Marine Corps Stories: White Star Cluster

They trudged through the sand with heavy packs. Across the battlefield, the Marines kept morale by remaining motivated. This was their last hump before returning to the United States from Iran. Platoon Commander First Lieutenant Garrison Safer ensured that his men and women would make it to their next objective. Like a rolling tank covering the land, these Devil Dogs kept in rhythm. Safer drove the troops with a fervor that powered their minds.

Platoon Sergeant Mick Graves rolled along as well. The sand fleas ate at the flesh with tiny bites. He instructed his Marines to never mind. To think back to Boot where swatting one could lead to incentive training. Darkness put a hand on the area that squashed out most of the light. The cammies remained matted. Some wiped their heads and sipped from water packs on their backs.

The smell of embers burning in abandoned cars within a few feet sent signals of death through the nose. Black marks in the sand signified another dead jihadist. Some smirks found their way on the Marines’ faces. With all of the sweat, dirt, and blood that trickled and returned to the earth, they continued. Warriors on a path to the base experienced the burden of physical exertion. But they could lick it. Hell, they had marched twelve miles already…what’s seven more?

Graves looked at the digital touch screen that showed the precise location of the enemy. Night vision goggles permitted them the possibility to make the night almost become day. The Marines received the order to cease their movements. Safer and Graves conferred with each other on the best routes to take. Graves jabbed a finger at the screen. Safer whirled about and instructed Graves to find a coordinate that would put them closer to the checkpoint.

The two men bickered like parents. They both remained calm and showed respect for one another’s perspective. The other Marines ate chow and murmured amongst each other. Luiz Gutierrez wrote down in his journal some lines for a song that he planned to record. Yolanda Dillard repacked her gear. A wind kicked up like a demon seed swirling and slapping at the faces and bodies of these Leathernecks. Solomon Saint Jean cleaned his rifle with furious attention. CLP sang on the frame of the firearm. With each stroke the weapon became more battle ready, more efficient.

After the officer and enlisted leaders had stopped their session, they gave the signal for the cammied fighters to resume their march. As they returned to formation, rounds flitted at the wreckage surrounding the Marines. No panic. Just work. Each of them snapped to and trained their rifles on the advancing enemy. They found cover behind the hollowed out vehicles. They all dropped to the ground like theatrical sandbags being lowered behind stage.

Combat commenced. Hearts beat faster but minds cooled. Ava Harker let her weapon shout out its language in color and flash. She muted her target.

Safer took cover. He held his pistol out and pointed directly at the creeping opposition.

Hostility splashed as anger rose amongst the ranks. The more that the sounds of rocket propelled grenades and rifle fire heightened, the Marines stayed focused on their targets. A US machine gun plopped on the sand. The burp from this weapon shook whatever surrounded it. The Marines sensed the smell of death in the air again and begged for the meal. Ava saw a combatant trying to escape the fight. She shot at his head and erased it.

To prevent the possibility of fratricide, a white star cluster zoomed towards the sky and burst in luminosity. This made the eyes of the enemy look like white saucers as they skittered across the battlefield. The Marines took greater aim and extinguished the flame of the enemy’s resolve and tore away any potential for an Iranian win. America prevailed yet again.