by James Tarr
“If you can hit the front of the Toad’s turret with the Spike you won’t disable it, but there’s a good chance you’ll blind it so they can’t use the main gun,” Sarah reminded Ed and George.
Weasel eyed the drone controller in Sarah’s hands. “You talk to Morris? How’d we do?” he asked Ed.
Ed looked at Harris. “Sounds like all the Kestrels they had are done.”
“Everything in my hangar was toast, and the other hangar was blown to shit too,” Harris said.
“From what Morris told me and what I’ve seen from the drone, including Outlier’s IEDs, sounds like we killed one Toad and damaged another. Took out at least five IMPs and maybe a dozen Growlers. So that’s their whole air wing and at least a third, maybe half their vehicles, not counting Toads. Killed forty, maybe fifty Tabs in addition to whoever died inside the vehicles. So what is that, eighty to one hundred enemy KIA total? Morris was very happy.”
“They had their asses well and truly kicked,” George agreed. Hopefully their success was being repeated in all the other cities behind enemy lines where the ARF had planned similar operations.
“How bad is it for us?”
Ed shook his head. “At least twenty dead, probably more.” The dogsoldiers didn’t count wounded as casualties, not when you could still fight. “Maybe a lot more if Eagle Eye got hit hard. They’re underground so they’re out of radio range. Hell, they’ve probably dumped their radios so they can’t be tracked. RoadRunner got pretty banged up, and SkyBox had a bit of a fight getting back down to the lobby. That IMP took out four of Flintstone’s people when it grenaded the north side of Nakatomi. And we lost everybody in Sylvester but one. Cambridge East and West were wiped out.”
“Brooke?” Jason blurted before he could stop himself
Ed shook his head. “Dead.” He looked around at the faces surrounding him. “Right now we’re about the only squad that hasn’t lost anybody.”
“Not for lack of fucking trying,” Mark growled. His leg still hadn’t stopped bleeding from the office furniture shrapnel thrown around by the Toad’s main gun, but it had slowed to a throbbing ooze.
Ed peered at the feed on the tablet in Sarah’s hands, then went back and peered out past the door frame again. “What’s that building right next to us? I can’t even see it from here, it’s too short.”
“McDonald’s. At least, it used to be,” Weasel told him. “And next to that is the old Third Precinct headquarters of the po-lice. Three stories. Looks like there was a serious battle there at some point, a vehicle drove through the back wall, there’s bullet hits all over the front by the door, and half the windows have black smudges on the outside, looks like the inside must have burned. It sits right on the near-side service drive.”
“You haven’t been inside it? Or the McDonald’s?” Weasel shook his head.
“That police building isn’t as tall, but it’s a lot closer,” Ed observed. George was at his shoulder.
“Same firing angle,” George agreed. “But half the distance. So anyone there should be able to aim a little better.”
“As soon as their drone spots you going into that building those Toads are going to level it,” Sarah said. “Take about six main gun rounds to turn it into rubble.”
“Don’t you have a drone jammer?” Jason asked. He’d barely been able to pay attention to the conversation, all he’d been thinking about was Brooke. Dead. He’d been hoping after all this that the two of them would get some more time together. Now that was never going to happen. He found himself fighting back tears, and wiped at his face angrily.
George shook his head. “It’s designed more for the small infiltrators. Bug and bird size. It won’t work on the ones they’re using, they’re probably a thousand feet up, like ours.” He paused, and looked at the ARF Sergeant. “Right?”
Sarah blinked. “Unless it’s the size and weight of a small child, it won’t do anything against what they’re using.”
“They know there’s a group of us here, and even if those fuckers on the service drive leave us alone those other assholes clearing the New Center buildings are eventually going to head this way, and we’ll get pinched,” Weasel observed. “Shit, they’ve got enough vehicles over there already to surround this building. I’m guessing they think we’re just one random squad and all the other doggies are hunkered down at Nakatomi, which is why they’re ignoring us. For now. But we’re dead if we stay here, and we’re dead if we try to make a run for the tunnel mouth. Or we’ll get there and they’ll pour in after us and kill us and then everybody else. Probably have flamethrowers on standby just for such an occasion. The only way to attack them is across that bridge, which is a total killing ground. We’re pretty much fucked.” He didn’t seem too upset about the pronouncement.
“Not with half a dozen Spikes and eight armor-piercing grenades we’re not,” Ed said confidently. “They’re sitting there like they’re untouchable, like they’re on the moon or something. They’re two hundred yards away. They think just because they can’t shoot worth a shit that nobody else can either. They haven't had to deal with serious anti-armor weapons in so long they've gotten out of the habit of fearing what we can do, even after the ass-kicking we gave them this morning.” He looked around at all the faces turned to him and gave them an evil grin. “We’re going to show them the error of their ways. Hell, d’you see? Half those Growlers out there don’t have any armor, maybe they’ve run out of the up-armored ones. We can mess them up bad.” He shook his head. “But it’s not going to be quick or easy, I’ll tell you that.” Ed looked around the crowded hallway at the faces peering at him. “I need a count of how many hand grenades we have as well as standard forty-millimeter rounds. We’ve got to make something happen,” he announced.
“Cowabunga it is,” Harris said heartily, but his face was pale.
Master Sergeant Donald Logan sat in his idling Toad named CLEAVE and listened to the radio traffic as Echo element pushed up on foot along Cass and Woodward and entered the first of the skyscrapers known to contain enemy combatants. They were in no hurry; they were pretty sure they had the enemy surrounded. There were Army troops encircling the entire New Center area, although they were admittedly a little thin on the north and east. But they had multiple drones up to spot anyone attempting to sneak away. Now it was just a matter of rooting them out.
Hotel element—of which he had command—had pushed north along the Lodge Freeway in force and positioned themselves at the West Grand Boulevard intersection. He knew he had a few guerrillas in the large apartment building east of his position; command had radioed that their drones had spotted a squad moving into the building, and a portion of Charlie had engaged with them earlier. That group had lost an IMP but one of the troopers told Logan they'd killed at least ten guerrillas in addition to destroying one of their vehicles and ramming the other through the front of the building.
Logan was perfectly happy to let the guerrillas hide out in the apartment building. He was in no hurry to send his men in there. Door-to-door fighting was a sucker bet and chewed through people no matter how good they were. And his men weren't that good. This late into the war the draftees he was getting were disgruntled, barely trained, and often borderline malnourished. He had the advantage of armor, and was going to use it.
The guerrillas reportedly had used some anti-tank weapons against Charlie and Foxtrot elements earlier, RPGs and grenades and Molotovs, so he was not going to go anywhere near tall buildings until they’d been cleared by dismounted soldiers bottom to top. And that was why his hatch was closed. Command reported their drone revealed the turret hatch of Charlie element’s destroyed Toad was open, indicating it was most likely the rebels’ good luck which had killed that tank crew. One hand grenade through the Commander’s hatch could incapacitate an entire crew.
“Hotel One-One to One-Two,” he said into the radio.
“Go for One-Two,” the commander of the other Toad replied.
“What’s your fuel status, ove
r.”
There was a bit of a pause before Carter in the other tank replied. “Six and a half, maybe seven hours if we’re just going to sit here idling.”
“Roger that, we’re about the same.”
Suddenly their tank shuddered and boomed as if it was a bell struck by a giant hammer. There were more explosions all around them, too many to count. Logan grabbed hold of the bulkhead to keep from being flung to the floor.
“I’ve lost the ISU, I’ve lost the ISU!” his gunner shouted. “Backup’s out too. I think we were hit by an RPG.”
“Make that two,” Logan muttered. There was garbled screaming over the radio. Logan clicked to transmit. “Hotel One-One to Hotel element, anybody got eyes on? We’ve lost our ISU.” He got no coherent response and tried it again. There was more shouting over the radio but he couldn't make it out.
“Anyone get that?” he asked his men. Nobody had. “Goddamnit,” he swore. He knew what he had to do, but that didn’t mean he liked it. “I’m going up,” he called out to his crew, and opened his hatch.
Hotel One-Two was fifty feet away with smoke jetting out of a black-edged hole in the top of the turret. Logan immediately recognized it for what it was, a rocket or RPG round had breached the hull. Most likely everybody inside Hotel One-Two was dead but he still had to check, once he was clear. Behind the tank an IMP was slewed at an angle, and as he watched the back hatch was slowly coming down, gray haze pouring out of the interior. There were strange impact marks across the top of the APC’s hull, and smoke trailed from two of them. As he watched two bloodied soldiers crawled out of the vehicle and huddled behind cover. No others followed.
Logan grabbed the paddle grips of the M240 and surveyed his front. He didn't see any guerrillas or immediate threats but he noticed that a substantial number of windows on the top floor of the apartment building were now blown out. He fired his machine gun, working it across the face of the apartment building from one side to the other, burning through more than half the 200-round belt of ammo. He had no idea if he hit anyone but he was hoping to keep their heads down, and he heard others to his flanks firing as well. Most of the windows in the apartment building’s fifth and sixth floors disintegrated under the hail of bullets. He looked around again. One IMP was still undamaged, as were most of the Growlers, although he saw windows on the non-armored ones spiderwebbing from incoming enemy rifle fire.
“Lewis!” he called to his gunner.
“Sergeant?”
“Traverse left ten degrees and fire!”
“I’m blind down here.”
“I fucking know that!”
The turret rotated left and then the whole tank rocked as the main gun fired. The top right corner of the apartment building erupted in a flash, metal and glass and drywall forming a cloud which began drifting downward.
“Down five degrees, left five degrees and fire again!” Logan called out. It didn’t matter that he couldn’t “aim” the main gun when they was shooting at a huge fucking building right in front of them. He’d walk the rounds in. He heard the impact of incoming rounds as the guerrillas in the building continued to fire. He even caught a glimpse of some muzzle flashes, but none of the bullets seemed to be hitting near him.
“Roger that.” The turret rotated, and the gun dipped a bit. Then the cannon roared again. The face of the apartment building ruptured outward as the high explosive round impacted between the fifth and sixth floors, but in the fraction of a second between the firing of his main gun and the impact, there was some sort of flare in one of the darkened apartments, and Logan had just enough time to recognize the incoming rocket for what it was.
“We’re blowing the bolt hole in one minute,” Barker’s voice came over the radio. “Anybody that's not here who wants to leave this way needs to get their ass here now.”
Ed knew the man was talking about closing off the mouth of the narrow sewer pipe through which they’d be leaving the area. The Tabs, once they made it into the Albert Khan building and found the crater in the floor, would probably be able to figure out there was a sewer pipe down there through which the dogsoldiers had arrived and departed, but deducing exactly which direction it headed and where it might exit, much less digging it out enough to follow them, would take them a substantial amount of time. Enough time for the dogsoldiers to make it to the much-larger trunk line and begin heading north, where they had plans to disburse in small groups throughout the city.
“Quigley,” Barker said, “good luck. We’ll see you when we see you.”
Ed smiled. “Everybody ready?” He shouted up and down the hallway. “Yell out if you're not.” He waited for a five count but still heard nothing. “Sergeant Weaver, on you,” he called out to her.
Knocking out the two Toads as well as the two IMPs wasn’t just a worthy goal, it was pretty damn necessary if the squad wanted to get out of there alive. Sarah and Harris from Roadrunner were in the corner apartment with two Spikes each. Ed moved on his knees from the hallway into the adjacent apartment next to George. The two apartments on the southwest corner of the building were the closest to the Tab armor elements on the Lodge service drive.
Ed had two spikes, and George had his MGL loaded up with six of the light armor-piercing grenade rounds. Both Ed and George were crouched down in the middle of the apartment. Ed peered over the window sill at the armored vehicles in the distance. Toads were huge vehicles compared to a Toyota or Ford, but 175 yards out it seemed a tiny target try to hit with a rocket.
Ed had the Spike ready to go: sights up, safety pin out, all he had to do was depress the safety lever with his fingers and press the trigger with his thumb. He was sweating profusely and his heart was hammering in his chest. He exchanged a look with George but neither of them had to say a word. They’d been fighting alongside one another for so long no words were necessary, they each knew what the other was thinking.
There was a whooshing crack of a roar and Ed’s eyes were just able to track the path of the Spike as the rocket sped from the adjacent apartment towards the tank squatting in the middle of the distant intersection.
He stood up, George rising beside him, and lined the sights on the tank to the right even as he saw an explosion batter the tank to the left. George fired the grenade launcher beside him, the THOOMPF loud in the room, the windows before them shattering with a crescendo. As planned George was taking aim at one of the IMPs. Ed depressed the safety on the rocket launcher with his two middle fingers, checked his sights were on the tank’s turret just above the main gun, and smoothly pressed the trigger with his thumb. He was so focused on his task the sound of the rocket roaring out of the tube on his shoulder seemed quiet.
Ed tossed the empty launch tube to the side and grabbed the second Spike sitting ready beside him on the arms of a chair. It had already been prepped with the safety pin pulled and the sights deployed. He pressed it hard against his shoulder, depressed the red safety lever with his two middle fingers, and only as he was aiming at the Toad did he take a fraction of a second to eye the tank. He could see scorch marks on the turret, so he’d scored a hit, but whether he’d destroyed the sighting unit or managed to puncture the armor on the top of the turret, or both, or neither, he had no idea. He aimed at the same place, the top of the turret just above the main gun, and carefully pressed the trigger with his thumb.
This time the rocket seemed louder and he was aware of just how much dust filled the air of the apartment around him as the rocket’s exhaust, as it leapt from the tube, battered the walls. He dropped the spent tube to the floor and kicked it away, then grabbed his rifle hanging across his chest by its sling. Beside him George had fired all six grenades, and was busy reloading with his last two AP rounds. He also had two standard HE rounds. Ed had heard additional rockets being fired from the apartment next door but he’d been too focused on his task to count, so he didn't know if they’d fired every rocket yet. They'd allocated three Spikes per tank, and George had been tasked with the IMPs, four AP grenades each.
Over the top of his rifle Ed eyed the tanks. There was smoke shooting out of the top of the tank on the right, the one at which he’d fired his rockets. It was too far away to tell for sure, but he thought he saw a hole in the top of the turret. As for the tank on the left… he saw a hatch pop open and a helmeted man stick his head and shoulders out. The Tab put his hands on the big belt-fed machine gun in front of him.
“Contact front!” Ed shouted, hopefully loud enough for his voice to carry up and down the hallway. “Machine gun!” Before he’d finished shouting his warning the man in the tank had begun firing. Ed dove to the ground to the floor pulling George down with him.
The bullets thudded into the walls behind them, the sounds of the bullets impacting drywall and wood seemingly as loud as the distant gun firing. More of the Tab soldiers opened up, the chattering of their weapons accompanied by the sound of bullets hitting around him and smacking the front of the building.
Lying on his side on the floor George finished reloading the grenade launcher. Ed rose up onto one knee and peered out the window. As he did, he saw the main gun on the still-functioning tank swing over toward him.
“Incoming!” he screamed. He grabbed George by the collar and gave him a yank as he rose to his feet and lunged toward the door. As he reached the doorway the entire building shuddered as the high-explosive tank round hit somewhere close. He fell to his knees but was back up instantly as dust fell from the ceiling. “Where’d that hit?” he started to say.
George hurled himself through the doorway and body slammed Ed into the wall as Sarah and Harris bailed out of their apartment as well. As he bounced off the wall and fell to his knees Ed saw Harris had a Spike tube in his hands.
“That thing still hot?” Ed asked him.
“Yeah,” Harris replied, “I wasn’t fast enough on the trigger.”