Last Stand

The story of a light armored reconnaissance Marines fighting desperately to hold off advancing Russian forces whilst waiting for reinforcements to arrive in their area of operation.

How many long has it been since this s**t show started? Weeks? Months? Lance Corporal Hart was not sure. It felt like a eons since the split of the United Nations, followed by the United States reentering an isolation, leaving the world to widespread civil unrest, famine, and war. In South America, Argentina was going at it with Brazil, both warring parties disputing over territory and resources that were being consumed too quickly, not just in South America, but the rest of the world. The last of the Balkan Nations Coalition had fallen to the Russians, while their arctic neighbors to the north fortifying the borders of Finland, fearing a Russian blitzkrieg in their land. Japan and South Korea, with the help of Australia and New Zealand, beat back a North Korean offensive and pushed them back to the Yalu River, resulting in a unification of the peninsula. On March 9th, 2017, a terrorist attack occurred in Washington DC at a political debate regarding a containment of Russian and Chinese forces, who'd been carving parts of the world for their taking. This attack, killed the President of the United States, the blast being caught on international television. Speculation led to pointing fingers at Russia, whose representatives walked out of the debate moments before the bomb went off. The American people called for revenge, blaming the Russians for the terror attack, as similar events occurred in Europe before the Russians went to war with the Baltic Nations.

A month later, the American Naval base in Yokosuka, Japan was attacked; 1,600 American servicemen and servicewomen were killed, after torpedoes hit several vessels in their docks. Hours after this sucker punch, Marines and Sailors with the 15th and 31st MEU assaulted Vladivostok, hailing America's cry for revenge, dragging us into a new war with Russia. Months had passed since then, and in that time, the newly formed Republic of Korea was capitulated by the Chinese, who proceeded to help the Russians push the American Forces who were advancing past their foothold in Vladivostok, and followed up by invading mainland Japan, pushing closer and closer to Mount Fuji. Miles from the famous landmark, American and Japanese troops had been fighting tooth and nail to buy adjacent and rear units precious time to dig in on and around the mountain, this would allow them to create a large defensive line, with the intent of holding until more friendly forces could arrive in theater.

In Europe, Russian, along with their new friends from Belarus and Ukraine, had suffered heavy losses in Berlin, forcing them to tighten up defenses in Poland. Hart had been in Europe for give or take, six months, and in that short time frame, his battalion had replaced 75% of their personnel and 90% of their LAVs.

'It's so f****n late. F**k turret watch. F**k the Russians. F**k Europe. I'd love to be home, but instead I gotta fight these stupid a******s.', Hart thought to himself. He checked his watch; 2341. Nine more minutes until he could wake up some boot a*s replacement to take his shift. They were to take hour long shifts in the turret of the LAV-25, scanning right to left, making sure there weren't any Russian troops in the area. If there was, he would stomp on the ready box to wake up the driver, PFC Polke, who would get ready to turn the pig on, while Hart would yell for the gunner and vehicle commander, as well as the scout team to wake up and mount up.

It was now 2345, Hart started scanning for the last few minutes. Something in the sight moved, not much at first, then it moved again, and suddenly, it pulled back. Moments later, it reappeared, only this time with two friends. Hart's eyes opened to the size of large dinner plates. "F**K. Red 4 wake up we got a platoon of BMPs scoping us out. POLKE, GOD DAMN IT YOU F*****G IDIOT WAKE THE F**K UP BOOT!", the scouts tore from their warm sleeping bags and bivy sacks, the gunner and VC doing the same, the vehicle roared to life. "Hart call it up to the company commander!" "Roger! Black 6, Red 4 we have a platoon sized element of BMP-3s, stand by for grid over." "Red 4, Black 6, standing by." "Roger, BMP-3s at grid 33U VT 59310 61921 . Azimuth 4200 mils, how copy over?" "Roger we've got  33U VT 59310 61921, azimuth 4200 mils." "That is correct over." "Red 4 have your platoon stand to, we'll pass it to the rest of the company to be ready to step, Black 6 out. Break break, all vics all vics this is Black 6, stand to I say again stand to break... Have your 1 actuals roger up when the platoons are ready, over."

"Red 1, roger."

"White 1, Lima Charlie, over."

"Blue 1, soli-"

Blues transmission was rudely interrupted by a single explosion, 200 meters away, a bracketing impact from what must've been a 120mm mortar. Ivan loved those things. "Hey Lacy I think we ought to button up."

"Yeah man you're right, when we're down, grab a chow. Not chili mac, I love that s**t."

As soon as those words left his mouth, the VC for Red 4 piped in; "That's a negative Corporal Lacy, I just got told to have you send your team to meet with the rest of the scouts from the company at the center coil, apparently you guys are gonna go hunting for Russian forward observers they got a bead of their team on thermals, about 7 of them up on some ridge about 5 clicks out to the west, it wasn't passed to you directly because comm, as usual, is being s****y."

Andy Lacy, from New York, Corporal type. He'd been in for a year longer than Hart, and was supposed to be out of the Marine Corps last month, but when the war broke out, they pretty much extended our contracts indefinitely. 'Oh well, f**k all of us I guess.' Hart jokingly thought.

Upon arriving to the center coil, the scouts of Bravo Company stood in a gaggle; many with uniforms frayed and worn, stayed by months of fighting and bleached by the sun, their boots ragged and trousers not bloused. They wore tired, haggard faces with no care for shaving, stubble was worn by many, small beards by a few of the older Marines, this was the icon of a grizzled, combat tested Marine Infantry Rifleman. Among the ranks, fresh faced boots. New guys. Clean rifles, fresh shaves, new gear, never seen a fight, until that bracketing round hit just 5 minutes before.

"Alright fellas here's the skinny; 5 mikes ago, some t**d Russians up in the hills tried calling for fire on the company coil. Their comm, just as ours does at the worst time, must have s**t the bed. Who was with the battalion when we lost our hold on Warsaw?" Half the Marines raised their hands.

"You fuckers know exactly what I mean."

Bravo Company Executive Officer, Lieutenant Parker, 20 something, the man was jacked and always had a dip in, in garrison he had the lowest of low haircuts, never wore skivvy shirts, had the no care in the world for uniform regulations, and quite honestly didn't give a f**k besides training the company scouts, because when he was an enlisted man, he had been Sergeant Parker, resulting in a soft spot for his men, always wanting them to be perfect killers. He also knew how rowdy we could be in a fight. He'd been in Vladivostok when it was captured by the two MEUs, and when it fell, and while fighting in the mountainous region around Mount Fuji, he received orders to OCS; his bachelors had gone through, and thanks to the heavy losses American troops were STILL taking, he was pushed through Officers Candidate School, then through Infantry Officers Course, where he received orders to LAR, and now, standing in front of his Marines, he briefed the scouts on a mission that entailed patrolling into the hills and hunting down those drunk, violent b******s the Marines called Ivan.

When the order was given, only one hour had passed since the Russians hit us with that single 120. Another passed, and the grunts found themselves starting to head up the hills.

Another grueling uphill hiking hour later, Red platoon's scout squad begin setting up a patrol base, White and Blue would reach the area soon, and when they did they too would settle in what was to become Bravo Company's scout patrol base.

From afar, the LAV-25s pulled into several clusters of trees, with the anti tank section positioning their TOW launchers down the three avenues of approach to kill any tanks, if any strayed into the position the company was in. After they settled, the platoon commanders of each platoon let their squad leaders know they had set and were green lit to start hunting for Russian scout and forward observer teams, or to call for fire on any armored vehicles.

"Red scouts, get up, we're heading out with Blue platoon to hunt for Russians, White is gonna stay back to maintain this PB." They were up, gear on, weapons in hand. Fifteen Marines and a Navy corpsman. Twelve M4 Carbines and four M27 IARs. Three LAWs, three AT-4s, two M32 grenade launchers. One designated marksmen team, armed with their M4s and a designated marksman team, who wielded the almight Barrett fifty caliber M107 SASR. They looked like they were going to tear down Moscow and then Beijing, finishing with a good pillaging.

Four hours have passed. The sun is rising and the scouts can not find the Russians. They ended up trekking 14 kilometers, angering the scouts, and because of months of fighting, they are exhausted from this movement.

"Call up to White, let them know we're gonna set into a security hold for a couple of hours and then head back."

As soon as the call was passed, Hart heard someone shout from afar. A foreign and familiar language. The man yelling rolled his R with a distinctive Russian accent.

"Как с™язаться с передний!"

Lacy muttered next to him, "F**k here we go."

Rounds snapped over their heads, hitting the trees, missing several Marines, two finding their targets, one into Blue's squad leader, Corporal Marcy, the man had a two kids and a wife, but now he had no brains and only part of his head with bits and pieces of his kevlar helmet, their corpsman was failing but doing his absolute best to stop a replacement from bleeding out, and when the Marine passed, the doc, already numb to death, signaled for another Marine to get his gear. Together they broke the protective plates and tossed them aside. The sailor wore no emotion on his face.

As the firefight drug on, the Marines seemed to have the upper hand. They shot HE 40mm rounds in a volley. The Russians didn't reply. "Did we waste those mother fuckers?!"

As to answer the scout from Blue's answer, a BMP-3 crept into the valley below and started spitting 30mm shells at their position. A hundred meters away, the 12 scouts of Blue platoon were reduced to shreds, clouds and sprays of blood and gore. Red and pink mist hung in a lazy mist over their positions, the scent of cordite and blood filled the air. "Get the f**k into cover! Get the f**k off this ridge, hurry the f**k up, MOVE!"

The surviving scouts got to cover, the BMP still laying waste to the trees on the top of the ridge.

"Hammond get me the LT on the horn, we're in a bad f*****g spot, tell them what happened to Blue," the Red scout squad leader, Corporal Charles stopped to choke back tears. Hart couldn't blame him, a man could only take so much, and seeing the last of his living friends whom he'd spent years before with get torn up like that must've killed him on the inside. "F****n' b******s.", muttered Hart.

"After that you tell them we are pulling the f**k out of here."

Lance Corporal Hammond was the RO for Red, smart guy he was. Old, too. 28 years, and he was picked on, in a loving way, about being the platoon grandfather.

"Alright, let's get the f**k out of here. Black 6 is tracking they're seeing if they can get some RAPS from arty."

"Hey Charles they said arty cannot be obtained, nobody can in the company can get ahold of them, so f**k us."

The firing from the BMP stopped and Lacy ordered Red 4 to crest the ridge to investigate. As Hart peaked over, he brought some binoculars to his eyes, scanning the area. The BMP was stuck in the muck below, and the turret was in the middle of hasty field repair. As he watched, the driver of the BMP jumped from his hole and took the barrel out, waddled to the back, disappearing from sight.

Hart yelled out, "Charles, that piece of s**t BMP is unfucking itself, we should get a rocket on him, we're 400 meters about, but firing down hill should help the rocket hit the b***h!"

"Red 2 and 4, prep your AT-4s, we're shooting two of them at it, that should buy us time if we kill it. On my command."

"Ready?"

"Er."

"DO IT, WASTE THOSE MOTHER FUCKERS!!"

"Back blast area all clear, ROCKEEEET!"

Two thundering booms. Hart watched through his binos. The rockets hit the vehicle.

"Yo Charles that was definitely a mobility kill, but those a******s might still alive, we should try again!"

So they did.

BOOM!

The BMP-3 exploded. The crewmen crawled out of their holes, screaming in terrible agony. Hart looked and laughed. The rest of the scouts joined him. 'Worthless sacks of s**t, I hope we get to watch more of them burn like that. Wow, I'm a sick b*****d. Oh well.', Hart thought to himself. They got up off the deck, and after they burned the weapons from the dead with a couple of thermite grenades, Red headed back to the patrol base, leaving the piles of gore and ravaged corpses that was once Blue platoon along the ridge.

"There's a lot of, GIANTS, running around here."

"I've got a GIANT, in my PANTS."

The scouts of Red platoon snickered from the challenge and pass turned into a pun. For some, it was the first time in weeks since they changed the expression on their faces.

"Hey start breaking this s**t down, we move back to the coil in ten minutes."

Sarcastic er's, rahs, and kills echoed within the patrol base, and the grunts begin to gather their s**t, and started back to the coil, luckily for them, it took less time, thanks to the down hill hike.

"Scouts bring it in on the CO."

There he stood. The myth, the man, the legend, the Captain, The Sir.
Captain Reynolds, had 20 years of experience, and like Lt. Parker, was enlisted, a Mustang. There was at one point a Senior Drill Instructor Staff Sergeant Reynolds, luckily for his men that part of his career was long gone.

In front of them, a man of two wars, now in his third, had been on several tours to Iraq and Afghanistan, places like Fallujah and Sangin, the Captain was there. He'd done it all. He is a hard mother f****r.

"Marines, it breaks my heart, knowing your brothers, my sons, perished today in the field of battle. I know we've been here in Europe for several months, and I have never felt pain like this in my entire 20 years. Boys. I look at every single one of you, and I do not see Marines. I see warriors, Spartans, I see men who I love like my own sons. I love each and every one of you. Despite this horrible day, there is a ray of hope. In five days, we will be rotating back to the United States, back home, for four months. There is talk of us going over to fight the Russians and Chinese in Japan. But I digress; I have been received word from the division commander myself. All of you will be placed on leave for two months, immediately upon return to California. Tomorrow morning, we will trade spots with elements from 7th Marines and 1st Tank Battalion. In our battalions place, 5th LAR will be deployed. That is all my warriors, try to get some rest. Please, get some rest. Dismissed."

The scouts slugged away to their respective pigs. Nobody talked. Silence filled the air. Everyone felt uneasy. Red 4 spoke to each other.

"Hey Hart, you think we'll go fight the Chinese?"

"Who knows, man. All I know is in a few days we'll be home. Hopefully we'll come back to the Polish-German border to throw hands with those fuckers out to the east."

"Yeah you're right man."

"Okay."

Corporal Louis, Red 4 VC, had his gunner, driver, and himself doing 6 hour rotations so the scouts could get rest, he couldn't imagine what a mess it must have been. He scanned his lateral limits, 3800-5600 mils. He wondered what became of the BMPs from before. He had been informed the scouts whacked on of them. 'Only two left,' he thought, 'we could take them, easily. Unless they came back with some serious a*s.'

"Hey. HEY. Wake up dick head. Polke. POLKE. WAKE THE F**K UP BEFORE I BEAT THE S**T OUT OF YOU."

Polke woke with a start. His gunner, Lance Corporal Stewart was hissing threats in his ear. "Aye Lance Corporal! I'm sorry, please do-"

"Shut up. Get up here in the turret. Hurry the f**k up a*****e I wanna go to bed."

"Roger Lance Corporal."

Stewart briefed the 18 year old driver, gave him lateral limits, TRPs, primary direction of fire, the whole nine yards. One hour passed.

Two hours.

Three.

Four.

Through the sights, Polke looked around. Made note of a couple of positions that attacking Russians could use for cover. He reached his right lateral limit. A small group of blips, about 3, were sitting still. He switched the sight to 40x.

"Oh s**t oh s**t oh S**T." In the sights, he made out 12 more blips. If Polke remembered his armor ID correctly, they were BTR-90's and some BMP-2s.

He yelled for the crew to wake up. "Corporal they're seven kilometers out!"

"Okay. Stay calm young one. Get in your hole and get ready to turn the vehicle on."
Wide eyed and frozen with terror, he shook his head up and down and obeyed the order. Louis jumped into the turret with Stewart.

"Hey Louis. That kid, Polke, is a genius, he should've been a f*****g general. Those aren't BMPs and BTRs. The blips int the ITSS?"

Louis stared at him for a minute, then broke the moment of silence, "Go on."

"They're a f*****g company plus sized element BMP-3's and a platoon of T-14s."

"Oh. Well, uh... F**k." Both men chuckled.

The mortars, likely to be the same gun crews from earlier, begun to strike the area, shattering trees and ruining the earth. Shrapnel bounced off the vehicles. The mortars were joined by large rockets. They screamed through the air, making the young inexperienced driver scream. The kid was crying in his drivers hole. Hart started laughing. He'd seen worse. The Su-25's in Warsaw tore the battalion apart, along with their allies from Belgium's 14th Royal Guards Tank Battalion. Their attempts to escape the city were futile and organized. The only reason 3rd LAR had gotten out was because of their chain of command, they reacted swiftly and efficiently to the threat the enemy presented. The entire Belgium tank unit, were reported by an adjacent unit, as Hart later found out, to have taken nearly 100% casualties.

Bounding back, the platoons covered each others retreat. They were only 10 kilometers from the rest of their battalion, who in turn was 20 kilometers from 7th Marines, 1st Tanks, and the rest of the First Marine Divisions defensive line.

"So we're pulling back to the battalion defense. They've been digging in, as we all know, for the past week. Should be easy for us to roll on in to our prepared defensive area. Hey Hart, when we get ready to head home, remind me to pin you. You're finally picking up you f****t."

Hart couldn't help but laugh and retort, "Alright man, will do. Hopefully those chevrons won't weigh me down."

The rest of the scouts laughed. The VC looked back and asked what was funny. Charles told him and he laughed. He popped down into the turret and told Stewart what was just said. He laughed. The entire vehicle laughed.

They stopped when they sped past the burning hulk of what was once an LAV-25. It was Red 2. The scouts who were popped up were scorched by the fires that engulfed the vehicle, the flames swirling the corpses within with its warm embrace. Red 4 averted their eyes, and slowed to a halt. Due to the threat of aircraft, dispersion had been set to one hundred meters. Louis' hands were trembling as he took his CVC off of his head and turned to Red 3.

"What happened Gunny?"

"They hit a mine, we're gonna drop a thermite grenade on the main gun and on the radios and mark the vehicle for extraction."

All that was said by Gunnery Sergeant Thomas had been carried out.

"Corporal Charles, have your scouts be ready to engage enemy troops along the road back. White platoon just suffered two catastrophic kills and blue suffered one, all hands lost. White is being broken up, we're getting White 4 and Blue is getting White 2."
"Roger Gunny. Did you all hear him?" The team leaders gave him a thumbs up and the company was once again on their way. 

Hart, who was popped down, dozed off. He woke to Lacy nudging him with his foot, "Hey, wake up man, we're here. Head to battalion mess, get yourself hot chow, clean socks, and clean underwear. I know you need them," Lacy grinned and finished by saying, "you dirty w***e." Hart laughed and went on his way.

The POGs served pasta, bread, cake, and little rounded steaks. Field mess was nearly just as bad as a cold MRE. Without thought, Hart scarfed it all.

He returned, set up his sleeping system, laid out his sleeping mat, and was in a deep sleep only seconds after laying down.

The sunlight poured through the mesh of his sleeping bag near Brandon Hart's face. He woke and got his gear on, and sat in the back of the vehicle. Roberts and Able were in the the vehicle. They told him Lacy went to the command center to get a brief, what it was about, they didn't know, but they mentioned now Sergeant Charles, seemed like he was in a rushed, and was seemingly nervous, which was not him whatsoever.

20 minutes later, Lacy came back with some news.

"Over that hill, just three clicks away, through the narrow pass we came through, the Russians are massing. Our position is a weak spot in the German-Polish line. If the Russians break through, they'll chase us and we won't stop them until we get to the Rhine. If we can't stop them there. Paris will fall, and the European mainland will be gone. Guys if that happens, we will be in a really s****y spot. Yes Britain is easy to defend thanks to the Navy and Air Force, but that's not the point. We are what stand between the Russians and possibly evacuating from Normandy or Dunkirk. I'll get more word to you guys as I get it."

3 and a half days until the battalion rotates home.

Unless the Russians broke through the line

What if it takes more than 3 days to beat those a******s back?
What if they decide to f**k us over and make us stay?
Do they have tanks on the other side? T-90s? T-14s?

"Man, who knows what they've got. What ever decides to come up, we'll waste them. We're set up in an L-shape, we've got cammie netting up. The only reason why tanks and 7th Reg aren't here is because they're rooting out some of those VDV psychos. Remember the VDV in Berlin, Hart?"
"Yeah, how could I not? They wasted a good number of our guys. Those c**t mother fuckers."

Hart recalled the Siege of Berlin. That had been the worst he'd been through. Hands down,it tied with Warsaw. The Russians had chosen to encircle and lay a siege to Berlin. Hart always said they could've beat us, but their ego got in the way, which was a big mistake. Their tanks sat outside of the city, their infantry, helicopters and jets constantly attacking. 20 days into the siege, Russian VDV units poured through the sewers. If they chose to pour through certain areas, they very well could've killed us from the inside out. Most of their men did not receive such orders. Hart smiled upon a memory of him mowing about 20 of the b******s down with the M240. This far into the siege, all the vehicles in red platoon had been taken out of action. He then recalled being chased by jets, Su-25s to be exact, in Warsaw. Their terrifying BRRRRRT, spitting 30mm rounds at 4300 rounds a minute, guided rockets being fired at the allied forces, LAVs and Leopard tanks shredded like Swiss cheese.

"Hey Red Scouts bring it in. Word is that the Russians are to begin their assault shortly, intel caught some of their signals and they were translated. 30 minutes guys. Get to your positions, hurry the f**k up."
Then the newly promoted Sergeant Charles was gone, just as he appeared.

Stewart and Louis finished snorting prework out, they'd claimed since the start of the war that it helped them kill a lot of Russians. Grinning, Polke poured a line in his drivers hole and it went up his nose like a coke w***e snorting meth. He felt the effects. He burned. He was ready.

Word got around that their help would be arriving in 6 hours.

"Six? You're kidding me right? Well guys we might as well stick our fingers up our own asses so we can go f**k ourselves." Red 4 laughed.

Down the line, three round bursts at the 200 rate begin thumping from Delta Company. Their entire company was engaging 6 BTRs and 3 BMPs. The advancing drunken warriors returned fire, and as they did, 6 BRDMs got into position, and begin raising their TOW missiles. Immediatly, TOW missiles from Charlie and Delta fired first, all of the BRDMs dead. Reports of casualties from Delta company came in. For the Russian vehicles they smoked, only one Marine, a VC was wounded by shrapnel.

Stewart, eyes glued to his sights, sighted a BTR. "WE GOT A VICTIM LOUIE BOY!"

"F**K. HIM. UP! BTR IN THE OPEN, 2600 METERS, ENGAGE THAT B***H WITH HE, SEND IT!"
"ROGER ON THE WAY!"

BOOMBOOMBOOM

"SEND IIIIIT!"

"ON THE WAY!"

BOOMBOOMBOOM

"Hey he's hurting, F*****G FINISH HIM!"

"ON. THE. F*****G WAY!"

BOOMBOOMBOOM

In the distance, as if in queue, the BTR exploded, and the was followed in trace by an additional 12 BTRs.

"Holy s**t. I'm gonna call up to Gunny, let him know what we see, engage the lead vehicles."

On Lacy's radio, Hart listened to the rest of the battalion reporting each other their company engagement areas to have as many as 20 BTRs and BMPs.

For the next two hours, both side went at it, slinging armor piercing and high explosive rounds from their main guns, firing TOW missiles, and dropping mortars.

The scouts of Red 4 were linking 25mm rounds as quick as they could, making runs to the platoon ammo collection points to grab more ammunition.

Louis turned back and yelled, "Lacy take your team and get us more 25mm and 7.62! GO!"

"Scouts out, grab ammo, RUN!"

Mortar rounds being dropping in front of Red platoons vehicles, about 400 meters away.

"Corporal Lacy those a******s are trying to zero on our position, should I pull back?"

"F**k no, kid, this position is good, they might know we're here, and if they do, we might be fucked anyway. How are you holding up down there buddy?"

"I'm kinda hungry."

Louis and Stewart burst out laughing, tears in their eyes as they fought the Russian attack.

"You're not so bad kid. Tell ya what, because of this fight, you're not a boot anymore. You're one of us now man."

Polke smiled and replied "Alright bro." He finally felt welcome. The feeling he had now as worth it. Combat was still scary, but so much had happened in such a short amount of time, he felt nothing from it.

Zach Stewart, Lance Corporal type, was getting ready to engage another vehicle, their 6th BTR. His number of kills, vehicle and human, sat at 49. One more and he would have to stop painting lines on his side armor instead of dashes on the front of the turret. He turned around to reach for some dip, proceeded to put a pinch in, and when he peered back into his sight, his eyes went wide.

A new threat on the battlefield. Tanks, and lots of them.

"Soooo... When the hell are they gonna tell us to leave? We met displacement criteria and nothing is coming over the net about is.""

TOW missiles screamed and howled through the air at their new targets, killing several out of the 9 tanks.

He looked at his watch; 45 minutes until the reinforcements arrived.

Stewart popped down in his sights, no target. He scanned right. Nothing.

He went left and saw a small flash from the side of a BMP-2. TOW missile.

He yelled at Louis and Polke to bail out of the vehicle.

The last thing Polke saw as he looked though his periscope, caused his grin to fade in a flash, was a Russian TOW missile flying towards Red 4.

Hart looked up, only to see his crew and vehicle erupt in a violent explosion. Louis' corpse flew from the turret and landed behind, completely broken and shredded beyond recognition. Inside, Stewart was screaming, burning alive, he appeared from the turret, climbing out, swallowed by the flames. His flesh burning, hair, fried, he yelled in bloodcurdling cries. Hart remembered the Russians from earlier. He smiled as he watched them burn. Now they were doing the same. Mortar rounds exploded through the battalion's line. Hart could not bring his eyes from Stewart's corpse.

Lacy shook him. He looked at him, but could not hear anything.

'Is this it is? Is this how it happens?'

Lacy was trying to shake sense into his best friend. He slapped him. That did the trick. Hart snapped out of it, and they made their way to Red 3, took the scouts from the back of the vehicle, all four of them dead. He looked in the vehicle. All three crewmen, dead.

As they ran to the next vehicle, Able tripped and busted his knee on a piece of shrapnel in the ground, and when Roberts turned back to help him up, an 82mm mortar scored a direct hit on them, turning both into mist.

Hart looked back at Lacy, both continued their sprint to their platoon commanders vehicle.

"Hey bros. Mount up, we're pulling back to the COC. Tanks aren't responding, we're pulling back fellas."

At the COC, things were hectic. The XO had been killed, along with a bulk of the higher ups, wiped buy a rocket artillery barrage. In total, Bravo Company had 6 LAV-25s, two LAV-ATs, one LAV-Mortar, and the C2.

Russian Infantry being pouring through the fields. Hart sighting in on them, he could make out blue berets. Regulars, along with blue berets. He laughed. He remembered walking in on one stabbing another Marine from Red in the face, long after he'd passed back in Warsaw, and kindly returning the favor on the surprised enemy trooper.

While engaging the enemy troops, the company couldn't focus on the armor threat to the east. Delta Company had pulled back to their supplementary positions, with Alpha in trace. The T-14s wiped Charlie Company out, and infantry were pouring through the gap. A hand grenade landed out of range from Hart and exploded. The Russians had used the gap to their advantage, the infantry pouring in were now swarming throughout the rest of the battalion. He looked around the battlefield, seeing nothing but carnage, death, and fire. He saw Sergeant Charles, wounded, who managed to yell the order for the scouts to fix bayonets.

The LAVs had run out of 25mm. The battalion ammo supply point had been destroyed. M240s ripped through the air, cutting Russians apart. Hart and Lacy threw hand grenades and killed several more. They sighted in their M4s and killed some more. They kept getting closer. An LAV-25 exploded, hit by a tank shell.

Stunned by the blast, Lacy pulled Hart and they pulled back to a vehicle whose VC was slumped over in the turret, missing his head. Lacy took the M240B off the pintle mount while Hart reached into the turret to take the ammo from the coax box. When he begin withdrawing his hand, the gunner of the vehicle grabbed his hand.

"WHAT THE F**K?!" The gunner was gurgling something indistinguishable. Shrapnel had slit his face up, and more shredded his flak. His intestines were everywhere. He was bleeding profusely. He took another breath and then passed away.

The last two scouts of Red platoon made their way to the C2, and were tasked with guarding the pig with the last of the LAVs.

Upon reaching the the C2, a call was given on the radio to clear the net.

"BREAK BREAK BREAK, WOLF PACK 6 THIS IS APACHE ECHO FOUR ROMEO, APACHES 6, 7, 8 AND 9 ARE KIA, GREY GET THE SMAW TEAMS ON THE RIGHT FLANK, MOVE, MOVE! THEY'RE ROLLING US WITH A COMPANY OF T-90'S AND BMP'S, BROKEN ARROW BROKEN ARROW, HIT OUR POSITION WITH EVERYTHING YOU'VE GOT."
"NEGATIVE ON THAT REQUEST, WE DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH ROUNDS TO HAVE EFFECT ON THOSE UNITS."

"Dragoons 6 this is Wolf Pack 6, can you allocate any forces to reinforce Apache Company over?"

"NEGATIVE NEGATIVE, DRAGOONS COMPANY HAS TAKEN 90 PERCENT CASUALTIES, WE CANNOT SUSTAIN THIS POSITION ANY LONGER, I SAY AGAIN WE CANNOT HOLD THIS POSITION, WE NEED TO FALL BACK TO OUR SUPPLEMENTARY DEFENSIVE POSITIONS OVER."

"EERIE GREEN, DRAGOONS 6, GET YOUR AT'S ON THAT SECTOR, YOU HOLD ON THAT SECTOR!"

"ROGER WE DO NOT HAVE ENOUGH MISSILES LEFT IN OUR TUBES TO HALT ANY ADVANCING ARMOR, BREAK. CAN YOU GET YOUR AT SECTIONS BACK IN THE FIGHT?"
"NEGATIVE EERIE GREEN OUR AT SECTIONS ARE BINGO ON MISSILES."
"WOLF PACK 6, DRAGOONS 6, WE DO NOT HAVE THE RESOURCES TO HALT THE RUSSIANS, BREAK. WE NEED TO GET THAT AIR AND ARTILLERY IN THE FIGHT, WE HAVE NOT BEEN ABLE TO GET ANY OF THEM ON THE NET BREAK. WE ARE DOWN TO 5 LAV-25's, MY C2, AND A SQUAD PLUS OF SCOUTS, WE ARE BREAKING DOWN AND PULLING INTO OUR SUPPLEMENTARY POSITIONS, BREAK. MY SCOUT SMAW TEAMS ARE GOING TO HIT ENEMY ARMOR WITH THE LAST OF OUR HEAA ROCKETS WHEN THEY ROLL WITHIN 200 METERS, WE WILL NOT LEAVE OUR SUPPLEMENTARY POSITIONS, GET THE BATTALION OUT OF HERE, OVER."

"Roger Dragoons 6, retrograde to your supplementary positions but continue to delay the enemy in your sector, it's been an honor Dragoons 6, Wolf Pack 6 out."

Hart felt his heart sink.

'This is it. Well. F**k. Great war, too long for me but whatever.'

"We are not gonna surrender, Marines. We are here to fight them, and if winning takes us fighting to the death, so be it." The CO was an inspirational man. Hart begin firing the machine gun, Lacy feeding the ammo and calling soft targets.

Behind them, an explosion. The Marines turned around, to see the C2 was hit, but not gone. The CO was dead.

Lacy asked Hart how long it had been; "Seven hours man, where the f**k are the tanks?!"

The ran to the vehicle. The CO had his overlay in the back of the vehicle, and on it, radio frequencies to 1st Tanks, 7th Marines, and Headquarters battalion for the 1st Marine Division.

"I'll try tanks! Iron 6, this is Wolfpack Comanche over."

"Send it for Iron 6."
"Roger, our position is being overrun, requesting ETA of your tanks, over?"

"Stand by Wolfpack Comanche."

"Roger standing by. Hey look around for Sergeant Charles."

"He's dead, we ran by his body when we got the 240."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Get on another horn, get a hold of arty, and have them s**t on the valley, danger close, ICMs and air burst!"

"Roger! Slinger this is Comanche Red Sierra stand pos rep!"

Upon completion, the fire mission went through, and the two remaining 25's made adjustments. They reported to the C2 22 dead IFVs, 16 dead tanks, and a company plus element of infantry, all dead.

"There's more coming up, target number  adjust 150 left, add 200."

"Will do. Slinger, target VT1291, left 150, add 200, fire for effect!"

The same effect was reported back from the LAVs, yet it was seemingly ineffective. The Russians must have been pouring enough troops to create a huge hole, enough to make way for follow on forces, possibly division sized judging by the the attack being spearheaded by what seemed to be a regiment, which could result in all friendly forces pulling back God knows how far.

"Oh hey come here buddy." Lacy pulled a Corporal chevron from his FROG sleeve, and pinned it into Hart's arm, and punched him as hard as he could. Despite what was going on they laughed, shoved each other and continued their final stand.

More mortars and small arms fire raked the area, and the LAVs responded with their machine guns.

More Russian vehicles poured through the valley. More infantry swarmed into the area.

"Hart... It looks like we might be with our backs to the Rhine buddy."

Suddenly several rounds ripped through his body and he fell to the ground.

"LACY! F**K!" Hart sighted in on the Russian soldier, took his head off, assessed his friend, and carried him to the back of the C2.

"Wow they fucked me up. I think those dick heads did me in."

"Shut up you're fine."

Hart looked at the wounds. His brother would pass within a half hour at most if they didn't get him a corpsman, which Bravo was all out of.

A green behemoth rolled on tracks past the C2, possibly a T-90. Hart looked at his stomach. Shrapnel was in his abdomen, sticking out of his armor plates.

His vision was suddenly blurry. Everything was blurry. He looked at his friend, his dear friend, they both started laughing and fist bumped each other. Hart could hear someone talking on the radio but couldn't make out what he was saying. A horde of green machines streamed past him. The Russians were retreating!

"Lacy. Lacy you f****n retard, look, those p*****s are pulling back."

"Oh Jesus Hart, you f*****g moron, they aren't Russians, you dumb a*s those are M1 tanks!"

Suddenly it hit Hart. He came to and saw the tanks rolling by, chasing the Russians, slaughtering them in droves, as they had done to his friends. He started laughing. Followed by the tanks, motorized and mechanized infantry. 7th Marines had followed in trace, to relieve us. One of the MRAPs stopped, a Marine hopped out and ran with a few others over to Hart and Lacy. Two large flights of A-10s flew overhead and opened up on targets behind the hill they'd fought so hard against. They must have had a lot of a*s back there because the Warthogs were laying the law. As the Marines got to the C2, Hart asked them for a Corpsman, "Please, my friend is bleeding out, please help him." The Colonel nodded and one of the men with him radioed for a Corpsman.

"Son, are you Comanche Red Sierra?"

Hart nods toward Lacy, "He is sir."

Without moving his eyes, "Negative Marine, that man is dead" "No sir I was just talking to him, he's not dead, he's just tired sir." The Colonel pursed his lips and looked down and took a knee, "Hart? Jesus I can barely read your patch on your flak, you filthy animal. You see those tanks and infantry pouring by? That's the First Marine Division. Followed by them, two armor divisions from the Army, and an entire German army corps. We have those b******s on the run, Corporal Hart. Your fire missions helped break their momentum. Well, shattered actually. There is troop movement all over Eastern Europe, and it looks like they're poising to pull back past Warsaw in order to tighten their defenses. Your Corpsman is here, Hart, get your things, you're going to join the rest of your battalion back in the states, once you've all healed of course."

Hart begin to cry. Not for the fact that he was leaving the meat grinder Europe had become, but for Lacy, and the Marine of Red 4, of Red platoon, all of Bravo Company. The Corpsman arrived with four Marines bearing a stretcher. As they carried Hart away, he took one last look as his late friend. At the shattered line of LAV's. He knew that part of him would always be here. There would come days where he would look back on the war and it would haunt him. He looked at Lacy. "I love you brother, I love all of you." The Corpsman gave him morphine, and Hart fell asleep.

He woke in a hospital in Paris. He had bandages on his abdomen. A group of Navy nurses walked by, none stopped to help. Red Cross nurses walked by. They hadn't been here more than a week, they looked energized and hopeful to save men who were likely to be killed only days after returning to the front. One of them noticed he was awake and walked over to him.

"Hello, Corporal Hart, how are you feeling?"

He stayed silent. Images of Lacy, of Red 4 exploding, and Stewart dying replayed in his head, over and over.

Hart started softly crying. The woman asked if he was in pain, and he replied, "How long was I out?"

"Three months."

Three months..."

"It says here you were wounded along the German-Polish border. Wait. 3rd LAR. Wow."

"Wow? What do you mean 'wow'?"

"Oh, um... I'm, I'm sorry... Your unit was on the news back in the States."

"For what?"
"You guys broke the Russians. They've pulled back to Belarus. The Air Force bombed a lot of their ground troops and vehicles. A lot of them. They say-"

"Please, leave me alone. Go. Just go."

She looked down and in a hushed tone acknowledged his demand, and strolled away.

"Old b***h.", he said under his breath.

He remembered all the time he spent in Europe. What a s**t show. What a bloody f*****g mess.

That same day, Hart was reunited with Marines in his battalion. From Bravo, nobody from Blue, nobody from headquarters. Only two Marines from Bravo were alive; Hart and the Corpsman from White platoon.

In the other companies, the number of survivors totaled to 79 out of nearly 800. They were quite essentially wiped out. Though this had been passed to them months ago, the word was true.

3rd LAR was going home, but not all at once. They would be sent home as they healed. Half the surviving Marines were medically discharged, both for physical and mental reasons. Hart went home with the Corpsman from White, with whom he'd become good friends with. The two had healed up well and went out to enjoy Paris on liberty a couple of times. "Hey doc, wake up. Wake up f**k head, we're heading home. DOC. F*****g wake up."

"Huh?" "Huh my a*s, get up bro."

Because they left in the afternoon, the pilots stopped in London for the night, allowing the occupants to enjoy liberty in London, on the deal they were back by 0800.

They flew to America, landed in New York, caught a civilian airline, and when they arrived in California, there was no parade. In fact, the American people didn't even take a double look at the men when they arrived at the airport. It was as if nothing was going on. Hart went to the bar, dragging Doc Kale with him.

"C'mon man I wanna get back to base so we can go on leave, don't you wanna see your folks?"

"Not yet. Let's drink."

That night, Kale had to drag his friend to a cab back to base. The PMO Marines stopped them to check their ID's, their eyes popping out upon seeing the ribbons on their chest; Purple Hearts, Combat Action Ribbons with stars, and a large amount of other awards.

"Good morning men. These men in front of you, are the most senior men in this battalion. They fought tooth and nail with the Russians in Europe. It is up to them to get you ready to fight them again, only this time they'll have their Chinese friends, and the theater of war will be in the Pacific. As many of you have heard, the Fuji Line was broken, and the fighting in Tokyo is heavy and has become a cluster of death. Whether we go there or not, I do not know. They go on leave today, and they are not expected back for two months," the new battalion commander turned to Hart and the 40 other men standing in front of the newly reinforced Wolfpack, "men, enjoy your leave. Stay safe for us. We need your experience. Dismissed!"

Hart was home. His mother made home cooked food, his father sharing beers with his son. Although it was nice to be home, it felt... Alien. Foreign. Some of his childhood friends went off to the college to avoid being drafted. He snorted, "F*****g cowards." That night, he laid in bed. He thought of the war. He thought of Japan. He felt sick. Hart puked, and fell asleep. Soon, Hart returned to his battalion

The Russians had long been routed, and a Marine Corps flag flew over the Kremlin. Hart fought again, in Japan. The fighting was the same. The men were the same. Two years upon returning, he was a squad leader, a Sergeant, fighting the Chinese in China. One thing never changed. His lack of emotion.

He was numb to death. Mortars landed near him. Not even a flinch. When his Marines were lost, he felt no remorse, only anger. In Shanghai, he watched the PLA gun down women and children for trying to surrender. It was a common sight in the Chinese campaign. Instead of fighting it out to the last man in Beijing, the Chinese surrendered. A grueling, World War had enveloped the earth, and was gradually slowing to a halt for the major powers who were doing all the fighting. Sacramento and San Francisco had been hit by nuclear weapons, a final Russian deterrence, to which we responded with by the nuking of Volgograd and Vladivostok. The Second World War was dwarfed by the casualties of the third. Genocide in Africa and South America with chemical and biological weapons by Russian and Chinese troops surpassed the previous occurrences put together and shocked humanity.

Hart woke up, 40 years later. The world he lived in was one of peace. The decade in which the world thrived was a time of great success. New technology, cures, it was a golden age of advances.

He walked from his bedroom, to his living room, and walked out of the door. He took a whiff of the air. It was fresh. There was no scent of cordite, blood, or smoke. In the distance, birds chipped. A dog barked, and a car drove by his home. A young boy waved. He smiled and waved back. He thought back in time. He was grateful to have fought the war there and not here. He thought of Lacy, and smiled once more. Today he would call his son and daughter and then take him to meet him. He would tell them the tale of why they were named Andy and Lacy. He would tell them of his best friend. He walked back inside, and shut the door behind him.

Author's Note

I've actually never wrote anything in a long time, hopefully this wasn't too bad. Thank you for reading it, any insight would be appreciated. Unless you're going to be childish about if. If you are, grow up or go away. If you do not know any of the acronyms I have shown in the story, please ask me and I will answer you as soon as I can.

Reviews

[WilliamClark]

Did you mean eons in the beginning, becuase you said ions. (i.e a long period of time)

[Jake Torres]

Oh man, thank you for catching that for me haha, much appreciated. Hopefully my story wasn't too bland, I haven't had time to do much writing or anything away from work lately.

[WilliamClark]

No problem, hoped it helped.