El Grapadura I - Ambush

APRIL 27TH, 2009
8:25 AM
EL GRAPADURA PASS, PALACIOS

Groggy's 1st Volunteer Infantry regiment lay in place on the edge of El Grapadura pass. Slapping at mosquitos and flies, wiping their brows at the already-stifling heat, their ears buzzing with the sounds of birds, insects and other assorted fauna lurking in the bush before them. They were waiting for the order to initialize their advance.

Groggy looked at his watch. It was broken, so there was no point to it. He turned to Captain Harriman. "Captain, tell each Company to send out skirmishers in advance. All guns set on semi-automatic fire."

Harriman walked over to the radioman and relayed the message. The ball was set in motion, and soon 90 or so men were creeping through the underbrush, about to initialize the first major land battle of the war.

* * *

8:34 AM

Company B's skirmishers, on the far left of the advance, moved out first. Captain Holland personally volunteered to lead the way, aided by Sergeant Charlie, Lieutenant Ackt, Chill Scotsdale, Elizabeth and Matt, a tough Creole named Grideaux, and two expendables, Smith and Katt.

As they poked their way through the underbrush, they were immediately consummed by it. Everywhere were trees and bushes, with only a thin trickle of sunlight reaching through the canopy. Confronted by the sudden alien environment, the soldiers found themselves both scared and awed by it. So much so, that they didn't notice several telltale signs of what lay ahead of them.

As they advanced, two Russian sharpshooters positioned in two tall trees watched them. One of them, a Corporal Sharapov, aimed his rifle at the tall, brawny officer who seemed to be in charge. He waited for the opportune moment to initiate hostilities, making sure the officer was perfectly in his sights...

* * *

8:41 AM

Grideaux, bringing up the rear of the skirmishers, saw a small flash from one of the trees up ahead. He stopped, and saw it again; he squinted, and could just make out the camoflagued outline of a man aiming a rifle. He carefully rose his M-16 and aimed it at the amorphous green-and-brown shape before him.

BANG! The first shot sounded, scattering a flock of birds. Captain Holland and his men turned as the body of a sharpshooter fell to the ground, a bullet hole neatly through his neck.

An eternal moment passed, as the shavetail troopers struggle to react. Then Grideaux fired another shot, and another sharpshooter fell.

Now a burst of rifle fire exploded from the bushes ahead of them. "AMBUSH!" Captain Holland cried, as if it weren't obvious, and the skirmishers scattered backwards, trying to reach cover.

The first fatality was that eternal idealist, Sergeant Charlie. He scarcely had time to react before a bullet pierced his heart, killing him instantly. He collapsed quietly into the brush.

Grideaux, who had initiated hostilities, fell next, two bullets striking him almost simultaneously in the groin and left thigh. He fell to the ground, alive but in pain, grittng his teeth and groaning in agony.

The battle quickly turned into a nightmare. The gallant Captain Holland was shot in the left knee, and collapsed face first into a mud puddle. Gritting his teeth, he rose himself on his good news, threw down his carbine, and started blasting away at the enemy with his pistol. "WHATEVER I SEE, I HIT!" he roared angrily. He fired a burst of shots at a sillohuette, and sure enough, a Russian soldier tumbled from the brush.

Chill Scotsdale was shot in the right leg, just above the knee, but as he fell he discharged a burst of rifle fire into the chest of one of his assailants. He crawled towards his colleagues, who were struggling to set up a makeshift defensive line.

Trying to reach the wounded Scotsdale, Private Katt rushed forward, but was cut down by a burst of fire that perforated his chest. Private Smith fired a wild volley of full-auto fire into the bushes, and two more Russian soldiers were killed.

Elizabeth, firing in anger for the first time in her life, accidentally switched her rifle to full auto and knocked herself backwards, spraining her shoulder. Fortunately, Matt stepped forward and fired, killing a Russian, but he was struck in the shoulder. He fell to his knees, but kept firing, allowing his girlfriend to crawl for cover.

Beside them, Grideaux had staggered to his knees, and resumed firing, though the pain of his wounds prevented him from scoring any hits.

The situation was becoming properly nightmarish, but now it become downright horrifying. Several phosphorous grenades sailed through the air. The first few exploded harmlessly in the trees, setting small fires but not posing any threat. But a third landed in front of Captain Holland, and Lieutenant Ackt rushed forward. He kicked the incendiary back towards the Russian lines, but it exploded in mid-air, spraying his clothing and face with the burning substance. He screamed in agony as a streak of phosphorous burnt into his cheek.

Scotsdale staggered over to the wounded chef; he was hit again in the ankle, but his leg was already lame so it mattered little. He found Ackt's carving knife and peeled the burning skin off his face as bullets whizzed around them.

At just this moment, the attack proper came. The surviving soldiers stared in horror as an entire company of enemy troops - wearing the of the Cuban Army - rushed out of the bush, rifles blazing.

Scotsdale, still holding the wounded Ackt, felt a dull thud in his back; he tasted blood in his mouth, and collapsed to the ground. Ackt, who had managed to regain some of his composure, used his friends body as a shield, firing his pistol into the oncoming waves of Cubans, killing at least one.

The gallant Grideaux, who struggled to maintain his balance from his wounds, was shot twice more, in the stomach and chest. He collapsed, slowly bleeding to death, his mouth muttering nonsensical words that were quickly drowned out by a flood of blood.

Smith shot down two of the leading Cubans, but found himself at the receiving end of an AK burst, and toppled into the grass.

Captain Holland expended his pistol ammunition. He leaned forward, reaching for his carbine, but two bullets tore through his head, and he sprawled lifelessly into the mud puddle before him.

The three survivors - Matt, Elizabeth and Ackt - braced themselves, realizing that their time had come. But then, from overhead, deliverance came.

Two quick, almost simultaneous explosions flashed in between the lines. A shower of sparks and dirt struck in front of them. Matt and Elizabeth watched incredulously, and saw a number of Cuban. A third explosion burst, killing more of the Cubans. They then realized what was happening: artillery.

A fourth explosion hit into the trees, toppling a sharpshooter from his perch. The remaining Cubans were staggered, unsure of what to do. They didn't have time to react.

Elizabeth heard a click next to her ear, and then shrieked as it exploded into fire. It was an M-60 machine gun, hastily deployed on the battlefield, and spraying hundreds of rounds into the mass of Cubans. Before long, two more machine guns were deployed, and a platoon of riflemen led by Lieutenant Paul arrived, decimating the hapless Cubans. The Cubans exchanged only desultory fire before retreating into the bush, leaving forty of their number dead or wounded on the ground. Several more explosions tore into the forest, and the Cubans disappeared from sight.

Elizabeth looked up and saw her battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Starbuck, appearing, pistol drawn. Lieutenant Ackt struggled to drag Scotsdale's body towards friendly lines.

"Who's hit?" Starbuck asked.

"Captain Holland's dead," Lieutenant Ackt shouted.

"Damn it!" Joe shouted, but he quickly regained his composure. He turned to Old Paul. "Paul, you're in charge of this company now. Displace these machine guns forward, and advance at a crawl. Dispatch a detail to take dead and wounded back to the rear."

"Yes, sir," Paul responded, and immediately began echoing the orders.

As the soliders of B Company prepared for further action, they heard a patter of rifle and machine gun fire to their right. The second phase of the battle was beginning.

8:51 AM

Just as Colonel Starbuck arrived with the rest of B Company on the left, action started up on the center. This was nominally Major Martinez's batallion, but Groggy himself was present, and as such he took command of proceedings on this part of the field.

He heard the firing off to his left, and demanded information about it. But none was forthcoming, except that skirmishers of B Company had encountered hostile forces. Groggy was waiting to hear back from his own skirmishers.

Sure enough, a flurry of gunfire errupted to his front, and the skirmishers came stumbling back through the woods, one fewer than they had been. Sergeant Falk immediately ran to the Colonel to the Colonel.

"Private Calloway is dead, sir," Falk reported. "We counted at least a platoon, probably more, with rifles and machine guns. It was an ambush. We didn't have enough cover to hold our ground."

Groggy blanched, then turned angry. "You boys want to get back at them?" he asked the skirmishers. A chorus of voices answered a variety of things, but the gist of it was, "Yes, sir!" Groggy stared at the men around him.

"Major Martinez!" he shouted. "Prepare your battalion for general advance!"

As he shouted this, he heard a number of rifle shots explode around him. Groggy looked up and saw a Russian sharpshooter dangling in the trees above him, his body riddled with bullets, dripping blood onto the ground.

"LET'S MOVE!" Groggy said.

His troopers pressed into the woods, into a large clearing. They saw a handful of Russian troops, but they fled after a brief exchange of rifle fire. Surely these weren't.

Jim Tate, the journalist, rushed up beside the Colonel.

"Colonel Dundee," he said. "Look. You can see their hats."

He pointed behind a tree line. Groggy squinted and saw, to his horror, a machine gun platoon redeploying themselves, marching towards the other end of the field. Groggy's men were now exposed, unless they acted fast, or could outgun the Russians before they got into position.

Groggy went to his knees. He gestured to Major Martinez and his company commanders, indicating the threat before them, amazingly oblivious to the Americans' presence. His men immediately went into prone position, and carefully aimed their rifle as the Russians filed into position, with astonishing slowness.

BANG! BAM!

Groggy fired the first shot, and then a flurry of rifle shots errupted from the grassy field. The Russians were taken completely by surprise. They tried to return fire, but the Americans had the advantage, and the Russians could scarcely respond. Groggy saw them starting to set up a machine gun, but he saw as Bill and Teacher Tom aimed their weapons, disabling the gun crew with a few well-aimed bursts.

After another few moments, the Russians panicked, fleeing into the woods for cover.

Groggy and the regiment slowly rose up from the grass. "Skirmishers, move forward," he ordered. Sergeant Falk and his squad advanced quickly across the field.

Jim Tate rushed up to Dundee excitedly. "Sir, I think I got one!" he said proudly, showing off his .357 Magnum.

Groggy narrowed his eyes skeptically. "You?"

Before the journalist could respond further, Captain Harriman reported to the Colonel. She was bleeding from a cut behind her right ear. "Sir, Private Benson is dead."

Groggy clenched his jaw. "That makes two of ours," he muttered. "Prepare the battalion to continue the advance," he shouted to his other officers. He then walked to a tree at the rear of the line, steadying himself, as an attack of nervous dizziness spread over him. He waited for it to fade, then rejoined his men as they slowly trodded across the open field towards an unseen enemy.