Free Company- Red Zone
Page 28
It’s almost show time, he thought hearing the approaching armor. In what seemed like only seconds, opfor infantry came into view walking very close to the tree line. A pair of armored personnel carriers soon followed, their machine gun and grenade launcher equipped turrets angled to cover the trees. On their heels rolled tanks, the second of the pair one of Keen Steel’s largest. With the column moving faster than expected, Posey recalculated when to initiate the proceedings.
Ignore the APCs. Slow or stop the heavy. Do that and we slow or stop the whole force, passed through his mind as he lightly rested his fingers on the first four switches he would throw. Watching a mark on the road surface he was using as a guide, he breathed deeply and quietly, laughing internally at the act. As if they’d hear you over the noise of rolling armor.
A glance at the engineer sergeant next to him showed the same tension he knew must be displayed on his as well.
“Time it… time it,” he muttered. His fingers moved the tiny distance needed to throw the switches—a crackle of sharp barks reminiscent of celebratory fireworks backed by a muffled, belching rumble broke the ominous and monotonous clanking of tracks. The creaking of wood splitting was soon followed by the rushing sound of displaced air.
Two massive trees toppled, one beyond Posey’s view, the other trunk spinning slowly as it descended to strike the protruding barrel of the huge tank’s energy cannon. Driving the barrel into the road surface just before the tarmac fell away into a hollow created by a buried charge, the noise was deafening and the scene was soon completely obscured by billowing dust. A thudding sound told of the 85 tonne tank hitting the bottom of the newly created hole, but this was swiftly joined by the sound of fire to the southeast.
As Posey spared an unconscious glance that direction, the simultaneous opening of fire by the ambushers and the ambushed just up the road overwhelmed all else.
Automatic weapons fire spattered the trees near Posey, prompting him to duck reflexively. Peeking from his place of cover, he hoped the dust cloud might settle before he needed to set off the remaining charges.
. . .
A rippling noise startled those in Forrester’s ambush force. Sounding much like an automatic weapon, most knew it was cutting charges bringing down big timber. The ground shook beneath them as the shockwave of hollowing charges passed beneath them.
Brennan winced as the cut tree nearest them fell. A huge specimen, he feared it might be long enough to land on him and his teammates, but such thoughts were brushed aside seeing the massive trunk strike the barrel of fearsome main gun on the heavy tank. Taking the barrel to the road surface with a shriek of bending metal, the ground shook once again as the ground beneath the tank swallowed the front of the vehicle.
With a blast of dust and flying pieces of broken trees, the troopers suddenly lost sight of their targets. Hearing the lead tank’s treads on the road meant it was on the move, but where it was going was lost on the Red Light troopers.
Looking to Forrester, the platoon saw him holding a closed fist just above head level, a sign to hold fire. Knowing the sergeant waited for the dust to thin, tension among the troopers grew.
Several seconds later, the sound of sharp explosions and small arms fire came from the southeast where Senior Sergeant Batista’s platoon was positioned. With most troops knowing the ambush there was to follow theirs, they could only speculate as to what happened.
“Dumbshits,” McIntyre growled quietly. “They’ll get us all killed.”
“Maybe they had no choice,” his assistant gunner offered.
“Yeah? Hmm, maybe so,” the mercurial McIntyre conceded. “Our part sure as shit isn’t going according to plan.”
“Cut the chatter,” Hank hissed. “The dust’s clearing. On your weapons.”
Seconds later, Forrester patted the shoulder of the tube launcher armed soldier near him.
With the whooshing sound of an anti-tank weapon, hell broke loose from both sides.
With the bark-spit of the weighty AA60 rifle grenade and its hefty recoil rocking Curt, Brennan placed the sights of his launcher on the turret of the battle tank raking the trees on the other side of the road and fired. Unable to see if he hit or missed, the young trooper reached for another round.
In little time the air was full of projectiles and beams. Keen Steel’s response was rapid—their armored vehicles hurling fire at both sides of the road while their infantry went prone and fired at unseen enemies within the woods as a storm of rifle grenades, shoulder-fired anti-armor warheads, and bullets came their way.
The bark-spit of Curt’s rifle grenade sounded again as Brennan reloaded his weapon. Once done, he sought a target and marveled at the sight ahead. Training could only teach the skills needed to wage war. It could never prepare a young trooper for such an engagement as Brennan found himself in now. Even with the sound dampening his helm provided, the cacophony of battle was overwhelming. The smell of propellants, explosives, dust, smoke, superheated metals and burning wood bit at olfactory nerves. The sight of so much destructive fire in such a small stretch of ground was awe-inspiring and terrifying.
With the tank he fired at previously now out of sight, his eyes locked onto the heavy tank that had sunk into the ground and he saw it was attempting to extricate itself. Brennan sought a point where he might kill it and found none. An idea immediately came to mind, If I can’t kill it, I can keep it in the hole.
Placing his sights on the rear drive wheel as it turned the track seeking purchase in the churned soil underneath, Brennan fired.
Blinking at the explosion, he heard a sharp cry and wondered if his shot had anything to do with it. Smoke and dust from the strike soon cleared and he could see the now deformed drive wheel still turning but with a broken track sparking and whipping violently against the track covers.
Fire to the north reached those engaged with the armor column—a clear sign the few Keen Steel vehicles that had been allowed to pass were engaged with the blocking force commanded by Hawkwood.
Knowing that fight was not theirs, those along the road pushed the knowledge to the back of their minds.
Senior Sergeant Forrester and several troopers closed swiftly with Hooton’s squad.
“Load and hold fire,” he yelled over the din of battle. “Watch the road, a tank following a bolter track is coming our way.”
Those that arrived with the platoon leader set up the left of Brennan and Curt amongst others in Hooton’s squad.
“Brennan, Curtis,” Forrester shouted. “Fire when you have the shot. Don’t wait for a command. Got me?”
The pair gave a thumbs-up in acknowledgment.
“If we can stop the bolter track we can block the tank and kill it as well,” Forrester bellowed. “Make’em count, Red Light.”
Within seconds a track raced into view. Swinging clear of the mess clogging the road, it ran at the edge of the tree line. Festooned with lensed protuberances on both hull and turret, the Red Light troopers recognized it as the bolter track Forrester somehow knew was coming.
Built to escort other vehicles as a defensive measure, bolter vehicles were decidedly lacking in offensive power but were potent at repelling anti-armor projectiles. With its sole machine gun chattering, those few rounds not stopped by the trunks of the dense forest passed well above the troopers.
Those to the right of Hooton’s squad had the first opportunity to strike at the track, rifle grenades and a recoilless round crossing the distance quickly. One grenade struck a trunk near the edge of the trees and blasted a fair-sized portion of wood free. The other projectiles died under a crackling storm of bolter fire.
The rumbling clank of a far larger vehicle reached the troopers, a sound all knew was a tank.
“Make’em count,” Hooton echoed Forrester’s call as the bolter track neared his squad’s firing lanes.
Gauging the vehicle’s speed and selecting a lead marker in the sight, Brennan drew in a deep breath and blew it out forcefully before closing his left eye an
d focusing fully on the shot.
The track came into view through the sight and as the front of the vehicle passed by his lead mark he paused for a moment before firing. His eyes involuntarily closed at the shot and as the gentle bucking of the tube settled, he quickly opened them in time to see Curt’s rifle grenade and his own recoilless round closing on the track.
Vaguely aware of many more weapons firing, the young soldier’s attention was keyed on his own effort, time seeming to slow for him. Mentally wincing at the sight of Curt’s grenade bursting into a cloud of particles, he grimaced when the round he had fired shed pieces of its own. Struck by a bolter shot, his round was deflected high and passed above the vehicle, holing two panels mounted on the turret without detonating.
Cursing, his anger soon turned to elation as most of the other grenades and rounds struck the track with a flurry of penetrating charge explosions. Slewing toward the trees before its tracks locked, the vehicle slid to a stop.
The hellish roar of a tri-barreled auto-cannon announced the arrival of a far greater danger as the closing tank blasted the trees. With twenty millimeter rounds piercing tree trunks and shrieking past with a banshee’s cry, Forrester’s troopers threw themselves to the ground. Even though Bastrop’s earlier comment had been made in jest, Brennan heard several earnest prayers offered to the Almighty as death chewed at the trees around them.
As the battle tank rolled on, its fire shifted to those north of Forrester’s unit, but few even raised their heads just yet.
An explosive scream of armor impacting armor flattened everyone once again as the tank bulled the dead bolter track out of its way. Shoved aside with the shriek of grating metal, the track rolled onto its side and downed several trees that fell toward those seeking to fire at the tank as it continued its way along the tree line.
As a few troopers rose to a crouch, most others raised their heads and looked on as the tank sideswiped more trees and rolled north unmolested, its auto-cannon still hurling rounds into the woods.
The sound of more armor came from the south along with shouted commands Forrester knew came from infantry leaders. Knowing their job here was done, he ordered, “Pack it up and follow me. You got thirty seconds.”
“Where are we going, Dan? West?” Hooton asked.
“North,” Forrester replied. “We’ll dig hasty positions behind Franklin’s platoon in case our opponents try to sweep the trees. He’s a fair bit closer to the road than we were here. If we can keep the infantry off, maybe Franklin can kill some more armor.”
Nodding, Hooton saw to his squad.
“Let’s go,” Senior Sergeant Forrester yelled.
As they stood, McIntyre stopped. “C’mon AG,” he said to his shadow.
Kneeling, he soon looked up at Bastrop and his team, a hard grimace locking his features.
Knowing what it meant, Hank simply said, “Let’s move, Mac. I’ll report it.”
Looking at his assistant gunner’s body once more before standing, he pushed past Hank in the trail of the rest.
After grabbing the shoulder bag holding a pair of ammo drums from the dead trooper’s body, a tilt of Hank’s head had his team chasing down the rest of the platoon.
Trailing Hank Bastrop and mimicking his bent over trot, Brennan was surprised to find the stray rounds passing through the trees and the racket from the road were simply background. Somehow his mind had accepted the fact that fretting over random things beyond his control did no good, even if they might kill or maim him.
Running past clumps of shredded countermass material ejected from the rear of recoilless launchers, Brennan could see there had been considerable fire thrown at the armored force they opposed. Sergeant Hooton soon joined the young soldier.
“Nice work on the bolter track, Brennan,” he said as he took the tube launcher and 90mm rounds from him..
“I think you have the wrong trooper, sergeant. I missed.”
“You took out the track’s primary target acquisition panels. I saw it. You effectively blinded it to any incoming fire. While the backup systems were spooling up, the other shots killed it.”
“Maybe so, Sarge, but that wasn’t what I was aiming at. My shot got nicked by a bolter. I saw it. It was dumb luck.”
“Dumb luck or not, you’re the guy that fired it.”
“And dumb luck beats bad luck,” Hank said.
Forrester stopped and waved his arm back and forth, drawing an invisible line on the ground. “Along here. Dig in.”
Trotting to tell Senior Sergeant Franklin what was coming, Forrester let his squad leaders designate fields of fire.
. . .
Sergeant Jackson watched the battle tank close at a swift pace. After coming over a rise in the road some two hundred and fifty meters away, a billowing dust cloud still chased the vehicle as it steered onto the tarmac. With two recon cars burning furiously some distance up the road and four other dead Keen Steel vehicles between them and the jumble of tree trunks that blocked the road north, the approaching tank was the first true threat Hawkwood’s force had faced.
With nearly a full night of preparation, the defenses were formidable. Dug-in positions and trench lines provided ample protection to the troopers who fought from them while berms and the roadblock did the same for the pair of rapid attack tracks. Though lacking the sheer firepower of Keen Steel’s armored vehicles, the Red Light troopers barring the way north were more than capable of dealing mortal blows to their opponents.
The two armored cars and pair of light tanks that followed the recon cars had proven to be no match for the 90mm main guns that equipped Rat-1, Rat-2, and Lunatic Red. The metal carcasses littering the shallow slope that lead up to the roadblock was a warning that only became apparent once clearing the rise to the south.
Tracking the tank through the sights, Jackson heard the crackle of the bolter atop the walker and assumed Myles found something on the tank worth thumping.
The tri-barreled auto-cannon on the left side of the tank’s turret began spewing rounds as the tank slowed, seemingly balking at the obstacle ahead. A pair of remotely controlled machine guns atop the turret soon joined in as the tank reversed course and backed south. A flash of propellant and the accompanying boom of the main gun’s discharge barely beat the three Red Light vehicles’ response which was soon followed by numerous tube-launched projectiles from grunts dug in at the block.
Two 90mm rounds struck the tank’s turret, the third impacting the glacis of the forward hull. Two other hits from the trooper-fired weapons landed as well, but none of them were enough to kill or cripple the vehicle and before they could reload and fire again, the tank had escaped, rolling behind the rise it had cleared just a short time before.
“Does that mean we’re in some trouble, Jacks?” Myles asked worriedly. “Four or five hits wasn’t enough?”
“It just means that tank is tough. We hurt it. Otherwise it would’ve engaged us once it backed over the slope and stopped in a hull down position. Next time we tangle with one that size or bigger, we’ll see how our lance rounds fare.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“What were you targeting with the bolter?”
“Don’t know for sure. A large lens near the main gun.”
“Did you hit it?”
“Fuck if I know. Nothing blew up or fell off, but I was square on it when I fired.”
“That was probably the primary sight. If you did zot it, that might explain why the tank skedaddled. Maybe we should worry.”
“You’re thinking we don’t have what we need to kill Keen Steel’s heavy stuff?” Myles said, the worry returning to his voice.
“We have enough. Hell, the grunts have enough anti-tank rounds to do it on their own. That doesn’t mean we don’t need to be creative. If we can kill some of their big iron out there in front of us, the ones that follow will be in some trouble. You keep knocking out their optics, we don’t have a thing to worry about.”
“It’s not that easy, Jacks.”
“It also means those giant energy cannons are damned near sticking up our noses.”
“Killjoy. Hell, they’d hole us from two klicks out, what’s the difference?”
“You make me feel so much better about the situation, Jacks,” Myles said sourly. “Thanks.”
. . .
Brennan watched the Keen Steel machine gunner rise to a crouch and lift his weapon to relocate. With the sight’s reticle settling on the man’s chest, he fired.
Falling backward and flailing his legs, the soldier nearest the gunner rose to render aid and he too fell to a bullet from Brennan’s 7mm rifle.
A flurry of detonations distracted Brennan, a volley of recoilless launcher rounds and rifle grenades exploding in a brief time. Not sparing a look, the young trooper concentrated on his task, fending off Keen Steel infantry attempting to interfere with Franklin’s anti-vehicle efforts. The dense tree cover in this portion of the woods necessitated they position themselves nearer the road compared to the other attacks to the south, but the heavy cover also provided better cover, concealment, and hindered infantry attacks.
With vehicles from farther back in the column pushing forward, a considerable infantry force came with them. Forming a line to clear the Red Light troopers from the woods via assault, Forrester’s platoon had hit them hard. Despite two attempts at dislodging Forrester, they’d been stopped cold and the bodies that littered the ground between the two forces made clear the Red Light wasn’t giving ground easily.
The machine gunner McIntyre had done considerable damage during both attacks. Raging, cursing, and repeatedly announcing his fight was an act of vengeance for his assistant gunner, he killed efficiently and without mercy. While not quite unhinged, Brennan suspected the gunner was on the other side of the line between sanity and madness. Even so, he was glad to be on Mac’s good side.