An Iron Fic Eleven Entry.
The Landing, by Rooster455
Disclaimer: I do not own Saving Private Ryan. At all. Even though it is an amazing movie.
-----
June 6, 2144.
Dog Green Complex, Omaha Moon.
His hand shakes as he reaches for his airtight canteen.
After taking a deep drink from the canister, he returns it to its place on his combat webbing and tugs the airtight helmet back down. His shaking hand makes resealing the damned helmet a chore in itself but he eventually gets it locked. Captain John H. Miller glances around at the landing craft filled with his fellow Rangers. Out the thick windows he can see dozens of similar spacecraft, all filled with soldiers as well, silently cruising through space towards their destination.
ôClear the ramps! Thirty seconds!ö Calls the pilot.
ôAlright, move fast and clear out the airlocks. The moment we have those weÆre secure.ö Miller says calmly over the squad channel.
Sergeant Horvath turns and faces the others, speaking as well. ôI want plenty of room between men. Five men together: theyÆre targeting computers will lock right on to you. One man alone, though, is a waste of ammo.ö
Miller picks up when his Sergeant stops. ôKeep the lunar dust out of your weapons. Keep your actions clear. IÆll see you inside the complex.ö
Almost the second the words are out of his mouth the space throughout the landing craft lights up as long-range flak explodes in their midst. The rounds are inaccurate at such a long range but the ships immediately dive into evasive maneuvers. The soldiers roll and pitch with the movement of their ship.
One manÆs stomach is too weak and he turns green, quickly unlatching his helmet, pulling it off, and puking onto the floor. The others try to recoil away but there isnÆt enough room in the cramped troop ship.
Miller ignores the man and looks out the window at their destination. Smoke from the pre-invasion bombardment veils some of their objective, but not all of it. A huge complex stretches over the desolate dirt and rock of the moon, looking imposing and impregnable. Long-range flak streaks from the complexÆs railguns, rising from the surface to meet the incoming invaders. One round is lucky and strikes a landing craft head on. The ship explodes brilliantly, then abruptly the flames vanish, having burned off all their fuel, leaving only a charred hulk and an expanding cloud of metal and flesh.
ôTen seconds! Depressurizing!ö Says the pilot loudly. Despite the carnage and explosions around them, there is no noise. The lack of air eliminates the sounds of war just outside the ship.
The men tense, ready to charge out of the duel ramps of the ship. There is a snap-hissssssss as the air inside disappears in seconds to match the vacuum of space around them.
Almost as soon as the hissing stops, the landing craft lands with a jarring impact and the ramps on the side of the ship drop down to let the payload of Rangers out onto the white powdery dirt of the moon.
The second the ramp goes down, a hailstorm of bullets tear into the Rangers. Airtight helmets shatter and explode as the air inside rush out of the holes that riddle their faceplates. Warm blood spurts from jagged holes in their combat suits, then instantly freezes. Screams explode over the communications system.
Miller throws himself out of the craft, diving out of the landing craftÆs artificial gravity and into the moonÆs natural one. Time seems to slow down as men spill onto the moon rocks, some desperately trying to patch hole in their suits, but falling limp when the air is pulled straight from their lungs, killing them.
The carnage is a mixture of slow motion and hyper fast action, one picture superimposed on another, like a bad slide show with the slides forced together in strange ways. Explosions from enemy rockets send waves of darting shrapnel in all directions, but the men hit by the white-hot shards fall in slow motion as they are weakly pulled by the moonÆs gravity.
Rising to his feet, Miller grabs one of his men nearby, hauls him to his feet and charges as fast at the weak gravity allows. They take cover behind an anti-landing craft obstacle but bullets still whip by them. One of the slugs finds its mark dead center in the chest of the soldier that Miller had dragged up. The kid slumps and falls.
Before he can become too caught up in the sight of the dead man a rocket explodes next to Miller and he instinctively recoils away. When he recovers from the shock enough he realizes he canÆt hear the others. His communication gear must have been damaged in the explosion, he realizes.
The silence of space seems complete as the Captain looks around, dazed, at the horrors around him. He looks over and sees a landing craft, on fire. The blaze is kept alive by the shipÆs own oxygen producers and leaking oil. Men seem to amble down the ramps, their own oxygen tanks creating a raging inferno in the confines of their suits, but they seem unaffected, until they slump and drop to the ground, dead.
Miller returns his attention to his immediate surroundings and sees a soldier, the exaggerated mouth movements the kid is making letting him know that the soldier is trying to yell at him. His radio suddenly pops and the kidÆs yelling becomes loudly apparent.
ôàI said, æWhat the hell do we do now, sir!!ö The kid yells.
ôCaptain Miller!ö Another voice yells and Miller looks up to see Sergeant Horvath yelling at him as well.
ôSergeant!ö Miller responds after taking a moment to collect himself. ôGet your men off the dirt and into the complex!ö
The grizzled man nods and yells over the squad channel. ôOkay, you guys! Get on my ass and follow me!ö He meets actions to words and rises from the crater he had been taking cover in, charging forward. Hesitantly most of the men rise and follow, including Miller.
They dive and duck from crater to crater, obstacle to obstacle, trying to find as much cover as they can as they charge the complex. Screams echo loudly over the radio as men are cut down and shredded by shrapnel or bullets. Most of the screams end quickly as even the lightly wounded die of asphyxiation, but some are quick enough to put seals over the hole in their suits and their wounded cries wail over the communication system until, finally, thereÆs only blessed, cursed silence of death.
The whole way to the complex, Miller can hear his own heavy breathing, amplified by the confines of his helmet. Miller and a few men who were able to keep up toss themselves against the outside walls of the compound, pressing against the relative safety of the wall.
Miller turns to a soldier next to him, pats the man to get his attention and yells, ôWhoÆs in charge, here?ö
The soldier looks at the officer insignia and yells back, ôYou are!ö
Gritting his teeth, the Captain looks around and finds a radioman right next to him. Patting him as well, Miller addresses the man. ôTell command that the first wave has been ineffective! No heavy mechs have made it to the surface intact! Taking heavy casualties!ö
The man nods and turns to relay the message and the Captain looks around in time to see Sergeant Horvath land against the wall a few yards down. ôSergeant! WhoÆs here?!ö He asks and his trusted NCO looks around.
ôReiben, Jackson, Mellish, and Caparzo!ö The Sarge responds.
ôWadeÆs still out there!ö One of the men, Mellish, yells. Suddenly the medic, Wade, is among them. HeÆs all but useless out here in the vacuum of space where treating wounded is impossible.
Miller nods, trying not to think about all the Rangers who were lying dead on the pale white lunar surface. He turns to address the radioman again, but comes to a stop when he sees the armored faceplate on the man has been blown out, a smoking hole having replaced where the manÆs face had been.
Turning back to the situation at hand, Miller sees that no gap has been made in the thick wall they are huddled behind, even though need to get through it and inside.
ôShape charges!ö The Captain calls. The call goes up the line of men huddled against the wall and a few men dart as fast they can back out into the killing fields, grab bundles off of some of the dead bodies, then run back to press back against the wall.
ôWe got æem!ö One of the men yells and Miller nods.
ôGood job, now set those charges and letÆs get in there! We need to make way for the second wave!ö He yells and the men get to work. After a minute the charges are set.
ôFire in the hole!!ö
The call repeats down the line and the shape charges explode, blasting holes though the thick walls. Even the charges that donÆt penetrate the structure weaken the wall enough that the pressure of the air inside forces the holes wider as the air rushes out.
The moment the air is gone the soldiers rush into the buffer rooms, which act like double hulls on an old oil tanker. Into the breach the men charge, their advance quickened as they reach artificial gravity.
Ignoring the slight shake of his hand, Miller gets a tight grip on his weapon and charges in too.
-----
The next(?) installment: 'Storming the Complex.'
The Landing, by Rooster455
Disclaimer: I do not own Saving Private Ryan. At all. Even though it is an amazing movie.
-----
June 6, 2144.
Dog Green Complex, Omaha Moon.
His hand shakes as he reaches for his airtight canteen.
After taking a deep drink from the canister, he returns it to its place on his combat webbing and tugs the airtight helmet back down. His shaking hand makes resealing the damned helmet a chore in itself but he eventually gets it locked. Captain John H. Miller glances around at the landing craft filled with his fellow Rangers. Out the thick windows he can see dozens of similar spacecraft, all filled with soldiers as well, silently cruising through space towards their destination.
ôClear the ramps! Thirty seconds!ö Calls the pilot.
ôAlright, move fast and clear out the airlocks. The moment we have those weÆre secure.ö Miller says calmly over the squad channel.
Sergeant Horvath turns and faces the others, speaking as well. ôI want plenty of room between men. Five men together: theyÆre targeting computers will lock right on to you. One man alone, though, is a waste of ammo.ö
Miller picks up when his Sergeant stops. ôKeep the lunar dust out of your weapons. Keep your actions clear. IÆll see you inside the complex.ö
Almost the second the words are out of his mouth the space throughout the landing craft lights up as long-range flak explodes in their midst. The rounds are inaccurate at such a long range but the ships immediately dive into evasive maneuvers. The soldiers roll and pitch with the movement of their ship.
One manÆs stomach is too weak and he turns green, quickly unlatching his helmet, pulling it off, and puking onto the floor. The others try to recoil away but there isnÆt enough room in the cramped troop ship.
Miller ignores the man and looks out the window at their destination. Smoke from the pre-invasion bombardment veils some of their objective, but not all of it. A huge complex stretches over the desolate dirt and rock of the moon, looking imposing and impregnable. Long-range flak streaks from the complexÆs railguns, rising from the surface to meet the incoming invaders. One round is lucky and strikes a landing craft head on. The ship explodes brilliantly, then abruptly the flames vanish, having burned off all their fuel, leaving only a charred hulk and an expanding cloud of metal and flesh.
ôTen seconds! Depressurizing!ö Says the pilot loudly. Despite the carnage and explosions around them, there is no noise. The lack of air eliminates the sounds of war just outside the ship.
The men tense, ready to charge out of the duel ramps of the ship. There is a snap-hissssssss as the air inside disappears in seconds to match the vacuum of space around them.
Almost as soon as the hissing stops, the landing craft lands with a jarring impact and the ramps on the side of the ship drop down to let the payload of Rangers out onto the white powdery dirt of the moon.
The second the ramp goes down, a hailstorm of bullets tear into the Rangers. Airtight helmets shatter and explode as the air inside rush out of the holes that riddle their faceplates. Warm blood spurts from jagged holes in their combat suits, then instantly freezes. Screams explode over the communications system.
Miller throws himself out of the craft, diving out of the landing craftÆs artificial gravity and into the moonÆs natural one. Time seems to slow down as men spill onto the moon rocks, some desperately trying to patch hole in their suits, but falling limp when the air is pulled straight from their lungs, killing them.
The carnage is a mixture of slow motion and hyper fast action, one picture superimposed on another, like a bad slide show with the slides forced together in strange ways. Explosions from enemy rockets send waves of darting shrapnel in all directions, but the men hit by the white-hot shards fall in slow motion as they are weakly pulled by the moonÆs gravity.
Rising to his feet, Miller grabs one of his men nearby, hauls him to his feet and charges as fast at the weak gravity allows. They take cover behind an anti-landing craft obstacle but bullets still whip by them. One of the slugs finds its mark dead center in the chest of the soldier that Miller had dragged up. The kid slumps and falls.
Before he can become too caught up in the sight of the dead man a rocket explodes next to Miller and he instinctively recoils away. When he recovers from the shock enough he realizes he canÆt hear the others. His communication gear must have been damaged in the explosion, he realizes.
The silence of space seems complete as the Captain looks around, dazed, at the horrors around him. He looks over and sees a landing craft, on fire. The blaze is kept alive by the shipÆs own oxygen producers and leaking oil. Men seem to amble down the ramps, their own oxygen tanks creating a raging inferno in the confines of their suits, but they seem unaffected, until they slump and drop to the ground, dead.
Miller returns his attention to his immediate surroundings and sees a soldier, the exaggerated mouth movements the kid is making letting him know that the soldier is trying to yell at him. His radio suddenly pops and the kidÆs yelling becomes loudly apparent.
ôàI said, æWhat the hell do we do now, sir!!ö The kid yells.
ôCaptain Miller!ö Another voice yells and Miller looks up to see Sergeant Horvath yelling at him as well.
ôSergeant!ö Miller responds after taking a moment to collect himself. ôGet your men off the dirt and into the complex!ö
The grizzled man nods and yells over the squad channel. ôOkay, you guys! Get on my ass and follow me!ö He meets actions to words and rises from the crater he had been taking cover in, charging forward. Hesitantly most of the men rise and follow, including Miller.
They dive and duck from crater to crater, obstacle to obstacle, trying to find as much cover as they can as they charge the complex. Screams echo loudly over the radio as men are cut down and shredded by shrapnel or bullets. Most of the screams end quickly as even the lightly wounded die of asphyxiation, but some are quick enough to put seals over the hole in their suits and their wounded cries wail over the communication system until, finally, thereÆs only blessed, cursed silence of death.
The whole way to the complex, Miller can hear his own heavy breathing, amplified by the confines of his helmet. Miller and a few men who were able to keep up toss themselves against the outside walls of the compound, pressing against the relative safety of the wall.
Miller turns to a soldier next to him, pats the man to get his attention and yells, ôWhoÆs in charge, here?ö
The soldier looks at the officer insignia and yells back, ôYou are!ö
Gritting his teeth, the Captain looks around and finds a radioman right next to him. Patting him as well, Miller addresses the man. ôTell command that the first wave has been ineffective! No heavy mechs have made it to the surface intact! Taking heavy casualties!ö
The man nods and turns to relay the message and the Captain looks around in time to see Sergeant Horvath land against the wall a few yards down. ôSergeant! WhoÆs here?!ö He asks and his trusted NCO looks around.
ôReiben, Jackson, Mellish, and Caparzo!ö The Sarge responds.
ôWadeÆs still out there!ö One of the men, Mellish, yells. Suddenly the medic, Wade, is among them. HeÆs all but useless out here in the vacuum of space where treating wounded is impossible.
Miller nods, trying not to think about all the Rangers who were lying dead on the pale white lunar surface. He turns to address the radioman again, but comes to a stop when he sees the armored faceplate on the man has been blown out, a smoking hole having replaced where the manÆs face had been.
Turning back to the situation at hand, Miller sees that no gap has been made in the thick wall they are huddled behind, even though need to get through it and inside.
ôShape charges!ö The Captain calls. The call goes up the line of men huddled against the wall and a few men dart as fast they can back out into the killing fields, grab bundles off of some of the dead bodies, then run back to press back against the wall.
ôWe got æem!ö One of the men yells and Miller nods.
ôGood job, now set those charges and letÆs get in there! We need to make way for the second wave!ö He yells and the men get to work. After a minute the charges are set.
ôFire in the hole!!ö
The call repeats down the line and the shape charges explode, blasting holes though the thick walls. Even the charges that donÆt penetrate the structure weaken the wall enough that the pressure of the air inside forces the holes wider as the air rushes out.
The moment the air is gone the soldiers rush into the buffer rooms, which act like double hulls on an old oil tanker. Into the breach the men charge, their advance quickened as they reach artificial gravity.
Ignoring the slight shake of his hand, Miller gets a tight grip on his weapon and charges in too.
-----
The next(?) installment: 'Storming the Complex.'