Unto The Breach

by John Ringo

  "Left side of the hill," Gregor whispered. "Range . . . five hundred thirty-two meters. Guy waving his arms."

  Sveryan swung the scope back and forth and finally spotted the guy he was talking about. Sure enough, he looked as if he was in charge of the group. He adjusted the scope for the indicated distance, took a breath, let it out, stroked the trigger.

  "Target down," Gregor whispered. "Thirty meters uphill. Guy carrying a big gun of some sort."

  "PKM," Sveryan said, stroking the trigger.

  "Whatever . . . He's hit but not dead. You wanna finish . . . Okay. Right side of the hill, think it's one of their snipers. There's two rocks near the top of the hill. Just down from them. Range . . . four seventy."

  "I've got to give you a class on spotting," Sveryan sighed. . . .

  "Oleg, got your little pad thingy working?" Mike asked.

  "Go, Kildar."

  "Next position," Mike said. "How you doing?"

  "Whisky, one," Oleg replied, indicating one casualty. "Mobile. Ready on your command."

  "As soon as you're ready," Mike said. "Pavel is to your southeast. Head due south. Your next position is on the chart."

  "Roger, Kildar," Oleg said, switching to the team net. "Team, prepare to pull out. Everyone mobile?"

  "Yes," Dmitri replied. "Mikhail took a round through the arm, but he's good otherwise."

  "Can I fire now?" Shota asked.

  "No," Oleg said. "Save your rounds. I think we're going to need them. Team, pull out . . . Now!"

  The temperature was dropping again, the rain had turned to snow, but that was fine. It meant the fucking Chechens had to dig to stay warm.

  Haza knew how to put in a defensive position. He had fought the Northern Alliance, off and on, for years. That had been a war of attrition and no-man's-lands towards the end, trenchlines that stretched sometimes for miles. Occasionally one side or the other, usually the Taliban, would get an advantage and the lines would shift. Then it would be time to put in another defense. He had done it over and over again.

  He, therefore, wasn't just letting the Chechens dig shallow scrapes and be done with it. That seemed to be the way around here. But that wasn't good enough for Haza. He had had them build a zigzagging trench across the brow of the hill, with fields of fire in both directions and to the sides. Machine-gun teams had finally straggled in, nearly exhausted, and he already had positions dug for them with sweeping fire covering the front and sides of the hill. If the Keldara tried to pass to either side they'd be taken under a withering fire. And assaulting straight at the position would be suicide.

  Haza could hear the guns, now. The Keldara were retreating under fire, that was pretty clear. And it was also clear they were heading right towards the pass.

  Let them come. Then it would be much warmer.

  * * *

  "Thank you for coming to the White House," the President said, smiling at the president of Burundi and shaking his hand. The two men were turned slightly sideways so that the White House photographer could get a good picture of them.

  "Thank you for your hospitality," the man said. "It has been my pleasure to meet you."

  "And I you," the President said, ushering him out of the Oval Office. "I wish you well on your return trip."

  "And many good wishes to you, Mr. President," the Burundan said. He was quite pleased with the visit. His country had picked up a bundle in aid, which would please his cousins no end since most of it would go in their pockets. Well, that which he didn't skim. He could probably buy that chalet in Switzerland he'd had his eye on.

  The POTUS walked back to the Resolute Desk and slumped into his chair. He looked at the documents on his desk, pulled one over and picked up the phone at the same time, hitting a button with his pinkie finger.

  "Keldara?"

  "They're retreating under fire, Mr. President. Weather is breaking and the Predators are starting to get some observation. They're about fifteen kilometers from the Chechen side of the pass. However, their intercepts, and ours, indicate that somewhat more than four thousand Chechen fighters are closing on their position, many of them carrying heavy weapons such as mortars and heavy machine guns. If they are slowed much more, the main force will catch them. In that case, sir . . ."

  "They'll be wiped out," the President said.

  "Probably, sir," the major replied, unhappily.

  "Major, you're a good man," the President said. "But I want someone with ground-combat experience to start answering the phone. I want someone who can make calls based on that experience."

  "I understand, sir," the major replied.

  "Call Office of Special Operations Liaison," the President said. "See if Colonel Pierson can come by."

  "Tiger One this is Tiger Two."

  "Go," Mike said, looking at the map.

  The command group, with the wounded just ahead of them, were in movement to the next position and Mike was trotting while watching the pad and thinking about the terrain ahead.

  "Valkyrie is inbound. We need an LZ."

  "It's gonna have to be a flyby," Mike replied. "She got ammo?"

  "Yes. And machine guns."

  "Oorah," Mike said, tiredly. The first stars were visible in the sky at the same time as the vague light of dawn. The clouds were clearing off fast, though, and the temperature dropping. It was gonna be one cold, raw, day. And the Keldara couldn't exactly worry about sweat. Fortunately, the pass was low enough that, given that they weren't planning on stopping moving, they shouldn't have to worry about freezing to death. "I'll designate an LZ. Tell them to drop the stuff and don't even fully touch down. We are not in a position to stop."

  "I'll pass that on," Nielson said. "We just got a satellite pass. It looks as if it's clearing over there."

  "It is," Mike replied. "It's gonna be a pretty, if cold, day."

  "Gretchen."

  "Go."

  "The LZ is a long, open, ridge running east-west. When we get down, just start pushing the shit out the door. We're only going to pause for the wounded. Got it?"

  "Got it," Gretchen said. She was holding on to the handles of the minigun, hoping to see some Chechen bastards.

  "Then it's back through the pass," Kacey continued.

  "I'm ready," Gretchen replied.

  The Hind banked sharply to the right and she braced her feet, hanging backwards from the gun, as it dropped sharply. As it leveled out she could see some men running, but from their clothing they were Keldara. And several of them bore stretchers. More than they could carry.

  As soon as the bird leveled out she slid back the door. The interior of the plane had been cleaned but there was still water on the floor from the cleaning. The water had frozen during the flight and the footing was treacherous. But she got behind the line of ammo boxes and braced her foot on the far, closed, door.

  "Start dumping!" Captain Bathlick said, slowing the chopper to the speed of a walk.

  Gretchen pushed with a grunt and once the boxes started moving they slid easily enough. She then grabbed the four machine guns and stood in the door, carefully dropping them in a line. Last, she braced herself again and shoved out another series of ammo boxes. All of it was belted 7.62. It seemed like a lot of machine-gun ammunition.

  Leaning out the door she could see the stretcher bearers waiting. They were down on one knee and looking back over their shoulders.

  She'd just noted that when she heard a "ping!" and looked up to see a tracer floating towards her. The thing was going so slowly it looked funny. Then she realized that one tracer meant five more bullets. And there were more tracers.

  The line of fire went behind the bird but the gunner was going to correct.

  Fuck that.

  "Get them on!" she screamed, grabbing the handle of the minigun and swinging it towards the source of the fire.

  Her first fire was very low, she hadn't realized the hillside was as far away as it was. But she walked the rounds up towards the machine-gun position and onto it just as the helo stopped to
let the stretcher bearers load the wounded.

  On the basis that a machine gun is rarely by itself, Gretchen continued to walk the fire across the hillside until she sensed out of the corner of her eye that the wounded had all been loaded and the stretcher bearers had unassed the bird.

  "Go, go, go!" she shouted over the intercom. "They're all on!"

  Four stretcher casualties and Gregor Makanee who had a bad wound in his abdomen but, somehow, was walking.

  "Gregor, lie down," she said, pushing herself away from the guns and making her way to the Makanee. "You're going to need to lie down. I'll get you some blood."

  "See to . . . Stephan," Gregor said, but he lay down on the deck, which was already getting slick with blood. "He needs . . . help."

  The rear bottom stretcher was Stephan Ferani and she could see what Gregor meant. Stephan's left shoulder was swathed in blood-soaked bandages and he was bubbling bright red out of his mouth. Despite that, he was conscious.

  "My own personal Valkyr," Stephan said, trying to smile.

  "You better not die on me," she said, hooking a unit of O-positive blood up and pulling the IV he already had in. "It would ruin my record."

  "Gretchen, I didn't know you cared," Stephan said then slumped.

  She felt at his neck and couldn't find a pulse. Frantically, as the helicopter banked up and to the left, she pulled down the defibrillator kit. She didn't know if it was going to work but the Ranger medic had told her if anyone's heart stopped to put it on and step back.

  Most of Stephan's blouse had already been cut away to get at the wound so she only had to find the right places for the three connections. She glanced at the chart and then hooked them up as fast as trembling fingers could work. As soon as they were in place she hit the big green "On" switch.

  "Detecting . . ." the machine said. She hadn't know machines could talk. "No pulse detected. Charging. Stand clear of the patient. Charging. Stand clear of the patient."

  Gretchen backed away from Stephan and held onto one of the other stretchers.

  "Defibrillating," the machine said, and Stephan's body jerked. "Detecting. No pulse detected. Charging. Stand clear of the patient. Charging. Stand clear of the patient."

  Another jerk.

  "Heartbeat detected."

  Gretchen touched her finger to Stephan's neck and there was a pulse. It was faint and fast, but it was a pulse. She reached up, wide-eyed, and squeezed the bag of blood. He definitely needed more blood. Definitely.

  "We live in an age of miracles," Gregor said. "Now could I have some morphine, please?"

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  "That was helpful," Oleg said, looking at the line of boxes. "We were seriously down on ammo. And I'm glad to have the machine guns finally."

  "It's not going to last long," Adams said and then, as a bullet whistled overhead, turned and spit in the direction of the Chechens. "Fuckers can't shoot for shit. Let's get this stuff and didee on out of here."

  "Master Chief," Mikhail Kulcyanov said, in a puzzled tone. "These are not the right machine guns."

  The former SEAL walked over and shook his head.

  "Fuck me!" he shouted. "These are the damned guns we got for evaluation! Where the fuck are the M240s!"

  "We can use them," Oleg said, picking up one of the guns. "We'll figure it out. But we'll need help with all this ammo. And it's all 7.62."

  "Another fuckup," Adams snarled. "Kildar, this is Tiger Three. We got a situation here . . ."

  "They sent the 60s?" Mike said.

  "Yeah, they're M60s. The new kind. Those four we bought to evaluate."

  "Fucking Oorah!" Mike said. "Don't use them."

  "What?" Adams snarled. "What the fuck do you mean 'don't use them.' We've been needing them!"

  "I'd rather keep them for a surprise," Mike said. "I was going to surprise you with them. You haven't seen the video. But you're gonna fucking love 'em. Trust me."

  "Kildar," Adams ground out, "Mike. We are up to our ass in alligators. If one of these things jams, you know how to clear it, I know how to clear it. The Keldara don't know how to clear it. We don't need to be switching out weapons in the middle of a battle!"

  "Yeah, speaking of which, I want one. No, better to leave them with the teams since we've only got four. But I'm gonna get one as a personal weapon . . ."

  "Mike . . ." Adams stopped and took a deep breath. "I am getting fucking sick of this shit. What the fuck are you babbling about?"

  "You'll see," Mike said. "We are not going to use those things until we absolutely have to. You'll see why."

  "Whatever," Adams said. "Tiger Three, out."

  He looked over at Oleg and shook his head.

  "I think the Kildar is losing it," he said.

  "I think not," Oleg replied. "You don't go on the internet much, do you?"

  "I've got better things to do," Adams said.

  "I was surprised, and upset I will admit, when I saw that these were not the machine guns we usually use," Oleg replied, placidly. "But I am going to carry one, myself, thank you. You would be well to grab one as well before the rest of the Keldara find out we have them. They have all seen the video."

  "What video?!" Adams snarled. "He said that too!"

  "You will see," Oleg replied, grinning. "For once, the pupil knows more than the master."

  "I'm going to fucking kill Mike," Adams said. But he grabbed one of the machine guns. It was an M60. They went all the way back to the Vietnam War. The U.S. had ditched them for the M240 because it was, hands down, a better fucking weapon. Higher cycle rate, much harder barrel so you could get a couple of hundred rounds through it before you had to change the barrel, a bit less prone to jamming, tad lighter. The M60 was old tech in comparison.

  What was the big fucking deal?

  Katya walked in the entrance of the caravanserai and directly to the harem quarters, ignoring the gasp from Mother Savina, who had been passing through the front room.

  "Katya?" Anastasia asked, her eyes wide. "Are you okay?" She started to hold her arms out then thought better of it and just stood there, not sure what to do.

  Katya was covered from head to toe in drying blood. There were still pieces of Viktor stuck to her, especially in her hair.

  She knew she didn't look all that great. A few of the Keldara had even shied away from her. For that reason and because she just could not ask those people for a ride, she had walked the long way back to the caravanserai, her eyes blank and staring.

  She was cold. She knew that. "A deadly little bitch" was what the Kildar had called her once.

  But having a person blasted into pieces in front of your eyes, and all over you and in your face, mouth and nose, that was something even the coldest person had a hard time with. No one else in the compartment had really seen Viktor vaporized. The wounded Keldara and Dr. Arensky both had had their heads down. The other wounded were mostly so doped up they were half or totally unconscious.

  But she had seen every splash. She'd barely closed her eyes and gotten her arms up in time to keep from being hit in the face by a length of intestine.

  "I'm fine," Katya said, still staring into the distance. "I just need a shower. A very long shower."

  For perhaps the first time in her life she felt pity for someone. Because the helicopters were going to have to go back through the pass.

  * * *

  "Gretchen!" Kacey said over the intercom. "I've got a little more altitude, but you need to fire up the bunkers again!"

  "Got it!" Gretchen called. She'd gotten blood into the three casualties that really seemed to need it and made sure Gregor was okay. Now it was time to do battle.

  She pulled out Father Kulcyanov's axe and kissed it.

  "Father of All, let me triumph this day," she said, arming the Gatling gun.

  As she did she looked up at the ridgeline. There, clear as day, there was a tiger walking along the shoulder of the mountain. A young male from the looks of it. Not yet to his full growth but . . . magnificent non
etheless. The tigers had returned.

  She knew Sion had said he'd seen a tiger, but nobody had believed him. She thought for a moment how happy he would be when she confirmed that she'd seen it, too. Then she remembered that Sion wasn't going to hear of it, short of her joining him in the Halls.

  Circling over the tiger, though, was a raven. It was headed to the north, towards the battlefield. How did they always know? And would this one, the eyes of the Father of All, stay to watch her upon the field?