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For to Fight for Uncle Sam.

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This story is No. 5 in the series "Faith in the Army.". You may wish to read the series introduction and the preceeding stories first.

Summary: ‘Over There’ xover; There must be a rule somewhere that says; when a screaming mad, Boston-Irish, harpy comes at you with her pants around her knees and murder in her eyes…run!

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Television > Over There(Recent Donor)DaveTurnerFR1513,1712223,49326 Mar 1126 Mar 11Yes
For to Fight for Uncle Sam.
By Dave Turner.

Disclaimer: I do not own Buffy the Vampire Slayer or ‘Over There’. I write these stories for fun not profit.

Crossover: Over There.

Spelling, Punctuation, and Grammar; Written in glorious English-English which is different to American-English.

Timeline: Sequel to, ‘It Makes a Fellow Proud to be a Soldier’.

Words: 3000+

Warnings: None.

Summary: ‘Over There’ xover; There must be a rule somewhere that says; when a screaming mad, Boston-Irish, harpy comes at you with her pants around her knees and murder in her eyes…run!


We soon got into battle: we made a charge of bay'nets:
The Rebel blaggards soon gave way: they fell as thick as paynuts.
Och hone! The slaughter that we made, bedad, it was delighting!
For, the Irish lads in action are the divil's boys for fighting.

For to fight for Uncle Sam;
He'll lade us on to glory, O!
He'll lade us on to glory, O!
To save the Stripes and Stars.

‘We’ll Fight for Uncle Sam’; Traditional.

Iraq, somewhere between Basra and Camp Liberty, March, 2006.

This was Faith’s first major mission since she’d come back from sick leave in the States. After receiving her Silver Star, Faith had elected to go back to her buddies in Iraq instead of taking up any one of a dozen offers she’d had to join specialist units back home. The mission she now found herself on was a major supply run from the port of Basra up to Camp Liberty; the trucks being loaded down with fuel, ammunition and spare parts, a prime target for Iraqi insurgents.

Hoping to fool the insurgents, the ‘Top Brass’ had decided to keep the convoy escort to a bare minimum. Obviously, or so the thinking went, if the insurgents saw a convoy without a heavy escort, something they’d expect for such important cargo, they’d dismiss it as nothing special and go after more important game. Faith knew from bitter experience that this was the sort of thinking that got ordinary grunts like her killed or maimed. This was how she’d ended up spending time back in the States recovering from the burns and bullet wounds she’d received while trying to protect another convoy up near Baghdad.

Standing up in the hatch of her Hummer (as a Staff Sergeant in the Motor Transport company of the battalion she was attached to, Faith found she now rated her own vehicle) she listened carefully to the message coming in over her radio headsets. Third Platoon’s new platoon leader, 2nd Lieutenant McClellan, was calling a halt for the midday rest break.

Lieutenant Joe McClellan, or ‘Little Mac’ as he’d immediately been nicknamed by her friend and mentor, Staff Sergeant ‘Scream’ (some sort of Civil War reference he’d told Faith) replaced Lt Underpants who’d got himself shot in the same ambush that had sent Faith back to the States and earnt her a Silver Star to go along with her Bronze Star (she also had a depressingly large collection of Purple Hearts to go with her other decorations). Ducking down into her vehicle, Faith called down to her driver, PFC Brenda Mitchell.

“Hey, B!” Faith called over the noise of the engine, “Pull into the side of the road, we’re stopping.”

“On it, Staff Sergeant,” Mrs B called back, her West Virginia accent coming clearly to Faith even through her head sets.

The Hummer slowed and pulled over to the side of the road as Mrs B picked her spot. Looking to the rear, Faith saw the rest of the convoy pulling over and grinding to a halt. A moment later Mrs B switched off the motor and for a moment all Faith could hear was the clicking of cooling metal and the white noise in her ears from the radio. Taking off her helmet, she ran her fingers through her dirty hair and wished she’d had it cut short like her driver’s.

“Rest stop, B,” Faith announced tiredly, “thirty minutes.”

“Shall I get the rations out, Staff Sergeant?” Mrs B asked, she’d become very formal since she’d been promoted to PFC and never used Faith’s nickname of ‘Slay’.

“Why not?” Faith looked around at the desert either side of the road, just at the moment food was the furthest thing from her mind, she was busting for a pee. “Save me a Meatballs and Spaghetti, I’m going for a walk.”

“Where to?” Mrs B asked as she looked up from the box of MRE’s she was sorting through.

“Just out there,” Faith pointed to a low rise about thirty metres away.

“Watch y’self, Staff Sergeant,” Mrs B warned, “you know you shouldn’t go too far from the road.”

“No way am I dropping my pants where all these assholes can see my fine white ass, Private,” Faith told her comrade.

“Sure you don’t want me to come an’ hold your hand?” Mrs B grinned cheekily up at Faith.

“I think I’ll manage,” Faith replied as she pulled off her headsets and put her helmet back on.

Going to the latrine is no easy task in a combat zone; first Faith had to find her M16. Searching under a pile of equipment she soon found it and wondered how her rifle always managed to hide itself in some inaccessible corner of the Hummer. Next she dug out the entrenching tool she’d need to dig her cat-hole. After that she checked that her body armour and equipment vest were secured correctly. Finally she took the roll of toilet tissue from the clip that was supposed to hold her rifle secure and then kicked the passenger’s door open with her foot.

Loaded down with all the necessities of going to the ‘ladies room’ in a war zone, Faith stood on the sandy roadside and felt the midday heat start to warm her up towards boiling point. Sometimes she wondered why she ever needed to pee, she sweated so much in the heat she was surprised there was enough moisture left in her body to fill her bladder. Turning away from the road, Faith started to walk towards the rise she’d spotted earlier.

Moments later, standing on top of the rise, Faith took a moment to survey her surroundings; miles and miles of brush dotted sand was spread out all around her. There was nothing to see and her bladder was calling to her urgently reminding her of why she was out there. Walking on a few more yards down the opposite side of the rise, she decided that she was far enough away from the convoy for modesty’s sake and close enough so she could quickly sprint back if there was trouble.

Taking off her helmet she lay it in the sand, next she rested her rifle on the helmet so it kept the sand from getting in the weapon’s working parts. Unsnapping the fasteners on her body armour she took the entrenching tool and dug a small hole in the desert sand. Unbuckling her pistol belt, Faith took one more look around before unbuttoning her trousers and slipping them and her panties down around her knees. Crouching down she sighed with relief as she started to pee into the little hole she’d dug.


The mortar bombs exploded on the other side of the rise and the air above her head suddenly seemed to be full of angry wasps as rounds cracked through the air above her or sent up spurts of sand all around her.

“GOD-DAMN-IT!” Faith yelled as she threw herself forward and hugged the ground.

Another salvo of mortar bombs landed close by and sent up clouds of sand that fell on her naked butt like dusty rain. For a moment, Faith didn’t know what to do first; should she pull up her pants or grab her rifle and helmet. The choice was soon made for her when she saw the heads of several insurgents pop up from out of a concealed ditch about sixty metres to her right front. Reaching for her rifle and helmet, Faith put the one on her head and the other to her shoulder.

Aiming at a head as it appeared over the edge of the ditch, Faith fired a three round burst and was gratified to see the insurgent throw up his hands and disappear from view never to reappear. Unfortunately this drew the other insurgent’s attention to where Faith lay. Very soon she heard the distinctive sound of AK 47’s being fired at her as the sand around her was churned into her very own sandstorm. Realising she was more than a little exposed where she was, Faith started to crawl towards cover. Unfortunately the only cover available to her was a little closer to the enemy. As she crawled across the sand, Faith noticed that the action of crawling was forcing her pants further towards her ankles. Each time she tried to stop and pull her trousers and panties back up another volley of shots would fly over her head forcing her to hug the ground again.

Firing from her new position, Faith was able to pick out the positions of the insurgents and punish them for disturbing a lady while she was dealing with a call of nature. Firing off the remaining rounds in her clip, Faith rolled onto her side, changed clips and then pulled a couple of grenades from a pouch on her equipment harness. By the time she was safely back in cover the insurgents were once again firing at her in an attempt to flush her out and make her move. Firing off half her clip just to keep the insurgent’s heads down, Faith got up on her knees, pulled the pin from her first grenade and hurled it towards the enemy.

For a normal woman, or even a normal man, it would have been an impossible throw. But, nature had endowed Faith with superhuman strength (amongst other things) she didn’t know why and she didn’t question it. Her strange abilities had saved her life on more than one occasion. The grenade sailed through the air followed almost immediately by its twin. Both little green balls disappeared into the ditch. There were two sharp cracks and a puff of grey smoke as the grenades exploded amongst the insurgents.

To the accompaniment of wounded men screaming in pain, Faith jumped to her feet, stumbled a little when her trousers caught around her legs; then with one hand firing her rifle and the other trying to haul up her pants, Faith charged the enemy position screaming like a banshee and pumping out rounds as fast as her rifle could fire. With her lily white butt still exposed to the air, Faith continued her savage one woman charge until she was almost at the lip of the ditch. Standing for a moment on the edge of the ditch, Faith saw the carnage she had caused.

Suddenly a line of fire streaked across her butt, she screamed and dropped her rifle as she held on to her ass with both hands. Remembering where she was, Faith tried to ignore her pain and threw herself into the ditch. Landing amongst the bloody bodies of her victims, she realised that she’d left her rifle behind when she’d dropped it. Looking to her left she saw an insurgent only five or six metres away drawing a bead on her. Thinking that her time had finally come and that she was going to be found dead with her pants down, she screamed and rushed at the man in a frantic attempt to kill him before he killed her.

Later she’d remember hearing the hammer of the AK hit the weapon’s firing pin, another consequence of her weird super-powers was very good hearing. Much to her surprise the *Click* of metal on metal was not followed by the harsh yammering of the AK. The insurgent looked at his rifle as if it had betrayed him. If he’d started to run right then it was quite possible that he could have escaped Faith. After all her pants were half way between her knees and her waist and her butt felt like it was on fire from where she’d been shot. But the man didn’t and consequently died for his mistake.

There must be a rule somewhere that says; when a screaming mad, Boston-Irish, harpy comes at you with her pants around her knees and murder in her eyes. Don’t try to clear the stoppage on your weapon, turn tail and run…you never know, you might live to see another sunrise. For, an Irish lass in action is the divil's girl for fighting!


“What ya doin’, Staff Sergeant?” Mrs B’s voice drifted down to where Faith lay half on top of the insurgent with her hands still wrapped around his throat, “He upset you in some way?”

“B!” Faith shook her head trying to clear it of the fuzziness that filled it, she must have been hit on the head or something; she looked up at the young soldier who was grinning down at her from the edge of the ditch, “Don’t…”

“MEDIC!” Yelled Mrs B as she turned her head to look over her shoulder adding, “Staff Sergeant Silas, I found her!”

“Oh no,” groaned Faith as she tried to pull up her pants from where they’d slipped down around her ankles again; she heard running feet come to a halt above her.

“MY!” Cried a male voice, Faith looked up to see ‘Smoke’ the squad’s SAW gunner grinning down at her, “Now that is what I call a fine piece of ass!”

“Smoke,” Faith growled warningly, “one more word outta ya mouth and I’ll…”

“You’ll what, Slay?” Faith could hear the smile in her fellow non-coms voice, “If I were you,” Scream continued, “I’d lie still until the medics look at that, looks to be a serious wound you’ve got there.”

“You do realise I’ll hunt ya all down and kill ya if ya don’t stop raggin’ on me,” Faith ground out between gritted teeth.

“What’s going on…oh my!” This time the voice belonged to ‘Dim’ the grenadier in the squad which Faith had (until this moment) always thought of as her closest friends.

“They say ‘the lord will provide’,” this was from ‘Angel’ the squad’s gospel singer and sniper, “looks like they were right, sorta gives you renewed faith, don’t it?”

“Nice to know what we’re fighting for,” Dim pointed out, “you know, the ‘bottom line’.”

“Right!” Faith snapped, “That’s it! I coming to kill ya all!”

“What’s going on here?” Another new voice joined the others.

“Oh no,” Faith almost sobbed.

“We’ve found Staff Sergeant Lehane, sir,” Scream, announced to the newly arrived Lieutenant.

“Where is she then…oh my!” Little Mac stared down at Faith’s shapely but wounded butt and appeared to be lost for words; he turned to look at Scream, “Shouldn’t we cover her up or something, Staff Sergeant?”

“Best to have a free circulation of air around the wound, L-t,” Scream replied wisely.

“Dead,” snapped Faith, “you hear me? You’re all as good as dead!”

“Pain talking, L-t,” Scream observed.

“Shouldn’t we give her morphine or something, Staff Sergeant?” Little Mac wanted to know.

“Well, L-t,” Scream replied slowly, “you’ve gotta ask yourself this question; do you really want to go down there and stick a needle in her butt?”

“Wouldn’t be my first choice,” Little Mac shook his head, he frowned as he studied the position in which one of his senior non-coms lay on top of the dead insurgent, “What was she trying to do to him Staff?”

“Wouldn’t like to say, L-t,” Scream shook his head slowly, “wouldn’t like to say.”


Base Hospital, Camp Liberty.

Lying on her stomach, Faith waited for the doctors to tell her she could go back to her unit. Having been in hospital for twenty-four hours, Faith knew her ‘wound’ would be well on the way to healing (rapid healing was another consequence of whatever it was that made her special). Lying there unable to sit up until the docs gave her the ‘okay’, Faith was slowly going insane with inaction.

“Good afternoon, Staff Sergeant Lehane.”

Faith didn’t need to turn around to see who the voice belonged to; Captain Baron, her C/O (‘the Duke’ as the men called him) pulled up a chair and sat down where Faith could see him.

“Yo, sir,” Faith sighed.

“Bored, Staff Sergeant?” the Duke asked.

“Out of my mind, sir,” Faith replied.

“Well,” the Duke smiled, “they tell me they’re letting you out later this afternoon. So while I have you as a sort of captive audience I thought I’d talk to you about your future career.”

“My what, sir?” Faith asked suspiciously, she was happy where she was, being shot in the ass not withstanding.

“This’ll be your third Purple Heart, won’t it Staff?” The Duke asked slowly.

“I get another Heart for this sir?” Faith wasn’t sure she wanted the medal seeing where she’d been wounded.

“You know the Army in its wisdom doesn’t like its female soldiers in ‘Direct Action’,” the Duke explained, “but direct action seems to follow you around like a bad smell, Staff. To be honest you’re beginning to become something of an embarrassment in some quarters.”

“Sir,” Faith rolled herself over onto her side so she could see her company commander properly, “if you can stop these assholes shooting at me I’ll stop killin’ ‘em.”

“Left up to me Staff,” the Duke smiled, “I’m more than happy to let you carry on the way you are for as long as you want. But…”

“But, sir?” Faith didn’t like the tone in the officer’s voice.

“They tell me it would be bad for moral if you were killed and even worse for the Army’s image,” the Duke shook his head sadly, “the public don’t like to read about their female soldiers being killed. It puts them off their breakfasts.”

“Tell the truth sir,” Faith admitted, “I wouldn’t be too happy about it either.”

“Good,” the Duke took a deep breath, “I’m here to make you an offer, I’ve been told to offer you any posting in the world that does not involve ‘Direct Action’ and a transfer to any corps that you’re intellectually suited to if you want it.”

“Or?” Faith asked.

“You’ll be invalided out on a very small pension,” The Duke said sadly, “I know its unfair, after all you’ve only been doing what we asked you to do and you’ve done it very well…it would seem, too well.”

“How long do I have to make up my mind, sir?” Faith asked quietly.

“It’s Tuesday now,” the Duke stood up and put his chair back where he’d found it, “best if you came to see me by Saturday. Until then you’re on ‘light duties’. If you need any help or advice drop by my office anytime, okay?”

“Thank-you sir,” Faith felt her eyes start to burn; she loved the Army and all the friends she’d made in it, now it looked like she’d become an embarrassment to the one thing in the world she cared about.

“No, thank-you, Staff Sergeant Lehane,” The Duke walked slowly from the little ward leaving Faith to ponder her future.

The End…for now.

The End

You have reached the end of "For to Fight for Uncle Sam.". This story is complete.

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