Free Company- Red Zone

by D K Williamson

  . . .

  Dan Forrester led the way up the slope of the ridge, a veteran trooper flanking him on each side. With a hand grenade in one hand and a hefty fighting knife in the other he could see the Keen Steel troopers ahead watching up the ridge showing no sign of alert to the force coming from behind.

  Sounds of movement to the north seemed to be drawing their attention, likely Red Light troopers making their way to the top of the ridge.

  Forrester knelt and looked to each side, confirming those nearest him were ready. Behind him the rest of the platoon went prone. At his signal, the three hurled grenades into the midst of their opponents and dropped flat to the ground.

  As the ragged beat of the grenades’ detonations sounded, the Red Light troopers stood and started forward as screams and curses came from the Keen Steel position. A machine gun fired, its tracers tearing into trees to the north soon joined by rifle fire.

  Forrester smiled unconsciously as he drew a smoke grenade and removed the arming ring with his thumb. Throwing it ahead of his force, it began spewing white smoke before it landed.

  “Gas! The bastards are using gas! Mask up, mask up!” he yelled as he ran into the smoke.

  Screams and shouts echoed through the trees as veteran troopers hacked and stabbed their way through bewildered opponents. Rifles and machine guns seemed to fire in every direction while garbled orders and screams fell on deaf ears as Red Light troopers pushed through.

  “South! They’re attacking from the south,” someone yelled.

  Forrester didn’t know if it was one of his soldiers that made the call or a savvy but late Keen Steel merc. He did know he was clear of the enemy platoon and turned around, sheathing his bloody knife and unslinging his rifle as the group of green soldiers ran past on the heels of the team leader tasked with seeing them through. The platoon leader was happy to see experienced troopers running alongside the greeners.

  To his left and right passed more troopers, one a machine gunner who stopped a few paces later and blindly fired a long burst into the slowly dissipating smoke.

  Forrester wheeled angrily thinking there were still Red Light troopers fighting their way through, but before he could utter a word another trooper yelled, “We’re the last, Sarge,” as he drew a hand grenade.

  Nodding, Forrester tapped the gunner on the shoulder and shouted at the other trooper, “Throw it and move.”

  With the break contact maneuver abandoned, the scattered survivors of Forrester’s platoon dashed and cut through the trees while the Keen Steel force wildly fired in every direction.

  Grimacing at what the butcher’s bill might be, Dan Forrester gathered as many of his troopers as he could and headed for the top of the ridge.

  . . .

  “Why blades?” a shaken greener from Forrester’s platoon asked as they walked into the rendezvous point. Dimly lit stations operating from support tracks were set up for the wounded, the lost, hungry and thirsty, or low on ammo survivors of the night’s action.

  “Blades ain’t got no muzzle flash to see, kid,” an older trooper said. “It worked. We lost just two. Two wounded. Four casualties in all that confusion? Couldn’t ask for better.”

  “I was surprised how many opfor troopers were firing when we cleared their line,” one of the greeners said. “The grenades, the shooting, the knife work….

  “It’s never as bad as you think it is. We didn’t kill as many as it seems like we should’ve. It was the same for them. We didn’t take as many losses as it felt like running that gauntlet either. Shouldn’t be a surprise considering the dark, smoke, and confusion. It’s never as bad as it seems.”

  Another veteran trooper laughed grimly. “Yeah, sometimes it’s worse than you ever feared.”

  “Forrester’s ‘gas’ call was a new one on me,” another soldier said.

  “Don’t know if it did a damned thing or not, but he wanted chaos and we got it. Never seen that one before either, but I’m logging it,” the older trooper said with a tap on the side of his head.

  “Is that against the Accords?” someone asked.

  “I doubt anyone but us knows who yelled out,” the older trooper replied.

  “I’m no lawyer, but I say pretending to violate the rules is not a violation of the rules,” another said. “Done enough times it’d bring retaliation I’d think. It worked. Tonight, that’s all that matters.”

  Groups of soldiers gathered in dimly lit clusters to check on friends and try to make sense of the evening. Fighting in the dark with little but verbal communications was never an easy proposition, but this night’s affair was confusing even to veterans of countless such fights.

  Hicks and his three charges had made it out with ease. Stopping at the first point they came to, the four chatted with those already there and waited to see if Billy Bellvue and his three passed through.

  While they swapped accounts of what they had seen and done, a gravelly voice called from the dark. “Trooper coming in.”

  “Sergeant Mitchell?” Hicks said.

  “It is.”

  Moments later they caught movement among the shadows.

  “Mission accomplished,” Mitchell said as he stepped into the meager light and joined the group at the back of the track. Several jaws dropped when they saw the platoon leader. His clothing and gear was dark with blood, his face stained and hair matted with it as well.

  “Are you okay, sergeant?” Hicks asked.

  The sergeant laughed quietly, an act no one in the company had seen from the veteran soldier before. “Fine. It isn’t my blood. Sorry Keen Steel bastards got it coming and going. We sought to cause confusion in their ranks, we got it. We wanted to whittle down their grunts. We did that and got help from Keen Steel’s tread-heads. They killed more than we did.” He laughed again and started off. “Got a report to make.”

  “Are you all that’s left?” Hicks called after him.

  “Doubt it,” he said over his shoulder. “Saw some headed this way. They might’ve avoided the tank. Watch for’em.”

  Hicks watched Mitchell trudge into the darkness and grimaced.

  A minute later, “You Red Light?”said another voice from the south.

  “Gilstrap?” one of the troopers near Hicks asked recognizing the voice.

  “Me and Hoffman. Any others make it back?”

  “Mitchell just passed through.”

  “Not a scratch on him either… right?” Gilstrap said as he came into view. Bloodied and wounded, he carried another man over his left shoulder.

  As the others helped place the unconscious man on a casualty board, a medic pushed his way near. “Let me look at him,” he said.

  Gilstrap took a seat on a nearby crate and his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. “Was I right?” he asked in a tight voice.

  “About what?” someone asked.

  “Mitchell. Not a scratch.”

  “He said he was fine,” Hicks replied.

  “All that blood on him… are we sure he’s not wounded?” a trooper asked.

  “I’ll take him at his word,” Hicks said. “I had him in the scope when that hell near the bridge kicked off. You should have seen him. I’d bet he killed more than a half dozen troopers with the blade. Never fired a shot as far as I could tell. It turned into chaos. The flare light, crawling shadows, and half a dozen troopers with blades cutting their way through.” He paused and shook his head. “The Keen Steel soldiers started firing at anything that moved. I’d bet they killed more of their own than Mitchell’s guys did.”

  “What made the tanks start firing?” someone asked.

  “The machine guns, man,” the trooper Gilstrap said, his eyes flashing madly in the dim light as he looked away from the medic’s efforts. “The fuckin’ machine gun from across the river. They fired first. Chopped their own because a few rounds came their way I’d guess. A Keen Steel gunner on our side of the river blew his top and returned fire. Crazy fucker shooting at his own. I dropped him ‘cause I knew what was gonna happen,
but it was too late. Nobody knew who anyone else was. Hell, they didn’t care. Fuckin’ crazies. Fuckin’ energy cannons. It wasn’t a fight anymore, it was madhouse with armed patients. I figured I was the last one of us left so I ran. For a few seconds I had Keen Steel troopers runnin’ with me until I tripped over Hoffman there. I picked him up and Mitchell ran past us. Looked right at me and smiled just before the flare light went. Hell, he didn’t give a damn. Didn’t say a word, didn’t offer to help. I headed the same direction he did. Thought I saw him a time or two in the dust after…” Gilstrap paused and swiped a hand in the air as if shooing memories away like bugs. “The spotlights on the tanks swept back and forth and then they started firin’. Crazies, usin’ an energy weapon like that on grunts? The first one killed six or eight troopers… they burned up like trees. Don’t know, but I think they were Keen Steel, fuck, they had to be. I figured me and Hoff were gonna catch a beam as we went north.”

  “I saw you,” Hicks said. “I took the lights down.”

  “Might’ve saved us then. Prob’ly did. Flares went up again, but we somehow got clear. Heard the tracks clankin’ behind us. Just made the trees before that tank went rollin’ through.” Gilstrap looked west. “It still out there?”

  “One of the walkers killed it. Then the walker got punched out.”

  “It’s madness,” Gilstrap said. “Why? What the fuck were they thinkin’? Tanks in the damned dark? They shoot their own and then roll over’em? Fuckin’ Keen Steel. Fuckin’ dark. Fuckin’ Mitchell.”

  “Why didn’t he help you?” someone asked.

  “Why? I told you. Why would he give a damn about guys like me or Hoff? We’re not like him. We’re just troopers… humans, not monsters. The problem with monsters like Mitchell and Hawkwood is they have this instinct, man. They have this knack for knowin’ where to go and when to duck to avoid death. They’re charmed. That means any trooper with’em is cursed. That’s luck. That’s the way it works. One guy at the gamblin’ table catches the luck and everyone around’em goes broke. A gambler can walk away if he’s smart, but a trooper has to follow orders. That’s why you never go out with a guy like Mitchell. Never. I know that, but I went anyway. Know it in my heart, but still I went. Eight went out and three of us come back. It’s that charm… it gets you to stay at the gamblin’ table or follow a madman into the dragon’s mouth. His kind will get you dead. They’re killers… nobody’s a friendly to’em. Given enough time they’ll kill us all. Kill us all, man.”

  “You volunteered to go.”

  “That’s what I’m sayin’. Never go out with a guy like Mitchell.” He said nothing for several seconds before looking at the ground between his feet and muttering, “Kill us all, man.”

  As a pair of troopers lifted the board that held Hoffman, the medic and another trooper helped Gilstrap up for the walk to the medico track.

  Someone in the group spoke as they watched them. “There’s something to what he said. Mitchell’s a zoner. Maybe not all the way ‘round the corner, but he’s going there.”

  “Yeah?” another said. “If so, stay clear of the guy.”

  “Easy for you to say. I’m in his damned platoon. I almost went with him tonight. Regretted not going once they headed out. What’s he going to do tomorrow? That’s what I’d like to know. Damned we might be.”

  Hicks led his three charges away in search of Billy Bellvue. “War-lovers, glory hounds, zoners, they’ll all get you killed. They’re all different, but one thing they have in common is they don’t give a damn about you. You have to look out for yourself and your pals when you find yourself there. Remember that.”

  “What’s a zoner exactly?” Vincent asked.

  “Troopers that have seen too much but won’t walk away. They’re not war-lovers and they sure as hell aren’t looking for recognition. My theory is they’re infected. Soldiering is in the blood, but some troopers go off on a strange path. Maybe they just want to kill… or die… or both. I don’t know. Zoners tend to kill with no remorse and if friendlies get in the way, there ain’t no friendlies.”

  “How do you know when a soldier’s headed that way?” Sam asked.

  Hicks shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe when you hear enough stories from guys like they just took to the doc, but that’s after they’ve headed down the path. I don’t know. Ask Billy. He’s been around longer than the four of us combined.”

  “Zoners are loners,” Moss said. “I remember Commander Kent saying that. Don’t mean every loner is one, but every zoner is. I think Mitchell is a killer like Gilstrap said. Not full crazy, but a cold bastard.”

  “Hawkwood’s like that?” Sam asked.

  “I don’t think so,” Hicks replied. “I might if I’d been part of what Gilstrap walked through. I’d probably blame every trooper with a rank higher than mine. Think back to Moore Training Grounds and Hawkwood’s concern about greeners. No, he’s no zoner. Mitchell on the other hand….”

  Moss grunted. “Thing is, look at the damage Mitchell’s little dance caused. Even if none of the others made it, look at the numbers. Five Red Light mercs for what… dozens of Keen Steel troopers? There’s going to be hard feelings after all the friendly fire. Fuck, if I had pals smoked by one of those energy cannons, I’d be looking to drop a grenade down a hatch about now.”

  “Keen Steel tanks firing on Keen Steel troopers?” Vincent asked with a bewildered shake of his head. “Why’d they do that?”

  “You got me. Scared? Stupid? Crazy?” Hicks said. “Sometimes you can’t tell the difference. Maybe they just didn’t give a damn.”

  “I think I’d be with Mossy if that happened to me,” Vincent said. “A bag of grenades and machine gunners and tank crew best make themselves scarce.”

  While agreeing fully with the young soldier, Hicks said nothing.

  . . .

  Those not in the sentinel lines atop the ridge rested and slept if they could. All kept their gear and weaponry close at hand in case Keen Steel came in force.

  It soon seemed clear that the worst was over in the middle. After several probes by small Keen Steel units were chewed by machine gun fire after running afoul of trip flares, the fighting quieted to sporadic and harassing mortar fire.

  The west was a different story. While not pitched combat, the sound of brief but furious exchanges of fire made it clear the issue in that direction was surely not settled.

  Utilizing similar tactics as the Red Light Company, dug in Carmag Light Infantry sparred with Keen Steel infantry across the river until armor was brought in to support another attempt at crossing. Forced to abandon their positions near the waterway before casualties grew, Carmag fell back, receding up the southern face of the ridge and waited for Keen Steel to come to them, this time without supporting fire from vehicles.

  Realizing Carmag was willing to fight, Keen Steel backed off. Knowing the legion might make a concerted effort, Commander Orff ordered his unit to begin the planned withdrawal over the ridge.

  As opfor units began probing the north side of the ridge, Carmag interdiction patrols prowled the woods until making contact with Keen Steel units which brought on swift and furious duels in the dark. With the ridge between them and direct fire support, the Keen Steel units were on their own and moved cautiously. Carmag’s patrols bought time for the rest of the company to occupy prepared positions in the north just as the Red Light units did to their east.

  . . .

  Corporal Musky moved quickly and quietly up the northern incline of the ridge. With light undergrowth, this part of the woods was traversed far easier than those to the east. Covering Carmag’s withdrawal, most of Hooton’s small force held a position well down from the crest of the ridge while a small observation post kept watch on top. With most of the Carmag patrols having returned to prepared positions behind, Hooton’s troopers were in place to report any moves by the Keen Steel Legion. Slowing as he neared Hooton’s small force Musky waited for the clouds crossing the sky to clear the crescent moon. He didn’t
have to wait long before enough light made it through the trees for him to spot his comrades.

  “Coming in from the rear,” he whispered.

  “C’mon,” came an equally quiet reply.

  Finding Sergeant Hooton in the spare light, Musky knelt near the man.

  “Carmag is in position. We can fall back to their line of fighting positions at the bottom of the ridge when we need to. I looked’em over. The line’s in a clearing about sixty meters from the tree line and well camouflaged. There’s a platoon with heavy machine gun support about a hundred meters north and west of that. They left a field phone there so we can tell them when we’re falling back and would like us to bring it with us when we do.”

  “Nice somebody is looking out for us,” Hooton said. “The fracas at the bridge has quieted. Let’s move down after we recall—”

  “Somebody’s coming,” one of the troopers near the pair hissed.

  A look up the incline revealed the silhouette of a soldier moving quickly. Guessing it was one of those at the observation point relaying information, Hooton spoke in a low voice, “Hold your fire. It’s likely one of ours.”

  The closing soldier slowed and said, “OP reporting. We got movement coming up the other side of the ridge.”

  “What are we facing?” Hooton asked.

  “Don’t know, Sarge,” the trooper said. “It’s dark and the flares make everything look like it’s moving. It’s foot infantry we saw and exo-troopers we heard. Corporal Lane thought he could see maybe a half dozen foot-sloggers. Said it might be the lead element of a larger force.”

  “The rest are coming,” a soldier whispered.

  Several seconds later Corporal Lane and the other two soldiers from the observation post joined Hooton.

  “Not enough light to see much more than movement,” Lane said. “There’s infantry coming, but there’s an exosuit stomping its way up. At first we thought there were more, but as it closed we’re sure it’s just one. Couldn’t see it but I think it was in the lead.”

  “Not just an exosuit then,” Musky said. “A hack. Seen mech units use’em for recon. Most of them have acoustic sensors and light gathering optics to pick out OPs and ambushes.”