Tyce squatted down by Lieutenant Zane at the North position. “How’s it coming, Chad?”
The lieutenant looked up from where he was hacking at the sidewall of his underground dirt dugout with a pickaxe. He hopped out of the hole and shook Tyce’s hand. “Hey, sir,” he said with a smile. “We’re pretty much done. We’re rehearsing drills to get into and out of the positions with speed.”
“Yeah? Sounds good. You feel you can get out of the positions quickly if you need to E and E?” said Tyce, using to the common military shorthand for “escape and evade.”
“We’re good, sir. Our fields of fire are clean but concealed. We’re ready to shut the front door when you signal.”
“Good.” Tyce was very concerned about the North troops getting surrounded and cut off and was about to speak over his concerns when one of Lieutenant Zane’s radio operators ran over waving a Yellow Canary.
“Major Asher, Major Asher.”
“Hey troop, what’s up?” The man was a soldier, not a Marine. Tyce needed to mix and match soldiers and Marines to make up for gaps or to add technical expertise where needed. It was always painful for subordinates to add or subtract men they had trained with, but keeping unit integrity was less important than right-sizing each of the three ambush sites to fit the mechanics of the coming fight.
Tyce read the message. It said three unidentified, military-style vehicles had been spotted approaching from the east. They were moving slowly. Two of the snipers had them under watch. They were asking permission to fire.
“Where’s your field phone, Lieutenant?”
“I have it over in the command post, back farther in the woods. But I don’t think that came over the field phone.”
“It didn’t come over the radio . . . I hope. Everyone should still be exercising radio silence.”
“Oh no, it’s okay, sir. The men have just been using the Motorola squad radios, not the big military radios,” Lieutenant Zane said with a smile.
“Please tell me you’re joking.” Some of the color evaporated from Tyce’s face.
“Umm . . . well, no, sir, I’m not. But they only work point to point. They cannot be detected beyond the valley. Their signals are too weak. One of the guys back in your headquarters said it’d be all right.”
“Crap,” said Tyce “Stop using them. Immediately! They can still be detected and intercepted by aircraft. How long have you been using them?”
“Uhhh . . .” stammered the lieutenant. “A few hours, I’d guess, sir. We got a radio call from the observation post this morning about zero eight hundred hours. Then folks started using them between the three ambush positions instead of wasting gas driving a runner.”
“Shit.” Tyce stared at the lieutenant while he thought about how many Russian aircraft had overflown their position in the last four or five hours. He was pretty sure they had been increasing in frequency, although at high enough altitudes that they’d been relatively less unusual. He’d have to query his intelligence officers, but he knew from instinct that at least a few of the lower-flying aircraft were probably absorbing every signal band on the hunt for any stray troops foolish enough to use their radios.
“Okay, pass the word. Use the radios one last time, if necessary. Tell everyone to remain off even the small handheld radios.”
“Copy, sir, WILCO,” he said, using shorthand to mean I will comply. “Where are you going to be?”
“I want to see who we have headed our way. I’m not sure Center is as prepared as you are yet, Lieutenant Zane, and those three vehicles are headed right for them.” Tyce dashed over to his Humvee and headed to Harman High School, which sat at the middle of the intersection going through the ambush area.
* * *
The big Ram 3500 pulled up to where Tyce and SSgt. Diaz were standing on the road to intercept them. Pulled behind the truck was something covered by a large square of canvas oilcloth. Two pickups behind the first were likewise towing something large and wheeled—and even covered, it appeared to be military.
Bill Degata jumped out of the driver’s seat and pumped his fists skyward. “Hey, Major. Like the Magi, we come bearing gifts.”
General Lawton exited on the passenger’s side and, feeling his way around the truck, listened for Tyce’s voice.
“What the heck are those?” asked Tyce, still staring at the big canvas-draped hulks being towed behind the pickups.
“Come on back, Major,” said the general, leading the way by feel to the back of the truck. “Bill, can you do the honors?”
Bill undid some straps and pulled the cover back. Underneath was some kind of big gun that Tyce didn’t recognize.
“What is it?”
“That, Warrior Leader, is a German 88. The anti-tank gun made famous in World War II.”
“Well . . . that looks good, but what are we going to do with it? I thought you were maybe bringing us something . . . I don’t know, modern?”
“Modern don’t mean better,” said Bill Degata, glaring at Tyce.
“Right. How do we employ it?”
“That depends. Did you get guys to shape the tungsten to the specifications I asked for?”
“Gunny did. Frankly, I’ve been so busy running around inspecting positions, I kind of forgot to look it over. I think he said he got eight.”
“Eight is better than none. Let’s get all of these up into the gun position.”
“Agreed. Why don’t you ride with me, General? I’ll need to get a briefing on how we’re integrating them into the ambush.”
“Everything else going according to plan?”
“No,” said Tyce as they boarded the Humvee. The general shook Tyce off when he tried to help him in. “We’ve had some setbacks, and we’ve had a breach in radio silence.”
The general looked at Tyce with his white eyes, a look of concern over his face. “How long ago?”
“As best we can tell, about a few hours ago. But continuous use till now—I just discovered it. It was the handheld radios.”
“Still detectable,” said the general, trailing off.
“I know.” Tyce could see some worry lining the general’s face.
“We have less time than we needed, then,” said Lawton. “Probably they’ll attack tonight. But we can still make things work, just gotta act fast getting these ‘presents’ into the southern positions.”
“What’s behind the other pickups?”
“Behind the Ford is a Quad-50. Another present from dubya-dubya-two. Have you heard of those?”
“No,” answered Tyce bluntly, a little concerned about whether to trust the World War II tech.
The general couldn’t resist a little smile. Clearly, he took some comfort in his vast knowledge. “It is a four-barrel, . 50 cal machine gun. Excellent against low-flying aircraft. Especially helicopters.”
Though the general couldn’t see it, Tyce raised his eyebrows. “It sounds great, but what about ammunition?”
“No need to worry about that. I have some friends who own a gun store. I have enough to supply the Quad with at least a few squirts. Enough to drive away any close air support the Russian ground guys might try to use. Believe me, as wide as the valley seems to us on the ground, up in the air, it’s a tight, narrow little box. And when that little baby gets a-rockin’ . . . Let’s put it this way: we might be able to level the playing field if we bring it back down to a ground fight. But remember, it’s not what we do to the enemy, it’s the simultaneous effect of the whole ambush on the Russian commander’s mind that matters most. If we don’t cause a radio helmet fire . . . well, let’s focus on success. That’s your department.”
It was the first time Tyce had heard anything approaching doubt from the general, and it didn’t sit well with him. “I definitely have use for it. Probably on the hill near the command post. It’s the most centrally located, nearest to Center but can support all three positions. Most of the valley, even. Do you think they’ll use aircraft?” Tyce had considered it, but maybe wishful thinki
ng had given him doubts the Russians would bother using what scarce air support they had against a bunch of wayward mountaineers and some lost troops. The conflict hadn’t been long enough for the Russians to have brought in too much of their own attack aviation, yet.
“No doubt in my mind, Major Asher.”
“Okay,” said Tyce as their Humvee pulled off Route 33 onto the farm road that lead to the hunting shack serving as a command post. “I guess . . . thanks are in order for the toys, General.”
“None necessary, my boy. We’re in it to win it. And this is more than a little bit personal for me and Bill.”
Tyce didn’t press the general any further, instead asking, “What’s behind the third truck?”
“Heh, heh. Well, that’ll be my and Bill’s little surprise. Call it an early Christmas present if things go south.”
Tyce stared at the general for a moment as they pulled into the command post. He hadn’t really realized it before, but they had placed almost all their trust in this funny little man from nowhere and his toys. And while he had instantly earned his and everyone else’s trust with some wise words, Tyce couldn’t help but wonder, What if he’s wrong—or worse, just some nuts old man with delusions of grandeur, the keys to a World War II museum, and a lot of quotes from ancient history?
CHAPTER 22
Harman
Lieutenant Chad Zane gazed over the dark valley through his night vision goggles, shivering constantly. The bitter cold air chilled him to his bones. He’d looked at his watch about every two minutes, and he knew it was just after two a.m. Route 32 ran parallel and directly next to his hidden bunker. Without any vehicles on it and from his position, low among the weeds, he could barely see over it. But so far, there was nothing to see. He was about to turn off his NVGs—batteries were scarce, since they had run through most of their stock during the monthlong exercise—when he heard the slight whine of a distant vehicle engine. It wasn’t increasing in volume rapidly. Whatever or whomever was coming was taking their time.
The military radio, silent before now, burst to life. It was Zane’s observation post, stationed a kilometer up the road in a small hamlet called Dryfork. They had broken radio silence, speaking in a low tone: “The enemy is en route to your position.” A short pause, “Composition follows. Sixteen BTRs and three GAZ Tigrs.”
Even in the wintry air, a thin bead of sweat broke out on the lieutenant’s brow. Sixteen BTRs was a lot more than they had planned for.
“Copy. Keep the reports coming, and when the last enemy vehicle passes, prepare to close the front door,” he said. His voice quavered a bit over the radio. He was unable to completely suppress the fear in his voice. He looked through the narrow slit between the logs over the valley and Route 32. He knew soon a lot of Russian vehicles would pass right by him. With luck, they wouldn’t see any of his men’s positions. They were completely camouflaged from the north, and the only thing visible from the south was the narrow slit. But there was no turning back now.
* * *
Tyce listened in as his field phone operators received reports.
He glanced over at the general. It felt good to have him back. Although Tyce was still a bit dubious, he took some comfort from having the old man in his headquarters. Tyce wasn’t necessarily buying all these historic quotes, but the effect on the men was palpable. It was like they had a wise sage on their side.
The general sat in an old wooden chair, the flickering candlelight illuminating his bandaged eyes and face. He showed no emotion. He sat still puffing on his pipe while his buddy, Bill Degata, described some of the features on Tyce’s regimental battle map. Tyce’s men were in charge of what was called “running the board,” which meant tracking the battle with little pins in the map. But they gave Bill Degata and the general a wide berth, and when either asked a question about positions, weather reports, etcetera, the troops responded quickly and respectfully. They had seen how Tyce and the other senior leaders treated him, had heard the stories of his past and blinding, and word had even gotten around that he was the mastermind behind the ambush. They treated both with a bit of reverence. Tyce was glad for it.
The troops’ enthusiasm for the mission had only increased with the general’s additional know-how. But Tyce knew the ambush was going to have its drawbacks, its flaws, and worst, its casualties.
Tyce walked over and picked up the radio handset. “Copy position North. Make ready. Understood enemy headed to your position. Ensure everyone is underground. They will most certainly be using thermals,” he said, referencing the Russians’ ability to use thermal imagers to see in the dark. Any source of heat could be observed against the cold winter backdrop. Inside their little log dugouts, they should be generally safe from view until the time was right.
He rekeyed the handset. “Center, Center, report your position.”
There was no delay; Ned Blake’s voice came back over the net. “Position set. All troops are in their positions.”
“Copy Center position. Break, break.” He unkeyed then rekeyed, as was procedure when calling a different unit. “Position South, position South, report status.”
Captain Blake’s voice came back, loud and clear. “All set, six,” he said, assigning Tyce the respectful call sign for a commander. The number “six” was the number designator for a unit commander regardless of their rank or service. It was a universal way of acknowledging someone’s leadership, and Tyce was instantly appreciative of the confidence—especially given over the radio, when everyone could hear it, and from his army special forces commander.
“Copy South. Break, break.” He unkeyed, then rekeyed. “All stations, all stations. We have reached go criteria for the ambush. Get ready. Center, you will initiate the ambush when the middle vehicle passes into your kill zone. Acknowledge.”
“Acknowledged,” came the simple, one-word response from Ned.
There was nothing left to do but wait while the Russians steadily approached.
CHAPTER 23
Harman
The Russian colonel tuned his radio to better receive his reconnaissance element leader’s transmission. The report was clear: they had spotted several figures in the woods.
He grabbed the handset and barked out his orders. “Bypass them, reconnaissance force. They are merely an observation post. Main force, you will bypass them, too. But be mindful that this means we are about to cross into their ambush zone. Trail force, hold back and wait. The enemy observation post will pull out of their position after I cross with main force into the Harman Valley. You can kill them once we are set to proceed south and commence our attack.”
The Russian BTR-90 command-and-control vehicle was cramped, but he had all of the headquarters men he needed packed into the space.
His intelligence officer turned to him. “Sir, radio intercepts coming in. This is what you were looking for. It’s an enemy stronghold. At least four . . . five enemy radios are broadcasting.”
“Understood. Reconnaissance, pick up your speed and move out.”
“Sir, you cannot cross into the valley without tripping off the ambush.”
“I am aware, Captain. The reconnaissance element will be our eyes and ears. Focus on the intelligence and specific locations our sensors have provided you. When we halt at the mouth of the valley, you will confirm the three target clusters. Then we unleash hell.”
* * *
Tyce’s 150th Cavalry regimental HQ was a hive of activity. As everyone now understood better from their previous snafu, all the regiment’s radios could be intercepted. So, in short order, the communications men had designed an elaborate system using military field telephones tapped into the old civilian hardwired phone lines. It was working beautifully, but the lines were susceptible to being cut, either on purpose or from detonations or shrapnel in battle. So far, it was doing fine and would zero the Russians in on the one spot that was transmitting loud and clear: the barn in the center of the valley with the unmanned remote radios.
“Sir, Lieu
tenant Zane at North says his listening post has observed the Russian vehicle forces splitting into units. A lead element, looks to be a reconnaissance force, and a second element, which looks like the main body and has a lot of BTRs in the mix.” Tyce raised an eyebrow as the radio operator continued. “He’s getting a firm count on the total number now. The main body is halting on the edge of the woods and not entering the valley. The reconnaissance force is moving out rapidly, but they are not using the roads. They seem wise to a trap and are heading out into the farmland. Lieutenant Zane wants to know if you have any special instructions.”
“No. Tell him to hang tight and remain patient,” Tyce said.
Instinctively, Tyce glanced at the general, almost as if for validation that things were unfolding as they should. The split of the Russian forces and the lead reconnaissance element going off-road was a change from what he’d expected. Still, there was no change on the general’s expression. He sat there puffing on his pipe, patiently listening to the radios and everything happening around him like the calm at the center of the storm.
* * *
The Russian captain looked through his long-range night optics. In the dim moonlit valley spread before him, he could see trees, hills, and the tops of some houses. It was the perfect place for an ambush. But that didn’t bother him. There was nothing in the remnant American army that he feared. The reports had been good. They had captured all the major arsenals practically intact. The invasion had been a complete surprise. This was just a few scared soldiers holed up in the hills with little or no ammunition.
Still, a cornered rat can be dangerous, he reminded himself. He’d seen more than a few battles himself and had been handpicked to wipe out this little nuisance before they showed up on the Russian maps in the captured Pentagon.
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