities were severely impaired. A combat force scattered and unsupported was nothing more than useless, and furthermore, a combat force that was broken was incapable of survival.
If any of the Marines stranded under enemy fire in this forsaken field wanted to live, they would need to unite and act as a team to survive. He exhaled heavily as the final thought occurred to him; it would have to be him leading this failing fight towards an attempt at victory. Even though he had prior experience in the field, and some OCS training that told him how the textbook said combat was supposed to go, there still remained doubt as to whether he would have the shrewdness to pull this off.
God help me.
"Get me in contact with anyone within proximity," Fallon said at last to the RTO. "I need to know SITREP's." The Marine nodded and pulled out the telephone handle to the LRFC, punching in a frequency to raise anyone nearby.
Fallon removed a small rectangular mirror from his LBV and extended the handle attached to the bottom. Having ordered that young Marine to peer above the crater was not wise, and the guilt played heavily upon him. His mind began a subconscious task of evaluating just how much more he could take of the constant stress and strain, but the results were never definite. He was always pushed beyond what he thought he could take, and every challenge made him stronger and smarter—but this was the first time he felt the daunting feeling rip into his psyche, nearly dictating that he would inevitably break under the pressure.
Two days without sleep, numerous firefights with a superior enemy, and watching men die in his hands was bringing him closer and closer to the point of no return; the point in which the mind breaks down and nothing but delirium and madness exists. Sanity, though relative, seemed as if it was slipping further away with every second spent under these conditions. He had gone through rigorous training to prepare him for a leadership role—though he felt that it was nothing more then a waste of time—and had plenty of experience as an enlisted Marine to support him in his spontaneous decisions. But no matter how hard he prepared for this, or how much he had already been through, nothing seemed capable of fabricating the right mentality to withstand the duress conceived by war. He felt his judiciousness slowly slipping farther away.
Could he ever return to a peaceful life?
He fought to keep those thoughts from preoccupying him. Focus! For the men around you! He crawled up slowly to the crest of the crater, but instead of peering out, he gently lifted the mirror skyward several inches above the surface. He quickly angled it to get a view of what was ahead of them, and what enemies kept them pinned in this seemingly hopeless firefight. Why had he only thought of this alternative when his own life was on the line?
Several portable plasma turrets were firing rapidly across the field, not necessarily aiming at anyone in particular, but keeping every head pinned down. Two Covenant transport craft sat still as the gunners on those turrets washed the field with continuous fire, mimicking the tactics of the portable guns. Soldiers with bright, conspicuous shields were advancing slowly towards them, covered by the suppressive fire of the turrets and keeping lines of Covenant troops shielded from any small arms fire. They were getting close.
"Lieutenant, I have a Gunnery Sergeant from Bravo Company on the horn!" The RTO paused as fire swept briefly over them. "He says he's forty meters parallel to us with eight Marines, and two of them are part of Fourth Platoon, Bravo Company and have suppressive weapons!"
Fallon lowered the mirror and looked back at the RTO as several plasma charges kicked up dirt only meters from his head. "Tell the Sergeant to get those suppressive weapons firing after we pop some smoke! Tell them to keep firing at the infantry advancing on us while we take out the turrets!" The RTO nodded and relayed the order.
The Lieutenant turned to the two shaky Marines next to him. "When you hear those M271's light up, aim for those turret gunners and take them out, clear?" The Marines nodded quickly, but he doubted their capabilities to perform the simple order. He looked over to the last Marine who remained in a tight defensive ball, his rifle lying in the mud near him. "What the hell is up with that soldier?"
"I don't know, sir," a Marine shouted back, stuttering reactions of terror. "He's was like that when we jumped in here."
Now that Fallon recalled it, he remembered the Marine in that exact same position as well when he dove for cover in this crater. He crawled over to him and set a hand on his shoulder.
"…I don't want to die," the soldier whispered, deep sobs barely discernable above the raging fight around them. "I don't want to die…"
The Marine had cracked; broken under the weight of war. Fallon lifted his hand gently away from the man. How do you react to someone in this state? Perhaps that had been covered in his OCS training, but the answer wouldn't come to mind. He knew from experience—seeing this firsthand before—that some would react violently to anyone trying to rally them, often berserking and running mindlessly into the enemy's fire; either out of desperation to leave this horror or in complete oblivion to reality. He didn't want that to happen, especially not in front of other Marines who were teetering on the line of joining this man in a mental state of brokenness.
Who was he kidding? He didn't want to see it.
Fallon turned away from the soldier and edged up once again to the top of the crater, pulling out a single smoke grenade. He had devised this plan in mere seconds and wasn't completely confident that it could work. Doubt began creeping back into his thoughts as he remembered the last order he had given, and the dead body that lay in the center of this pit. Would more die from his commands? He fought the uncertainty off, trying to rationalize the truth of combat. People would die, but if it was for the common cause—the common goal for success of the men around them—their death would not be in vain.
He paused for a moment to remind himself; to remind himself that people would die by his orders, and that was an inevitable fact of war. This was what he learned in OCS, and it was what he witnessed as an enlisted soldier. Yet now, staring at the men that could fall by his account, crouching in a crater near the enemy that continually filled the waiting, empty caskets, he couldn't allow himself this rationalization. He wasn't a commander, a distant authority figure bound to statistics. No, he believed himself to be a leader. And leaders don't diminish the value of their followers to ease the pain.
The pin slipped out from the grenade.
This remorse would plague him forever.
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