Charlie Phelps
The intense humidity and radiating heat were oppressive and stifling. From his cramped observation post dug into the Luzon coastline a platoon leader watched the heat shimmer rise from the sand. His platoon was down to their last case of MREs, the prepackaged meals the soldiers had been living on since establishing the site, and their supply of iodine tablets for water purification was nearing critical levels. Issued solar panels were damaged beyond repair and radios were critically low on batteries. Ammunition resupply to the platoon was becoming increasingly irregular given the observation post’s separation from the rest of the battalion. The only thing keeping his platoon protected from enemy fixed- and rotary-wing assets was the Patriot battery hidden in the jungle two kilometers inland. His platoon was assigned to defend the battery; he and his soldiers depended on the battery for survival and that battery was down to its last two interceptors.
The platoon had limited options with the surrounding airspace around it resembling a hornet’s nest. Enemy drones, from small quadcopters to larger, persistent reconnaissance platforms, crisscrossed the sky, their sensors hungry for any sign of movement. The platoon had expended its man-portable surface-to-air systems in the first forty-eight hours of their employment. A traditional C-130 airdrop to resupply the platoon was suicide. A conventional landing craft would be spotted and sunk miles from shore. The soldiers were, in the classic military sense, on the verge of culmination, their combat power bleeding away not from enemy fire, but from the tyranny of distance so often discussed before the outbreak of hostilities in the Indo-Pacific region.
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