P.O.W

A dim, dull Concrete cell... I didn't expect such a nightmare. One minute, I am on patrol outside the FOB. The next, I am getting shot at by a Ukrainian fire team. Half my squad was dead... Several others wounded, caught right in an ambush. I was shot in the neck, grazed, but the pain put me in and out of consciousness.  When I woke up, I found myself in a coalition prisoner transfer camp in Sevastopol. 

My squad was gone, and I was surrounded by strangers. Doctors and medics worked around me. Several armed guards with shotguns were position at the exit and entrance. Two doctors approached my bunk and started speaking in Ukrainian, I started to wish I payed attention in Linguistics class.

I raised my hand, feeling my bandaged neck wound. It stung like a hornet, my vision began to blur and the doctors looked -very- concerned. They called for one of the guards, who gleefully put me back to sleep with the butt of her gun. I awoke afterwards in a larger bunkhouse, at this point I thought I was brain damaged. I was locked up with 30 other unlucky souls, but it was too dark to tell if it was anybody I knew.

The next day, we were awoken at six in the morning and searched for contraband. They found morphine on a one armed cripple, his left forearm was just a stump. The two guards pushed him on his face and took out ax handles, beating him brutally. By the end of it, the guy was a fuckin' mess. My bunk mate was missing an eye, he told me the cripple lost his arm because he stole from the head doctor. Took a bottle of wine and shared it with his friends.

The friends got off easy, just a few broken fingers and 20 lashes. The cripple was more severe, he was locked 30 days in the bloc, had his thieving arm cut off with a bayonet, and lashed in the middle of the court yard 50 times. He was put in the wounded bunkhouse permanently after that, and tried to feed his constant morphine addiction. After that display of brutality, we were lead to breakfast. Boiled eggs and broth. 

I sat by some red-bands, civilians who committed high profile crimes. I was just a blue, a P.O.W.
The reds talked about the stuff they did, Gang members, drug dealers, hit-men. About half were in for murder of an M.P or high ranking officer. Some stole from drunk soldiers in the bars, and others dealt drugs on base. The entire camp had color groups, Red civilians, Blue P.O.Ws, and Green bands: The Coalition detainees. My Bunk mate told me the prisoners numbered 1000, 500 P.O.Ws, 100 detainees, and 400 Civilians.

This transfer camp took men everyday, groups get shuffled into boxcars, buses, and trucks. Only a matter of time before I am called up next. None of my training prepared me for the camp, very few KSK operatives were here, and even then I didn't know them; They were given training at other bases. Even though there was the threat of being sent away, the Coalition guards still put us to work.
 I was assigned  tailoring, uniform repair.

The camps uniforms were worn leather boots, leather gloves, boxers and an undershirt, black khakis, and a navy blue jacket with our ranks and prisoner IDs. As I worked, some MPs came into the workshop for repairs, tears in their jackets, boots with worn soles, we were even paid by them sometimes. From them I earned 20 euros for the commissary, along with my pitiful wages. After work, we were marched to the yard. It was quite impressive for such a camp, a football field, the commissary,  and an outdoor gym.

I was told of a small league inside the camp, a match up was today between US marines and Polish army rangers, too bad I'm terrible at the game. The Poles ran circles around the marines, the betting at 70% Rangers and 30% Marines. By the end of the match it was 3-1, Poland. It was much calmer than games in civilian life, I suppose being constantly watched by snipers with itchy trigger fingers helped a lot.

Next, was the Commissary, 10 euros for a .5 liter bottle of water, 15 for soap, and 45 for a damn journal and pencil! I left there immediately, angered by the outrageous pricing. I couldn't even work at the gym to get rid of my pent up energy, if I worked too hard my woulds could re-open and I would die. I simply talked with some of the P.O.Ws and civilians that spoke German and shuffled down to lunch. Bean stew and day old toast, my favorite.

The canteen felt familiar, it reminded me of an old school cafeteria. Small groups eating together, shitty food, drug dealers, and supervisors... Although Mister Donovan was not armed with an AK to make sure nobody beat the shit out of each other. I sat near a group of P.O.Ws, listening in on what they said. It was a group of French foreign legion and German paratroopers. 

I stuck near them, if I ever needed backup I hoped they would come to my aid. But next, was the shower blocks. The four shower rooms were segregated by bands, I was first. The water was cold and the soap was slippery as hell. By 5:30 I got out of there, new prisoners were then lead into the courtyard. Behind the podium stood a large, angry looking man. 6 feet with ice blue eyes and cropped grey hair. His hands were large and hairy, while his glaring eyes scoped out the prisoners.

To the left stood a thinner, dark skinned man. His hair was black and un-kept, and he was wearing a white lab coat with red cross patches poorly sewn on. His eyes were half closed, sort of zoned out and staring into space. He was slouched and held a clipboard in his right hand, sometimes snapping out of his stupor to glance down and write down something, after exchanging looks with the man on the right.

The right man was the tallest, a 6'4 Asian male with large glasses and thin, fine facial features. He wore a pistol on his hip, and a stab vest over his button up shirt. "Prisoners..." The man at the podium grumbled "Welcome, to my camp. I am Major Solstun, to my left is Doctor Abhijeet Ray, our head doctor... And to my right, Captain Chok sihngh... The head of security." The prisoners glanced at each other in fear, but I was too busy checking out the towers to really care. Each tower had 4 spotlights covering all directions, and a guard with a dragunov sniper rifle watching over.

Most of the guards either had a spas-12 or a G-36 at the read, and support close by. The major continued his boring speech, droning on about ground rules and other Bullshit. We were lead to the bunks then, and locked away for the night. Propaganda was repeated over the loud speaker, and with the bandage that constricted me I could hardly sleep.

The next day I was awoken by my bunk mate, the guards entered for inspection. For a week it went like this, searches, work, and speeches... But half my bunk house was moved and replaced, and I was left back alone with a bunch of strangers surrounding me.

Authors note: The counter assault.

I've always been fascinated by the history of war, short stories telling tales of Fictitious battles, soldiers, and landscapes. It spreads knowledge of what it was like, even if its not entirely true. The setting of the counter assault is France, in 1917. America had recently joined the war and gave a massive boost to Allied man power in the European theater.

Of course, this was a time period of dangerous new tools such as gas and outdated tactics. Heavy machine guns that could hold a position for hours. The great war, as they called it, was an unforgiving and bloody conflict. The out-dated tactics in the face of new technology caused needlessly high body-counts, as well as a new threat: Tanks.

Introduced by Germany, they were massive metal boxes that rendered infantry bullets useless. Many early tanks had machine guns and 'cannons' which could fire an explosive shell. Before British and French tanks were introduced and mobilized, the only way to destroy them were: Artillery, Landmines, or other explosives available to Engineers. Not even regular infantry grenades could deal with the threat.

Hunter Robinson

8/28/15

Age: 15

The counter assault

Mortar shells screamed over the trenches, tearing apart the french landscape. Frantic attackers zigzagged left and right, falling to concentrated american fire and french artillery. Bullet after bullet sliced through the wind and found its mark each time. "Keep firing! You're tearing those bastards a new one!" An american officer exclaimed into the telephone. More shells dropped, flinging barbed wire and corpses into the sky.

Several sergeants ran up and down the trench, screaming "Fix Bayonets! Fix Bayonets!" Officer whistles shrieked, veteran Canadian soldiers tapping the American greenhorns on the shoulder and motioning to the bayonets they wore on their belts. Enlisted men quickly attached the 11 inch blades to the barrels of their rifles. Officers and squad leaders drawing M1911 pistols and an assortment of melee weapons.

"Assault formation!" The Officer barked. Soldiers shifted and formed two even rows, the mortar fire paused for the counter assault. The wails of the wounded and dying from no-mans land finally heard. Weakened German attackers pulled back, the Morale of them completely crushed. Patiently, the American and Canadians waited for the order to attack. The silence was soul breaking, men crying out for their mothers and wailing like babies from the fields.

Loudly, the whistles blared "Over the top!!" Major Johnson screamed. Battle-cries from the men filled the air and the first row clambered over the ladders and sandbags. On the other side of the field, German MG-08s lit up the horizon. Allied attackers fell back into the trench line and onto the mud, landing on the men behind him. Others dove into craters for cover, crawling and dashing ahead to the fight.

 "Keep going! Don't give up!" The troops kept pushing up, throwing grenades and shooting their rifles at the lines. Under the cover and grenade and rifle fire, the first squads advanced quickly into the trench.

"Over the top! Move!" The whistles blared again. Another row jumped over the edge, rushing to reinforce the first wave. The first men stormed the trench and assaulted the MG emplacements, beginning a face to face bloody brawl. Bayonets thrust into bellies,  Sharpened shovels embed themselves in foes necks, and clubs bashing ribs and skulls apart. Several soldiers began to pry open the emplacement doors, filling the German operators with fear.

The second wave soon arrived, engineers and infantry clearing out the last bits of resistance in the trench-line. Officers barked to continue the charge, pushing the fresh reinforcements over the top of the next line. Suddenly, shells whistled and impacted the ground, heavy artillery! Across the field, heavy machine guns began to tear apart the charge. German marksmen aimed down from the trees, picking off advancing officers and leaving enlisted without commands. Then came the most fearful sound; Gas.

"Gas! Gas, put your masks on!" Sergeant Phillips yelled. The soldiers wrestled with the elastic straps of the masks, securing them firmly on their faces. The deadly green smoke flowed into the trench, obscuring vision to about a meter. The unlucky few coughed and cried, rubbing their burning eyes. "Ron didn't put his mask on! Come on and help!" One of the Americans yelled. He began to stand before being pulled down by his comrades.

"Are you crazy!?" Sergeant Phillips hissed "He's as good as dead, if you stand the snipers will pick you next!" Whispers continued between the men, more German shells exploded and Stranded Soldiers fought on for dear life outside of the gas. Some men sobbed, cried, and wailed, holding pictures of loved ones in fear. It felt like hours of crying, with the gas blocking vision so much you could only tell time if you had a watch.

"Shit, ah, help me!" Screams broke out through the trench, men drew knives and hammers to defend themselves. In the middle of the trench, several German saboteurs were killing men in the gas. A small scuffle emerged as the Germans were discovered. Masks were pulled and blind swings flew. A Saboteur grabbed one of the men by the mask, slashing away at his enemies throat repeatedly. He turned and thrust forth at another American, plunging the blade into the Soldiers gut.

An engineer charged forward and swung his pickax at the man, catching him in the jaw. The bone shattered and his fabric mask tore in half. The German fell into the mud, completely lifeless.
The engineer continued attacking the man, crushing the entire skull into a messy goop. German after German fell in the trench to the sheer number of active defenders.

After the carnage, fifty Allies were found dead. After the scuffle, two sentry guards patrolled through the line. After the gas cleared, it was sunset... A bright orange glow setting a backdrop on the chaotic horizon.

Hello and welcome!

Hello and welcome to my new blog, I will be posting some of my short stories and scrap work here. As well as some general stuff.