“Sir, the command bunker is gone. Getting a message transmitted may prove difficult,” said Lieutenant Colonel Simpson, obviously frustrated.
“Find a way. Do it now!” urged General Story.
“Yes, sir,” replied Simpson. Before she could react, a new threat emerged. “General, look at monitor ten. Enemy Custers inbound. Sensors indicate thirty aircraft. Must be part of a Calvary Aviation Brigade.”
Unsurprised, General Story nodded. The overarching enemy battle plan made sense. It was a classic combined-arms attack—missiles, tanks, artillery, and now vertical-lift aircraft. Fast, the VLA airframes combined the capabilities of an attack helicopter with the speed of a fixed-wing plane.
On his monitor the aircraft stretched across the entire battle space and streaked towards his battered lines. After closing to within two hundred meters of the ROAS forward positions, the Custers slowed and went into a fast hover. At an altitude of one hundred meters, he couldn’t help but admire their precision. Noses pointed downward, as one, the machines came alive. Twisting and turning, they ripped off short, self-guided bursts of smart 30 mm high-explosive auto-cannon rounds. Anything still moving was auto-detected and destroyed.
More motion caught his eye. On other monitors, hundreds of M2A6 Stuart infantry fighting vehicles filled with thousands of combat-ready infantrymen were creeping forward. Overkill, thought the general. A complete and utter calamity. And he believed, it could’ve been prevented, not just by retreating or surrendering, but by fighting back with an effective force, a force he lacked because of the ROAS political system. Instead of investing in the military and using its advanced technology to equip it, over the years, the ROAS had spent its budget on liberal social programs. Just as bad, after the self-imposed ban on military exports, his small country had all but abandoned efforts to develop new warfare technologies. He believed those poor decisions were coming home to roost, and it angered him.
The general closed his eyes; he’d seen enough.
In the trench bottom, curled tight, Sergeant Lisa McMichael tried to survive. The ground shook so hard she couldn’t stand or crawl, neither of which crossed her mind. Something hit her left leg and then her right arm. Both impacts stinging, the liquid body armor she wore prevented the shrapnel from shredding her to pieces. She tried to make herself smaller when she found herself hurtling through the air. Arms pinwheeling, she caught sight of the ground and turned into the impact. Hitting the ground hard, she rolled several times. Still conscious, now on her side, she grabbed her protective helmet tight and sucked for oxygen. All around, the ground continued to shake. Clumps of dirt and debris fell in a continuous rain. She concentrated on breathing, taking in gulps of air, and prayed for the shelling to stop. Through the roar, her tongue found a missing tooth, and without thinking, she inspected the gap. Distracted, the search brought her mind back to the present and with it an unwelcome wave of claustrophobia. She sat up and, with shaking hands, grabbed the lower sides of her head protection system and pried the helmet off. For a moment, she felt better.
Another explosion knocked her onto her stomach. With her helmet off, the noise of the barrage was deafening. Death was upon her, and tears welled from desperation. To dampen the thunder, she raised her hands, covering her ears, when she noticed a stringy length of bloody drool dangling from her chin. She remembered the missing tooth.
Another close explosion erupted. Self-preservation returned and with it a desperate wish to live. She curled up again, facing a steep earthen wall, and tried to compress into the dirt. To keep sane, she thought of her past. A picture of herself as a little girl popped in her head. Testing in grade school and high school had indicated her intelligence was in the top two percent of students in the country. At first, she’d believed what they told her. She’d taken advanced subjects, worked harder than anyone, and scored straight A’s. Her parents, educators, and friends had all marveled at her academic success.
But it was all a lie.
Inside, no matter the praise and results, she was a failure, an imposter. Her talents were based on luck, dogged determination, and not deserved. She wasn’t good enough.
Overwhelmed by needing to be the best, and knowing she never could be, although accepted to top universities, she’d eloped with a neighbor boy from down the street. To make ends meet, he’d gone to work in a casino, and she took a job as a hostess in a high-end restaurant. And then the bastard got her pregnant, not once but twice. She’d stopped working and threw herself into raising her young ones. Reading every source on parenting, she strove to be the best, but the more she studied and applied the lessons, the more she understood her shortcomings. She wasn’t good enough, and then her husband began to cheat on her. Twice, she caught him in the act, and she hated him.
Just then the shelling worsened. Wincing, covering her ears against the noise and concussions pounding her soul, she recalled her decision to leave him. How liberating it was to throw him out of her life, and how scary it was to start anew. She’d joined the military soon after because the life seemed by the book. Follow the rules, apply the lessons, and spend the time.
Based on high test scores, the military wanted her to go into intelligence, work in high tech, but she rejected the offer. She wasn’t good enough, was fearful of striving forever without becoming the best. Instead, she demanded the infantry. It suited her. Follow orders, soak in the training, react as programmed. Although her children were being raised mostly be her parents, that suited her as well. The less she could screw up their lives, the better. After a few years, rising in rank, she had been forced to take a leadership role. But she resisted as she didn’t want the responsibility. Having a binary choice, either resign or assume the duties, she relinquished and became a squad leader. Now under fire, she realized how much she hated the role and how important her children were. Oh, how she missed them.
Another round exploded nearby, and she almost laughed. They were trying to kill her, and she wasn’t even worth the effort. Still, she missed her kids more than anything. Maybe, if she survived, she’d quit the military and find another career. With a little luck, she might even meet a good man, someone that would love her kids and be faithful. Men still flirted with her, and she considered herself attractive in a cute sort of way. Her tongue swished around the missing tooth. Perhaps she was less cute than before.
Then the ground shook harder as a shell erupted dangerously close. With dirt crashing around, she couldn’t believe it was happening.
More shells crumpled, filling her ears with pain and sucking away the air. She felt herself slipping away and curled into a tighter ball. Under her breath, over and over, she prayed for the shelling to end. As if in answer, after a short while, the thundering eased and shifted farther away.
In a state close to shock, she lifted her head and realized she was in a shell hole below ground level. Across from her, propped against the side of the hole, staring back through a cracked face plate, was a female soldier she didn’t recognize.
An explosion rumbled nearby, causing her to duck and close her eyes. When more didn’t follow, just a distant roar, driven by a need to connect, she glanced towards the soldier again. Something was wrong. She spotted the problem. It was only half a person. Nothing but entrails existed below the combat vest. Breathing too hard and fast, nearing hyperventilation, she needed to gain control. She forced herself to slow and then noticed a change. It was quiet—no more shelling. In silence, she thanked God and wiped her mouth. Fresh blood from her broken tooth continued to run down her chin, and her hand came away bloodied.