by John Ringo
"Keep going!" Sayeed shouted. He had been chosen to lead the remnants of Bukara's force by default. Now he wished he'd kept as far away from the idiot as possible. He'd come to realize early on in his tenure as driver and bodyguard that Bukara wasn't nearly as smart or tactically sound as he'd thought. Now he was in the middle of an Allah-damned nightmare. And the men with him weren't interested at all in running into a hail of mortar fire. Or at the Keldara. Being a martyr was all very well to shout about in the mosque but when the bullets were flying and the artillery was hammering down, when the force before you was meat for the ravens, doubts had a way of creeping in. "We must close with them just before the mortars stop! Keep going!"
They were still two hundred yards away and the group was faltering. Fine.
He stepped to the rear and fired over their heads. A long burst that emptied his magazine.
"Go towards the Keldara or be cut down from behind you pig-eating cowards!" Sayeed shouted, reloading. "If I don't kill you, Sadim's Brigade will. Now move. And fire as Allah wills! To victory in the name of Allah! God is Great! Alahu Akbar! Yell it, you pig-eating cowards! Alahu Akbar!"
They were moving again. And yelling. Whether from fear of him or Sadim's brigade of killers or for belief in Allah he didn't care. Whatever it took. Whatever it took.
"Kildar," Pavel said. "There is a large explosion to the north. Several."
Mike frowned at the call and shook his head to clear it. The bunker had sustained several direct hits. Dust filled the air and his head was a fog from concussions. He tried to make sense of what Pavel was saying but couldn't.
"The Chechen first wave is closing," Pavel continued. "They are at two hundred meters."
"Okay!" Mike shouted, holding his head. God he wished the fucking mortars would just stop for one fucking second. "Pavel, go to full team freq. How far?"
"One hundred meters!" Pavel called on the other frequency.
"Teams, open fire at fifty meters," Mike yelled then stopped yelling. The mortars had stopped. That was early. They should have kept firing until the Chechens were right on them. When you were in an assault like this it was best to actually catch a few casualties from your artillery support rather than have it stop early. That way the enemy had to keep their head down until you were right on them. Either the enemy had fucked up, always possible, or . . . He wasn't sure and didn't have time to think about it.
"Seventy-five!"
"Prepare to open fire!"
"Fifty!"
"Mother Lenka, the mortars are laid in!" Jessia said, straightening from the mortar sight.
"Very well," Mother Lenka said. "Now, you must keep firing right up until we reach the lines! That is very important. I would rather we have some of the girls hit than the fire stop too soon. You understand?"
"I do," Jessia said, swallowing hard.
"Kalisa has given you the coordinates so start firing as soon as we move out," Mother Lenka said. "And keep firing until we are there. You have enough rounds."
"Yes, Mother Lenka."
"Good girl," Lenka said, smiling and hefting her AK. "It is many many years since I have held a gun. But I think I still know how to use one. And then there is this," she added, tapping the hatchet at her side. "Good for close quarters, you know. I personally always liked a sharpened shovel, good for burying your friends, too. But these axes are nice."
"We should go to help," Kamas Al-Rakabi said to Haza.
The hill Haza had occupied was a relatively small drumlin, a bare sixty feet or so over the surrounding rocky terrain. But it was right in the mouth of the pass, less than five hundred meters from the saddle. From it, Haza had full control of entry and exit. It was where he wanted to be and he wasn't planning on budging.
"We are helping," Haza said, losing patience with the young man. He had been an excellent scout but he had no head for tactics. "We forced them to ground and now, by staying here, we prevent them from escaping. I won't say it again."
"You don't understand," Kamas replied. "I want to kill Keldara."
"What is so fucking important about the fucking Keldara?" Haza snapped, finally losing it. "Everyone has been whispering about these fucking Keldara! Tigers of the Mountains! Evil pagans! So what? They are just men."
"They are the Keldara," Kamas replied. "Did your mother not frighten you with anyone when you were a child? Did she not whisper that if you were not good that something would come for you in the night? They have not been back in generations and we are glad. Is there nothing that you, deep in your gut, fear, Haza Khan?"
"Ah," Haza said, nodding. "Now I understand. They are the djinn that come for bad children. Yes, we had the same stories, but about a people called the Gurkhas. But I have fought the Gurkhas. They are good. Very good. Better than your fucking Keldara, I am sure. But they are men. They die."
"The Keldara eat the dead of their enemies," one of the fedayeen in the trench whispered in reply. "They are pagans who perform sacrifices to their black gods. They cut out the hearts of their enemies and eat them. Raw. They say that that way they eat their souls."
"Stupid stories," Haza said with a sigh. "There are many such stories. The people that the stories are about support them and hope the rumors spread. They make you fear. They break the will. But they are, always, stupid stories. I have heard the same stories about the Gurkhas but I know from experience that they don't eat the hearts of their dead. In one war a whole battalion ran rather than face the Gurkhas, because they'd heard the stupid stories. We will not run from these fucking Keldara and we will not run to them. We will wait and keep them in place for the others to destroy. Then we can eat their hearts, or say we did, and thus start stories about us. Yes?"
"I just want to kill Keldara," Kamas replied, sullenly.
"The radio said that we will attack their valley after we finish off their defenders," Haza assured him. "Then you can kill Keldara. And have their women as prizes as the Prophet decreed."
"That will be . . ." Kamas stopped and looked up and back towards the pass at a whistling in the air. He didn't see what was causing it but he did see something he thought never to see in his whole life. On the west side of the pass, on the ridge above the saddle, was a tiger. A real tiger. It looked like it was not full-grown but it had to be big for him to see it at this distance. He stopped talking, widemouthed.
"INCOMING!" Haza screamed, grabbing the young idiot and dragging him down. Mortars. Fucking mortars. The only people around here with mortars were supposed to be the fedayeen! Where were they coming from?
"I don't have time to teach you bitches fire and maneuver," Mother Lenka said over the booming of the mortars. They hadn't reached the saddle of the pass, yet, but they were close. "So when we get out in the open just spread out and head for the hill!" The first rounds were landing and the slamming of the explosions was racketing down the snow-covered pass. Hopefully they wouldn't cause an avalanche. That would be seriously unfunny.
"But if you see something to shoot, take one knee and aim!" she screamed as they approached the saddle. "Do you understand me?"
"YES, MOTHER LENKA!"
"On target," Kalisa whispered over the radio. She had run ahead and was now hunkered down by a boulder, calling fire. "One hundred Islamic Jerry's Kids in open trenchline. Fire for effect."
"All guns!" Jessia screamed. "Fire for effect! High explosive, mixed contact and proximity, continuous!"
* * *
Gana Kulcyanov hefted one of the high explosive rounds and slid the end into the tube. She released the round and slid her hands down either side of the tube then turned and took another round as the firing round slammed outwards. The explosion of the round compressed her chest like a giant fist but she ignored it, counting time as she took the next round from Jelena Makanee and twisted through three dimensions to raise it to the tube.
The modern 120mm could fire sixteen rounds in one minute. But they were, potentially, going to be dropping far more than that and she didn't want to wear out the Kildar's
barrel. So she was firing "continuous" speed, one round every seven seconds, the speed she had been told by her American Special Forces trainer that "saved tubes and broke armies."
"Six Mississippi, seven Mississippi," she muttered then let the round drop, sliding her hands down the tube and doing it all over again.
She wasn't sure what Mississippi was, but it must be a horrible thing if it was used as a mantra for the guns.
Chapter Forty-Six
"Oh, fuck," Kacey muttered as she approached the pass.
Helicopters and firing mortars do not mix. They have to occupy the same airspace and have a horrible tendency to occupy the same three-dimensional point at the same time.
There was room to the side for her to pass, but she assumed they were firing in support of the Keldara trapped on the ridgeline. If so she was going to be following the gun-target line the whole way. That was really gonna suck big donkey dicks.
However, as she crabbed by she could tell they were pointed away from the Keldara position. What in the fuck were they firing at?
The answer became clear as she crossed the pass. The mortars were pounding the shit out of the Chechens blocking the pass. And, what's more, a group of Keldara women were just shaking out in what was clearly an assault line.
"Uh, hey, Father . . . uh . . . Ferrari?" Kacey said, keying the intercom.
"Da?"
"Those women, they're attacking the Chechens. Should we help them?"
"Nyet," the oldster replied. There was the loud chainsaw sound of a minigun from the left side of the bird as they passed the Chechen position. "Mother Lenka . . . Bad fucking news, yes? To the other battle."
Kacey didn't know who "Mother Lenka" was, but if the old fucker in the back considered her "bad news" she really wanted to meet her.
And she had to admit that the conditions up ahead looked worse. The fucking Chechens covered the damned ridge.
Well . . . good.
The Dragon was hungry.
"Eugenius," Father Ferani said over the intercom.
"What do you want?" Father Devlich snarled. He hadn't gotten to fire at the Chechens and it rankled.
"Sion was right," Father Ferani said. "I just saw the tiger he was talking about. Up on the ridge watching over the women. They will succeed."
"And on this side are fucking ravens looking to eat your eyes," Father Devlich replied.
"The Father of All watches."
"Yeah, he's gonna watch you piss your pants when the Chechens start firing at us."
"Fuck you."
"You fuck goats, I fuck women. Who wins?"
"That's just because goats are too fast for you. You only fuck the old women that you need a crowbar to open."
"And you still fuck goats. I win."
"Yeah, well I fucked your mother."
"I fucked your mother which is how you got born. But the good part dribbled down her leg."
"I'm older than you, you jackass. How does that work? You fuck her before you were born? I, on the other hand, really did fuck your mother. And she was loose from other men."
"Oh, fuck you. How do you cock this thing?"
"You have to have a cock, first."
"I'm serious."
"Father of All, you never listen, do you? Fifty-seven years I've been watching you pay attention only to your own bellowings and I'm about sick of it . . ."
"Oh . . . go to Hel! And tell me how to cock this fucking thing, smartass! We're nearly there!"
Sayeed crouched behind a pile of bodies. They had nearly made it. But only nearly. The mortars had stopped too soon. The men had been too slow. Again, as they got close enough to throw rocks at them, the Keldara had opened up with a withering fire. How so many could be alive after the pounding of the mortars he couldn't imagine.
He lay prone, using the bodies for cover, and looked through the gap between the chest and mostly exploded head of one of the dead fedayeen. He would fire if he saw a good target. Otherwise, he was going to wait for Sadim's Brigade to finish off these Keldara fuckers before he was moving again.
Kiril threw his last two boxes of SAW ammo onto the ammo step and slid in a belt. He had a total of four but he wasn't going to bother belting them up. The next Chechen wave was already less than seven hundred meters away. This one wasn't just charging, either. Oh, they were running, but they were using fire and maneuver, running forward to cover then dropping and firing up the hill to cover the next group.
He ducked as rounds impacted his position then took a long swig from his camelbak. Ammo, Liquids . . . Damn. A—L—I—C—E Hum, hum . . . Casualties . . . It was in English and he still was struggling with that. And he didn't fucking care anymore. The only thing that mattered was ammo. He just wanted to see which ran out first, his ammunition or the fucking Chechens. When the ammo ran out, he was going to climb out of this fucking trench and take them the axe until the oceans ran with blood . . .
* * *
"Tiger Three."
"Go," Adams said, taking a swig from his camelbak and breaking down his M4 by feel. It had started to get "hinky" on him in the last fight. Not jamming just . . . hinky. Probably the gas tube was getting fouled; he'd put a bunch of rounds through the damned thing.
"The next group, engage with the 60s," Mike said. "But not until I say. And tell Shota to stand by."
"Roger."
"How's Oleg?"
Adams looked over at the Team Leader. He was discussing ammo cross-loading with Dmitri. There was a big red rag over his stump. Every now and then he'd wince then go on talking as if nothing had happened.
"Great."
"Make sure that there's plenty of rounds for the 60s. Belt them together and when the time comes make sure the gunners know to just go to full-scale rock and roll."
"Mike, that's going to burn the fucking barrels and we don't have any spares."
"It won't. Trust me. If we're still fighting after that long, we're not going to care."
"Jessia, Mother Lenka is at the gap. Go to white phosphorus now."
"Two gun! White phosphorus, traversing fire! Continuous!"
"Now they fire smoke?" Kamas asked as the white smoke drifted over the trench. Then he screamed as burning white metal fell on his skin and the white smoke started pouring from his shoulder and head.
White phosphorus is a chemical, mostly the metal phosphorus, that, once ignited, is practically impossible to extinguish. It carries its own oxidizer so it needs no oxygen to burn. Water will not quench it nor fire-fighting foam. Flesh, especially, will not put it out.
When it hits flesh, white phosphorus is drawn downward by gravity inexorably. It stops only when it hits bone and even then for mostly mechanical reasons. And it continues to burn. It is a poor killer for it cauterizes the flesh even as it burns it. Deaths from white phosphorus come from mainly mechanical issues, such as when it hits the throat and damages the trachea, or from shock. For white phosphorus is most intensely painful.
Much more common are blinding when it hits eyes, damage to the lungs from inhaling the freshly released smoke, which is extremely hot, and of course horrific scars. And it is frightening. It breaks the will more than it kills.
But for all its military utility, white phosphorus is considered a poor weapon. Steadfast units will take the horrific casualties and continue fighting. It does not, after all, kill. Not well.
The military value of white phosphorus lies mostly in its smoke. The burning metal releases clouds of the stuff. It's not inherently harmful; once it is cooled it can be breathed without serious short- or long-term damage. And it creates faster smoke than conventional smoke rounds with the added benefit of being, well, horrific.
It was for these dual purposes that most mortar "obscurement" rounds were made of white phosphorus. The ladies of the Keldara had not intended to kill Kamas, they just wanted to blind the unit in a cloud of white.
Of course, burning a fucking Chechen was always a good thing. Blinding one, in truth, was even better. Burning off balls would be
happy making.
The Keldara mortar women loved white phosphorus.
Haza looked down the zigzag trench as more of the Chechens began screaming in pain. Many were already dead or severely wounded from the terribly accurate mortar fire; most of the fire had been dropping right in the trenchline. He could hear the fuckers; they were close. But the way that sound echoed in this damned pass, he couldn't place where the fire was coming from. It could be anywhere.
But he knew what the white phosphorus meant.
