Free Company- Red Zone

by D K Williamson

  “Got it. Check fire west.”

  “Fire when you can and call when to move. Better soon than late.”

  Briggs acknowledged as the dust thinned and a cyan light backlit the brown grit that hung in the air. Seeing the bolt was headed to the northeast, he smiled knowing the tank’s turret was dozens of degrees from being able to put fire on Track-96 or the grunt hunter-killer teams. The beam also helped pinpoint where the tank was.

  As the tank became visible, Briggs took aim on the target acquisition array atop the heavy’s turret and fired as Sergeant Fell brought the track to a halt. His tracers showed he was just high and a small correction soon had sparks, ricochets, and particles coming off the array followed by larger pieces. The tank’s turret began rotating toward Nasty 96 once again.

  “We better move, Sarge,” Briggs called as he shifted fire to the main gun’s sensor suite.

  Without a word, Fell started the track rolling forward. Racing for shelter behind the roll of land, Briggs continued to fire as Nasty 96 raced into the turret’s traverse.

  The pair of auto-cannons on the left side of the tank’s turret began hurling rounds even though there were many degrees to go before the pesky track would be in the line of fire. Armor-piercing and high explosive rounds blasted dirt into the air as they tore though the top of the earthen bank.

  Just before the tank disappeared behind the low hill again, Briggs saw the tank’s tracks begin to roll.

  “The tank’s moving,” he called just before the energy weapon tore another huge piece of earth from the land feature.

  “We might have finally pissed them off to the point they want us dead,” Fell replied.

  The thumping sound of an explosion made its way to Fell and Briggs followed by a cluster of them so rapid it was impossible to identify how many.

  “Niner-Six, Muldoon. We scored multiple hits on the heavy. Didn’t kill it, but it appears to be immobilized. Its topside bolter defenses are down, but I’d bet the hull bolters are still functional. We’ll reload the launchers and try to finish it off. Will—”

  The sound of the tank’s auto-cannons thudding reports cut off Muldoon’s broadcast.

  “Pretty damn good guess by the tankers as to where we are,” the sergeant said when he spoke again. “I think we managed to shut down the main gun. We’re relocating. Will give a yell before we make another go unless you’ve managed to grow some sanity and want to sit this one out.”

  “Grow? Track crew are barren ground,” Fell replied, “I haul grunts for a living. You guys die, I’m out of a job.”

  “You’re a rare bird, Sarge. One more go and we’ll happily become cargo again.”

  “Let’s see if we can draw fire one more time. Maybe my gunner can take down some of the remaining bolters.”

  “The tank’s primary acquisition array is shot to hell, but we’ll gladly take any more help we can get and we’ll be buying when it comes celebration time. Give us a minute and we’ll be ready to go.”

  “Got it.”

  “Did we knock out the energy cannon?” Briggs asked.

  “Not likely. If the projector gets tagged, yeah. But to pull that off you need to be looking down its snout. The HK team probably zotted its generators and it’s on stored power now. The energy cannon needs a lot of juice—juice they need for other things. If they have sense, they’ll realize the situation and quit.”

  “We’re ready, Ron,” Muldoon sent. “When you start firing, we go.”

  “Got it,” Fell replied. “End this thing.”

  The track chief shifted to reverse gear and said, “One more time, Briggsy. Call if you think we gotta move.”

  “Ready, Sarge,” Briggs replied.

  Fell rolled and soon his gunner began hammering the tank once again, but drew no response. The pair within 96 guessed it meant the tankers realized the true threat was the hunter-killers.

  The turret traversed back and forth seeking the mercs lurking in the grass, but Muldoon’s troopers were now well south of their previous points of attack. Rising en masse, they fired a volley at the left side of the tank creating a rattle of explosions immediately after with one wild round passing over Nasty.

  Muldoon’s troopers disappeared once again and it was clear the tank was not dead as its turret traversed, but this time it wasn’t seeking targets. Stopping its movement with the main gun pointed directly rearward, the barrel rose to its maximum elevation—a token of surrender.

  For several minutes nothing happened as Fell monitored umpire channel. Finally, Muldoon broadcast over the company band, “Just a guess, but I’m thinking maybe their coms are shot. I’ll try approaching the tank to see if they’ll talk.”

  “Watch’em,” Fell said to his gunner.

  Muldoon rose from cover and walked toward the tank with his rifle slung and one hand raised in the air. As he neared the front of the hull, a turret hatch swung up and wobbled momentarily as it locked in an upright position.

  The two in Nasty-96 saw Muldoon yell and soon after a woman rose from the hatch and climbed out.

  “I think the tank threat is over,” Fell said. “At least here. Keep the gun on them until we know for sure.”

  “Sergeant Fell, this is Muldoon,” came over the com not long after.

  “Send it,” the track chief replied.

  “The tank crew has surrendered. The tank chief asked about the tracks we took down earlier so I told her what I know. The tank’s coms are gone, all of’em including the arbiters’ bands. I’m not sure how we handle this. You’re the senior ranking Red Light trooper out here anyway.”

  “Hold on, we’ll roll over there.”

  Sergeant Fell drove Nasty-96 toward the tank and stopped nearby. “I keep a rifle behind the driver’s position,” he said. “Bring it with you.”

  Briggs slid out of the turret and did as Fell ordered. Climbing down from the co-driver’s side, his limp was barely noticeable.

  Muldoon introduced Fell to the tank’s commander, a small woman with intense hawkish eyes named Beckett with the rank insignia of captain on her epaulets.

  “You don’t look insane, sergeant,” was the first thing she said.

  “Ma’am?” Fell replied not understanding what she was getting at.

  “Firing on a fully functional tank using just a machine gun is not prudent soldiering, sergeant.”

  “I know that full well, but sometimes duty requires risk.”

  “Quite. I must assume you’ve been a tread-head for some time.”

  “A decade or so, ma’am. Started on tracks and stayed with it.”

  “You and your gunner are most skilled and fortune favors the bold. Sergeant Muldoon informs me that the APCs that were with us are done for and the crews have been seen to?”

  “They’re on their way north. Prisoners taken clear of the fighting and wounded to local medicos for transport clear of the red zone. Do you have wounded?”

  “Just our pride.” The armor captain scowled before a slight smile crooked her mouth. “I’ll order my crew out so you can report our surrender.”

  Fell nodded.

  While Captain Beckett returned to her vehicle, Fell went to his. Hoping communications might be better from the high point of the hillock, he found he had the company band, weak but there.

  Despite a great deal of static, he was able to contact Corporal Yonke who soon had Commander Hawkwood on the com.

  “The tank is down, is that what you said?” Hawkwood broadcast.

  “Affirmative, commander. All three opfor vehicles are down. I repeat, all three Keen Steel vehicles are inoperable.”

  “I understand, sergeant. Good wor—Stand by, Ron. We have something.”

  . . .

  Corporal Hicks pressed a button on the command track’s comset sending an alert tone over umpire channel. Intended to draw the attention of the arbiters and those in upper leadership positions on both sides of the fight to listen—if able—to a notification of a significant occurrence on the field. Hicks fel
t some trepidation as corporals were not often in a position for such action.

  “Commander Hawkwood and arbiters, this is Corporal Matt Hicks of Red Light Company broadcasting over umpire channel. This is an official notification. Have captured opposing force commander and staff. They request a cease-fire to enact a change of command.”

  “Hicks, this is Hawkwood. Acknowledged. I have authority to negotiate on behalf of the Carmag and Savon light companies. Arbiters can confirm if necessary.”

  “This is a representative of the Arbiters Federation. We are monitoring. Proceed.”

  “Hicks, Hawkwood. Tell Commander Gifford that given the battlefield situation, we will agree to a cease-fire if she is willing to negotiate an end to the fight.”

  “Will relay, commander,” Hicks replied.

  After a pause, Hicks spoke again. “Commander, Keen Steel wishes to know your terms.”

  “We will accept total surrender and nothing less.”

  “Roger that, commander,” Hicks replied. After several seconds, he called again. “She doesn’t seem amendable, sir. She seems to think you’re the one that should be—to make this easier, permission to put her on open coms?”

  “This is Arbiters Federation. We are monitoring and would consider direct contact between commanders as advisable,” came over the channel.

  “Understood,” Hawkwood said. “Put Gifford on, Hicks.”

  “Commander Hawkwood, Commander Gifford here. The Keen Steel Legion’s command may have been captured, but we still have considerable force under the leadership of able officers. Heavy armor versus light infantry in open terrain? We are hardly in an untenable situation.”

  “I beg to differ. If you honestly believe that, abdicate authority to a subordinate and we will continue.”

  An alert tone sounded over the channel once again, this time initiated by Commander Gifford.

  “Captain Beckett, this is Keen Steel-Six sending over open coms on umpire channel,” Gifford sent. “What is your current position?”

  After several seconds of silence she broadcast the same query. Trying once again with no more success than before she sent, “Captain Waters, this is Keen Steel-Six sending over open coms on umpire channel. What is your situation?”

  “Commander, this is Senior Sergeant Black,” came the reply. In the background the sounds of battle raged. “Captain Waters is dead. We’re pinned down and are consolidating our defensive perimeter. We are unable to breakout without—”

  “Breakout?” she said incredulously. “Put the senior ranking member of your—”

  “I am the senior ranking member, ma’am,” the sergeant replied grimly. “If you’d take a look at the legion’s casualty list on evac channel you could see the numbers. You’d know how many of our troopers are tabbed out. We have two immobilized battle tanks plus several other disabled vehicles still in the fight. Mortar support ceased several minutes ago. Half a dozen APCs are still fully operational but are contained and we are using the dead vehicles as cover and protection for the wounded. A breakout on foot is still possible tho—”

  “This is umpire channel, sergeant, not unit coms,” Gifford scolded. “You compromise us by divulging such information and I’ll—”

  “Our opponents know full well what we have, ma’am. The road north is blocked and we are enclosed east and west. There had been no sign of Captain Beckett’s presence since she fired the signal rocket until a minute ago. I see she and most of those with her are listed as prisoners or casualties. Without mortar support the only thing keeping our opponents off us is the tanks and when—not if—when we lose the tanks we’re done. You can shut it down now or I’ll do it here when the tanks die under local commander authority. We are nearly encircled and the three companies opposing us will hem us in soon enough. Hell, they might have already closed the door.”

  The sound of a deafening explosion overwhelmed umpire channel for a moment followed by secondary detonations.

  “We’re down to one battle tank, ma’am,” Sergeant Black yelled over the noise. “We’ve lost this fight, commander. I’d advise you to shut this down while we still have a legion and a chance to save our wounded.”

  “Commander Gifford, Hawkwood here. I have eyes on the battlefield. You do not. Trust your sergeant’s assessment and end this.”

  A long pause followed. As Hawkwood drew a breath to speak again, Gifford came on the net.

  “Sergeant Black, Gifford here. Since I am not present to salvage the mess made by your predecessors, I pass command authority to you.”

  The sergeant growled in irritation at the commander’s dodge. Knowing full well she would spin Keen Steel’s defeat as the fault of her subordinates, he sent, “Commander Red Light Company, this is Senior Sergeant Black, commander Keen Steel. I formally call for negotiations regarding the surrender of my unit.”

  “Commander, this is Hawkwood. Terms?”

  “We need an immediate cease fire to treat and evacuate our wounded. We retain life and personal gear. These are the only conditions. In—”

  “Keen Steel will not surrender under those conditions,” Gifford spat. “I’ll not have—”

  “Corporal Hicks,” Hawkwood said, “take your station off open com, secure your prisoners and—”

  “This is Arbiters Federation. Senior Sergeant Black is logged as commander, Keen Steel. Proceed, sergeant.”

  “Done as ordered, sir,” Hicks quickly replied once the channel cleared.

  “Continue, Commander Black,” Hawkwood said.

  “In exchange for the previously stated conditions Keen Steel Legion yields.”

  “Agreed. You’ll have it. Commanders Carmag and Savon, acknowledge.”

  The two light infantry commanders did so immediately and within minutes the battlefield quieted as repeated broadcasts by the arbiters were received by units across the red zone.

  Once it was apparent the fight had ebbed, Hawkwood and Senior Sergeant Black sent official notification of the surrender over treaty and umpire channels. Shortly after, the arbiters monitoring the battle declared the red zone yellow: no longer an active combat area, but still potentially hazardous.

  . . .

  The Butcher’s Bill

  . . .

  With the battle zone now yellow, medevac vehicles came en mass followed by arbiters and safety officials starting assessments while efforts to locate unaccounted troopers commenced—sweeps through areas where they were last known to be and areas outside the combat area for those who might have crossed out beyond the monitoring range of the arbiter’s system. Some aspects of the search were grisly when dealing with those troopers who were nearly obliterated by heavy weaponry which inevitably also destroyed their locator gear.

  This continued well into the next day and once the arbiters approved, local government officials arrived bringing with them news crews, though they were limited to the victory zone where not one trooper from any of the four units had tread.

  With the fight concluded, preparations for departure began and even though the danger of unexploded ordnance still existed, surveys and inspections were required by the victorious side.

  Hawkwood elected to rest his troops other than those needed for such duty and with Senior Sergeant Brown whisking Jackson away, Myles Rivers sought out his classmates and friends. As he walked the company area, he saw many others in the unit were doing similar things.

  . . .

  “I have to go look over some of our tracks, Briggs,” Sergeant Fell said as his gunner snapped the lid on an ammunition crate. “Before I take off I wanted to remind you that you’re an attachment to Nasty Niner-Six, not permanently assigned. You don’t have to decide today, but whether you stay on or not will come up soon enough.”

  “I’ve been thinking about it,” Briggs replied.

  “And you’re going back to pounding ground.”

  Briggs nodded. “It’s what I trained to do.”

  “I figured as much,” Sergeant Fell said with a smile.

 
“You’re not mad?”

  Fell laughed. “Mad? No. You show sense, kiddo. Taking on tanks with a track? That’s every bit as crazy as being a ground-pounder, it just has a sprinkling of stupid on top. Tell you what, you give Bev the benefit of your gunnery knowledge and we’ll it even.”

  “You got it, Sarge.”

  “I’m going to talk to Brownie about getting all of our track gunners up to a higher level. You may get tabbed to be part of that. If you change your mind about returning to infantry, you come see me.”

  “I might do that. You need me to go with you?”

  “Go see if your pals made out.”

  Briggs nodded. “I will. Thanks, sergeant.”

  . . .

  “How did we do, Hank?” Lee Brennan asked as Bastrop and the rest of the team sat on empty crates after turning in their weapons.

  “Our team? Super. Hoot said you did fine while I was getting patched up. Hell, you helped take down a HACS. You did good, Lee.”

  Brennan nodded. “Maybe so, but it doesn’t feel like it right now.”

  “Course not. It’s your first time in the barrel. You’re tired and you lost some pals, but if I might play counselor, you know you’ll feel better after some rest. Even if you’re considering another line of work right now, this isn’t the time to make such decisions.”

  “I’m not considering anything just now.”

  Curtis and Perkins echoed Brennan.

  “Good. I got word about Musky. He’s recovering. Between you and those Keen Steel grunts, he’ll live.”

  Lee looked up with a surprised look on his face. “I guess I figured him for…that’s good to know. Is he done as a merc?”

  “Only if he wants to pack it in. If they can grow him a new arm and hand or replace it with prosthetics he’ll be serviceable. I’m not a betting man, but if I was, my money’s on him returning.”

  “What do you think comes next?” Perkins asked.

  “We hold the field so those in the know have to do a cursory evaluation of the spoils,” Hank replied. “For us grunts, we pack up the gear, clean our weapons, and get ready to transit back to Novar. After that I’d wager we’re owed some down-time and then it’s get ready for the next one.”