War of The Gods

March 23rd

"The Pit"

The rattle of gunfire and boom of artillery was but a distant murmur in the city's center. Even with fire and ash around the air was still a frigid early spring temperature. Icicles dripped down from the blasted-out window as the sun crept over the eastern horizon, casting the silent downtown area in a fiery orange glow. Captain William Henry Thatcher let out a frosted breath as he raised his M-212 .470 caliber sniper rifle. Leaning against the eastern wall of his fourth-floor room he peaked through the powerful scope at the distant command outpost that sat in another six-story building on the other side of two decimated Commie Blocks. Boom, an artillery shell shook the building as it struck one of the still-standing nearby Commie Blocks. Thatcher had to act fast, he had two squads below him and if one of those shells got any closer then they'd all be dead. He closed his left eye, targeting the single open window of the distant building's fourth floor. All night he had waited since the sun had set and the freeze had arrived until the sun rose and the ice melted. Boom, a shell landed nearby knocking the loose icicles free.

"Sons of bitches are gonna kill us," Thatcher muttered to himself as he intently watched the window. Then it happened, right then and there his target, a field officer taking residence there, strode right into his line of sight. The fat man with maroon skin and black hair in a khaki suit paused just long enough for Thatcher to zero in on him. He aimed right at the man's skull, a tricky shot for sure but one he was certain he could make. He clicked the safety switch just above the trigger, and he wrapped his gloved hand firmly around the rifle's polymer grip, his finger hovering just above the trigger. He drew in a sharp breath and held it in his lungs before finally squeezing the trigger. With a roaring crack, the pointed bullet exited the chamber and soared its way toward its target. With an almost comical splat, the officer's head exploded into a chunky red mist that sprayed the walls and ceilings of his room. The man collapsed in a heap on the floor. "Bullseye..." Thatcher said with a bearded grin, slowly he moved away from the window to avoid being spotted, crawling across the floor and to a nearby staircase that was luckily out of sight. Stepping on broken glass and rubble he climbed the long staircase down to the ground floor where his men waited inside a smoky and ruined lobby. Thatcher slung his M-212 across his back, grabbing the ILC-15 Carbine leaning next to the stairwell, a gun resembling the standard FAL-style rifles other troops carried. Fifteen men stood there, five dressed in the Spec Ops gray uniform and beret rather than the standard forest green fatigues and helmet like the other ten. Thatcher strode over to the young Lieutenant Howard Sauers, who was handling the field phone, grabbing the handset from his hands. "Colonel," He began "Red Devil's dead, what's the move?" After some indistinct orders through the phone were given he returned it to the Lieutenant "Alright," He said reaching into the pocket of his heavy coat and producing a blue pack of cigarettes "We're gonna hold the fort here 'til the cavalry gets up,"

"Where's the cav?" Spec Ops Lieutenant Bruce Halifax asked. Thatcher pulled a cigarette from the pack.

"'Bout twenty minutes out," Thatcher pulled out a lighter and sparked the cigarette up in a cloud of smoke that mixed with the frosty air. He leaned his weapons against the wall and pulled the coat off to reveal his regular Spec Ops fatigues. "It's like a blast furnace in that thing," He said laying it over a handrail and adjusting his beret. Another boom echoed from outside, sending dust and small bits of rubble cascading downward "If they don't hurry up we'll be buried here," Thatcher blew out a cloud of smoke. Another boom shook the building violently. "Fuck it, we're gettin' outta here," Thatcher grabbed his carbine and sniper rifle, electing to leave the coat behind. Thatcher and his men left the building through the rear exit, rushing to hide behind the piles of rubble outside before they could be spotted by lurking enemies. Thatcher glanced over the chunk of concrete he was laying behind. "Shit," He murmured as he saw five men crossing the mounds of rubble toward them "We got company, five of 'em with rifles,"

"What do we do?" One of the regulars asked quietly. Thatcher raised his carbine and aimed it at the approaching soldiers.

"We wait and hope to God they don't get here, we start shooting and every guy in that basecamp is gonna start shootin'" Thatcher crushed his cigarette out, keeping his black carbine trained on the men as they poked and dug at the rubble with their bolt actions.

"Any officers?" A concerned Halifax asked.

"Can't tell, they're all dressed the same... Looks like regs to me," The soldiers continued their slow approach to Thatcher's position.

"What do you wanna do?"

"Stay here and hope to God they don't find us till the cav gets here," Thatcher continued to observe them, they seemingly had no idea that his men were hiding less than three hundred feet away. That was until one of them locked eyes with Thatcher, picking out his form through the gap where he aimed his carbine. "Shit..." Thatcher muttered "He's found us," Soon the soldier was signaling for his nearby comrades, shouting at them in the alien yet familiar language that Thatcher would call Russian. From what little Thatcher picked up he heard:

"There they are! There the bastards are!" The soldier pointed at Thatcher and his men still huddled behind their positions.

"Up and ready boys!" Thatcher commanded, "And be ready to duck!" He clicked the safety off on his carbine and stood up, along with the rest of his Spec Ops troopers. They all fired into the squad with their small caliber carbines and high caliber battle rifles, gunning them down. The resounding echo of the gunshots dissipated into nothing, then the distant shouting of more soldiers echoed over the near-quiet ruin. Then the building erupted with gunfire, rifles and machine guns rattled out their song of death. Thatcher and the others fell to the ground hiding from the guns. "Lieutenant! Get me that damn phone!" Thatcher shouted over the cacophony of gunfire. Sauers crawled on his stomach over the rubble to get to Thatcher, handing him the handset "Hey Colonel!" Thatcher shouted "We need an airstrike on the Pit House! And what's the word on the cav?" Thatcher returned the handset to the Lieutenant "Keep the Colonel on the phone!" He commanded.

"What's the word?" Halifax asked shouting.

"Cav's about three out! But it's gonna be God knows how long till we get that airstrike!" Thatcher responded frustrated.

"Why? We got an airstrip in the fuckin' city!"

"The Commies are pushing to the airstrip! Lord knows when they're pushin' 'em back!"

"Goddamnit!" Halifax shouted angrily.

"Sir!" A regular called, raising his SLCR-12/3 "We got more comin' out!" The soldier fired off some shots before ducking back down. Thatcher peered through an opening in their rubble barricade, seeing at least two squads of men approaching them with rifles and submachine guns, one carrying a pan-fed light machine gun.

"Fuck!" He shouted, raising his carbine to fire upon them. Just then, the roar of a rotary gun echoed from behind Thatcher's position and their approaching enemy was cut down by a stream of hot lead. Thatcher turned around, watching as the glorious sight of an air cavalry Eagle transport chopper approached them from the northeast, the door gunner firing over them with his three-barreled Cerberus rotary gun. Cheers echoed over the squad as the chopper landed before them, its skids just barely touching the ground as a squad of regulars hopped out guns ready. The squad engaged the building with rifles and squad guns, creating clouds of concrete dust with every bullet. The structure stood tall and unhindered by the shots, two men from the cavalry fell and were promptly dragged to Thatcher's position to hide from the defenders. Thatcher looked over the more than twenty men now with him "Squad guns! Get propped up!" He ordered, still lying on his side. The two squad gunners at his disposal climbed to positions among the rubble where they could easily prop up their guns and readied themselves. "Fire!" he ordered and the men responded, sending flurries of thirty caliber bullets towards the still unyielding structure.

"Captain!" The Sauers shouted, a smile on his dirty face "They got two planes off the strip and they'll be here in five minutes!" He shouted.

"That's good Lieutenant!" Thatcher shouted "What's the word on the rest of the cav?"

"They're two minutes out with another squad, sir!"

"Good deal!" Thatcher gave Sauers a thumbs up. Sure enough, around two minutes later the same chopper returned and dropped its payload. This squad began entrenching itself further up than Thatcher's and firing upon the building alongside them. Still, the building stood strong like a mountain, unyielding to the gunfire. The man commanding this squad, a fellow captain named Richard Hunt crawled his way back to Thatcher's position.

"Mornin' Billy!" Hunt shouted as he climbed over a tall piece of rubble, falling between Thatcher and Sauers.

"Ricky?" Thatcher asked over the sound of the battle with a smile "I ain't seen you since Moscow!"

"Yeah, it's been a minute!" Hunt replied adjusting himself "Quite a mess you're in!"

"Better than Moscow! Hell at least we made it to The Pit this time, in Moscow, I sat in the same damn hole for three weeks!"

"You said it, brother!" They high-fived "How you gettin' outta this one?"

"We got support comin' in!" Just as he said that the roar of two radial engines popped up as two massive Bloodhound attack planes flew over the block behind them. Each one fired two heavy wing-mounted rockets at the base of the building before pulling up sharp and turning away as the building finally collapsed in a cloud of fire and dust. The guns were silenced and cheers echoed over the empty battlefield from Thatcher and Hunt's men. Thatcher stood up and grabbed the phone from Sauers "Colonel, we're free and green in the pit, what're the orders? Copy that," He handed the phone to Sauers "We've got armor comin' in boys, we're movin' in and taking this city today!" whooping erupted over the troops at Thatcher's words.

After around an hour's reprieve their support arrived, three Cougar main battle tanks. They were tall armored beasts on steel tracks, their smoothbore 105mm guns stretching past the hull and ending with a massive muzzle break. Thatcher and his men approached the middle tank of the convoy, Thatcher slammed his large fist against its hull alerting the commander who stuck his head up from the turret.

"Mornin'!" He shouted over the rumbling diesel engines, tipping his tanker helmet back almost like a cowboy hat.

"Mornin'!" Thatcher greeted back

"I reckon you're lookin' for a ride to the Mouth of Hell?"

"Yes sir!"

"Alrighty then, you and your boys hop on! Keep off the lead tank!" As many of the men as possible climbed up the hulls of the second and third tanks and they started off with clouds of diesel smoke. They traveled among the ruined buildings, artillery shells clashing in the distance as they neared the dreaded Palace of Hell. The Palace of Hell was the capital building in the middle of the city, once home to a long line of kings and queens it had become home to the communist government of Tzarovicka. Now it was a fort protected by lines of guns and barbwire with God knows what else around it. The rattle of guns grew closer as they powered over mounds of rubble, the white marble palace was turned dark gray by the smoke and dirt of the siege.

"There she is!" Thatcher shouted with a laugh as the tanks rolled on

Later in the day...

Thatcher finished his can gray can of potted meat, biting down on the last cracker in his pack as he watched the cleanup crews slowly move in.

"Quite a fight, huh?" He asked Hunt as he took a sip from the unlabeled soda can in his hand.

"I've been through worse," Hunt responded with a chuckle, sitting his mess kit down in his overturned helmet. Hunt rubbed his eyes "Holy shit I'm tired," he declared.

"How long you been up?"

"Fifteen hours," Hunt groggily replied.

"Try twenty-six," Thatcher declared with a laugh

"Really? Only twenty-six?" Hunt jokingly asked.

"Come on now, you gonna regale me with some tale 'bout how you stayed up for more than eighty hours in a flooded ditch in Venezuela?" Both Hunt and Thatcher laughed until they both went into a coughing fit.

"Speakin' of eighty hours," Hunt said, slapping Thatcher and pointing to the convoy of bulldozers and dump trucks to the half-track car approaching them. It stood out among the forest green trucks with its gray color and fancy yet rustic build. Inside was a driver, two soldiers, and one towering man in a gray officer's suit and hat. The car halted before the two and outstepped Military Governor Aaron Lee. Thatcher. A towering man with a broad imposing build to match, his face was marked with a graying black beard that covered many of the wrinkles and lines on his face. A scar crossed his lip and another crossed his head, the two men stood up stiff as boards, holding a hard salute.

"Captain Thatcher," he said in a rumbling deep voice.

"Military Governor Thatcher,"

"Captain Hunt you are dismissed, me and Captain Thatcher need to discuss something in private," Hunt finished the salute and ran off toward one of the many tents dotting the ruined cityscape. "Captain Thatcher, follow me please," The two walked over to a partially standing wall, standing behind so as not to be seen. "At ease soldier," Governor Thatcher said, Captain Thatcher eased up "Alright," Governor Thatcher looked around "Son," He began "This is personal... I am proud of you,"

"Th-thank you, sir," Captain Thatcher responded shocked.

"Lose the formalities right now, you can call me Pa. I'm proud of you, it takes a lot to sit in one spot for almost twenty-four hours just to get a good shot. Plus the way soldiers are talkin' about how you handled the building, good job, son," Governor Thatcher reached into his jacket, producing a gleaming silver cigar case, popping it open, and pulling out a long fat Cuban cigar "This is for you," he handed it to his son "And you'll be gettin' a medal real soon for that," Governor Thatcher clicked his heels and saluted his son, who responded with another salute.

"Thank you, sir!" He said.

"You're welcome... Son, now get some sleep, twenty-six hours is a long time to be up,"