April 18th, 2006
0900 Hours
Northwestern Equestria, near Manehatten
“You know how much longer we’re gonna be sitting here Sergeant?” the fair-headed Albertan asked.
“Shouldn’t be too much longer,” Sergeant Palmer answered, washing down his simple toast breakfast with another swig from his canteen. “Why’re you asking, Lane?”
“Well the war’s been going on for a few hours from what I’ve heard, and we’re still sitting here.”
“Don’t be in a hurry to die,” Palmer cautioned.
The Royal Canadian Dragoons, the northern country's contribution to the standoff in Arcaia and the only unit of the Canadian army on the continent so far, had already spent a good deal of time waiting. Thrown into the open ‘no-man’s land’ between the American defense line and the border held by the Equestrians, the men had begun to feel somewhat abandoned by their allies, being seen as almost a sacrifice to buy them time. However, now that the war had begun, few orders and pieces of information had filtered in to them.
“Men, form up!” the voice of Lieutenant Lecerf sounded, calling up the dragoons from their half-hearted morning rituals. “It’s time, the regiment is moving out.”
“Moving to the front, Lieutenant?” Lance Corporal Lane asked.
“No, the opposite direction I’m afraid. The Griffon army has already broken through the front line at the border,” Lieutenant Boisson replied, gesturing his hand in an arc over the west. “Still, we’ll have plenty of enemies to battle on the way. The Griffons have dropped several airborne units behind the lines in hopes of cutting us off.”
“Ha! Good luck with that!” Private Burton chipped.
“Oui, for some reason it seems the enemy has some strangely dispersed drop zones from our reports, as if they didn’t have enough troops or aircraft. That is fortunate for us,” the Lieutenant explained, hoisting up a folded map for Palmer. “Sergeant, I need you to send one of your teams to Hill Eighty, here. It has a good view over the surrounding area, and covers part of the main line of retreat. Have them escort one of our observers and call down fire support on any targets they see, he’ll be waiting by the Coyote that will take you there.”
“You heard him Lane, you and Bravo get going. We’ll see you when this is all over with.”
“We’ll take care of it for you, Sir,” Lane assured the Lieutenant.
“I’m sure you will, bonne chance.”
Lance Corporal Lane and his fire team moved away, leaving the rest of the dragoons behind.
“Them damn Frenchies, man,” he said to the others with a grin and a shake of his head.
Much of the rest of the Regiment was organizing for the greater movement east towards the American lines. A convoy of Leopard 2 tanks and supporting infantry was already assembling, with another convoy of support vehicles forming up to follow. They would be the main force to lead the Royal Canadian Dragoons out of encirclement, and it would be Lane’s job to help keep them safe.
Lane’s team, consisting of Privates Degoutte, Burton, and Oswald, reached the waiting Coyote APC waiting near the gates of the camp. After confirming the mission with the vehicle’s commander, the four ducked into the armored hull. Lane entered first, finding the short observer sitting close to the front, and greeted him with a barely-heard ‘good morning’ through the engine’s noise.
“So you’re the observer?” Lane asked, shaking his hand as the rear door of the Coyote shut.
“Yep, that’s me. Private Rich, pleased to meet you,” he replied, grabbing hold of his radio pack as the Coyote jerked forward to begin its journey. “Kind of sucks we have to meet under the circumstances… the whole war thing y’know? But considering that, it’s nice to have you guys with me. Was never the best shot myself with a rifle, that’s why they give me binoculars instead. Lost easier to kill a target with a salvo of explosives, you know.”
“Well, as long as you’re good with that. What kind of fire support you got on standby?”
“Plenty of artillery, served up in all shapes and sizes!” Rich answered happily. “Thankfully we got in contact with the Americans behind the Papa Line, so their batteries are going to be answering my call. Rockets, HE, DPICM, incendiary, all the good stuff.”
“What about air support?”
“None, sorry Corporal. Allied air bases have been hit hard, and they’re still getting hit.”
“None!? They can’t help us at all?” Lane asked before a rumble shook the Coyote, spooking him and the others. “The Hell was that? Hey, commander, we getting shot at?”
“No, we’re good,” the commander answered, not taking his eyes from his post. “From back in the camp. Looks like some Griffon flier made a pass over it. Hang on down there, we’re going offroad and should reach the hill soon.”
“Fucking Crows,” Burton groaned, referring to the Griffons.
“Yea, no air. Pilots have got their hands full just trying to ward off air raids into our rear. But don’t worry, we won’t need them,” Rich assured the team.
The ride to their objective continued at a slower pace as the APC bumped along the uneven ground. The soldiers inside were blind and cut off from the outside world, being completely ignorant to the situation of the world around them. Whether the rest of the regiment had completed organizing and begun pushing down the road, or was already pinned down and on the verge of destruction, was anyone’s guess. As the Coyote slowed upon reaching the base of the hill, the dragoons were eager to get out and begin their mission, with Oswald pushing open the door before the vehicle even stopped.
“We’re at the base of the hill. This is as far as I can take you. We’ll hold here at cover your rear on this side,” the commander told Lane as the engine was shut off. “You guys get up there. We’ll be ready to go when you are.”
“Thanks for the ride!” said Lane simply, exiting the Coyote to join the rest of his team. “Alright, everyone get to the top of the hill! Rich, you stick behind us and bring up the rear till we hit the summit; we don’t need you getting shot.”
The Canadians raced up the hill, hoping that the enemy had not reached it before them. The closer they got to the top, the more confident they became, and it was soon apparent that the Griffons were nowhere close. Degoutte reached the summit first, waving his rife along the top and searching briefly for any sign of hostiles before running to the edge and scanning the downward slope. Around Hill 80, the call of ‘clear’ went up. The Griffon airborne forces had not arrived yet, but they would not be long in coming. The Lance Corporal formulated a basic defense plan and called the men together to enact it.
“Alright, hill secured. Everyone take up defensive positions and cover a side of the hill. Rich, you stick with me and get to watching,” Lane ordered. “Burton take the LMG and cover the front slope of the hill. Degoutte you watch the left flank, Oswald has the right. Keep your eyes open and call out if you see anything. Make sure not to give away your position either, cause we won’t last long if we’re spotted. That means don’t shoot unless you have to. Questions?”
Burton shook his head and lugged his C6 machine gun over to the front of the hill, setting it up against a partially-fallen tree trunk and eyeing the countryside. The other two soldiers did the same, fanning out and finding spots with good visibility while Lane and Rich began to scan the fields and woods below the hill. Rich reported their status and began to contact the American artillery; Lane spotted their first potential victims at the same time.
“Hey, take a look at that,” he said, pointing in the direction of a patch of woods. “Targets, at our three o’clock, near the treeline.”
“Uh… yep, I got them,” the observer agreed, holding his binoculars in one hand and the radio in the other.
“I count… at least five infantry… doesn’t look like they’re moving.”
“Spaniel, this is Otter, do you read?” Rich called as he fought to get his grid map out of his pocket with his other hand. “Say again Spaniel, do you read? This is Otter, over”
“Spaniel copies, can you give us a SITREP, over?”
“Be advised movement has begun and has reached phaseline Oscar but we need immediate artillery support, over.”
“Affirmative, relay fire missions and we’ll send them through, over.”
“Copy, thanks Spaniel. Stand by for fire missions, Otter out,” thanked Rich as he set the radio down to the grass and unfolded his map. “Hey, Corporal, you’re real lucky. We get to sit up here and drop fire on these guys. It’s always a fun show!”
“Then let’s get to work, we got more of them on the way.”
“I got you, hang on… alright, got the coordinates! Spaniel this is Otter, I’ve got a fire mission!”
“Copy, send it,” the artillery officer responded, waiting to pass on the request.
“Grid nine-nine-two-two, five-one-one-two. HE, tight, fire for effect, over!”
“Copy that, stand by… shot out.”
“Shot, over.”
A synchronized series of roars coincided with Rich’s call as the artillery battery fired as one. The 155mm guns, tucked safely away behind the strong American defense line, launched their deadly ordinance into the air at their unseen victims. Seconds later, Rich echoed the call of ‘splash’ and six high-explosive shells impacted in the woods. The Griffon airborne rifle troops that were using it as cover vanished in a flash as a cloud of dirt and dust flew upwards, settling hard upon the churned ground. The old oak trees, and any of their innocent inhabitants that were unfortunate enough to be resting in them, were uprooted or split entirely. A group of birds, varying in species, scattered out of the other end of the woods to escape the unknown threat; none of the Griffons were seen to flee.
“Good effect!” hooted Rich into the radio.
“Got more targets, looks like they’re moving in,” Lane announced, tracking different groups of Griffons moving about in front of the hill, now on alert from the artillery strike. “New target, looks like a mortar unit, far off at our twelve.”
“Alright, let’s see… fire mission grid nine-eight-five-four, five-three-two-two, HE tight pattern, fire for effect, over.”
As the request went out, a number of other sharp bangs came from further down the road to their east, far too close to be the artillery. The rest of the regiment was already passing them by on the simple dirt road Hill 80 covered in a long, strung-out convoy. In the lead, a platoon of Leopard 2 tanks attacked a roadblock of Griffons that stood in their path. A BMD-1 armored vehicle sitting across the road was dispatched with a HEAT round and lead Leopard pushed it out of the way. The infantry scattered and took cover or fired what anti-tank weapons they had as the Canadians machine-gunned anything that moved ahead of them.
The road began to transform into a thin cauldron as the Griffons bombarded it with what fire support they had and attempted to move in and cut it. Occasionally a tank or transport with infantry would veer off to the side of the road to defend the convoy or dispatch some of the assailants, holding in place only as long as they deemed necessary before getting on the road again. In spite of the heavier armor and firepower of the Canadian Dragoons, the Griffon troops were still well-trained and held the numerical advantage. The Dragoons raced to escape before the airborne troops could consolidate and take them apart.
This hasty charge, while necessary, would exact a price from the Canadians. Mortar fire fell all along the length of the road, endangering any exposed man. From time to time an anti-tank missile would fly out from its hidden position and strike the vulnerable flanks of the vehicles, other times some infantry would sneak close enough to fire an RPG. Over the course of the retreat, they would be struck twice by Griffon planes, both Su-24 Fencers touting cluster bombs that caused a number of casualties and causing the convoy to halt.
Each time a vehicle was struck, another would peel off to extract any surviving casualties, admirable acts of camaraderie that still slowed the convoy further. Lane and his team remained atop Hill 80 through it all, still holding the Griffons in their sector at bay with artillery fire. Two teams of mortars were destroyed, then a concealed ATGM position, all in the same deadly fashion. Rich then spotted a platoon of BMDs gathering with some supporting infantry to make a concentrated push and called for the Americans to fire cluster munitions. With one salvo of DPICM bursting overhead, the threat was removed in a brutal manner.
“I’m starting to think they know we’re here,” observed Lane. “Seeing a lot of them group up in the trees to our ten, behind the short knoll. We’d better get ready for a fight, the Crows aren’t stupid, much as I wish they were.”
“We won’t last long in a firefight,” Rich pointed out.
“We’ll have to.”
“Christ, that’s not exactly a plan,” the forward observer complained. “I’ll call in some mines in front of our hill, should slow them down long enough for the convoy to get through.”
Lane nodded in approval before returning to his binoculars as Rich contacted the American batteries again.
“Otter to Spaniel, I’ve got a couple of urgent fire missions. You copy, over?”
“Give us a minute Otter! You’re not the only one who’s asking for help!” the American officer said before hanging up, returning two minutes later to retrieve the desperate Canadian’s order. “Alright Otter, what’ve you got?”
“I need some mine, ADAM rounds in front of my position! Grid nine-eight-one-one… four-two-two-two! Wide dispersal! Also need an HE barrage at nine-eight-zero-one, four-nine-seven-seven! Fire for effect! Expedite! Repeat, hurry it up! Out!”
Lane got up to join Burton to his front, finding a comfortable firing point behind the cover of a bolder lying next to a pine tree. Just as he was readying his weapon, the sharp crack of weapons fire began to sing on the warm morning air. Muzzle flashes began to appear at the Griffon’s position, behind a small mound in front of the hill.
He heard Burton’s weapon ring out in long bursts as the requested artillery arrived. The rounds burst in the air, scattering their payloads of minlets in the grasses below. The area between the opposing sides was turned into a deadly maze for anyone hoping to move through it.
“That'll slow them down,” Lane thought, taking aim and firing a few shots at the Griffons.
A moment after, a barrage of small arms fire erupted in their direction, forcing Burton and Lane to duck down. Lane leaned up against the tree and peered around the other side to determine the source of the suppression. As he did so, he was greeted with the disheartening sight of a number of Griffon soldiers taking flight with their own wings. Methodically, they made their way over the minefield to the horror of the Canadians below.
“Fuck! Shoot them!” Lane yelled, more to himself than anyone.
From his spot scrunched behind the rock, Lane caught one of the flying soldiers in his sights and fired a three-round burst. The bullets struck the Griffon in the chest, causing him to stagger and fall with a quick screech. His body fell to the ground and, upon impact, caused a brief and powerful explosion that stole whatever life remained. The mine he had landed on tossed his body a few more feet, leaving it to act as a gruesome marker for the death field.
The remaining Griffons landed at the base of their hill, taking cover and returning fire towards the Canadians. The volume of fire forced the two men back up the hill, with Lane calling out to Oswald and Degoutte to rally with them at the top. It would only be a matter of time, an ephemeral amount of time, before the weight of the paratroopers forced the small group of dragoons from the hill. They would hold as long as they could, but Lane understood that would not be very long; through death or retreat, they would be evicted soon.
“Contact!” Oswald shouted, seeing the first Griffons crest the hill. “To our front!”
“Suppress them! Keep them pinned at a distance!” Lane ordered.
The firefight developed again at the hilltop as the five Canadians tried to pin down the growing number of Griffon troops with a heavy volume of fire. At least two were seen to fall, one to Rich’s C7 as he stumbled on a loose stone and exposed himself, and another to Burton’s machine gun when one of the many rounds ricocheted off a boulder and struck the unlucky paratroopers in the side of the neck. One of the Griffons sent a smoke grenade out, covering the area between the two sides in a dense cloud.
“Rich!” called Lane to the spotter, grabbing him by his sleeve to gain his attention over the noise. “It's time to go! Get back to the Coyote and tell them to get ready to pull out! We’ll be right behind you in a minute!”
“Will do!”
Just as the spotter hustled up and down the opposite side of the hill, bursts of fire began to strike to ground in front of the men. They continued to fire through the smoke, but both sides were shooting blindly in hopes of hitting the enemy by chance. For another thirty seconds this visionless fight dragged on, with neither side harming the other, until Lane’s attention was gained by Private Oswald.
“Enemies on our flank! Flanking left!”
“Fall back, now!” the Lance Corporal commanded, not wishing to stay any longer. “Get back to the APC! Run!”
The men began a mad dash to their escape, with Lane firing several final rounds at the direction of the flanking Griffons before running. The soldiers moved as fast as they, trying their best not to stumble in their haste. The move back to their vehicle felt much too far as each man feared the Griffons would move in to take the hilltop and fire down on them. Safe flight and being shot in the back would be determined by mere seconds.
Lane saw the main gun of the Coyote swing towards the hilltop, opening fire with its machine gun and Bushmaster cannon as the vehicle crew tried to keep the Griffons at bay. Lane watched as each of the men reached safety one at a time; Degoutte followed Oswald in ducking in the back, then Burton staggering in under the weight of his weapon, and finally himself. He heard Rich call to the driver to move as he shut the door behind him, feeling the Coyote lurch and speed forward before he could center himself.
“We got everyone right?” the vehicle commander asked.
“Yeah, that’s everyone!” Lane answered, fumbling on the floor and trying to reach a seat.
“Good, cause I’m not stopping! Crows are about to completely overrun the whole area!”
“Did the rest of the regiment get out?”
“I hope so!” the commander replied before realizing he should give a more satisfactory answer. “I think they are. I haven’t seen any more victors moving down the road in a while.”
“Can you get us out of here in time?”
“Gladly!”
The Coyote moved onto the road and drove off, following the trail of the rest of the Dragoons. Occasionally they would pass the scenes of loss, a destroyed vehicle or an abandoned corpse, consisting of former troops from both sides. The squad kept to themselves, only waiting and hoping they would not be spotted by some concealed enemy position and destroyed instantly. Lane felt the Coyote slow as it came upon a turn in the road, continuing to decelerate until it came to a stop.
“We got wounded men off to the side of the road!” said the vehicle commander before Lane could ask what was happening.
“Shit, will we be able to pick them up?” the Lance Corporal asked.
“We can’t just leave them there.”
“Do we have enough time?”
“Don’t know, so make it quick!”
“Fucking Christ,” Lane muttered as he opened the doors again, half expecting to be shot as he exited. “Alright, Burton and Rich on security detail! Let’s move, we got to get this done fast or we’re dead!”
To their right was another Coyote, destroyed and shattered by what seemed to be an ATGM. One Private was slouching next to it, cradling his right arm in a daze. Another was propped up against the side with his head hanging low, and a third lying on the ground. Lane ran up to the first as his squadmates looked over the other two casualties.
“You alright man? Where are you hit?”
“Arm, got some shrapnel in the arm I think,” the man replied wearily. “Nelson there… guy against the Coyote… bullet in the chest, hit a rib I think. I got the bleeding to stop, I don’t think he can walk.”
“Alright, him first,” Lane ordered. “Degoutte, get him back over, and be careful with him.”
“Yes, Corporal!” the private acknowledged, looking over the soldier before slowly dragging him back.
“What about the other guy?”
“Don’t know, he’s out… unconscious I guess. Concussion? I don’t know, I’m not a medic.”
“Hell, is he even still alive? Did you check?”
“He’s alive, I hear his heart!” Oswald confirmed with his hand over the poor man’s chest. “Got two injuries though. One’s in the hand, I think it went all the way through though cause there’s an exit hole on the other end. Other’s in the thigh.”
“I bandaged that one,” the wounded man added. “Not the hand though… missed it maybe… tried to focus on Nelson, was carrying him for a while.”
“Ok, let’s get him up, you take the head Os.”
The two men carefully lifted the inert soldier, with one on each end, and cradled him slowly back to their Coyote. Thankfully there had been no signs of Griffon activity yet, but that did not ease the tension very much. They all understood they could be spotted at any moment, and there was no time to slow down. Lane called for the security detail to board the Coyote before helping them load the unconscious soldier.
Spread lightly along the floor, the men inside took care to secure him and stop any more unnecessary damage. Degoutte had already rested the previous soldier on the seat closest to the crew compartment; he was moaning but seemed to realize he had been saved. Lane sent the final wounded man, still holding his arm close, into the vehicle followed by Oswald and himself. The passenger compartment was now badly cramped, but they managed to fit all of the men inside. As Burton noticed and began to clean and work on the wounded hand of the motionless dragoon on the floor, he notified the commander that they could continue on their way.
“Thanks,” the injured private moaned, breathing heavily in his comfort. “Didn’t think anyone else would be passing this way… I was getting ready to surrender… trying to keep my guys alive.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Lane replied.
“That wouldn’t be bad huh? Shit… I couldn’t fight like this… just needed to keep them alive.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Lane repeated. “It didn’t happen so there’s no reason to worry about it. You’re safe, we’ll be back behind our own lines in no time.”
“Yeah… yeah.”
“Hey, Corporal, you guys did real good,” the vehicle commander told Lane. “Sorry I stopped, I know we were in a bad position. Just couldn’t pass those guys up, and I didn’t see any hostiles either.”
“It was the right thing to do, I would’ve agreed anyways if you had asked.”
After another twelve minutes of travel, the Coyote and its passengers passed through the American lines and joined the rest of the Royal Dragoons in their new rest area. Coming to a stop, the men dismounted and allowed the waiting medics to take up and tend to the wounded. Thankfully, they all seemed to be in stable condition, and the medics thanked them before bringing them to the medical area for proper treatment.
The small fire team met up with the rest of the squad, who had spent the morning in a less precarious position, barely needing to call for artillery fire from lack of targets. Sergeant Palmer and Lieutenant Lecerf congratulated the men on their efforts, apparently being rather critical to the mission’s success. There had been worries that the fire team was lost until their late arrival into camp alleviated these fears.
According to Lecerf, in spite of heavy fighting, the regiment had made it through with moderate damage. Three Leopard tanks and five other vehicles had been destroyed, and a number of others damaged, along with at least twenty men killed and an additional fifteen wounded in some form. The damage done to the Griffon airborne units, though still unknown, was accurately guessed to be around thrice that number. With a gloomy first day of war for the allied forces on the continent as a whole, the Royal Dragoons had delivered another small, important victory. The attempts by the Griffons to cut off and destroy them had failed with disproportionate casualties, and the armoured regiment had successfully escaped to a safe haven to fight again.