The former biker chuckled to himself. Somehow, this rag tag force completely surprised the U.S. Forces. The two thousand somewhat well trained point personnel, supported by the tanks and AFVs, had quickly cut through the militia forces that supplied border security. Which was good, because he had no real forces in depth.
The forty thousand troops looked good on paper. But in reality, they were more a mob than an organized military unit. Most had barely a month of basic training, had been shown basic combat tactics, then been pushed into some semblance of minimum physical conditioning. Talbot had placed people with former military or law enforcement experience in charge of groups of people whenever he could. That, or used hardcore former prison convicts who he knew would follow his orders and keep them in line by fear. Many of these people in “authority”, as well as their closest followers, were fanatical Krakens, followers of the Church of Kraken. Quite a number had filed their teeth to sharp points and ignored Tschaaa prohibitions against eating the flesh of their own kind. Cannibalistic behavior seemed to bring them—in a fervor and religious state—closer to their Kraken God, which every day began to appear more and more like Cthulhu, the Ancient and Dark One.
Talbot swore under his breath. He was the one who first appropriated the name Kraken for his motorcycle gang, his flying squad of primary enforcers for the Director in the early days. Now the symbol and name had been taken over by a bunch of religious fanatics—churchers—who did shit even he found objectionable. The Director had turned into a wimp, allowing the Reverend Kray to take the lead on dealing with the Rebels.
Talbot still had a limp, thanks to a certain Torbin Bender. Plus his stock had dropped drastically after that Deseret slut and Bender had decimated his band of men when they tried to capture the two en route from Deseret. But Kray knew a hard worker when he saw one. He also recognized a man eaten up with the desire for revenge for his humiliation at the hands of a young female reenager and a single Marine. So, the promise of Tschaaa medical science to start healing his shotgun mangled foot and the mission to punish the Rebels for attacking Key West, killing Tschaaa young, were given as incentive.
Talbot shook his head at the thought of the Squids going apeshit over a few thousand dead young. Hell, that many human young died each day in various countries before the Squids were even in near orbit. Humankind didn’t go nuts or catatonic. Seeing that happened had been the final decision maker. The Squid successful invasion had been a fluke, done on the backs of a Fifth Column of people like Talbot and a bunch of weak and incompetent world leaders.
If he, Talbot, had been in charge, he would have nuked the fuck out of the Squids, and made them come to the bargaining table. Too bad for collateral damage. Enough humans would have survived, the Squids would have left earlier with plenty of provided dark meat and breeding stock. And those of a darker complexion would be gone, or enslaved, with the white race triumphant. Hitler was a piker compared to Reverend Kray and Talbot. And in Talbot’s mind, especially in comparison to him.
He glanced over to the area of the nearby roadside embankment. The pickup truck that had been struck by the homemade bazooka rocket was still burning. The warhead had never really exploded. Instead, the warhead had leaked black powder and gone up more like a roman candle than a large firecracker. The bodies of the two dead were being burned to ashes, and Talbot had to beat off a few of the hardcore Krakens that wanted to retrieve the barbecued flesh for a quick snack. If he started allowing that to happen, he would quickly have a sizable revolt on his hands.
Probably a good ten percent of his forty thousand personnel were the fanatical cannibal or near cannibal type. Almost half of the army were of the fawning, tell me what to do oh great god Squid type, looking for some Higher Being to give their lives meaning and purpose. The rest were a mixture of opportunists, Ferals, ex-convicts, and people forced into participation by having nowhere to go, nothing to live off of other than the Squid largess. And Squids never gave away anything for free. He had even seen a small number of Mexicans who came from family groups press-ganged into working in the huge industrial complex that covered Baja California, sea and all. That same complex and workers produced the rebuilt firearms they were using. The Tschaaa had rounded up the Mexicans and Indios they knew were hiding in the jungles and countryside and given them a choice: work and survive, your families fed, housed. Hell, the workers were even paid, given some time off as the recent Homo sapiens genome robocops, the ones created since the Invasion, had convinced Lord Neptune and company that a happy serf was more productive than an unhappy slave, looking for a chance to flee. They had been right, as not only did the laborers work hard on taking piles of weapons that had been sitting rusting away and making them functioning equipment again, but none tried to escape. Plus, the small numbers with military or drug cartel enforcer experience had volunteered to come along on this operation.
Those that refused to work were butchered in front of the others as an example of the stick over the carrot. Talbot had found out later that His Lordship purposefully allowed groups of Feral dark meat to exist as a supply of free range genetic material should his Cattle become too inbred. His Lordship knew his genetic science.
From the some forty thousand soldiers, Talbot had handpicked a dozen to be his Praetorian Guard, beholden to him. Should things fall completely apart, they would help him bug out, away from the wrath of His Lordship or Kray. They would make a quick trip to some area he knew in the Feral areas, and voila—he’d set himself up a satrap with him as the Lord of the Manor, get ahold of a few of his old motorcycle gang members who were floating around. He had tried to get his old Lieutenant Ray Sparks reassigned to him, but he had become the primary goto guy in the Siege of Atlanta. The last word was he was doing a pretty good job of starving the surviving rebellious Cattle in Atlanta, the rest of the cities having surrendered after a quick and brutal beat down.
So, Talbot had made the best of the situation. He had identified those with some military or gang experience and made them the squad and platoon leaders. Any with AFV experience were put in the four Abrams and eight Bradleys. The rest of the experienced and trustworthy were put in the point of the spear. Some twenty former armored bank cars were turned into poor man armored personnel carriers, with SUVs and four wheel pickup trucks (some armored up) rounding out the transport. The rest of the force made do with cattle trucks, horse trailers, buses, a few semis, and a bunch of pick-ups, and even some U-Hauls. By jamming everyone together, he had just about enough mobile transport for nearly everyone. Small groups may have to hoof it at the rear, but eventually would get a ride.
Despite the mobility, weapon wise he had a bunch of light infantry. Everyone had an assault rifle and around four thirty round magazines of ammunition. He had only about a thousand machine guns and Squad automatic weapons for support. Add a few grenade launchers, small numbers of hand grenades and improvised explosives, and this was his military force.
The four tanks and the Bradleys were his assault’s heaviest weapons. He had exactly two 81mm and one 60mm mortar for fire support. Artillery? One old museum piece of a five inch British howitzer with remanufactured shells. He had tried to get more, but was told this was to be a hit-and-run punishment campaign, not a siege. Air support was a half dozen small private aircraft and a single former traffic copter. He was told the B-25 used to bomb Atlanta may be available in a day or two, as well as some Deltas if some U.S. Aircraft showed up.
Talbot snorted. Bottom line, he was on his own. He knew this was more of a psychological terror and revenge mission than it was a physical invasion. Thus, everyone was up for sacrifice. It did not matter how many Krakens were killed as long as the Fear of God (or Squids, Cthulhu, whatever) was put into the civilian populace of the Unoccupied States. This fear would result in them telling the officials behind the Key West nuke to “knock their shit off.” Then they would go back to enjoying their new internet access, bootleg Tschaaa medical supplies and equipment, and the knowledge they would be left alone, n
ot eaten. Most importantly, their children would not be harvested. And everything would go back to the pre-Key West attack “normal”.
Whatever. Time to get back to the present. The MBTs and AFVs were exiting the built up area of the city, just a mile or two to the beginning of Kansas flat. He had a couple of the bank armored cars running recon, and had used the small cessnas and like type aircraft to drop a dozen skirmishers miles out front. They were making contact with militia Forces that had been heading to fight in the city streets, delaying them. That and a few motorbike delivered soldiers were distracting them from attacking the tanks with any anti-tank weapons.
He got on his handheld radio that had a direct contact to all the small unit commanders.
“Keep those doggies moving. The sooner we can get everyone out of the city, the faster we can move across Kansas. No slackers. If you can’t keep up, you get left behind.”
Near the town of Salina on I-70, two Free Russians and an American sniper were making contact with the militia units. They had been brought to the area by two small civilian aviation aircraft, which had also dropped off some specialized equipment, including some RPGs. Free Russian military personnel Capt. Mikhail Vasiliev and Senior Sergeant Vlad Popkov flew in on a small formerly private plane, the pilot landing on a straight stretch of highway. They had taken up the limited cargo space with a couple of RPG launchers and several reloads, plus a couple of suitcases with two dozen pounds of high grade plastic explosive. A separate single engine Cessna brought in a third soldier with some special skills. Benjamin Black, commensurate sniper, late of the Key West Attack, arrived with his Barrett 50 Caliber. He had been helping train new snipers, but had convinced the powers-that-be that his skills were needed in Kansas.
The three regular army soldiers met the combination militia and army forces in Salina, Kansas. I-70 ran directly into the city, some one hundred seventy miles from Kansas City. The Kraken primary force seemed to be driving directly toward Salina as their destination, not having wavered off of I-70. Using the main guns of the main battle tanks and the automatic cannon on the Bradleys, they had hit the taller buildings along their route of travel, preventing any attacks from above on their vehicles. A shortage of anti-tank weapons also hurt a meaningful response. Thus, the pointy end of the spear, the armored vehicles, were soon through Kansas City. Dismounted infantry engaged those defenders trying to fire from nearby buildings. Soon, some two thousand Krakens were through and motoring toward Topeka.
The armored units up front paused for a quarter hour, waiting for some of the cattle trucks, horse trailers and other unconventional transports to catch up before entering Topeka. Then, Topeka was a repeat of Kansas City. A few well-placed 120mm main gun rounds and about a hundred automatic cannon rounds soon made the defenders go to ground until the front of the Kraken force were through the built up areas. Once again, there was a pause to allow some of the infantry in the unconventional transport vehicles to catch up. Then, they pushed forward again.
A problem was becoming evident. The rear units and vehicles were becoming more spread out as the day progressed. But Talbot as the Commander was willing to accept casualties in the rear personnel in order to keep the momentum up front.
In Salina, Captain Vasiliev and Senior Sergeant Chekov were reviewing maps with the local commanders as Sergeant Black sat at a separate table cleaning his Barrett 50 caliber. He did not need to be in on the planning. All he needed to know was where and when they wanted him to use his special skill. The Captain pointed to a spot the map a short distance west of Abilene, Kansas.
“There, my good Colonel Mills. Is that a substantial overpass on the Solomon River?”
“Yes, Captain. Two parallel overpasses on I-70, one in each direction.”
“Good. If you could get Sergeant Chekov and I there as soon as possible, I think our plastic explosive we brought can be put to good use. And my understanding is you have some sweaty dynamite you’d like to get rid of?”
“That’s right, Captain. But I hope you know what you’re doing. That old dynamite is looking for an excuse to explode.”
Captain Vasiliev smiled. “Trust me, Sir. We are quite experienced at transporting questionable explosives. If you can get us a decent vehicle whose suspension is not too worn out, we should have no problems.” He looked over at Sgt. Black.
“Sergeant Black, would you care to accompany us?’
Sgt. Black looked up. “Is there a good chance I’ll get to shoot something?”
“Very good, Sergeant. Very good odds.”
The sniper gave his signature smile, just enough of one to show he was pleased and interested.
“Well, Sir. That would be just dandy.”
Talbot had sent one of the converted bank armored cars out front of the column to act a scout and to draw fire. He was more than willing to sacrifice lesser vehicles in order to protect his Abrams and Bradleys from any ambushes. Behind the armored car was a pick-up truck filled with armed men and women. Their job was to dismount and engage at the first sign of a possible attack.
The armored car did not slow from its thirty mile an hour speed as it began to travel the westbound I-70 overpass that crossed the Solomon River. As it reached the point on the overpass that was directly over the rain and snow swollen river below, a large explosion took out the section of bridge roadway just in front of the moving vehicle. Unable to even brake, the armored car was soon plummeting to the river below. The river waters themselves were near eight feet deep, just enough to swallow the vehicle. Shocked and thrown about by the fall at speed, especially the non-seated belted personnel in the back of the armored car, the vehicle was flooded before anyone could react. Not even the driver and his assistant in the cab could get out before the vehicle settled on its side. As people have been known to drown in a bathtub, drowning in eight feet of cold water was not all that difficult. The pickup following it was able to brake to a stop just before plummeting down to join the armored car. The driver quickly screamed over his radio what had happened.
Talbot began to curse. He stopped only when someone said the eastbound lanes overpass were still in one piece. He began to snap orders about.
“Get someone with some engineering experience to check out the eastbound overpass, make sure it’s clear to use. Get somebody up here with some EOD experience. I find it hard to believe that the other span wouldn’t be wired for explosives also. Move. I don’t want us to be caught all bunched up here.”
Just over a half hour later, Captain Vasiliev was using a high powered spotting scope to watch two figures make their way down and under the eastbound overpass. He turned to Sgt. Black who was prone next to him.
“Think you can hit those charges from here? I don’t know what happened, but they did not go off. I think a 50 caliber round should do the trick.”
Sgt. Black gave him his signature slight smile. “Piece of cake, Captain. Want it now?”
“No. Wait until they are within a few yards, as they try to figure out what to do with the explosives attached to the supports. Take a couple more of shit eating whore Krakens out when you do it.”
“With pleasure, Captain.”
The EOD-experienced Kraken was on the radio with Talbot and in mid-sentence when the charges blew. Only a few feet of roadway and bridge were soon joining the other span in the river. Nothing was found of the two Krakens bodies. Someone must have noticed what had set off the charges as the call of “sniper” reverberated up and down the spread out column. Talbot began swearing again.
“You! Get on the horn! There is an exit just this side of Abilene that leads to a parallel county road. At least the map says it does. Start routing people to it. If we take it easy, that road’s bridge should get us over. And get me a machine gunner up here.”
Talbot spat. “I want some plunging fire over where that sniper is probably located, southwest of here.”
One of his Lieutenants spoke up. “Sir, we’re short on gunners and ammunition.”
“I don’t gi
ve a fuck. I’ll be damned if I let some asshole pick us off one by one as we drive past. Now, move!”
Captain Vasiliev and Sergeant Black had already left the spot from where the shot had been fired. Low-crawling for some ten minutes, the two then got to their feet, crouching, and moved out.
“Sure you don’t want me to stay back, pick a few off?” Sergeant Black asked.
“No, my good Sergeant. For General Winter will be here within the hour.”
Sgt. Black gave the Russian spetsnaz a quizzical look. “General Winter?”
“Why yes. I was notified a large storm front is moving in before we came out here. It should produce a nice ice storm, if your American weather people are correct.”
The Captain clapped his hands together. “Just what we need. A good old Siberian ice storm. Oh, I guess no one informed you, Sergeant. General Winter follows us Siberian Russians no matter where we are. We’ll soon see just how prepared the Kraken scum are for severe winter weather. From what I can tell, they are not.”
The Captain looked up at the sky. “Yes, a definite feel of snow and ice is in the air. Come. Let us hurry. A hot cup of coffee will feel good about now.”
It took Talbot about an hour to get his forces re-routed to the parallel county road. During that time, he had also started a single line of troops slowly making their way across the remains of the overpass, consisting of a single person sized walkway on the right side of the span. This section must have been made of a better quality of concrete and asphalt than the rest to remain standing. By spacing themselves at least two yards apart, the passage of the infantry did not seem to overburden the damaged remains.
Then the temperature plunged. It must have been some twenty degrees in as many minutes as an ominous bank of clouds and mist swept toward them. Wind driven frozen rain suddenly hit the stretched out column, the front encompassing everything from Topeka, Kansas west. The Krakens were now the recipients of a good old East Kansas ice storm. Some five hundred foot soldiers had made it across the span when the full force of the storm hit. Others were in queue to begin the crossing when they were pelted with freezing rain and ice crystals. None of them had anything past the basic heavy coat and boots as no one had planned for a bad storm. And the powers-that-be really did not care. The average Kraken was expendable.
Typhoon of Steel Page 5