Nearing the Edge

by Eagle

"Situation is excellent; I attack!"

April 27th, 2006
1222 Hours
East of the Papa Line, Central Sector

Major General Postan was the commander of the 2nd Armored Division when the war broke out. He had been kept very busy over the past few days, attempting to fully organize his division only to have to send pieces off to other areas. The division’s Third and Fourth brigades had already been temporarily detached to provide reinforcements to the 23rd and 94th Divisions.

So far the 2nd’s combat record was excellent despite the chaos. The brigades sent had done excellent work in helping to hold the line, and the remaining units were doing well in helping the 5th Infantry Division. However, this was far from the intended role. It was hoped that the division would use its armor to spearhead a counterattack, not be split up to merely hold the line.

“Sir, I think I’ve finally got some good news to report,” his aide spoke up, barely audible over the noise of vehicles on the road next to the camp.

“You do?”

“Yes Sir! I got word from the Fifth ID. They said the enemy advance has been stopped,” the young man said. “They also say some helos, a flight of Apaches from the 114th Aviation, they say they attacked into the enemy opening and hurt them good. They killed almost a company’s worth of tanks.”

“That is good news. But I’m guessing they contacted us because they want us to move in, right?”

“They did suggest it was a good time.”

“And did they bother to do recon on the area?” Postan asked.

“They didn’t say, General. But they did say enemy forces in the bulge are unorganized and their armor numbers are low. A counterattack now could drive them back and get us back on the MLR.”

“The problem is we don’t have very much armor ourselves. Not with our Abrams reserves getting tapped dry,” the general responded. “I don’t know if what forces we’ve got will be enough to drive them out. And I’d be throwing them into some unknown hostile territory. Without support either. They could get wiped out, and every loss curtails us more.”

“I think we should try it, Sir. I think we should send some forces to strike into the Shadow’s breach.”

“Why do you think that, Willy?”

“Well, holding them is one thing, but we can only really do that for so long. And our guys need the main line fortifications to even things out,” the aide explained. “If we don’t, they’ll just keep pouring troops through that opening and our guys will get worn down out in the open. We won’t be able to survive a longer conflict without holding that line.”

“You’re really stating the obvious here, Willy,” Postan sighed. “And it’s true, obvious and true… alright. Get the First Brigade on the horn and let’s see about organizing a counterattack. Hopefully those Rats won’t expect us to assault into them while their offensive is still going.”

---

The previous day up to now had been a confusing one for the men of the 2nd Battalion, 66th Armored Regiment. Most of their tanks had been sent out piecemeal to reinforce regrouping soldiers of the 5th Division and help them halt the enemy advance before it could thoroughly spread behind the lines and truly evolve into deep operations. Thankfully this seemed to have been achieved, as the armor and infantry stopped Shadow attacks from gaining further ground. Still, the breach in the line was there and had to be erased.

Alpha Company suffered the same drain as the rest of the battalion, delegating most of its tanks to local units of the other division to ensure to tip of the advance moved no further. At the time of calling, some of the company leaders were meeting to discuss the status of the company, and the idea of an attack gave the company commander exactly what he had been yearning for.

“Hot damn! Finally!” Captain Patrick yelled. “Men, it’s time!”

“Time for what?” Lieutenant Gammon asked.

“It’s time to attack! Time to drive and run down those Rat bastards!” Patrick went on. “Those Apaches kicked their asses hard, so now it’s our turn to move in and roll over them while they’re down!”

“You want us to pull back and reorganize the company, Captain?”

“No time, we have to get going now. Your platoons are going to stay in place, but we’re going to take our tracks, form a makeshift one, and move into the attack.”

“Wait, wait… we’re supposed to launch a counterattack on the enemy with just us? With just six tanks?” Lieutenant James, his XO, spoke up. “Do we even have any support?”

“It won’t just be us. There’s an infantry platoon in reserve near us belonging to one of the brigade’s infantry battalions. So we’ll have armored infantry in M2s with us. We’ll form a small team.”

“Do we get any cav for recon or some FOs or something? Anything?”

“No, that’s all we get. But it’ll be more than enough to drive back those sons-a-bitches! They’re already beat and down, so we just have to give them a good hard kick and finish them off!”

“Hey, sounds good to me,” Lieutenant Kenneth agreed.

“All of your tracks are ready, aren’t they?” Patrick asked, knowing they already were. “Mount up and move up, we’ll rendezvous at OP Denver. Get going!”

Each of the men returned to their individual tanks and informed their crews of the situation, with a universal reaction of surprise among them. Each was started up and moved out, the loud noise of the engines covering the area. It was only an eight minute drive to OP Denver, a small observation post next to a roadside house manned by two 5th Division soldiers. The platoon of M2 Bradleys and their infantry was a mile back down the road, waiting in hiding behind the shallow rise for the tanks.

Once they arrived, Patrick and the other tank commanders got out to speak with them, going over a rather simplistic plan the tank Captain had laid out. The tanks would advance first, followed shortly by the Bradleys, into enemy territory. Patrick laid out only one objective to be taken and held, a small, strung-out village which he named ‘Objective Cannon’. The tanks themselves would simply advance as far as they could, searching and destroying any hostiles they came across.

Little else was added as the tankers took to their vehicles again and continued down the road, with the M2s following behind. The Abrams platoon drove up a shallow rise towards OP Denver, readying for combat as they reached the edge of friendly lines. Ahead of them was a large and lightly rolling area pocketed by groups of trees and occasional solitary buildings, the grassy land dusty and dry from the crisp, warm weather. The six tanks moved off the road together, adjusting their formation to an oversized wedge with Captain Patrick’s track, the King Cobra, at the tip.

“Warhorse Actual here, move out and scan for tangoes. Do not break formation and engage any enemies you see. We’re not stopping unless there’s a significant enemy force blocking us. All units sound off, over.”

“Warhorse Two ready.”

“Warhorse Three ready.”

“Four is ready.”

“Warhorse Five is prepped and ready.”

“Six is ready to engage Actual.”

“Understood. Dallas this is Warhorse are you in position and ready, over?” Patrick questioned the Bradley platoon.

“Affirmative Warhorse.”

“All units advance! Destroy anything that gets in your way!”

The Abrams platoon lurched forward, the drivers maintaining a wedge formation as they rolled over and then down the hill. Before them was a clear area that rolled in a long, shallow way. There were few places that enemy vehicles could hide, which in turn made identification and engagement easier. Lieutenant Kenneth’s track was the first to sight the enemy, spotting a lone, car-off IFV.

“Gunner, target! Identified! BTR at our ten!” he shouted, observing the stationary vehicle through the commander’s sight.

“Acquired! Ready to engage!” Sergeant Fink answered.

He gave a quick measure to the targets distance with the tank’s laser rangefinder, instantly calculating two-thousand meters.

“Fire!” Kenneth ordered, yelling loud so loud crew could pick it up over the noise of the engine.

“On the way!”

Sergeant Fink pulled the firing trigger and the Abrams jerked as it’s cannon fired. The 120mm rifle launched its projectile, aimed perfectly at the target thanks to the assistance of the firing computer. The ordinance, an anti-tank Sabot round, flew forward before the outer shell broke away to release the dart-like projectile. The shot pierced the side of the BTR-80 easily, punching through the compartment and out the other side, before embedding itself into the ground. The BTR caught fire instantly, burning slow enough to allow the crew to scurry out.

“That’s a kill!”

“Sabot up!” the loader informed.

“I got no other targets, keep at the ready!” Kenneth ordered.

As the lieutenant gained their first kill of the day, Patrick spied his own target far to the front of the advancing platoon.

“Gunner identify! BRDM at our twelve, against the hillside!”

“Target acquired!”

“Fire!”

“Shot out!”

Sergeant Duchamp, the gunner of the lead tank, repeated the same process of his college. The anti-tank round flew out an pierced the thin armor of the recon vehicle as if it were made of paper. The crew itself had luckily not been inside, and upon seeing this they quickly began to scurry up the hill. In fact, the round had pierced through the non-vitals of the BRDM, leaving it operational and drivable albeit with a large hole on both sides. Still, the crew did not wish to become a target and abandoned it to the Americans in favor of escape by their hooves.

“Hit!” Patrick confirmed, immediately seeing another AFV shoot past his site at the base of the hill. “Target BMP-2! Running along the bottom!”

“Identified!”

“Sabot up!” Corporal O’Toole shouted, loading the heavy round into the breach from his side of the tank.

“Fire”

“Shot out!”

Again the M1A2 fired, the shot punching straight into the IFV’s compartment at an angle and entering the crew compartment. The BMP’s commander was split in two and killed instantly, with the driver suffering a similar fate. It now careened out of control along its path before falling into a ditch leaving it in a useless state.

More of the Abrams were firing now at their own individual targets. There were several of them, but all were spread out and disorganized, unable to offer any real resistance to the concentrated power of the American tank platoon. Having already suffered heavily to the Apache sweep earlier, the local survivors had been dispersed to guard against small infantry incursions. Against an armored assault, they stood little chance of surviving as the tankers picked them off bit by bit.

The tank platoon advanced four and a half miles like this, mercilessly destroying any hostiles they found. It had been an excellent assault so far, rather easy in fact for the men, but as they moved deeper into enemy territory they inevitably ran into more hostiles while separating themselves from their own allies. Regardless, none intended to turn back. They would complete their order, advance back to the original defensive positions of the 5th Division along their MLR and destroy the breach the Shadow Army had made.

“Warhorse Actual to all units, we’re approaching Objective Cannon. Slow down and keep your eyes open, out.”

As the M1A2s approached the village, it seemed void of an activity. No enemy vehicles or soldiers were spotted, nor any Equestrian civilians. Objective Cannon, the tiny village of Pine’s Trail, looked to be a ghost town, abandoned by all souls and left to nature.

On first glance Patrick spotted nothing, and a moment later there was the flash and smoke of a cannon from within the village. His eyes just barely picked up the projectile as it sped to his left and out of his sight, a quick, deadly blur aimed at a target other than him. Through the tank, he could hear the eruption of an impact and feel the shake of it.

To his left, the enemy anti-tank round struck against the side of a friendly tank, hitting it and then the ground, sending a column of dirt above them. Lieutenant Gammon’s tank, the Firefly, suddenly skidded at an angle and broke to a halt. The track and round impact left a cloud of dust kicked up, obscuring it in a thin brown haze.

“Tank in the village, inside that cafe!” Sergeant Duchamp yelled, spying the T-80 hiding within a building.

“Fire, kill it!”

“Shot!”

Duchamp fired the King Cobra’s cannon an instant before the gunner for the Lieutenant James’ track did. Both M1A2s launched a Sabot dart directly at their target, and both impacted within a fraction of a second. Duchamp’s shot struck the front at a downward angle, punching into the driver’s seat and into the crew compartment. Sergeant Spicer of the Bismarck put his round directly into the turret. One of the two quickly set the T-80 aflame from within and was followed shortly after by detonation of the ammunition, rending the tank and her doomed crew and shaking the brick building. The cafe somehow remained standing, partly hiding the metal funeral pyre from the eyes of the world.

The other Abrams of the platoon all halted at once and quickly began to pick out their own targets. Kenneth’s track spied another T-80 maneuvering from a street to the front of the village and a quick shot granted it the same fate as it’s comrade. Lieutenant Fitzroy’s tank found the only other enemy AFV in the village, a stationary BTR hiding on the other side. His gunner aimed at it through the space between two of the houses and, after an initial missed shot, struck the target and set it alight as well.

The tanks now began to spray the village with machine gun fire, unloading their bullets into it as enemy infantry began to scatter among the streets and buildings. It was difficult to pick them out from the narrow views of their sights, especially those hiding with the buildings. One of these fired an RPG from the top window of a two-story shop, aiming for Fitzroy’s tank but going far too high.

“Got a target! Loader, load HEAT!” Patrick ordered O’Toole. “Gunner, blue two-story building! Three o’clock! RPG!”

“Target acquired!” Duchamp affirmed, turning the main gun towards the unfortunate structure.

“HEAT up!”

“Fire!”

“On the way!”

The King Cobra rocked as it fired a powerful high-explosive round towards the targeted building. The shot impacted at the bottom level and exploded, destroying and splintering the clean wooden frame. The small structure quickly collapsed in on itself, dragging down the infantry on the upper floor and burying them within.

“Warhorse Actual, anyone have targets?”

“Two here, no targets I can see but they’re there.”

“Four has negative visuals on targets.”

“Warhorse Actual to Dallas, come in over,” Patrick called to the Bradley platoon.

“Dallas reads you, go ahead over.”

“Hostile victors at Objective Cannon destroyed and enemy foot mobiles are suppressed. There’s still infantry crawling around in that town but you guys should be able to handle it,” the tanker informed. “Move up and secure the objective, we need to be moving on. Recommend you dismount at our position and use the M2s for overwatch as the infantry moves in, enemy may still have personal AT weapons, over.”

“Understood Warhorse, we’re advancing now, out.”

“Warhorse Actual to all Warhorse units, cease fire and form up farther on the right flank. Dallas is going to seize the objective but we need to get mobile again. We have to punch through to our old MLR before those bastards organize, out.”

“Actual Warhorse Actual! This is Warhorse Three, come in!”

Patrick heard Lieutenant Gammon’s voice crackle over the radio; he sounded much more rattled and worried than he should be.

“Actual is reading you Three, go ahead.”

“Warhorse Actual, we’re no good. We’re hit, Three took a hit from that first enemy round. Repeat, the Firefly got hit by that first enemy round. Do you copy, over?”

“Shit! Those bastards! They’re lucky we have to move or I’d run them over myself!” the Captain swore before returning to the radio. “Actual copies, are you alright? Do you have casualties?”

“Negative, no casualties.”

Patrick sighed briefly; he would not have to worry about collecting the remains of one of Gammon’s men.

“Actual be advised we’re immobile. No major damage to the tank structure but the round nailed our track. Our left tread is out. Repeat, our left tread is out and we’re immobile, over.”

“Damn it! Alright, is it repairable?”

“Not without a recovery vehicle, Sir.”

“Alright alright, you stay here and wait for a recovery track, and help Dallas however you can if they need it. Rest of Warhorse is moving on.”

“Roger Actual, out.”

“Driver!” Patrick called. “Private Thompson, get us moving over to the right flank and form us up with the rest of the platoon.”

“Got it Captain,” the driver compiled, setting the massive tank in motion again as it’s commander once again went to the radio.

“Dallas, Warhorse again.”

“Dallas here, unloading the infantry and suppressing tangos in Cannon, over.”

“Dallas be advised Warhorse Three is immobilized in front of the objective. After you secure it can you keep an eye on him until a recovery vehicle arrives, over?”

“Affirmative Actual, I got to go Captain! We’re taking a lot of small arms fire! Got to get to work, out!”

The tanks once again began to advance, less one of their number, passing around the village and continuing towards the beaten and occupied fortifications of the Papa Line. If any word had been sent out by the Shadow troops from before, then their command must not have taken notice. The enemy’s response so far seemed to be nonexistent, and as they moved forward the land seemed to be increasingly empty when it should have been the opposite. Perhaps the Shadow commanders were gathering their units for a counterattack, or perhaps they were all retreating outright.

“ID BTR-80 platoon falling back in column formation to our left at nine o’clock,” Lieutenant Fitzgerald spoke up. “Moving left to right along our axis of advance. Cruising speed.”

“Understood, all tanks you are clear to engage but do not halt the advance. Actual out.”

All of the tanks picked out targets and fired in a great salvo, and in turn all four of the unsuspecting IFVs were struck at once. Two were hit by HEAT rounds and exploded, being destroyed completely in powerful catastrophic kills, while the other two were hit and careened off the road with synonymous outcomes. None of the BTR platoon had spotted the American tanks, and most within them died without knowing they were being shot at, a sad and common tragedy in war.

As the tanks continued to advance, the few Shadow infantry that had survived the attack scrambled out and ran, hoping to escape or hide. The vehicles had been retreating along with an infantry unit, and each of them had full compliments of troops within their metal hulls. Those few left alive took off over the field, away from their killers.

“Identify hostile infantry retreating across the field,” Fitzgerald notifies.

“Understood Warhorse Four, break off and advance on them at full speed. Hunt down as many of them as you can and the rejoin formation,” the Captain commanded.

“WILCO, breaking off.”

“All remaining units, we’re coming up on a sparse patch of woods that wasn’t on the map. Warhorse Two follow us in One and swing around the left. Five and Six, swing around the right and engage any enemies you see. Meet up on the other side.”

The four tanks broke off in pairs, circling the collection of trees slowly. Each pair proceeded at a slow, cautious pace, with one tank keeping their weapons trained outwards and the other watching over the woods themselves. Expecting a close-range engagement, Patrick ordered the loader to ready a HEAT shell. His assumption would be proven not long after.

From within the woods, a Shadow infantryman toting an RPG stood up suddenly and fired his weapon. The round flew out and detonated on the frontal armor of the Abrams, and though it left a blast mark and gave the crew a rough shake, it failed to penetrate. Thompson hit the breaks immediately, skidding the tank to a stop as another RPG was fired and just missed the slowing M1.

“Gunner infantry in the woods! Hit those sons of bitches!” Patrick told the Sergeant as he adjusted his CVC.

“Shot out!”

Duchamp fired the main cannon, though he had no target he could see, the high-explosive erupting against the bottom of a dry pine tree and knocking it down.

“Can not identify! I can’t see them!”

“HEAT up!” O’Toole said as he readied another round.

“Firing smoke, hold on!” Patrick shouted.

The tank commander activated the tank’s defensive measures, launching a barrage of smoke canisters in front of it. The King Cobra was instantly shrouded in a thick layer of white smoke, hiding it from the prowling infantry in the woods. The tank crew, however, could themselves see through, using the infrared installed to their sights to see through and pick out their attackers.

“I got tangos on thermal! Shit there’s a lot of them!” Duchamp said. “Engaging with coax!”

The machine gun mounted in the turret of the tank began to chatter away, cutting into some of the exposed infantry that appeared as nothing more than red blobs to the tankers. Lieutenant James’ track soon turned and added its fire into the fray as the Shadows ran about to find cover. On the other end of the woods, the other two tanks were embroiled in their own engagement with the enemy infantry.

“Hostiles shifting left!” Patrick notes. “Watch- RPG! RPG! Gunner, right!”

“I see him!”

The Shadow soldier fired his rocket, though it flew well off due to the smoke screen. Duchamp attempted to cut him down, but the enemy ducked behind a tree trunk as the tank’s MG opened fire. The various enemies seemed to be constantly moving and swarming about the woods.

The gunner focused on where the RPG handler had hid and took aim before firing the main gun again. The HEAT round’s explosion against the ground sent at least two of the Shadow ponies airborne while several others were hurled back. Still, even as the shot detonated, yet another rocket was fired by another operator, striking a pine at the treeline as the various infantry swarmed about, attempting to move in closer.

“Damn it, there’s more to the left! There’s a lot more tangos here than I thought!” Duchamp informed.

“I’ve had it with their shit!” Patrick raged from his commander’s seat. “Loader, load Can!”

O’Toole has to take a moment to replace the HEAT round he was preparing, but replaced it with a fresh anti-infantry round. The Corporal slammed home one of the heavy canister round, filled with small metal balls, and readied up the main gun. With this, he had turned the Abrams’ cannon into a 120mm shotgun.

“Can up!”

“Gunner, fire when ready!” the Captain said.

“Got them! Shot out!”

The Abrams fires the round, which instantly fragmented apart. The multiple tiny balls flew forward over a wide arc, shredding everything in their path. They embedded themselves in the trees, ricocheted off boulders, and struck right through and ripped up the unlucky Shadows.

A few seconds later, Duchamp adjusted the aim of the cannon and fired once again, with similar effects to any in the way of the deadly metal wave. The fire and movement from within the woods almost totally ceased. The tankers could still see some wriggling on the ground, but they clearly presented no threat. The gun and cannon fire ceased and the woods were filled with pained moans of the soldiers cut down and badly wounded by the savage weapon. Those lucky few who were unhurt wisely elected to remain hiding on the ground or behind their cover among the dead and crippled.

“Christ… I guess that did it,” Duchamp observed.

“Okay driver, move us out. Slowly,” Patrick ordered. “And loader, switch is back to Sabot. We got more open ground in front of us.”

“Yes Sir, advancing,” Private Thompson replied from the driver’s seat. “Those poor bastards. That must have hurt. Even in war that’s a bad way to go.”

“Don’t feel sorry for them yet, Private, they’re the enemy. If they don’t want to fight and end up like that, they can surrender.”

“I sure wouldn’t want to end up like that.”

The two tanks rejoined their counterparts at the other end of the woods, who were already waiting for them. Lieutenant Fitzgerald had returned as well from his solo hunt chasing after the stragglers. The tank’s reformed themselves and prepared to continue their high-speed attack, not dissuaded by their encounters.

“Warhorse Actual here, continue along the advice line, over.”

“Actual this is Five, I can’t find our position on the map and the GPS isn’t connecting. What’s our remaining distance to the MLR, over?”

“Five, we’re about three and a half miles, over.”

“Understood, thanks Actual, out.”

Once again the tanks began to roll ahead, being ever wary of enemy forces waiting in ambush. So far they had been tremendously lucky in their engagements. Beyond the poor disposition of the Shadow forces, they had not suffered any human casualties as of yet. None of them wanted to push it farther than they already had, but they still had to complete their mission. The men had become anxious, weary, and worried sick over what was waiting ahead of them with every inch of ground, in every building, under every tree, behind every hill, and they were the greater targets.

Slowly, as they moved on and time ticked by, the distance dropped. The half-mile passed without further contact. Another full mile was completed and still there was no sign of enemy activity. Patrick continued scanning the area ahead of their advance, occasionally switching the thermal view on to sooner spot any hiding infantry. Whether or not the enemy had retreated, they would reach their final objective soon and reform the American’s strategic line.

“Hind!” Fitzgerald yelled from the left flank. “Hind! Hind! Hind! Popping up from behind the hill!”

From far off, a single Mi-24 helicopter rose up sharply from behind one of the hills. The massive armored beast had arrived at the perfect time to surprise the American tanks. It rose further and began to fly along their course, closing in and keeping level with them, the painted camouflage and titanium armor shining brightly in the April sun.

Patrick did not need to give an order, as on calling the tanks all broke formation. Unfortunately, there was no cover for them that could defend them from the Shadow helicopter, nor could they retreat fast enough at such a range. The only possible option was to fight.

Some of the tanks on the right had difficulty locating it at first, but all soon trained their guns on it. Several fired off their weapons, however hitting a flying target with their cannons was much more difficult than one on the ground. The pilot was experienced, varying his speed and altitude, constantly switching and using the terrain as cover. The Hind, as feared, would be the most dangerous threat to the tanks, who were left near defenseless.

The Hind’s weapons operator selected the closest target as his first victim, picking out the short box-looking Abrams. One of the helicopter’s anti-tank guided missiles was fired, flying out with a thin controller wire. The AT-6 Spiral homed in on the target, and many of the tankers spotted it coming, a small red dot closing in on them.

Fitzgerald’s track was the one to take the hit, in spite of the zig-zagging of the driver. The Spiral pierced the tank’s side armor, punching through in the middle and exploding inside. The Abrams’ ammo storage went up in a great explosion in the rear of the tank, one which also enflamed the fuel. There was no separate protection for the crew due to the place of the missile impact, and all died instantly as the fire spread through the tank, flames licking out from some of the blown-open hatches.

“Christ, I can’t hit that fucker!” Sergeant Duchamp swore. “Driver stop so I can hit him!”

“If I stop we’re dead!” Thompson retorted.

“Stop damn it!”

“No way!”

“Fucking stop!”

“Keep us moving!” Patrick intervened. “Gunner stop bitching and make due! We stop when I say we stop!”

The next target the Hind selected was Lieutenant Boris’ tank, now close enough to use its other weapons. The helicopter popped up again and held its place, allowing the gunner to accurately fire a barrage of rockets at the Americans. A mass of them flew out from their pods at the tank, now turned and directly facing their hunter. Several S-24 rockets blanketed the ground around Boris’ track, the Bobcat, shrouding it in dust and smoke; when it had cleared the tank had stopped moving, yet had not caught fire either.

The Shadow gunner was preparing to fire another ATGM when Duchamp intervened. The helicopter had abandoned the defensive maneuvers for only a few moments to provide the most accuracy for their attacks. It had also unintentionally provided the frustrated gunner with the good shot he had been waiting for.

“There!” Duchamp jumped. “On the way!”

The Abrams fired its Sabot round, perfectly aimed at the helicopter. The anti-tank dart pierced the forward half of the Hind on the side of the air intake, punching through the titanium armor. The round destroyed the upper part of the chopper as the explosion rent the inner workings and blew the rotor off entirely. The heavy helicopter dropped suddenly and as hard as a falling rock, smashing violently into the ground as the fire began to spread.

“Got him!” Duchamp cheered.

“Actual to all units, Hind is down! Repeat, Hind is down!” Patrick notified his platoon. “All Warhorse units, cease advance and rally on my position! Everyone sound off!”

“Warhorse Two has no damage,” First Lieutenant James answered.

“Warhorse Four, we’re good Actual!” Lieutenant Kenneth spoke up.

A few seconds of painful silence passed before Patrick spoke up again

“Warhorse Five, Six, sound off!”

Again, there was no answer on the line.

“Warhorse Actual, check your left,” Lieutenant James informed solemnly. “Five is hit, looks bad.”

“Shit… shit! Those bastards! They fucking killed him!” the Captain raged. “Alright you two rally up on me, our advance is done. We’re almost at the MLR anyways.”

The three surviving tanks gathered behind a small knoll, trying to assess the damage. After a quick SITREP to the higher-ups, it was determined the attack had been successful in wiping out the Shadow breach and forcing them back. Further units would soon be brought up as the 5th Infantry Division prepared to re-occupy their original lines on the fortifications.

Patrick and a few others exited the tanks as the day began to draw to a close. They walked up to examine the crippled remains of Second Lieutenant Fitzgerald’s tank, flames still kicking from the inside, the outer shell blackened and beaten. From the right side, they could still make out in white scribbling the name ‘Crab’ next to a small red rendition of the crustacean in their unit’s loving joke.

None of the four crewmen had time to escape. Their lifeless bodies were now cooking within the tank. Patrick’s anger has mixed poorly with sorrow as it boiled over. He began to swear angrily at the dead enemies who had killed them, devolving soon into shouts of rage. He yanked his CVC off his head, hurling it against the side of the dead Abrams before falling back into a dejected, solemn state.

“Captain? I’m sorry Sir,” Lieutenant James’ loader, Corporal Simson, spoke up feebly. “He was a really great man. I think we did good today though, I think he’d be proud.”

“We should have been more careful with our attack,” Patrick said, mirroring what the others thought. “We’ll have to be in the future. But fuck, we can’t slow down either. It’s war, we can’t slow down because of this. Just… have to be careful, I don’t fucking know, but we’ll do better in the future. We’ll run down all of those Rat bastards I swear.”

“I’m sorry too, Sir. He was a good soldier, and a good man, and a good friend as well,” Lieutenant James added. “War will always have casualties, it’s a sad reality. But Lieutenant Fitzgerald and his crew were heroes. Are heroes. Aren’t they? Do you remember a quote by President Jefferson I told you before?”

“James, let’s save that for latter. I got some better news for us,” Kenneth interrupted. “Look over there. Guess they made it.”

Lieutenant Kenneth directed the group’s attention away from the dead Abrams to the opposite direct, towards that of the Bobcat. Far off from them, Lieutenant Boris and his crew were clambering out of the tank, shaken but unhurt. The tank seemed to have been disabled, but not destroyed. All four of his team pulled themselves from the tank, alive and uninjured.

“They’re alright… thank God,” Patrick breathed.

To see his other ‘lost’ team appear alive and well was a major relief to the weary Captain, but in spite of this and their victory his mood was still downtrodden. The makeshift officers platoon had suffered badly with two tanks disabled and another lost entirely, a vehicle casualty rate of fifty percent.

Far worse was the loss of Fitzgerald and his crew. Beyond being a good friend, the loss of men to the unit was a far more painful experience. The loss of one of Alpha Company’s platoon commanders was an especially difficult issue. Once everything had been collected and returned to the rear, Patrick would have to start worrying about a replacement.

---

Alaska was, by a comfortable margin, the wildest and most separated state within the union. Lying well away from the mainland and just below the Arctic, the vast, cold wilderness was nonetheless teeming with life. In the instance of the conflict in the Pacific, it also proved to be one of the most American lands, perhaps only matched by Hawaii. Regardless of the separation, it was still sovereign American territory, and as such it was brimming with defenses in every variety from the major cities on the coast to the long island chain near it and even within the interior.

As far as anyone knew, Jetstream could have been the first pony to visit the state. As commander of Equestria’s only B1-B Lancer squadron, she held a unique role and mission that was different from those of the rest of the Equestrian Air Force. However, with the Bloc gaining the edge in air superiority and taking the battle of the sky over Equestria proper, along with the assault on many allied air bases, made the hope of using strategic bombers very dangerous. Based in the Northeast part of the country, the ‘Belt’ Squadron was hastily retreated to a safer haven. Indeed, every allied squadron of strategic bombers was retreated to Hawaii, Alaska, or the continental US for fear of their loss.

Jetstream’s 39th Bomber Squadron reached Elmendorf Air Force Base in the city of Anchorage, the largest in the state. The base felt like another large instillation but the city itself was striking to her. The sprawling port was nestled warmly between the clean, clear bay and against the high white-topped mountains, to which the locals had happily nicknamed as ‘lights and flowers’. Unfortunately, much of her time was restricted to the base, being only paired with an American Air Force Major who operated an AWACS until the Equestrian government or Allied Command required her team’s involvement in the war effort, or until word came that it was at least safe enough to return home.

So far neither had come, and as the battle raged in the blue over Equestria between the faster fighter jets, her team was kept in reserve. Until then, not knowing the area, she could only stay close to Major Murowski as an ‘observer’ to American AWACS operations, having little else to do in the realm of official work. The journey was impromptu, and even their discussion still revolved around the city and base rather than the tiny island.

“Elmendorf feels… weird. You sure this place is safe?” the pony asked.

“Definitely. That base is home to three full squadrons of Raptors. The bad guys would have to be insane to try anything against us.”

“You’re sure though, like really sure... sure?”

“Yeah, totally. The bad guys haven’t even tried. Hell we may be at war but they’re too scared to actually invade US territory. Not even Wake or Midway,” the AWACS operator explained as they moved through the busy Air Force facility. “At least I think they’re afraid. They might not have the power to invade them but that’s probably not true either.”

“Maybe they just don’t see it as a threat,” the Equestrian suggested.

“Maybe, their focus is on the frontlines anyways.”

“Yeah, so… what’s this operation about then?”

“Well that’s why we’re going to the briefing.”

“I know but… do you need me for it?”

“Not particularly, but it’ll be a good chance for you to observe, see what an actual combat operation is like, you know? You guys haven’t had a lot of training, so it might help.”

“So… just watch? That’s all you want me to do?”

“That’s it, but just make sure to pay attention. Try not to get in anyone’s way, either; a Sentry is a busy jet.”

The two headed into a small briefing room where the rest of the AWACS crew and the fighter pilots had gathered. The intelligence team giving the briefing was setting up large pictures of two targets that were to be the objectives of the mission. Standing ahead of them was a broad-shouldered Two-Star General, looking very cross compared to the others in the room. Once everyone had taken a seat, he began a speech that instantly sounded as if it were more of a scolding.

“Gentlemen as you know our enemies have been able to get the drop on us at the start of this war, curbing our air power and opening large sections of the west to strategic bombing,” the General quickly reminded them without stopping for a breath. “This is not only a poor military position but a disgrace to the US Air Force! We are first to fight, and people rely on us to take the fight to our enemy. So I’ve cobbled together all you pilots to do just that! You will strike the enemy where he doesn’t expect it and retake the offensive for the Allied air forces. Act aggressively!”

The Commander left after this, his speech being more in the gear of disgust and anger rather than inspiration. He handed over the briefing to his A-3 and some other staff members, entrusting them with readying the pilots for the mission. A much younger officer, stampering over in a fresh blue uniform and wide glasses, now took the responsibility.

“Well, alright then, let’s get the briefing under way,” he started, stepping aside to allow a clear view of the pictures he had taped to the whiteboard. “Operation Susquehanna, to take place over the North Pacific and occupied enemy territory, to begin at approximately 1200 hours.

“As the General said, you’re going to be launching a counterattack against an enemy position in the rear. It’s unlikely it will have a major effect on the war but it may drag some enemies off the front at least. Your target will be the Fleuve Bleu Depot in Prance, and the nearby Chirurgien Bridge, as both are under control and in use by the Imperial Griffon Army. The names for the targets will be Objectives Park and Girder.

“We think the depot is being used to house some small arms and ammunition, and a handful of replacement vehicles for the front. Unfortunately, as we realized this from the increased activity, it seems a good portion of it was already moved to the front, but there’s likely still some left. It’s also just a reserve depot, so that means the defenses should be lighter as well.

“Now here’s the important part. We can’t provide any additional support other than the aircraft at this base, so unfortunately there’s no SEAD or reinforcements. We think that a good portion of the enemies forces are at the front, leaving some holes in their rear defense, and this reserve depot looks like one of them. So move in fast, drop your ordinance, and retreat; don’t take too long or Griffon reinforcements will show up.”

“Will we have to worry about AA?” one of the pilots asked.

“Satellite imagery showed no major concentrations, so it’s unlikely, though it is a little old by now. Any AA you run into will probably be light.”

“Enemy aircraft?”

“Unknown, we haven’t been able to determine if there are any patrol craft in the area. One of the images did show a couple of Fishbeds but we couldn’t tell if they were doing guard rounds or transferring to another airfield,” the intelligence officer said. “Most of our images have come back empty, so based on that, and the location of the target, we’re running under the assumption there will be no bandits in the immediate vicinity.”

“Great, so you can’t even tell us if there’ll be bandits.”

“The AWACS will notify you of any enemy air activity. If there is any, we’ll can the operation and you will enact an immediate retreat,” he explained. “Are there any other questions… no? Then you’re all dismissed, make sure you’re ready when it’s time to launch.”

---

The AWACS plane lingered over the Pacific waters well away from the objective, scanning it from long-range with its radar. Two F-22s from Elmendorf stood by it as an escort, the only air superiority jets the operation was given. Jetstream and a few other ponies from her bomber squadron sat inside the AWACS, watching the Americans perform their duties. It was drab and a little boring for her, with the windowless interior only lit by the light bulbs, but she gained a new respect for those working the job.

“You keeping track with everything?” Major Murowski asked her, leaning over for her to glance at the screen.

“Yeah, I am… but can I ask a question?”

“Sure.”

“Why did these two squadrons get sent out? They’re pretty small, is it supposed to be small?”

“Honestly? Not sure. The squadrons are part of the Tactical Corps, not the traditional Air Force. Some generals might have an easier time tossing them into the fire.”

“Wait so the general is just sending them alone cause he doesn’t care? Like he expects them to die!?”

“No no no,” the operator waved. “I don’t mean like that. They’re not exactly… beloved, but we’re not sending them to get killed purposely. This is just a minor operation, nothing major. I think they’re just relegating the tacticals to secondary operations like this, unimportant ones. That way more aircraft from the normal units are available for normal operations.”

“Oh, I think I get it.”

“Yeah, though I think this is a kind of test for these types of operations, so I don’t- hang on… hang on I’ve got something,” Murowski said, looking closer at his computer screen. “Hey Jim, come take a look at this! Oh, stand back ma’am.”

The pony shuffled back a bit, allowing another American on the team to walk in and take her spot, leaning over to examine the computer.

“I got two bogies right here, going left to right. I’m going to notify the fast movers,” the operator explained, fiddling with his headset and microphone. “This is AWACS Buckeye to Golem and Mage, come in, over.”

Many miles away, far from the sight of any man on the E-3, six fighters raced over the surface of the water, keeping their altitude low. Four Hornets and two Falcons, belonging to two different squadrons, both with their own objective to strike. Their wings were loaded with bombs, with the usual Sidewinders on the ends for air-to-air defense.

“Golem One here, what’s the problem AWACS?”

“Looks like we’ve got a problem. Enemy aircraft patrol, bearing one-nine-zero. Two of them.”

“Damn it! What’s the call? Should we abort the mission?”

“Don’t worry about that, it’s just a couple of lazy Crows doing their routes. They aren’t even expecting us,” Mage One replied. “We can shoot them down, no trouble.”

“Alright, but don’t get caught up in a dogfight. Go ahead and engage them, Mage Team.”

“Roger that. Trigger, why don’t you lead us off?”

One of the Falcons broke away from the formation, rapidly gaining altitude to intercept, and was soon followed by his squadron commander. The two Griffon MiG-21s, not expecting any contacts so far from the front, were stunned to see a number of contacts on their radar coming in from the ocean. They closed at first as two aircraft moved ahead of the rest. They had not been told to expect any friendly forces, but still hesitated to call for assistance.

“Beacon Four, two bogies are closing in. Has there been any response from the wing about the formation or that radar signature?” one of the Griffon pilots asked.

“Negative, I haven’t heard a thing.”

“Call the other patrols back! These aren’t friendly aircraft!”

The two Fishbeds were only just able to send out the notification before the rapidly-closing Falcon made its move. The first lock was acquired on the lead aircraft, and the pilot immediately sent the Sidewinder flying from the F-16’s wingtip. Punching through the air at over Mach 2, the AIM-9 impacted on the belly of the MiG-21, hitting right into the engine. The small delta-wing fighter fell apart burning as it fell to Earth again.

The wingman was locked on himself right afterwards and, knowing this through his warning indicators, attempted to increase speed and altitude to fly over the Falcon in hope the shot would miss. However, the missile warning the Griffon pilot expected to instantly receive did not come, though the warning indicator still rang out menacingly. The human pilot did not fire yet, seeing the Griffon’s move and pulling up into a complete Immelman before leveling out. As the Fishbed passed overhead, the tail heat of the engine’s radiation provided a perfect firing angle. Mage 2 launched the second Sidewinder, and despite the Griffon attempting to break away again, the missile successfully struck the wing of the jet, sending it spinning out of control.

“Ha! You see Buckeye? They’re no trouble for us,” the formation lead informed the AWACS. “Mage Two, good work. Won’t have to worry about them getting in our friend’s way.”

“Affirmative Mage, good job. Continue on course toward the target at Objective Girder. Golem Flight should be hitting Objective Park shortly.”

Jetstream watched the battle play out from the computer screens on the AWACS. It was so much simpler, so much more impersonal to her from this view. Without being able to see it, she felt as if the operation was not happening at all. They only appeared to her as shapes on the screens, small dots and triangles of opposing colors.

The four Hornets passed over their target first, still in formation, and dropped their bombs all at once on the target in a single run. The heavy explosives scattered around the depot, destroying buildings and supplies wherever they impacted. Several of the tanks stored there were tossed about like toys, leaving the depot in a sorry state as the flight soared over and began their turn to retreat.

The bridge was next to go. The two Falcons came at it separately, one diving parallel to it and another from the side. The local guards were alerted now and began to fire their weapons and machine guns up at the aircraft to little effect. The leading Mage F-16 released first, dropping two bombs on one of the supporting legs of the bridge and crippling it. Mage Two released both his bombs directly on top of the bridge itself to hefty result. The eastern half of the structure collapsed entirely, the metal and concrete falling into the river in a powerful cascade, leaving the other section badly damaged.

“Buckeye this is Mage One, Objective Girder has been taken down.”

“Affirmative Mage. All aircraft be advised, four additional bogies moving in from both east and west. Golem team, they’ll be on you soon.”

“Copy that, probably more Fishbeds,” the flight lead acknowledged. “Golem squadron, do not get into turning fights with those things! Keep the throttle up and exit the combat zone!”

“Understood but they’ll be on us any second. We’ll have to take defensive measures,” the second-position aircraft noted.

“Mage Two, let’s get those bandits off their backs,” Mage One suggested as the Hornets broke formation, taking every manner of turn to shake the MiGs. “Work fast Trigger, don’t let any of our pals go down. Take care of the ones following Golems One and Two, I’ll help take down the ones tailing Three and Four.”

The Griffon pilots, more concerned with trying to keep up with the more advanced Hornets, did not at first notice the F-16s chasing them down. The second Mage aircraft, on account of having fired his missiles earlier, only had the Falcon’s cannon remaining. Shooting down such a small aircraft would require a high degree of finesse, especially to ensure he did not strike his allies by accident.

The Falcon picked out the closest MiG, the one tailing Golem Two, and stalked it from a comfortable altitude. An opportunity soon presented itself as the two pulled to their right in a shallow turn, presenting a good tail target. The Falcon waylaid the tiny aircraft, diving down from above as the cannon spit out shells. Several twenty-millimeter rounds stitched across the body of the Fishbed and it fell away in a death dive, the crippled engine belching smoke.

The second target proved to be more difficult, with the Golem team lead dragging him up to a higher altitude. Trigger pulled up and behind them, but with the constant maneuvering a pure shot was difficult to achieve. He could not simply fire away, for if the rounds missed they risked striking the F-18. Still, his ally was in danger and it was a race against an invisible clock, and no one knew how long it would take before a fatal missile or bullet was fired on the Hornet.

The small train of jets followed each-other, through one move to another, with each bank and into each dive. Suddenly the Falcon pilot saw the F-18 pull up into the begging of an Immelmann, and instantly positioned the gun sight on the craft. As predicted, the MiG instantly followed, and as the Hornet moved out the Fishbeds took its place in the green circle. The F-16’s cannon fired again as the small delta jet hit the pipper. The MiG-21 continued straight up and fell apart, the pilot falling away unharmed amongst the metal wreckage.

“Golem and Mage, you’re clear. All bandits in your immediate vicinity are down,” Buckeye reported. “Nice work, no losses and results are better than expected. Don’t overstay your welcome, RTB. And make it fast guys, they’re scrambling other jets to come after me now.”

“Mage Two, thanks for the help. You made this operation smooth and easy for us,” Golem One complimented. “You’re showing promise, but don’t let it go to your head. These were small targets, not much resistance around them.”

“It’s a start. Hopefully we can hit something bigger next time,” Golem Two added.

“Nice work Trigger, I knew I made a good pick with you,” Mage One spoke up. “You’ve got a lot of potential. A little more polish and you’ll shine like a star.”

Author's Note:

Many thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed it. Leave some feedback if you could, it helps a lot. Do let me know if you see anything I messed up or missed. Here's looking forward to the next release.

Also I'll dedicate this batch to my friend Chaplain, hope you get better and back to it soon mate.

Comments

[Time Reaper]

Well, I have to say, it was good to see some interactions from characters we know and see how the war has been affecting them. Between the many battles with characters we know nothing about, is hard to fell completely engaged with the action being the sole thing holding this story together so far.

I think it would be interesting to see how the world is reacting to the war as a mean to give a break from all the war, after all, War is fought in multiple fronts and politics/diplomacy is one of them. The results of a battle tends to have influence in how much negotiation power a nation can have as well as influence in how nations want to get around the war itself (example: Italy when it joined WWI).

[Akeion98]

I'm really loving the battles but it would be nice to how the homefronts are holding up around the world as well.

[Eagle]

9682348
I’m preparing a chapter that kind of focuses on a strategic global overview like what 9664911 was talking about. I’m toying with the idea of going back creating a similar chapter for right at the start of the war. But as of now I don’t have any plans for focusing on just civilian life on the homefront in the US.

That feels like more of a side story honestly. I haven’t thought on that specifically very much.

[Earthpatriot117]

An AWESOME chapter!
I really enjoyed the tank battle scene, cant wait for the next batch of updates! Xd

[TLP]

Nice little AC7 callsign references in this chapter. Hope to see more chapters in the near future.