by James Rosone
*******
“Sir, you really need to let me look at that wound,” said one of the corpsmen as he tried for the tenth time to look at Captain Long’s shoulder and arm. The right side of his blouse had a lot of blood on it, and his Marines were starting to get concerned that he might pass out from loss of blood.
“Fine, just be quick about it,” Long consented.
While the corpsman went to work on his arm, he used his other hand to signal for First Lieutenant Simmons to come over and speak with him. “Simmons, what’s going on with Fourth Platoon?” he asked. “Did Lieutenant Scott find our guys?”
Simmons just shook his head. “They found them, but it appears they were all dead, or the enemy had moved the wounded and others captured back to their rear area. He also reported seeing what looked to be maybe two or three companies of enemy soldiers forming up for another attack.”
Captain Long shuddered in disgust. At this point he had his body armor and his blouse off, and the corpsman began to cut his undershirt off to get at the wound better. Long shot the man a look of scorn. “You’re lucky that wasn’t my Under Armor shirt. I only have a couple of them left,” he said.
Just as Lieutenant Scott approached them, they heard a commotion behind them. While the corpsman was wiping away some blood and pouring some iodine on the wound, Colonel Tilman and the regiment’s sergeant major approached them.
“That looks like it hurts, Captain. You all right?” asked Colonel Tilman as he eyed the wound.
The corpsman had a pair of medical pliers out and proceeded to pull a small piece of metal out of Long’s right shoulder before examining his arm to do the same. Captain Long winced as the pliers pulled the fragment out of his shoulder. While it hurt, his shoulder felt a lot better with the metal out.
Long looked at Colonel Tilman and shook his head. “It’s not the first time I’ve been shot or hit with shrapnel. I’m sure it won’t be the last time.”
“That’s hard core, Marine. Semper Fi,” grunted the sergeant major before moving on to check on the rest of the troops.
“You shouldn’t be here, Sir,” warned Captain Long. “Lieutenant Scott’s platoon spotted at least two or three company-size elements forming up for another attack. There’re roughly a kilometer in that direction.” He pointed toward the location of the enemy.
The colonel nodded. “Good,” he replied in a voice that was almost too optimistic. “I’ve got Third Battalion deploying to your right flank as we speak. Lieutenant Scott, go with Major Allen here and relay what you saw and where they are. We’re going to finish this battle today.”
While the officers continued to talk, rocket fire from the high-mobility artillery rocket system or HIMARS battery screamed in the background until it exploded on the enemy fortifications that the regiment still had to secure. The thumping sound of helicopters also got closer.
One of the squads had tied some det cord around half a dozen trees to help create a clearing for one of the CH-53 Super Stallion to land so they could fly out their wounded, so fortunately, there was at least some patch of land for them to set down upon. When the helicopter landed in the clearing, half a dozen Marines rushed forward to help offload several crates of ammo and grenades, along with numerous five-gallon jugs of water. Just as soon as that had taken place, the corpsmen ran forward with their stretchers, bringing the wounded to the helicopter. Many other walking wounded also got on board before the helicopter lifted off, ready to head back to a high-level trauma center. When the Super Stallion was gone, a second one landed in its place and offloaded a fresh platoon, ready for action.
Colonel Tilman saw the fresh Marines getting off and commented to Long, “I’ve got eight more loads of fresh Marines coming into this position right now. We’re moving the regiment’s headquarters forward. I need to be closer to the fight.” He paused for a second, watching the corpsman wrap Captain Long’s shrapnel wounds. “Are you sure you don’t want to go back to a field hospital and get that stitched up?” he asked. “We’ll manage for a few days while you’re gone.”
Long shook his head. “No, I’ll be fine. I’ll wait for the regiment surgeon to arrive. He can stitch me up here and I’ll get right back to it. I can rest and recover after we finish these guys off.”
“All right, Captain, have it your way. For the time being, I want your company pulled back to provide security for regiment HQ. You guys need a break, and it’s the best I can give you until the situation changes.”
Battle of St. Petersburg
Kirovsk, Russia
Oberstleutnant Hermann Wulf of the 21st Panzer Brigade could still hear the distant sound of explosions as he looked off in the direction of St. Petersburg. A few snowflakes fell in the afternoon sunlight as the sun’s rays fought to break through the cloud cover overhead. The temperature continued to hover around 30 degrees Fahrenheit, not cold enough to require heavy winter coats, but just cold enough to require something to ward off the wind when it blew. The evening temperatures, however, would drop closer to the teens with the windchill. Still, it was only a preview of what the winter would be like once January and February came. A winter war in Russia was not something anyone was looking forward to. However, unlike the armies of the past, the Allies were better equipped to deal with it.
Surprisingly, Wulf’s unit, the 35th Mechanized Infantry Battalion, had met little in the way of enemy resistance once the American heavy armor units had broken through the Russian lines two days prior. When he had been given the order to secure the city of Kirovsk on the east banks of the Neva River, he had breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like his command would largely avoid some of the hardest fighting taking place in the city.
To help accomplish the task of securing the critical P-21/E-105 Highway leading to St. Petersburg, his battalion had been augmented with a single Heron TP UAV, an Israeli-made ISR drone. The US V Corps was going to use his battalion as their eyes and ears while the main body of forces collectively crushed the remaining enemy forces in the city. With this last major Russian formation defeated, they would have a clear path to drive on Moscow some 710 kilometers southeast of their current positions.
Oberstleutnant Wulf was elated that his unit wouldn’t have to partake in what he knew would be a bloody street fight in St. Petersburg, yet anxious at being at the forefront of the army group. His battalion, while largely still intact from the recent months of fighting, would largely be on their own until the major fighting in the city was concluded. His battalion had a force of 39 Puma infantry fighting vehicles, 42 Boxer armored personnel carriers, and two dozen Fennek reconnaissance vehicles. His battalion had also been augmented with a company of Leopard II tanks and a battery of Panzerhaubitze 2000, the newest self-propelled Howitzers. The 155mm artillery guns were providing near-constant artillery support to the American, Swedish, and Finnish soldiers fighting in and around the city of St. Petersburg. With all their vehicles and equipment, his force had been tasked with blocking any Russian reinforcements from traveling to the St. Petersburg pocket and preventing all enemy forces from retreating.
One of his captains approached him, carrying a map of the region. “Herr Oberstleutnant, one of the scout units has spotted a column of armored vehicles near the city of Chudovo,” he explained as he pointed to a small city that was maybe twenty kilometers from their current position, well within artillery range of their little mobile firebase they had set up.
“Find out from the scouts how many vehicles they are seeing and what type they are,” Wulf ordered. “Also, send a message over our artillery unit that we may have a new fire mission for them.” he ordered. The activity around his command vehicle increased as his soldiers went to work processing the information coming in from the scouts and keeping the various units informed of what was happening around them.
With no real snowfall on the forecast for a couple of days, Wulf was making full use of the surveillance drones the Americans had provided his battalion with. The small, portable drones were providing his analy
sis with a constant stream of data. He observed some video footage of one of the scout drones as it took up position over the enemy unit traveling toward them.
“Sir, the scouts are reporting six enemy tanks and eight BTRs heading toward Kolpino. That’ll put them at the Americans’ southeastern perimeter. Shall I order our Panzers to intercept them?” the operations officer asked. Another soldier manning the drone overhead zoomed in to confirm the scouts’ report.
As Wulf looked at the video feed from the drone, he saw an enemy company, possibly a battalion-sized element. “Where’s its parent unit?” he wondered. “That’s what we need to find.”
He turned to face his operations officer, Stabshauptmann Manfred Hoffman. “What air assets do we have available?” he asked. “Let’s see if we can’t vector some fighters in to hit them first, and then we can send the Panzers in to finish them off. Also, I want some drones to trace the road that column came from—I suspect there is a larger enemy unit further back. We need to see what else is out there.”
Stabshauptmann Manfred Hoffman was the senior captain and staff officer in Oberstleutnant Wulf’s battalion. He’d been assigned to be Wulf’s executive officer and lead the staff functions for the battalion because not only was he a superb staff officer, but he understood battalion and brigade level tactics as well. His only flaw was his temper, which had gotten the better of him on a couple of occasions. When he had been a company officer, he’d struck a soldier for insubordination, and then just as the war had broken out, he’d punched a superior officer when he’d failed to inform him of a pending air attack during the opening hours of the war in Ukraine. Had it not been for the war with Russia, and the fact that Germany had been attacked hard during the first week of the war, he would have been charged and served prison time, or at least been kicked out of the Army. As it was, his unit had fought with distinction in Ukraine with the Ukrainian and American Armies. While not all had been forgiven, his superiors had given him a chance to redeem himself by mentoring a young up-and-coming star in the German Army.
Stabshauptmann Hoffman nodded at Wulf’s suggestion and looked at one of the whiteboards they had set up, which listed the available air assets and was updated every fifteen minutes by an Air Force LNO, a sergeant who was responsible for coordinating any requests for air support. Scanning the board, Hoffman saw there were two pairs of German Tornadoes, a pair of Norwegian F-16s, and four German Tiger attack helicopters available at that moment.
Getting the attention of the Air Force LNO, Hoffman ordered, “Sergeant, find out which of those aircraft can attack the Russian column, and have them do it immediately. Tell our helicopters that once the Air Force hits them, we have a mission for them.”
Ten minutes went by as the drone continued to observe the enemy force, advancing ever closer to the American flank. Wulf had warned the Americans the Russian unit was coming and informed them that they had air assets inbound to deal with them. It felt like hours waiting for the fighters to get in position. However, in mere moments, the two Norwegian F-16s swooped in fast, releasing a series of CBU-100 cluster bombs and destroying a number of the enemy vehicles. The survivors from the attack scattered their formation.
As the F-16s pulled away, Wulf watched half a dozen smoke contrails fly up after them. One of the F-16s fired off a number of flares, which succeeded in luring a few of the enemy missiles toward them as they successfully escaped. The second F-16 tried to do the same; however, one of the enemy missiles blew past the decoys and detonated near the tail of the aircraft, causing the back half of the fighter to blow apart. Seconds later, the entire plane exploded before the pilot had a chance to eject.
The Air Force sergeant coordinating the mission for them muttered a few curse words to himself. Then he picked up the radio receiver and began to make contact with the attack helicopters to let them know it was their turn to go in and finish off the enemy column. He also wanted to warn them that the enemy had a lot of MANPADs with them and was not afraid to use them.
A few minutes later, the drone that was providing overwatch footage for them spotted the attack helicopters moving in at just above treetop level. In pairs of two, they carefully made use of the terrain around them, moving behind a copse of trees or hiding behind a barn or other structure when needed.
Stabshauptmann Hoffman had their drone pilot talk directly with the helicopters, relaying what the drone was seeing and explaining where the helicopters were in relationship to the armored vehicles. Just as the attack helicopters were zeroing in for their attack, a pair of MiG-29 Fulcrums zoomed in out of nowhere, obliterating two of the helicopters in a spectacular fireball with air-to-air missiles before they even knew what happened. The MiGs banked hard and climbed in altitude as they headed toward the city of St. Petersburg, obviously looking for their next target of opportunity.
The Air Force sergeant pounded his fist on the table, letting loose a string of foul obscenities. Hoffman walked up to him, placing his hand on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault, Sergeant. People die, and aircraft get destroyed. It’s just the nature of war. Put it behind you and move on to the next objective. Everyone has a job to do, and we’re counting on you,” he said in a soft voice.
Looking up at the Stabshauptmann, the sergeant nodded as he wiped a tear from the side of his face. “You’re right, Captain. Thank you for understanding. Do you want me to try and get another air strike to hit that enemy column?”
“No, order our other helicopters to retreat back to base. We’ll send the Panzers in now to deal with what’s left of the enemy,” he ordered.
Then he turned to one of his other sergeants and ordered the tanks in. The four Leopard IIs and eight Pumas should be more than enough to finish off what was left of the Russian force.
The next twenty-four hours turned into an on-again, off-again battle of small company-sized elements of Russian forces as they tried to test Wulf’s battalion, searching for a weak spot they could exploit. Once the Allies secured St. Petersburg, the entire force would shift in his direction as they looked to begin their long march on Moscow to bring this war to an end.
*******
St. Petersburg, Russia
The two Stryker vehicles moved steadily down Novosibirskaya Street toward the intersection some two hundred meters away. A squad of soldiers moved slowly, carefully, on the flanks of each of the two vehicles, making sure they were never too far away from a covered position. The ground beneath them had a few centimeters of snow on it from earlier in the morning that the sun had not yet melted.
In the rear of the platoon formation, Command Sergeant Major Childers was talking with Second Lieutenant Drake, the new platoon leader for Second Platoon. As Childers was in the middle of getting a status update from Drake, the lead vehicle was suddenly hit by an antitank rocket and blew up. Hot shrapnel was thrown into the squad of soldiers nearby. There was a loud roar as heavy machine guns opened fire on the remaining soldiers, who had been dazed by the explosion. Seconds after the gunfire started, an RPG sailed out of one of the fourth-floor windows, narrowly missing the second Stryker vehicle as it flew right over top of it and blew apart a small civilian vehicle abandoned along the sidewalk.
Childers and the other soldiers of Nemesis Troop scrambled for cover and returned fire. He watched as one of the soldiers near him set up his M203 grenade launcher and aimed for the window that had been used to launch an RPG at them. They watched as the 40mm fragmentation grenade sailed right into the intended window, detonating inside.
“Hopefully, that just killed those enemy soldiers,” Childers thought. That would make one less window firing at them.
The trooper reloaded his M203, but before he could fire it again, a single shot rang out from several hundred meters down the road, exploding the trooper’s head like a dropped watermelon. His body crumpled to the ground.
Another soldier, who had been manning one of the platoon’s heavy machine guns, the M240G, brought his weapon to bear on the location he suspected the enemy sniper
was firing from and unloaded on the façade of the building. One of the enemy machine gunners returned fire, forcing the American soldier to duck for cover or get riddled with bullets. The remaining Stryker vehicle backed up down the road they had just turned down, while the turret gunner laid suppressive fire so the remaining soldiers could fall back.
Several of the troopers tried to grab their wounded comrades, only to be gunned down or wounded themselves. Lieutenant Drake, who must’ve seen that his platoon was being torn apart, yelled to one of his squads, “Lay down covering fire!”
He and a couple of other soldiers attempted to drag the wounded back to cover. The lone Stryker vehicle also stayed in the line of fire, so the turret gunner could continue to fire back at the enemy and hopefully draw the enemy’s fire while their comrades worked to recover their wounded.
Pop, pop, crack! BOOM!
The lieutenant’s head snapped back. His body fell forward from the momentum of running toward one of his wounded brothers, but he was dead, killed by a sniper round to the head. An RPG shot out from another elevated window, hitting the front of the Stryker vehicle and catching part of it on fire. The driver of the vehicle immediately gunned the engine, pushing the vehicle back and around the corner of the road to get away from any further enemy fire. The remaining American soldiers begrudgingly fell back to the side of the Stryker vehicle.
“Help! Please don’t leave me here to die…someone…anyone…help,” cried one of his wounded soldiers roughly thirty meters in front of them. When one of the soldiers tried to retrieve him, a sniper shot him, leaving him wounded and trapped in the street, fully exposed. The sniper had added one more to his casualties.
Seeing that Lieutenant Drake had perished in the fight, Childers had no choice but to take control of the situation. “Men, fall back on me!” he ordered. We need to find a better position to attack or we’ll only add to the body count.”