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#Post#: 4587--------------------------------------------------
The Gunny's Christmas 2022
By: Thorgrimm Date: December 25, 2022, 11:03 am
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The Gunny’s Christmas
“Huh... it doesn’t feel like Christmas,” Miles said as he
pondered the current situation. He, Jerome, and Ogre were
sitting around a fire near Miles’ M1-E5 Abrams. It was 25
December, 2368.
“Maybe because we spent the whole day getting shot at?” Jerome
said as he raised an eyebrow.
“No, not that, it’s more like we’re missing something.” As Miles
finished his sentence Chris Coleman wandered out of the Abrams,
wearing a threadbare Santa hat and carrying an armful of
packages wrapped in dirty brown paper.
“Merry Christmas!” Chris said with all of the enthusiasm of,
well, a child on Christmas morning as he passed the presents
around.
“Ah, there it is,” Miles said with a rotten smile.
Jerome favored his subordinate with a confused glance. “Miles,
you and Chris have been spending too much time with each other
if you expected that, Lieutenant.”
“Ho Ho Ho,” Chris said, with a perfect deadpan delivery. “Santa
says that commanding officers who make snide remarks about his
subordinate officer and his crew do not get anything for
Christmas.”
“Aren’t you a little old for all this, Coleman?” Jerome asked
with a smile creasing his face.
“Aww, c’mon Jerome, it’s Christmas!” Chris exclaimed. He might
have been getting close to thirty, but at that moment he easily
seemed twenty years younger. He tossed Ogre his box and handed
the Colonel his own. Miles grumbled and shuffled around in his
pack, pulling out another half-dozen packages that he
distributed around the circle.
“Now I feel bad, I didn’t get you guys anything,” Ogre said
sadly.
“Don’t worry about it,” Chris said, reassuring Ogre, “It’s
nothing big.”
Ogre opened his packages from his superiors. Both were of
pre-war alcohol, and they must have cost a fortune. Still, he
was a little irked at the implications.
"Put together, you two have more money than God, and you just
buy me booze? Who do you think I am?" Ogre demanded with a
smirk.
"The better question is why do we think someone like you can
appreciate pre-war whiskey?" Jerome asked, with a big grin on
his face.
“I don’t know about you Jerome, but I figured he was experienced
enough with alcohol to at least have some idea of the quality,”
Miles offered, a hint of smugness creeping into his voice.
“Has it occurred to you two,” Ogre began, “That no one
celebrates Christmas anymore?”
“So? Almost no one prints books anymore either, but it doesn’t
mean it’s a good idea to stop learning how to read.”
Jerome tore open the wrapping paper on the gift Miles had given
him. He let out a low whistle. “Sweet Jesus! Starship Troopers!
How in the hell did you find this? I’ve never seen a copy, and
believe me, I have looked!” Miles just grinned a rotten grin.
Miles opened his gift from Jerome. A copy of The Legend of
Sleepy Hollow.
Ogre groaned when he saw the gifts. “You two and your books.”
“That PFC,” Miles said as a way of explanation, “Is why you got
booze.”
Porter eyed Miles’ book with open interest. “Can I check that
out when you’re done, El Tee?”
“Maybe you outta open your stuff before you ask,” Miles
suggested. When Porter did, there was no mistaking the boyish
wonder that crept over the Private’s face as he saw his own copy
of the book from Jerome, and a copy of Fahrenheit 451 from
Miles.
Ogre opened his gifts. Jerome had gotten him a, no doubt very
expensive bottle of pre-war after-shave, and Miles had bought a
similarly priced gold pocket watch.
Miles leaned into the turret of the Abrams, and emerged with a
humidor. Inside were his best cigars, each one worth a small
fortune.
Miles opened it and passed the cigars around the fire, until
only three were left in the humidor. He lit up and kicked back,
a wide grin on his face.
“Merry Christmas.”
***
The Gunny had been making his rounds when he noticed something
that he thought he would never see again, someone exchanging
gifts on the 25th of December. Kevin had been led to believe
that nearly all of the people had abandoned all forms of
religion. Something about how a real god would not have allowed
hell to reign on Earth. Kevin had been saddened by that news,
but could not really blame the survivors.
Kevin walked over to the group surrounding the campfire, which
caused a bit of consternation in the small group of Marines.
Jerome got to his feet as fast as he could, damn near burning
himself with his cigar as he did so. He snapped to attention
and, cigar still firmly clamped between his teeth, managed a
muffled, “Gunnery Sergeant, sir! We weren’t expecting you!”
Miles stifled a laugh, slowly rising to his feet to greet the
Gunny as well.
Kevin just smiled and said, “At ease Colonel. I just happened to
notice you all doing something I never expected to see on this
day, exchanging gifts. I did not know there were any Christians
left, after the purges at the end of the war.”
Jerome just grinned, remembering to take the cigar out of his
mouth. “Well sir, one of my men just pointed that out as well. I
guess old habits die hard in the Forge.”
“Ah, I figured as much. Maybe one day someone will fill me in on
the local history, but not today. Today is a holy day. A time
for reflection on what this day really means to us.”
“So I’ve heard,” Jerome said with a grin.
Kevin smiled at Jerome’s reply, “To each his own Colonel.
However, I do wish to tell you all a tale about an act of
courage and valor that had happened on this day, so many years
ago.” You could almost see the Gunny beginning to fade into the
past to retrieve his tale.
“It was the year of 2061 and the Chinese had invaded North
America through Alaska and the AADP was caught flat-footed by
this invasion. The only troops available were the troops of the
Sixth Marine Division...”
***
A deep booming roar could be plainly heard. Climbing up on the
side of the armored car, the Gunny looked forward. Another line
of Chinese infantry was setting up astride the track a hundred
yards forward of their current position.
Moreover, beyond them not a half a mile away, barely visible,
Kevin saw the sharp flashes of rifle and machine-gun fire.
Several seconds later a burst of rounds shrieked past.
A gust of wind swirled through the light scattering of trees,
drawing the mist away. An entire Regiment of Marines, in a
hedgehog formation, had been formed down in the gentle drop of
the valley ahead. Kevin unsnapped his field glasses and then
raised them, ignoring the hail of rounds shrieking past him from
the Chinese infantry, who were trying to surround the relief
force.
From all sides of the hedgehog, down in the valley, the Chinese
were surging in, assault rifles firing. In a measured pace rifle
and mortar fire flashed from the hastily constructed defensive
line, holding the Chinese at bay.
In the center of the hedgehog Kevin saw a cluster of men around
their command LAV’s, which had run dry of fuel. The guidon of
the 6th Marine Division was fluttering alongside the dark blue
flag marked with the two stars of a Major General.
“General!” The Gunny screamed out, slamming his fist against the
side of the armored car in impotent rage.
The men working on the track struggled to pound the rail spikes
back in the rail ties, to anchor the steel in place so they
could advance the last short distance and rescue the trapped
Marines. Entrenching tools bent, but ever so slowly the rail
spikes inched their way back into the ice-covered wood.
With every passing second more and more Chinese infantry
filtered out from the surrounding forest. While dense formations
of infantry moved in to fill the last few hundred yards that
separated the remnants of the Marine Division from safety.
Kevin swung his field glasses to the south, coming across the
field he saw that the Chinese were setting up battery after
battery of light mountain guns, just waiting to tear the trapped
Marine formation apart.
Tears of frustration clouded the Gunny's eyes.
From across the field, screened by a skirmisher line of
infantry, a long line of more mountain guns were being set up,
to prevent any movement by the Marines in the pocket, or the
relief attempt. The hedgehog began to move.
Another flurry of artillery fire burst over the hedgehog as two
more guns opened up. Casualties went down, men broke formation
to help the wounded.
“Walk or die, no helping the wounded!” Kevin heard the
Divisional commander say to his Marines, they were that close,
yet that far. On the flanks the Chinese charged in, regardless
of losses, their officer’s bugles ringing out. A vast formation
turned and started from the south racing to close with the
Marines.
The Marine assault rifle and mortar fire rose to a crescendo.
Chinese infantry dropped by the dozens, flailing in their death
throes.
The losses did not prevent the rest of the troops from
continuing the charge. They leapt over the dead and dying,
screaming their battle cries.
The charge crashed into the southwest section of the hedgehog,
the firing line collapsed and the Chinese poured into the hole.
Part of the reserve, turning about face, and raced towards the
breach, assault rifles at the level, desperate to seal of the
penetration.
Like carrion drawn to death, the Chinese charged towards the
breach in the Marine defenses, struggling to crack the line
clean apart. A second line of mountain guns was setting up,
behind the first. The artillery crews swung their pieces to face
Northeast, back up the hill towards the relief force.
Kevin could see that the breach was closing, but nearly an
entire Infantry Battalion was gone. The hedgehog had been
broken, while a knot of survivors, outside the protection of the
formation, fought on and were finally swarmed under.
The hedgehog lurched forward, although it started to come apart
as it swept up the slope, racing to beat the mountain guns
before they were ready to fire.
Groaning in anguish the Gunny could not look away. The entire
east side of the hedgehog seemed to go down, and the formation
stopped cold, as if it had struck a stone wall.
At that very moment the second line of mountain guns opened
fire, the artillery rounds screamed up the slope like a Banshee.
The firing line in front of Kevin was riddled, bodies
disintegrating, tumbling in the air.
An explosion of sparks shot off of the locomotive as it was hit
by shrapnel from the Chinese artillery fire. All the Gunny could
do was watch in numbed silence.
The hedgehog was going fast. The southwest corner was torn open
again, with Chinese pouring in. The eastern line was gone, the
field was a carpet of white-clad bodies, their winter clothing
stained red. Hundreds of wounded were screaming, crawling
towards the rescuers. The first line of Chinese artillery kept
up it's deadly fire.
Kevin could see all that was left was a small knot of Marines,
grouped around the Divisional commander, the last of the
reserve, and the survivors running in from the disintegrating
lines.
The Marine Officers struggled, pushing their men back into a
firing line, trying to plug the holes with bodies. The air was
alive with rifle and artillery rounds. The artillery facing the
trains continued to pound the line cresting the hill.
The Gunny watched as the Chinese finally overcame the Marine
defenders of the hedgehog, and all he could do as they killed
his father was watch, watch and weep. Kevin watched as they
charged in, rifles firing. A final defiant fusillade flashed out
from the Marine defenders, but its firepower was very weak.
For a moment The Gunny saw him, standing alone, his assault
rifle firing in defiance, and then there was nothing left but
the flashing of the Chinese bayonets as they butchered the last
of the Marines.
“Come on, to hell with the M307’s, run for it!” Kevin shouted
out. The city of Anchorage was in flames behind him,
illuminating the nightmarish scene. The long line of trains was
finally ready to move, the wreckage cleared, the track repaired
farther up the line where several Chinese infantry detachments
had been dropped by helo, in a vain attempt to cut the rail
line.
Behind him, the 6 M307’s were still firing down the slope at the
advancing Chinese infantry, all the while Chinese infantry was
moving in on all sides. A mile farther out, a Chinese column was
racing parallel to the rail line.
The M307 crews fired one last barrage, then abandoned the guns
and ran frantically towards the train.
Kevin looked back at where his father had died, and except for
the occasional flash of rifle fire, he could see nothing. He
waved to the engineer leaning out of the locomotive cab, a
shudder ran through the the train.
“Goodbye,” was all Kevin could whisper as he climbed onto the
car.
***
The Gunny’s eyes cleared once more and he began, “We had gotten
out, just barely though. I was on the last train out of
Anchorage, and I felt sick at the thought of it. The bastards
had taken most of Alaska, for almost nothing, and over fifteen
thousand US troops were either dead or missing.
"The troops on board the trains had been talking excitedly about
their escape, finally able to breathe easy after the last tense
hours of holding until the rest of the AADP armed forces could
withdraw. I knew that once the excitement of the escape had worn
off, the cold hard reality would settle in. Our forces were in
disarray, and in headlong flight.
“I remember looking forward. All the way to the horizon, moving
off into the evening, was train after train, diesel exhaust
billowing along the path. Moreover, because of the sacrifice of
my father and his troops, nearly ninety thousand men were riding
Northeast, escaping, at least temporarily, the death closing in
around them.”
The group could actually see a faint light glowing from the
Gunny’s eyes. He always loved to tell this tale, it gave him
courage to keep the faith and to do what was right.
Jerome was the first to recover from Kevin’s incredibly
depressing tale. “That was uh... quite a story, sir.”
“Yes, yes it is. It always inspires me, so I love to tell it
whenever I can. Especially on Christmas. However, for some
reason I did not seem to get many party invites. Oh well, their
loss.” The Gunny said with a big smile on his face.
“Keep the faith Colonel. Moreover, a very merry Christmas to you
all,” With that Kevin once again began his rounds whistling
Jingle Bells.
***
Ogre put his arm in the air. “Anyone else insanely depressed
now?” Slowly, Jerome and the rest of the tank crew followed
suit.
“I’m willing to bet oh, let’s say, all of my money on the reason
he was never invited to many parties.” Miles said with a smile.
“Even if I had the money, I wouldn’t take that bet. That’s a
sucker bet if there ever was one.” Jerome said with a grimace.
“I think I finally get why people always get depressed around
Christmas... I think we can trace it all back to him... or at
least his stories,” Jerome offered.
“I think, or at least hope, the Gunny means well. I mean, he
wouldn’t come here to depress us... would he?” Miles asked in
confusion.
“I didn’t realize people wearing Santa hats could be depressed.
How in God’s name did you find such a thing, anyway?” Jerome
asked.
“And are you aware you look ridiculous in it?” Ogre inquired.
“Yes, and it took some scrounging," Chris said with a smirk.
“However, since Christmas was right around the corner at the
time the bombs hit, it was easier than you’d think.”
“It looks beat to hell.”
“Not a lot of pre-war stuff doesn’t look all beat to hell,”
Jerome offered.
“Anyhow, I’ve got a cure for Gunny-induced depression,” Miles
said with a smile. “Ogre, pass some of your booze around. Let’s
drink ourselves happy.”
“But I don't wanna share it!” Ogre moaned.
“It was 'just booze' a second ago,” Jerome pointed out.
“But it's still expensive booze!” Ogre shot back.
“C'mon Ogre, 'tis the season after all.” Chris said with a
greedy smile.
“Start sharing, or I'll have the Gunny tell you some more of his
war stories,” Jerome said as he threatened Ogre.
Ogre grumbled, but gave in. “Fine,” Then mumbled something that
sounded suspiciously like, “Hope you choke on it.”
Merry Christmas, and a Happy New Year!
Cheers, Thor
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