Red Thunder (Winds of War Book 4)

by William C. Dietz

  ***

  Near southbound Highway M-36

  The sky was achingly blue, the air was cold, and a stiff breeze caused an American flag to flap. Flames crackled, and the smell of burning pork filled the air, as yet another funeral pyre sent a column of smoke up into the sky.

  Quinn and Booker faced the formation. The surviving members of the 152nd stood in three perfectly spaced ranks directly behind them. CSM McKenzie gave the orders, each followed by a pause: “Attenshun! Present Arms!” And, “Order Arms!”

  How many? Quinn wondered. How many will fall? We’re down to what? Eighty-three effectives? The unit is bleeding out. Her eyes roamed the grimy faces in front of her. Her voice was smaller than she wanted it to be. The poem was by Mary Elizabeth Frye and, sadly enough, Quinn had been forced to call upon the words before:

  Do not stand at my grave and weep,

  I am not there, I do not sleep.

  I am a thousand winds that blow.

  I am the diamond glint on snow.

  I am the sunlight on ripened grain.

  I am the gentle autumn rain.

  Quinn looked up from the much-creased piece of paper. “These men and women died to defend their countries, but they will live in our hearts, for we will never forget this day—or this sacred place. Dismissed.”

  “Saddle up!” McKenzie bellowed. “And stay sharp. I’m looking at you Harris.”

  Two vehicles had been lost during the battle for Hill 152, which meant the company was down to the VPK, one 6x6 truck, and two Vodniks. Their plan would be obvious to any Russian with half a brain. The unit had to travel south.

  The first part of the trip was uneventful. And, if the circumstances had been different, Quinn could have seen herself enjoying the surrounding views. She’d driven it before of course, going to and from Kainkul. But that had been in the dark.

  Now Quinn could see the wide-open expanses of flat farmland, occasional stands of trees, and glittering lakes both large and small. There were houses too. And the businesses which tended to cluster around the intersections where secondary roads crossed the M-36.

  After passing the turnoff for Kainkul, the convoy found itself on a section of highway that was straight as an arrow, and was covered with slush. That was when Quinn noticed the complete absence of northbound traffic and wondered why. Was it a holiday? Were people hunkered down after the fight at the Kainkul airstrip?

  Or, and this seemed more likely, was a Russian roadblock to blame? And, if so, what should Quinn do about it? Go as far as she could? Or turn off the M-36 and circle wide?

  Quinn was still mulling her options when the top gunner spoke. “I see a bridge up ahead. Or what was a bridge. I think it’s down.”

  McKenzie was at the wheel. He tapped the brakes. As they drew closer Quinn saw that the gunner was correct. There was a gap at the center of the bridge. Was that the result of a structural failure? Hell, no. The Russians had blown it … And, they were still on site! As the VPK slowed six soldiers rushed to enter a Tigr and drive away.

  The convoy came to a stop. Shit, shit, shit. The 152nd had choices, but none of the them were good. They could sit and wait to be attacked. Or, they could pull a U-turn, and return to the last off-ramp. Neither option had any appeal. But there was a second bridge as well. A railroad bridge.

  The train track had been there all along. And Quinn had a vague memory of going up and over it the night before. Now the shiny rails had her full attention. She thumbed her radio. “Six to Charlie-Six. Grab a tape measure and check the width of that railroad track. The rest of the unit will disperse and prepare to repel an air attack. Over.”

  “Roger that,” Salazar said, and appeared moments later as he and a fire team ran across snowy ground to mount the elevated tracks.

  “This is Alpha-One-Two,” Private Segal said. “I’ll check to see how wide our axles are.’’

  Quinn hadn’t given the mechanic much thought since the incident with Jones. Why had Segal chosen to stay? Because she hadn’t been invited? Or because she chose not to? Quinn had no desire to find out. “Thanks, Two.”

  It took 15 extremely long minutes for Salazar to measure tracks, compare his findings with Segal’s, and announce the results in person. Based on his ear-to-ear grin Quinn knew what the platoon leader was going to say. “Our axles are wider than the tracks, ma’am. The ties will make for a bumpy ride but so what?”

  “Exactly,” Quinn replied. “The embankment is pretty steep however. We need a good place to climb up and turn the vehicles onto the track.”

  “What if a northbound train comes along?” McKenzie inquired.

  “Don’t be a party pooper,” Quinn replied. Both men laughed.

  It took all of half an hour to locate the best spot to “load” the trucks onto the track, maneuver them into position, and get underway. The ride was rough, and likely to be extremely painful for the wounded, but that couldn’t be helped. Quinn felt a moment of jubilation as the VPK rumbled across the rusty bridge and onto the south side of the river.

  That was the point where they could turn off and return to the M-36 if they wanted to. But what if the next bridge had been blown? And the one after that? No, Quinn thought it was more prudent to remain on the track, despite the discomfort involved.

  It took an hour to drive 15 miles, and the sun was high, when the tail end of a train appeared ahead. It was stationary. That begged the question of why? Had the train been parked there to block the Allied column? Or for another reason?

  Quinn turned to McKenzie. “Stop the truck.”

  Then she spoke into the radio. “This is Six. Bravo-Six will take his platoon forward to investigate the train. Over.”

  It wasn’t long before Andruko and his men jogged forward, weapons at the ready. The moment they were gone Quinn regretted the decision to send them. Not because she lacked faith in Andruko, but because she wanted to go herself, rather than twiddle her thumbs. She got out to stretch her legs and do some deep knee bends.

  Time passed. There was no report of an ambush. And, when Andruko returned, it was with two civilians. “They stop to eat,” Andruko explained. “And Da, they do all the time.”

  Quinn’s mind was racing. Should she co-opt the train? She raised her binoculars. The first thing she saw was an empty flatcar. “Did you see any lumber on the train?” Quinn inquired, without lowering the glasses.

  “No lumber,” Andruko replied. “But floor of each flatcar made of planks.”

  Quinn turned to look at him. “You’re sure?”

  Andruko nodded. “Yes.”

  “Okay. We’re going to drive the second Vodnik up and onto the last flatcar. Send a noncom and some men to build a ramp.”

  The second truck was carrying the rhenium and gold. Andruko’s face lit up. “That good!” Then he was gone.

  Quinn thumbed her radio. “Six to Alpha-Four. We’re going to load the second Vodnik onto the train. All personnel not involved in that activity are to board the train with their gear, weapons and ammo. Once aboard they will create fighting positions using whatever materials are available. Copy? Over.”

  “This is Four,” Booker replied. “I copy.”

  The phrase “Hurry up and wait,” had been popular in the army for a long time. And Quinn was the one who had to wait while the rest of the unit rushed to execute her orders.

  The soldiers were halfway through the process of loading the Vodnik when the attack helicopters arrived. Private Austin was the first to notice them. “Enemy aircraft approaching from the north at nine o’clock!”

  Quinn turned, brought her binoculars up, and swore. “This is Six … Get that Vod onto the flatcar—and prepare to repel enemy aircraft.”

  Quinn braced for the inevitable missile strikes and cursed herself for choosing the train over the highway. But rather than attack, the gunships circled the hill while dropping flares. That seemed strange at first. But then it came to her. The helicopters couldn’t attack the train. Not without permission. They were waiting f
or a decision.

  “This is Six,” Quinn said. “Man-portable operators will fire if a high-probability kill shot comes along. But remember, those exhaust ports are pointing straight down, so wait for the target to be overhead. Over.” Quinn heard a series of double-clicks by way of a response.

  “This is Alpha-Four,” Booker said. “The Vod is on the car and secured. Bravo-Six is on the locomotive treating the engineers to a motivational speech. Over.”

  Quinn smiled. “Roger that. Hold one. Over.”

  Quinn jogged from vehicle to vehicle checking for stragglers and, finding none, hurried forward. The first rung of the ladder was mounted high, but she managed to get a boot on it. McKenzie was there to give her a hand. “Six to Bravo-Six … Let’s roll. Over.”

  The locomotive’s diesel engine had been idling. Now, on orders from Andruko, it began to creep forward. Wheels clacked, chains rattled, and couplings groaned.

  Then, as if goaded into action, the helicopters attacked. Not with missiles, but with guns. In order to inflict less damage to the train? Possibly.

  But the guns were enough. The Russian Mil Mi-28 Havoc attack helicopters had chin mounted 30mm Shipunov autocannons. They stuttered as the airborne gunners took turns blowing divots out of flatcars, punching holes in rusty boxcars, and scoring a hit on the engine. That suggested that the helo gunners didn’t give a shit about the train’s crew, or were willing to sacrifice them.

  The train was traveling faster by then. Forty or fifty miles-per-hour at a guess. The sound was nearly deafening, the slipstream caused Quinn’s eyes to water, and the countryside was a blur. Quinn ducked behind the Vod as one of the Havocs circled, lined up on the train, and opened fire. The Vod rocked as a shell struck the turret.

  The next shell hit the wooden decking behind Quinn and sent dagger-like shards of wood whirring through the air. One of them hit a soldier in the throat. She died clutching the object, and trying to pull it out, as blood gushed onto her uniform.

  Austin fired his surface-to-air launcher at the helo as it passed over. But the IR seeker chose a flare rather than the Havoc’s engine. “This Bravo-Six,” Andruko said. “I see hill. I see tunnel. Over.”

  Quinn felt a glimmer of hope. Hills were rare in that area, 152 being one of the few she’d seen, and a tunnel would grant a momentary reprieve. “Roger that, Bravo-Six. Tell the engineers to stop with the entire length of the train inside the tunnel. Over.”

  Quinn heard a loud squealing noise as brakes were applied and the train started to slow. “This is Six,” Quinn announced. “I want half the RPGs and Strelas at the front of the train, and half at the tail end. Make it happen. Over.”

  The helicopters had to disengage when the train entered the tunnel. Quinn struggled to keep her feet as sparks flew and the brakes screeched.

  Then, when Quinn was beginning to wonder if the noise would ever stop, it did. And the flatcar remained out in the open. Which meant the Vod loaded with gold and rhenium was exposed. “Bravo-Six … Make the engineers pull forward. The Vodnik is exposed. Over.”

  “If they do, the engine will be outside the tunnel,” Andruko responded. “Over.”

  “Ignore my last,” Quinn said. “Over.”

  No sooner had she spoken than Austin and his assistant arrived, closely followed by two soldiers armed with RPGs. “Pull back into the mouth of the tunnel,” Quinn ordered. “And take cover. It’s too exposed out here.”

  That meant the helicopters could shoot the shit out of the Vodnik, which was already the worse for wear, after losing its turret. But that couldn’t be helped.

  “Excuse me, ma’am,” Pruitt said. Quinn turned to find that the UAV pilot was standing behind her. “Captain Booker said I should report to you,” Pruitt continued. “I sent a drone south. The Russians are building a barrier across the tracks. They have what looks like a platoon of troops in place as well.”

  “So, the helos are trying to herd us into a trap.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, done,” Quinn said. “Keep an eye on the bastards.” Pruitt departed at a trot.

  What to do? Quinn was thinking about that when Booker appeared.

  “Sorry to lay this on you Major … But one of the tanker cars took a hit. And its leaking gasoline. Thanks to the CSM, we have a wooden plug in the hole, but I don’t know how long it will hold. If we get a big leak, well, you can imagine what might happen.”

  Quinn could imagine what might happen. And knew that a fire in the tunnel would be disastrous. Her first instinct was to abandon the train. But that was absurd. Without the protection the tunnel provided, the helos would chop the 152nd into pieces. She frowned. “Did you say ‘tankers’ plural?”

  “Yes, ma’am. There’s two of them.”

  Quinn could hardly believe her bad luck. The situation was getting worse with every fleeting second. No sooner had that thought passed through Quinn’s mind, than she heard a loud roar, and a Havoc gunship appeared behind Booker.

  The helo was hovering no more than 100 feet away. Quinn could feel the downdraft from its rotors and it looked as though the chin mounted cannon was aimed at her.

  Quinn saw a series of flashes, followed by an equal number of reports, and a drift of smoke. Cannon shells struck the Vod. Quinn opened her mouth to shout an order but there was no need. Austin withheld his fire, which was wise in that situation, but the soldiers with RPGs fired. The Havoc was so close they couldn’t miss. There were two bright explosions. One on the cockpit, and one on the rotor blade hub. It was the second blast that caused the damage.

  Part of a rotor sheared off, the helo tipped sideways, and hit hard. Pieces of metal flew every which way—and there was a loud bang as the attack ship exploded. A blast of hot air pushed its way into the tunnel.

  Quinn’s ears were ringing and the rest of them had to take cover as the helicopter’s unexpended munitions began to cook off. The better part of two minutes passed before the series of explosions finally came to an end.

  By that time Quinn knew what the first priority was. “Six to Bravo-Six. Before we can back the Vod off the flatcar we’ll have to deal with the wreckage behind it. Tell the engineers to back up. The train will push the helo back and out of the way.

  “Oh, and send Alpha-One-Two back here. The Vod took some hits. Here’s hoping it will start. Over.”

  “Roger that,” Andruko replied. “Stand by. Over.”

  About thirty seconds passed. Then the engine noise increased, and the train started to back up. Quinn was on the flatcar, with one hand on the Vodnik’s outside mirror, as the railroad car came into contact with the wreckage. A screeching noise was made as the locomotive pushed what remained of the Havoc fifty feet back.

  “That did it,” Quinn said, as she jumped to the ground. “Tell the engineers to pull forward again. There’s no reason to leave any more of the train exposed than is necessary. What’s the second gunship up to? Over.”

  There was no need for Andruko to answer as the second Havoc swept in from the north, fired rockets, and banked away. One of the rockets passed over Quinn’s head, hitting a boxcar located just inside the tunnel. Two of them bracketed the flatcar as Segal climbed onto it. Quinn expected to see the diminutive mechanic fall. She didn’t.

  Segal entered the Vod. A grinding noise was heard. Segal popped the hood, hopped out, and stuck most of her torso inside. Tools came out of various pockets and were employed one after another before the motorhead slid back behind the wheel.

  The engine coughed, started, and settled into a sustained roar. Quinn felt a sense of relief and gave Segal a thumbs up. One problem led to another. How in the hell could they unload the Vodnik, and make a getaway, while the Havoc circled overhead?

  The answer was clear. Send the train south, and the helicopter will follow, Quinn thought. “Six to Bravo-Six. Send an engineer back to disconnect the last car. Six to the 152nd, prepare to exfil through the north end of the tunnel. Bring all of your gear, weapons and ammo. Over.” Quinn heard a f
lurry of clicks by way of a reply.

  But the announcement didn’t mean everyone would hear or respond. So, Quinn made her way along the length of the train, peppering her troops with commentary. “Riley, get the lead out.” “Potter, put that weapon back together.” “Wang, you look sharp. What’s the occasion?”

  Then she came to Demolitions Specialist Dodd. He was standing next to a tanker car stuffing gear into a duffle bag. Quinn came to a stop. “Specialist Dodd.”

  Dodd turned. “Ma’am?”

  “Would it be possible to place charges on those tanker cars, and detonate them remotely?”

  Dodd nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Then do it,” Quinn said. “A concentration of enemy soldiers is waiting for us up ahead. Once you set the charges, and everyone is off, I will order Captain Andruko to send the train down the track. Meanwhile you’ll be able to watch via one of Pruitt’s drones. Then, just seconds prior to impact, pull the trigger. Is that clear?”

  “Crystal clear, ma’am.”

  “Good,” Quinn replied. “Do your best work … But do it quickly.”

  Quinn continued her tour, found Andruko by the engine, and took the Ukrainian aside. “So,” she said, after explaining the plan. “Your job is to make sure the controls are set properly. And to get the engineers off the train. You can turn them loose the moment it departs. Report to the north end of the tunnel. That’s the rally point.”

  “Da,” Andruko said. “I with Dodd. My men guard engineers.”

  “Perfect,” Quinn said. “We’re going to make a clean getaway from here. Tell people that. They need to hear it.”

  “You count on me, Major.”

  “I do,” Quinn said, as she patted his shoulder.

  ***

  It took Dodd a full half hour to set the charges on the tankers and announce his readiness. The flatcar had been disconnected from the rest of the train by then. Andruko was there to watch the engineers set the controls. Then, as the locomotive began to leave the tunnel, they jumped to the ground.

  Wheels clacked, chains rattled, and gear creaked as the cars rolled past. The cylindrical tanker cars were black, with special markings, and Andruko could see the charges attached to them. Then, as the train cleared the tunnel, the remaining helicopter swooped in for a gun run. Andruko held his breath. Would a 30mm shell cause the rolling bomb to detonate prematurely? In that case Quinn’s plan would literally go up in smoke.