“Major!”
I could hear the voice, I knew it was talking to me, but I didn’t respond, something else was calling to me. Something more welcoming. Something familiar.
“Major Draydon!”
That confirmed it, the voice was talking to me. Blackness interrupted by bursts of light . . . jagged interruptions in the calm that I was trying to give in to. The calm was gone and now I was feeling pain, sometimes stabbing, sometimes just dull and throbbing. I just needed that to stop, so I tried to drift back to a calmer place.
There we go.
I was dropped off at the Company Command Post along with the First Lieutenant who had been assigned as my Executive Officer and a First Sergeant who looked like he had been around for a long time but still fit in his uniform. When I entered the command tent I saw the looks. My Platoon Commanders were already shaking their heads seeing a woman as their Company Commander. I was used to it, female Marines in combat roles were still a relatively new thing and there weren’t many of us even though the doors had been opened just prior to the Gulf War. To be blunt it didn’t help that most women didn’t want to take on the role. But I was different; I had been around the block a few times.
“Marines! I am Captain Draydon. Let me make this CFB, I am a combat Marine, not some congressionally mandated token female. I served in First Reconnaissance Battalion during Operation Desert Fury and earned my scars and my medals at the Battle of Seven Wells. Additionally, I served with the JCSTRB dealing with metahuman threats. I have killed more men and beasts than any of you in this room have combined, except for maybe the First Sergeant here. If you want to live, then you will do what I say.”
I glared at the Platoon Commanders, “Where are your Platoon Sergeants?” I got a variety of confused looks from them until one finally stated that they had been told this was a staff meeting and didn’t think that the NCOs needed to be here.” I pointed at the Gunnery Sergeant who was designated as the Company HQ NCO, “Gunny, grab all of the Platoon Sergeants and get them here. Boys and girls, this is the real shit and we are losing with a quickness. We are a Rifle Company, and only that. We have no armor, no artillery and no air support. We are one of only two Marine combat units in this region and we are not going to be reinforced, ever. We are going to die here in White Plains if we think we are going to be reinforced.”
Quickly the E-6s of the Platoons entered the tent, most of them as scared as the officers were, but I could see a few more weathered individuals who clearly had seen combat in the group. “We have to function as a cohesive unit if we are going to survive. From this point forward, any meeting that involves Platoon planning will include your Platoon Sergeants; they will know their Marines better than you. We are in a knife fight and I do not have time for paperwork, protocol or any of that other bullshit. We are combat Marines and this is war. This is what we are trained to do. We don’t do hearts and minds shit, we kill our enemies.”
“Currently there are nine of these fucking things hovering over major cities of the United States including the DC which the brass is calling motherships; more of them are around the world. Motherfuckers are what I call them. We have lost a quarter of our armed forces already and it hasn’t even been 24 hours yet. I guess the only thing in our favor is that they have stopped dropping tactical nuclear weapons on us and have shifted to a ground offensive. This is where those alien freaks have fucked up because the ground war is what we do best. Platoon Commanders, report your status.”
My vision got a little foggy and everything in the tent seemed to dissolve into grey nothingness. “We’re losing her! I need 50 cc’s of epinephrine! Major Draydon, stay with me!”
I hear you pal. Even over the constant ringing from some tones and suppression of others, I hear you. I don’t know who you are but I hear you. Where was I?
“What do you mean I am not authorized to be issued triage beacons and Mark III Shield Generators? They were fucking designed for the military. A Marine Rifle Company is authorized one triage beacon per Platoon and a Mark III in every Squad.” I was screaming at the Army logistics officer who ran the FOB my Company had been attached to. “I know you have them because I see every fucking Army unit here with them.” The supply officer briefly looked up from his papers, “That is because they are front line units Captain, you Marines are here to protect the flank so you aren’t authorized to have those items as they are in short supply.”
I was pissed, “Listen to me you pencil-pushing moron, we are in the shit here and we don’t have time for this logistics circle-jerk. I am not asking for things that I want to have, they are outlined in my TO&E. I am asking for what I am required to have!” The Army Captain shrugged his shoulders, “Sorry Marine, I honestly don’t give two fucks about your TO&E, this is an Army show here, so your requirements don’t mean shit to me. Now get the hell out of my tent.”
Who the fuck did he think he was. “Who is your Commanding Officer Captain?” Oh he told me and then I stomped over to the Major’s office and went through the same drill only to be told the same thing, but this time ordered to get out of his office. Later at the CP I was sitting there trying to calm down at the idiocy of the situation. It wasn’t like they didn’t have the equipment they just wouldn’t give it to us because we weren’t part of their structure. And since there was no higher echelon of Marine command I could run this through; I had no leverage. My Marines were going to die if I didn’t get that equipment.
I wasn’t going to sit around and let it happen just because the system couldn’t keep pace. I had to say to hell with the system and do what was right. I was a licensed super powered crime fighter after all, and I had those very same tools that were now being denied to my troops, even more in fact. If the Army and the Marines weren’t going to equip us properly then the Munitions Mistress would. “First Sergeant! I need a helicopter and three men!”
And like any First Sergeant worth their salt, he got me what I asked for. Soon we were flying low, damn near nap of the earth. It was the only way to avoid fire from all of the fucking flying aliens. The whole city was burning as were hundreds of cities around the world but this was my city, Paragon City and for some reason, it seemed it was being hit harder. Several sectors were essentially gone, the great buildings and monuments to the metahumans now just smoking rubble. We could see superhumans fighting against the aliens on the ground and other in the air engaging enemy spaceships. But our pilot had nerves of steel and we were all focused.
I hadn’t told them what we were doing or where we were going but they trusted me. Even in the short amount of time I had taken command they had already reacted. These reservists that had been called up from their normal lives were once more functioning like Marines and Marines followed orders. When we reached the city zone known as Baumton, I directed the pilot where to land. My base. While most of the surrounding buildings had been leveled, mine was still standing, though heavily damaged. It was a good thing that I had it reinforced when I made it my base of operations.
After punching in the security code to the warehouse and entering I ordered my Marines to follow me to the lower level. Soon we were at my armory and that was when the First Sergeant asked me what the place was. “Top, I may have forgot to mention that I am also the superpowered crime fighter known as the Munitions Mistress and this is my armory.” When I opened the door they were wide eyed at the array of equipment I had inside. I told them to take everything they could starting with the support equipment which was what we most desperately needed.
We cleaned the place out and as we flew back to the FOB they all looked at me differently because they knew I was a cape. I had to dissuade them of that misconception. “Gents, don’t think too hard here. I have no super powers at all; I am no different than any of you and can die just as easily.”
Once more the clarity of the moment faded into haze. “Major, glad you came, come on in, all of the boys are here.”
There they were, my troops. The Marines I commanded with pride, sharing the same hardships and happiness. Those were the faces and voices that I was familiar with, my comfortable family that I wanted to stay with. That was where I belonged.
Thankfully the clarity returned and just in time to because we were in a fight.
I had been observing the battle tactics of the Rikti as they were now being called and unlike our Army brethren, I had adapted our battle tactics to compensate for theirs. I had First and Second Platoons carrying out front line fighting while Third Platoon stayed behind them carrying out overwatch functions and the Weapons Platoon was split into three Squads. The first Squad provided additional heavy fire to First and Second while the other two Squads provided heavy flank cover to the Third Platoon.
As the majority of the Rikti troops were moving steadily forward, firing their lasers we kept the Mark III force field generators focused forward allowing them to present a stronger defense than normal. This of course left our rear exposed but reduced our front-line losses. Gunfire and laser fire rang out all around us, but we had discovered that while they were armored, they were not immune to bullets. As our firing line whittled their forces down, I heard the observers to our rear yell “Teleport!”
Anyone fighting these alien bastards learned quickly that they had the ability to transport themselves anywhere, nearly instantly and they used this tactic to deadly effect, appearing behind our lines and causing mass casualties. But we had also learned that it wasn’t instantaneous and it wasn’t subtle. It was always preceded by a strange whooshing and ticking sound followed by a black hole opening up and then a few seconds later, a rush of four to five of those giant-headed assholes. But as soon as you heard that sound, you had almost five seconds to respond. It may not seem like a long time but on the battlefield, it was an eternity.
Immediately three portals opened up behind the firing line and I could hear the Third Platoon leader ordering the men to telefrag the portals. As directed, they fired their grenade launchers and rocket launchers into the portals. We had learned from experience that we might not see the explosions but we knew they occurred because half of the time the portal would collapse, sometimes cutting the exiting Rikti in two as they stepped through to attack us. If the portal didn’t collapse, Rikti troops would stagger out, wounded and burning only to be cut down quickly and almost never in large numbers.
With their backstabbing maneuver thwarted, the remainder of the Rikti in front of us accelerated into a charge. We poured on the fire, cutting down large numbers of them but they were a juggernaut. Then, as they were still running about half of them would suddenly switch from using a laser rifle to using a giant sword. This usually occurred about fifty feet before they hit your line and would cut you to shreds. And that would be when the line would collapse and chaos would ensue.
But we were Marines, we still trained to fight close in, hand to hand, and we were still trained to fight with bayonets. My unit had their fixed at all times, some even resorting to welding them to the lugs on their rifles because the manufacturer hadn’t milled it to spec. The designated marksmen in Third Platoon would shift their attention directly to the incoming swordsmen who stood at least two feet in height above any human and then systematically blow their heads off. By the time they did reach the firing line, there weren’t many left.
It was as if the Civil War was being reenacted with these aliens playing the role of the Confederates and us the Union army. Marines drove their bayonets into the soft spots of the Rikti armor while they would swing their swords, maiming or killing in a single sweep. But our tactics had allowed us to thin their numbers to where it wasn’t overwhelming and when you added that to the tenacity of a Marine, we had the edge.
In minutes the battle was over and we stood amongst piles of dead aliens and Marines. Triage beacons were lit off in multiple locations to allow the lightly wounded to rapidly recover and to stabilize the severely wounded. While we were on our guard, the Rikti generally did not send multiple waves. It was all or nothing with them and if they took a beat down, which wasn’t often in the sum of things, they backed off. In this fight there were 43 dead aliens and five dead Marines . . . five too many.
Once again the air got hazy and I heard some asshole shouting at me. “I’ll be dammed if you are dying on me Major! Don’t’ give up!”
That guy is starting to piss me off. Who the hell is he to talk to me like that? I couldn’t see where his voice was coming from but he was pushing my buttons. Fortunately, this idiot faded from my mind and I returned to my reality.
At the Battalion Command Post an Army light Colonel was briefing the assembled Company Commanders on the planned operation. The Battalion was to be deployed to the section of the White Plains Battle Zone referred to commonly as Little Round Top. Rikti ground forces had been massing there and we were going to finally go on the offensive. We were being told we would have artillery, limited air support and even some superhuman support. A cheer went up in the CP but my company was quiet. We had become accustomed to not depending on their presence as it was unreliable at best.
The war had been going on for two months already and while the portals in the sky had closed and no more ships had appeared since the second day of the War, the enemy numbers seemed infinite. Nuclear weapons had been deployed by several countries with mixed effects and very few of the motherships being brought down. Tactical nukes had been used to wipe out large concentrations of Rikti in several cities of the United States including Baumton in Paragon City, but the fallout and collateral damage had been deemed to great and their use ended at least in America.
My Company had been unusually successful against the aliens, in part because we had shifted our tactics and had the equipment we needed. Battalion had finally got the hint about three weeks ago and now our tactics were standard. But we were still the half-sisters of the family . . . the Army called the shots and we accepted it. The battles had been bloody and I had lost many good men and women as a result, but we were getting some reinforcements from the Corps, mostly survivors of other units that had been mangled.
We deployed on the right flank of the Rikti force, an enemy group larger that we had faced at any point so far. But there was real confidence for the first time since the beginning. There was Company of tanks storming towards the enemy lines on our left, those wonderful cannons blowing the shit out of the aliens and taking out their ground vehicles. The Rikti had their own tanks, hover tanks in fact. While they were deadly with that horrible plasma cannon they were outfitted with, they were slow as shit and not accurate at all.
We kept our pace moving forward, but unlike the tankers or the two spearhead groups of the Army, we had no mechanized vehicles, or any vehicles for that matter. Some of my scouts were using co-opted dirt bikes but we were an old school, ground pounding infantry unit, slow and steady. Our mission was to deal with any Rikti that tried to disengage from the main attack point and perform a flanking maneuver. The dumb bastards from the 82nd Airborne that were handling left flank protection were in the same boat as us, light infantry and cannon fodder.
But this time something wasn’t right; the Rikti weren’t moving forward or even setting battle lines. I had never seen them not do this regardless of the threat and the Rikti didn’t change their tactics. It had been the only thing that had allowed us to hold out and continue fighting. We changed our tactics, especially when we lost the bulk of our heavy weapons in the early days of the war, but they hadn’t, even though they were suffering losses. I reported to battalion what we were seeing from the flank and suggested that they stop the drive. While my observations were noted all units were directed to continue as planned. I switched to the Company Command network and advised all Commanders to be prepared for a shit storm and while I didn’t violate the orders of Battalion, I directed my Commanders to position themselves to defend against a counterattack instead of an assault.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw a large black object eject from the mothership that was overhead and streak towards the main assault force. I yelled over the Company net. “Nuke! Take Cover.” I quickly switched to Battalion and could hear the same chatter, though delayed. “Nuke! Nuke! Nuke!” Then three bright flashes and Battalion went off the air in a screech of static. At the same time at least fifty portals opened up in front of us, about a half mile out and hundreds of Rikti began spilling out. Because I had called defensive posture my troops had already realigned their formations and deployed some of the new techniques we had learned. Scores of the new M20 Claymore mines were placed about fifty feet from our battle lines and my mortar men were already firing their 60mm cluster mortars in sweep patterns.
I was screaming into the unit radio initiating an artillery fire call. “Quick Fire! Quick Fire! Grid 120 Section 6! HE! Fire for effect!” There was silence on the line for a moment and my heart sank, so much for the artillery support. Then the radio squawked to life. “Grid 120 Section 6! HE! Fire inbound!” We didn’t hear the cannon fire but we heard the rounds screaming over our heads. Beautiful 155mm shells slammed into the Rikti line, blowing those alien fuckers in all directions. But they kept coming and we heard the boys in the 82nd calling for fire. As the charging aliens got in range of my DMs, they began dropping the aliens who we had identified as leader types. These aliens were a military force and their armored suits were color coded representing various roles.
Even with the decimating effect of the artillery, there were still hundreds of Rikti charging towards us, outnumbering us three to one. When the enemy got in range of the rest of the unit, we all opened fire. The heavy machineguns were hammering at the Rikti, cutting them in half while those of us with battle rifles were firing five round bursts at them. Two hundred feet out, the Rikti began hitting the cluster munitions that had been deployed by my mortar teams, blowing their troopers apart, severing their legs and leaving them dazed. We had only received these mortars and this was the first full use of them in a fight. While it didn’t break their charge it certainly caught them off guard and slowed them a bit.
I heard the call that teleporters were inbound and I didn’t even look back, knowing that my troops knew their roles. We continued to pour on the fire, further whittling down their numbers. Then, just before they would normally shift from rifle to sword, we detonated the claymores. Scores of Rikti troops were decimated and many of the aliens failed to change weapons. But there was still a swarm of them so we steeled ourselves for close-in fighting. A glance behind me showed that Third Platoon had been mostly successful in stopping the teleporters but were now engaged in hand-to-hand fighting with the enemy.
Close in fighting meant that we had to switch to single fire mode and of course lost the usage of grenades because of the collateral damage that was guaranteed.
All across the battlefield my marines were fighting for their lives but this was where we often showed how our tactics had adapted ahead of our enemy, some of them never used by regular Marines. My experience with Vigilance and fighting metahumans had given me a true outside of the box methodology. The gunfire and screaming was deafening, so loud that I almost didn’t hear someone shout “Captain Watch out!” One of the Rikti swordsmen was charging me from my left and I immediately rolled away as he swung. I wasn’t fast enough and I felt that massive blade tear my left shoulder open. I couldn’t tell how bad it was but I was still able to move my left arm so it couldn’t have been too bad. While I may have been losing blood from that wound, more importantly, my blood pressure rose and so did my anger. I yelled at a cluster of Rikti in a rage. “You fucked with the wrong Marine!”
I charged a trio of Rikti, snapping off a rapid series of five round bursts into each of their heads, blowing them apart. The third one had been wielding a sword and in blind fury I wrenched the giant blade out of its hand, and while it was unmanageable, I spun and drove it into the chest of a fourth alien that had been trying to get to me. Leaving the blade in the corpse I one more began firing bursts at the aliens, moving rapidly, with steady mechanical precision. As I cleared clusters of aliens it freed up other surviving Marines to pick up the fire. Soon one became a Fire Team, multiplying their battle effectiveness. Then we became a cohesive Squad and began to turn the tide of the fight. Rikti troops were scattered all about, unable to regroup into similar structures.
As the tide turned, our battle cries began to sync up until only one loud voice was heard by our enemies . . . Marine Corps! The rout had begun and the Rikti were stunned. But they received no mercy we shot any one that was still moving. Then it was over. The battlefield was littered with hundreds of corpses and as I surveyed it, we had not survived unscathed. I saw maybe only two Platoons of Marines still standing. Suddenly a wave of weakness overcame me and I collapsed to the ground and felt massive pain now radiating from my left shoulder. One of the medics rolled me over onto the bloody ground and I felt the stab of some type of needle hit my back and then that warm, tingling sensation of the nano-particles from the Med-Kit doing its best to try and lessen the criticality of my wound.
Once more everything was fading to grey and that annoying voice was chirping away in my head. “Major! Stay with us Major.”
I was so tired; I just want to sleep.
