by James Rosone
The Russians reacted quickly; within a few seconds of the TOWs being fired, several of their tanks turned their turrets towards the tree line to engage the Strykers. Just as they were about to fire, the TOWs began to hit them, blowing several turrets right off the chasses of the vehicles. Then the Javelins found their marks, and three BMPs and one BTR blew up in a blaze of flaming glory.
The crews of the Stryker vehicles began to reload the TOW launchers as fast as they could, and so did the Javelin crews. One of the T-90s that had not been destroyed fired at the tree line, hitting one of the Stryker vehicles; it promptly exploded, throwing one of the crew members from the vehicle several feet away. Several of the BMPs then began to rake the tree line with 30mm and 100mm cannon rounds from their main guns. Tree limbs, branches, and bushes simply began to burst, throwing bark and chunks of trees in every direction at the soldiers below and around them.
One of the Stryker vehicles had their TOW launcher reloaded and fired off both missiles almost immediately. The missiles streaked across the field towards two more of the Russian tanks, which were now racing towards the tree line, firing their main guns. One of the Light Armored Tactical Vehicles (LATVs) took a direct hit, exploding and throwing shrapnel everywhere. One of the Javelin missile crews hit another BMP, just as the gunner of the same BMP killed them with a fiery blast from their 100mm gun.
Then, Childers heard the artillery come flying over their head, impacting all around the remaining Russian tanks and infantry fighting vehicles. The artillery guys were yelling in their handsets, “Hey, Gun Bunnies--keep it coming!”
“We are plastering the Russians,” thought Luke.
As the artillery continued to land, the remaining Russian force fell back to the village they had just left to get away from the artillery. The forward observers continued to walk the artillery in towards the village, making sure the Russians found no safety, even in falling back to a populated village.
Lieutenant Taylor yelled over the radio, “Cease fire! Stop firing on that village, there could be civilians in there!” The forward observers who were with the platoon radioed back for the battalion to check-fire, which is how the artillerymen say ceasefire. It took a few minutes for all the soldiers to stop shooting and for the artillery barrage to end. Once it had, and the smoke began to clear, they saw the absolute carnage their platoon had just inflicted on the Russians. They had nearly wiped out what was probably a company-sized armored unit, along with their support vehicles and troops. When they looked further back at the village, they saw that most of the little township was a smoking ruin.
Several additional armored vehicles and tanks were burning in the village, strung across the various roads and side streets. They all felt a little better about plastering the village once they saw that they had also killed a lot of Russians. Sergeant Childers put his binoculars back in his pocket; he had seen enough.
“Listen up everyone!” he yelled. “Grab our dead and wounded and get back in the vehicles. We are getting out of here NOW!” He picked himself off the ground and began running up to the various positions where his soldiers were dug in, encouraging them to grab their gear and get in the vehicles.
Lieutenant Taylor walked up to Sergeant Childers and put his hand on his shoulder to grab his attention. “Hey, we just stopped them. Why are we falling back now?” he asked, not fully understanding the logic in his platoon sergeant’s decision or the urgency in trying to get everyone loaded up, along with their wounded and their equipment.
Childers paused for a second, like a father who is trying to have patience as he answers a question from his teenage son. “Sir, we just plastered the Russians. They are either going to call in artillery on our position or an airstrike. In either case, we can’t stay here. We need to fall back to our secondary position and see if headquarters wants us to link up with the rest of the Troop or what they want us to do.”
The Lieutenant had that look on his face like he realized that he should have known that. He was thankful that Sergeant Childers had talked just loud enough so that only he could hear him, and not the rest of the platoon.
“Come on LT, I’ll lead the platoon to the next position,” offered Childers. “You get on the radio with headquarters and find out what they want us to do next. Good?” he asked, hoping the lieutenant fully grasped the situation now. He needed him to step up and handle the radio call while he focused on getting them out of there alive.
Taylor nodded, and they both got back to work.
The vehicles were in the process of backing out of their position when several artillery rounds started to land where they had just been. They had made it out less than two minutes before their old positions were plastered by enemy artillery fire. As they fully cleared the copse of trees, they turned around and sped away as fast as they could towards their next position.
The lieutenant tried raising their higher headquarters multiple times but just got static. He tried raising several of the other troop leaders to see if they were available. He managed to get in touch with two of them. They were also falling back to link up with a battalion of heavy tanks from the 1st armored division. He got their coordinates and agreed to fall back and link up with them. He advised them of his wounded and asked if they had any. They all replied that they had not run into any Russian units yet but had seen a lot of attack helicopters and aircraft heading towards the NATO base further north. “It’s really odd that none of the other platoons have engaged any of the Russian units yet,” he thought. “Our sector can’t have been the only one that the Russians tried to breach.”
Twenty-five minutes later, they found the battalion of M1A2s and the rest of 4th Squadron, their parent unit. Their Captain, a man by the name of Len Richards, walked up to them all smiles. “That was one heck of an engagement you guys had. Well done on stopping that Russian armored column,” he said shaking the lieutenant’s hand.
SFC Childers looked confused. “You saw the engagement?” he asked.
Amused at their confusion, Captain Richards replied, “Yes, we saw it. You still had your scout drone loitering over the area, sending back the video. You guys did a bang-up job.”
He looked down briefly, as if paying respects. “I’m also sorry for your losses. They were good men. I’m going to make sure everyone is put in for some medals for that action. Your platoon temporarily stopped the Russian advance in this area, which is giving us the time we need to reorganize after headquarters was wiped out at the airbase,” the Captain said, full of pride about what one of his platoons had managed to accomplish on their own.
Several of the medics from the other troops had run over to their vehicles and helped to unload Nemesis Troop’s wounded as they began to provide them aid.
Breaking the train of thought, Lt. Taylor suddenly announced, “Sir, we need ammo. My vehicles and men are short on just about everything. Also, what about air support? Those Hinds are still out there and it’s only a matter of time before they, or those aircraft up there find us and start dropping bombs and missiles on us.”
The captain smiled, glad his lieutenant was thinking of the broader picture. He motioned with his arm. “Walk with me back to the command track. I need to show you what’s happening,” Captain Richards said. He led the three of them through the wooded area to where the Command Stryker vehicle was tucked away. As they walked through the trees, Lt. Taylor and SFC Childers saw dozens of Abrams battle tanks geared up to fight.
As they approached the command post, they also saw a Major and a Lieutenant Colonel (LTC) talking with a Command Sergeant Major (CSM). The captain waited for a break in the conversation before he introduced them. “Colonel Munch, Sergeant Major Fields, this is the platoon commander and sergeant from my second platoon; they are the ones that stopped that Russian column down the road.” Captain Richards was beaming with pride.
The Lieutenant Colonel and the Sergeant Major smiled warmly at them. The colonel was the first to greet the newcomers. “Good work out there. You guys probably bo
ught us at least an hour before they try that again.” The colonel paused and looked down. “My condolences on the loss of your men. They did an amazing job, and as I’m sure your captain already told you, we’re going to make sure everyone gets recognized for their heroic acts.” The colonel’s facial expressions somehow simultaneously conveyed genuine concern and pride. He came across as a leader who cared about his men and the sacrifices they were making.
LTC Munch continued, “We need to bring you guys up to speed before we push off and go hunting for Russians. Pryluky Airbase has been hit hard. Headquarters is offline. They also hit Kiev International Airport at Boryspil relentlessly as well. Word has it that MG Mueller and most of his staff were killed in the attack. So, right now, that leaves us with no idea of who’s in charge or what in the world we are supposed to do beyond our initial orders.” He spoke with the smugness you’d expect from a senior officer who has probably seen a lot of combat and liked to make things up as he went.
Smiling at the colonel’s comments, SFC Childers commented, “Well, I was taught in the Rangers that in the absence of orders--attack without mercy.” The CSM smiled a wicked grin at the mention of Ranger School. Like Childers, he also sported a Ranger tab on his shoulder. Childers, however, also had a 75th Ranger Regiment Combat patch, so he’d actually been a Ranger, not just gone through the school.
The colonel, who also had a Ranger tab, smiled and said, “Oh, I’m going to like you Sergeant Childers. That is exactly what we are going to do. I’ve got five Avenger Air Defense vehicles with us too, so we have some air defense should those fighters up there (or those Hinds you reported) decide to get frisky.”
“How did you manage to get five Avengers?” Captain Richards asked, surprised by the number. Typically, a unit might have one, maybe two of them. Not five.
“Let’s say I saw a lost air defense unit that was looking for an escort to the Pryluky Airbase,” LTC Munch replied with a smirk and then continued, “By the time we got halfway to the airbase, we heard it had been thoroughly hammered and we were being redirected to this location to link up with you guys. As we were headed along in our little gaggle, some Russian Su-34s saw us moving along and thought that we might make nice sitting ducks to attack. That was a really stupid move on their part though, because the Avengers that we had with us managed to shoot down two of the Su-34s before they even managed to cause us any damage. After that, the Russians diverted course, and we all decided to stick together as we hauled tail out of there.” The CSM had a wry smile on his face as he spat a stream of chewing tobacco on the ground.
“Enough chatting--it’s time to get down to business,” the Colonel said as he walked over to the map. “Here’s what we are going to do…”
Hardly a Vacation
Near Krakow, Poland
NATO Airbase
Major Dale Young, call sign “Honey Badger,” had been stationed at Spangdahlem Air Base for the past two years. His wife (who had been his college sweetheart) loved living in Germany. They were a young couple with no children, and for the time being, they were just enjoying being childless and living in Europe. They had planned on traveling to Sorrento, Italy, for a weeklong vacation along the Amalfi coast when his leave was canceled and his squadron was sent to Krakow and placed on ready-alert for possible military action against Russia.
Dale wasn’t too upset over the change in plans (although his wife certainly was). This is what he had signed up for--to be a fighter pilot and face down America’s enemies. His squadron, the 480th, had a long and proud lineage that dated back to World War II when they fought against the Nazis. The squadron had recently gone through the transition from being an F-16 squadron to flying F-22s. Dale had been an F-22 pilot at the beginning, so he had been helping the other pilots through the transition and qualification process since he had arrived two years ago.
Being stationed in Germany and flying an F-22 Raptor meant he was certain to see action should the Russians decide to test NATO’s resolve and not leave eastern Ukraine. However, after sitting in his cockpit with the canopy open for the last two hours, he was starting to get tired and bored; he still had another hour left on his alert status before he would be relieved. Since arriving in Poland a few days ago, they had been scrambled twice to respond to Russian aircraft, but each time they had returned to base without incident.
Just as he got to the good part of a book he had been reading, an urgent message came across the radio, scrambling all alert fighters. In that instant, Dale shoved his book into one of the pockets on his flight suit and began to lower the canopy. As the cover closed, he powered up his engines and began to head towards the runway. In less than two minutes, he was at the edge of the runway, lighting his afterburners to get airborne as quickly as possible. While he was working to gain altitude along with his wingman, he heard the air battle manager come over the radio, informing them of possible Russian Su-57 fighters in the area. The E-3 also relayed the number of enemy aircraft in the air and where they were all heading.
As Major Young looked at his radar display, he could not believe the droves of enemy aircraft that he saw heading towards them. It looked like the entire Russian Air Force was attacking Ukraine.
As Dale listened to the voices over the radio, he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. One of the E-3s had just been shot down. A couple of minutes later, the American F-15s that had been flying CAP over Ukraine were destroyed. Just as he thought things couldn’t get any worse for them, the E-3 reported that the German Euro fighters that had just taken off from Kiev were immediately blown out of the sky. “What in the blazes is going on?!” he thought. “How did the Russians manage to shoot down ten NATO aircraft in the first five minutes of whatever this fight is?”
“Raptor 66, proceed with all speed towards Sector Six and engage all hostile aircraft,” the air battle manager ordered. A couple of minutes later, the second NATO E-3 was shot down, leaving the NATO aircraft with no air battle managers or airborne radars operational to guide them to the enemy aircraft. Fortunately, the Patriot air defense system at the Kiev International Airport was still operational. They made quick contact with them, and were immediately linked up with their radar feed.
For the time being, the Raptors would leverage the ground radar to guide them to the enemy fighters. Another E-3 was just lifting off from Ramstein Airbase, but it would be at least five minutes before they were at an operational altitude for their radar to be of much assistance. Their distance from the front line meant their signal was not going to be nearly as strong as would be needed if the Russians started to employ a lot of jamming.
Major Young looked to his right as his aircraft continued to gain altitude and saw his wingman, “Iceman,” flying Raptor 67 next to him. “Iceman, I’m not sure we are going to find those Su-57s without AWACS support, so we need to go after those Fullbacks before they can destroy our airfields,” Major Young said. He tried to maintain a calm and reassuring voice while talking to his younger wingman.
“Iceman,” or Captain Jorge Montoya, was a junior captain who had just joined his squadron two weeks prior, fresh from F-22 school, so this was only the second-time Major Young had flown with him. The other two F-22 pilots in his flight were seasoned captains who had been flying Raptors for several years like he had.
In all, there were sixteen F-22s in Poland; twelve other Raptors were quickly being scrambled to get airborne and deal with the Backfire bombers that were heading towards Poland. As their F-22s continued to gain altitude, they headed towards the Kiev International Airport at nearly full speed, trying to intercept the Russian ground attack aircraft before they destroyed the airport. NATO would need that airfield in Kiev.
As they moved closer to the Ukrainian border, Major Young spotted dozens of Russian aircraft flying over the international airport at varying altitudes, all carrying out a variety of attacks against ground targets. He was in shock as he saw aircraft swooping down, dropping cluster bombs. Clouds of smoke and debris were billowing up. Cruise
missiles streaked through the sky; so many were flying, that it created what would have been a beautiful type of spider web in the air (if it weren’t so deadly).
Then the Patriots’ radar went offline, indicating that they had probably been destroyed. Despite their best efforts to get there ahead of the Russians, they had too much ground to cover and not enough time.
There were only four F-22s to engage what looked to be about 33 enemy aircraft. Major Young quickly spotted the MiGs being vectored towards them, and identified them as the first aircraft they would engage. Although they were heavily outnumbered, Dale maintained some optimism. The targeting computer on the Raptor helped to make it very deadly. Besides being able to track and engage dozens of targets simultaneously, it could also sync with the other fighters in its group to ensure that none of the pilots fired missiles at the same aircraft unless it was planned.
Their squadron commander, Lieutenant Colonel Lesley Philips, call sign “Gold Digger,” had just gotten airborne, along with the rest of their squadron. He affirmed Young’s assumptions when he got on the radio and ordered, “Engage the enemy MiGs over Kiev. The rest of the squadron will focus on going after the Backfire bombers.”
As they closed to within sixty-five miles of the enemy MiGs, Major Young and the rest of the Raptors began to fire off their missiles. Each aircraft launched their complement of six over-the-horizon air-to-air missiles before turning to rush off to the safe airspace of Poland to reload and get back into the fight. As Dale turned to head back home, he saw the MiGs begin to fire off their own missiles. His heart beat quickly in his chest, pounding with adrenaline. Seconds later, his on-board sensors calmed him down again by confirming that none of the enemy missiles had achieved lock. Once the F-22s had closed the weapon bays that dispensed their missiles, their stealth technology once again made them invisible to the enemy radar; Major Young felt like he had cheated death.