Chapter 15: The Battle

Mortars exploded no more than thirty seconds after his daughter had departed. Hitch and Kieu-Linh quickly donned helmets and flak jackets, then rushed out to find protection. Old instincts had Hitch rising for a fight, his mind already taking in every detail and craving more.

Plumes of dust were close by, and more impacts pounded within a hundred meters. Hitch heard shouts around them, the rattle of a .50 caliber exploding to their east.

"We're being overrun!" a man shouted with excitement and fear. "They're through the wire!"

Hitch could see a mass of soldiers shuffling in a disorganized manner back from the direction of the defensive front. It was instinct that made him take charge. "Get back on the line!" He shouted. "Hold while the wounded are moved out! Buy them time!"

The threat and force he projected stopped the soldiers, causing them to hesitate. Hitch pressed further. "Show me where! Come on, rally on me!" He gripped his carbine tightly, Kieu-Linh beside him doing the same.

One of the men began to control his panic, eyes still wide, turning and heading back towards the front, the others following more slowly. Hitch rushed forward without a second thought. He could tell from the growing barrage of artillery and mortars that the attack was serious and directed at the western defenses. The cacophony of gunfire became a steady scream of snapping and rattling and popping which drowned out all else, punctuated by explosions of incoming rounds.

Hitch and Kieu-Linh dove into a shallow hole large enough for four men, sandbags giving a bit of protection to the front. He was close to the action, could see soldiers a hundred meters to his front firing over their bunkers towards unseen enemy ahead. Two bloody bodies were crumpled not far from the front line.

Hitch drew in a slow breath, calming his thoughts and quickly taking measure of the assault. The Imps were concentrated on spot which would have been the weakest point along the several hundred meters of defenses, an approach a few dozen meters wide which had a north-south slope and was not perfectly sighted to create interlocking fields of machine gun fire, and likely, Hitch thought, a difficult draw to drop mortars from the Patriot batteries.

He looked around to find that the soldiers who had been retreating in panic had all returned, taking up places behind him, firing without aiming. He spotted an antenna behind a boulder, a radioman. Hitch looked at Kieu-Linh, said quickly, "trust your instincts!" and rushed off to slide behind the boulder, Kieu-Linh just behind him.

A frightened young officer was in a crouch, appearing as a small ball with ankles and feet just below. The man had frozen and was not leading the platoon facing the assault. "Lieutenant!" Hitch screamed over the violent noise. "We need mortars! Just there!" he said, pointing to where he suspected the Imps were firing their heavy machine gun up the rise towards their positions. "We're pinned down, the mortars can give us space!"

The Lieutenant looked at him with wide eyes, stuttering, "I-I ... I tried ... I..."

Hitch turned the radio operator around, found himself looking into the eyes of an equally frightened young woman, probably still in her teens. "Do you know the coordinates?" Hitch yelled to her, pointing again, asking if she could direct the batteries to a pre-registered spot down the slope. When she nodded, he yelled in her ear, "call it! Men are dying out there!"

"B-b-but ... we're too close!" she yelled. "We might get hit!"

"We're gonna get hit by the Imps any second. Do it!"

The woman rallied and called in a request. Thirty seconds later, mortars splashed down about fifty meters ahead of the forward positions, right on target. Hitch yelled to her, "keep it coming until I tell you to cancel it. Keep it up, we can repel this!" he shouted, feeling the thrill and terror mix in him to create the blood-pumping exhilaration that he'd known so many times before.

He raced back to the protection ahead of him, Kieu-Linh right behind. The mortars had slowed the assault. Several soldiers were dragging back wounded from the front line of defenses, leaving a weaker point in the line. Hitch grabbed the two soldiers in the foxhole with him, yelling, "fill those holes! Come on!" He rushed forward in a running crouch, eyes scanning ahead quickly. He and Kieu-Linh dove headfirst into the holes at the front of the line, the other soldiers doing the same in a small bunker to their left. He looked back to see a few others rushing forward to fill spots which had been left bloody and undefended by wounded Patriots.

Rifle shots and heavy slugs zinged around him, some impacting the sandbags, others kicking up dirt before ricocheting randomly away. Hitch switched the safety off of his carbine, and nodded to Kieu-Linh to do the same. He yelled into her ear, "we have to hold this line!"

Hitch peered around the edge of the sandbag and could see movement below. He emptied his clip in that direction, slammed a new one in, and emptied it as well. He saw a head poke up above the brush and took it under fire. It dropped back, and though he hadn't seen the impact, Hitch felt sure that he'd dropped the man. He was aware of Kieu-Linh sending three-round bursts forward of their position, but he had no time to admire her bravery in that moment.

A runner came up through the fire, rushing in a crouch from bunker to bunker, carrying heavy bandoliers of ammunition, slinging them at the soldiers returning fire and moving on to the next. Hitch appreciated the young man's courage.

He felt something punch against his shoulder but he was too full of adrenaline to look. He saw a squad of Imps moving up during a lull in the mortar barrage, and he took two down immediately, causing the others to flatten and fire wildly in his direction. He was aware of Kieu-Linh changing a mag as she hunkered down behind the sandbags, sweat running down her face and arms. The runner had slung three bandoliers in their hole, so Hitch felt they had enough ammo to hold out for a moment.

"Keep firing, I'll be right back!" Hitch yelled, rushing quickly back to the officer and radio operator. "Why isn't the MG firing?"

"They all got hit!" The Lieutenant said in his ear, "we can't get to the gun!"

"Bullshit," Hitch growled. "Where is it?"

The young officer pointed.

"Push two men up to fill that hole," Hitch screamed, motioning to where Kieu-Linh was changing out another magazine as a grenade exploded no more than seven or eight meters to her right, "I'll get to the MG!"

While the Lieutenant was beginning to recover his wits, yelling to men to his rear to move up, Hitch raced back to Kieu-Linh, breathing heavily, "come with me and bring the ammo!"

He rushed up the slope and over a line of low brush. He could hear shouts below him as men called for medics or ammunition. The Lieutenant's voice was among them, the man screaming that he'd been hit. Hitch couldn't waste time to help him, they needed that machine gun manned to put enfilading fire on the approaching Imps.

Mortars continued to come down on both sides of the line. It was impossible to tell which was which in the close quarters. Larger artillery shells boomed both in front of and behind him, the heavier batteries brought to bear all around the position. He heard jets scream in as he paused under heavy fire which kept him and Kieu-Linh pinned down behind low rocks. They were high over head, and it wasn't clear if they were friendly or not. He knew, from discussions with some of the soldiers, that the Imps had challenged the Free American forces for control of the skies but didn't have enough firepower to do more than harass them most days.

The machine gun which had been hammering their position shifted to the north and took another defensive unit under fire. It gave Hitch and Kieu-Linh enough time to sprint to the machine gun emplacement. Two men were sprawled out, killed, a mortar crater centered on the pit, bits of flesh and blood and brains looking all-to-fresh and horrific. A blood trail leading away from the gun seemed to indicate that at least one soldier might have been wounded and survived long enough to drag himself to the rear.

Hitch slammed to the ground behind the gun and checked it for damage. It seemed to be operational, small nicks around the base from the mortar, but otherwise, looked ready to fire. A fresh belt had already been fed, and Hitch automatically took hold and sighted his targets. He yelled to Kieu-Linh beside him, "keep the belt steady and keep your head down!" Though they'd never had a machine gun to practice with, he'd taught her the theory behind the two-man gun team and how to handle both roles. Kieu-Linh took the belt and held it in place as he pulled the trigger, her eyes wide, her body shaking, blood dripping down one arm and near her left ear.

Fire roared out of the barrel as he sent hot lead out and down the slope to where the assaulting platoon had moved up another few meters despite the hail of bullets and mortars all around. Hitch tore up men and rocks and bushes as if they were paper dolls, sprays of blood and dust in equal parts creating a mist of brown and red. He spotted an officer and nearly decapitated him, the rest of the platoon drawing flat and trying to hide. They started to fire at him, and he tried to keep his head down, rounds dinging off the barrel and around the sandbags providing some cover to his body but none to his head.

The belt ran out and he rushed Kieu-Linh through the reload, soon sending more bullets down on the positions below. A grenade exploded below him on the rise, then another. A squad had crept closer to them and was too low to hit with the .50 cal. "They're right below us! Roll your grenades down!" Kieu-Linh dropped the ammo belt and pulled the pin on the first grenade. She dropped it down in front of them. It went off seconds later when she flicked the pin to detonate it, and then she dropped another.

No more grenades were thrown back, and Kieu-Linh took up the belt again, feeding the gun as quickly as it pulled for more. Hitch could tell the barrel was already getting hot, flames spurting out and smoke starting to sizzle from the tip. He couldn't keep up the rate of fire without cooling it down. "Pour a canteen on it!" He screamed, pointing to the hot barrel.

Kieu-Linh ducked a moment as more fire came their direction. When Hitch pinned it down, she rose up, rounds still zinging close by her head, then emptied her canteen over the barrel, the scalding metal sending a rush of painful steam over her arms. She yanked back only after the last drops had settled, her forearm red and angry.

"You're bleeding!" Kieu-Linh yelled into his ear as she dove back beside him and retook the ammo belt. Hitch had no time to look. He sent rounds into a pocket of earth below where a squad-sized force of Imps had made the mistake of bunching up and seeking cover together. His .50 cal tore them to shreds.

Mortars rained down heavily again, and it was so intense that Hitch released the gun and huddled over Kieu-Linh to protect her from the shrapnel. He felt hot stings along his leg but ignored it as best he could. His ears were ringing and he knew his hearing was becoming a dull rumble of formless noise. Kieu-Linh said something, but he couldn't make it out. When the mortars slowed a moment, he rose back to the gun and could see the Imp troops pulling back, many of them dragging wounded and killed comrades down the slope and behind the cover of the low hill below. Someone was walking friendly mortars as they fled, killing more and leaving a trail of body parts and moaning soldiers in its wake.

Hitch kept firing as long as he had targets, soon running out of ammo. He and Kieu-Linh rushed back to the Lieutenant's former position, only to find it vacant and empty. The person now in charge was an old sergeant with a splatter of blood on her face, more on her arms and hands, loudly directing her men and women to "pour it on!" to encourage the retreat.

The mortars became distant as they followed the Imps down the pass and well to the west and south. Gunfire from rifles became a sputter, then stopped completely. The silence which followed was eerie.

Hitch's hearing was shot for the moment. He could barely make out Kieu-Linh's words when she repeated, "you're bleeding!" In the lull, he let her take his flak jacket off and pull up his shirt sleeve. A red, angry hole pulsed out blood with his heartbeat, the bullet having entered just an inch from where his flak jacket would have protected him, exiting through a meaty part of his upper back. It started to hurt like hell.

A medic was there suddenly, on his knees. He worked quickly to stop the flow of blood and wrapped a hasty bandage over it. "Pain?" he asked, barely audible over the ringing in Hitch's ears. He knew the man was asking if he wanted morphine. Hitch shook his head, the pain tremendous but he was unwilling to be doped up so long as he could stomach it.

The medic moved on to where another soldier was holding a cloth over a large shrapnel wound. Kieu-Linh had blood on her pants legs, and when Hitch pulled one up, he could see that she had taken slivers of metal from the mortar impacts. He tried to pick them out of her skin, but she pushed him away, the metal stuck fast in her flesh. More were near her ear, those creating a splatter of red welts slowly dripping blood down her neck. Another medic came up soon after and began to treat the wounds along her jawline, saying that the leg could wait. Hitch encouraged her to accept the morphine lollipop, and Kieu-Linh was better able to endure the rough treatment necessary to dislodge the stuck metal from her head and leg after the opiate had dulled her senses.

Willow rushed up with her aide and another officer, crouching down, and looking quickly to Hitch's bandaged shoulder before catching his eye.

It hadn't surprised her to see her dad near the front line at the weakest point. She'd had no time to evacuate him and his wife before the assault had tore through the lower defenses and pushed fast to overrun the camp. Willow had organized the defenses from her command-and-control tent, doing her best to keep her young officers calm and issuing sensible orders. She had a lot of replacements in her brigade, and though her subordinate officers did a fine job, the platoon and company leaders were often green and easily overwhelmed in combat. This late in the war, it was hard to find veteran leadership for her grunts, and she was thankful for the few surviving NCOs who continued to serve and provide direction in the chaos of battle.

She had no time to ask her dad personal questions, instead, she said, "debrief, then get back to the medical tent to get seen. Both of you. Report."

Her father made it clear that he was having trouble hearing, but he understood what she was asking anyway. "Company moved in force up there," he said, pointing, "the MG was knocked out first, and there was some panic which was quickly turned back to the defense." Willow was certain that was an understatement. She'd seen soldiers flee in fear too often, and it took a steady hand and a dedicated leader, usually in front of the pack, to get them to return to their positions.

"We got the MG back up and used enfilading fire and mortars to stop the assault below that line of brush. A few got closer, and we eliminated them as well. They've moved down about a klick, beyond that hill. Their mortars provided cover for the retreat."

Her father gave report instinctively, and it made her proud to see him in his element, despite his injuries. She was surprised to see that his young wife had apparently been in the battle, as well, shrapnel wounds obvious on her legs and neck. There was blood on her hands, and she was cradling her carbine while eyeing the pass below them.

Willow had to move on. There'd been a lack of reports from the western lines, several of the radios destroyed and several radio operators wounded or killed. She nodded, then moved off to the platoon holding the flank to the left.

The field doctor stitched his wound with a rough hand, but Hitch gritted his teeth and bore it quietly. He'd had worse treatment in the field. They were sitting on a flat rock near where they'd fought from the machine gun pit, having passed the doctors on to those in more need of aid until they finally returned, saying Hitch was next. His hearing was still shot, but the ringing had gone down and he could make out words more clearly.

At least the wound appeared to be a minor one, all things considered. Another medic was carefully picking metal out of Kieu-Linh's legs, several dozen small, bloody holes in her skin. He was proud to see that she was handling the pain relatively well.

The medic finished patching his shoulder and started to pick at the shrapnel in his legs. He had just a few, still painful, but he was done before the man working on Kieu-Linh had pulled the last fragment from her body. They were patched up and dismissed, hobbling together back to where their tent used to sit. It had been blown over by a mortar shell, collapsed and laying on its side, covered in dirt and debris. They dug through the interior for their packs and gear, then humped up the side of the rise to where he knew the command officers had been located.

He wasn't going looking for his daughter. He knew she was too busy in after-action briefings and arranging new plans and defenses. Instead, the brigade hospital was in that area and he hoped to locate the young Lieutenant who had panicked during the firefight. They found the hospital and stepped inside. Moans of wounded men and women were muted and more quiet than he expected. The more seriously injured had already been evacuated to facilities well to the rear where they could receive advanced treatment.

Those who remained, and there were probably two dozen, were laid out in two rows, nurses and medics and doctors moving past, administering medications and checking on bandages. He saw the Lieutenant on his back near the rear, a bandage around his thigh. Hitch stepped around the beds and medical personnel, sliding up to the man's side. He had a morphine lollipop in his mouth.

"How are you, Lieutenant?" Hitch asked quietly.

The man looked up at him, his face ashy and pale. "I ... I don't know..."

Hitch looked down at his bandage, "well, I've seen a lot of wounded men in my day, and I'm certain you are going to be fine. They'd have sent you back otherwise. Bullet wound?"

The young officer nodded, and his face showed embarrassment and shame.

Hitch crouched down to the man's level and looked at him calmly. "First combat?"

"Y-yes..."

Hitch nodded. "The first time I was in a battle, I pissed myself. Literally pissed myself. I was so scared and we were in place so long that I could not hold it. Goddamnedest thing, too. Even when we were being shot at, my First Sergeant sees me and laughs, gave me a nickname I hated immediately. 'Lieutenant Depends, ' he called me, suggested that I get some diapers the next time so that I'd not piss on his shoes."

The Lieutenant was watching Hitch carefully, not laughing or smiling, sucking on the opiate lollipop.

"But he took me aside later," Hitch continued, "and he told me that I loosened up after he called me that, that I'd taken offense and was ashamed and that he saw that I was determined not to let myself lose control of my men and the battle. He said it happened in combat, pissing yourself, whether from fear or from a bladder spasming on its own, or whatever. It made me realize that being afraid was normal. Hell, if you aren't afraid, you aren't capable of being a good rifleman. Fear makes you understand the gravity of what you're facing. Son, don't be ashamed to be scared. We all are. I saw you recover yourself out there, I knew you'd be alright. Next time, you'll remember that you had the strength to keep your fear from causing you to freeze. Next time, you'll know you have the guts to see to your men. I'm proud of you, son. Take nothing more from what happened than that."

The young man held no expression, but he was beginning to look very sleepy. Hitch stood and turned to leave his side. He heard the man's voice. "Thank you, Sir ... who ... who are you?"

"Call me Hitch, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, Sir..."

The brigade had held despite the close approach the Imp assault had made. A few forward defenses had been overwhelmed initially, but the line had solidified and fought back with heavy weapons and well-placed batteries of fire. Willow knew her father had played a key role at the moment when things were very much in doubt.

They had been ordered to hold the pass while the attack continued to the east by the bulk of the Free American forces. For several days, the Imps had held back, bloodied by their failed assault and likely hesitating while it became clear that they had been drawn into a fight they could not win without untenable casualties. An uneasy stalemate had resulted on the western flank, the two sides trading mortars and artillery and air strikes from time to time, but it was light and did little more than cause annoyance and a few injuries in the night.

Willow had managed to get a few hours of sleep over the time spent there, and she'd ordered their positions reinforced and bunkers fortified and improved. It kept everyone busy and focused on their work rather than idling in camp and thinking too heavily on their losses and the battles to come.

She'd had a moment to talk to her father a couple of times over those days, and as she relaxed on her cot between briefings, she reflected on a conversation she'd had with him a couple of nights earlier.

"You saved that position, Dad. Lieutenant Cantrell informed me that you rallied the platoon and kept them from falling back, then you two manned the .50 and kept it hot until the Imps fell back. I've put you both in for medals. Already sent in the paperwork anyway. Officially, it seems, you're already under my command. Captain Justice saw to it that you were registered and enlisted."

"I did what I had to do." Her father had said.

"I want you to accept a commission."

Her dad had said nothing.

"I've made you a Lt. Colonel, Dad. Field commissions are at my discretion, as you know, but I see no issue higher up after your performance. I could really use your experience in the field."

He hesitated a moment, closing his eyes. Her father seemed to accept that he had no other options. "What do you need me to do?"

"First Battalion lost its CO a month ago. I've had a Major running things, but he's a former staff officer and he's not nearly aggressive enough to respond to the way the Imps fight. Take over First Battalion and restore it to fighting shape. We've got reinforcements coming in within the week to bring it up to minimal strength, and it's going to need to be battle-ready immediately. I don't expect the Imps to sit idle much longer. They know that they have been pulled into a fight they cannot win here, but they are probing our flanks and trying to maneuver around us. I've got Ranger teams harassing them now, but they are not in strength and don't have the means to prevent a movement in force. First Battalion is in the rear right now, but it will be moving to the flank as soon as it is ready."

Her dad looked at Kieu-Linh a moment, then turned back to Willow. "I accept, on one condition."

"Name it."

"Kieu-Linh is my aide. She was solid in combat, and I need her with me if I'm going to get shit done."

"Deal. I've already thought of that as well." Willow turned to Kieu-Linh. "I heard about your performance, Kieu-Linh. I don't recall someone your age performing like that in combat, especially under fire. I have promoted you to Corporal. I'll have utilities and new gear brought to you immediately."

Kieu-Linh responded, "I'll do my duty. Thank you." Willow thought the young woman looked rather proud of herself.

"She needs an M9 in addition to her carbine."

Willow nodded, "not a problem."

Her father looked at her a moment, then smiled, "I'm so proud of you, Willow. I cannot tell you how much it means to me to see how you have become a leader I'm proud to serve under."

Willow smiled despite her usual restraint on her emotions. "Thanks, Dad—Colonel. I suppose we should get used to addressing each other properly. I admit ... it's odd to be giving you orders. That might take some getting used to."

"I have no doubt that you'll do it without thinking about it too much. You're a natural, Wi—Colonel," her father said, smiling again, "like I said, you're a natural. I always knew you were headstrong and capable of leading others."

"Guess I take after you, huh?"

He laughed, "since you were lucky enough to get your good looks from your mother, I'm fine with that."

Willow laughed and hugged him quickly. "I need to return for a debrief. Should have a patrol back shortly. I'll see you both in my tent in one hour, I'll get you up to speed on what we know and introduce you to your XO and company commanders."

Willow was feeling rather proud of herself, a feeling she'd only rarely given into over her life. She seldom took anything for granted, and her constant drive to improve and learn from mistakes made her ignore her own accomplishments and worry, instead, about what she'd done wrong. She'd never been one to seek out laurels or praise, but hearing her father say he was proud, to see on his face the sincerity of his words, had washed her deeply and, at least for a time, made her feel like she was young once more.

She felt old, of course, most of the time. Despite being thirty, she'd been fighting so long that her body was worn down and tired, her mind sharp but, despite her outer calm and the mask of control she showed others, she regularly felt overwhelmed and out of her league. Willow was good at thinking on her feet, and she believed she had a solid knowledge of tactics and leadership principles. The rest, she knew, was made up on the fly and involved a great deal of luck.

Her father was now her direct subordinate, certainly an odd turn in her life, but something which actually gave her some comfort. It gave her additional strength to know her dad's experience and his amazing ability to lead soldiers would bring First Battalion back to a keen fighting edge. There wasn't time for a full rebuilding of the unit, but her father was already deep into training exercises and integrating his knowledge into his chain of command. She'd seen him conversing with officers and green recruits alike, and she recognized a lot of her own habits in his methods.

Willow was really beginning to like Kieu-Linh, as well. The young woman had already been awarded a bronze star for her actions around the machine gun, and she was making herself valuable in assisting Willow's father in his new duties. In what spare time the teen had, she'd been learning all the weapons deployed by the battalion, including spending time with the mortar crews and medics. Kieu-Linh may have been young, but she was obviously mature beyond her years and already making an impact on the battalion and on her husband.

Willow thought back to the last time she'd had a romantic relationship. She'd had very few in her life. One had been two months long when she was fifteen, the boy in her life one summer and the one she'd chosen to be her first. Later, at sixteen, she'd fallen in love with a young man in her Junior ROTC cadre and they'd spent free time together romantically. It was several years later before she had her next encounter, a few nights during a rest between fights when she'd taken an older soldier to her bed and enjoyed his company before the enemy pressed in on their position and broke them from their romance.

She'd been twenty-four the last time any hands but hers had touched her genitals, and it had likely two years since even her own had done more than pass through. Willow had been under stress and in danger, responsible for hundreds and then thousands of lives, too much on her mind to give in to her urges.

It was a surprise to find herself sliding her hand between her legs as she rested on her cot. It was a general and unexpected arousal that had her fingers slipping into her pants, caressing her clit in small circles. Willow's pussy had always been hairy, shaving in the field too time-consuming and left her uncomfortable as the stubble grew in. She felt the fur under her palm as her nub hardened, and she moaned lightly despite herself.

Her labia had opened like a flower when she was thirteen. As long as she could remember, her inner lips had splayed outside of her outer, dark-red and parted naturally any time her legs spread. When she was a teenager, it had made her self-conscious at first, glimpses at other girls in showers and during sleepovers making her aware that her vulva didn't look like the thin, slightly puffy slits she saw on them. Even as she touched herself on her cot, she was aware of the meaty labia which were warm and slick below her fingers.

Her clit, too, was enlarged compared to the hidden nubs she'd sometimes seen on others. It was part of why she had been embarrassed to be naked in front of others, something she still felt despite her being much older and no longer an innocent child. Her clit, on the rare occasions it had risen over the previous years, pushed hard against her panties and would rub pleasantly as her thighs moved during a walk or run.