Royal Hues of Blue: Book One

by Greg Gotti

  Something had changed with the arrival of this new Soona commander. He was already familiar with John Wallace. The man had been a thorn in the side of his commanders for years as he had led the Soona’s best Elite Forces unit on mission after mission in Rista territory. The Rista Intelligence Division said it was Wallace who had led the mission that had destroyed the Rista’s dam to the east. That had completely changed the topography of the land and forced a radical change throughout the northern front. Wallace had a hefty price on his head in the Rista Federation; anyone who could kill or capture him would collect a very hefty bounty, but nobody could. Many had tried; none had returned. Now, Wallace was leading the main army, and he had somehow transformed that ragtag outfit into an efficient fighting machine. The Federation was in a state of near-panic as it was being attacked on two fronts, and Rodriguez needed to find a way to put this fire out before it consumed his entire country.

  Standing beside Rodriguez was Colonel Jose Martinez, the head of field operations for the Rista Intelligence Division. The RID was part of the Rista military, but it operated in a mostly autonomous nature; reporting directly to a senate committee back in Hidalgo. Martinez was here because his spies had indicated the Soona were launching a major operation soon, and he was coordinating the defense of the homeland with Rodriguez. He stood patiently waiting as the tall, silver-haired man smoked his pipe in silence. Martinez had great respect for the man and all he had done for their people, but he knew Rodriguez didn’t care much for the RID. He wasn’t about to give the general reason to show his legendary temper, so he waited in silence as the last of the sunlight disappeared from the horizon.

  “Martinez, did your father ever tell you of the days when we and the Soona were part of the same nation of people?”

  “Yes, sir, it was America, right?”

  “That’s right. Not all of our people, but this northern part of our Federation was all part of the United States. My father lived in a place they still call Arizona. He fought for America during The Fall. He was a young man just out of school. He bled for his country. He watched his friends die in that war, some of them died horribly. And how did they thank him? They dumped him in here and left him to fend for himself. He never forgave the Americans for that. His best friend was a man named Torello. He was as white as a ghost. They were as close as brothers, but in the end, they found themselves enemies in this war.”

  Martinez couldn’t think of anything to say.

  “Tell me, colonel,” Rodriguez suddenly changed the subject, “where do you believe the Soona will cross the river if they do come tonight?”

  “Sir, our intel tells us they will likely use the wooded areas to avoid detection,” Martinez answered.

  “So what does that lead you to conclude, Martinez?” The general was testing him, and Martinez didn’t like it, but he gave no sign of his annoyance.

  “I find it hard to believe they think they can move enough troops into our territory undetected to mount any sort of significant operation regardless of where they cross. Maybe they are not coming. Maybe they have something different in mind than our intel is telling us. Maybe they are planning a direct nighttime invasion and are not worried about secrecy.”

  Rodriguez nodded as he looked over the valley.

  “All are possible, colonel,” the general said. “Those are good, standard textbook conclusions, and one of them very well may be the case. But this red-haired commander of theirs is crazy like a fox. He has surprised us with tactics we have never seen from the Soona before. He seems to understand us better than we do ourselves. And he has transformed those white-skinned, simple-minded barbarians into a disciplined fighting force seemingly overnight. I would be surprised if he reverted to standard tactics now.”

  “You have an idea, don’t you, sir?” Martinez thought it better to ask a question than to be asked another.

  Rodriguez cleared the tobacco from his pipe and put it away. He smiled as Martinez watched him, and he took a deep breath of the night air.

  “Colonel, the game is afoot. The great chess match has begun, and our opponent has already made his first move. I have been stuck in Hidalgo for too long. I’ve missed this. I know you made your career in the Special Forces where strategy and subterfuge are critical elements of a successful mission. Admit it; there is a certain excitement that comes with matching wits with an enemy commander who has shown himself to be a master strategist, is there not?”

  “Absolutely, sir,” Martinez readily agreed.

  “This Wallace is something different than we have previously seen from the Soona. Anyone who thinks he has done all this in just two months is missing the reality of our situation. He knows our terrain, our tactics. He knows how we train our forces to react when certain things happen, and he uses it against us. They realized we had an overwhelming advantage in being able to break their codes, so they found a way to jam all radio transmissions. He knows our protocols are built around radio communication and being able to communicate instantly across distance, so he launched his invasion at the same time they began jamming our radios. He is not your normal white-skinned simpleton. This one is smart, and we will have to be even smarter if we are to catch him.”

  “We could always add another layer of guards along the areas where the river is shallow,” Martinez offered.

  “Don’t bother,” Rodriguez said. “If he is as smart as I think he is, he’s already here.”

  Chapter Two

  Wallace led his men through the darkness, about two miles beyond the river in Rista territory. He’d been sneaking his men behind enemy lines at different points along the river for several weeks and hidden them in an area outside the Rista’s lanes of travel. He knew the land as well as any of the locals, due to his years of Elite Forces work in the area. He thought back to the time he had eliminated an enemy commander known by the Soona as “The Butcher” for his routine slaughter of unlucky civilians who’d found themselves in his path. John had taken him out with a specialized sniper rifle and stayed lying prone in a field under camouflage for two days while the Ristas conducted a frenzied manhunt all around him. He’d made his way back to Soona territory, which had been much farther north at that time, traveling only at night. He had spent more time in this area than most of the Ristas who had been rushed in to defend it. Having wiped out their entire forward army in the region, he was confident he knew the terrain better than most they would encounter tonight.

  John and his men were dressed in their black night infiltration uniforms. He led four platoons, just over 200 men, through the trees and into the hills towards their target: the electrical station that powered the Rista’s one high-powered radio transmitter in the region. He’d discovered the Ristas were very good at guarding their hilltop transmitters, but not as effective at protecting the power stations they built downhill from them. Once they’d taken out the power, they’d signal their comrades to weaken the signal jamming the radios. This would leave enable the Soona to coordinate their invasion with their own high-powered transmitters, while the Rista radios would remain unable to overcome the jamming. Other Soona units were already positioned nearby, and they would spend the night taking out strategic targets. At dawn, the main Soona force would cross the river at different points and smash the Ristas through a series of coordinated maneuvers that within a week would leave them with no substantial army between them and the Rista capital.

  They made their way up the hill in two columns. John stayed in the middle, three men back from the front as they moved quietly through the trees. They hadn’t run into any patrols along the base of the hill, which John found unusual. Maybe they’d changed protocols knowing the Soona were preparing to cross the river, he thought. He found that unlikely, and he hoped it was just good luck. Maybe they’d just arrived while the patrols were on the other side of the hill. He’d certainly had it happen before. He didn’t let it bother him. They were here now, and there was no going back. Timing was everything. Schwarz had his EF unit one hill over, a
waiting the destruction of the power station before attacking from the other direction. They would take out the transmitter together and spend the rest of the night wiping out one key target after another. John grinned as he thought of how perfect it was. He knew better than to think any plan was foolproof, but this one had him feeling good.

  His point man suddenly stopped and raised a hand. Everyone immediately froze, and John hurried next to him.

  “What is it, Hammy?” he asked, using the sergeant’s nickname.

  “Sir, we’re halfway up this hill, and I haven’t run into a single trap yet.”

  “And this is a problem why?”

  “Shouldn’t a position like this be more secure, sir?’

  “Sometimes, you don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, Sergeant Hamilton.”

  “A horse, sir?” Hamilton looked confused.

  “It’s an expression, Hammy. Never mind. Have you seen anything suspicious?”

  “Nothing, sir,” replied Hamilton.

  John gave him a small smile.

  “Major Schwarz gave us very detailed intel on this installation including maps, location of personnel, patrol patterns and pretty much everything we could want. Remember, the EF has been all over this hill in preparation for tonight. Disabling traps along our approach path is part of the plan. Just keep an eye out for any they missed, ok?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Hamilton looked reassured, and John gave him a pat on the shoulder before returning to his place in line. He’d personally selected each man for this mission. All of them were excellent soldiers and battle-tested. None of them would panic when the bullets started flying. Still, it was only natural they would be nervous on an operation as big as this one. He knew it would go away when the fighting started. The approach was always the tensest time of any mission. He felt a mixture of caution and excitement as they closed in on their target. It was almost time for the show to start.

  Diego Fuentes, captain of the Rista Special Forces in this region, waited with his men as the Soona climbed the hill. They had arrived precisely when he had been told they would, and Wallace was leading them along the route he had left clear for him. Fuentes hadn’t wanted his ambush ruined by a sloppy point man setting off a mine and sending his unit into retreat before they had reached the kill zone. He could hardly believe it when he was told the infamous John Wallace himself would be leading this mission. He knew the Rista spies were good, but that good? He could hardly believe they had someone that high up to be privy to such details. He wasn’t going to fail to take advantage of his good fortune though. Here was his chance to take out the Soona’s great hero and make a name for himself. He thought of his parents reading his name in the newspapers in Hidalgo and couldn’t suppress his smile.

  He knelt in position behind one of the four hidden machine gun nests they had set up. They would let them pass the first two and ambush them when they were in the center of the kill zone. They had set up mines off to each side to shred any troops who sought to maneuver through the trees, and he had units surrounding the hill, just waiting to capture anyone who somehow managed to escape. He hoped to take Wallace alive, so he could personally deliver him to the High General in chains, but he was just as happy to deliver him dead. Dead or alive, John Wallace’s brief moment in the sun was about to come to an end.

  John couldn’t shake the sudden feeling that Hamilton was right. He kept telling himself that their easy approach was the result of careful preparation, but this was ridiculously easy. The Ristas might be savages, but they were not stupid. They were well-trained and their commanders were brilliant tacticians. It seemed unlikely they would leave any approach to such a vital asset unguarded; even with an imminent invasion staged at their border. Something was off about it all, but he couldn’t make sense of it. They couldn’t know he was coming. He had not told his men the target until they were all in-country, and only he and Schwarz had known it before that. They had left sealed orders behind describing the nature of their mission, and he had left these with his most trusted field commander, along with strict instructions not to open them until 2300 hours. He had taken every possible precaution to avoid the Ristas discovering their plan through their admittedly impressive spy network, and he saw no way they could possibly know his intentions. Still, something wasn’t right…

  “Company, hold!” he whispered.

  The men came to a stop and immediately took a knee. The rear man in each line came forward and knelt next to John. The men looked at him with eyes full of a mixture of excitement and apprehension as he looked down the lines.

  “Danzig! Harris! Come here!” he barked in the loudest whisper he dared use. Two men ran up in a crouch and knelt next to him.

  “I want each of you to go 40 feet to a different side of our planned route and scout our approach again. Look for anything different than when you went earlier, and I mean absolutely anything. If you see so much as a stone out of place, get back here and let me know about it. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” both men replied. Danzig went to the left and Harris to the right as they disappeared into the trees to check the ground ahead. Wallace watched them go and hoped he was just being overly cautious.

  “Something wrong, sir?” Hamilton whispered.

  “I'm just verifying our safe approach, sergeant. Standard procedure,” John lied. A good commander never gave his men the slightest hint of uncertainty. He knew their courage would hold for as long as they believed he had matters under control, and he played the part perfectly. Beneath his confident exterior, his mind struggled with a small voice in his gut screaming something was wrong. He looked into the trees in front of them, wondering…

  Fuentes watched as the first Soona appeared, approaching to his left. He felt a surge of adrenaline shoot through him as he pointed him out to the men around him. Another suddenly appeared about 50 yards directly in front of him. He stayed concealed behind the camouflage netting and excitedly whispered an order to get ready to the gunner in front of him. He waited for Wallace to emerge with the rest of his men, but there were only these two. He realized they were scouts, probably the same two they had seen earlier, and he clenched his teeth in frustration. He had moved his men closer after they’d left the first time, and he hoped they remained hidden enough to avoid detection. The two scouts emerged from the woods and dashed quickly across the clearing, crouching as they moved. Each stopped at the first bush they came to and instantly seemed to vanish. Fuentes knew they were there, but he could no longer see them. Wallace had planned his attack well. The moon was almost full, but it hung low in the sky where its light could not penetrate the trees. His men wore black and were difficult to spot unless one knew where to look for them. Fuentes sat waiting for the two men to move again. He felt like everything was happening in slow motion, and he had to force himself to remain patient. The scouts were in the middle of the kill zone, but he needed the entire group to make its way there. He needed Wallace. He was on the verge of collecting the greatest prize available and he was not about to be denied.

  Suddenly, the man closest to him emerged from his hiding place and dashed straight for them. Fuentes knew he couldn’t possibly see them, but he came at them as though he were leading a one-man assault on their position. There were over a dozen men around Fuentes, and he felt them grow restless as the scout approached. He stopped about twelve feet from the camouflage net and took cover in the small bushes where he knelt to survey his surroundings. He didn’t see them; his eyes were looking to the next level of the hill where the power station was located. He was close enough that Fuentes could have tossed a rock softly underhand and hit him if the net hadn’t been in the way. The scout seemed to have satisfied himself that the coast was clear, and he began to come out his crouch.

  Then, in one of those absurd moments that are impossible to plan for, a clatter arose in the tree just over their heads. One of his men cried out in surprise as something flew out of the tree, just over their heads and out into the clearing. A
large owl, realized Fuentes as he watched it shoot past the startled Soona soldier who now stood frozen in surprise for a moment before turning and sprinting away. The other scout saw him and followed suit.

  Fuentes cursed, knowing the man had heard them and was running back to warn the others. His trap ruined, he ordered his men to open fire. A cascade of gunfire rang out, and both men fell to the ground.

  John heard the sudden volley of gunfire just a few hundred yards uphill and instantly knew it was a trap. He shot up and pointed to the side.

  “Slide right!” he shouted as his men jumped to their feet and ran. “Form a line in the trees!” He ran behind his men as muzzle flashes suddenly appeared directly in front of them. John went into a feet-first slide as men fell all around him.

  “Retreat downhill!” he shouted as more gunfire came from higher up the hill. More of his men were cut down as John tried to lead them back down the hill. They fired wildly into the trees around them, hoping to buy themselves a few seconds of cover. They ran into a thick cluster of trees and took cover. Turning back, they opened fire on the Ristas now emerging from their hiding places to pursue them. They cut down over a dozen of them before they knew what hit them, and the rest returned fire as they veered off to find cover.