Standing in the Storm (The Last Brigade Book 2)

by William Alan Webb

  A moment later the voice of Colonel Walling, adjutant to the CO, echoed through the mountain. “Seventh Cavalry Brigade and civilians of Overtime Prime, attention for the commanding officer.”

  All remaining noise ceased. There was a short pause before Angriff’s voice came through, loud, clear, grim, and gruff.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the Seventh Cavalry, today we leave the safety of our mountain fortress for the unknown dangers of the battlefield. We are moving on the city of Prescott, to liberate that place from those who are oppressing its people, and we are going to free thousands of men, women, and children who otherwise are doomed to a life of slavery at the hands of the Chinese.

  “My fellow Americans, once upon a time this nation was stained with the blight of slavery, but we long ago flung aside that barbaric practice. However, in Prescott, thousands of our fellow citizens face that cruel fate unless we can save them. And let me make one thing crystal clear — we are going to save them.

  “I do not know exactly what awaits us on the battlefield, but I have supreme confidence we will prevail, regardless of whatever adversity we face.

  “You should know that your foe may well look like you. Reliable intelligence indicates that some of them wear old Marine BDUs. They use American weapons and speak American English. But do not be fooled into thinking they will welcome you. They will not. They will try to kill you. If you can safely take them prisoner, do so, but do not put yourself, your buddies, or your equipment in danger. Rules of Engagement are to protect yourself and your unit first, to rescue hostages second, and then, if possible, to capture unfriendlies.

  “And I cannot emphasize this last part enough. There will be no looting or unnecessary destruction. We are not conquerors attacking a foreign city. We are Americans liberating an American city occupied by American citizens who are under the heel of a tyrant. Violations of this directive will have dire consequences.

  “So as you move to meet your enemy, know that your cause is just and God is with you. Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord, and I pray that God has mercy upon my enemies, because I sure as hell won’t. But while the vengeance is His, we’re the instruments of that vengeance, and we’ve got our orders… it’s time to start taking our country back.”

  There were a few scattered cheers among the Marines. But battle was in the offing, real combat with the real likelihood of somebody not coming home. Most of them were combat veterans. They knew the horrors of the battlefield, of holding a shot-up buddy’s hand while a corpsman fought to keep him alive long enough to reach a field hospital. Death was coming and that was no cause for celebration.

  Standing atop a moveable stairway, Colonel Berger looked over his assembled battalion. With other units also assembled in Motor Bay C, he could not use a megaphone, so he shouted and hoped they heard him.

  “First Marine Recon Battalion will not be involved in the attack on Prescott. Our mission is to block the left flank. To that end, we will occupy a line twenty miles long… yes, you heard correctly, twenty miles. There is no known threat to the left flank, so we are a tripwire in case an unknown threat develops, but be ready to move out fast if we’re needed elsewhere. Obviously we’ll be in hedgehog positions, so dig deep and make sure you have overlapping fields of fire.

  “Companies will be in order from left to right, Alpha on the left, Echo on the right, with Bravo, Charlie, and Dog between. We will keep task force names and call signs. So in order — Tailback on the left, then Cornerback, Tackle, Kicker, and finally Safety on the right. Tailback and Safety, you will be responsible for denying your flank, if it comes to that, so leave yourselves a reserve. Headquarters is still Head Coach, service company is Trainer. You company commanders, make sure your platoon and squad leaders have the call signs down cold.

  “The snipers will be divvied up two per company, except for Cornerback, who will center the line and have less need for them. There’s no arty on call for this operation, it’s all going to the attack on Prescott, so place your mortars wisely. Ladies and gentlemen, the bottom line is that if this goes bad, we are just going to have to embrace the suck,” and he paused and flashed a big smile, turning so his entire command could see it. “But if this was a piece of cake, they’d give it to the Army! Gear up, jarheads; Oscar Mike in ten.”

  There was a last minute flurry of activity as crews crammed ammo into any empty niche in their already overloaded vehicles. Friends patted each other on the shoulder and vowed to buy a round of drinks afterward, as soon as drinks were available. Individuals found a spare pocket for one more energy bar, or an extra canteen of water, or another magazine.

  But Captain Sully was on a mission. He knew which snipers he wanted and he was not going to let the other platoon commanders get to them first. Spying them off to one side, he pushed through milling Marines and trotted over, pointed first at Piccaldi and then at Snowtiger. “You two on me. Let’s go.”

  He took two steps and stopped. “We found a case of M110s and I requisitioned two for the company. I want them back after this op.”

  The M110 was an Army semi-automatic sniper system, later replaced by a more compact Heckler & Koch unit, designed for the spotter member of a scout/sniper team. With a higher rate of fire, it made a more effective short-range weapon.

  “M110s?” Piccaldi said. “With ammo?”

  “Couldn’t do much without it. Two hundred rounds per gun.”

  “Damn, Captain, where did you find M110s?”

  “Supply found them and gave them to us. I don’t know why they didn’t give them to the Army, and I didn’t ask.”

  “Because they Ain’t Ready to be Marines Yet, Captain,” Piccaldi said.

  Chapter 21

  Plans are established by seeking advice; so if you wage war, obtain guidance.

  Proverbs 20:18

  2008 hours, July 28

  Dennis Tompkins and John Thibodeaux stood outside the southwest gate and marveled at the procession of titanic vehicles rumbling past. Watching the armored infantry was impressive enough, but then came the battalion of Abrams, followed by the Paladins and MLRSs (multiple launch rocket system) of the self-propelled artillery batteries. Clouds of dust drifted in the light breeze. They wore earplugs because of the engine noise. After a while the vibrations in the ground weakened their legs, as aging muscles became fatigued. Yet neither man made any effort to sit down. After so many years of counting bullets and fighting to survive, the sight of so much American military might seemed like a fantasy.

  “I pray them boys watch out,” Thibodeaux said during a lull, when it was quiet enough to speak. “Those beans are hot with fire.”

  Tompkins removed his earplug and asked his friend to repeat what he had said, and Thibodeuax did. Tompkins thought about it for a few seconds.

  “You know, John, we’ve known each other a lot of years now, and there’s been a lot of times you’ve said things I didn’t understand right off, but sooner or later I’d figure out what you meant.”

  “Sure,” Thibodeaux said, nodding. “An’ you saw I was always right.”

  “I don’t know about always,” Tompkins said. “But this time I don’t want to think about it, so I’m just gonna ask. What the hell are you talking about?”

  “That’s an expression, Skip. Beans hot with fire means you better be careful eatin’ your meal, ’cause there might be somethin’ in it burns after you swallow it, somethin’ that tears up your stomach.”

  “Oh.” Tompkins thought about that as a line of LAV-25s drove out the gate and away to the west. “Now I get it. We might be biting off more than we can chew. John, if there’s anybody who can eat this, it’s Nick Angriff. Let’s get saddled up. We’re movin’ out when he does.”

  Thibodeaux grabbed him by the arm. “You mean we’re in on this?”

  Tompkins smiled. “I knew you’d be excited. We’re part of General Angriff’s field headquarters company.”

  “The boys, too?”

  “The boys, too. We even get our own LAV, assum
ing you can drive it. You’ve been practicing, right? Now, let’s go. It’s time to get dressed and go to war.”

  “Hot damn, Skip, it’s way past time. We gonna shoot people?”

  Tompkins laughed. “More like watch and stay out of the way.”

  Hands clasped behind his back, Angriff stood at the far end of the Crystal Palace, staring through the glass at the desert beyond. With planning finished, the only thing left was to join his troops. But not yet. The roads were already crowded and since the headquarters company would move fast, they’d wait so as not to hinder the combat forces’ movement. Which left him with nothing to do.

  The cigar gripped in his teeth was unlit. He was saving it for the drive through open country, when the sight of their general puffing on a cigar would project confidence to the brigade. Then he noticed Sergeant Schiller’s reflection in the glass, and spoke before the sergeant announced his presence.

  “Can we do this, Schiller? Or is this going to be our first and last battle?”

  “That’s not for me to say, General.” For once Schiller allowed his voice to betray disappointment, because he was staying behind while others went to war. It was risky to chance angering Nick the A, but Schiller was pretty angry himself.

  “Your day will come, J.C. And if this op goes south, it might come sooner than you think. Until then, I need you with me.”

  “Of course, sir. I understand,” he said, and they both knew he lied. “And for what it’s worth, General, the troops are with you. Morale is through the roof.”

  “I appreciate that, J.C. I really do. Now, did you have a reason for coming into my office?”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,” Schiller said.

  “Not your fault. I distracted you.”

  “Sir, Dr. Goldstone would like to see you for a moment.”

  “Dr. Goldstone? By all means, show her in.” He removed the cigar and slipped it into the inside pocket of his jacket, then straightened his clothes and brushed his hair with his fingers.

  She came in smiling, carrying something covered by a white cloth.

  “Hello, Dr. Goldstone,” he said. “What have we here?”

  “Please, General, call me Sharon. I know you have to leave soon, so I wanted to send you off with something special.” She set the tray on his desk, moving a few papers in the process, and removed the cloth. Underneath was a tall glass filled with a thick white liquid, condensation running down the sides.

  Amazed, Angriff stared at the glass for a moment before he looked up at her. “That looks like milk.”

  She smiled. “And very cold milk, at that, courtesy of the Grubbs’ cow. They wanted you to have the first glass, General.”

  “Call me Nick,” he said, aware his mouth watered. “I didn’t know the cow was pregnant.”

  “Neither did they. It’s a good thing we found her when we did; she almost lost her calf. Well, don’t just look at it. Drink up before it gets warm.”

  Angriff hesitated, lifted the glass, and took a sip. “Dear God Almighty, that’s amazing.” He took a bigger drink and milk residue clung to the inside of the glass in a creamy film. He finished it in one more gulp. “I can’t ever remember tasting anything that good.”

  Goldstone smiled. “It still had the cream.”

  “Now I feel guilty. You and your people nursed her back to health and you should have gotten the milk.”

  “Don’t feel guilty, General… I mean Nick. Cows give five to seven gallons per day. We’ll get our share, but we wanted you to have the first glass.”

  “After an endless diet of PSBs, Sharon, that was the perfect way to send an old soldier off to war.”

  “Then make sure you come back.” Her smile became something more like a smirk, and Angriff wondered if she was flirting with him. “A few more weeks and I might have a fresh tomato for you.” Then her expression changed again. Her eyes narrowed and her expression became stern. “But for now, go do what you were born to do, Nick.”

  Chapter 22

  I hurt with cruelty those who would damage me.

  Archilocus, 650 B.C.

  0147 hours, July 29

  The world was a fuzzy montage of greens and darker greens. At first Rick Parfist found it disorienting, but after two hours of practice he was getting used to it.

  “We’re about to move out, Mr. Parfist,” Green Ghost said. “Are you good to go?”

  “My family’s lives depend on it. I’m ready.”

  “Remember everything we told you. Your mission is to get us to the prisoners without being seen. We do not engage anyone unless it is mandatory, and if that happens, you stay back and let us handle it. We’re going to be peeling off assets along the way to secure the road.”

  “Assets?”

  “People. As we move forward, people are going to leave the column at regular intervals. They will stay behind to make sure nobody attacks us from the rear. Once we secure the premises, transport for the prisoners will move into town, load them up, and get them out. Our job is to do all this without firing our weapons, if possible. If not, we are to protect the prisoners at all costs.

  “Your job will be to help organize the prisoners and get them on the trucks fast. You will leave Prescott with your family, where you will stand down and stay out of the way. Are we good?”

  “Yes, but shouldn’t I have a weapon?”

  “No can do. You’ve got your knife back, right? If there’s a firefight, get out of the way, keep your head down, and let us handle it.”

  “And what happens if you don’t handle it?”

  “Take off those night vision goggles, Mr. Parfist, and then tell me what you see.”

  Parfist slid them up. “I can’t see anything.”

  “These are fourth-generation night vision goggles, some of the most sophisticated gear our country ever produced. We rule the night. We are the best soldiers in the world. Our enemy is blind, and we are not. Now, as Saint Nick says, you can lead, follow, or get out of the way.”

  Parfist refitted the goggles on his face. He endured a few seconds of disorientation caused by the green world that appeared around him.

  “Follow me,” he said, and took a long step forward.

  0218 hours

  Unseen below them in the black night of the new moon, the valley meandered west. Somewhere in the vast swath of darkness, amid the hollow shells of a broken city, deadly figures picked their way forward. As night vision goggles lit their world in shades of green, they glided forward with the stealth of panthers.

  Watching from high above, Nick Angriff swiveled his own night vision binocular on its tripod. Every so often he caught a glimpse of a distant figure darting among the ruins on the outskirts of Prescott.

  Along with nearby Chino Valley and Prescott Valley, Prescott was part of an area once known as the Tri-Cities. Some had even called them the Quad Cities by adding the town of Dewey Humboldt. All these small cities were in the Bradshaw Mountains, bordered on the west by North America’s largest ponderosa pine forest. In the nineteenth century, the region had been overrun with gold and silver miners. By the twentieth century the mines had run out of precious metals. People left for new strikes elsewhere.

  But living was pleasant in the Tri-Cities. The climate was mild, with good rainfall and three distinct variations in topography close by. From the dense mountain forests to the cactus-strewn desert, people again flocked to Prescott. By the year 2000, the area was popular and growing fast.

  Dominating the eastern end of the valley, overlooking the towns of Prescott and Prescott Valley, loomed Badger Mountain. More than 6,200 feet high, the peak provided the ideal place from which to direct the coming battle. The brigade’s headquarters company lay scattered on the reverse slope. Parked at the crest were two LAV-AD air defense vehicles, with the other vehicles stair-stepped below.

  Angriff backed away from the binocular.

  “May God help me,” he said. “These are the moments I love so much that I hate myself.”

  Norm Fleming lower
ed his own binoculars. “You’re at your best when I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “On my orders, a lot of people are likely going to die today. I am sending thousands of America’s finest young men and women into combat, including my own daughter. I’m doing it in pursuit of something I believe is worth whatever sacrifice we are called upon to make. If need be, that includes my life, as well. That’s a lot of responsibility for any one man, or woman. But I’m willing to take it because somebody has to, and I’m arrogant enough to think I’m the best man for the job.”

  “We all think you’re the best man for the job, Nick.”

  “Without the faith of my command, I would be nothing. But to be honest with you, Norm, there’s a part of me that loves all this. The planning, the smells, the anticipation, the adrenaline… it’s like God has laid all of this out just for me, because He knows how much I crave it.”

  “Are you channeling George Patton again?” Fleming said. “The real George Patton, I mean… you know, ‘God help me, I love it so’?”

  “I’m not sure George Patton ever said that, but maybe I’m channeling George C. Scott playing Patton. Or Robert E. Lee on Marye’s Heights above Fredricksburg. I don’t know. I only know I’m ready to get this show on the road. The waiting is killing me.”

  “SEALs moved out nineteen minutes ago. The MARSOCs should be following in two minutes.”

  Angriff turned, even though the night was so dark he could barely make out Fleming’s outline. “Did you order the Marines back?”

  “Yes, three companies, plus the headquarters and service companies. I’m leaving two combat companies on the line. I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said yesterday about me being too cautious, and I decided I might have put too much on the left flank. There’s no known threat to the east and deploying the entire Marine battalion there was a waste. So I withdrew them and I’m sending them south of the city as a flanking force.”