X Tim, Day Three of Greyfield Strikes. X
If your day starts with shit blowing up and you pissing yourself, then it's probably going to be a bad one. I'd just been lounging around the lobby after having woken up a few minutes ago when suddenly I heard a whole lot of shouting outside as the entire building shook. Then, something (I later found out it was an ammunition cache kept outside) went up and took out the side of the whole fucking hotel, flinging anyone inside into the walls.
"Arrggh. Fuck me!" I had the wind knocked out of my lungs, but I quickly recovered. I was lucky; some of the poor bastards who had been closer to the wall were scattered in chunks across the lobby. "Shit," I swore when I realized I could hear the roar of planes outside; must've been an attack. I tried to sit up and nearly passed out. It took me a minute to realize there was blood running down my face, but I was worried about other things.
Sarah—where the hell is Sarah? Probably still in the room we'd been assigned. Shit, that explosion might've unsettled the building; we had to leave. Ignoring the rest of the chaos, I stumbled wearily towards the stairs to get back to our room. I was almost there when something latched on my leg. "What the—oh, fuck." I looked down to see some unlucky guy lying on the ground, his face bloodied and his leg twisted in a way that definitely wasn't normal.
What the hell am I supposed to do? I'd never been in a situation like this. Sarah was still upstairs, and she was definitely awake by now. But, I'd already seen this guy, and what kind of person would leave them behind? Waylon would—and I'm not that asshole. That made up my mind. "All right, I got you." I wasn't a bad guy as long as people didn't piss me off. Besides, this guy was probably part of the helicopter maintenance crews. Sarah was an adult; she'd know how to get the hell out of dodge.
The guy shrieked as soon as I hauled him up, and then went limp. It took me a minute to realize he must've passed out from pain. "Christ," I muttered, picking him up so his bent leg wasn't touching the ground and I started carrying him towards the entrance. It was chaos in here, but everyone was still helping the wounded get up and out of the building. Sure, there were planes out there, but a plane could miss you. Several tons of falling concrete sure as hell wouldn't.
"Tim!" I was just in the doorway when Sarah caught up with me, just like I'd expected. She noticed what I was doing and gave me a hand. "Something fucked up?"
"Yeah," I nodded as we stepped outside along with a few other people. A Lazurian attack plane soared by, its underside filled with weapons in full view. "Something really fucked up." I looked around, unsure what the hell we were supposed to do. Everyone was running in different directions, trying to get somewhere safe. Were we supposed to do the same? "C'mon," I motioned to Sarah, still dragging our unfortunate new friend along.
"Goddamn, they caught us good." I watched the missiles and bullets streaking through the air, but I was smart enough not to stop and gawk like some people were doing. It was every man on his own now. We'd have to get reorganized once things got quiet again—but only after we survived this shit.
"Buildings are too dangerous!" Sarah had to yell to be heard. There were a few stores and other places across the street, and a lot of people seemed to be running into them. Others were running out into the fields surrounding the road and hiding in craters. A few insane idiots even took cover back inside the hotel. Of all those options, I liked the second best, so I pointed that way and Sarah quickly got the message.
Shit. Shit. Shit. I was expecting us to get strafed, or for an explosion to happen right next to us. Those planes were flying way too goddamn low, enough for the whiplash they were creating to nearly knock us over. Oddly enough, they didn't seem to fire or drop a bomb very often. I hoped they were saving their ammo for better targets than little old us.
As we got into the field, we tried to think of a good place to hide. A lot of the craters were pretty wide but not particularly deep, something that didn't look so safe when seen close up. But, instead of jumping into the nearest one and hoping it would do, Sarah reached over with her free hand and punched me on the shoulder to get my attention. She pointed towards the middle of the field, more specifically a Lazurian plane that had crashed there. Everything within a few yards of it was charred black and some spots were on fire. Whoever had been flying it must've tried to set her down, because there was a giant rut behind it. Actually, it looked pretty deep...
"I see it!" I called back. "Good call!" The way the front was twisted, the pilot couldn't have survived, and all the ordnance and fuel had to have gone up when it hit the ground. The fumes wouldn't be a problem as long as we kept some distance, and obviously they wouldn't attack right next to one of their own downed planes. That rut was our best bet, so we took it. Funny enough, my head started going into insane full gear when we were making our way towards the pit. Running over open ground with the risk of getting shot definitely wasn't something that had ever been in the job description. Caring for someone who was wounded wasn't either. But, it was bad kind of funny that you stop caring about shit like that when the only thing in your ears was the sound of low-flying planes with guns that could blow you to bits. This wasn't that feeling of survival where you had to be more aggressive; this was running away.
We slid into the giant rut, trying and failing to keep the injured soldier's leg from hitting the ground. It was actually a good thing he was out, 'cause otherwise it definitely would've hurt like hell. We set him down and climbed back up to get a look around. There were still a few people darting around, and doing a full three-sixty I could count at least seven fires around the island. There was a big-ass one near the hotel we'd been in just a few minutes ago, the same one where our helicopter was parked right next to.
"Fuck," I muttered, but those could hopefully be replaced. I slid back down to wait things out. The crowded sky finally seemed to be clearing up, but until told otherwise I wasn't coming out. After getting her own view of the destruction, Sarah moved over and squatted in front of me.
"Are you okay?" Sarah asked, leaning forward to look at me. Now that I wasn't moving, I realized just how much everything fucking hurt and that I was out of breath. I also realized I'd pissed my pants. I'd gone outside for a routine early morning piss, but the explosion ruined it. "You're bleeding, too." That was either from the debris or a rough landing.
"I'll deal with it," I muttered, wiping my face with my sleeve. I flinched a little when it came back covered with more blood than I expected. "No point in worrying now." There was an explosion nearby, and hopefully one of those blue fucks crashed. "That guy probably has it worse." I jerked a thumb at the unconscious soldier.
"I'm surprised," Sarah admitted, her voice cutting through the chaos. "I figured you'd come running for me." She wasn't offended, just honestly surprised.
"I was. He grabbed my leg, though—couldn't just leave him," I explained, and Sarah nodded. Irritated and in pain, I decided to vent my frustrations. "This whole island has been a pain. This whole mission has been a clusterfuck, now that I think about it. God knows what we're supposed to do after this." Sarah's look told me she had no idea either. This was without a doubt the farthest we'd been stranded up the creek without a paddle. Sarah had been right: this was some serious shit here, stuff that made everything before look like child's play. No one was holding back anything. It was all in or nothing, with our lives as the betting chips. If this wasn't the end, it would only get worse. And that meant we had to be damn careful if we intended to have to worry about anything ever again.
X 12th Battalion HQ, Day Four of Greyfield Strikes. X
Captain Brenner had been working for almost a day now, taking in information and directing operations as necessary in an outwardly calm demeanor. Inside, he was stressed—and neither the coffee nor the three-hour nap he had didn't help one bit. There was no room for error here; it was all or nothing. If those ships managed to open fire on the island, Rubinelle could say goodbye to these islands and Brenner could say goodbye to the Battalion he'd commanded for over a year through Hell itself.
So far, their progress had been surprisingly well. The Battalion's artillery and rocket vehicles on the island had been quickly formed into a provisional battery to hold off the enemy fleet. At first, the battleship and cruisers sailed straight for the island, apparently sure nothing would oppose them, or at least anything they could take out. The artillery refuted that assumption, and a rocket barrage launched within a few seconds had sunk two cruisers and damaged another.
It was the first and biggest success they had. After that, the ships retreated outside the range of accurate rocket fire and hadn't moved since. Intending to neutralize the 12th's artillery, some small raiding parties had been sent in by boat. Unfortunately for those parties, they landed on a beach on the western side of the island, where a battalion of the 49th Division and a combined-arms company of the 12th Battalion held the heights overlooking the beach. After suffering an intensive artillery bombardment, and having no armor to speak of, the Lazurians were soon driven back into the sea.
Then, a few hours after the landings were repulsed, the Lazurians sent in a squadron of Su-25s to try and knock out the artillery of the Battalion, and they were supported by a flight of MiG-29 interceptors flying escort. This time, even though they hadn't expected the enemy to further risk their air power, the Battalion was prepared. Utilizing the terrain offered by the rubble, Lin ordered all remaining anti-air vehicles to take cover and turn off their search radars, turning these on only when the enemy was well within their range. The tactic worked. Caught between multiple radar screens, six attack planes and one of the fighters were shot down within seconds. When the rest tried to turn around and flee, Lin ordered the four fighters of the Battalion's Air Wing, who were conducting a combat patrol at the east and the west in two-plane elements, to swing around and close their rear. Taking the enemy by surprise, the 12th Battalion fighters managed to shoot down three attack planes and one MiG before the survivors managed to escape.
Then, at the same time, two Lazurian cruisers circled around the archipelago to bombard the island the Battalion HQ was on, using speed and evasive maneuvers to dodge the sparse artillery presence on the island. For Navy people, they were surprisingly knowledgeable on how to outsmart the Rubinelle Army's best gunners. Fortunately, two Battalion gunboats that had been hastily repaired came at their rear and sunk one of the cruisers, prompting the other to retreat, but not without inflicting casualties among the troops defending the island.
Nothing had happened since then. It was a tense silence that could deteriorate into all-out fighting at any moment. The reinforcements from the NRA were still over half a day away. Brenner couldn't just assume the enemy would let this impasse continue and leave them while they were down. Action was needed on his side, but he had no aces to play.
"It's almost like we're at a stalemate again," General Walraven commented as he came into the HQ after examining the fortifications outside. "Neither side can or is willing to move."
"A stalemate isn't ideal." Brenner shook his head.
As if reading his thoughts, the general remarked, "We need to make the first move." Brenner looked up in surprise as the old man continued. "Your father said that in a speech to the airborne forces before the assault on Darrett. Personally, Captain, I'd be more optimistic; you've sunk more ships than some Navy vessels do in their entire service history." Brenner's smile betrayed his weariness.
"I'll die happy if I can sink a battleship. Or rather, I'd prefer not to die at all." That got a laugh from Walraven. "We don't have anything we can use to take the initiative," Brenner said as he shook his head.
"It seems we're at the mercy of whatever our enemy does then," Walraven observed, glancing at a tactical map that showed the Lazurian fleet that was menacing the island.
"Hmm..." Brenner wasn't willing to accept that. There had to be something they could do… Brenner stopped as an idea crept upon him. "Our fleet that's on its way here—it has a carrier, correct?" General Walraven nodded.
"The Navy always includes its carriers in major battles, Captain. Why?"
"I was hoping it could launch its planes and send them here to help us." Walraven shook his head.
"It's still too far away, Captain. Those planes wouldn't have the fuel to get here."
"Fully armed, they wouldn't," Brenner corrected, and he realized he had Walraven's undivided attention just then. "I admit I don't know much about aerial or naval warfare, but I do know part of an aircraft's operating range is determined by how many weapons it's carrying. If those planes are lightly armed, they may be able to get here and fire their payloads."
"You have a point there, Captain," Walraven conceded, "but what good will a few lightly armed planes do for us against that battleship?"
"Not the battleship—the cruisers," Brenner explained. "If we damage its protective screen enough, the battleship will retreat. If it does remain in place it'll be vulnerable enough for my air and sea forces to attack it."
"Or the enemy will just intensify their efforts," Walraven contested. Brenner shook his head.
"From what I've seen so far, whoever is commanding the Lazurian forces is calm and thoughtful. I doubt we'd get a rash reaction from them. It would seem from the attacks earlier that they're probing our real strength. Give them time, and they'll bring everything they have to bear against us." Brenner didn't need to add that the odds weren't in their favor; the Lazurians outnumbered them in men, ships, and planes. It was only a matter of time before the Battalion and the 49th Division was crushed by the sheer weight of the Lazurians' numbers. Walraven took that in and thought for a few moments.
"It could work," he admitted. "I must say Captain; you've inherited your father's talent to improvise." Brenner accepted the praise with a nod. "I guess I better see if we can't get a line of communication with Admiral Hamilton then." Walraven turned and headed for the small part of the command center where he managed his division's communications with the NRA channels. Brenner waited patiently.
In truth, this option was scarcely brilliant or guaranteed to bring results. First, Brenner had to convince this man whom he hardly knew to risk the lives of his pilots. Even if he did agree, there was no guarantee they'd be able to damage the enemy fleet. But, it was the only option the 12th Battalion had. Holding out wasn't going to cut it—Brenner knew their enemy wouldn't allow it to end so indecisively.
"Captain!" Walraven called across the HQ. "I got a secure line here." He was holding up a receiver. Brenner walked over to take it. "Make it count; the Admiral is not a forgiving man," Walraven warned. No sooner had Brenner held the receiver to his ear did a hard voice snap a question at him.
"To whom am I speaking?" Brenner made his answer as composed as he could.
"This is Captain Brenner of the 12th Armored Battalion of the Rubinelle Army, and operational commander for the offensive here in the archipelago. Am I speaking to Admiral Hamilton?"
"Correct. Am I to understand that my forces that were deployed to the area were wiped out and you're under enemy naval threat?" Walraven must've explained their situation.
"Yes," Brenner admitted. "Lazuria launched a surprise air attack on all forces in the area. They've moved a battleship forward with the intention of neutralizing all ground forces. So far, we've held it off with artillery, but it won't last forever."
"I see," Admiral Hamilton answered. "I was told you have some plan involving my forces." He put emphasis on the last two words. "We're still in Rubinelle waters and we won't reach the area for at least a day."
"I'm aware of it, Admiral." Brenner had to be especially careful now. "I still think each of our forces could benefit from one another." And then he pitched his idea, emphasizing how it would free up his own forces to make the fleet's job easier, while in the process demoralizing their enemy. The admiral listened patiently while Brenner talked, and once he was done he excused himself to discuss it with his staff. Brenner waited, his gaze fixed on a map of the area that was constantly updated with information of current units. The enemy fleet still hadn't moved.
"Are you still there, Captain?" The admiral's sharp voice brought Brenner back to focus.
"Yes."
"You're asking a lot for a mere Army captain," the admiral warned. "I have very few planes that can make that journey, and they'd have to so without air-to-air missiles, which makes them vulnerable."
"I can provide a solution to that," Brenner said quickly. "There are fighter aircraft attached to the 12th Battalion. I can dispatch them to escort your planes if you choose to send them." Truthfully, Brenner was reluctant to lend his already limited ability to control the skies. Again, he waited for a reply, conscious that the future of his Battalion likely rested with this man who was a hundred miles away.
"You've thought this through," the admiral observed, "and I won't deny the necessity of it. Very well, Captain Brenner, if you can provide escort, I will launch several planes to the area. Get back to me once you've set things up on your end." Brenner took the headset away for a brief moment so he can sigh in relief.
"Thank you, Admiral," Brenner said in earnest. "You may have just saved hundreds of lives." An agreement reached, Brenner was quick to meet his end of it. "Get me Archangel-Six and the anti-air battery commanders!" While Brenner began issuing orders, Walraven spoke with the admiral to arrange a rendezvous point for the aircraft. The two Army officers then met to confirm the arrangements for plan one last time.
"Well, Captain," Walraven said, grinning, "it seems you've bought us another day to live."
X James, Day Four of Greyfield Strikes. X
This must've been what soldiers felt during the first Great War, especially during trench warfare. I'd been thinking of that a few times in the past day. Our platoon had relocated to a spot on the east side of the island, and our job was to protect the artillery vehicles, which were cleverly camouflaged. While we were at it, everyone spread out and began digging small foxholes to protect themselves. If those ships did start firing, at least they wouldn't kill us all with a single salvo. It was uncomfortable as hell on the foxhole, though, as my body was beginning to go numb.
It was made worse by the invisible threat. We heard about the battleship that was out there, but we'd yet to see it. The rocket vehicles of the artillery battery had fired a volley not long after we'd taken our positions, and a firefight had erupted on the opposite end of the island earlier in the day—that was when the Lazurians tried to surprise us in a landing raid. The artillery battery had to fire a couple of salvos, and the gunfire eventually died down. Evidence that the firefight was over were a group of Lazurian POWs that we saw being marched into an abandoned dacha in the center of the island, which now served as a temporary holding place. It was already well in the morning when we saw an air battle, and we couldn't help cheering for our guys in the Air Wing and for the crews in the anti-air vehicles as they shot down more than half of the enemy planes. After that, an eerie silence gripped the island, with no word on what was going to happen. Because of that, we stayed in cover while anticipating the worst—most of us, actually.
The lieutenants were a different matter. At some point Lieutenant Anderson emerged from his dugout and started walking among the foxholes we were hiding, sometimes pausing to speak to some of the men. Lieutenant Anson, on the other hand, pulled out a pair of field glasses and observed the enemy ships, which were dull grey shapes over the horizon. I wasn't the only one who'd raised my head to watch. "Is that safe, Lieutenant Anderson?" someone called.
"No, but who's going to order me otherwise?" Well, he was right on that score, but I found it strange to see him at ease—it was as if he was comfortable with the way things were. Well, he had been here before, but was it really safe for him to be that relaxed? Now that I thought about it, we'd probably get a few seconds warning before things got bad again, like last time. I wasn't going to trust my life in those few seconds. However uncomfortable it was, I was staying in my hole.
"Comfortable, Sergeant?" Anderson asked when he'd drifted over to where I was.
"Enough," I answered. Questioning his actions was definitely not a good idea, so I asked him about something that kept poking the back of my mind. "How's this battle shaping up when compared to the last one?" I couldn't see the Lieutenant's face, but he stood up a little straighter.
"The same, more or less," he answered, looking north. "We had a promising start, a minor setback, and then through a few wild chances we bounced back and rolled right over them. If it keeps going that way, we got nothing to worry about." Was that why he was so confident? "Sure as hell this is a lot quieter than I remember," he added before he walked off. As I watched him leave I couldn't help wondering if being back here had some effect on both of lieutenants. Even if they were so calm about it, I was curious as to what was going on in their heads.
My thoughts were cut short when my ears registered something in the distance, something low. Was that planes? I felt my stomach drop a little.
"Is that what I think it is?" Someone spoke up. Several people started cursing and ducking into their foxholes as the roar of jet engines became too loud to be anything else. My body ached as I sunk deeper into my only means of safety. Lieutenant Anderson didn't, and that made me raise myself back up. He was still standing, his fingers pointed to the sky. A moment later, I found out why he was acting so boldly.
Several jets flew over the island from the south, and as they roared by I saw three red stars on the fuselage of one aircraft—that was the Rubinelle insignia! They were ours! "Hell yeah!" I found my yelling lost among the other cheers that seemed to be going up all over the island. A few moments later, we heard the sound of distant explosions, and after that the same jets passed back over the island and headed south. It wasn't until a few plumes of oily black smoke started rising in the distance did a message finally came over the radio, ordering all troops to stay cautious but informing us that the enemy had been dealt a hard blow by our allies.
After what seemed like a tension-filled half-hour of waiting, during which we saw more Battalion planes taking off, HQ sent out a broadcast to all forces saying that the enemy battleship was retreating with heavy damage. We all gratefully emerged from the ground and stretched under a friendly sky while the other units began making their delayed preparations for taking the remaining islands. They'd hit us good and they'd held us down longer than we'd care to admit, but we'd come through still standing.
And now, just like Lieutenant Anderson said, it was time to roll them back.
