Free Company- Red Zone

by D K Williamson

  Blasts of auto-cannon fire overwhelmed most of the noise in the small battle. A quick look revealed a pair of armored personnel carriers with sizable turrets pouring fire onto Franklin’s positions near the tree line. From the rear of the vehicles dropped ramps down which infantry soon descended and added to the assault.

  Seeing this, Senior Sergeant Forrester knew they faced a situation that could turn against them in no time. Acting swiftly, he yelled, “Hooton, aid Franklin. We need to break contact and reform.”

  Nodding, Hooton looked to his troopers while Forrester organized his remaining troopers and sought to pin those already engaged with his platoon.

  Not waiting for orders from Hoot or Bastrop, Lee crawled a short distance to shield himself from Keen Steel fire coming from the south. From there he had a line on the newly-arrived enemy and saw Franklin’s platoon faced withering fire. Finding an older trooper near the back of the nearest Keen Steel APC yelling and directing others with hand gestures, Brennan dropped him with a shot to the face.

  “That’s it, Lee,” McIntyre yelled as he slid into position beside the young soldier. “Helluva shot. Kill my AG will they? They pissed off the wrong damned gunner! We’ll knock’em all down, yeah?”

  For several seconds, a wide-eyed Brennan watched the gunner fire bursts fit for machine gunnery manuals before he resumed firing.

  Crazy bastard. I am truly glad to be on his good side, he thought as he sought targets through his sight.

  “Mac, Brennan, keep it up,” came Sergeant Hooton’s voice. “We’re trying to extract Franklin’s platoon. Pin down the infantry near the road.”

  A quick thumbs-up from Brennan was enough of an acknowledgement for Hooton and he moved on to issue other orders.

  The bark-spit and distant detonation of a rifle grenade launch caught Brennan’s attention and Hank’s yell of, “On the money, Curt. Put the next one ten meters to the left,” told him his teammates were positioned very near.

  “Right! To the right,” Mac growled with a point. Seeing that McIntyre was in the process of loading a fresh drum into his weapon, he quickly acquired what concerned the gunner: a trio of opposing force troopers carrying an automatic grenade launcher, tripod, and a hefty ammo drum.

  Tracking them in the spaces between trees, Brennan fired at the lead trooper, his bullet striking a small trunk. Fully penetrating and hitting his target, the dense wood had slowed the round, allowing the trooper’s frag vest to prevent penetration.

  Staggered, but not badly injured, the trooper threw himself to the ground, his comrades following suit.

  Mac’s machine gun spat and peppered the area where the trio sought cover, but with large trees protecting them and enough sense to stay put, neither Mac nor Brennan could do more than keep them pinned in place.

  “They’ll get that damned ‘nade launcher going before long,” McIntyre shouted. “Ain’t a damned thing we can do about it.”

  The bark-spit of Curt’s rifle grenade preceded a sooty grey blast obscured by the trees where the grenadiers hid. A strangled yell of pain followed.

  “Speak for yourself, Mac,” Hank shouted. “We got it covered.”

  “Kill’em all, let the devil sort’em out,” Mac yelled in reply.

  Returning his attention to the area near the armored personnel carriers, Brennan winced at what he saw. With auto-cannon fire tearing through the trees, he could see several wounded or dead members of Franklin’s platoon on the ground. With Forrester bellowing orders from a position behind Franklin’s troopers, Franklin himself led what looked like a suicide mission straight at the APCs.

  Crawling under the auto-cannon fire with several men trailing him, Brennan could see AA60 rifle grenades affixed to the muzzles of their weapons. Realizing their intent, the young soldier wondered if he could do the same if placed in the same position.

  Seeking those that targeted Franklin’s forlorn hope, Brennan fired at a steady pace, not caring if he killed or merely wounded his opponents, his concern was simply to hit as many Keen Steel troopers in as little time as possible and hinder their efforts.

  Two loud bangs came from near the armored vehicles followed by screams and smoke. The auto-cannon on the northernmost personnel carrier ceased firing as orange tendrils of flames licked the air above it and Lee marveled at the fact Franklin’s desperate attack had managed to take down one of the armored monsters. A hatch on top of the turret opened with a cloud of black smoke followed by a panicked crewman. As bullets sparked and clanged on the armor, the man flinched before slumping to hang inertly from the hatch as flame crawled upward. At the edge of his attention, Brennan could hear McIntyre hooting and he assumed it was Mac that killed the crewman.

  The bark-spit of rifle grenades sounded, just audible over the battle, the much louder detonations coming just moments later. As the second APC’s auto-cannon fell silent, a whistling shriek came from the other armored vehicle, its power containment venting upward with a flash of light.

  A muffled pop was soon followed by several more at ragged intervals. This soon became more rapid—auto-cannon rounds exploding irregularly within the burning vehicle like demonic popcorn.

  The destruction of the two armored personnel carriers prompted the surviving infantry near them to fall back, their comrades in the woods still stalled in the trees south.

  Through the smoke there was no sign of Franklin or his troopers except the results their perilous attack brought.

  The cluster of dead and disabled vehicles clotting the road along with the obstacles the Red Light engineers created presented an opportunity for the ambushers to withdraw. With Forrester leading a mixed force of Franklin’s troopers and some of his own, they took positions fifty meters to the northeast leaving Hooton’s squad as the southernmost Red Light unit in this part of the fight.

  “Bastrop,” yelled Hooton, “Your team covers while we’re moving. Standard drill.”

  “Got it, Sarge,” Hank bellowed in reply.

  “First Squad, on me,” Hooton ordered.

  Rising with his machine gun, McIntyre growled, “Stay frosty, Lee. You hear this gun barking, you haul ass ‘cause I got you covered.”

  As the gunner departed in a sprint, Brennan shifted his fire to the south.

  “Curt, two rifle grenades and fall back with Perk,” Bastrop yelled.

  “Got it,” the two responded simultaneously.

  “Lee, with me.”

  Brennan fired at a steady pace. When he had no enemies to shoot at he fired at points where he suspected there may be some under cover and hoped his shots might keep them that way.

  Small and swift moving objects passed within his field of vision, hitting the ground and bouncing wildly they soon began jetting streams of billowing white and Lee knew they were smoke grenades fired from 35mm launchers carried by a few Red Light troopers.

  A rapid tap came from Corporal Bastrop. “We’re out of here,” he said.

  The two stood and ran north past three downed Red Light troopers, rounds buzzing past them from both north and south, a disconcerting experience for each of them.

  Sergeant Hooton signaled with a waving hand and the pair soon joined their squad.

  “Just in time,” the sergeant yelled. “We’re moving back as soon as our opponents advance a little closer. Straight north fifty meters.”

  “Why wait?” Hank asked. In no mood to endure fire from behind again, he wasn’t looking forward to doing it so soon or by design.

  “We want them thinking we’re being pushed back.”

  “I get it, Sarge,” Hank replied. “That doesn’t mean I like it.”

  . . .

  Falling back steadily as Keen Steel advanced northwards, the troopers with Forrester eventually found themselves exchanging ineffectual fire at more than two hundred meters through dense woods.

  Forrester realized his opponents stopped for a reason, one he suspected was for regrouping before pushing north through the glut of downed trees, craters, felled troopers, and burning
vehicles on the road.

  While far from perfect, the ambush had served as well as could be realistically expected, but it was only the opening stage and Keen Steel still possessed considerable striking ability—enough to shoot and batter their way through Hawkwood’s roadblock if the Red Light let them.

  Sending messengers to Hawkwood, Forrester held his ground, his troopers awaiting the order to fall back to the prepared positions near the barricaded portion of the road.

  With much auditory evidence attesting to the number of opposing force armor south but out of sight, those with Forrester were surprised when a voice called out.

  “Red Light troopers coming in,” the voice announced. “We have Sergeant Franklin. He needs evac.”

  “Watch your fire,” a sergeant from Franklin’s platoon shouted. As the senior non-commissioned officer after the platoon sergeant, he had assumed command of the platoon when it appeared they had lost him in the attack on the pair of armored personnel carriers.

  The sergeant waved them in, a pair of wounded troopers carried an inert third between them. Checking Franklin before pointing at two of his soldiers, he said, “Help these two and get Franklin out of here before all this kicks off again.”

  “Were there any other survivors?” the sergeant asked as the party prepared to leave.

  “I don’t think so,” one of the wounded troopers said. “We played dead until the opfor pulled out. We have some intel the commander might need to know.”

  “The magic medico is near the roadblock. Get Franklin there, get yourselves patched up, and relay your info.”

  “Will do, sergeant,” the trooper said.

  “Go.”

  Looking after the five as they departed, the sergeant then took his place in the line.

  “Why’d he do that?” one of Franklin’s troopers near the sergeant asked. “Franklin wasn’t a zoner. Those that went with him weren’t either.”

  “It needed doing,” the sergeant replied. “Franklin never asked his folks to do something he himself wasn’t willing to do. His platoon was under threat and he put it on the line to get us out of that mess. That fricassee out there was an example of that.”

  “Fuck that. I’ll fight,” the trooper said derisively, “but I stick my neck out for no one.”

  “Noted,” the sergeant said flatly.

  “Yeah. Nice to know you’d leave me bleeding if helping me meant sticking your neck out,” another trooper said.

  “And you’d come help me in that scenario? If so, you’re an idiot.”

  “He might,” another trooper said. “Then again, he might not.”

  . . .

  Senior Sergeant Winger and intelligence specialist Sergeant Lorenzo watched a pair of troopers trot into the woods. Tasked with delivering orders for the two platoons on the western side of the road to move north, their mission was important. Knowing Keen Steel would be coming in force, it was vital they be in place and ready when it did.

  Winger and Lorenzo moved to the emplacements northwest of the roadblock. With stores of ordnance and other essentials for the battle sited in protective constructs, their destination was among these—the medical track and dug-in field hospital.

  Leaning into the medical vehicle, Winger found Captain Meriwether treating a filthy and bloodied trooper from Franklin’s platoon. Nearby sat another, his dressings a sign he’d already been seen to.

  “How’s Sergeant Franklin?” Winger asked.

  “He’s alive and stable,” Meriwether said as he worked. “He’ll need hospitalization. Evacuation sooner rather than later would be best.”

  “We’re working on it, Doc.”

  “Sarge,”said the soldier being treated, “we heard some opfor troopers talking while we played dead. I’d bet the commander—”

  “After I’m finished,” Meriwether said.

  “I’ll tell him,” the other trooper said as he stood.

  “Then do so out of the vehicle please,” the doctor uttered. “This is not a command post or intel center.”

  Beckoning as he cleared the hatch, Winger said, “Out here, Paige.”

  Leading the trooper a short distance away, they stopped near a few others awaiting treatment for minor wounds.

  “I know what you and the others with Senior Sergeant Franklin did. You three were all that made it?”

  “I think so, Sarge,” Paige replied. “We checked all we could find, but it was a mess. We took out the APCs with rifle grenades but damn it all if we weren’t close. That’s what fucked up Sergeant Franklin. Before we tabbed him out, he told us to make our way back to what was left of the platoon. He’ll shit his trousers when he sees most of’em made it.”

  “How many vehicles did the ambush account for?” Lorenzo asked.

  “Dunno, Sarge. We heard explosions from Batista’s guys down the road and Forrester’s guys tagged some for sure and a tank fell in one of Posey’s holes, but we couldn’t see much with the firing, smoke, and trees. Saw even less out near the road, but there were quite a few from what we did see. Me and Burns played dead once we saw we couldn’t get out. The auto-cannon rounds in both the APCs started cooking off and we figured we were done for, but the tracks just burned. We had Keen Steel mercs not three steps from us for awhile.”

  Lorenzo nodded. “That’s how you overheard those discussing plans?”

  “Plans? They were grunts like us, gabbing about some of their pals going off with the tread-heads and hacks.” Looking at Winger, Paige grimaced. “They got something cooking, Sarge. Attacks east and west.”

  “They said that?” Winger asked.

  Lorenzo nodded again. “They want to keep Savon and Carmag pinned where they are.”

  The trooper shook his head. “No, it’s more than that. They were talking heavy armor attacks on both sides.”

  “I’m skeptical,” Lorenzo said. “The road through the trees is the only place they can move north and it's blocked. The heavy walkers may be the exception, but the rest are stuck going through the roadblock unless they can make tanks fly The only road east is the dirt track and it leads south.”

  “I’m just telling you what they said. They had something big going east and west. We figured the commander ought to know.”

  “You’re sure they weren’t feeding you false info somehow?”

  Paige glared at Lorenzo. “Sarge, they were grunts. They were scared and mad and if they had known we were alive they would’ve killed us for the way we fucked them up. That’s another thing they were grousing about… how it was the grunts taking it in the teeth and now it was the tread-heads turn in the barrel. Maybe it was nothing, but we figured Hawkwood….”

  The intel sergeant looked off in thought. “Ought to know. Yes. Maybe we’re missing something.”

  “It’s also something Savon and Carmag need to know about,” Winger said.

  “Perhaps, but if it makes them wary….”

  “That’s the commander’s decision.”

  . . .

  Fog of War

  . . .

  “Fuck!” a Red Light trooper yelled as an energy beam tore into the overhead cover on one of the dug-in positions near the roadblock. 90mm fire and recoilless rounds answered as dust settled over the trooper and his shadow. Wiping his helmet visor, he said, “Why’re they shooting main guns at us?”

  “Stupidity?” his shadow said. “It’s like killing ants with a rifle.”

  “But we’re the ants.”

  “Yeah. We’re still alive and biting too. To those tread-heads, we’re irritating little bastards.”

  “Enough ant bites will make’em want to pack up and go home,” said another trooper as he crawled into the position. “Sarge says watch the trees. Opfor infantry is making another push.”

  “Tell that damned tank to get off our ass first,” the trooper said as he swiped at dirty smudges on his visor.

  The messenger laughed as he moved to leave. “That’s not my job. By the way, word is Sarge’ll be okay… eventually.”


  “Franklin?”

  “Yeah. Another thing, Rat-Two took a hit and ain’t rolling anymore. That might be what that tank was shooting at.”

  “We’re down to two vehicles that can take on armor?”

  “It can’t roll. I didn’t say it can’t shoot. Still, I’m betting it’s a burning wreck ready to happen. I’d stay clear. I gotta move. Keep biting, ants.”

  . . .

  Jack Hawkwood ran bent at the waist and knelt next to Senior Sergeant Brown near Rat-2. Track chief Warrant Officer Lodge soon joined them. The three paid little attention to the nearby explosions and air singing with fragments and projectiles.

  “What’s the damage?” Hawkwood yelled over the noise.

  “Commander!” came a yell from behind. “Been chasing you for a while.”

  A look revealed a sweating field intel trooper breathing heavily.

  As she knelt next to the three men near the track, she said, “Senior Sergeant Batista’s platoon is in place covering the east end of the barricade. They took some casualties while engaging the vehicles south, but were able to withdraw. Batista reports opfor infantry in the trees, but they seemed to be avoiding contact.”

  “Which way were they going?” Hawkwood asked.

  “East.”

  “What damage did they do in the ambush. I know they were forced to engage earlier than intended.”

  “That’s right, sir. Batista confirmed two armored personnel carriers destroyed and numerous hits on several other vehicles. With infantry attacking their positions, the situation was highly fluid and they had to withdraw before they could determine damage done.”

  “Understood. No sign of Keen Steel’s heavy walkers?” Hawkwood asked.

  “None.”

  “That means they’re the reserve or they are attacking elsewhere,” Hawkwood said. “Find Corporal Yonke and have her notify Savon of the possibility of infantry heading their way and inform Carmag we have seen no sign of Keen Steel’s heavy walkers.

  “Will do, sir.”

  As the intel specialist departed, Brownie yelled, “Unless they’re a reserve, I’d guess they have a crossing on the river. That makes it hard to know where they’ll strike from, but the woods are still a containment for them. They’ll have to go where there’re no large trees.”