Here is a Collection of Short Stories. From time to time I will add to them, I hope you'll enjoy them and please give suggestions.

United Nations Poker

It was the first meeting of its type in the history of the world. This place had been built to hold such a meeting. The United Nations was organized by all the world powers as a forum for the world. And the nation with the honor of building went to Greece, his Greece. He would be damned if he was going to be outplayed on his home turf.

The President sat in the back of the limousine contemplating the next few hours in that building. Make no mistake; this was a game of sorts, like Poker, only much more dangerous and much more serious. Instead of playing on a card table, they played on the world. Instead of chips, they played with armies, cities, and people. Just like poker, the game required a face. Give too much information, even with the bat of an eye, and they eat you alive. Everyone speaks with a forked tongue. They will lie, tell half-truths, even tell the whole truth, but you have to tell one from the other. The car door opened up and the President was met with the thousand lights of various cameras and hassling reporters. He stepped out of the car and into the game. It was time to show them how the President of Greece played poker.

The interior of the building could be described in one word—grandiose. Everything was luxurious; everything was large. The hallways were filled with various administrators and dignitaries from the countries. The President had little concern for their own little games, but protocol insisted he at least give them all a greeting (and it had to be all of them too). When he managed to get into the Security Council’s chamber, he straightened his suit and put his poker on.

First up was Joan D’arc, leader of the French. The little slime ball had managed to take much of what was left of Germany and claimed it for herself. She now thought that she actually had some sort of influence.

“Hello Mr. President, so nice to see you again, “she said with obvious pretentiousness.

“Feelings mutual,” the President replied. They exchanged some more pleasantries until Joan made the first bet.

“Mr. President, it is with great sadness that I must inform you that we will be canceling our protection pact with you. As you know, with the downfall of the Germans, there is no need for such a treaty . . . “

France Bets

She rambled on attempting to give more justification. But the President saw through it all, she was talking more about her victories than about protection. She was getting haughty and impetuous. The President made no response and said little—the more you say the more you give away and Joan sure was giving away a lot.

It was time for a counter, “Ms. D’arc, our scientists have recently discovered how to recycle waste. We would be more than willing to trade you this knowledge in interests of protecting the environment.”

Greece raises.

They haggled for a little and then set a deal--Joan called his raise. It would be awhile, as it always is in this type of poker, to see who would win.

And thus it went in turn with each of the leaders present. The President for the most part played the same cards. Some like the English won small hands by asking for some money to renew their pact. The President traded his recycling technology under the guise of environmentalism for a premium price. Everyone was so happy with his generosity they didn’t bother to notice (or at least mention) that he wasn’t giving up his more military orientated technologies like space flight. He also felt that he was getting good deals, lots of income and even some luxuries.

But just because he was winning, doesn’t mean he was the only one doing so. As he talked and moved and negotiated he kept an eye on Cleopatra. She was playing the game quite well—too well. They weren’t just being nice, they were practically sucking up to her. The other leaders crowded around her and wooed her. They respected him, but the loved her.

At that moment she caught his eye and smiling excused herself from the conversation. She came right over to him, never breaking eye contact. When she was in front of him, her smile widened and she said, “If it isn’t our ever so dour leader of the Greek nations. I must compliment you on your handling of the German situation.”

Egypt bets

“Why thank you, Cleopatra, without your assistance it would have been much more of a difficult task, though for the most part it was Greek blood that made the world safe for the other nations”

Greece raises.

“So, I here your are spreading around good cheer for once, and some new technology to boot eh?

Egypt reraises.

Cleopatra new that he had to give the technology to her, or someone else would. Therefore the price would be pretty cheap. Sometimes, being last had its advantages.

“Indeed, I’m more than willing to offer it to you for some income and your maps, standard deal.” They haggles a little and relatively easily set up a deal. Pisthetaerus figured that this was pretty much her game, he would call for now and wait for the next round.

But Cleopatra had something else in mind, she didn’t want this hand to end so soon, “My dear President, I have suggested to the other world leaders that it is time to elect a secretary general. Why must it be that we created a post, but leave it vacant? We need strong world leadership in these troublesome times. The other leaders agree with me, do you not?”

Egypt gives the arm.

She had done it. She had raised him everything, all her winnings, all her chips. She pushed them onto the table in one great final raise. For him to call, he would have to put in everything he had. Whoever would win the vote would win the pot. For whoever one the position of secretary general for all intents and purposes ruled the world. It was all a question of who could get the votes. They would have some time before the vote itself, and Pisthetaerus knew he would have to do much talking to at least see how people would vote, if not to convince them that he was the best man for the job.
And Cleopatra had a strong hand indeed. No one really warmed up to Greece. Sure they were cordial, but they didn’t act as if they would vote for him. But everyone had their best poker faces on now, and they were giving the same attitudes to Cleopatra (even though before they were being quite nice to her). But the motion to elect had to be approved unanimously or else it could not be done. She had as much convincing of Him as the others.
Finally, the meeting was called to order. Several procedural votes were taken, and some small issues discussed. A unanimous resolution condemning the Germans and officially splitting up their state was passed. Finally, the Queen made her expected move, “I motion for the election of Secretary General.”
“I second,” was the reply from Elizabeth of England.
“This will be done as roll call vote” said the moderator. One by one, the other leaders all voted yes until only Pisthetaerus was left. As the vote went round, he stared at Cleopatra; she stared back. They never broke eye contact. Even when the vote came to him, they continued to silently stare. The moderator spoke up and reminded the Grecian president it was his turn to vote, but still he stayed silent studying his opponent for the slightest tell. Finally, he saw it. She gave herself away. The left part of her lip turned upwards slightly, then a little more. It wasn’t a smile—it was a smirk.

Fold

Without breaking the stare, Pisthetaerus gave his vote, “Greece does not find it prudent at this juncture to be voting on a Secretary General. We believe that the council as is fits the needs of the times. We vote nay.”

There was a ruckus in the room. People were surprised by his vote. Cleopatra, visibly upset, quickly got up and stormed out of the room. And he knew he had been right to fold. Sure, he would have to have his pr guys spin it for everyone. But Cleopatra had set up the others to vote for her. He calls, she wins; he doesn’t call, she wins but he doesn't lose. He would bye his time until the right cards came up. Then he would put her in the same position that she did to him today. He would make her call with everything when he was assured victory—he would entrap her. Next time, Cleopatra, next time.

A History Lesson

“Class, please open your textbooks to page 167.”

Mr. Partridge stood in front of his high school World History class, as his students begrudgingly opened their books. By all accounts, he was the best teacher in the school, young, personable. The kids really enjoyed his class as much as he enjoyed teaching them. The year was 1900 AD, and the city was Washington.

“Before the dark times, when America was still thriving, before the Egyptian takeover, many different cultures were prominent in the world. Egypt boasted one of the strongest, with their ancient temples and cathedrals, their libraries filled with millions of rare books, and the wonders of construction that only they had been able to build. But surely, other countries had cultures and their own wonders to boast about."

Johnny, a teenager of half American, half Egyptian descent, raised his hand.

“But Mr. P, my father told me that even back then, everyone looked to Egypt for culture and other stuff,” Johnny said.

“Jonathan, you’re going to have to be more specific,” Mr. P. replied. He did not allow his students to speak in such generalities. Egypt had a literacy rate of 100 percent, after all and damned was he if he would not uphold it.

“Well, he said that America, Germany, France, Rome, and many other countries relied on Egypt for resources, luxuries, maps, and even technology,” Johnny replied, unsurely.

“Yes, Jonathan, you’re father is correct. Egypt held half of the sub-continent of the eastern continent with America, while the Iroquois and Aztec Nations, Rome, Spain, China, Babylon, Greece, Japan, India, and Persia. Germany, England, France, and Russia were on the other side of the world, on the western continent. But yes, all eyes were turned toward Egypt,” Mr. Partridge said.

Melissus, a girl of half Egyptian, half Roman descent, raised her hand.

“What happened next Mr. P? Why did Egypt suddenly attack? How could such a peaceful people become warlike so quickly,” Melissa asked.

“Well Melissus, that is a difficult question, and to find the true answer, you would have to ask the former queen Cleopatra herself.”

“But she’s so old,” Melissus exclaimed.

“Melissus, shame on you,” Mr. Partridge scolded. “Cleopatra is the most revered woman in the world. She has lived for almost 6000 years!"

“Funny, she doesn’t look a day over 3000,” Johnny yelled, causing the class, including Mr. Partridge, to laugh heartily. After a few moments, they quieted down.

“Cleopatra, who spends most of her time in her cave with the lavish front garden and walkways, has been mum on the subject, but based on reports, Egyptian historians have been able to make a pretty good guess on what happened. If you’ll remember from last week’s lecture, World War III broke out in 1752, involving everyone but Egypt, who had taken an isolationist position for most of the second millennium AD.”

“What is an isolationist position,” asked Onatah, a girl of half Egyptian, half Iroquois descent.

“Well, Onatah, I explained it to you last week, but since today is our country’s 5900th birthday, I’m in a good mood, so I’ll explain it again,” Mr. Partridge said. “As you may recall, in the span of 10 years, Egypt built over 150 tanks and forts, surrounding their entire country with them, as well as building twenty battleships to patrol the seas. They also built dozens of jet bombers and trained a hundred infantry units. They were a peaceful country and decided that the World War would not be brought on their soil. No one could get into Egypt alive.”

“But why did they attack, Mr. P,” Melissus whined.

“Have some patience, Melissus, I’m getting there,” Mr. Partridge said. “As I was saying, no one could get into Egypt, and for many years, Egypt lived in what was basically a perfectly defended fortress, until 1776, when the Era of Great Bloodshed began. Please turn the page and there are a few pictures.”

Five seconds later, the entire class was groaning with what they saw.

“Yes class, imagine the horror,” Mr. Partridge said, amongst the din. American cities, guarded by men with rifles, sneak attacked by Egyptian tanks. Is it no wonder that within two short years, America would no longer be a country, and Egypt would not lose a single man? Japan, Rome, Russia, and the Iroquois and Aztec nations would follow within twenty years, all falling to the Egyptian forces, which now included modern tanks, mechanized infantry, stealth bombers, and ICBMs.”

“Wasn’t it an ICBM that leveled Berlin,” asked Johnny timidly.

“Yes, Jonathan, that’s right,” Mr. Partridge said with sorrow. From half a world away, an Egyptian ICBM appeared out of nowhere to destroy Berlin. All Germany had done was ask Egypt to respect its boundaries during its war with Russia.

“But what happened next, Mr. P,” Onatah asked.

“Well, the entire world joined an alliance against Egypt, which was as strong as the rest of the world combined. Egyptian armies were close to destroying Greece, India, China, Spain, Germany, and Babylon, when the rest of the world decided to give up fighting and all surrendered to the Egyptian flag. The world has been peaceful under the rule of Egyptian society ever since.”

“But Mr. P, you still didn’t answer why Egypt attacked. Why did they give up their isolationist posture,” Onatah said, still struggling to say ‘isolationist.’

“Well Onatah, class is just about over, so I’ll explain it really quickly,” Mr. Partridge said. “From what historians have been able to peace together, Cleopatra attacked due merely to boredom. As a peaceful country, pursuing only science and culture, many years were spent being asked to ‘please wait,’ while Cleopatra had nothing to do but watch the rest of the world shuffle their borders and armies. She got bored, and on a whim decided to do something exciting. Unfortunately for America, Japan, Rome, Russia, and the Iroquois and Aztec nations, they were nearby when Cleopatra got restless.”

Just then, the bell rang, ending class. The students quickly were out of their chairs, packing their backpacks, as Mr. Partridge struggled to get their attention for one last thought.

“Remember class, your final exam will be on Friday,” Mr. Partridge said.

The class groaned in response, causing Mr. Partridge to chuckle.

“It will have three essays to choose from, one on Egyptian culture, one on Egyptian warfare, and one on Egyptian history in general,” Mr. Partridge said. “You’ll all be fine. See you tomorrow class.”

The class answered with a chorus of goodbyes and filed out the door, leaving Mr. Partridge alone in the classroom, where he sat down at his desk and turned his attention to his computer. He had ten minutes until his next class—plenty of time to start a new game of Civ 3.

A Day in the Life

Five hundred Roman citizens were slaughtered when the local barbarian tribes overran the silk colony at Chult. There was no provocation, and absolutely no warning. The natives just swarmed out of the jungle one day and started killing. When it was finished, seven men and women slipped away from the massacre and fled along the Silk Road back towards Rome. Four died of their wounds on the way. One fell victim to fever before they reached the plains. The two survivors struggled on until they reached Roman territory.
By the time they reached the Eternal City, their news had preceded them. They found the capital in an uproar. Merchants screamed bitterly about the loss of gold the kingdom would suffer without a steady flow of silk. Noblewomen screamed even more bitterly about the cruelty of a world without soft silk garments to wrap around their delicate figures. Even the commoners muttered darkly about the insult to the Empire. Naked jungle savages killing hard working Roman citizens? It was intolerable.

The surviving colonists were brought before Caesar himself, where they poured out their tale of woe. My cousin Thracius is one of the palace guards, and he had the good fortune to be present during the audience. Later he told me that the Emperor flew into an absolute foaming rage at this affront to the Roman civilization, and swore an oath to exterminate the barbarians of Chult and turn the land into a Roman province. Since a simple band of workers was not enough, Rome would found a new city on the outskirts of the jungle itself. A true city could support a strong enough force to wipe all traces of the barbarians from the land. With the natives gone, Roman workers could grow their silkworms in peace, and soon the merchants would be happy, and the noblewomen could adorn themselves with as much silk as they could afford. Caesar decided to send a single maniple of VII Legion to establish an outpost in Chult. The remainder of the unit would follow later, along with settlers to build the city.

“So we’re here fighting the heat and insects and fever just so fat merchants can grow even fatter, and spoiled noblewomen can wear their pretty little tokens?” Cassius grumbled. He was new to the Legion – only seventeen years of age and not yet blooded.
Gnaeus, my optio, chuckled and gave the boy an affectionate swat on the head. “No, my poppet,” he said. “We’re here because this is where the Emperor decided we needed to be.” Gnaeus was the exact opposite of Cassius. A tough, scarred veteran who had spent nearly twenty years fighting as a Legionnaire, he was one of my best and most trusted men. Absolutely merciless in battle, there was no one I would rather have guarding my back.

“Besides,” Gnaeus continued. “What did you think you’d be doing when you joined the Legion? Polishing your armor and marching around Rome looking gallant and handsome? Fighting off hordes of lust crazed women who are all dying to get their hands on a real, live Legionnaire?” He laughed even more loudly, displaying a mouthful of empty space broken by a few, isolated teeth. Those missing teeth had been lost in the Battle of Athens fourteen years ago, when a Greek hoplite smashed the edge of a shield into his face. Gnaeus liked to brag that while the shield was in his mouth, he had bitten out a hunk of metal and spat it right through that hoplite’s eye. Of course, you had to get him good and drunk before he’d even talk about that battle. The Legionnaires who survived were still angry about it today. Three days of bloody, bitter hand-to-hand fighting through the streets of the Greek capital drained the lives of nearly half the attacking Legionnaires.

When the battered Legions finally broke through and stormed the palace, the city fell into our hands and the Greek king Alexander was forced to crawl to Caesar and beg for peace. No one thought we would actually end up keeping Athens, but the Roman people were sure that Caesar would wring a might ransom from the Greeks. I was only a child, but I still remember how infuriated my family and neighbors were when the Emperor handed the city over for some vague promises of future trade commissions. The war was over, and the veterans were left to wonder why they had fought so hard and successfully and yet Rome had nothing to show for it.

An older legionnaire named Cornelius joined Gnaeus in his laughter. “Aye, lad,” he said. “If you were looking for women when you joined the Legion, you’d be well advised to lower your standards a bit! The only woman you’re likely to find around here is one with a tattooed body, filthy hair, and a bone in her nose! And she’d likely claw your manhood off if you tried to bed her!”
Cassius glared at the older men and muttered angrily. “I’d not lay a hand or anything else on these savages wenches! Unlike some here, I prefer women who’ve actually bathed once or twice in their lives!”
Gnaeus and Cornelius laughed even louder at that.

“Don’t worry, lad,” Gnaeus said with a wink. “If it gets too lonely for you down here in this dark, scary jungle, you just snuggle up next to old Cornelius here. He’ll make sure you stay warm and safe at night!”

The entire patrol roared with laughter, none louder than Cornelius himself. Cassius face grew bright red, and he clenched his fists angrily. I swallowed my own laughter, and stood up next to them. If I didn’t ease the tension, the boy might do something foolish and get a pounding from one of the veterans. Neither Gnaeus nor Cornelius would do any real damage to him, but it would embarrass him even more and leave him angry and hurting. A good brawl was fine when safe in the barracks at Rome, but in hostile territory there was no room for fighting amongst ourselves. Here in Chult there were plenty of people more than willing to fight us, and even though we had not seen a single sign of them in the three weeks since we had established a base camp, I knew they would find us, eventually.

“That’s enough!” I snapped, forcing an angry tone into my voice. “Its not enough that the barbarians can hear your armor rattle from a couple of miles away? Now you guys want to throw a party and invite them in? Why don’t we just light a nice bonfire here, in case a few of them can’t hear all this noise?”

The men grew quiet immediately, and several of the older fighters blushed in shame. All of them stared fixedly at the ground, unable to meet my eyes. I nodded slowly in approval.

“I know we haven’t seen anything of interest these past few weeks, but you might remember that five hundred Romans died a few months ago in the very spot we built the base camp on.” I paused for a moment to let that sink into them. They understood all too well, I could see. Lesson learned; now I needed to take some of the sting out of the lesson.

“Besides, Cornelius,” I said with a smile. “We’ve all seen Cassius in the baths. He’d be a bit too much man for you, I’d have to say.”

Cornelius snorted, and the rest of the patrol laughed again. This time Cassius joined in with the rest. Gnaeus gave me a sly wink; he understood and approved of what I was doing. When I had taken command of my Century six years ago, I had been an arrogant and unproven officer. Gnaeus had patiently taken me in hand and molded me into an effective leader. He had also knocked that arrogance out of me by inviting me to a private training session where he proceeded to thoroughly thrash me with spear, sword, and bare hands. It was a humbling lesson, but a necessary one. Since that time our relationship had grown from mentor and student to older and younger brother.

“Alright then,” I said as the laughter died down. “That’s enough of a rest. Lets finish this patrol and head back-“

BOOM! BOOM!

The sudden echo of drums interrupted me, and brought every member of the patrol to his feet in an instant. There was a rustle of metal and leather as helmets were hastily slapped into place, and iron broadswords drawn.

BOOM!

Gnaeus was beside me before the echo had died away, his eyes intently studying the jungle around us.

“What do you think?” I asked quietly.
He shook his head doubtfully. “Hard to tell how close they are, but sounds like the noise is from the south. But I’m not even sure of that, to be truthful.”

I took a moment to study the terrain. We stood in a fairly good-sized clearing, ringed on all sides by the thick jungle. The center of the clearing was slightly elevated, and that is where we had stopped to rest. Base camp lay a few miles to the north, and could only be reached by moving along slender animal trails. Most of the way back would be single file only; I did not like the thought of fighting a moving battle along those trails.

“Suggestions?” I asked. “Do we stand, or move now?”
Gnaeus thought for a long moment, then grunted. “The next decent clearing is a good mile or so away. For all I know, they could be close enough to hit us on the way. I would say we stand here for a time, and see what happens. We know they can kill helpless, unarmed civilians. Why don’t we see how they react to Legionnaires?”

I couldn’t help but smile at his words. For all his cunning, Gnaeus loved a good fight, and he was justifiably proud of the Legion’ fighting prowess. Still, there were only thirteen of us on this patrol, and we had heavy infantry only. No skirmishers or scouts had joined us . . . I cursed softly under my breath. I had asked the Primus pilus in charge of the cohort to send stronger patrols out in this initial stage, but Vitus was new to his command and the Legion itself. He had a tendency to view any suggestions as a threat to his authority and a personal challenge. So here we were . . . a small force in the middle of a hostile jungle that contained an enemy of unknown strength.
I exhaled deeply and smiled at Gnaeus. “You’re right,” I said. “The Legion doesn’t run from barbarian drums. Form them up – you, Cassius, and Faustus in the center.”

Gnaeus nodded and started barking orders. With the perfect discipline typical of the Legion, we formed an outward facing rectangular box with ten on the line and three reserves in the middle. Those on the outside would use the sword, and the reserves carried our only spears so they could thrust over or between those of us on the line. Then we settled in to wait, alert for any activity among the trees surrounding us.

The day grew hotter, and time seemed to drag slowly. Clouds of insects swarmed around us, and our bodies slowly grew soaked with sweat. The stench of rotting vegetation filled our nostrils, and the only sounds were the eternal buzzing of the insects and the occasional cry of a bird. The drums boomed a few more times, but seemed to be slowly moving away from us. Then there was a long stretch of time with no sound, and I was on the verge of ordering a break in formation when the jungle around us suddenly seethed with motion, and a horde of savages burst forth and raced toward us.

They howled like wolves as they came, and in the few seconds before they reached us I had ample opportunity to study them. They were mainly short, squat men with black hair and copper skins. Their bodies were covered with symbols painted in bright yellow and red, and they were naked except for a few bone ornaments. They carried crude stone axes and wooden spears, and had no armor of any kind. Then they were upon us, and the time for watching was over.

Their initial rush of bodies hit our wall with an audible clash. The nearest to me came in swinging a tremendous overhand blow, his face twisted in a wordless scream of hate and bloodlust. That stone axe clanged off my shield, and snapped in half from the impact. As the barbarian stood there gaping at his ruined weapon, I cut him down with a single stroke. Then the next one was upon me.

That first encounter was repeated over and over, all around us. The barbarians attacked with admirable courage and enthusiasm, but their weapons were practically useless against our iron armor. They came in waves, and fell before us like so much wheat before the scythe. It was sheer, mindless butchery and it only ended when their dead were piled so high around us that no others could reach us. The remainder reluctantly retreated to the edge of the clearing and stood watching us. It was impossible to tell how many there were, but I counted dozens in the clearing alone, and more could be seen drifting in and out of the trees.
Gnaeus stepped up beside me and handed me a water skin. I drank thirstily, and then handed it back to him. He was barely breathing hard. Just another day in the Legion . . .

“Casualties?” I asked. I could see at a glance that there were no Romans among the dead.

“A few minor wounds,” he answered. “Nothing serious. Everyone is still able to fight or move.” He gave me a significant glance. “We need to think about our situation, Marius. Its late afternoon now, and I don’t think they’re likely to quit just because the sun is going down. We can handle them easily in the light, but I don’t care to dance with them in their jungle at night.”

He was right, of course. We had no way to signal our brothers back at camp, and no one was likely to come looking for us until tomorrow. If the barbarians persisted in their attack, we would have to chance a breakout at some time.

My thoughts were interrupted by a flurry of motion, and a shower of missiles suddenly fell upon us from the surrounding masses. Having failed at hand-to-hand, the barbarians had decided to try us from a distance. They hurled their wooden spears, a few clubs, and some strange wooden triangular weapons. None of them had any more effect than in the hand-to-hand fighting, though one thrown club did thump my helmet pretty soundly. Despite my contempt for these ignorant savages, I was impressed by the force of that throw and found myself grateful for the skill of the Roman smiths who had forged my helmet and armor.

After a few volleys, the barbarians halted the attack and simply milled around the clearing in confusion. For all their ferocity, they clearly had no stomach for another frontal assault after the beating we had given them on the first attack. Still, I felt that we should prepare now while we had time. Eventually they would work themselves up enough to charge again – I had fought other barbarians before, and I knew how their simple minds worked.

“Gnaeus!” I called. “Detail a few men to build us some makeshift fortifications. Might as well put all these bodies to good use.” Gnaeus chuckled at that. “Have them leave one side open facing north. If we need to break quickly, I want us at least pointed in the right direction.” My optio saluted and turned to carry out my orders. In an impressively short amount of time, the barbarian corpses had been stacked to form a thigh-level semicircular wall around us. A grisly barrier, perhaps, but in battle you do what you have to do in order to survive. I then set three spearmen at the mouth of the northern opening.

As the wall of bodies grew around us, the surviving barbarians became more incensed. Several of the bolder made short, mock charges, shouting what could only be insults as they came. Though each turned away before making contact, I saw that they were creeping closer to us each time. Behind these forerunners, the other savages were shouting and stamping their feet, working themselves up for an attack. It would not be long before they came in force.

“Gnaeus,” I said. “Rest the men, and pass the word. They will attack soon, and we must be ready. After we beat back their attack, when they start the retreat, we will sortie in force. We move in two files, side by side. I want you and Cornelius in front – I’ll bring up the rear with Cassius. He’s young enough to drag me along when I start to get tired. Hit them hard and cut through them, then keep going to the next clearing. When we reach that, we’ll form another square and rest, then reassess. Also, when we get to that clearing, have a couple of men ready to grab a few pieces of wood. We’ll build a quick fire and try to signal the camp.”

Gnaeus started to protest, but I waved him silent. “The natives already know where we are – smoke won’t hurt us now.” He nodded reluctant agreement. “Also,” I continued, “no one is left behind. If too many fall before the clearing, we stop and fortify where we are. If we can’t move on, you’ll find me a volunteer who will try to make it back to the camp and return with reinforcements. Any questions?”

“No sir,” he said. “Sounds like our best chance to me.”
“Good,” I said. “Have the men drop all excess equipment. Weapons, armor, and water only. If the spears get in the way when we reach the jungle, then leave them. That’s all I can think of. Lets move.”

Gnaeus passed the orders along, and the men prepared. I stood behind the spearmen, shield and sword ready. The wait turned out to be a short one, as the barbarians quickly worked themselves up and came boiling against us.

A few tried to come over the wall of corpses, but were easily repulsed. Most hurled themselves against the spearmen, and the first to reach us died immediately. Those behind pushed forward, though, and the weight of the press forced the spearmen back to the second rank. I stepped forward with two Legionnaires beside me to hold the front, and the spearmen reformed behind us.

As the screaming mob swarmed against us, I cut and chopped and slashed wildly. They fell all around me, but there were always more waiting to step forward and die. Blood pounded in my ears, and my breath came in gasps, but they pressed us too closely for relief.

After what seemed like hours of fighting, a thrust spear slipped past my shield and gashed my bare sword arm, bringing a flow of blood. It was a minor wound, but over time it would sap my already depleted strength. I killed my attacker before he could recover from the thrust, then in a sudden burst of strength stepped forward and cut down the next two savages. Those nearest me shrank back from the fury of my attack, and that slight pause allowed another Legionnaire to step forward to take my place. Before I retreated, I helped clear space for the men who had stood beside me, and then we were in back and a fresh trio held the first rank. I sank to the ground, exhausted, and drank deeply from a water skin someone handed me. All three of us were bleeding from superficial wounds, but still we had not lost a man.

The sounds of fierce fighting continued for a time, and slowly I regained my strength. Then there was a sudden lull, and Gnaeus appeared beside me.
“They’re stopping to clear away some of the fallen,” he said. “The north opening is too clogged with bodies for them to get to us.”

I rose slowly, and surveyed the area. There was a fresh, rough wall of bodies where an open lane had recently been. I saw that most of the remaining enemy warriors were resting beyond the barrier, while a few worked to clear a path. They obviously believed that we were determined to stand fast, and had no fear of a counterattack. They would soon come to regret that decision.

Sheep2

Excellent! Please give us more...but tell me, is "a Day in the Life" to be continued?

I dunno, they're short stories. Sheep seems to have a lot of time now, he's managing a few NESes and writing these stories, plus he seems to do things very quickly...Question: Can anyone post short stories here?

I cannot see why not. I wont mind if anyone else wishes to post short stories here.

Licoln's War Against the Russians

WASHINGTON, D.C.
1900 HOURS
MAY 26, 1914 A.D.

Prime Minister Lincoln was the first to speak at the conference, one he had quickly organized consisting of his cabinet. “I have called you all to this meeting to discuss an idea I have just thought of in this new war against the Russians.

“Our culture is more impressive than the Russian culture,” Kundai, the cultural advisor chimed in.

“Um, right. Anyway, back to my idea. Whether we like it or not, this war may escalate into a nuclear war. According to intelligence reports we have about the same nuclear strength as the Russians do. But that wouldn’t matter, for the city of Moscow has built a great wonder of the world, a nuclear defense system that shelters 75% of the missiles that aim towards Russia. Because of this, Catherine may fire nukes at us. If this happens, we’ll lose the war. I think I have a way to prevent this from happening. We launch an airborne attack on Moscow, capture it, and fly tons of our soldiers there to defend it, for we would have the nuclear defense system. If worse came to worse and they were going to take the city, we could destroy it. Other reasons for this airborne attack are we could capture Catherine and capturing the Russian capitol would be demoralizing to Russia. So how does the idea sound?”

“Brilliant!” Shouted Nukondah, the military advisor. “I know just the man to lead it. And, according to our spies, most of Moscow’s garrison has gone to our or the Zulu front. The attack could be perfectly executed!”

“But if we did that, we wouldn’t be able to gain valuable luxuries from Russia,” Sandin, the trade advisor said thoughtfully.

“Shut up about the @&%$ trading stuff! And anyway, we’re at war with Russia and we can’t trade with them you idiot!” Shouted Collins, the science advisor. Sandin has been known as the dumbest cabinet member.

“Let’s settle down, now. Are there any other objections?” Lincoln asked, seeming impatient No one answered. “Good. That settles it. Now, Nukondah, tell me of your ideas, and whatever they are, remember this operation needs to be executed in the next couple of days.”

“Well, this won’t be the largest airborne invasion ever. We only have 6 ready airborne battalions, the 19th, the 36th, the 51st, the 80th, the 87th, and the 103rd battalions. And if the small garrison of outdated Cossacks defending Moscow perform amazingly and hold out until reinforcements come, the paratroopers will be in trouble. Moscow is very far back from our lines. They’d have problems. But we can smash through the Cossacks and take the city easily. Then we’ll send more men to the city via plane. And the great airborne officer, Colonel William J. Scott, would lead this. I suggest we start this operation immediately. Does anyone disagree?” No one answered.

“Wow. That was a quick meeting. Nukondah, begin organizing the operation. I want it to begin in three days,” Lincoln ordered.

OPERATION SWIFT PANDA
THE SKIES NEAR THE OUTSKIRTS OF MOSCOW
0545 HOURS
MAY 29, 1914 A.D.


Colonel Scott gulped as jump time approached. He had a bad feeling in his gut. The doors of the CT-19 transport plane began to open he watched as members of the six battalions he was commanding jumped out of other planes. Then it was his turn. He began the HALO jump. He fell for a long time until finally he pulled the cord of his parachute. He then slowly sank down to the ground. More men began to land.

An hour later, the battalions had all landed and organized themselves. The assault on Moscow began. The garrison was a battalion of regular outdated Cossacks. The assault was too easy. The paratroopers went through the city en masse until they got to the Cossacks. They picked off the Russians one by one, almost laughingly. The citizens of Moscow were too cowardly to resist. Colonel Scott grinned as the paratroopers walked leisurely through town square and took over the airport. “The Russian capital taken in less than one hour. This is amazing. And the airport is intact,” he mused to himself. “Watson, go get that radio and send a status report to Washington.”

MOSCOW, RUSSIA
0936 HOURS
MAY 29, 1914 A.D.

Desmond Watson of the 19th battalion couldn’t believe what had just happened. Right after they completely took the city, the paratroopers learned that American agents hadn’t discovered what was lying in the surrounding country side. Only 5 Russian artillery battalions. He ducked as fragments of an artillery shell impact flew over his head. He then watched in horror as he saw explosions at the airport. “Good god!” he yelled to the other soldier in his foxhole. “We got to get over there!” “One… two… three!” He barked and the two ran through the streets filled with rubble, shells landing right and left. They finally came to the airport. What they saw almost killed them. Watson moaned. The airport was no more. The hangar had collapsed and mangled wires, steel and planes were everywhere along with the smell of gasoline. The tower had toppled over. But what had really mattered was the once smooth runway. It was now filled with craters, parts, oil, fires, and rubble. The transport planes coming to reinforce them couldn’t land in that. They need a very long and paved runway to land. They couldn’t even land in grass without crashing. Watson knew how far the battalions were from friendly lines. He knew about the several million Russian soldiers in between them. He knew six battalions aren’t something you can hide. He knew the Russians knew of what was happening. And he knew they were trapped.

WASHINGTON D.C.
1019 HOURS
MAY 29, 1914 A.D.

“Okay people, we need suggestions.” Lincoln announced at the beginning of his emergency meeting. His whole cabinet was there along with top military officers. “We have six airborne battalions trapped behind enemy lines on the near what was formerly Moscow, yes formerly. I just ordered them to destroy Moscow and the missile defense system with it, including the plans and the few scientists that know how to make it. The Russians were so careful of making it so there was hardly any information or people on it for security reasons, and now they have to start over again. Anyway, the Russians are now well aware of the paratroopers. Rescuing them seems almost impossible. We have no way to get to them. We’d have to go through millions of Russian soldiers. Yet, we still have to rescue them. The media promoted Sherman’s [leader] heroism very well. 15 soldiers including him were stuck in a building, isolated from the rest of the group and were surrounded by 140 Cossacks. You heard the story on the news. The soldiers were going to surrender, but he convinced them not to and led an attack that killed all the Cossacks. He’s already become a national hero. The public is weary of this war, and if we can’t rescue these men, it will anger them even more. If we win, and get Sherman [leader] back to the states, I think it will boost morale a great deal and we will be able to rush the Apollo Program. We do that, and we’ll win the space race against the Russians. But how can we get them?”

“Well, if they do get rescued, it will be probably by the Zulu. They’re a lot closer to them than we are.” An officer replied.

“Well, I think what we need to do is very clear. First, we need to gain control of the skies and bomb any tanks in their area. If the tanks get to them, they’ll be crushed. Then, we must make an amphibious invasion at the coast of Uralsk, and push our way towards their position. We’ll have to hook up with them somewhere along the way. I don’t think the Russians will expect it.” Nukondah reasoned. Right at that moment the red phone in the conference room rang. Lincoln set the phone on intercom.

“CHARLIE Control, this is TITAN. Code Green!” A weary voice yelped over the static and explosions in the background. “We’re getting nailed by artillery and Russian infantry! They’re starting to surround us! Requesting air support. Coordinates 0-0-7-Foxtrot-1-9-5-1-Green-8-0-4-9er. Over.” Lincoln picked up another phone and called the front desk.

“Have Cleveland AFB send in the bombers.”

NEAR FORMERLY MOSCOW, RUSSIA
1020 HOURS
MAY 29, 1914 A.D.

Desmond Watson looked up at the large, grassy hill in front of him. Right at the top of the hill was the beginning of a thickly wooded forest. The plan was for everyone to scatter and run through parts of the forest and meet up at the waterfalls at the Moscow River the next morning. Soldiers were scurrying up the hill. Some didn’t make it to the trees because of the artillery. And the Russian soldiers were getting nearer. They needed to get everyone to the forest immediately. He counted slowly to three. Then he hollered madly and sprinted up the hill. An explosion landed right in front of him and sent fragments everywhere. He ducked and they went over his head. “Almost to the forest!” He told himself. He then continued his mad dash, running to the forest. He was gasping for breath. He was safe for the moment; the Russians wouldn’t bombard soldiers in a forest, they wouldn’t have good chances of hitting much. He pulled out his map and went towards the falls of the Moscow.
MOSCOW RIVER
0901 HOURS
MAY 30, 1914 A.D.

Watson looked at his map, knowing he must be close. He heard voices, and stopped. He walked forward through two bushes and was into a grassy clearing with a river going through it. On the other side where his comrades. He crossed a bridge and sat down and fed his famished stomach. He knew food would be a problem. They had food to last them only a couple more days at the most. Hunting would be their only option. Right as he finished his rations, Colonel Scott made an announcement. “We need to find a good spot for defending and stay there until we are rescued. I’m not sure what Washington has planned for are rescue, but it won’t be easy. Rescuing us by plane is impossible, for the transport planes need a long, good runway to land on. As for our defending spot, it’ll be that plateau over there.” He pointed north to a small plateau with long, brown-yellow grass. “Let’s go!” They walked for about 3 hours until they got the plateau. They then dug trenches and made defensive positions.

“Do you think we have a chance of surviving?” Watson asked to the soldier right next to him.

“Of course not. It is impossible for 1800 paratroopers to last long way behind enemy lines, with 2 million Russian soldiers and tanks going after them. Being rescued fast is our only hope. And that isn’t going to happen right now. Our forces are spread out too thin, and the tide is already changing. The Russians are on the offensive now. We simply have no hope. We’ll just have to sit in the trenches and fight honorably to the death. We’ll take as many Russians as we can down with us. God, I miss Cincinnati. Where are you from?”

“Seattle. I wished I would‘ve never join the airborne division. I knew something like this would happen, but I just had to be in the action. I was kind of a war hawk. Now I just wish there was world peace. And I really hate how the U.N. doesn‘t do anything. They‘re supposed to promote world peace, but they really don‘t. They just want to see other nations grow weaker.”

“I agree. I think it’s mainly because Alexandria is the secretary general. Hiawatha has been pushing to send in peacekeeping troops, but Alexandria won’t listen. Hiawatha knows that if the Iroquois sent in peacekeeping troops, they’d get invaded. But if the whole UN did, then Russia would have to stop the aggression. They wouldn’t be able to handle every other nation in the world.” The paratroopers began to wait, waiting for the inevitable attack. It finally did come. At 9 at night.

The Americans looked at the Russians through their night vision goggles, and waited for the perfect time to open fire. Right as the Russians were almost on top of them, the trenches seemed to explode. Gunfire tore right through the Russian ranks. Desmond looked through his goggles and fired at a bright green figure. The soldier went down immediately. The whole first wave of Russians was wiped out. Then came an even larger wave. Florescent green tracers went everywhere again. As the two sides exchanged fire. A cluster of Russians headed right towards Desmond’s trench. He grabbed a grenade, pulled out the firing pin, and threw out right at the Russians. It was well timed, as they all were thrown in different directions, all dead. A machine gunner next to Desmond was trying to assemble a machine gun.

“Come on, fit in here!” He yelled at the part that wouldn’t get through. “Yes, got it!” He didn’t have time to fire it. A bullet tore through his chest, blood spurted out through the tear in his uniform. Desmond grabbed the machine gun. Another wave of Russians was heading right at him. He fired. Bullets ripped through all of them, as they all hit the ground, dead. Another wave, this time a huge one flung themselves upon the trenches. Desmond fed ammo belts through the gun and fired at them, killing 20 of them. But then the machine gun stopped firing. He looked at it and saw its barrels were glowing.

“#*%&!” He yelled. He pulled out his rifle and picked off more Russians with that. But he hadn’t noticed the situation around him. Many Americans lay dead in their trenches, and the Russians were taking over the trenches.

“Retreat!!!!” Desmond heard Colonel Scott yell at the top of his lungs, as the Russians were advancing from just about all sides now. The Americans started to run. Desmond ran, firing his rifle at the Russians that were trying to break up the retreat. Bullets whizzed over Desmond’s head. He could only hope they wouldn’t hit him. Desmond breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the Russians hadn’t fully encircled them. They were getting away, and the Russians weren’t following. He ran and ran along side many other soldiers until finally they slowed down at the top of a large hill. He was extremely exhausted. He looked over and saw a fellow soldier had fallen asleep standing up.

“19th Battalion, Company D, Platoon B!’’ Colonel Scott barked. “You guys will take the first watch!” Desmond groaned. “Out of all the platoons in this division, it had to be mine.” He muttered to himself. So he had to stay up another hour. Pacing back and forth. At the end of the watch, he finally laid down and went to sleep, falling asleep before he touched the ground.

RUSSIAN HILLS
0758 HOURS
MAY 31, 1914 A.D.

Desmond awoke to his least favorite sound. Reveille. “At least they let us sleep in,” he mused to himself, looking at his watch. The Americans got up, stretched, and walked around. They wolfed down a cold breakfast, and gathered around the officers for today’s plan.

“Today we’re going to stay here and defend this ground.” Colonel Scott yelled so everyone could hear. “We might not get attacked today, for our bombers took out they only artillery near us. They wouldn’t attack again without artillery, unless they brought in tanks. And recon planes flew in areas near us and didn’t see any tanks. So we’re probably safe today. Tomorrow we’ll probably go along the Moscow River. Any questions? …Good. Now get unpacked and start to dig trenches.” The men started to leave, but right as he was finished, a faint sound made everyone stand still. It was the sound of motorized vehicles. A couple soldiers ran to the edge of the top of one side of the hill and screamed

“RUN FOR THE RIVER!!!” Right then, a tank battalion came into view, firing at the Americans. Desmond ran faster than he ever had. Explosions were landing everywhere. Americans were falling right and left, but they continued to run without looking back, towards the river, only a third of a mile away. Desmond looked over his shoulder. Some of the tanks were held up because of some tree stumps, but most of them were still coming on strong. He threw a grenade as hard as he could towards the tanks. It exploded right in front of one the tanks at the front. The whole tank blew up and engulfed the tank next to it. He didn’t have time to celebrate. He kept sprinting towards the river. He finally caught sight of it.

There were 11 bridges going across the river, which was bout 50 feet wide. The Americans began to run across them. Shells were landing in the river right by the bridges, splashing water everywhere, swaying the bridges. The soldiers could only see about a foot in front of them. They all prayed the Russians wouldn’t hit the bridges. Then a shell landed right near the bridge Desmond was on. It swayed to the right so much that it was almost perpendicular to the water. He yelled and hung on as tight as he could. Then bridge reached its peak height and then fell back throwing everyone to the other side of the bridge. Desmond flipped over, his legs under the water trying to hang on to the side of the bridge. He looked over to a bridge near him and saw it collapse under the weight of all the soldiers. “Idiots!” He muttered to himself. He saw about 100 soldiers swimming in the water towards the other shore. He pulled himself up and ran across the bridge to the other shore. The Americans finally made it, but they were still within the range of the tanks’ guns. Explosions were landing everywhere, throwing dust everywhere. The Americans kept on running until finally they were out of range of the tanks. But just as they stopped to rest, they realized the tanks had radioed in their position to other Russians. The sound of engines filled the sky. Desmond moaned as he saw a squadron of Russian bombers head right for them.

“Head north!!’’ Colonel Scott yelled to the soldiers. They all ran to the north as bombs were falling right and left. An explosion fairly close to him sent several Americans flying in all directions. “God, please make it stop!” Desmond yelled. As if answering his call (maybe it was), different sounding engines filled the sky. The Americans stopped running. Zulu fighters came into view and tore through the bomber formation. 2 or 3 bombers hit the ground in flames. Another one exploded in mid air, for its oil tank was hit. The Americans cheered as the formation broke up and the bombers flew away in all different directions. The fighters did victory rolls as the Americans waved at them. For the rest of the day and night the Americans set up defensive positions right where they were and fell asleep.

RUSSIAN HILLS
0819 HOURS
JUNE 1, 1914 A.D.

Colonel Scott made an announcement to the soldiers. “As you all know, we ate our last half meal last night, and you all are probably now famished. Our only option is for us to fend for ourselves. This hills and woods are thick with game. Therefore, I’ll send you all out to get whatever you can for yourselves, and please share. Meet here at-” Colonel Scott stopped as he saw trucks filled with food coming towards the soldiers.

“The Lord has saved us!” A soldier yelled. The trucks drove up to the soldiers and a tall Russian man stepped out of one of the trucks.

“My scouts told me you needed food.” He said with a grin on his face. “As I can see, you are all very shocked. My name is Vladimir Septingrad. I’ll start my story from the beginning. We are resistance fighters. You’d be surprised how many there are in Russia, well, except for Moscow, which is a loyalist stronghold. Anyway, we’re from the town of Minsk. It is a rather small town, but pretty much everyone in the town are resistance fighters. We heard the story of the garrison of a loyalist town going to the front, where it was needed. Catherine did that because there wouldn’t be a problem. The city militia handled the city. So all of the resistors got together and decided to act loyal. We raised money for the military, helped with propaganda, etc. After that, the same thing happened. Our garrison was needed at the front, and they left a couple of months ago, and if everything runs fine they won’t come back for a while. Catherine let us run the city. And the militia was all resistors. So she didn’t know it, but she didn’t have control of the city. We have been training our men much for the last couple months, and we also have a rather large arsenal. So we have been secretly derailing trains and setting off explosives at tank columns in secret and Catherine never expected us. We have been preparing to defend the city for when a garrison eventually comes. Catherine almost did send one after the airborne invasion of Moscow, but she decided we could defend ourselves. And then my scouts saw you and said you were hungry. So we brought food. And we would also like to make a proposition. Your plan is to defend yourselves out here. Not the best idea. We learned a garrison is coming to our town in two or three days. We were hoping you could help us defend it. And we also learned the Russians are sending more troops out to this hill tomorrow, for they correctly think you’re here. Defending in a town with walls is easier than defending a small hill. So our proposition is to come to our city where you can hold out there until your rescuers come, which they are. American officers radioed us that they are planning an amphibious invasion of the coast near Uralsk which will happen today. From there they will try to hook up with our town and get to you. And if you’re afraid Russians will come tomorrow and attack, don’t worry, the Russians coming here tomorrow won’t look in our city for you. So, what will it be?”

“Sound’s great!” Colonel Scott exuberantly yelled. So the Americans ate a hearty lunch and traveled to the city, where they were received with open arms. They set up defensive positions in the city side by side with the resistors, who were armed with new rifles, homemade bombs, and Molotov cocktails.

OPERATION AMAZING GRACE
THE COAST CLOSE TO URALSK
0545 HOURS
JUNE 1, 1914 A.D.

Mason Foster of the 20th Marine Battalion almost vomited as he saw the transport ship get closer to shore. They’d get off any minute now. He wished he was back in Cleveland, where he had lived his whole life. But he wasn’t. He watched the bombers, destroyers, and battleships bombard the coastline. He prayed they’d eliminate most of the ground forces there. This amphibious invasion was very far behind the front lines. If they got trapped, they were dead. The whole invasion depended on the marine battalions. They needed to secure a beach head as fast as possible and continue the offensive to Uralsk. If they couldn’t do that fast enough, they’d lose the element of surprise and the infantry and tank battalions wouldn’t be able to land.

Before he had time to think longer the door of the ship lowered, and the men jumped in the water, wading and trying to get to the shore. Though they were receiving much cover fire from the ships and planes, they were met by a hail of bullets. The water turned blood red as a couple of soldiers in front of them were hit hard. Bullets were making splashes in the water everywhere. Marines were falling right and left, and after 4 minutes of wading they were still pinned down. They needed to make a mad dash for the beach and take out the two pillboxes hammering them with machine gun fire. Mason didn’t know how he could get them to. As he was pondering this, he saw the bugler, in the water dead. Mason played trumpet. He grabbed the trumpet, emptied water out through the spit valve and played the “Charge” melody and ran through the waters out towards the beach where the soldiers wouldn’t go. It was the craziest thing he’d ever done. Bullets were whizzing right by him, but he ignored them. It actually worked. It rallied the marines. They ran through the water onto the shore and charged the pillboxes. They got close to them and through grenades in, taking out the machine gunners.

Another large wave of marines came in, running through the waves and onto the beach. They advanced past the sands and onto the grass watching for the Russian Coastal Guard. But no Russians were in sight. “I don’t like the looks of this,” Mason said to himself. The marines marched on, heading east, towards Uralsk. From there they would try to find the paratroopers. If they didn’t they’d go to Minsk, for it was thought they might’ve found the resisting town and might be staying there. If they met very stiff resistance, they would fall back to the advancing infantry units behind them. The marines marched through and past nightfall, not taking very many breaks. They had covered a good deal of ground. They stopped when a scout with binoculars returned. He was almost out of breath.

“Russians…over in that valley over there, heading north…they don’t know we’re here…no armored support…if we ambush them they’ll get mauled.” The commander stopped the ranks and started giving out orders of the radio. The battalions would surround the Russians in the valley, undetected. The ones that the Russians were heading towards would suddenly open fire from almost all directions, except from behind them. That’s where Foster’s group would be, hiding. The Russians would retreat in their direction, and the marines would let the Russians get real close and then they’d open fire. The marines began to execute the plan. Mason and his comrades ducked down, unable to be seen in the tall grass. They finally got to the back of the Russian formation. The Russians didn’t know what was coming. Then suddenly, the hills above and in front of the Russians exploded with gunfire. Scores of Russians went down without knowing what hit them. The Russian soldiers pulled out their weapons, but they didn’t know where to shoot.

“Retreat!” A Russian officer screamed at the top of his lungs. The Russians walked right in to the trap. They all ran towards Foster’s battalion, not knowing who was there. The Russians were almost on top of the Americans when the Americans opened fire. They mowed down the first waves of retreating Russians instantly. Then, all of the Americans got up from their positions in the hills and surrounded the Russians killing almost all of them in a matter of seconds. But before their picture perfect ambush was complete, Mason heard a high pitched whine get louder and louder. He almost instantly knew what it was.

“It’s a tra-” right as Mason tried to finish, a huge explosion landed right in the middle of the marines. It was a 700 kilogram shell filled with conventional explosives, nitro-glisterine, and metal fragments. The explosion knocked over Mason and tiny pieces of metal filled the air and went into American bodies everywhere. The hills behind the Americans came to life with Russian soldiers ambushing the Americans. The marines knew what they had to do. They had to head west and fall back to the advancing infantry battalions. They all ran faster than they ever had before towards safety, though many didn’t make it very far. Bullets whizzed over their heads. One hit Mason’s helmet and rattled it. He thought he was shot. While he was running, he crept his hand up to where he had been shot and felt it. He felt nothing but slightly dented metal. He just had a bump on his head. Mason and the other marines ran for another two hours, heading towards the other Americans. Mason just told his legs to move and didn’t even remember any of the run afterwards. He just remembered feeling tired and getting to the infantry battalions and helping out the infantry dig trenches, and he then fell asleep in one of them.

Mason awoke to the sound of American artillery behind him only about an hour later. He picked up his rifle and aimed it towards where the Russians would be coming from. He stood there apprehensively, not knowing what the Russians would throw at them this time. As if answering his thoughts, the Russians came right out of the clearing, and the American marines and infantry opened fire, chopping down the first wave. Explosions where landing right in the middle of the Russian formations. The Russians were getting mauled. Their commander immediately realized that this attack was futile and he sent back his two battered infantry battalions. Mason was so exhausted he fell asleep right then and there.

He finally awoke when another soldier began to shake him. “Mason!” He whispered. “We’re moving out soon. Pretty much all of our ground forces have landed and they’re at our position. I can’t believe you haven’t waken up. You slept through their marching to here. Anyway, as soon as these scouts get back reporting what’s ahead of us we’ll advance. They should be here soon, they’re already very late. They-” All of the Americans stopped what they were doing and listened to a sound that filled them with terror. A low, rumbling sound. The sound of engines moving through the trees.

“TANKS!!!” Someone screamed at the top of their lungs. And sure enough, right the forest came hundreds of enemy tanks. Not even the Army infantry units, who were better at defending then marines, would have a chance of stopping. Not another word was said, and the Americans ran back as fast as they could. They needed to keep traveling on the road until they got to the newly captured railroad, and from there they’d go back to the transport ships and go back. The whole invasion was ruined because of poor intelligence. No tanks had been brought along yet because intel said there weren’t any Russian tanks in the area. And because of this, they were running for their lives.

Explosions landed everywhere, right into groups of Americans. Body parts from the hit were literally flying through the air. Mason was soaked with blood, and none of it was his own. Luckily, the Americans came to a small shallow and muddy river. That would slow the tanks down at least. They all ran across the river, and the tanks were delayed. The Americans kept running despite their utter exhaustion until they finally got to the railroad. They boarded up on trains as quickly as they could and headed to the landing zone. Mason sat there with relief. His fellow comrades and he had been so close to being wiped out three times now. They were so lucky, he thought to himself.

But his feelings of happiness came to an end as the Americans got out of the trains. They looked on with despair as the saw a Russian fleet steaming away from the shore and from all of the transport ships they had just sunk. The Americans were trapped-again. They were totally silent, unable to comprehend what had just happened. But they didn’t have time to anyway. That same low murmur was coming towards them again. The tanks came into view. “TO THE DEATH!!!!!!!!” Mason yelled as loud as he could. The Americans cocked their rifles and waited for their destruction.

MINSK, RUSSIA
0901 HOURS
JUNE 4, 1914 A.D.

This was the moment the paratroopers had been waiting for for the last couple of days. The Russians were coming, and the paratroopers hoped to cream them. Their morale remained fairly high, despite the news of the failed amphibious invasion. They now knew that their only hope was the Zulu, who were on the other front. The Americans had no idea of their progress, for communications with the Zulu were impossible, for the Russians were between the two nations.

Desmond was right on the northern side of the city, where the Russians were coming to. Everyone was well concealed. The plan was a few men would greet the Russians and would tell a false tale that disease had killed most of the city. They would tell the Russians to go ahead and march through the city. When they were all in the middle of the city, all the Americans and rebels hiding in the buildings would open fire. Desmond watched as the Russians were moving through the city. So far the plan had worked. The Russians came right through, not knowing what was about to hit them. Then all of the sudden his radio crackled to life with static. That was the signal to open fire.

The whole city seemed to explode with gunfire. The Russian ranks were torn down with fire. Scores went down instantly. The Russians fired into random spots in the buildings, now knowing where to fire. They hit almost nothing. The Russians continued to get hit for the next several minutes. They had killed almost nobody, and they had hardly anyone left. The tried to take cover wherever they could and try to fire at where their opponents were. Unfortunately, the Russians weren’t done. Tanks came through, firing and successfully knocking over buildings. Desmond grabbed a Molotov cocktail that had been laid out for him. He lit the rag on fire and tossed it out the window at a tank going through his street. It landed right near the oil tank. The whole tank exploded instantly. Parts of it flew out in every direction. A squad of infantry headed right for his building to avenge the destruction of the tank. “What idiots!” Desmond said with a smile on his face. He lit a match and set the rag on fire and tossed the bottle at the close-together squad. It exploded and incinerated several of them. A couple others weren’t so lucky. They ran around crazily, engulfed in fire. He was glad there were grape fields near the town.

He realized he couldn’t keep that position for long as a couple of tanks came for his building. The fired their huge guns at the bottom of the building. The whole building wobbled, and the floor started to collapse. Desmond was about to fall to the first floor. Before he did, he made a last ditch effort to destroy the tanks. He simultaneously set the rags of his remaining cocktails on fire and flung them all out the window. The explosion was brilliant, and the men inside the tanks melted as ammunition and oil tanks exploded. Right then the floor collapsed. Desmond fell through and landed on the first floor, shaken, but not stirred (-: The building was on fire and he was afraid it would all fall on top of him, so Desmond left and headed towards the center of the city, where most of the action was. He had only gone about a block when a high whizzed sound filled his ears. He got against a nearby wall and ducked. A small rocket from a launcher hit the wall right above him. Fragments of wood flew over his head. But a large chunk of concrete didn’t. It hit him square on the head. He was out cold.

He came to two and one half hours later. A fellow paratrooper shook him. “Come on, it’s not time to sleep Desmond. We’re moving out.”

“What happened?” Desmond asked. “I’ve been out cold for the last two and a half hours.”

“Well, we’ve eliminated a whole lot of Russians, but we’re going to have to move out. Unfortunately, Septingrad’s fighters won’t come with us. They’re going down with the town. It’s been great. The Russians have depleted the whole countryside of their troops and sent them here, and we’ve killed most of them. But there’s just too many tanks. Colonel Scott telling us to head north. We’ll go to the coast and get Lincoln to send transport ships over to us. From there we’ll leave. But come on!” Desmond joined up with the other soldiers and headed east. The paratroopers finally got to stop, several hours later. They had made it to the coast. The soldiers waited in eager anticipation, hoping they could get transport ships to come. Colonel Scott came back from his tent and made an announcement. He had a grave look on his face.

“We have a problem. We have hardly any transport ships left. Most of them have been sunk. But the real problem is the whole coastline is surrounded by Russian ships. They have already tried, but they can’t break through. We must fight honorably to the death. You may rest now. You’ll need it for the next couple of days.” Desmond slept fitfully that night. It was all over. He awoke early that morning, along with all the other soldiers to a familiar sound. Tanks.

We all new what to do. We quickly made a perimeter around the beach, and waited for our death to come. “Wait!” Colonel Scott yelled with excitement in his face. “Those aren’t Russians. I can tell by the sound of the engines. Those are Zulu tanks!” And sure enough, tanks with Zulu markings came through. Desmond wept with jubilation. They were saved.

“We have broken through the Russian front. They’re retreating!” The commander said as the tanks stopped. The paratroopers loaded themselves up onto transport vehicles and rode away. The grand day they had been waiting for had finally come.

The End

Cool, is this the American Anabasis, the March Up Country? I see a lot of parallels...

Does anyone care if I post a story similar to The Defense of Hill 781 on this thread? It's a collection of stories about a commander forced to go through Purgatory and learn combat lessons as he goes, until he can win the perfect battle.

These stories are great reads, keep em coming :goodjob:

Man this thread is open to all short stories. Just means that people can subscribe here and get alerted when a new story comes up.