by Peter Nealen
***
Once inside the inlet, out of the worst of the spray, Hank slowed just enough to get his NVGs out of their waterproofing and get them up and running. He wanted to be able to see, and the rest of the Triarii on the boat did the same.
As the circle of green lit up in front of his eyes, he scanned the nearby shore. They were far enough behind the Chinese fishing trawlers that he wouldn’t be able to see even the rearmost in his NVGs.
Or, rather, he shouldn’t have been able to. Yet there one of them was, barely nine hundred yards away, sitting just off the coast of one of the tiny islets that sat within the mouth of the inlet.
What’s that doing there? Did they set a rear guard? It was a little odd, but not outside the realm of possibility. Especially after they must have heard from their New People’s Army partners that the previous shipment of weapons had been intercepted, the NPA fighters who’d received it killed in the process.
But it also meant that the Chinese were more on the alert tonight. Which was going to make this ambush that much more difficult.
Hank steered in closer to shore, slowing as he did so. Keying his radio, he called the rest of the section. “All Six Four elements, be advised, we have a potentially hostile vessel holding station just off the south islet. Proceed with caution and maintain stealth.” Radio transmissions might not count as “maintaining stealth,” but the reality of the situation demanded that they take a few risks. Maintaining radio silence might keep them from being detected, right up until someone blundered into that ship’s visual range in the dark.
It had happened before.
“Six Four, this is Seven Two.” Chan’s voice was quiet and faintly scratchy. “We just came around the headland. How do you want to handle this?”
Hank had the outboard just barely idling, holding station just offshore. He studied the fishing trawler carefully, thinking, as the rest of the section’s Zodiacs hugged the shoreline, the Triarii staying low and the outboards just barely purring.
There was movement on the trawler. They were far enough away that it was hard to make out anything more than that, but they definitely hadn’t just anchored for the night.
Not that he’d figured that they might have. This was a Chinese trawler, well within Philippine waters, at night. There was fuckery afoot.
“Seven Two, Six Four. Go ahead and circle around to the north. Tread carefully. We don’t know if there are any more up there. They seem to be trying to watch the back door, since they know somebody hit their little buddies last time.”
“Roger.” Chan didn’t sound overly perturbed. They’d known from the get-go that there was no telling exactly what the Chinese would do as soon as the Triarii boats closed in. The PLAN was somewhat predictable, especially if you were realistic about their attitudes and actions. The PAFMM, on the other hand, was much more amateurish, and therefore much more volatile.
Hank held position for a while, as two more of the Triarii sections checked in and slipped past, most of them heading around to the north. Chan reported that there was another trawler up there, but they got past it without being noticed. Hank kept watching the trawler, trying to get a feel for what was going on.
“All Tango units. Eagles are in flight. I say again, Eagles are in flight.” The Tiradores were moving on the NPA, which meant things were about to get interesting.
Still, if Habu stuck to the plan, then they should shadow the NPA to the rendezvous, then hit them during the transfer. The Triarii would intercept the militia vessels on their way out. That was what the caving ladders on the deck plates under Hank’s feet were for. It meant they had some time.
At least, it meant they had some time until the drone rose up off the trawler’s deck.
“Oh, hell.” Hank got low as he saw the little speck fly up and hover about fifty feet up. The trawler was definitely on rear security, and the crew was taking it more seriously than the Chinese Maritime Militia had before.
The question was, what kind of optics were on that drone? Could they see the Zodiacs in the water?
A moment later, that question was answered, as a flickering muzzle flash lit up the side of the trawler, green tracers zipping through the air to smack into the trees behind the boats.
Cranking the throttle, Hank turned in toward shore and accelerated as fast as he could get the Zodiac moving. “Get to cover!” Some sporadic return fire cracked out over the water at the Chinese trawler, but most of the Triarii were heading for shore as fast as possible. Zodiacs had zero armor, and if they got holed, they were done.
The whole night, the whole plan, had just gone to hell in a handbasket.
Hank couldn’t spare the concentration to get on the radio back to the Jacqueline Q or the rest of the raiders out at sea. He had to get out of the line of fire.
The incoming machinegun fire wasn’t terribly accurate, fortunately. Even so, bullets were smacking geysers of water into the air to right and left, others going overhead with supersonic cracks to hammer into the jungle ashore. Inaccurate machinegun fire could still get lucky.
One of the boats had found a small beach, and the coxswain had already run the Zodiac up onto the sand, Triarii in dark, wet cammies piling out and returning fire at the trawler, which had turned in toward shore. Hank followed them in, driving hard for the beach.
By the time they reached the shore, Hank barely getting the outboard up in time to avoid ramming the propulsor into the sand, most of LaForce’s Second Squad was already bounding back into the trees, returning fire at the trawler, which had now brought two more machineguns to bear. The beach was rapidly becoming a very unhealthy place to be.
Hank leaped out of the boat, pivoting and taking a knee in the water just long enough to hammer five shots at the trawler. “Get into the trees!” Even as he roared the command out, he saw movement off to the right, and turned his head to bring his NVGs to bear.
Two more trawlers were coming in, having turned around in the inlet and motored back to support their rear guard. Each one opened fire with a heavy machinegun from the bow, adding to the storm of fire hammering the beach.
Hank had just turned toward the trees when Kandinsky took a round to the head. His helmet cracked and his skull practically disintegrated, turning into a dark splash on NVGs as he fell limply onto the sand.
There was no time to try to retrieve the body, or even to make sure no one else had been hit. There was no cover on that beach, and while the Chinese’ accuracy was pretty poor, volume of fire has an accuracy all its own. He turned and sprinted past the outer palm trees, struggling against the sand in his soaked cammies, diving several yards into the jungle before throwing himself down behind a fallen tree as more heavy slugs snapped overhead, shredding vegetation and showering splinters down from palm trunks.
A glance to right and left showed him only vegetation and more green tracers flickering between tree trunks. He had no idea, right at the moment, how many boats had made it to shore, or how many others besides Kandinsky had been hit.
That would have to wait. Right then, the only thing to do was fight.
Rising over the tree trunk, he laid his M5 over the log, searching for the muzzle flash. He had to use his red dot—the scope didn’t work great on NVGs—so judging distance and holds was a little difficult. But he had to get some fire on that machinegun.
He fired, with no real idea where the impact was. The bullet might have sparked off the steel of the hull, but if so, it was lost in the muzzle flash from that Type 88. It had to be an 88, the calm, detached part of his mind noted, since the muzzle flash was a lot smaller than the bow-mounted heavy machineguns on the other two trawlers.
Then one of the Mk 48s opened fire off to his left, spewing tracers out at the nearest trawler. The gunner—probably Brule—was a little low, but quickly walked the tracers up into the forward muzzle flash. The Type 88 suddenly fell silent, but then the other two took up the slack, as the oncoming trawlers to the southeast shifted fire. Tracers do work both ways.
> The lull in the fire from the closest trawler gave Hank a chance to get on the radio. “All Tango November elements, this is Tango India Six Four. We are under fire and need fire support, vicinity of Phase Line Green One.” Trying to keep track of grids in the dark had been deemed too distracting, so they had set phase lines and reference points all along the night’s area of operations for quick coordination.
There was no reply. “I say again, Tango India Six Four, requesting fire support, vicinity of Phase Line Green One. We are under fire from three Chinese trawlers, including two heavy machineguns.”
The answer, when it came, just before he was about to call one more time, was faintly broken and full of static. “Six Four, this is Juliet Quebec. Be advised, the Kunming has moved inside Philippine waters, broadcasting that they are moving against pirates, and have taken several of our ships under fire. Yankee Mike, India Tango, and Echo Mike Victor have been sunk or are sinking. All other units are evading at this time. We’re launching counter-drones to you, but that’s all we can spare at the moment.
“I’m afraid you’re on your own for now.”
Chapter 13
That announcement about the drones made Hank’s blood run cold. If the Jacqueline Q, or one of the other Triarii ships, had put up drone-killers, that meant that the Chinese had launched more than just that one surveillance drone. And if they had one of their hunter-killer swarms up, things could get very unpleasant for the Triarii, very quickly.
Worse than being under machinegun fire on an open beach.
Switching to the section net, relying on the feel of the channel knob, he keyed his mic. “All squads, fall back into the jungle. Get off this beach!”
He held his position. He could see more of the beach than he’d originally thought he could. He hadn’t penetrated that deeply into the jungle yet. A couple more of his Triarii scrambled from behind the minimal cover of the palm trees that overhung the edge of the beach and darted into the jungle. More Mk 48 fire reached out from deeper under the trees, hammering the first trawler and at least partially suppressing some of the incoming machinegun fire.
Despite the gunfire, he could hear movement in the undergrowth as other Triarii bounded back, the outgoing fire slackening somewhat as they turned and ran. The next few minutes were going to be extremely risky, since they’d bailed without any sort of formation. The odds of someone getting shot by accident in the dark, with the section being unable to see exactly where everyone else was, were all too high.
But trying to consolidate in the open, under fire, was a non-starter. He just had to hope that his boys—including Navarro’s newcomers—were professional enough to make sure they weren’t just spraying and praying blindly into the jungle.
The beach was clear, though the Chinese were still raking the beach, the jungle, and the beached Zodiacs with fire. The Zodes were a loss; the machinegun fire had torn them to shreds. The other two trawlers were getting closer and had already started to put their own boats in the water. Hank couldn’t see much detail, but he suspected the boats had either militiamen or actual PLAN marines aboard. This had been an ambush from the get-go. Either something had leaked, or the Chinese had put two and two together after their NPA partners had gotten rolled up the last time. Either way, the Triarii were now in trouble.
He got a look at the boats moving toward the shore to the south, around the headland that jutted out to the right of the beach. The Chinese were coming in on the Triarii’s flank, trying to cut them off.
At the same time, even as he turned to plunge deeper into the jungle, the Triarii counter-drones started to hit what had to be a Chinese drone swarm, off to the north. He couldn’t see much more than flashes in the sky out that way, but the crackle of explosions that followed the flickering lights told the story.
Then he was on his feet and moving, even as more gunshots cracked past to either side.
It was a short rush. The jungle was too thick, the night was too dark, and the risks of friendly fire were too high. He got behind a massive tree trunk and got on the radio again. “All Six Four elements, cease fire once you’ve broken contact. Rally at the top of the hill. Watch your fires. There are drones in the sky, and the enemy appears to be landing ground troops to the south.”
More gunfire sounded in the distance. It had a different tone from the continuing drone battle happening in the sky above. He peered out toward the water, but he couldn’t see much through all the vegetation. Hopefully, Chan was pulling something of a hit-and-run on the trawler from the north. It might take some of the heat off his own section, provided Chan didn’t overcommit and get pinned down in turn. Or get one of his Zodiacs sunk. They were infiltration and raiding craft, not fighting craft.
That brief burst of fire, however, took some of the heat off Hank and the rest. Turning deeper into the jungle and uphill, he got moving.
After about a hundred yards, he linked up with Lovell, Michaels, and Carrington. Keeping together, they pushed up the increasingly steep hill, putting distance and jungle between them and the Chinese. There was no talking. It was too hot, and they were all struggling to move faster.
More drones buzzed by overhead, and they had to stop and shelter beneath the trees each time. Without any way to differentiate the enemy drones from the friendlies, they had to be careful. It slowed them down, but aside from a few sporadic bursts of machinegun fire, the Chinese trawlers didn’t seem to be shooting any longer. Which only told Hank that the Chinese marines were on the hunt. The lack of random gunfire or yelling told him they had to be marines, not militia.
The top of the hill was only about six hundred yards away, but through the jungle, at night, while being hunted, that took a while. More sporadic gunfire sounded out on the water. The fight wasn’t over yet.
Another buzz of drones sounded overhead, and Hank and Lovell took cover under another tree, while Carrington and Michaels dropped to their bellies in the undergrowth. If the drones had thermals, that might not work, but as the buzzing sound got closer, all they could do was hug what cover they had and pray.
A Triarii drone hit one of the Chinese hunter-killers with a crash, immediately followed by a bang as one or both charges went off. Debris tumbled down out of the sky, all too close to where the Triarii were huddled, trying to hide from the deadly eyes in the sky.
The impact apparently damaged yet another drone, and it went spinning into the trees a hundred yards downslope, detonating with a flash and a boom that echoed across the water.
As Hank watched the explosion lash tree limbs and send bits of wood and vegetation tumbling into the air along with the ugly black cloud of the detonation itself, he spotted another one of their hunters.
To be more precise, he spotted an IR laser flickering through the jungle. Following the bright, green-white line in his NVGs, he couldn’t see where it originated, but the Chinese were clearly using night vision, which put them somewhat on an even playing field with the Triarii.
Somewhat. Because none of Hank’s boys were going to be flashing IR lasers in the dark, and like tracers, lasers work both directions. They can help a shooter aim, but they also point out the shooter’s position to anyone else on NVGs.
For a brief moment, Hank considered going on the hunt. But right then his responsibility lay with his section. Last issued orders were to rally at the hilltop, and if he didn’t get up there and start getting a handle on things, those Chinese troops might just manage to kill a few of his in the confusion.
Biting back a curse, he turned back toward the top of the hill and kept going.
They were picking up more Triarii on the way, as the spread narrowed toward the hilltop. Each contact was fraught with risk, as more IR lasers flickered through the trees. But so far, it seemed everyone had held their fire until they had a positive ID. More and more of the section moved up.
Finally, Hank figured they were in the best spot they were going to get. The hill kept going up a little ways, but there was a slight outcrop right here, a few yards bel
ow the crest, where they could set in. “Amos, start getting security set.” He scanned who they had. It was hard to pick individuals out, with every man geared up and on NVGs. LaForce was obvious from his short, stocky build. Huntsman was the giant setting men in along the line of trees and vines to the north.
He finally had to settle for a head count, already knowing to subtract Kandinsky.
They were still seven short.
But there was no time to worry overmuch about it, because more IR lasers were flickering through the trees as the Chinese soldiers got closer.
Hank grabbed Lovell by the shoulder. “Give me two. We’re going to push down about twenty yards, see if we can get eyes on exactly what the ChiComs are doing. Don’t anybody shoot us in the back.”
Lovell looked to left and right. “Carrington, Marco. Go with Hank.” The two Triarii levered themselves to their feet and joined Hank as he started to slip out of their rough perimeter, past where Brule knelt behind a fallen log with the Mk 48 up on its bipods, aimed down the hill.
Moving from tree to tree, the three men started down the slope. They hadn’t gotten far before vegetation right in front of them crunched, and Carrington froze behind a twisted, gnarled trunk, his rifle up at the ready, canted just far enough that he could pick up his red dot through his NVGs. Marco Rodriguez took two steps to the right and downhill, sinking behind another tree that had fallen against the hillside, his own weapon leveled.
Hank watched the fronds in front of them waving violently as someone worked their way up the hill, panting as they came. He didn’t see any IR laser, so he suspected it was one of his missing Triarii. But they couldn’t just assume that in the dark.
“Flash.”
“Oh, fuck.” The curse was in a low whisper, but Hank recognized Simons, one of Navarro’s squad. “Uh, Bang. Dammit.”
