Chapter Four: A Long March

16, May 2019

Usea Continental Highway

08:45

"White-One, Red-One, set. You're good to bound back."

"Roger White-One, starting our move."

Lieutenant Wyatt sat quietly in the commander seat of his Avenger, keeping a watchful eye on the sky and listening to the tank platoon's radio traffic. The unit was eight hours into their road march and they had been lucky enough, thus far, to not take enemy contact. The trees and heavy growth of the Chopinburg region had hidden them from enemy observation and attack aircraft.

That luck was likely about to run out however, as they were about to enter the most dangerous portion of the movement. The forest was beginning to give way to the sloping hills and fields of eastern Usea. They would be much easier targets out here.

Captain Holland had pulled Wyatt aside before they had departed their defensive position and leveled with him. With the air force currently tied up with missions elsewhere, the withdrawal was going to have to proceed without air support. That meant Wyatt's trucks were going to be the only thing keeping the formation clear from hostile air assets.

A task easier said than done. The section's radar unit had been damaged by a mortar strike leaving the naked eye as the only means of spotting air. That meant the missile operators only had seconds from the time of detection to lock and fire or Holland's tanks would be destroyed. Wyatt shifted in his seat and watched as Third Platoon's tanks pulled off to the side of the road and dispersed to set up a temporary overwatch. Not long after, First platoon passed through their lines heading for another overwatch position several miles up the road. And so the company's dangerous game of leapfrog continued all the way back to the Osean's new defensive line in Schofield.

The formation wide withdrawal hadn't come without a cost. Both sides understood that the Continental highway was the most effective route for the Osean and IUN forces to escape the encroaching Erusean army. As such their pursuers did all they could to slow down and cut off the retreating coalition. In the early hours of the morning lead elements of the brigade had forced their way through elements of the Erusean 45th Airborne Brigade and the march to Schofield had left the highway littered with the charred and burning husks of combat vehicles. Victims of the infamous Erusean air force.

Wyatt keyed the intercom and addressed his gunner. "Keep your eyes open Paris, I'm not keen on joining the dead."

How long had it been? Hours? Maybe days? Shaw had lost count and leaned back in his seat, yawning, too mentally exhausted to keep track of time. Shaw pressed his face against the gunsight and scanned the green foliage to the front of his vehicle. Since the start of hostilities the day prior; he had been operating off limited sleep, energy drinks, and tobacco, a lot of tobacco. The floor panel beneath his feet had become a slurry of energy drink cans, cigarette buds, and MRE wrappers. This, combined with the putrid stench of sweat, hydraulic fluids, and unburnt propellant had made life inside the tank miserable. Everyone was on their last legs and only the momentary reprieve provided by cigarettes had kept their nerves from being shot.

Across the turret, Yanovich half hung out of his hatch. His foot rested under the breach arming handle, ready to up the gun on his TC's command.

He scanned the sky with his 240 for enemy attack aviation, air defense was everyone's problem now. From their temporary battle position Yanovich watched as the three tanks from Second platoon lumbered past his position. Further up the line and now well out of range of the enemy, Second platoon's 4 Tank was being towed by the mechanics M88. While the vehicle itself was still mission capable, a tank could not effectively be fought by three men.

Yanovich tightened the grip on his 240, for hours he had nothing to do but think about the death of one of his close friends.

He had long replaced the sorrow with anger, a yearning for revenge. The Euruseans started this war, he and his boys were going to end it. He swore by this, even if it meant death before dismount.

"Yo, Yano."

Yanovich flicked the remains of his lucky strike off the side of the tank before ducking his head into the turret.

"Whatcha need Shaw?"

The gunner pushed his boom mic closer to his face. "You hangin' in there?"

Yano flashed a thumbs up before manning the 240 once more. "Still in the fight boss."

"That's what I want to hear," Shaw responded. "And Ford, you holding up?"

"Hotter than a mother fucker down here!" The driver's voice came over the intercom with a metallic sound. The response received a round of chuckles from the crew.

"Well hang on just a bit longer man, we're not too far out from Schofield." Keen chimed in as he checked the JCR waypoint against his map.

"Thank god, I've been holding it for the last hour." Ford exclaimed.

"Should have brought a piss bottle down there." Yano chipped as he scanned the horizon.

An audible click was heard indicating Ford's incoming remark. "Oh, believe me, I did. Filled four of the fuckers already."

"Just use your canteen dawg."

"You got me fucked up if you think I'm about to piss in my canteen Yano."

The loader chuckled and shrugged. "Just a suggestion."

"Y'all are fucking nasty you know that?"

Yanovich keyed his CVC. "With due respect Sir, no one asked your opinion."

"Oh, so that's how it's gonna be?" Keen started. "Shaw, when we get to Schofield make sure Specialist Yanovich cleans the turret."

"Shit Sir, you really gonna do him dirty like that?" Shaw replied as he swept the treeline once more.

"Would you like to join him?"

Shaw raised his hands feigning surrender. "Nooo thank you Sir, I just wanna take a nap and-"

Shaw was cut off by the growl of autocannon fire and the chatter of small arms. He pushed his face into the primary sight and began to identify his assailants.

"Light armor and troops Sir, lots of 'em!"

"No way they could have caught up to us!" Yanovich yelled as he slammed an MPAT round into the breach.

"Shaw you have the turret!" Keen yelled. As he switched the radio to the company net, he could hear Shaw barking fire commands to the rest of the crew. The TC keyed the mic. "Battle Six, Blue One. Currently engaging a company plus of light armor and infantry, vicinity of Whiskey November 8744, break, 8538 over."

The 120mm cannon came to life as Shaw began to return fire. Seconds seemed to pass like minutes as static filled the net until Captain Holland replied. "Copy Blue One, S2 reports that you're most likely engaged with screening elements of the 43rd Airborne. Break contact as soon as First platoon is set, out."

Keen flipped back to the platoon frequency and began to fight the platoon. "Four, Three, you take near! Two, you and I will take far, Out!"

There was a series of quick responses as Third Platoon fell into its battle rhythm. The gun recoiled again as his gunner dispatched another BMD-4. Unless a more lethal target presented itself, Keen had no reason to interrupt Shaw's stride. The tank commander instead turned to his remote-operated M2 and began picking off any Erusean brave enough to expose themselves. It was only when a combination of 100mm rounds and guided missiles started landing too close for comfort that Keen began to fight the tank.

"Ford bring us back!"

The only reply from the driver station was spooling of the tank's engine as it began to roll off the berm. Shaw gave a parting burst with his coax a few rounds hitting an RPG team, the others chewing up the dirt as the 70-ton beast slid out of enemy sight. The Lieutenant stood up just enough to see over the rim of his cupola. He made a quick survey of the terrain before hopping back down into the relative safety of the turret.

"Bring us forward right, you should see a berm fifty meters to our direct front."

Peering through the right periscope, Ford could see the small bit of micro terrain his TC had described. The driver threw the tank in gear and throttled back hard on the T-handle. In training most tank crews demanded that the driver give them an easy ride, avoiding dips and rough terrain. But here, when high-velocity rounds were cracking overhead, the survival of the crew depended on how aggressively the driver could maneuver. And that was exactly what Ford was doing, darting between foliage and mounds of earth, throwing the tank over rough terrain. Even if the enemy had caught a glimpse of his tank it was only for a mere instance. Pulling up the berm, Ford held the brake and shifted into reverse just as Shaw fired off another main gun round.

Rolling back off the berm, the turret crew fell back into their rhythm of identify, load, engage, repeat. In that instance, a thought flowed through Ford's mind, the same one he'd been having since the start of hostilities. "Just like training."

While Ford had one simple thought running through his mind, Keen on the other hand had dozens. Each one demanding an answer as he not only maneuvered his tank, but also fought his platoon, engaged the enemy, and kept his company commander informed. As he responded to each thought with a machine-like grace, he almost missed the transmission from First Platoon's lieutenant.

"Blue one, Red-one, Set. Out!"

A part of him wanted to stay, to plant his feet and continue to engage, he didn't want to fall back another step. To give another foot of ground to the enemy. Keen knew he only needed to ask and his platoon would dig in and fight until the end. But Captain Holland's orders were firm, "Do not become decisively engaged", and so reason won out.

"Bravo section start your bound, out." Keen ended the transmission and looked back to the CDU. He may not have been able to stand and fight, but at least he could take a few more parting blows at the enemy. Out of the corner of his eye, Keen saw his 3 and 4 tracks bounce over the rough terrain as the section began to fall back.

The Erusean airborne took the diminished fire as a sign that Keen's platoon could no longer sustain the fight. They were sadly mistaken. As the first platoon of BMD's broke cover they were met with precise cannon fire from Keen's Alpha section. For being vastly outnumbered, the engagement was going well. Word came that Bravo section had passed Second's line, they had done their best to hold back the enemy and now it was their turn to fall back. However, the Erusean's weren't done with the platoon yet.

It started as a soft thumping sound, Keen couldn't make it out at the time. But the noise became louder and more pronounced as rotor blades cut through humid Usean air. The Lieutenant's heart sank as Shaw identified the culprit with an edge of fear in his voice.

"Gunships!"

One word set the crew in motion as the two MI-28 helicopters swooped low over hills maintaining their altitude at just treetop level. Their 30mm chain gun and tandem optics device swiveled back and forth like the muzzle of a predator searching for its prey. Keen's heart began to race as he flipped up a plastic cover and discharged the tank's smoke clusters. It was just in the nick of time as the first barrage of rockets rained down around them.

"Ford back us up hard right!" Keen yelled, the tank began to move but not in the deliberate and calm motion of a maneuver. This was the panicked, jerking motion of a wounded animal trying to escape. Off to his left Bravo 3-2 was performing a similar maneuver, popping smoke and driving back as fast as possible. The Platoon Leader keyed the company net. "Six, Blue-one, in contact with red air, retrograding now! I say again in contact with enemy gunships, out!"

Shaw traversed the turret over the engine and began firing at the attacking gunships with the coax machine gun. The massive helicopter flew through the smokes sending ghostly wisps of phosphorus into the air above. Every machine gun in the section opened fire, creating a wall of lead in front of the Havocs. This did little to shake off their pursuers as they responded in kind with rockets and 30mm chain gunfire.

Shaw, choking on hot propellant fumes from the coax, tracked the gunship in his primary sight. He scored a few hits, not enough to damage the beast, but enough to cause the pilot to pull off and out of his gun sight.

"I lost him!"

The havoc came alongside the tank and began firing its chain gun along 3-1s flank.

"I got the fucker!" Yanovich yelled, he yanked on the skate mount and swung the loaders 240 onto target. He caught the stock of the 240 under his arm, brought the muzzle up, and let loose. He watches as the 7.62mm rounds smashed into the armored cockpit, either cracking the glass or glancings harmlessly off. Once more the pilot pulled off and settled in behind the tank. "Sir! He's on your side!"

"I know!" Keen replied, bringing the M2 to bear. He let off a short volley before the weapon clicked dry. He cursed as he fumbled for a new ammo can as rockets shook the tank, one being close enough to throw Keen to the turret floor. Stumbling to his feet, he grabbed an ammo can and climbed back into the cupola. As he came up, the Havoc made a pass with its chain gun racking the top of the tank. Shrapnel splashed off the turret roof and Keen caught a piece to his cheek and brow. Had adrenaline not been coursing through his body, the wound would have felt like more than a dull throb.

His gunner swung the turret around in a desperate attempt to track the fast-moving gunship. The Havoc swung around, making ready for another pass on the wounded Abrams. Keen braced for another salvo of rockets. He heard the pop of the warhead leaving the cluster followed by the ignition of a rocket motor. But there was no impact, instead, he heard a resounding bang, followed by the sound of metal being sheared apart.

The crew watched as the Havoc, now burning, pitched on its side and crashed into the ground in a ball of flames. The second Havoc, now realizing it was no longer the hunter, veered off and tried to flee to Erusean lines. There was another pop, and Keen witnessed the missile streak towards the gunship and burst below the tail boom. The helicopter went into an uncontrolled spin and slammed into the ground several hundred meters away.

"Battle Six, India Red One. Engaged and destroyed two enemy gunships, out."

Keen recognized the voice as the company's integrated air defense. The Lieutenant broke into a fit of laughter. Keying the net, he cheered his saviors. "Wyatt! You beautiful Sotoan bastard!"

The Anti-air section leader stuck his arm through the Avenger's window and flashed a thumbs up. "We aim to please Blue-one, now how about we beat feet before the other guys realize what just happened, over."

"Roger that India Red One," Keen cut the transmission and stood up in his hatch. He undid the latch on the .50 cal ammo can and threw it over the side before replacing it with a fresh can. 3-1 fell in behind their wing tank and began making their way back down the highway. As they passed second platoons' temporary battle position, Keen's wingman, Staff Sergeant Juarez, came over the net.

"One, Two."

"Go for One."

"Can I ask you to back off 200 meters?"

A puzzled look came across the TC's face, we tapped Shaw on the shoulder and mouthed "The fuck". The gunner shrugged and returned the look.

"Two, One. Can you elaborate?"

"Sir, it's only been a day and a half since this shit show started and you already almost bought it twice."

Keen raised a brow and shook his head. "And?"

Juarez gave an audible sight and responded. "Well Sir, I feel like if I keep being your wingman I'm going to bite it too. Now back up before your shit luck rubs off on me."

Keen gave his wingman the finger which was received with a fit of laughter from the Two Commander. "Oh stop complaining, if it makes you feel better I'll slow my roll."

"Tango Mango One."

Erusean 25th Armor Division TOC

16:00

"Those bastards did it again!" Were the first words out of Labarth's Operations officer's mouth as he approached the General's command tank.

"What?"

The Operations officer pulled out his notebook and began to read from it. "43rd Airborne made contact with a retreating Osean armor, they attacked with a company-sized element with light armor support but were beat back by an unknown number of Osean tanks." He paused and looked at Labarth.

"Go on."

"After a short engagement the Osean's withdrew via the highway, the 43rd ordered a flight of gunships to pursue but were destroyed by integrated air defense."

Labarth ran a hand across his aged face. "Armor did this?"

The Operations officer responded with a curt Yes Sir.

"What about the Air Force, can we call and request a strike against the Oseans forces?"

The officer swallowed a lump in his throat. "Their strike against Fort Grays yesterday crippled the Osean navy but failed to eliminate the airbase. The Air Force is refusing to fly missions into Osean airspace so long at that airbase is operational."

The General grimaced as he felt his blood pressure rise. "Do we have any assets on hand that can at least slow them down?"

"N-no Sir, they are outside the range of the Arsenal birds and the air force won't fly missions against any target smaller than a brigade."

Labarth smashed a clenched fist against the armor of the T-80 BVM. "And command expects me to throw my division into the meat grinder with no support or replacements to speak of!"

"Sir, the 5th and 20th are still engaged in Los Canos, and the 55th is refitting in Axel bay. Given time we may-"

"But the Oseans are here!" The General retorted. "We must fight them here before they can bring in troops from overseas!" Labarth jumped from the front slope of his tank and stormed off towards the operations tent. Once inside he stood in front of his campaign map. " Where are they now?"

"43rd scouts observed their trail elements crossing the Yinshi river an hour ago."

Labarth once more ran a hand across his face as his frustration grew. Not only had the Osean's escaped, but now intelligence reports were traveling at a snail's pace. "Do we have any more recent intelligence! Or are we going to continue to run around blind as the Osean's dig in on the opposite bank!"

By now the General's outburst had drawn the attention of the entire TOC. Lower enlisted staff only had a second to bury themselves in their work before the general began to speak.

Labarth felt his face flush with rage. "Any man not operating a radio, out! Now!"

Labarth tapped his foot impatiently as men made their way past him and out of the TOC. He then glared at the members of his staff. "So where is the disconnect? I'm receiving intelligence at a rate in which it is useless by the time it hits my desk. Our brigades are running around like wild dogs, and we are no longer getting support from adjacent units."

Labarth gave his staff a few seconds to process what he said. "Are we inept?"

"No Sir." Several of his staff murmured.

The lack of motivation and solution only enraged him more.

"Well, maybe the Osean's are just better than us!" Labarth yelled.

"No Sir!"

"Then pull your head out of your ass and get it together! Streamline ISR reports, if the Osean's move so much as an inch I want to know." With that the General turned around and stormed towards the tent flap, he hadn't gotten a foot out of the tent before he yelled over his shoulder. "And someone reign in the brigades, we're an army, not a mindless war band!"