Mortars exploded no more than thirty seconds after his daughter had departed. Hitch and Kieu-Linh quickly donned helmets and flak jackets, then rushed out to find protection. Old instincts had Hitch rising for a fight, his mind already taking in every detail and craving more.

Plumes of dust were close by, and more impacts pounded within a hundred meters. Hitch heard shouts around them, the rattle of a .50 caliber exploding to their east.

“We're being overrun!” a man shouted with excitement and fear. “They're through the wire!”

Hitch could see a mass of soldiers shuffling in a disorganized manner back from the direction of the defensive front. It was instinct that made him take charge. “Get back on the line!” He shouted. “Hold while the wounded are moved out! Buy them time!”

The threat and force he projected stopped the soldiers, causing them to hesitate. Hitch pressed further. “Show me where! Come on, rally on me!” He gripped his carbine tightly, Kieu-Linh beside him doing the same.

One of the men began to control his panic, eyes still wide, turning and heading back towards the front, the others following more slowly. Hitch rushed forward without a second thought. He could tell from the growing barrage of artillery and mortars that the attack was serious and directed at the western defenses. The cacophony of gunfire became a steady scream of snapping and rattling and popping which drowned out all else, punctuated by explosions of incoming rounds.

Hitch and Kieu-Linh dove into a shallow hole large enough for four men, sandbags giving a bit of protection to the front. He was close to the action, could see soldiers a hundred meters to his front firing over their bunkers towards unseen enemy ahead. Two bloody bodies were crumpled not far from the front line.

Hitch drew in a slow breath, calming his thoughts and quickly taking measure of the assault. The Imps were concentrated on a spot which would have been the weakest point along the several hundred meters of defenses, an approach a few dozen meters wide which had a north-south slope and was not perfectly sighted to create interlocking fields of machine gun fire, and likely, Hitch thought, a difficult draw to drop mortars from the Patriot batteries.

He looked around to find that the soldiers who had been retreating in panic had all returned, taking up places behind him, firing without aiming. He spotted an antenna behind a boulder, a radioman. Hitch looked at Kieu-Linh, said quickly, “trust your instincts!” and rushed off to slide behind the boulder, Kieu-Linh just behind him.

A frightened young officer was in a crouch, appearing as a small ball with ankles and feet just below. The man had frozen and was not leading the platoon facing the assault. “Lieutenant!” Hitch screamed over the violent noise. “We need mortars! Just there!” he said, pointing to where he suspected the Imps were firing their heavy machine gun up the rise towards their positions. “We're pinned down, the mortars can give us space!”

The Lieutenant looked at him with wide eyes, stuttering, “I-I... I tried... I...”

Hitch turned the radio operator around, found himself looking into the eyes of an equally frightened young woman, probably still in her teens. “Do you know the coordinates?” Hitch yelled to her, pointing again, asking if she could direct the batteries to a pre-registered spot down the slope. When she nodded, he yelled in her ear, “call it! Men are dying out there!”

“B-b-but... we're too close!” she yelled. “We might get hit!”

“We're gonna get hit by the Imps any second. Do it!”

The woman rallied and called in a request. Thirty seconds later, mortars splashed down about fifty meters ahead of the forward positions, right on target. Hitch yelled to her, “keep it coming until I tell you to cancel it. Keep it up, we can repel this!” he shouted, feeling the thrill and terror mix in him to create the blood-pumping exhilaration that he'd known so many times before.

He raced back to the protection ahead of him, Kieu-Linh right behind. The mortars had slowed the assault. Several soldiers were dragging back wounded from the front line of defenses, leaving a weaker point in the line. Hitch grabbed the two soldiers in the foxhole with him, yelling, “fill those holes! Come on!” He rushed forward in a running crouch, eyes scanning ahead quickly. He and Kieu-Linh dove headfirst into the holes at the front of the line, the other soldiers doing the same in a small bunker to their left. He looked back to see a few others rushing forward to fill spots which had been left bloody and undefended by wounded Patriots.

Rifle shots and heavy slugs zinged around him, some impacting the sandbags, others kicking up dirt before ricocheting randomly away. Hitch switched the safety off of his carbine, and nodded to Kieu-Linh to do the same. He yelled into her ear, “we have to hold this line!”

Hitch peered around the edge of the sandbag and could see movement below. He emptied his clip in that direction, slammed a new one in, and emptied it as well. He saw a head poke up above the brush and took it under fire. It dropped back, and though he hadn't seen the impact, Hitch felt sure that he'd dropped the man. He was aware of Kieu-Linh sending three-round bursts forward of their position, but he had no time to admire her bravery in that moment.

A runner came up through the fire, rushing in a crouch from bunker to bunker, carrying heavy bandoliers of ammunition, slinging them at the soldiers returning fire and moving on to the next. Hitch appreciated the young man's courage.

He felt something punch against his shoulder but he was too full of adrenaline to look. He saw a squad of Imps moving up during a lull in the mortar barrage, and he took two down immediately, causing the others to flatten and fire wildly in his direction. He was aware of Kieu-Linh changing a mag as she hunkered down behind the sandbags, sweat running down her face and arms. The runner had slung three bandoliers in their hole, so Hitch felt they had enough ammo to hold out for a moment.

“Keep firing, I'll be right back!” Hitch yelled, rushing quickly back to the officer and radio operator. “Why isn't the MG firing?”

“They all got hit!” The Lieutenant said in his ear, “we can't get to the gun!”

“Bullshit,” Hitch growled. “Where is it?”

The young officer pointed.

“Push two men up to fill that hole,” Hitch screamed, motioning to where Kieu-Linh was changing out another magazine as a grenade exploded no more than seven or eight meters to her right, “I'll get to the MG!”

While the Lieutenant was beginning to recover his wits, yelling to men to his rear to move up, Hitch raced back to Kieu-Linh, breathing heavily, “come with me and bring the ammo!”

He rushed up the slope and over a line of low brush. He could hear shouts below him as men called for medics or ammunition. The Lieutenant's voice was among them, the man screaming that he'd been hit. Hitch couldn't waste time to help him, they needed that machine gun manned to put enfilading fire on the approaching Imps.

Mortars continued to come down on both sides of the line. It was impossible to tell which was which in the close quarters. Larger artillery shells boomed both in front of and behind him, the heavier batteries brought to bear all around the position. He heard jets scream in as he paused under heavy fire which kept him and Kieu-Linh pinned down behind low rocks. They were high over head, and it wasn't clear if they were friendly or not. He knew, from discussions with some of the soldiers, that the Imps had challenged the Free American forces for control of the skies but didn't have enough firepower to do more than harass them most days.

The machine gun which had been hammering their position shifted to the north and took another defensive unit under fire. It gave Hitch and Kieu-Linh enough time to sprint to the machine gun emplacement. Two men were sprawled out, killed, a mortar crater centered on the pit, bits of flesh and blood and brains looking all-to-fresh and horrific. A blood trail leading away from the gun seemed to indicate that at least one soldier might have been wounded and survived long enough to drag himself to the rear.

Hitch slammed to the ground behind the gun and checked it for damage. It seemed to be operational, small nicks around the base from the mortar, but otherwise, looked ready to fire. A fresh belt had already been fed, and Hitch automatically took hold and sighted his targets. He yelled to Kieu-Linh beside him, “keep the belt steady and keep your head down!” Though they'd never had a machine gun to practice with, he'd taught her the theory behind the two-man gun team and how to handle both roles. Kieu-Linh took the belt and held it in place as he pulled the trigger, her eyes wide, her body shaking, blood dripping down one arm and near her left ear.

Fire roared out of the barrel as he sent hot lead out and down the slope to where the assaulting platoon had moved up another few meters despite the hail of bullets and mortars all around. Hitch tore up men and rocks and bushes as if they were paper dolls, sprays of blood and dust in equal parts creating a mist of brown and red. He spotted an officer and nearly decapitated him, the rest of the platoon drawing flat and trying to hide. They started to fire at him, and he tried to keep his head down, rounds dinging off the barrel and around the sandbags providing some cover to his body but none to his head.

The belt ran out and he rushed Kieu-Linh through the reload, soon sending more bullets down on the positions below. A grenade exploded below him on the rise, then another. A squad had crept closer to them and was too low to hit with the .50 cal. “They're right below us! Roll your grenades down!” Kieu-Linh dropped the ammo belt and pulled the pin on the first grenade. She dropped it down in front of them. It went off seconds later when she flicked the pin to detonate it, and then she dropped another.

No more grenades were thrown back, and Kieu-Linh took up the belt again, feeding the gun as quickly as it pulled for more. Hitch could tell the barrel was already getting hot, flames spurting out and smoke starting to sizzle from the tip. He couldn't keep up the rate of fire without cooling it down. “Pour a canteen on it!” He screamed, pointing to the hot barrel.

Kieu-Linh ducked a moment as more fire came their direction. When Hitch pinned it down, she rose up, rounds still zinging close by her head, then emptied her canteen over the barrel, the scalding metal sending a rush of painful steam over her arms. She yanked back only after the last drops had settled, her forearm red and angry.

“You're bleeding!” Kieu-Linh yelled into his ear as she dove back beside him and retook the ammo belt. Hitch had no time to look. He sent rounds into a pocket of earth below where a squad-sized force of Imps had made the mistake of bunching up and seeking cover together. His .50 cal tore them to shreds.

Mortars rained down heavily again, and it was so intense that Hitch released the gun and huddled over Kieu-Linh to protect her from the shrapnel. He felt hot stings along his leg but ignored it as best he could. His ears were ringing and he knew his hearing was becoming a dull rumble of formless noise. Kieu-Linh said something, but he couldn't make it out. When the mortars slowed a moment, he rose back to the gun and could see the Imp troops pulling back, many of them dragging wounded and killed comrades down the slope and behind the cover of the low hill below. Someone was walking friendly mortars as they fled, killing more and leaving a trail of body parts and moaning soldiers in its wake.

Hitch kept firing as long as he had targets, soon running out of ammo. He and Kieu-Linh rushed back to the Lieutenant's former position, only to find it vacant and empty. The person now in charge was an old sergeant with a splatter of blood on her face, more on her arms and hands, loudly directing her men and women to “pour it on!” to encourage the retreat.

The mortars became distant as they followed the Imps down the pass and well to the west and south. Gunfire from rifles became a sputter, then stopped completely. The silence which followed was eerie.

Hitch's hearing was shot for the moment. He could barely make out Kieu-Linh's words when she repeated, “you're bleeding!” In the lull, he let her take his flak jacket off and pull up his shirt sleeve. A red, angry hole pulsed out blood with his heartbeat, the bullet having entered just an inch from where his flak jacket would have protected him, exiting through a meaty part of his upper back. It started to hurt like hell.

A medic was there suddenly, on his knees. He worked quickly to stop the flow of blood and wrapped a hasty bandage over it. “Pain?” he asked, barely audible over the ringing in Hitch's ears. He knew the man was asking if he wanted morphine. Hitch shook his head, the pain tremendous but he was unwilling to be doped up so long as he could stomach it.

The medic moved on to where another soldier was holding a cloth over a large shrapnel wound. Kieu-Linh had blood on her pants legs, and when Hitch pulled one up, he could see that she had taken slivers of metal from the mortar impacts. He tried to pick them out of her skin, but she pushed him away, the metal stuck fast in her flesh. More were near her ear, those creating a splatter of red welts slowly dripping blood down her neck. Another medic came up soon after and began to treat the wounds along her jawline, saying that the leg could wait. Hitch encouraged her to accept the morphine lollipop, and Kieu-Linh was better able to endure the rough treatment necessary to dislodge the stuck metal from her head and leg after the opiate had dulled her senses.

Willow rushed up with her aide and another officer, crouching down, and looking quickly to Hitch's bandaged shoulder before catching his eye.

- - -

It hadn't surprised her to see her dad near the front line at the weakest point. She'd had no time to evacuate him and his wife before the assault had tore through the lower defenses and pushed fast to overrun the camp. Willow had organized the defenses from her command-and-control tent, doing her best to keep her young officers calm and issuing sensible orders. She had a lot of replacements in her brigade, and though her subordinate officers did a fine job, the platoon and company leaders were often green and easily overwhelmed in combat. This late in the war, it was hard to find veteran leadership for her grunts, and she was thankful for the few surviving NCOs who continued to serve and provide direction in the chaos of battle.

She had no time to ask her dad personal questions, instead, she said, “debrief, then get back to the medical tent to get seen. Both of you. Report.”

Her father made it clear that he was having trouble hearing, but he understood what she was asking anyway. “Company moved in force up there,” he said, pointing, “the MG was knocked out first, and there was some panic which was quickly turned back to the defense.” Willow was certain that was an understatement. She'd seen soldiers flee in fear too often, and it took a steady hand and a dedicated leader, usually in front of the pack, to get them to return to their positions.

“We got the MG back up and used enfilading fire and mortars to stop the assault below that line of brush. A few got closer, and we eliminated them as well. They've moved down about a klick, beyond that hill. Their mortars provided cover for the retreat.”

Her father gave report instinctively, and it made her proud to see him in his element, despite his injuries. She was surprised to see that his young wife had apparently been in the battle, as well, shrapnel wounds obvious on her legs and neck. There was blood on her hands, and she was cradling her carbine while eyeing the pass below them.

Willow had to move on. There'd been a lack of reports from the western lines, several of the radios destroyed and several radio operators wounded or killed. She nodded, then moved off to the platoon holding the flank to the left.

- - -

The field doctor stitched his wound with a rough hand, but Hitch gritted his teeth and bore it quietly. He'd had worse treatment in the field. They were sitting on a flat rock near where they'd fought from the machine gun pit, having passed the doctors on to those in more need of aid until they finally returned, saying Hitch was next. His hearing was still shot, but the ringing had gone down and he could make out words more clearly.

At least the wound appeared to be a minor one, all things considered. Another medic was carefully picking metal out of Kieu-Linh's legs, several dozen small, bloody holes in her skin. He was proud to see that she was handling the pain relatively well.

The medic finished patching his shoulder and started to pick at the shrapnel in his legs. He had just a few, still painful, but he was done before the man working on Kieu-Linh had pulled the last fragment from her body. They were patched up and dismissed, hobbling together back to where their tent used to sit. It had been blown over by a mortar shell, collapsed and laying on its side, covered in dirt and debris. They dug through the interior for their packs and gear, then humped up the side of the rise to where he knew the command officers had been located.

He wasn't going looking for his daughter. He knew she was too busy in after-action briefings and arranging new plans and defenses. Instead, the brigade hospital was in that area and he hoped to locate the young Lieutenant who had panicked during the firefight. They found the hospital and stepped inside. Moans of wounded men and women were muted and more quiet than he expected. The more seriously injured had already been evacuated to facilities well to the rear where they could receive advanced treatment.

Those who remained, and there were probably two dozen, were laid out in two rows, nurses and medics and doctors moving past, administering medications and checking on bandages. He saw the Lieutenant on his back near the rear, a bandage around his thigh. Hitch stepped around the beds and medical personnel, sliding up to the man's side. He had a morphine lollipop in his mouth.

“How are you, Lieutenant?” Hitch asked quietly.

The man looked up at him, his face ashy and pale. “I... I don't know...”

Hitch looked down at his bandage, “well, I've seen a lot of wounded men in my day, and I'm certain you are going to be fine. They'd have sent you back otherwise. Bullet wound?”

The young officer nodded, and his face showed embarrassment and shame.

Hitch crouched down to the man's level and looked at him calmly. “First combat?”

“Y-yes...”

Hitch nodded. “The first time I was in a battle, I pissed myself. Literally pissed myself. I was so scared and we were in place so long that I could not hold it. Goddamnedest thing, too. Even when we were being shot at, my First Sergeant sees me and laughs, gave me a nickname I hated immediately. 'Lieutenant Depends,' he called me, suggested that I get some diapers the next time so that I'd not piss on his shoes.”

The Lieutenant was watching Hitch carefully, not laughing or smiling, sucking on the opiate lollipop.

“But he took me aside later,” Hitch continued, “and he told me that I loosened up after he called me that, that I'd taken offense and was ashamed and that he saw that I was determined not to let myself lose control of my men and the battle. He said it happened in combat, pissing yourself, whether from fear or from a bladder spasming on its own, or whatever. It made me realize that being afraid was normal. Hell, if you aren't afraid, you aren't capable of being a good rifleman. Fear makes you understand the gravity of what you're facing. Son, don't be ashamed to be scared. We all are. I saw you recover yourself out there, I knew you'd be alright. Next time, you'll remember that you had the strength to keep your fear from causing you to freeze. Next time, you'll know you have the guts to see to your men. I'm proud of you, son. Take nothing more from what happened than that.”

The young man held no expression, but he was beginning to look very sleepy. Hitch stood and turned to leave his side. He heard the man's voice. “Thank you, Sir... who... who are you?”

“Call me Hitch, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, Sir...”

- - -

The brigade had held despite the close approach the Imp assault had made. A few forward defenses had been overwhelmed initially, but the line had solidified and fought back with heavy weapons and well-placed batteries of fire. Willow knew her father had played a key role at the moment when things were very much in doubt.

They had been ordered to hold the pass while the attack continued to the east by the bulk of the Free American forces. For several days, the Imps had held back, bloodied by their failed assault and likely hesitating while it became clear that they had been drawn into a fight they could not win without untenable casualties. An uneasy stalemate had resulted on the western flank, the two sides trading mortars and artillery and air strikes from time to time, but it was light and did little more than cause annoyance and a few injuries in the night.

Willow had managed to get a few hours of sleep over the time spent there, and she'd ordered their positions reinforced and bunkers fortified and improved. It kept everyone busy and focused on their work rather than idling in camp and thinking too heavily on their losses and the battles to come.

She'd had a moment to talk to her father a couple of times over those days, and as she relaxed on her cot between briefings, she reflected on a conversation she'd had with him a couple of nights earlier.

- - -

“You saved that position, Dad. Lieutenant Cantrell informed me that you rallied the platoon and kept them from falling back, then you two manned the .50 and kept it hot until the Imps fell back. I've put you both in for medals. Already sent in the paperwork anyway. Officially, it seems, you're already under my command. Captain Justice saw to it that you were registered and enlisted.”

“I did what I had to do.” Her father had said.

“I want you to accept a commission.”

Her dad had said nothing.

“I've made you a Lt. Colonel, Dad. Field commissions are at my discretion, as you know, but I see no issue higher up after your performance. I could really use your experience in the field.”

He hesitated a moment, closing his eyes. Her father seemed to accept that he had no other options. “What do you need me to do?”

“First Battalion lost its CO a month ago. I've had a Major running things, but he's a former staff officer and he's not nearly aggressive enough to respond to the way the Imps fight. Take over First Battalion and restore it to fighting shape. We've got reinforcements coming in within the week to bring it up to minimal strength, and it's going to need to be battle-ready immediately. I don't expect the Imps to sit idle much longer. They know that they have been pulled into a fight they cannot win here, but they are probing our flanks and trying to maneuver around us. I've got Ranger teams harassing them now, but they are not in strength and don't have the means to prevent a movement in force. First Battalion is in the rear right now, but it will be moving to the flank as soon as it is ready.”

Her dad looked at Kieu-Linh a moment, then turned back to Willow. “I accept, on one condition.”

“Name it.”

“Kieu-Linh is my aide. She was solid in combat, and I need her with me if I'm going to get shit done.”

“Deal. I've already thought of that as well.” Willow turned to Kieu-Linh. “I heard about your performance, Kieu-Linh. I don't recall someone your age performing like that in combat, especially under fire. I have promoted you to Corporal. I'll have utilities and new gear brought to you immediately.”

Kieu-Linh responded, “I'll do my duty. Thank you.” Willow thought the young woman looked rather proud of herself.

“She needs an M9 in addition to her carbine.”

Willow nodded, “not a problem.”

Her father looked at her a moment, then smiled, “I'm so proud of you, Willow. I cannot tell you how much it means to me to see how you have become a leader I'm proud to serve under.”

Willow smiled despite her usual restraint on her emotions. “Thanks, Dad—Colonel. I suppose we should get used to addressing each other properly. I admit... it's odd to be giving you orders. That might take some getting used to.”

“I have no doubt that you'll do it without thinking about it too much. You're a natural, Wi—Colonel,” her father said, smiling again, “like I said, you're a natural. I always knew you were headstrong and capable of leading others.”

“Guess I take after you, huh?”

He laughed, “since you were lucky enough to get your good looks from your mother, I'm fine with that.”

Willow laughed and hugged him quickly. “I need to return for a debrief. Should have a patrol back shortly. I'll see you both in my tent in one hour, I'll get you up to speed on what we know and introduce you to your XO and company commanders.”

- - -

Willow was feeling rather proud of herself, a feeling she'd only rarely given into over her life. She seldom took anything for granted, and her constant drive to improve and learn from mistakes made her ignore her own accomplishments and worry, instead, about what she'd done wrong. She'd never been one to seek out laurels or praise, but hearing her father say he was proud, to see on his face the sincerity of his words, had washed her deeply and, at least for a time, made her feel like she was young once more.

She felt old, of course, most of the time. Despite being thirty, she'd been fighting so long that her body was worn down and tired, her mind sharp but, despite her outer calm and the mask of control she showed others, she regularly felt overwhelmed and out of her league. Willow was good at thinking on her feet, and she believed she had a solid knowledge of tactics and leadership principles. The rest, she knew, was made up on the fly and involved a great deal of luck.

Her father was now her direct subordinate, certainly an odd turn in her life, but something which actually gave her some comfort. It gave her additional strength to know her dad's experience and his amazing ability to lead soldiers would bring First Battalion back to a keen fighting edge. There wasn't time for a full rebuilding of the unit, but her father was already deep into training exercises and integrating his knowledge into his chain of command. She'd seen him conversing with officers and green recruits alike, and she recognized a lot of her own habits in his methods.

Willow was really beginning to like Kieu-Linh, as well. The young woman had already been awarded a bronze star for her actions around the machine gun, and she was making herself valuable in assisting Willow's father in his new duties. In what spare time the teen had, she'd been learning all the weapons deployed by the battalion, including spending time with the mortar crews and medics. Kieu-Linh may have been young, but she was obviously mature beyond her years and already making an impact on the battalion and on her husband.

Willow thought back to the last time she'd had a romantic relationship. She'd had very few in her life. One had been two months long when she was fifteen, the boy in her life one summer and the one she'd chosen to be her first. Later, at sixteen, she'd fallen in love with a young man in her Junior ROTC cadre and they'd spent free time together romantically. It was several years later before she had her next encounter, a few nights during a rest between fights when she'd taken an older soldier to her bed and enjoyed his company before the enemy pressed in on their position and broke them from their romance.

She'd been twenty-four the last time any hands but hers had touched her genitals, and it had likely two years since even her own had done more than pass through. Willow had been under stress and in danger, responsible for hundreds and then thousands of lives, too much on her mind to give in to her urges.

It was a surprise to find herself sliding her hand between her legs as she rested on her cot. It was a general and unexpected arousal that had her fingers slipping into her pants, caressing her clit in small circles. Willow's pussy had always been hairy, shaving in the field too time-consuming and left her uncomfortable as the stubble grew in. She felt the fur under her palm as her nub hardened, and she moaned lightly despite herself.

Her labia had opened like a flower when she was thirteen. As long as she could remember, her inner lips had splayed outside of her outer, dark-red and parted naturally any time her legs spread. When she was a teenager, it had made her self-conscious at first, glimpses at other girls in showers and during sleepovers making her aware that her vulva didn't look like the thin, slightly puffy slits she saw on them. Even as she touched herself on her cot, she was aware of the meaty labia which were warm and slick below her fingers.

Her clit, too, was enlarged compared to the hidden nubs she'd sometimes seen on others. It was part of why she had been embarrassed to be naked in front of others, something she still felt despite her being much older and no longer an innocent child. Her clit, on the rare occasions it had risen over the previous years, pushed hard against her panties and would rub pleasantly as her thighs moved during a walk or run.

It had taken a long time to grow comfortable with her body, a period coinciding with her long months and years of abstinence and stress from rising to take on more and more responsibility in the Patriots. The less she exposed herself sexually, the less she worried what she looked like, the communal shower moments being the only times it crossed her mind.

She'd never liked her breasts, either, not until she saw how more endowed women had issues dealing with their busts in the field. Willow's small breasts fit easily under standard gear, and she had never needed a bra or other support, and her back, already achy and sore most of the time, didn't suffer further from trying to balance out additional weight on her chest.

Willow used two fingers along the length of her clit, effectively jerking off as she started to shudder. It pulsed and strained, rising fully from its hood. She grunted as her hips rose, and she felt her release rushing over her and filling her with pleasure. Willow bit her lip as her orgasm crashed and her pussy spasmed.

She heard movement from the tent flap and turned quickly to see her Kieu-Linh's face looking in. Willow yanked her hand from her pants and sat up quickly, flushed and sweaty, strongly embarrassed to have been caught playing with herself.

“Colonel?” The young woman said, no sign of what she'd seen on her face.

“Yes?”

“You're needed at First Battalion.”

“I'll be right there. Thank you, Corporal.” The response came automatically, her embarrassment not overriding her officer instincts.

Kieu-Linh stood there just one moment, then said, “don't be embarrassed. I do it too. It's good for you.” The young woman seemed to understand what Willow was feeling in that moment. “I'm sorry, I should have announced myself outside... but... its nothing to be ashamed of...” Kieu-Linh disappeared, and left her superior speechless a moment.

Willow swallowed her thoughts and returned her mind to the tight focus needed to command troops and left the tent after wiping her slippery fingers on her pants.

- - -

Hitch rested for what felt like the first time in days. His cot had no padding, but his sore muscles and creaking joints felt relief during the moments spent off his feet. His shoulder wound was healing well, though it still sent jolts of pain from time-to-time, nothing Hitch hadn't experienced more strongly when wounded in other times.

First Battalion had been a challenge. Still is. Discipline had been shoddy, to say the least, and he had had to reassign several junior officers to rear positions and replaced them with others who had the leadership qualities he expected from his platoon and company commanders. First Battalion's strength was down below fifty percent when he'd taken command, and even after receiving reinforcements, it was still undermanned and missing enough skilled radio operators and heavy weapons specialists.

He'd given his soldiers, new and old, a blitz of training exercises, teaching each how to work more effectively at squad and fire team levels so that they could operate during combat without constantly being directed by their senior Sergeants and Lieutenants. He'd implemented cross-training in the various weapons they used, including the SAW and .50 cal machine guns, and he ensured that they understood how to deploy grenades and when to adjust mortar fire.

It wasn't easy. The new recruits had had little more than four weeks of training before being sent to the line, and they were barely capable of changing a mag or pulling a pin on a grenade. He still had significant doubts about the unit's effectiveness when combat inevitably came to their line.

The Imps were holding back during their weeks digging in and refitting in place. The enemy forces had been bloodied and were probing around the dug in defenses, looking for a way to flank them. So far, Ranger teams and bombers and heavy artillery fire had kept the Imps from picking their way through the more tricky alternatives to the north. The assault would come at them at some point, Hitch knew, the options for the Imp commanders limited. It would be foolish to assault their defenses, but Willow and her superiors were convinced the Imps wanted to destroy the brigade in place before moving on Denver. They couldn't risk bypassing the Patriots only to have them become a hammer to the anvil of the defenses in the city. The assault will come, and it is going to be fucking bloody.

Kieu-Linh had been superb and self-directed over the weeks. She picked up the lessons he taught and was soon running training exercises herself. They'd been in place almost a month by that time, and his young wife's abilities to lead and display the discipline and fortitude needed most to inspire the newcomers and the veterans. While her age had occasionally caused murmurs and created resistance from the older soldiers, her strong personality and her clear understanding of their purpose soon won over all but the most cynical of the troops. Hitch asked for her promotion to Sergeant to reflect her new responsibility, and had been given permission to grant the rank by his daughter.

Hitch and Kieu-Linh rarely had a moment alone together, and even then, it was short-lived and spent sleeping. Throughout the period of waiting and training, they were often on schedules which found one of them working with the troops while the other was taking a few moments for rest. He missed her touch. He missed the moments they'd spent whispering love and kind words to each other. He wished he had time to make love to her again, just to show her, in yet another way, how wonderful it was that she was with him in a situation that was dangerous and difficult.

He'd turned fifty-one the day Kieu-Linh was promoted to Sergeant, and it had passed quickly and without notice. Kieu-Linh had offered him a warm greeting, aware of the importance of the date, but they'd had no moment to share in private celebration.

Hitch closed his eyes and found himself drifting into memories of time spent with Kieu-Linh in the hot spring by the cabin. Those were some of the kindest, most fulfilling times he'd known. The young woman had given herself to him with the same fierceness with which she took on her new responsibilities. She held nothing back and left him no doubt how important he was to her, how much her love went much deeper than sex and need. It brought a smile to his face to think on how her tender flesh had slid over his and for a moment, he let his arousal simmmer and make him grow hard.

“James?” Kieu-Linh's voice called into the tent. He was aware that he had dozed and was dreaming pleasantly about his wife's rough but gentle hands moving over his chest and stomach.

He opened his eyes to see her inside with him, and said with a small smile, “hey, Sweetheart,” In the few moments when they were in alone together, they maintained a causal tone, informal, calling each other by name or endearment instead of rank. In front of others, for the sake of discipline, they maintained formal titles and interactions. Kieu-Linh had understood the importance of doing so without him needing to remind her, and it made it much easier to ensure the other soldiers didn't openly challenge Kieu-Linh's authority as being given to a lover instead of earned by her efforts and skill.

“Got a minute?” she said kneeling down to rest her hand on his arm.

“Of course, what is it?”

She smiled at him, “just missing you today. I've got down time for an hour right now, just hoped maybe I could hold you again. It's been too long.”

Hitch leaned up to kiss her lips. He tasted the salt and dirt which permeated everything and everyone. It was part of being in the field. They had some basic showers available, but water was rationed and both Hitch and Kieu-Linh had generally let others use their allotment, not having much time to clean up, regardless.

The cot wasn't big enough for both of them to lay together, so Hitch sat on the thin bottom of the tent and pulled Kieu-Linh to him, kissing her deeply and not caring about the way they both smelled rank and musty. “I love you, Linh.”

“I love you, James... Mmm... When this all ends... if this all ends... I can't wait to spend a week just touching you and kissing you and making you cum with my mouth and my pussy and my ass...”

He chuckled, “that sounds wonderful to me... you know... if you've got a few minutes...” he pushed her onto her back and started to slide between her legs.

She stopped him, shaking her head, “I stink...”

“I don't care...”

He pulled down Kieu-Linh's pants and her ripe odors hit him strongly. It had been days since she'd likely showered, but it did nothing to stop him from sliding his tongue through her sticky, briny pussy. The flavor was intense, and in other times, with other women, he might have found the taste unpleasant. But in that moment, it made him feel powerful, to feel her shudder as he licked away the days of sweat and stress and discharge which coated her tender flesh. She was a bit raw, between her legs, and he was careful not to add to her discomfort.

Hitch lapped her clit slowly, feeling Kieu-Linh's body respond by trembling against his touch, her hands rising to slide across his overgrown hair. She came moments later, a new, more succulent flavor washing onto his tongue from where her vagina drooled fresh cream as the teen writhed and moaned very quietly.

He rose up onto his knees, but before he could push down his utility pants, Kieu-Linh raised up and moved him to his back, soon working his cock out and taking it between her lips. Hitch knew he was soiled and uncleaned, the smell and taste likely powerful. Kieu-Linh showed no sign of disgust, though, humming around his length as she bobbed up and down his shaft.

It took no time at all to fill her mouth with cum, his orgasm pulsing quickly and sending his load out in thick spurts to splash in her throat and against her tongue. Kieu-Linh held still as the last of his seed squirted between her lips, some of it drooling out and down her chin. The sixteen-year old, soon to be seventeen, swallowed once and smiled, looking satisfied and happy.

“Colonel Hitchens?” A female voice called from outside the tent.

- - -

Willow knew immediately that her father and Kieu-Linh had been intimate seconds before, and the drop of cum still stuck on the young woman's jaw only added to her certainty. They were both flushed, their uniforms not exactly pulled into an orderly line.

She ignored those thoughts and said, “scouts reporting movement to our north flank. I need First Battalion moved out immediately to secure the new positions along the ridge.”

“Yes, Ma'am,” her father said. Part of her still was not used to that, but it no longer struck her as utterly odd to give orders to the man she'd idolized as a young girl. “At once,” he added.

Willow nodded and withdrew, pausing just a moment to smile at what she'd almost seen. It wasn't easy to find opportunities like that in the field. God knew that Willow rarely had, and only once in the last couple of years, the time Kieu-Linh had stepped inside without announcing herself, had she even taken the time to do it herself. She actually felt happiness that her father and Kieu-Linh had found a moment for such private intimacy.

She'd seen the way First Battalion had come around under his leadership. There was still a lot of work to be done, but already, discipline had been restored and she felt confident enough to deploy the unit in defense of the right flank. It still wasn't clear what the Imps intended, but at least a company was moving along the north and west of their position, and the Ranger platoon scouting the area had fallen back to report and fall into a defensive position capable of delaying the advance long enough for First Battalion to get into place.

They'd already dug out the foxholes and built the bunkers and emplacements they needed there, one of several sets of positions they'd prepared for possible lines of advance. Intelligence had suggested that Imp commanders wanted to envelop the brigade and crush it in the mountains, unwilling to risk the deployment of air strikes if they allowed the Patriots to fall back towards Denver.

She knew it was a calculated risk the Imps were taking. The Patriots had been harassing them for years, always doing just enough to keep the Imps off balance. Only during the recent Imp offensive had the Empire shown a willingness to pursue beyond the areas around Lake Mead and the Colorado River, and she believed it was a last, desperate push which, if not successful, had to lead to a significant withdrawal.

Like Free America, now calling itself the United States, and the original United States forces still dug in to the east, the time had passed for large field armies of the New World Empire. All the populations were depleted and tired of war. The fact that half of her new recruits were younger than nineteen said everything needed about the situation, and she knew the Imps were facing similar problems. All sides fed boys and girls into the grinder, and it was taking a toll on both available manpower and whatever still remained of public will to make war.

Mostly, Willow believed, it was a power game being played by the politicians in Mexico City, Chicago, and Denver. They kept up the fighting in order to maintain a status quo, not to achieve any real objective in the strategic military sense. Even the air power still held by the Free Americans was used judiciously, generals with political aspirations not wanting to risk losing the valuable planes in combat which no longer had any measurable goal.

It frustrated her to no end. She saw her men and women dying around her and there was no real point. She fought because to do otherwise was to disobey orders and to risk worse results for the soldiers under her command. If not for her sense of duty, if not for her strongly-held belief that she must give everything to the fight, she might have given in to stray thoughts of yielding command and slipping away from The War to go live in peace.

It was what her father had done. He'd talked to her, in the few minutes they had in the previous weeks, about how he had fought long after he'd given up. Only when he'd lost the will, and lost all but three of his original Bravo company Marines, did he go to ground and leave The War behind. He made it sound romantic, in many ways, living alone in his bunker before meeting his wife and her family and staying there, the idyllic cabin and hot spring and apple trees leading Willow to dare hope that she might, one day, be able to find something like that for herself.

But for the time being, she could feel an assault building around her position, and it left no time to dwell on fantasies and pipe dreams. Whatever the Imps were planning, she knew instinctively it was going to hit them hard. It felt like a final assault, one which both sides knew would make or break the units fighting on the western flank. The Imps couldn't afford another slaughter like they'd suffered assaulting the position a month before, and the Brigade was not likely to receive reinforcement or reserve battalion assistance should it be overrun.

They could no longer fall back, not without putting Denver at risk. The passes to the north of them were largely open but very tricky, and the Imps knew they would suffer heavy losses trying to get through them. The enemy commanders knew they could not let the city and it's defenses be an anvil against which the Patriots might assault their rear. They had to strike now, while the brigade was far enough away from Denver to keep the extensive artillery and reserved air power at bay. Either Willow's soldiers would be destroyed or they would force the Imps to withdraw and spend months licking their wounds. Either way, Willow would be glad to see this campaign come to an end.

Silently, she said a prayer that her father and his wife would survive. She worried sometimes about both of them. He'd been dead to her a long time, and she'd found a great happiness which ran through her even in the worst moments, knowing that he was alive and with her, usually a quick walk away. Willow hoped, whatever happened, that he would survive, and because of how much the young woman meant to her dad, she wished the same for Kieu-Linh.

- - -

“Colonel Hitchens?” a young, thin private said, rushing up.

“Yes?” Hitch and Willow responded in unison. They both cracked a quick smile. He'd just finished giving his daughter a report on the current condition of his dug-in battalion.

“Lieutenant Colonel Hitchens,” the man said. “You're needed.”

“Lead the way.” He saluted his daughter automatically and turned with Kieu-Linh on his heels.

They were taken quickly to where the battalion had been lucky enough to add a platoon of four tanks to their defensive lines. While the armor couldn't easily maneuver along the narrow ridges and defilade granted by the numerous peaks and cover, they provided a heavy addition to the defensive alignment. They'd been dug into the ground and fortified, ready to operate from partially-protected static positions, their main rounds capable of pounding several key approaches more directly than the mortar and artillery shells sent from the rear of the line.

“Major Valentino has given word that his men are in place and ready.” Major Valentino was leading the tank platoon, a veteran of The War who had recently been attached to a unit fighting to the east. “He asks that you verify that your orders have been carried out.”

“I expect they have, Private. Why does he need me to see to it personally?”

“I don't know, Colonel. I just relayed his message.”

“Lead me to him.”

Valentino was sitting on the edge of a tank where it was half-covered by earth and sandbags, eating a ration and talking to a subordinate.

“Major Valentino, report.”

“Sir,” he said, saluting, “we're in position as you requested. However,” he said, pointing out a small cut in a ridge line which looked over the tank on which he sat, “that troubles me. One man with an RPG could hit us from there and we'd never have a chance.”

Hitch eyed the spot and agreed. “I'll send a unit to hold that spot, Major. Anything else?”

“No, Sir.”

“Carry on, Major.”

It wasn't really a detail he should have had to deal with himself, but Hitch appreciated the tactical insight the man had which may have saved the lives of his crew, and, perhaps more importantly, kept the tank in the fight. Hitch detached a platoon from his reserve company and had them dig in around the cut. It was a difficult position to reach, but the cover there, looking down the far side of the ridge, offered a broad and open enfilade from which to hold back any assaulting forces.

His nerves were on edge a bit, but still under control. He knew something big was about to come at them, the signs for the last couple of days leading him and his daughter to conclude that the Imps were going to make a major push against their defenses. While the assault wasn't likely to succeed, they knew the Imps were out of better options, and that added a momentum that the Empire would use to push forward its attack.

First Battalion was in better shape than it had been weeks before when he'd assumed command. It still had too many green troops, battle virgins who had never experienced combat, and while he had a scattering of veteran NCOs and officers he trusted, it made him feel uneasy to think a couple of well-placed rounds could leave his new soldiers without steady leadership.

But he'd been largely successful in getting the men and women under him ready. At least, as ready as they could be for what was to come. Kieu-Linh's part in that was extensive, the sixteen-year old's leadership and sense of purpose inspiring others and making them give more effort as a result. Drills and field exercises, neither easily handled in their tight, defensive alignment, had made them gain practice and, he hoped, left them able to instinctively react more often than not.

Kieu-Linh had not been a child when he met her, but she was very much a woman as they waited in the relative calm before the coming storm. She was cool and collected. While she'd talked about how frightening combat had been that first time, how she felt paralyzed at times that day, it was clear to Hitch that his wife's instincts were solid and her will to survive and execute orders overcame those understandable fears.

“I need to go check on Charlie-Two,” she told him as they walked back from overseeing the deployment along the ridge, “their Lieutenant was looking ill earlier,” she told him, “might need some encouragement.”

“Understood.”

She looked around, and seeing no one, kissed his lips quickly. “Love you, James.” She paused, looking serious, “good luck.” It was like she understood that the battle was imminent and that they wouldn't have time for pleasantries in the hours ahead of them.

He smiled, “I love you, too, Linh. Report back when able.”

She saluted and passed out of his vision quickly. Hitch returned to overseeing the preparations which were always underway despite the apparent readiness.

- - -

Mortars signaled the impending assault. Dozens of explosions crashed down to the front left of the first line of defensive positions, doing no damage but setting everyone on edge. Willow watched the pass below her through her field glasses a moment before turning to see that the left flank was already engaged. The right flank was still quiet, for now.

Her XO ordered a runner to instruct the ammo carriers to begin making scheduled resupplies for the units on the left, then sent another off to find her forward observer who had been studying a map of the lower passes just moments before.

Artillery began to fall heavily, hitting harder than the mortars, but more on target. She heard the first screams go up along the left flank as injured men and women called out for help. The cacophony of gunfire and concussions drowned out their cries where she stood watching. The tanks began to send main rounds booming into the fading light to their front and right, adding additional weight to the noises of the battle which grew closer and closer every minute.

Runners began to arrive with requests and reports, and her aides delivered messages from radio operators in the field. She handled them all on instinct, the darkness falling quickly. Illum rounds went up to give the riflemen and machine gunners a better view of approaching targets.

Mortars crashed to her right, closer to her position than she'd have liked, and the headquarters troops jumped into foxholes and took cover. She kept her radio operator with her, as always, a second one in a nearby bunker in case the first got hit.

The left flank had repulsed the initial attack with a few casualties, and it was holding up well. The right, which was now receiving the weight of the assault was doing better than expected, First Battalion's troops laying heavy, well-directed fire on massed Imps and the tanks were firing down onto likely mortar positions to the rear.

Willow was thrown over to her right and out of the hole, her ears ringing and dull, her head fuzzy. She never heard the shell which exploded close to her. It took a moment to stop her spinning and crawl back into her foxhole. She had stinging, burning metal sizzling along her right forearm. Her radio operator was unconscious and limp. Without thinking, she called for a medic and directed her reserve radioman to step up and help her move the injured man back to the aid tent.

Another shell burst nearby, causing them to drop the man, but they recovered and soon left him in the care of medics already becoming swamped with wounded soldiers. She returned to her foxhole and heard the center of her lines explode with gunfire and heavy weapons. It seemed the main attack was a traditional frontal assault. She could see masses of Imps moving up in platoon and company strength from the lower passes, and she knew the Imps were bringing the battle to a broader front as she received status reports and watched the night explode into chaos.

- - -

The first tank had been knocked out by a very lucky shot from an artillery shell. It stung to lose it so early in the battle, but it was beyond Hitch's control. He directed Major Valentino to employ a prepared fire plan which had the three operational tanks adjust their fields of fire to cover for the one knocked out.

The platoon at the cut had held so far, already pushing back a company which had picked its way up the scrub-lined ridge to assault the position. With only a couple of wounded, the platoon was hanging in and had just been resupplied with ammo and a new barrel for the .50 cal.

Kieu-Linh was at his side as they watched the forward positions put heavy fire on the advancing troops. They were lucky that, so far, no air power had been employed by the Imps. He knew the Free American air forces were heavily engaged in the larger battle to the east and it was unlikely that they could repulse the attack should Imp bombers or attack jets come into the area of operations.

He sent Kieu-Linh to check on a delay in ammo resupply for his left flank where it tied in with Third Battalion's Delta Company. The soldiers there were running low and were continuing to face an assault of at least two reinforced companies of Imps. Mortars came in again, as they had been doing irregularly since the battle began, but they were long and impacted behind his position. The Imp rifleman was as rugged and effective in the field as any foe, but the enemy mortar crews seemed to be unable to consistently hit what had to be, given the weeks spent in preparation, easily-struck pre-sighted targets. Hitch was thankful for small miracles and incompetent geometers.

He saw Kieu-Linh sprinting to his soldiers on the left with another man, carrying between them a crate of ammunition. Whatever had happened to his regular resupply, she was ensuring those trying to push back the assault had the rounds they needed to perform effectively.

He heard a sound of metal crashing and a hollow boom that signaled a second tank had been dealt a hard blow. He radioed Major Valentino for a report, and as expected, he'd just lost another piece of armor in the fight. It meant the tanks were no longer capable of interlocking fields of fire, and they employed one of many preplanned adjustments to utilize the remaining units as effectively as possible.

Kieu-Linh sprinted back, bleeding from above her eye. “You're hit,” Hitch said, trying to calm the concern he felt.

“Not serious. Mortar,” she said, out of breath. “Alpha's been resupplied and I've got them back on schedule. They lost a couple of men who had been bringing the ammo. I handled it.”

He nodded and had to let go his thoughts of worry for her bloody forehead and his pride at how she was handling herself, again, in the chaos of combat. “We lost another tank.”

“Fuck.”

He laughed. It was one of the first times he'd heard Kieu-Linh curse, and it caught him off guard. “Exactly,” he growled in response, the humor lost quickly. “I've lost contact with Bravo-Two on the ridge. Take a radio out. I need intel.”

Kieu-Linh was gone before he could take another breath. The front center had grown quieter for a few minutes, the left still heavily engaged. In the din and darkness, he was having a much harder time observing his right flank, though other than the platoon protecting the cut in the ridge, he'd kept radio contact with the other companies deployed there. He couldn't see Kieu-Linh or the forces at the cut as his right flank exploded with tracer fire, muzzle flashes, and concussive impacts.

- - -

“Goddammit, Major. I need you to hold the goddamned line!” Willow shouted into the radio. “I'm sending up the reserve. Hold the goddamned line!”

The left flank was dissolving despite already sending up a platoon to reinforce the position. The Imps were close enough that the two sides were exchanging cooked-off grenades so that they couldn't be thrown back over the few meters between them. They'd suffered heavy casualties already, and she ordered one of her two remaining reserve companies to move up and hold where the Imps had already moved a squad or two past the furthest defensive positions.

That's the point when the right wing erupted with intensity. Her father reported in that he was heavily engaged along the ridge and through the moderate-sized pass below his position. They were holding for the moment, despite the loss of two tanks. Two were still operational, the armor was delivering main rounds into the assaulting forces and doing tremendous damage. He requested a reserve platoon from the brigade to move up and secure a weak point in his line, having already sent forward his battalion reserves. She had to refuse the request and ordered him to hold with what he had. Like a seasoned officer, her father acknowledged her response.

She had only one company still held in reserve, and she couldn't utilize it unless their position was about to be overrun. Committing it to shore up the line, after sending the next-to-last company to the left flank, meant she had no more tactically-deployable units. The reserve company, a platoon short from having sent one already to the right flank to man the cut along the ridge, was a last resort, useful only to plug an established breach. Her forces were effectively fully committed. Whatever happened through the night, she had nothing left to throw into the fight.

- - -

“Holding,” was the only word Kieu-Linh could utter as she bent over trying to catch her breath. Hitch pushed his canteen into her hands and she swallowed a quick gulp before passing it back. After a moment, she added, “five killed, seven wounded. Lieutenant Michaelson is KIA. Sergeant Plank is in command. Couldn't get the reserve radio to respond, and the platoon radio was hit by a mortar.” She finished her report and crouched down to recover from the long run back from the cut.

Hitch had felt the concern for her grow as he directed units around his area of command, especially when no word came in from the platoon at the cut. Seeing her rushing up was a very relieving experience, but it was muted by the fact that he'd already lost over forty soldiers KIA, and another eighty wounded and mostly evacuated. He was running out of ways to plug the holes in the line, and for some damned reason, he'd been unable to get the mortars directed over his front.

The two tanks were running low on main rounds. He'd ordered resupply, but in the confusion, he'd lost contact with the runner. He sent Kieu-Linh, once she had recovered sufficiently, to get the resupply underway.

Willow had refused his request for a reserve. He understood, of course. He could tell the left and center positions had been very heavily engaged throughout the night. If she had any brigade reserve remaining, it was only to be used to prevent a immediate breakthrough and overrun of their position. What he had left, maybe three hundred and fifty men and women still capable of fighting, dwindling minute by minute, was as much support as he was going to receive.

Artillery rained down again, this time on target, hammering his forward platoons and sending Hitch and his radio operator into his command bunker. Mortars added to the noise and danger, pounding down with regularity and better aim than most of the night. It became a thunder of explosions, heavy, the intensity not seen even during the initial moments prior to the main assault in the evening hours before.

It went on for almost thirty minutes, the firing along the lines slackened off as soldiers on both sides took cover and hid from the deadly munitions. When Hitch could finally poke his head up again, dawn was starting to break over the clouds to the east.

There was no sign of Kieu-Linh, but he had no time to let that consume him. Machine guns opened up in force along the right flank and near the center, the tanks suddenly letting loose main rounds, their impacts dangerously close to the front defensive bunkers. He sent a runner to check on a platoon not responding by radio.

The Imp soldier who rushed by him caught him completely off guard. It took a second to even understand that it was the enemy running at speed and not one of his soldiers. While the uniforms were similar, the red and green patch on the man's arm signified an Empire grunt, not his own. The man carried handfuls of satchel charges, ready to turn his battalion CP into shredded and dying men. Hitch raised his M9 automatically, but before he could fire, the sputter of a carbine dropped the man to writhe in the dirt.

Kieu-Linh shouldered her M4 and rushed out from behind the cover of a boulder and jumped into his bunker beside him. “They're through the lines, but not in force!” she yelled above the din. “Fox is down to twelve able men!”

Hitch hesitated only a moment. “Get a squad from Bravo-Two. Tell them to keep the fire heavy on anything approaching that cut, but if they fall back, they know where to go. We don't want to lose that ridge, but we are in worse shape if we let more Imps through that hole to our front. Go!”

She raced off and he turned back to see hand-to-hand fighting where the Imps were trying to assault through the opening in the line.

- - -

The left flank had held, barely, the next-to-last reserve company bringing enough concentrated fire to repulse repeated frontal assaults on their position. Willow was becoming much more concerned about the right. Her father had reported back that the lead elements of his position were threatened with being overrun, and that he'd had to redeploy some of the platoon holding the ridge to shore up the gaps. He said he'd pushed back the assault, but if they came again in force, it was going to be impossible to hold out for long.

She stewed on her options. Willow already had the last, undersized reserve company ready to push out and secure the right flank. If it didn't hold, there was no chance of defending the rest of the center of their position against the assault. If her father didn't, somehow, keep his line, it was the last few bodies she had to throw at the problem.

The center of her defense had held but suffered significantly during the intense artillery and mortar barrage at dawn. She'd lost count of how many frontal assaults the Imps had tried after those harrowing moments, but Third Battalion had been able to use its enfilading, interlocked fields of fire to deal incredible damage to every attempt to take the position. It was hurting and might not survive many more attacks, but it was, sadly, her most secure part of the line.

Her division commander chose an inopportune moment to request a report. Major General Webster demanded an update despite her constant demands to monitor and adjust the defense. She bluntly told him that they were in danger of being overrun in several places, but so far, the lines had held through the night, though the stream of casualties evacuated to Denver had to have told the man, sitting safe in his office in the city, all he really needed to know about how much more they could take.

“Hold that line, Colonel!”

“I understand, Sir,” Willow said, trying not to sound bitter. “Can't you give me anything?”

“Sorry, Colonel. We're committed in the east. Nothing we can send you. You should be proud, Colonel. Your brigade has managed to pull in two divisions and keep them occupied for weeks. We're winning in the east, and no small part of this is you and your men.”

“Thank you, Sir,” she growled, annoyed by how pleased the man sounded. “I'll be sure to include that in the letters I write to the families of those killed here.”

- - -

When the last, understrength reserve company was pushed into his section, Hitch knew they had reached the do-or-die moments in the battle. If the Imps continued to push forward despite tremendous losses, they had nothing left to prevent being overrun. He deployed the reserve platoons piecemeal into his lines and was able to secure his position as best he could.

Kieu-Linh had come hobbling back in pain, using a bent rifle for a crutch, slumping into the hole beside him. He stared at her a moment before he saw the tight bandage around her upper leg.

She had suffered a bullet wound to her left thigh, but after being patched up at the field hospital near the headquarters company, she had refused evacuation and returned to report to him, trying to rest her leg a moment during the small lull in the fighting. Kieu-Linh told him she'd gotten pinned down near where the hand-to-hand fighting was still taking place, and had thrown back two Imp grenades which landed in her foxhole, running through several mags trying to help the squad fend off the enemy just meters away.

She'd taken her most serious wound while running forward, Imps within feet of her, firing her carbine in bursts, to pull back a man who had been blasted out of his hole by another grenade while being overrun. She'd managed to drag the man and herself back, nicked again by a bullet across her right shoulder, and again by one along her left knee. By the time Kieu-Linh had reached a friendly foxhole, still dragging the wounded soldier, she was bleeding from a half-dozen fresh wounds, none worse than the hole in her thigh.

She offered him a small, painful smile when he'd suggested she move back and get off the line. “No, Sir. Not a chance.” She had bandages on her head, both her legs, her forearms, and her shoulder, and what was left of her uniform, that which wasn't ripped open, was stained with dirt and sweat and blood.

It was all Hitch could do not to carry her away from the battle.

However, he nodded and accepted her decision, painfully returning his attention to the reports streaming in from his platoons. He'd promised her she could stay by his side. He had no time or focus to argue a fight he could not win, even if it cost Kieu-Linh her life. He swallowed his fears, and tried, instead, to manage a fight he was still in.

Mortars struck again and they took cover in the bunker, Kieu-Linh pushed up against him with his third radio operator of the battle on his other side, the short, dark young woman suffering a painful burn on her cheek but had earlier refused to leave her post. Kieu-Linh had fresh blood on her cheek where a piece of shrapnel had just ripped by. She was grimacing, in pain, but she held her carbine close and looked ready to pop back out and kill anyone who came too close.

Even before the explosions fell away, he heard his right flank erupt, followed immediately by his left and center. The Imps were coming in under the barrage, and they were coming in force.

- - -

“I understand, Captain!” Willow screamed into the radio. “The reserve has been deployed on the right flank. I have nothing more to send you!”

Her left flank was being heavily pressured and was again fighting at close range with grenades. She'd sent a squad from her headquarters company, soldiers not typically on the front lines, to patch a gaping hole in the line there, two of them already dead and another wounded.

The acceptant tone in his voice was full of resignation. “Understood, Ma'am.”

It was almost ten o'clock in the morning. They'd been in constant combat for about sixteen hours. Her brigade casualties were heavy and almost debilitating. Even though they had likely inflicted six or eight or ten times that number on Imp forces, the enemy still kept assaulting in maddening rushes up the passes under the cover of mortars and artillery. Every time she thought they'd barely survived the last major push the enemy could put together, another soon followed behind.

The Imps were fully committed and they were not backing down.

Corpses and dying Imps were everywhere, some of them behind their lines where they'd been killed after slipping through her defenses. The assaulting soldiers had to have some measure of understanding that they, too, were likely to go down during the insane push up the ridge. Even when she'd recognized that the Imp commanders had to take the position, all other reasonable options off the table, she'd had no idea just how hard they would drive their men to assault the brigade in waves.

Willow wondered if the Imps understood just how tenuous her hold on the ridge was at that moment.

“General Webster for you, Ma'am!” her aide shouted, the woman's arm held in a sling, limp and useless from where scorching metal from a mortar had shredded her bicep. She'd been treated and returned, against medical orders, to continue to serve Willow at the command post.

Willow took the radio and answered her superior's contact. “Sir?”

“Look to the skies, Colonel. I've got a little surprise for you. Should be on station momentarily. Tac-air is yours to direct.”

She felt her pulse race to hear that several flights of bombers had been ordered to the defense of the ridge. It was not what she'd expected to hear as she had taken the call, ready to inform the General that her position would be overrun within the next hour and she had been ready to give the command to surviving soldiers to, as best they could, find their own way back to the rendezvous point many miles to the rear. It was a command she had never given, one she'd hoped never to consider, but the Imp push against her defenses had made it clear it was the only sane thing to do.

It was a command she knew she didn't need in that moment, at least not yet. “Yes, Sir!” Willow exclaimed, excited. “Thank you, Sir!”

She called for the message to go out to all her battalion commanders to pass the word about the arriving bombers. If nothing else, even if the planes didn't appear, it would rally the morale and give the surviving grunts reason to believe this might not end in death for all of them.

Willow called in the airstrikes herself, something she had practice doing years earlier when she served as a forward observer for her company. One by one, she directed the bombers to lay down munitions, some danger close, along the lines of approach being used by the Imp forces. Huge explosions rocked the mountains, and she could hear cheers raise from the din as her men and women on the lines recognized the impact of the Air Force.

- - -

The bombers were so effective that within minutes, the assault on his position had melted into a rout. Imp forces broke across his lines and raced back down the ridge trying to escape the lethal force of five-hundred and one-thousand pound bombs dropped on top of their heads. The impacts were so close to his position that Hitch felt his eardrums rupture, his nose soon bleeding. Kieu-Linh covered her ears and huddled against him.

It was a slaughter on top of the slaughter already laid down around them. Hitch estimated that hundreds of Imp soldiers were killed or wounded in the first ten minutes of the initial bombing runs, and many more became casualties as the planes followed the retreating forces far to their rear.

He had no time to celebrate, however. He couldn't risk a return of the Imp assault, even if he knew it was incredibly unlikely after such a painful, gruesome, and ultimately, unsuccessful assault against their position. He ensured his soldiers remained in place and received rations and water while Kieu-Linh organized resupply of ammunition and saw to it that those injured received medical attention.

For over an hour, planes poured their deadly munitions down on the melting Imp army. Even from miles away, Hitch could feel the impact every time one of the bombs hit the ground. He'd never been more thankful to see a slaughter like that in his life.

Kieu-Linh was starting to feel weak from blood loss, and she finally accepted his order to go back to the hospital and be seen again. He hated to see her go, a medic helping her onto a stretcher beside him. She offered a weak smile before she was carried away, and he felt her loss almost immediately.

He knew she'd been vital to the way the lines had held. She repeatedly risked her life to bring ammo to overrun platoons, she'd brought back casualties and reports from silent units. She'd even saved his life or those of others by killing the Imp who had rushed past him in the assault. Even though he largely thought medals were meaningless after battles, especially given how every man and woman had risked everything defending the line, he was going to recommend her for a Medal of Honor for her courage and daring during the defense the troops were already calling the Siege of the Rockies.

Hitch got word later that Kieu-Linh had needed evacuation to a facility in Denver, her wound and blood loss too serious to treat in the field. She had been stable but unconscious. His gut tied in knots with worry, but, as much as it hurt to think about it, he couldn't dwell on his wife's situation. It was out of his control, and he hoped that he hadn't, for the last time, seen her smile.

James "Hitch" Hitchens, Male, 50-51

	- US Marine Corps and Turtletown Patriot officer, veteran of The War

	- 6'0, 180lbs, tanned beige skin, cropped brown hair

Kieu-Linh Miller, Female, 16

	- Daughter of Miller and Kim-Ly

	- 5'11, 150lbs, cinnamon skin, shoulder-length silky black hair

Willow Hitchens, Female, 30

	- Colonel of Denver Patriot Brigade, veteran of The War, daughter of Hitch

	- 5'11, 155lbs, tanned beige skin, short dark chestnut hair