Chapter three

(The close encounter)

Mr. Brown placed the Colonel symbol on his own Jacket and strolled over to a 3d map of New York. Peering down at it wryly he beckoned for a man in a Sergeant’s uniform to come forward. He was tall very well build and seemed to show no concern for the noise and vibrations of the on coming shells. He looked like a hero to me and like he had a plan.

“Jack,” said Mr. Brown, vainly gesturing at the dot filled map. “They’ve taken over half the city and their main force hasn’t even landed yet.” He waved a palm over the map, and half of the city turned red to indicate the enemy had landed in strong force.

“How many we talkn’ about?” he said folding his arms as he glared down at the map.

“As of now, they’ve massed about two-thousand infantry, and the number of gun ships are still unknown,” he said watching the little red dots that indicated enemy units edge closer and closer to Harlem. “We need to hit them now, while their still disorganized.”

“How many do we have?” asked the Sergeant gloomily.

“Well,” said Mr. Brown trying to calculate the numbers. ”Counting Ken and Ron you’ll have twenty, unless the four scouts I sent out an hour ago return, but most likely they killed in the shelling.”

“Right,” bellowed the Sergeant like he was on a parade ground. “I want you to split up in teams.” “Our job is to harass anything entering the crossroad between the Wal-Mart and the school, if they get a bass of fire up there we’ll be pulling led out of our asses ‘till Christmas.”

“Any questions?” he asked eyeing the men carefully.

“Shouldn’t an officer lead the attack?” asked a Corporal his eyes baring a look of utter distain for the Sergeant.

I still remember to this day how he answered, “Yes, Mike they should but were a little short handed aren’t we?” The man’s sneer vanished quickly and his eye’s glared at Mr. Brown as if to ask, “Why don’t you? You’re Colonel.” Mr. Brown seemed to have read the man’s mind and showed a huge scar on his leg where shrapnel had torn threw it, making him unable to run. The Corporal looked at us all in the eye hoping to gather support but we all felt he was dangerous and we looked back to the Sergeant as he moved to continue his briefing.

“We have to keep that road clear as long as we can, so we can establish a foothold, if we don’t” he stopped in mid sentence overcome by the thought of failure. “Anyway, I want each team to lay down a good hot fire, and keep them away from the objective, I want you to fight no longer then ten minutes, after that get the wounded back here, and wait for the next group to go out, and so on.”

“So, like a revolving door,” asked a private trying to grasp the concept.

“Exactly, now let so those bustards how Rangers can fight!” We all were ready for a fight and let out battle cry that sounded like the voices of hell were proclaiming it was Judgment Day.

There was clicking sound as we jammed a clip of forty-five green colored rounds into our rifles and said a finial desperate prayer. Our heavy boots made a slight crunching noise as we headed down the dark tunnel toward the metal hatch that led to the outside world.

The Sergeant pulled Ken and myself over to the side and said just loud enough for us to hear, “ Are you sure you want to do this? After this there’s turning back, you will be treated as US solders, if you run you’ll be shot.” He placed a firm gentle hand on our shoulders and our fears about being shot for desertion melted away, because we thought it would be better to die fighting the Derendknots rather than be forced to work as their slaves.

“More than anything,” we said together as the images of our friends that probably didn’t make it out alive, following through our minds. I suddenly began to feel tears slide down face and held an arm over my face to hide them from the Sergeant. Tightening his hold on my shoulders he said a low but soothing grumble, “None us wanted to go to war when we woke up this morning but its what we have to do to save human civilization.”

I nodded and darted after the others who were making their way toward the road, making sure that they were crouched low enough that the tall piles twisted metal concealed our moments. The world looked different from the last time I saw it. The sun peaked through the blanket of smoke, and ashes from the fires pelted us like snowflakes after a winter storm. There were only a few buildings left sanding in the once proud city and those that had survived had whole walls blow away and looked though they would crumble at any second.

This destruction only made us angrier with the invaders and strengthened our resolve to fight back. We thought the scenes of horror couldn’t get much worse, but then they did. We inched closer to Harlem’s main street and I saw something I wish no other generations have to witness. The main road was dotted with huge holes caused by the shells. In the holes their hundreds of dead bodies all horribly mutilated. Civilians and soldiers were thrown by the impact. Some had arms sieved or great gashes in their chests or stomachs. Blood had run down into the bottoms of the holes so that many wounded victims had drowned in their own blood.

We finely reached the crossroads and a give sigh of relief because we knew we would get a chance to let the enemy regret what they had done. It was good ground. The road ran through a hilly embankment that looked how I picture Ireland.

“Divide in half,” Sergeant Graves spoke shrilly. “Corporal Jackson take your men and line the road on the right, Guyber take the left.” My heart jumped into my throat as I thought, am I really be given command? I crossed to the left side road imitating a Navy Seal arching my back slightly as crouched taking careful calculated steps. We slumped down into a ditch that was knee deep in icy water. Our rifle barrels rested on the dirt as we waited.

I heard them before I saw them. The dirt shock with the vibrations of their hobnailed boots and I felt my buddy serge with fear and joy. They were marching in a tight column that must have been made up one regiment; at the time I thought it must have been the whole army. I pulled my rifle hard against my shoulder and amid it at one of the towering figures. I looked at Sergeant Graves my finger inching toward the trigger. He mouthed wait and my heart slid back into my chest. Holding up three fingers Sergeant Graves started to cont down. Two, my hands became coated with sweat, and I suddenly felt as if the whole world was glaring down on me. One, my breathing quickened and my gun rattled in my hands as I used all my might to keep it steady. Zero, I yelled and pressed the trigger sending a burst of light toward my target. He flopped to the ground and clutched a hole in his neck with sausage sized fingers. I fired again hitting his stomach and his uniform was spattered wit blue blood, his hand fell to rest on the road. All the enemy force had been downed in the attack, so we head back to the tunnels for some much needed rest.