The Best Defense

by Todd A. Stone

  Cato shook her head. “Two’s going to get the hell shot out of them fighting them off until we get there. We need to fall back, Ma’am, we’re just too weak to defend. You said so yourself. I doubt Two will make it back.”

  “They will if we get a move on. Stiller, hump that gun like your life depends on it, ‘cause it does. Sergeant Cato, we are too weak to defend. So we attack. The ammo cache is a couple of hundred yards away, let’s get to it!”

  ~*~

  Mary Parker climbed out of the third-story window and made it most of the way down the escape ladder before the sound of bullets whizzing by made her jump. She hit the ground unevenly, fell, and rolled to one side.

  From their fallback position in a nearby building, Susan Phillips was trading shots with the pursuing Russians.

  “Parker, look up!”

  She did. Above her two enemy soldiers were climbing out of the window. Parker tossed a glance at Phillips, who had just ducked back to avoid a burst from the Russians’ support force in a window above. She wrestled M16 from where she’d slung it over her shoulder to make the climb, then noticed the chamber was caked with mud from her fall. Stymied, she threw all hundred-twenty-one pounds of her bodyweight against the flimsy ladder. It toppled over, sending the two screaming Russians flying through the air.

  Parker picked herself up and was about to run to join Phillips when she heard the crack of M16 fire overhead. Instinctively, she dropped flat. Not six inches in front of her the body of a dead Russian crashed to the ground.

  “He was trying to get you from out of the window up there,” Phillips yelled. “I got him.”

  Parker looked at the body and shuddered. “Hell,” she yelled back as she dashed toward Phillips, bullets again beginning to hum around her, “he still almost got me. Put a little right spin or something on the next one, huh?”

  ~*~

  Christine wormed her way to the top of Bunker 335 and cautiously peered over. Down the lane between bunker rows, generally perpendicular to her and a little over a hundred meters away, the right and center platoons of the attacking Russians were coming on line. The natural cover offered by the drainage ditch offered both a readily defined line on the ground for the Russian leaders to control movement, and some protection from the defenders’ fires. Scooting a few feet back down, she waved for her command group and the three women of Team One to fan out.

  Pfc. Annie Stiller crawled into the ditch and extended the M60’s bipod legs. With her eyes nervously alternating between the gun’s feed tray and the ragged line of Russians in front of her, she laid a fresh belt of ammunition in the M60, closed the cover, and pulled the bolt to the rear. The ditch rain straight for two hundred meters, and in it a line of Russians crouched in Stiller’s sights. Stiller wiped the sweat from her eyes and waited.

  Sgt. Willa Cato pointed out targets to each of her team members, then verified that the LAW rockets’ backblast would incinerate neither the prone soldiers’ legs nor anyone behind them. She checked, too, that four additional LAWs were already extended and prepared for firing, and that the M203 grenade launchers, momentarily laid aside so their owners could fire the LAWs, held rounds in their chambers.

  Christine gave the SAW gunner of Team One her target: the center—from Christine’s view, the farthest—Russian platoon. That done, she turned and quickly prepared her own LAW for firing. The drainage ditch was now crowded with Russians preparing to jump off. Near the middle of one of the center platoons one of them raised a hand to signal “forward”. That’s as good a target as any, thought Christine. Quick glances left and right told her that her small counterattack force, laid out in a rough semi-circle among the bunkers, was ready. The Russians started to rise. She centered the man’s body in the rocket’s sight reticule and squeezed down on the trigger bar.

  The LAW is not an anti-personnel weapon. Instead, the 66mm one-shot disposable rocket is designed to explode so that a thin jet of super-heated gas burns its way through the steel hide of an armored vehicle. Against most modern tanks with their high-tech armor, the weapon is virtually useless. A half-dozen or more must hit a main battle tank before the odds makers give even money that the tank will be so much as damaged. However, from the blind side, against clustered personnel, the seven rockets fired in two rapid, if slightly ragged, volleys tore the heart out of the Russian attack.

  Some of the Russians targets were literally ripped apart, while for others the rockets burned fatal holes not only through their bodies, but into the bodies of the soldiers on their left or right as well. Two rockets fell short, sending a deadly spray of hot metal into the backs and sides of the Russian line. Stiller fired bursts of six down the ditch, her targets dropping in a long row like gray dominos. Firing down from her slight elevation, Team One’s SAW gunner raked the far end of the Russian line, her rounds striking down and from the Russians’ right. From their positions, the women of Team Three did the same. Their LAWs expended, the gunners tossed away the empty fiberglass containers, snatched up their M203s, and pumped out rounds. Fifteen seconds later the drainage ditch, enfiladed by machine gun fire and high explosive 40mm anti-personnel M203 grenades, became a shallow killing field.

  ~*~

  “This is Watchdog One-Three. The other elements—the ones on the right—are pulling back.”

  The better part of valor, Christine thought grimly. She surveyed the long line of bodies, then waved to signal the move back. Now it’s our turn.

  ~*~

  For Claire Horowitz it was the last straw.

  “Goddamn it, Rich, just where in the hell are all the Russians you were ranting about?”

  “It looks like we didn’t need your help after all, doesn’t it, Horowitz? We kicked their butts just fine without you.”

  “From your squawking over the radio it sounded like half the Russian army was assaulting. We bust ass to get over here, get nailed by their snipers on the way, and when we get here they’re gone. Do your people know how to count?”

  “That will be all,” commanded Denight. He walked slowly through the warehouse’s defensive positions, examining the bullet holes made by the incoming Russian rounds, stooping to talk to a badly wounded and barely conscious Donald Lei, the only survivor of combat outposts MP Four and Five. He spent several minutes peering out of the positions’ firing and observation ports, turned around and studied the inside of the building, then finally walked back to his two senior sergeants.

  “You say two companies of Russians hit your element, overran Lei’s and one other position,” Denight asked Rich, “and forced their way into the buildings? Then you and the rest of your people counterattacked and ejected them just before the counterattack force arrived?”

  Claire Horowitz rolled her eyes.

  “I said about two companies, and maybe some of the details got left out, but yes, Sergeant Major. That’s essentially what happened.”

  With one finger, Denight beckoned to Annette Rich to follow him. In an adjoining room Denight carefully left the door open about a foot wide, then locked his eyes onto Rich’s.

  “Sergeant, you are not the most conniving, lying, sorriest excuse for a non-commissioned officer I have met in my career, but you’re a damn close second.”

  “You have no right to...”

  “At ease!” Denight roared, hands on his hips. “We are not discussing your qualities as a human being, because I don’t have the time and because a psychotherapist I ain’t. We are discussing your total failure to plan, prepare, and execute. Troops died today because you didn’t do your job, and that crock of bullshit story about two companies of Russians and an inside fight doesn’t cut it. There’s no evidence of the kind of firefight you claimed, and everything to say that your people were in poorly prepared positions and got waxed when the Russians hit. You’re responsible for that.”

  “Don’t you talk to me like that!”

  “That won’t work either, sergeant. The door’s open and there are too many witnesses. You’re fired.”

  “
You don’t have that authority, Sergeant Major. Only the commander can relieve a senior NCO.”

  “Watching the Major personally relieve you will be a pleasure. Until that time, I want these positions brought up to standards. You didn’t get hit hard, you got checked out. With a lot of work and a lot of luck you and your people might make it through the next attack. Now get busy.” Denight threw open the door and stormed out. In the adjoining room Claire Horowitz waited.

  “Horowitz, take about twenty minutes and have your people assist the MP section in squaring away their area. Then reoccupy your assembly area. On your way back, recon your counterattack routes here, I don’t want any more casualties from people running out in the open.”

  Not waiting for her reply, Denight marched out of the building.

  Infernesk Forest

  Stanev worked his way back into the forest, leaving the forward Special Security companies to hold the advanced points or retire and lick their wounds. He found Steglyr and the radio operators waiting under the firs.

  “Contact the companies, Steglyr. I wish them to hold their positions and consolidate their gains. Leaders are to report for new orders.”

  “You have learned what you need to learn, Captain?”

  “Da. We have found their weak points. We know where they will use their heavy weapons and where they will commit their reserves. Awaken Dimonokov from his nap. Tell him that we can begin his war on the Americans’ minds. We will let him do as he pleases, then perhaps we can put an end to this madness.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Command Post

  Infernesk Munitions Depot

  “It’s too damn quiet out there, Sergeant Major,” Val said as she and Denight looked over the sketch of the garrison’s dispositions. Partly because of the Russians’ advances, and partly because Val and Denight’s plan called for giving ground to buy time, the outer circle of bunkers and the buildings around the main entrance were now securely in Russian hands. This bothered the depot’s commander and her sergeant major very little—abandoning the outside ring after making the Russians pay a price had been part of the plan from the beginning. The losses her garrison had sustained, and the impact of those losses on the integrity of her defense, were a much bigger worry. She counted the cost not only in lives lost and soldiers maimed, but also in the empty OP positions that left holes in the garrison’s tenuous line. The web had been thin before. Now, even though the garrison’s defensive circle had contracted to the buildings surrounding the tunnel entrances, there were just too many gaps to cover.

  “It’s a war of nerves now,” Denight replied. “We didn’t get the Psyops stuff before; we’ll get it now. And we’ve got to keep our people awake, while the bad guy can rest his.” He looked at his watch. “The wounded should all be below ground by now, Ma’am. I want to make one last walk along the perimeter and then check on the prep downstairs.”

  “Just sitting here will drive me nuts. I’ll come with you.”

  “You need to be in the CP if something happens. I—I just need a little time alone to sort some shit out.”

  “The war of nerves getting to you, Sergeant Major?”

  “It’s just that I do some of my better thinking on my own.” He patted the MP radio to tell her he’d remain in contact, saluted, and walked out.

  ~*~

  Denight visited four positions, including two in building 16A, before working his way to the underground storage area’s personnel entrance. At the entrance’s edge he paused for a moment, pulled off his helmet, and drained half a canteen..

  He heard an outpost reporting in to the major.

  “Watchdog Two-One. Movement in building 22.”

  Denight looked down at the radio. It’s beginning, he thought, and if it plays itself out the way I think it will, our people will be in these tunnels by nightfall. If they make it. They won’t if the enemy has his way, and it look like he’s going to have it.

  He stood and headed back toward the fight, all the while thinking not if I can help it. He made up his mind to pick up a load at the ammo cache.

  OP Watchdog 15

  Infernesk Munitions Depot

  She heard the glass shatter and felt the burn in her shoulder before she heard the crack of the bullet.

  “Shit! Goddamnit.”

  She rolled away from the window and sat heavily against the wall. A dark red stain started to soak through her camouflage battle dress blouse. Her partner turned her head, dodged the shards, then pulled herself up and tugged the bandage out of the wounded woman’s first aid packet.

  “Sergeant Major Denight told you to stay away from windows. Why weren’t you looking through that hole we knocked in the wall?” She pulled her partner’s web gear off, cut open the blouse, and pressed the dressing over the wound.

  “It’s been more than an hour, and we’ve seen nothing. How was I to know they’d be watching the windows—ouch, that hurts!”

  “It’s gonna hurt more when they dig that bullet out of you. You just got sloppy.”

  “Some encouragement you are.”

  She spoke into the radio, reporting the injury and coordinating for another OP to cover their sector. “Encouragement my ass. I’m the one who’s going to need encouragement.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Who do you think has to help your heavy butt back to the aid station? C’mon, the bandage will hold for a while. Let’s go.”

  ~*~

  Val glanced at her sergeant major, then back at her desk, then at the radio. The OP had suffered one wounded and was coming in. The web was tearing.

  “So far that’s three,” she said, frowning.

  Infernesk Forest

  Stanev carefully studied Colonel Dimonokov as the fat man sat in his vehicle, lost in thought. Then the Special Security force commander nodded and turned.

  “The work progresses well. We will continue the pressure, and we will execute your attack plan.”

  “I desire to accompany the right wing during the assault, Colonel.”

  Dimonokov arched one eyebrow. “A misplaced sense of heroism.”

  “My presence may help to ensure success.”

  Dimonokov waved his hand. “As you wish. Now let us deliver our packages and see what these women think of them.”

  Central Area

  Infernesk Munitions Depot

  At first Val received only reports of shifting forms in the shadows, then came sudden, thick smoke from several grenades, obviously designed to mask movement. The smoke screen lasted for ten minutes, then as abruptly as it began the smoke dissipated. The OPs reported nothing. She sent a patrol, overwatched by a dozen two-soldier teams on rooftops, to check out the area.

  ~*~

  Cautiously moving her patrol from covered position to covered position, Christine led them to where the smoke cloud had formed. Setting out security teams left and right, and again covered by a third-story Watchdog OP, she dispatched a team to the center of where the enemy smoke had originated. Sergeant Cato brought the items to her, and even in her shock she had enough presence of mind to move her patrol back to defensible positions before she reported.

  Christine keyed the radio handset. “Leprechaun, this is Lightfoot.” She stared at the rayon undergarments in her hand. “I have information as to the status of the missing women.” She clenched the panties in a tight fist and vowed, with all the hatred she could muster, to somehow avenge her soldiers. “Will brief you upon return to the CP. This is Lightfoot, returning to base.” She choked back the lump and the tears. “Mission complete, out.”

  ~*~

  Two hours, thought Val, about two hours and it’s dark. In her head she went over the defensive plans for the umpteenth time. Then the radio crackled.

  “This is Watchdog Seven. Enemy force moving on central area between Buildings 14 and 15, estimated ninety personnel and four heavy weapons, over.”

  I don’t like it; it’s too early. Where are the rest of them? Still, she believed she had no choice. She al
erted the reaction force and while the soldiers prepared to move, Val and Denight hurriedly went over the counterattack plan with the force leader. A half-dozen sporadic M16 pops drifted in the window, chased by the sounds of return fire. That would be the OPs and the Russians’ replies. The cycle repeated itself three times before the reaction force poured out the door.

  “This is Watchdog Three. Watchdog One out of commission. I count eight enemy bodies being dragged away.”

  “Pass to all Watchdog elements that Thunderbolt and the Hornets are on the way along route green.”

  ~*~

  The Russians fanned out to buildings left and right, returning the fire of the American snipers with massive volleys of their own. But to Nancy Tandy of Watchdog Four, something wasn’t right. They weren’t charging from building to building, like Sergeant Major taught her to do during training. The Russians moved just enough and fired just enough to keep the OP’s pinned, just enough to keep their attention.

  ~*~

  Val and Denight’s late nights of counterattack planning and long days of rehearsals paid off. Route green brought the wounded Thunderbolt and his Hornets into the blind side of the Russian force. Then the Hornets stung; they mowed down two Russian five-man teams and a machine gun section in the first volley. Six more fell as the Americans moved around into the next building.

  But the Russians reacted quickly. The fell back, linked up their spread-out sections, and held the Americans at bay. Denight, sweating from the exertion of moving one-armed with the force, had dreaded this moment. It was a moment that he knew must come, a moment when he knew that if he pressed the counterattack he would lose too many soldiers, despite whatever victory his force might gain, to have enough left for the next battle that he knew definitely would come. The firefight played itself out as he it knew it must. The Russians couldn’t move, but they were strong enough to keep the Americans from moving, either forwards or back. It won’t take long, concluded Denight, feeling the weight of the rucksack dig into his back. Even though this is a cover for something else, and I gotta good guess what, they’ll reinforce with at least a platoon, hold us, then whittle us down.