Molotov Heights III: The Mouth of Hell

12:30 PM
THE BASE OF MOLOTOV HEIGHTS

Now the 1st was ready to advance. They lacked official orders, but Groggy and his officers would seize control of the helm themselves. And as usual, there was no one there to stop him – the only difference being that the stakes were infinitely higher than they’d ever been before.

Groggy’s troops were immediately galvanized by the call to action. Despite the continuing rain of shellfire and machine gun bullets, they huddled towards the, eager to release their long-standing tension.

“1st Infantry!” Atlas shouted to his battalion, his parade-ground voice overtaking the boom of cannon and rattle of machine guns. “This is what they pay you $2,000 a month for!”

Groggy stepped forward dramatically, instantly commanding the attention of his men. “I’m not Henry V, William Wallace or even Keira Knightley,” he boomed, “so I’m short on bombast and bellicosity. But I’ll say this much to you, ladies and gentlemen. There’s never been a finer regiment in the history of war, not one Mars would be more proud of, and if we can’t whip the Russian host before us, there aren’t any men alive or dead who could.” Then he added, almost as an afterthought, “Today we’ll sup in Green City, or else in Hell!”

The men roared in approval, ready to fight and die and resolve the issue, and Groggy smiled. The high water-mark of his life was undoubtedly upon him, and he savored the brief moment of satisfaction and glory emanating from his approving men.

An artillery shell exploding nearby snapped him out of his narcissist’s reverie. He turned and saw two wounded soldiers being taken to the rear. The eyes of almost 800 men and women were upon him, and he relished the fact. Captain Harriman stood beside him, loading her pistol, inspiring Groggy to check both of his own side-arms. In lieu of anything to say, they simply smiled in acknowledgement of another. A wave of tingling, dizzy vertigo and excitement overtook Groggy.

“1st Infantry, CHARGE!” he shouted. And his men, roaring like angry, blood-thirsty beasts, rose as one onto the field of glory, ready to march into the jaws of Death and the mouth of Hell without a moment’s hesitation – indeed, with glee and excitement.

12:40 PM

They came out of the trenches screaming with bloodthirsty anger, baying like the Hounds of Hell. Their hideous blood-cry was so loud that even the constant artillery and machine gun fire could not drown it out. Even at the top of the hill, under the watchful eye of their commander, the Russian and Cuban troops shuddered as the sound reached their ears.

Casualties began immediately. The advanced machine gun nests began to pelt the onrushing troops with fire, the artillery and mortars exploding amidst their ranks. Some of the men fell, some fell out of line to return fire, but most kept going, heedless to the onrush of hot steel.

A shot thundered. Captain Slick, commanding D Company, fell, his body shattered irreparably by an artillery burst. But his battalion, under Lieutenant-Colonel Starbuck’s command, continued on, hooking to the left, in order to ascend the right slope of the hill and turn Strelnikoff’s flank.

Groggy led the middle wing up the mountain. Atlas attempted to move his men over to the right, but the ridge was too narrow, and there were too many machine guns besides for this maneuver to be practical. His men simply moved up beside Groggy’s wing, reinforcing him significantly.

The men fought their way up the hill, gaining every inch by brute force. Machine gun nests and rifle pits filled with anxious soldiers waited until just the right psychological moment to open fire and hopefully create panic. After the first few such ambushes, however, Groggy’s men were quickly desensitized to the surprise, and quickly overran the positions in a quick burst of rifle fire, lobbed grenades, and if necessary the bayonet. Groggy lost only a handful men in these quick actions.

Still, the progress up the hill was slow going. Groggy’s men hit the first solid line of resistance, a Cuban infantry brigade well-entrenched and supported by machine guns, about 300 yards ahead of the main Russian line. They had been concealed from the base of the hill, but now the 1,300 Cuban and Russian soldiers were all too visible, and all too deadly. After the first wall of Kalashnikoff fire, Groggy’s men were forced to fall back, taking cover in a small ravine, pinned down by their opponents and sporadically exchanging gunfire. Soon, Russian mortars, rockets and artillery were focused; and as before, Groggy’s men were pinned down, at the non-existent mercy of the Russian guns.

“Enough of this horse slop!” Groggy roared, and without further word he leapt up and led his men in another charge. They closed ranks quickly, and after a fierce, bloody, close-range fight, overwhelmed the Cubans, killing 400, taking about 100 prisoners and putting the rest to rout, firing mercilessly into their backs as they streamed towards the main line of defense.

But this wasn’t enough. As Groggy’s men began to climb out of the trench, two artillery shells exploded, killing the first four soldiers to reach the other side. On both sides, machine gun nests began riddling the battalions with gunfire, and more shells and rockets exploded into the dirt above them. Groggy’s men were pinned down again, and they stared longingly, and angrily, at the main Russian lines. But his men could not, at least at this moment, attack the artillery or make them stop, so they had to grin and bear it.

1:00 PM

Sergeant Adnan led the remnants of his squad, already badly bloodied in the opening moments of the charge, towards the largest advanced Russian position, a pillbox guarded by a swath of machine guns and with a squad of concealed riflemen in a trench behind. The capture of this pillbox may have seemed small in the great scheme of things, but given the punishment Adnan’s men were receiving it was, for the moment, of paramount importance.

Adnan and his seven surviving men advanced, one of them, Corporal Greene, wielding a grenade launcher. Adnan led his squad with cool heroism, advancing one at a time closer to the rank, spraying the pillbox with covering fire. Through sheer will alone, the rifles killed at least one of the machine gunners, but they continued firing. Greene lobbed grenades at the pillbox, including one which shattered the roof, but still they kept on firing.

Two of Adnan’s men fell, shot down by the rifles to their flank. Adnan bellowed an order and Corporal Greene began firing grenades into their midst. He managed to kill most of them, but in taking his attention away from the bunker, Greene signed his own death warrant; his torso was completely shattered by machine gun fire and he felt, his grenade launcher tumbling down the hill.

Adnan swore and ducked to the ground. Shouting for his squad to cover him, he threw down his rifle and drew his side arm. He rushed up to the window of and stood beside the firing window, waiting for one of the gunners to stick his head out, which sure enough happened. He then sprung forward and shot the gunner twice in the head at point-blank range, then leaped out of the range of fire as an officer fired a spray of pistol shots after him. The rest of the squad attempted to follow their commander, but soon enough the machine gun was manned again; another man was killed, one more wounded, and the two survivors remained pinned down, leaving Adnan to face his fate alone.

Adnan burst through the door of the pillbox. The Russians were, strangely, taken by surprise. There only five left, an officer, two gunners and two infantrymen with rifles; seven bloody Russian corpses lay strewn at their feet. There was a large, smoking hole in the roof from where Greene’s grenades had struck the pillbox.

After a moment of awkward hesitance, Adnan raised his gun towards the officer. He shot the man in the head, then fired into one of the gunners’ left shoulder. The two riflemen raised their Kalashnikovs and fired as Adnan dove out of the way. Firing his gun sideways, he struck one of his foes in the stomach; the soldier collapsed, spitting blood, but his comrade fired a burst which just missed Adnan’s head. Adnan turned but fell as a bullet shattered his leg; it was one of the gunners, wielding a pistol. Adnan swore and rolled over on his back, realizing that he was done. Nonetheless, he gamely turned back towards opponents, determined to go down fighting.

Adnan heard a metallic clinking noise, and barely had time to register the small hand grenade which bounced across the floor towards the officers. The grenade exploded in the midst of the pillbox, obliterating Adnan and the bunker’s surviving defenders, spraying the walls with blood and tissue. Adnan lived long enough to see the gaping, bloody hole in his right side; then everything went black.

A moment later, Sergeant Beck entered the room, aiming his rifle. Before long, he spotted the body of his old foe Adnan, a bloody mess in the middle of the floor.
I guess God didn’t want our reckoning to happen, Beck thought grimly.

But this was no time for reflection. He rushed over to one of the Russian machine guns and turned it on the rifle pit, shooting down two Russian soldiers. He then aimed it at a machine gun nest across the way, which was raining fire on the Americans below. A few bursts of well-aimed gunfire neutralized them.

After this, Beck realized that the range on his gun was limited, and he could serve little further purpose remaining here. He emerged from the bunker, and his squad, along with the two survivors of Adnan’s.

Just then, two Russian soldiers popped from the rifle pit, firing. A burst struck the man next to Beck in the leg, but Beck ordered his men to fire, and the two soldiers were shot into oblivion by a wall of hot steel. Beck led his men in an over-the-top charge into the pit, finding only one wounded Russian sergeant still living; Beck pitilessly shot the man in the head.

At this, Beck stared up the hill. He could see the artillery from here, belching its noxious smoke onto the troops below, and hear the explosions and screams resulting. He could see the Russian entrenchments, bristling with wire and machine guns and riflemen with gleaming bayonets. And then he saw the rest of the 1st rushing up the hill at full speed, bellowing like demons.