Red Winter: Wake Up Call
Disclaimer: This story series contains graphic violence and strong language. Read at your own discretion. Also, I use a few possibly copyrighted names in here, and they belong to their respective owners and I wasn't paid to use them. Go Steelers!
December 13th, Grand Junction - 6:49 P.M.
Jack and the marines had finally made it to U.S. lines around 5:50 P.M., after being delayed with a brief PRA artillery strike that sent them running for cover, and a retreating platoon of PRA infantry, most likely paratroopers who had been dropped in an attempt to cut off American lines. While Jack had made it his objective to regroup with friendly forces, completing his objective brought with it little satisfaction. He found that the defensive perimeter consisted mainly of derelict civilian vehicles, sandbags, or bulldozed rubble pushed into the street to make a road block. Soldiers tightly bundled in their winter coats and ski masks sat atop the barricades armed with their rifles, usually an M-16 or an M-26 ACR / Remington ACR.
The Army had pulled most of its forces out of Grand Junction to escape the withering artillery fire that rained every thirty or so minutes. It soon became so commonplace that Jack was able to tune it out so well he could fall asleep. And sleep he did. Bundled up in his jacket, he sat on the sidewalk with his head resting against the wall of a Napa Auto Parts store. He was too tired to care about how poor the sleeping arrangements were, for now all that mattered was resting his aching legs.
The downtown area of Grand Junction was a mess, as most of the buildings had been shelled over the last twenty-four hours, leaving nothing but their smoldering exterior walls. The U.S. currently had a mixture of National Guard and 3rd Infantry Division camped throughout the center of Grand Junction, leaving the western half of the city unoccupied by either side. Much of the western half was flat anyway, so holding it really wasn't of strategic value.
Currently, the U.S. Army had roughly 3,000 men in a loose defensive line across Grand Junction. Most of their tanks and artillery in the city had been wiped out by constant PRA air strikes, and the ones that survived had been pulled back towards Denver where they'd be stockpiled for the coming counter offensive. The remaining issue was how to evacuate 3,000 soldiers and 2,000 civilians still caught in the battle? 3,000 soldiers was two full regiments worth of troops, but it seemed evacuating them was utterly impossible.
Inside his command tent, U.S. Army Colonel Nickolas Vanderbilt was busy trying to piece together a defense plan to hold back the next wave of PRA forces. He was out numbered five to one, not to mention the PRA had eight times his number in tanks and IFVs, and twice his number in artillery. Furthermore, the PRA's soldiers were better equipped and rested, while most of Vanderbilt's men had been on the front lines 24/7 since the battle began. The only advantage he had at the moment was that the weather was bad, which meant that the PRA's planes couldn't take off at the moment, although that was subject to change. Conversely, that also meant that he couldn't use that pair of AH-64 Apache gunships stationed at the Grand Junction regional airport.
"Lieutenant Eva, what's the status on our remaining units?" Vanderbilt asked his aide sitting at the computer terminal in front of him.
"One moment sir, I'm pulling up their updated specs right now," the young vixen replied. "There, these are the remaining troops we have. Everyone else is either dead or on their way to Denver."
LOADING......please wait....
UNIT MANIFEST FOR COMMIDWEST (Comander, MidWest U.S.)
3rd Infantry Division -
INFANTRY UNITS:
22nd Regiment - 985 active soldiers remaining
4th Battalion - FOX 1
· Alpha Company : FOX 1-1. Status: Functional
· Bravo Company : FOX 1-2. Status: Functional; light casualties
· Charlie Company : FOX 1-3. Status: Functional
5th Battalion - FOX 2
· Delta Company: FOX 2-1. Status: Out of Action; heavy casualties
· Echo Company: FOX 2-2. Status: Functional
· Foxtrot Company: FOX 2-3. Status: Low on Anti-tank munitions
6th Battalion - FOX 3
· Golf Company: FOX 3-1. Status: Functional
· Hotel Company: FOX 3-2. Status: Functional, 1st Platoon wiped out
· India Company: FOX 3-3. Status: Functional, moderate casualties
ARTILERY UNITS:
25th Regiment - 130 active soldiers remaining
21st Battalion - EAGLE 1
· Echo Company: EAGLE 1-5. Status: Functional
"Fuck, that's all I have left?" Vanderbilt asked.
"Well, we just folded that battalion of Marines in with the survivors of from the North Carolina Militia and 35th Infantry Division. They've been given the call sign WOLF, and are currently acting as an infantry regiment," Eva reported.
"Alright, pull up their specs and let me have a look at them," he said.
35th Infantry Division -
INFANTRY UNITS:
51st Regiment - 437 active soldiers remaining
95th Battalion - WOLF 1
· Foxtrot Company: WOLF 1-1. Status: Functional
· Golf Company: WOLF 1-2. Status: Functional
· Hotel Company: WOLF 1-3. Status: Moderate casualties, being folded into India
· India Company: WOLF 1-4. Status, Moderate casualties, absorbing Hotel Company
1st Marine Division -
INFANTRY UNITS:
4th Regiment - 445 active soldiers remaining
26th Battalion - WOLF 2
· Alpha Company: WOLF 2-1. Status: Functional
· Bravo Company: WOLF 2-2. Status: Functional
· Charlie Company: WOLF 2-3. Status: Functional
16th North Carolina Militia Division
INFANTRY UNITS:
1st Regiment - 325 active soldier remaining
3rd Battalion - WOLF 3
· Golf Company: FOX 3-1. Status: Functional
· Hotel Company: FOX 3-2. Status: Functional; moderate casualties
· India Company: FOX 3-3. Status: Functional; light casualties
"Hmm, that's better but not very comforting. I got two battalions of weekend soldiers guarding...where are the WOLF units stationed again?" Vanderbilt asked.
"They're guarding the area around the hospital, as well as our center front," Eva reported. "FOX is guarding our northern flank and the airport."
"Great. What's the word on the Colorado Militia units?"
"They're guarding our southern flank, but we're not in command of them. Most of the 16th Militia Division was pulled back to Denver during the afternoon to get more properly equipped, and the 15th Division went off on its own for a while and fought with the 35th Infantry for most of the morning's battles. They took some serious losses due to enemy aircraft and tank superiority at the time. We lost at least a thousand men from both divisions, and have thousands more wounded that are being evacuated. As of this moment, we've labeled the remaining 900 or so men from the 15th Division as HUSKY 1."
"Are we still in contact with them?" Vanderbilt asked.
"I can try to reach them sir, but the PRA have periodically sneaked special forces teams into the wasteland areas to deploy radio jammers to hamper our communications," Eva explained while trying to page Major Evan Winters, the man in charge of HUSKY 1. "Okay sir, I've got him on the air for yah."
Vanderbilt slipped on a radio headset and said, "This is Colonel Vanderbilt, acting commander. Major, what is your unit's status?"
"Sir, we've set up our three remaining battalions in a loose formation across the residential areas of the Redlands suburb. We're low on ammo though, and we don't have much in the way of anti-tank weapons. Mainly we've had to use improvised explosive devices to disable tanks and then move in to take out the crew," Winters explained.
"Understood. Listen, I've lost contact with an observation post in the mountains, and I think the PRA took it out. We don't know what's going on, but with this storm moving in I have to assume they're going to attempt to assault us while our air support is offline. The second you make contact with the PRA you let me know. Don't try to be a hero either, if the enemy looks to be too strong, fall back across the river and try to get to Mesa Mall. I've got my Marine battalion waiting there and they can cover your retreat," Vanderbilt instructed.
"Gotcha Colonel, will do. Over and out," Winters replied.
Franklin, North Carolina - December 13th, four years earlier
It was four degrees outside and somehow Jack was still sweating. He paused to take a breath as he approached his high school's gymnasium, which had been converted into a dance hall for tonight's winter dance. Inside stood the girl of his dreams, the one whom had been the only thing on his mind the past two years. She had been the only real source of happiness for him, as life had lost all meaning after Jack's mother died shortly after he started his freshman year. Those days had been rough, with his father having to hold down two jobs to support his five children.
Jack, being the oldest, often times had to take his father's place at home, whether it be cooking dinner, doing laundry, or helping his siblings with their homework. He rarely slept more than six hours in a night, if he was lucky. Many times he contemplated suicide, figuring that he'd be one less kid for his dad to worry about. However, he never could muster up the courage to go through with it, but he figured it was only a matter of time till he did. What he didn't figure was that he'd meet a girl who would change his life.
One day while hanging in the school library he accidently bumped into a wolfess carrying a stack of history books. After apologizing and helping her pick up the books, he noticed she was stunningly beautiful, and even more surprised to learn she was only a freshman from her dropped student ID. She could easily have passed for a junior, due to her height and well built figure. After trying to calm himself down, Jack did his best to introduce himself without making the situation any more awkward.
"I'm Rachel, nice to meet you Jack!" she said perkily while taking back her ID card and books from Jack.
"Wow, you must really like World War II if you're reading this many books," he commented.
"Ugh, yeah right. My history professor wants us to do a five page research paper on an important event from the war, and I got stuck with the battle of Stalingrad," she sighed.
"Really? That's actually a pretty good one to get," Jack said, trying to be positive.
"For a guy maybe, but I'm not into all this war stuff. I don't even see how they can sell video games based off it, it's all so stupid."
"For a girl, maybe," Jack teased.
She gave him a look and lightly bopped him on the nose with a book.
"Sorry," he replied while rubbing his muzzle, "But if you want I could give some help."
"You'd do that? You don't even know me," Rachel said hesitantly.
"Not yet, but that's subject to change," Jack replied with a grin.
Rachel simply smirked and followed him, rolling her eyes as yet another boy tried his luck with her. Still, Jack didn't quite seem like the others. Maybe he would turn out differently, she wondered.
And so as the months passed Jack and Rachel would become good friends. Often they'd stay up late chatting online, with Jack helping her do math homework and Rachel consoling him when he felt depressed inside. When summer finally came she even invited him to her youth group at her church, which Jack immediately took her up on. Jack ended up hating it, as he hated the sappy worship songs they played there, as well as the stupid activities they often played that were meant to teach the kids about God and the Bible. Coming from an Irish Catholic background, Jack preferred his denomination's more serious attitude to religion. Still, he was willing to suffer through two hours of weekly torture if it meant he got to see Rachel, even if it was only for a few minutes.
By the start of his senior year, Jack was sure that he was in love with Rachel. Not only was she drop dead beautiful, she was really the only person who could make him smile. His father was almost never around, and when he was he was either drunk or hung over. Jack couldn't blame the wolf, as it wasn't easy losing your mate to cancer. Without his father for support Jack often relied on Rachel to keep his spirits up. It seemed there was never a time where she couldn't make him smile, not matter how melancholy he felt.
"C'mon Jack, don't be nervous," he said to himself as he stepped inside the gym.
Looking around he saw dozens of couples already dancing, but none of them contained Rachel. Working his way around the edge of the room, Jack started his search for her.
She already told you how much you mean to her, so she clearly likes you, he continued mentally. And you know you love her, so just stay calm, play is casual at first, and then when you're alone tell her.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, Jack noticed her. Rachel wore a bright red dress that went perfectly with her fur, and her hair was tied in a sexy ponytail as usual. My god she's beautiful. He jumped as he realized she had noticed him and gave him a smirk from across the room. Swallowing his fear, Jack gave a curt wave and then walked over to her.
"Hey Rachel, you made it!"
"Yup. Glad to see you here too. You dance with anyone yet?" she asked.
"No, I just got here. But on that subject, may I have this dance?" he asked as best he could without giving away the fact that his heart was beating a hundred and twenty times a minute.
"Hm, okay!" she said giddily.
"You look beautiful by the way," he said as he took her paw and led her out to the dance floor.
She blushed and thanked him, but said nothing as the DJ put on a new song and several other couples made their way to the floor.
4:30 A.M Present Day. - Grand Junction
"INCOMING!"
Jack's eyes flew open as he heard the all too familiar word. The ground shook with a force that sent cold fear gushing through his veins as he wondered if the earth had just broke apart and exploded. All around him artillery shells fell, with soldier and civilian alike ducking for cover as a McDonald's was blown to bits in a cacophonic blast of glass and wood. Scrambling to his feet Jack made his way into the Napa store and looked for a place to hide. But before he could find one, a 105mm shell landed in the street behind him and knocked him to the floor as the blast shattered the store's windows and knocked the rows of steel shelving over.
Something struck his boot, hard. Shifting across the floor, Jack looked over his shoulder to see the twisted remains of his M-4 resting at his feet. He silently cursed himself for not remembering to bring his weapon inside with him, but that couldn't be helped now. More shells fell, and a ceiling lamp fell and exploded on the floor. Jack scrambled back to his feet and made a dash for a nearby countertop, taking cover beneath it and silently asking no one in particular to get him out of this alive.
Meanwhile, in the nearby command post, Lieutenant Sheppard and his men surveyed the damage as dozens of soldiers lay dead on the ground, scattered about the parking lot of St. Mary's Hospital. Many of the command tents were ripped from shrapnel, and one of the gasoline powered generators had taken a direct hit. The remaining men and women of the command and control group desperately tried to get a backup generator online, as well as group together the remaining functional computers and radios.
"Who's in charge here?" Sheppard shouted over the commotion of panicking soldiers and burning fuel.
No answer.
"I ASKED A GOD DAMNED QUESTION PEOPLE! Who. Is. In charge," he repeated, much more bluntly this time.
A nearby vixen in a bloodstained ACU jacket looked up from a dead wolf and said, "He was."
Sheppard walked over and saw the wolf was a fellow officer, a colonel. The vixen was clearly upset, her body quaking from the adrenalin that still ran through her veins. Blackmon walked up behind her and gently rubbed her shoulders, not sure of what to say in this kind of situation.
"I-I can't believe he's dead. I served under Colonel Vanderbilt s-since I g-got out of basic," she stuttered.
"I'm sorry," Sheppard said, "But grieving him has to wait. We just got shelled, that means they're preparing an attack. I need to know who's in charge of our forces."
"No one now, the Colonel was the last officer in Grand Junction. The big brass in Denver ordered all the others to retreat with the main bulk of our forces so we wouldn't risk losing any experienced leaders," the vixen replied.
"You're telling me we don't have anyone else to assume command?" Sheppard asked in disbelief.
She nodded. "Yes sir, no one above the rank of Captain. I'd say Major Winters of the militia units was in charge, but his people don't have a C&C network set up. All their operations are limited to a fairly small area just south of here."
Sheppard stood and thought for a moment. Without a leader, the remaining U.S. forces were lambs for the slaughter. Of course, they had always been that hadn't they? An unlucky few chosen to hold the gate while the remaining troops fell back to Denver to set up a new defensive line that would probably fall in the coming months. Then again, they might actually hold this time, and with that would come the counter attack that would help reclaim the rest of Colorado. But one thing was certain, none of this was possible if the PRA broke through here and caught the retreating force.
"Alright then, Blackmon, take the squad back to the rally point. You're in command of them now," Sheppard said.
"Sir?" Blackmon asked, a little confused.
"I'm gonna stay here and see if I can get our people whipped back into shape," he replied. "And you, I'm gonna need your help getting out command network back online," he said to the vixen.
"M-my help sir?" she asked, still suppressing the feelings of shock and fear that seemed to swell like a cancer in the pit of her stomach.
"Yes, you and any other surviving technicians from Vanderbilt's command center. We might only have seconds before their first units start rolling out and we'll need every man we got at the ready, which includes you Lieutenant..."
"Carter. Eva Carter, sir," she said as she as she stood up. "And you're right, this isn't the time to grieve. If anything it's a chance for some last minute revenge before we all finally catch a bullet."
Sheppard cracked a smile at that. "Your optimism has a certain charm to it," he joked. "Now where's the command tent...or what's left of it at least?"
"Right this way sir," Eva replied while jogging to a large tent set up in the hospital's parking lot.
Inside Sheppard found several technicians working on rebooting the computers and getting updates on troop conditions, weather, and the status of the remaining vehicles. Eva handed him a radio headset and made gave him a list of the various frequencies that each unit was using. After glancing it over he then took his place in the center of the tent and started barking out orders, requesting updates on his remaining men, and attempting to contact the Army's headquarters in Denver to request air support. Finally, he gave a broadcast to the 2,000 men that had now fallen under his command.
"All units, this is Lieutenant Benjamin Sheppard, acting commander. Colonel Vanderbilt is KIA, and from this point on till we get out of here, I'm in charge. Gentlemen, our mission still stands. We must hold back the PRA force until our men finish their retreat to Denver. If we get knocked out, we lose 30% of our men on the western front, as well as all of Colorado. I'm not going to lie to you either, we probably won't make it out of this alive. But we sure as hell won't go down without a fight, even if we have to use our bare paws. If anything, let's make 'em pay for what they did here guys. Sheppard out."
U.S. Army Headquarters Denver - 4:40 A.M.
General Allen Forsythe was not pleased at being woken at four in the morning by his aide. He'd only managed to fall asleep three hours earlier when nothing new had come in from Grand Junction. Now, the 5'9" brown furred coyote was having to haul his half-dead carcass into the base's situation room. He only bothered to put on his beret and jacket over his pajamas, not caring how he looked since over half of the technicians had been in here for nearly ten hours and were all in dire need of a shave and shower.
"Alright, what's going on in GJ?" he asked sleepily while fiddling with the cap on a bottle of Mountain Dew.
"Sir, the PRA forces began mobilizing about thirty minutes ago. Ten minutes ago they launched a pre-emptive artillery bombardment on the town. Damage reports are coming in, but it looks like we only lost a few men. The weather is still pretty foul and they've just now started launching fighters. Our planes are already scrambling to meet them, but our helicopters won't be able to take off in this weather," reported a female otter from behind her terminal.
Forsythe nodded and took a gulp of soda. "Are we in touch with the commander there?"
"Negative, sir. We've been having trouble raising any of our commanders over there. It's possible the PRA artillery strike knocked out our HQ."
"Are you fuckin' serious?" Forsythe swore, before calming down and reminding himself to keep an air of calm. "So we have no central command there? Great. See if you can get in touch with anyone there and..."
"Sir," the otter interrupted, "I just something. Someone has taken command, I'm patching him through to the speakers." A few seconds later Forsythe heard the wolf's voice through the two way intercom system that was wired throughout the room. "Go ahead Lieutenant, you on line with the General."
"This is Lieutenant Benjamin Sheppard, 1st Marine Division. We've come under heavy fire and we need whatever help we can get."
"Lieutenant, this is General Forsythe. Who is in charge over there?"
"At the moment, sir, just me. Most of the senior command officers got pulled back earlier in the fight, and the field commanders are still on the front lines. I'm trying to keep everything organized, but we have less than two regiments worth of men here, and the PRA are sending at least half of a mechanized division against us."
Forsythe looked at the map of the region and saw that Sheppard was right. "Understood Lieutenant. We have air support scrambling to help you now, ETA thirty minutes. Try to hold on till then, okay?"
"Thank you sir, but that's not good enough. Most of our vehicles have been knocked out. I got twenty Abrams tanks and about fifteen working Bradleys, but all my Strykers have been destroyed. Most of my Humvees are out of fuel as well, and the transport trucks all disappeared east. My men and I are pretty much stranded here with no way to fall back," Sheppard explained.
Forsythe paused. "Say again soldier, you have how many men?"
"Roughly two thousand, sir," came the reply.
"What the fuck is going on over there?" Forsythe asked in a forced whisper to the otter. "Sheppard, you'd better not have flunked addition in grade school. I was informed we have at least seven thousand troops remaining as of 6:30 P.M., December 13th."
"We did sir, but by the time I hooked up with our forces in central Grand Junction they'd already begun a massive retreat," Sheppard answered.
"RETREAT? Those field commanders don't have the authority to issue a division retreat! Who gave that order?"
"Not sure sir," Sheppard said while turning to Eva and asking her the General's question. "I'm told a Colonel Olson gave the order. He'd lost most of his armor support to airstrikes and decided to hightail it out of town."
"Get me Olson on the line," Forsythe ordered the fox as returned to his terminal. "And Sheppard, what's the situation actually look like over there."
"Like Hell in a shitstorm, sir. And...what the fuck! We're under fire again, shit! I'm under heavy Howitzer fire, and I'm pretty sure the PRA are moving in for the kill. I've got almost nothing but infantry to hold them back with, and we're running low on anti-tank munitions with a whole mechanized division geared up to crush us like a roach in the kitchen."
"Hang on Lieutenant, we're sending backup to get you and your men out of there," Forsythe said as he quickly reviewed a list of his available forces on the terminal in front of him.
"Forget us sir, that'll take too long. We still have about two-thousand civilians awaiting evacuation in the eastern part of the town though, and we have no way of getting them to safety."
"Mother fuh...damn it!" Forsythe swore again. That son of a bitch Olson left 2,000 people there to die? "Affirmative Sheppard, we'll get those people some evac. Try to hold out as long as you can, I'll have air support and some backup ground forces arrive to help escort you out of there. And keep us posted, I'm gonna try to raise our retreating forces and get them to turn around."
"Understood General, we'll do our best. Sheppard out."
With that Sheppard changed to a different station and began directing his men into position, as well as readying his remaining tanks and IFVs to face the rapidly approaching onslaught.
"Lieutenant Phelps," Forsythe said to the fox, "Have we been able to contact Olson or any of the retreating units yet?"
"Negative sir, I think they're maintaining radio silence. However, if they began their retreat at seven P.M. yesterday, they should be within fifty miles of Denver by now."
"Dispatch some helicopters to look for them and see if you can find out where that incompetent fuck is," Forsythe growled. "In the meantime, what other ground assets can we send to Grand Junction?"
"Major Young of the 2nd Armored Division has a platoon of tanks available, sir, along with an infantry battalion from the 101st Airborne to back him up."
"Yes but they're here in Denver. By the time they get to Grand Junction all our men will be dead," Forsythe countered.
"Not if we send them by C-17. We can have them loaded up and ready to roll in thirty minutes, and it'll take about ninety minutes to reach Grand Junction if they go full throttle," Phelps explained.
"Alright, get on that. In the meantime someone get me central air command, I want every fighter we got in the air and on its way to Grand Junction. And make sure we have plenty of ground support fighters, I it to rain hell on those red bastards." Forsythe took another swig of Mountain Dew and punched his chest as he felt it go down. Damn, this stuff's stronger than that Irish Whiskey I gave up.
Husky 1-1 - Redlands, Grand Junction
He was only nineteen years old, and yet he had killed more men that night than his entire family lineage had in a century. A handsome red fox from a Denver suburb, Michael Copperfield didn't look anything like a typical soldier, especially now. He'd been conscripted a few months ago after graduating high school, and was now serving in the 15th Colorado Militia. In reality, that meant he was in the National Guard, but the word "militia" was tacked on to indicate he was a poorly trained civilian who would best be put to use as cannon fodder. Or at least, it certainly seemed that way.
Of the three main U.S. Army units in the area, Michael's was closest to the enemy. Pitched on the southwestern flank of the U.S. defensive line, these citizen soldiers were all that stood between the PRA juggernaught, and the American HQ at St. Mary's hospital. Michael knew that they didn't have much of a chance against their approaching enemy. The 15th Militia only had light infantry, most of whom were armed with civilian grade hunting rifles, or outdated M-16 rifles that were prone to malfunction. They didn't have much in the way of anti-tank weapons either. A few guys had stolen some M-136 launchers from the ammo dump, but those wouldn't last very long. Mostly they just had civilian grade C-4 that would normally have been used for demolishing a building. Now they were using it to disable Type 96 tanks.
"Yo, Copperfield! You in here?" a voice shouted from downstairs.
Looking over his shoulder, Michael saw a grey tabby coming up the stairs, decked out in a typical Colorado Militia uniform. Due to the state's failing economy, Colorado's militia units were only given weapons and a pair of armbands to denote their nationality and rank. Everything else was brought from their own wardrobe at home, so it was not uncommon to see men walking around in nothing but blue jeans and a ski jacket under a tactical vest they'd bought from Bass Pro Shops. Michael's clothes were a little more appropriate, as he simply pulled out his airsoft uniform which consisted of a pair of fatigue pants and a matching shirt in an outdated version of the U.S. Army's woodland camo scheme. He'd also purchased a fatigue jacket and olive drab sweatshirt in anticipation of being stuck out in the harsh mountain winter for more than a few hours.
"There you are," said the cat. "Strauss wants us to keep an eye on the main road, he says the PRA are getting ready to attack."
Michael nodded. "Makes sense, I wouldn't think they'd just shell our position for the fun of it. You got a radio Chris? Mine's got a loose circuit or something and won't turn on."
"Let me have a look," Chris offered as he set down his AR-15 rifle that had just recently been modified to fire fully-automatically like an M-4 carbine.
Michael unplugged his headset from the radio and unclipped it from his belt before passing it over. Glancing out the window, he noticed the snow was starting to let up and it was easier to see. This worked in his favor, as he'd been issued a civilian model .308 hunting rifle. It only had a three round magazine, and the scope was a cheap fifty dollar model that was only good for targets out to about 300 meters. Still, since he could only see about fifty meters in the dead of night, it wasn't much of an issue.
"Ah, here's your problem."
"What?" Michael asked.
"Your batteries are dead."
"Fuck, are you serious?" he asked shaking his head.
"Yup. Here, I got some spare D-cells. I'll have you back in the loop in a moment," Chris said with a grin.
Michael grunted in reply, and then mumbled, "I'll be up in the attic. There's a window there that's got a view of the whole street."
"Gotcha, I'll meet you up there in a few," Chris replied.
"Dragon, this Dragon Lead, all units check in."
"Dragon 1-2, all systems are go."
"Dragon 1-3, we're showing green across the board."
Dragon 1-4, I'm good to go."
"Affirmative. All Dragon 1 units, we're leading the charge. Follow me in and keep it tight," Dragon Lead instructed over the radio. "Tiger 1-1, are your infantry ready to move out?"
"Roger that, we've just loaded the last squad onto the Type 07s, we'll be following you in," the commander to task force Tiger responded.
"Alright, all units, advance!"
"Hey Chris, do you know how much longer we got to stay out here?" Michael asked.
"Hell if I know man, Strauss said that we're probably gonna get left here while the regular army guys pull back."
"How'd they manage to sneak up on us like this? We had a whole division of troops here and somehow we failed to notice the PRA have a base just five miles east of the border?"
Chris shrugged and lit up a cigarette. "Who knows. I knew we never should've agreed to that ceasefire. That was bullshit to think they wouldn't put troops near their own border."
"So what happens if we lose here?" Michael pondered.
"Then they rest for a few days before trying to take Denver."
"That won't be easy, they don't have the people on their side in this state. The other places all fell because they'd managed to get the civilians to overthrow the state governments so their military could just roll right in," Michael observed.
"True. My guess is that they'll have some Chinese backup for the attack. From what I've seen most of these troops were American, not Chinese. The People's Liberation Army has been having a hell of a time getting its men over here from what I can tell."
"Oh yeah?"
Chris paused to puff on his cigarette. "Yeah. Strauss heard Major Winters talking about how the Canadians pulled a sucker punch move with their navy. They sneaked a pair of Los Angles class subs behind the Chinese fleet and launched a bunch of cruise missiles at them. They sunk that brand new Chinese carrier...the Peking Dragon I think. The subs ended up getting sunk by the escort ships a few hours later, but still, a pretty good trade off. Plus, our own subs scored a bunch of hits on one of their convoys heading for the Panama Canal. We took out like half of their transports."
"Nice," Michael said with inherent satisfaction. "How big of an impact do you think it'll make?"
"Big enough that they're building some factories in Washington and California to take over arms production. Only about 60% of the equipment they send from China makes it over here, and that's really slowing their progress down," Chris explained. "Plus, I heard the Russians might even give us a hand."
"You're shitting me..."
"Nope. The Chinks need oil, and their stores are running low. The Army has taken most of the country's reserves, and with their mounting debt piling up their credit isn't looking too good. The Russians would rather sell their oil to Europe and South America, and that isn't making the Chinese too happy."
Michael nodded. "I see, so they're afraid the Chinese will invade and take their resources. Makes sense, but if the Russians fire the first shot, naturally the Chinese will strike back."
"The Chinese already did that. I heard on the news two days back that a pair of Q-5 fighter jets were caught taking photos of a Russian tank battalion on patrol in Siberia. They're planning something, and the Russians know it."
"What about the Euros? They gonna help us any you think?"
Chris shook his head. "Naw. Well, maybe the British. The French and Germans took some heavy losses in their little war with Russia, so it'll take them at least a year to get their economy and militaries back up to full operating strength, then they'd probably be onboard to help us. Until then we won't hear much from them."
"What about all the other NATO countries?"
"They don't have a way to ship their guys over here efficiently. The most they can do is give us ammo and food to keep our guys in the fight."
Michael nodded and let out a deep breath as he continued to gaze out the window into the night. "It's better than nothing I suppose."
"Alright people, eyes to the front. We're entering the Yankee held territory, so don't get caught off guard," Dragon Lead instructed as his tank rolled over a parked Chevy Impala like it was merely the curb. The black bear commanding the Type 96 had been in the military since he'd graduated from high school, and now fifteen years later he was in command of his own tank platoon. He smiled at that thought, even though he also regretted the fact that the lives of his men now rested in his paws.
"Dragon Lead, this is Tiger Lead, recommend we unload our infantry here to escort you."
"Roger that Tiger Lead, we'll hold up. All Dragon units, make sure your gunners are switched to thermal optics. You won't be able to see shit in the snow and darkness." Dragon Lead looked down at his GPS unit, making sure his driver was still on course.
"Dragon Lead, this 1-2, I'm gonna take point," the commander behind him radioed in.
"Sounds good 1-2, be careful," Dragon Lead replied.
"Dragon Lead, this Captain Packard, 45th Infantry Regiment. My men have finished offloading and we're moving up to cover your tanks. Watch out for us and don't run us down, okay?"
"Understood Captain," Dragon Lead replied. "All units, hold position until our infantry arrive. They'll move slightly ahead of us to flush any AT units the American's have set up." Dragon Lead paused after he said that. Wasn't he still technically an American? Yes, just one caught on the wrong side of the fence. Or the right side, depending on how you looked at it.
Jack looked around nervously as he tried to peer out from beneath the countertop. He mentally cursed himself for picking this particular store to hide in, but that couldn't be helped now. Behind him a large shelf had fallen over and crashed onto the counter, trapping him beneath it with no way out. Still, it could be worse he thought. The shelf miraculously hadn't hit him, which would surely have severed whatever limb that happened to get between it and the floor. Jack's ears perked up as he heard voices outside the building, and he quickly yelled out to them.
"Hey! I need some help here! Hello? Someone!"
"Hey hold up guys I heard something," said a familiar voice as Jack saw a shadow creep over the floor. "Yo, who's in here?"
"Private Jack Campbell, U.S. Arm-..."
"Jack? What the hell...where are you?" the voice asked again.
He knows my name? How's that...Blackmon. Of course.
"Kyle is that you? I'm trapped under this damn counter. Fuckin' shelf pinned me behind it," Jack shouted back.
A few seconds later Jon and Blackmon appeared behind the counter and looked down to see Jack scrunched under the counter, a large metal shelf blocking him in.
"Hold on, we'll get you out of here man," Blackmon said as he and Jon struggled to pull the shelf back. After a few seconds of struggle, they managed to pull it back seven inches, creating enough of an opening for Jack to crawl out."
"Ugh, thank Christ you guys showed up. I've been trapped under this damn thing for fifteen minutes," Jack said as he stretched his cramped muscles.
"Where's your weapon?" Jon asked.
"Broke. The artillery crumpled it like a Pepsi can."
"Meh, you didn't need that piece of crap anyway," Blackmon said. "Here, take my M-26. I've got an M-249 in the Humvee I can use."
Jack gratefully took the rifle and the six spare magazines Blackmon had to go with it. "Humvee? You mean we actually have a working vehicle?"
"More or less," Jon replied. "It's held together with paper clips and duck tape, but it runs. Although they took the M-2 off it to put on an Abrams that needed a new one."
"That's bullshit," Jack replied.
"You're telling me. I love that thing, especially in this environment. Those .50 caliber bullets cut through these houses like butter. Ain't nowhere for these commie assholes to hide when I'm behind that beast."
"What're you guys doing out here anyway?" Jack asked.
"Sheppard ordered us to get in position near the mall. We think the PRA are getting ready to strike, and so we're digging in all along the front. Our unit's been posted in the center," Blackmon explained.
"I see. Any other guys from unit make it in?"
"Actually yeah. About two companies worth, although they got stationed below us towards the river. Don't worry 'bout it though, you can stick with us."
"Thanks," Jack replied, feeling a little relieved to be with some soldiers he knew.
"Don't mention it," Blackmon replied as he led the way out to the Humvee where they found Tony sitting in the front passenger's seat.
"About time you two got out of there," Tony said. "C'mon, let's get to the mall before the PRA decided to make it rain again."
"Oh like a brick and glass building will make a difference," Jon stated sarcastically.
"Contact troops, front," the gunner to Dragon Lead's tank said.
Dragon Lead looked through his viewing lens that was synched to his gunner's infrared gunsight. The green, grainy image showed several white blips scattered along the street; the heat signatures of dozens of enemy soldiers. The tanks were still three hundred yards away, but due to the snow and blackness of night it was impossible to see them. Likewise, these infantry would've been invisible too were it not for the heat sensors in the tank's targeting computer.
"I see 'em," Dragon Lead responded. "Go to coax. Fire and adjust."
"On the way!"
The silence of the winter storm broke like delicate pottery, shattering with a tearing roar that made chills go up the spine. Dragon Lead's gunner opened fire with the 7.62mm light machinegun that was coaxly mounted to the 125mm main gun. He fired in twenty round bursts, both to conserve ammo and to avoid jamming the gun. Through his sight he saw the streams of hot glowing lead as it sailed downrange and tore into a squad of dubious militiamen.
RATCHATATATATATATAT
"Target!" the gunner shouted to confirm his kill.
"Contact troops, second floor!" Dragon Lead ordered as he pulled the trigger on his joystick, slaving the gunner's controls to him temporarily while he manually directed the turret toward the enemies he wished the gunner to engage.
"Identified!" the gunner shouted back, affirming that he saw the target.
"Fire and adjust!"
"On the way!"
RATCHATATATATAT...RATCHATATATATAT
Another pair of bursts, this time into a small house's second floor window where a pair of snipers lurked. Unbeknownst to them, they glowed hot in the green night of the gunner's scope, and seconds later hot armor piercing lead cut through the stucco siding and into their torsos.
"Dragon Lead, this is Overlord," a message crackled over the radio.
"Go ahead Overlord."
"Enemy troop density unknown at this time. We have a friendly UAV entering your AO, control is being handed over to your company. Callsign is 'Banshee 6'."
"Roger that Overlord, that's bound to come in handy," Dragon Lead replied. "Alright, Banshee 6, confirm you have eyes on friendlies."
"Affirmative Dragon Lead, I gotcha on the cam," the UAV operator replied over the radio. "Whoa, Dragon Lead be advised, you have multiple enemy foot mobiles heading for your position. Recommend you bring up some infantry to cover your flanks."
"Tiger Lead, status report," Dragon Lead called off.
"Right behind you sir, we're moving into position."
Captain Packard and his men quickly advanced next to the Type 96's, making sure that they kept some distance from the tanks in the event of a surprise anti-tank missile. Packard and his men were armed well by PRA standards, with M-16A4's all around, and even a few M-4's for the scout units. His unit lacked snipers though, as his company was registered as an anti-tank unit. Ironically though, they'd just been tasked with protecting tanks instead of blowing them up.
"Alright let's move up, keep it tight people," he ordered.
"Captain Packard be advised, I have visual on six enemy heat signatures in the brick house to your left," Banshee 6 cautioned.
"Roger that Banshee 6. Dragon 1-2, put a couple of rounds into that brick building thirty degrees to your left!"
"You got, sir," Dragon 1-2's gunner replied. "Everybody get down, this is gonna be messy. Firing sabot!"
THUD-DOOM!
The front of the house collapse from the shockwave as a 125mm kinetic energy round punched a hole clean through the front wall, rear wall, and the next two houses behind it. A support beam was burst into millions of splinters, causing a large section of the second floor to cave in. Three of the militiamen perished as a deluge of mortar and debris fell upon them. The other three had been near the building's edges and were only dazed for a moment. Quickly they tried to escape the house before another shell came, but in their confusion they ran right out the front door.
"Enemy troops! Open fire men!"
Eight M-16s opened fire at once, putting over a hundred 5.56mm bullets into the unlucky trio. By this point, the rest of the militiamen in Redlands were on alert and scrambling to find a good ambush position. As Dragon 1 platoon advanced, Banshee 6 continued to pass overhead in a lazy circle, keeping eyes on the enemy and updating the ground troops every minute or so.
"Dragon Lead, I've got eyes on about a platoon of enemy foot mobiles. Looks like they have some anti-tank munitions ready," Banshee 6 reported.
"Thanks for the heads up. Command, requesting fire mission, over," Dragon Lead said over the comm.
"Copy that Dragon Lead, fire mission granted. Crossbow 1-1 is awaiting your coordinates."
"Banshee 6, direct it in," Dragon Lead ordered.
"Crossbow 1-1, I'm lazing the target now. Requesting high explosive barrage across the target area."
"Understood, coordinates received. Firing for effect," Crossbow 1-1's radio operator replied. "Alright, the shot is out! I repeat, the shot is out!"
"Oh god, INCOMING!" Michael shouted as the familiar whistle of falling artillery shells filled the air.
Seconds later the entire block of houses seemed to disintegrate into a maelstrom of splinters and fire. Quickly he dashed out of the attic and down to the house's basement with Chris as dozens of 105mm, and 122mm Howitzer shells rained over them. The ground shook with the intensity of a 3.0 earthquake, while the concussions from the exploding shells had made both Michael and Chris temporarily deaf, leaving them with a constant ringing in their ears as they felt another quake, followed by the kitchen windows bursting inwards as the next door house took a direct hit and shattered into thousands of bits.
"HOLY HELL!" Chris yelled as he gripped his ears in pain as he tripped down the basement steps and landed in a heap at the bottom.
Michael tried help him up, but another volley of shells landed and he too lost his balance. Shaking his head, Michael slowly stood up on his knees, resting one paw on the wall while trying to get back to his feet. After a few seconds he noticed things had gotten quiet upstairs, and the rain of artillery fire appeared to be over.
"Hey, Chris c'mon! They stopped firing, let's get back upstairs," he said while trying to lift his friend up by the arm.
"WHAT? I can't hear you!" Chris shouted back, his ears still ringing.
Michael rolled his eyes and tried mouth the words as best he could. After that failed to work, he simply pointed straight up and shouted, "LET'S GO ALREADY!"
"Hey, I think they stopped shooting at us!" Chris yelled as he followed Michael up the stairs, his sense of hearing slowly coming back.
"This is Husky 1-1, we're taking fire here!" shouted a militiaman over his radio to Sheppard's command center.
"Commander Sheppard," Eva called from her terminal, "PRA ground forces are launching an all out assault in the Redlands district. Our forces are reporting heavy casualties and large enemy troop movements."
"Damn it, looks like they're hitting our weaker flank. Have you been able to raise Major Winters yet?"
"No sir, he's either KIA or away from his command post. From the look of things his men are getting slaughtered out there. I've had multiple reports of enemy tank platoons backed by mechanized infantry just rolling over, sir. Several platoons are asking for permission to retreat and regroup."
Sheppard pressed his paws to his hands and said, "Alright, no use getting them all killed. Have whoever's in charge pull Husky back across the river. We'll try to hold the PRA at the bridge."
"Affirmative sir, I'll give them the fallback order," Eva said as she retuned her radio's channel.
"This is Captain Packard, looks like those enemy positions are toast. First squad, advance up the left flank of the road, second squad, take the right. The rest of the platoon will stay with the tanks for now."
"Understood sir," we're moving out replied First Squad's leader, a tiger in his early thirties.
First squad consisted of ten soldiers, six armed with M-16A4s, and the other four with H&K UMPs chambered for 9x19mm Parabellum rounds. While UMPs were not usually standard issue, the PRA was having difficulty providing its troops with adequate numbers of assault rifles. Even with the Chinese donating loads of extra firearms, as well as the thousands of American made rifles confiscated from Army bases and police stations, there just weren't enough rifles to go around. And so with nothing else to use, soldiers who couldn't get their paws on a rifle were issued an SMG or shotgun. In the current battle however, this wasn't necessarily a disadvantage. SMG's were excellent in urban warfare situations. Plus, with the weather causing poor visibility the longer range of a rifle was rendered useless.
"Keep it tight men, there's bound to be a few rebels around here," the tiger ordered as his men formed up behind him in a column.
Meanwhile, a few houses up the road, Michael and Chris had returned to the second floor of their house, which now had several gaping holes in the walls from the recent artillery fire. Both furs had taken positions behind a window and now had their weapons trained on the streets.
"Psst, Chris!" Michael whispered.
"Yeah?"
"I think I spotted someone...'bout...fifty yards down the road. I can't really tell, this damn fog is making it impossible to see anything," Michael stated.
Just then a message crackled over their radio headsets.
"Hello, hello! Is anyone there? This is Corporal Oliver Strauss, 15th Colorado Militia. I'm all that's left of my unit, everyone else is either dead or missing. Please, is anyone left out here!?"
Michael turned on his microphone and replied, "Sir, this is Michael. Where are you?"
"Michael? Oh thank God, I thought for sure I was the only one left out here," Strauss sighed in relief.
"Sir, where are you?" Michael repeated.
"I'm moving east through several houses' backyards. Umm...I think I'm near house number 1484, Redlands Drive," he replied.
"Sir, you're about three houses up from us, we're in number 1490. Come meet us there, then we'll figure out where to go next."
"Affirmative Michael, I'll be there shortly."
A few moments later Strauss entered in through the back door. Chris shouted down to him that they were upstairs, and soon the duo was joined by their squad's medic.
"Good to see you sir," Chris said, "After a shelling like that I'm surprise any of us are still alive."
Strauss nodded, but said nothing as he was still catching his breath. The forty-two year old gray wolf was barely fit enough to pass the basic physical requirements for militia training, and now he was being forced to run for his life. Sure, he'd served as a Navy corpsman on a destroyer in the Pacific, but he just did that to get through medical school and become a paramedic. Why did the Army think he'd make a good combat medic? He shook his head as he wiped the sweat from his brow and undid his helmet's chinstrap. At least they actually gave me a helmet, he mused while looking at Chris and Michael.
"It's good to see you as well, but we need to move. The whole platoon has been ripped to shreds and we're all that's left here. Our best bet is to fall back about one mile to the east where Winter's set up our second line of defense," Strauss said while leading Michael and Chris downstairs.
"Husky 1-1, this is Lieutenant Sheppard, acting commander. Give me a sitrep, over."
Major Winters blinked as he heard Sheppard's voice come in through his radio. "Winters here, we're getting torn to shreds! I've lost two whole companies to artillery fire and enemy ground troops, and we've sighted an enemy tank platoon backed by infantry advancing down Broadway street. My men have almost nothing to fight them with, I need some serious backup on the double."
"Understood. Listen, it's no use trying to hold them back there. Get your men across the bridge, it's a vital chokepoint and it'll be easier to take them down if we can funnel them into a smaller area," Sheppard instructed.
"You got it, but I'm gonna need some covering fire if my men are gonna be able to fall back without getting raped as the retreat," Winters replied.
Suddenly a new voice came over the radio. "No problem sir, we're on the way."
"Blackmon?" Sheppard said in surprised. "What the hell are you doing on this channel, this is reserved for officers only!"
"Just wanted to see what's up sir, and from the sound of it things are looking god awful over there. I got a Humvee loaded with eight AT-4 launchers and some C-4 blocks, and knowing the PRA's love for tanks we're gonna need them over there," Blackmon responded.
Sheppard paused to think about that. He'd wanted those launchers to go to the mall, but with the amount of artillery the PRA was throwing at them, it might be better to keep them moving rather than placing them in an easily targetable position.
"Lieutenant," Winters said, "If it's all the same to you I'd like those launchers. My men only have about twenty, and it takes about three hits to the front of a T-96 to knock it out of action."
"Alright, fine. Blackmon deliver those AT-4's and assist in the retreat. And bring back that Humvee in one piece, it's one of the few that still has a full tank of gas."
"You got it sir, over and out," Blackmon replied.
"Hold fire! Friendlies coming up!" Chris shouted as he rounded a corner and stood fifty yards away from a line of sandbags and concrete road barriers his fellow militiamen had set up.
"Identify yourselves!" came the challenge.
"Red rover, red rover, Yankees comin' over!" Chris replied.
A sergeant-a fennec fox of about thirty years-nodded to his men that Chris had given the correct response. The militiamen lowered their rifles and sighed in relief as Chris, Michael, and Strauss ran forward and mantled over the barricade.
"Who's in charge here?" Michael asked.
"That'd be me," said the sergeant, whose nametag read "Morris." "I'm surprised to see you guys, I thought all our front line troops got wiped out."
"Almost, I think we're the only three to survive. I think the PRA have a UAV or something directing their artillery in. It's like there's nowhere to hide," Strauss explained.
Morris nodded, and then looked over at a soldier next to him. "You see anything yet?"
"No sir, the street looks clear for about 100 yards. After that this damn fog is too thick and I can't see anything," replied the young black Labrador as he peered through a set of nightvision binoculars.
"Right, keep me posted. Where's our anti-launchers?" Morris asked.
"I think Winter's had all the AT guys pull back to defend the area around the bridge," said a private further down the line of sandbags.
"Well a lot of fuckin' good that does us!"
Just then a message came across everyone's radios. "Attention attention, all units! We're falling back to position Charlie! I repeat, we're falling back to Mesa Mall. Grab your gear and get out. Frontline units move first, followed by second line and command post guards. Out."
"What the...already?" Morris asked. "Well, I guess that beats getting killed and..."
Suddenly a pair of headlights cut through the fog as the sound of tires crushing snow arose from behind them. Looking on in surprise, Morris saw a Humvee pull up and a trio of Marines dismount, along with a soldier in ACU digital camo. Probably National Guard, he thought.
"Someone order a set of AT-4's?" one of the Marines asked. His nametag read "Blackmon."
"AT-4's, you're joking right?" Morris asked in disbelief.
"Nope, I got eight of 'em right here," he said pointing to his cohorts, a pair of wolves and a dragon who each carried a case with two AT-4 launchers each.
"Well load those back up soldier, we just got the order to retreat," Morris said. "But hey, you wouldn't mind giving us a ride back now would you?"
"No sir, not all," Blackmon replied.
"Great, alright guys let's move..."
"CONTACT! ENEMY ARMOR!" shouted the black Lab as he saw the outline of a Type 96 melt through the fog.
"Shit! Blackmon bring up those AT-4's!" Morris shouted. "Alright, places people! Get in position, we'll punch them hard, then fall back while they regroup."
Quickly Blackmon and the others dropped their AT-4's by the barricades, then rushed back to the Humvee to secure their weapons and several crates of ammo belts and pre-loaded magazines for their rifles. Looking over his shoulder, Blackmon noticed a dark shape approaching through the fog, and then felt his blood run cold.
"GET AWAY FROM THE HUMVEE! NOW!"
"Contact, enemy 4x4, front," Dragon 1-2's commander said.
"Identified!" replied his gunner.
"Fire!"
THUD-DOOM!
Just like that a 125mm shell soared forth, punching clean through the Humvee's engine block and cratering the street behind it. The gas tank ruptured almost instantly, the fuel igniting into a massive fireball that leapt thirty feet into the night sky. For a second it seemed like the sun had risen, as the advancing PRA troops could easily make out the dozens of American militiamen running about behind the barricades, all trying to find cover or retreat to safety.
"Alright, gunner let's get to work on those enemy infantry. Contact troops, front. Fire and adjust!" Dragon 1-2 ordered.
"On it sir, firing!"
As if a massive inferno thirty feet away from them wasn't bad enough, the Marines and militiamen now had a stream of hot 7.62mm bullets hailing over them. The sound of chipping concrete and ricocheting rounds filled the air as they all ducked as far down as they could behind the concrete barriers, knowing that a single tank round could punch a hole clean through it. Fortunately for them, due to supply issues, the PRA tankers had strict orders to save their rounds for buildings and enemy vehicles only.
"Kyle! Hand me an AT-4!" Jack yelled over the echoing gunfire.
Blackmon leaned over and pulled one of the cases to him, opening it up and pulling out a launcher. Jack quickly took and flipped off the safety, noticing that this was an older version of the AT-4 and therefore could only be used once, unlike the one he'd been dropped in with which could fire about ten times before being discarded.
"Where's he aiming at?" Jack asked as he prepared to peek over the barrier.
A burst of machinegun fire coupled with the front of a nearby house getting peppered with bullets answered that question.
"He's got a fix on my sniper!" Morris yelled. "Take that SOB out!"
Without further hesitation Jack stood up and aimed at the Type-96, punching the trigger and sending the rocket downrange. He was rewarded with a bright orange flash as the round struck the tank right on the turret, punching a hole just to the left of the 125mm main gun, and completely destroying the tank's coaxial machinegun.
"I got him, but he's still moving. Get me another one!"
"Fuck, what the hell was that?" Dragon 1-2 said. "Damage report!"
"Sir, my primary gunsight got knocked out, the coax is down, and the main gun's hydraulics are out. I'm gonna have to switch to manual control, sir."
"Damn it all...driver get us out of here! We're a sitting duck. Banshee 6, come in!"
"Banshee here, sir I got eyes on you and the enemy troops. Looks like about two platoons worth of enemies flanking the road sir."
"Call in some artillery on their positions, my tank just took a hit and I'm as good as dead if I push forward," Dragon 1-2 explained.
"Negative sir, all our artillery is occupied supporting Dragon 2's advance north of here. I recommend your infantry support set up their mortars and flank them," Banshee's operator replied.
Slowly Dragon 1-2 backed up, creeping along at two miles per hour to avoid accidently running over any troops hiding behind it, or crashing into Dragon Lead, who was trailing thirty feet behind him. Just then another AT-4 came sailing through the fog, striking lower this time and knocking a section out of the tank's left tread. It didn't take long before the tank's gears ground to a halt and Dragon 1-2 was left sitting in the middle of the road.
"God damn it!" Dragon 1-2 shouted. "Dragon Lead I'm out of action, one of my treads is out and I'm a sitting duck. Tiger 1-1, get your ass in gear and help me out! I'm getting pounded by enemy AT fire."
"On it sir," Captain Packard replied as he ordered his men forward, having his mortar team deploy their trio of 80mm mortars further away, as they had a minimum range of 100 yards.
"Damn Jack, nice shooting," Blackmon said while peering over the barricade.
"Piece of cake," Jack replied with a grin. "That's the third one of those I've taken out today."
"Contact! Enemy troops dead ahead!" Jon shouted.
Morris grabbed the binoculars from the Lab next to him and looked out at the approaching line of enemy soldiers. "Hmm, looks like two squads of heavy infantry. I count six with M-4s, another six with M-16s, two with Chinese made QBB-95 light machineguns, and four guys with UMPs. Let's allow them to get a little closer, then hit them while they're out of cover."
Everyone nodded and kept quiet, checking their weapons as they made sure they had a round chambered and the safety flicked off. Blackmon folded the shoulder stock on his M-249 PARA to make it easier to hoist over the barrier, while also unfolding the bi-pod under the barrel. Carefully he peaked over the edge of the barricade, only seeing a few dark shapes as his night vision had been ruined by the Humvee fire that still burned behind him.
Jack was equally anxious, partly because he wanted to try out his new M-26. He had been jealous when he heard the Marine Corp decided to purchase the Remington ACR/M-26 as its replacement for the M-16, while the Army had decided to go with a cheaper replacement and instead contracted Remington to retrofit all of their M-4s into Remington Gas Pistons (RGPs). While the new M-4GP was twice as reliable, easier to clean and more accurate than the older models, it just didn't have the high tech feel of the ACR. Plus, being in the militia meant his unit had been tossed the cheapest of the cheap in terms of equipment, which explained why his original M-4 had still been the A1 model with a direct impingement gas system that loved to jam the weapon during full-auto fire.
"Jack, wake up!" Blackmon said in a forced whisper.
Blinking to himself, Jack focused back on prepping his weapon. He noticed it came with an ACOG scope, set for x4 magnification.Even better, it was Trijicon's latest model that came with a battery operated infrared nightvision feature, allowing him to easily pick out enemy targets in the black of night. Turning his scope on, Jack grinned as he looked over at Morris who was mouthing off numbers to himself as he mentally counted down the enemy's approach.
"Alright...ready...FIRE!"
Letting off a unanimous battle cry, Jack and his compatriots rose above the barricades and cut loose. He ignored the series of spent casings that bounced off his face from the soldier next to him, instead focusing on putting a PRA rifleman in his crosshairs and pulling the trigger. The sound of Blackmon's M-249 drowned out the other rifles firing in single shot, as his fully automatic light machinegun sprayed a stream of 5.56mm rounds down the street. Tony and Jon likewise opened fire, Tony taking aim with his M-107 and blowing a six inch hole clean through a wolf's chest while Jon pulled off a pair of clean headshots with his M-26.
Blackmon's M-249 was devastating. His belt ran dry after only fifteen seconds of letting off quick bursts, but in that frame he'd let loose a hundred rounds. Two soldiers with M-16s had been cut down instantly, their unarmored legs taking multiple hits that left them bleeding to death in the icy street, while another soldier with an M-4 had caught three rounds to his chest, knocking him to the ground. His armor had held up, but was now severely cracked as he tried to stand back up only to have a dead dragon with an UMP fall on top of him. The fact that the dragon was missing an arm didn't help much.
"Cover me I gotta reload!" Blackmon said as he ducked behind the barricade and started to change out the old ammo box for a new one.
"Shift fire left! Hit that machinegun team by the parked SUV!" Morris shouted over the cacophony of gunfire and panicked shouts from both friend and foe alike.
Jack turned and noticed there was indeed a trio of PRA troopers taking cover behind a Cadillac Escalade. Thanks to his nightvision scope he had no trouble picking out their faces through the cars windows, and then let off eight rounds in single shot mode. The Escalade's alarm started blaring after the first few bullets struck; its windows breaking apart in a shower of safety glass as one of the troopers caught a round in his forehead and fell to the street. The two survivors each peaked around the front and back of the car, blindly firing wherever they saw a muzzle flash from the militiamen's barricade. Jack realized that the Escalade's body was too thick for his rifle to punch through it, so he decided to use a blunter tactic.
"Popping a sixty-seven!" he shouted as he hurled an M-67 fragmentation grenade at the Escalade.
The grenade hit the ground and rolled directly under the hulking SUV, detonating with a bright yellow flash as it cracked the gas tank and ignited the fuel, causing a massive fireball to erupt from beneath the car and bathe both PRA soldiers in raw fire. Jack's jaw dropped in horror as they both ran into the street, their arms and bodies covered in flames as they both screamed in agony. It only took a few seconds for the fire to eat through their clothes and flesh, resulting in both furs collapsing in the street, their corpses nothing more than charred lumps of carbon.
"Jesus..." Blackmon said under his breath. He hadn't expected to see something that gruesome since his previous tour in the Middle East.
Morris looked over the barricade and noticed a dearth of enemy troops. "Cease fire! Cease fire! They're retreating men, let's gather our gear and fall back to the next position! Move!"
"Dragon Lead, this is Captain Packard. Two of my squads got massacred by enemy infantry while moving up to investigate Dragon 1-2's damage. We're gonna need some air support if we can't get any artillery to soften them up first."
"Affirmative, I'll get on the line with HQ and put in the request. Maybe we can get a few Q-5's down here to use some JDAMs (Joint Direct Attack Munition) on them and knock 'em back across the river," Dragon Lead replied. A few seconds later he switched radio channels and was on a direct line with General Voorhees.
"Overlord this is Dragon 1 Lead, my unit can't get any artillery support and I'm facing some well entrenched enemies. I've got one tank down, and two squads of infantry dead on the street. We've been pretty successful up till now, but we need some air support to force them out of cover, over."
"Dragon 1 Lead, hold your position. The weather over here is still pretty rough and we have to de-ice the road before we can launch any aircraft. It'll be about thirty minutes before I can get some more planes in the air, but around 0530 hours we'll have our first set of J-10's in the air, followed by some Q-5's. We'll be able to help give you a hand shortly. For now, just sit tight and regroup."
"Understood sir, over and out."