Eyes of the Innocent

[Grundel]

It seems that many of my colleagues over at Apolyton have posted their fine stories over here as well. I would Like to follow suit, if only to gain more feedback to better myself as a casual writer.

I hope you all enjoy, and as always, I welcome any feedback, positive or negative, as long as it is constructive. Thanks.

 

[Grundel]

The eyes of the innocent

It was my first time I had ever seen someone dead. Let me tell you, it is something that you will never forget. The body lay there like a mangled doll, torn and twisted…lifeless. Almost surreal. Yet there it was. Heh. I say it as if it were not a person at all, but a thing. However this thing was someone’s son at one time. This thing could have been someone’s father…a brother…a husband…

But now it was simply dead.

My name is…well my name is not important. I am a simple Englishmen working for the London Times. My ambition has driven me to the four corners of the world to seek out all manner of stories. You would think that being an accomplished writer and correspondent that I would have found myself facing death before, but as the story goes, I have not. And like many stories, this particular one began days ago, and its ending still being written by the hands of fate.

+++The Story Begins+++

A couple days ago I was presented with a golden opportunity. The city of Leeds, half a world away, was under siege by the invading armies of the Zulu. Leeds was more of a colony rather than a city…founded in the ore rich hills of the New Sumaria and providing the empire with valuable iron ore and coal for the past 100 years. New Sumaria is more of a sub continent than a continent…really just a big island. With its harsh climate and frequent storms, Leeds is the only city to thus far survive upon its shores…a blessing from God himself.

This peaceful city was founded upon virtue and exploration…not violence and blood like many of our cities today that can trace their history before time itself. The land was unclaimed by any nation prior to when it’s English guests arrived, although some historians and archeologists have found evidence of primitive and ancient cultures that lived centuries ago. Perhaps they too found that the winter monsoons that occurred there every other year were too much for them to handle.

No other nation had ever proclaimed this land, publicly that is, prior to our fathers and grandfathers landing there. No nation has complained since. Not even the Zulu.

The Zulu. Savages. Their history is one of conquest and bloodshed. Not saying that we have not had our own share of conflict, but these people live for it. The Zulu culture is one based upon the very foundation of human conflict. Zulu men must serve a minimum of 5 years in their military. They can only advance themselves through actual combat. Their government gives families of combat veterans large subsidies. Everything about their people revolves around war. To that end, they leaders and generals often initiate conflict unprovoked, and will enter in and out of war with other nations on merely a whim.

It is hard to believe that in a modern world, such a nation can exist. Yet this policy has rewarded the Zulu nation throughout its history. They have conquered many, and have one of the largest empires in the world today. Furthermore, their military is formidable, despite being somewhat technologically behind the times. Most importantly, they are battle tested.

The Cayman conflict, the battle of Bangalore, The Spice war, all of these conflicts were started by Zulu aggression. They won many battles, and have also lost some as well, but the constant is the fact that they make war at every opportunity.

Their intentions are not always clear. Perhaps it was the iron and coal rich deposits that surrounded Leeds. Perhaps it was the fact that the Zulu resources were depleted from the strain of perpetual war. Perhaps it was just some general’s whim and quest for greater glory. Whatever the motives, one week ago 3 lance divisions of the Zulu infantry landed on New Sumaria under the command of General Mbasa. The city of Leeds has been under siege since then. The #5 Welsh guard, and the #3 Royal brigade have been holding their own against the brutal and relentless Zulu assault. #7 Royal Brigade, commanded by Colonel Thomas Devington is due to arrive tomorrow to support and relieve the weary divisions in their defense. I was ‘asked’ to come along to report this battle for the Royal morale office.

+++In Harms Way+++

Onboard the Elizabeth, an LT mark 17 troop transport, my journey began. Embarking that day with camera and recorder in hand, I was greeted by the colonel himself. Quite a stirring figure as I recall. He welcomed me aboard, and personally showed me to my quarters. Tall and well developed, this man was a warrior. His rather distinguished name somehow did not go along with his stern, chiseled features. The most stirring thing that I recalled about him was the unobstructed respect that his men had for him. The #7 was a fit, polished unit, and the fierce hunger in the eyes of his warriors shown that the Zulu would be in for the fight of their lives.

“When we land, we are going to take a hopper over to Leeds. Be prepared for incoming fire. You are to wear your jacket and helmet at all times” He told me. “You will wear military issue cammie’s, and will ALWAYS stay within the perimeter of our HCC unit that I am assigned too.” Apparently, the HCC unit stood for ‘headquarters, command and control’ as I found out after initially questioning Devington. It was the safest place to be in case of any action..

In the case of any action. Damn, I actually thought that I may not see anything. What a taskmaster experience can be.

I remember asking him what I should do in the unlikely event that I fell into enemy hands.

Devington just looked at me and smiled. Without a word, he left to address his men once we left harbor. I, of course, was there to record the speech.

“Men. Today I take you into harm’s way.” He began. He paused for a moment, hands clasped firmly behind his back “We are at war, I need not remind you of that. As I look at you today, I cannot help but the think this will be the last time all of us will be together, alive. All of us will go ashore in New Sumaria, and all of us will put our heart and soul into the upcoming battle. Not all of us will survive. That is our destiny, our right, and our honor. England is faced with its greatest challenge. Our mothers and daughters, Fathers and sons, brothers and sisters are threatened by the Zulu heathens in the great city of Leeds. Our job, our fate, and destiny lie before us. We WILL stand up to our attackers! We WILL tell them that they CANNOT and WILL NOT threaten us with their battle cries! No matter how much blood is spilled, England will still be here. We are the SEVENTH! We are the almighty defenders of Britain, our Queen and God himself! Our honor and victory will be realized with every drop of sweat we shed, and every drop of blood we spill. WE WILL NOT FAIL!”

A unison ‘Haa yuuu’ was yelled from all of the men on the deck. I later found out that this was the pronunciation of ‘HAU’, the military acronym of ‘heard and understood’. In any event the spirits of the men where high that day. Soon that would all change.

I had my first taste of combat a few days later.

About 20 miles off the coast of New Sumaria our task force engaged several Destroyers of the Zulu navy, blockading the port of Leeds, and preventing operations like the one we were about to engage in. I woke that day to the distant thunder of naval guns, exchanging their deadly volley. Not 2 minutes after I woke, one of Devington’s aides knocked on my cabin door. I was escorted to his quarters.

“It has begun” He told me “Get your gear. We are flying out in about 30 minutes. “

I declined his offer for a rifle, although he insisted that I carry a sidearm. I might as well have been carrying a computer, or kitchen sink for that matter, for it was as useless to me as anyone of these things in combat. I have never fired a weapon before in my life, and I planned on not using one in the near future. I dressed in my camouflage uniform, securely fastened my Kevlar vest and helmet, and met the colonel and his unit on the flight deck. My duties as a reporter have begun.

Once I was on the deck I could see in the distance our ships, exchanging fire to distant targets that I could not yet see. Devington began to brief me as to what was going on.

“Two of our escorts, the Berkshire and Essex, have engaged some of the blockading force of the Zulu. Don’t worry though, we are safe where we are. They will occupy these vessels while we hop into our LZ. We will be flying close to the waves, and flying NOE once we make landfall.” He explained that NOE was nap of the earth, which basically meant we would be flying just above the treetops. I had never flew in an open door hopper before, and was both anxious and excited about the endeavor. “That will bring us well under their surface radar, and the ships AA guns will be of little danger to us.”

I questioned him about surface to air missiles. He answered. “Our intelligence indicates they do not have that capability. However that is not to underestimate their force. Their ships are very well armored, more so than any other naval vessel. Their troop transports can take one torpedo and still remain afloat. Their surface warships are much tougher.”

I asked him about their submarines. He replied. “The Zulu are not that technologically advanced. They do have a subsurface fleet, but their boats pose no danger to us. Our sonar will give us plenty warning. Besides, we will be airborne before we ever have to worry about that.”

I inquired about small arms fire. If we are flying so close to the ground, won’t we have to worry about ground fire from infantry I wondered. He had only one answer. “Yes.”

The flight deck had about 10 hoppers on them at this point, with a platoon of about 50 men assigned to each one. They were each embarking on their aircraft. Soon, after the rest of our HCC unit arrived at ours, we got onboard, and were airborne within seconds.

.

 

[Grundel]

+++Treetops+++

The hopper was a unique aircraft. I have seen pictures of them, but never one up close. Riding in one was an experience I believed I would never have. Looking like an airplane with 2 rotary blades over it, this remarkable piece of equipment was the latest in vertical ascending and descending aircraft. It would use its blades to lift it off the deck, and then the main turbo props, 1 under each wing, would then engage and the vehicle would fly in like any other conventional aircraft. The fuselage was quite wide and deep to accommodate a troop load of about 75 men, and had 2 Piranha 15 millimeter chain guns, fixed upon swivels, on each side. The infamous door gunners, whose job was not just to protect the aircraft, but also to provide ground cover for embarking or debarking troops, manned these weapons. Other variations of the hopper were made for different missions, usually resulting in less cargo area for more firepower. In this instance, all hoppers were outfitted for maximum carrying capacity.

The noise inside was almost deafening. To compensate, we were all given headsets with a mouthpiece that we could talk to each other with. Several long benches lined the fuselage wall where the troops sit, and cargo nets where fastened behind them, out of the troops way. An orange light illuminated the spartan interior of the aircraft. An ever-present vibration resonated throughout, including up my spine. Two large openings were on either side of the aircraft where the troops would disembark. Now airborne, the hoppers assumed formation. Even though we were flying about 100 ft over the surface of the water, it seemed like mere inches.

We picked up significant speed, and the air rushed into the troop compartment from the openings. The sea below us rushed by with exhilarating speed. The aircraft shuddered a few times, causing me to tighten my grip on the railing above my head. My knuckles were white. The rest of the passengers did not seem to share my concern. Devington smiled at me.

“Relax mate!” He assured me. “If we get hit, you won’t even know it”

Somehow I found little comfort in that statement.

“20 minutes to landfall” an electronic voice echoed over our headsets. The aircraft banked slightly to one side, and shuddered again. Outside the door I could see a warship of some kind. It appeared to be one of ours, but I could not be sure. Its deck guns spewed forth their payload toward some target that I still could not see.

I was amazed at the resilience of the troops onboard our hopper. They seemed unaffected by the chaos going on outside, or the roughness of the ride. Soon the ship disappeared off into the distance, and I could see the coastline approaching fast. The sands of New Sumaria were now upon us. More radio chatter filled our headsets.

“Landfall T plus 30 seconds” One voice said, probably the pilot.

“Roger that” was the reply, coming from what he would imagine to be some operator or officer back on the Elizabeth. “Come left, bearing 235. Prepare for NOE”

“Acknowledged. Bearing 235. Landfall t plus 1 minute, eta to LZ 10 minutes. Engaging ground tracking, entering NOE”

They spoke back and forth in such a manner for the next couple minutes. I found it somewhat reassuring…the professionalism that was maintained in the face of imminent danger.

Then it happened.

It seemed as if raindrops where hitting the hopper. The day was clear, however. I then realized what was happening. Ground fire. The tracers cut through the air in their deadly trajectory, some missing completely, some hitting the hopper, and others coming terrifying close as they struck the interior of the troop compartment. Immediately, the gunners spun up their machines of death, raining down a hail of bullets that seemed impossibly fast. Complete chaos ensued.

More pock marks appeared, and the distinctive ‘clang’ of a bullet hitting aluminum filled the air. To accompany this deadly symphony of sound was the insanely loud fire coming from the chain guns. A constant stream of empty 15mm shell casings and belt clips flew about the room. Some falling out of the aircraft, others landing near my feet.

Another clang, only 2 feet from my head. I immediately shuddered and recoiled my head to a psuedo fetal position, or at least as much as I could muster being strapped to a bench.

Another. I am not sure how close it was. My eyes were shut tight.

Another. I screamed. I tried to pulls myself even closer together, somehow feeling that if I were a ball, I would be safe.

“Settle down!” Devington shouted “We are almost through it.”

I barely acknowledged his words. When I finally was able to open my eyes, everyone else seemed strangely calm. All were looking at me. Whether they thought of me as a coward or not did not concern me. I wanted to get out of that flying machine of death.

We were skimming the treetops. I saw another hopper, nearby, clip the very top of a pine tree. It continued on its course, unaffected. I could see that they also were firing at targets on the ground, concealed to my vision under the forest canopy. We were almost through it. Little did I know that this experience would simply be the beginning

 

[Grundel]

+++Landing Zone+++

Devington looked over at one of his officers, and with seemingly telepathic understand, the officer stood up and stood facing the rest of the men. Looking toward the back of the fuselage, he raised right arm above his head with a 90 degree bend in it. All the men, as on queue, unstrapped themselves from their harness.

“We are about to land” Devington warned me “I want you to be one of the last ones out. Stay behind me and move quickly” was his advice. I knew that would not be a problem.

I could feel the power in the aircraft change. Power seemed to be taken away from the forward turbo props, and the rotary blades above began to revolve faster. Soon the aircraft’s nose began to lift extremely, and by looking outside the doors I could tell our forward progress was slowing significantly, but our descent hastened. Having not far to descend I realized very soon, we would be back on the ground. On the ground, in a bombed out city, surrounded by an fierce enemy that outnumbered us 5 to 1. The officer moved his fist from over his head, to in front of his chest…looking almost as if he was giving and old, roman salute.

The men then stood up, holding one hand still on the railing, and the other onto the grip of their assault rifle. Their rifles were attached securely to their chest in a convenient ‘ready’ position, and many rifles seemed to be equipped with all the latest high tech gadgetry whose purpose to me, at this point, was a mystery. Frankly, I could really care less, as long as it would help these men and to a lesser extent, keep my alive.

Having seen movies with hoppers in them, I always thought that the landing would be quite smooth. The reality, as often the case, did not measure up to its movie depiction. We hit the ground with a thunderous shudder. I knew at that point that something was wrong, yet when I eyed the men, they seemed unconcerned, as this was the status quo. In a few seconds, the orange light turned to green, and the men poured forth from the aircraft doors onto the landing area. Devington, one of his officers, and myself were the last to leave.

Once on the ground, I hurried to meet up with the colonel. He, however, moved intently away, his men in loose formation around him. As I hurried up to him, I took in where we had landed. It appeared to at one point have been some sort of large, commercial facility…a mall, shopping center, movie house, or similar. They were on the parking lot, and the building but a mere pile of rubble, not revealing its once peaceful purpose. As quickly as we had disembarked, the hopper that we flew in on was being loaded with wounded men on stretchers. Most, having been triaged at the local mobile army medical center, were neatly packed onto the vehicle with excellent proficiency. One could hardly tell the nature of these wounds, save for an occasional red stain that shown through their white bandaging. I caught up with Devington as he was consulting with some men.

“Ok, listen here. You are safe right now. The city is secure and firmly in our control. There are still five platoons back onboard the Elizabeth that can be called in as needed, plus 4 more full divisions will be landing here within the week. We are to hold out until then.”

He continued. “most of the fighting has taking place to the north of the city, although the Zulu have attacked from all fronts. We are stretched pretty thin to the west, which is where the bulk of our unit is going. The situation is that the city of Leeds is completely surrounded on land, and its harbor blockaded. When we flew in, you saw the beginning of the battle to lift that blockade. Once lifted, then we can be a bit more leisure about resuppllying and reinforcing. The Zulu cannot let that happen, and I am sure the naval fight will be fierce.”

“Until that time, we are to hold off the Zulu from breaching our lines and taking the city. If the city falls, well, lets just say that will not happen.” Devington said with certainty.

I inquired as to what kind of resistance we would expect to face.

“The Zulu, although a bit behind the technological times, are not to be underestimated. Mostly we will see infantry. We have air superiority here, and airstrikes are constantly launched against their rear targets. They do keep us busy with nightly artillery barrages, however, which can account for most of the destruction that you see. The terrain is not suitable for mechanized or armored vehicles. The mountains and foothills are too treacherous to navigate with these vehicles.”

“I want you to get ready. We will muster in 15 minutes, and march out to the front. Rest up, and make sure you are wearing at least 2 pairs of socks like I told you” He instructed. “We have a long hike ahead. Now would be a good time to take some pictures and grab some interviews too if you want. “ Devington resumed his military council with his officers. For the first time I remembered why I was here. I was a reporter. I had almost forgot.

 

[Grundel]

+++The Interview+++

Having now realized my purpose in this maelstrom, my instinctive duties set in. The area was well trafficked by soldiers…new ones of the 7th Royal Guard, and old battle weary ones. This one chap caught my attention. Against a crumbled cement wall he sat, smoking a cigarette, his hands resting on his knees. He had the look of a man who bore the weight of the world on his shoulders. His gaze met mine. I approached.

“What the hell do you want?” He questioned.

I explained to him who I was. He seemed unimpressed. I began to question him about himself.

“If you must know, my name is private Stanley Dawson.” He answered in an uninterested tone. “I am in 3rd squad, 2nd platoon bravo company.”

“Yes, I have seen a lot of action. What do you want to know?”

I asked him about how the battle was going. Something that I could use to relay to our readers back home in England.

“How is it going?” He then snickered “We are outnumbered five to one. They attack relentlessly…charging in with guns blazing, and once in melee range engaging with fixed bayonettes. For every one we kill, 3 more are ready to take their place. Let me ask you something. Have you ever seen combat before?”

I told him about my experience on board the hopper

“What I have to say, you cannot understand.” He replied. “Have you ever had someone hate you so completely, that they would do anything they could to kill you? Have you ever seen a thousand men run at you, with guns, with the sole purpose of killing you and your friends? Have you ever seen someone’s head explode when it was hit by a bullet? Have you ever held your best friend in your arms, consoling him, telling him it will be alright while his life bleeds from his body EVERY DAY for a week? “

I said nothing.

“Like I said. You cannot understand.” He repeated. I stood there, looking at him, and again found no words to convey.

An eternity passed before Devington summoned my again. They were marching out. I grabbed my things, and left. I could still feel Pvt Dawson’s gaze in the back of my head.

+++The Battle+++

Night was upon us. Our squad was behind a line, with 1st and 3rd platoon in a semi circle perimiter ahead of us. The terrain was rolling, grassy hills looking down into a valley. There were some trees, but mostly open terrain. Every 6 minutes, a flare was launched out over the lines into the valley, illuminating the scenary with a beautiful, flickering light. If it were not for the fact that I was surrounded by a few hundered men in camoflauge uniforms with assault rifles, the place would have been pictouresque. I almost felt as if I was just camping with my mates…and my experiences from the hopper were becoming a distant memory. With every flare, however, the camping illusion was lifted, and the reality of the moment realized.

I asked permission to go to the lines…I wanted to see what the soldiers saw in their trenches. Devington reluctantly gave me permission. I crawled to an entrenched position…2 men that were manning a mark 8 40 caliber machine gun, belt fed with about a thousand rounds. Both men peered down the hill into the darkness intently.

“Listen up” One whispered “You do not say a word, and you do NOT use that camera. You shoot a picture, and I shoot you. Understood?”

I most definetly understood.

I looked down the hill with them. Nothing. Pitch darkness. A flare went off. The men looked intently, scanning the treeline near the base of the hill for movement. As the flare descended into the valley below, ghostly shadows were cast through the trees. Nothing but stillness.

I never said a word. I waited there, with these 2 men. It is hard to realize that there stood nothing between my position, and about 3 thouasand enemy troops, waiting for the moment to try to kill us. So hard, in fact, that I didn’t.

Another flare went off. It drifted slowly across the shallow sky, riding the wind down into the valley. I found it amazing how such a small object could burn so bright.

As my gaze followed it down toward the treeline at the base of the hills, countless numbers of zulu soldiers were steadily slowly advancing up the hill, rifles pointed in our direction.

The men that I shared the trench with saw them too. With one quick move, the gunner racked the slide of his huge weapon, and the other grabbed the ammunition. The gun began to chug away, spitting its ammo at the advancing force.

All hell broke loose. Rifle reports cracked all around me, muzzle flashes lit the line from my right to my left. The cacophony of gunfire and explosions began. I immediately ran out of the trench, leaving the battle behind me. I needed to get to HCC asap.

I could hear the whistle of incoming fire….explosions ripped the ground to my left. I continued to run.

I heard the rush of an aircraft fly over head.

More explosions. To my right and behind me this time.

The area was pitch black. Another flare went off to illuminate the area.

I had no idea where I was. The scenary was a jumbled mess of explosions, gunfire and trees. Another explosion happened again…this time very close. I was knocked from my feet…

+++Back to the Beginning+++
When I cam e to, it was morning. I had never seen a dead body before. Until now. I was fixated upon it, in its deformed, macabre position. I wondered again about this soldier. Did he fight bravely? Did he die with honor?

Devington approached. I could only look at him. By my side he looked down at the body.

“What a shame.” He said with a straight face.

I said nothing. I did not know how I should feel.

“That is what they get for sending non combatants into battle” He sneered. I questioned him as to what he meant.

He ignored me. Once again he looked at me. No…he looked THROUGH me. “Lets get a stretcher over here” He motioned to some medics.

I asked him again who it was. Once again, the colonel ignored me.

The medics came over, and examined the feet of the body. “No dog tags?” One questioned?

“No” the colonel replied. “He wasn’t a soldier. He was a reporter from the London Times. “

“Out here?” the medic seemed surprise.

A sick feeling passed over me….

When the medics turned the body over, I was staring down upon my own corpse.

+++The End+++

 

[Padma]

Grundel! Glad to see you here!

I've always enjoyed your stories over at Poly. Nice to know I can read them here, now, also. This one, of course, is up to your usual standard.

A couple of nitpicks: "unobstructed respect". I think I understand what you mean, but the phrase is, at best, clumsy. perhaps "profound respect"?

NOE = Nape of the Earth. Could have been just a typo.

Rest assured, if you continue to post stories like this here, you will be deluged with "More! More!" posts.

 

[Thrawn]

More! More!

 

[William528]

Grundel! good to see you writing over here!
Write more! We all love your stories!