Kame Havard
By Emerson Kluge

A high pitched whistle jolted Dean Chapman to attention. He looked around and over the crumbled wall he had been leaning against, trying to find some indication of what he was supposed to do. The whistle meant to advance, but he knew neither the direction he was supposed to go, nor whom he was supposed to go with. He heard the scuffling of boots and a figure approached through the smoke drifting across the battlefield.

“Oh no! The Commissar” he thought, images of the officers brutal subjugation instantly coming to mind.

Just as he was about to panic the figure moved closer and Dean saw it was not the dreaded man and his pistol, but Kame Havard - a veteran from Company B.

Kame ran toward him in a crouch holding two rifles, carefully staying behind the wall. He stopped beside Dean and handed the inexperienced soldier one of the guns.

“Here,” he said. “load this and come with me. If the Commissar sees you, you’ll be shot.” Kame waited, Dean starred at him, momentarily stunned. “Where are your rounds?” asked Kame.

Dean came to his senses and reached into his trench coat pocket for the stripper clip of five rifle bullets he had been issued this morning.

“Good,” Said the veteran. “Now load this rifle and come with me.”

Dean obeyed and followed Kame, copying his movements as best he could. They came to the end of the wall and the edge of a wide boulevard. The smoke had cleared considerably, enough so that peering over the wall, Dean could see a fortified position at a bridgehead. Another few Groundlings joined Dean and Kame behind the wall, followed shortly by a Commissar who examined the sandbag fortification through his binoculars. He then summoned five more Groundlings and gave his order.

“See that wall down there?” growled the commander, pointing to a crumbled concrete barrier farther towards the bridge. “Go to it.” He blew his whistle and the group of ten Groundings dashed out, Kame and Dean in the lead. Moments later, a machinegun swept the road. Kame grabbed Dean’s head and pushed it down, throwing him face first behind a curb and taking cover right next to him.

“Wait for them to move to different targets,” instructed Kame as bullets cracked above them. The machine gunner aimed for the still running Groundlings, and the sound of the bullets moved away. “Now run.”

Dean got up and ran as fast as he could toward the wall, ducking behind it as chipped concrete from bullet strikes skittered across the ground beside him. Kame made it at the same time and was again carrying two rifles, having picked one up from a fallen Groundling while crossing the street. He handed it to one of the still unarmed soldiers.

Seven of them had made it to the wall, but one was breathing more heavily than the rest and sweating profusely. Dean looked the man over, and noticed a hole in his trench coat below his left arm. He had been hit and was bleeding internally. The wounded Groundling looked around at the other soldiers as if to ask for help, but didn’t make a noise. Moments later, his breaths became short and faded before he finally relaxed and slumped over.

“Covering fire!” screamed the Commissar from the other side of the street.

Kame immediately poked his head over the wall and began to calmly take aimed shots at the fortification. Dean and the other armed Groundlings did the same but while they shot, Dean found his rifle wouldn’t go off. The pin was cocked - that he could see - but the trigger just clicked instead of firing the weapon. Without looking, Kame reached and turned off the safety on Deans gun before calmly resuming fire. The younger man pointed the gun at the position down the street and shot off his five rounds before the Commissar yelled to cease fire.

“Reload now.” Kame said, reaching into his pockets, pulling out two stripper clips of ammo and loading them into his rifle.

Dean’s throat seized, he hadn’t though about getting more bullets. “I - I don’t have any more.” he finally managed to say.

“Take his,” Kame motioned toward their just dead comrade. Dean hesitated. “Go on, he doesn’t need it and you do.”

Squeamishly, Dean searched the dead mans pockets and retrieved six full stripper clips and a half dozen loose rounds. Pulling the bolt back, he put one stripper clip and five of the loose rounds into the rifles magazine. The other ammo went into his pockets.

“Covering fire!” yelled the Commissar again, and they resumed shooting at the fortification. This time while they were doing so, a three-man team carried a machinegun on a tripod down the side of the boulevard and behind the barrier.

“Groundlings cease fire! Machineguns, covering fire! Groundlings advance!” came the orders before the high pitched whistle.

The machinegun opened up as Kame and Dean, along with the other four surviving Groundlings, jumped the wall and ran toward the fortified bridgehead. The enemies countering machinegun fire became too intense just as they reached the rusting carcass of a long dead van. The Commissar had advanced as well, and could see they were pinned down. Though brutal in discipline and expecting total obedience, the Commissars were in charge for a reason. A few moments later, the Commissars’ Director arrived carrying a weasel grenade launcher and a box of rounds.

Kame picked it up and handed it to Dean. “I already know how to use this.” the veteran said.

Dean hesitantly took the makeshift weapon and held it gingerly, not knowing what to expect. Kame reached over and flipped the sight up. “Just line up how far you think the target is away with the sight on the end of the gun. We’re about 70 meters away.”

Dean opened the box of rounds and took out one of the heavy grenades. He dropped it down the barrel and heard a click as it hit the bottom. Aiming just as Kame told him he squeezed the trigger. There was a terrific kick and a loud hollow pop as the gun went off. A few moments later, a section of sandbags in the fortification erupted in a light brown cloud. Explosions began peppering the position as other groups of Groundlings shot at it with their launchers as well.

Soon, one of the enemies’ tracked APCs appeared and began spraying the Prol positions with its mounted cannon. The Groundlings threw themselves to the earth as the large slugs tore through their cover. At the same time, the machinegun fire from the fortification stopped and moments later, the APC turned and drove into the smoke, its rear doors slamming shut.

As soon as it was out of sight, the high-pitched whistle sounded again. Dean and the other Groundlings approached the battered fortification. Company B appeared from the bush on the opposite side of the road, and Kame began moving towards them, handing Dean his rifle. “Good luck.” he said as he passed.

The Commissar declared a rest period and a Convert APC carrying food and water arrived at the fortification a short time later. Dean received his large, hard ration bread and one liter of water spiked with just a touch of alcohol. Softening the bread in the water, he sauntered down the road they had just captured and came upon a pile of bodies where another unit of Groundlings had tried to cross. He finished his bread and, less squeamishly than before, searched their pockets for ammo until noticing the muzzle of a rifle poking out from under one of the fallen men. He rolled the body over and picked it up. It was serviceable, but empty. Dean carried it back with him to the fortification and sat down with his back to the sandbag wall. A Groundling, looking scared and confused, sat beside him and glanced around nervously. Dean opened the bolt on the retrieved rifle and passed it to the man.

“Here,” he said “load this.”