Betrayal in the Creep
Forward Base 7’s war-room was full. The command tent was crammed with the base’s battalion and company
commanders. Sgt Parker and Trader were
the only non-officers in the tent. The NCO and civilian were largely ignored by
the assembled brass as they hunched over a table and scanned a map of eastern Texas and western Louisiana.
The injured Captain Morris was also present
for this most important meeting. The captain was mostly silent as his fellow
officers, men all accustomed to seeing wounded Marines, didn’t shy from
offering him encouragement and camaraderie.
Aside from his eye, Morris’ wounds were readily treatable and he had the
doctor reduce his painkiller dose in order to be lucid enough for this
gathering of decision makers. He wasn’t
the type of commander to sit in a recovery tent while the fate of his men was
being discussed by other officers. Morris’ hands were splinted and his face was
covered in fresh linen bandages which hid most of his head besides the one good
eye. Normally, these meetings were full
of chatter, planning and, every now and then, some laughter. Not tonight.
Tonight any word above a whisper was out of place. Everyone was nervously expectant as they waited
for the arrival of the Base Commander.
Colonel Thompson strode into the tent and
called out a loud, “As you were,” before the already present officers had a
chance to call the room to attention.
He centered himself on the table and spared
no time for preamble, “Gentlemen, we are in an entirely new situation. The
Coalition has figured out how to group and herd Creepers. There is a group of about four hundred
Creepers advancing on this base. We have to assume they know our location and that
the Creepers are part of a larger assault force.” The officer paused and looked
about the room at the men--his men--some of whom he will soon be sending to
face certain death. He rapidly tapped
his pen on his desk as he looked at the map spread out in front of him. Colonel
Thompson then directed his attention to the two guests at this meeting, “You
saw the group here,” he said, indicating on the map the area the Marine
sergeant and the civilian just left, “and your sensor readings were here,” the
officer pointed at a spot thirty-five miles east of the former location.
“Give or take a mile, yes,” replied the trader.
“How long ago was that reading?”
The trader did a quick mental calculation,
“That was forty-six days ago.”
“So, in a month and a half they have herded
the Creepers approximately thirty-five miles.
They are now twenty miles from this base. We have to presume they can hit our position
by the end of this month--fifteen days.”
One of the company commanders, an artillery
captain, interjected, “Sir, what chance will they have against mortar fire?”
“In all truth, the Creepers alone would have
little chance--if we know when and where they will attack. We don’t have enough mortars to cover all
sides of the base and these things move fast. On the East side we have
six-hundred yards between us and the Creep.
They can cover that distance in thirty to forty seconds. I don’t think
the mortars will be effective beyond one or two volleys. Additionally, the Creepers will not be
alone. The Coalition would not spend the
resources needed to move these things without the intent to mount a full-scale
assault. I believe their only goal is to
wipe out this base. Gentlemen, I we will
have to utilize every resource at our disposal to survive this attack.”
The arty officer grudgingly took his seat,
his body language clearly indicated that he didn’t agree with the colonel. His attitude was shared by many of the
officers in the meeting. Creepers had
been seen only a handful of times and were often discounted as products of
overactive imaginations.
“What about heavy machine guns?” another
company commander, Captain Welch, retorted hotly as he stands, “What about the
concerted fire of two-thousand Marines?
I think you underestimate us, colonel, I think two-thousand, dug-in
Marines can handle four hundred of these monsters and any force the Coalition
has managed to sneak through the Creep.”
Thompson set his document satchel on the
table and pulled out a small sheaf of papers.
He held it up to the assembled men as he replied, “One of the problems
is they are not sneaking,” replied the commanding officer heavily, “these reports
indicate a thorough incapacitation of our sensors in a two-mile wide swath. The
origin point of this reading is twenty miles east of this base. In other words, we have no idea how many troops
they’re bringing. If they have the gear,
they could move any number of men through the Creep.” The partially mollified
captain sat down as Colonel Thompson continued, “As far as machine guns go, we
have thirteen operational. Our western
side will be the least fortified as it is fifty miles from the nearest border
of the Creep--it will keep its one .50 caliber.
The northern and southern walls will have two machine guns each and the
eastern side will have the remaining eight.
The artillery cannon will be on a 360° rotating platform in the place we
now stand. Exact troop emplacements will
be handed out after the battalion commanders meeting. If there’s nothing
else...?”
The tent filled with the murmurs of the still
skeptical and the gathered officers began to whisper behind closed hands. The ability of the colonel or, more
accurately, the inability of the colonel to command had been the
elephant-in-the-room issue for weeks and what were once silent thoughts gained
voice in the current crisis.
Parker raised his finger in request to speak,
Thompson, grateful for a reprieve from the whispers, nodded his assent,
“Gentlemen,” began Parker, “most of your troops haven’t even seen a Creeper let
alone fought one. How many of you have
ball ammunition? These things shrug off
flechettes like gnats. You can tell your men it’ll take one to two magazines to
kill one Creeper. Anti-infantry artillery rounds will have little immediate
effect on the things.” This last raises a snort from the arty officer. “Sirs, please listen to me. We either don’t
know where their vitals are or they have no ability to register pain--we’re not
sure which--and they are intent only on one thing: killing you at any cost.”
First Battalion Commanding Officer,
Lieutenant Colonel Carl Johnson, quickly interjected before the other officers
could discount the testimony of the lone NCO in the room, “Parker’s absolutely
correct in his assessment. With the loss
of Captain Morris’ company,” he nodded in sympathy to the injured officer, “we
are down to one full scout company. That
means we have eighty-two men out of the base’s two-thousand who have extended
Creep experience, and only a handful of those have ever seen a Creeper. I have
heard each and every report of those incidents.
Every account corroborates the others.
These things are real. We need to
prepare our men as never before. The
shock factor alone will give the CPIC force a great advantage.”
The First Battalion CO was respected by all
present. His command included both Scout
Companies and two of the best regular Infantry companies in the entire
Corps. He commanded the victory at Twin
Forks. He organized and sustained the retreat at Seminary Ridge. No one had
known the lieutenant colonel to be fond of embellishment. The room went still as everyone absorbed the
gravity of this declaration.
Colonel Thompson took advantage of the lull
to close the meeting, “I’d like the battalion commanders to stay. They will inform the rest of you of the
battle plan.” He scans the faces around the room before he closes, Gentlemen,
we have two weeks. Ready your men.
Dismissed.”
#
Forward Base 7 was built in a three-hundred
yard square. Each side had a twelve-foot
high earthen berm with concrete support pillars every twelve feet. The wall was topped with another three feet
of stacked sandbags. Sand-bagged machine-gun emplacements sat along the wall in
prescribed increments. The exterior of
the wall was festooned with glass, jagged shards of metal, sharpened rebar, and
any other debris the Marines could find that could injure or slow an attacking force. The base’s field of fire was cleared of all
vegetation and obstructions for six hundred yards on each side. At twenty yards from the wall, two coils of
razor wire surrounded the base.
Anti-personnel mines were situated in two ten yard wide strips--one at
five hundred yards out and another at one-hundred fifty yards. Enemy armor was prevalent at the beginning of
the invasion and a tank hasn’t been seen in decades, but old habits die hard, and
a few dozen remote-controlled anti-armor mines were peppered around the
installation.
The interior of the fort was filled with row
upon row of tents and semi-permanent structures. The only two permanent structures were the
Colonel’s office and the Church. The
center of the camp was dominated by the regiment’s lone large artillery
piece.
The 152mm cannon and its permanent crew were
stationed at whatever base was deemed the most likely to be attacked. They’d
been at Forward Base 7 for six months. The ‘Beast,’ as its crew called it, stood
ten feet tall and could drop rounds in a bucket up to twenty miles away. Unfortunately, the Creep tremendously
restricted sight range and limited the usefulness of large artillery, but this
cannon had a very valuable addition for Creep warfare.
The Beast boasted missile launchers on each
side of the main gun. When an enemy
force’s exact location was unknown or moving rapidly, the artillery team fired
‘seeker’ missiles. These remote-controlled
missiles roamed a zone for up to twenty minutes before running out of fuel. If the missile’s camera spotted an enemy
force, the gun’s crew detonated a projectile which sent multiple transmitters
to the ground below. The transmitters
acted as rangefinders for the cannon’s crew. The crew often boasted of its ability to send
their ‘gifts from above’ with great accuracy at even a rapidly moving infantry
troop.
Lastly, the regiment’s remaining six
generators stood ready to provide power to the wall’s floodlights at a moment’s
notice. Each generator had a five gallon can of diesel stocked next to it--the
spoils of an abandoned refinery pillaged on the way to establish the base. Colonel
Thompson had jealously guarded the use of the fuel and generators for a situation
such as this. He had hoped neither would
ever be necessary.
#
Base 7’s walls generally had a good amount of
men patrolling them. Tonight--fifteen
days after the officer’s meeting--they were literally bristling with heavily
armed Marines. The most seasoned
infantry, First Battalion, was situated on the eastern wall. Third was divided evenly between the north
and south wall. Second Battalion, the least trained and lowest populated, manned
the west wall. The Fourth battalion--a half-battalion which was formed largely
of support units--was, as always, held in reserve. After a heated debate between the officers,
it was decided that the mortar company would be spread out amongst the three
walls most likely to be attacked. The Beast’s veteran crew was ready for
anything. The non-combatants were sent to Base 6 in northern Oklahoma.
Forward Base 7 was as ready for an attack as it ever could be.
#
Captain Morris stood over the base’s armorer
and grinned at the master sergeant’s handiwork.
Morris’ bandages were removed and revealed a face full of criss-crossed
stitches. A particularly large and
jagged stitch on the left side of his face tightly pulled his mouth towards the
ear on the same side. The captain’s
sutured face reminded the master sergeant of a patchwork quilt that had somehow
come hideously alive. When the officer smiled,
the quilt of sewn-up skin split open and grew two rows of out-of-place pearls. Two
months ago Morris went on a Creep expedition where he found this most recent
trophy--a 7.62mm Gatling minigun. The
gun needed some alterations in order for the wounded captain to be able to fire
it. The master sergeant tentatively smiled back as he explained the
modifications he made to the minigun.
“If you’ll look here, captain,” the enlisted
man said, grateful to have an excuse to look down from the officer’s face--he
twisted the heavy weapon to allow Morris a better view, “you’ll see the trigger
has been altered so your splints won’t get in the way. I also added a burst governor so you won’t
run out of ammo as quickly. Last, I added
a liquid coolant system--that and the burst governor guarantees she won’t
overheat.”
The captain’s voice unintentionally came
out as a growl as he gave his approval, “Top, as always, your work is
exceptional.”
“Thank you, sir. I also installed a larger grip on the
carrying handle and,” he lifted up a four-inch wide web belt as he continued,
“I added the two hooks for the ammo boxes to fasten to this belt as you wanted.
Although, with all due respect, sir, that seems crazy to me. I know you’re strong enough to tote that much
ammo, but if one round penetrates those crates, you’re cooked.”
Captain Morris’ face dropped the pearly
crevice that used to be a smile and his eye hardened as he answered the master
sergeant with a voice edged in gravel, “Top, all I care about is killing Africans.
When that opportunity arises, I don’t want to have to turn around to resupply
my ammo. Plus, if God had wanted me dead
I’d already be gone. I’m bullet-proof, Top.” The captain’s face again split
into the row of teeth that once was counted as a smile.
The enlisted man looked down at his
workbench as he softly replied, “The Corps don’t need dead heroes, captain, we
need live ones.” The armorer looked up to see only the officer’s back as he strode
away with the deadlier-than-ever weapon in his left hand and the gun’s tripod
propped over his opposite shoulder.
#
Parker and the remaining scouts were
interspersed along a ten-mile strip of the Creep. The scouts were placed two-hundred
yards apart to cover the most area. The
logic of the spacing was hard to argue with but Parker didn’t like it. He was
one of twenty scouts equipped with the regiment’s remaining two-way radios. If
one of those scouts got taken out, a large section of the Creep would have no
one available to give the base warning of an attack. Again, Parker couldn’t really argue with the
reasoning of covering the most area with the fewest men, but his gut told him
it was too risky. On top of the too-wide
dispersion of scouts, the rest of the regiment were able to work in half-on, half-off
shifts for the last three days but the scouts were working on two-hour sleep
shifts the entire time. The stress the
scouts were under was reaching an unacceptable level, and one mistake would
result in a needless loss of lives. They
were too distant from each other to be of much help if something did happen. Parker
hated the fact that he was out of earshot of the Marines on either side of him
and if a storm kicked up he wouldn’t be able to see them either. Almost on cue, the boom of a Creep-storm sent
Sgt Parker and his fellow scouts rushing for their storm shelters.
#
The three men sat in the colonel’s office
contemplating the all-too-fast approaching deadline.
“We can’t have loose cannons, sir.” Captain
Holcombe pointedly ignored the other captain in the room as he addressed
Colonel Thompson. He had been pushing
the same argument for the last twenty minutes.
The colonel glanced at the obviously livid
Captain Morris. The sight of the fuming
behemoth made Thompson wonder if Holcombe was this brave or if his aide had
suddenly become this stupid. Captain Morris certainly wasn’t stupid and to bait
him like this was begging for dire consequences.
“Captain Holcombe, again, why do you want to
place the Marines you suggest in the reserve companies and put supply clerks
and mechanics on the east wall?”
Holcombe continued to address only the
colonel, “Sir, since we don’t know from what direction the attack will come, I
believe it makes the most sense to put experienced Marines in reserve so they
can react with the most efficiency possible.
Several commanders have expressed concern about the headquarters and
supply reserve troops being able to move effectively enough to be of any help
at all. If we arrange troops this way,
the combat inexperience of the H&S Marines will be offset by placing them next
to veteran counterparts on the wall.”
Captain Morris’ dragon tattoos seemed to
crawl on his flexing forearms as his hands clenched as tight as his splints
allow. He barely kept his seat as he interjected through grinding teeth, “And let’s
continue to ignore the fact that all the Marines you want to put in the reserve
are black!”
Expressing a rare courage, Holcombe turned to
look at the other captain in the eye, “Sadly, race was an issue in the selection
of which men to move to the support companies.
Tell me, Captain Morris, if you were on the wall what would you do if there
was a repeat of the tactics used at Seminary Ridge?”
#
The Marine battalion was well dug in. They held the high ground on the ridge while
the Coalition force thirty feet below had the advantage of numbers. They were in a narrow safe-zone and neither
side had brought artillery. The Marines
were headed to reinforce Base 5; the CPIC forces were on their way to attack
the same. The Marines had sent for reinforcements
and had enough water to hold out until those reinforcements arrived. The CPIC leaders knew they would be forced to
retreat when mortars arrived. They also
knew CPIC officers who retreat from combat are executed as examples of
cowardice. These commanders were willing
to try anything to gain an advantage before more American troops arrived.
The screams began at 0330. The women’s and children’s were the hardest
to endure. The tactic was ancient--undermine
a besieged enemies’ morale by broadcasting screams at odd hours in the night. The
Marines were not overly concerned about the sound recordings. It wasn’t easy to rest with the sounds of saws,
hammering, chopping and shrieking blasting through the night air but the
Marines took heart in the knowledge that it was a last ditch gambit on the
Coalition’s part. They would have
artillery in twenty-four hours, the CPIC troops would not.
The sun rose at 0645. The screams continued. First Lieutenant DuPont Morris told his sharpshooters
to keep an eye out for whatever amplifiers the CPIC troops were using in the
hopes of ending the noise. At 0700 the
Coalition turned off the secretly placed active camouflage screens.
The disappearing screens revealed the ghastly
truth. The screams were not
recorded. Black American women and
children had been nailed to wooden crosses within a stone’s throw of the
entrenched Marine force. They were hung
in the most grotesque ways possible.
Some hung by their hair, some by the hands, others were nailed through
in seemingly random places. Only a few
had mercifully died from their suffering. A score more continued to cry out for
relief. Just as they had for the last
four hours.
The removal of the camouflage screens also
revealed the African CPIC troops. They
were mercilessly torturing the already crucified women and children. Morris froze in horror when they began
flaying an eight year-old boy alive a mere seventy yards from their position. The
rest of the Black Marines did not freeze.
Nearly fifty Marines left their positions to
assault the torturers. The Africans
seemed to welcome the charge. They
picked up their own rifles and haphazardly charged towards the incoming
Marines. The Coalition doesn’t spend a
lot of resources on the training of North African troops and this lack of
training always shows on the battlefield. Even in their rage, the Marines
instinctively held to training. Only three
Marines fell to the Africans fifty. The
Marines immediately began taking the tortured victims down from the grisly
trees. Another set of camouflage screens dropped to reveal the rest of the CPIC
force. The four hundred remaining
Coalition soldiers opened fire and decimated the rescuers and rescued alike. The now-exposed Marines tried to fight back
but they had no chance. All of the
charging Marines and those they sought to save were dead in moments.
Over three hundred victorious CPIC troops
advanced on the depleted battalion. The doomed
charge had taken fully thirty percent of the defenders and the remaining
hundred were severely demoralized. The
CO of the company, the then-Major Johnson, only avoided a total rout by
conducting one of the best fighting retreats in the history of the war. Even with his brilliant tactics, barely seventy
men remained alive when they met the reinforcing battalion.
After the bodies had been counted and the
reports had been filed, the battle of Seminary Ridge was counted a victory.
Forward Base 5 hadn’t been touched and the CPIC army had been totally destroyed. It was a victory. On paper. But for Morris and the other survivors, it was
the most inglorious of defeats.
#
Captain Morris exhaled extensively as he
slumped in his chair. He knew Holcombe’s concerns were justified. He silently withdrew from the office and headed
to the reserve company area. He made his
decision and he prayed he could find the words he needed to keep his men under
control and somehow not damage their pride.
#
Parker felt his body relax as he lay down
inside his shelter--the CPIC force wouldn’t be moving in this storm
either. He checked his in-mask timer and
sent in a squelch check at the ten-minute mark.
The howl of the storm and the pattering of debris against his shelter wasn’t
enough to keep him from falling into a much-needed half-sleep as he waited for
the storm to pass.
“Echo-five Pa-pa, echo-five Pa-pa, come in.”
The two-way’s call brought Parker out of his respite. He glanced at his timer to see he had dozed
through a squelch check.
“Here,” Parker responded loudly to be heard
over the storm, “all clear.”
“Check,” came the faceless response.
Parker knew his sense of duty wouldn’t
allow him to doze again and he began a gear check to help stay awake.
“MA-MA!”
A sound much like the trader’s doll’s cry
split the night at a decibel level high enough that Parker could hear it even over
the storm. Parker quickly exited the shelter, shielded his rebreather tubes and
blindly jogged the thirty yards west to the edge of the Creep. At forty yards he took his hands from his
tubes and began to sprint. At fifty he
looked north. The base’s mortars fired
off flares to illuminate the area around the base. A seething mass of Creepers erupted from the
western edge of the Creep! The writhing
throng of once humanity responded to the call in all too human voices and rapidly
advanced towards the base and the sweet-smelling meat waiting inside it.
“MA-MA!” the cry erupted again from a
hidden source somewhere on the eastern side of the wall. The beasts cried out
in hideous response and began to race toward the base.
“Parker!” Colonel Thompson’s voice yelled
over the two-way.
Parker raised the radio to his mouth, “On
the way, sir!”
“Come to the west entrance...out.” finished the officer.
“Come to the west entrance...out.” finished the officer.
Parker looked to his left and saw Lance
Corporal Hanson also exiting the Creep. Parker motioned Hanson to follow and began
jogging back to the base. Hanson looked at the mass of Creepers advancing on the base and stifled
the urge to start shooting the monsters attacking his fellow Marines, instead he grudgingly followed his mentor to the west side of the base. Sergeant Parker largely ignored the Creepers as they were out of his control, instead he contemplated his upcoming
visit with the trader. It was the first
time he had ever looked forward to an interrogation.
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