A Little Piece of Heaven, Pt. 1 (The Battle for Liaoning)

Day 1,039, 18:04 • Published in USA Bulgaria • by Jewitt
The following is written as a soldier's account of the last days of the V2 war module, and of the camaraderie displayed in the events prior to, during, and after the Battle of Liaoning. Actual events may vary, and the second part will be released tomorrow after we all recover from the battle - what ever outcome that may be.



24 September, 2010, Day 1,039 of the New World
Let's have some music to go with the activities, yes? Parental advisory!
Apply for the Airborne - but only if you can handle it.



And this is where it all began, I thought as shells flew over me. The Battle for Liaoning was a terrible one, but it did not start that way. The night before we had rushed to the capital - I played clean up running around and grabbing the spots in between. After the end of the night we saw a Chinese flag in the capital, replacing the bastardized Serbian banner, as well as troops from all over the world singing songs of praise and greatness.

"I Just Can't Wait to be King" was a song being sung in all languages, from my own English and Spanish to the alien Swedish and Romanian. Clouds were nonexistent and the sky was a crisp black. It was beautiful and breezy, just like home's California coast. I went to my commanding officer, Lt. Andy Dufresne of the 82nd Division, 1st Platoon, and asked him where to set up shop. I was eager to actually use my taxpayer-provided artillery for something more than roaming the countryside. He pointed to a small market in the down town capital, and there I camped out for the night.


Poor Serbia lost Emerick...

Unfortunately, our enemies were not kind to their occupiers. In the morning, as I left my weapon deployed, the Allied Forces were ambushed. Coupled by unknown natural laws that allowed miraculous hospital placement far from our position and everyone immediately losing their heavy armaments, we were slaughtered.

The map had changed from Chinese to Serbian in a matter of minutes, barely an hour in all. Luckily, that would not be the last time they saw us.

Turbines were the usual noise I had grown to sleep by. The C-130 was far from the most comfortable airliner in the world, but I would have it no other way. It was a tinfoil-covered oil-leaking black smoke-making war machine of death. It carried no guns, no amazing air to ground missile, and no countermeasures. If the enemy decided to shoot it down, nothing would stop it - except our pilots and their professional training.



It was filled with the 82nd and 101st Airborne divisions. Back in the day it would require at least six of these flying whales to accompany just a fraction of the entire branch. Due to the change in the economy and how war was fought our numbers dwindled severely. It, however, only made us closer and stronger. Our heads bobbed in unison to the stream of air in which the craft glided, the thin dry air of China running our nostrils and splitting our lips, our combined body heat being the only comfort.

I sat with my fellow 82nd members, something new to me as a former first serviceman of the 101st and former Lieutenant and Sergeant in the same division, the red and blue patch with the double-A just did not look right on my suit. I had changed my black and white tie to a red and white one, to match the patch, but I still felt like an alien.


Serbian-occupied Liaoning is such a pretty sight, they have fireworks!

A rattle from our feet, similar to marbles in a blender, broke the rhythm of the engines and creaking seams. Everyone became alert - we were within artillery range. "Men!" Yelled out a man at the far back. I knew his voice, we all did - General Channing. he nodded to a few of the females in the group and said, "and Ladies," they nodded back with a conscious smile.

"Tonight," he began putting on a sort of flirty voice, "is a night like many before. Our target is a big surprise: Lion King. We will be dropped in the middle of the region, completely surrounded if the allied do their job right, and we will have no reinforcements until our objectives are obtained." No surprise there, we were used to it. There was a saying: If we weren't surrounded, they'd call us Marines.


I’m over there, third from the left.

Looking about the packed fuselage, he continued, "We will be dropping in the middle of Zone Green, designated 'Midtown,' in hot territory. All divisions will remain as a single body, we will not have division- or platoon-specific objectives. We will be clearing the path from Zone Green to Zone Yellow, designated 'Southtown.' At 'Southtown,' we will rendezvous with the Y.M.C.A. and push to 'Highrise.' Any questions so far?" "Highrise" was the universal nickname given by the Airborne to the capital of a given region. The Y.M.C.A. was, however, the United States Marine Corps. "Allied support?" Asked Lieutenant Amy Hat, a new face to me but not to the service, up in the front. "None." Channing said flatly. No news there.

"Our first objective of course is securing Zone Green, but that will not be a problem. The problem is blasting our path through to Southtown. Everyone will need to act as a solidified unit. This is not a battle where we will compete for the Joint Chiefs' praise. This is a battle where we finish a war one of our privates started." He added a sarcastic tone to the end, and I smiled a little. A few glanced at me, some winked and others smiled, and then turned their attention back to the General. "If that is all, prep your 'chutes and packs. We're out in sixteen."

With that, the aluminum shell of the craft began rattling even more. Not only were there pings from the outside, but we were scouring on our knees and elbows in an attempt to check all of our armaments. I disassembled, cleaned, and reassembled my modernized Thompson, which was fit to the same standards of the M15 that all others around me had. Our heavier armaments, such as choppers, tanks, and artillery units would be deployed after our hot landing.



Packed, armed, and ready to go I looked over to my side. Former General and current Private Spartan to my right, and my own Lieutenant Dufresne to my left. By now most of us were holding on to the tension lines that ran the span of the craft. We were trained months, and some of us years, ago that we should hook our parachute packs to the line to guide us out the plane. Experience told us that it was easier that way, but if the craft hit a bump your face would become the plane's newest decal on the tail's horizontal stabilizer.

The back door was lowered, the cargo bay filling with a passive ice cold breeze, and we braced ourselves. General Channing gave us a status update, alerting us that the Serbians had dropped two defense systems and two hospitals since the last intelligence report, and both defense systems and one hospital stood between Midtown and Southtown. It would be a fight for sure, and we were tasked with it.


Spartan holding on to his own “customized” rifle before our flight out

The drop light remained red for some time, sixteen minutes had long passed, but delays never meant much in war. Rushing could get you killed more than delaying when it came to jumping. "Airborne!" Yelled out Channing after a few more minutes. "Jump feet first into Hell!" With that he jumped up, letting the vacuum of the chilly air outside wrap itself around his chest, and was yanked out of the back of the craft. As he disappeared the C-130, which was in the middle of banking, leveled out.

With a omnipotent "Boo-yah!" troopers dropped two at a time, rifles packed tightly on their backs and holding their straps with all their might. The Battle for Liaoning was on.


Written by Jewitt (SPC)
82nd Division, 1st Platoon