The Kill Box

by H. Ripley Rawlings

  “Roger!” was all Dunworthy said. He didn’t let up on the pedal until they bumped up the lawn and smashed straight through the front of the house. Tyce heard the top machine gunner grunt loudly as he dove back into the Humvee just in time. It was fortunate that none of the houses looked occupied yet, but Tyce had a feeling Dunworthy wouldn’t have let any occupants stop him. Dust and debris fell through the top turret opening. and Tyce grabbed his rifle, radios, and combat pack.

  “Out, out, out!” yelled Gunny.

  The men threw the Humvee doors open, pushing away aluminum siding and splintered wood, then raced for the stairs. As Tyce ascended the stairs, he could hear Gunny yelling at the machine gunner to stop and go back to get his .50 cal unstuck from where it had become lodged in the ceiling of the front room.

  CHAPTER 34

  Russian Pentagon

  Washington, D.C.

  “Sir, they’ve made contact. The enemy was right where Panther said they would be. They are in battle now,” said Major Pavel.

  “Excellent. What is Shenkov’s progress?” asked General Kolikoff.

  “He’s ten minutes out, Comrade General.”

  General Tympkin entered the operations room and, spotting Kolikoff, walked over to him. “Give me an update.”

  Perfect timing, thought Kolikoff. The old man gets to see success as it unfolds.

  Kolikoff stood up and went through a quick report. “Major Uintergrin reports he has unloaded two of his three BTR-90s and all of the infantry. Agent Panther Chameleon sent us the exact coordinates of the enemy ambush, and right now Uintergrin is maneuvering on the enemy from two sides.”

  “What the hell is Uintergrin doing giving reports? What happened to Karataev?” said Tympkin.

  Kolikoff barely knew who Uintergrin was; after all, Tympkin had kept the mission a secret even from him until a few days before. Since then, he’d not really been given control of the train except that they’d gotten in touch with them and provided them answers and redirected area troops to support. “Uintergrin has assumed the role of acting commander on the death of his superior last night.”

  Tympkin’s eyes widened, but he seemed to appreciate that things were moving along well in spite of the setback.

  The room was getting livelier now, as a Russian UAV had shown up on the battlefield and was providing a live feed. Tympkin glanced at Kolikoff. “Your call for reinforcements?”

  “Yes, General.”

  “Good work,” said Tympkin.

  Strasburg, Virginia

  Tyce couldn’t see the men in the other houses but knew his squad leaders would be instructing their squads to do about the same as he was directing the squad with him. His Humvee machine gunner had knocked out a section of wall and was now setting up the tripods for the .50 cals. The other 150th cavalrymen were sprinting around collecting construction material. Bags of dry cement and cinderblocks acted as sandbags and barricades, and two-by-fours became aiming rests.

  The battlefield was completely visible to him from the vantage of the second story, and with his tactical experience, he instantly sized up the situation. An entire cleared section of forest just off the railroad tracks had been opened up to build a new housing development, which was now the epicenter of a massive exchange of cannon and small-arms fire. From there, it was a gentle dirt slope down to the tracks, with neighborhood blocks mapped out, some yards done, and even a few foundations dug and bricked in.

  At the train, several gravel berms providing erosion protection for the railway gave the Russians near-continuous masking terrain. The train and what looked to be about a company of Russians had excellent cover and near-perfect fields of fire, including up to Tyce and Lieutenant Bryce’s LAVs in the woods off Interstate 81. Bryce could probably hit the engine at maximum long range, but it was a chancy target, and the BTRs were keeping him pinned. If he was going to get a clear shot on the engine, or anything else besides the approaching BTRs, he’d have to sacrifice the cover of a good position for a completely exposed one. The BTR was a stronger and more heavily armored vehicle than the LAV, and eventually, the basic math didn’t add up in the LAVs’ favor. A Russian BTR with a 30mm cannon and turret mounted anti-tank guided missile versus a light armored semi-amphibious vehicle meant for speedy reconnaissance and carrying only a 25mm cannon? No question. The big part of that equation was Tyce could see that realization dawning on the Russians, too.

  He used the squad radio. “Look, you can see the enemy is preparing to advance up the field and close the distance on Lieutenant Bryce. Once they get close enough, that 30mm is going to hurt. Report to me when your guns are set. We’ll commence firing at the same time. I want to hit them when they get halfway across the field advancing on his Dragoons.”

  The squad radio was more like a walkie-talkie, less formal than military radios, but fortunately, each squad “rogered up” that they understood.

  * * *

  The report that came in after the men had begun their advance caused Major Uintergrin some confusion. “Wait, there are enemy spotted where?”

  “Sir, we have a report that there were Americans spotted in the houses on the other side of the field. The BTR man wants to know if you have any change of orders? He’s passed on his concern that they have shoulder fired rockets.”

  A prickly sensation crept up Uintergrin’s neck, a twinge that he might be out of his depth. He willed it away and looked at the map. Then realized he could see those buildings from the train and walked to the window. He held his binoculars up and stared at the houses. Sure enough, there seemed to be some activity on the second floor of a few of the buildings, but it didn’t look like anything much to him. “It is probably construction workers, trapped by the battle. Can’t be helped.” Then, momentarily, doubting himself due to his own lack of infantry experience, he took another look through the binoculars. “Besides, there is no firing coming from there.”

  “The BTR commander advises that in his contact with the regular American infantry, they always carry anti-tank rockets.”

  “I’ve been assured those enemy vehicles are National Guard, third-line troops, and hillbillies. Just tell the men to continue their advance,” Uintergrin said with annoyance.

  “Now!” yelled Tyce, both to the machine gunner set up next to him and over the squad radio.

  Brack-brack-brack-brack went the heavy-barreled machine gun. It belched out round after round at a rapid rate. Coming from experienced men on the .50 cals at five hundred meters and their tripods, the fire was immediately accurate. It caught the BTR-90s in the flank. Although it was not a big enough round to penetrate the vehicle’s armor plating, it did kick off some of their explosive-reactive armor. Their ERA was a kit of explosives, almost like land mines, placed in a carefully designed array across the sides of the vehicle that would detonate when struck by an incoming American anti-tank missile. Tyce didn’t have any of those, but knocking the ERAs off gave Bryce’s LAV’s 25mm cannons a better chance to penetrate the vehicles on the sides where they were the weakest. The sharp pings of constant suppressive fire gave the Russian vehicle crews and the infantry onboard a hell of a headache, adding to their confusion.

  “There you go, pour it on,” he said over the radio and to the men around him. Although they were at their maximum range for effectiveness, they were also getting into the action.

  Tyce could see the tactic was working already. One of the BTRs stopped, and the other two slowed its advance considerably. The only trouble was now the BTRs were using their turrets to search for the source of the incoming fire. Tyce saw the trail vehicle searching widely around them; the other two seemed a little more fixed on Bryce in the wood line. It was difficult while under fire and buttoned up inside a vehicle to tell from which direction you were being shot at. Tyce was banking on it. It would take just a few minutes of fire dominance to get all the men into positions in their respective houses.

  Finally, the trail BTR must have seen a few muzzle flashes or the source of some tracer fire.
The Russian turret gunner didn’t hesitate; he spun onto the houses and opened fire with his 30mm cannon.

  Boom-boom-boom! Huge chunks of ceiling, drywall, and segments of wood framing showered around them. One of the men screamed. Tyce turned and saw a rifleman kneeling behind a stack of cinderblocks, an eight-inch piece of splintered wood sticking through his bicep with blood pouring out of the wound. A buddy pulled him down into cover and went about removing the giant splinter.

  Tyce could see the BTRs had divided their fires between his positions and Bryce’s. He’d definitely gotten their attention.

  Tyce heard Gunny running up the stairs behind them. “Hey sir, the other houses are starting to take heavy-caliber fire. How long do you want to keep these positions?”

  Tyce now had to walk a delicate balance between robbing the initiative away from the enemy and assuming too much risk of losing a machine gunner or his gun. His gunners had opened up with a steady, cyclic rate of fire, but were now backing it down to conserve ammunition. There was no chance the .50 cal would penetrate at that distance, and they knew they needed to save some ammo for whatever Tyce ordered up next.

  Tyce picked up the squad radio. “Fix fires on the trail vehicle. Aim for his tires.”

  Gunny was still waiting patiently with Tyce behind the stack of cement bags. “Don’t those BTRs have run-flats? You can puncture the tire, but he can still drive. How long do you want to keep this up, sir?” Gunny sounded eager to get on the move and was probably worried Tyce was making a mistake in keeping their positions too long. He wasn’t going to come out and say it, but senior enlisted men had their own way of prodding their leaders into action when they thought they were getting sluggish.

  “Until I see them cracking, Gunny,” Tyce said bluntly. “Look over at that trail vehicle. He isn’t so sure that our heavy guns can’t penetrate him. When a few shredded tires cause steering problems, he’ll reverse.”

  Boom-boom-boom! More incoming cannon fire. Tyce and Gunny ducked flat, and the machine gunner had to stop firing. A huge hole opened up in the wall in front of them, and the roof over their heads cracked, partially caving in on top of them.

  “How long, sir?” Gunny’s voice betrayed some doubt.

  “Wait,” said Tyce, firmly. Then, to the gunner, “Pick him up again, aim for those tires.”

  The machine gunner wiped sweat and dust from his face, yelled, “Roger!” got behind his gun, and began firing again. He’d been shaken by the sound and the fury around him, and his shots were falling wide, but Tyce could see through the new hole that the other three machine guns were making their marks. Chunks of rubber and a few as-yet-unexploded ERA boxes blew off the trail vehicle. The other two were still moving forward at a slow but steady pace and seemed to be concentrating mostly on Bryce. Either the trail vehicle had to change belts of ammo or there was a debate inside the vehicle, because even though it had their range and was landing rounds practically in their lap, it stopped firing. In moments, there was a cloud of black smoke from the exhaust, and it began to reverse.

  “How could you know that?” Gunny asked, watching in wonder as the other two BTRs also began backing up—slowly at first, then faster.

  Tyce didn’t answer. He called over the squad radio, “Keep the fire on them. Five more bursts apiece, then break down your positions and get down to the first floor.” Tyce knew when he had the advantage, but he also knew the best-kept secret of the infantry was displacement. When you were buttoned up in an armored vehicle, you had the advantage of speed, but you never had the simple tactical agility you gained from ducking into cover, then popping up somewhere else. That ability to keep the enemy guessing was the experienced infantryman’s best weapon.

  “Uh, sir.” Gunny pointed to the two lead vehicles. They were still reversing, but now they’d both turned their turrets toward the houses.

  ‘Oh shit.” Then, after a pause, he yelled to the room and into the radio, “Get ready for some heavy incoming!”

  * * *

  “Sir,” said the Russian radio operator, “the vehicle commander said they had to pull back. They were losing tires, had lost traction, and were about to get pinned down in the field. The American LAVs had found their range, and they’d had a few penetrations of their hull armor.”

  “Damn it, Tell them to—”

  Another radio operator interrupted Major Uintergrin. “Sir, Captain Shenkov is inbound on final approach and requests to know where he can land to get into the assault. He’s requesting a a position report on the Americans.”

  How sweet the small tactical reversals, Uintergrin thought. “Tell him to land behind those houses. They will take the enemy by surprise from behind.”

  “Sir, won’t that interfere with the fires from your BTRs?” said the new infantry platoon commander he’d received that morning.

  “What? Why?” said Uintergrin angrily. He may not be an infantryman, but he hated being corrected by one.

  “The dynamics of fire, sir. If the Spetsnaz captain lands behind the four houses, he will be behind the direct line of the BTR fire. If they shoot, he will receive any wide rounds, and vice versa.”

  Uintergrin flashed an angry look. “Don’t tell me how to run the battle, Lieutenant. I know perfectly well what we need to do. Give the order, radio operator, and inform the BTRs to maintain their fires and hold their positions. We will squeeze the enemy in between our forces. This is a classic maneuver. It’s called a, ah . . . well, in the manual it’s a form of killing maneuver.”

  All military radio operators in every military the world round listened to discussions held in their command post. It took a thinking man to be a radio operator; they must always be listening so they could quickly anticipate what information needed to be passed. Uintergrin’s radiomen were no different. They had been operating with their own infantry unit for some time and trusted their lieutenant over their new major. They glanced between the two officers with some doubt as to what to do. Ultimately, one made the radio call. “Wolf six, Wolf six, you are to commence your assault from grid location two-seven-nine, two-one-one. Your targets are the four houses at the edge of the construction site. The enemy is facing away from you, and you will have the element of surprise. Orders are to attack immediately.”

  “Understood. We will land in seconds. We have heavy guns and rockets and will commence the attack immediately on touching down,” came the response over the radio speaker system.

  * * *

  The volume of fire over their heads was unbelievable. Large spans of the roof had fallen in on them, adding to the confusion. In the cramped quarters, the reports of the rifles and machine gun were magnified, making normal discussion impossible.

  Tyce had to yell in Gunny’s ear over the din to be heard. “Time to go. Help the gunner. I’ll get the rest of the squad out front where we can regroup and displace.” Gunny made an “okay” gesture with his thumb and forefinger and slapped the gunner on the helmet to get his attention.

  Tyce was halfway down the stairs when he heard a strange sound. One he had heard only once in recent months. The whoop-whoop of a helicopter’s rotor blades could be heard, even above the noise of outgoing and incoming gunfire. Tyce raced to the front of the house, where the back of the Humvee still stuck halfway out the smashed front room. About a hundred meters away, six helicopters were landing. He recognized them right away; they were Kamov Ka-60 assault helicopters. Tyce could see Russian troops spilling out as the first aircraft touched down.

  CHAPTER 35

  Strasburg, Virginia

  A withering cross fire blasted from the tree line as the Russians assumed positions, forming a lengthening line in the north. Red tracer fire from light machine guns, looking like dozens of laser beams, rattled from among the bushes and ripped through the houses’ wood and tin siding. The men had just made it to the first floor, but now they were all lying completely flat around Tyce. Tyce knew that if the Russians were given the time, they would bring up medium machine guns and grenade launcher
s and start chewing the houses to shreds.

  The radio operator screamed in his ear, “Sir, second squad wants to know if they should try to make their way over here.”

  Tyce slashed his hand across his neck. “Negative, negative. Tell him to remain in place. Tell all squads to hold fast and get into the basements. The brick foundations will give them cover.”

  The Marine indicated he understood and radioed the command. The noise of incoming fire again made verbal commands nearly impossible. Tyce low crawled over to the squad leader and pointed downward with his thumb. Tyce and the man looked around and spotted the basement stairwell. The majority of the interior drywall wasn’t up yet, so it was easy to spot. Tyce and several others crawled to the front windows. Without needing to coordinate, they immediately fell into their unit’s SOP and used a pop-up technique. Three Marines and Tyce each went to a different front window, and one man popped up at a time, firing rapidly but accurately onto the Russian’s muzzle blasts. Tyce hoped the squad leaders were communicating to one another on their own and doing the same. If they didn’t pick up some fire, the Russians would have them thoroughly pinned and advance on them a few at a time until they could toss grenades in the windows. Tyce recognized the danger because he had done it himself many times in Iraq and Afghanistan against terrorists and ISIS.

  When he saw the last pieces of the .50 cal disappear along with the final soldier’s boots, he got up and dashed down the line of mixed Marines and soldiers furiously pumping out rounds into the woods. He tapped each man on the shoulder, then ran to the next, dodging between construction beams and wall studs until he’d gotten the last man. He fired once more from the last window, then made a mad dash for the basement stairs.

  * * *

  Uintergrin looked out the train window through his binoculars and watched the battle as it was unfolding. Around him, the men were running in and out of the train car, delivering messages, offloading crates of ammo, and retrieving supplies.