Red Winter - Steel Beasts
Disclaimer: This story series contains graphic violence and strong language. Read at your own discretion. Also, I use a few possibly copyrighted names in here, and they belong to their respective owners and I wasn't paid to use them. Go Steelers!
PRA Mobile Headquarters - December 14th, 6:40 A.M.
"Captain Reas," Voorhees began as he called his Kirk over the radio. "I know I promised you and your men a break, but something has come up and I need your unit on the frontlines yesterday."
Reas yawned as he fumbled with the talk button and replied, "You got it sir, I'll rally my men now. What's going on though, I thought we would have taken the city by now?"
"We would have, but the storm damaged our radar arrays and we failed to detect a sudden American airborne counter attack. The system is back online now and we've spotted multiple transport planes inbound to the city."
"Transports, sir? I thought they were evacuating?" Reas asked while slipping his jacket back on and grabbing helmet.
"Chances are it's an airborne battalion and extra supplies to help cover the retreat," Voorhees replied. "We can't let them stop us, nearly 5,000 of their troops are stuck between Denver and Grand Junction, and if we can hit them their ability to defend this entire region will be severely compromised."
"Makes sense to me, sir. What's the situation look like though? Are things getting desperate if you're calling out my unit?" Reas wondered as he finished suiting up and stepped out of his tent into the cool morning air.
"Casualties are higher than what we'd consider acceptable thanks to those Yankee planes bombing our first line assault teams. We're preparing a second wave now, this time with a proper amount of anti-air cover. Don't worry, your unit will be safe," Voorheas assured him.
Reas doubted that, but said nothing. All he could do was prepare his men and hope that the American forces to the east felt wearier than he did.
Ten Miles East of Grand Junction, 6:45 A.M.
The sky was unusually clear across the ceiling, while thick gray clouds still loomed on the horizon in all directions. The eye of the massive weather system that had dumped over two feet of snow on Grand Junction in a matter of hours was still moving east, slowly dissipating as it hit the warmer air in the mid-west. All was quiet as the sun slowly rose over the mountains and cast its warming glow over the battlefield. Ruined skeletons of jets, tanks, and civilian automobiles littered the ground. Fortunately, a two mile long stretch of highway was clear of vehicles, having been bulldozed through by the retreating National Guard and Army units. This seemingly desolate stretch of road was now a key piece of real estate, and it held the key to the battle's outcome.
"All units, this is Pelican Leader, form up and prepare to initiate deployment plan alpha," radioed the colonel piloting a massive Boeing C-17 four engine cargo jet.
Twelve of these lumbering giants sailed forth in column, giving each plane one mile of clearance behind one another as their sixteen escorts--two eight plane squadrons consisting of A-10s and F-15s--flanked them while keeping an eye out for hostile fighters. Holed up in the C-17s' cargo bays were a dozen vehicles belonging to the 2nd Armored Division, along with a full 420 man battalion of heavy infantry from the 101st Airborne Division. Each plane was also loaded with a palette of ammunition and medical supplies to ensure that once these forces touched down they'd be more ready to fend off a third PRA assault.
The lead four C-17s contained the primary assault force from the 2nd Armored. In the belly of each plane rested one of the finest killing machines General Dynamics had ever produced; the brand new M7A1 Petraeus heavy tank. Designed to complement the lighter, faster M1A3 Abrams main battle tank, the M7A1 was nothing short of a steel beast. Built on an expanded M1A3 chassis, the M7A1 was thirty feet long--thirty-six if you include the barrel length extending from the turret--by thirteen and a half feet wide. Its specially modified turret packed not one, but two 120mm smoothbore cannons, each with its own targeting system and set of primary and auxiliary gunsights. Each gun was also equipped with an automated loading system, similar to designs found on modern Russian and Chinese tanks. However, unlike those designs the M7A1 still had a loader on its crew, instead of following the Russian example of having the gunner operate the auto-loader.
Between the two guns was a pair of M-240B 7.62mm light machineguns, each with a 1,000 round belt for use against infantry in the open. Atop the turret in front of the commander's hatch sat a Browning M2 12.7mm heavy machinegun with a 1,000 round belt of armor piercing incendiary rounds that could make short work of anything from a tree to a foot thick piece of concrete. In front of the loader's hatch rested an M134 six-barreled mini-gun loaded with a massive 4,000 round belt that could be depleted in exactly one minute. Lastly, on the rear of the turret sat a retractable launcher armed with six FIM-92 "Stinger" missiles for use against slow moving jets and attack helicopters. All of these weapons, combined with the fact the M7A1 was plated with seventeen inches of armor and packed a Honeywell AGT 2000 engine capable of propelling it up to thirty-five miles per hour made it the most lethal conventional ground vehicle ever devised.
In addition to the four M7A1s, there were also eight Kodiak LAVs riding along, with one Kodiak packed behind each M7A1 in the first four C-17s, and a pair packed behind a supply palette in the fifth and sixth C-17s. The Kodiak LAV (Light Assault Vehicle) was the Army's answer to its aging fleet of Humvees, which were still in service due to defense budget cuts and a lack of suitable replacements. Built over the skeleton of a Ford F-350, the Kodiak combined the advantages of having readily available parts from a civilian vehicle with the mobility of a four wheel drive truck. An improved 400 horsepower turbo V8 engine gave it the ability to top seventy miles per hour, even when fully loaded with a crew of seven and pair of Browning M2 machineguns.
The front of the Kodiak was heavily armored, replacing the windshield with a pair of three inch thick bullet proof glass windows that allowed the driver and passenger to easily see ahead of the vehicle without providing an oversized weak spot. The side and rear windows were the same, and could also be lowered to allow the passengers to shoot out if need be. The area where the truck bed would normally sit contained a set of five seats, all facing out--one facing to the rear and two facing out on each side--to allow the crew easy access to the windows in the event they wanted to fire at targets outside the vehicle. Mounted atop of the Kodiak was a gun turret equipped with twin M2 heavy machineguns, each loaded with 500 round belts. Unlike the old Humvee design that required a crew member to stand up and stick his head out the top of the vehicle to man the weapon, the Kodiak's turret was controlled via remote from the passenger's seat. This design was not only more comfortable and safer, but also allowed an infrared gun camera to be installed in the turret to facilitate faster aiming and target acquisition.
Due to the threat of enemy tanks on the battlefield at Grand Junction, the eight Kodiaks were also equipped with a set of BGM-71 TOW missile launchers. Each launcher packed a pair of anti-tank missiles that were fully capable of destroying a Type-96 in one hit, and a spare set of missiles were stored inside as well in case the enemy hadn't learned their lesson from the first volley. Still, the Kodiaks wouldn't be seeing any frontline action anytime soon. Their armor was only capable of absorbing small arms fire and the occasional RPG round; a full sized tank shell would easily rip one apart.
"Major Young, we're approaching the LZ, get your tank ready for rapid deployment," came a call over the plane's intercom to a thirty-something year old orange sepia furred panther who was in the final phases of inspecting his tank. Turning to his left, he addressed a young husky who was checking the Kodiak stationed behind the tank.
"Captain Wilson, your truck ready to roll?" he asked.
"Affirmative sir, everything looks good to go," the husky replied as he stood up and stretched his arms. "The only thing I'm worried about is the landing. They sure it's safe to plop this big bird down on a four lane interstate?"
"Well we engineered these roads to be able to double as an emergency airfield in times like this. I guess a derelict car might mess us up a bit, but this thing is so big I doubt it would make us crash," Young mused.
Wilson shivered at the thought. He was only twenty-six years old, nearly a decade younger than his superior who had at least seen some action during the opening days of the war. Wilson was pea green, having been promoted up from lieutenant out of necessity to take command of the Kodiak platoon that would escort the Petraeus tanks into battle. He knew the situation he and his men were being dropped into would likely be the end of them, plus the fact that his wife and two year old son were having to miss him at Christmas only made him feel utterly helpless.
"Sir," Wilson began, "What about when we actually land? Have we even done this kind of deployment before?"
Wilson was referring to the experimental landing method that his unit had the honor of testing out. Since the stretch of highway that had been selected was only two and a quarter miles long, there wasn't enough room for the C-17's to actually land and offload their cargo. Instead, the plan was to have them land on the first three-quarters of a mile, lower their cargo bay while slowing down to thirty knots, and allow their vehicles to drive out the back. At this point, the cargo door would be retracted and a pair of JATO rockets would ignite to assist in getting the C-17 back in the air and on its way home to Denver. While all this was going on, the next C-17 would land with a half a mile of distance between it and the forward C-17, offload its cargo, and take off for home. All and all, it was estimated that it would take roughly seven minutes for all the tanks and Kodiaks to be deployed, reorganized, and on their way to the heart of Grand Junction.
Young adjusted his helmet strap and positioned his radio's microphone. "Honestly kid, I don't know. Just remember to get the hell off the road as soon as you can so you don't get clipped by the C-17 coming in behind us, okay?"
"You don't have to tell me twice, trust me," Wilson said as he heaved a sigh of anxiety.
Through the cold hull of the plane came the sound of the engines throttling down and the hydraulics straining to lower the flaps. Below came the sounds of the landing gear bay opening and the wheels being lowered out. A fox in flight jumpsuit rushed to the back of the plane and prepared to open the cargo bay.
"Alright guys, start your engines cause we're ninety seconds from touching down!" he called back as his fingers hovered over the control panel.
Young and Wilson both hurried into their respective vehicles, each taking the command seat and ordering their drivers to start up the engines.
"Alright Ulenski," Young called forward to the nineteen year old coyote in the driver's seat, "Fire it up!"
"Roger that sir, beginning startup checklist. Magnetos, on. Primary and secondary fuel pumps, on. Spark plugs, ready. Annnnd, ignition!"
With a fiery growl the tank's massive 2,000 horsepower engines roared to life, belching a cloud of diesel exhaust into the belly of the plane. Young tried to stifle a cough as he watched the plane's loadmaster crack open the cargo door to help vent out the fumes. Below him more of the plane's crew members rushed to undo the large straps that had kept the M7A1 and Kodiak from rolling around during flight. The intercom crackled to life as the pilot relayed a new message.
"Attention guys! We're at 500 feet and dropping, brace for landing! 400...300...200 feet. 150...100...50!"
With a massive jolt the C-17 touched down, its tires screeching as the pilot applied the brakes in short bursts to bring the plane's speed down to thirty knots. Young secured his goggles and pointed to the loadmaster.
"Lower the door! Let's go!"
"50 knots, prepare to disembark!" the pilot shouted.
The loadmaster punched the controls and the cargo door finished its descent, a pair of specially added skids taking the brunt of the friction and saving the door from being scuffed into oblivion.
"30 knots! GO GO GO! Get off the plane!" cried the fox as he waved Young and Wilson out.
Young gritted his teeth as he pounded on the turret, signaling his driver to hit the gas. With a jump the M7A1 lurched forward, the seventy-two metric ton behemoth slowly crawling down the ramp and jolting violently as it suddenly came to a stop on the pavement. Young's head jerked forward, his helmet striking the back of the M2 machinegun in front of him.
"Ach! Damn it," he muttered as Ulenski revved the engine and pulled the tank off to the side of the road with Wilson's Kodiak rapidly following suit. "Wilson, radio check. Your truck make it out okay?"
"Roger that sir, they weren't kidding when they said this thing had some wicked suspension. Can't feel anything in my face though."
Young laughed, shaking his head as he briefly forgot that he had just landed in a combat zone. "Well then I guess you won't mind pulling night watch duty then since the cold can't get you now."
"Wait a minute...I can feel my nose now, we're good Major," Wilson hastily replied, his superior's sense of humor having been lost on the young husky in his moment of stress.
"Good to hear it. In the meantime, just wait here for now until the other units have landed. Then we'll regroup and head into Grand Junction," Young ordered.
Grand Junction U.S. Army Headquarters 7:00 A.M.
The sun was nearly halfway over the horizon; the steep mountain ranges that surrounded the town making it take longer for the dawn to break. Sheppard was busy overseeing the retreat of task force FOX, which had taken a pounding in the last assault. Most of their vehicles had been wiped out, forcing most of the unit's men to retreat on foot. Fortunately, thanks to the interlude in the attack a company of troops from the 35th Infantry had managed to liberate several school busses and get them refueled. Sheppard smiled as he looked outside his tent to see a trio of busses loaded to brim drive by to the east.
"Well Eva, I think we did it. We managed to cover the retreat," he sighed while rubbing his eyes.
"I think you're right sir, provided we don't get attacked again," she replied while packing up a computer and putting it in a crate to be loaded onto a nearby supply truck. "We now have literally nothing between us and them with all our men being pulled off the lines. Plus we don't have a command and control network either."
"Don't worry, those guys from the one-oh-one Airborne and 2nd Armored said they'll take over for us now," Sheppard said comfortingly.
"Yeah? Well who takes over for them? And what's one battalion and a few tanks gonna do to stop a whole division of troops?" Eva asked doubtfully.
"They're on the ground till we get out of dodge, then they head back to the highway and load up onto a second wave of C-17's."
Eva shook her head. "No way it's that simple. Either these poor guys are gonna get killed to save us and the civilians, or the PRA has an Ace up their sleeve and we all end up dead."
"Your optimism is reassuring," Sheppard said sarcastically as he took a swig of water from his canteen.
"Hard to be optimistic when half of the people you worked with for the last five years are now in body bags lying in a hospital parking lot," she said.
"I bet I could change your mind," he said nonchalantly.
"Oh yeah, how?" she asked, flicking her tail in mild interest.
"On the off chance we both make it out of this alive you let me buy you a drink sometime," he offered.
"I thought you were trying to make me optimistic, not give me a reason to kill myself," she replied sourly.
"Ouch, you didn't have to say it like that," he winced, his ears flattening across his head in mild embarrassment.
"I'm kidding!" she said, her tone changing quite dramatically as she playfully grinned at him. "But just so you know I don't actually drink..."
"Neither do I," he quipped with a grin of his own.
"Uh huh, sure," she replied while rolling her eyes.
"Hey Casanova! Cut the chatter and finish packing those computers up, alright?" yelled a disgruntled technician who hadn't realized he'd just addressed an officer.
Sheppard chuckled to himself and decided to let the infraction slide. It had been a long day and everyone was tired, and the last thing he needed was more paperwork. However, he figured that it wouldn't hurt to let the loudmouth who'd yelled at him move a couple more computers. Stepping outside Sheppard was greeted by the sight as a ragtag squad of soldiers marched into the camp and started rummaging through a crate of ammunition to reload their clips.
"Holy hell...Blackmon what'd you do to your uniform?" he chuckled in relief as he walked over to his fellow squadmate who was covered in gray concrete dust.
"Oh nothing, I just had a shopping mall almost fall on me," Blackmon laughed back.
Sheppard inspected the other members in Blackmon's squad. Jon, Tony and Jack he recognized, but Morris, Michael, Chris, and Straus he did not. He could tell from their uniforms that they were civilian militia that had been given the unfortunate task of holding the front line against a professional army. The fact that Strauss was wearing olive drab cargo pants and Chris was wearing blue jeans further revealed just how ill equipped they were.
"So, how many of your guys make it back?" Sheppard finally asked, his mind braced for what he knew would be a disheartening number.
"Out of the two companies of Marines we had there, maybe fifty, with another hundred or so wounded. The rest are still lying out there," Tony ruefully replied.
"It was a slaughter," Jon added. "If it weren't for that air support we'd have been toast."
"Damn," Sheppard swore. "What about the militia guys? How'd they do?"
Morris wiped some sweat from his brow before answering. "They made their country proud, that's all there really is to say."
Sheppard was about to further inquire, when he saw the long faces on Strauss, Michael and Chris. "...I'm sorry. I don't know what else to say."
"Forget it, we'll mourn them later," Morris sighed. "I just want to get my paws on the SOB who thought it was a good idea to send us up against enemy tanks with no armor support of our own."
"There was nothing left, trust me," Sheppard replied. "I saw just how many of our guys were left our here. The fact that you got called up is a testament to just how bad things were."
"They're still bad," Blackmon replied. "We've lost a lot of good men out there, and we'll probably lose more in a little while once the reds get their act together."
"True that," Tony replied. "What's even worse is I lost my Barret when we were leaving the mall."
"So grab an M-21," Sheppard groaned, "Jesus Tony, that's the third time you've lost your weapon in the field."
Tony shrugged remorsefully and walked off to inspect the armory tent to see if it had any hardware left in it. Blackmon just shook his head and smiled as he finished topping off a magazine.
"It's funny. I just remembered Christmas is in eleven days. I guess Tony will want a new sniper rifle, but all I want is revenge," Blackmon solemnly stated.
Sheppard turned as he noticed the ground rumbling beneath him. "Well Corporal, you just might get it."
Just then the reinforcements arrived, the M7A1's riding up in a column with the Kodiak's following close behind. Hundreds of paratroopers jogged behind or rode atop the tanks and Kodiaks. They had jumped ahead of the tanks so they'd be within walking distance of the town, but that didn't stop any of them from hitching a ride. Blackmon looked on in awe as he studied the new tanks that pulled up to the command tent just as it was being folded down. The lead tank parked and popped open its command hatch, allowing a sturdily built panther to climb out and walk towards a group of technicians doing a final inspection on their truck.
"Hey soldier, who's in charge here?" Young asked as he began to wonder if he was in the right place.
"That'd be Lieutenant Sheppard, sir," the man answered.
"Lieutenant? No no, I don't want your company commander. Where's your senior officer?"
"Dead," answered the other technician. "Sheppard took over and acted as the commander for our remaining forces after Colonel Vanderbilt got killed."
Young couldn't believe it. However, he also knew he had a job to do, and he could wait for the formal inquiry that would follow the battle to find out what happened to all of the senior command staff. "Alright, then where's Sheppard at?"
"Last time I saw him, he was heading over to the ammo dump to help clear it out before the Red's come knocking again, sir," the first technician replied wearily as he boarded his supply truck and drove off.
Sheppard, in the meantime had noticed Young disembark and had begun heading over on his own accord. "Hello Major...Young," he said reading the panther's name tag, "I take it you're looking for me?"
"That I am," Young replied once he realized whom he was talking to. "Are you really the officer in charge here?"
"For now sir, although most of my men are in the process of pulling back. We just took down our central C&C network, so all of my remaining units are operating under the order to retreat to the east and head for Denver," Sheppard explained.
"What about civilian evacuations?"
"The few police and fire department units that got left behind teamed up with the 35th Infantry to commandeer vehicles and start clearing out the eastern portions of the town. From the last report I got they were only about a quarter of the way done and need more time."
"Well you're in luck Lieutenant, because my unit's here to give you that time," Young said ardently. "Command knows that we need at least another hour to get all the civilians clear, plus thirty minutes to get far enough away from the town that they won't try to pursue any stragglers falling behind. Not to mention the fact that many of our retreating units ran out of fuel between here and Denver and we're having a bitch of a time getting gas to them."
Sheppard nodded and pulled out his phone, bringing up a map of the area on it and marking important locations. "Alright, so what's the plan for us?"
Young looked at the phone screen and began drawing imaginary lines across the landscape. "My tanks and infantry are going to dig in about half a click west of here, that's right on the edge of the town and the no-man's land that was formerly the town. We'll have more cover this way, and the enemy will have to advance over open terrain. My Kodiak's will guard our left flank and act as a diversion while my heavy assault company guards the right flank with mortars and Javelins. We've brought enough ammo and shells with us to annihilate a regiment or two, so we shouldn't have any trouble holding the line for ninety minutes."
"What about enemy air support?" Sheppard asked. "Their planes wreaked havoc on us earlier and according to your plan we'll be sitting ducks for their Q-5s and artillery."
"At this very moment we have a pair of F-22s making a deep strike against their mobile artillery positions. We probably won't get them all, but it'll certainly cripple their ability to pin us down. As for their planes, our F-15s shouldn't have any trouble keeping the skies clear. Earlier we shot down a good portion of their fighters, so they'll probably keep their remaining aircraft in reserve for defense."
"Hmm," Sheppard pondered momentarily. "How do we get out of here when it's over?"
"We?" Young asked cautiously.
"I ain't going anywhere but the front. I've fought a losing battle for almost twenty-four hours now, and I finally want to see us win for once."
Young smirked and nodded. "I hear you. The plan is to do a phased withdraw to the east towards the highway. There, another flight of C-17s will arrive, land, and allow us to rapidly load up and get airborne. The whole time we'll be covered by F-35s and F-16s, so it should go smoothly. I got a feeling that after they get a taste of what these new Petraeus tanks have to offer, they won't have any qualms letting us walk out of here."
Just then Blackmon walked up and saluted. "Sir, Lance Corporal Kyle Blackmon. Permission to ride shotgun on one of those tanks sir?"
"Corporal why in the hell would you want to do that?" Young asked dumbfounded. "These behemoths are going to be the first things the PRA shoots at."
"Because...well, just look at them sir! I'd give anything to get behind that mini-gun," Blackmon insisted.
"Denied, soldier. I admire your enthusiasm but this isn't a game. These tanks are built to take a lot of punishment, but that won't do you jack shit if you're sitting on the outside. Plus, the sonic concussion from the cannons will make you go deaf."
Blackmon hung his head and kicked a pebble. "Dang it, sir. Isn't there something I can do? I don't want to retreat with the rest of our forces here if I'm not hurt."
"Tell you what kid," Young relented. "I need some extra guys to crew the Kodiaks. They have to stop to reload their TOW missiles, and it'd be nice if they had someone to cover them."
Blackmon pumped his fist energetically, "Fuck yeah!"
Sheppard and Young watched as he trotted off to go round up the others and hustle them to the Kodiaks. "He seems to be enjoying this too much," Young observed.
"He's just a kid," Sheppard countered, "He still thinks he's invincible. Heck, maybe he is. Blackmon's been through hell all day and barely has a scratch on him."
"Trust me, that first bullet will knock all that enthusiasm right off his face," Young warned. "That's how it was for me."
"He's already been shot on a previous deployment. I guess he figures lightning can't strike in the same place twice," Sheppard said with a shrug.
"Yeah, well they don't say anything about what happens if it strikes one inch to the left the next time," Young gibed.
Matheson Residence: 7:10 A.M.
It had been nearly thirty-six hours since the attack had begun, and Rachel's family was still waiting for rescue. Her father was busy upstairs keeping watch from what had been his front yard. Douglas sighed as he looked out to the west, fearing what the large black plumes of smoke foretold. His family had managed to get some sleep while huddled in their confined, unfinished basement, while he had been up for nearly the entire ordeal. The ground constantly shook and dust fell from the basement rafters as the PRA shelled the American frontlines. At first the vibrations had been small, hardly noticeable. But as the American lines fell back, the ground shook with increased temerity. Despite several military convoys passing through his neighborhood during the opening hours of the battle, it appeared that evacuation procedures had stopped. Many of his neighbors had already left, and the ones that stayed had done so for the same reason he had--no car.
"Daddy? Are you okay?"
Douglas turned to see Rachel holding a cup of coffee and a blanket for him.
"Honey what are you doing out here? I told you and your mother you have to stay inside," he chided.
"I-I'm sorry," she winced, "I thought you might be getting cold."
Douglas forced a smile. "I am, thank you sweetie," he said while wrapping the blanket over his shoulders and taking the coffee into his quivering paws.
"What's gonna happen to us?" Rachel asked while staring out at the still darkened sky to the west.
"I don't know. I just...I don't know," Douglas wearily replied while taking a sip of coffee. "The National Guard said they'd evacuate us all, but I don't think that's gonna happen. I haven't seen or heard a military vehicle all night."
"I heard sirens a few blocks over," Rachel stated, "Not the air raid ones either. Like the kind you'd hear on a fire engine or something."
"Lucky SOB's," her father spat. He winced as he realized he'd almost sworn in front of his daughter. "Must've been some straggling emergency workers that managed to get out when there was a quiet moment. Does the TV still work?"
"No, not since last night. The radio stopped too, about two, maybe three hours ago." Rachel paused as she looked up to see a trio of large cargo jets soaring overhead. "Whoa...are those bombers?"
"Hmm? No, no...cargo planes most likely," Douglas replied. "Are they ours?"
"I can't tell. But if they are ours, what does that mean?"
Douglas took another sip of his coffee and glanced over at Rachel. "It means we probably just finished our retreat. Great, there's probably nothing standing between us and them now."
"What if they were dropping supplies off?" Rachel countered.
"Doubt it. If our radio went dead, that means there's no one left to work the station or transmitter. So, either the station got hit, or the Army can't spare a few guys to run the equipment. Either way, it bodes ill for us."
Rachel nodded, turning to her father and asking, "So...do you think the stories are true? How the PRA kills people they think will cause trouble?"
"Let's not dwell on that prospect," Douglas said soothingly.
Rachel cringed, trying to be strong, but deep down the fear of the unknown crept into the pit of her stomach, making her feel nauseous and uneasy. She'd only seen a few glimpses of the PRA on TV, but her ears had heard the constant sounds of war for over a day and a half now. It seemed nothing could stop the charging beast that was the PRA military machine, and it had her family locked dead in its sights. She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the images of her family being killed before her eyes, and yet a nagging feeling in her heart only made phantom scene stronger. Clenching her teeth, she clasped her hands together and silently spoke in her mind.
Lord, please...if you can hear me, send someone...anyone...to get my family out of here. Just make this go away, get us all somewhere safe. I beg in your Son's name, do this for me! I don't care if I live or die, all I want is to know that everyone I care about won't suffer at the hands of these monsters.
Rachel opened her eyes and took a deep breath, sighing in relief as the pain in her stomach slowly subsided. Praying always made her feel better on the inside, even if it didn't seem to do much on the world around her.
PRA Forward Operating Base "Crimson Scythe" - 7:10 A.M.
Reas blinked as the wind blew a few flakes of snow into his eyes. Turning his head, he looked to the east into the rising sun that crept over the horizon. It was red, as if the blood soaked earth it was escalating from had stained it during its ascension. In reality Reas knew this meant there would be more poor weather, probably another blizzard or snow storm. On the bright side, the latest frontline intel indicated that the Americans had almost fully withdrawn from the region, leaving only a thin line of troops to hold the center of Grand Junction while the rest escaped.
"Captain, are we ready go?" asked Lieutenant Curtis as he and his squad prepared to board a Type 07 IFV.
"Yes Curtis, we're ready," Reas replied as he stepped aboard and took his seat. "Damn, do you think the guys who engineer these things ever have to ride in them?"
"Don't know, but I'd sure like to get my hands on the jerk who did the measurements for the cargo area. They honestly think it's okay to fit eight men in this thing?" Curtis replied while shifting in his seat, trying to shove the cat next to him over a few inches.
Just then everyone's radios crackled with a new message. "Attention all units, this is Colonel Pang," came the voice in accented English. Reas knew that the PRA lacked senior officers, and many Chinese ones had been folded into the PRA Army to make up for the deficit. "Yankee forces stand ten miles to the east of us. Task Forces Delta and Echo will lead the assault. Form wedge pattern and attack with extreme prejudice. Out."
"These Chinese guys get straight to the point, huh?" Curtis observed.
"Just focus on not getting killed out there, okay?" Reas said. "One last mission, then we'll be home for Christmas before you know it."
"Heh, yeah," Curtis sighed. "I've heard that one before."
U.S. Army Front Line - 7:15 A.M.
Blackmon couldn't have been happier. He, Jack, Jon, and Tony had all piled into a Kodiak and were now speeding into position on their unit's left flank. Even Morris, Michael, Chris and Strauss had decided to come along instead of retreating, and now followed close behind in a second Kodiak. Blackmon looked out his window and grinned as he saw Young's tank easily crush a derelict car beneath its treads. Even better, he found out that each of the four tanks had been nicked named after Black Sabbath songs. In his mind, nothing beat having tanks named after the greatest hits from one of his favorite bands.
It was no accident that the tanks were named in this manner either, as Young was an avid metal fan. He smiled to himself as he drove his tank, "Iron Man," into position on the frontline and halted in place between a pair of bombed out buildings. To his left "War Pig" and "Wicked World" drove into their allocated spots between another set of structures. On his right sat "Paranoid," the only tank with an adjective for a title rather than a noun. Still, in Young's mind it still counted as a noun since he considered it to include the entire "Paranoid" album, and not just the song.
"Hey Major, are you sure it's safe for you to be on the front line like this?" asked Sergeant McCullough from his perch in "War Pig."
"I don't have a choice. There's no command and control network in place, and no one else here can drive my tank like I can," Young replied.
"True that sir, I'm just worried about having to take over for you if you get hit. I'm not trained to command a whole battalion," McCullough worried aloud.
"And you won't need to so long as you shoot straight and fast and keep the enemy from overwhelming us. Now stay sharp," Young ordered.
Flying 15,000 feet above the battlefield soared a lone F-22, this one a special reconnaissance variant that sat both a pilot, and a rear intelligence officer. Instead of carrying weapons in its internal bay, this F-22 carried state of the infrared cameras, sensors, a Doppler radar, and of course a target designation laser. The bay doors were modified as well so that they slid open rather than titled, helping to keep the plane's radar cross section low and untraceable. Ordinarily this plane would have been reserved for use on a special operations mission where UAV reconnaissance would be required, but impractical due to a UAV's slow speed. However, since the Chinese had successfully downed multiple U.S. military spy satellites right before the invasion of Grand Junction, there was very little intelligence on what was happening behind enemy lines. Now, that was all about to change.
"Eagle 1 this is Shadow Eye, we've just spotted a large PRA force advancing on your position, over," radioed the F-22's rear officer.
"Affirmative Shadow, how many hostiles you think are down here?" Young replied as he buttoned up his hatch and peered through his turret mounted periscope.
"Approximately...forty to fifty enemy tanks, Type 96s by the looks of it. They're traveling in four wedges, eleven to thirteen tanks across. It looks like they're behind flanked by IFV's, no doubt loaded with infantry," Shadow Eye replied.
Young heaved a sigh and tried to dry his now very sweaty palms on the knees of his pants. "Alright, all units prepare to engage. Pick your own targets and fire at will. All infantry units, seek cover and engage when it's safe. Kodiak units, advance to ambush site alpha and await further orders!"
Meanwhile, Sheppard was busy behind the lines loading a large supply truck with ammo boxes that would either go the front, or head east during the retreat so that the PRA couldn't use them. Inspecting the truck's cargo bay, he estimated there were about twenty boxes inside so far, each loaded with 800 rounds of 5.56x45mm. He knew that with the amount of PRA coming at them, they'd need every bullet they could get. Looking around, he realized he was the last one in the camp. Everyone else had either packed up, or lay dead in a body bag in the hospital parking lot. He felt a pang of shame for having to leave so many fallen soldiers behind, but it was either them, or hundreds of still living civilians and their families. In that context, it wasn't such a hard choice. Suddenly a pair of headlights shone in his eyes as a second truck pulled into the lot and parked next to him. Shielding his face with his paw, he heard the truck's door open and the driver disembark.
"There you are!" said a familiar voice. "I've been looking all over for you. Where's your radio?"
Sheppard lowered his paw and looked at Lieutenant Eva with a passive smile. "Sorry, I'm tuned into the command channel. What are you still doing here though, I thought I told you to retreat?"
"I was, until I realized we hadn't picked you up," she replied.
He paused and looked over at her truck. It was the same make and model as the one he was loading, although it had a noticeably higher number of bullet holes in across the hood and grill. "Where'd you get that truck?"
"Oh this old thing? I found it over in the motor pool," she said looking over her shoulder. "Our mechanics just left it so they could fix the tanks."
"It's been shot to hell, how'd you even get it to start?" Sheppard asked in disbelief.
"I duct taped the holes in the various hoses, put in a new battery, and refilled the motor oil," she replied confidently. After a second she noticed Sheppard's curious stare. "What? My dad's a technician for Toyota, he taught me some things."
"Well you couldn't have come at a better time. All our guys are either on I-70 or the front lines, and I could use a hand loading the last of these boxes they left behind."
"Are you crazy? I came all the way back here to pick you up and get out of dodge!"
"As grateful as I am for that, I can't just up and leave," Sheppard said, "Our guys are gonna need ammo soon, and that means you and I are the last two logistical personnel in this entire combat zone."
Eva bit her lip and looked off to the side. She knew staying here was utter suicide, but leaving her fellow soldiers in the middle of a fight wasn't right either, even if Sheppard's retreat order exonerated her from the crime of desertion.
"Sheppard...please, I know you want to help these guys, but they came here to save us. If we stay here we're gonna get killed just like them," she said.
"Yeah, probably. But is worth living the rest of your life knowing you left them to die?" he replied.
That tore it. Eva gritted her teeth and stamped the ground as hard as she could, her mind pouting one last time before heaving a sigh of consent. "Grrrr, damn it. Alright Shep, what do you need me to do?"
"Help me get the last of these boxes on board, then hop in the back and start loading clips. All the bullets in the world won't do our guys any good if they can't shoot 'em," he instructed.
"Got it."
"And Eva," he paused. "Thank you."
"You won't be thanking me when we get out of here," she growled. "Screw buying me a drink. You're buying me dinner at the most expensive place I can think of."
Sheppard grinned and chuckled to himself. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
PRA Mobile Headquarters - 7:15 A.M.
Voorhees sniffed his sleeve as his nose detected the faint stench of body odor. He'd been wearing the same clothes for nearly two days, and had only slept for about eight hours the entire time. He knew part of that was his fault, as his hands on approach to commanding left little time for rest. However, he'd also expected to have the town under his control by now. The Americans got lucky when that surprise storm hit, as it delayed his attack long enough for them to get further entrenched and regroup. Had he made his attack before the Americans could muster another wave of air support, he had no doubt that his men would be raising the flag in the town square right now.
Sighing to himself, he pushed all the thought of "what if" out of his mind and focused on the present. His aide returned a moment later with a thermos of coffee, which Voorhees gladly took. His mind was still somewhat fuzzy from his lack of sleep, and he knew he'd need to be awake once the final attack began. Setting the thermos down, he walked over to a row of computers that controlled the large projected map of the battlefield. The technicians worked tirelessly to keep the map updated as the massive wave of troops advanced towards the American lines.
"Alright, how long till our forces make contact?" Voorhees asked.
"Approximately three minutes, sir," a tigress answered from her post.
"Good. Do our scouts have eyes on the American front lines yet?"
"Yes sir, it appears that they have three companies of infantry deployed in a thin line near their former HQ. Most of their force appears to be gone, however," the tigress replied.
"They're retreating. That means we need to smash through their lines so we can catch them while they're still stuck on the highway. They can't possibly have enough fuel to make it back to Denver," Voorhees observed. "Ready our assault and transport helicopters. I want them to be ready to chase down and assault the American's on the highway as soon as possible."
"Right away sir."
"Also, how many vehicles do they have on their front?"
"We've only spotted four tanks sir..."
Voorhees scoffed aloud. "Pathetic. We'll run them over in no time."
"But they appear to be a new model, sir. These aren't M1A3 Abrams tanks," she stated.
"What? Do we have any pictures...any intel or something on these things?"
Another technician, a short lemur with glasses whose uniform didn't fit very well, raised his paw and timidly spoke up. "I-I have something! Our spies got wind of this about a month ago. It's the new Petraeus tank, sir."
The lemur pulled a picture up on his computer and waved Voorhees over.
"It's designed to be a complement to the Abrams tank, sir. It's a slow, heavy vehicle with massive firepower. It's twin barrels allow it to fire twice as many rounds per minute, and its various machineguns can tear infantry apart. However, it's slow and immobile due to the added armor and weapons, so our tanks should be able to just encircle them and destroy them without incident."
"I see, thank you Lieutenant Cantor," Voorhees said with a nod. "Order Colonel Pang to launch a pincer maneuver and encircle the American tanks. We'll crush them like a grape beneath our boots."
Grand Junction - 7:20 A.M.
"Major Young, this is Shadow Eye. The enemy tanks are switching formation and breaking off into two separate groups. Looks like they're gonna try to flank you from both sides."
"Copy, thanks for the heads up Shadow," Young replied.
"Well sir, what now?" Ulenski asked from his seat.
"Get ready to roll, we're about to take the fight to the enemy," Young replied. "Captain Wilson, do you read me?"
"Affirmative sir! We're in position awaiting your orders," Wilson replied over the radio.
"The PRA are launching a pincer strike, so get your men ready and find a place to hide. When we need you I'll call, then give the enemy a hit and run attack, understood?"
"You got it. All units, follow me! We're going on the attack!" Wilson cried over the radio as his driver gunned the engine and sped off into the fray.
As Young looked through his periscope and scanned the horizon, he noticed a faint cloud of dust to his right. Zooming in, he spotted five enemy Type-96s followed by six Type 07s and two ZBD-97s. His heart stopped for a second as it became apparent just how many troops the enemy had. Swallowing the lump that had arisen in his throat, Young took a quick breath and got to work.
"Gunner! Contact tanks and IFVs!" he said while using his command joystick to slave the turret's controls to him for a moment so he could swing the main cannons into position.
"Identified!" his gunner shouted in reply as he saw through his own gunsights the enemies his commander had spotted.
"LEFT GUN, FIRE!"
The gunner took a second as he lased the target tank to find its range. 2500 meters. Keeping the sight positioned over the center of the enemy tank, the gunner squeezed the trigger and shouted, "ON THE WAY!"
THUD-DOOM!
The whole tank rocked as a 120mm kinetic energy round flew forth, striking the enemy Type-96 right on the turret and detonating the shell it had loaded in its own cannon. The tank's turret blew off into air, flying fifty feet above it before crashing back down to the earth while its former body burned like the sun below it.
"Target!" Young shouted to confirm a direct hit. "Loader, left gun fire fire HEAT!"
"Copy! Left gun loading HEAT!" the loader replied as he worked the controls to load a High Explosive Anti-Tank round into the left cannon for use against the IFVs.
Young wasted no time designating another target for his gunner, and quickly picked out another Type-96. "Gunner! Target tank!"
"Identified!"
"FIRE!"
"ON THE WAY!"
THUD-DOOM!
This time fire belched forth from the right cannon, sending another kinetic energy round down range to strike its target in the treads. Instantly the Type-96 was immobilized and spun to the right as its right track came off in a dozen pieces.
"Target! Re-engage!"
Meanwhile the loader had finished putting a HEAT round into the left cannon. "HEAT up!" he shouted to signify the gun was loaded and ready.
"Loader, right cannon fire fire sabot!" Young said to indicate he wanted another kinetic energy round loaded.
Before he could take another shot, the gunner watched as War Pig fired and finished off the wounded Type-96. Swinging the turret to the left, he brought his left gunsight to bear on a Type-07 IFV.
"PC targeted!" he yelled to let Young know he had his gun trained on a personnel carrier.
"FIRE!"
"ON THE WAY!"
THUD-DOOM!
Unlike the kinetic energy rounds which were designed to pierce armor, the HEAT rounds exploded on contact. Upon connecting with the Type 07 the shell detonated into a massive fireball that tore open the side of the vehicle and incinerated the crew and passengers before they could so much as comprehend they'd been hit.
"Target!" Young shouted over the sounds of the battle erupting all around him.
Suddenly the tank rocked as the sound of crumbling steel filled their ears. Young's face smashed into his dashboard, the buttons and knobs leaving bruises on his cheek as he tried to grasp what just happened.
"Sir, we just got hit!" Ulenski shouted back.
"Damage report! What'd we lose?" Young asked, trying to remain calm.
"Nothing yet, I think it only struck the front," he replied.
Looking back through his periscope, Young slaved the turret again and swung to the left where he spotted a formation of eight enemy Type 96's approaching from 2000 meters. Together all tanks fired, launching a volley of 125mm shells that tore the nearby structures apart. War Pig also took a pair of hits, leaving it crippled as its suffered shock damage to some of its cylinders and pistons.
"Iron Man this is War Pig, we just took a hit! Our engine's failing on us, we're a sitting duck over here!"
Young gritted his teeth and quickly formulated a plan. "Roger that. All units! Focus fire on the tanks to our left! Wicked and Paranoid, advance on my lead!" With that, Young turned to Ulenski and said, "Full speed advance! Straight ahead!"
He knew this wasn't a smart move, as he was moving from cover and putting himself in a crossfire. However, he was hoping the enemy wouldn't expect such a move and he'd be able to counter flank the enemy pincer attack.
"Gunner! Target tank!"
"Identified!"
"FIRE!"
"ON THE WAY!"
THUD DOOM!
"Target!" Young cried as he watched with earnest satisfaction of watching another enemy tank burst into flames. Seconds later another three of the tanks were burning as Wicked World and Paranoid each emptied both of their barrels.
"Loader, both barrels fire fire sabot!"
"Left gun, UP!" the loader replied as he finished working the automatic loader and stuffed another 120mm shell into the left cannon.
"Gunner, target tan-"
KEWBOOM!
"Fuck!" the gunner shouted as Iron Man was struck again by one of the surviving Type 96s. "Sir we just lost the stabilization!"
"Switch over to emergency mode," Young commanded as his mind worked to formulate the proper response.
Without the stabilization, the tank would now be a rougher ride while going off road, and the barrels would be harder to keep steady as the tank moved. Even worse, when they fired the tank. would rock like a dingy in a typhoon, throwing everyone around inside the vehicle. All they could do was switch over to emergency mode to adjust the targeting computer, as it could no longer tell if the tank was sitting on a level surface or not.
"Gunner, engage at will!" Young shouted.
"Affirmative! FIRING!"
THUD DOOM!
"Missed! It landed short of him!" the gunner shouted. "Damn it Ulenski, stop the tank, I can't fire while we're moving anymore."
"If we stop we'll be sitting ducks!" Ulenski fired back.
"Iron Man this is Paranoid," crackled a message over the tank's internal radio, "All targets eliminated. You guys alright?"
Young shook his head and activated his microphone. "Yeah, yeah we're good. We lost our stabilization though, and War Pig's engine is out. Everyone back into position, the next wave has got to be only seconds away."
Meanwhile, a couple of miles to the southwest Captain Wilson and his platoon of Kodiaks were tensely awaiting orders. They had managed to hide in a shelled out neighborhood, hiding them from the sights of the approaching hoard of enemy tanks. They had all been listening on Major Young's channel as the battle unfolded. Blackmon was impressed that the M7A1s had managed to take out nearly three times their number in enemy tanks with no losses themselves. For a moment he almost wished he'd join the tank divisions instead of the infantry, but then he remembered that in a tank one is a lot less mobile and has a greater chance of getting shot. Suddenly everyone's radios came to life as Young contacted Wilson.
"Captain, get your Kodiaks on the move and flank the next wave of tanks. We took some hits and we're trying to get ourselves entrenched again, but we need some time."
"You got it sir, we're Oscar Mike!" Wilson replied. "Everyone get buckled up, we're rolling out!"
With Wilson in the lead, the eight Kodiaks tore down the road and out into the wasteland that had once been western Grand Junction. Only a few frames of buildings still stood, as fires and constant artillery bombardments had leveled everything else. After about a minute of traveling northwest at fifty miles per hour, the column of trucks spotted the next wave of enemy tanks on the horizon.
"Platoon halt!" Wilson ordered. "Gunners, ready TOW launchers."
Despite the fact that the Tube Launched Optically Sighted Wire Guided missile dated all the way back to the 1970s, it was still in use due to its stellar track record for accuracy and one hit tank kills. Each roof mounted launcher held two TOW rockets, giving the eight Kodiaks the ability to wipe out an entire column of tanks, provided everyone's missile flew true.
"Targets sighted!" one of the rear Kodiak gunners stated.
From the angle they were firing at they could only see a couple of tanks on the PRA's right flank, as they were in a line abreast formation that made an attack from the sides difficult.
"Kodiaks one and two, pick your targets and engage! Three and four, follow up when we're done," Wilson ordered. He knew they needed to conserve their TOWs, as they only had four per truck, and they couldn't afford to waste any by shooting the same tank twice.
With that, the lead two Kodiaks let loose a pair of TOWs, the gunners keeping the launcher's targeting reticles over the tanks to steer the rockets in. Three tense seconds later they each connected with a Type 96, stopping each one in its tracks and blowing the turret clean off of one. However, before a follow up attack could be made the six ZBD-97 IFVs following behind the tanks pulled off to the side to engage this unseen force that had ambushed them. Quickly they unloaded their chalk of infantry as they each fired their 75mm cannons.
Wilson wasted no time ordering his Kodiaks to get moving again, knowing full well that mobility was key to their survival. Shells exploded all around them, but fortunately the ZBD-97 gunners were still a little shaken from the initial ambush and not shooting completely straight. The eight Kodiaks split into two squads of four, with the first four heading to the left of the ZBDs and the second four heading to the right. The ZBD gunners panicked and failed to properly adjust for range, causing many of their shells to fly over or short of the Kodiaks.
"All gunners, fire at will!" Wilson shouted.
With that, a barrage of TOWs sailed forth at the half dozen ZBDs, each striking home and destroying the vehicles completely.
"Kodiaks 1 through 4, fall back and reload. 5 through 8, mop up the infantry with your M2s and then regroup with us," Wilson ordered, his voice now much more calm.
Life had just gotten a lot worse for the PRA infantry that now lay trapped in the open with only the smoldering hulks of their ZBDs to take cover behind. Over the chattering sounds of battle they could hear the revving of engines, and out of the darkness they spotted a quartette of tan vehicles approaching. A thunderstorm erupted before them, as the twin M2s atop each Kodiak erupted with lightning flashes of .50 caliber gunfire. Hot red tracer rounds sailed overhead as the PRA troops desperately hit the ground and tried to ready what little anti-vehicle ordinance they had available.
The high caliber rounds easily penetrated their body armor, leaving a gapping two inch wide hole in their backs as the bullets passed through them. Sometimes as many as three men would be struck by the same round, and if they were lucky it'd be in the chest or head. A hit to those parts of the body would kill them instantly, while a shot to the arm or leg would simply detach said limb from the unlucky bastard's body. As the Kodiak's finished their run, the gunners noticed several corpses that had been torn completely in half at the waist, while others had no heads or legs.
"This is Kodiak 5, all hostile infantry eliminated. We're heading back to regroup, over."
PRA Mobile Headquarters - 7:40 A.M.
"General, we're receiving a transmission from General Yang of the PLA's 4th Army," Lieutenant Cantor stated as he patched the message through to the command tent's main screen.
Voorhees kept a blank expression as a video link was established between him and an older Siamese tom cat, perhaps in his late fifties. The Siamese did not look happy, and from the four stars that rested on his shoulders, he was clearly a higher rank than Voorhees.
"General Voorhees," Yang began, "I have received word that your forces have failed to secure Grand Junction."
"We got delayed, we're still in the process of pushing the last of the American forces out..."
"I did not call you to listen to excuses!" Yang sharply interrupted Voorhees. "I've seen your casualty figures, and they are most unacceptable. You are to report back to us in Salt Lake City within the next forty-eight hours to explain yourself."
"General Yang, with all due respect I've nothing to explain. My failure to stick to your ridiculous timeframe is solely the fault of a freak winter storm that passed through. Why was I not informed by our meteorologists that there was a coming blizzard? And why have I not been given sufficient SAM sites to cover my troops from American air attack? Explain that to me General, then we'll talk about my short comings."
Yang cringed at Voorhees' audacious comments. "Your insolence will only hurt you more Voorhees, I suggest you shut your mouth and start doing your job. And since I don't think you can, I'm lending you reinforcements. I've sent a detachment of Z-10 attack helicopters to assist you. They should be arriving shortly. Furthermore, my men will be relieving your division shortly after you finish securing the city to bolster it from American counter attack. See that to it that you do not fail General, as your contract with us is only good so long as you are useful."
With that, Yang ended the transmission and left Voorhees to simmer in anger. He knew that Yang had a point, the city should have been taken by now. But the weather had killed his momentum and given the Americans time to regroup, not to mention the fact his air power was outmatched. That had really been the deciding factor. Maybe now that he was getting some helicopters he'd have an easier time of it.
"Cantor, I was not aware there were any Chinese units in our sector," Voorhees asked his aide.
"It appears General Yang moved elements of the PLA's 45th Infantry division and 15th Air Corps into southern Colorado and began setting up a support base roughly a hundred miles south of our position."
"If that's the case his helicopters will need to land at our base to refuel," Voorhees observed. "Inform air traffic control we've got friendly helicopters entering our airspace, and that the ground crews should be prepared to service them."
"Yes sir," Cantor replied as he jotted down his orders on a notepad. "Anything else?"
"Yes, have them prepare a contingent of Blackhawks, I'll want to personally inspect Grand Junction once we've taken it."
"Affirmative sir, but...are you sure you'll want to approach it if we use White Lotus?" Cantor asked.
"Let's wait for the helicopters to deal some damage, then we'll talk about Lotus," he replied. "After all, it is merely...a final solution to an otherwise tenacious problem."