RSH- Offensive
#14 of RSH
RSH- Offensive
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Dear Readers,
It's been a while since I've been able to post a new chapter, but here it is. The next chapter is already in progress and you can rest assured that it contains everything you know and love about RSH. Real life is always a pain in the ass, but I'm making do.
Enjoy! And don't forget to keep your eyes peeled for the next chapter.
~Redfield
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Somewhere in southern Germany
_ Present Day_
Captain Kirsolov watched the American's every movement through the scope on his Dragunov. He analyzed the way he pied each corner, the way he traced his rifle barrel over every minute opening, ducking under windows as if behind each one lay the very means to end his life. The triangle reticule on the sniper rifle's scope missed nothing, coming to rest over the man's brown eyes. With no hesitation Mikhail wrapped his finger around the trigger and rode the SVD's sharp recoil back into his shoulder, watching as the round passed under the brim of the soldier's helmet and killed him instantly.
"Stay in position." The officer spoke calmly and clearly over his American-made headset, keeping his rifle at the ready as he broke from cover and approached the still corpse. He looked from left to right before stepping into the middle of the snow covered street, bending down by the lifeless form of the soldier without a hint of remorse. He rifled through his pockets like a thief, producing a wallet and several photographs. He pulled the military ID and stashed it away in his pockets, tossing the rest of the wallet away. The photographs were of family, and had names and dates written on the back in faded blue pen. Kirsolov pocketed those for good measure. The last thing to go was the unit patch, which followed the path of the other objects.
"Comrade Captain, we've located the contact on the next street over." Came a whisper over the communications set, bringing Mikhail to his feet immediately. He motioned his team to follow down the alleyway, boots crunching on the iced over snow. He slowed down, passing the Dragunov to the back of the formation in favor of the semiautomatic Saiga shotgun. It was a short press down the alley, and after an abrupt turn, the end was visible under the light from the moon. They all froze when the Utahraptor came into view, waiting to see if their cover would be blown. It didn't react to their presence.
Kirsolov turned and raised a hand, making sure his men didn't go and spoil his plan. He handed off his weapon to the corporal behind him, unbuckling the sheath pocket on the side of his airborne-cut uniform pants. He produced a blade a full eleven inches in length, black as charcoal with a tanto end. Once the weapon was out, he took several steps toward the end of the alleyway.
"Don't shoot until I give the word." The Captain instructed before taking the last step out of the alley. He was running everything that Nymev ever briefed through his head, confident but still nervous that the unexpected could happen at the very flick of a claw. The Captain took one step out onto the icy street, keeping the blade in a tight grip so it ran along his left forearm. The Utahraptor turned, just now spotting her adversary. Kirsolov noted the features that made her distinctly female and readied his attack. The ground beneath his boots was one smooth sheet of ice, just as he'd predicted.
The Raptoress flexed her claws, studying this human that carried no weapon. What was he thinking?
Kirsolov charged the raptor at full speed, knife still tucked back against the length of his arm. It was here that she would meet her demise.
The Utahraptor roared in anger, not really understanding why this human would be bold enough to challenge her. With swift ease she sprinted towards him, expecting to reap the benefits of an easy kill. It only took two seconds before they were nearly upon each other, two individuals prepared to fight to the death to survive. It was then that Kirsolov made his move and fell to the ground on his back, allowing his momentum and the icy ground to carry him the rest of the way. He headed between her legs, bringing up his knife and sticking it right through the joint in her armor and into her soft underbelly. Warm blood dripped down onto Kirsolov's dirty snow overwhites as he continued his sharp attack, giving the knife a reassuring thrust with both hands. Over top of him, the female Utahraptor squirmed and shuddered, not comprehending why control of her body was fading. She could feel the searing pain of the knife, but there was little she could do to escape it. She made feeble attempts to catch the Russian below her with any claw she could, but to no avail.
He pulled his Makarov from its leather holster and aimed towards the female's head, pulling the trigger twice with one successful impact. The Raptoress roared as the round glanced off her skull, blood and torn flesh now present on a visage that was once perfect.
"Shoot her now Corporal!" Kirsolov yelled as a forepaw batted the Makarov from his grip, sending it spinning off into the snow. The Saiga's heavy shotgun report boomed between the buildings as rifled slugs tore through the female's tough hide, missing her armor by mere inches. She fell then, giving Mikhail just enough time to roll out from under her. The raptor lay on her side in the snow, dying.
Kirsolov collected himself, getting his Saiga from the corporal and walking to the felled Utahraptor. She looked up at him with exhausted, dying eyes. Blood coughed up and stained the ice on which they stood. To Mikhail, it seemed as if the raptor was awaiting her final judgment from him.
No need to keep her waiting...
"I'll take this back." He whispered, looking into her eyes before reaching for his knife. He gripped it surely before dragging it all the way up to her sternum, watching the silent screech emanating from her throat. Her armor was pulled away, not helping her anymore. Kirsolov stooped down next to her with a confident smirk on his face, watching the way her eyes darted back and forth in shock.
"I find myself debating whether to let you suffer until death or to end you now. I suppose we could leave it to chance. I'm going to count to three." Kirsolov stood, sliding his bloody knife back into its sheath and shouldering the shotgun. He grasped the charging handle and pulled it to the rear, watching as a green-cased slug ejected into the night. He couldn't remember how many rounds the Corporal had fired.
"One."
Another charge brought a second shell out of the weapon.
"Two."
The third ejected as well.
"Three."
He slid his finger into the trigger well and squeezed, laughing as the last slug in the magazine discharged right into the female Utahraptor's head.
"Looks like it's your lucky day, monster." He said to her corpse, sliding a fresh magazine home and dumping the empty into his left cargo pocket.
"Send the corpse to the centre. All units provide a status update as it becomes available."
A set of yellow eyes watched from the far alley, making note of every word spoken, every action that had decided the course of events for the evening. Alexander thought for a moment before moving back away from his partner, returning to his assigned course.
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23 June 2011
_ Moscow, NSR _
_ Two days after the Russian Invasion of Germany._
"Roger, I'm showing a positive track on one alpha. We'll go ahead and hit that, since four alpha isn't where it's supposed to be."
"One alpha is the SAM battery right? I spilled my fucking coffee on my notebook."
"Yeah, that's the one. We'll keep steady at one-four-three until we drop, then we'll bug out along phase line green. Just like the four alpha attack run."
"Let's hope the Russians don't decide to send up the hunters after we crash their party. I don't feel like playing that game tonight."
"Are you kidding? They'd have to light the sky on fire to find us."
It had been a hasty entry into the war for the crews of the four stealth bombers that now flew swiftly and silently through the night sky. No warning had come from their chain of command, but the military police that escorted them to their planes had made it clear enough that this strike had come from the top. It all was far away from the lonely Russian skies in which they now traveled, circumventing the air search radars that covered nearly the entirety of Russian airspace.
"I'm still tracking those five Mainstays over Moscow. We'll be inside their coverage before the launch point." The second bomber back called ahead, watching the blips appear on his powerful scope.
"They shouldn't see us launch at one alpha. Our bombs should be well off their hangers before then. I want Fiddlesticks and Easymac to hit two and five bravo. That's the search radar at Sparrow hill and the high-altitude SAMs at Moscow U. Senator; you'll be hitting the attack control center next to Red Square."
"You would give me the one in Red Square, wouldn't you?" Complained bomber four. The lead element watched as he broke off from the formation, drawing a line towards the painted dot that was the iconic parade ground of the Red Army. On the Stealth's forward looking camera, he could make out the bright lights that lit the Kremlin's outer walls, bathing the square in white light.
"It's not in Red Square, it's near Red Square."
"I've got three pairs of Su-37s that are headed our way, but by the way they're flying, I don't think they realize we're here. I'd judge that they're in the airport's landing pattern based on the course." Easymac reported as he made his target reference on the tower at the University of Moscow. According to the pictures taken by satellite, there was an entire battery of Surface to Air missiles within its gates, waiting to pluck American bombers from the sky.
"Let's not waste time then, all Nightstar elements engage your targets and bug out on the assigned course. We'll meet up over the Volga and head towards our secondary targets from there, get fuel over the Aleutian Islands, and be home in time for supper. Keep that radio chatter to a minimum, those mainstays will pick up on the low frequency."
The wing commander listened as his underlings readied their systems, readying his own for the job ahead even as he made sure they didn't miss a step. He'd flown these missions before, and he knew much of the silent terror that they delivered and how powerless their enemies were to stop them.
"This is Easymac, we've got a problem. Those Su-37s just disappeared of my scope!"
The commander looked down; they were indeed gone without a trace. That wasn't good by anyone's standards.
"Anyone have a visual on their landing lights?"
"Fiddlesticks here, we've got no vis. It's like they flew off the face of the earth." Tension seemed to leak through the auxiliary wing commander's voice. Whatever happened to the '37s was definitely not normal.
"Last known altitude? Are they under the radar?"
"Steady at 9500 feet, no change."
"Okay guys, drop your ordinance and get out of here, something's not right."
"Roger, we're dropping in ten seconds." The pilot of Easymac reported up, verifying that all conditions were complete.
"Netcall Netcall netcall! Nightstar this is Easymac, we've just been buzzed by an unknown aircraft. He's not showing up on our scopes!"
"Easymac, Fiddlesticks, we saw it go right in front of you. We don't have an ID!"
The night was lit by a dazzling explosion as a missile struck the back of Nightstar's Spirit Bomber, igniting the entire aircraft in flames in less than five seconds. The other elements in his wing smacked their throttles in panic, not sure what had just taken out their wing commander. Behind the frightened bombers, six pilots watched as their targets gunned the throttles to escape.
"This is Senator, we've got heavy jamming coming in from unidentified sources! Get the hell out of here!"
"Easymac, we..." The transmission was cut off as the bomber exploded, lighting up the night around the coal black airplanes.
Tony Overton, the pilot known as 'Fiddlesticks' looked on in amazement as a sleek arrowhead fighter slid through the flames that were once Easymac's Spirit. It was nothing he'd ever seen before.
"What the fuck is that thing?" Tony's copilot yelled, trying to catch a glimpse of it as it shot past.
Flames engulfed the back of Overton's bomber as another one of the Russian ghosts put a missile clean through his engine wash. All of the warning lights on the dashboard activated with a piercing howl, filling the cockpit with flashing light for a few brief seconds before the power went out.
"Punch out!" The pilot yelled, grabbing his ejection seat handle and giving it a firm yank. The next thing he knew, he was flying through the night air. He looked around, seeing only the flaming wreckage of his stealth make contact with the ground right next to the river. He didn't see his copilot's chute. He couldn't even hear the Russian plane before it passed, and when it did, its wash sent him into a tumbling spin.
"Fucking great!" Overton yelled into the wind, trying everything in his power to get himself right. The trees down below didn't looked soft at all...
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****German National News Service Report, 2 JAN 2012****
American troops on the ground welcomed the New Year with yet another Russian offensive, holding steady despite heavy pressure from the front. This new attack comes in the shadow of several severe missile strikes destroyed two primary US airstrips as well as scoring several hits in downtown Frankfurt. According to the Department of Defense, a key retaliatory strike was performed shortly after the missile's flight by forces from both the United States and their newly-allied Nationalist Russian counterparts. Please see the KIA lists on Page B1 (continued on page five, six, seven and nine) for the current totals.
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"Thanks man, I owe you one." Staff Sergeant Kenny Davies thanked one of the tankers that had brought him a cup of coffee, standing behind one of several Abrams tanks that sat at idle just off the highway. The heat felt good after being exposed to the cold for so long, and he intended to milk it for another few minutes while the column stopped for fuel. The NCO had been following the tanks ever since the beginning of the Christmas offensive. His infantry squad decimated by the monsters that haunted the woods, Davies had fallen in with the tank company more or less because the path to his unit was blocked by half of a Russian armored brigade that was tearing the countryside to shreds. Besides, the entire battalion itself was scattered to the wind, command and control centers destroyed or cut off. It was as if Davies didn't have a place to go even if he wanted to.
"No problem Sergeant, I've got more where that came from." The Specialist answered, climbing back up onto the back of the tank to readjust his coffee pot. The heat from the turbine's top heat shield was sufficient for a good hot cup. The NCO waved his thanks and turned, taking another sip of the beverage as he walked. Though he couldn't place it, army coffee always hit the spot.
The situation that morning still looked grim, with each and every one of the ragtag bunch watching the east with unease. The missiles that fell from the sky were something new, something that the air defense batteries didn't really work against. Word from Ramstein was that the C-RAM* had indeed shot the missile down, but the height of the premature fuel air explosion caused by this system had actually done more damage.
The soldiers definitely noticed the lapse in close air support, being forced to use the last of their Javelin missiles on four T-80s that were imbedded along their line of advance. A whole lot of miracle technologies had come about in the previous Southwest Asian conflicts, and they meant a whole lot of jack when the supplies stopped coming.
How do we compete with an army that can fix their tanks with hundred mile per hour tape* and tractor parts?
Sergeant Davies found a seat on a discarded five ton tire, resting his weapon on his lap and watching the support trucks line up for fuel. Several soldiers were on the ground arguing as one of the fuel trucks shut down. Kenny took it upon himself to go find out what was going on, grabbing up his rifle and slinging it over his shoulder.
"What's the problem here? Why are these trucks not getting fuel?" He asked one of the soldiers in charge of the fuel truck, interrupting him as he wound the hose back on its reel. Before he got an answer, one of the mechanics trying to get the fuel jumped in to the conversation.
"This asshole won't fuel my truck. We've been waiting here for ten minutes!"
"You can't get fuel because we don't have any, fuckhead!" The Specialist shouted, ignoring the Sergeant stripes on the mechanic's chest.
Davies turned away from the both of them without so much as a response.
No fuel?
He looked back to the tanks, hoses running to each one of their multiple fuel cells.
How long can those hungry gas turbines stay running?
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"Good morning beautiful; how was your night?" Redfield whispered into Meryl's ear, kissing along her neck before working his way up and planting one right on her lips. She laughed, nursing a headache that definitely made it difficult to make such noises.
"I'd change nothing Jay." She whispered back, giving him a soft lick on the cheek. He rolled back on to her stomach, hands tracing lower and lower down her stomach to a spot underneath her tail. This passion ended abruptly as the bedroom door flew open.
"Jay! We've got visitors. They've got proper friend and foe identifier." Rachel poked her head in, interrupting any potential lovemaking. She disappeared just as soon as she arrived, much to the chagrin of the love locked pair.
In the hallway, Rachel gave a smug grin. She knew from the smell in the room what had been about to happen, as both Meryl and Jay's scents were overwhelming. The amusement she felt was definitely a relief from her pounding headache.
"Rachel just cockblocked the shit out of you." Jay whispered, stepping off of her to get dressed. It wasn't five minutes before he was on the ground floor and ready to rock.
The sergeant squinted in the light of the early morning snow, polar white making him raise a hand to see who was coming to the Chateau. It didn't surprise him as much as he thought it would when he realized it was Colonel Estes. Redfield smiled as the officer climbed the steps to the Chateau with a PFC he'd never seen before in tow.
"Good morning Sergeant Redfield." Estes greeted him, shaking his hand as the two entered the Chateau. The PFC followed, listening as the two men carried on their conversation.
"Those three SCUDs won't bother us again, sir."
"Good to hear indeed. I'd hope that you can find the other three that we know about. Last we knew, the Russians had over fifteen of those things readily deployable."
"Let's hope not." He laughed, shutting the door behind them.
"Honestly Colonel, I'd have to admit you were the last person we expected to see out here." Meryl's voices drifted down from upstairs, making everyone look up to her. The Raptoress was leaning on her forearms on the heavy oak banister, surveying the group below.
"Good morning Meryl, I hope you're ready to have some fun today."
"I'm always ready to have fun Colonel. Just ask Jay, he can't keep up."
Redfield shot her a dirty look, laughing under his breath as they walked into the elaborate dining room. He heard Meryl descending down the stairs behind them.
"Well Sir, I know we don't get this honor every day, so what's going on? What treat do you have for us?" Redfield asked as Meryl came and stood next to him. Redfield caught the PFC staring out of the corner of his eye at Meryl.
He must not be accustomed...
"You're going in ahead of the attack to gather some much needed intelligence. All of these new troops have got high command worried. Not only that, but the air force has been getting hammered by a new kind of fighter that they haven't been able to find. Our primary mission is to find it and gather as much as we can about it."
"Attack?" Meryl and Jay wondered in unison.
"We're moving to destroy the rest of this armored brigade tomorrow morning. The weather is supposed to break and we'll have the ability to use what little air support we still have. That will give you the opportunity to slip in unnoticed."
"My question is if we have enough shit to fight the 42nd brigade. Even if the Germans have some of them tied up in the black forest, we've still got a third of it to deal with."
"Well Sergeant, we don't really have a choice. We haven't been resupplied in a month, we have very little ammo left, barely any fuel, and we're running low on equipment. There isn't a full tank of gas between here and Berlin. If we can achieve this breakthrough, we can get into position to move against the Baltic fleet. That will hamper their ability to block the Atlantic. When that happens, we'll be in business. If we lose this one, we're done."
They both turned as Revedov entered with Ade in tow, peeling off his snow-crusted winter scarf and gloves. He went directly to Colonel Estes and rendered the proper salute, shaking his hand firmly after the return was given.
"Pleased to finally meet you Comrade Colonel Estes." Revedov said smartly, standing a little stiffer than normal.
"And you Colonel. I can't tell you enough how much we owe you for the safe return of Sergeant Redfield. Not to mention your efforts at Sonnet that I've heard so much about." Colonel Estes answered, turning to Ade.
"And you Ade, I know you have nowhere else to go, so I'm going to ask you if you want to remain with Jay and his pack."
Ade didn't hesitate to answer.
"I want to stay. Though, I no longer have a Guardian."
"Revedov, you have two choices. Your first option is to accept political asylum in America. Your second choice is to remain here with Jay Redfield and his Pack. Ade needs a Guardian, and I have already heard about your care of her. I know that Redfield and you have been fighting your own personal war. I do not discount the fact that your loyalties and objectives may lie elsewhere, but that is why I'm giving you a choice. Your intelligence value in the field is unparalleled."
"The misguided revenge that I have pursued against Jay Redfield is in the past. I have thrown away hundreds of lives in an attempt to get that revenge which has only caused more suffering. I could have prevented the death of the Utahraptor Audwin, but instead my mind prevented me from taking the action that was morally correct. As a Russian, I have a duty to my motherland to protect her from outsiders, and I feel Colonel Nymev is as much of an outsider as the Al-Qaeda terrorists fighting my countrymen in Chechnya. I owe it to my family to see this war to the end, even if that means my death. If Ade will accept me, I will accept her."
"I'm glad you made that choice, Colonel." Estes responded, shaking his hand once more.
"Oh, and before I leave, this belongs to you. I'll see you in a few hours at the RP." The Colonel turned, handing Jay a manila envelope. After exchanging salutes, Colonel Estes stepped back outside with the PFC in tow.
Jay opened the envelope, leaning against the banister as he went over the contents.
"Hey, I got promoted back in July." He laughed, looking at the date on the top of his promotion orders. There were a few squares of ACU rank in the envelope, and something else further in.
"Meryl, you got promoted too." He figured it out as soon as he pulled out two larger panels of Alpha rank.
"Merry Christmas." All she left him with was a toothy grin.
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0345 Local
Phase Line White
Jay and Meryl stood atop a hill overlooking the combined forces through night vision optics. Meryl was hurting just as she always was due to lack precision night observation technology, but her other senses allowed her to draw a mental picture of what was going on around her. She'd gotten used to this handicap since the summer invasion, and had learned to compensate using her other, more acute senses. Even without the technological aid, she was still a fearsome night hunter.
"Redfield, you and Meryl rendezvous with Cale at the forward staging line." Estes called over, walking between the soldiers of both armies that were now fighting for the same side. The vehicles, helicopters, and individual soldiers were all marked in a World War Two fashioned Blue X, both infrared and colored, to prevent friendly fire. It had worked so far.
"Lieutenant Mishkin, we're about to begin." Jay called to his Russian assistant, a twenty-two year old Russian with dirty blonde hair. He moved up from further down the rise, standing next to Meryl with his rifle in hand. The Lieutenant was wearing a large backpack radio with which he would issue orders down from the pair to his subordinate Russian units. Redfield was glad he'd found him when he did. The Russian didn't even bat an eye when Meryl appeared suddenly next to him, issuing quiet orders in his left ear. Needless to say, the military command structure had gone to hell extremely fast, with senior commanders being ordered around by junior grade officers and NCOs.
"Exactly so! I will relay the orders to my people. They will not know what hit them."
Meryl smiled, turning away from him and speaking into her own radio. The Russians had fixed her up a rigged backpack set, which hung securely to one side. She was carrying a .50 caliber rifle in a rifle roll on the opposite side, evenly balancing the weight of her equipment. It was heavier than the AT-4 that was usually there, but it was nothing she couldn't manage.
Jay nodded, listening as the very air rumbled with the combined startup of hundreds of engines. It wouldn't be long now...
Three miles to the north, the combined Nationalist forces pushed forward in ragged lines, crushing everything imaginable that hadn't already been flattened by the months of fighting. The crew of Ohio Two-Two was riding side by side with three T-90 main battle tanks, having given up their captured T-72, which had been damaged beyond repair, for a new M1A1 AIMS that had been pulled from military warehouses in Frankfurt. There seemed to be plenty of tanks at the underground depot, but no crews in sight.
Tank commander Jake Keat stuck his head out into the cold air, face covered by his flame hood as he looked at the Russian tank commanders doing the same to his left and right. The Russians wore giant black fur-collared coats, he noted, warm and cozy compared to the relatively thin CVC jacket he wore. The Staff Sergeant made a mental note to trade for one if....when, he corrected, he survived the coming battle.
"We're missing six rounds, four sabots and two HEAT." Wag reported, spraying some lubricant from a blue and yellow can into the tracks for the door leading to the honeycomb. They hadn't carried a full load of ammo in two months, but it usually had only been two or three rounds. Six was not a good number.
"We aren't quite full on fuel in our rear tanks, but the front ones are good to go. If there is no more fuel, we're good for about eight or nine more hours." Rivers mused, guiding the tank in a perfect formation with his newfound Russian allies. He'd given the fuelers a dumb look when they told him to cut it off before the fuel could be seen in the cone...
"All I care about is the one that runs the heater." Wag commented from the other side of the turret, popping his head up for a split second before retreating back in to the blue lit chamber.
"They're rationing everything. The Russians sank an entire supply convoy right as it came out of the Panama Canal last week. Our fight isn't looking too good right now gentlemen. I think we're making this push because we don't have anything left to our rear." The good news was from Sacke this time, filling the crew's headsets in between the high pitched wine of the auxiliary hydraulic pump.
"I don't even know what the controls on this radio do. Everything is in fucking Russian." Wag swore in frustration, indicating to their rigged Russian communications setup. Something was still scrambling American communications, either faking transmissions or disabling them all together. More than three fifths of American radios were rendered complete garbage due to their own real-time update system.
"Well, the Russians escaped the black forest this morning and encircled Dresden and Chemnitz. They're drawing reinforcements from the motherland like it's going out of style. For some reason, our planes aren't up fucking them with their own dicks. Who knows man, shit is getting crazy really fast." Keat spoke over his crew, working on closing his heavy hatch, which needed greasing.
"Ohio, this is Artel Two, we are picking up several signatures on thermal sights at extreme range. They are Ultranationalist tanks holding up the first line." The lead Nationalist tank commander called, watching them through his thermal viewer just feet away from Jake.
"Okay Artel, engage when they come in range, we will do the same. If we can see them, they can see us." He ordered, being the American in charge of his four tank killing machine.
"I've got them with a laser range at six kilometers." Sacke called, lasing every few seconds until he was in position for a clear shot.
"Comrade Sergeant, this is Artel Two, we are in contact with two Terminator BMPTs that are shadowing us. They inform me that they are tracking four T-80s in their immediate zone of engagement. Requesting permission to fire." The heavily accented English filtered through their headsets, getting an immediate confirmation.
"Wag, get up top and look for any threats to our sides. If we start shooting, get down here immediately." Jake ordered, watching the contact through the thermal imager tied into the main gun. If necessary, he could override the gunner's controls and shoot himself.
Wag saw the flash as four Russian missiles exited their tubes and streaked through the night, dropping down on four unsuspecting Russian tanks just as their crews were switching over to their morning guard. None of them even realized the missiles were coming down out of the sky until it was too late.
"Damn, they actually hit them!" Sacke exclaimed as he watched the brilliant flower of exploding ammunition through his green and white thermal scope. He could see hot streaks shooting off in all directions as their ammunition cooked off.
"Look at those turrets pop!" Wag celebrated from up above, thankful that they wouldn't have to slug it out with those Russians. The United States had learned the hard way that the Russians, while having somewhat inferior thermal suites* on their older vehicles, they were well suited to picking up the huge heat signatures that poured from the back of the Abrams. Not only that, they were firing some serious anti-tank rounds from their main cannons that could take on anything save the frontal turret armor of the American tanks.
-Pirate lead, this is Ohio two-two, my element has engaged NSO advance positions. Beginning leg one of our bound.- Keat sent a text message over his onboard computer to the headquarters platoon, where Colonel Estes was drawing the picture of the battle.
"Jake, I'm seeing two more heat blooms off to our two o'clock." Sacke said as he watched what appeared to be the silhouette of a pair of Russian battle tanks as they crested around their burning comrades.
"Artel Two, Ohio two-two, we've got more NSO tanks up there, you're okay to shoot once they come in range. I want you to ride a little further forward; we'll cover your flank." Jake called over the radio, thankful that at least one of his Russian attachments spoke good English. He didn't want to be involved in the nightmare of translation. He listened as the Russian commander translated the orders to his crews.
"Hey Rivers, go ahead and slow down a little bit, the Russians are more familiar with this area than we are."
"Roger."
Keat popped out once again, feeling his tank slow as his driver let off the throttles. The high pitched wine of the turbine was replaced by the roar of diesel as the lead T-90, a command version blistering with antennas, gunned its engine and shot out ahead of the pack.
"Artel three, you see those tanks off to your right?"
"Yes Ohio, we see them. They're in AT range. We are commencing engagement."
Keat watched as a flame erupted out of the muzzle of the command T-90, sending an AT-11 missile streaking through the night. Jake didn't get to see it land before an RPG rocket came streaking over his tank. He traced the contrail to a squat bunker almost directly to the right.
"All Artel elements, this is Ohio two-two, we're under fire by entrenched anti-tank teams!" Jake pivoted his .50 caliber machinegun on its power mount and sprayed another bunker that had unmasked itself near the Russians. Through the weapon's periscope, he watched as the half-inch projectiles did their gruesome work alongside the strobing flashes from the Russian commander's own gun.
Jake felt the tank lurch as something heavy struck it on the right side.
"Rivers, are we okay?" He shouted over the roar of the tank's '240 machine gun. No response.
"Rivers!" Jake yelled over the CVC, holding on to his control panel as the turret spun at full speed to align with the driver's compartment. Wag reached over and flipped the switch to manual before diving onto the turret floor, fighting to get around the back of River's seat.
Jake popped his head up so that he could see over the lip of his hatch, trying to make out something he'd seen that didn't look quite right on the thermals. A looming trench was ahead of them, black against the white snow. No way that is going to end well.
"Wag, talk to me!" He yelled, dropping back down onto his seat.
"He's down, I don't know if he's alive or not!" He answered back, attempting to lower the back of the driver's seat. It wasn't budging.
"Artel, my driver is down and we're going headfirst into a tank trap. Keep a safe distance in case it's mined."
"Exactly so, Ohio."
"Wag, Get up here and hold on. We're going to hit this hole hard."
Keat sat in his seat and watched the hole get closer and closer, ignoring Wag as he tried to get around the driver's seat despite orders to the contrary. He jumped as the tank's powerplant exploded with a loud screech, setting off the tank's halon system and filling the crew compartment with blinding white fog.
Jake stood, moving to make sure what remained of his crew was okay when something new threw him off his feet. His helmet bounced off the corner of the main gun, ringing his bell hard. The staff sergeant thought he could feel the tank slowing down. His vision was starting to blur, fading out as multiple hands worked to pull him towards the hatch. The last thing he could hear was Russian voices.
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Revedov took his right hand off the stock of his Dragunov, flexing his fingers to try and regain some of the feeling stolen away by the cold.
"Nice and steady Revedov." Ade whispered into his right ear, hot breath flowing down the back of his neck. The stark contrast to the cold winter air was a shock to the Colonel. He wasn't used to a female voice, let alone one that was issuing him his fire commands.
"Our first target is at the three hundred, the soldier with the backpack radio. You're going to have a quick follow up shot on that machine gunner. Wind is blowing at four miles per hour south, south east."
The newly united pair lay about four hundred meters from the edge of the airstrip, watching the Russian patrol as it wound its way through the falling snow. Ade lay on her side, curling her tail around Colonel Revedov and holding him close up to her chest as he rested against her. Revedov had no formal training with her, but he was already picking how to time his trigger point with his Utahraptor's irregular breaths.
Four hundred meters to the east, Jay keyed up his microphone.
"Red to Blue, we're ready at the back of the tower. We'll go on your shot unless we get made."
"Exactly so Red, we're waiting for an opportunity." Ade responded, keeping Gabriel's hands free for the task at hand. Her eagle eyes traced from the soldiers to the southern woodline, where Rachel, Meryl, and Jericho were dragging the remains of the second patrol out of sight of the tower balcony. They were careful to hide the blood.
The Radioman removed a pack of cigarettes, walking away from his post and behind a building, shielding himself from the wind. It was a perfect movie mistake that was about to be used to their very real advantage.
Revedov waited until Ade exhaled, hitting the arc of her breathing before he squeezed the trigger. The supersonic crack of the 7.62x54R cartridge echoed across the open airstrip, reaching out and smacking the Russian in the side of the head.
At the base of the tower, Jay jumped slightly at the sound of Revedov's rifle. It was the signal he had been waiting for to hit the door, setting off the Russian breeching charge that Revedov had shown him how to rig not even an hour before. The explosives literally blew the steel door off of its hinges, slamming a Russian soldier against the wall on the other side.
Jay moved through the door before the rubble from the breaching charge even settled to the ground, immediately moving to the room's far right corner. Learn moved left immediately behind him, executing the Russian soldier that was just starting to get up off the floor. Dave dashed in behind them, heading up the stairs with a pump action Mossberg 500 in hand.
"Through the door, don't stop!" Jay yelled, pulling a flashbang from its pouch and removing the pin. Stear blew the tower door lock off with a breaching round before delivering a kick to the knob, swinging the door wide open. Jay didn't miss a beat from the stairwell, lobbing the flash grenade in through the opening. He heard the Russians shouting in agony as the grenade blinded them.
Dave stepped directly to the left of the opening, catching a Russian soldier with a second breaching round, the compressed clay literally ripping his arm and shoulder away from the rest of his body. The next round was 00 buckshot, hitting an air traffic controller that was attempting to draw a Bizon submachine gun from underneath his computer workstation.
Redfield sprayed the other three Russian soldiers with his M4, firing burst after burst until nothing and no one remained. Jay was ready with a fresh magazine without thought, sweeping the muzzle over everything he could see.
"Tower clear." He called after a few moments, satisfied that each Russian was indeed dispatched. Jay watched as Stear rigged the tower electronics with explosives, not forgetting to put one on the floor support for good measure.
On the ridgeline, Revedov charged his rifle after replacing the magazine, recovering quickly and hitting a pilot that made a run across tarmac in an attempt to reach the hangar. He moved the scope up the tarmac in a sweeping motion, looking through the gusts of blowing snow for any more targets. He thought he saw movement next to the northeast hangar, but before he could get another look, a rifle round grazed right across the side of Ade's head. Revedov immediately dove away from her, giving the Raptoress room to roll away behind the embankment. He should have noticed the lack of a sniper amongst the ranks of the patrol.
"Blue to Red, we've got a sniper next to the hangar to the north of your position. Ade's been hit, I don't know how badly yet." Revedov called, crawling to a large tree that was directly to the right of his position. He brought his rifle up once more, looking for a silhouette near the hangar. Revedov saw the muzzle flash from a snow drift a split second later, diving back behind a tree as a round zipped so close to him that he felt the heat. The Colonel reacted quickly, firing a round that went high and to the right. Two well placed rifle rounds smacked the spot where he'd been a second before, and that was enough to convince Gabriel that the sniper wouldn't miss again.
"Ade! Stay on the ground" Gabriel called, going up to his knees and checking her body armor for damage that may have gone through. Not seeing any, He quickly retrieved his AKM from the rifle roll, setting the Dragunov out of the way.
"Gabriel, I...I don't know what's the matter. I can't see out of my left eye." Ade spoke, voice shaking as she took inventory to ensure that she wasn't hurt anywhere else.
"Hold on Ade, I'll help you, don't worry. I need you to focus."
"Blue, we don't have eyes on him. We're moving now, so just stay put."
"Affirmative Red, I..." Revedov heard a sound like voice travelling on the wind. A voice speaking that was speaking hushed Russian.
Gabriel went to a low crouch, bringing his AKM up to the ready in the direction of the voices and placing himself between Ade and where he thought they were. The colonel crept closer, drawing a bead just as two Russian soldiers came up over the crest of the hill. The colonel wasted no time in pulling the trigger, cutting the two soldiers in half before hitting the ground. He reloaded, jamming a fresh magazine home and listening for more surprises.
"Blue, we're providing security to your rear. A third patrol has just been dealt with."
"Make sure you account for their sniper." He warned, not wanting a repeat of the current situation. It was a mistake that he would never make again.
Gabriel nearly dove back to Ade's side, trusting the security to his rear without question. He threw his rifle to the ground and grabbed his Utahraptor's head in his hands. A deep gash ran along the side of her head, skimming her left eye ridge before ricocheting away. Her left eye was swollen shut, hidden by the bright red blood still flowing from the wound.
"Red, Ade got grazed in the head. I'm working on stopping the bleeding now." He called over the radio, not getting a response back.
Across the tarmac, Redfield did not answer his radio. Instead, he was creeping on his tiptoes towards the corner of the hangar where the sniper had fired from. The occasional claps of sniper fire gave him a better idea of where that shooter was. Jay put his back up against the wall, taking a deep breath before thrusting himself around the corner of the building. He did not expect to come face to face with the muzzle of a Russian Makarov.
"Fuck!" He yelled, throwing out his right hand and smacking the pistol away, discharging it into the side of the building. Jay took a step forward, staring the Russian straight in his ice blue eyes that were partially hidden behind a white face mask. Everything was in slow motion as Redfield reacted, dropped a knee right into the Russian's crotch, not losing a second before shooting the man directly between the man's eyes.
It was over just as soon as it began.
"We're clear. Meryl, Jericho, spread out and keep security. Rachel, it's your turn for rat patrol." Jay ordered, stepping away from the body of the Russian sniper and into the far hangar. He heard the confirming responses of his pack as they went to their assigned places.
On the hill, Revedov had his equipment and body armor off, overwhites stained with Ade's blood as he used them as temporary bandages. She was going to be okay, but that didn't make it any less traumatic in the meantime. Revedov sat with her head in his arms, whispering into her ear and holding pressure over her wounds.
"Red, we're looking good up here. An inch to the left and it would have been all over."
"Affirmative Blue. Get her on her feet, get your gear, and get down here. There's something you need to see." Jay responded, not believing what lay before him. He stared in awe as it shimmered, turning foliage green to match his glove. He didn't pay any attention to his shaking hands.
+++++++++++++++++++++++
"What the fuck is it?" Learn asked, picking at the side of it with her knife. It was hard to see even when you were standing right next to it.
"It's a fighter of some sort, almost looks like one of ours." Jay said, using his digital camera liberally as he documented every inch of the craft. When the flash fired, the entire skin shimmered, adjusting to the high intensity light before dropping back down to blend with the dimly lit hangar.
The fighter plane wasn't invisible; everyone agreed. The hard silhouette was visible when you were up close, but every soldier standing there knew for sure that it would be near invisible in the air.
"Everybody thinks they're backwards. Why? Because we killed a shitload farmer-crewed T-72s in Iraq? You don't think after almost thirty years that they couldn't figure out a way to pull it off? This is visual refraction technology that's way more advanced than that prototype stuff we were messing with a few years ago." Stear commented, running his hand along the wing.
"It's a Sukhoi, for sure. I believe it's called a PAK FA. They were still in testing as far as I can recall. This one is one I have never ." Revedov spoke up from where he sat on the other side of the hangar. He had his first aid kit out, and was just about finished bandaging up Ade's wounds. It hadn't taken the Raptoress long at all to get herself out of panic mode, and once she determined that she wasn't blind in one eye, she'd bounced back. Revedov found himself in an unusual place, as nerves that had been hardened by years of fighting had all of a sudden turned soft. Gabriel was still killing himself with worry about what he had allowed to happen to his new partner due to his own negligence.
"Pretty cool, but it seems like a waste of time. It might be invisible, but it's not_invisible._ Guarantee we have something that can see it." Learn spoke after a moment of thought.
"Invisible or not, we have to report it. Colonel Este's orders were explicit. Dave, send Rachel to clear ahead at least three miles." Jay responded, adjusting his M4 on its sling and walking to the edge of the hangar.
"Rachel, start heading over to the hangar. I have some new instructions." Stear called over the radio, hearing a hushed reply a few moments later. She definitely wasn't herself.
"That didn't sound right. Something's wrong." Stear said, trying to call her back. The look of worry plastered on his face made Redfield instantly shift into high gear.
"Rachel?" Jay called with no response. He turned to follow Stear out the door when his radio squawked with words that he had never wanted to hear.
"We have a Utahraptor down. I repeat, Rachel is down."
To be continued...
Glossary of Terms-
(Note: I am too lazy to put these in alphabetical order)
ASR: Auxiliary Supply Route: A route usually to be used as a secondary to a Main Supply Route. (see MSR)
T-72: The T-72 is a Russian main battle tank with a 125mm main cannon. It can be heavily modified with add on attachments such as more modern electronics, thermal scopes, countermeasures, and reactive armor (ERA). The fully modernized version in service with the Russian army is the T72M1. Other Russian Main Battle Tanks include the T-80, T-90, and various other modifications.
ERA- Reactive Armor, basically an explosive charge sandwiched between two armor plates to be added onto the outside of tanks and infantry fighting vehicles to protect them from shaped charge and sabot rounds from tanks. Sabot- Primary heavy armor killing tank round. Usually in the form of a 40mm dart flying nearly a mile a second, creates a vacuum inside the crew compartment of any vehicle struck. Also called a kinetic energy munition.
BMP- Russian infantry fighting vehicle, can transport an infantry squad and then back them up with cannon, smoke grenade launchers, and an anti-tank missile launcher. Variants include the BMP-1 with 73mm cannon, BMP-2 with 30mm chain gun cannon, and BMP-3 with 100mm cannon and 30mm coaxial machine gun.
Coaxial machine gun 'coax'- The coaxial machine gun is a weapon that is tied in line with the main cannon, used when the main cannon is not necessary or cannot be used due to target type.
Shilka-The Shilka is a self-propelled anti aircraft vehicle capable of shooting down low flying aircraft and helicopters. It is armed with four 23mm liquid-cooled cannons and a powerful search radar. Can be linked to form AAA (anti aircraft artillery) batteries. The Shilka is also effective against tanks and dismounted troops, able to lay down a devastating swath of fire. Technical designation ZSU-23-4 Shilka
RPO-A 'Shmel'- The RPO-A 'Shmel' is a man portable thermobaric (fuel-air) explosive, which uses an air-fuel mixture for devastating effects against whatever it is shot at. Russian troops compare the damage with that of a 122mm artillery shell. These weapons are thought to be responsible for fires that killed several during the Beslan Hostage Crisis.
RPG- Rocket Propelled Grenade- a shoulder fired weapon with telescopic sight. Can be used with a variety of rockets. Powerful, light, and cheap.
BTR- An eight wheeled armored personnel carrier armed with a 14.5mm machine gun in a turret. It is extremely similar to the US Stryker. Technical name BTR-80
Mi-24 Hind- World's fastest attack helicopter, devastating against ground targets both dismounted and mounted. Has a huge psychological impact against enemies. Fun Fact: the Hind (called the Gorbach or Krokadil in Russia) set the helicopter speed record, despite its size. The crew was entirely female.
CAS- Close Air Support, airstrikes called in for fire support when a ground unit comes into heavy enemy contact. Can be anything from rotary to fixed wing aircraft.
KSK- German Special Forces
GLONASS: Russian constellation of GPS satellites, used for both military and civilian purposes. Eighteen satellites provide worldwide coverage. Nymev has a secret weapon system built in to the GLONASS system that comes into play in this chapter.
TOC- Tactical Operations Command. The headquarters of a fighting force, usually where all mission information filters down from. TOCs exist from company level on up.
FMTV- New military replacement for the deuce and a half and five ton series trucks. Can come in a variety of roles and configurations.
SCUD- Short Range Ballistic Missile, used intensively during the gulf war by the Iraqi army. The SCUD D and SCUD E are missiles employed by Nymev in this chapter. No intelligence is known about the new variants save for the basics of range and payload.
TEL- Tower Erected Launcher. Technical name for the SCUD mobile launch vehicle, usually mounted on an eight wheel heavy hauler.
IED- Improvised Explosive Device. Primary cause of casualties for Coalition Forces in Iraq. EFP- Explosively Formed Penetrator. A type of armor-piercing IED that can punch through almost any armored vehicle in existence. Can be defeated by the addition of special 'EFP Panels' to the sides of vehicles. Most feared of all the IED types.
C-RAM : 30mm GAU-8 rotary cannon (similar to navy's anti missile CWIS) mounted on a semi truck trailer. It was introduced in Iraq for the purposes of shooting indirect fire off course or destroying it in midair. The rounds are proximity timed to explode in midair after a certain amount of time so that rounds do not travel and inflict casualties outside of the engagement zone.
Rifle Roll- A rifle in a roll style case. Looks like a bedroll.
Thermal Suite: The full outfit of thermal equipment on a vehicle or helicopter.