Irregulaire

Body Count

“Damn those pigs,” The Colonel said, clenching his teeth. “Stubs, you take care of the defense here. You’re a platoon leader now,”

Stubs was surprised. With a mutter under his breath, he replied, “yes sir,”

The Colonel then went back inside. Sergeant Major followed him. Stubs stayed with us—yes, even though he’s unofficially a lieutenant now, he’s still okay with it. He’s about to be our new platoon commander, and with 2 Marine squad left, they were about to count us in. Hopefully they captured the Lieutenant instead of killing him. He was a good man, to be frank.

We were just standing there, not really back on our position. There were too many holes to fill in after we lost that one squad the Lieutenant brought. We were spread too thin, or at least so I thought. Spreading too thin doesn’t really look like this. It’s like five men covering 100-yard line. But for us, less than 40 people covering 200-yard line was quite little.

“You really okay?” I asked Red.

“I am, why?”

“Nothing, just making sure. Besides, I have a feeling we’re moving out,”

“Where?”

“I don’t know, it’s just a hunch,” But I did feel like we were about to move out, “This position is already compromised. We might need a new place to hide the Colonel,”

“But they didn’t see the Colonel,”

“That’s what I thought, too. But you saw him right, he’s being a bit too cautious,”

“STUBS! GET THESE PEOPLE READY TO MOVE OUT,” The Colonel burst out of his shattered front door.

“See?” I said to Red

“Shut up, Gunny,” she chuckled a bit.

Somehow, that order died out. None of us actually prepared to move out. We just resupplied ourselves with ammo. Maybe Stubs convinced the Colonel that it’s not really necessary to move out now. Or maybe seeing how Grace was, moving out could do more harm than good. But we’re a bit relieved, not moving out.

“You were saying?” Red said to me, teasing me for the fact we didn’t move out.

“Fuck you, Red,” I chuckled this time. She got me there.

It was still right around eleven o’clock. The sun burned everything not under the shades. The foul odor of blood spread everywhere, especially with heat evaporating anything liquid. Gunfire was still heard every now and then on the faraway side of the battlefield. But for us, it was a lull. Could be dangerous, I tell you. Enemy can catch us off guard, attacking while we take breaks. But it didn’t happen.

We then coordinated with the squad, assessing damage and distributing supplies. We had plenty of rounds, most of us armed with rifles had at least 240 rounds of 5.56mm attached to our bodies. We the 5^th Squad riflemen even had 300 rounds with each of us, except for Red, who downloaded it to 210 for better mobility. MGs have even more rounds. 700 for the SAW, 500 for the GPMG, not including their assistant gunner. It’s actually good for bugouts, but we’re not ready for it, I guess.

Buck is fine now. He chatters as usual again after getting treatments for his leg. The ricochet was quite big, probably an AK-47 round. Had it pierced a little deeper, it might’ve hit the artery and drained him out of blood.

“How’s that leg?” I asked

“Stiff, sore, what have you, Mick. But it still works,” he said, quite lightly. The bruise on his head is almost gone, too.

“You sure you can command the Gunners?”

“Well I’m not a fan of Arsenal,”

“Not that kind of Gunners, you silly bastard,” I almost slapped him for that joke. But we both shared a good laugh. Thanks, Buck.

Stubs then ordered us to clear the field of fire. That means we had to move the dead bodies so the next wave couldn’t use them as covers. He only needed two men from my squad, so I told Kris and Franz to do it. Also, he needs to report how many enemy combatants we had killed, so we had to count the dead.

I decided to join in, to help clear ordnances. I picked up weapons and ammunition on those bodies before the others pick them up. We moved them and collected them by the mortared house. We need to be careful, as they could be tripped or boobied, both the weapons and the bodies. They could have left a grenade under them that explodes when the body is being moved.

One of the pairs of Marines who did this with us actually had one of these but put the body back down quick enough to muffle the grenade. Lucky bastards, they are. But then—

“What was that?!” Stubs shouted towards us.

“It was a—” BOOM, BOOM, BANG

“GET DOWN!!”

A line of bombardment came in towards us. Artillery? No. It was too small for Howitzers. Mortars? No, it was too precise, too straight of a line. Then what was—VROOOM... oh, great. A Bronco just strafed us with their rockets. It killed several other Marines, and wounding Franz.

Stubs told one of his men to get one of the technical’s car. Some got a heavy machine gun on it, the M2. They racked the charging handle, aimed the gun, and started blasting. BUB-BUB-BUB-BUB it went. Those point-five-o projectiles went flying all around the aircraft, barely damaging it. The plane circled around again, looking like about to strafe us with its machine guns.

When it circled around, the gunners were ready. It was only a straight line between the direction of the plane and the .50 caliber. I heard a faint shouting in-between the gunfire. I didn’t really know what that was, but the plane’s engine got hit and blew up. It fell out of the sky, hitting very close to the South flank of the house. Finally, I thought. Almost all of us were cheering, except Stubs.

“What the fuck are you celebrating for?!” Stubs said, shouting at everyone else.

“The plane went down, Sarge!” one Marine said.

“That was one of ours! Didn’t you hear I say cease fire?!”

“But they were shooting at us, Sarge,”

“Look at that. LOOK AT THAT! That’s a Navy Aviation’s insignia, you dimwit. We managed to radio them before they can fire at us again, fuck.” He paused. “I guess they had it coming, then,” he said after a few seconds of heavy breathing, then walked off towards the house. He clenched hard on his rifle, seeming verily upset.

That 2^nd Squad Staff Sergeant Anfield was supposed to be the one being promoted to replace Lichtsteiner. But he was wounded, hence unfit to take charge. Stubs was an obvious option for me because he was quite stern. But he wasn’t even a Staff Sergeant or a Sergeant First Class. So he shouldn’t be leading the rest of the guys. Maybe that’s partly why he was upset. First time leading this many people and they already fucked up. Shooting down a friendly plane is no light matter. It was his order in the first place.

I checked in on Franz as he was taken care of. His left shoulder blade was pierced by a fragment from those rockets and his temple needed a stitch because it bumped on his machine gun. The feed cover even had gotten some blood on it. He bled a lot from that tear, even the ammunition belt was bloody.

“I think I need to rest for a while. I’ll be back with you guys. Sorry, Ann” he said, laying on the stretcher.

“It’s okay, Franz. Don’t worry about it,” Red said, while tapping on my shoulder, “We still have a spare gunner,”

“What, me?” I freaked. I don’t want to be a machine gunner; I don’t like losing my 9-pound M16 to a 26-pound behemoth. “Hell no,”

“Dude, that’s an order,”

“Fuck me, right,” I still don’t want to be a gunner. Even now, I tell you. “Okay, I’ll be a gunner. But I get a lighter gun and I get to keep my M16,”

What I meant by that is to get a new variant M60. It’s way lighter than the MAG Franz used, but it fires the same ammunition, 7.62x51mm. The gun itself is still heavy, but not 26-pound heavy. Besides, I was only going to replace Franz as he was healing up.

“Well, if you manage to find it yourself,” she low-key didn’t care.

“Ah, screw it,” I then turned my attention to Franz. “Have some rest, Schine[1],” I told him. He was confused.

“Schine?”

“Yea, ‘cause you’re a ‘Schine Gunner,” I chuckled. It was a bad joke, anyway, but we had a pretty good laugh.

Red then walked away towards Stubs and talked a bit while I was still squatting besides Franz. The now 2^nd Lieutenant looked like he was thinking for a bit. I wondered what they were talking about. Not long after, she nodded off, as if she was thanking Stubs. She then called me towards her.

“I spoke to Stubs about your machine gun. You got it, it’s an M60,” she said. Just as I wanted, I thought.

“You know you didn’t have to do that, right?” I replied, “I could’ve just humped that ‘58[2]”

“I know, Gunny. But I wanted to,” she said, “Besides, it’s for us, too,”

“Thanks, Red. A lot of it,”

She nodded off and smiled. Something seemed to bother her mind. I think she still had this same problem with Stubs, where she didn’t really want to bear responsibility, but she kinda had to. I’m sorry, Red. But I trust her, I do.

I then stormed off to go to Stubs. I had to get that machine gun, along with 500 rounds of its ammunition. But where would the guy be? I didn’t see him going anywhere, he just disappeared as I spoke to Red. I went into the house and out. I was about to look for him near the garage, when—

“Mick, you’re looking for me?”

“Oh, yes, uh... sir. I was...”

“Just... Stubs, please. I don’t really think I qualify to be a sir yet,”

“Roger that,”

“You’re looking for that M60, right? It’s right by that car wreck, on the Northern waypoint. There’s a Jeep there, all blown to hell, but the gun is fine. It was the Jeep’s gun, so you might want to remove it from the pintle,”

“Alright, Stubs, thank you,” 

I proceeded to find that jeep. Hell, it was a mess. The middle of the frame is torn now, and it collapsed into two parts. The driver’s still there too, his head cracked open with bits of his brain scattered all over the windshield. I think he was hit by one of his own mortars.

It was quite hard to remove the gun, as the pins are a bit bent. It turned out to be an old M60, rather than an E4 I imagined. I found cans of ammunition, too. It was 200 rounders, so I figure I’d take three. I’d have 600 rounds of ammunition, instead of the 500 rounds Franz had. I wanted to take only 400 rounds, as I kept my M16 with its 270 rounds, but I figured the guys needed me for support, so I took those three cans. Besides, I’m not gonna carry all that ammo all around.

I took the gun to Franz’s original position. I then laid down his gun under the fence. His ammo is still there, too. I then put my M16 across my back, readying up for the M60. Red greeted me while I set up the machine gun.

“How’s it going? You found your gun?”

“Yep,” I replied as I lifted up the gun by its carrying handle, “It’s not the one that I wanted, but it’s still lighter than that,” pointing towards Franz’s gun. “How are you?”

“Fine, I think. Just regret that Franz has to go through that. Should’ve been me,”

“And leave me to lead the guys? Come on,” I joked.

“Hahahah, of course, not. I mean—”

“Hey, don’t worry about it. You did your job, and you did it well. You managed to get us through an attack, and that’s enough for us, I tell you. We wouldn’t have made it without you,”

“How? I didn’t even fully take control of the guys,”

“You executed our plan, right? You did improvise some things, too,”

“Well,”

“You did good, Red. We’re proud of you,”

“I know, it’s just,” she then took a cigarette out, lighting it up. A puff came out of her mouth as she exhaled the smoke out of her lungs, relieving tension on her end. “Thanks, Gunny,” she said as she walked off again.

I felt guilty for her, now. This was supposed to be an easy mission, to guard a house. A God damn house, which in it lives someone I supposedly love with all my heart and her family. I gave her the job, to lead us, but not like this. We were only civilians before all this, and Red already felt uneasy. She seemed confident, but an explosion near a friend would change even the strongest person.

Dan suddenly approached me and asked why I was setting up an M60. I guess he never heard of that order.

“Franz is wounded, so Ann told me to replace him for a bit,” I replied.

“But why an M60? What’s with Franz’s gun?”

“It’s too heavy for my liking,” I answered, lifting up the gun to lay it on the fence. “By the way, how’s the body count? Heard any figures?”

“I heard it was a little more than a hundred dead enemies for four of our own,” he answered, “but that’s before the LT was sent off,”

“Holy shit,” I was quite surprised. One hundred men? That’s worth two and a half platoons. But there were more dead bodies around us than ourselves.

“After that, we had ten missing including the lieutenant,”

“I’d have to confirm that number with Stubs,” I replied, “What are you doing here, do you want to ask me something or...?”

“Oh, yea, uh... I think Kris is having a little problem,”

“What problem?”

He took me to Kris to see how he was doing. His face pale, arms shaking, and he didn’t really seem to hear me when I asked him what’s wrong. His ears were bleeding, that’s one reason. He also stared at distances. I think he was shellshocked.

“That figures,” Dan said

“Give him time, or something to drink to calm him down,” I ordered,

“Righty, Sarge,”

I went back to my position, as specified by Red. I ended up positioning my M60 around three yards off of Franz’s original position, setting both guns on the fence ready to use. That way, if I run out of ammo while still needed to fill in support role, I can just run off towards the other gun.

Why not just use Franz’s gun if you were to be stationary anyway, you ask? I was still the 2IC in the squad, mind you. I still need to be mobile and coordinate with Red every now and then. With that heavy of a gun, I wouldn’t be as mobile. I wasn’t used to the weight. I wanted to keep my M16, too. I think I can master the M16 better than any machine gun. Those damn things are either too heavy or recoils too hard. It’s hard to control guns that shakes too much, you know.

For the next couple of hours, there was a long period where no sign of enemy showed up. Red walked back and forth, worrying about anything that might come over the wall. Grace was fine and got out of the house occasionally, with scars all over her face. I guess they would heal soon. Stubs reconfirmed the body count he got from those Marines. I asked him about it, and he seemed to be not really sure.

“I think it was around 97 of them, 4 of us, at least within the compound,” he answered.

I approached Red, worrying about her. I shouldn’t have, I know. Had she not been as strong as she was, she’d be dead within days of this conflict. But something is bugging her, and I still worried about that. I don’t want her to snap, you know.

“Dude, what’s up?”

“One company. One whole company of enemy troops. I know there’s more of them coming, I just know. There’s no way a company worth of men went missing and no one goes looking for them,”

“Red,” I looked straight at her, “We’ll be ready for them,” I said, holding both her shoulders. She nodded.

I stood by her for a couple hours, sharing cigarettes and having chit-chats. We even had some drink, back in the house. Just beer, of course. We didn’t want to be drunk on duty. She seemed to calm down after a while, and made me sure she was okay. I felt dizzy for a moment. Not because we drank, however. I think it was my neck after getting blasted towards the sky by that old mortar. Didn’t remember much about it, anyway.

The night was calmer, but we needed to stay alert. There was not much time to sleep, as we need to keep on watch. We don’t need any more casualties right now, and we tried to at least shoot first before the enemy could. The defense had been weakened by losing a whole squad and then some. Our organizer was also gone, for God’s sake.

I woke up the next morning with my machine gun still strapped on to my chest. I think I fell asleep while sitting down on the porch, leaning on the pillar. I couldn’t feel my leg for a while because of that heavy ass MG. When I got to move my legs, Red stood up beside me, looking a bit refreshed. I didn’t realize it was way over 9AM and apparently, no one woke me up before that.

“How do you feel?” She asked me.

“Not really good, dude,” I answered, trying to stand up. “Machine gun’s been bugging me, but I think I’d be fine,”

Nothing much happened during the afternoon, but some marines stationed around the wall had been firing at anything that moves, getting us alert almost all the time.

[1] Read as “Sheen”

[2] MAG-58.