by John Ringo
When Mike's shift was over he tried the radio. The box was designed to be used with the microboxes and instead of sending out a strong signal designed to bounce off the ionosphere or use ground conduction, it sent out a light signal, slowly increasing, as it hunted for what was, essentially, an internet router. They'd set up a box on the far ridge and it should be in range. Finally the signal strength went to nearly full and he keyed the mike.
"Keldara Base this is Six," Mike said. The radio was frequency agile and encrypted, meaning that it switched frequencies repeatedly, staying on one for less than a second, and digitally scrambled the voices. All that a very good intercept system would pick up would be random hisses on various frequencies. He wasn't sure that even Uncle Sam could listen in. And localizing it, because of the frequency changes and the distributed system, was very difficult.
"Six, Base," a female voice answered.
"We're at point 274," Mike said. Prior to setting out, he and Vanner had marked up the old Soviet map with a series of location points and 274 was very near their present position. "Negative contact, negative sign."
"Roger, Six," the female voice answered. "Team Sawn near point 618." That would put them up on the first ridgeline. Mike hoped they were being careful. On the other hand, if the shit hit the fan there were something like supports handy.
"Roger 618. Six, out," Mike said. Just because nobody should be able to listen, it didn't mean he should take chances.
This set up the program for the next few days. The team checked in hourly—that way if they were surprised or there was a radio malfunction somebody would know they were cut off—reported negative contact and checked back out. They had enough food for four days and there was a spring not far off so they had water. They were bored out of their gourds, but Mike thought it was good training for the Keldara sniper designates.
He'd reconned the area with an eye to a possible ambush of the Chechens. They had a good view of both trails from their OP, but egressing, running away, would be difficult. On the second day, with no one in sight, he had the three Keldara start clearing the trail along the ridgeline. Both the east and west trails snaked back and forth. If they engaged from up here, they should be able to engage and then run down the ridgeline, more or less straight, to the valley. He could either bring up a vehicle on call or do the two-step boogie across the valley.
On the third day they were there, Team Oleg moved up to supporting position, fresh from a couple of days on the range. They weren't exactly what Mike would call trained but they were better than Sawn's group, which only knew which end the bullet came out of. Adams was with them, as well as McKenzie and Porter, his assistant trainer.
Late on the third day, just as dusk was coming on, Praz stuck his hand out of his ghillie suit and made a motion of men walking.
Mike slithered over to the lookout and peered through binoculars at the trail. There were three men moving down the trail. The men wore civilian clothing but they were carrying AKs so they were legitimate combatants; Mike had checked with Vadim about friendly forces and there weren't any active in the area. The three weren't being particularly cautious and looked, frankly, bored. They stopped at a place where a stream crossed the trail and the area widened out. One of them crossed the stream and went into the woods on the far side, then came back out.
As he did, a larger group moved into the area and spread out, most of them flopping to the ground at the tree line. The men weren't wearing packs, they only had their weapons and some of them wore ammunition vests, so Mike couldn't figure out why they looked so tired. Moving through the mountains, even in the rain, wasn't all that hard.
The second group was followed by a third, smaller group, one of whom began to gesticulate and apparently shout angrily. The men that had flopped got up and moved into the woods as more men and now mules flooded into the area. Gear was unpacked, the men in the woods came back with wood and in less than an hour a camp was in place. They'd lit fires for warmth and to cook their food and were acting anything but tactical.
The mules appeared to be carrying stores, spare ammo and, notably, heavy weapons. There were five that carried, between them, two 80mm mortars, some ammunition cases for them and a half a dozen RPGs and ammo. All the mules were heavily overloaded and looked just about at the end of their rope. But, then again, mujahideen mules always looked at the end of their rope.
Mike did a count on the group and determined that there were quite a few short of two hundred, closer to one-eighty. He wasn't sure if that meant another group or that the intel estimate was wrong. They might have detached a group to take the wounded to a base somewhere, for that matter. Figure five wounded based on the Spetznaz report, two or three seriously. Four stretcher bearers per, a few guards for support. That might be it.
By full dark the group had been fed and were bedded down, propping up scraps of plastic against the continuing rain. There were a few guards on duty, but the group didn't appear to expect trouble. Given that they were deep inside Georgia, that said it all about their ability to move freely in the country.
Mike moved back to the hide and picked up the radio.
"Base this is Six," Mike said. "SEAL REP. ECHO, One Eight Zero. Two Eight Zero Mike Mike. Six Romeo Papa Golf." There were one hundred and eighty bad guys, heavy weapons were two eighty millimeter mortars and six RPGs.
"Six, Base," a female voice replied. "Copy Echo, One Eight Zero. Two Eight Zero Mike Mike. Count Six Romeo Papa Golf."
"Roger," Mike said. "Get Five. Contact in Three Zero Mike."
"Roger, Six," Base replied.
"What we gonna do, boss?" Russell asked.
"We're gonna kill 'em all and fuck their old ladies," Mike said.
* * *
"Six this is Five, over," Nielson called over the radio in thirty minutes.
"Five, what is the status of Team Vil?" Mike said. As he recalled, Vil and Oleg's group were both through initial training.
"Deployed south near point 625," Nielson said.
"Redeploy mounted to 738," Mike said, moving the team to a point north of Alerrso near the opening to the valley. "Redeploy Team Oleg to point 618, offset five hundred meters south for ambush tomorrow. Bunker up. Will lead Echo element to ambush point. Upon ambush, Vil to redeploy to near point 274 to catch leakers. Clear?"
There was a pause as Nielson obviously considered the map and the plan.
"Clear," Nielson said after a moment.
"Will send guide to Team Oleg, leave team in place to guide in Vil," Mike continued. "Prepare to implement by NLT 0900 tomorrow. Six out."
"Russell, Otar," Mike said. "Pack up. Head for the defile we passed through. Make contact with Adams and have him lay in an ambush for the defile. Have him dig in deep; they're probably going to try to fight through. Leave the back door open, though and make damned sure that nobody kills us when we come a running. Clear?"
"Clear," Russell said, grinning.
"Killjoy, Vanim, move down the trail to near the base of the ridge. Find a good hide point. After we initiate the ambush, Vil will move up with his team in vehicles. Bring the vehicles to the west trail, then put them in position to engage the enemy as they retreat. Clear?"
"Clear," Killjoy replied, smiling. "Fuck their old ladies, huh?"
"We'll see," Mike said. "Take most of the spare ammo and gear with you; we're going to be moving light. Get going."
* * *
Mike snuggled the stock of the Mannlicher into his shoulder and took a light breath, then let it out. He and Praz had carefully measured the distance to the camp, which was starting to unhurriedly break down in the morning light, and designated targets. The mortars had been unloaded at one point and they'd managed to designate the mortarmen and, most importantly, their leaders. He definitely wanted the trained mortarmen out of the equation; the mortars would be hell on the ambush no matter what.
He'd also figured out who Breslav probably was but he was leaving him for last. He wanted the Chechens to pursue aggressively and
he figured they'd need leadership to do that. The snipers intended to take out the mortarmen, especially the team leaders, and as many of the mules as they could before moving out.
"Lasko, keep an eye on the targets and call," Mike said. "If either one of us goes down, you take over."
"Got it," the Keldara said, quietly.
Mike lined up one of the mortar team leaders and carefully stroked the trigger.
The 7mm round took about a second and a half to cover the distance, by which time Mike had switched targets to the mule the team was loading and Praz had engaged the other team leader.
"Kildar left and up," Lasko murmured. "Mortarman in cover behind a log. Praz, left, down, bucking mule. Kill, for Kildar, right and down, mule. Kill for Praz, left and up, mortarman."
The two snipers steadily worked the camp as it exploded in activity.
"Kildar, Praz, down and right, team trying to get mortar up," Lasko said. "Track right, team attempting to get mortar up."
"What's the rest of the group doing?" Mike asked.
"One group, about twenty, is working over to the left," Lasko said. "Track left, machine-gunner setting up."
Mike tracked left and spotted the team with the assistant gunner just closing the top on the machine gun. The gunner was tracking back and forth, looking for the snipers that were engaging from the hilltop but clearly unable to find them. Mike lined up on his prone body and watched through the scope as the gunner's head exploded. The assistant gunner tried to get the machine gun in action but Praz took him out with a shot to the body.
"Track right," Lasko said. "They're still trying to get the mortars in action."
Mike looked at the mortar team, which was surrounded by dead bodies, and shook his head.
"Stupid brave," he said. They should have moved the mortars out of the open area. He ignored the crew that was slewing the mortar their way and shot the sight away, killing the gunner in the process. Then he hit the AG just as he was lifting one of the rounds into the tube. The round dropped and headed downrange, but it landed well to their right and short, far enough away that the explosion of the round was muffled by the trees.
"Fuck this," Praz muttered. Shortly afterwards the ready box of ammunition by "his" mortar exploded, sending shrapnel all over the camp, knocking the mortar over and killing most of the crew.
"Good point," Mike said, lining up the box that the crew had set out by the mortar. There was another box under it for good measure and both were laid far too close to the weapon itself. He put two rounds into the boxes, as the shaken crew was just getting to its feet, before the box finally went up at the third hit.
"Time to boogie," Mike said, sliding backwards out of the hide.
They'd sent most of their gear with Killjoy and Otar so the packs were light. They tossed them on and headed down the cut trail towards the valley.
Mike paused at one point and took up a position by a rock, well in sight of the Chechens. They were starting to get their act together and he wanted none of that. He doffed the ghillie suit and leaned against a boulder, in full view of the group in the distance. He knew he wasn't much of a figure to pick out but it was possible.
"Lasko," Mike said, "can you see Breslav?"
Lasko tracked around the camp with the spotting scope and then paused.
"Upper right quadrant," Lasko said. "South of the stream. Talking with someone."
"Got it," Mike said. He lased the two men and got a range of twelve hundred meters, tough downhill and with a crosswind. He carefully lined up the man Breslav was talking to and engaged. He had to time the shot between heart pumps since his heart rate was way up.
"Target. Kill," Lasko murmured. "Breslav has gone to ground behind the tree trunk."
Mike shot the tree a couple of times just to make his point.
"We've got company coming up the hill," Praz said.
"Good," Mike replied.
"They're engaging," Praz pointed out.
Mike couldn't hear any bullets nearby, which was fine by him. But he did see an RPG land short of their position and heard a following crack from Praz's rifle.
"Got the RPG," Praz said.
"Let's go," Mike replied. "They know where we are at least."
"They're following," Praz said as they headed down the hill.
"Good," Mike replied. "Anybody see the main group?"
"Negative," Praz said as they scrambled down the hill. When they hit the flats they were going to be in the open, fair targets for the pursuing Chechens.
"Oleg, Oleg, this is Kildar, over," Mike panted into his mike.
"Kildar, this is Team Oleg, over," Adams replied.
"We're being pursued by two groups of Chechens," Mike said as they hit the bottom of the hill and crossed the small stream there. "One group is on our hill and in direct pursuit. The main body should be behind them. We'll try to engage from the far tree line and get the two to close up. The mortars might or might not have been taken out. One is definitely down, the other is a possible."
"Roger," Adams said. "We're in position."
"Don't let Vil move, yet," Mike said. "We need to have both groups across the valley before he moves."
"We've got a good view of the valley," Adams said. "You're in view. Speaking of which, so are the guys behind you."
They were crossing a plowed field with a hint of green showing on it. The farmer was out of his house, plowing in another field. When he saw the camouflage-covered men burst from the trees he dropped the traces of the plow and began running for his house. But not as fast as Mike, Praz and Lasko were running.
"I am . . . getting tired," Lasko grunted.
"Gimme your pack and weapon," Mike said, dropping back and pulling the pack off.
"I can . . . make it . . ." the Keldara replied, struggling to hold onto the pack.
"Fuck that," Mike said, snatching the pack off the older man's back. "I'm younger and in much better shape for this. Praz, how you doing?"
"I'm going to die tired," Praz grunted but kept moving.
"Kildar, be aware, the pursuing group is in view of you," Adams said.
Mike heard a round crack overhead but they were most of the way across the valley, at least three hundred meters away, and muj shooting was notoriously bad. All they had to do was make it to the tree line.
"Fuck," Praz grunted, stumbling to his knees and then back up. "Took one in the body armor."
"You okay?" Mike asked as he slithered down the bank of the main valley stream. It was wide and shallow, easily fordable, instead of the mountain torrent they had crossed on the hillside. For that matter, it offered a moment's cover but they couldn't stay there.
"Fine," the sniper said, shaking his head. "Let's go."
They scrambled up out of the stream with rounds cracking around them and darted across the last open area to the woodline, reaching that concealment without anyone getting hit again.
"Spread out," Mike said, handing Lasko his gear and moving to the east. "We're going to have to shoot and move towards the trail." He dropped behind the stump of a fallen tree and started searching for targets. The Chechen force had moved out into the valley and was running towards them but they were more than four hundred meters back.
He lined up one guy who was gesticulating and pushing some of the laggards, taking him down. He jacked another round into the Mannlicher and shot the next guy in view.
Praz was engaged as well and Mike had taken down five targets when the Chechens hesitated and then began running back for the opposite tree line. By the time they'd gotten there, Lasko was finally shooting and before they reached the trees there were twelve bodies scattered on the green field. The farmer's ox, meanwhile, had wandered away to the west, away from the gunfire.
"Lasko," Mike called. "Move up the hill to the east. Stay concealed as much as you can. Move about thirty meters, find an overlook spot, then call."
"Yes, Kildar," the Keldara said. Mike could hear him move out, barely; the hunter was remarkably stealthy.
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Mike spotted a Chechen moving on the far hillside and lined him up. He fired and saw the man drop out of sight, dead or at least wounded. Okay, maybe just scared and fast.
Some of the men on the ground were only wounded and one was crawling back towards the tree line. Mike let him get about thirty meters from the tree line and then carefully shot him in his remaining good leg. The man waved at the tree line for help, dropping back to the ground, then lifting himself up.
"You're a bastard," Praz said.
"Wait for it," Mike replied. Sure enough, a Chechen darted out from cover, running to the man's side.
"Yours," Mike said.
There was a crack from Praz's rifle and the "rescuer" fell to the ground.
"Kildar," Lasko said, over the radio. "I am in position."
"Go, Praz," Mike called. "Leapfrog past Lasko."
There was a sudden fusillade of shots from the far tree line and another Chechen darted into view. Mike ignored the shots, most of which weren't even making it to their position, and again waited for the Chechen to reach the injured man in the field. This time, though, he shot him as he lifted the man up.
"You are a bastard," Praz said over the radio. "I'm in my spot. Lasko's well up the hill; don't get in his line of fire."
Mike pulled out of his position, moving slowly up the hill from bush to bush. The trees gave plenty of concealment but he wasn't willing to take chances at this point.
"Kildar," Lasko called. "I can see the main force of the Chechens at the opening to the trail. They are closing on your position."
"Roger," Mike said, swearing faintly. "I'm heading for the trail. You two, keep the second body under fire. When the main force gets fully in view, head straight up the hill to the first switchback."
* * *
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Mike quit trying to move slowly, instead going as fast as he could on the steep hillside, moving from one handhold on a tree to another. In a few minutes, he reached the trail and looked out towards the south.