//------------------------------//
// Lead the Way 
// Story: Nearing the Edge 
// by Eagle 
//------------------------------//

April 18th, 2006
0611 Hours
Saddleburg, Equestra







“Guess this is it, huh?” said Roche to Sergeant Wakefield. “The war’s finally happening… geez I was hoping it wouldn't be until later.”

“Yea, it's happening. War doesn’t like waiting for people,” the Sergeant replied, handing Roche a light anti-tank weapon. “You get to carry the team’s LAW today, got it?”

The Rangers in Saddleburg had been roused just before dawn as the word spread of war breaking out. The squad’s platoon, along with the rest of the battalion, were just finishing the final preparations for combat. Their mission was still unknown at the time, only that it would be difficult and deadly. When Captain Roland entered the room and everyone stopped to greet him at once, their stomachs jumped and twisted, knowing the news he was bringing.

“Men, I’d give you better encouragement than a few short words, but I was taken a bit by surprise, as I'm sure all of you were,” Roland stated. “Since we’re short on time, I'll keep things simple. The regiment is mobilizing around the town, but we still need to send men west to help the Equestrians. That mission has been assigned to the sturdy gentlemen of the Second Battalion. C Company is going out first as the tip of the spear. Lieutenant Tassingay, your platoon will be the point of that tip. You'll head out first and secure blocking positions west in preparation for the rest of Colt Company. Understood?”

“Yes Sir!” the Lieutenant replied.

“Good man. Follow me and I'll share further details with you. The rest of you men continue your preparations.”

The men finished their preparations as their Lieutenant spoke to Roland outside of the building. Weapons were given out and the various supplies were distributed amongst them, ammunition, medical, technological, and otherwise. Once completed, they were left to agonize over the coming battle, attempting to prepare for what they did not know would happen. After stowing a final magazine for his rifle, Sergeant Crockett walked over to the waiting Private Franklin Rockford, leaning against a wall and going over his M4.

“You ready, Franklin?”

“I am, and you Sergeant?”

“Almost, yeah… you… got anything you’d like to say?” asked Crockett. “Like, anything you’d like to say for us? For the team?”

“I… don’t follow.”

“Y’know, some wisdom or something.”

“Uh… hm… sic transit glorius mundi I suppose, if you want me to get theological.”

“Come on padre, not the cryptic latin stuff. Like a passage or something.”

“You want a prayer?”

“Maybe? I just want something to keep in my head during all this.”

“Of course, Sergeant. I think I know a verse for you. Here, take my hand,” offered Rockford, joining his free hand with Crocketts as their guns lingered in the other and their heads bowed down. “Dear Lord, please protect us and give us strength in this coming battle. Provide us with the fortitude necessary for us to see through this virtuous endeavour. Now the verse… how did it go? Ah… I’m sorry Sergeant, give me a minute.”

“Take your time brother, I’m in no hurry,” the Sergeant mumbled.

“Hm… ah yes, I remember now. ‘When you pass through the waters, I will be with you. When you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep you away… When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze.’ Does that help? I believe I got-”

Rockford was interrupted as the door next to them opened and stopped against his back while the Captain 

and Lieutenant opened again, trying not to cause much distraction.

“My apologies, I didn’t see you two there,” Roland said sincerely. “Was I interrupting something? You two were looking down, rather distressed.”

“No Sir, just praying,” answered the Private.

“We were about done anyways,” added Crockett. “I think I got what I needed.”

“Oh, I’m very sorry. It’s a good thing to pray, I think,” the Captain professed, retaining his heartfelt tone. “Even the strongest men need a blessing.”

“Well, I’m glad you see it that way, Sir.”

“Of course Sergeant. Just remember, the Lord made America, and America made the Rangers. Hooah?”

“Hooah, Captain Roland.”

The Rangers filed out and mounted the waiting Humvees that would ferry them to their blocking position. Once everyone in the platoon was aboard the vehicles rolled away, passing through the town and checkpoint gate on the west end. The convoy was now alone, following a large dirt road towards the border.

Around them, the evidence of war was progressively making itself clear. Above, the dawn was filled with jets flying west and anti-aircraft fire shooting up and bursting in the sky from a ways away. They passed a small fire that marked the resting place of a Fulcrum that had fallen victim to those shells.

Soon, the passing aircraft grew from small fighters to large transports, and the sky was dotted here and there with white spots floating softly to the earth. It was clear these were paratrooper units from the Bloc, but the mission continued on.

Sergeant Vanderbilt’s humvee, the third in line, skidded to a halt to avoid hitting the vehicle ahead of it, which had suddenly stopped. The entire convoy came to a stop and he was about to call the front when he noticed why. From the left, from behind a small barn, a Russian-designed IFV rumbled across the road. The BTR-90 turned its main auto-cannon on the convoy, opening fire and quickly striking the first two vehicles.

“We got a BTR!” Vanderbilt cried, pushing the door open. “Get out! Get out!.”

The men of the squad scrambled out of their transportation to cover on either side of the road, with the third and fourth humvees being hit moments later. The remainder of the convoy retreated, while the BTR pushed its way down the road, knocking the mangled vehicles aside in chase. As it passed the final wrecked humvee, a launcher shot from close behind and hit the inattentive IFV, piercing through the armor. Roche had been wise enough to save the LAW in his escape and a single crewmember, a Shadow pony, to attempt escape was cut down by Byrum’s shotgun, tumbling from the deck of his smoking carriage and falling to the road in a hard, dusty impact.

“Rally up!” Staff Sergeant Vanderbilt called. “Where's the rest of the platoon? Where's LT Tassigny?”

“He was in the second Humvee when it got hit,” answered Byrum. “No one got out of those.”

“Rest of the convoy backed up real fuckin quick when they saw that BTR,” Crockett added. “We’re on our own.”

“Alright, we’re not going to stick around here. We got to get back to Saddleburg. Davy!”

“Yes Staff Sergeant?” Crockett asked.

“You take Trench and Carlyle with you on point. I'll follow up with the rest. We can't get into a major firefight so keep it on a low profile. Hooah?”

“Hooah. Let's move, guys!”

The three rangers hustled along, attempting to remain in wooded areas. Despite the Shadow airborne drop, they encountered no other soldiers along most of the journey, Shadow or American. Nor were there any of the retreating ponies from the border. Aircraft roared overhead, parachutes floated down in the distance, anti-aircraft fire burst in the skies, but they were all alone. It made for an exceptionally uncomfortable journey.

Halfway back to town they came across the first structure, a small two-story cabin off to the side of the main road. Going one at a time, the three bounded across from the woods they hid in, along the road and up to the house. Upon reaching it, the wooden cabin was empty, with evidence of a hasty eviction from miscellaneous missing items and shattered windows.

“Damn, whoever lived here got out in a hurry,” Crockett observed. “Must have seen the planes overhead and took off. Wonder who owned this place.”

“Lumberjacks, astronauts, horror movie cannibals, who the Hell knows. They’re gone now,” noted Byrum.

“Damn, I feel bad for them,” the Sergeant lightly lamented. “It kind of feels like we brought all this on them, huh? The war and everything.”

“Really? It feels more like they brought it on us,” Carlyle contended. “We sure as shit weren’t the ones dropping onto their planet!”

“Well, ain’t nothing we can do about that now. You guys set up watch on different sides of the house and I’ll call up the squad.”

The three waited there as Crockett radioed to the rest of the team. The three waited there for their squad, keeping nervous eyes shifting around the perimeter of the building for any possible hostiles. In spite of the multiple enemy planes above and the multitude of Shadows flying out of of their transports and down from the sky, no contact was made. Before long the others arrived and, one by one, ran across to the shelter of the building, with Vanderbilt being the last to enter.

“Any word on what's going on?” Crockett asked Vanderbilt as the Staff Sergeant wiped dirt from his weapon.

“Nothing. We're being invaded but not much besides that. Rats are dropping from the sky, I know that much,” Vanderbilt stated to the Shadows and their paradrop.

“How the Hell did they pull that off anyways? Did the Air Force get hit that bad?”

“Must have; I haven't seen one of our birds all day.”

“Fucking chair force… leave it to the Army to do the heavy lifting.”

“Same as usual then, huh?”

“I got movement!” Carlyle called out from the second floor. “Another BTR hauling ass across the field to the north!”

“They heading this way?” Vanderbilt asked.

“Negative, moving east.”

“Have they noticed us?”

“Doesn't look like it.”

“Then hold your fire.”

“You think Saddleburg is even still secure?” wondered Wakefield from across the room.

“Dunno, but I've got no other plan.”

“More contacts!” Carlyle called again. “Foot mobiles, five of them! They're heading our way.”

“Ok, Marcus get the SAW up there and get ready to fire!”

The ranger complied, with the others taking up various firing points around the house, awaiting for the order to shoot. A group of Shadow paratroopers, four in number, moved across the field towards the building, their camouflaged battle uniforms attempting to blend them into the green and brown countryside. They advanced calmly, on all fours rather than on hinds legs with weapons ready, thinking the area already cleared by the previously passing forces.

At once Vanderbilt gave the call of ‘fire!’ and the house was filled with the echoes of automatic weapons. The first three died before they realized they were under attack, crumpling to the grass under the impacts of multiple bullets. The fourth saw this and stumbled backwards, turning to run before a rifle round struck his neck, followed by several more. In three seconds four soldiers were dead, shot down in the cold efficiency of war, in a rather small and simple example of hundreds of similar encounters that were now taking place across the country.

“We’re clear!”  Carlyle yelled from the top floor.

“Well we can’t stay here now, they’ll know we’re here,” Vanderbilt said. “Everyone form up and let’s get back to town! We’re all going together this time!”

“Sergeant, have you been able to make radio contact with anyone else?” Rockford asked.
“Some local jamming’s kept us in the dark, but it might clear up if we get closer to town, so let’s hustle!”

The squad exited and made their way east towards the heavy sounds of gunfire. They made their best attempt to stay concealed, moving through the patches of woodland and running quickly through any open areas they came across. The troops began to slow down as they neared the town, and as the sounds of battle grew louder. Though a usually worrying sound, the gunfire spelled some relief for the men as they realized that it meant the other rangers were still in Saddleburg.

As they approached the first checkpoint, they were met with a grisly scene. The bodies of several soldiers, both Shadow and American, lay scattered on and around the road and amongst the roadblock. Two other BTRs sat still as they burned, with one on the road and the other off to the side against a tree, the flames engulfing the wood as well. The large concrete barricades normally there were pushed aside or destroyed. The small guard post was filled with bullet holes, and the top of the guard tower was gone entirely, only the mangled remains of the legs still standing.

“Look at this… they sure hit our guys hard,” lamented Roche as the squad took cover in a ditch near the road.

“Shit, you think anyone’s left?” Byrum wondered.

“Oh yea, just not here,” Vanderbilt answered, pointing past the checkpoint to the buildings that marked the start of the town proper. “See that? Muzzle flashes coming from there. That’s where they’re holding. De Soto, Franklin! Look around here and see if any of the guys here are still breathing, I’ll see if I can contact the Captain now.”

The Staff Sergeant once again took out his small, portable radio as the other two began to check the corpses of the Americans for any sign of life.

“Colt Actual, Colt Actual, come in. Colt Actual, this is Colt Two-Four, do you read?”

Again, the radio gave no answer but static.

“Colt Actual, this is Two-Four.”

Noises began to pierce through the interference, sounding as though someone was making an attempt to converse, but the words were too jumbled to make out.

“Colt Actual, is that you? This is Two-Four, we’re at the checkpoint. Do you read?”

His efforts were met by the same response, frustrating him as the squad was so close to their goal.

“Say again, Colt Actual. Read you one-by-one. Two-Four is holding at the checkpoint. We need to get back to you, do you read? Can you hear me?”

“Hey Sarge,” Byrum interrupted, gesturing towards the building again.

On the roof of the restaurant, a single ranger who had spotted them was waving in their direction; Vanderbilt began to wave back in recognition, and the ranger made a motion calling for them to run to safety.

“Sorry Sergeant, we didn’t find anyone,” De Soto reported sadly, returning from the fruitless search.

“That’s alright, we need to get going! You see that?” said Vanderbilt, pointing to the buildings. “They see us, all we need to do is get to them, got it? On me! Go! Go!”

The squad filed out and began the short run to cover in a broken line, some shooting at random as they went to keep the Shadow’s heads down. Thanks in greater part to the suppression provided by the other rangers in the buildings, all of the squad reached safety. Diving into a rectangular diner, they were again met by Captain Roland, taking cover behind the counter.

“Sergeant! Good to see you're alright,” the Captain greeted. “When the rest of the platoon rolled in without you we thought you were lost. Have you got anyone else with your squad? Where's the Lieutenant?”

“He's dead, sorry Sir. Just us,” Vanderbilt answered, leaning down against the counter next to him. “What's the situation? Where do you need us?”

“Is your SAW still operational?”

“Yes Sir, Corporal Marcus!”

“Sir?” the exasperated machine gunner answered.

“Corporal head up to the roof at lay down fire from up there. Use the ladder in the kitchen, there's some belts in there if you're running low on ammunition,” ordered Roland.

“Got it!” Marcus replied as Roland turned back to Vanderbilt.

“I also need you to send a runner to that book store to the west. Our FO was stationed there and we’ve got hostiles approaching from that direction. Send a man there and tell them to pull back to this position, rest of you spread out and help with the defense around here.”

“Wakefield, that's you,” Vanderbilt called, choosing the sergeant. “Take De Soto with you. Get that observer and his team and get your ass back here.”

“Will do, come on Disco!”

The two headed out, deliberately making their way forward from one piece of cover to the next as the fighting continued around them. The distance to the store was not long, no more than fifty feet, but as with all measures in war even the smallest seemed too long. With quick bounds, they reached the rear exit of the book store, little more than a flat-roofed, one-story building converted to a library.

De Soto called out as loud as he could over the fighting through the door, hoping the jumpy men inside would not shoot him by accident. He entered first, followed by Wakefield, to find a corporal guarding the door with his M4 from behind a shelf. Clearly happy to see friendly faces, he nodded to the two before shutting the door behind them.

“You guys here to help?”

“Negative, we need to get you guys out. Captain wants the forward observer to fall back to his position,” Wakefield answered.

“Good, was getting a little too hot for us to stay around here,” he replied. “Sergeant’s up front with the FO.”

“Thanks, just be ready to move when we are.”

The two moved through the store, seeing various books scattered amongst the ground with glass from shattered lights. At the front were four other rangers firing through the windows and open door at the front, with the observer crouched behind the front counter next to the sergeant. The former was working on his radio pack, shouting into it as the gunfire echoes bounced amongst the enclosed building. The observer, whose primary role had so far been moot due to the intense jamming, had finally made contact and was in the process of directing an artillery battery as Wakefield and De Soto scrunched down next to him.

“Christ, it’s good to get someone! I’ve got a fire mission, stand by for coordinates!” “Fire mission, seven-four-two-zero, three-eight-zero-four! HE, tight pattern! Fire for effect!” he yelled, before tapping the sergeant’s leg. “Hey sarge, Sergeant Josewitz! I got through! They’re firing!”

“About damn time!” he proclaimed, kneeling down to replace his magazine with a fresh one and noticing the two new faces. “Who are you two?”

“Sergeant Wakefield, pleasure to meet you,” the younger man calmly greeted. “We were sent here by Captain Roland, he wants you to pull back to his position. I suggest getting your men together and getting out of here quick, we can lead you back.”

“Shit, it took him long enough! We’ve been holding here with our necks stuck out since the rats hit us!”

The conversation was interrupted as a salvo of shells from the American artillery exploded among a Shadow position far in front of the building, greatly slackening their assault.

“Alright, let’s get out of here! You two lead the way back!”

Wakefield and De Soto did as they were asked as Josewitz gathered his men and followed them out the exit. The two retracted their steps, unknowingly putting up a brisker pace returning than they had on their first journey, with the rest of the Josewitz’s team in tow. Returning to the restaurant in good order, they found firing positions amongst the building and continued the battle, while the observer now followed Roland directly. He was now able to give Colt Company the fire support it needed to stave off the increasingly vicious assaults, and artillery shells began to fall periodically in front of the town, keeping most of the Shadows at bay.

Along the line, teams of rangers in the cover of various buildings traded fire with Shadow paratroopers at their firing locations. Small arms rounds flew back and forth over the minor area between them. Several times a Shadow pony or two would be struck and their group forced back, while occasionally a defending man would be hit and tended to by other rangers as the shootout continued.

The battle for Saddleburg was now unfolding as Shadow paratrooper forces converged on the town. Effectively pinned down and encircled, the 75th hunkered down, as attempting to drive away with only humvees and other unarmed support vehicles would have been suicidal. It now became a race between which main force would reach the town first, the heavy Shadow army formations breaking through the border, or the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment striking west through the paratroopers to rescue the rangers.

The 1st Battalion, facing the northwest, deployed its Alpha and Charlie companies into the line, and held the Shadow probing attacks on the outskirts of town. The 3rd Battalion came under sustained assault from the troops and vehicles from an understrength brigade of the Shadow’s 34th Airborne Division, and only liberal use of ammunition kept the paratroopers at bay. Of all the battalions, the 4th to the south suffered the most, being attacked by only moderate groups from the 46th Airborne Division but receiving multiple bomb attacks from aircraft of the Shadow Air Force, the first time American troops had received such an attack since Korea.

Back at the 2nd Battalion’s sector, the pressure was increasing with consistent attacks. The rangers were holding their own, but the unforgiving assault was becoming intolerable as mortars began to explode amongst the sector, throwing dirt and rubble about. With another unfortunate call to Captain Roland, exhausted troops were now going to be stretched thinner.

“Sergeant Vanderbilt!”

“Captain?”

“Sergeant, I've got some unfortunate news. The enemy has made a breach in the defenses of Bravo Company on our right flank. They're repositioning but I need that store retaken to hold our right and make sure they don't slip around us.”

“Which one, Sir?”

“The flower store, white one with a yellow stripe along the top, its named ‘Petals’.”

“Yea… alright I see it.”

“Take your team and counter-attack, and try to hold to the best of your abilities. But leave some of your men behind to bolster the defense here.”

“We’ll get it done.”

“I know you can, that's why I'm counting on you,” Roland encouraged before turning to the observer. “Lieutenant! I need a large, harassing, high-explosive barrage over to the right in those woods, on my command!”

“Davy, get your team together! Roche you're coming along too!” the Staff Sergeant ordered, assembling his men. “When the artillery hits, we’re going to head out towards that white two-story flower shop, right over there. We’re going to retake it, got it?”

“Would the Captain like us to bring back some roses for him?” Corporal Marcus asked in a half-hearted attempt to keep morale up.

“Not now, Sandman. Once we’re across take up defenses-” the string of directions were cut out by the random impacts of artillery a short distance away. “That's it! Move! Now!”

The group left the other rangers behind, charging over to the shop in bounds. Upon reaching the wooden building, they moved along its side until they reached an open doorway and prepared to enter. Byrum went first, moving in with his shotgun and finding a Shadow paratrooper looking the wrong way, out a window in the direction of the artillery. A quick volley from the weapon dispatched the invader and the rest of the men entered and began clearing the structure.

Taking their time at each room and around each corner, they discovered and killed four more Shadows spread amongst the building. They also found the corpses of three rangers near the front, all lost to bullet wounds. With the shop secured, the squad spread out and found defensive spots.

“Colt Actual, Colt Two-Four! We’ve retaken the flower shop! Setting up defenses now!”

“Copy Two-Four! We’ve-wait! Enemy fast movers!” Roland yelled. “Take cover! Everyone down!”

Vanderbilt dropped to the floor before Roland finished his warning as two MiG-29s swept in low to attack the embattled company. One carrying a laser-guided bomb dropped it on a house close to Roland’s position, destroying the front corner and those men unfortunate enough to be there. The second released a cluster bomb that scattered in-between the diner and the flower shop, peppering the area with the sub-munitions and damaging both buildings. Luckily, the two suffered only moderate damage, and none of the rangers were hurt in the strike.

“Colt Actual, you still there?” Vanderbilt called on his radio, brushing off some of the flower petals that had fallen on him.

“Roger that!” Roland replied, coughing heavily. “Listen up, we’ve got eyes on hostiles moving in towards your position! Looks like at least two squads, maybe more, copy?”

“Copy, we’ll hold on here.”

“I’m sending the rest of your squad over to help you out! Just hold on, Blackhorse is entering the town now! The cavalry’s on it’s way, just hang on!”

“Understood, Two-Four out!”

Vanderbilt moved to the front of the shop, firing out of the blown-out windows with much of the rest of the squad. The Shadow troops were already trying to move in, close on the heels of the airstrike that had preceded them. Fire from rifles and machine guns began to bathe the wooden building, sometimes punching through and endangering the rangers taking cover inside. The intensity was such that Vanderbilt barely noticed Wakefield, De Soto, and Carlyle joining them.

The firefight continued as the Shadow’s attempts to move in were continually frustrated. One Shadow machine gunner, trying to supress the building with his RPD, was hit by a burst from Marcus’ weapon from the second floor. Another paratrooper was attempting to cross an open area and was cut down by fire from Roche and De Soto. Another stood up to throw a smoke grenade, not knowing by bad luck he stood right into Wakefield’s sites and was shot, the grenade covering his body and his allies’ position with smoke.

Slowly, the Shadows began to close in on the building. Vanderbilt was moving to cover a side entrance, expecting them to attempt an entry there, when he heard Roland calling to the company on the radio and a string of small explosions erupted along the Shadow’s positions. Coming up from behind the shop, a Bradley Cavalry Fighting Vehicle rumbled up and fired into the enemy positions, driving the paratroopers back. At long last, the 11th had arrived. The cavalry had won the race to Saddleburg, and with it the prize of the 75th Rangers.

“Colt Company, the convoy has arrived! Everyone mount up!” ordered Roland.

“Hey guys, the convoy’s here!” Vanderbilt shouted to the squad, who were already happily aware. “Mount up, let’s get the Hell out of here!”

The team exited the building to the relieving sight of Bradleys and Abrams tanks pushing back the Shadow forces. Most of the Bradleys stayed back, lowering their ramps to allow the rangers to enter while firing their autocannons. The tanks advanced, spraying the area in front of the town with machine gun fire and occasionally firing from their main cannons to remove any troublesome positions. One M1A2 tanks moved up next to the shop and fired its cannon in a deafening blast, following up with bursts from its machine gun as a Bradley moved up behind the structure.

All along the line, the battered American soldiers poured out of their buildings and individual positions to reach the convoy. Some carried wounded comrades who could not move themselves, others tried to carry some of the more vital equipment that they refused to abandon.  Sergeant Crockett motioned the men to enter, wanting to be sure his whole team had made it.

“That everyone?” the vehicle’s commander asked.

“We’re good to go!” he called out from the back.

“Jesus, I swear I’m never going to shit-talk you cav guys again!” De Soto promised.

“Thanks brother, no problem,” the commander replied. “Alright, we’re rolling!”

Having finally reached relative safety, Crockett was finally able to calm himself. Even over the noise of the Bradley’s guns, he was able to find some peace as he looked around. His eyes scanned over the cramped interior of the CFV, going over the faces of all his comrades.

It was here that he realized they had all made it. Many other rangers were not as fortunate, but in his squad, his friends had all survived. He looked over each of their faces once more, seeing the relief and life in their eyes. Marcus, Byrum, Franklin Rockford, Wakefield, Roche, Carlyle, De Soto, and Vanderbilt. He mumbled a brief ‘thank you’ as the cavalry bore the ranger regiment to safety.