The Mighty First, Episode 2, The Children's War: The Mighty First series, #2

By Mark Bordner

The drama continues as young Minerva struggles with trying to adapt in her transition from adventurous small-town girl to a reluctant leader.
After Earth is plunged into an unprovoked war, and occupied by a brutal, power-hungry race of humanoid aliens, the 1st Global Marine Division is tasked with liberating our world.
Comprised chiefly of teenage recruit graduates, the Mighty First will stop at nothing to accomplish their mission.
A futuristic tale with a WW2 vibe that follows Minerva and her cadre as they grow from high school seniors missing home, to the heroes that the Allied worlds are so depending on.
Hold to your hope, the Mighty First is coming !

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mark Bordner
• Release date: Mar 14, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386824626

Book preview

Dedications

My soul mate. My best friend. My true love. Minerva, you’ve walked a long walk with me. I am blessed to have the honor of being your husband.

Dylan, Ashley, Timmy. My three bundles of joy, you’re growing up so fast!

My sister, Brenda Gerber, whom I’ve pestered without mercy for over forty years.

Manny. My brother, this joint venture into the unknown could not be with a better wingman!

The community of Winslow, Arizona.  I’ve hung my hat in the perfect place to call home. 

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All of you, who have chosen to join me on this adventure with The Mighty First.  The success of this series lies with you, the loyal reader.  Grab your helmets and hop on board, Minerva and her cadre are waiting!

Acknowledgments

The Departments of the Navy and Marine Corps

The Holbrook Tribune News

The Winslow Chamber of Commerce

Winslow Unified School District

Bill Sabin, and countless readers who have offered wonderful advice along the way.

Friends and family with guest roles: 

- Minerva Bordner as MSGT Minerva Carreno, A-Co., 1st Marine Combat Battalion

- Dylan Bordner as Private Dylan Briggs

- Ashley Bordner as Private Ashley Starr

- Timothy Bordner as Private Timothy Starr

- Charles Hancock as Capt. Charlie Hannock, battalion commander

- Doug Watson as Command Admiral Douglas Green, US Space Navy

- Lance Heister as Major General Lance Parks

- Manuel Guevara as Sgt Manny Hernandez, A-Co., 1st Marine Combat Battalion

- Rosy Carreno as SSGT Rose-Attayan gunship pilot

- Petra Carreno as United Earth President Petra Reyes

- Jen Vasquez as Jenny

- Julie Weissner as Julie Weiss

- Lisa MacLean as GNN news anchorwoman Lisa McClain

- Jovannah Briones as Lance Cpl Jo Brion, C-Co., 1st Marine Combat Battalion

Table of Contents

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1.  After the Storm

2.  Minerva’s Wedding

3.  School of Hard Knocks

4.  Mobilization

5.  Into Akron

6.  Decimation

7.  Gathering of Forces

8.  Rising from the Ashes

9.  Dissension

ONE

After the Storm

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Youngstown, Ohio

June 11th

D-Day Plus 40

The town had been lain to waste. 

From one extreme to the other, the streets were littered with rubble.  Homes had been flattened, the debris sometimes so deep and wide-spread that the blacktop of the neighborhood lanes was indistinguishable from the terrain.  Most of the trees had been stripped of their leaves, either burned or blown away by explosions.  Automobiles sat buried and battered among the destruction.  The buildings along downtown still stood, but had suffered severe damage, some with collapsed walls, others gutted by flame. 

There were still a few fires burning, mostly where gas stations had been bombed.  It was a scene of quiet desolation, where there were no birds chirping, not much sound at all-—other than the breeze that whirled eddies of dust and ash.  The afternoon sun baked over everything, relentless and humid.  The air was thick, and the horizon hung heavy with thunderheads, billowing and white, climbing high into a bleached sky that was as bleak as the landscape below.

There were groups of civilians wandering aimlessly through the ruins, their eyes glazed and faces bearing the weight of despair.  Others were trudging slowly along the side of the highway, lugging various sundries that were dear to them, leaving what had once been their homes and beginning the long hike north on Route 62 toward the Liberated Zone.  From there, relief teams would transport them east, across the border into the Pennsylvania Free Zone.

Standing atop a huge pile of concrete and steel rebar that used to be a library, her hair gently caressed by the breeze, Master Sergeant Minerva Carreno surveyed the aftermath of what had been a protracted four-week battle.  Her womanly curves seemed enhanced despite the heavy armor and bulky harnesses that she wore. The myriad of survival gear now matched the battered landscape; pitted and scratched by too many close-calls.  The dirt and dried blood on her face did nothing to obscure her youthful beauty.  The eighteen year old girl was growing into a beautiful, young woman. 

As her gaze swept back and forth across the ruined city, she reflected on the previous month and its horrors.  After the liberation of Hubbard, the three battalions of her regiment had been ordered to continue the push forward and thundered south-west to hit the next Storian stronghold located there in Youngstown.  The infantry of both sides clashed full-force with an intensity that had been staggering.  While Minerva had been both impressed and proud of her fellow Marines, who had found it within themselves to swallow their fear and charge headlong into the fray, she had been forced to admit to herself that the Storian resolve was something to respect.  Their enemy was determined and well-trained, displaying a fortitude on the battlefield that was truly something to behold. 

After four days and nights of sustained fighting, the Storians brought in tanks, forcing the Allies to follow suit.  The armored divisions pounded at one another mercilessly while the troops continued to fight around them, gaining ground only to lose it again.  The mandate to limit civilian casualties and the collateral damage to city property had to be scrapped in this case, and the price for the citizens had been high.  To further the already bad situation, the Storians called in air power-—the first real display of their fast-movers since D-Day, and it had been terrifying.  The jet-shuttles had strafed the lines and dropped ordinance on the Allied tanks with an accuracy that was unrivaled.  Attayan air wings had dropped from orbit in response, where the Allied Space Navy had parked its carrier task force, and the first dog-fight of the war filled the sky above Youngstown while the ground war raged on.  While all of this was taking place, Attayan Elite units far to the west were engaged in battles of their own in order to hold the secondary line, preventing Emperor Grozet from moving reinforcements in on Youngstown.

It took 36 days to drive the Storians out.  More than a month of grasping futilely at mere moments of sleep in shallow foxholes, of eating dwindling rations because supply convoys were delayed by enemy air attacks, and of seeing dear friends falling in battle.   Finally, early that morning, what remained of the Storian First Army, 2nd Regiment, pulled back and fled west across Highway 76.  Now, several hours later, Minerva’s boys and girls sat in groups, utterly exhausted.  The victory there had been hard-won, the full cost of it not to be known for some time, as the Graves Unit was still busy collecting the casualties and collating their data.  The faces of her young troopers, some not a day over seventeen, were those of the old.  Their eyes were dull and bagged, worry lines laced the skin like trenches.  They spoke little, eating their field rations without tasting them, others smoking with hands that trembled.  It was heart-breaking to see.  They were all too young to be burdened with the kind of horror and responsibility that weighed on their shoulders.  Yet, they took it without complaint.  Every one of them were volunteers, some from before the war had broken out, most new arrivals from bases scattered throughout the star system, and the casualty rate had been high.  They were here to defend their home.  Earth would not suffer the same fate as the Denmoore System. Emperor Grozet would be made to pay dearly.

Like vultures, the ever-present media hovered near-by, filming everything.  They had been present throughout the battle, covering it from all angles-—some of the reporters getting themselves killed in doing so.  Here they were again, panning their cameras around the ruins of the city, filming the refugees, her troopers, the bodies.  Minerva resented them almost as badly as she had grown to hate the Storians.  She was thankful that her marines were either too professional or simply too tired to punch them the heck out.  The young men and women simply hung their heads when the cameras passed by, ignoring the stupid questions that the reporters were notorious for asking.

Minerva’s nose wrinkled as the stench of burning bodies wafted across the area in which she stood.  It was an aroma that was indescribable, and would remain forever etched in her memory.  With a sigh, she shouldered her rifle, wiped away some blood-caked dirt from her helmet’s visor, and began walking down the slope of rubble to the ground, carrying it rather than putting it back on.  It was in these quiet moments when she felt the pangs of missing her parents, and of the memories of home.  She tried to push the ache from her mind, and focused on the solemn calm that surrounded her at the moment.  It felt good to feel the air moving against her face after being confined within the armor for so long.  Accumulated filth and sweat had her reeking within her suit. They all stank to high heaven after so much time in the field without relief.  She noticed that Huey-shuttles were approaching from the north.  These were bringing food and water for the civilians still lingering in what used to be their hometown. 

The Surface Navy had parked a carrier group off of the east coast, and was flying in tons of goods via long-range C-130-type shuttles that delivered their payloads to airfields throughout the Free Zone.  From there, the Air Force, Army, and Marine Corps were sharing joint efforts to bring the desperately-needed food and medicines to the populace.  Elements from the United Kingdom were on the ground as well, bolstering the security along the coastline.  As Minerva wandered, she passed an elderly couple, walking hand-in-hand with sad expressions on their faces.  The old man reached out and touched Minerva’s armored sleeve plate, stopping her.

Thank you, the man said, his voice barely a whisper.  His eyes were shiny with tears that were barely held back.

Minerva was astounded, For what?

The old man smiled, understanding her thoughts, "Don’t worry about the town, it can be rebuilt.  You saved us.  You’re saving our right to live.  That’s what matters."

The old woman nodded in agreement, We were scheduled to be executed the day that you came, she explained. Because we were too old to work.

The master sergeant swallowed hard, her mind unable to grasp the inhumanity that was taking place.  Tears of her own burned at her eyes.  It made her all the more determined to not fail these people.  Her people.  The Human Race was depending on her and her Marine brothers and sisters.  She realized that the fight to liberate Earth was merely one stepping point in the campaign.  If the Storian Empire defeated the Allied cause in the Sol System, then the rest of the Trade worlds faced certain disaster. Grozet would spread his occupation armies throughout the galaxy.

The old man touched the unit badge on Minerva’s sleeve plate, just below the chevrons, We knew you would come.  Thank God for the Mighty First!

With that, the couple wandered away, a vision of a lifetime of love.  Minerva wondered what that kind of dedication felt like, to have someone by your side your entire life, sharing in your hopes and dreams and pain and happiness.  She turned and her gaze fell on a squad of her marines, tending to one another’s wounds, laughing and joking, trying to cheer one another up.  Minerva’s heart warmed.  She realized that she did know that feeling, in a different fashion.  Her marines would die for one another.  For her.  They laughed and cried together.  It was a love of comradeship.  In the heat of battle, you fought not for your president, your country, or even your family back home.  You fought for that trooper next to you, who was doing the same for you.  You depended on one another to survive another day, so that eventually, you could see your wife or husband or children again.  When your fellow trooper was injured or killed, the grief was as real and intense as any other.  They did know love and dedication.

The master sergeant, wiping the salty tears from her puffy eyes, walked across what used to be a playground-—evident by the twisted remnants of the slides and the jungle gyms, approaching a particular group of troopers who were busy tending to some wounded civilians.  They were ignoring the ever-present cameras as they worked.

Master Sergeant Corbin, she called out.  Minerva smiled, her eyes shining, and heart feeling as if a weight were lifted from it. 

The young Marine looked up, kneeling in front of a Catholic priest who was getting a leg laceration wrapped.  The boy was only nineteen, but like herself, had rapidly elevated through the ranks thanks to attrition.  So many company commanders had been killed in the past month that those who were deemed dependable enough had been thrust into lead positions at a dizzying rate.  It was far worse for the junior officers. The casualty rate for lieutenants was almost ninety percent!

The Marine finished the bandage and excused himself, leaving the priest in order to speak with the fellow company commander.

They embraced, then kissed.  The two of them were hopelessly in love, a terrible risk in light of the war that they found themselves caught up in.  Their dedication to one another out-weighed the knowledge that the likelihood of surviving together was minimal.  Blind hope, perhaps, but love was a powerful bond under any circumstance.

The members of the 1st Battalion, 83rd Combat Regiment in particular had been on the ground and in the front lines for the entire five weeks of fighting, thanks to the media and their Mighty First label.  The Brass was eating that garbage up just as much as the populace, and delighted themselves in continually thrusting the poor kids into non-stop battle.  It was showing.  Even the senior troopers were displaying the signs of battle-fatigue. 

How are you doing, my love?  She asked him, touching lightly at a nasty gash across his temple.

Mark took a half-smoked cigar stub from one of his pouches and stuck it in his mouth without lighting it, content to simply taste the tobacco for the moment.  He did not answer the question, not out of disrespect, but rather a lack of emotion.  It was an effort to draw any form of opinion-—better to just share one another’s company, even if in silence.  The quiet was welcome anyway, after so many days of thunder brought on by small arms fire and artillery.  Instead, he grasped her hand and gave a squeeze.  She could see that he was at his limits.  His hands trembled.

A familiar figure approached.  The sergeant major was gigantic to begin with, his armor and gear made him look even more so.  He carried his helmet in hand, clenching a cigar of his own between his teeth.  He had an impressive bruise across one side of his face, a gift from a grenade going off near his head.  His helmet was cracked and the visor shattered, but it had saved his life.  He offered a half-hearted grin.

Orders came down on the comm-net a little while ago, Ford mentioned. We’re finally being rotated off the line for a break.

Mark let out a breath of relief and nodded, holding Minerva a bit tighter in his embrace.  She pulled his head down to rest on her shoulder plate, feeling a mix of empathy and warmth, glad that he was willing to show his vulnerabilities to her.  No one judged him for his open display of exhaustion. They all shared the same wearied exhaustion.

Ford watched another squad of his Marines approaching, this one a mix of Terran and Attayan.  The females in the group were easily spotted by the curves of their armor, which had to accommodate the hips and breasts.  Two of the females were holding hands with young men.  Relationships among the troops was not frowned upon, so long as they were within the same rank.  The Brass felt that it helped with morale, and it also was popular with the media.  The whole damned war had become a televised circus, transmitted throughout the Allied systems.  Word was filtering down that there was even fan mail flooding the command garrisons in the Free Zone.

Minerva was Mark’s fiancé.  Ford wondered if such planning was wise, given their surroundings, but their love for one another seemed genuine.  Perhaps it would help carry them through all of this.  He hoped that neither of them would have to face losing the other.

Minerva looked at Ford, her Hispanic eyes pretty even through the fatigue that darkened them.  Her smile came easily, Will we have to wait long?

Ford shook his head no, puffing on his cigar, We’ll shuttle out in a few hours and head back to the Pennsylvania Garrison.  Hot showers, real food, and clean sheets.

A muted celebration went out among the troopers, the relief visible on their faces.  The word spread quickly and within an hour, Marines were filtering to an open field near the Mahoning River, eagerly awaiting the arrival of the Blackhawk Shuttles that would taxi them away by platoons.  The mood had lightened considerably, much to the relief of Ford.  It was vital that his troopers not be pushed to the point of burn-out.  He had plans to plead this case to Colonel Strasburg at the first opportunity, but he had to admit to himself that he was as tired as his kids were, and just wanted a break before tackling something so mundane as reports and paperwork.  The thought of washing a month’s worth of sweat and grime from his body-—followed by a good meal, made his soul salivate. 

Ford let himself show some emotion, and broke into cheers with the kids when the troop transports began arriving, first on the opposite end of the city to deploy the replacement battalions that would take over in their absence.  When the Blackhawks then circled and started landing in the field, the feeling of elation was nearly that of a drunken party.  Minerva took the opportunity to steal another kiss from her beloved.

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Secure Presidential bunker

Somewhere in the Appalachian mountain range

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United Earth President Petra Reyes leaned back against the oak conference table, her arms crossed, and listened intently as Major General Lance Parks detailed the events of the past month.  One entire wall of the meeting room had been re-papered with numerous reports that were updated daily, all bordering a giant U.S. map.  The map itself was dotted with colored pins and labels, each indicating troop positions and movements of both the enemy and the Allied forces.  After nearly a year of suffering under alien occupation, it was extremely satisfying to her in knowing that the Terran Union was finally in a position to flex its growing military might.

Our U.S. Army field commanders that were already on the ground during the outbreak of the invasion back in November had been contacted by Lieutenant General Towers via Anderson Transmission Beam once  Fleet  regained control of our orbital space,  Parks was explaining.  By his order, the Army, backed by the Mexican National Marines, launched coordinated offensives all across the southern line. This was mostly with artillery, but laced with numerous infantry pushes to make it appear as if we were making an attempt to regain ground.

"This tactic was a fantastic success in