The Hunters of Belka
March 27, 1995
Hoienstalt Air Base, Northern Belka
The small group of Transall C-160 cargo planes sat on the tarmac, their engines humming steadily as the pilots waited for the clearance to take off. The nationwide priority for aircraft launch were still the fighters, strike fighters and bombers, though as the Ustians to the south collapsed under the Belkan war machine, newer elements joined the fray. Tonight, Oberstabsgefreiter (Corporal) Micheal Horst would be among them. He sat in one of the transports packed with riflemen of the elite 3rd Fallschirmjäger Battalion. Despite his anxiousness, he tried his best to sit still, keeping his gear in place. He had what many could consider way more than the human body should carry, but the training had made him tough.
The atmosphere was brimming with patriotism, Michael had proudly observed. Every soldier had his maroon beret on him, and Fallschirmjägerlied had been played as the men and their gear had been loaded onto the planes. Each man had also been issued a fresh patch for his unit. Their patch seemed to be an odd little paradox; it was a single Edelweiss flower. But that flower was the mark of a true soldier. The young man of 19 glanced at the standard on his left shoulder and felt the Transall turn onto the runway. The engines' noise swelled, and then the plane lurched forward.
Michael had joined the Belkan military as the Workers Party was saving the country from economic ruin, when young men and even women everywhere were being called to join. He had joined due to that swell of pride, and also to impress a girl; the daughter of his town's mayor. The chestnut-haired Doreen Vorenhaust had become absolutely enthralled when Michael confidently told her he would become a Fallschirmjäger. With her promise to elope with him when he returned, he was now off to fight.
As the plane settled into a stable mode of flight, he reflected on his job and the mission instead of mulling over patriotism repeatedly. Their target was a crossroads in the village of Sellier, which the soon to be advancing ground forces would use. It was a simple matter of clearing and holding, setting up positions from which to throw back any Ustian forces that would try to counterattack. They expected to face mechanized infantry of the Ustian Army, and possibly elements of an Ustian Armored battalion in the area equipped with the country's only Challenger 1 MBTs. Though there were only 36 examples of such a machine in the country, the intel officer who'd briefed them said, they were still a very powerful threat, especially to lightly-equipped paras. They would be supported by Wiesel AWCs of their own unit as well as BAF aircraft.
"Hey Horst, do you think these Ustians will actually fight? They've barely been a country for ten years! We've been around for centuries!" Hauptgefreiter (Specailist) Hans Steiner asked next from next to him. Hans was the squad's MG3 gunner, and the man whom Michael carried ammo for.
"I cannot be sure, Hans; they may be desperate." He replied over the engine noise.
"But they must surely be broken! We have been bombing them for days!" His friend insisted.
Michael nodded slowly after a minute. Before he opened his mouth, he felt the plane jolt a little. At first he assumed anti-aircraft weapons, but word quickly got around that it was nothing more than turbulence. Things again settled down, and Michael impatiently waited for something to happen. There were no signs of anything resembling enemy resistance, and the darkness obscured any views outside. Michael could not check his rifle, for it was in its pouch, and in due time he would make sure it was all ready. Out of boredom, and a growing amount of pent-up energy, he entertained himself with thoughts of Doreen. He'd become almost completely lost in them when the thump of boots went down the left aisle of the C-160
"Ten minutes to drop, stand up!" One of the Transall's crew, known as the "Jump Master", shouted as he reached the cargo bay door. Michael threw his body weight forward and brought himself to his feet.
"Hook up, then check your gear!" The Jump Master ordered.
The young man grabbed his night vision goggles and brought them down over his eyes, bathing the cargo bay in a fuzzy green. The paratrooper hooked his parachute to the line and ran his fingers over it to make sure it was properly secured. The thought of his parachute failing to open upon exiting the craft got more disdain than fear from him. To be killed that close to combat, what an embarrassment! The hands of Stabsgefreiter (Lance Corporal) Otto Jahn then helped Michael check his equipment. Michael did the same for his squad mate before he turned forward. After a few minutes, the Transall made a sudden and displeasing jolt to the right.
Unbeknownst to the paras of the 3rd Fallschirmjägers, the consolidation of things north of Directus meant that the once scattered forces of the Ustian military were now lumped together and despite the odds, starved of blood to draw. In addition, every noncombatant had been taken south; the Ustians were basically free to go trigger happy. Below, gunners chattered away with their M163 Vulcan Air-Defenses systems at the planes hitting the forward parts of the defense line. Their SAMs had been either destroyed by raids only minutes before or taken to the capital though, freeing the vulnerable transports from the worry of being attacked by MIM-23 HAWKs.
A red light came on, though Michael only knew it was red from training. The Jump Master, joined by another one of his kind, both opened the rear doors and made sure the line was still okay. The one of Michael's side gave the briefest glance outside, then said something via his headset to the pilots. The blonde fidgeted and waited for the light to change. The plane moved again to avoid the fire below.
"Sound off for your equipment check! Left side!" One of the Jump Masters shouted.
Michael gulped down and heard the shouts come up the line from behind him, starting at thirty. He waited, each shout spiking his adrenaline. He felt Jahn slap a hand down onto his right shoulder and declare "Thirteen okay". He did the same to Steiner.
"Twelve, okay!" He bellowed. The Jump Master seemed to smile as the head of the line confirmed he was okay.
"Left side is okay!" He confirmed.
As the right side did the same, Michael found himself quietly praying and sending his love to those waiting his return. He secretly desired to return instead of accepting that idea of death for one's country. In a way, he hypothesized, everyone wanted that. He was not alone, he told himself.
"Green light! Go, go, go!"
The Corporal's head jolted up as the line began to move forward. He moved his legs a little and waited until Hans started moving. He pushed himself forward as fast as his squad mate.
"For the Fatherland!" They chanted as they shuffled briskly.
The young rifle man gripped both sides of the door and with the Jump Master screaming in his ears, went forward. Michael forced his eyes to remain open as he leapt from the doorway into the open air. The cool burst of wing hit his face as he fell for a few brief seconds; and his body natural screamed at him how this was a bad idea. But after a second or two of freefall his parachute yanked open. The young Corporal struggled to gain some sort of situational awareness as he drifted down. He got his eyes on flashes as the chute blossomed and jolted him into a slow descent. It felt much slower than training.
Very quickly he felt fear at the realization he was nothing more than a floating target to the forces down there. He strained his eyes, trying to pick out AA guns or sources of fire. No doubt the fire was from everything from rifles to large-caliber weapons. He looked straight down and saw a field approaching his feet; the rifleman braced himself and waited. The ground almost made a sound as it rushed up. Michael hit feet first and collapsed onto the ground with a snarl. He struggled to his feet quickly and pushed the parachute away from him. His first instinct was to detach himself from the gear. As soon as the harness fell onto the grass, he scrambled to get his G3A4 ready. He raised the weapon and swung his head in all directions, looking for his comrades. He saw figures moving to the left.
"For the Fatherland?!" He shouted, issuing the proper challenge.
"For the people." Hans replied, finishing the BVAP's motto.
Michael spotted more parachutes landing in the dark and ran towards them, shouting the challenge to each man as he approached them. The paratroopers began to gather at their LZ a few miles north of the actual objective. The battalion command had established a post at a barn nearby, and already they were trying to coordinate fire support and see if the Wiesel mortar carriers had landed safely. The two infantry companies were being put back together for the assault southwards, while the Wiesel company was landing. Michael and his platoon began a steady push towards the objective at the Ustians' right flank. The Corporal looked up at the sky; the tracers were dying down as the C-160s left for home. He dared a look behind as they marched and saw a few large trails of smoke. More Transalls, he guessed.
The road towards the town was surrounded by farmland. The only people out though were the paras themselves; there weren't even more than a few cows in the fields that'd been left by their owners. They were vulnerable without any kind of armored transport, but so far they weren't receiving any kind of challenge from the Ustians. It was, for a minute, like the old days during the Border War of the 1940s when despite the coming mechanization of armies, marching was still a popular form of transit. The platoon stopped short of a thick tree line and was set on either side of the road. Michael craned his neck and looked beyond to spot a few boxy shapes in the near distance.
Word got passed down the line. Four MG teams were positioned in the tree line, with a sharpshooter between each team. Michael and Hans would be among one of the MG teams moving into the town. One of the radio operators with the platoon commander radioed back to the Battalion CP in order to see if the mortars had arrived yet. From what the young rifleman noticed, only a few had. The rest were still unaccounted for to his displeasure. The company leader, a Hauptmann (Captain), summoned both the platoon commanders again and gave them final instructions. Again word was passed down: move forward in three minutes. Michael slid the magazine from his G3 and checked it before he slapped it back in and looked forward. To his left, he heard the clean, mechanical whine of Wiesels as they took up positions.
"First Platoon, move forward and secure the buildings to the right." The company commander ordered. Michael looked forward and got up to follow his fellow soldiers.
"Come on! Move fast!" Leutnant (Second Lieutenant) Ulrich Lant ordered, motioning purposefully towards the structures in the distance.
The platoon spilled out onto a field that'd been recently cleared of trees. Michael and Hans aimed their path of movement towards a backyard fence. Suddenly a loud sound erupted from one of the windows: an M60 machine gun. Michael and his friend took cover near a stump as the Ustian LMG chattered away at the incoming attack, cutting down several infantrymen. One of the Wiesels responded with its 25mm cannon. Michael fired twice at the window as well before he got up and maneuvered around the stump to clear a path for his friend. He could hear movement in the stone buildings around him. Michael looked down the alley and tried to spot an entrance into the building. He was joined by Hans and a few other soldiers. One, a Stabsunteroffizier (Sergeant) who lead another squad, motioned to a side door.
"Put a grenade through that door's window so we can breech it." He ordered, pointing at the entrance, then Michael.
The Corporal pulled a DM51 fragmentation grenade from his web gear and set his rifle against the wall. He pulled the pin, counted to three, and threw it inside, shattering a window on the door.
"Grenade!" An accent not too unlike the Belkans' own cried.
Michael branched himself, turning his back towards the door. After a few seconds there was a muffled explosion, followed by the window exploding outwards. Michael turned around as a Gefreiter (Private) kicked in the weakened door and went inside, G3 raised. Michael followed him inside to observe the damage. It was pretty gruesome, as evidenced by the trio of now mutilated Ustian infantry men and broken FN FAL 50.61s across the room. It was an unnerving sight, but the young Horst was far too on edge to give it serious attention. The house had yet to be cleared.
Michael heard footsteps thundering down to his right and spotted an Ustian soldier in older Osean combat gear appear from around a corner. He jammed back the trigger and raised his weapon, planting two rounds in the Ustian's stomach and a third in his chest. The man stopped and dropped his rifle as he collapsed backwards in mortal agony.
"Get that MG up to the second floor, now!" The Stabsunteroffizier barked.
Michael led his friend up the stairs, shooting another Ustian as they went to the second floor. As he reached the top, the thunderous crack of an FN FAL broke a lamp that he'd just passed. The rifleman whipped to the side and fired at the doorway that had a barrel. He kept doing so until his enemy had fallen. Michael burst into the room and checked it; it was empty. The rest of the Ustian occupiers had apparently been below as he heard rifle cracks. The sergeant barked at the men upstairs to set up their MG3 as another man with a Panzerfaust 3. Came up Michael looked out a window and spotted multiple muzzle flashes across the street. Another M60 had been placed inside a narrow store, but that was the heaviest weapon he saw thus far. No armor.
Hans set the MG3 on the dresser and peered down the weapon's sights. He spotted a store across the way housing Ustian infantry and let the LMG do its job. The weapon made its distinct chatter as it chewed up the enemy position. Hans made controlled bursts after a brief phalanx of rounds. The Ustians disappeared in the dust from the chewed up walls and makeshift cover that were a few shelves. Michael was already getting another round of bullets ready, setting it up for Hans before he went to another window to his left and pulled it up. He leveled his rifle and waited for a target. Before anything else, the order came through to advance into the town and secure the road junction itself one more block in and to the right.
Michael and Hans brought up the rear as they retreated downstairs and back into the street advancing into town this time. The sergeant poked his G3 around the corner before he ordered forward the rest of the makeshift squad to the other side of the street. They then moved parallel with the roadway to the next intersection. The sergeant checked around the corner, and was greeted by another Ustian position at the end of the road, in the center of the traffic circle that was their objective. The sound was more in line with the M2 heavy machine gun, a little slower than an MG3 but far deeper. The emplacement separated its fire between the two corners of the street before it. Michael held fast and then heard the familiar sound of a Wiesel.
Across the street one of the AWCs appeared, 25mm cannon chuffing away at the MG nest. The M2 responded before it was destroyed, denting up the frontal armor, but failed to do any disabling damage to the machine. The Wiesel rolled forward, firing a few more rounds to fully suppress the Ustian emplacement, and the two squads fell in behind the Wiesel as it advanced down the street, another armed with a MILAN launcher, took up the advance behind them. Far away on both sides, Michael heard the sounds of battle as the battalion's parent division fell upon the line. The temporary squad leader gave the command for the others to let the light AFV pass.
The squads fell into a pair of lines and advanced behind the Wiesel briefly before fanning out once in the square. To the left were a church and some damaged houses, while an open market sat to the right. The MILAN carrier went to the left while the 25mm took the right. Michal and his squad took up position among some tipped over café tables. The sergeant motioned to a nearby alley and an abandoned hatchback, ordering the MG team to set up using it. Hans deployed the weapon on the hood of the car while Michael put himself on the left of his friend. Across the street, another bunch of Ustian soldiers popped off rounds at the Belkan paratroopers now coming into the square in force. There were now roughly four squads clearing out their side of the area.
Michael emptied what remained of his magazine into one of the infantry positions. As he crouched down to reload, Hans got the MG3 chattering away until the other members of the squad could join in with their own weapons. Michael nailed an Ustian on a roof across the square, a sniper he guessed as he saw the M21 rifle tumble down from the top of the structure. The Wiesel with a 25mm provided suppressing fire while the ATGM carrier reserved its weapon for more worthwhile targets. As the latter vehicle got to the other side of the junction, a rocket emerged from one of the windows and struck it. The Wiesel stopped cold and began to burn. One man, in the process of batting out a small fire on his sleeve, was shot as he tried to dismount, though he was spared being burned when he fell on the flame. Michael saw he was only wounded, and requested that he be allowed to rescue the man. The sergeant would go with him under the cover of Hans and the others.
With Hans still blasting away, the two men pressed towards the burning AWC; the sole survivor was trailing blood from his back. Michael took a knee next to him and fired several rounds at the Ustians. The AFV crewman was spitting and coughing insults to the enemy soldiers, from simple ones to particularly obscene ones. The sergeant helped him up while Michael covered their retreat back to the café. The man was taken inside, where another squad with a medic was. The sergeant then ordered the rest of the squad to prepare and clear out a building closer to the other end of the street. As Hans was lifting the MG, a deep rumbling filled the space. It was distinctly mechanical from what Michael could tell. He heard the sound of crumbling walls.
"Enemy armor, get to hidden positions!" the sergeant ordered.
Michael and Hans were inside the café and away from windows, then up the stairs to the second floor. At the top there was a small window; Michael approached it with caution and looked outside. He nearly gasped when he saw what was making the noise. The Challenger 1 appeared like a lumbering behemoth from the wreckage of the house, the barrel of its 120mm gun leveled at the other Wiesel as it tried in vain to escape. With a pronounced bang it obliterated the small AWC with a High-Explosive Anti-Tank (HEAT) round. About a dozen painful things happened in rapid succession to the small vehicle, and what was left was a scattered heap of everything from fragments of cooked-off ammo to human remains that were no different in appearance than the charred metal.
In an almost instant response, someone across the street fired a Panzerfaust 3. It struck the track of the Challenger and disabled it, but did not kill it. As the Ustian tank pivoted its turret, the sergeant ordered the squad's own AT man upstairs to shoot at the machine while it was down. The man rushed behind Michael and onto a balcony. The tank fire once more, this time at the origin of the rocket that'd stopped it, and blew out the entire first floor of that building. The AT man fired his rocket; Michael dared a look out into the square and saw the rocket bounce off the tank. His jaw opened just a little as all that was left was a smudge on the enemy tank. The Challenger again swiveled its gun, this time towards them.
"Get out of the way, you damned moron!" Horst shouted to the AT man.
His comrade didn't need to be told twice; the man was going down the stairs in a matter of seconds. Not soon after the entire house was rocked as part of it fell away and crashed onto the street in a symphony of crumbling stone and other building materials. Dust flooded down the stairwell and washed over Hans and Michael. They two began to cough violently.
"Hans, Hans are you okay?" Michael shouted through the clouded darkness.
"I am fine, are you?" the MG gunner replied.
"Yes!" Michael assured.
Michael felt his ears ringing from the shell impact. He wiped the dust off his face and hacked some more He wiped the dust off his night vision goggles with his sleeve. As his ears started to calm down, he could hear the squad leader shouting.
"Valkyrie 6, Valkyrie 6, this is Valkyrie 3-2, we have reached the square but an enemy tank has us under fire and pinned down! Our ATGM carrier has been knocked out, and it's firing on us!"
Back at the battalion's CP, the staff was coordinating with the Belkan Air Force in order to get their now stalled soldiers some support. The Ustian Challenger 1 battalion they'd feared had come in full force, and was presenting the Wiesels and infantry with a very staunch obstacle. Luckily their friends in the Belkan Air Force were willing to help. The few remnants of the UAF that hadn't fled Ustio were too busy guarding Directus; the only air defense along this line had been ground-based. Flights of strike fighters and light attack aircraft were practically lined up to help. The sergeant with Valkyrie 3-2 was given his support.
High above, a pair of Mirage 2000D strike aircraft cruised at 12,000 feet as they were called in. Each carried two BGL-400 laser-guided bombs on their inner-wing pylons. The 2000D was an interdictor more than anything; Belkan didn't value specialized support aircraft like the Osean A-10, Usean Harrier, or Yuktobanian Su-25. But it got the job done when coupled with weapons such as the 400. The flight lead of "Meteor 3" checked in with both his AWACS back over Belka and the MiG-29 escort before he reached down and punched away his centerline fuel tank.
The Mirage was brought into a slow, shallow dive as it came in on the site of the Challenger 1. In the rear cockpit, the Weapon Systems Officer carefully centered the laser designation pod underneath him on the tank. He waited until the crosshairs were centered before he fired the invisible laser down and onto the piece of armor. There was a few seconds as the bomb on the port wing caught one of the reflected beams. When he got the cue from his systems, the co-pilot passed the word and the pilot released the weapon. Down below, Michael only heard the Mirage as it pulled out of its attack. He then only heard the bomb when it impacted. It sounded kind of like the Challenger's gun, albeit not as sharp.
Michael was ordered back downstairs so the far side of the square could be taken. There were still a number of soldiers in the immediate area, and they were only made more stubborn by the growing desperation of the situation. Hans replied in kind as he and Michael made a beeline for the center of the junction.
"Retribution, Ustian pigs!" The rifleman cried as he watched the tank burning.
Michael took a knee near a fallen pillar and fired on one of the buildings that Ustian troopers were inside. Hans chattered away just a few feet away at the position. Several other infantry came across under their cover and took up positions. The sound of a Wiesel once again filled the ears of the paras, and fresh reinforcements came into the area. Another 25mm Wiesel suppressed the Ustians until the shooting died down. Then, Michael spotted something: a soldier trying to escape down an alley. He could tell the man was trying to be discrete despite an injury. The Belkan rifleman didn't think twice; he shot the man without remorse, and watched him fall. In a way it was karmic retribution for what had happened earlier.
The fire finally died down completely, at least in the near area. The AWCs took up fighting positions on the flanks of the square while more infantry flooded into houses and into the various floors to cover the area. Michael couldn't help but feel another swell of national pride at the way the men moved swiftly and with coordination. He was one of them, too. The Ustians were just sheep to be slaughtered at this point. He still felt no guilt at killing the wounded man. It had seemed both insignificant and justified. Little did young Michael Horst know what path the war would take, and how the nationalist image would crumble with nuclear fire. Little did he know that in his older years, when he became a man of peace, when he became a doctor working for the UN, it would end up being the single greatest regret in his life.
A/N: The MILAN-carrying Wiesel was my own idea, since the missile system doesn't seem to get that much attention in Ace Combat. The same goes for the motto of the Belkans' ruling party, the Fatherland and Workers Party. The Ustians sporting Challenger 1s came from the thought that the Ustians would want to try and beef their military up with more advanced weapons to supplement what we generally know as less capable machines compared to nations like Belka or Osea.