“They’ll be here when they’re here. Just keep a sharp lookout.”
Several explosions threw dirt in the air less than four hundred yards away. Rifle and chain-gun fire followed immediately.
“Crank us up, Tanya,” she said. “I think we’re about to go on stage.”
0730 hours
Angriff was a pacer. During times of stress and decision, and in particular during the heat of combat, he would stalk and smoke and rub his chin. This ritual helped him visualize the battlefield, where his assets were in relation to the enemy. He talked to himself, sometimes lapsing into the German his father had spoken during his boyhood.
He had an uncanny knack for feeling how much his troops could take before breaking. He also knew when to launch counter-attacks for maximum effect. But his normal method of operation was to scout the ground first, except this time he couldn’t do that. The few drones available to the engaged units hadn’t lasted long, so he only had a vague idea of the topography and roads.
He was still outside pacing when Schiller stepped out with the latest reports.
“Bulldozer has been forced back into the town of Skull Valley, sir. The Marines are holding the line, but barely. They’re going to have to move soon or be overrun.”
“Status of the tank battalion?”
“Apparently somebody blew up part of the road just west of the city, creating a bottleneck. They’re repairing it as fast as they can, but there’s no ETA yet.”
“Damn.” Angriff tossed the butt of his cigar into the dirt. He followed Schiller back into the MCC and got a quick recap from Fleming. “If the tanks are caught strung out on that road, it could get ugly,” Angriff said.
“Very,” Fleming said.
“If they do break through, is there anything to slow them down until we can deploy the tanks?”
“Just one.” Fleming pointed to the map, and a bend in the road that led toward Prescott. Looking up, he met Angriff’s eyes. “Bulldozer One One Two is in a blocking position right here.”
“There? I thought she… they… were closer to the city.”
Fleming shook his head. “No, they’re here. If the Chinese get that far, and get past them, they can hit the rest of the battalion while it’s in road march order.”
“Then Bulldozer One One Two has to hold at all costs,” Angriff said.
Fleming nodded.
“Send the order.”
Chapter 36
Stranger, Go tell the Spartans
We died here obedient to their commands.
Inscription at Thermopylae
0733 hours, July 29
“I guess that’s it, then,” Morgan Randall said after reading the stand-fast order to her crew. “We’re here to stay.”
“They can’t mean no matter what, boss,” Toy said.
“At all costs seems pretty clear to me,” she said. “Tanya, EXACTO rounds ready?”
“Locked and loaded, boss,” Tanya said.
“Main gun for AFVs only, unless I order otherwise.”
“We don’t have the fifty, boss,” Toy said. “There’s not much to keep infantry off our ass.”
“The other two machine guns will be enough. The rest of the battalion is just down the road and they’ll be here any minute. We’ll be fine.”
“And if we’re not?”
“Then we’re not,” she said.
“Ripsaw Real, this is Prime. What is your fuel and ammo status?”
“Low on both, Prime, but we’ve got enough for a few more runs.”
“Be advised of change in mission parameters. Coordinates being sent now. At western edge of the city, there is a highway leading to the Chinese position. You are to assist Bulldozer One One Two if needed. Bulldozer is in blocking position. It is believed Chinese are closing on their position. Do you copy?”
“Roger that, Prime. On my way.”
“Bulldozer One One Two,” Carlos said. “Isn’t that Morgan?”
“Yeah.” Randall shoved the throttle to the wall.
0739 hours
While she sat in the commander’s seat with her head exposed, a bullet ricocheted off the ruined hatch inches from Morgan Randall’s right ear. Toy turned and fired the M16, then ducked inside the turret as small arms fire broke out in return.
“Shit,” he said. It took a few seconds to aim and fire the coaxial 7.62mm machine gun in reply. Then he found the range. Heads disappeared behind a hill several hundred yards away as bullets kicked up the dirt. Toy began tracking the 120mm gun in their direction.
“Forget that, Toy. I said main gun for armor only,” Randall said. “Expect enemy armor to come over that hill any minute.”
Four hundred yards down a straight patch of the highway rose a slight hill that obscured whatever lay beyond. Almost on cue, the barrel of a tank’s main gun rumbled into sight, followed by the bottom of a Type 98 main battle tank.
“Ready to fire,” Toy said.
“Fire!”
Joe’s Junk recoiled as the 120mm smoothbore cannon fired its massive shell. The EXACTO round struck the underside of the target about a quarter of the way back. Penetrating the thin metal bottom, it exploded in the crew compartment with a huge roar and a tower of flame and smoke. The turret flew upward and crashed back on top of the stricken tank, then the ammunition began cooking off, ripping holes in the hull.
“Repeat EXACTO,” Randall said. “New target should be to one side of the first tank.”
“We’ve got infantry at two and ten o’clock, boss,” said Tanya. “Two hundred yards and closing.”
“Roger that. Marty, next round is EXACTO.”
“We’ve only got four left,” Marty said.
“EXACTO, damn it,” Randall said.
Out of the smoke boiling from their first kill, another Type 98 raced over the hill so fast that for just an instant it went airborne. Slamming back to Earth, the Chinese tank did not wait to stabilize before shooting. Both the American and the Chinese tank fired simultaneously. At a hypersonic closing rate, the two shells passed within six feet of each other as they sped toward their intended targets.
The American EXACTO round penetrated the turret junction with the hull, a lethal hit that set off another massive explosion. The Chinese round was off target because of its bouncing firing platform, the Type 98 itself. Instead of hitting the front glacis plate, it struck the left front tread, where it touched with the ground. The resulting detonation lifted the front of Joe’s Junk five feet in the air and then slammed it back down. Seventy-ton tanks were not meant to absorb such a shock.
“Report,” Randall said. Her head had smacked into the hull with the shell’s impact and there were sparkles in her vision. She did not feel the blood running past her right ear and down her back.
“I’m here,” Tanya said in a weak voice. “Marty’s wounded. I can’t tell how bad. I think the left tracks are destroyed.”
“Reporting for duty,” Toy said. “Fire control is up, all systems operable, except my brain.”
“Marty, report your status. Marty? Marty, can you hear me? Damn… Tanya, can you load an M1028? We’ve got enemy infantry all over the place. Need it quick.”
“Can do, boss.”
“Toy, get on the MG. Keep ’em back!”
Bullets sprayed the tank, bouncing off but making a loud clang with every hit. Randall grabbed her M16 and tried to pin down the closest Chinese, but a machine gun fire-hosed her position. She slumped back inside.
“Tanya, we’re out of time!”
“Almost there, boss. Marty’s in the way… locked and loaded!”
The M1028 warhead contained eleven hundred 10mm tungsten balls. When fired, they spread in a shotgun pattern and beyond five hundred yards could rip a man to pieces. A platoon of Chinese infantry had just topped a small rise a hundred yards to their right front, at the one o’clock position. Several carried RPGs. Toy rotated the turret; it seemed to take forever, although it was less than two seconds. He fired without waiting for the order
and the blast effect was devastating. All but two of the Chinese flew backward in the storm of metal, body parts flying. The rest of the Chinese dove for cover.
Tanya immediately loaded another M1028. Toy was looking for another group of infantry when, without warning, a Type 98 roared out of the blazing conflagration in front of them. The turret rotated until the barrel of its main gun pointed right at them.
Nobody said anything because there was nothing to say. Toy brought the gun to bear in less than two seconds, but they had no time to switch out the anti-infantry round. The tungsten balls would bounce off the Chinese tank without even making a dent. Re-loading would take at least four seconds, which in the real time of combat was forever. All they could do was watch, in horror, as the Chinese tank fired while on the move.
Completely as a reflex, Toy pushed fire milliseconds after the Chinese tank’s cannon roared. Joe’s Junk recoiled again as the M1028 left the barrel. Thirty feet from the mouth of the gun, the cluster of metal balls was perhaps three feet in width when they struck the Chinese round and detonated it. The result wasn’t as catastrophic as the shell actually hitting, but it was close.
The force of the explosion bent the cannon barrel, rendering the main gun useless. Shrapnel sprayed the turret and front half of the tank. Several splinters of white-hot steel penetrated the thinner top armor. One such struck Tanya in the foot. For the second time in minutes, Joe’s Junk got thrown in the air by the force of the blast, and then slammed back down hard enough to stun the crew. Armored tiles from the TUSK kit fell off the sides. All electronics went dark, including the displays, although the engine kept running. The interior smelled like burning wire.
“Get out!” Randall said. Then, realizing the intercom was dead, she took off her helmet and shouted. “Get out! Abandon the tank! Let’s go!”
“I’m hit, boss,” Tanya said. “I can’t move my foot!”
“Toy, go, get out. I’m gonna help Tanya!”
“Boss!” Toy grabbed her shoulder and pointed out the view slit.
The Type 98 had advanced another twenty yards and stopped. This time they didn’t hurry. They were aiming for the kill shot.
“Oh, no,” she said, knowing there was nothing any of them could do to stave off a sudden and fiery death. “Dear God…”
Then fountains of dirt sprang up all around the Chinese tank. Flashes spread over the hull, like white Christmas lights winking on a tree. Except she recognized the impact of 30mm cannon shells tipped with depleted uranium. The shells penetrated the tank’s armor and exploded inside, filling the interior with red hot shrapnel. The shells kept hitting the hull for more than four seconds. Given the twin Gatling guns’ high rate of fire, that meant hundreds of the lethal rounds shredded the Chinese tank. Flames licked out of holes in the hull. Seconds later the main gun ammo started cooking off, ripping it apart.
As Toy and Randall watched, hypnotized, an AH-72 Comanche flew past. Painted on its side was a half-naked blonde sitting spread-legged on a cannon barrel. The caption below it read Tank Girl. Without slowing down, it fired a salvo of Dragonfire missiles at some Chinese infantry closing on their position. Most of the Chinese dove for cover but others never had a chance as detonations tore up the hill.
“Zippity damn do dah!” Toy said. “Wonder how the fuckers like that?”
“Toy, we’ve got to get out of here. You help Tanya. I’ll get Marty.”
Randall tried bracing herself with her right hand, but the blood on her palm made everything slippery. She hadn’t noticed it before, but there was no time to investigate where it came from. The distinctive smell of an electric fire was strong.
The turret’s rotation allowed Tanya to escape through the gunner’s hatch. Toy grabbed her under her armpits and, pushing off with her good leg, she was able to get a handhold on the outside of the turret. Toy then pushed her and she tumbled out. She almost rolled off the tank but caught herself on the mangled shields surrounding the pindle-mounted machine gun. Toy followed her out, but he crawled to the front. Randall would need help getting Marty out.
Except that Marty wasn’t getting out.
Randall opened the hatch in front of the turret and shook her head. “She’s gone.”
“She can’t be,” he said, not understanding. “Where did she go?”
“No, she’s dead.”
The whine of a ricocheting bullet broke the pause. Morgan felt a searing burn in her right shoulder but kept moving as more bullets pinged around her. They were immediately followed by the sound of a Dragonfire missile vaporizing the shooter.
Randall’s right shoulder throbbed and she had trouble lifting the arm to climb out. Toy reached in and grabbed the back of her jacket, and felt something warm and wet.
“Aw, shit, boss,” he said. “Come on, let’s get you out of there.”
Between the two of them, they got her out of the hatch. She slid off the left side, away from the Chinese. Tanya crawled over and joined them, and they all leaned against the armored tiles hanging over the side. Toy drew his sidearm.
“Where’s Marty?” Tanya said.
“She didn’t make it,” Randall said, holding Tanya’s gaze until she understood. Seeing her eyes water, Randall shook her head. “No time for that. We’ve got to get out of here while we’ve got air cover.”
Tanya nodded and wiped her eyes. Randall found it hard to think and felt cold, and somewhere in her mind she knew it was the result of blood loss. Blood soaked Tanya’s left pant leg, too. There was a shallow ditch on the far side of the road and they ran for it as fast as they could, with rifle shots skipping off the pavement behind them. They jumped into the ditch and ducked, trying to keep their heads below the top.
Morgan felt the world spinning around her. Prop wash blew across the highway, throwing dust and small stones around like a small tornado. Fifty feet to their right, Tank Girl hovered ten feet off the ground. As Morgan Randall stared at the cockpit, Joe Randall pushed up his visor and locked eyes with his wife. Then she passed out.
Chapter 37
The deepest wounds happen to those we love.
Unknown Athenian playwright, circa 410 B.C.
0757 hours, July 29
“I’m putting her down,” Joe Randall said. He could still see his wife’s bloody back.
“There’s Chicoms all over the place!” Carlos said.
“I don’t care.”
“Getting us killed won’t help Morgan!”
To his right, Carlos’ peripheral vision sensed movement. Four hundred yards down the highway advanced a column of M1A3s, led by a Humvee; the rest of the tanks had arrived at last. He touched Randall’s shoulder and pointed at the oncoming armor, hoping it would dissuade him from making Tank Girl a better target than she already was. It didn’t. When the landing gear touched down, Randall flung off his helmet, ducked, and leapt out the cockpit door, running for the ditch. Carlos crossed himself, hoping the oncoming tanks did not mistake them for Chinese. Shoot first and ask questions later was never a bad idea in the chaos of combat.
Randall slid into the ditch beside his wife. “How bad is she?” he asked Toy.
“I don’t know, Captain. She’s lost a lot of blood.”
The right side of Morgan’s face was streaked with blood from a long, shallow gash at her temple, but it was the right shoulder that worried her husband. Her blouse had been torn by something, probably a bullet, and blood soaked her side.
The lead Humvee sped up and approached fast.
Randall pointed at Tanya. “Can you carry her?” Not waiting for an answer, he slid his arms under his limp wife and fast-walked toward the approaching Humvee.
Although he didn’t see it, a Chinese soldier made the poor decision to take aim at him while standing fifty yards in front of Tank Girl. Carlos touched the trigger and 30mm cannon shells vaporized the man before he could fire.
The Humvee screeched to a stop just as Randall circled behind it, holding his wife in his arms. An angry major got out and stomped over
. The name stenciled over his left breast pocket read Claringdon.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he said, yelling to be heard over the whine of the Comanche’s engine. “Get that damned helicopter out of my way!”
“Sir, this lieutenant is my wife. She’s bleeding out. I need you to take her to your medics right now, or she will die.”
Claringdon was the battalion XO and knew Morgan Randall as the executive officer of First Platoon, Alpha Company. In the frenzy of the moment he did not ask how a husband and wife had become part of the brigade. “If I don’t get those tanks down this road, a lot of people are going to die! Now get out of my way!”
“She’s one of yours, Major,” Randall said. “I need you to take her and her crewman to your medics!”
“Put her down over there and I’ll have the medics get to her when they can.”
“Not good enough, sir. She’ll be dead by then.”
“Captain, you’re disobeying a direct order under combat conditions. Do you know what that means? Now put her down and move that Comanche!”
“She’s General Angriff’s daughter,” Randall said.
Claringdon blinked. “She’s what?”
“She is General Angriff’s only surviving child,” Randall said forcefully. Without waiting, he laid her in the passenger seat where Claringdon had sat. He motioned Toy to help Tanya into a back seat. Claringdon trailed behind them without knowing quite what to do.
“If you want her out, sir, you’re going to have to take her out yourself,” Randall said. “I’m getting back into the fight. If I survive, you can press charges later.”
“This isn’t the end of it,” Claringdon said.
0822 hours
Standing in the Storm (The Last Brigade Book 2) Page 22