Chapter 9: The Great Desert Turkey Shoot
M2 Brownings.
Mark 19 and 47 grenade launchers.
M224 Mortars.
And tens of thousands of rounds of ammunition.
Just a small sample of the arsenal that the Expeditionary Force had access to.
Monroe had made sure that in the weeks leading up to D-Day, the former storage units in the facility had been filled to the brim. In the absence of heavier equipment, this arsenal was the next best thing.
In all, enough firepower to make sure that the next thing that came around the corner wasn't going to be a threat to his forces.
For instance, the mutated tarantula hawk nest that was going to be rendered neutralized.
"General, all forces are in position."
"No activity yet?" Monroe asked, observing the live feed from the drones patrolling the surrounding hills. For the past week or so, the drones had scoured the mountains for any other alternative entrance. A few caves, but too far to serve as alternative entrances. All they needed to do was close this opening off.
"None close to the nest. They've all gone back to the nest to sleep. We'll have free rein on the insects before they can respond."
"And the preparations?"
"Captain Graves and Barlowe just reported in. The last of the sapper teams have finished up, and they're returning back to the fire positions. All that's left is to give the order."
"Perfect, that's our flanks secure." Monroe replied, the final stages of the extermination completed. "Tell the captains that they can begin the attack. And one thing to add…"
"Yes, General?"
"No heroics and no doubts. They're to use everything that they packed onto that kill zone. I want nothing to be alive when we're finished."
"Yes, General!"
As he adjusted his M250 in the pale moonlight, Lance Corporal Henderson of the 3rd Company observed the designated kill zone below.
A good two miles away, the cave was surrounded by the high and jagged cliffs, leaving only one avenue of entrance and exit. Rocks and stone gave way to the sands of the desert, the ground leveling off the further away the cave entrance was.
Open ground, no cover, as well as layers of claymores ready to be activated? It was almost too easy.
But Henderson had heard about what the boys in 2nd Chemical had gone through. One wrong move, and this reality would tear your ass a new one. Especially after seeing what those mutated insects considered a meal…
"Alright! You've seen what these bugs are capable of." First Lieutenant Westley addressed his men. "I don't need to tell you what happens if they get close enough to these firing lines."
Glancing side to side, Henderson could see that the rest of the company was listening intently.
"So you know how we make sure that doesn't happen?"
"Kill them all, and let God sort em' out?" One brave soul volunteered. A few chuckles came from the men besides Henderson, himself included.
"Exactly!" Westley gestured to the other hills, all occupied by elements of both the 2nd Chemical and 2nd Marine. "We got enough ordinance to level half a city block, and the good General has authorized us to expend everything to make sure we don't become bug chow! But that doesn't mean we get to be willy-nilly…"
"These overgrown wasps are highly aggressive, so don't expect them to retreat. While they're too fat to truly fly, they're fast like greased lightning, so make your shots count! Concentrate fire on individual targets that make it across, and make sure that each of the flying bastards isn't moving by the time they even get to the claymores! Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes sir." The men quietly affirmed, making sure to keep their voices down..
"Good to hear! Now then… let's teach these bugs what lead tastes like!"
As the minutes counted down, Henderson could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. And he could bet his right arm that others felt the same.
If the zombie and robot remains weren't enough, these bugs solidified that they truly were in a nuclear wasteland. One that had been warped by the radiation of a war that had long since passed.
More importantly, a United States that had been warped by radiation. Where each of the major cities was targeted by countless Chinese warheads.
What was the fate of Houston, the place where he had grown up? Was it simply a crater in the ground, or was it a deserted city, haunted only by the ghosts of such a nuclear attack?
Henderson wasn't one to think much, but the mental image of his Ma and Pa being mere ashes, even if it was an unlikely scenario, kept him up some nights.
But right now, he couldn't worry about the what-ifs. Right now, he had to ensure that they got through the what-nows.
A few minutes later, the order to initiate the ambush was conveyed. Something to wake the insects up.
With a loud thump, followed by a subsequent roar, the Javelin missile quickly traveled the full length, quickly impacting against the mountain.
*BOOM*
The loud explosion cut through the silence of the night, the first indication of intelligent life in over a century.
Didn't take long before the bugs made a response.
"Yup… we certainly pissed them off. Get ready!" Westley exclaimed, putting down his field binoculars.
With his night vision goggles on, Henderson could see the horde of overgrown wasps flying out of the entrance, as if they were coming straight out of Hell. At an alarming speed, the wasps seemed to fly straight towards where the interloper had made its presence.
That was… until the air around them was replaced by shrapnel and flames.
With the wasps hitting the designated kill zone, the M2 Brownings were the first to sink their teeth, the .50 caliber bullets rendering flesh from exoskeleton with ease. The 40mm airburst grenades soon followed, detonating midair, amongst the space the wasps occupied. Henderson saw one group get shredded into viscera in a snap.
"Fire!"
With rhythmic thumps, the M224 mortars punted their 60mm warheads from behind Henderson's position, their detonations adding to the ordinance being concentrated on the designated kill zone.
But through sheer numbers, or by sheer luck, there were those that managed to get through the bombardment.
"Alright! Here come the remnants! Light em' up!"
With the Sergeant's order, Henderson and the rest of the squad eagerly obeyed, sending controlled but rapid bursts against the battered wasps that had managed to survive.
Only to realize there was a slight problem…
"Fuckers' are zig-zagging like crazy! Can't get a good bead on them!" Private Sadler exclaimed, hurriedly grabbing at a new magazine. And it wasn't just the Private. Henderson could see that these wasps were not only fast, but highly maneuverable, moving in irregular patterns to throw off the fire. The bullets that did hit, seemed to have little effect.
"Fuck it! Full auto! Put enough lead in the air that they can't dodge!"
With Westley's order, Henderson proceeded to squeeze the trigger down, sweeping the light machine gun back and forth, stopping only to hurriedly switch out the barrel for a cool one.
"GET SOME, MOTHERFUCKER!" One soldier yelled over the fire. "GET SOME!"
A little big cliche, but it perfectly represented what Henderson was feeling. Like clockwork, he slapped the case on the next belt of ammunition, and squeezed the trigger down with all of his might. Mere actions didn't feel real, as his focus narrowed down to the enemies in front of him.
One by one, the continuous fire culled the survivors, allowing for more focus fire on individual targets.
But with the sheer number of bugs that they had pissed, one group had nearly reached the center line, ready to enact vengeance on the creatures that had attacked the nest.
A significant problem… if it weren't for sapper teams just a few hours earlier.
Detonator in hand, Westley pushed down.
Almost like magic, the wasp group disappeared, replaced by a viscera of guts and flesh. Ripped apart by the thousands of steel balls going at 1200 meters per second.
A shame that they had let them get so close, but Henderson couldn't really care that much. After all, that was the most dangerous threat dealt with.
Replacing another overheated barrel, there was no signs that the company would revert back to controlled bursts. Not with how durable these bugs had proven to be.
From that point forward, the bugs didn't get anywhere close to the claymores, reduced to guts against the overwhelming firepower that had been brought to bear.
It would continue for another two hours.
"Three, two, one!"
The C4 that had been planted into the entrance of the cave detonated, soot and dirt pluming from the entrance. Simultaneously, with a shudder, gravity did its work, as the rocks and boulders smashed onto the cave ground, each one heavier than one man could lift.
As the dust settled, where there was once a threat, now had become a tomb. Just how Monroe liked it.
Turning away from the neutralized threat, Monroe looked over the field, now fully visible in the afternoon.
A massacre. That was the best way to describe it. A full-on massacre.
Everywhere he looked, dark blue corpses, complemented by orange wings, dotted the field, the rocks painted a sickly green color, from all the blood and guts. Some corpses weren't even intact, thoraxes and abdomens having been violently ripped apart.
Patrols navigated around the field, irregularly shooting rounds into the wasps. Better safe than sorry.
Overall, the estimates had been that the nest had housed eight hundred to nine hundred of these insects. A danger that would have hampered all further expeditions.
All neutralized. And without a single casualty.
Even if it was against insects, Monroe couldn't be any prouder of what the Prometheus Expedition had accomplished.
But… such success led to new problems.
"Three to five days. That's if we work in continuous shifts." Barlowe spoke gravely, the gas mask not muffling the worry in his tone. "Longer if we take secrecy into account. My men will be vulnerable to anyone who comes across us."
"I'll make sure that you have enough men. We need to clean up all these corpses and casings. Elsewise, our cover will be blown."
"Pardon… but isn't our cover blown already?" Graves asked, pointing to the field again. "I mean… we made enough noise to wake the dead up, so to say."
"True. But according to the drones, there's not a single human in a ten mile radius." Monroe replied, before pointing to one of the wasp corpses. "And I think our friends here are the reason why. With their lethality, nobody sane enough would ever try to explore these mountains. With any luck, anybody who did hear the noise will be too isolated to inform anyone else."
"But what if somebody did hear?"
That was the million dollar question, wasn't it.
Even with all efforts, it would take two months for the engineers to drill a path from the bunker to the surface. One that was large enough to start bringing in the heavier wares, such as Bradleys. In that time, the Expeditionary Force would be vulnerable to any hostile force.
No matter what, secrecy had to be maintained for that crucial period of time.
"Then we'll respond accordingly. Worse comes to worst, we'll simply have to detain them for a brief period."
"Not the most ideal situation, considering we don't have a detention center."
"I'll think of something. In the meantime, let's make sure that we leave no trace of this scene." Monroe said.
With that, the three men walked down the field, discussing future plans.
All in all, a job well done.
AN: For this chapter, I really hope that I conveyed just the hilarious power disparity between any Wasteland faction, and the US. A nest this large, would simply be impossible to take out with the limited resources most factions have, barring the NCR.
And here comes the US, with enough firepower to take on such a nest, and win without any casualties. All without any of the heavier equipment... yup.
GG!
As a reference, the M250 refers to the XM250, which is about to replace the M249:
XM250 - Wikipedia
Song of the Day:
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HVQ3ourS8BI
Mark 19 and 47 grenade launchers.
M224 Mortars.
And tens of thousands of rounds of ammunition.
Just a small sample of the arsenal that the Expeditionary Force had access to.
Monroe had made sure that in the weeks leading up to D-Day, the former storage units in the facility had been filled to the brim. In the absence of heavier equipment, this arsenal was the next best thing.
In all, enough firepower to make sure that the next thing that came around the corner wasn't going to be a threat to his forces.
For instance, the mutated tarantula hawk nest that was going to be rendered neutralized.
"General, all forces are in position."
"No activity yet?" Monroe asked, observing the live feed from the drones patrolling the surrounding hills. For the past week or so, the drones had scoured the mountains for any other alternative entrance. A few caves, but too far to serve as alternative entrances. All they needed to do was close this opening off.
"None close to the nest. They've all gone back to the nest to sleep. We'll have free rein on the insects before they can respond."
"And the preparations?"
"Captain Graves and Barlowe just reported in. The last of the sapper teams have finished up, and they're returning back to the fire positions. All that's left is to give the order."
"Perfect, that's our flanks secure." Monroe replied, the final stages of the extermination completed. "Tell the captains that they can begin the attack. And one thing to add…"
"Yes, General?"
"No heroics and no doubts. They're to use everything that they packed onto that kill zone. I want nothing to be alive when we're finished."
"Yes, General!"
As he adjusted his M250 in the pale moonlight, Lance Corporal Henderson of the 3rd Company observed the designated kill zone below.
A good two miles away, the cave was surrounded by the high and jagged cliffs, leaving only one avenue of entrance and exit. Rocks and stone gave way to the sands of the desert, the ground leveling off the further away the cave entrance was.
Open ground, no cover, as well as layers of claymores ready to be activated? It was almost too easy.
But Henderson had heard about what the boys in 2nd Chemical had gone through. One wrong move, and this reality would tear your ass a new one. Especially after seeing what those mutated insects considered a meal…
"Alright! You've seen what these bugs are capable of." First Lieutenant Westley addressed his men. "I don't need to tell you what happens if they get close enough to these firing lines."
Glancing side to side, Henderson could see that the rest of the company was listening intently.
"So you know how we make sure that doesn't happen?"
"Kill them all, and let God sort em' out?" One brave soul volunteered. A few chuckles came from the men besides Henderson, himself included.
"Exactly!" Westley gestured to the other hills, all occupied by elements of both the 2nd Chemical and 2nd Marine. "We got enough ordinance to level half a city block, and the good General has authorized us to expend everything to make sure we don't become bug chow! But that doesn't mean we get to be willy-nilly…"
"These overgrown wasps are highly aggressive, so don't expect them to retreat. While they're too fat to truly fly, they're fast like greased lightning, so make your shots count! Concentrate fire on individual targets that make it across, and make sure that each of the flying bastards isn't moving by the time they even get to the claymores! Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes sir." The men quietly affirmed, making sure to keep their voices down..
"Good to hear! Now then… let's teach these bugs what lead tastes like!"
As the minutes counted down, Henderson could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins. And he could bet his right arm that others felt the same.
If the zombie and robot remains weren't enough, these bugs solidified that they truly were in a nuclear wasteland. One that had been warped by the radiation of a war that had long since passed.
More importantly, a United States that had been warped by radiation. Where each of the major cities was targeted by countless Chinese warheads.
What was the fate of Houston, the place where he had grown up? Was it simply a crater in the ground, or was it a deserted city, haunted only by the ghosts of such a nuclear attack?
Henderson wasn't one to think much, but the mental image of his Ma and Pa being mere ashes, even if it was an unlikely scenario, kept him up some nights.
But right now, he couldn't worry about the what-ifs. Right now, he had to ensure that they got through the what-nows.
A few minutes later, the order to initiate the ambush was conveyed. Something to wake the insects up.
With a loud thump, followed by a subsequent roar, the Javelin missile quickly traveled the full length, quickly impacting against the mountain.
*BOOM*
The loud explosion cut through the silence of the night, the first indication of intelligent life in over a century.
Didn't take long before the bugs made a response.
"Yup… we certainly pissed them off. Get ready!" Westley exclaimed, putting down his field binoculars.
With his night vision goggles on, Henderson could see the horde of overgrown wasps flying out of the entrance, as if they were coming straight out of Hell. At an alarming speed, the wasps seemed to fly straight towards where the interloper had made its presence.
That was… until the air around them was replaced by shrapnel and flames.
With the wasps hitting the designated kill zone, the M2 Brownings were the first to sink their teeth, the .50 caliber bullets rendering flesh from exoskeleton with ease. The 40mm airburst grenades soon followed, detonating midair, amongst the space the wasps occupied. Henderson saw one group get shredded into viscera in a snap.
"Fire!"
With rhythmic thumps, the M224 mortars punted their 60mm warheads from behind Henderson's position, their detonations adding to the ordinance being concentrated on the designated kill zone.
But through sheer numbers, or by sheer luck, there were those that managed to get through the bombardment.
"Alright! Here come the remnants! Light em' up!"
With the Sergeant's order, Henderson and the rest of the squad eagerly obeyed, sending controlled but rapid bursts against the battered wasps that had managed to survive.
Only to realize there was a slight problem…
"Fuckers' are zig-zagging like crazy! Can't get a good bead on them!" Private Sadler exclaimed, hurriedly grabbing at a new magazine. And it wasn't just the Private. Henderson could see that these wasps were not only fast, but highly maneuverable, moving in irregular patterns to throw off the fire. The bullets that did hit, seemed to have little effect.
"Fuck it! Full auto! Put enough lead in the air that they can't dodge!"
With Westley's order, Henderson proceeded to squeeze the trigger down, sweeping the light machine gun back and forth, stopping only to hurriedly switch out the barrel for a cool one.
"GET SOME, MOTHERFUCKER!" One soldier yelled over the fire. "GET SOME!"
A little big cliche, but it perfectly represented what Henderson was feeling. Like clockwork, he slapped the case on the next belt of ammunition, and squeezed the trigger down with all of his might. Mere actions didn't feel real, as his focus narrowed down to the enemies in front of him.
One by one, the continuous fire culled the survivors, allowing for more focus fire on individual targets.
But with the sheer number of bugs that they had pissed, one group had nearly reached the center line, ready to enact vengeance on the creatures that had attacked the nest.
A significant problem… if it weren't for sapper teams just a few hours earlier.
Detonator in hand, Westley pushed down.
Almost like magic, the wasp group disappeared, replaced by a viscera of guts and flesh. Ripped apart by the thousands of steel balls going at 1200 meters per second.
A shame that they had let them get so close, but Henderson couldn't really care that much. After all, that was the most dangerous threat dealt with.
Replacing another overheated barrel, there was no signs that the company would revert back to controlled bursts. Not with how durable these bugs had proven to be.
From that point forward, the bugs didn't get anywhere close to the claymores, reduced to guts against the overwhelming firepower that had been brought to bear.
It would continue for another two hours.
"Three, two, one!"
The C4 that had been planted into the entrance of the cave detonated, soot and dirt pluming from the entrance. Simultaneously, with a shudder, gravity did its work, as the rocks and boulders smashed onto the cave ground, each one heavier than one man could lift.
As the dust settled, where there was once a threat, now had become a tomb. Just how Monroe liked it.
Turning away from the neutralized threat, Monroe looked over the field, now fully visible in the afternoon.
A massacre. That was the best way to describe it. A full-on massacre.
Everywhere he looked, dark blue corpses, complemented by orange wings, dotted the field, the rocks painted a sickly green color, from all the blood and guts. Some corpses weren't even intact, thoraxes and abdomens having been violently ripped apart.
Patrols navigated around the field, irregularly shooting rounds into the wasps. Better safe than sorry.
Overall, the estimates had been that the nest had housed eight hundred to nine hundred of these insects. A danger that would have hampered all further expeditions.
All neutralized. And without a single casualty.
Even if it was against insects, Monroe couldn't be any prouder of what the Prometheus Expedition had accomplished.
But… such success led to new problems.
"Three to five days. That's if we work in continuous shifts." Barlowe spoke gravely, the gas mask not muffling the worry in his tone. "Longer if we take secrecy into account. My men will be vulnerable to anyone who comes across us."
"I'll make sure that you have enough men. We need to clean up all these corpses and casings. Elsewise, our cover will be blown."
"Pardon… but isn't our cover blown already?" Graves asked, pointing to the field again. "I mean… we made enough noise to wake the dead up, so to say."
"True. But according to the drones, there's not a single human in a ten mile radius." Monroe replied, before pointing to one of the wasp corpses. "And I think our friends here are the reason why. With their lethality, nobody sane enough would ever try to explore these mountains. With any luck, anybody who did hear the noise will be too isolated to inform anyone else."
"But what if somebody did hear?"
That was the million dollar question, wasn't it.
Even with all efforts, it would take two months for the engineers to drill a path from the bunker to the surface. One that was large enough to start bringing in the heavier wares, such as Bradleys. In that time, the Expeditionary Force would be vulnerable to any hostile force.
No matter what, secrecy had to be maintained for that crucial period of time.
"Then we'll respond accordingly. Worse comes to worst, we'll simply have to detain them for a brief period."
"Not the most ideal situation, considering we don't have a detention center."
"I'll think of something. In the meantime, let's make sure that we leave no trace of this scene." Monroe said.
With that, the three men walked down the field, discussing future plans.
All in all, a job well done.
AN: For this chapter, I really hope that I conveyed just the hilarious power disparity between any Wasteland faction, and the US. A nest this large, would simply be impossible to take out with the limited resources most factions have, barring the NCR.
And here comes the US, with enough firepower to take on such a nest, and win without any casualties. All without any of the heavier equipment... yup.
GG!
As a reference, the M250 refers to the XM250, which is about to replace the M249:
XM250 - Wikipedia
Song of the Day:
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HVQ3ourS8BI