“You notice something about Keen Steel’s mortars?” Taro asked.
“I can’t see them when they’re inside a roll-top track,” Bellvue replied.
“I’m thinking that is his point,” Sam offered.
“It was,” Taro said.
Bellvue grinned as he lifted his head from his rifle. “I get it now. I don’t see their infantry digging mortar pits or carrying light mortars so it’s just the tracks.”
“What’s that mean?” Vincent asked.
“It means our opponents need to keep the tracks on the move to avoid counter-battery fire from our tubes,” Billy said. “We have a ridge to keep our mortars out of direct line of sight and grunts using the sixty millimeter tubes can use the terrain to their advantage and fire from damned near anywhere there’s not overhead obstruction.
“Keen Steel will need to place theirs all the way back to the tree line south if they want to hide them, at least until dark. With coms jammed they’ll have a devil of a time calling for fire. They may risk tight beamed transmissions, but as long as we have eyes on this side of the ridge, we can direct fire once our guys get the rest of the field phones strung. Opfor will need to wait til dark before they can even start and a wire run as long as they’ll have is vulnerable.”
“Unless they bury it, we may be able to spot it or watch for opfor vehicles staying clear of certain areas. If we do, our mortars can cut the wires with HE,” Taro said.
“It’s an advantage to be sure,” Bellvue replied, “but no mortar is going to help us deal with tanks.”
“Bolter tracks rolling in,” Nelson said. “They’ll park them behind the heavy tanks so we can’t touch them. Money says bolter defensive stations join them next. Mortar effectiveness just went down.”
“We have some protection too. We have trees so long as they’re up,” Hicks replied. “They don’t have enough ordnance to bring all this timber down.”
“Yeah,” Nelson laughed bitterly. “As long as we can stay clear of exploding pines.”
. . .
The sky colored with the approaching dusk as the engineer Corporal McCall looked over the western portion of the island in the river.
“The banks will need a lot of work to allow tracked or wheeled vehicles to descend to water level,” he said. “They could build a foot bridge anywhere along the length of the island easily enough though. More likely they build a ferry. It’d be faster and easier. I’d put a covering force on the island and push grunts over here using a reaction ferry if I were them.”
“Then we’ll need to keep eyes on,” the Carmag sergeant said.
“What about amphibs?” another Carmag trooper asked.
“Amphibious vehicles could cross if they can get down the banks, but the current makes it unlikely. Even if they turned head-on upstream they’d be taken downriver at quite a pace. Any crossing of size would be chaotic and they’d need large amounts of supporting fire over a long portion of the waterway to keep fire from our side putting them under. No, it’ll be infantry or nothing unless they want to try with their heavy walkers. Those won’t go unnoticed.”
“I’ll tell Commander Orff,” the sergeant said. “It’s getting dark. We best head home before we miss supper. We’ll be prowling this part of the woods tonight. I’d bet on it. We should see about linking land-line field phones where our two units overlap.”
“I’ll mention it when we get back,” Hank said.
The two units parted and with Bridges leading the way, the six from the Red Light soon approached their platoon position.
As Bridges moved to announce their presence, he suddenly dropped and gestured to his right. “Red Light, opfor southwest!” he yelled at those in the fighting positions.
As fire from their platoon mates commenced, Hank pointed northward and hissed, “Move low and fast. When you hear my warning, hit the dirt. Go.” Drawing a hand grenade, his team members knew what he had in mind and they obeyed immediately.
Brennan led the way and soon heard, “’Nade out!” come from his team leader. Flopping to the ground, the barking whump of the grenade’s detonation jarred the air.
Crawling on his belly at a rapid speed, Bridges soon joined the four. Bastrop arrived moments later.
“Recon patrol,” Hank said breathlessly. “Glad you spotted them, Bridges.”
Machine gun fire raked the area driving the corporal to the forest floor as bullets pocked the trees well high of them.
“That’s opfor fire from across the river,” Bridges said glaring upward.
A pair of mortar rounds ripped through leaf cover seventy meters north of the six troopers before exploding.
“We better find cover soonest,” McCall yelled.
“We’ll hook north and east and join the platoon,” Hank said. “Follow me.”
Running hunched over, Brennan saw his companions did the same as more mortar shells peppered the area.
Bastrop cut southward and bellowed, “Red Light patrol coming in from north.”
Repeating it twice more before sighting the platoon positions, Hank saw Dan Forrester looking at him waving his left arm rapidly, a signal he knew meant they should take cover and join the fight.
Diving into the position he shared with Lee, Hank saw McCall follow Curt and Perk into theirs. Wondering where Bridges might have gone, he was reasonably certain the stealthy trooper had already found cover.
What little fire came from the Keen Steel patrol that had blundered into Forrester’s platoon ceased soon after Bastrop’s return, replaced by an increasing amount from the southern side of the river. With the threat from the west now gone, Hank and Lee found they had no targets visible to the south, a rise in the soil and dense trees near the riverbank blocking all sight of the area where their opponents were firing from.
The loud slap of a powerful round tearing into soil and timber supporting overhead cover came from the position to their left followed by another that silenced McIntyre’s machine gun.
Thinking the gunner may be down, Hank called his name. Instead of McIntyre’s voice, Bastrop heard the impact of another hard hit on the machine gun position, the round punching its way through the upper part of the rear dirt berm. A scream came from the position followed by rifle shots Hank knew must be McIntyre’s assistant gunner fighting back. Yet another heavy round tore into the position eliciting another cursing voice.
Hank yelled McIntyre’s name again.
“I hear you,” the gunner yelled back. “Bastard just nicked my AG. Get the—” was all McIntyre managed before another round plowed into the front berm.
“Sonuvabitch can shoot, that’s for damn sure.” the gunner yelled. “Somebody get’im off us!”
Another bullet kicked dark dirt into the air to reinforce the point.
Hank cursed. “That’s a sniper using some heavy hardware. We need Mac’s MG in this fight.”
“That means we’re going out there to find the sniper,” Lee said.
“That it does,” Hank replied with a smile. “I thought I might need to sell you on the idea. We’ll crawl out and move toward McIntyre’s position until we can see the other side of the river. Maybe you can spot the sniper. If so, we can score him.”
“I’m with—”
Another thudding hit and curses came from the gunner’s position.
“I’m getting tired of Mac’s screams and curses,” Hank said. “Let’s go.”
Bastrop opened and locked the bipod legs on his machine gun and crawled out of the hole, Brennan just behind.
Lee watched as his team leader placed his weapon on his back and holding one bipod leg in hand, low-crawled toward McIntyre’s position.
Movement in his peripheral vision caught Brennan’s attention. Glancing left he saw a pair of exoskeleton equipped troopers pulling a handcart laden with ammo boxes and a heavy machine gun. The two were members of the support platoon, older than most but were still functional enough to provide service through efficient operation of mortars and machine guns. While exoskeletons could
be a hindrance to light infantry, they allowed support troopers to move loads far greater than non-augmented soldiers might no matter their age.
Hank stopped crawling and looked back at his shadow. “Lee, take it slow and let’s find this bastard.”
As if the sniper was challenging them, another round tore into McIntyre’s position as Brennan slithered next to his team leader.
“C’mon, we’re fucking pinned here!” the gunner cried.
McIntyre’s voice conveyed the panic he felt prompting a chill up Brennan’s spine as he searched for the sniper while bullets sang in the air and mortar rounds exploded far too close for comfort.
Breathing rapidly enough to hinder his search, the greener snorted in anger at the anxiety he felt. Calming some, he looked through holes in the tree cover and saw motion, troopers across the river running past but no sign of the sniper. Watching for another few seconds, he moved to other openings in the trees. As he scanned, he caught the scant flash of a shot, leaves whirling across the ground from the muzzle blast followed by the strike of a round mere paces away and the terrified, angry cursing of McIntyre and his shadow.
“I got nothing,” Hank said. “Where the—”
“I have him,” Lee growled. Consciously slowing his breathing, he focused on the shot and tried to shut out everything else but found it impossible to ignore hissing bullets and the zipping whine of mortar shell fragments. Even so, proper operation of his weapon took up most of his mental processes as he sighted well behind the exposed muzzle of the Keen Steel sniper’s rifle.
Another blast sent ground cover flying, but if it hit, Brennan didn’t notice. His focus was on the crosshairs and the muzzle of his target’s rifle pulling back into the trees. Knowing the sniper was finally relocating, he took up the slack in the trigger and fired. Lining up for a follow-up shot, he let out a loud breath seeing the big sniper rifle on the ground and a still hand resting next to it.
“Get him?” Hank asked looking over the sights on his machine gun.
“Sniper’s down,” Brennan yelled to let the machine gunner know he could resume firing.
“You sure?” McIntyre replied.
“He’s down.”
McIntyre responded with a long burst of fire followed soon after by shorter strings of bullets. “Pin me down will you y’sunsabitches? Take that!” he raged before he fired another long burst across the river. “Fucking snipers? That the best y’got?” he yelled before repeating the process.
“I think I liked that psycho better when he was scared,” Hank yelled after firing a burst across the river. Gesturing past Brennan as he thumbed his weapon’s safety on, he said, “Let’s get under cover, troop. This no place to be lounging around.”
A mortar round landed uncomfortably close to prove his point.
. . .
Eventually the fire from the south dwindled to silence and Hank opined Keen Steel had given up hope of extricating the recon team that had walked into the platoon’s line. Bridges and another trooper had checked the opfor troopers and found they were all dead.
Word soon made its way down the line that a trooper in third squad had taken a heavy sniper round through the head, the Red Light’s only fatality on this part of the battlefield, a man named Jones. It bothered Brennan that he couldn’t place the soldier despite being platoon mates, but when Hank, Curt, and Perk didn’t recall him they realized he was one of those that replaced them when they moved to Hooton’s squad.
By the time dark came on, a platoon from Carmag moved in from the north with word that Forrester was to take his unit back over the ridge and report to Commander Hawkwood. While the Carmag troopers dropped their gear near the fighting positions, the Red Light mercs packed up and moved out.
The trip was slow. With interdictors rendering night vision useless, the trip was not an easy one. The same dense brush that hindered them coming in was nightmarish in the dark and necessitated a tight formation with troopers grasping the man in front of him. The two soldiers taking up the rear and carrying the dead trooper Jones had the roughest journey of all.
Exiting onto the road cut well north of the ridge crest, they followed the edge of the trees until they found their tracks waiting for them.
Once near the company command post, the troopers disembarked and gathered while Forrester went to see if they had orders.
“Hey, Brennan,” McIntyre said as he pushed his way through a group of troopers. “Sorry about that missile magnet crack in the track. What can I say, I’m a superstitious jackass with a big mouth. That’s twice today you got heat off my ass. Twice more than anyone else has as far as I know. You done good.”
“Thanks. Twice?”
“The recon dickhead with the ‘nade launcher earlier today,” McIntyre said. “I figured he had it aimed right at my head. Any trooper that keeps my hide on this side of living ain’t no greener in my book, so call me Mac.”
“Fair enough. I’m Lee.”
“They say that sniper that had us pinned killed that third squad gunner. Might’ve been me too.”
“He took my place,” Perkins said slowly. “Don’t know what to think about that.”
“He didn’t take your place,” Hank replied. “This isn’t assigned seating, Perk. His place was his place. Yours was yours. Feel for the guy if you want, but drop the introspection. You’re a grunt. Our brains aren’t built for thinking.”
Perk nodded but said nothing.
. . .
Jackson walked Lunatic Red slowly. With full dark taking hold and no coms, the last thing he wanted to do was crush Savon Light Infantry troopers.
Cloud cover allowed only the slightest moonlight to reach the ground and with heavy tree cover near the marshy area Savon occupied, Jacks hoped they would find a way to signal him.
A dim light blinked several times prompting him to stop and hope Nash saw the signal as well. If not, there was a chance Bedlam and Lunatic would have a loud encounter that would announce their arrival to any Keen Steel troopers nearby.
“I got Bedlam on vid, Jacks,” Myles said. “Parked about ten meters back to the left.”
A dark form moved from the south toward the walker and Jackson soon saw it was a soldier. Several seconds later the field phone buzzed.
Lifting the handset from its cradle, Jackson depressed the transmit button on the device and said, “Send it.”
“Sergeant Maxwell here,” came the reply. With the volume set high enough for Jackson to hear without removing his headset, Myles could hear as well. “I’m the leader of the platoon just ahead. You’re the support from Red Light Company?”
“We are,” Jacks replied. “Lunatic Red at your service. That’s Bedlam Red just behind.”
“Glad to have it. They didn’t tell us we were getting vehicle support. Recon reports we have an infantry force of unknown size moving our way through the marsh. Recon also says they have exosuits or heavy armored combat suits with them. Too damned dark to tell I’d guess.”
“How far out?”
“Less than a klick, but moving slow. They know we’re out here, but finding us in the dark won’t be easy. Seeing them coming won’t be either.”
“If they are coming for a fight, it’s going to be a mess unless we have light. Can you designate your platoon’s positions?”
“You have light gathering capabilities on this thing?”
“Sure do. That’s how I saw your signal.”
“I can have each of my positions place a light facing this way.”
“That’ll work. What about the units to either side of you?”
“We’re the end of our line out here. The water to our west is a good two meters or more deep. We have a platoon about seventy-five meters to the east, but there’s water separating us.”
“Got it,” Jackson said. “We’ll set up to your west so we don’t fire over you. What are you using for illumination?”
“Trip flares to the south, hand flares that can be fired from the holes, and light mortars to the nor
theast that can put parachute flares overhead.”
“If we see signs of anti-armor weapons we’ll probably need to stay mobile. Make sure your troopers know about us, particularly those to the east. Mistaken identity can get a walker crew killed.”
Maxwell chuckled. “That’s what field phones are for. I’ll tell’em.”
“I’d appreciate it. I’ll relay what you told me to the other walker and we’ll move into place.”
“Got it. Thanks for the support. Hopefully it’ll be overkill.”
Seeing the sergeant returning to his unit, Jacks slowly backed Lunatic Red to rest close to Bedlam. Using tight-beamed coms, he soon had Carrie Nash up to speed about the situation.
“You take the westernmost position,” Jackson said. “We’ll set up between you and the grunts. If our opponents decided to drag anti-tank weapons along with them on their bog-slog, We’ll move behind the infantry positions to give you space to dance.”
“Got it,” Nash replied. “Do we stay off the com?”
“I’d think they could detect beamed signals, so we should limit it to necessity only.”
“Will do. We’ll trail you until you’re in position.”
“Roger that. Heading out now.”
. . .
“Any chance Keen Steel has their walkers out to support whatever it is they’re doing tonight?” Myles asked as they peered at the dark on their vid screens. Lunatic Red stood upright among a stand of trees while the other walker crouched to their right.
“Maybe. I’d doubt their heavies are though. Near sixty tonnes of walker splashing around ain’t quiet. I’m guessing this isn’t just a probe. If I were them, I’d lean on Savon pretty hard and see what they’re made of.”
“What do you think they’re made of?”
“Don’t know much about them so I can’t say. We shall see.”
A dim light began flashing from the infantry positions, short blips of red along with slightly longer ones. Jackson quickly realized what it was—Morse code.
“Savon’s closing,” he said deciphering the signal.
“Three hundred meters out,” Myles replied. “I was a pathfinder for a couple of years in primary school. Learned Morse and semaphore.”
Free Company- Red Zone Page 18
