by Rolf Nelson
North hill
Amid the brush, small trees, and grass downslope on the north hill, three men in camo trudge quickly and quietly, all with packs and gear, one carrying a launcher, the others with extra missile tubes. The sound of crashing trees, flying earth and ringing metal makes them spin around to look uphill where they had just left. Tajemnica plows through the hill crest, trailing debris, passing directly overhead. As she tips up they reflexively throw themselves flat on the ground even though Taj is too high to hit them.
A waterfall of bags tumbles out from the stern ramp in a disorderly line, initially falling much more sideways than down, like grazing fire nearly parallel to the ground, but picking up downward speed fast, adding to the hundreds of kilometers per hour they already have sideways. The soldiers are near the leading edge of the cascade as the bags fall past and onto them, crashing through the brush and small trees like a blast from a titanic shotgun. One man is hit squarely on the body, another in the head. The third screams in pain as bags crush and twist his legs. Tajemnica roars off, turning and arcing up and away toward the other hill with a ManPADS team.
The survivor rolls on the ground, struggling to get the bags off his shattered legs, grimacing in pain. He manages to turn over and sees his motionless comrades, the obviously broken missile launcher, and a ten-meter-wide swath of destruction. He looks up the hill, then reaches for his com unit.
West Hill
On the wooded hillside down from the west hill, a three-man team in camo walks hurriedly though the trees. All of their com units squawk for attention, breaking the forest quiet.
“Team Three down! Team Three down! Come in Team Four!” calls a pained and desperate voice. The men freeze and bring rifles up, casting their eyes about in all directions for unseen enemies. “Team Three down! Team Three Down! No response Team Four! Come in Team Two!”
One of the soldiers carrying spare missile tubes thumbs his throat mic. “Team Two here. Sitrep!”
“They dropped shit on us! They came back over the hill! Broke my legs! They hit the hill, then dropped some sort of bags on us! Delatam and Poya are dead! The launcher’s broken! I can’t walk!”
“We’ll do what we can,” the team leader says in a controlled, professional voice. He releases the mic button and his demeanor and tone turn intensely angry. “SHIT! Shit-shit-shit! He’s screwed. Only two, now… SHIT!” The others look at him, then at each other, uncertainty written on their faces.
A different voice comes in over their com units, sounding hesitant. “Uh, now what?”
“I say we–” the team leader begins.
“Run,” the Ship AI interrupts in a deep, malevolent voice, coming in loud and clear over their com units. “The bag limit on ManPADS teams is four a day. We still have two tags to punch. If you are within eight kilometers of the refugee center when we return, we will kill you as well. Any use of these com units will be understood as continued hostile intent and you will all die. You have two hours. Tajemnica out.”
They look at each other in surprise. One reaches for his throat mic, and the leader shakes his head urgently. “I don’t know how but we are way outside the plan. Fall back to the rally point, report and get orders. Total electronic silence. Total. Clear?” The others nod, change direction, and start trotting though the woods, eyes on the sky as much as the woodland floor before them.
Kat sits at her desk in building 1701. Councilor Darch on is on her screen. He’s cadaverously thin, with intense eyes, perfect hair, and immaculate shirt and jacket. The office behind him is lavish and large.
“How the hell am I supposed to know they’d see your guys and do that so your SAM couldn’t shoot?” Kat protests. “He didn’t call before they lifted.”
“Don’t you advise him?”
“I’m his legal adviser. I don’t know what he’s doing most of the time and even then he’s constantly running hypotheticals by me. I’m not a mind reader!”
“I’ve paid you a LOT of good money! I expect good information!”
“Everything I’ve passed you is correct. You get what I can afford to give! Now get off this unsecured connection and let me see what I can find out!” The screen goes blank. Kat sighs and leans forward, elbows on the desk, looking tired. She puts her face in her hands.
Dropping In
A temporary camp and training field, with tents and a few container-sized prefab buildings, is set up near a simple firing range at the foot of a high ridge not far from Adelaide. Recruits are sitting in small groups cleaning weapons and gear in the low-angle light of the setting sun. Harbin roars up in a light truck, brakes to a halt in a cloud of dust, and hops out almost before it’s stopped. “BUCK! BRENNEKE! FOSTER! SABOT! PLUMBATA! I need you five volunteers to fall in!”
They scramble up and over, falling into a more or less straight line facing him, rifles at port arms. “You have some recreational skydiving experience, right?”
“Yes, First Sergeant!” Buck answers energetically for the group.
“Good. We got some size four brain cells with a size seven attitude and a mobile SAM battery giving the Colonel and Tajemnica a problem. The agreed-to arms level contracts severely limit what we can do, and OpFor is keeping friendlies tied up at the moment, so they offered us a one-target contract to deal with it for them. Think you’re up for a drop-in live-fire field exercise?”
“At NIGHT? Right NOW? FOR REAL?” Foster asks, astonished.
“Yes, at night. In the dark, too. A potentially hot LZ, low-altitude jump into a wooded area, voice-only communication, against an air-defense unit. Very limited allowed electronics, weapons, and transport methods. Lots of ways to have fun, even more ways to get yourself hurt, lost, or killed. No air cover or support, just us and what we drop with.”
The five recruits look at each other, surprised and uncertain.
“I normally wouldn’t ask this, but you’re better than the average ‘cruits and Tajemnica is getting shot at. Right now all they’ve got is us. Can’t order you to go because it is not training or a contract you’ve signed. If you go, you’ll get combat contract pay and coverage, even if the bad guys don’t show up to play target. No shame in not wanting to get shot at in a night drop you haven’t trained for.”
“So who goes if we don’t?” Sabot asks cautiously.
“Me. Kaminski, Kaushik.”
After a pregnant pause, Foster pipes up. “Who else?”
“Whatever spirits seem to watch over the Colonel, the Captain, and his scatter-brained ship.”
“Just the three of you?” Plumbata blurts.
Harbin shrugs off their skepticism, his face neutral. “Plenty of targets for everyone.”
Foster grins and slowly grows a lopsided smile. “Didn’t sign up for push-ups. I’m in.” The rest nod agreement and voice affirmatives.
“Grab your packs, weapons, and field kit. We’ll get ammo and the rest back at the pad. You have ninety seconds.” The five scatter at a run to retrieve equipment. “MEPLAT! CANNELURE! OGIVE! Grab your gear! Armor, rifles, and kit! You get to learn how to play badass crowd-control muscle! MOVE! You have EIGHTY seconds!” The rest of the camp explodes in a flurry of action.
The lights on Tajemnica’s bridge are dimmed for the night shift, and the glass cockpit screens show a ghostly false-color wide-spectrum synthetic view of the landscape, while captain and crew watch screens at their stations. The Ship AI intrudes upon their concentration, its soft voice almost sounding curious. “I am picking up some very unusual communications between Lieutenant Kat, Councilor Darch, Seymore, and an unidentified fourth party. I believe the information distribution pattern is useful.”
Dusk is falling on Landing Pad D9 as Harbin sits in the cab of a light truck full of bundles with parachute containers on them, the recruits standing next to it nervously. Tajemnica glides in, ramp already down, landing right behind them. Harbin guns the engine and backs it rapidly up the ramp, then tromps on the brakes, causing some of the equipment in the back to spill out the back
end in a combat unload. The recruits sprint up the ramp to help empty the rest. In a few moments it’s all on the deck. Harbin roars off the ramp, skids to a stop at the bottom, jumps out and runs back up the ramp as Tajemnica lifts away into the encroaching darkness.
Tajemnica’s cargo bay is lit in a hellish dim red light. Three large stacks of gear in cargo netting with cargo chutes on top are piled on the edge of the raised ramp, static lines rising from the bundles to the clip-line above. Harbin, Kaushik, Kaminski, and the recruits are dressed in body armor with jump harnesses and chutes. The red light blinks, the ramp starts to lower, and loose ends flutter in the wind. Allonia hugs Kaminski and kisses him on the cheek. He smiles at her, nods, and grins confidently.
“Back before you know it! With my shield.”
“You’d better. Luck!”
“Gear One and Group One, ready!” Quiritis announces over the PA, calm and reassuring. Lights flash again. “Group one, GO!”
The men push one pile of gear off the edge, and it drops away into the darkness, and the static lines pull taut, then stream back. A moment later Kaminski and two of the recruits leap after it, one after another in close succession, static lines trailing behind them going taut, then joining the cargo chute line streaming out into the night.
“Group Two, READY!” Quiritis warns, and the lights flash again. “Group Two, GO!” Harbin and a recruit shove their pile over the edge, pause, then jump after it.
“Group Three, READY! … Group Three, GO!” The last pile goes over the edge, then Kaushik and the last two recruits. Allonia looks out into the night, the wind swirling her hair. A chill passes over her, and she hugs herself, worry clouding her face.
Kat leans forward at her desk, exhausted, stress lines showing and dark bags under her eyes. Confronting her from the screen is a very angry Councilor Darch. “They killed two missile teams for sure, and I’ve not heard from the others! You said that ship wasn’t armed!”
“It isn’t, goddammit!” Kat says. “Her sensors are good, they must have been seen. If your idiots managed to get themselves killed, it ISN’T MY FAULT!”
“I don’t hire idiots!” Darch yells at her. “I hire the best, except for YOU! Four ManPADS teams positioned for a clear shot, then NOTHING! Not a DAMNED WORD!”
Kat is taken aback. “ManPADS? Those aren’t allowed in the declared zone! How do you know they are dead?”
“They weren’t in the declared zone. A flyby showed extensive ground damage in their area. They must have been fired on!”
“If you can’t get anyone at the RC then you’ll have to move the main SAM battery.”
“They might be seen if they move!”
Kat shakes her head. “There’s a wooded valley fifteen kilometers from the pickup point. Right on the edge of the declared zone. They can shift a couple of launchers, be there and set up for the trip after next, if they’re any good. Move in fast and tight, keep all electronics off during transit, stay on the valley road. That should be close enough. I can pass intel it’s a safe direction if they stay low. A heavy SAM will never have an easier shot.”
Ambush
The point Harbin has chosen is on a brushy hillside overlooking a wide, shallow valley with slender pines and a curving narrow road down the middle. Everything is dim in the predawn light, gray and silent. Harbin and Sabot sit in a hastily dug but well-camouflaged mortar pit about four hundred meters from the road. A light mortar is set up with a dozen rounds ready to fire lined up on the side, fuse safety pins still in, small note cards under each. Two heavy rifles with scopes and lunchbox-sized magazines sit at the ready, with extra magazines to the side. Suppressed rifles with magazines and bandoleers lie ready to use, or to grab and move.
Harbin checks the mortar settings before looking up and glassing the road. “Okay, range and angle that black rock next to the white one near the curve.” Sabot raises his optical rangefinder, a binocular-like device with a short tube sticking out on each side, adjusting it as he finds the target.
“Middle of the road, next to the black rock next to the white rock. Five eight five meters, forty-one degrees.” Sabot looks at a printed card for a moment, then makes a few notes on it. He sets the card down and picks up another mortar round from its canister. He puts one propellant increment on its base and lays it down. “All laid in. Now what?”
Harbin’s reply is quiet, almost absurdly casual. “We wait.”
“What if they don’t come?”
“We wait longer. Pray if it makes you feel better.”
“What if there are too many?” Sabot asks after a long pause.
“Contract says we get the SAMs. Then we worry about how many are there. Keep your mind on the mission. We are SAM-hunting. Some what-if’s are fine. Worrying about shit you can’t do anything about just wastes calories. Intel says a couple of launchers, a few support trucks, maybe a platoon of guys. Now, tell me the drill again.”
“Start at the left, fire, read the next card and adjust, drop, and go down the line to the right, read, adjust, pull safety, drop, repeat. Then shoot any SAMs that aren’t burning with the fifty. Then trucks. Then soldiers. Keep my hands off the clackers.”
“Good. Remember: only as fast as you can be accurate. Fast misses don’t count in this game. Read the card, adjust carefully. Don’t worry about anything else until you’re done with that.”
“Why not the soldiers first?”
“SAMs can shoot down Taj, guys with rifles can’t, and the heavy trucks will stay on the road,” Harbin says. “I don’t think you will, but you’d be amazed how many people freeze up in combat. With your head down, not worrying about what someone else’s exploding head looks like in your scope, you’ll do fine dropping rounds on the road. Once the SAMs are down, then we can worry about pulling back. Let me think about the people and selecting good targets. You just lay waste to the roadway and vehicles. Now then, I suggest you work on breathing: in slow, hold, all the air out slow, hold.”
Harbin stands, takes a final look around. He stretches, flexes, adjusts his gear a little, takes a sip of water from a canteen, then squats down in a corner of the gun pit. “Been a long night. Wake me in two hours, or if anything interesting happens.” He adjusts his helmet, hunkers down, closes his eyes, and appears to fall fast asleep. Sabot looks at him in amazement and shakes his head.
It’s full daylight, and Harbin is looking carefully over the edge of the mortar pit. Sabot is hunkered down in a corner, head down, helmet off, asleep. Harbin slowly lowers his head, then kicks Sabot’s boot gently. Sabot startles, looking around wildly for a moment, settles down, then perks up as he hears the dull rumble of many quiet engines and big wheels. He looks at Harbin questioningly.
“Might want to get your earplugs and helmet,” Harbin says. “We’re crashing a bigger party than expected.”
Sabot gropes for his helmet, carefully keeping his head below the edge of the pit. He starts putting his earplugs in. “How long? How many?”
“A few minutes ago. Bad convoy discipline, all bunched-up. Simple. Kaminski should fire first when the lead vehicle of the column is in position. Get your first shell laid in and ready.”
Sabot grabs the first round and its card. He looks at them dumbly.
Harbin speaks patiently, calmly. “Read the card, make the settings, get ready to pull the safety pin and drop, after the boom, on my say.” Sabot nods and breathes deliberately. He reads the card and checks the settings on the mortar. He pulls the safety pin and holds it over the tube, ready to drop.
Harbin is already lying in approximately the correct position on the heavy rifle. He shifts, scans the convoy, and settles in behind the scope, starting to track a target in the valley: a convoy of more than twenty trucks, stretching beyond the curve in the road both ways. Six large missile-launcher trucks with dual missile-launching tubes on each. Radar trucks. Supply trucks. Troop trucks. Command vehicles.
There comes a rolling BOOOM.
Harbin looks up from his scope, gauges the lea
d vehicle’s position, pauses, then says quietly, “Fire.”
Sabot drops the round, THUMP! A small dust cloud springs up around them from the concussion and he reaches for the next one. Harbin starts firing rapidly, starting at the other end of the convoy, aiming at the last dual missile launcher’s pair of long-range death, then working his way forward. The first truck in the convoy, a radar truck, receives a direct hit and explodes magnificently. The last SAM erupts, one of its missiles hit in the warhead by Harbin’s HE round, blowing the light command vehicle behind it off the road. The bunched-up and slightly disorganized column of trucks descends into total disarray.
A line of mortar rounds marches down the column from the front, hitting some trucks directly, damaging others with near misses, sending people running everywhere. A few trucks try to run off the road, only to wreck into trees or the ditch. Soldiers pile out of troop carriers and scatter, fleeing from the trucks-as-targets, hugging the ground to escape flying shrapnel and exploding SAMs. Harbin and Sabot lay down an accurate and devastating rain of fire. Soon all the dual-missile SAM launchers have exploded or are burning furiously. Sabot runs out of mortar rounds and takes his position at the far end of the gun pit from Harbin, firing his own heavy rifle carefully. Trucks and vehicles try to get out of the killing zone, but the trees and terrain are too rough. They tip or get stuck, and finally are shot.
Dirt kicks up next to Sabot and he jumps in surprise. “DAMN!” Harbin yells over the din. “Only way to stop them shooting is to shoot back! Keep it up! We’ll pull back if there’s a lull!” All the vehicles are rapidly set to flames, the heavy rifles run out of ammo, and only infantry remain moving near the road. There is a frenzy of movement down in the valley as enemy troops find cover and concealment from their tormentors on the hillside. As they can, they start firing more frequently.
