by John Ringo
"Echo Two Seven, target troops in the open, grid six-five-eight-two by four-two-zero-four!"
"Mortar section, hip-shoot east!" Lieutenant Todd shouted over the communicator.
The six tracks of the Bravo Company, First Battalion, Fourteenth Regiment (Separate) had been cranking at full speed on ground-effect down the trace of former Missouri Highway Eight heading for their next firing position. The trace was covered by small saplings, mostly poplar with an admixture of beech and pine. But the armored mortar carriers snapped those in a welter of flying sticks and leaves that had the front of the otherwise invisible mortar carrier covered in a green froth.
At the command Oppenheimer spun up the tracks and slammed the vehicle to the ground, causing a screech of complaint from the drive-train and a rooster-tail of flying soil and pulverized vegetation.
"Watch the fucking tracks!" Keren shouted as the driver slid the vehicle sideways, its mortar compartment oriented to the east.
"Aligned!" was all Oppenheimer said.
Keren hit the disconnect on his safety-harness, a necessity when going at nearly seventy miles an hour, and dropped his command chair into the belly of the track.
Before he could even get out of his seat, though, Adams and Griffis had slammed open the splinter-cover over the mortar. With a grunt the gun was lifted on its automated support pod and locked into place. Cristman hit the auto-align button and waited.
"Fucking Three Gun . . ." Adams muttered. "COME ON, THREE GUN!"
"Section up," Sergeant Moreland said as Three Gun finally got its gun into action and its automated alignment system online.
In the past, to get artillery or mortars to go where you wanted it to go, it was necessary to carefully align the guns using techniques very similar to surveying. The guns would be set up on a very straight line then further aligned using a series of highly calibrated sights. It took a long time and it was a pain in the ass.
The auto-alignment system, by contrast, used laser transmitters and receptors to determine where each gun was in relationship to each other and where they were in relationship to the world. Using that information the gunnery computer could give each gun a correction necessary to get it to go where the enemy was rather than, say, on top of friendly forces or the vast areas that had neither.
Coupled with the automatic gunnery system of the mortars, what had once been a five to ten minute process even with a "hip-shoot" now took about twenty seconds for a good crew. Or ninety for Three Gun.
"Three rounds, prox, fire for effect," the FDC ordered.
"Three rounds prox," Keren repeated, reaching into the ammo box on his side of the carrier. "Fire for effect."
He tossed a round to Adams who slammed it into the tube, then another, then another. All three of the rounds were out before any of the other guns had started to fire.
"Cease fire," Sergeant Moreland ordered. "I want all four gun captains at my track. Now."
"Keren," Moreland said. "Very impressive. You were first gun up and, by a long shot, the first to fire. Care to tell me how you got prox, which is not the default setting, outbound about a half a second after the order?"
"Two ammo compartments on the carrier, Sergeant," Keren said, shrugging. "Port side is all contact. Starboard side we've got the flares, smoke and a small amount of standard set to prox and delay. That way we don't have to dick around with setting it if we get a hip-shoot."
"Port," Sergeant West said. The Four Gun squad leader was a tall, rangy brunet from West Virginia. "That's the left as you're facing forwards. So . . . Griffis jumps over there to get the round and hands it across the tube?"
"Oh, hell no," Keren said, shaking his head. "I pull the round and Adams shifts sides to hang. And, sorry Sergeant Moreland, I don't go yelling 'Hang it' and 'Fire' unless we're on timed fire. He just hangs the son of a bitch and fires it as fast as we can get them out the tube. Hipshoots are about speed."
"And thus we find why he was the artillery coordinator for the Ten Thousand," Sergeant Moreland said. "Stall, you wanna tell me why it took you nearly a minute and a half to get up?"
"No excuse, Sergeant," the third squad leader said. Short, black haired and hefty for a juv, Wendell Stall was from the Cleveland, Tennessee, Urb and had fought most of the war in the 32nd Tennessee "Volunteers" in the battles around Chattanooga. The Volunteers fought the whole war in fixed mounts with fairly constant targets and he was having a hard time adjusting to maneuver warfare.
"That isn't an answer," Moreland said. "We'll discuss this later. News from company is that we well and truly smoked the hilltop. We're staying here and may have another fire mission coming up. Get back to your tracks."
"Hedren would have taken out most of the mortar fire," Captain Cox said. The observer sent in from corps shook his head. "Your mortars need to fire together to overwhelm it."
"Hipshoot," Cutprice said looking through his sight. "Get the metal on the target as fast as possible."
The company had been in road-march condition when it hit this defensive point on the ridges east of Huzzah Creek. The first intimation had been a flight of antiarmor missiles, all of which had been "graded" as destroyed. Given that they were actual rockets, just not antiarmor ones, and that the antimissile system took them all down, the observer would have had a hard time grading it otherwise.
Bravo company was following Missouri Eight with Alpha well behind it and Charlie flanking them well to the north. The battalion was, notionally, screening an advance of the entire regiment heading towards an objective to the east. But it was a movement to contact. And they had contact. They just had to find out how much.
The Huzzah was a very minor creek, not much of an obstacle, but the ridges along its length were something else. There were only a few places the tracks could maneuver on them. He glanced at his map and then over his shoulder.
"Launch a UAV," he said to his RTO. "Order Second Platoon to maneuver to the road north of here. Cross the Huzzah there and try to push in on the flank. Stay mounted; we're in a hurry. Mortars are to begin full speed bombardment of the target."
"Fire for effect, mix prox and delay, thirty rounds, on command."
"Opie, set the delay rounds," Keren said, sliding to the rear of the compartment and starting to pull out rounds. The standard rounds came set for contact. By dialing the rounds slightly one way or the other they could be configured for delay, which exploded a fraction of a second after it hit something, or proximity which exploded two meters above the ground.
Something was troubling him and it suddenly hit him as he was setting the third round.
"Sergeant Moreland," he said quietly over his comm. It was set to the command channel so that only other squad leaders and the platoon command group, Moreland and Lieutenant Todd would hear him.
"Counterbattery."
Lieutenant Edison McIntosh wished he had Lieutenant Todd's position. But he also knew that the mortar platoon commander had about ten times his experience. Todd had been a platoon leader before McIntosh's father was born and had fought all the way through the Posleen War rising to the rank of major.
However, the former major had only fought the Posleen. And McIntosh had been carefully instructed by his boss on one thing that the lieutenant probably didn't count on.
As he was reaching into the satchel by his side, though, the lieutenant keyed his comm.
"All tracks! INCOMING! Displace five hundred meters west! NOW! NOW! NOW!"
Fuck. The notional Hedren counterbattery wasn't due for another thirty seconds.
Chapter Nineteen
Balmoral gunned the AFV as it hit the flats to the east of the Huzzah and hammered through the light screen of brush. As it hit the area near the stream, though, he could feel it bogging.
"Ground effect," Sergeant Toyley said.
He hit the ground effect button and the AFV hammered forward, slamming the troops in the back backwards then dropped into the rushing stream, slowing again and slamming them forward.
"What the
fuck are you doing, Ballsman?" Campbell screamed from the back.
"Shut up, Campbell," Sergeant Toyley snapped as the M84 screamed into action. Their crossing point was in view of the defense point on the stream and they were taking missile fire. The 5mm commander's railgun sounded like an electric chainsaw the size of a Mack truck and the coating on the rounds left a blue track of fire through the air like tracers.
"Where the fuck is the artillery?" Campbell yelled. "We were supposed to have mortar cover!"
"Shut up, Campbell," Toyley replied as the track crossed the stream.
As soon as they were on the far side they were in cover from the defense position. Balmoral dropped to the ground and gunned it again, heading up the trace of an old road that climbed through a narrow notch in the cliffs. The trace was half-covered by a brook that was rushing with spring rains and the track tore up a sheet of spray as it headed up into the hills.
"There should be an old trace to the right," Toyley said, looking forward. "There, you see it?"
"See it, Sergeant," Balmoral said, spinning the track in the narrow corner and gunning it hard. It was a steep damned road and the trees were thicker than normal. But there weren't any big boulders or stumps. But the trace quickly died in thicker timber from before the Posleen War. "I don't have a road!"
"Unass!" Sergeant Toyley said. "Get it off the road if you can and lager up."
As soon as the troops were off, Balmoral spun the track into the trees, shoving it off the road. Other tracks were discharging behind him and for a moment he wasn't sure what to do.
"We're staying here," Sergeant Chofsky said over the radio. "We can partially interdict artillery from here."
As he said it the blue-force-tracker chimed.
"Incoming Hedren fire. Mark Three Plasma Mortars."
"You know," Balmoral said, crossing his arms and leaning his seat back as the M84 began to rave. "This is just a little too real."
"Thirty!" Keren called.
"All tracks, displace five hundred meters down the road. Prepare for counterbattery mission."
"Move it, Opie!" Keren yelled, grabbing a stanchion and hauling himself forward.
"Incoming Hedren fire," the BFT said in a soft contralto. "Incoming artillery classified as Hedren Mark Six Plasma Artillery."
The M84 was slewed up and to the right at nothing Keren could see. But he wasn't going to be graded as killed so he pulled the commander's cupola down and strapped himself into his seat. What the hell. The vision blocks were wide plasma screens. He could see nearly as well down here as up there.
"Get in line, Opie," Keren said as Three Gun's track, which had yet to start moving, started flashing red lights. Keren noted that the commander's gun was pointed straight forwards. "Well, the good news is that we're not going to be waiting for Three Gun anymore . . ."
* * *
Specialist Adolpho Littlefield flopped to his face and pointed his railgun up the hill, searching for targets.
The training was a far cry from fighting the Posleen. Adolpho had spent most of his time in the war near the Harrisburg defense line. Fighting the Posleen in the open was generally suicide; only the ACS could really survive under direct Posleen fire. He'd spent most of the war servicing Gatling guns in fixed positions.
But he'd been trained, long long ago, in the techniques of fire and maneuver. And better than half the volunteer recalls had training in it. So he was picking it up pretty quick. But, Lord God, was it tiring.
Fire and maneuver meant that while looking for targets you also had to spot your next cover position. Then, on command, you pushed yourself to your feet and sprinted forward while another group covered the movement of yours. Hit the ground fast, pop up to find targets and cover the next group as they moved.
There was a rave above his head as one of the AFV gunners fired at a target on the hilltop. Technically, that was their job. But he wasn't real happy with 9mm rail rounds going by overhead. The exercise wasn't using blanks or simunitions. The "enemy" was dummies and some robots so they were authorized to shoot them up. But if one of those railgun rounds hit him he was going to be paste.
"Bravo Team, move!"
Push to his feet, sprint uphill through the underbrush, find another tree to hide behind. Suddenly, his harness started to blink red lights.
"What the fuck?"
"You are an . . . artillery casualty," a soft contralto said. "You are graded as . . . terminated."
"Motherfucker!"
"Where in the hell is the counterbattery?" Cutprice asked as more units dropped off the screen. "RTO, call battalion and tell them we're getting slaughtered by artillery out here. And for some reason we can't get any."
"Bravo Battery just got graded as fifty percent casualties," Specialist Simmons said.
Lieutenant Colonel Nathaniel Moberly had been a cannon cocker back when that was a real term. He'd been a battery commander in Vietnam, had once had a wife named Helga as a result of one of many trips to the Federal Republic of Germany and had, in his time, been associated with everything from 105 towed shorties to MLRS.
But the quality of Hedren counterbattery was taking him by surprise.
"Remind all batteries to immediately displace on firing," Moberly said. "And ask Delta why we're still taking fire. I want those Hedren batteries silenced. And keep an eye out for Hedren probes. They're bound to be looking for us."
"What the hell?" Cutprice said as the M84 by his ear started firing up and to the left. It wasn't the right angle for artillery fire.
"Sir!" Specialist Riley shouted. "BFT says we're auto-engaging a Hedren probe rocket. That's their version of a . . ."
"UAV," Cutprice finished. "Command team! Four hundred meters west! Now! Now! Now!"
"Lieutenant John Mullins," the BFT chimed. "Captain Thomas Cutprice is graded as . . . terminated. You are now . . . commander . . . pro tem of . . . Bravo Company . . . First Battalion Fourteenth Infantry Regiment. Congratulations on your . . . temporary assumption of command."
Mullins sighed and looked at the screen in his track. He'd spent most of his military career in special operations and more or less been shanghaied by that bastard Cutprice into the Ten Thousand. Even then, Cutprice had made him a fucking adjutant of all things.
Now he was supposed to take over a company that was getting bogged down and wasted by artillery fire.
But he'd been watching the tactical situation and knew that Cutter had gotten way too involved with what looked like an overarmed Observation Post.
"First and Third Platoons," Mullins said. "Hammer down the road. Third dismount on the target. Kill anything there and then get back in your tracks and continue the movement. Second Platoon, swing your tracks back onto Highway Eight and link up there with your dismounts. All tracks maintain maneuvering. Mortars, discontinue fire on objective and see if you can get counterbattery information for those fucking Hedren mortars. Everybody: Boot their ass, don't piss on them. Log team, displace."
"The Hedren are shooting and moving just like we are," Gist said, pointing at the screen. "So far, we've been dodging their arty and they've been dodging ours. Well, we've mostly been dodging."
"Okay," Lieutenant Todd said. "Pull up a terrain map with all their previous locations on it."
"Yes, sir," Gist said.
The former head of the Infantry Mortar Board considered the terrain map and then grinned.
"Target this location," he said, pointing to a clearing off of Highway Eight.
"There's nothing there," Gist said.
"That we know of," Richards replied. "But they've fired from here, here, here and here. They've been moving backwards on the road and pulling off to fire in open areas. The next open area is—"
"Mortars, stand by for targeting orders," Gist said, grinning.
"How many RAP rounds do we have?" Captain Ellis Benford asked.
The commander of Delta Battery Second Battalion One Hundred Sixty-Seventh Artillery Regiment (Detached) was getting tired of Regiment asking wh
en they were going to silence the Hedren artillery. They'd already taken two near misses from counterbattery and he was also tired of that.
Delta Battery was six 200mm howitzers that were tasked to the 1/14th Regiment. The overall battalion had four batteries, Alpha, Bravo, Charlie and Delta. Alpha, Bravo and Charlie were 155s tasked to the individual teams of the overall regiment, a team being one of the battalions with engineering and tank supports.