by John Ringo
Mike hunkered down and stuck out his hand. Vanner didn't even have to ask, he just slapped it into his palm.
Mike looked at it for a second and shrugged. "What?"
"Try dialing out," Nielson replied, taking a guess.
Mike zoomed out and stopped.
"Fuck."
"My first words as well," Nielson said. "The Predator got a glimpse through the clouds. You want to see the video."
"Yeah," Mike replied.
"Feed Two."
He switched over feeds and watched. The glimpse wasn't long but it was complete.
"Is that downloaded here?" Mike asked.
"Yeah, while we were feeding."
"Vanner," Mike said. "Show me how to replay and zoom."
Vanner took the device and looked at it for a second.
"Where is that?" he asked, frowning.
"Right in the entrance to the pass," Mike said.
"Fuck."
He zoomed in and panned across, holding it where Mike could see.
"Colonel, I get a count of about a hundred," Vanner said. "Looks like medium machine guns and light arms otherwise. A few RPGs."
"That's everybody's analysis," Nielson said. "Kildar? My professional opinion is that if you try to screen past you're going to get your ass shot off; they've got defilading fire from the mountain to the plain. You can try to charge it, but I wouldn't recommend; those are good defenses. You could try slipping out straight up..."
"Not enough time," Mike said, automatically. "We'd get caught completely in the open by the pursuers."
"So far, it looks like his mortars are way behind you," Nielson noted. "It's just medium machine guns and light arms. So far."
"What are you saying?" Mike asked.
"Just a suggestion, but... Sit it out. Do what that guy's done. Take up a good position and lay in. We've got one bird armed, by the way. We can work over those defenses in a little while. Let the Chechens come to you. Get a good position and let them attack. You'll take some casualties. They'll take a lot more. At some point there will be an opening."
"We're going to go bingo on ammo, fast," Mike pointed out.
"Got another load on the way," Nielson said. "Bigger one."
"And that's a shitload of Chechens," Mike added.
"Not really," Nielson said. "Combat multiples, Kildar."
"That's a nice theory," Mike replied. "But you're talking about around a hundred effectives at this point and around four thousand Chechens."
"I didn't say it was going to be easy or pretty," Nielson said. "But they're going to think it's a walk-over. And, when, not if, their mortars get there it's going to get bad."
"That an armed Pred?" Mike asked.
"Yeah. And we've got tasking."
"That's their priority," Mike said. "Find the mortars. Out here."
* * *
"You have got to be shitting me," Adams said. "Mike, buddy, we're talking about most of the Chechen army!"
He was still with Team Oleg, currently humping up a hill to set up another defense point.
"I know," Mike said. "Would you rather try to assault some serious defenses?"
"Now that you mention it," Adams said. "Yes! There's a hundred of them. There's a hundred of us. That's one to one. Not twenty or forty to one!"
"They're in fixed positions and have machine guns covering all their approaches," Mike said. "We don't have time to argue about this. We're going to point 487 right now. You guys stay in place and slow them while we get into place and start digging in. It's got some natural defenses on it and there are steep slopes covering our sides. There's effectively, only one lane they can assault on."
"Fine," Adams said, swearing under his breath. "But when we come running, we're going to need some fucking cover."
"Gotcha covered, good buddy," Mike said. "Out here."
* * *
Mike grabbed one of the stretchers and continued up the slope. It was a steep motherfucker and the air was thin; the Keldara were barely able to make it at a trot.
The weather was really clearing, now. He could finally see what was going on. Behind him he could see Oleg's team settling in and Padrek's team in contact. Hell, in the clear air and gathering light he could even see the Chechens they were engaging.
"Tiger, Tiger, burning bright, this is Valkyrie."
It was the other pilot, the taller one...Wilson, that was her name.
"Valkyrie, Valkyrie, Tiger One," Mike panted. "LZ point 487. Winds... Oh, fuck, I dunno. South I think? Drop the shit and get ready to dust-off."
"Roger, Tiger. LZ Point 487. Inbound. I see your teams. Why don't you stop the stretchers. I'll drop the stuff at 487 and come back. You're in a good position."
"Got it," Mike said, stopping, holding up a hand and lowering the stretcher to the ground. "Thanks Valkyrie."
"Gotcha covered, Tiger."
Mike watched as the Hind swept in to the hilltop about five hundred meters away. It didn't even stop or really slow down as the ammo boxes were kicked out the door. Then it banked back towards their position.
They were on a hump in the ridgeline headed up to 487 with a clear view in every direction. Also completely in view of the Chechens but about two klicks away. If the Islamics had heavy weapons they were in trouble. They weren't taking any fire, though.
The Hind settled down lightly and Mike walked over to the pilot's cockpit as the wounded were loaded.
"Where's Captain Bathlick?" Mike asked.
"Hogging all the fun," Wilson replied. "The Georgians dropped off their left-over Hind armaments. She used them to take out the bunkers in Guerrmo. And she didn't just take them out, she fucking flattened them. I guess she's RTB for bullets and gas."
"I think I got all that," Mike said. "We're cut off. Watch the opening to the pass."
"Knew about it," Tammie said, tapping an instrument. "We shot it up as we passed. We'll shoot it up again on the way out. I don't want to lose another crewchief."
"D'Allaird?" Mike asked. "We're fucked without him."
"No, sir, one of the Keldara girls," Tammie said, shrugging. She didn't think to mention her name. "Game as hell. Took some with her, I think, but she got hit by one of the 12.7s. Wasn't pretty."
"Damn," Mike said, sighing.
"Anything else?"
"Nope. Just thanks. Hell of a time, huh?"
"Wouldn't be anywhere else," Tammie said then shook her head. "You know, I just was throwing out a line but... I really wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Ain't that some shit? I just had my crewchief blown all over the bird, I've got so many holes I feel like I'm flying a Swiss cheese and I wouldn't want to be anywhere else. I'm insane."
"Captain," Mike said, gently, "why the fuck do you think I hired you?"
"Point," Tammie said. "I gotta go. We're loaded. Once more into the breach and all that."
"Unto," Mike corrected. "Everybody gets that wrong. It goes:
"Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage.
"Henry the Fifth. Great play. Unrealistic as hell and bad history but some of the greatest propaganda ever written."
"Damn, sir," Tammie said, her eyes wide. "I hadn't expected to hear Shakespeare quoted in the middle of a battle."
"No better time," Mike said. "And no better writer. Less it's Kipling. Now get out of here before you get your pretty little ass shot off."
* * *
"We got another engine?" Kacey asked, as soon as her canopy was popped.
The engine was smoking. Every light on her board that wasn't red was yellow. Her engine temp was running in the red. Her hydraulics were shot. And she had holes al
l over her window.
"What the fuck did you do to my bird?" D'Allaird shouted.
"I took out the fucking bunkers that killed Gretchen," Kacey said. "Now, we got another engine?"
"You need more than an engine," D'Allaird yelled. "You need your head examined! And a windshield. And a splinter shield. Probably control runs. And from the smell, a new transmission!"
"How long?" Kacey asked, pushing herself out of the seat and stepping out.
"That's it?" D'Allaird yelled. "How long? I ought to strap you up with rigger tape and throw you in the shed! I don't know how long! Next week? There's gotta be somebody around here can ground you!"
"I need it in a couple of hours," Kacey said, walking towards the ready-room. "If you want to use rigger's tape for something, I suggest you start on the holes in the blades."
"I...you... AAARRRGH! I got two Czech mechanics and a bunch of people who are willing and got no damned idea what to do! And you want this busted up piece of what was once one damned nice flying machine when?"
"As soon as possible, chief," Kacey said, spinning on her heel. "There are a hundred of these people's sons and daughters on the other side of those mountains with about a billion fucking Chechens hunting their scalps. They need three things: Ammo, dust-off and close-air support! We cannot do any sort of reasonable dust-off or resupply with the bird loaded for combat. So we need two birds, chief. Two. One for dust-off, one for support. So Get This One Flying, Marine! Or admit that all that shit you spouted about being a fucking miracle worker with birds was so much crap and get the fuck out of my face. Because every second you are flapping your jaw, Gunny, is one more second this fucker is not in the air. Do You Understand Me?"
"Clear, Captain," D'Allaird said, his face hard. "Sorry, sir. I'll get to work on it. I cannot guarantee two hours, sir, but I will do my best."
"Just get it flying, Chief," Kacey said with a sigh. "It don't have to fly great, just fly. Just get me back in the air."
Chapter Forty
"Okay, Master Chief, now would be good."
Adams looked at the Chechens on the far hill, and the ones probing forward on either side, and sighed.
"Waited long enough," he muttered. "Oleg!"
"We're ready," Oleg yelled. "Team," he said, thumbing his throat mike, "prepare to retreat. Shota!"
"Now?" Shota called.
"Now," Oleg yelled.
Dmitri, the assistant team leader, was acting as a combination spotter and loader. He pointed to the hilltop and tapped the big Keldara on the shoulder.
Shota got up on one knee and sighted through the massive rocket launcher. Mostly by instinct and with bare use of the sight he aimed at a large rock some of the Chechens were using for cover and fired.
The range was such that he had to angle the launcher upwards nearly thirty degrees for the rocket to reach. Nonetheless, the round traced across the slight valley between the two hills and flew right to the rock.
The round was a thermobaric round that used overpressure rather than shrapnel for its primary killing effect. Better in an enclosed space than a hilltop it nonetheless laid down a circle of devastation that spread for fifteen meters around the rock that was its target. Even beyond that point, the pressure from the explosion hammered the Chechens so hard that many of them stood up screaming and holding their heads. The other Keldara were more than happy to pick them off.
"Left," Dmitri said, slamming in another round. "On the side of the hill, there..." he said, pointing.
Another TB round flew out, cutting a hole in the attacking Chechens.
"Last one!" Oleg yelled.
"Right," Dmitri said, slamming in another round and pointing.
Another round, another perfect hit and another Chechen squad gutted.
"Say what you will about Shota's counting ability," Adams said as they pounded down the hillside. "The motherfucker is a genius with a rocket launcher."
* * *
Commander Bukara stood on the hilltop looking at the dead bodies around him and shook his head.
"It doesn't matter," he shouted. "We have them cornered, now. They are trapped and at our mercy. We will destroy them and then we shall continue to their pitiful valley and lay it to waste once and for all!"
The men around him, though, did not look particularly bucked up by his speech.
"After we receive reinforcements," he continued. "There are thousands of our brethren on the way. We will wait until we can strike them in force. Yes. When our brothers arrive, then we shall assault."
* * *
"Is it just me, or do those Chechens look a little hangdog?" Mike asked as Adams walked slowly through the preparing lines.
The Keldara were warriors, yes, but they were also farmers. Good ones. And farmers do a lot of manual labor. Whereas your average American soldier looks upon a shovel as a foreign and terrible instrument, to the Keldara they were more familiar than guns. Far more familiar. And they knew how to wield them, oh, yes. There were tricks to using a shovel that only experience and training could impart. How much of what kind of soil to lift in each load, where, exactly, to strike, small tricks.
Which was why the hilltop looked very much as if a hundred really scarily large gophers were building nests. Fast.
The top of the soil was frozen and would have been nearly impossible to dig through. They'd solved that problem by chopping small holes with their axes then slipping in explosive charges. That broke the frozen crust quite neatly. They'd also used the C-4 they carried to break up boulders or free them from the ground. Rocks were being piled to the front into sangers and the snipers were digging nice little hides with tiny firing slits.
The Keldara might just be getting used to things like helicopters and night vision systems but there wasn't nothin their trainers could teach them about digging. All Mike had had to do was point out slightly better angles of fire.
Adams stopped and just stared at him for a few seconds. Balefully.
"Okay, are you going to let me in on the secret?" Adams said, hefting the M-60E4.
"Nope," Mike said. "But if you want to use it, feel free. I'll give you one hint: don't bother to fire in five round bursts. Just hold the trigger down. I've got the guys setting up pretty good positions for them. Oh, and we'll probably be getting some mortars dropped on our heads, soon. There's not much to use for overhead. See if you can think of anything."
"I'm missing something," Adams said. "If I just hold the trigger down, this fucker's gonna overheat. Fast. It's an M-60. That's what they do."
"Trust me," Mike said, putting a pair of binoculars to his eyes. "Yeah. They're fucking hangdog. They've been chasing us for the last seven or eight hours, they've got us cornered and they're just sitting there."
"That's because there are about four thousand of their buddies coming up to help," Adams pointed out. "I'd hang back, too."
"Good," Mike said. "I wonder when Tammie can get back here with some more ammo?"
* * *
