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Author Topic: The Gunny's Christmas 2020  (Read 141 times)

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Offline Thorgrimm

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The Gunny's Christmas 2020
« on: December 25, 2020, 08:13:00 am »
The Gunny’s Christmas

“Huh... it doesn’t feel like Christmas,” Miles said as he pondered the current situation. He, Jerome, and Ogre were sitting around a fire near Miles’ M1-E5 Abrams. It was 25 December, 2368.

“Maybe because we spent the whole day getting shot at?” Jerome said as he raised an eyebrow.

“No, not that, it’s more like we’re missing something.” As Miles finished his sentence Chris Coleman wandered out of the Abrams, wearing a threadbare Santa hat and carrying an armful of packages wrapped in dirty brown paper.

“Merry Christmas!” Chris said with all of the enthusiasm of, well, a child on Christmas morning as he passed the presents around.

“Ah, there it is,” Miles said with a rotten smile.

Jerome favored his subordinate with a confused glance. “Miles, you and Chris have been spending too much time with each other if you expected that, lieutenant.”

“Ho Ho Ho,” Chris said, with a perfect deadpan delivery. “Santa says that commanding officers who make snide remarks about his subordinate officer and his crew do not get anything for Christmas.”

“Aren’t you a little old for all this, Coleman?” Jerome asked with a smile creasing his face.

“Aww, c’mon Jerome, it’s Christmas!” Chris exclaimed. He might have been getting close to thirty, but at that moment he easily seemed twenty years younger. He tossed Ogre his box and handed the Colonel his own. Miles grumbled and shuffled around in his pack, pulling out another half-dozen packages that he distributed around the circle.

“Now I feel bad, I didn’t get you guys anything,” Ogre said sadly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Chris said, reassuring Ogre, “It’s nothing big.”

Ogre opened his packages from his superiors. Both were of pre-war alcohol, and they must have cost a fortune. Still, he was a little irked at the implications. "Put together, you two have more money than God, and you just buy me booze? Who do you think I am?" Ogre demanded with a smirk.

"The better question is why do we think someone like you can appreciate pre-war whiskey?" Jerome asked, with a big grin on his face.

“I don’t know about you, Jerome, but I figured he was experienced enough with alcohol to at least have some idea of the quality,” Miles offered, a hint of smugness creeping into his voice.

“Has it occurred to you two,” Ogre began, “that no one celebrates Christmas anymore?”

“So? Almost no one prints books anymore either, but it doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to stop learning how to read.”

Jerome tore open the wrapping paper on the gift Miles had given him. He let out a low whistle. “Sweet Jesus! Starship Troopers! How in the hell did you find this? I’ve never seen a copy, and believe me, I have looked!” Miles just grinned a rotten grin.

Miles opened his gift from Jerome. A copy of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow.

Ogre groaned when he saw the gifts. “You two and your books.”

“That, PFC,” Miles said, as a way of explanation, “is why you got booze.”

Porter eyed Miles’ book with open interest. “Can I check that out when you’re done, El Tee?”

“Maybe you oughtta open your stuff before you ask,” Miles suggested. When Porter did, there was no mistaking the boyish wonder that crept over the Private’s face as he saw his own copy of the book from Jerome, and a copy of Fahrenheit 451 from Miles.

Ogre opened his gifts. Jerome had gotten him a (no doubt very expensive) bottle of pre-war after-shave, and Miles had bought a similarly priced gold pocket watch.

Miles leaned into the turret of the Abrams, and emerged with a humidor. Inside were his best cigars, each one worth a small fortune. He opened it and passed them around the fire, until only three were left in the humidor. He lit up and kicked back, a wide grin on his face.

“Merry Christmas.”


***


Kevin had been making his rounds when he noticed something that he thought he would never see again, someone exchanging gifts on the 25th of December. the Gunny had been led to believe that nearly all of the people had abandoned all forms of religion. Something about how a real god would not have allowed hell to reign on Earth. Kevin had been saddened by that news, but could not really blame the survivors.

Kevin walked over to the group surrounding the campfire and caused a bit of consternation in the group.

Jerome got to his feet as fast as he could, damn near burning himself with his cigar as he did so. He snapped to attention and, cigar still firmly clamped between his teeth, and managed a muffled, “Gunnery Sergeant, sir! We weren’t expecting you!”

Miles stifled a laugh, slowly rising to his feet to greet the Gunny as well.

Kevin just smiled and said, “At ease Colonel. I just happened to notice you all doing something I never expected to see on this day, exchanging gifts. I did not know there were any Christians left, after the purges at the end of the war.”

Jerome just grinned, remembering to take the cigar out of his mouth. “Well sir, one of my men just pointed that out as well. I guess old habits die hard in the Forge.”

“Ah, I figured as much. Maybe one day someone will fill me in on the local history, but not today. Today is a holy day. A time for reflection on what this day really means to us.”

“So I’ve heard,” Jerome said with a grin.

Kevin smiled at Jerome’s reply, “To each his own Colonel. However, I do wish to tell you all a tale about an act of courage and valor that had happened on this day, so many years ago.” You could almost see the Gunny beginning to fade into the past to retrieve his tale.

“It was the year of 2061 and the Chinese had invaded North America through Alaska and the AADP was caught flat-footed by this invasion. The only troops available were the US Marines of the Sixth Marine Division...”


***


A deep booming roar could be plainly heard. Climbing up on the side of the armored car, the Gunny looked forward. Another line of Chinese infantry was setting up astride the track a hundred yards forward. Moreover, beyond them, not a half a mile away, barely visible, Kevin saw the sharp flashes of rifle and machine-gun fire. Several seconds later a patter of bullets flashed past.

A gust of wind swirled through the light scattering of trees, drawing the mist away. An entire Regiment of Marines, in a hedgehog formation, had been formed down in the gentle drop of the valley ahead. Kevin unsnapped his field glasses and then raised them, ignoring the hail of bullets flashing past him from the Chinese infantry, who were trying to surround the relief train.

From all sides of the hedgehog, down in the valley, the Chinese were surging in, assault rifles firing. In a measured pace rifle fire rippled down the line, holding the Chinese at bay. In the center of the hedgehog Kevin saw a cluster of men around their command LAV’s, which had run dry of fuel. The guidon of the 6th Marine Division was fluttering alongside the dark blue flag marked with the two stars of a Major General.

“General!” The Gunny screamed out, slamming his fist against the side of the armored car in impotent rage.

The men working on the track struggled to pound the spikes in, to anchor the rail in place so they could advance the last short distance and rescue the trapped Marines. Rifle butts shattered from the blows, barrels bent, but ever so slowly the spikes inched their way into the ice covered wood.

With every passing second more and more Chinese infantry filtered out alongside the trains, and dense infantry columns moved in to fill the few hundred yards that separated the Marine Regiment from safety. Kevin swung his glasses to the south, coming across the field he saw the Chinese setting up battery after battery of light mountain guns, just waiting to tear the Marine Regiment apart.

Tears of frustration clouded Kevin’s eyes.

From across the field, screened by a column of infantry, a long line of more mountain guns were being set up, to prevent any movement by the Regiment or the relief attempt. The hedgehog began to move. Another flurry of artillery fire crashed into the line as two more guns opened up. Casualties went down, men broke formation to help the wounded.

“Walk or die, no helping the wounded!” Kevin heard the Divisional commander say to his troops, they were that close, yet that far. On the flanks the Chinese charged in, regardless of losses, their officer’s bugles ringing out. A vast formation turned and started from the south racing to close with the Marines.
 
The Marine rifle fire rose to a crescendo. Chinese infantry dropped, flailing in their deaths. The other troops charged on, leaping over the dead and dying, screaming their battle cries. The charge crashed into the southwest corner of the hedgehog, the line collapsed and the Chinese poured into the hole. Part of the reserve, turning about face, raced back in a solid line, assault rifles at the level, desperate to seal the breach.

Like carrion drawn to death, the Chinese charged towards the breach, struggling to crack the line clean apart. A second line of mountain guns was setting up, behind the first. The artillery Crews swung their pieces to face east, back up the hill towards the train.

Kevin could see that the breach was closing, but nearly an entire Infantry Battalion was gone. The hedgehog curved in as if a surgeon had sliced off a part of a body to save the rest. A knot of survivors, outside the protection of the formation, fought on and were finally swarmed under. The hedgehog lurched forward, although it was starting to come apart as it swept up the slope, racing to beat the guns before they were ready to fire.

Groaning in anguish Kevin could not look away, The entire east side of the hedgehog seemed to go down, and the formation stopped cold, as if it had struck a stone wall.

At that moment the second line of mountain guns opened fire, the artillery rounds screamed up the slope. The firing line in front of Kevin was riddled, bodies disintegrating, tumbling in the air. An explosion of sparks shot off of the locomotive as it was hit by shrapnel from the Chinese artillery fire. All Kevin could do was watch in numbed silence.

The hedgehog was going fast. The southwest corner was torn open again, with Chinese pouring in. The eastern line was gone, the field a carpet of white-clad bodies, their winter clothing stained red. Hundreds of wounded were screaming, crawling towards the rescuers. The first line of artillery kept up it's deadly fire.

Kevin could see all that was left was a small knot of men, grouped around him, the Divisional commander, the last of the reserve, and the survivors running in from the disintegrating lines. The Marine Officers struggled, pushing their men back into a firing line, trying to plug the holes with bodies. The air was alive with rifle and artillery rounds. The artillery facing the trains continued to pound the line cresting the hill.

Kevin watched as the Chinese finally overcame the Marine defenders of the hedgehog, and all he could do as they killed his father was watch, watch and weep. The Gunny watched as they charged in, rifles firing. A final defiant fusillade flashed out from the Marine defenders, but its firepower was very weak. For a moment Kevin saw him, standing alone, his assault rifle raised in defiance, and then there was nothing left but the flashing of the Chinese rifle fire.

“Come on, to hell with the M307’s, run for it!” Kevin shouted out. The city of Anchorage was in flames behind him, illuminating the nightmarish scene. The long line of trains was finally ready to move, the wreckage cleared, the track repaired farther up the line where several Chinese infantry detachments had been dropped by helo in a vain attempt to cut the rail line.

Behind him, the 6 M307’s were still firing down the slope at the advancing Chinese infantry, all the while Chinese infantry was moving in on all sides. A mile farther out, a Chinese column was racing parallel to the rail line. The M307 crews fired one last barrage, then abandoned the guns and ran frantically towards the train.

Kevin looked back at where his father had died, and except for the occasional flash of rifle fire, he could see nothing. He waved to the engineer leaning out of the locomotive cab, a shudder ran through the the train.

“Goodbye,” was all Kevin could whisper as he climbed onto the car.


***


The Gunny’s eyes cleared once more and he began, “We had gotten out, just barely though. I was on the last train out of Anchorage, and I felt sick at the thought of it. The bastards had taken most of Alaska, for almost nothing, and over fifteen thousand US troops were either dead or missing.

"The troops on board the trains had been talking excitedly about their escape, finally able to breathe easy after the last tense hours of holding till the rest of the AADP armed forces could withdraw. I knew that once the excitement of the escape had worn off, the cold reality would settle in. Our forces were in disarray, and in headlong flight.

“I remember looking forward. All the way to the horizon, moving off into the evening, was train after train, diesel exhaust billowing along the path. and because of the sacrifice of my father and his troops nearly ninety thousand men were riding east, escaping, at least temporarily, the death closing in around them.”

They could actually see a faint light glowing from Kevin’s eyes. He always loved to tell this tale, it gave him courage to keep the faith and to do what was right.

Jerome was the first to recover from the Gunny’s incredibly depressing tale. “That was uh... quite a story, sir.”

“Yes, yes it is. It always inspires me, so I love to tell it whenever I can. Especially on Christmas. However, for some reason I did not seem to get many party invites. Oh well, their loss.” Kevin said with a big smile on his face.

“Keep the faith Colonel. Moreover, a very merry Christmas to you all,” With that Kevin once again began his rounds whistling Jingle Bells.


***


Ogre put his arm in the air. “Anyone else insanely depressed now?” Slowly, Jerome and the rest of the tank crew followed suit.

“I’m willing to bet oh, let’s say, all of my money on the reason he was never invited to many parties.” Miles said with a smile.

“Even if I had the money, I wouldn’t take that bet. That’s a sucker bet if there ever was one.” Jerome said with a grimace.

“I think I finally get why people always get depressed around Christmas... I think we can trace it all back to him... or at least his stories,” Jerome offered.

“I think, or at least hope, the Gunny means well. I mean, he wouldn’t come here to depress us... would he?” Miles asked in confusion.

“I didn’t realize people wearing Santa hats could be depressed. How in God’s name did you find such a thing, anyway?” Jerome asked.

“And are you aware you look ridiculous in it?” Ogre inquired.

“Yes, and it took some scrounging," Chris said with a smirk. “However, since Christmas was right around the corner at the time the bombs hit, it was easier than you’d think.”

“It looks beat to hell.”

“Not a lot of pre-war stuff doesn’t look all beat to hell,” Jerome offered.

“Anyhow, I’ve got a cure for Gunny-induced depression,” Miles said with a smile. “Ogre, pass some of your booze around. Let’s drink ourselves happy.”

“But I don't wanna share it!” Ogre moaned.

“It was 'just booze' a second ago,” Jerome pointed out.

“But it's still expensive booze!” Ogre shot back.

“C'mon Ogre, 'tis the season, after all.” Chris said with a greedy smile.

“Start sharing, or I'll have the Gunny tell you some more of his war stories,” Jerome said as he threatened Ogre.

Ogre grumbled, but gave in. “Fine,” Then mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, “Hope you choke on it.”


Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!


Cheers, Thor
Sic Vis Pacem, Para Bellum
If you want peace, prepare for war

The Mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be lit - Plutarch

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