Task Force Smith; Snippet 34
The formation was reminiscent of the countless others that had preceeded it, except that it was noticeably smaller. Corporal Kim came running up to the front of the company with the guidon in hand, while the unit mascot, a skinny in-bred mutt named “Coax,” sniffed around, looking for a good place to pee.
The first sergeant took that opportunity to get a good count on his personnel, and to reorganize the chain of command. He called the NCOs forward while the enlisted men stood at the position of “At Ease.”
The NCOs received a quick briefing from Top in a small huddle, and came jogging back to their platoons, falling back into formation.
Once everyone had resumed their positions, First Sergeant Taylor stood there in front of the guidon bearer for just a minute as he looked at the assembled group. Their faces had the look of the walking dead. They were pale, expressionless, and cold.
“Company!”
The platoon sergeants snapped to the position of “Attention” before echoing the command.
“Platoon!”
“Atten-shun! Platoon Sergeants take charge!”
The platoon sergeants saluted, faced about, and immediately started issuing orders. Cartright’s platoon sergeant, Sergeant First Class Hernandez, addressed the eighteen remaining members of the platoon that stood in front of him.
“At ease! Okay check it out. This shit ain’t over yet. Top says that the Posties will be here soon. We gotta go get refueled, get more ammo, and follow the CO up to our new positions. He says that the positions have already been picked out for us so all we have to do is occupy ‘em. After I release you, all remaining wounded are to be placed over next to the FTCP so the medics can come back and police them up. He also said that all the support platoon personnel are up on the line right now, so when we get to the refuelers it’s ‘self serve.’ Any questions?”
“Hey Sarn’t, is it too late to cancel my appointment with the re-enlistment NCO?”
The platoon sergeant ignored the one smart-ass in the formation.
“Okay then, let’s hustle. Fall out!”
The platoon scattered immediately. The wounded were carefully moved over next to the field trains command post, while squads reorganized, and reloaded tracks. Surprisingly, the Indowy also reloaded the vehicles with the members of Delta Company. They made it quite clear that they were part of the company now, and that they were going back into battle with them. Nobody argued with them.
As Cartright shoehorned himself into the back of his platoon sergeant’s track, the small Indowy that had been helping their squad scampered up the ramp, and squeezed into the back of the overfull Bradley. In his arms was a seemingly new SAW, and he handed it to Cartright.
“What’s this?”
“It is your weapon, and it is repaired.” The Indowy replied.
Cartright looked at it in awe. The serial number was the same as his old machinegun, but that is where the similarity ended. The receiver had been repaired, and other changes had been made to it. The butt-stock had been replaced with a skeletonized version, with a cheekrest that perfectly fit his face. The iron sights had a glowing material added to them, similar to tritium, making them visible under low light conditions. On top of the feed tray cover a three-power scope had been added, which amplified ambient light, making it useful in the dark. The pistol grip fit his hand better than it had before, and the bipod was sturdier. The barrel was fluted, which enabled it to radiate heat faster, and the overall weapon felt lighter. It had been completely rebuilt, and customized for him.
“What the hell did you do to this thing?” Cartright asked.
The Indowy seemed puzzled by the question. “It has been repaired in one of our workshops. Is it not to your satisfaction?”
“Yeah, it is to my satisfaction. This thing is fuckin’ great. Where did you say you brought this thing? I haven’t seen any workshops around here.”
The Indowy’s face wrinkled. The expression could have been anything but Cartright was sure that it was a shit-eating grin. “All creation is of the individual. People are here, each to do the daily ritual. The ritual on your… weapon is of no consequence.”
“Okay, that explains a lot,” Cartright said, shaking his head. “not. Hey, next time, instead of a puny little SAW, can I get me a BFG?”
“A ‘BFG?’ I don’t understand.” The alien replied.
“Yeah, a BFG, a Big Fucking Gun. Maybe one of those electric gatling guns? Those things friggin’ rock. Or maybe a plasma gun like those Posleen got?”
The Indowy continued to grin, but said nothing.
“Anyway, if you are going to stay with us, you need a name. I can’t just keep saying ‘hey you’ all of the time.”
The Indowy sat in his lap and made himself comfortable. The thing seemed to have a slightly higher body temperature than a human. It got real cozy when the driver raised the ramp
.