by Mark Bordner
As they neared Tipp City, the damage from the bomb blast was even more pronounced. Structures on the ground had been swept flat. There weren’t even any cars blocking the freeway, as they had been blown clean over the sides. The wide circle around the airport, stretching for miles in circumference, was a ring of flame and smoke. The air became a blackened fog bank, forcing Sunwa to drive even slower--- unable to see beyond a few feet in front of him.
It was this way all the way to Vandelia, which was the extreme outskirt of the Dayton city limit, where the smoke cleared because the prevailing breeze was carrying it the other direction. The structural damage was not as severe, and there were emergency vehicles darting in all directions, their lights flashing. Sunwa pulled over to the off-ramp and parked on the side of the street. It was a relief to get everyone off of that bus and deployed in a defensive fashion, better situated to thwart off an attack if it came.
He decided to form an east-west stronghold there to establish control over the northern quadrant of Dayton. Any Storian units attempting to enter or flee through that corridor would find themselves facing a formidable obstacle. Sunwa radioed his position and situation report to the Forward Operations Base back in Springfield, letting them know that his people were in place.
Springfield Forward Operations Base
The mood on the rooftop of the museum was no longer one of festivity. Officers were busy with directing various response operations involved with the air assault. There was wide-spread confusion among their forces, with commanders trying to account for all of their people and re-establish control of the area.
Colonel Strasburg received the call from Sunwa, impressed at the man’s adaptability. The 2nd brigade was the only unit so far that was where they were supposed to be and able to carry out the original attack plan.
“Dwayne!” He yelled out over the multiple conversations taking place. “I need you to get comms open with Alpha Company! What’s the sit-rep for that artillery battery over in Enon?”
Ford shook his head, “I’m still trying to raise them. I have a gunship heading that way for a visual; they’re about five minutes out.”
“There’s an AWACS plane due to fly over in three,” The colonel told him. “We need to see what the Storians are up to after that snafu.”
Major Rogett of the 101st Airborne joined them, “My division is already on the move south on Route Sixty-Eight, they should reach Xenia within the hour. I also have a squad deployed near Enon to give your boys there a hand.”
Strasburg calculated, “That will have the north and eastern sectors covered, but we still have to get firepower stationed on the south. Where’s Lt. Colonel Harper?”
“Right here,” The man answered from the throng of officers nearby, having heard his name.
“How quickly can you get your Air Calvary units deployed to Kettering?”
The Army commander thought for a moment, “Likely not until first-light. We’re still using the old-school rotor-driven Hueys, so a large-scale formation would be taking too much of a chance in the dark.”
Strasburg was not pleased by that estimate, “A lot can happen in six hours, Colonel, we need that southern flank covered!”
“What about the Space Navy boys?” Harper suggested. “If push comes to shove, maybe they could drop smart-ordnance along that area until I can get the Cav there in the morning.”
Ford sighed and interjected, “If we keep going about this war with half-assed efforts, we’re going to lose it! Our forward operations should be relentless! These hit-and-delay tactics just give the Storians time to recover and respond!”
Major Rogett gave him a bitter scowl, but held his tongue. The Sergeant Major was popular in high circles, and his reputation well-known. It allowed him a measure of candor in speaking his mind. His tank-like proportions were a help as well.
Colonel Strasburg lowered his visor as data began scrolling down his tactical display, supplied by the AWACS fly-over, and he made a noise of disgust at what he saw. Ford did the same and shared the man’s reaction. Strasburg opened up again and looked at the Army officers, who waited expectantly.
“The Storians have a tank column rolling up Highway Six-Seventy-Five from Fairborn,” He stated. “They’re expected to reach Enon within a few hours.”
Ford was pacing, “We have to warn A-Company, they’re out there on their own!”
Strasburg was worried for other reasons, “Alpha needs to hold that armor off. It’s heading for here, to hit the city.”
Ford slapped a fist into his palm, growing more and more frustrated with every passing second, “Sir, get me some Blackhawks! I’ll move Bravo and Charlie out there to back them up. Speed is of the essence right now!”
The colonel got on the net with Orbital Command to try to get things moving more expeditiously.
Enon
When the bombardment finally ceased, the two platoons of A-Company were able to at last emerge from hiding and assess their situation. A large portion of the neighborhood had suffered damage in the onslaught, many homes were either on fire or demolished altogether. Civilians were strewn in the streets and on lawns, some dead, many injured. The school building was rubble, and the artillery pieces were out of commission. The majority of the gun crews had been killed by their own ammunition
stores being ignited and detonating.
Mark distributed his company along the worst-hit end of the community to administer what aid they could, remembering to keep watch-standers posted on the flanks. As they were working to get all of this achieved, he had been trying to raise the command frequency and was unable to. Once again, for whatever reason, the net was down again. This was frustrating and alarming, because this left them not knowing what the situation was around them, and unable to call for medevacs.
In the renewed quiet of the night, the noises of flames crackling and the cries of the wounded seemed loud. The sound of an approaching Huey-shuttle grew above them. Not knowing if it was one of their own or an enemy, Mark sounded a warning over the company frequency and everyone took cover. With his numbers now doubled by the intake of the volunteer nations, he had an abundance of ATR’s among the squads, ready to shoot the helo down.
The sound of its engine grew as it neared, approaching from the east. The master sergeant keyed the night-vision on his visor and spotted it, coming in low and slow, its running lights off. He breathed a sigh of relief, seeing that it was a Marine Huey. As it cruised over-head, the pilot was near enough to direct-connect with the company freq and called out.
“This is Staff Sergeant Rose, calling Ground One-Alpha, you copy?”
Mark stood and motioned for his people to resume their work. “We copy. The Net is down again. What’s the sit-rep?”
The Huey circled the area, snapping photos for the Intel boys to mull over, “The Storian air power has been neutralized for the moment, they gave us a bit of a beating, though,” Rose replied. “You have an enemy armored column approaching from the south--- your orders are to hold the line until reinforcements can reach you.”
“What’s the strength?” He wanted to know, his stomach knotting.
“Unknown for certain, “Rose answered. “But, it’s at least company strength. The squadron is spread thin with medevac ops, so we can’t conduct an air strike on it. Strasburg says the ball’s in your court.”
Mark licked his dry lips and cursed under his breath, “Understood. Rose, before you go…”
She knew what he wanted to ask, and responded with assurance, “She’s ok. Springfield got hit pretty hard, but Minerva made it through alright.”
Relieved, Mark opened his visor and took in a breath, “Thanks. One-Alpha, out.”
The Huey circled once more and departed back in the direction it had come from. The members of the company had heard the conversation over their helmet mics, and were already coming forward to volunteer for the reaction assignment, ready to do what needed to be done without it being asked of them. Sergeant Jamal and his squad of Airborne
troopers assembled, prepared to do the same.
After double-timing nearly two miles south on the main road that ran from town, A-Company reached the bridge that crossed a branch of the river named Mud Run. The bridge was concrete and of stout design, they had nothing in their field arsenal capable of bringing it down. Mark decided that they would simply have to defend it from their side when the Storians reached them. The advantage would at least be initially in their favor, as the bridge was narrow. The tanks would have to proceed one in front of the other, creating a choke-point.
The master sergeant examined the lane out in the bridge’s center, searching for areas where they could place contact mines or claymores. After consulting with Jamal, he decided to use the drainage grates spaced in the middle, and set the claymores along the side rails---hoping that the darkness would be sufficient to hide them until it was too late. The two platoons split on either side of the road on the Enon side to set up gun positions. A few of the better shots climbed some nearby trees for sniper support.
Mark hurried the teams setting the charges, checking his chronometer. It was already 03:00, there would not be much more time before dawn, after which they would lose the benefit of the cover of night. He was also worried that the Storians might have sent a sapper team out ahead of the column to provide reconnaissance. If his people were spotted, the entire ambush would be wasted.
They encountered an issue with the sensor pins on the mines---for some reason, simple contact would not set them off. PFC Brian Martinez had some training with setting explosives, and managed to rig the mines with the same electrical wire that the Claymores were attached to. Using the Claymore trigger would set them all off in unison. The extra time to do this was costing them, though.
At long last, the explosives were set, and he was able to clear everyone off of the bridge to get them hidden. Mark cautioned everyone to close their visors, as the suits would conceal their heat signatures from any infrared the Storians might be using, rendering them invisible. The Airborne boys dispersed among the thick underbrush just behind them, providing a slightly higher elevation of fire coverage.
It was nearly 04:00 before the first sign of the enemy approaching became evident. The silence was broken by the diesel-like whine of heavy engines accompanied by the squeak of tank treads grinding on the gravel road. The heavily-treed route did not reveal the first vehicle until it was within a hundred yards of the far end of the Mud Run Bridge; an APC with a Bushmaster machine gun mount on top. Those things were lethal, their high-powered plasma rounds capable of penetrating a tank hull, let alone nano-armor. A single hit to a trooper would rip him in half.
The first tank came into view not far behind it, a model similar to the heavy-battle model utilized by the Attayans, with gatling side-mounts. There were a lot of soldiers walking in two columns behind it, many more than the one company that Rose had spoken of. This was easily battalion strength. Dread filled Mark’s soul. He reminded his people to hold their fire until the bridge was full of men and the first vehicles in the column. The whole idea was to bog them down and delay their advance long enough for their own battalions to reach Enon Pass in order to bolster A-Company‘s numbers.
The lead APC came to a stop just before the lip of the bridge. A squad of soldiers nonchalantly walked out ahead of it, conducting a check for booby-traps.
The suspense increased ten-fold. If the claymores or the contact mines were discovered, the gig would be up. Mark reached over and touched the arm of the young trooper next to him, the same Private Brian Martinez, a transfer from the Mexican National Marines. The young man held the click-trigger for the claymores. Mark shook his head no, telling him to wait.
The Storians walked as far as the middle of the bridge, not really investigating very thoroughly. They were smoking cigarettes and talking loudly, either over-confident or stupid. At one point, one of them was standing right on top of the deck grill where one of the faulty contact mines had been set.
They finally motioned for the column to advance. The APC rolled forward, as did the tank, and the group of infantry. The other tanks were further back. This was not good, as the trap was intended to take out the tanks themselves, which could cause more damage.
The bridge was three quarters full when one of the Storian soldiers in the front was alerted by something, whatever it may have been, and shouted a warning. The column stopped again, and the soldiers crouched defensively, scanning the Enon side of the bridge.
“Now,” Mark whispered, knowing that the element of surprise had been lost.
Brian clicked the activation trigger three times, and the Claymores went off laterally from waist-level with sharp, bright concussions. The Storians were shredded. Brian next triggered the contact mines, which blasted upward under the tank, blowing its treads apart and knocking one of the gatling mounts clean off. The lead APC had been just kiddy-corner to the charge intended for it, and the explosion there ripped upward harmlessly--- though it did knock down a few more infantrymen who had dodged the claymores.
The APC roared in reverse only to crash into the crippled tank. The column behind opened up with their side guns, along with the rifle fire from the soldiers, laying down a sheet of plasma tracers just over A-Company’s heads.
“Let it rip!” Mark ordered.
The exchange of fire was furious, punctuated by main gun bursts from the enemy tanks that blew huge craters into the earth just behind Alpha’s position. The Storians were firing blindly and at a higher defilade, which made aiming the shells much less accurate. The turrets could lower only so far, making their shots go wide. This was to A-Company’s advantage for the moment, but the tanks were laboring to find lower ground, which would eventually happen.
“I want ATR and mortar teams on the right flank! “ Mark yelled. “Harass those tanks!”
Rockets lanced out, only one of them effective on one of the hulks, damaging its main gun. The mortars were more effective in keeping the soldiers scattered, but the exchange of fire only seemed to grow more intense. The snipers were managing to hit quite a few of the enemy who appeared to be leaders, but one of the APC’s homed in on the trees on Alpha’s side of the bank and let loose with the Bushmaster. The stream of plasma was horrific, mowing across the branch-line like a hot knife. Wood, leaves, and blood sprayed everywhere.
One of the Storian tanks roared forward and slammed its crippled brother out of the way on the bridge, plowing ahead for a few precious feet, its side guns blazing. An Anti-Tank Round streaked out and detonated against the turret an instant before its weight triggered one of the few good contact mines near the mouth of the bridge. The blast actually lifted its front, hot shrapnel spewing out sideways--- unfortunately, some of it across where 2nd Platoon was positioned. Screams of pain filled the net. The tank slammed back down, black smoke flowing from its vents, coming to a stop. Another ATR hit it just at the seam where the turret met the hull, and blew the main gun apart.
The bridge was now effectively blocked, at least for the moment. Cries from wounded Marines continued to sound out from 2nd, and the Navy Medical Corpsmen tried to reach them. Sergeant Jamel sent his own medic forward to assist. Rifle fire kept them low and crawling, and mortars were now sailing in from the Storian side, more accurate and damaging.
Mark realized that they were taking casualties and needed to do something, quickly. This was a much larger force they were facing than what AWACS had detected. There were still more Storians appearing from down the road, probably another battalion. This was close to reaching regimental strength. They were looking at a major counter-offensive, here.
“Second Platoon, hold this position!” The master sergeant ordered. “Sergeant Jamel, you’re in charge here! First Platoon, follow me!”
Mark peeled away with 1st in-tow, keeping low and rushing west along the highest ridge of the river bank, keeping to the trees. After perhaps a few hundred yards, they were beyond the worst of the firefight and beyond the Storian left flank. They cautiously made their wa
y down the embankment and approached the water, watching for enemy activity on the opposite side. The view of the battle up-river was intense, and it appeared that the advantage was shifting alarmingly to Storian favor.
Mark stepped into the river and began to cross, rifle at the ready, scanning the other bank. Fortunately, the water was only knee-deep and sluggish. The slippery rocks underneath were covered heavily with silt, which hampered his footing. The other Marines followed, spaced out every twenty feet or so. They made it to the other bank unmolested and regrouped in the trees on the other side. The platoon divided into two squads of 40 and began advancing west, careful to stay back out of the path of the fire coming from their own people on the Enon side. The trees opened up to the large clearing where the Storians were caught and they spread out from north to south, within two hundred feet of the Storian flank. Mark began firing, cueing his troopers to do the same. The enemy was now forced to divide their attention, opening up with 60-watt and rifle fire.
A tank closer to their position began turning its turret toward them. Mark signaled this to his mortar teams, who began expertly spotting rounds at it. The shells could not penetrate its hull, but they did inflict a horrible racket to the crew inside, preventing them from operating the guns. An ATR lanced out and cleaved its main gun with a reverberating blast, taking some nearby soldiers with it.
The armored column was bunching up on the road now, unable to advance and too clogged to back up. The heavy trees to either side prevented any maneuvering to the flanks. The response was up to the Storian infantry, of which there was plenty.
“Damn, Sarge!” Brian exclaimed. “That column is a sitting duck! Where’s an air strike when you need one?”