“You ready?” Squires looked back at Jack. “We’ll start with the bastards on the right.”
A sound, like thousands of voices screaming rolled toward them from the other side of the barracks toward the north, followed a few seconds later by a new rattle of gunfire.
“Son of a bitch,” Jack said. “They’re attacking from the north.” A chill moved through him as he imagined a human wave bursting through the line of bunkers and carrying him away.
A frantic motion caught Jack’s eyes, and he saw Squires waving at him and pointing at the radio operator.
Jack straightened his helmet, his cheeks flushing. He holstered his pistol, keyed his mic with one hand, tried to shield it from some of the noise with the other.
“Foxtrot, this is Victor Six, requesting fire support. Copy my location, break.” Jack fought the urge to yell over the noise as he spoke into the radio. It had been a long time since he’d been trained to call for artillery fire. “Grid Lima-Mike-Mike-November-five-three-eight-two, over.”
The radio crackled, and Jack recognized the voice of the RTO in Lieutenant Ames’ artillery section. “Victor Six, this is Foxtrot. I copy your location. Grid Lima-Mike-Mike-November-five-three-eight-two. Transmit your fire mission when ready.”
“Foxtrot, Victor Six, fire for effect polar, over.”
While the Ames’ RTO repeated the radio traffic back at him, Jack looked at Squires, who peered around the barrack.
Squires turned to face Jack again, and cupped a hand by his mouth to shout. “Looks like direction one five hundred, distance five hundred.”
Jack nodded and looked down at the map. “Direction one five hundred, distance five hundred, over.”
After a moment, the voice on the other side of the radio echoed the direction and distance.
“Looks like at least a company,” Squires said, peeking around the corner again.
Jack mouthed the word “okay” and turned to the hand set again. “Danger-close infantry company in forest, over.”
Ames’ RTO restated Jack’s words, and there was a long pause. Jack knew that Ames and his troops were busy working out the firing solutions, selecting the proper shells for the target and terrain. Jack took the opportunity to get Lieutenant Mahoney’s heavy weapons platoon on the line. He duplicated the same radio traffic with them, except this time Squires peeked out at the enemy group to the left and gave the appropriate corrections.
Just as Jack was finished speaking with Mahoney’s RTO, the first voice from Ames’ section returned.
“Message to observer, Foxtrot, quick, four rounds, target number Alpha-Alpha-zero-zero-one-three, over.”
Jack recited the traffic back into the radio to confirm reception. A minute later, Mahoney’s platoon called in their message to observer. Then, static.
“Come on, come on, come on…” Squires was shaking his head.
Jack gritted his teeth, the back-and-forth chatter between the machine guns of the enemy and the rifles of the rangers grating on his nerves, the scream of the charging enemy troops louder every second. Jack’s people were dying out there, and arty was taking its sweet time.
Hurry it up, dammit!
Finally, the radio crackled. “Shot, target Alpha-Alpha-zero-zero-one-three, over.”
Jack smiled and repeated the command. The first round had left the barrel.
He crept over to stand next to Squires, careful not to expose himself too much as he looked first left and then right down the east-west road. The rangers and marines were all behind various kinds of cover, only visible in the darkness because of the muzzle flashes of their weapons. In the woods on either side of the complex, the enemy machine guns were still firing. They’d clearly had time to prepare some kind of protection if the return fire hadn’t hurt them much.
A shrieking sound filled the sky, drowning out the other noises of battle.
“Here comes the—” The rest of Squires’ sentence was inaudible as the woods to the east erupted into massive, red flashes, one after another in a thunder that shook the ground and rattled up Jack’s legs and into his body. Jack counted twelve impacts, then activated his mic again.
“Victor Six to whichever platoon is furthest east—
“That’s Garrett’s rangers, sir.” Squires interrupted.
“—Garrett’s troops, right. Raven Four, this is Victor Six. Assault the woods on your flank and secure them. We’ll be doing the same as soon as the artillery hits the west flank. All other platoons move forward and link back up with the forward part of our attack force.”
No sooner had he finished speaking then the radio crackled again. This time, the voice was from Mahoney’s mortars.
“Shot, target Oscar-Papa-zero-zero-two-eight, over.”
The shriek of incoming shells ripped through the sky again as the woods to the west tore themselves to pieces. They were much closer to this side of the woods, and Jack pressed his helmet’s headphones hard against his ears, shutting his eyes against the deafening blast. When it cleared, Jack opened his eyes, about to order the rangers to attack the woods, but Squires was already out in the crossroads yelling at his platoon.
“Now let’s move before they pick themselves up!”
The rangers catapulted themselves to their feet and toward the woods at a sprint, their fearsome shouts covered by the gunfire and screams carrying from the other side of the barracks.
Jack stayed behind with Doussouba long enough to give the end-of-mission command and damage assessments to the artillery and mortars, and then ran after Squires’ platoon, Doussouba’s radio backpack bobbing in front of him.
The woods ahead were silent, with small fires burning here and there. Jack saw a couple of flashes and heard the crack of a few rifles firing a second later. The shots began to increase in number, and Jack saw a patch of dirt to his right pop into the air. Then one of Squires’ men ahead clutched his side and fell. Jack ducked his head and put every ounce of energy he had into running. The ground rose slightly, and then they were in the woods. By the flickering firelight, Jack saw the white bark of exploded trees, what looked like a wrecked, makeshift pillbox, and several bodies, some of them missing arms or legs.
A dozen or so enemies stumbled from behind trees and ran at the rangers, shooting their rifles from the hip. The rangers stepped behind trees or dropped to a kneeling position and fired, cutting them down one by one. Jack gaped as one of the rangers knocked down a charging combatant with the butt of his carbine and then drove his bayonet into the man’s prone body.
Movement caught Jack’s eye, and he saw something emerge from behind a bush and run toward him. It was one of the attackers, holding a twisted and bent rifle over his head, blood soaking his clothing. Jack stumbled backward, remembered where his pistol was. He reached for it, but his boot caught on something. Jack cursed and fell to the ground, his weapon still in its holster. The enemy swung down at him, and Jack rolled to the side, hearing the impact of metal on dirt. Jack drew his pistol, and fired at the bloodied man, who stopped in his tracks. Jack emptied the magazine, watching as bloody holes appeared across the man’s chest. The man gasped and collapsed. He realized the slide had locked back and that he was still pulling the trigger.
“We’ve got to stop meeting this way.” Jack heard Squires behind him, and then strong arms hauled him to his feet.
Jack’s hands shook as he put another magazine into his pistol, pushed the slide release. “W—we need to get back down there, h—help the others.” Jack bit his lip, willing the shake in his voice to go away.
Squires nodded, and in a second they were moving back toward the complex. In front of and below them to their left, they could see the rangers and marines who had taken cover behind the barracks, flashes erupting along the line as they fired.
“Holy God!” The voice came from one of the rangers, but Jack was too transfixed by what he saw to pay attention to it. Visible here and there through the barracks were the running figures of hundreds of men and women, rushing toward
the rangers and marines, and falling by the dozens.
“It’s suicide!” Jack shook his head, watching as wave upon wave of attacking enemies were mown down.
“If they want to die, let’s go help them do it.” Squires’ voice broke over the screams and gunshots. “Let’s go.”
The rangers started down the hill, when suddenly everything in front of them exploded.
Christine lined up her sights with a man’s chest, fired, saw him fall, then moved them to a woman only a hundred yards away, dropping her with a single shot. As fast as she could align her sights and fire, the enemies kept coming. The rangers would mow down an entire line of attackers and another one would follow closely behind them, firing wildly from the hip as they poured from the forest to the north and ran into the complex, each group making it just a little closer than the last. She could still hear the argument raging on the other side of the crossroads between the enemy machine guns in the woods and the other half of the attack force.
Christine felt the bolt on her rifle lock back, ducked behind the corner of the barracks, detached the empty magazine, and slapped another one in place. She watched as Private Krouri, kneeling behind a pile of empty barrels, passed another belt of ammunition to Private Accardo, who placed it into the feed tray of his light machine gun. Beside Christine, Sergeant Néri fired bursts from his submachine gun toward the approaching mass.
Christine turned to Henrikson, Clos, and Miller, who were shooting past her from prone a few feet away.
“Rifle grenades! I’ll cover you!” Christine aimed around the corner again, surprised to see how much closer the enemies were now. She aimed and fired, moving her sights from target to target as they came apart from her bullets. Then a terrible rushing shriek filled the air, and a series of explosions rumbled from behind Christine and toward the right.
Good. That would be the artillery she’d heard Wilcox call for over the radio. Relief loosened her chest. The pack howitzers had opened fire. If only they could call them now. Unfortunately, the attackers were so close now that an artillery strike would kill as many of her troops as it would enemies. The Alliance troops would have to make do with smaller tools. Christine ducked back into cover, shouting back at her troops.
“C’mon! Where the hell are those grenades!”
She leaned out, fired again, and heard the thunk of grenades flying off the muzzles of three rifles. The advancing enemy line disappeared in fire and smoke, but a fresh wave of attackers appeared a second later.
The scream of shells returned, and explosions roared from behind Christine and to her left. A few seconds later, marines and rangers began to appear from around the barracks between Christine and the crossroads, joining the troops already shooting at the approaching attackers.
Good.
It meant some of the others had managed to survive the enfilading fire. She scanned the faces of the arriving troops.
Where’s Wilcox? Squires?
She turned and aimed at the enemies again, concentrating on breaking the wave in front of her one shot at a time. She remembered the first time she’d shot someone, during the Milipa campaign on Annecy. She’d spent that night wondering about his family, his friends, before her sergeant had told her to stop wasting her time.
“Milipa fucker’d have killed you in a second, Flores, and don’t you forget it. When you’re out there, you’re just shooting clay pigeons. Nothing more.”
Christine kept firing, seeing only targets, filtering out any recognition that she was shooting people. They were targets, and they were moving closer every second.
BOOM. A target fell, clutching the base of its neck.
BOOM. A target spun slightly as it dropped.
BOOM. Another target fell sideways, tripping the target beside it. Christine felt the heat of the barrel radiating from the front hand guard.
BOOM. A target’s face disappeared, its body falling limp. Christine concentrated on the press of her ring against the growing heat of the rifle, letting her training run her body while her mind hid somewhere sunny with Ryan.
BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. The target fell and Christine realized her sights were on air. She blinked, calling herself back to the moment. The enemy line was thinning. Through their ranks, she spied the dark trees to the north, clear and unbroken, troops no longer rushing from them. Either they had run out of people to send, or they weren’t sending them anymore. Christine wasn’t sure which option was better. One way or another, they would have to assault through those trees. Christine was about to turn to her troops to tell them to prepare to attack when she saw a few points of light flash among the trees. Then came a horrible shriek, this one different than before.
Mortars. Good God, no!
The barracks ahead of Christine and to the right exploded, showering shrapnel over the attacking enemies. A second later, another explosion burst behind her. She heard Sergeant Néri grunt, turned to see him gritting his teeth and holding the back of his neck where a piece of shrapnel had grazed it. Another explosion ripped through the alley only twenty-five yards from Christine, and she ducked behind the barracks. Dirt and debris fell from the sky and clanked off her helmet.
“Move up!” Christine shouted, moving her arm back and forth to get her soldiers’ attention. The explosions were all around them, and she realized with a jolt that the enemy was bracketing their position. In seconds, the shells would strike among them.
“Come on! Let’s go!” Christine gave her soldiers a push as they ran past her, and then she followed them, moving forward toward the straggling attackers, who ran at the approaching Alliance troops, firing blindly. Christine heard an explosion behind her, kept running. She stumbled over enemy bodies, then jerked suddenly backward. Someone had grabbed her helmet, was trying to pull her back or break her neck. She hit the release buckle on her helmet with one hand, drove the butt of her carbine back behind her with the other. Her helmet fell off, rolled somewhere, and she turned, saw a man there swinging a pistol at her, blood down one side of his face. Her boot connected with the man’s groin, and he fell sideways and onto his back, holding his inured anatomy. Christine bit her lip as she pushed the point of her bayonet through his ribs. She put her foot on his chest and pushed down at the same time as she pulled back on her carbine, refusing to look at the man’s face.
She looked for her helmet, couldn’t see it in the darkness and the chaos.
“Dammit!” The helmet had her radio in it, but she couldn’t very well stand there like an idiot looking for it.
She took off running again, looking ahead as her troops burst through the line of hostiles, clubbing them with rifle butts, bayoneting them, shooting them at point-blank range.
A barracks building exploded ahead and to Christine’s right, and two of her soldiers — she couldn’t tell who — fell, pierced by the metal torn from the building’s side. Another explosion landed behind her and to the left. Than another just ahead of the charging line, showering them all with blood and bits of their opponents. Another ranger fell, holding her shoulder. Christine ran past her where she lay, tried to ignore the woman’s screaming.
They were almost to the edge of the complex, just a few yards to go. Suddenly machine guns roared to life ahead of them, their muzzle flashes dancing between the trees.
“Cover!” Christine yelled, diving behind the closest barracks. She peeked out, saw the other marines and rangers moving into safety. One of them stumbled, tried to crawl, and jerked as bullets stuck him, then lay still. Another mortar shell screamed through the sky and exploded on the other side of the barracks. More dirt showered down, but Christine ignored it, aiming around the corner of the building to sight in on a muzzle flash. She fired, saw that the flash was extinguished. She searched for another one, felt a tap on her shoulder, looked, and saw Néri, his neck dark with blood.
“We can’t stay here!” His voice was barely audible over another explosion.
“We can’t move forward under those machine guns.” Christine flinched as a mortar
whistled overhead and crashed somewhere back toward the crossroads. She glanced back out at the line of forest. It was just far enough. She turned back to Néri. “Get the artillery on the line.”
Néri nodded and turned to his mic. Christine listened as he called for Lazaar to set his pack to repeat. But then a sound tortured the night sky, rising above the noise of the mortar shells.
The artillery!
Christine peeked around the edge of the bunker and watched as the forest ahead dissolved into fiery explosions. The crash of mortars around her ceased as the woods shattered, the white of naked bark popping into view as trees tore apart or fell, their trunks mangled. The bombardment seemed to last forever, and Christine tried to count the shells, but stopped at twenty. Then the impacts stopped, and the woods fell silent, save a few agonized groans.
“Charge for the woods!” Christine shouted, heard other officers giving the same command from somewhere. Christine sprinted forward, the footfalls of the men and women beside and behind her almost drowned out from the ringing in her ears. Fifty yards. Twenty. Ten. The ground sloped up, and they filtered into the trees. In front of them were the bodies of enemy troops — at least a hundred — stripped of their clothes by the blast, cut in two, draped over wrecked machine guns, dangling from the branches where the artillery had tossed them. Still others were scrambling to their feet as the rangers and marines ran toward them.
Christine locked her gaze on a group of them a few yards away, raised her carbine and fired, cutting them down as they tried to stand. She kept running, heard the chatter of Néri’s sub-machine gun, saw two enemies fall. She looked right in time to see an enemy troop swing at her with something. She raised her carbine, deflected the club, then swiped across the man’s face with the butt of her rifle. He toppled in front of a marine, who bayoneted him and kept moving forward. They reached the end of the area wrecked by the artillery, and Christine could see a few straggling enemies fleeing into the woods. She dropped to a kneel, added her fire to that of the other Alliance troops. The enemies fell one by one until the forest was still.
Outpost Page 11
