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Chronicles of The 142nd Infantry Brigade

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Battle of Nome: March 28, 1928 Edit

This is the first of a fan fiction series involving the Tundra War. Edit

The silence of the pre-dawn left Brigadier General Johann Tain uneasy. As he departs from the barracks into the darkness he spots the lantern light of men on night duty. He hears the muffled tones of conversation as he grows closer. The sudden entry of their Captain startles them as they struggle to their feet.

Johann smiles and says "At ease gentlemen, I was just out for a stroll. Now I feel I must show you boys how poker is really played."

Private Ted Simmons deals the cards as he asks "Sir, I was wondering what brought you out so early. We usually see you on our way to bed."

Johann lights up a cigarette and exhales his first puff as he says "An Emergency Radio message came through in the night. Dutch Harbor fell yesterday afternoon to the Soviets. There are reports that 7 ships including 3 troop transports broke off from the main fleet and headed north. They could be here at any time.

Private Simmons turned pale and asked "They could have well over 9,000 with that number of transports."

"Our orders are to fight as long as possible then retreat north to Ft. Buckland."

The three companions play on through the hours until dawn. As the sun crests over the eastern sky, artillery shells rip through the sky. With the Air raid alarm blaring Johann hurries out of the tower. Men who are half-awake stumble out of the their tents. It takes more than ten minutes for men to get to their machine gun emplacements overlooking the ocean.

Johann notices a destroyer within range of the shore guns and yells "Artillery focus on that ship!"

Artillery from the shore batteries shoot at the lone ship and 2 of them find their mark. Fire rips through the upper deck as the destroyer struggles to fire back. The next volley of artillery fire lands a strike directly at the Destroyer's bridge. In the confusion the ship is dead in the water as the screams below deck begin to grow louder.

Johann looks around at the town of Nome and a quarter of the military camp is in flames. As he looks back three troops transports come into view followed by two destroyers. After ten minutes of fire back and forth the two destroyers limp back out of range. As one turns it takes on more water in a hole from artillery by the waterline and begins to sink. Men struggle to get to the lifeboats as the ship begins to turn on it's side. Only 4 lifeboats make it off the boat.

The destruction of the destroyers had saved them from another artillery shower but had allowed the troops transports to unload their landing crafts. Volleys of artillery fire ring out, turning the bay into a shooting gallery.

Only a thousand soviet troops reach the shore and discover that they are at the gates of hell. Machine gun fire rips across the beach as dozens fall. The few hundred survivors lob grenades once in range killing several Republic troops. When the dust settles the beach is covered in bodies. The stench of death begins to fill the morning air as the seagulls begin to gather.

After several hours of burying and clearing the bodies from the beach Johann sits in his office staring at the report on his desk.

The report reads "Republic losses numbered; 35 KIA and 10 wia. Soviet confirmed losses 1100 and two destroyers with an average crew of 500. "

Johann has a look of bewilderment on his face. This attack didn't have the resources to be successful, it seemed more like a suicide mission for these poor men.

He turns as his communication officer Sgt Ishmael rushes into the door.

Ishmael catches his breath before saying "Sir, Anchorage has fallen."

Johann sighed and slunk back into his desk. They had won a glorious victory today, but the war will require many more.

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