The other M18 commanders had selected their targets – Deming raised his arm, also nodding to the Captain who was still watching. His arm dropped.
A hellish scene followed. The Soviet tanks and infantry were side-on to the Hellcats and anti-tank guns. Three T34s went up in flames.
As the M18s reloaded, Deming opened up with the .50 cal.
The thumping sound of the machine gun was suddenly drowned out as one of the half-tracks, an anti-aircraft M16 with quad-50 cals, started firing at the infantry around the T34s. The effect on the advancing infantry was devastating. Bodies were torn apart by the ferocious impacts from the heavy machine guns.
The Red Army counter-attack faltered. A few tanks changed direction and headed toward the tank destroyers on the rise. At the same time, the Russian artillery fire began to close in on them. The Americans had revealed their position when they opened fire – and had now been spotted by the OP in the castle.
A rising wail met Deming’s ears. His heart stopped as the sound approached with steam-engine certainty.
“Back off! Back off!” he shouted to his driver.
The Hellcat’s engine roared and it lurched back down the slope as a massive crack of doom sounded. The AA half-track disintegrated from a direct hit by the artillery, instantly killing its crew.
Another wail approached. Screaming louder than the last volley. Deming recognized it as the sound of a rocket barrage fired from a Katyusha. The top of the slope began erupting with explosion after explosion. He looked around to see his troop following his lead and backing away from the rise. That was his last thought before the world flew upside down.
∞
Mojave City
2265 CE
“Hesta, now show me the headlines from the New York Times, January 24th, 1946 – not from your matrix – the real ones,” asked Arjon.
“REDS DENIED ATOM BOMB!”
“A Soviet spy network has been uncovered with links to Great Britain and its atomic weapons program. The network was plotting to pass on top secret details gained from a British physicist working on the Allied atomic bomb program, also known as the Manhattan Project, to the Kremlin.
The physicist, Klaus Fuchs, has been detained and charged with espionage, and is awaiting trial in the United States.”
So, thought Arjon, in realitythe communists had been thwarted in their attempts to steal the plans for the atomic bomb – but in Hesta’s matrix they had succeeded.
“Hesta … why do think this event did not occur in your simulation?” Arjon asked.
“The probability matrix cannot provide a fully audited breakdown of specific causality leading to a deterministic outcome.”
“You mean you don’t know?”
“Correct.”
“But can we infer that the war against the Soviets led to a tighter security regime in US research installations, and that led to the failure of the plot to steal the atom bomb?”
“That assumption can be deduced from the high-level streams of the event continuity.”
“Thank you, go back to sleep.”
∞
Passau, Germany
March 25th, 1946
Colonel Corday took the message slip from Lieutenant Clay and after reading it to himself, held it up to get his staff officers’ attention.
He then read aloud, “Quarterback sacked … platoon engaging enemy armor counter-attacking from east of Veste Oberhaus.”
“Who’s in command?” asked Captain Peters.
“The signal is from Lieutenant Ellery … the platoon 2IC,” said Colonel Corday as he crumpled the message.
Taking only a few seconds to compose himself and show a determined resolve to his officers, he added, “They have to hold their ground.”
He scoured the map table, “Move up the reserve units – Lieutenant Jarrett’s recon outfit has two mobile artillery and some mechanized infantry. They can bolster Ellery’s position.”
“Have them move up before nightfall.” Although clearly disappointed with the situation – the commander out of action, and the threat of the Reds pushing them back down the hill – he still sounded resolute.
“We’ll beat off this attack, but we’ll have to delay the final push on the hill until we’ve regrouped.”
∞
Mojave City
2265 CE
Arjon was becoming almost obsessive as he kept reading about the simulation’s alternative past, and then switching to the same time period in his own history for comparison.
He read another newspaper headline from the real Washington Post, this time from March 25th, 1946:
“MARINES LAND IN POLAND!”
“The United States 1st Marine Corp has successfully landed behind the Russian front lines and taken the strategic port of Gdansk. In a statement released this morning, General MacArthur said that the ‘… landings have achieved all of their initial objectives, and have given us, and our allies, a major seaport from which to launch further advances.’”
∞
Passau, Germany
March 26th, 1946
The grogginess returned and clouded Lieutenant Deming’s focus. He willed himself to snap out of it. Colonel Corday had said something to him … hope that wasn’t important.
He thought the row of newly delivered M18s looked out of place. Painted with olive green and brown camouflage ready for the approaching summer, they glowed under a coat of dew in the morning sun.
Nothing else in the ordnance depot looked as shiny and new. It was as if something so clean and untried couldn’t be trusted out on the battlefield.
Corday’s voice filtered its way through those of the birds calling out in the trees above.
“… now has wider tracks … twenty-one inches, to handle the extra weight. They had to counter the additional recoil from the higher caliber gun …”
Deming nodded and wiped his brow. A smear of blood smudged across his forehead as he adjusted his bandage. The Colonel’s voice was harmonizing with the birdsong, threatening to lull him further into his daze.
“… and the engineers at GM have upgraded the hydramatic transmission.”
Corday looked at his junior staffer. “You ok?”
Deming just nodded, as if the effort of speaking would cause him to lose his concentration and the technical detail would not be absorbed.
“When they tested the new transmission, they staged a race with a Jeep,” said Corday enthusiastically.
“From a standing start … over three hundred feet.”
Corday exuded the status of a privileged messenger as he looked Corday in the eye.
“An eighteen-ton tank against a one-ton jeep … the Hellcat won. Did it under sixteen seconds.”
Deming whistled. “Shoot … but it doesn’t surprise me sir. They’ve got so much torque, we get those tanks moving back and forth like they’re rocking horses.”
With the fuzziness in his head clearing, he moved up to pat the 105mm short-barreled howitzer and asked, “What about angled penetration?”
“The 105mm HEAT rounds have a shaped charge … that means you’ve got to get as close to ninety degrees as possible or it won’t get through, the same as regular AP.”
“No problem on their square turrets then … just gonna need to be spot on when we’re aiming at their soup bowls.”
“Right. The gunners should avoid targeting the sloped turret armor on their latest IS models unless you’ve got some advantage from elevation.”
“Hmmm … always get the high ground. Holds as true as it ever did.”
“The rest of your platoon’s M18s are going to be issued with the latest high-velocity AP ammunition for their 90-millimeters. The new HVAP rounds will go through 300mm of armor at 500 yards.”
Deming whistled again. “Whew! That’s gonna dish out some pain … the boys’ll want to run into one of those new IS3s a … s … a … p to see what they can do.”
The effort of being so positive took its toll. Deming concentrated hard, cl
osing his eyes hoping that would keep the persistent headache at bay. The blackness in his mind was suddenly interrupted by a vivid memory of his Hellcat being lifted into the air by the explosion, and himself being thrown out of the open turret and slammed into the ground like a toy soldier.
Corday noticed his discomfort but continued anyway, “Now … all this talk of firepower is fine – but it won’t be our weaponry that wins this war.”
Deming nodded through the pain to show he was still paying attention. He suppressed a wince as he saw the M18 burst into flames … his crew still inside.
He willed himself to snap out of it as he realized he was about to hear one of his CO’s pep talks.
“Tanks, guns and planes all need someone to use them … and we use them more effectively than any other army.”
Deming’s spirits lifted. Now that I can relate to.
“I agree sir.” he responded, “We’ve had our initiation under fire … ever since Torch in ’43 we’ve had to make the best of inferior armor against the Nazis.”
“Damn right, and we’ve had to be better soldiers to beat them.”
Corday relaxed a little, satisfied that his top platoon leader, although a casualty of their last skirmish, Deming had come through mentally unscathed. He’d been grooming him for higher command, and now knew that the man standing alongside him was the right one for the job.
“Lieutenant, I’m promoting you to Captain,” he said, still watching Deming’s responses carefully.
“Why, thank you, sir … I’m very honored.”
“And I want you to know I’ve got you tagged for higher command.”
“I won’t let you down.”
“As you know, my battalion doesn’t follow traditional command structures. My game plans are described as ‘innovative’ by the top brass … and the army doesn’t readily accept change or a new idea without grinding it through a mill, and tempering it until they know it’s strong enough to work.”
Corday led them off at an easy walk. “My plans are getting results, so I’ll continue to get the leeway I need to keep shaping this unit.”
Deming no longer noticed the ache in his head as he fell in stride with the Colonel. He felt as if he were now being privileged to a new level of the senior officer’s confidence as he detailed the battalion’s future direction.
“Other tank destroyer battalions usually get their companies divided amongst the armored divisions. They mostly get assigned to defensive missions, supporting infantry, and dealing with counter attacks.”
The trees became silent, the chorus of bird life subsiding as though granting Corday’s words the sole right to resound through the chill morning air.
“I’m going to use the Hellcats for what they were intended to do … to destroy large numbers of tanks!”
“Yes sir! There’s sure gonna be plenty of them!”
“Bet your ass there will …”
An adjutant came out of one of the HQ’s out-buildings with two cups of coffee.
The two officers stood for a moment, sipping from steaming mugs, and looking back to the line of Hellcats.
“Those are the most mobile armored vehicles in the European theater,” Corday said flatly.
“Yeah … we’ve got fifty miles an hour out of ’em on firm ground.”
“And the Reds get at best thirty-seven out of an IS2 – and that’s if it’s going downhill. The M18s got the firepower to handle the heaviest tanks the Reds have got.”
“Thirty-seven hundred feet per second muzzle velocity on the upgraded 90mm guns – it does the job if it’s used correctly.”
“Well, we’re going to be using them in a tactically modified role that will at first not be appreciated by the followers of established tank destroyer doctrine.”
They walked on, talking tactics as the air began to warm, carrying with it a scent of the summer to come. The season for finishing a war.
∞
Liberty, equality and democracy are the inalienable right of all human beings. It is the responsibility of the organization to ensure the rights of the individual are unimpeded by the laws or practices of any of the nations of Earth.
Article 42
Charter of the Union of Nations
“Holo-park?” asked Eya.
“Maybe not, they’ll be here in a couple of hours. I’m just going to take a shower,” Arjon replied as he came out of his den.
Paradise may have provided for all human needs and wants, but one deficiency remained constant – time.
He sighed at the thought of missing another session at the park. His personal projects had kept him away for another week, and the drone-ball team would give him a ribbing once he returned. Apart from the exercise, it was camaraderie he missed the most.
He entered the shower and as the jets of water washed away his frustration, he felt virtual hands pressing deeply as they rolled over his muscles. The sonic masseur would at least help him maintain his fitness. He relaxed completely and bowed his head as the light pressure from the sub-sonic sound waves focused on a knot of tension above his scapula, then gently strengthened to iron it out.
An hour later, as a warm evening breeze wafted in from the Mojave, the bower echoed with the sound of clinking glasses and voices rising to be heard.
Ah, a successful dinner party, thought Eya. Half a dozen of our best friends … and no stressed-out hosts.
She handed her empty plate to the robo-serve as it meandered past on its way to the kitchen, and carefully placed her used cutlery in a padded receptacle in the robot’s midriff. She was particularly proud of the tableware – a wedding present from Arjon. It was made from titanium mined from the asteroid belt.
“The desserts will now be served!” she announced.
Heads turned with the sounds of swooning over the array of pastries, fresh cream and chocolate dishes. And the centerpiece, a huge cornucopia of fruit grown on the space stations in high orbit above Earth. The exaggerated shapes, sizes and colors resulting from growing in low gravity gave the display the look of a surrealist masterpiece.
Arjon smiled at Eya. He’d wanted everyone’s tastes to be well satisfied at this party, so they’d be in a good mood for the game they were going to play later on.
The guests didn’t need to make the effort of choosing. Hesta could detect everyone’s preferences from their expressions and biometric data as they savored the fare. She relayed instructions to the robo-serve and it dutifully began to give everyone what they wanted.
Thus, the conversation flowed without interruption.
“The mind is the temple of the soul!” Macrose almost shouted, slapping the table at the same time an artificial hand retrieved his dinner plate.
“Oh, that’s fine … if you like temples,” quipped Grillon. “I prefer to think of mine as more of a wine cellar.”
“Whether it’s in a temple, or a cellar …” said Eya, “I think we’ve exhausted the whole ‘soul actually does exist’ topic.”
“I agree,” added Arjon, “and for a change from our metaphysical discussions, I have a little game for us to play after dessert. It’s called ‘Alternative Reality.’”
Hesta took her cue and materialized a holo-card in front of each guest.
The information on the front of each one was biometrically tuned to only become visible when it was sensed that the owner of the card was looking at it, and so it would only be seen by them.
Arjon explained, “We each take turns giving a clue from our cards, which is a description of a scenario, or feature from our alternative world. It also lists an event that occurred in our other world, that is related to that clue. So, once we hear the clue, the others have to try and guess what the event is that caused it.”
“Oh, I’m way too high for this game!” said Margeaux.
“That’s alright Margie, you’re allowed to use your hand-held to think of answers for you!” said Eya.
After a few minutes more of explaining the rules, Arjon started the game.
∞
Passau, Germany
March 30th, 1946
Captain Deming shifted uncomfortably, feeling out of place. The 10th Armored Division HQ was alive with activity. Officers, mostly strangers to him, huddled over maps making adjustments to unit movements already in place. Signalmen carried messages back and forth to the comms section, and at the head of the large rectangular map table Colonel Corday stood alongside the division commander, Major General Wyatt.
Deming thought they looked like two statues, isolated and still among the apparent disorder. Despite the commotion, if either of them had uttered a word for the others to hear, the room would have come to a standstill.
He stretched his arms, feeling the acute ache from his bruises. At least the effects from the concussion were easing. Stretching didn’t help; at least he was on a light duty schedule, here only to observe the Division’s operations center, but not having any direct involvement was presenting a challenge to his powers of concentration.
Corday’s 558th tank destroyer battalion had had been attacking since dawn, in cooperation with several of the Divisions’ tank-infantry units. It was a good thing the Red Army units ahead of them had been cut off, otherwise they would have had time to strengthen their position with fresh troops – as they always did.
Deming spotted a black chess piece on the map table – Corday’s staff must have brought it from the 558th HQ to the division HQ for the final coordinated push.
He also spotted one of the officers from the 558th around the map table – Captain Peters. The captain straightened and got the colonel’s attention.
“Sir, red-zone play is ready to start.”
“About time,” Corday snapped. “The light’s fading.”
The previous days had been spent holding off repeated Russian counter-attacks, the last of which had finally been broken after the timely arrival of a squadron of fighter bombers. Air support for the ground offensive was in high demand across the entire front, and would usually only turn up at the most crucial moments.
The Free World War Page 9
