Mud

         In spite of all our technology, we still can’t overcome such a simple thing as mud, the Sergeant thought. 

         The hover-tanks and air support and infantry could keep fighting, but unless they got resupplied with ammunition and fuel, they wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long.  Even in 2166, the beans and bullets got to the front by truck, and the traffic control Sergeant had just watched as one truck driver in the convoy decided to disregard his admonition to “Just keep moving, no matter what” and let his truck sink axle-deep in the orange mud of this God-forsaken planet they called Erebus.  What followed was predictable, and the Sergeant could do nothing but watch in horror as one truck after another came to a stop and likewise sank into the slime.

         This counter-attack they were attempting to support had been going great until the always-dark skies of Erebus decided to turn even darker and unleash a torrent of rain and thunder to rival the worst monsoons on Earth.  The rain hit the orange dirt with such force that it wasn’t long before nearly every surface of their 4-meter-high trucks was coated with a sheen of what appeared to be pureed carrots.

         Nothing surprised the Sergeant anymore, though, and he couldn’t afford the time to be shocked.  Right now as he stood knee-deep in the embankment overlooking the supply route, he had a convoy of twenty-two cargo trucks that needed desperately to be three kilometers up this road two hours ago.  His radio crackled, and he heard some muffled noises.  He pulled the device from his belt and wiped the mud off the speaker.

         “This is Paver-Two-Two: say again, over.”  The irony of his call-sign on this planet had long since gotten old.

         “Paver-Two-Two, Sabre-CP: Sabre-Six wants a status on his resupply package,” the radio crackled.  The Sergeant didn’t bother to hide his annoyance from the Private clumsily following him.  He keyed the radio.

         “Tell him it’s en route,” He replied, knowing the line wouldn’t get him far.  He didn’t have time to explain himself to the Brigade Commander right now.

         “Paver, resupply need is now critical, what is your ETA?”  The Sergeant barely heard this last as the gears started turning in his head.  He watched as some of the truck crews got out and started jumping up and down, hopelessly, on their truck bumpers. Some just sat inside, out of the baby-food soup.  Others just stood and watched the flashes from over the next hill as they pierced the dark haze that covered the valley.  Volleys of yellow fire burst out of the sky like thunderbolts from Mt. Olympus.  Dull rumbles reverberated in his ribcage, and made the mud quiver like Jello.

         “Paver, what is your ETA?”  The voice on the radio shouted impatiently.  Something clicked.

         “Soon!  Paver-Two-Two, Out.” He stopped just long enough to take a breath. “Get me the Assault Net,” he spit though the sweet-potato pie filling coating his lips.  His radio operator keyed a few buttons and nodded.  The radio speaker leapt to life as the chaos of the battlefield network erupted.  He wiped the mic clear again and keyed the radio.

         “Break, break, break, this is Paver-Two-Two, I need Close Air Support now!”  he waited, not entirely sure what would happen.

         “Paver, this is Sabre-Six, where the are you, and what have you done with my convoy?  Are you in contact with the enemy?”  Not surprisingly, the Brigade Commander seemed agitated.

         The Sergeant thought for a brief moment, and chose his words carefully.

         “Negative contact, sir, resupply package will be available in five minutes once my CAS gets here.”

         “CAS is currently engaged, what do you need it for?”  the Commander asked.  This one was easy.

         “Mud, sir.”

         Now, the Sergeant knew the Brigade Commander was an educated man.  You couldn’t get to be a one-star General without a little old fashioned book-learnin’.  The Sergeant also knew that as long as men had been killing one another en masse, mud had been making their task all the more difficult.  Julius Caesar, Henry V, and George S. Patton had all experienced what this Brigade Commander was now experiencing, that in spite of the best plan, the best troops, and the best equipment, Mother Nature could always come out nowhere to lay down her almighty judgment in the form of cold, gelatinous, mud.  It was no surprise to the Sergeant, then, that the Brigade Commander suddenly realized the seriousness of the situation, and dispatched four Gunships to the convoy’s encampment, having no idea what the Sergeant could possibly have in mind, but knowing full well that whatever it was had to work, or very likely he and his entire command would soon be dead.

         It didn’t take long to have the truck crews chain all twenty-two trucks bumper-to-bumper.  It took a little convincing to get them all back in their trucks, however, after they saw that he had the Gunships all hook up to the front of the chain of trucks.  After ensuring that the gunship crews understood the importance of delivering their cargo intact to the battlefield, he gave the command to begin dragging the trucks out of the valley.  The gunships eased forward until the chains went taut, then surged forth with their powerful engines, and slowly pulled the first truck.  Within a few moments the entire convoy was sliding up the hill toward the battle on the other side, the first few trucks occasionally being lifted entirely off the ground in the process.  It was a strange sight, like some perverse militant version of Santa’s Reindeer.

         As soon as the convoy was out of sight, he turned back to his radio man to see an amused grin on the kid’s face.

         “I certainly ain’t never seen that before,” the Private chuckled.  The Sergeant just shrugged.

         “That’s war.”

         The radio crackled.

         “Paver-Two-Two, Convoy-Three-Six, entering your sector.”

         “Come on down, Three-Six, and when you get here, just keep moving, no matter what.”





1000 words