Tales from Union 2-A

[Craig R. Smith]

(I'm Writing a thing, I'll put it out chapter by chapter. Enjoy.)

 

Spoiler

Chapter 1: Morning

The wind hadn't let up for the past day or so, its whistling filling my ear as it whips snow across the ground in front of us. I sat looking over the edge of my foxhole, scanning the clearing we had made in the trees, the land in front of us barren, par for the burnt remains of what was a sizable portion of this forest. We did however leave a single tree, about 500 yards away from the front line of foxholes. It’s a large sprawling tree, old as time, and I can't help but watch as its branches sway in the wind. 

 

“Lieutenant Henry, sir, coffee is ready,” Staff Sergeant O’Callaghan piped up.

 

Staff Sergeant O’Callaghan was an Irish man, average height but he had some muscle to him. He kept his kit clean, to the best of his ability, and always had some happy tone in his voice.  I’ve known him for some time, and can attest to his reliability under fire. I turned away from the cold wasteland and returned into my foxhole. We had dug ourselves a decent amount of room, and as I slid down the smell hit me as he took a pot off of a fire we had in the center. O’Callaghan offered me a cup, filled with the black liquid.

 

“Thank you, Staff Sergeant,” I said, taking in my cup. It always tasted horrible, but O’Callaghan did his best to make it drinkable. He set his rifle across his lap and took in his own drink, his face beet red from the cold.

 

“So, sir, what’s on the agenda for today.” He’d settle himself on his sleeping bag, setting his head back against the wall of the foxhole.

 

“Perimeter checks as usual, making sure everyone has ammo, food, medical supplies- “

 

“Sir that reminds me, supply trucks are delayed, tires stuck in the snow and all.”

 

 “By how long?”

 

“Two-three days, sir.” 

 

“Don’t you just love the snow, Staff Sergeant?” I sigh, and take refuge with my drink. The morning would continue on, the sun obscured behind the thick clouds continuing to pour snow upon us. It would be around eight in the morning when I hear heavy mechanical footsteps approaching my foxhole. I’d stand up and look out to the right side of our foxhole, facing East.

 

“Good morning Sir!” A mechanical voice exclaimed. I was met with a taller metallic figure standing about a yard away from the edge of my foxhole. A Marauder in his power armor. In his hands he had a large bulky Auto-Cannon, he held it like it was a toy in a child’s grasp.

 

“Good morning, Webb.” I replied with a hint of dread. Behind the figure emerged four other figures, all wearing their infantry kit, rifles in hand. “How’s the patrol going so far?” One figure moved to stand in front of the rest, Corporal Sieg.

 

“So far so good, Sir. The East end is holding strong after that last skirmish.” I’d grab my rifle and clamber out of the foxhole. I’m taken in again by the whistling wind as it whips the snow across the ground.

 

“Right, keep me updated, O’Callaghan, bring the Radio.” O’Callaghan would climb out of the hole after me, a rigid backpack with two long antennae’s sticking out the back, and something resembling a telephone stuck to his chest plate near his right shoulder. Corporal Sieg would nod her head and head off West, along the large spread of foxholes. I’d head South, deeper into our lines.