And the Snow Fell

"Yeah, it is," Brad said.

"What's the head shed doing 'bout it?" I asked, and Brad and the CSM both looked at me. "We gonna move our asses or something?" Because when I looked at Brad's notes, that looked like some serious Ratdog shit coming up that road and through that pass and I sure didn't want to be around when they came down our side. That's what the combat units were for.

"What?" I said, because they were still looking at me.

"Jenny," Brad said, and yeah, I knew that tone. Patient, as in, Jenny's said something real dumb and I gotta explain this. I knew that tone and I knew that look and my heart kinda took a sudden dive.

"What?" I said.

I had the radio on as Kagan drove. Listening, not transmitting and I could get the gist of what was going on. That Territorial Guard unit that'd come over to us was holding the line. Them and a newly formed Infantry Battalion that'd been moving south and a battery of old 105's that'd moved up from somewhere. Contact with the Ratdogs, light infantry units moving up into the pass and the contact reports came faster and more frequently and all I could figure out as we moved up into the hills was that the fighting on the pass was getting heavier and heavier.

The Ratdogs had tanks and infantry, but our mortars and the 105's dusted the infantry of their tanks and the Javelin anti-tank teams were holding the Ratdog tanks off and we were taking casualties and the traffic got heavier and heavier. Contact calls. Fire mission requests. Resup calls because ammo was running low here and there. Casevac calls and some of them were pretty desperate and Brad was on the other radio with the headshed and there were more units coming up behind us.

Jesus, and we were heading into this? That wasn't what my unit was for. Brad's maybe, because he had a company of mostly vets and they mighta been a bit old, but they knew what they were doing. Mine? Jesus, mine were half women and kids and half old guys that really were a bit too fucking old or damaged to fight, like old Roskill with his gimpy leg. Good for dealing with prisoners and civvies maybe, but Jesus, this was a full-on battle and more I listened, the more terrified I was because I'd seen the sitrep Brad'd been planning from.

You gotta do what you gotta do, that's what I told myself. I was a First Lieutenant in the Second Republic's National Liberation Army but straight up, I was just about peeing myself because clearance duty was one thing. Combat was another, and I'd never been trained for that and we were heading right into it because High Command had said everyone and anyone and I hadn't argued.

Radio flashes I caught said the Ratdogs were pulling back and that was a relief, because yeah, Brad'd pulled together a few hundred men from all the units around but it was an ad-hoc clerks and cooks unit we had and I really hadn't been looking forward to actually being on the front line in case you didn't already get that and a couple of hours later we were winding up to the crest of the pass and dismounting.

"What's the boots on the ground, Lieutenant?" Because the senior ranking officer was one of the Bajafornian Territorial Guard First Lieutenant's and that Guard unit I'd watched had taken a total frigging hammering but they'd sure proved that change of sides was genuine. So'd the Infantry Battalion taken a hammering and Brad was a Captain and that made him the senior officer I guess because the only officer that Battalion had left was some butter-bar.

"Two hundred sixty eight effectives," Lieutenant Mota reported, and he looked grim. Far too grim for somebody my age. "We're remarkably happy to see you, sir."

Brad's expression didn't change. "How many walking wounded?"

"That's including the walking wounded, Captain." Neither did Lieutenant Mota's.

"What about the infantry battalion."

The baby-faced butter-bar opened his mouth, and he looked like he'd seen a nightmare come to life and he was in it. "That includes my battalion, sir."

"I see," Brad said, and maybe he did but I didn't because what was a butter-bar doing commanding a battalion? "What's holding the line across the pass?"

"What's left of my battalion, a dozen Guard tracks, three Javelin teams, sir," the butter-bar said.

Lieutenant Mota nodded. "The 105's are still good," he added. "We repositioned them an hour ago. They never did get that battery or the mortars pinpointed and we got the mortar platoon intact." He grinned, teeth white against the cam cream and dirt. "Those gun bunnies did a good job."

"There's two more batteries of 105's coming up, along with a battery of 155's that were passing south," Brad said. "They'll be here by this afternoon and there's more ammo for the 105's and the mortars and I've got another mortar platoon on the way as well. Mota, you figure out where they're gonna be positioned. I got four hundred men came up with me, we'll keep my company intact, farm the new guys out to make up your numbers, dig the tracks in and give 'em some protection and alternate firing positions.

The Ratdogs got no room to maneuver. They gotta come up the pass to get the tanks through and they gotta get us out of the way to get the tanks through the pass. All we gotta do is hold 'em until tomorrow and there's a combat task force coming up to kick their asses all the way back down south again. They'll be here sometime tomorrow."

"Sometime tomorrow kinda sucks," Mota said.

"Yeah, it does," Brad said. "Doesn't change anything. We gotta hold them on the pass. They breakthrough here, there's nothing to stop 'em after us. It'll be a total foo-bar if they get through."

Nobody disagreed, and that kinda sucked too.

"Wong." He looked at me.

"Sir?"

"Get your women and kids working on the casualties, I don't want them on the line. We'll only use 'em if we have to."

"Sure thing, sir. What about my men?" The older ones.

"We'll hold them as a reserve for now. You keep 'em close, Wong."

I was back at the Cee-Pee a couple of hours later because Brad'd sent a runner for me and I'd got the aid post set up and I'd been doing triage and I was up to my elbows in blood myself because most all of their medics were dead or down. Died trying to retrieve the casualties.

"Jenny." He walked me outside and he did not look a happy camper. "I need a forward patrol down there in the valley to observe overnight. That's gonna be key to calling in arty early before they get too close. They're gonna launch their grunts up the valley tonight, try and sweep us outa the way so the tanks can get through."

"Don't we have any drones?" I asked. I knew they were around, not all of them had been used up.

"We don't," Brad said. "I already asked. Everything we have left's down at the frontline, nothing that can get to us within a couple of days. This is going to be Mark One eyeball stuff."

"Okay," I said.

"I want a patrol of your vets, a dozen of the older guys, I want them down there with a radio." His grim expression turned grimmer. "Those emp bombs at the start fried pretty much everything, Jenny. There's no options here. I need those eyeballs down the valley to call in the artillery. There's thousands of them and if they get close, we don't have the men or the firepower to hold them on the pass. We need to spot them early and pound the crap out of them with the guns."

"They're my men," I said, and there was that hollow sickness coz I didn't want to ask them. We'd been together since the first days. They trusted me.

"I can afford to lose them, Jenny. I can't afford to lose the men up here on the line and I'll be putting the rest of your vets and the kids in with my company."

"So you're saying this is, like, some kinda suicide mission or something?" I asked, swallowing hard. My men. I couldn't do that to them.

"Yeah, basically. Not likely they'll come back," he said. "I want volunteers. I'm not gonna order anyone to do this but the old guys, they know the story. Been there, done that."

"I can't ask them to volunteer, not for something like that," I said, and there was that black hole inside me because I knew what I had to do.

"I'll go ask," I said, flatly, and his face was pale and strained because I guess he knew what I had to do too and he didn't say a word as I walked away.

The patrol moved forward, silent in the darkness and we all had the NVG's on and they sucked but at least you could see something. Tunnel vision, but something. The old guys, they moved silent as ghosts, whispering through the darkness, crouched low, step by slow silent step and I crouched low in the middle, scared shitless because I'd never done this shit before and we were heading down into the valley and I was carrying more ammo in my ruck than I'd ever carried before and my knees were just about buckling and I had a map with all the pre-planned fire coordinates marked.

Slow stepping down towards the Ratdogs and I hadn't even kissed Brad goodbye and I knew I was gonna die because there was no way back from this one but I couldn't send my guys out knowing they were gonna die. Not unless I went with them and that last look from Brad, he'd known that and we both knew you had to do what you had to do and we'd signed up knowing that and I really wanted to pee and my hands were shaking and my teeth were just about chattering because I was scared so totally shitless.

The night was black. Pitch black and I could smell everything. That distinctive scent from the artillery that'd been firing all morning and it was as pervasive as the smell of the bodies and the tanks that still smoked in the darkness, burning diesel and steel and paint and roast pork and when I smelt that I almost puked. Sweat from the guys around me, and we all stank. Sweat and fear, because I wasn't the only one that was scared, but they'd all volunteered when I told them I was going and I needed some guys to come with me.

Riley. Mortimer. Patel. Li. O'Connor. Metler. Escano. Roskill. Kagan. Maddock 'd come and I didn't want her too but she'd said "fuck you, ma'am. If you're crazy enough to go down there, I'm coming with you."

Them and one of the head shed Sigs. Young. Older guy and he'd shrugged and said "somebody's gotta look after coms for you amateurs," because he was a Regular. One of the first to come over. Last but not least was one of the Sergeant's that Brad'd roped in.

Sergeant Calder and he was an old airborne guy. Black as the ace of spades and silent as the night and he knew his shit and my guys took one look at him and you could tell they knew that too. Calder never said a word, just loaded up with an old M-60 and a shit-load of ammo and spent the rest of the prep time strip-cleaning that gun and loading more belts of ammo. Thirteen of us, and crap, that wasn't many to face those Ratdogs that were intent on coming up and I knew I was gonna die and I just hoped it didn't hurt too much when it happened because I'd seen people die screaming and I didn't want to go that way.

No talking. Calder held up his hand and fuck, he sure didn't need any cam cream at night because he was the invisible man and I almost bumped into the guy in front of me and we were one click down the valley when Calder stopped us. Gestured, and it was perfect. Small dry ravine running down into the dried up river bed that ran down the center of the valley and it made a perfect observation post. Anyone coming up the valley or the sides of the valley 'd be in plain sight and it overlooked the dirt road that zig-zagged up the incline.

"Dig in," Calder gestured, and the guys got to work and you can dig silently if you're really fucking careful and the guys scraped and they moved rocks and they shoveled dry dirt. I woulda helped but Calder gestured no, park your ass, ma'am. So I parked my ass and I sweated it out and the waiting was the hardest part. Waiting and watching, up on the rim of the ravine with Metler, both of us scanning the darkness and there was nothing. Faint noises from the Ratdog lines down-valley. Faint noises from our own lines a kilometer behind us up near the ridgeline.

The stars shone down now, cloud thinning and I scanned again and there were figures. Shapes, and I wasn't sure so I nudged Metler and he looked and slid down and Sergeant Calder slid up beside me and he looked and he nodded. Figures. More figures and yeah, they were clear now and more and more moved up to join them. Ten. Twenty. Fifty. A hundred, and that must be an assault assembly point for a full company.

We watched and we waited and an hour after I'd first glimpsed them, they began to move in a V-shaped formation and the point of that V was heading towards us. I scanned outwards, looking for the ends of their line and I just about peed myself because I saw what Calder and I'd both missed and I reached out and tapped his arm and pointed out into the darkness and he saw them too.

Three, maybe three fifty yards out another company was moving slowly up the side of the valley, silently, but not swiftly, following each other in three long files and the points of those files were beyond our position. Beyond them was a third company and behind those two, a fourth and a fifth and when I scanned the other side, there were more long files on that side of the valley.

"Three battalions," Calder whispered almost silently, and we were right in the center of their assault formation as they moved up towards the crest of the pass a thousand yards behind us. Young was up with us now and I hadn't noticed, and I took the headset and mike and I knew what I had to do because that point was closing on us and thank god Calder was there with me.

"Reporting," I whispered into the mike. "Three battalions of infantry in assault columns moving up the valley, one in valley mike, one on ridge alpha, one on ridge jericho. Over."

"Roger. Three battalions of infantry. Designated Mike Alpha Jericho. Over."

"Fire Mission One. Twelve rounds. Grid Mike Six. Over." I didn't have to remember Anti-Personnel. AP. It was all AP unless I called for something else.

Silence on the radio and my heart skipped a beat and I was about to repeat when my headset crackled. "Fire Mission One. Twelve rounds. Grid Mike Six." A pause. A long pause. "On the way."

Thunder from behind us, rolling thunder and then the ripping cloth scream of incoming artillery rounds and the bright flashes down valley as the shells exploded in a sudden storm and they were using proximity fuses and the company heading straight for us was scythed down but there were more of them and they were running forward now, running towards us.

"Fire Mission One. Grid Mike Six splash. Fire for effect. Over."

That thunder again, on and on, those endless screaming wails, ripping cloth, the bright flashes, shock waves, another storm of steel and Calder was tapping my arm, pointing at the other side of the dried up stream bed.

"Fire Mission One. Left one hundred. Fire for effect. Over." Calder was calling the instructions to me and I was on the radio and they were filtering out to the side and the artillery kept on coming in, endless thunder, the boots of some demented war god trampling over the dry red earth.

"Fire Mission One. Right two hundred. Fire for effect. Over."

"Fire Mission. Grid Mike Six. Area fire. Over." On and on and on and the rounds were coming down in salvos, tearing the attacking infantry coming up the center of the valley apart and Calder was looking at the valley sides.

"End of Fire Mission One. Over. Fire Mission Two. Twelve Rounds. Grid Jericho Four. Grid Jericho Four. Over," and that controlled voice repeated my words back in a monotone and then "On the way," and there was more thunder and the flashes lit up the valley and there were more of them. Far more. Hundreds. Thousands, the valley full of them.

"Fire Mission Three. Grid Alpha Five. Grid Alpha Five. Fire for effect. Over. There's thousands of them," and behind us the artillery thundered and the fast thump thump thump of the mortars began, eight tubes firing twelve rounds per minute each. Sustained fire and there was no shortage of mortar bombs and they fell like rain.

"On target," I said, not worrying about keeping my voice down anymore, because the artillery drowned everything and I musta peed myself because I was wet and it sure wasn't with excitement. "Repeat fire mission Grid Alpha Five," and the artillery rained down.

Around me, along the edge of the ravine, the men were up and shooting, and Calder had his M-60 up and their infantry'd worked their way in closer and there were a lot of them and some of them were close and shooting back now, bullets whining overhead mostly and there was a thud and someone was down and I didn't have time to look.

"Fire Mission Four. Grid Mike Six. Grid Mike Six. Willy Pete and AP mixed. Fire for Effect. Over." The incoming screamed down, the ground in front of me erupted, bright flashes, hammering concussion that shook the ground, white flame, things flying through the air, burning shapes running and screaming. Howling and you could hear the screams even over the thunder of the bursting shells. Hammerblows, again and again and again and they were running, running from the flames.

"Fire Mission Four over."

"Fire Mission Five. Grid Alpha Five. Grid Alpha Five. Area fire. Over," and I was just about screaming now and the artillery came in, rolling thunder and I scanned out left and right and Jesus, they were well past us and moving up the sides of the valley towards the crest of the pass and if they got close to our lines, it'd all be over bar the screaming because they way outnumbered us.

"Fire Mission Six. Grid Jericho Seven. Twelve rounds."

"Jericho Seven," the voice repeated back, totally without any emotion. "On the way," and a minute later the artillery shells began to fall on the left side of the valley, hammering the slopes below the ridgeline, a wargod's hammer pounding the earth and the earth shook like a drum under that unholy percussion.

"On target," I said, trying to burrow into the ground and call the shots at the same time. "Fire for effect." And they did, endless thunder, flashes, explosive concussion, an endless pounding on and on that made it almost impossible to think but I had to think, I had to call the shots and I switched the artillery to the other side of the valley, pounding the advancing columns on that side.

"Ma'am." Calder rapped my shoulder, pointed and I peed myself all over again, a hot flood and Jesus, I'd never been so scared in my life because there musta been hundreds of them running towards us, straight up the middle, hey-diddle-diddle, and I just about screamed into that mike.

"Fire Mission Seven. Grid Mike Five. Give it everything and don't go under because we're at Mike Four. Over."

"Grid Mike Five," the voice repeated. "On the way," and down it came and Calder was firing short bursts out to one sided and the rest of the patrol were up and facing out, firing into the darkness and it wasn't just single shots. They were going all out and I woulda peed myself again except I was all out of pee.

"They're flanking us, ma'am," Calder yelled.

"Fire Mission Seven. Right one hundred. Over." And I was losing track of the different fire missions and artillery and mortar bombs were raining down everywhere and it really didn't matter because the ratdogs were everywhere and down came the artillery and Jesus, they were filtering up the other side and the guys were firing away, grenades, grenade launchers, everything we had and bullets were smacking into the ground around me and Young choked and half sat up and collapsed and a hundred yards down valley the Ratdogs leapt to their feet and they were screaming and charging straight up towards us again, hundreds and hundreds of them and they knew where we were now and they were coming for us and they were gonna be on us.