By the end of the first hour of the artillery battle, the Soviets were down to six artillery pieces, the Americans seven. Both sides reorganized their units into one last platoon. The Americans lost two of the three platoon command officers, MAJ Blowout and CPT Concussion, besides the loss of 1SGT Stovepipe and 1SGT Percussion, the NCO commanders of Alpha and Charlie Platoons. The only officers and NCO’s left were LTC Judgment Day, CPT Salvo, CSM Rainmaker, 1SGT Backfire and SGT Rolling Thunder.
SGT Rolling Thunder and his crew had also survived the fighting and signaled the resupply vehicle to back up to them for a reload. The resupply vehicle loaded the shells through the four loading tubes in the rear of the vehicle. They were designed to allow reloading from the outside without letting out their heat and breathable air. Each shell was injected into a tube, a door sealed behind it, and compressed air shot the shell to the inside crew which manually loaded them onto the racks. The sergeant thought the whole process reminded him of doing business from a bank drive-in window. SGT Rolling Thunder grabbed the first shell and armed the fuse and used the ramming device to load the breech of the big gun. The resupply vehicle paused, and the crew stopped stacking shells in the racks while the big gun shook the ground when fired. The sergeant removed the shell casing and grabbed another while the resupply vehicle continued reloading. After getting the next firing solution from the fire direction center, he signaled to stop resupply and fired, then repeating the process until the vehicle was fully rearmed. The crew resumed their rhythm and all hands were working together, firing the big gun.
With a hot rearm and firing at the same time, they still set a new marine record for time. CPL Long Reach was having a serious nicotine fit. He wished he’d taken the advice of his commander and either quit or started dipping smokeless tobacco. A cigarette break right now would seal their doom and maybe that of the post.
SGT Anton Magnovska had survived the early fighting and was getting his Howitzer reloaded with high-explosive shells from their resupply vehicle. They reloaded their racks, firing at the Americans in the same way they were fired upon. His leave was postponed because of this battle. Alina, his wife, had given birth after he left to come here, and he hadn’t seen his daughter Natalia yet. She was already two years old, blond haired, blue-eyed and very beautiful. He had to shake the feelings of homesickness and concentrate on the task at hand. Reload was complete and they were back to shooting four shells a minute. The ground shook violently with a flash of bright light announcing a near miss. The Soviets renewed their attack with grim determination.
CSM Rainmaker was stationed along with LTC Judgment Day in the fire direction center, observing the battle and directing orders. The fire direction center came under a heavy barrage, and they had to abandon it with their staff. A crater was all that was left of CSM Rainmaker when the shell exploded. His death was reported to COL Red Fangs, who radioed the sole surviving ranking first sergeant from Bravo Platoon.
“Command Sergeant Major Backfire?” The battlefield promotion was noticed.
“Sir, yes sir.”
“Take charge, CPT Salvo is still alive and your commander. Neutralize the enemy ASAP.”
“Sir, yes, sir!”
LTC Judgment Day had the forethought of having the fire direction center’s communication links routed to his tank’s computer and had taken over the “big picture” decisions while the target information from the last forward observer post and the last spy drone were being fed directly to the artillery crew’s computers. The post’s radar array was operable but not as good as the laser targeting from the forward observer and the spy drone. Soon it may be all they had.
COL Red Fangs sipped a final cup of coffee while keeping track of the counter artillery battery’s progress. Soon it would come down to this. Have we moved the odds enough to our favor to survive?
The maxim of Sun Tzu came to mind. “All warfare is based on deception. Hence, when able to attack, we must seem unable; when using our forces, we must seem inactive… Hold out baits to entice the enemy. Feign disorder, and crush him.”
He’d shored up their every weakness, prepared a good defense, held out his post as enticing bait and had deceived the enemy. Nothing was left but to execute the plan, and trust that the best trained fighting force America had ever produced would bring them to victory.
The Soviet’s artillery line had redirected fire from shelling the American big guns long enough to destroy the American’s fire direction center. This didn’t achieve the desired result. The Americans rerouted their command and communication functions quickly. The redirected fire hurt the Soviets. The American line kept right on firing at their artillery. CPT Salvo was pleased with the gain. True, the fire direction center was the eyes and brain of the operation, but the function was quickly rerouted. The artillery line was the fangs of this tiger. Ignoring them for even a minute was a costly mistake. The Soviets were now down to one big gun, the Americans two.
LTC Averbukh advised SGT Anton Magnovska that they were the last unit on the line. He held his peace, knowing that his brother Yan was probably dead. He would have to grieve later, or he would never return home. The Soviet crew fervently loaded the big gun as fast as possible, expending whatever strength they had left. The end was soon, one way or another.
The Soviets took down one of the last two American artillery pieces—bringing the count down to one big gun apiece for both sides.
SGT Rolling Thunder and his crew had gotten a good laser sighting from the last spy drone before it was destroyed. He entered the firing solution into the computer and fired. The Howitzer rocked in its report, sending the high-explosive shell toward the target. The shell struck the right stabilizer arm of the Soviet artillery piece and blew it completely off, turning the unit to the left and firing off-target. The American forward observer noted where the shell hit and called in a slight adjustment. The Americans adjusted their aim and fired. The shell landed squarely in the middle of the Howitzer and exploded. It rocked the unit and the explosion boomed inside for half a second until the vacuum outside sucked the air out through the gaping hole left by the explosion.
The Soviets had already put on their helmets, but it was too late. The next shell went through the open hatch and blew the artillery piece apart, killing all of the crewmembers.
The American forward observer, SGT Monitor, reported the destruction of the last of the Soviet artillery line. LTC Judgment Day ordered him to hold his position and start to locate the heat signatures of the Soviet command officers. He was able to locate all three of them, and withdraw ahead of their charge, keeping them in his instrumentation as he returned to the post.
COL Glaskov would have liked to have won the artillery exchange and destroy some of their post before the tank charge. If he failed to take the American post, his appointment to the Politburo would be withdrawn, he was certain. He’d already lost the men of his artillery line. He had forty-three tanks to lead the charge, with ten more at the Americans’ rear, ready to strike at their unprotected flank. The Soviet charge would meet with the American guntowers, turrets, one artillery piece, and the feeble tank regiment. If they charged now, they could destroy the American post before they could recycle the scrap from the artillery line and build more tanks. He had a sense of foreboding, but if the charge succeeded, the Americans wouldn’t be able to launch another expedition. If he returned to his post, he would be abandoning all of the alloy-x scrap gained by the destruction of the first American post, and the Americans would be dug in here forever.
“LTC Averbukh?”
“Yes, Comrade Colonel?”
“Spread out, attack from all directions to take away their artillery advantage. The Americans have one gun left.”
“Yes, Comrade Colonel.”
The Russian artillery line had been set up ninety-six miles, or one hundred fifty-five kilometers from the American post. The Lunar gravity made the big gun’s effective range longer. COL Red Fangs estimated that the Soviet charge would arrive in approxi
mately fifty-four minutes, travelling at about forty-eight meters per second, which roughly figured as one hundred six miles per hour.
LTC Judgment Day moved to the back of the post where the Soviets soon would be attempting to climb to their back door.
“1LT Relentless!”
“Sir, the enemies are moving into position now.”
“Good. Hold steady until they’re all over the MTS mines.”
One by one the Soviets moved forward until they were over the mines, from the lead vehicle to the last.
“Let’s collect our prize!”
“Yes, sir!”
The post’s first officer ordered the MTS mines activated. 1LT Relentless was in charge of Sniper Det Alpha, and had his men line up over the ridge. There was no doubt when a ship was under the magnetic field of a MTS mine. The mines emitted a hum, the ship’s instrumentation went crazy, and the pull on the ship made the gravity appear stronger. The Soviets knew that they were caught, like flies on flypaper.
CPT Yakov Dvorkin cursed under his breath. It was obvious the Americans expected them and that they were snared by MTS mines. He grabbed his bang stick and popped the hatch open. The bang stick fired shells with a titanium alloy projectile having an explosive charge, which pierced the MTS mine casing and blew up the works inside, rendering it useless and releasing the tank. The other pilots followed suit, with the exception of two of the pilots who popped out with sniper rifles and trained their sights on the ledge above them. It was too late—both snipers fell to the ground dead. Two of the other pilots dropped their bang sticks and picked up their sniper rifles but were also killed before they could shoulder a round. The snipers above had been shooting everything that was standing, and stopped when only two men were left alive. The Soviet pilots looked at the carnage around them. They dropped their bang sticks and lifted their hands in the air. The Americans on the cliff above held up a sign written in Russian that said “do not move.”
LTC Judgment Day ordered the team to go collect their prisoners. The Americans bound the Soviet pilots and lifted them to the top with the crane that was standing ready to bring up the Soviet tanks. The American technicians removed the Soviet ship’s transponders and kept them powered up with external power supplies. They would continue to send a signal to the Soviets from below the ledge until the artillery battle was over. The Americans now had an enticing bait and an illusion of weakness. Master Sun would have approved, thought the first officer.
The Americans hoisted the ten ships up over the ledge, and towed them to the hangar deck. There the computer drives would be replaced so the American pilots could operate them. Now that the back door was secure, and the enemies’ vessels were acquired, it was all up to the hangar deck crew to do the conversions expeditiously.
Four scrap-collecting scavengers were gathering up scrap from the destroyed artillery pieces and had been doing so since the first one went down over two hours ago. Like ants gathering food for the winter in their determination, they brought the alloy-x scrap to the factory building to build new tanks. The effort was paying off. It was estimated that four new tanks would be ready by the time the Soviets arrived, and pilots were standing by at the factory ready to take possession of them. The collections of scrap by the scavenger team under fire cost them three scavengers and their pilots.
The hangar deck was abuzz with activity as Chief Monkey Wrench was overseeing the changing out of the Soviet computers to replace them with American ones. It was not a new process. Every hangar deck mechanic had to learn how to convert a Soviet tank into an American one in their basic training, and they were working with marine precision and efficiency.
The only team that wasn’t working on the conversion was the one repairing CPT Viking’s tank, which was damaged by an HE artillery shell. The pilot was eagerly anticipating its repair so he could join the others. The shop was filled with the noise of air-powered tools, arc welders, grinders and men shouting back and forth to each other. It was a stark contrast to his usual noise level inside of his suit, in a suit outside, where the only thing he could hear was the radio and his own heartbeat. Chief Monkey Wrench gave him the thumbs up signal.
“Thirty minutes Captain—we’ll have you shoving off at the same time as the ten new tanks.” The pilot smiled and nodded, grateful that he wouldn’t be sitting out the charge of the Soviet tanks on their post. He didn’t want to say he was on the sidelines when someone asked him, “Where were you during the Soviet assault on Eagle 2?”
Chief of Security SGT Casper was busy interrogating the two Soviet prisoners. To their credit, Lieutenants Gavrikov and Ivasheva weren’t giving up anything. They were the best-trained and disciplined soldiers the Soviet Union had. The chief decided they wouldn’t get anything without torture, and he wasn’t authorized to do that. He doubted they were even telling their real names. After an exhausting interrogation, he reported back to COL Red Fangs.
“Colonel, the prisoners are alive and well, but not being cooperative.”
“It’s okay. The trap is set, and we don’t need them as bait.”
“Yes, sir.”
It would have been good to get something from the captives, but he was holding their post out as the bait and that hadn’t changed. Concealing their capture helped with the deception. To reveal their capture to the Soviets would tip his hand that he’d acquired the Soviet tanks.
COL Red Fangs raised his first officer on a not-so-secure radio channel.
“Status report?”
“We lost one tank in the artillery battle, leaving us with four. We may have four more built by the time the Soviets arrive.”
“We’ll have to depend on our last artillery piece to whittle them down before they get here or we’re done.”
COL Red Fangs switched over to a secure channel. “Now, what’s the real status?” he asked.
“If we have enough time, we will have nineteen tanks by the time the Soviet tank regiment assaults our post.”
“Then make sure that last big gun slows them down,” COL Red Fangs said.
“Yes, sir. I’m already working on it.”
The Soviet first officer was considered the highest priority target outside of guntower range, and MAJ Cherenkov was the next priority, especially if he got close to the American post. SGT Monitor had located LTC Averbukh’s heat signature and relayed the coordinates, direction and speed of travel back to LTC Judgment Day. The Soviets were twenty-five minutes into their charge. SGT Rolling Thunder had been broadcasting shells which dispersed anti-tank mines in the line of attack forty kilometers from the post in all directions, with the exception of the Soviet first officer’s location. They specifically laid two heavy minefields on each side of his direct path, forcing him to hold a tight course. The artillery crew waited for him like a cobra with its hood spread and eyes fixed with their racks loaded with high explosive shells.
SGT Monitor fell back to the American side of the broadcasted minefields and started back toward the post in reverse, keeping a fix on the Soviet first officer’s position as long as possible. His vehicle in reverse was slower than the advancing Soviet tanks, and had orders to return to post at full speed when the Soviets came too close. The Soviets pressed a circle around the last spy drone and destroyed it. SGT Monitor held his position, knowing that he was barely out of reach of the enemies he was spying on, much like a cat teasing a dog just a foot off the end of his chain. He knew it was dangerous. At any moment, the status quo could change, and the dog might break free of its chain.
The first four Soviet tanks hit the minefields placed by the artillery shells and blew up within thirty seconds of one another. The explosions sent chunks of metal and body parts mixed with smoke and fire flying outward in all directions. It was reported to COL Glaskov, who ordered them to reduce their speed by forty percent and be on the lookout for mines. Even at this speed, six more tanks were lost in the minefields. The Soviets reduced to half speed. The American forward observer noted the speed reduction and reported the change
. COL Red Fangs was delighted with the news. The extra time would give them some more tanks from the factory—maybe only one or two, but that was enough. The American satellite has just flown over and the Soviet tank count was confirmed at thirty-three. The Soviets still thought they had forty-three, with their back door crew.
SGT Rolling Thunder and his crew got his last laser sighting of LTC Averbukh’s position, direction and speed of travel. The artillery crew loaded HE shells into the big gun, and fired every fifteen seconds for two minutes where the Soviet should be, where he was going, and where he had just been. The Soviet saw the first shell strike the ground in front of him, making the ground tremble, and felt the shockwave rock the nose of his hovercraft up and back. He righted his craft, came to a full stop, and put it in reverse. The second shell struck his tank and made a breach in the hull large enough to drive a truck through. The second shell took his life and scattered the smoldering pieces of his tank and body along the lunar surface. His wingman, who had been moving westerly toward the American post and five kilometers north of the first officer, reported LTC Averbukh’s death to COL Glaskov.
Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars Page 12