John and Moss shared a nervous glance. So far things were going smoothly. Maybe a little too smoothly.
•••
Since the retreating Chinese would be coming at them from east to west, the defensive lines were set up in a series of kill zones. Artillery and mortar teams on either side of the interstate zeroed in on both of the approaches. The 155mm howitzers would be loaded with DPICMs—Dual-Purpose Improved Conventional Munitions—an artillery shell loaded with smaller bomblets, each capable of taking out a tank. When the shell reached a specific altitude, it would explode, releasing the smaller submunitions. In addition, IEDs littered the northern and southern edges of the highway. Once the enemy got close, the detonations would isolate the tip where the Americans would get to work destroying them piecemeal.
As in Oneida, the second story of homes became small fortresses unto themselves. Additional fire teams took position on the flat roofs of the industrial buildings on the southern side of the highway. They’d also brought what remained of the AT-4s, Javelin anti-tank missiles and Stinger surface-to-air shoulder-fired rockets. The latter was merely a precaution, for although the Chinese jets were likely shielded from the effects of the recent EMP, the supplies and replacement parts required to keep them in active service were not. This was why the skies over Oneida had been largely quiet and peaceful following the mission, save for Billy Ray’s occasional barrel roll whenever he returned from a successful leaflet drop.
Banks of earth and sand piled up along the north and south edges of the highway had originally been designed to cut down some of the traffic noise, but the formation had inadvertently given the American forces a nice reverse slope they could use for defense. Rather than silhouetting themselves along the crest, a reverse slope defense allowed units to remain largely hidden from sight and protected from direct fire. Even indirect fire was blind since spotters couldn’t observe the effects of the exploding shells.
In reserve, General Brooks kept a mix of his most experienced men, along with a couple hundred of his greener troops. Among the latter were Gregory and Brandon. For his part, John and his Rough Riders were also kept in reserve on the southern side of Interstate 81. The speed with which they could deploy allowed them to act as a quick reaction force, ready to apply fire wherever needed.
With everyone in position came arguably the most challenging part of any mission—waiting for the enemy to approach. If the situation at the front went well, then the retreating units heading their way would largely be shredded versions of their former selves.
John called Reese on the walkie. The sniper was perched in the tower of a nearby church. “You see anything?”
“No, sir. Just a long, boring stretch of highway in both directions. It’s enough to get a man thinking. Once we’re done with this mess, I’m gonna get me one of those motorhomes and head west.”
John laughed. “Who knows, maybe Moss will join you.”
“Oh, no, Colonel. I’m a lone wolf. Besides, I have some unfinished business out that way I’ve been itching to take care of.”
“All right,” John said. “Keep ’em peeled and lemme know as soon as you see anything.”
“Roger that.”
When they were quiet, they could hear the dim echo of distant battle.
“Sounds intense,” Moss said, removing his magazine and blowing away imaginary dirt. “If it sounds this bad here, what’s it like over there?” He paused and reinserted the magazine into his M-4. “You think this crazy plan of yours will work?”
John shrugged. “It’s Brooks’ plan now, not mine. And I hope so.” He couldn’t help thinking of Brandon and Gregory at that moment, both part of the reserve infantry formation, tasked with plugging holes and deploying wherever they were needed on the battlefield. Hopefully their nerves weren’t getting the better of them.
John got on the walkie to Rodriguez. “Any update from the front?”
After a small delay, Rodriguez replied, “American forces are pulling back as planned, but they’re taking far more casualties than expected. The NATO force is still waiting to head into action, but they describe the situation right now as touch and go.”
“That ain’t good,” Moss said with his usual talent for summing up a situation in three words or less.
A minute later Reese was back on the horn. “I got incoming.”
John lifted the binoculars and scanned east along Interstate 81. There wasn’t a soul in sight.
“You sure about that? I’m not seeing anything from where I am.”
“Not east,” Reese said, his voice betraying a slight tremble. “They’re coming from the north, down Interstate 26. At least battalion strength—no, make that a division—and these guys aren’t the Chinese.”
John swung in the other direction and felt the blood drain from his face as he saw what Reese had meant. “God help us.”
“I don’t like the sound of that,” Moss said, scrambling for a better look. “What do you see, John?”
John lowered the binoculars, his mouth suddenly bone dry. “The Russians are coming.”
Chapter 56
The forward edge of the enemy advance was still about two miles north of where the interstates met when John radioed General Brooks and told him what was coming. Their own artillery was recessed a few miles from the front lines and could be called on at any time.
“An entire division?” Brooks asked. “Are you certain?” He’d been anxious to whip the retreating Chinese not long ago but he suddenly didn’t sound so sure anymore.
“Positive,” John said. “When you notify General Dempsey, tell him to send whatever support he can.”
Brooks scoffed at the idea. The chances were slim the Americans along the main line had much help to offer. “Tell your men to stay hidden,” the general advised him. “We’ve still got the element of surprise on our side.”
A second later, the order went out. They would wait for the Russians to be drawn in before they sprang the trap.
Benson was next to John on the industrial roof and he racked his M249 and smiled. “Think we’ll make it out of this one, Colonel?”
The corner of John’s mouth turned up in a half-hearted grin. “Of course we will,” he lied.
The others around them stayed low, prepared to spring when the signal was given.
Unexpectedly from the north came the telltale whoop of approaching helicopters.
“Reese, that what I think it is?”
The moments of silence ticked by with painful slowness. “Yes, sir,” came the reply. “We got half a dozen Havocs closing fast.”
Havoc was the NATO designation for the Russian Mil Mi-28 attack helicopter. An upgrade from the troop-carrying Hind made popular in so many movies, the Havoc looked more like the Apache and was just as deadly.
John switched channels, alerting the Stinger teams. The Americans’ cover was about to be blown one way or another. It wasn’t uncommon for ground forces to send air assets to scout ahead in order to avoid the very type of ambush awaiting them now.
John swore under his breath. They hadn’t fired a single shot and already they were in serious trouble.
Seconds later the sound of the helicopters grew louder as small dots on the horizon grew in size. Painted in a green camo pattern, the choppers prepared to make a pass over the city of Colonial Heights when the first Stinger missiles streaked into the air, leaving white vapor trails in their wake. Since the choppers were flying low to the ground, there wasn’t time for evasive maneuvers or to release flares to fool the incoming missile.
More missiles went up, exploding four of the six choppers in mid-air. Their flaming wreckage spun to the ground in slow circles, creating fireballs where they landed. The fifth chopper veered left, trying to flee, a newly fired rocket streaking up after it. The final Mi-28 fired its 30mm cannon wildly and managed to release flares as it too attempted to break contact. That was when a .50 caliber gun emplacement beneath it let loose. Sparks flew off the cockpit as it was riddled with fire. T
he helicopter made a lazy roll to the left and plummeted into a row of empty houses.
The main Russian formation was still over a mile away when many of the Americans rose up and cheered. One particularly boisterous bunch danced on the rooftop of a house on the northern side. Even the men along the embankment were giving each other high-fives.
“Get down and stop showboating,” John shouted to their company commanders over the radio. “This isn’t the Super Bowl.”
He’d no sooner released the actuator on his walkie when that same house across the highway exploded into a giant fireball, instantly killing the men on the roof as well as the soldiers on the nearby embankment. John watched in horror as more bombs fell all along the line. They were getting bombed from the air, likely by Sukhoi Su-27 fighters, flying at altitudes beyond the range of the American Stingers. But without spotters on the ground, their bombs were falling blind, although the effect was still devastating.
“We gotta get off this roof,” Moss said.
“And go where?” John replied. “One of those bombs hits this building, doesn’t matter if you’re on the roof or inside. You’ll be lucky if they even need a spatula to pick up what’s left of you. This is where we put our heads down and hope for the best.”
“Colonel,” Henry said over the walkie. “They’ve just taken out all of our artillery.”
The air caught in his lungs. Catching the Russian armor in tight formation with a sustained barrage of cluster munitions would have been the difference between victory and defeat. John was no longer sure they’d be able to hold this position.
When John looked out with his binoculars, he saw the main body of the Russian advance had stopped about a mile away. A secondary element of what looked like TOS-1 mobile rocket launchers moved off to set up their own firing positions. Within a matter of minutes, this stretch of highway would be as heavily cratered as the surface of the moon.
Chapter 57
A dazzling explosion at least twenty thousand feet up in the air drew everyone’s attention. The distinct roar of a fighter jet firing its afterburners was then followed by more explosions.
For a moment John wondered what was happening, until the new jets came screaming over the American position.
“They’re ours,” Moss cried. “F-22 Raptors. Man, look at them go.”
And Moss was right in more ways than one. The bombs from overhead had stopped raining down on them, but it seemed their newfound guardians were moving off target just as quickly as they’d come.
John called Rodriguez at once.
“Compliments of General Dempsey, sir,” Rodriguez told him.
“Yes, that’s great,” John barked. “But there’s a huge column of tanks and rocket artillery about to tear us to shreds.”
“They don’t have the fuel, Colonel. I’m afraid it was all they could spare.”
No sooner had John finished than Reese was on the line. “Russian armor’s on the move.”
“They’re going to do a creeping barrage,” John said.
Moss gave him a look. “A creeping what?”
“You pepper the enemy with artillery just ahead of your advancing units. That way there’s a lot less of them to fire back at you.”
“So is it time to find a good place to hunker down yet?”
John shook his head and pushed himself to his feet. “Negative. It’s time for the last thing the Russians would ever expect. We’re gonna go on the offensive.”
•••
Within minutes, twenty members of the Rough Riders were on horseback at a full gallop, heading west along a depression of ground that ran parallel to I-81. They were armed with assault rifles, light machine guns and most important of all, AT-4 anti-tank rockets. They were about to do what guerrillas did best: sneak behind the front lines and strike the enemy where he least expected it.
On their right the metallic squeal of Russian armor pushing east toward the American position sent chills racing up John’s legs, tightening his scalp. But it was those TOS-1s and their thirty multiple rocket launcher tubes that frightened him most. Only one BTR-T infantry fighting vehicle had peeled off to support them. That meant if John’s men could get close enough to knock them out, it might just give the Americans a fighting chance.
He spotted the Russian artillery position on a small ridge, behind a clump of trees. The trees were meant to provide cover for the TOS-1s, but they also hid John’s approach. The Rough Riders wheeled right, crossing the empty highway, and stopped to dismount thirty yards from the Russian vehicles. The horses’ reins were all quickly lashed to the guard rail before the men moved to close with the enemy. John urged them on, reminding them their only chance lay in stopping those rockets from being fired.
As they reached the thin screen of trees, the soldiers with the AT-4s were ushered to the front. In the clearing beyond, John counted five TOS-1s. In front of them was a single BTR-T. He knew the fighting vehicle wasn’t to be underestimated, since this particular model had been designed using the hard lessons the Russians had learned during the war in Chechnya. Thicker armor as well as a gun with a higher traverse meant enemies in an urban environment couldn’t engage it as easily as its predecessors, the BTR-80 and BMP-2.
That was why he ordered two of his men with AT-4s to hit it first. The others would simultaneously strike the rocket artillery vehicles and thereby reduce the threat.
With his men quickly in place, John gave the hand signal to fire.
The first anti-tank rocket streaked out from the tube and impacted the turret of the BTR-T, knocking its main gun out of action. But the squad of Russian troops stormed out of the vehicle and dove to the ground, firing their weapons. John tapped Benson, his SAW gunner, on the helmet and Benson swung around, laying down an impressive volume of fire.
The other anti-tank rockets fired soon after and three of the five vehicles went up in a pillar of flame. The Russian infantry on their right were still pinned down, but a few had managed to toss hand grenades toward John’s line, killing two of his men and possibly wounding a third.
That was when the two remaining TOS-1s fired their payload. The field filled with white acrid smoke and the deafening roar of rocket motors igniting. Suddenly everything disappeared from view. The men stopped shooting and only the sound of the wounded could be heard. Slowly the air cleared about a second before the rockets found their mark. Dozens of explosions rocked the American position.
The Rough Riders charged from the treeline, killing the remaining members of the Russian infantry squad and knocking out the two remaining TOS-1s.
“Reese,” John shouted into his walkie. “Status report.”
There was no response. He called again and waited before hearing a voice on the other end.
“Nearly bit the big one there, Colonel,” Reese said. “Looks like part of the church is on fire.”
“We tried, Reese. Really, we did. We just couldn’t get them all in time.”
The sight of Russian tanks in the distance engaging targets let John know not all the Americans were dead or wounded.
He tried to bring up Rodriguez and General Brooks at headquarters and faced a wall of static. His calls a moment later to Henry were more successful. They struggled to hear each other over the roar of weapons firing nearby.
“I’m trying to get through to General Brooks,” John shouted. “Tell him we knocked those last TOS-1s out of action.”
“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Henry said. “But the headquarters took a direct hit.” The emotion in the radioman’s voice was unmistakable. “General Brooks, Colonel Higgs and Rodriguez. They’re all dead.”
Chapter 58
John and the others raced back as quickly as they could. The death of the senior leadership was a terrible blow. It could lead to a panic or, worse, the American forces being routed from the field. But the other stark implication was that John was now in charge.
Thick towers of black smoke rose from craters where the missiles had impacted. Several of t
he structures lining the highway as well as the suburban dwellings to the north were ablaze. Galloping alongside Interstate 81, John could see the Russian armor battling ferociously against his men. Tracers streamed back and forth. A BTR-T lowered its ramp to offload a squad of troops right as an AT-4 streaked in through the hatch, blasting the vehicle into the air and killing everyone on board.
The handful of American tanks and Bradleys running and gunning from one concealed position to another didn’t stand a chance. Seeing the burning hulks of American armor made John sick to his stomach.
Approaching the industrial building they’d been in before launching the attack on the TOS-1s, John saw that it had taken a direct hit and was on fire. He got on the walkie and called for the company commanders to report in. Slowly they came in, one by one, often little more than a quick reply amidst the sound of machine-gun fire. By the end, only fifty percent of the units called in. That didn’t mean they were all dead, but it did mean issuing them orders would not be easy. He could only hope that their training and personal initiative would keep them alive and fighting.
The building next door hadn’t been hit and John and his men climbed to the roof. Keeping low, they made their way to the edge where a platoon-sized group was already dug in along the edge, pouring fire on the enemy.
One of them was a Lieutenant from the 101st. “Sir, General Brooks is―”
Last Stand: Turning the Tide (Book 4) Page 19