6 - 1
BATTLE II
“The core tenant of our Philosophy of War must be that Combat is intrinsically disordered, dynamic, uncertain, and dominated by friction. Moreover, our chosen method of warfare, that is by Maneuver, with its emphasis on speed and initiative is particularly disordered. The conditions ripe for exploitation are invariably extremely chaotic. For Commanders to try to make certainty a basis for action, to maintain positive control of events at all times, or to dictate events to fit their plans is to deny War its very nature. We must therefore embrace chaos, we must thrive under conditions of uncertainty, friction, and change. We must use disorder as a weapon against an enemy who does not cope as well. We sow it among their ranks, and then reap the bounty of Discord.” - Colonel-General Sergei Petrova, CADP-1 ‘Warfighting’ Ch. 3
“Sir, how exactly are we going to explain this later?” MSgt Radulovic questioned while they both leaned over a terminal.
“I don’t care, can we fucking do it, or not?” He responded. Cannonier Schwartz glanced back at him while lowering a handset.
“1-5’s FDC is saying they can’t make it work.”
“It’s a fucking 200x250 meter hole they can thread the god damn needle and let attack guidance do the rest. Fucking incompetent. Schwartz, give it.” Capt. Beckett motioned for the handset. “Basilisk Main, Sovereign 3-0 Alpha. Put the FDO on.” He keyed the handset, forcing a more professional tone.
“Basilisk 9 speaking.” replied after a small delay.
“Send it as a charge five and force high-angle. ATDS will do the rest, just get that fire mission to the guns. If your box throws up any more cautions for intervening terrain just man-override.” It was boggling his mind that he was explaining to a senior Cannon Major how to do his own fucking job. Apparently the combined expertise of the twenty plus members of 1-5’s Fire Direction Center was outweighed by his willingness to accomplish the mission.
“Uh, Sovereign 3-0-A, who approved this mission? We’re tracking everywhere inside the dome is a restricted fire area.” He glanced at the map projection on his box. It was, and everyone knew it was, but there was no time.
“Red Diamond 6.” he lied. The override was making its way up the chain but it required another set of clearances before it made its way back down. It was sitting at the Division's box right now patiently awaiting an approval from the CG, their local Ground Force Commander. He was done waiting. For all he knew, Red Diamond 6 was getting an earful of legal counsel from his staff Judge Advocate.
His boss, the Reg Fire Support Officer, Major Shluenbacher had already done his best Trail-side defender impression and dragged the Reg. Legal Officer out of the TOC before he put any evil into the ear of Sovereign 6.
“Rodge, it’s processing. Stand by for MTO.” He tossed the handset back to Schwartz, satisfied for now. He was being driven mad. He was doing everything he could and it still seemed like it wasn’t enough. Time, they just needed a little more time.
“Top, what about Air? How are we looking?”
Radulovic just shook his head. “They’re ‘occupied’ Black Horse is eating everything up. Fucking Navy won’t assume risk for dropping munitions into the city anyways.”
He glared across the table to the two Navy Liaison Air-Control Officers sitting across the table from him in front of their own array of battle management hardware.
“What? Sam, I’m fucking trying. They’re stone walling us too. It’s Ahab’s call and they’re telling me he can’t, and even if he could, he wouldn’t approve it” Ensign Lombardy protested.
The SVOIP comm next to him started ringing. He glanced at the link-ID ‘IV RFL CORPS OPS’. His heart leapt into his throat as he snatched the handset off the hook.
“1st Rifles Fires Cell, Assistant Fire Support Officer Cannon-Captain Beckett speaking.”
“Beckett you said? This is Brigadier Rudolph, 4th Corps Operations Officer.” If his heart was in his throat before, now it was seizing. “We’re working your request for clearance override but we’re getting push back from Army-Central on MLAC concerns. Who’s there on ground? Who’s Firemission is that?”
“Uhhh, 2nd Platoon, G Co. 2/1 Rifles, sir.”
“And they cleared the ground? Who’s platoon is that?” The man on the other end of the line lacked any hint of stress.
“Yes sir, ground’s clear. It’s one of Captain Eckartt’s platoons,” he responded.
“What, Captain Eckartt, who the fuck is that? Who is the platoon commander, Beckett?”
“Rifle Lieutenant Petrova.”
“Hmm, I’ll inform them but don’t wait. Approve the mission under Steel Princess 3’s authority.”
“I already did, sir.”
“Good showing sport.” the line cut with a click. He stood there frozen for a moment. Maybe he wasn’t actually going to prison. Maybe if these fucking guns would fire before the Feds breached their defense they’d all get a medal. They’d all get a medal and could pat themselves on the back for a job well done. His insides were still balled into a knot. People were still down there, fighting, dying. She was still down there. Every second it took the gears of this great war-machine to start turning was another their lives and victory hung in the balance.
Fox Co. 2/1 was still stuck, fixed in place by Fed artillery. It was obviously a one round a minute suppression mission blanketing their whole assembly area and obvious avenues of movement. He glanced at the time, 0409. They’d already been fighting for four hours and while everyone was holding he didn’t know for how much longer. No one did.
“MESSAGE TO OBSERVER” blinked across the screen of his terminal.
“ARSENAL, BONUS SYS-AIDED, FLLWD BY AP-ICM, HI-ANGL, TOF 63, 6 RNDS, TGT NMBR AE7320”
“Rand! Rand, you stupid fuck wait!” Karoff yelled as he sprinted past him down the stairs. She just stared transfixed for a moment and then took off after him. That idiot was going to get himself killed too. She could hardly keep up with him, her stride hitching every time her right leg hit the ground. It hurt, it hurt even with every chemical pumping through her system. She swore she could feel every muscle fiber stretch, strain and tear. As she made it out the door, Rand was already out of the gate. The trail end of 2nd Squad rushing past her behind the Rockcrete walls.
“Suppressive fire, cover him!” she screamed while running past them into the hail storm of bullets. Rand kept getting further away, he wasn’t stopping. Everything she had been taught, everything she knew, told her this was wrong. This was dangerous, this was stupid. She had to go. Rand was going to get himself killed alone.
He dove down another 50 meters in front of her. Looking over the two fallen. She trailed in behind him, rounds snapping at her feet and over her shoulders as she covered the final few meters. If she could hear them then they weren’t meant for her. She slid to a halt a few meters away, Rand had collapsedto his knees.
Antoni Restrepo was dead. A 30mm Autocaynnon round impacted against his hip throwing his left leg, genitals and some of his entrails another five meters from his body. His pelvis was smashed and splintered, anything contained within was an unidentifiable mess of red, his ribcage poked out like bent and broken fork tines in a pool of blood. He was gone.
Sgt. Weiss, already wounded at the time of the explosion, had been thrown into the wreckage of a groundcar. Her left forearm was snapped over a door ledge at a right angle, shards of bone pressing against the skin, the awkward bulge visible even through her CES. No doubt her ribs and back were in ruins. Both of her legs were peppered with pieces of shrapnel jutting through cloth armor and leaking frightening amounts of blood. Her face and head, already mummified in bandages oozed with new cuts. Her chest was still heaving unevenly, she was still alive.
Rand was lost. Trying to shovel what remained of Doc’s guts back into the corpse. Like good ole cheery Doc was just going to hop up and fix everything once they were all back in. She grabbed him by his drag handle and shoved him down violently under a burst of fire snapping over their heads.
“He’s dead! He’s dead, Rand, Leave him! We’ll get him after this is over!” she yelled into his ear over the sound of roaring cannons. He turned to look at her already sobbing, babbling, lost.
“Look at me, Rifleman! He’s gone! We’re still alive and so is Weiss! So fucking help me pick her up!” A flood of tears obscured his vision. She didn’t have time for this, but she couldn’t do it alone. She ripped Restrepo’s killpatch off his kit and stuffed it into an empty cassette pouch. She turned back towards Rand, he’d gotten himself up only to collapse again backwards into a squat against a piece of the dome jutting out of the ground. He weakly raised his blood soaked hands in front of his face in a faux-fetal position and let out a choked sobbing moan of pure heartbreak. She hooked him by his front plate and jerked him forwards while leveling a finger at him staring and directly into his eyes.
“Rand, look at me!” She yelled. He finally opened them enough to make eye contact with her. “You can do this. You can fucking do this. Help me get Weiss up and we’ll make these fucking Feds pay, okay?!” he choked and sobbed while nodding his head vigorously.
Weiss’s one uncovered eye danced around lazily as she lay there heaving. She was under the impression Weiss was unconscious from the explosion until they tried moving her arm and she started screaming bloody murder. She just kept screaming.
“Tony, where are you! Tony it hurts! It Hurts! Please oh god, oh god it hurts!” as the pain brought Weiss back to consciousness. Weiss’s IFAK was already empty. Doc must’ve raided it to help her before. Lt. Petrova snatched a piece of metal off the ground to splint her arm then lashed it with sections of wiring yanked from a vehicle.
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She and Rand each scooped Weiss up from either side in a modified chair carry, leaving Restrepo where he fell for the moment. They could only move so fast, especially with her leg straining every other step. She just hoped they would be lucky. All they had was luck at this point. They made an awkward lopsided jog through twisted wreckage back to Pavlov’s house.
Lachenski was screaming in her ear over the net. “Hurry up! Hurry up!”
Like she wasn’t fucking hurrying already. A stream of Coax fire nearly caught them as they tumbled through the entryway. She picked herself off the ground as her Riflemen drug them the rest of the way inside. She bounced up and immediately started issuing orders.
“You, triage Weiss again.” she pointed to a random individual, she really didn’t care who it was right no, and spun around. “The rest of you, cover by sections, 3rd is gonna start bounding in about 30 seconds.” She knife handed towards their left and right lateral limits of fire and turned around and moved upstairs beckoning to be followed, shouting “Rand upstairs!” over her shoulder.
“Rodge, ma’am” he croaked, his tears abating for the moment. She was getting pissed again, but it was a welcome feeling. It beat the wave of resignation that’d overcome her earlier. They had to buy some more time if help was going to arrive. It’s not as if they were alone in this fight, their sister platoons were only a K or so in either direction to their flanks, but they were fixed just as well as they were, even if her platoon was taking the brunt. She entered the second floor landing and Lachenski rushed over.
“We got it! I can’t believe it fucking went through, we got it!” his mouth raced.
“What? Start making sense,” she responded. He jabbed a finger at his fires terminal where a time of flight countdown sped downwards.
“3rd, hold position and find cover, everyone else down. Friendly incoming,” she ordered. There was a faint whistling sound as the first barrage entered through the hole in the dome.
The rounds corrected their course in flight then burst, flinging dozens of parachute retarded twirling submunitions outwards. They descended with invisible lidar and millimeter-wave radar streams scanning the killzone for targets. They traded information, fuzing sensors, adjusting their trajectory as they descended, picking targets and swarming. Watching the show made her very grateful they weren’t on the receiving end as the munitions entered into their terminal attack phase. They fired in sequence twenty five meters above the ground and flinging explosively formed penetrators into the top armor of every Fed and Noachian vehicle in the killbox. There was a brilliant sequence of flashes through the darkness and a shower of sparks as the projectiles impacted to deadly effect.
She felt something akin to elation. Having been thrashed so thoroughly all night she couldn’t help but feel joy. Every emotion was cranked to eleven. Blood, more blood. More destruction, make them pay for every inch. Crippled Maddoxs and LIV-26s scrambled to exit the park as the next volley arrived and another cloud of BONUS munitions descended.
They scattered like startled animals, ramming through wreckage, plowing through mem-wire barriers and the remaining pockets of mines. A Maddox hi-centered itself on the wreckage of one of its comrades. Engine spooling at maximum drive, tracks flinging artificial soil as its position worsened. A LIV-26 wheeled around pointing its rear directly at them as it desperately tried to make a break for the road running over a feeling federal. An Ocelot poked from defilade and fired into its exposed rear, sabot ripping through the thin aft door. It continued on tumbling and exploding into fragments as it traveled through the crew compartment slicing and shredding anyone left inside as the remaining pieces continued on through the front mounted engine.
The second volley burst, hunting down escaping vehicles and finishing off lame ones as the infantry scrambled for cover. The park was alight with dull and stiffled oxygen-starved flames; flashes of venting gas and plasma gave short bursts of illumination through the darkness. Wrecks billowed smoke as propellant and chemical batteries reacted. The attack devolved into a disorganized route just as the second portion of the firemission began.
The third violet arrived, and the rounds flung out their cargo. Hundreds of hand-grenade sized submissions rained down slamming into the ground with a pop as the kicker charges fired then bouncing precisely 2 meters into the air for maximum effect. They detonated in a carpet of flashes which continued for another quarter of a minute as the stragglers joined the hail. The noise was deafening, a thunderous chaos of explosions decimating any unfortunate infantry caught out.
The Federals’ own artillery had only managed to fix and suppress them. It harried and harassed and wounded. The mighty guns of Tharsis had unleashed the full wrath of the King of Battle.
Tac Missiles, wings deployed and sensors at full power snapped through the hole. Scanning downwards for targets of opportunity as they zipped over the city at mach speed. The gloves were off.
Another volley of ICM landed. Killing and maiming more. Limbs were thrown, bodies mulched and mutilated as the spine of the attack was shattered. Some cowered and hid in shell craters while others ducked into buildings for shelter. They weren’t done, not yet.
“Lachenski, next mission. That building there, flatten it.” she pointed across the park to a dilapidated townhouse that Fed infantry was dashing into. Lachenski seemed to have returned from detachment and was more than happy to continue the slaughter. Hammering away on his fires terminal calling for a quick salvo of delay-detonating munitions which flew through the roof and exploded inside. The whole front of the building buckled outwards and it halfway collapsed.
The tension eased and this continued for some minutes. She merely pointed and Lachenski directed. It seemed so easy when they had the entire Regimental Combat Team’s artillery at their fingertips. Missiles and guided rockets continued to stream through the hole. They Curled above the city in lazy loops looking for targets and then dove when they found them far in the distance and well into the enemy’s rear. From her battletrak alone it was obvious that the momentum had swung like a pendulum. The entire line had switched from desperate defense into ferocious counter attack as more fire support arrived through the gaping hole above and chaos descended over the attacking force. It all seemed so simple now.
“To control the Initiative is to do more than simply press the Attack. We should always seek to control the time, place, and conditions of engagement, even on the Defense. Counter-punching is one of the most valued skill sets to master in striking. We apply the same methodology in our conduct of War. In the Defense, shaping the battlefield for future actions should be at the forefront of our mind, even in the most desperate of fights. Information is the currency of decision. When we control the Enemy’s perception, we influence his subsequent courses of action. We let him probe, feed him false tells, and gauge his reaction. Only when he has fully committed himself on a line of attack we have allowed him to believe may be successful, do we launch the devastating knock-out blow counter.” - Colonel-General Sergei Petrova, CADP-1 ‘Warfighting’ Ch. 4
No longer fixed by enemy artillery, Falchion company in its entirety along with CAAT-2, 3 and another supporting platoon of Jaguar tanks from 3/1 Lancers barreled past them only minutes after their last fire mission ended. They drove right through the intersection they’d spent the last days defending so doggedly, intent on harrying whatever forces had escaped to press the initiative. Golf company was in no condition to join the attack.
“Platoon, Status”
“1st Squad: Red, Red, Up. Rifleman Nelson KIA, Hohhenfelds shrapnel neck and head: urgent-surgical. Zambrani GSW lower torso: priority. Nicholson broken leg, compound fracture: priority. I took one in calf, but I’m alright for now. We’re nearly black on everything”
“2nd Squad: Red, Red, Down. Rifleman Ritter KIA. Sgt. Weiss uhhhh, compressed skull fracture, broken arm, some cracked ribs, shrapnel to both legs: urgent-surgical. Giacomo GSWs upper extremities, shrapnel to the face: priority. We’re basically black on everything too.”
“3rd, Yellow, Red, Up. Chuntiave shrapnel lower torso: urgent. Everyone else is peachy here, save for some minor shit. Maybe 30% on 6.7 just about black on everything else, our LMG is fucked, black on LAT’s”
“Pioneers, Red, Red, Up. Pioneer Hillcrest KIA, Greenfield, head trauma, broken arm: priority. Klein GSW and shrapnel lower extremities: priority. We’ve got a few grenades and some 6.7 left but all the charges are used up.”
“Weapons, Red, Red, Up. Rifleman Roshan KIA. Malcolm, shrapnel lower-torso urgent-surgical. Svertson, Shrapnel to the head and face, GSWs right arm and leg: urgent. Tybalt, concussion, shrapnel to the face: priority. Neubach, left hand amputated: Routine? I guess? ‘S far as equipment. Gun 1’s smashed, Gun 2’s on its last legs from that maybe thousand round rip of cyclic, receiver and bolt ain't lookin too good. Basically black on everything but MAAW smoke and 6.7”
“Red 1 Red, Red, Down. Gearbox and track took hits, we’ll need recovery. Black on AGMs, Cannon’s down, 10% on coax.”
“Red 2, Black, Red, Up. Our gun’s down as well. Can still drive but I think we lost a road wheel or two, left track’s making a fucking awful noise. We shot everything we had.”
“Red 3, Black, Yellow, Up. Optics are fucked up and we’re clean shot out of ammo but we’re good otherwise”
“Claymore 1?” she queried.
“Well, Wham!’s totaled, crew’s fine though. Whiskey Sour’s toothless. Wendigo has no optics and the powerplant took a hit; they're on batteries only and, uh, Whatcha-ma-call-it’s mostly ok. We’ve got maybe 3 rounds between all of us left.”
“Any casualties?”
“Nothing that ain’t routine.” Eichmann responded.
“Cutlass 2, 2-3 you alright? What about 2 November? Is Doc over there?” Kreiger asked.
She grit her teeth. Someone had to break the news.
“Hospitalman-Corporal Restrepo, KIA. Senior Sergeant Karoff compound fracture left leg: Priority.”
There was a long bout of silence over the net. Only the growingly distant sounds of gunfire and explosions were audible. Rybeck was the first to break the silence.
“What? What happened 2? You sure?”
“Affirm, I’m sure. I grabbed his killpatch myself.” There was another long bout of silence. “Consolidate all the casualties on the 1st floor and collapse the defense to Pavlov’s while we wait on CASEVAC. Frontline’s already sailed past us.” Acknowledgement chirps came in slowly while she switched to the company net.
“Cutlass 2, this is 6. Y’all still alive down there? Bond-chip vital-reporting’s not working.”
“We’re out of the fight. I’ve got 5 KIA, 11 liters and 2 walking-wounded in need of CASEVAC. Only 2 of my vics can move and we’re all red on ammo. Claymore 1’s not in much better shape. But not a fucking Fed or No-ak made it past,” she briefed while Rand handed her the comm umbilical and she synced all of their combat data.
“Good work. Saber’s sending shock-trauma and ambulances your way; just sit tight. 6, out.”
She sat down against the wall and then slid down to an awkward sitting position. She was spent. Completely and utterly exhausted. Devastated, battle-fatigued to the absolute limit. The sun began to rise. She fucking hated this city.
The only thing that would have brought her any relief was seeing it leveled. She unfastened her kit and slid it off and dumping her helmet onto the ground beside her.
Everyone else was much the same. There was still work to do but her squad-leaders had it under control. There was nothing for her to do but monitor the net and wait for relief. Everyone who was still alive right now was stable for the moment. They just needed to make it back to the Battalion Aid Station and they’d be fine.
She hoped, she hoped that at least. The killed, they wrapped up in their ponchos which quickly stained a dark red color. She had never had a problem stomaching gore but she could hardly look at them. She forced herself anyway. It was different seeing a face that had once spoken to her in laughing jeers turn into a gray lifeless void. Those that still had recognizable features at least.
Nearly half of the platoon was killed or wounded in some way now. From the outset she had intended to bring everyone home safe but the enemy had other plans. The severed wolf’s head had taken its bite. She barely even noticed when Krieger stopped by to yank some of the shrapnel out of her arm and bandage it. She was too tired, but the war moved on anyway. Half-an-hour later shock trauma finally arrived and collected all of the slain and wounded, Karoff included, despite his own protest. They didn’t have any means to treat a fracture that bad here, especially with Doc gone so she forced him to go anyway.
The deadlock had evaporated the moment the Cannon Corps was unleashed to ravage the dome. The front thawed instantly and their forces barreled through the enemies final defenses. By the afternoon, despite hard fighting their forces had surrounded the Presidential palace complex. A few Jaguar main-gun rounds through the front entrance quickly convinced them to surrender.
And like that, it was over. It was finally over. There was maybe some feeling of relief for the moment, having lived through the fabled ‘Longest Day’ of the Regimental Air. Maybe later they might even have the energy to celebrate. For now: rest. She was still curious though, were there horses on Mars?