The Last Centurion

by John Ringo

  But it was their culture and her choice. As long as they don't try to shove that culture down my throat, let them have it. Try to do it in my country and . . . Well the muj in Detroit found out exactly how forgiving Bandit Six is about that sort of thing.

  (By the way, was she old enough to "consent" to that sort of thing in the U.S., if it had been legal at all? No. But it's their culture . . . In that culture, she was. Fundamentalist Islam is a very fucked up culture IMO, but I couldn't save the world.)

  Getting away from "Stones," we did a full stop. We set up jamming, cut the phone lines, told the locals if they tried to leave they'd be shot without mercy, put out security (who tried like hell to stay awake) and got some rest. We stopped for ten hours, rotating so everyone could get some rest other than in a moving vehicle.

  Then we fueled, packed and rolled. Leaving the town standing against our better judgement.

  We rolled out to the west-northwest until we were way out of sight of anyone and then turned due north. We went nowhere near a town for days.

  We rolled, hard, dropping vehicles along the way as they just fucking died, for three more days. Days of fighting dust and fatigue that was so bad you shook in pain. Grit in your eyes, grit in your mouth, grit in your clothes. I'd spread the formation so that nobody was in anyone's dust. Didn't matter. It got everywhere.

  Two of the wounded died. The rest pulled through. They were as comfortable as we could make them in the supply trucks. The two medics we had worked like hell to keep them alive.

  Short of evac, there was nothing else we could do for them.

  There were more wadis up north. All over the fucking place. I put the Scouts out front and we lost one of the Scout Strykers to a totally destroyed undercarriage when it hit a fucking wadi doing well over what I told them to do speed-wise. I wasn't going to chew the driver out. He had a broken arm. And, no, we didn't know how to set it.

  We rolled deep into the desert wastes. It is said that Saddam had sent one of his sons up here, just before we'd entered, with a cache of not only most of his sarin and VX gas but also cash in tractor-trailer load quantities.

  If so, nobody has ever found it. We didn't, and trust me I looked. Less for the cash than the poison gas which I was perfectly willing to use.

  There were wadis. There were dunes. Not like the Rub Ak Kali or the mojave, but pretty big. There were weird things like this big sort of quicksand area. It was wet. How in the hell the sand/mud/shit that it was in stayed wet I don't know. But we lost a Stryker and an Abrams to it. The Abrams dropped fast. So fast the Nepo driver barely got out.

  There were "roads" out there. They were graded desert, mostly, with posts saying "Here's a road. Don't get lost or you'll be absolutely fucked!" Some of them were paved. We ignored them. There was nobody using them. You could see for miles and miles out there, most of the time. Most of what is called "The Syrian Desert" is gobi desert. That's a technical term meaning a desert of flat ground, usually clay, covered in small rocks.

  Out in the big desert is a very disorienting experience, even for a guy from the prairie. You keep looking for something to get perspective on and it's never there. We were a line of boats on a flat, hard, dirt ocean. There were mirages.

  You rarely see something like an oasis or a harem girl or whatever from a mirage. They're just layers of differential heat that reflect stuff. Like mountains that are hundreds of miles away.

  But when you're a bit shy on water and hallucinating from fatigue, you can make up just about anything. Saw a giant rabbit that was running away from silver spears falling out of the sky. And mountains covered in cellophane.

  You get the reason that most of the great world religions have been formed in desert when you're out there for a few days. It's a very good place to hallucinate. Peyote cults make sense, too. Everything makes sense in this big cosmic "Dude, I am soooo stoned . . ." way.

  During the day it was hot. The sun just beat down despite a constant thin overcast we were getting used to. At night it was motherfucking cold.

  We dropped the spare vehicles. Where? I'd have to give you the grid coordinates which are still classified. But we dropped them. We had to, we needed the gas. Those Abrams and Brads were gas hogs.

  Day four we stopped. We put out minimum security and we racked out.

  Where?

  Middle of the fucking desert, that's where. But I knew that we were going to have to do the same sort of thing, under worse conditions, soon.

  When we got up, we sent out "Stones" and did a regular "what's happ'nin'?" broadcast indicating we were going to try to head out through Syria.

  We were less than six hour's hard drive from Mosul.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I Had Them Right

  Where I Wanted Them

  Mosul was a stalemate.

  The Iraqi forces had the outskirts, the refineries and the tank farms. The Kurds held most of the rest of the city. But they were also surrounded. Eventually, they'd be starved out.

  There were Kurdish forces trying to break through from the mountains to relieve them. Sort of. The Kurds are fierce fighters but see the thing about "raid" vs. "shock" infantry. They were not shock infantry. They were trying in their own way, though, and might have succeeded in time.

  Iraqi forces were holding the side towards the mountains, the north and northeast, from bunkers and defense lines. Ditto the northwest and due east. The main push was coming from south and southwest. That was where the bulk of their armor was placed. Every now and again they'd push into the city and try to kill the Kurds. The Kurds had barricaded a lot of the roads, tough enough obstacles that the tanks couldn't just bull through. The tankers and infantry would drive around for a while getting lit up by RPGs and Carl Gustavs (a man portable anti-tank rocket), lose some infantry and maybe a track or two and then pull out.

  Stalemate.

  We were a short drive southwest of Mosul.

  Two problems.

  Problem one: There were a bunch of little towns southwest of Mosul. I wasn't worried about them being heavily defended or even a bunch of Javelins. I was worried about them telling the Iraqis we were coming. And there was fuck all I could do about it.

  Problem Two: There was at least another full brigade of armor pushing in on Mosul. They weren't great, but it was a brigade of armor. We had, at max, the makings of a company with the Abrams I'd kept. Think outnumbered ten to one.

  The Kurds weren't going to be much help. They were raid fighters. Hit hard and run. In fact, the Parthians (Persians) were the guys who gave us the term "Parthian Shot." That is, hit somebody, run away and keep shooting at them as you run away. (Very difficult to do with a bow over your shoulder on a running horse by the way.) Getting the last word in as you leave the room is a Parthian Shot not a Parting Shot. (Yeah, I know, how many pet peeves . . . )

  Anyway, the idea being to get them to chase you. Then you flank them and roll them up.

  Hmmm . . .

  They're going to get word we're coming . . .

  People, it is not the "Centurion Maneuver." It's not even a "Parthian" maneuver. They got it from the Ugyar (Mongols) and it was probably used way back when by the Scythians. It's been used by every mobile force in history at one time or another. It was used by Native Americans and Colonial forces. (Battle of Yorktown.) It's not new.

  Doesn't mean I'm not proud of how we used it.

  The road southwest out of Mosul crosses a tributary of the Tigris near the town of Khuwaitla. Northeast of Khuwaitla, between it and Mosul, is a low ridge.

  The tributary was crossable with our bridging equipment, which was still hanging in there.

  It started with a thunder run. We got on that road and barreled ass for Mosul. There were some checkpoints set up to control people in the area and some "tax collectors." We fired them up. But I ordered no main guns to be used. I wanted survivors.

  Most of us barreled ass down the road. My ten remaining Abrams and four Stryker gun vehicles carrying Javelin teams swung nor
th towards Tall Zallat. They killed anything they saw and drove over the few phone poles to make sure commo was as down as they could make it.

  Another Stryker force went south avoiding most of the villages. That was a good share of my available U.S. infantry and, notably, my bridger.

  The group on the main road took its time. We even took a couple of breaks away from the villages. The Nepos got out and set up fires. We were in no hurry.

  In Khuwaitla we stopped, again. This time we did a full commo shut-down. And I dropped Jav teams in houses along the northeast side. Those were all Nepos. We'd given them the best training we could on the Javs. Javs are not that hard to use and they took to it like ducks to water. They could see all the way to the ridge and could engage at least half that distance. They had lots of Javs, too. I also left my LOG trail.

  After Khuwaitla we sped up. Sort of. I got the Scouts well out in advance and we rolled in stately procession down the road.

  I had no intel on what was up ahead or what was going to happen until the Kurds called me and said they'd heard from the guys in Mosul that a big tank force was moving out. I wasn't in direct commo with the Mosul guys. I couldn't ask for details even if they could give them. All I got was "many tanks."

  Now, I've got about half my Strykers (fully loaded with infantry again) and my bridging equipment to the south. I've got my tanks to the north. It's a fraction of the total unit, mostly Strykers crewed by Nepos and with barely crews for that, rolling down the road. Exept for about half the Scouts who are barrel assing for the ridge.

  They get to the ridge. Every fucking tank on the planet is headed their way. The road from Mosul is "packed with armored vehicles as well as a long column of trucks."

  They back up and unass some of their dismounts. With Javelins. They fire up the approaching tanks.

  Now, a Javelin has a long damned range for an infantry anti-tank rocket. Two klicks by the book, two and a half in normal conditions and sometimes something like three or so. (There's a trick to that.)

  An Abrams, which we'd given these fuckers, has four klicks of range. And it can fire while in movement.

  Which the Iraqis did. Badly. They fired at our Scout vehicles and missed. They fired at the Jav teams, who were up in a pass and moving after each shot, and missed.

  But as they got closer, the gunnery improved. The Scout vehicles went behind the pass. The Jav teams continued to fire them up.

  We counted four trucks, two Bradleys and nine Abrams burning on the road to Mosul east of Centurion Ridge. They did a damned good job, all things considered.

  One thing they did was piss them off. The Abrams and Brads could outrun just about anything else. They sped up on the road, getting strung out in a long line. (I found out later that was against orders. Good thing the commander, who was a pretty good guy, didn't have really effective control.)

  When they got to within a kilometer, the Scouts pulled out. That was the sucky time.

  We were cruising along halfway between Khuwaitla and the ridge when the Scouts pulled out and ran. Right after them came first one Abrams then two then nine then . . .

  In all, there were forty Abrams tanks, nine Paladins and sixty-three Bradleys. There was also a convoy of trucks filled with a shit-pot of infantry, many carrying Javelins.

  My "main" force was caught on a flat open plain with the enemy on a ridge overlooking us and with superior firepower and range.

  I had them right where I wanted them.

  I put out dismounts and had them open up with Javelins as the Strykers spread out and opened fire. It was a pointless exercise. Except for keeping the Strykers moving. The enemy wasn't unloading to use Javs. And tank rounds do not track. They fired at the Strykers, the Strykers ran around in circles. We lost one Stryker to tank fire. We should have lost them all. To an American unit we would have lost them all.

  The tanks and whatnot were slowing down as they came across the ridge. That was backing them up. I couldn't have that. If I'd had decent artillery, sure. They'd have been dead-meat. But I needed them to attack.

  We turned back around and picked up the infantry dismounts. They'd shot out their Javs anyway. More smoking vehicles.

  We ran like hell as the Scouts finally passed us. We'd dropped the dismounts down the road and now weaved to pick them up. They were continuing to take the enemy under fire the whole way.

  We ran into Khuwaitla. We ran through Khuwaitla. Then we turned back around and drove into buildings, only the 25mm cannons of the Strykers sticking out.

  Khuwaitla had a mosque. Just about every little town did. This one had minarets, those towers where the muzzarein call the faithful to prayer.

  They make dandy viewing points.

  Javelins have huge range but almost no backblast. They are, therefore, one of the very few anti-tank weapons you can fire from inside an enclosed space. Oh, it can't be real enclosed or even their minor blast will hurt like hell or kill. But if you blow out most of the back wall of a hovel, you can fire from a window with a bit of maneuvering.

  There was a stand of trees, poplars, running along the northeast edge of Khuwaitla. Also common in the wetter areas. People use them for firewood. The leaves had been stripped by the autumn winds and branches were gray fingers reaching to the sky as if in supplication that spring would someday return.

  They affected neither the view nor the angle of fire of the ten Javelin teams, each with eight Javelins, waiting on the outskirts of Khuwaitla.

  Most of them were Nepos with a scatter of infantry to lend technical advice. More had emplaced in defense points in case it got down to infanty-infantry fighting. I didn't want it to.

  The "Parthian Shot" is only part of the tactic favored by the Ugyars. Everyone thinks of the Mongols as vast hordes, men on light horses that used speed and their incredible numbers to overrun half the known world.

  Most of the time, the Mongols were outnumbered. And they weren't just fast little devils, they were very good strategists and tacticians. They also weren't all "little guys on tiny ponies."

  Their favorite tactic went like this.

  Charge an enemy with "little guys on tiny ponies." Run away shooting.

  Behind some sort of visual screen would wait much heavier guys, lancers, (note the name, people) on much bigger horses and wearing much heavier armor.

  When the enemy charged the "fleeing" guys on ponies, they'd run into the guys with lances and be stopped.

  In the meantime the little guys were swinging around and hitting the enemy in the flank and rear. If there were enough big lancers, they'd hit on the other flank. It was a "one, two, three" punch combination that, especially with an enemy unfamiliar with it, was lethal.

  The enemy Abrams and Brads rolled down the road, pedal to the metal.

  When the lead Abrams reached a klick, I gave the order to open fire.

  Fucking Abrams are motherfucking tough.

  When that SF unit that first proved the worth of Javelins was under attack, they faced four T-55 tanks. Now, T-55s are old stuff. They're, basically, upgraded WWII tech. Just steel armor and very little internal compartmentalization or blow-out doors. But they're tough.

  A hit from a Jav took one out every time.

  A hit from a Jav took out a Stryker like a tincan. Really fucked up a Bradley.

  Fucking Abrams are motherfucking tough. On average it took two Javelins to get the motherfuckers to stop firing at our ass. Sometimes it was three. Hit the driver's compartment and they stopped but kept firing. Ditto the engine. Hit the ammo storage (side of the turret) and it blew up spectacularly and they were out of main gun ammo but still kept firing machine guns!

  Best hit was on the turrets. Generally the tank would just turn around and run away very fast. All the guys who were shooting were dead.

  Best best turned out to be "hit the turret with the ammo storage compartment open." On Abrams you're supposed to open it, pull a round, close it, load the round.

  I don't know for regular tankers but we tended to lo
ck it open in combat. So did the Iraqis. So it wasn't protected when the Jav hit the turret.

  We called it "pop-top." Lots and lots of power in those Abrams rounds. When the main ammo storage went off, and the door was open, there'd be an explosion so big and fast you couldn't figure what was happening. Then you'd catch something flying through the air. The turret. Furthest one landed, I shit you not, nearly a hundred yards away from the tank. A football field. Fuckers weighed more than a big bulldozer. The explosion was enough to throw a bulldozer far enough to make a goal from the other endzone.

  That's how much power.

  And when the door was closed?

  Fucker would still keep running.

  And they weren't just sitting there to be shot. Oh, no. They were firing back. So were the Bradleys which were getting smoked at a very high rate. Rounds were crashing into and through the whole fucking village.

  But Javs have very low signature. Remember, looking at the guys from a klick away, when they were just hiding in a ditch, our Scouts, who were professionals, couldn't spot the Javs firing.

  The Abrams and Brads were lighting up the village but they couldn't see, well, where the fire was coming from.

  They also had no clue what they were doing.

  Tanks are shock weapons. You run them into an enemy, hard. They're the lance cavalry of the modern battlefield. Sure, they've got great range. But the main thing is that they've got shock weight.

  The Iraqis were mostly not under effective control. Not surprising given that the group had to have organized since the Plague. And Iraqis are not, by and large, shock infantry guys. They are, mentally, raid attackers just like the Kurds.

  They had been barrel assing down the road in more or less a scattered-out line when the lead tanks took fire. They spread out into the fields to fire at the village. More or less randomly. This is the tanks and the Brads which were mixed up together in no formation I could figure out.