Free Company- Red Zone

by D K Williamson

  “We do,” Holden replied. “As fast as we can.”

  “Driver, you heard the man,” Lodge said. “Eyes on the far side, gents. Let’s not get caught idle if our opponent’s big stuff shows.”

  Rat-2 lurched as the driver put both tracks in motion, the three war-wagons carrying Senior Sergeant Franklin’s platoon following.

  . . .

  “We must leave,” the local medic said pointing at the ambulance parked next to the Red Light’s medical track. Another medic helped a trooper in vehicle crew coveralls with bandaged hands climb aboard. “There are seriously wounded people aboard and there is no cease fire. We are vulnerable here.”

  “I know,” Briggs replied. “Go. I said I’m staying.”

  “Jimbo, you can’t stay,” Brennan pleaded. “You can’t walk on that leg let alone fight. C’mon, we’ve lost two of us already.”

  “Lee, I’m staying.” Briggs returned his attention to the medic. “Get outta here.”

  Despite the wound, the big trooper was still intimidating, prompting the medic to give up. Shaking his head, he walked toward the ambulance.

  “I understand why you want to stay,” Brennan said. “I know it’s for Fran and ‘Lino, but what are you gonna do, hop on one leg?”

  “If I must, yeah. I’ll crawl if I have to. It’s not just for those two either.” Pointing at the Red Light’s med track he said, “I’ll see if our company doc can do something.”

  “He’s working on somebody already,” Brennan said as the local medicos closed the rear doors and climbed in the cab of their ambulance.

  “I’ll wait my turn then,” Briggs replied. “I’m staying.”

  Grimacing at the sight of Sergeant Hooton walking toward them, Brennan grumbled and said, “Okay, pal, but Hooton’s coming. He’s not going to be such an easy sell as me.”

  . . .

  Sergeant Ron Fell opened the hatch and waved the other two vehicles past on their way to the east bridge. Punching the com switch he broadcast, “I’ll catch up. I need a gunner.”

  Seeing Sergeant Hooton and his squad nearby as the ambulance carrying Bev and others rolled away, Fell climbed from his track and ran toward them.

  Nearing the gathering, he could hear the sergeant exchanging heated words with a pair of young soldiers.

  “—told him he had to go, Sarge,” Brennan said. “Was I supposed to pick him up and throw his large self into the meat wagon?”

  The trooper sitting on the ground said, “Sergeant, I don’t want this to be how my first stint ends. I—”

  “Sergeant Hooton,” Fell cut in, “can you spare a trooper to fill a vital need for a bit? Bev got scorched and is headed for the doc’s. It’s bad form to use one of the troopers I’m transporting. I know your squad took a shot, but we gotta roll and I need a gunner… like two minutes ago.”

  Hooton looked at Fell with anger and weariness. Glancing at the two departing tracks he said, “What about your co-driver?”

  “Don’t have one and we’re rolling in—”

  “Sergeant Fell! Let’s go,” the squad leader yelled from the open ramp of Fell’s track.

  Seeing an opportunity to be of use, Briggs spoke up. “I have gunner training,” he said as Fell scowled and waved the squad leader back into the troop bay. “Pretty good at it. It’s why I was made a gunner. I can still shoot, Sergeant Hooton.”

  “C’mon, Hoot,” Fell said looking at Briggs. “Help a poor track chief out.”

  Hooton snarled and knelt next to Briggs. “You’re up to it?”

  “I am. Can’t march, but I wouldn’t mind the chance to send a few rounds at those Keen Steel bastards.”

  “Go,” Hooton said with a nod. “Leave your weapon. I’ll clear it with Forrester.”

  “Thanks, Hoot,” Fell said as he and Brennan helped Briggs to his feet. “Let’s move, big guy.”

  Brennan patted his friend on the shoulder and bade him good fortune.

  Fell grasped the stout private around the ribcage while Briggs put an arm over the track chief’s shoulders.

  “You’ve fired eleven millimeter heavy machine guns?” Fell asked as they began the short journey to the track stenciled as 96, the word NASTY placed above it.

  Seeing a grey scar marking where the track had been hit by a missile, Briggs snarled in remembrance of his experience in Track-82 before saying, “The infantry version, yes. From tripod and pintle mount.”

  “That’s fine. Our track guns are turret mounted as you know. They have a projected sight on armor glass instead of iron sights. The turret is manually rotated and can be retarded or locked if needed. Like the infantry model, our guns are equipped with spade-grips and thumb trigger.”

  Reaching the track, Sergeant Fell quickly scaled the right side footholds of loops and cutouts leading over the track covers. Reaching over to the hatch cover, he swung it open.

  “This is the co-driver position,” he said as he stepped down. “It’s an easier launch pad for getting into the turret.”

  Briggs found he could scale the footholds without Fell’s aid and by the time the sergeant rounded the front of the vehicle and looked in the hatch on the left side, Briggs was already settling into the gunner’s position, his helmet left on the co-driver’s seat.

  “Are you strapped in?” Fell said over the intercom once he was situated.

  “Not yet, sergeant. I just got the headset on and the seat lowered.”

  “Good, don’t bother. All the belt does is slow you down if we need to un-ass this thing. I assume Beverly left the weapon charged, but you best make sure.”

  “I assume she was the previous occupant up here? That explains the seat height. The gun’s charged and safetied. Sights are on.”

  “A low maintenance greener,” Fell said with a chuckle. Keying the troop bay intercom he said, “Hang on back there, we need to do a little catching up so the ride may be a bit of a rodeo. Clear the hatch, ramp’s coming up.”

  Executing a turn by powering the right track forward while reversing the left, Nasty 96 quickly rotated 90 degrees and was soon on the road in pursuit of the other vehicles.

  “Rat-One, this is Track Niner-Six,” Fell sent over the radio.

  “Niner-Six, send it,” came the voice of Sergeant Davy Cash, Rat-1’s chief.

  “We’re rolling and will join with you soon enough.”

  “Roger. Heard about Bev. How is she?”

  “A little fried and out of the game, but she’ll be okay.”

  “Good to hear. We’re about to make the turn onto the dirt road leading to the bridge. Give us a heads-up when you’re close.”

  “Roger, Rat. Nasty Niner-Six, out.”

  . . .

  Sergeant Hooton found Senior Sergeant Forrester speaking into a handset. Seeing him approach, the platoon leader waved Hoot over.

  Setting the handset aside, Forrester gestured at a folding field stool. “Sit.”

  Hooton did and let out a loud breath. “I lost most of my kids, Dan,” he said, his voice cracking. “I kept’em together and half of them are dead. Hell, they never had a chance to….”

  “I know, Hoot. I’m party to that as well, but their deaths are Keen Steel’s doing. I’m pulling Bastrop and a couple others from Third Squad to bring yours up to strength and I’ll fill in with troopers from replacement pool. You’ll have another track soon enough. You’re the best squad leader in the platoon. I need your squad at full strength and your head in the game.”

  “It is. This isn’t the first or last time it’ll happen, but someone needs to mourn them. You know as well as I do they were people and not just greeners. They were mine so I’ll do it.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “One other thing, Dan. Private Briggs refused evac. He has a wounded leg and the track chief on Niner-Six lost his gunner to burns and needs a tempo—”

  “Ron Fell’s track. I’ll note it. Briggs isn’t a quitter it seems. Is his wound minor enough that he can function in that capacity?”

  “
It is, at least for now. I already okayed it since Sergeant Fell needed a gunner pronto. Briggs can’t run or march, but he can still shoot.”

  “You know him better than I do, is Briggs a motivated young trooper or on a revenge burn?”

  “Maybe a bit of both. He’s a good kid and wants to do his part. He’ll be a solid trooper if he can stay alive.”

  “Okay. Let him fill in for awhile. If his leg worsens we order him to the medicos. How’s Brennan handling the situation?”

  “He hurts, I’ll guarantee that but he’ll be fine. I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  . . .

  “I am fully aware of the firepower Keen Steel possesses,” Hawkwood said into the handset. “That firepower means little if you cannot bring it to bear. We will control the bridges and unless you can cross, you cannot achieve victory.”

  Hawkwood had convinced Commander Gifford to negotiate, sure her troopers were going as hard as they might for the bridges while the Red Light was slowed by the vertibird attack. Just as she sought to divert Hawkwood from running his unit, he was doing the same to her.

  “And what if we gain control of the crossings?” Gifford asked. “Would that satisfy you? You don’t have that much negotiating room.”

  “Our routes to the bridges are more easily traversed that yours,” Hawkwood countered. “Unless you have troopers closing while we speak.”

  “Of course we do. Just as you have a force at the center bridge already. A few more Keen Steel vehicles down as you well know. A vertibird and now some scout vehicles. Advantage yours, but how will your thin-skinned personnel carriers fare when battle tanks show up? The scant space you have to negotiate in is dwindling, Jack.”

  “Commander,” Corporal Yonke said. “I’ve sliced into some of their coms. Their heavy armor is fifteen to twenty minutes out from the center bridge. They’ve had some delays. There was a mechanical problem on one of their lead vehicles and their heavy tanks made a mess of the roads. Being behind schedule, they have since become concerned we may have anti-tank troops on their side of the river and are proceeding cautiously.”

  Hawkwood’s eyebrows arched. “How did you manage… never mind. Good work, Yonke.”

  The knowledge Yonke provided put extra cards in Jack’s hand and he knew it. Holden had recommended her and Hawkwood was happy he had listened. Smiling, he keyed his handset. “Maybe we have more room than you think. It’s possible your journey to the bridges might suffer delay as ours did,” he said playing on Keen Steel’s concerns. “Those dark woods can hide many things and we both have a few surprises I would imagine.”

  “Likely we do. Let us see how this plays out and we can resume this.”

  Hawkwood smiled as an idea came to mind. “I’ll be here,” he replied.

  Switching comsets, he called Holden.

  “Here, sir,” the top sergeant said.

  “How long until you’re ready to blow the bridge?”

  “Stand by, I’ll patch Posey in.”

  “Posey here,” came over the com shortly after.

  “Captain, I have Commander Hawkwood on the horn. How long ‘til we blow this thing?”

  “All charges are set, all wiring run,” Posey replied. “We are placing detonators as I speak. Connect the wiring to the detonators and we’re set. Call it four or five minutes.”

  “Posey, how are you at illusion?” Hawkwood asked.

  “I can make the bridge disappear if provided enough explosives, commander.”

  “I have another trick in mind. I need you to make the center bridge impassable but reparable and make it look like we futzed the demo job.”

  Posey’s response was slow in coming. “Futzed, sir? I’m not sure… a ruse? I think I see where we’re headed.”

  “I don’t,” Holden said. “You know what you’re doing, Jack?”

  “I do. We planned on bleeding Keen Steel of infantry. If we can get them to commit to crossing at your location….”

  "Get them to commit to crossing at the center span… hmm, risky but doable,” Holden replied realizing Hawkwood’s idea. “As long as we make our efforts look like we’re trying to keep them from repairing the bridge it’ll fly. We’ll have to deal with heavy armor they’ll bring up to support the bridge work, but if we play it smart it’s achievable. They’ll get infantry across eventually. If we tangle with them in the woods it’ll be a straight infantry fight and I’d put my money on us in such an encounter. If Carmag and Savon do their part.... You want to bleed them of infantry, that will do it.”

  “If we can pull it off,” Hawkwood said.

  “I’d suggest we leave the placed charges, detonators, and wires unattached save for the portion we bring down, sir,” Posey said. “If we wait until our opponents come within sight and run for vehicles, it would look like we left it incomplete in order to escape.”

  The commander’s mouth arched with a predator’s smile at Posey’s suggestion. “That’s it. How long? We don’t have much time.”

  “A few minutes, sir. If you want their engineers or demolitions people to buy it, we’ll need to keep personnel on the bridge until Keen Steel shows. They’ll see our work when they begin crawling around and figure we ran out of time.”

  “We can sell it,” Holden said. “Their plan plays into ours. I need troopers in the trees overlooking the crossing before Keen Steel gets here: snipers, mortars, and machine gun teams to start. We’ll need infantry and more support soon after.”

  “I’ll have it rolling ASAP,” Hawkwood said. “Proceed, Captain Posey. Terry, what’s the terrain like near the river?”

  “Most of the ground near the bridge has trees relatively near, but with very little thicket like it is up the ridge. A lot of tall grass in the open areas. The ground has rolls and folds which might be useful. Once the dance is in full swing, most of the trees nearest the bridge will be down in little time, but they might provide cover. Many of them are large enough to create impediments to lighter armored vehicles. The southern side ridge itself is as heavily wooded as it is where you are. The heavily forested areas are good infantry ground, the area nearest the bridge not so much.”

  “Good to hear. Don’t cut things too close and stay safe. I have a commander I need to rankle.”

  . . .

  Nasty 96 joined the other two vehicles well before they reached the bridge. With trees encroaching on both edges in portions of the narrow dirt road, the sound of tree branches scraping along the sides of the tracks was audible to the occupants. Slowing as they neared the river to prevent dust clouds from the road betraying their position, Sergeant Fell used the time to speak with Briggs again.

  “A few things to get clear,” Fell said over the vehicle intercom. “We’re the rear vehicle, so rotate the gun and cover our ass.”

  “On it.”

  “The MG on a track is used a bit differently than the way infantry does it. First off, you’re not looking over weapon-mounted sights. The barrel has a cooling shroud to allow longer bursts and a higher rate of fire and you’ll need them. See, accuracy goes straight south when on the move so instead of precisely aimed and well-placed bursts like infantry use, we tend to hose down the area where threats are. When in doubt, mash the trigger, spray and pray, and punch eleven millimeter holes in things. Don’t worry about the ammo supply because we carry plenty.”

  “I understand, Sarge. Did you know the rounds the machine gun fires are actually eleven point four three millimeters? They round down.”

  “You’re a regular font of knowledge,” the sergeant said with some irritation. “Watch the damned trees. They got eyes.”

  “How high is the turret sight above the barrel?”

  “I’d have to look it up. Why do you ask?”

  “I’d like to know so I can adjust my point of aim in accordance with range and the trajectory of the projectiles.”

  “Watch the tracers, kid. Watch’em and walk’em in.”

  “At least give me a ballpark figure, Sarge,” Briggs pleaded.

&nbs
p; “It’s a bit over a hundred and fifty millimeters if memory serves. That close enough?” Fell said now wondering if he’d be better off without a gunner.

  “Close enough,” Briggs replied.

  “Hopefully we won’t need to make use of whatever it is you think you’re doing.”

  . . .

  Lunatic Red loped down the road in the trail of two Hussar high-speed reconnaissance cars, Bedlam Red following closely behind. Taking up the rear were three war-wagons carrying Rod Mitchell’s platoon and others including a demolition team from engineering-ordnance section similar to those that were headed for the eastern bridge.

  Having learned of the vertibird’s attack and the losses, Myles Rivers knew he was short two friends because of Keen Steel. Hurt by the loss, he also knew he had a job to do.

  Even though the road they traveled was paved, the bridge they were targeting was far less substantial than the crossings the other teams were seeking out. Unable to handle the weight of heavy armor, the western bridge still provided an easy passing for lighter vehicles and infantry. The crossing was also going to be in the Carmag Light Infantry’s area and its destruction would ensure they faced no Keen Steel vehicles on the northern side of the waterway.

  The Hussars raced ahead as they neared the bridge. A minute later the lead car sent, “Hussar-One here. Bridge is clear with a full klick of visibility on the other side. No sign of troops or vehicles on scans or sensors.”

  “Roger, One,” came Senior Sergeant Rod Mitchell’s gravelly voiced reply. “Maintain watch.”

  The rest of the force soon joined them and with the weapons of seven vehicles and an infantry platoon covering the approach from the other side of the river, the demolitions team went to work.

  A few minutes later, the com buzzed an alert.

  “Hussar-One has thermal indications of approaching opfor vehicles. No visual yet and the thermals are fuzzy, but it looks like at least two armored cars followed by APCs.”

  “Mitchell here. All units hold fire until my command. Lunatic, Bedlam, engage them as far out as you can. Give the demo team time to complete their work. Demo, how long?”

  “Three minutes, max.”