Free Company- Red Zone

by D K Williamson

“Roger that. Walkers, best judgment and engage at will. Hussars, seek cover and support with your machine guns if able.”

  “Lunatic, this is Bedlam, I’ll fire on your initial,” Warrant Officer Nash sent.

  “Roger that,” Jackson replied. “Loader, spiker,”

  “Spiker, up,” Myles soon replied.

  “Same game but for keeps, Myles with a Y. Just do what you’ve been doing and we’ll make out fine.”

  Myles drew a deep breath and released it. “Got it, Jacks.”

  Jackson watched the Keen Steel vehicles on his sensor screens for any sign they had detected the force that opposed them. Still obscured by thin foliage cover, they were partially visible on thermal and rolling fast.

  After rounding the curve on the stretch of road that led to the bridge and coming into direct sight, the lead vehicle slowed, an act Jackson took to be a sign they now knew of the Red Light’s presence. Keying the com he sent, “Opposing force vehicles in sight. Lunatic Red is engaging.” The 90mm barked and sent a shudder through the walker.

  “Loader, HE!” Jacks said in a tight voice.

  Myles drew the round smoothly and deftly placed it within the cannon’s action, a little surprised by that fact given the nervousness he felt. Punching the red panel, he called, “HE, up!”

  The steady beat of Bedlam Red’s 30mm pounded in the background, soon joined by Lunatic’s.

  Grasping the bolter control, Myles looked at the display screens and could see Jackson tracking an armored car pushing its way forward using two burning vehicles as cover—evidence Jackson and Nash had landed the first blows.

  The armored car’s commander looked through optics from her place in a turret hatch and Myles could see her mouth moving in speech. The flash of the car’s turreted heavy machine gun preceded the thunk-thunk-thunk of bullets striking Lunatic’s armor.

  Targeting the commander knowing weapons following her fire direction was a threat to the nearby infantry, Myles fired—her head and helmet scattering in pieces as her body slumped and fell into the turret.

  Jackson fired a one-second long burst that tore into the armored car’s turret and hull as it drove clear of the burning vehicles. The machine gun ceased firing as the vehicle slowed and rolled to a stop.

  Looking at the forward vid feeds, Myles now understood the complaints he had heard from track crews about the tight confines between the tree lines. While there was some room to maneuver, it wasn’t enough to effectively evade incoming fire.

  An armored personnel carrier ejected interdictor canisters and moved behind the motionless armored car, its turret rotating and spitting rounds at Bedlam Red as a pair of Keen Steel troopers ran toward the car in a crouch.

  Bedlam’s return fire with the auto-cannon mostly struck the armored car, sparks and jagged pieces of armor gouged free filling the air and dropping the two soldiers. While a pair of 30mm HE rounds struck the hull of the APC, it did little but mar the outer coating and prompt the personnel carrier to move a bit closer to the armored car.

  The move was enough to expose the forward part of the hull and the left front drive wheel and track to Lunatic Red. Aiming just above the drive wheel, Jackson let fly the 90mm high explosive round. The hit fractured the drive wheel, tore the track free, and destroyed the skirt covering the top of the suspension system. Beyond this destruction, the explosive force tore into the hull and wreaked havoc upon those inside, both crew and troops. The APC soon began to burn, a bright blue flash blasting the jagged hole even larger when the power generator lost containment and released its compressed contents violently.

  It soon became apparent the APC and its occupants were trading their lives to provide an escape for the remaining Keen Steel vehicles. Quickly beating a retreat, the remaining machines fled in the direction from which they originated and were soon beyond sight. The thermal sensors on the Red Light vehicles were now useless with the strewn contents of interdictor pods between them and the retreating Keen Steel force.

  “Demo team is onboard,” Senior Sergeant Mitchell sent. “Are we clear, Lunatic?”

  “Roger,” Jackson replied. “Four vehicles destroyed and the rest are pulling back.”

  “Cover the infantry’s withdrawal, walkers.”

  “Roger. Advise when to pull back.”

  Jackson moved his head to relieve tension in his neck before speaking. “That shot of yours, was that personal, Myles?”

  “Personal? Because of Smith and Paulino… no. They’re beyond caring about shit like that. The trooper was a target, Jacks.”

  “A helluva shot.”

  “Walkers, back’em up,” Senior Sergeant Mitchell growled over the coms. “Demo is ready to drop the bridge.”

  “Bedlam, this is Lunatic,” Jackson sent. “Let’s step back side-by-side in case they still have any ideas about making a mad dash this way.”

  “Roger that, Lunatic.”

  . . .

  “They’re coming,” one of Holden’s bridge lookouts called as he lowered his magnifying optics. Well over a klick away a Keen Steel armored car rolled into view followed by a battle tank of some eighty tonnes.

  “Let’s move!” Holden called, wheeling an arm toward Track-94. Sitting hull down in the road cut just beyond the crest of the ridge, Rat-2 along with Tracks 91 and 95 stood ready to cover 94’s run from the bridge. With little but the turrets showing, the three tracks were positioned well for an engagement even if they were outgunned.

  Having expended the entire store of countermeasures the four vehicles carried on both sides of the bridge and along the top of the ridge at the road cut, there was little worry the Keen Steel vehicles could use thermal, infrared, or any other means but optical to target the small Red Light force.

  Holden had Track-94 parked near the bridge in hopes it would deter enemy fire for fear of damaging their objective. It seemed to be working as no ordnance came their way just yet.

  One of the troopers who volunteered to stay at the bridge carried a satchel of flex ties used to support wires. Running toward the waiting track, he stumbled and dropped the bag, the ties scattering across the road surface. Trying to gather them, another trooper dragged him away from the mess and the two sprinted for the track.

  “Nice touch,” Holden said as the two ran past a crouched Captain Posey and ducked through the hatch. “I assume you were acting?”

  “Spur of the moment thing, Top,” one of the troopers panted as he took a seat.

  “Captain, anytime,” Holden yelled. “We’re the last.”

  Nodding, Posey pressed on a panel before standing and walking quickly to the track. “We have less than thirty seconds,” he said as he passed the top sergeant.

  Stepping inside the track, Holden said, “Then we best get moving.”

  Punching the ramp controls and the intercom in the same motion, Holden said, “Get us out of here, chief.”

  Track-94 lurched into motion, her track chief trying to keep the bridge between them and the closing enemy force for as long as possible, the rear-facing machine gunner watching the line of Keen Steel vehicles advancing on the bridge behind. Moving up the ridge’s slope past the destroyed scout cars and their dead crews, the war-wagon soon came into full view of the tanks to the south and the track chief veered slightly right. A few seconds later the track again shifted course slightly.

  “Tank firing,” the machine gunner yelled just before the pounding thud of a main gun projectile tore into the earth nearby.

  An even louder rumble came from astern.

  “That’s the bridge,” Posey said looking at the time display on his data receiver. With the blast curtain that usually separated the crew compartment from the troop bay open, the captain looked forward and yelled over the voices and noises inside the vehicle saying, “Gunner, can you confirm the span dropped?”

  The intercom hissed for a moment. “Span, captain? Dunno, but a big chunk sure did. Could see the water splash.”

  Posey smiled. “That’s what we were looking for.”<
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  “There’s a lotta dust and smoke. A lotta big and angry looking armored vehicles rolling in outta the trees too. A big fucker just coming into view…” the gunner trailed off uncomfortably. “It’s energy cannon equipped. Make this thing roll faster, chief.”

  Holden keyed the intercom. “Call Hawkwood and inform him of the results before the coms are jammed.”

  . . .

  Senior Sergeant Mitchell’s force rolled into the company area. Learning of their arrival, Hawkwood exited the newly erected command post building and went to speak with Mitchell. Sporadic and distant fire came from the south, skirmishing at the center bridge.

  The platoon leader detailed their action at the western bridge and added, “Carmag Light Infantry is digging in near the river as we speak. From what I saw, it won’t be easy crossing the waterway. The banks are steep and the water runs fair deep and swift given its width. It’s doable, but it won’t be easy. Keep patrols stalking the banks and we can keep them south of the river.”

  “Good work, Rod. The center bridge is impassable as of about seven minutes ago, but we have a change in plans. I’m headed for my command track. Come with me and I’ll explain.”

  As the two walked, the two light walkers hoofed it to the east to act as a watch until the bridge in that direction was down and Savon Light Infantry was in place.

  Hawkwood found Senior Sergeant Winger was waiting for him when the two arrived.

  “We should have some of the field phones up in less than ten minutes,” Winger said.

  “Good,” Hawkwood replied. “I was telling Rod here about our alteration of the plan. I’m still waiting for Commander Gifford to call demanding our surrender. Either of you have any experience with her?”

  “Fought against Keen Steel a year and a half ago right after she took command,” Rod Mitchell said. “She did the usual heavy unit routine and tried to roll over us. A pure brute force approach against rifle companies dug in like ticks. Their losses were heavy, but they just kept trying. Ended in a stalemate. I don’t think she cares much about casualties.”

  “I served with her when she commanded a rifle company some years back,” Winger said. “Gifford’s ambitious and prideful. Looking for entry into the corporate world. Keen Steel is a step toward that. She’s an able but not brilliant commander though she thinks she’s the latter. Make it a matter of pride and she’ll bite at the bait we’re dangling.”

  Hawkwood nodded. “Intel says she favors the direct approach, but her run at all three bridges says maybe she’s amendable to—”

  “You’re over thinking it, Jack,” Winger said with a shake of his head. “It’s like Rod said, it’s brute force, greed, and ambitious thinking. Taking all three bridges is still direct and Keen Steel took unnecessary losses because of it. The flip side is if she gets her armor across she’ll roll hard, fast, and bull right over us.”

  “I aim to make her want to destroy us here in the woods before she heads for the victory point.”

  “Makes sense given what we’re trying to do at the river. Let’s just hope the Red Light is as good as we think it is.”

  “Lock them up on the roads through the trees and we’ll have them if they lack infantry support,” Mitchell said. “If they push through to the open country north of us… we’ll be lucky if we can get a stalemate. Even if we did, the arbiters would likely rule it a victory for Keen Steel.”

  “That open country is the lure,” Hawkwood replied. “Convincing Gifford to drive for it is what comes next.”

  “We’re taking the fight to Keen Steel but they don’t know it. I assume you want my platoon at the center bridge?” Mitchell asked.

  “That I do.”

  “That’s where I’m headed then.”

  . . .

  Commander Gifford’s call came not long after Rod Mitchell and his platoon departed to join the growing force near the center bridge. Hawkwood was sure what occurred there would prompt a call. He was right.

  “We don’t need to consider surrender,” Hawkwood said confidently. “With all three bridges down, all we need do is stop your bridging efforts. No bridge, no armor on our side of the river. No armor, no victory. We can handle your infantry.”

  “You have one bridge down, Jack. The eastern bridge still stands and it seems very odd that I can see a nearly intact bridge from my position overlooking the center of our playground. I’m guessing your demolitions personnel are either incompetent or slow and scared.”

  “You don’t bluff very well,” Hawkwood said. Smiling, he awaited her response.

  “I don’t bluff. Perhaps you should go see for yourself. If your engineers didn’t tell you, I will. They damaged the center bridge, but failed to destroy it. We’ll push a bridge over the gap and then come straight up the gut and bury you.”

  “Let’s pretend what you say is true,” he said in a tone that sounded less sure than before. Pausing, he spoke with bravado once more. “Go ahead and try. To be frank, I hope you attempt it. You’ll fail. When you do, we’ll discuss terms.”

  “I gave you the opportunity to save your unit,” Gifford said in a brittle and angry voice. “I won’t offer you terms. I’ll offer you up as an example. I will grind you under treads before this is through. Savon and Carmag will have enough sense to surrender after they see what happens to your unit. I also might add that your bluff is pathetic.”

  Hawkwood keyed the handset and laughed. “We’ll speak again when we discuss your surrender. Hawkwood, out.”

  “You’ll—” was all Jack heard before he hung the handset on the com panel.

  “Corporal Yonke, while we still have coms, get Sergeant Knight on the horn. I want to know what’s taking so damned long on the east bridge.”

  . . .

  “We can take the bridge down from here if you can get the main gun trained on the pillars,” the demolition team leader said leaning against the track skirt on Rat-1. “We don’t need to plant charges.”

  Parked on a dirt patch just off the east end of the bridge, Rat-1 covered the crossing and the area beyond. Sergeant Davy Cash looked from the central bridge support to the barrel of the track’s 90mm and back again. “You think the ninety can punch out a pillar that large? It’s a helluva weapon but…. Are you sure you know what you’re talking about?”

  The demo specialist laughed. “Not the central pillar—at least not just yet—the connections to the supports. See the cylindrical shaped portions jutting out near the pillar? Those are knuckles. It’s part of the system that allows some flex in the structure and spreads the load. The support pillars have them as well. Hit those knuckles that are visible from here with ball rounds and the bridge becomes structurally unsound. Put an HE round high on the central pillar after that and we can get out of here. Savon Company won’t move into position until that thing is down.”

  “A few rounds, that’s it?”

  “That’s it. That structure is a bridge, not a bunker. It was made to support loads, not take a pounding with recoilless rounds. The central pillar is the key. The high explosive shot will crack the center pillar. When that occurs, the deck will slump, the center pillar will fail and take everything with it for a swim.”

  The track chief shrugged before quickly scaling the hull and bounding atop the turret. Dropping into the commander’s hatch Cash shouted, “Pete, load a ball round. Milt, square us up with the bridge and roll us forward about three meters. We get to kill the thing.”

  “The thing?” one of the men asked.

  “The bridge,” Cash replied with irritation. “We’re bringing it down.”

  As soon as the track rotated the few degrees needed and began its move forward, Cash yelled into the turret. “Gunner, see those cylinder looking things near the pillars? Those are knuckles. We’re shooting every one we can see from here.” Grabbing the headset, he put it on and sent, “Plug your ears and clear the backblast area. We’re using the ninety mike-mike to drop the bridge.”

  Verbally repeating the same warning to th
ose on foot nearby, the track chief dropped into the turret. Within seconds, the 90mm barked, dust swirling from the muzzle blast and its accompanying backblast. A ringing thud came from the bridge. Over the next minute, the process repeated itself until the crew chief called, “Loader, HE. Gunner, on my designated target.”

  “We have vehicles closing from the other side of the river,” said a tense voice from the second track. “Scout tanks and APCs.”

  “I think one of the tracks is an open top. That means mortars,” said another voice.

  “Fire,” Rat-1’s crew chief yelled.

  The 90mm barked again, this time with fairly spectacular results. A booming explosion was soon followed by the racket of bending and twisting metal, crumbling pavement, and failing synthetic concretion. On the heels of this came the heavy splashes of tonnes of displaced material striking the river below in a cascade of destruction.

  “It’s down. The bridge is down,” Rat-1 sent. “We gotta roll. If they have mortars, we need to get clear. They know we’re bound by the course of the road and will be trying for us.”

  “This is Niner-Six,” Fell broadcast. “We pull out in reverse order. I’ll lead until we have space to get Rat-One up front.”

  “Rat-One here. Get moving. We’ll send a few rounds their way to give them something to think about.”

  “Gun forward,” Fell said over the vehicle intercom. “I have thermals up. There’s a small screen to the left of the MG. I’ll feed the forward displays to it, but you best focus on the gun. I’ll call’em if I see’em.”

  “Roger, Sarge,” Briggs said. “Screen is on and I’m ready to rock.”

  Fell spun Track-96 around and departed with dirt and rocks spewing from the rear of the treads, the other track not far behind. Rolling fast, Fell was surprised to see figures on the road ahead. Worried they might be members of the Savon Light Infantry, he put such thoughts aside as 96’s heavy machine gun ripped a long and accurate burst that dropped most of the troopers ahead.

  “Keen Steel troopers,” Briggs yelled despite the headset.

  “That’s gotta be a recon force,” Fell said. Looking at the thermal display, He could see at least a dozen more forms of humans in the trees to the right. “Right side, kid, right!”