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SIBERIA, 0500 April 14, 2041
Chrome, Armor, artillery, mud, wet, cold, bullets, walking; not alot different than the infantrymen of World War I. Then it was mud, wet, cold, bullets, artillery, and walking.
On contract with the Russian Republic, The Tenth Dragoons were at a state of war against the Peoples Republic of China (PROC), Arasaka, the Shogunate, the Yakuza and certain Arabic Fundamentalist groups with a bent towards hating Russians. The facts being broadcast on the BattleChannels and the news faxes was that the Russians had committed horrible attrocities against migrant Chinese workers in Siberian Boom-towns (and they had to a lesser extent than the Chinese made it out to be, it would later be found.) Along with their ravages against Mother Earth, (and all that Gaia lovin' crap) which outraged the Shogunate; these two factors gave China, with backing from the Japanese Military-Industrial Corporate Sector, all the reason it needed to send twenty-five divisions of PROC troops across the border into Mongolia and Siberian Russia. The Yakuza and the Arabic Fundy's were attributed with perpetrating many of the "Ravages against Mother Earth" by the Intel Branch as well as Russian Intelligence, so this ammounted to a perfect "Political War" orchestrated and executed by the little brown boys at Arasaka. And one more reason I hate those little bastards.
Arasaka Field Support Technicians (equivelants of Green Beret "advisors" or A-teams) were in the field with Chinese Troops, as well as the Arasaka Tactical Response Teams (Solo's), that had been in China and Arabia training them for the five months before the border crossing.
Meanwhile back at the ranch, Ares had been under contract with the Russians one month after a lone hacker had been in the Arasaka Hub at Kazakstan and had sold the movement schedules, payrolls, and the TOEs (Table of Orginization and Equipments) to Russian Intel the new KGB. Which, by the way, had been reinstated somewhere around 2012, to replace the NVD. Ares was hired to provide Covert Operatives to gather intelligence on the Chinese, the Yakuza, and the Arabic groups. Then when it was discovered that their intentions were to cross the border in early April, Ares Dragoon Units were infiltrated behind Chinese lines, Combat-Decker Teams were put in the cities, and A-Teams were sent to Siberia to bring the Russians up to speed and coordinate the operation. Since it is well know that Russian Generals are drunks that trade game play for graphics.
Now with the messy introduction complete, that brings us to the point at hand. Myself, Captain Clint "Sharkman" Slatton, and my marauding band of mischievous man-hunters had passed up Temporary Assigned Duty (Traveling Around Drunk as we liked to think of it as) in Hawaii for Siberia; God we must be insane. Which is precisely the accolade I planned to use against out enemies on our quest to victory, etc. etc.
Right then my quiet, early morning reverie in the shelter of my foxhole was interrupted by the POS beside me. "Hey Cap, tell me again why I joined the Dragoons."
"You fuckface non-coms don't join, you're grown in some tank from the waste at abortion clinics." I then gave Stevie Wonder my number one salute that meant he was still on my good side.
"Yeah same to you." Then came his Mad grin. "Did I ever tell you that no one six foot two should be in the infantry." He gave me the kind of grin you only find in the clinically insane, psychopaths, and my troops, "It takes me too damn long to dig our hole." True it did take him long, but at least I didn't dig it. Steevie was the Communications Sergeant, my chief runner, and fox hole buddy. In the platoons, you always had a swim buddy, they never left your side by much and you were always there for each other.
"Well, I tell ya what. How about you fill this hole in, warm up breakfast and I'll do nothing." He gave me the grin and the number one salute to go with it. Instead of doing nothing I checked my weapon, a fine Dynatronics carbine, and moved at a crouch to where the Boat Crew Master Sargeants were. Each got a brief order of the day, a briefing on the plan (which really hadn't changed since yesterday), and then a pat on the back for luck. Finished I made my way back to the headquarters section and had my drink of the high-protien vitiamin laden liquid rations flavored like chocolate coffee. Stevie just gave me that crazy grin.
I can see one of you punk asses in the back. Yeah, you there! WTF? You're asking what was the plan from yesterday. Well I was about the get to that you no-load geeky face, etc. etc.
Our plan, as laid out by Commander Fox ("The Old Man"), was for our little band of warriors (First platoon) to advance on the bunkers in the hills to our east. Those low, cold hills contained an underground tunnel network that held tactical weapons. Now don't let the name fool you, these tunnels are big enough to drive semi's through; and tactical means nuclear -- not black and velcro. I was with First Platoon because we didn't bring along the HQ Platoon. Now back to the story.
We were to provide suppressive fire if Second platoon got spotted, cover any retreat, and cut off any Chinese moving out. Second platoon, led by Nails Henry, would storm the tunnels after getting in position using speed, stealth, and surprise. Third platoon would cover the approaches from the road and Fourth platoon would be our reserve. The strategic mission objective as I had been told before we heloed out the day before yesterday was to deny these weapons to the Chinese, prevent contamination of the area if possible, then return with them to the pickup site. This should prevent any tactical nuclear weapon usage for the immeadiate future.
The Japanese had for some reason gotten the Chinese to store all of their forward nuclear weapons at one site since they crossed the border into Siberia. These tunnels used to be Russian, so we knew the layout, but it still made life dangerous. Not withstanding that Dragoons don't usually get togther in groups this big. With four full platoons there, eighty percent of the Kommando's strength. We left out the two Logistics platoons and the HQ Platoon, but all togther that was one hundred and fifty men (when you throw in the four extras - intel, decker liasion, and two air controllers.)
We're used to sneakin' and peakin' around in little teams of four to twelve, or as little as two. Here we were though in Kommand (Company) strength; and strung out to boot! Mr. Smartypants let me ask you this: do you know how long a single company, without vehicle support, supply lines, or a good supply cache can last on only what they're carrying on their back? I didn't think you'd know. So let me tell you. Thanks to the miracle of modern science it is just as long as in World War I. Rations are a little lighter, but water isn't; and that is what determines how long you last. Ammo too is a little lighter so we have the edge of doughboys there, but only by about 500 rounds. Each of us carry just over a grand and a half of ammo. But water is what gets you down, you can't dehydrate water...
So at best we could support ourselves for two days, unless we could refill our canteens in a river (which isn't too hard in this part of Siberia) and then engage in two or three major firefights. Pretty shitty from where I'm sitting, Milly. Shaking my head in the pale pre-dawn light, I switched to Nightvision and scanned the perimiter. The cool summer forest stretched for as far as the eye could see, we'd been training in parts of Montana and Wyoming for this mission; to get used to the cold and the altitude. Marching up and down hills with huge packs of rocks on our back we humped until our feet bled. It had prepared us well, and I had driven the men hard. Each threw his all into the training, knowing that when we were done in all too short a time we would be in the shit. True to form we were now in it, just four days after the Chinese offensive started. We were allocated to hit some PLO and ammo dumps, but this is much more high-value. Dammnit! There you in the back again, what is it? What is PLO? Petroleum, Lubrication and Oil. More important to modern mechanized armies than food or water. The only thing more important these days was the damn data communication systems.
Units thrive on intelligence; basically knowing where and how many of the enemy there are. (Still better is SALUTE; Size, Activity, Location, Unit, Type, and Equipment the enemy has but now I'm splitting hairs.) In the early part of the aught-years (aught-one, aught-two) the U.S. Army showed that modern units have weapons that are lethal enough, given suitable munitions supply, to render non-combat worthy any unit up too two scales larger than themselves. Squads could eliminate companies; platoons face down batallions; and regiments, corps (3-5 divisions). Shortly there-after some geeky math-head invented the neural environmental interface. Then another scrawny weakling with a Deck decided to screw things up and he (Screw: she, it had to be a man) did that computer vodoo on the military communication and data transmissions or terminals. Thus it was possible for a Squad to appear as a platoon on the enemy's monitors, terminals, and displays. It is possible to generate false range readings in ballistic computers, plunder or pirate communication codes and frequencies, edit satellite imagery, and jostle around records of supply, consumption and casualties. Basically they make a shit sandwich into a buffet.
From there it is just a matter of time before the enemy gets their own Deckers and mess with your shit. Of course no one would consider going back to the old way where you didn't need computers. I am such a genius, I bet no one thought of that! Thus, we had a Decker Boat Crew with us in cyberspace. They protected our data feeds, communication channels and made sure we didn't disappear off of Ares rosters. Granted we weren't tied into them all the time, signals security does still exits. Without a hard land line (and we weren't going to hump in all the extension cable to plug into a Meganet hub) we could only communicate with radio or microwave. Thus when we sent burst transmissions of requests for intel, they made sure it got from us, to the satellite, through the comm nets and back out to us all in one big binary piece. Grand wouldn't you say?
Interrupting my philosophizing, Sergeant Wonder waltzed up to me with a steaming cup of the coffee protien goo we called rations and pressed it into my hand as he dropped down to sit by last nights hole. Both our legs dangled in the hold. "Here ya go, Sir."
"Thanks Wonder," I said sipping down the coffee and savoring it as it scalded my lips and tounge. No telling when we'll get a hot meal after this. "Better round up the section and get word to the Crews we're moving out at 0600 hours."
"Will do Cap," he said and hopped up and sauntered off to the troops. I looked around, which I am wont to do when in the out of doors, and took in all that was around me. We were all outfitted in black-nomex/monocrys lined sneak suits. These had IR camoflage and kept us warm, dry and healthy as well as any piece of clothing can. Over that each man wore their survival gear. Usually just a small butt pack with belt strap, to hold all they needed to Survive, Evade, Resist, and Escape. Over this they would wear their camo overs; white or woodland camoflage pattern pants that were light like jogging pants. They also allowed insulation to stuffed in them for the really cold Siberia nights. On top of whichever camo sleve they were wearing for the day, each Dragoon wore about 60# of individual gear. This was the mission gear. Dropping it was only a good idea if you were wounded, trapped, cut-off, or on the run from capture; it surely meant the mission had failed and all you had left was your SERE equipment. It included Combat Drugs, Stimulants, NBC gear, helmet, armor, communications, ammo, explosives, navigation aids, weapons, knives, rations, medical gear, extra ammo for the boat crew weapons, extra ammo for the platoon weapons, a disposable anti-tank missile, either an extra missile for the anti-tank crew (or the anti-air crew), a rock and a pointy stick.
All this was considered travelling light because they weren't carrying any camping gear (they slept in their clothes), any bivouac gear (they weren't going to bivouac), and no mortars or mines (no infantry engagements or tanks). Were they to be going "heavy" their load would pass 100#. Were this a behind the lines LRRP or interdiction (which would mean more water, ammo, and explosives), their loads could pass 150#.
But right now each man or woman was alone with their thoughts about the coming day. Surely some would live, and some would die. Admittedly all the planning, training, surprise (espically relative surprise), and shock value would lower the casualties on our side. But still some would die. I, like every other person, knew some would die and considered any death too many, but for every one that died more would live. So we all went about adjusting their packs to move out, and patting their swim buddy down to make sure nothing was left behind. If your buddy lost his NBC hood, and the platoon got hit by a chemical attack, no matter how much you wanted too you couldn't share yours with them.
By just after 0600 everyone was assembled, in dispersed Flying V formation and the scouts were deployed. Things looked good so I put my hand over my head and signaled 'move out.' I pointed a bearing to the pointwoman, and finally signaled 'radio silence' and everyone shut off their implant communicators.
Four hours later, after marching up and down the hills of Siberia the Platoon was holding togther well. They'd taken a path that crossed contour lines, which minimizes possible contact with Indigs or the enemy because human nature is to follow the contouts (that makes for much easier hiking.) The sun was just breaking through the clouds as they broke from their five minute noon break. I love professionals. Looking back at the crew around him, Stevie was just off and behind me to the right, GYROC in hand. While Peetie, the skinny Redneck-opolis marksman and radioman, was off and behind me to the right. The whole HQ section of the platoon held formation pretty good. Everyone scanned their zones. No one said a word, there was no smoking, ass-grabbery, or a loose piece of gear to give them away.
Isaac, the Russian Army Liasion kept pace pretty well. Rumor had it he was with the Spetznas in Antarctica in 2037, so shouldering the twelve pound sniper rifle and the Ortillery radio wasn't breaking him down too fast. Behind him was Dale, the Bostoner who was the Air Liasion with the Dragoons. He always said that "Air power wins wars," and hopefully the two flights of A-10 Thunderbolts he had way north of us (but still available in half an hour) were feeling winning today.
Just four more hours march until we get to the staging point, then there is nothing between us and our objective except a few sentries. Each platoon had sent a runner to confirm with me they should head to their objectives. Each runner got the best Of-course-but-I'm-busy-now-stare I could give him, then they ran off quickly putting their cybernetic legs to work.
1500.
Each platoon was in position at this time. I'd just checked my watch after hunkering down in some bushes on the back of a small hill. Stevie, Issac, Petie, and Dale were all near-by and things seemed pretty quiet. I placed a 25% watch and let everyone rest up for tonight. H-hour was 2300, so we would be fully rested when 0-hour came at 0300 tomorrow morning. That would make us fresh and ready to go, and hopefully leave them feeling not-so-fresh.
I took a cat nap, as did Issac, while the others kept watch. Sleep came hard as usual, and even once I was in its grasp, it was always fitful. Waking up as somebody moved around, birds came too close, or the nearby crunching of gravel meant I never slept very well. But eight hours later I felt about as good as possible given that I was sleeping in clothes and armor.
2300.
I awoke. It was dark. Where were my weapon and clothes? My clothes were on and my weapon had been my headrest. I had heard a wise man say, sleep where you can find your weapon and clothes in the dark. Thus I had.
But that aside, I had work to do. Destroy my enemies, etc. etc. I got up to a low crawl and looked around with Nightvision and Thermal. Couldn't see much of the troops. Good. Neither should the enemy. With the technology fooled, I went back to the Mk. 1 Eyeball. I switched to normal vision and let my eyes adjust. I used my other senses, sound and smell. No real smell, which was good, and only faint sounds. Everybody was observing their disciplines good.
I looked over at a lump on the ground and resisted to urge to kick Stevie. "Stevie, get me the Boat Crew Sergeants for a final meeting."
"Ugh, screw you Dick." Stevie grumbled alot, but from him that meant 'Yes, sir.'
Hade, Uuper, and Mic; the Master Sergeants were all gathered around as I gave last minute instructions before we moved off. They amounted to me giving extra warnings and threats of how bad I would kill people if they screwed up. Then I finished off with the 'I trust you men to do like we trained,' bit. But everyone seemed to think I was a leader so they did like I said and we moved out twenty minutes later at 2330 hours.
The deployment was clean. We humped the last three miles to the ambush zone (as I thought of it -- just a static ambush) undetected as far as I could tell, in just under two hours. That left us sitting on our thumbs for a good hour and a half before the show started.
At exactly 0300 GMT, April 15, 2041, out little bit of Siberia erupted into bedlam. Second Platoon had infiltrated right up to the wire outside the tunnels and the few buildings that were above them. Their positions avoided the sentry routes, and when they stood up in their Ghille suits the last thing those Chinese thought was that the 'Men with Green Faces' had come for them. Having put the sentries down with vibroknives or gauss needlers, whip-men used monowire whips to cut huge eight foot circles in the ten foot fences. This was a lot cleaner and neater than tactics the previous century; like using a gas powered circular saw with an abrasive wheel...
More little green bushes stood up and poured through the holes in the fence and headed directly towards the tunnel entrance. The closest team, Boat Alpha, had to get inside with as many men as possible before the tunnel door was shut. Blasting through that door would require more demolitions than we carried as a whole. Whoever made it through would be encouraged to kill the door crew, take control of the operating mechanisms, and open the door as soon as possible by the fact they were cut off from the rest of us. Not a perfect plan, but one that is known to work. The five men and three women of Boat Alpha were ten yards from the door as it started its slow closure. All eight made it through whilst pouring massive amounts of lead down the tunnel. Four persons, two facing in and two facing out, took up positions on either side of the door and blasted away at all targets in sight. The other four climbed the stairs to the control room. Boat Bravo from Second Platoon was heading down the other tunnel into the heart of the compound, in much the same manner. Lots of bullets.
Outside we saw the doors start to open and knew they had succeeded. The other boat crew now reached the door, and split to reinforce both doors. At this point I ordered the platoon to open fire. Our first volley of fire was directed at the buildings. I didn't know who was in them, but wanted to surprises. Then took the HQ section and the Boat Alpha up to the buildings to make sure they were clean. Second Platoon was in a holding pattern around the door. Boat Charlie was preparing to head down to reinforce the Alpha and Bravo Boats, I'd just given the order to do such when the blast wave hit us.
Explosions are a funny thing. When they're close to you they happen at such a speed that the human mind doesn't comprehend them. The rapidly expanding pressure wave, know as a concussion wave, moved at roughly the speed of sound. So no one had a chance to react. It lifted up men and tore them apart. A few of us nearer the buildings were alternatly helped and hurt by them. One man, Dix, was found with a cinderblock wound to the head. Others, like myself were shielded from the blast and lived to tell a tale. The men and women of Second Platoons Alpha and Charlie Boat, likely didn't feel anything as we found no survivors that were anywhere near the tunnel doors.
Then everyone noticed their Rad-meter going off. Shit! They detonated the fragin' nucs. NBC hoods and masks went on as everyone zipped up and took their Anti-rad pills. "What the hell!?!", "What was that?", "Where's the fire coming from?", "Get down! Ortillery!" and similar messages got called around the tac net for a about ten seconds before I put a lid on it. "Crews Report!"
"Alpha First, Ok." "Bravo First, Ok." "Charlie First, two wounded, one lost." There was no response from Second Platoon.
And so on, all the way up to me saying "HQ Second." That blast had reduced us by 15% and I wasn't happy about it. "Bravo Second. Secure Tactical Weapons, prepare to blast the tunnel, and then be ready to move out."
"Roger that, sir." Nails Henry said with as much of a quiver in his voice as Dragoons get.
0400.
What happened down in the first tunnel? I thought to myself. We never really found out or even recovered the bodies. After Nails blasted the second tunnel closed, all four platoons split up a little and began to move on our secondary objectives. First Platoon was preparing for interdiction of a Main Supply Route; Second was going to demolish a large bridge, Third was off to destroy a depot, and Fourth was preparing terror raids on Rear Eschlon C3I. Your average run of the mill mayhem and madness.
HQ section was going with the First Platoon towards the Main Supply Route. We had a five mile march across and over some hilly terrain to get to our secondary objective. The five miles took a good solid four hours which included a stop at a supply cache for more ammo and explosives. But the one thing that was essential to get at the cache were the cyber-masks. Micro-machines were inserted into bioplastic masks which acted as a pull on Elastic Face. So each of us got one of those, along with some Red Chinese uniforms, and we were on our merry way.
0800.
It was a crisp cool morning, one of those that makes you wish you weren't in a war. Ok, it was nice, but not that nice. I appologize for exagerating, you're right, it was cold, wet, and dirty. After three nights of sleeping in a dirt hole and living on the ground, you get dirty. Nowhere to wash your hands, face, or body and it shows. We were filthy. But the sight before me brough a light happy feeling to my heart. Ok, ok. I appologize for exagerating again. I was trying to get the luvvy-duvvy readers with that last one. It gave me a feeling akin to having my blood boil and made me want to break things.
I looked into the tree growth below and between the huge pines and spruces there was a dirt road with a eight truck convoy moving down it.
"Hey Cap," Stevie said over the commnet, "The RadScanner is going off. I think they got nucs in them thar trucks." He smiled that insane fuckin grin, like he was actually glad to be around nuclear weapons again.
"Great. Let's move down into ambush positions. We've got to catch it." It would be long gone by the time we covered the last half mile to the road, but I had a feeling there would be another convoy along that didn't really need to get where it was headed. Plus, calling in for Helos, Aerodynes, or WIG's just wouldn't work right now. We were too far behind enemy lines.
The platoon headed down by squads in good order and with a minimum of noise until we were in a good spot. First Crew was on the roadside ready to stop the trucks. Second was behind them as a reserve and to guard the flanks. Third was down the road on the opposite side to act as a blocking force and cut off any retreat.
I didn't have long to wait. In thirty minutes a group of twelve trucks came rolling our way. I pulled on my mask, adjusted my Chinese uniform, and stepped out behind Peetie, who had ChineseLanguageChip3.0 slotted. We waved our arms and rifles and the driver began to slow for a second. It was enough.
Specialist Dave Dikes was in the brush with a UR-88 Shoulder Launched Disposable Missile. The backblast was caught in the diagphram and a countermass of plastic was ejected out the back with minimum velocity. But the missile coming out the business end flew true and slammed into the front axle and engine. Detonating in a fireball and bringing the truck to a stop. Peetie had the undesirable job of shouting over the gunfire for the trucks to surrender. Other Dragoons that knew Chinese did likewise and before even twenty Chinese had been shot the rest were surrendering.
The next step was to bind all of them in the back of another truck and administer doses of Credline. That removed their memories for the last 24 hours and gave us a small safety cushion. That left us with ten trucks for our nefarious purposes. They were loaded with rations and medical goods, all of which we unloaded and boody trapped after taking what we might need. It was set to burn 24 hours later if nothing else, and the surrounding area was also mined to discourage their approach. This too gave us a small safety cushion.
I then mounted the lead vehicle and with Isaac at the wheel we headed off. We'd converted from a supply convoy to a replacements convoy. Hopefully this would get us through roadblocks, otherwise we'd have to rely on firepower. Which do you think I preferred?
The convoy up ahead had a good thirty minute start on us, and it could take us over a day to catch them at cross country speeds. I found myself falling asleep in the heat of the cabin. Not good. I leaned out the window and got a few branches in the face along with the fresh air. Stevie just grinned that crazy grin and chuckled. Ass.
After a six hour drive we'd followed the convoy to where it was headed. Unfortunately it had arrived and was behind a defensive perimiter. It was a stockpile area, with bunkers and fences. The trees had not been thinned much, except to allow launches. There was also a tank ditch surrounding the fenced in area. The seven bunker were double level bunkers, with cannons and machineguns reinforced by feet of dirt, sandbags, and lumber. If you will allow me a small digression, those were three things that technology could not effectively or efficiently replace. We were in trouble unless I came up with a brilliant plan.
Yup, I had one. Since these were Japanese Imperial Army forces, we'd just walk up and say hi. We'd do it as the Chinese, but still, that would get us to the gate. Then we'd drive in after fast-taling or shooting the guard, (are you impressed I put shooting second?), and have our way with the bunkers holding the nuclear weapons. There was one thing on my mind though, were the Japs planning a missile strike or were they just stockpiling? I guess it didn't matter, I got to fuck em up either way.
You in back, what is amatter with you? Got ants in your pants?? I guess so. Ask away. Why don't I tell you my plan. Easy, cuz I'm telling the story, and building mood. Now clip your string chatty cathy.
My plan was this: sneak in and break everything. I'd call in those flights of A-10's that Issac had on standby, and a platoon or five from the 18th Dragoons (Airmobile). Easy right? Ha ha. If it were only so. Coordination would be a must, as would the element of surprise.
But those little things were just details to be worked out over a cup of hot ration paste with the Squad Leaders. We did that for the remainder of the morning, while we waited for other resources to be put in place. The A-10's had flight time, and the 18th had to mount up. So we cleaned our weapons, packed and stashed our heavy packs, and just brought along combat packs. Those held extra ammo, extra ammo for crew and platoon weapons, a few more grenades, and demolitions. Just stuff that would get used up. We would use it freely and liberaly because that would lighten our loads. We would be ready to move around 1400.
1430.
Right on schedule we were moving in the trucks out of our little bivouac area and heading down the road. Same as before, Issac was at the wheel and Stevie was between us. Twelve men were in the back of each of the four trucks. We all had our chinese suits on. We drove up with our combat packs at our feet, and our carbines across our lap. I stared at the bunker beside the gate in the fence we were headed for. I kept calculating the odds of us getting out of its line of fire if it opened up at us. I kept coming back at 0%. Which isn't good. Eventually though we got up beside it and two Dragoons under the drivetrain (Master Sargeant Hade and Crp. Links) dropped to the ground, grabbed a sachel charge and SMG and rolled out towards the bunker. They stuck to the side like magnets and crept around towards the front. Issac chattered to the Chinc inside the bunker and miraculously he let us in with a wave after the chattering ended. We started to roll towards the inner line of fences. The only thing between us and victory was the seventh bunker. Inside of that were the weapons bunkers. I could taste victory.
Unfortunately the Chinese could smell Hade or Links. There was some shouting, then I heard the report of a Dynatronics SMG. The kind like Links carried. Then Issac gunned the engine and we were headed directly for the tank ditch just inside the second fence. Issac swerved as the Chinese gunners in the bunker opened up with the machinegun.
Now would be a good time (or a few lines ago would have been a better time) to explain the layout of the base. Ok, so here goes. The six bunkers were layed out in a vaguely hexagonal shape, with roughly two hundred yards between them. In the center were four long, mostly underground bunkers with the nuclear weapons in them. These were surrounded by an earthen berm, and at the mouth of the berm was the seventh bunker. The second level of that bunker could keep people off the berm, as well as controlling the road up to the mouth of the opening in the berm. That was the road we were driving up. The berm had a anti-tank ditch surrounding it, and a high chain link fence. The fence and the ditch extended some one hundred feet out infront of the bunker below the mouth of the berm.
The ditch just mentioned was the one we were heading for and the gunners sent streams of lead over our head. They must have had the guns sighted for a longer range. Perhaps to support the other bunkers with targets outside the first fence. Which we were well inside now. But anyhow, I wasn't looking a gift horse in the mouth. The truck slammed into the ditch nose first and it sent everyone flying forward. I slammed my head on the dash as I grabbed my pack and rolled out the door, carbine in hand. The machine gun zeroed in and sent a long burst through the canopy of the truck. I heard a body hit the deck as Dragoons were pouring out the sides. I jumped in the trench and Stevie landed on me. "Are we having fun yet?!?" he shouted. I gasped for breath. He knocked the wind out of me. Ass.
I quickly got to my feet and looked at the situation. We were the first truck, we were stuck in a ditch, we were three men short (Hade, Links, and Zealot the one shot in the back of the truck.) The second truck emptied out and then was promptly pinned down behind the truck and then a rise in the road. They were hiding behind twelve inches of rise, that the machinegun couldn't engage because of the defilade. The third and fourth trucks were behind the bunker Hade and Links had taken over, but were being engaged by the other bunkers. If something didn't get done fast we'd all be dead in a minute. We'd lost tactical surprise and this would now be a costly mission. Victory had come and gone in two minutes.
I looked at Stevie, Peetie, Issac, Sydney, Mic, and Dale were in the trench. They all looked grim yet determined. They must not have come the conclusion I did yet. We all pulled off our chinese masks and uniform jackets. I shouted to Dale, "Get them A-10's in here and win the war!!" He pointed at the truck and made the signal for radio. Shit. He'd left it in the truck to avoid the machine gun. "What the hell kind of radioman leaves his radio?!?"
"The living kind." He smiled, "I'll get it if I can get some cover fire!!"
"Roger! Covering fire!!" I shouted to the men and then everyone was up on the line with guns blazing. Dale got up and ran to the truck cab. He was about ten steps out when the machine gun caught him and stitched a line across his body. He gave a loud grunt and collapsed into the trench. Sydney the Platoon Surgeon got to him in time I think. Sid gave me the thumbs up. Then it hit me. There were eight of us and he had to reload. "Ok. Everyone up and follow me. One at a time." I slipped out of my heavy vest and gear, everyone did likewise. I was down to my SERE gear in a second. Totally unencumbered now, I was faster. I grabbed two grenades, hot smoke, and got ready to toss them. "Grenades." I lobbed mine up towards the bunker. The odds of one rolling in was slim, but we had to try.
As I heard the crumps I climbed up the dirt wall and cut across the bunkers front at 45 degrees. I had crossed ten yards and was cutting back. No shooting from me, but I heard the others shooting. I heard Stevie's GRYOC launching off rockets, but I never heard the machinegun fire. It knocked me clean off my feet, and I started to feel the hot slick sensation on my chest.
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Back in the trench the Dragoons watched their Commander go down. Peetie was up on his feet in a burst of speed and repeated the jinking maneuver. He only made it twenty feet before the machingun opened him up, twisted him around and sent him to the ground hard. The HQ section kept firing, and even troops from the second truck started to drop 40mm grenade rounds onto the bunker and the machine gun facing this direction. One anti-tank missile streaked out and slammed into the upper deck, dousing it in flame. Msgt. Mic took that as a sign to run. He got forty feet in the time it took the machine gun to track back to him from the second truck. He too went down to the cold Siberian ground.
Stevie Wonder had seen enough, he grabbed his belt fed GYROC and hopped up out of the trench and kicked in his Cybernetic legs. He'd crossed fifty feet before the gunners even spotted him. These Chinese gunners were scared. Scared by the caliber of solider that would run into certain death for no reason at all. But that they did not understand the reason did not mean there was no reason. In gunning down the four Ares Dragoons that had crawled out of the Anti-tank trench they had lost track of their ammo and now were out. In the five seconds it takes a reasonably good crew to reload a machine gun, Steve Micheal "Wonder" Kreuger of Coon Rapids Minnesota had finished closing the distance to the firing slit. He jammed the barrel of his GYROC into the breach and fired on full auto. Following his lead all the Dragoons came up off the ground and out of the ditchs. "Wonder" climbed into the second floor bunker and poured covering fire onto the Chinese trying to protect the bunkers and the Dragoons surged up around the center bunker. In ten minutes they would have control of the camp and the A-10's would have systematically destroyed the other five bunkers. About then the 18th Dragoons began descending out of their Helos. After the cleanup teams came in to sweep out the bunkers they couldn't find a piece of a Chinese Soldier in that bunker big enough to make a chicken nugget out of.
For valor on the line above and beyond the call of duty and in the finest traditions of the Ares Dragoons, Steve M. Kreuger was awarded the Medal of Honor by the CIC of the Dragoons and permenantly transfered to garrison duty at training stations around the world. He opped out, and reinlisted to see service again.
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As I lay on my back, I watched the big black shape of the Ares Ute troop transport hovering above. Dragoons in Combat Infantry Dress poured out to secure the base. I felt Sydney at my side. Things started to wash out in the early morning light. The sky seemed to overtake the rest of the color around and my vision faded. I felt the hot wetness in my shoulder and abdomen creep over the rest of my torso in a downward motion. Somewhere off in the distance the vacuum cleaner whine of the Turbines on the A-10's meant support was on the way and when the Chainsaw sound of it's 30mm Avenger cannon opened up it meant the support was there.
The last thought I recall before waking up in a bed aboard the Medical ship was that I'd really destroyed alot of stuff in the few days I was there. Little ole' me had busted up millions or billions of dollars of stuff and I was perhaps worth twenty-thrity thousand dollars. Talk about cost effective.
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