0140 – Kamatchka combat space
Beaseley's frontline was in trouble. The air support that had withdrawn was seriously hampering his ability to fight. His tanks were in good defensive positions and holding their perimeter quite well. However there were very many Russian tanks and his gunship and IFV squadrons were immediately behind his forward tank perimeter. On both sides, gunships darted back and forth, trying to goad the other to commit to combat. The Mi-55 Locust transports had begun deploying their infantry troops which Beasely knew to be Spetsnaz trained riflemen or heavy weapons specialists.
"How are the other areas holding out?" He released his concentration from the battle for just a moment.
"Sir, all companies are reporting complete surprise at other combat AO's and are pulling back as ordered." The radio officer in contact with the other elements of the strike said. Those other hits were just simultaneous raids to neutralize the enemy's submarine force. The real prize was here, at the Russian's intact satellite uplink facility and naval base. Unfortunately the garrison Russian force hadn't taken the bait and spread their troops out like Beasely hoped they would. They were concentrating here, knowing exactly what was at stake. Nobody said the Russians were stupid.
His left flank and the rifle platoon there had succeeded in snatching the Uplink and a Valkyrie was deploying Rottweiler combat drones to protect it. His right flank was still chugging along, apparently Captain Goff had been incapacitated and her XO, although quick to take up the unexpected responsibility, was slow to improvise and hesitant. Not that Beasely could exactly blame them, the path to their target was riddled with a maze of alleyways and sidestreets that made for several perfect ambush points. The three rifle platoons on that side were undergoing vicious street battles where snipers would take potshots and then vanish into the night. The fastbacks sent to reinforce were helping some but they were mainly being used to ferry the wounded.
"Banshee here, building is clear. We're setting charges."
"Banshee, Creeper, contact with multiple foot mobiles, about three platoons-hard contact! Hard contact!"
Beasely whirled around to the tactical hologram and shifted over to where Creeper was trading fire with three platoons of enemy infantry who had snuck around the armored perimeter up front. They must have been Spetsnaz troops, Beasely surmised. Regular army couldn't pull something off like that.
Creeper's position in the four story concrete structure gave them a good field of vision and their Ghost riflemen fired from within with deadly accuracy. The Spetsnaz, caught in the open, double timed it to the nearest pieces of cover, stopping only to snap badly aimed shots at the Ghosts who had the luxury of aiming and dropping their targets. They would be overwhelmed shortly though at the rate those three Wolf platoons were moving forward.
"Python, move to Creeper. Give them some covering fire." Beasely ordered into his microphone, and the pair of gunships pulled off from their forward positions and doubled back toward the infantry where they engaged the Russians with 20 milimeter cannon rounds.
"Enemy has air strikes in bound!" One of the radio officers called. "AWACs are counting multiple Mig-47 Slamhounds entering the battlespace-"
It wasn't just them, he could see from the display. Four Slamhounds ducked low, flying between the streets for cover as another four Fulcrums above them fired a volley of missiles at Beasely's forward helicopters. The angular profile of Blackfoot gunships helped reduce return radar emissions, but the Fuclrums fired heat seakers at very close range, only six miles away. Beasely could only watch as his gunships dropped flares wildly and began evasive turns, but the missiles closed the distance too quickly, exploding amongst them and dropping three out of the eight choppers.
"Shit!" Beasely hissed as the Russian gunships howled forward firing their own missiles and taking advantage of the Gunships which were put on the back foot. He couldn't do it. His frontline was going to collapse at this rate-
"Tell the frontline units to fall back." Beasely said and tapped the tanks and IFVs to indicate the orders and marked a NAV point further back where the buildings would be more of an advantage to them. He needed more troops, otherwise the Russians would be in control of Kamatchka again and the US would lose its foothold in the East. Everything hinged on these moments now. Beasely couldn't make a mistake.
1310- Washington DC
"No." Becerra mumbled into his hand and goatee as the Joint Strike Force units began to fall back, laying down smoke screens to cover their retreat. Someone had fucked up here. The Russians had too many troops in this area and the Joint Strike Force was just too spread out.
No. Becerra was the one who had fucked up. He made the call to go in. He approved all of this and now here he was eating lunch while he watched his boys and girls die in a country they barely knew.
"I'm done." Becerra shoved the half empty plate of macaroni away. He really should have been in the situation room doing this, with all of his advisors so that they could comment on everything but no. His stomach came before the men and women out there. They were the ones suffering so that he could eat this comfort food. It was no comfort now. Becerra felt nauseas. Dominique squeezed his hand.
"Honey." She whispered.
"I need an Advil." Becerra mumbled but his eyes didn't leave the tactical display.
"I'll get it." She kissed his neck and got up, leaving Becerra alone.
It was a bliss that Becerra didn't actually have an audio connection with the battle like he would have in the Situation room, it would have killed him to hear boys, eighteen or nineteen years old – many of them virgins despite their boastings – to scream as bullets tore into them, not caring whether they had parents or children. He saw the front line units get strafed by a pair of fighters, one of the IFV squadrons winked out and was replaced by the Infantry symbol. Then another pair of fighters dropped bombs ahead of the leading formation of tanks. Too far forward – what was that? There was an orange streak that appeared on the screen. The hologram was glitching-
No. that was fire. The Russians had dropped a line of napalm cutting off his men's retreat. Becerra said nothing as the enemy helicopters swooped in and raked the exposed tanks and infantry with cannon and rocket fire. The Russian tanks surged forward into the breach, using their own napalm weapons with catastrophic results.
The Americans gave what they could but it wasn't enough. Only a single squadron of Russian tanks was damaged. The rest surged forward to take the Ghost's position.
0210 – Kamatchka combat Space
"Shit!" Beasely slammed a fist onto the tactical display as the Russian's dropped their line of Napalm. It caught the lead tank right across and was so hot, it burned right through the armor. The crew bailed out quickly into the exposed environment of fire, smoke and bullets. His troops were tired, Beasely could tell by the way the Schwartzkopfs and Fastbacks milled in confusion for a moment which was enough for the Russian helicopters to come in a flock of a dozen and explode six of the vehicles.
The remainder of Adder and Cobra were giving a good account of themselves but soon succumbed to a combination of cannon and missile fire from the ground and the air. Both units spun out and exploded, showering the exposed infantry with hot steel fragments.
Beasely's entire center had collapsed. How long until Banshee-
"Fire in the hole!" Beasely looked over to the warehouse and saw it engulfed in flame on a Ghost's helmet camera. Okay. That was it. He swooped over to Ninja for a moment, they weren't getting anywhere. They were still half a mile from their objective and the street battle had turned into a nightmare.
"Air support?" He asked one last time.
"Entering the battlespace now. Reinforcements are touching down on your signal sir." The officer responded. Beasely looked toward the Russian's end of the deployment. The AWACs had picked up and immediately tagged Zhukov portable Howitzers lining up and raising their double barreled cannons up into the sky, around them swarmed tanks and IFVs . They were a river of men and machines, unstoppable. There were just too many of them.
Was this battle still winnable? As if to answer, the audio cut in with a scream from Banshee's platoon lieutenant who was caught out in the open when the Russians opened up on them.
"Pull back." Beasely shook his head. "Signal retreat. I want fighters to clear the air and hit their artillery pieces and forward units. Destroy whatever resources the Russians can get their hands on."
All the officers in the command vehicle turned and looked at Beasely as one. Beasely clenched both fists that were lying on the table.
"Now!"
They were pulling out all the stops for this. Pierrera only had a single Joint Strike Munition left in addition to three hundred cannon rounds, barely enough for a four second burst. But he was refit and refueled and he could offer some sort of help to the second wave of fighters that had just entered the battlespace. They closed on all sides, except from the North where most of the interceptors had already peeled off to engage incoming enemy air support.
"Striker Lead, head to the NAV point on your HUD at zero nine zero and join the escorts there. You'll be taking in Windwalker. How copy?"
"WILCO." Pierrera responded simply and saw the HUD flash yellow for his NAV point twenty miles away. In three minutes he was there and slotted behind a single B-2 Spirit escorted by another four fighters.
"Diamondback?" Hulk's voice came over the crosscom. "Its hard to keep up with you."
"I thought I lost you Hulk." Pierrera turned and saw the familiar outline of the F-19 Bobcat. "Good of you to be here, how much do you have?"
"Got a Quarrel. No guns."
A single long range missile might still be useful here.
"Keep your eyes peeled."
"All the time lead."
There were oddly no SAMs reaching up at them now, despite the fact that they were deep behind enemy lines and aiming for the enemy artillery positions. It was a natural choke point over there, the entrance to the base was only wide enough for four vehicles to cross side by side safely. And the Russians had many of those tanks coming into play. The Artillery was safely out of the way but it wouldn't save them.
"Time on target, forty five seconds." Windwalker said without any sort of emotion. Pierrera kept his eyes on the sky, scanning for the telltale flash that would be a Russian Mig-50 stealth fighter angling on the tempting target of a B-2.
The smooth black frame of the Spirit looked like a wide wing, almost a boomerang or a kite. There was no tail and next to no heat emissions so it would be invisible to both radar and infrared detection. Even so, it could be spotted visually. A line of tracers reached out for them and although they passed short, they were close enough that the pilots of the B-2 took notice. They immediately sped up. It would be harder for them to aim their payload and judge the fall now, Pierrera could only hope-
The B-2's bottom hatches opened and disgorged its payload of 80 MK-82 unguided bombs. A line of fireballs cut across the northern entrance of the Russian shipyards below, engulfing it in bright flames and turning the ground into the image of an erupting volcano.
"Did we get them?" Pierrera couldn't see if they hit the Artillery pieces and then some.
"Who cares?" Hulk asked. "Let's boogie!"
"WILCO." Pierrera and the other planes turned south and went to the sluggish Stealth Bomber's fastest speed, running away and leaving the furious enemy in their wake.