Red Winter: Death From Above
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 14th, 5:30 A.M.
Somewhere over the skies of Colorado, about fifty miles east of Grand Junction
"All units, we're approaching Grand Junction, be ready to make contact with enemy aircraft and SAM systems," Colonel Allen Freeman said over his radio to the other aircraft in his group. He was in charge of leading his squadron of twenty F-16's, all of which were broken up into four "flights" of five planes each.
"Roger that Falcon Lead, we're going active with our radars now," replied Raptor Lead, who commanded a squadron of sixteen F-22 Raptors.
Freeman, a red fox of forty-one years, was slightly jealous that he hadn't been assigned an F-22, which was considered the pinnacle of jet fighter technology. However, the Air Force had only recently restarted production of them, and currently there were only 225 flyable F-22's in service. Still, it wasn't too bad. The F-16 he had been assigned was the latest variant from Lockheed Martin's factories. The F-16ST model was essentially a retrofit to give the aircraft a fighting chance against new fifth generation fighters. The ST stood for "stealth," as this model was coated in the same radar absorbent material used on the F-22, and also carried modified wing pylons that held the missiles closer to the aircraft's frame, which further helped in reducing the aircraft's radar cross section. While it was nowhere near as stealthy as the F-22, it was almost on par with the Air Force's former stealth fighter, the F-117 Nighthawk.
Already the F-16ST had proven itself a capable fighter, as many of the PRA's Patriot Missile SAM sights near Grand Junction had been taken out by Wild Weasel units flying F-16STs. Although a few well hidden SAMs remained, they only had a few missiles and their crews were ordered only to use them on enemy bombers heading for the command post in Utah. But now the F-16ST would be put to the ultimate test as it went head to head with enemy J-10s, many of which would be flown by Chinese pilots on loan to the PRA.
"Alright, Falcon Squadron let's go active with our radar. There's bound to be some enemies near us," Freeman instructed.
With that, all twenty F-16s activated their high-frequency radars. While doing so gave away their position and let other enemy aircraft know that they were present, it also allowed the F-16s to possibly detect the enemy first, and therefore shoot first as well. Freeman wasn't surprised when he saw multiple blips on his radar. The size of some of them told him that there were multiple aircraft flying close together in a tight formation. Looking down at his threat indicators, he saw a red light come on, letting him know he was on their radar, too.
"Alright, looks like we got a whole enemy squadron ahead of us. Raptor Lead, how do you want to play this? They've lit me and my squadron up, but I don't think they can see you yet."
"Roger that. I got a fix on a possible flight of Q-5 ground support aircraft. Recommend my flight takes them out before they can get our boys on the ground. I'll let your squadron take out their fighters," Raptor Lead replied.
"Sounds good, we're about to engage them now," Freeman replied.
Checking his radar again, he saw that the enemy fighters were now only 70 miles out. At his current speed, plus the speed of the approaching enemy fighters, the gap between the two groups of planes closed by a mile every 2.2 seconds. That meant in just fifty seconds, they'd be within range for their AIM-120 AMRAAM air-to-air missiles. After another fifty seconds, they'd be within range to use their AIM- "Sidewinder" missiles, which were used for close quarter dog fighting rather than long range intercepting.
"Alright, everyone arm your 120's and follow me in. Let's try to be the ones to shoot first," he ordered.
He took a breath, the sweat on his brow irritating his skin as he tried to shake the thought from his mind that in the next two minutes he could be dead. His tail twitched uncomfortably in his flight suit, as he'd stuffed it down his left pant leg instead of the right one as usual, making the back of his knee itch. Freeman tried to focus on the task at hand. Seventy miles out, time to light 'em up.
"Alright, activate ECMs (Electronic Countermeasures)," he instructed calmly.
Each F-16 did as told and flipped on their ECM pods, which sent out a series of signals designed to scramble enemy radar and make it harder for their missiles to gain a lock. Freeman jumped as he heard a beep in his headset, telling him his radar had acquired a target. Looking at his HMD (Helmet Mounted Display), he saw a green box form over a piece of empty sky before him on his visor. In the center of that box lay the enemy J-10 he was targeting, although it was much too far for him to be able to see it at this point. A few seconds later his threat indicator beeped twice, letting him know he had not only been detected, but was being tracked as well.
"Sir I'm all lit up!" yelled a rookie pilot, a raccoon of only twenty-one years.
"Focus! They can't shoot you yet, we're too far out," Freeman said, trying to calm his wingman's nerves.
At fifty miles Freeman's headset started beeping, letting him know that all four of his AIM-120 missiles were tracking a target. He smiled at that, since his previous F-16's radar hadn't been upgraded to allow him to track and engage more than two targets at once. Now, with a new phased array radar system, he could engage up to four targets with active homing radar missiles like the AIM-120. Of course, the J-10's he was facing had the same system on their planes, no doubt stolen from the U.S. a few years prior due to budget cuts to the CIA and NSA's cyber security teams.
"Alright everyone, lock all your 120's on target, fire and then break off before they can shoot back," Freeman instructed.
He knew that the J-10s were likely equipped with PL-12 long range missiles which had roughly the same range as his AIM-120s, although statistically he outranged them by 1.25 miles. Still, since these missiles traveled at Mach 4 it only took about fifty seconds for them to reach their target, provided it was standing still. Since both the F-16's and the PL-12s would be heading towards each other, their closing speed would easily exceed 3500 miles per hour. At that rate, it would take only about forty seconds for the missiles and jets to collide.
The beeping in Freeman's headset started to increase in frequency, slowly speeding up until it was merely a solid tone. At that point, a diamond formed over each of the four green boxes on his visor, letting him know each of his AIM-120's was locked onto a target, tracking it, and ready to be launched. Flicking the safety button off his joystick, he readied himself as he looked down and saw that the distance to target had just passed forty-fifty miles.
"Alright, everyone launch now!" he yelled over the radio.
With that, all twenty F-16's released all four their AIM-120s, the missiles dropping fifty feet below each of their planes and then soaring forward as the solid fuel rockets kicked in and they quickly accelerated to Mach 4 in a matter of seconds. Freeman's mind quickly turned to other matters though, as his threat indicator started beeping, letting him know that now his plane was being targeted by an enemy missile. He paused, unsure of what to do as he listened in over the radio.
"Oh crap, they gotta lock on me!"
"Me too! Colonel what now? What do we do?"
"Break right, drop down to five thousand feet and try to lose them close to the ground," he instructed as he nosed his plane down and pushed forward on the stick.
The clear night sky quickly disappeared as he dove into the clouds from twenty thousand feet, his altimeter having trouble keeping up with his decent as he pulled back on the throttle to slow down to about 500 miles per hour to avoid stressing the airframe too much. The beeping in his headset increased, and his threat indicator now showed the approaching missile was only twenty seconds away from hitting him.
"Everyone pop chaff!" he ordered.
Two seconds later each F-16 released a pair of chaff canisters behind them, the cans exploding to release hundreds of strips of aluminum foil that would hopefully scramble the radar systems on the incoming PL-12s. For a few lucky pilots, it worked and their planes managed to break the lock on them. Quickly they leveled off and turned to reengage the approaching enemy fighters, hoping to close the distance so they could get in and use their AIM-9 "Sidewinders" and cannons. As for the rest of the squadron with missiles still on their tails, their options were quickly running out.
One rookie pilot decided to go full afterburner and try to outrun the missile, which would've worked had the missile been low on fuel. Unfortunately for him, it had more than enough to close the gap and quickly exploded fifty feet behind his aircraft, pelting him with a cloud of shrapnel and debris. His fuselage was torn to shreds, having taken the brunt of the hit. Without a second thought he punched out, ejecting a mere two seconds before his plane's fuel ignited and the entire body of his plane lit up the night sky with a massive fireball. He cursed himself for losing his first plane, only finding a little relief as he noticed several other fireballs on the horizon, no doubt the results of his squadron's missile barrage.
Sweat rose from every pore on Freeman's body as the klaxon alarm on his threat indicator started to whine at an increasing rate.
Beep beep! Beep beep!
He looked over his shoulder and out the back of his plane's bubble canopy to see another F-16 catch a PL-12 up the tailpipe, this one's pilot unable to eject in time to escape the explosion. Then he saw it, a small orange dot on the horizon.
Beepbeepbeep! Beepbeepbeep!
The missile was now just a mere eight miles away and closing fast. In another five seconds it'd detonate behind him, sending a shotgun blast of jagged metal shards into his aircraft with enough force to rip the airframe apart in an instant. Freeman ceased to think for a moment as his mind reacted purely on instinct. Quickly he rolled the plane over with its belly to the sky, and then pulled back on the stick to perform a split-S maneuver. He grunted as he felt the g-force working against him, his body now experiencing nearly nine times the normal pull of gravity as he felt the lightweight F-16's frame shudder as he dove at nearly Mach 1.5 to dodge the incoming missile. Freeman felt his flightsuit react accordingly, the material clenching around his thighs to cut off the flow of blood to his legs so all the blood in his upper body wouldn't sink into his feet. The next thing he knew threat indicator sensed the missile was so close it only gave out a single high pitched tone.
SCCRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!
A second later his ears were further assaulted by a female sounding electronic voice.
"Altitude! Pull up! Altitude! Pull up!"
His eyes glanced at his altimeter and he nearly froze in fear as he saw he'd just soared past 4,000 feet at 1,100 miles per hour. Popping another pair of chaff rockets, Freeman quickly pulled back on the throttle and yanked the stick back as far as it would go, the plane shaking once more as he pulled the nose back up over the horizon as he plummeted past 1,500 feet.
KA-BAOOM!
Freeman nearly jumped as he felt the missile explode underneath his plane, the blast missing him by a good 500 feet. Still, the concussion lightly shook the fuselage enough to give him a start. Shaking his head, Freeman tried to regain his senses as he pushed the throttle back to eighty percent and started to climb to 10,000 feet. Looking above him, he could see a fresh fireball erupt as another jet fighter exploded across the night sky. Over his radio he could hear the sounds of his flight making short work of the PRA aircraft.
"Got him!"
"I gotta lock on him, firing!"
"Green three watch out, you got one on your six!"
Scanning the sky and then his radar display, Freeman saw he'd lost seven of his twenty planes. He wasn't sure how many planes the PRA had sent out, but from the looks of it this first flight was disengaging.
"Alright guys good work. We'll hang out for a little while longer and then head for home once we reach bingo fuel," he ordered.
"Roger that sir, maintaining combat air patrol over GJ," came the reply from his second in command.
Mesa Mall, Grand Junction
"Whoa, would you look at that?" Blackmon said as he scanned the sky to see a series of orange flashes lighting up the night.
"What the, do we have air support or something?" Michael asked as he stood next to him, feeling equally intrigued.
"Evidently," Morris said while inspecting his rifle. "That's an air-to-air battle, fighters only."
"So no bombs for us then?" Michael asked with disappointment.
"Not yet," Morris answered. "We have to regain control of the skies first. I know we knocked a bunch of their planes out earlier, but they must have some reserves if they're able to confront us again."
"So when do we get some close air support?" Blackmon inquired. "I mean if we sent planes, our fighters had to be escorting some bombers right?"
Just then Morris's radio squawked, signaling he was being paged by headquarters.
"Sergeant Timothy Morris here," he answered.
"Sergeant, this Lieutenant Sheppard. Tell Blackmon to set his radio to the command channel," he instructed.
"Roger that, sir," Morris answered while relaying Sheppard's orders. "Alright he's on the line the, sir."
"Listen up, in case you haven't noticed, the big brass at Denver is throwing us some air support to cover our retreat. Right now we got a squadron of F-16s and F-22s providing fighter cover to keep any enemy bombers from making short work of you. However, I've been informed we have a flight of six A-10s on their way, and a squadron of F-15s loaded for ground support. It'll be a while before we can get anything heavier though."
"Understood, how long till those A-10s and F-15s get here?" Blackmon said.
"Give or take twenty minutes, they're flying at a low altitude to avoid radar detection. They've been instructed to announce their arrival. Your job is to keep an eye out for any targets that'd be worth their time, namely columns of tanks, IFVs, or large clusters of infantry. Just remember we got other units in the field who'll need their help, so don't expect it to come right away," Sheppard cautioned.
"Got it, sir. The only thing is I don't have a laser designator, so how are we gonna call in any JDAMs or smart bombs?" Blackmon asked after realizing he was missing said key component.
"If I recall they issued Tony one. Have him set up somewhere secluded and he'll be all set to bring the rain. Anyway, I need to update the other units. Finish setting up your perimeter and get ready to hold the line, over and out."
Blackmon switched his radio back over to WOLF-2's channel, allowing him to communicate with the rest of the men in his battalion. Picking up his rifle, he looked out to the west across the river where he could make out the faint movements of PRA Type 07 IFVs and a pair of Type 96 tanks through holes in the fog. Thirty minutes earlier they'd been at that very spot holding back the first wave of PRA troops. After taking out the lead tank and a group of scouts they'd fallen back across the bridge at Redlands Parkway to take cover in the now fortified remains of Mesa Mall.
The weather was visibly improving, as the low lying clouds were dissipating and it was now possible to see out to distances of 300 meters. Still, it was dark out and the only way to spot anyone was if they stood too close to a patch of flames or a still working streetlamp. Usually it was the movement of their shadow that gave them away, but in the case of something bulky like a tank, more often than not one would be alerted by the vehicle rather than its shadow. Overhead it was still mostly overcast, save for a few holes in the clouds that gave the troops on the ground a window to view the dogfights overhead.
"Alright guys let's get ready to hold this position. We got hostiles inbound, ETA unknown," Blackmon began as he finished inspecting his weapon. "Jon, how many Marines we got in the mall?"
"All of Alpha company. Bravo and Charlie companies are positioned further to the north to protect our HQ, about half a click from here I'd say," he replied while pointing out their positions on his handheld GPS.
Blackmon nodded as Morris looked over the map as well and said, "Plus we got about 200 of my guys spreading out inside as well. So that leaves us with roughly 350 men altogether. Great."
"It's not that bad. From the look of things they're running out of artillery support, and without it they'll have a hard time dislodging us from the mall," Jon replied.
"True, but we're low on anti-tank munitions. Our only hope is that having to cross the bridge slows their advance so we can pick off their tanks one or two at a time. How many Javelins we got?" he asked Jon.
A nearby marine with an M-21 EBR sniper rifle overheard his question and answered, "Lieutenant Collins took inventory earlier. We've got four launchers, and about twelve Javelin rockets. Whether we can knock out twelve tanks or not is another matter."
Blackmon nodded and continued to plan out the battle in his mind. After crossing the bridge, the PRA troops would have to advance 400 yards to the east, then cross I-70 in order to reach the mall's western parking lot. There was little cover along that entire route, which meant that their tanks would have to advance in the lead to shield their infantry support from harm. The nice thing about the mall's position was that by being surrounded by mostly open terrain, a flanking maneuver would not go unnoticed, and could therefore be properly intercepted with plentiful amounts of rocket and machinegun fire.
PRA Headquarters, 5:40 A.M.
Voorhees knew he should be tired, but he wasn't. His final assault on Grand Junction should have been over by now, but due to the weather his air support had gotten a late start, forcing his men to route the enemy themselves. The worst part was that despite the Americans retreating a large portion of their force, their lines were somehow still holding. He knew part of the reason was that most of his men on the front at the moment were expendable conscripts. They weren't meant to fight the enemy, his planes and artillery should've done that. No, they were simply there to mop up after the shells and bombs hit. Instead, they were getting torn to bits like bare flesh in a sandstorm.
"What's the latest report from the front?" he asked one of his aides in the command tent.
"Dragon 2 and Mantis 1 are both reporting heavy enemy resistance, sir. They've killed a few tanks, but are unsure of how many are left. The fog combined with all the derelict buildings has turned the northern half of the battlefield into a giant game of cat and mouse, and the Americans are winning."
"Then instruct our commanders to hold fast and let our artillery finish them off. They can't be that strong, over half of their force retreated!" Voorhees growled with frustration.
"Yes sir, Crossbow 1-1 and 1-2 have shifted their fire northward, but they're unsure of whether or not their shells are hitting their targets. The Americans managed to down two of our UAVs with shoulder fired SAMs, and all of our ground spotters were either killed or can't get a fix on the enemy," the aide replied.
"What about Dragon 1, they're hitting the southern flank, correct?" Voorhees said while mashing his paws into his face.
"Yes sir, they've secured the southern portion of the city below the river and have taken only light casualties. However, the enemy has pulled back across and is taking cover in a large shopping mall overlooking the only nearby bridge. There's another bridge about eight kilometers east of the mall, but it looks like the American's have it mined. It'd take them at least twenty-five minutes to clear it, says the chief of their EOD [explosive ordinance disposal] team."
"Forget that, they're making excellent progress and are in a position to flank and route their entire defensive line," Voorhees said impatiently. "Order them to attack head on, blow that damn mall into dirt if they have to. Just get them moving north and flanking the enemy so we can finally raise the flag over this place."
"Understood, sir. Also, Colonel Zhou reports that his fighters made contact with a new wave of American fighters," the aide cautiously began.
"Excellent, and what is their current status?" Voorhees said while taking a swig of water from his canteen, his nerves finally starting to relax.
"We don't know sir, all of our advance fighters were either shot down or forced to retreat," came the reply.
Voorhees spat in surprise, coughing as he tried to ask his aide another question. "W-what!?! cough Y-you mean the, cough the Americans control the skies?!?"
"I'm afraid so, sir. We're launching our reserve fighters now, but I can't say for certain when they'll be back in control."
"Never mind that," Voorhees replied. "Tell Crossbow 1 that they are to implement Operation White Lotus now, and to be ready to fire on my go."
The aide froze. The young fox had served alongside Voorhees since the first days of the invasion in Oregon, and never had it come to this. The fact that the General believed he couldn't win without playing dirty told him that either these Americans were far stronger than he'd been led to believe, or that the General truly was the madman he was rumored to be.
"White Lotus...sir?"
"Are you questioning me, Lieutenant?" Voorhees chided.
"N-no! No sir. It's just we've never implemented this battle plan before. Should our frontline units be alerted that we're going to be using...?"
"Negative, I don't want the American's catching wind of our plans. God knows they've probably got our frontline radio channels cracked and can listen in as they please. We'll alert our men two minutes before zero-time. Until then all radio chatter regarding the operation stays within our camp."
"Understood General," the fox replied, a feeling a bittersweet relief creeping into his stomach as he thanked his lucky stars it wasn't him out on the frontlines.
Mesa Mall - 5:50 A.M.
Atop the roof of the mall stood twenty of the Marines and militiamen, their weapons at the ready as they scanned the road ahead of them for approaching enemy troops. In the distance they could hear shouts in English, Spanish, and even Chinese as the mix of American PRA troops tried to communicate with their Chinese counterparts. Unknown to the men defending the mall, a tank battalion of Chinese Type 96s had arrived to assist Dragon 1 in its attack against the U.S. forces on the southern side of town. On the roof however, no one said a word. Blackmon had deployed his M-249 and had several spare ammo belts lying next to him, while Jack and Jon each lay prone beside him as they scanned the road with their M-26s. Morris, Chris, and Michael sat to the right of the marines, their own weapons held at the ready as the faint sounds of tank engines rumbled through the crisp night air.
Instinctively a pair of marines armed with a Javelin launcher moved up and flipped on the launcher's targeting system while removing a missile from the plastic storage case and loading it into the launcher. Tony flicked on his thermal scope and scanned the bridge that laid about a quarter of a mile away. Anyone crossing it was as good as dead as far as he was concerned, knowing full well that his M-113 sniper rifle could shoot nearly five times the distance to the bridge. However, Blackmon and Morris had instructed that no shots were to be fired till they gave the order. Heaving a sigh, the white scaled dragon zoomed in on the bridge and felt a twinge of disappointment at seeing nothing there. Scanning to the left, he noticed a trio of soldiers standing at the foot of the bridge, the outline of a radio on a fox's back, and a pair of binoculars in the paws of a tiger.
"Blackmon," he whispered, "I got eyes on an enemy recon team. Permission to fire?"
"Negative, if we shoot they'll shell us to pieces. Wait till they're close so that their artillery can't safely shoot at us," Blackmon replied.
"Oh come on, they're sitting ducks!" Tony insisted.
"Tony, I swear to God if you pull that trigger..."
"Alright alright, don't get your panties in knot," he jibed.
Blackmon just chuckled. If it hadn't been for the fact that Tony was officially the squad's funnyman, he would've probably kicked his ass for that. Still, he might abuse his rank of Corporal and force Tony to get him some coffee and potato chips once this was all over. Unlike many of the other soldiers hear, Blackmon was optimistic about their chances of survival. Part of this was because he was young and still held youthful feelings of invulnerability, but also because he knew that there had to be a reason he'd survived this long, and that reason couldn't just be to die in the snow.
Across the river the men of Dragon 1 and Tiger 1 prepared to advance. The arrival of some Chinese reinforcements lifted their spirits a bit, but they knew it would still be a tough fight to completely encircle the U.S. forces. Quickly a full battalion of infantry disembarked from their armored carriers and began to assemble behind a column of tanks and IFVs. Up front was a ZBD-97, followed by a pair of Type 96 tanks, the second one being Dragon Lead. Behind him was a pair of Type 07 IFVs, and lastly a third Type 96 tank to bring up the rear. A platoon of four PLA Type 96s were also assembling, but their IFV and infantry escorts would not be ready for at least twenty more minutes, so it would be up to Dragon Lead's men to start the assault.
"Alright Dragon battalion, let's get ready to move. Tiger 2-1, advance to objective delta," Dragon Lead ordered from inside his tank.
"Affirmative sir, on the move," came the reply.
With that, the column of vehicles began to slowly creep across the bridge, their infantry support hurriedly jogging alongside them to keep up. The lead infantrymen held their weapons close, ready for the inevitable first shots that would come from the darkened windows of the nearby buildings. Their radios were filled with the constant chatter of squad leaders checking in and reporting their sectors of fire to be clear. As the front units made their way over the bridge and turned right, they began to wonder if there were even any enemy troops left in this part of town.
"Where are they?" asked a young fennec fox to his jackal squadmate. "This is too easy, they have to be hiding, right?"
"Quiet! Just keep your eyes peeled and your trigger finger ready," his colleague replied.
However, after another two minutes of steadily advancing down the road toward the mall without so much as a shadow moving in the alleys, the PRA troops began to grow complacent. While in the distance they heard the sound of echoing cannon fire and rumbling engines, all they heard around them was the wind. Soldiers began to relax, letting their weapons rest at their hips instead of having them raised to their shoulders.
Dragon Lead immediately grew suspicious and ordered his armored column to halt as they crept up to the mall. He looked at the camera feed linked to his tank's primary gunsight. The gunner had the Type-96's 125mm barrel aimed right for the mall's front entrance, and the thermal sight was switched on. Unfortunately, there were multiple fires scattered about the parking lot, which blinded the sight and made it difficult to pick out any silhouettes through the windows. Dragon Lead at first assumed they were from earlier in the battle and were just pieces of the nearby buildings. However, he noticed that many of the structures around here were made of steel, glass and concrete...yet these fires were mainly of paper, wood, and pools of gasoline.
"Banshee 6, this is Dragon Lead. I've got a possible enemy ambush sight up ahead, how copy?"
"Roger that Dragon Lead, where's the suspected position?" the Banshee 6 pilot replied.
"There's a large shopping complex about two hundred meters ahead of my convoy's position. I can't get a fix on anything inside, and we've yet to encounter any enemy resistance on this side of the river. See if you can spot them, they've got to be hiding somewhere," Dragon Lead instructed.
"Roger that, beginning my sweep."
Unbeknownst to Banshee 6, an F-22 Raptor was mere seconds from reaching the mall and already had a fix on the UAV. For a brief second Banshee 6 got a glimpse at the roof of the mall, and thus a view of eight U.S. Marines and Colorado Militiamen lying prone atop the roof. However, the operator suddenly received a warning on his computer as the UAV detected an enemy radar lock.
"What the? What's going on?" Banshee 6's pilot said aloud as he turned his aircraft to try and discern who was tracking him.
All the soldiers in the field saw was a bright orange flash in the sky as stream of yellow cannon shells cut loose from the Raptor's cannon and tore the UAV apart.
"Damn it!" Dragon Lead swore as he immediately recognized what had happened. Switching radio channels, he dialed into Voorhees' command post. "Command, this is Dragon Lead, I just lost my UAV support and I'm stuck at a possible ambush sight. Can you get me another UAV...or a helo at least?"
"Negative Dragon Lead, all of our air support is tied up to the north of you. Just keep moving and don't lose your momentum. You'll be fine," said the voice of an apathetic Colonel from the command tent.
Shaking his head wearily, Dragon Lead ordered his column to continue their advance. "Tiger 1-1, storm that building and clear it out. All Dragon units, form up on me and prepare to assault the American HQ at the hospital."
With that, dozens of foot troops advanced towards the mall, weapons at the ready as they jogged across the open asphalt parking lot. The fresh snow from the earlier storm made the ground incredibly slippery, and more than a couple soldiers tripped and landed on their sides, cursing at no one in particular. Just as the lead soldiers were nearing the front entrance, the night's silence was broken by a massive bang. Everyone froze, eyes darting about as they suddenly watched a bright green ball of fire fly up from behind the mall and into the sky. The dark shroud of night instantly dissolved into daylight as the PRA soldiers began to panic as the reality of their situation suddenly set in.
"Oh crap, FLARE! FLARE! FIND COV-" shouted a wolf as he tried to regain his squad's attention.
Crack!
A bullet ripped through his neck before he could finish. A split second later the entire world seemed to erupt in fire as multiple rifles and LMG's opened fire from the mall's roof and windows. Blackmon raked his M-249 back and forth across the parking lot, his hail storm bullets cutting down enemy after enemy. Jack and Chris eagerly opened fire as well, firing in single shot to methodically pick off their targets as if they were bullseyes on the practice range. Michael and Tony both took their time as they picked off more distant targets with their sniper rifles, their enemies being easy prey as the dozens of PRA troops were now huddled in a panic next to the column of tanks.
As quickly as the ambush had begun, a bright orange flash erupted from the rooftop followed by a white smoky contrail. Seconds later, a Javelin rocket impacted the ZBD-97, the shaped charge punching a hole in the turret and igniting the ammo magazine, causing the whole vehicle to erupt in flames and kill the squad of infantry taking cover behind it.
"Someone get another Javelin up here and take out those tanks!" Morris screamed over the thunderous cacophony of gunfire.
Meanwhile, Dragon Lead was having similar thoughts as he ordered his tanks to spread out and open fire on the mall.
"Gunner, put a few shells in that place. Blow it to hell! Dragons 1-3 and 1-4, form up on me and switch to a wedge assault pattern. Damn it man, I said put some shells in that building NOW!"
Dragon Lead's gunner flinched at his order, answering only with a shaky, "On the way, sir! FIRING!"
THUD-DOOM!
With that, the Type 96's 125mm cannon sent a single kinetic energy round through the mall's doors. While the shell lacked any explosive charge, the sheer speed at which it flew was enough to create a devastating explosion upon impact. However, the mall's glass door and thin walls allowed the shell to easily pass through without causing much damage, and the shell ended up only leaving a small crater in the parking lot behind the mall. This didn't hurt anyone, although a nearby pair of mortar crews stationed behind the mall was nevertheless startled. Shaking it off, they resumed their actions and launched another illumination shell to keep the enemy lit up.
As another mortar shell went up, Dragon Lead decided he'd had enough. All around him his men were dying, and if he didn't act quickly the men in Captain Packard's unit would, too. Without hesitating he unbuttoned his porthole's hatch and climbed up to man the 12.7mm machinegun atop the tank's turret. Racking the charging lever back, he took at the mall's roof and opened fire. Instantly pieces of brick and mortar chipped away from the building's walls as the stream of heavy caliber bullets tore Blackmon's cover to shreds. By this time, Dragon 1-3 and 1-4 had formed up on Dragon Lead's flanks and began laying shells into the mall as well.
Michael and Tony ducked and rolled back to the center of the roof as bullets tore their former positions to bits. Moments later everyone was huddled in the center, watching in horror as a HEAT round blasted the front of the mall, collapsing a support beam and knocking the face of the mall down into rubble.
"Report! 1st platoon are you still with me?" Blackmon shouted into his radio.
A marine on the other end coughed a reply. "Roger that dude, we're okay! Curtis is a little shaken, and Sergeant Cross got knocked around by a few bricks. We can't hold this position, we're moving deeper inside the building."
Another volley of tank shells rocked the mall, followed by a strange groaning sound as the building's supports tried to keep the roof up.
"Oh man, this place can't take much more," Jon observed.
Morris stood up started motioning for everyone to follow him, "Come on, we're getting out of here! Jon, tell everyone to fall back to position Charlie, we'll hold the enemy there!"
Jon did as instructed, and less than a minute later every marine and militiamen in WOLF 2 was sprinting across the back parking lot to a wall of sandbags lining a nearby road. The PRA were unaware of the retreat, however, and continued shelling the mall. After a fifth and final volley, the building's main supports gave way and the roof caved in, sending a massive pillar of smoke and dust into the air.
"Cease fire all units!" Dragon Lead ordered as he lowered himself back into the turret and re-shut the hatch. "Tiger 1-1, move up and advance around the mall's right flank. I'll bring my tanks and Tiger 1-2 around the left in a pincer move and we'll force whatever's left of their unit between us."
"You got it sir," came the solemn reply over the radio.
As the marines and militiamen took inventory and prepared themselves for the next wave of attack, Tony realized that they were missing something.
"Hey, where's all of our Javelin rockets?"
"Good question," Blackmon said as he looked around to realized that there were no anti-tank launchers to be found. "Oh god...we fuckin' left the Javelin rockets in the mall!"
And so it became clear that in the haste to escape the mall before its inevitable collapse, much of WOLF-2's equipment had been left behind, including their heavy anti-tank munitions.
"Contact, tanks! Right side, right side!" came a panicked shout from further down the line.
"Does anyone have any AT left? ANYONE?" Blackmon yelled.
"I got a SMAW and two AT-4s," a marine yelled back in reply. "But they won't do crap against a Type 96 unless we can get 'em from the rear."
Just then the approaching tanks fired again, their shells punching holes in the sandbag wall and blasting nearly a dozen militiamen to pieces. Strauss immediately grabbed Chris and Michael and began dragging the wounded to safety as the survivors fired off the last of their AT rounds in desperation, the rockets only managing to damage one tank's primary optics, and another taking out the laser range finder.
To the left, more gunfire erupted as the PRA infantry from Tiger 1-2 moved from behind the mall's wreckage to assault the marines. Backed by the pair of Type 07 IFVs, they were able to lay down a considerable volume of fire as the marines desperately shot back to try and halt the approaching wall of death that encroached ever closer. Blackmon and Jack fired blindly over the sandbag wall, both wolves being too afraid to stick their heads above the edge in fear of getting shot.
"I'm running outta ammo!" Jack said as he pulled out his second to last clip. "I don't think we're gonna make out of this."
"Bullshit! Just keep your ass down and your fingers crossed," Blackmon shouted back angrily while switching radio stations. "HQ this WOLF 2, we're getting torn to shreds out here! Requesting a fire mission, over."
"Negative WOLF 2, all our artillery is either destroyed or engaged with task force FOX to the north," came a female voice's reply.
"Damn it HQ, my people are dying out here! We'll be dead in the next minute if we don't get some support NOW, DO YOU HEAR ME?!?"
Sheppard's voice suddenly came in through the radio as he pushed Lieutenant Eva aside and spoke directly to Blackmon. "Hang in there Blackmon, a pair of A-10's has just entered your AO. Callsign Bulldog, they're on standby for your orders."
Oh thank God, Blackmon thought to himself as he hurriedly switched radio channels again just as the marine next to him caught a bullet to his shoulder and fell to the ground clutching his wound.
"Bulldog this is WOLF 2, are you there?"
"Affirmative WOLF 2, this is Bulldog 1. We heard you guys need some help down there," came the pilot's response.
"Damn right we do! I got a trio of hostile Type 96s and two IFVs pounding my position," Blackmon said while peeking over the sandbags. "I also got a platoon of hostile infantry on both of my flanks, over."
"Roger that WOLF 2, I just picked up the armor. Tell your people to stay down and brace for impact."
Blackmon held his M-249 close and ducked while shouting, "EVERYONE, GET DOWN NOW!"
Although invisible in the night sky, the twin A-10 Thunderbolt II's would instantly be recognized for their destructive potential in a matter of seconds. At the moment they hovered a mere 500 feet above ground while flying at 300 knots towards the remains of the mall. Once they were ten miles out both jets increased their throttle and pulled up, climbing to 1,500 in order to get a better view of the battlefield. The onboard targeting computers automatically identified the five hostile vehicles on the ground, sending the data to a trio of AGM-65 Maverick missiles hanging from a pylon on each wing. Bulldog 1 decided to save his heavier ordinance for the tanks, and would instead use his plane's nose mounted 30mm GAU-8/A Avenger Gatling-type cannon.
With that, he fired all three Mavericks from this left wing, each missile's fire and forget systems targeting a separate tank and taking over from the plane's computer. Mere seconds later they impacted their targets, blowing the turrets clean off of each Type-96 as the Mavericks' shaped charge warheads punched through the tanks' hulls and detonated their ammunition magazines. As for the men inside the tanks, they felt nothing as they were vaporized in under a second.
"Hot damn, nice shot Bulldog!" came Blackmon's voice over the radio.
"Ain't done yet, keep your head down marine," Bulldog replied.
Sure enough, as the A-10's closed in they began to spool up their 30mm cannons, readying the massive guns to spit a stream of depleted uranium shells at a rate of sixty-five shells per second. Shortly before passing over the mall, both planes throttled back and lowered their flaps, allowing them to fly at only 150 knots without the risk of stalling. Together they dived and opened fire, their cannons each letting off a four second burst as they strafed the two remaining Type 07s and dozens of PRA infantry.
BRRRRRTTTTTTTT!
The telltale sound of an A-10's cannon ripped through the night air, drowning out any other sounds of small arms fire and distant tank battles. The barrage of shells ripped the Type 07's apart, as well as the parking lot. The PRA infantry that had been exposed in the open were no more, having either been blown to smithereens by a cannon shell, or cut to ribbons by the maelstrom of flying chunks of asphalt. A few stragglers remained, but they quickly fell back across the bridge in terror as they scanned the skies above them for whatever unseen angel of death that had struck them down.
Blackmon cautiously stood up and gazed out at the carnage before him. At first he just sighed in relief, but as the weight of the situation dawned on him he began to chuckle, and then full on laughed in glee as pumped his fist in the air and cheered.
"DEATH FROM ABOVE MOTHER FU-"
"Kyle shut up, you're gonna get yourself shot!" Jack warned.
"By who Jack? Our air power just blew those bastards into a million pieces!"
Morris just smiled and wiped the sweat from his brow. "That was some good payback. When the battle first started it was just like that for them. Their planes hit us by surprise and knocked a good portion of our armored forces out before we could so much as set up a perimeter."
By now, Blackmon had calmed down and began to take inventory of his own men. "Alright, we can't stay here guys. We're low on ammo and got no cover out here."
Sheppard's voice came over the radio. "This is HQ calling WOLF 2, report."
"Blackmon here, sir. We're okay, for now. Our air support wiped out their first wave but we've taken heavy casualties and we're running low on ammo." Blackmon paused for a moment to look around and survey the carnage that lay before him. "However, we've held the line and halted the enemy advance. Chances are they're regrouping on the south side of the river."
"Copy that WOLF 2, your new orders are to fall back to HQ and assist in relocating our assets there," came Lieutenant Eva's voice in place of Sheppard's.
"Uh, HQ...interrogative? What do you mean 'relocating our assets,' are we retreating?"
"Affirmative WOLF 2, we're preparing to begin evacuating the remaining civilians, but first we need to move our command post further east. Now get moving, we don't have a lot of time," Eva replied sternly.
Blackmon's ears twitched submissively; his reluctance to admit defeat by falling back was all too apparent. "Understood, we're on our way. Over and out."
U.S. Army Headquarters, Denver - December 14th, 6:30 A.M.
Forsythe was on his third soda of the morning, this time a Coke Zero since his stomach couldn't handle any more sugar from the regular stuff. His head throbbed as he tried to keep up with the events that were unfolding before him. The situation on the ground was becoming quite fluid. In the last two hours the PRA had launched what was supposed to be their last move in the battle. Instead, they met unexpectedly tough resistance from the surviving U.S. forces that remained sheltered in the debris and fog that filled the city limits. Despite their superior numbers, the PRA were unable to cause a break in the northern American lines, causing the engagement to end in a stalemate.
To the south, a large contingent of PRA forces had successfully routed a regiment of Colorado militiamen, largely thanks to their plentiful artillery support and UAV spotter drones. However, their artillery support was yanked to provide cover in the northern battle zones, allowing the American forces to dig in and hold off the PRA armored units with only a handful of infantry. Even so, the PRA still had the advantage of overwhelming numbers and firepower. In a matter of minutes the last U.S. infantry units were on the verge of annihilation on the southern flank when the air support launched from Denver finally arrived.
After securing the airspace over Grand Junction and essentially wiping out the last of the PRA's ground support aircraft, American F-15s and A-10s began striking the PRA's frontline armor units. The casualties were horrendous, as forty PRA tanks and IFV's were knocked out in just five minutes. While the total number of PRA casualties was unknown at this point, it was estimated that they had now lost somewhere between eighty to a hundred tanks. American casualties hadn't been much better though, as nearly fifty tanks had been lost in the opening PRA airstrikes, and another thirty had been lost in the later skirmishes. The only three M1A3 Abrams tanks that were still in action had just now fallen back to re-arm at FOB (Forward Operating Base) set up north of St. Mary's Hospital in the central area of the city.
According to the reports coming in, it appeared the PRA were still in shock from the unexpected air strikes. The utter lack of SAM sites and air defenses clearly stated that they believed the Americans weren't going to waste any more planes defending the city. Now, over a hundred smoldering heaps of steel stated just how wrong that assumption had been. Forsythe cracked a smile. The tide of the battle had turned completely, and it looked as if his forces actually had a shot at successfully pulling back, regrouping and counter-attacking. At the moment the PRA were staying put, debating whether or not to press the attack and risk more losses. Forsythe knew if that happened his men wouldn't be able to hold out, as most of the planes he'd sent were now out of ammunition and on their way home. Another wave of A-10s and F-35 Lightnings were en route, but they were flying slowly to escort the dozen C-17 cargo planes carrying reinforcements.
Forsythe wondered if he was making the right call by sending in another 500 troops, and a contingent of tanks and Kodiak assault vehicles. Sure, it was counterproductive to send troops into an area you're trying to abandon, but it was even worse to allow over a thousand men to get killed or captured because they ran out of ammo and fuel. Plus, there was still the case of the 2,000 civilians that were still trapped in the eastern half of the city. Many of these people had likely hopped in their own cars and attempted to flee on their own, knowing full well that no one was coming to rescue them. But there were also those who knew that the PRA planes were shooting at anything on the road, and that with all the shells and bullets flying outside it was safer to stay hunkered in the basement and wait for the National Guard to come knocking.
Half an hour earlier, Forsythe's people had managed to contact a surviving battalion of troops from the 35th Infantry Division just as they were reaching the outskirts of Denver. The news they provided revealed the utter catastrophe that had taken place over the course of the battle. In the opening hours the PRA's sudden airstrike had gotten lucky and blasted a convoy carrying Brigadier General Louis Paterson and his entire senior command staff while they were en route to the Army's Grand Junction headquarters. This left only a few colonels in charge, with Colonel Nickolas Vanderbilt taking command and attempting to regroup the American forces and mount a steady defense. However, the U.S. forces couldn't rally quickly enough and were steadily pushed back.
As the 3rd Infantry Division's losses mounted, the 35th Infantry were forced to cease their evacuation measures and attempt to hold the line while the 3rd Infantry fell back. Fire and police units in Grand Junction were overwhelmed with casualties from the air strikes, and thus unable to take over the evacuation procedures. Eventually they were forced to evacuate themselves, taking once last group of civilians with them as they raced east towards Denver.
By the afternoon of December 13th, civilian evacuations had ceased, and the remaining citizens were instructed to stay put in the safety of their homes until evacuations could resume. Chances are they would have too, had police department not been out of gasoline. However, without fuel for the busses and trucks, there was nothing that could be done. Then, around four in the afternoon the PRA launched a second major ground offensive, backed with artillery and helicopter support. U.S. forces were better prepared this time, and managed to inflict enough causalities to halt the PRA and keep them outside the Grand Junction city limits for the time being. However, the U.S. had suffered severe casualties themselves and Colonel Olson of the 35th Infantry gave the order for his men to fall back, with the instructions to keep going till he had decided they'd gone far enough. His retraction order was never given though, and eventually it became clear the something had happened to him.
What no one knew was that shortly after giving the order to fall back, Olson's command vehicle was spotted by a team of PRA paratroopers who had managed to slip past the American front lines. The paratroopers acted as forward observers and called in cruise missile strike on Olson's camp, killing him and destroying a few M1 tanks and M3 Bradley IFVs in the process. With the last of their senior officers dead, the surviving units under Olson's command continued to blindly follow his last order until it became apparent that he was either dead or missing. Considering how poorly the battle was going, most of the U.S. troops decided to throw in the towel and head for the relative safety of Denver.
All Forsythe knew was that Colonel Vanderbilt had managed to wrangle a few regiments of retreating soldiers and reform his defenses in time to hold out against the PRA's early morning attacks. But now Vanderbilt was dead and a lowly Lieutenant was in his place desperately trying to hold out.
"Sir, we just received a new report from Lieutenant Sheppard," reported the female otter. "He's got his remaining 35th Infantry unit resuming civilian evacuations. They're doing everything from hijacking school busses to commandeering large pickup trucks, anything that'll hold a group of people. They think they've got a solid chance of getting everyone out, provided the PRA don't attack again."
Forsythe nodded and rubbed his sore eyelids. "Very good, but how's the rest of his forces?"
"Most of the Colorado militia forces got wiped out. Their last units were folded in with the North Carolina militiamen, under the call sign WOLF 3. That Marine battalion that got sent there is still mostly in tact as well, although they lost quite a few men during the last PRA assault. As for the 3rd Infantry's units, they took some serious heat and lost roughly 300 men. They're down to roughly 600 active soldiers and three tanks. All in all, Sheppard's got a thin wall of about 900 men between the PRA and the remaining civilians," the otter explained.
"How long till our reinforcements arrive to help?" Forsythe inquired.
"Actually...they should be arriving just about now," she replied.
"And they're carrying the new M-7A1 Petraerus heavy tanks, correct?" Forsythe asked whilst taking another sip from his bottle of Coke Zero.
"Yes sir, the first four that came out of the factory in Michigan," the otter replied, unable to help but notice the general cracking a smile.
"Then God help those communist SOB's."