Sword and Shield
Chapter 6: A Fight to Remember
Contact 1. n. The act of touching physically. 2. n. The establishment of communication (with). 3. n. A nodule designed to connect a device with something else. 4. n. Someone with whom one is in communication. 5. n. (informal) A contact lens.6. n. (electricity) a device designed for repetitive connections. 7. v. (military) to engage the enemy.
25 March 2000, 02:40 hrs.
11 km south of the Mithril Base, State of Alaska, United States
5th Squadron, 1st Cavalry Regiment, 1st Brigade Combat Team, 25th Infantry Division
David Johnson swore as he saw the lead of the column brew up from missiles and Arm Slave rounds. One of the Bushnells in his combat team toppled forward, hydraulic fluid rolling down its frame like blood while the pilot swore through the comm system.
"Ice Dragoon Five, condition red… my AS is non-functional! Fuck!"
"Return fire, contacts front and rear! Comanches on our ass!" The unit leader barked and David spun his AS on its heel lifting the boxer shot cannon just as an RAH-66 flashed overhead, its cannon ripping through the Bradleys that made up the column. Partly on instinct he jerked and fired.
Six pieces of AS scaled buckshot pierced the craft, smashing the tail rotor. The canopy shattered and the chopper spun spewing black smoke from a wounded engine. Then the craft smashed into the woods, its rotor blades cleaving through trees before ripping themselves apart as the fuselage rolled and swung them into the ground.
"God they're everywhere!" Another pilot called out as more Comanches screamed overhead volley firing Hellfire missiles and letting loose with their twenty millimeter cannon.
David's AS shuddered as twenty millimeter rounds tore into the applique armor barely failing to penetrate. His head smashed against the chest piece that held him in place after an explosion tossed his AS and he sat dazed for a long moment.
"TOW launch! Three o'clock!" "Ice Dargoon Nine, report! Damn it, I think they got Nine." "Twelve is down, twelve is down!" "M9s at the ridgeline, Jesus it's like being on a firing line!" "Advance, leap frog, use the knocked out tracks for cover!"
David shook his head as he felt a trickle of blood run down his chin and snarled as he slowly picked his mech up off the ground. "Nine here, I'm okay, minimal damage."
"Roger, glad to have you back."
"Dragoons this is 16-6, cover our flanking movement!" The battalion commander ordered as the Bradleys began rolling off the road and into the woods.
25 March 2000, 02:41 hrs.
30 km south-west of the Mithril Base, State of Alaska, United States
19th Fighter Squadron, 3rd Wing, 11th Air Force
Lt. Colonel Tod D. Wolters swore loudly as he rolled his craft dodging an ASRAAM that had seemed to appear out of thin air on his tail. Flares lit up the sky behind him as he pulled hard on the stick and the missile warning alarm finally fell silent.
"Rapier one to squadron, check in!" He called glancing to the north-east he could see the flash of light from the fight on the ground. Glancing at the chaff and flare dispenser indicator he let out another curse, nearly half of them were gone already.
"Four bought it, and I saw Nine take one in the engine." One of the pilots reported, anger coloring his voice.
"Seven and Eight are both down. They didn't even get a set of flares off. I didn't see any chutes either."
"Let's worry about that later, no way to spot one in the dark like this anyway." Wolters shook his head once again and glared through the night sky. "Wagon wheel over the combat zone, climb to angels fifteen. Let's try and draw them out."
25 March 2000, 02:42 hrs.
20 km south of the Mithril Base, State of Alaska, United States
Valkyrie Squadron, Mithril Base – Alaska Air Defense Detachment
"Wagon wheel?" Albus Doran sighed as he watched the planes circle overhead, their contrails drawing an enormous circle in the sky. Sighing he glanced at Lydia Rasinov's Harrier, or where it would have been if it was visible.
"That's an old tactic." Her voice observed quietly. "A good one, but an old one, we try and engage and the next ones in the circle can bounce us."
"Yep, you'll make a good squad leader someday. Valkyries, shift to CAS. The Eagles don't want to play anymore." He glanced down at the flashes of light that marked the exchange of fire between the ground armies and Mithril's attack helicopters. Through the night vision goggles he could make out the rough shape of tanks rolling through the snow as Arm Slaves scrambled through the forests on either side of the road. A huge blaze was burning where the lead elements had been pulverized by the initial ambush and barrage of fire. As they approached F-32Cs flashed past their ECS disengaged tempting the circling F-15s. Those units close to the ground had already expended most of their air to ground ordnance.
It was their turn.
"I have an Abrams…" Lydia called out as her harrier leveled off in an attack profile. "Rifle!"
An AGM-65 Maverick rocketed off the rail and shot down into the valley slamming into the top of the one hundred ton tank. A flash of fire marked its impact as the ammunition storage doors atop the turret blew off and spun through the air.
"Scratch one Abrams." He confirmed the strike as he followed close behind her. After a moment they were over the airbase and beginning a turn to come back around for another pass.
"Mannaz to Valkyries, the enemy is trying to deploy to the east, rolling off the road. Looks like Bradleys."
"Understood Mannaz." Albus glanced at his displays for a moment. "Valkyries, concentrate on the Bradleys to the east. We want to keep them bottled up."
"I have a target." Lydia called out after a moment then let loose with the second of her Mavericks. "Rifle!"
The missile flashed through the trees and exploded blocking out their vision from the flash. As they roared past black smoke began to rise from the impact point. "Bradley down." Albus stated. "One has lead."
"Roger." Lydia pulled her harrier into a barrel roll and dropped behind him letting him take point. "I'm out of Mavericks anyway."
25 March 2000, 02:44 hrs.
10 km south of the Mithril Base, State of Alaska, United States
Mannaz Company, Mithril Base – Alaska Ground Defense Detachment
"Infantry in the open!" Jessica called out as she lifted her rifle to her shoulder and looked down the sights. Red tracers hissed between the advancing troops and her position. M6 Bushnells opened up and dropped back into the hole as metal splinters hissed through the air from a 40mm shell.
"You okay?" Daniel asked as he caught a glimpse of a metal splinter lodged in the side of her helmet.
"Yeah, why?" She asked as bullets cracked overhead.
Daniel tapped the back of his helmet and she reached up and felt the metal in understanding.
"FUCK!" The sergeant major yelled before ripping off her helmet and looking at the splinter. "Jesus fucking Christ!" She reached back to her head and checked her head then relaxed.
"Didn't penetrate?" Daniel asked as a ricochet buzzed overhead.
"Yeah." She picked the helmet back up and pulled it onto her head, tightening the straps. "Never thought a K-pot would save my life." She leapt back up to her feet and lifted the M4 ACOG to her shoulder.
An M2 Bradley crawled forward, smoke rising from the firing ports that perforated its hull as men huddled inside fired from the protection of the tank. Beyond it infantry stomped through the snow, clad in the white artic uniforms for the weather. The barrage of gunfire had felled dozens of trees that lay toppled and perforated. She sighted in on a trooper huddling behind a tree and fired.
Splinters shot from the tree as the man behind it slumped and yelled in pain. She dropped back into cover as bullets cut through the snow and red tracers hissed overhead. The electric whine of the M2 Bradley's turret turning as it searched for targets was audible even above the gun fire.
As she dropped back into cover Daniels popped up and let loose delivering a volley of fully automatic fire before dropping back into cover. He glanced over at her. "There's a pair of Bushnells, five hundred meters in the front. Plus that damn Bradley!"
"Never thought I'd want an RPG, but we sure as fuck could use one right now." She grumbled as she pulled out the radio and thumbed it on. "Sigel team, there's a Bradley one hundred meters from the line. Could one of you guys take it out!"
"Sigel Three, engaging!"
The crack of a fifty-seven millimeter cannon echoed across the valley before a shell exploded in the front of the Bradley. The tank skidded to a stop and the hatches opened as the men inside scrambled out coughing and sputtering.
Jessica stood and sighted on the vehicle commander as he dropped to the ground and fired, sending a round into his chest. With a groan the man dropped and she shifted her aim to the next closest foe.
25 March 2000, 02:48 hrs.
9 km south of the Mithril Base, State of Alaska, United States
Sigel Team, Mithril Base – Alaska Special Response Team
Sergeant Mara Lesche ejected the expended magazine of her Bofors 57mm smooth-bore rifle and loaded her second magazine. Smoke rose from the battlefield but the night-vision and thermal optics of her mech's systems easily penetrated the gloom. Blankets of white smoke from tanks and IFVs composed of special particles that defeated thermal vision did obscure her vision of the battlefield.
"Sigel Three, nice shot. Engage those Bushnells next."
"On it Mannaz Five." Mara stated as she licked her lips and lined up the next shot. The boom and recoil of the rifle, deadened by the steel and ceramic hull of her arm slave still echoed in her head as she let loose another round smashing an M6 Bushnell. The targeting systems flickered for a moment as a cannon round exploded next door. Gritting her teeth she searched for the attacker on the display and swore as she saw a Bushnell kneeling beside a smashed Abrams tank with a rifle identical to her own. Letting out a slow breath she sighted in on the foe and squeezed the trigger.
The AS ducked down as the shell arched to meet him, escaping the blow as the round exploded futilely beyond. She cursed again. There was nearly one and a half kilometers between them. That's nearly one and a half seconds for him to react to my fire when I'm using sabot. "Fuck!"
She grimaced as his return shell exploded in front of her peppering pieces of rock against her mech. Calm down, calm down! Send out two rounds this time.
Mara lined up the shot and pulled the trigger sending one round followed by a second as soon as she reacquired.
The first round flashed past and missed, but the Bushnell rose as soon as it hissed past to deliver his response just as the second shell reached him. The Bushnell was instantly enveloped in smoke and through the thermal imagery she could see it topple backwards as the hatch popped open. Seconds later the pilots scrambled out apparently unharmed.
Mara bit her lip and swallowed fighting the instinctive urge to finish him off. He'd fought well and wasn't a threat anymore. Allah watch over you, honored foe. She smirked at that thought and shifted her aim to the next target.
25 March 2000, 06:50 hrs.
Washington, District of Columbia, United States
White House Situation Room
Empty pizza boxes littered the room, sitting beside the console of each aide. Huge cups of coffee steamed from every hand as they watched the satellite imagery and overheard the commands from the unit commanders.
President Bill Clinton leaned his head against his palm, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead as he watched the satellite feed.
The Joint Chiefs stood watching the monitor, their eyes glued to the images. General Eric Shinseki looked away from the screens, his eyes downcast and face pale. General Michael E. Ryan leaned over the radar feed from the E-3 AWACS, his eyes narrowed in anger as he watched two more allied jets disappear from the display.
Secretary of Defense William Cohen scribbled notes on a legal pad, underlining something violently as he watched the satellite feeds. Despite the attack being within American borders, Secretary of State Madeline Albright stood in the back of the room watching, uncertain what else she could do. National Security Advisor "Sandy" Berger rubbed his jaw while he watched the feeds.
It wasn't going well. The lead elements had been smashed in an ambush and their scattered remnants were fighting furiously to hold their position against the enemy. Reinforcing columns were bogged down by the single road while Harriers struck almost every minute with Mavericks, rockets, and cannon fire. A unit of M167 Vulcans was rushing forward, their own twenty millimeter antiaircraft fire filling the green night vision images with streams of bright tracers. Still, only what could be seen could be engaged and as soon as a unit of hostiles was targeted they'd disappear demonstrating the utility of the ECS stealth systems.
It was like a night engagement when only the enemy had night vision goggles. The American troops simply hadn't been trained for such work and through the radio feeds of the orders the general recognized the tell-tale signs of improvisation under fire. Orders were given then rescinded. Soldiers ran from position to position firing in the darkness at where they thought their foes were while their commanders struggled to get a handle on what it was they were facing exactly.
25 March 2000, 02:55 hrs.
11 km south of the Mithril Base, State of Alaska, United States
5th Squadron, 1st Cavalry Regiment, 1st Brigade Combat Team, 25th Infantry Division
Specialist David Johnson swore as an M9 dropped from the sky, a monomolecular cutter clasped in his hand. Jerking in the harness he jumped back, throwing the M6 back away from the deadly knife and felt through his body the immense impact of the vehicle against the ground.
The Otto/Melala 'Boxer' shot cannon was still clasped in the mech's hands at least as he pushed himself upright against a tree. The M9 charged forward and David swore again, jerking the arm controls and pulling the trigger.
The ninety-millimeter bore spat fire and tore apart the lower half of the M9 that fell to the ground at his feet.
The radio crackled. "Good job kid, you got talent."
David blinked. The accent had a classic hint of the East coast, maybe Philadelphia or Boston.
"Could you do me a favor? I can't get out of this thing face down. Could you roll the corpse over?"
You must be fucking kidding me! His mind screamed as he stared down at the defeated foe for a moment before glancing around for another threat. With a sigh he lowered the shot cannon and grabbed the mech by the arm rolling it face up. After a moment the chest cavity hissed and popped open as the pilot clambered out and raised his hands.
Across the battlefield the hostile return fire fell silent and David glanced around confused for a long moment before he noticed a trio of Humvees screaming down the road with bright red crosses painted on the side. With that sight he closed his eyes and shook his head. "Why don't they just fucking surrender?"
25 March 2000, 03:00 hrs.
10 km south of the Mithril Base, State of Alaska, United States
Mannaz Company, Mithril Base – Alaska Ground Defense Detachment
"Cease fire! Let them collect their wounded."
The order had gone out, and Sergeant Major Jessica York leaned against the side of the foxhole, her eyes closed as she thanked the forces on high for the temporary breather. By silent consent the Americans had agreed to the impromptu cease fire, their guns falling silent in response to the silence from their own. Maybe they couldn't identify targets without the gunfire giving them away.
Some of the support staff moved to the trenches and fox holes carrying munitions and medical kits. A few troopers were carried off for their injuries to be tended. So far casualties on their side had been light, but it couldn't last.
The American advance had halted just a few hundred meters from their position and she was sure they'd be overrun once the fighting resumed. By mutual agreement most of the Mithril teams had decided to be sporting and professional. Medics were not targets, nor were ambulances or incapacitated soldiers. They hoped that when the Americans won that the respect they'd shown would be echoed by the soldiers that took their surrender.
Beside her Daniel thumped the snow off the TOW launcher as he loaded the new missile that had been delivered from the rear. Glancing through the optics he shook his head and glanced at her. "How long do you think?"
"Till they win or the shooting resumes?" Jessica asked.
"Both." He muttered quietly. Overhead flashes of light marked where dogfights continued between the two air forces.
"I have no fucking clue." She pulled a set of binoculars from her gear and stood quickly scanning the frontage. Dozens of medical personnel were at work while soldiers nervously guarded their comrades in the open. Tankers with minor burns and concussions helped load infantrymen who had taken shell fragments or rifle rounds. Having once been a part of the American Marines she knew that crew survivability was one of the biggest design concerns, her fiancé had been a tanker. She doubted the man would be pleased with her current circumstances, the cheating bastard.
"Looks like most of the tank crews lived, no surprise there. It's why we use American IFVs and Tanks when we can. Not like the soviets who store the ammo right next to the crew." She glanced over at Daniel. "No idea on casualties among their troopers though, the body armor they got is damn good."
A burning Eagle lit up the valley, flames streaming behind it like a vast comet's tail. A flash of light from the cockpit signaled the pilot's escape. Pursing her lips Jessica followed the brilliant flare of the rocket motor carry him overhead before his parachute snapped open.
25 March 2000, 03:23 hrs.
10 km south-west of the Mithril Base, State of Alaska, United States
19th Fighter Squadron, 3rd Wing, 11th Air Force
"Missile, inbound! Drop chaff! Drop chaff!" The warning system was practically screaming as Lt. Colonel Tod D. Wolters tore through the sky. Behind him a missile streaked toward his plane.
The chaff dispenser read empty, a state he really hoped was just a lie by a pesky computer as he punched the chaff release button and broke hard to the left roaring over the battle field. Seconds later a bang echoed in the cockpit as dozens of warning lights appeared around him.
He'd been hit. His eyes dropped to the fire warnings screaming from both engines and knew that he was done. "Rapier Lead, ejecting!" He called out unsure even if the radio still functioned as he grabbed the ejection harness and pulled.
The seat pulled him back into an upright position as its straps tightened and then smashed upward through the glass canopy. The seat tore through the sky like a missile before the rocket motor died and his parachute opened, pulling him from the seat which fell to earth below.
Glancing down he saw the burning remains of dozens of wrecks and the smoke blowing northward. Spinning slowly in his chute he glanced at the ground once more and blinked. The flashes of light from gunfire were gone, perhaps the battle had moved onward then? Maybe the ground troops had surrendered.
How does Mithril treat prisoners?
That thought made his scowl at the northward win deepen, north was Mithril territory, and south was American territory. In the dim light he couldn't make out identification marks or vehicles and his night vision goggles were shattered from the ejection.
Then he saw a black speck amongst the white of the snow and scowled again. Was it a rock? Maybe a fallen tree or bomb crater? Swallowing again he tightened his grasp on the lanyards of his parachute and braced himself as the ground rushed up toward him.
He hit with a jolt that made his back spasm in pain and swore loudly before unclipping his harness. As the chute's pull stopped he found himself sliding and fell into a dug out in the side of the hill.
A TOW launcher sat beside him as he looked up and saw a pair of M4 ACOG rifles aimed at his chest. The two fighters were clad in American style winter camouflage and had the familiar body armor he'd seen countless times among the SFs on base and army troops. But these two bore a crest shaped patch on each shoulder that loudly declared their affiliation.
Shit.
"Nice of you to drop in." One of them joked in a crisp Tennessee accent. Glancing at the speaker he realized it was a woman. "Service pistol?"
He slowly nodded and pulled the Beretta from its holster dropping it to the ground between them. Smiling she picked it up and nodded once. "You can have this back when we surrender."
"What?" Tod asked.
"It won't be long now." She smirked once as she glanced over at the battlefield. "You're running us out of ammo. Now would you be a dear and sit at the bottom of the hole so your buddies don't kill you on accident."
Tod, the Lt. Colonel for a squadron of fighters did as he was told. It wasn't often a Sergeant Major could order an officer around.
25 March 2000, 03:34 hrs.
Mithril Base, State of Alaska, United States
Mithril Command Bunker
Sarah Miller leaned against the side of the door at the back of the room watching the feeds from dozens of different personnel. A few from the SRT and RAH-66 Comanche squadron showed nothing but static as either the vehicle in question had been lost or their radio disabled. A couple others from the fighter squadrons showed the same empty static or a signal lost message.
The General stood beside a holographic map of the battlefield, watching the situation. The impromptu truce has held for over half an hour and would soon end. The Americans had swiftly retrieved their casualties in that time and even cleared part of the road. Still, they had to press forward soon.
The fighter squadrons were circling to land after each had successively expended their ordnance. It would take time to rearm and refuel them and in that time the base would be completely exposed to American air power and the helicopters were had also returned and were furiously being worked on by the ground crews.
If the Americans broke through before they were refueled and rearmed the craft would never fly again. Instructions had long been handed out to destroy any equipment that could be used against Mithril in the event of its capture, so every ground crew had explosives ready in case the now inevitable surrender occurred.
Inevitable surrender. That thought made Sarah nervous, shouldn't she get on a plane and run, get away. Maybe it won't be so bad, they can't be as bad as the Russians, and most of the people here were trained by them. They can't be so bad, right?
Then why the hell attack us?
25 March 2000, 03:40 hrs.
Mithril Base, State of Alaska, United States
Valkyrie Squadron, Mithril Base – Alaska Air Defense Detachment
Albus Doran let out a sigh of relief as the wheels of his harrier touched the tarmac. His body was coated with sweat from high G-turns and maneuvers. While the first squadron the Americans had sent had been thrashed, the 3rd wing hadn't let up and F-15Cs and Es had all but darkened the skies by the time they'd expended their ordnance. Two ASRAAMs and two AMRAAMs were far from sufficient to dent the enemy when they were as skilled in combat as they were.
The plane rolled along the runway beside its wing mate. Lydia's craft smoked from one of the rear thrust vectoring nozzles and a set of holes bisected the wing just right of one of the landing gear. The Eagle pilot that had delivered the blow had ate the last of his AMRAAMs and ejected nearly thirty kilometers east of the base. The two planes rolled along the runway their ECS off as they taxied to their hangars. As the cockpits slid open and let in the arctic cold, the roar of engines announced another pair lining up to land.
Lydia clambered out and tore her helmet off throwing it into the cockpit as the ground crew rushed forward and began hurrying to put out the smoke. Glaring at them she shook her head. "Why bother? Get a charge out and destroy it!"
"Yes ma'am!" One of the ground staff answered immediately and scurried off while she shook her head. Then she glanced at Albus clambering out of his harrier.
"Sorry about that, but I won't be joining you up next time. Left aileron control is shot." She sighed. "You'll have to get someone else to cover your ass."
"It's okay Lydia, I don't know if the ground crew has the time to rearm it before the tanks roll up." He let out a sigh and shook his head. "You did good out there."
"Not good enough." She glanced back at her battered harrier as an ordnance officer pulled a satchel charge from storage, twisted the fuse and tossed it into the cockpit. As the man walked away a blast tore apart the craft leaving it a flaming wreck in the hangar. Moments later the emergency crew set to work dousing the wreckage.
"I'll get you that bottle now. It'll be awhile before my bird is flight ready." He gestured to a Humvee sitting beside the hangar. "Quickly before either of us freeze."
"Da, you are quite a comrade Albus. Maybe when all this is over we can get a job together again." She smiled and shook her head.
25 March 2000, 03:57 hrs.
10 km south of the Mithril Base, State of Alaska, United States
Mannaz Company, Mithril Base – Alaska Ground Defense Detachment
Daniel scowled as he glanced down at the United States pilot shivering in the bottom of their hole. "Shit, Jesse, you got a spare field jacket? Our guest looks like he's about to get frost bitten."
"Yeah, back in fucking barracks, at our fucking base, that's ten kilometers north of this little hole. You want me to run back and get it?" The Sergeant Major scowled as she glanced down at the Lieutenant Colonel. "Maybe we should hand him a white flag and tell him to walk over to his friends."
The Lieutenant Colonel swallowed and glanced up at the two Mithril Operatives, his eyes wide. It was clear this was not the sort of people he'd imagined fighting. The two joked, laughed, and talked freely with him. It was like they weren't even enemies, not really. It was almost what it'd be like if American and Britain fought a war he imagined: chivalrous, respectful, and admirable conduct.
The ceasefire that had persisted was just like that, an unspoken gentleman's agreement. They were professionals. They had standards of decency and rules of engagement.
Jessica let out a tired sigh and leaned back against the wall of the foxhole. The truce had lasted longer than anyone had anticipated and she almost wondered if someone in Washington had blinked and decided they'd made a terrible mistake.
Then a rumble like thunder swept across the valley and she saw the south light up like a fireworks display. It'd been years since she'd trained in the Marine Corps, years since she'd hunkered down in the mud with artillery shells coming down on an exercise, but the years hadn't deadened her memory of that experience.
"Shit! Down, everyone down!" She yelled and dropped back down curling her body up under her helmet as the first whistle of the incoming shells reached her ears. Then all she heard was the continuous rumble of explosions, yells and screams echoed from a foxhole down the line. A roar of afterburners marked the appearance of the American air force and the scream of shells was drowned out by the louder thunder of strings of bombs landing on the line.
The air seemed to fill with shrapnel and dust. Smoke and dirt rolled over them and they coughed and choked on dirt and grime.
Jessica glanced at the Lieutenant Colonel now so coated with dust and grime that he seemed to have lost any semblance of identification with the advancing forces. Shaking her head at the thought she tried to push away the ringing in her ears. Slowly sounds began to return, the bark of a heavy machine gun, the roar of a fire, and whoosh of missiles snapped her back to her reality just as Daniel cleared the eyepiece of his TOW Launcher and lined up on a target.
25 March 2000, 04:00 hrs.
11 km south of the Mithril Base, State of Alaska, United States
5th Squadron, 1st Cavalry Regiment, 1st Brigade Combat Team, 25th Infantry Division
David watched the bombardment through the displays of his M6 Bushnell. The rearmed and field repaired Arm Slave sat with the tattered remains of his squadron in a small gully that offered a modicum of protection from fire. The official count for their unit had been bad enough, nearly half the Arm Slaves were destroyed or disabled and unlike the Bradley IFVs or Abrams MBTs there was no easy way for a unit to be made very survivable. The soviets had tried with their RK-92 Savage and its rounded belly to deflect ordinance.
That hadn't worked out for them. From what he had heard most of the casualties in the Arms Slaves had been less than expected, as though the Mithril gunners had aimed to disable instead of kill. Considering the actions of the M9 pilot on his defeat, it sounded plausible.
The communications link crackled. "All units advance and engage."
David let out a slow breath and started forward, his heart hammering in his chest. Maybe the bombardment had worked, maybe resistance would be light. Maybe…
Then the Arm Slave beside him burst into flames and collapsed, its body broken by a fifty-seven millimeter shell. Swallowing he broke into a run as the whir of rotor blades behind him grew to a roar audible even through the metal shell of the mech. Glancing at the displays he let out a sigh of relief, the rotors were friendly, at least this time. AH-64 Apaches and OH-58 Kiowas, UH-60 Blackhawks were in the mix as well laden with assault troopers and likely heading straight for the airfield.
They gave us a nasty bloody nose so we answer with a knock out.
A shell exploded in front of his mech and the sensors flickered for a moment as debris glanced off them. Swallowing back a gulp he focused once again on the battle. His fight, he had to get this damn thing back for Benny's sake at least. That damn tech wouldn't live down him dying out here.
"M9, two o'clock, range one thousand." The AI stated blandly and David swore. His limbs suddenly went rigid. The first opponent had been bad enough, but a second M9. He'd dropped the first through luck!
He was running still, a blistering one hundred kilometer run across the snow. He stepped over a rough line of foxholes at the base of the ridge and ahead he could see the M9 now, holding a Bofors ASG-96B smoothbore rifle. A sniper of a sort he thought to himself as he charged forward, shifting his run to the left and right hoping to keep the sniper's aim off him.
No shell came.
25 March 2000, 04:07 hrs.
9 km south of the Mithril Base, State of Alaska, United States
Sigel Team, Mithril Base – Alaskan Special Response Team
Mara Lesche swore as the bofors gun in her hands refused to fire, clearing the action revealed a jammed round and grimaced inside the M9. The displays showed the American assault. Already she'd dodge a half dozen hellfire missiles from the Apaches that were swooping low over the battlefield hunting.
Now an M6 Bushnell was rushing toward her, an Otto/Melala "Boxer" shot cannon clasped in his hands.
Sweat poured from her hands as she dropped the rifle and drew her AS's sidearm, a mere twenty-five millimeter gun. She let loose sending round after round at the charging Arm Slave. Sparks and bits of metal flew from the armored body as hits struck home, but it didn't fall. Now a mere two hundred meters away she could easily see the applique and reactive armor had been applied and she swore.
The one damn Arm Slave the Americans got that's armored and he chooses me to target. Swallowing she tossed aside the worthless sidearm as the secondary head armament let loose sending .50 caliber rounds into the opponent while she grabbed the tertiary weapon she carried, a monomolecular cutter.
25 March 2000, 04:08 hrs.
9 km south of the Mithril Base, State of Alaska, United States
5th Squadron, 1st Cavalry Regiment, 1st Brigade Combat Team, 25th Infantry Division
David Johnson bit his lip as one of the displays flickered and died to static. Scowling he slid to a stop as he saw the M9 dump its sidearm and draw a monomolecular cutter and he lifted the "Boxer" shot cannon.
"Surrender!" He yelled, trusting the external speakers to carry the message as he centered the "Boxer" shot cannon on his foe.
"Not yet!" A strange accented voice answered immediately and David blinked confused for a moment. The accent was foreign and one he'd never heard before, it almost sounded Slavic or Czech but not.
The pilot was also female.
Fuck, and to think I swore I'd never hit a girl.
He gritted his teeth and bit his lip as the M9 charged forward, swinging the monomolecular cutter. There was a bang as the blade struck the ERA armor and the armor did its job, exploding outward and smashing the monomolecular cutter and the M9's hand along with it.
The woman wasn't finished though and pulled an anti-tank dagger out with what he figured was her off hand. Realizing she wasn't about to give up he braced the gun. At the last second, remembering the last pilot he'd fought he shifted his aim downward and fired.
The M9's legs evaporated and the unit fell forward, clearly out of the fight. Shaking his head for a moment he reached down and rolled the body over. "Now will you surrender?"
"Nuts."
Who the fuck is this woman? He shook his head again and sighed despite the smile that slipped onto his lips. "Come on, you lost."
The hatch to the M9 opened and a woman clad in a black form fitting AS suit clambered out, her pale skin nearly matching the snow and she looked up with hard grey eyes at him. Her curly black hair made her look almost Greek. Damn and she is pretty…
"I hate to lose."
David laughed. Where the fuck does Mithril find these people?
25 March 2000, 04:19 hrs.
Mithril Base, State of Alaska, United States
Officer's Mess
Albus sat down beside Lydia and glared down at the glass of water. After the last few hours it needed to be something else. More specifically, it needed to be a damn beer.
Lydia, now plane less was able to relax and picked up the bottle of vodka and took a swig and slammed it down on the table, her cheeks pink from either the cold outside, the alcohol, or a combination of the two.
"I wonder how many people we killed today." Her voice was low and quiet and he'd often seen how when the pressure of the job let up the best soldiers could slip into a melancholy from the simple nature of their work.
"Not that many, those Abrams tanks you knocked out are legendary for keeping the crews alive. The same goes for most planes these days. Maybe someone died from the rocket attacks though." He sighed. "Don't think about it, I might have to go out there again."
Lydia nodded once and took another swig of the vodka. "What do you think will happen to us?"
Albus pursed his lips in thought and glanced down at the polished bar top. "Depends on the Americans I guess. You're a Russian so they might want to debrief you about what you did over there as well."
"Fuck, I was an instructor for Yak pilots. It was shitty fucking work." She growled for a moment. "What they think I'll tell them that they don't know already? The Yak-141 sucks?" She laughed at that and took another swig. "Shit, times were good with Mithril paying the bills."
"You got a stash somewhere I hope." Albus stated as he glared back down at his water.
"Of course, every mercenary does." She finished off the bottle and tossed it in the trash. "Not that it does any damn good if someone tosses you in jail." Lydia ran a hand through her blond hair and glared at the mirror across from them.
Albus shrugged and glanced up at the ceiling as he heard the whir of rotors. Sighing he glanced back at her. "I feel sorry for the American members, this must suck."
"I don't know, you forget three of my kills are Mikoyans." She climbed over the bar and pulled out another bottle. "And one of them was a guns kill in the cockpit."
Albus winced. He'd seen the gun camera footage and what the Gatling gun on a harrier had done to the glass bubble canopy had made it into a few nightmares. One moment the glass was there the next it was filled with holes, shattered, and stained with blood.
"They made their choice and I made my own. Hell, my choice was to have a choice. Getting out of the motherland isn't easy, especially if you're a pilot." She snickered. "Unless you decide to land unannounced in some neutral country."
"That how you got out?"
She nodded. "South Korea in the middle of the night, damn air traffic controllers probably shat themselves when the daylight rolled around and a brand new Yak was sitting on their dispersal pad."
"Civilian one then?"
"Yeah, couldn't pull something like that at a Military airport." She tore off the tin foil wrapper on the vodka and took another gulp. "I managed to get a flight to South America before they knew I was even there." She laughed. "That's where I hooked up with Mithril."
"A lot of us Brits heard about it in ninety-three when they were starting up, my enlistment was up so I decided to give it a shot." He smiled. "It's been a good seven years."
"Want to grab one of those Gulfstream G. IVs and get the hell out of here?" Lydia asked with a smirk.
The doors burst open and Albus froze as a dozen American soldiers scrambled inside, their rifles up and ready to clear the room. Seeing them he sighed. "Sorry chaps, all non-combatants here."
As the Americans relaxed he leaned over and poured his glass of water into the drain before opening the tap and getting a beer, properly warm for his British constitution. Smirking he lifted it to his mouth and glanced at Lydia. "Sorry love, but it seems they've caught us. Guess I'm off the flight line now."
Lydia laughed. "Da, so it seems."
"Chaps, it seems the bar is open. Help yourself." He said lifting his frothing mug of bitter to salute the confused soldiers.
25 March 2000, 04:33 hrs.
Mithril Base, State of Alaska, United States
Mithril Command Bunker
As soon as the Blackhawks had flown overhead they'd started, an orgy of destruction that bordered on anarchy as files, data, and other information was systematically destroyed. Sitting in the bunker Sarah stared down at the case in her hands and felt tears well up in her eyes.
"Miss Miller, I'm sorry but it must be done." The general stated simply as he watched her.
Sarah nodded, her hands quivering over the controls on the compact AI core balancing on her lap. Her finger hovered over the tiny keyboard hesitantly.
"I don't blame you Sarah." Al's voice echoed from the speaker and she stifled another sob of grief.
Her hands hovered over the keyboard and she tried to bite back the tears, to force her emotions back under her control.
"I can't do it." She sobbed and cradled the device to her chest. "Al's alive, I can't kill him!"
At that moment the doors smashed open and a team of American soldiers rushed into the room. Two shots rang out as a guard tried to draw his weapon and fell, leaving behind a trail of blood against the wall.
The others slowly raised their hands.
25 March 2000, 04:37 hrs.
10 km south of the Mithril Base, State of Alaska, United States
Mannaz Company, Mithril Base – Alaska Ground Defense Detachment
Jessica tossed her radio into the center of the hole and shook her head. "The base just fell." She let out a long sigh and glanced out over the top of the foxhole at the advancing Americans. Return fire had stopped almost ten minutes earlier.
The defenders were out of ammunition, and as the Americans had slowly approached one by one the foxholes had surrendered.
It was just that the particular M2 Bradley that was headed their way was taking an inordinate amount of time to reach them. Shaking her head she pulled out the M9 Beretta and spun it around handing it back to the pilot that had landed in their hole. That done she pulled the empty clip from her rifle and swung it over her shoulder.
"Aren't you going to give that up?" Lt. Colonel Tod Wolters asked as he gestured to the M4 ACOG over her shoulder.
"Why? I bought it." She answered and smirked as Daniel did much the same. "You wouldn't confiscate a weapon from a US citizen would you?"
The Lt. Colonel shook his head and gestured down the hill toward the M2 Bradley. "You can argue that with them, come on, if you're prisoners at least act like it."
Daniel laughed and put his hands over his head and marched through the snow toward the slowly plodding form of the approaching Bradley. "Maybe they have a jacket for the Lieutenant Colonel."
Jessica laughed. "They better!" The Bradley stopped before them and its commander stood blinking at the sight of the soot covered pilot leading two Mithril Operatives to him. Jessica gestured to the man behind them. "Hey Army! Have you got a fucking coat for this guy, he's freezing! I don't want him to shoot me for my fatigues."
The man just blinked as two things registered in his mind. He'd fought a woman and her choice of words told him one more thing. Only marines said "Hey Army!" and got away with it.
25 March 2000, 09:00 hrs.
Washington, District of Columbia, United States
White House Situation Room
Bill Clinton watched the battle wind down, the Mithril units slowly surrendering one after another. His eyes focused on the blackened wreckage that sat scattered around the countryside. On the road wrecks were almost stacked atop each other and a few burnt corpses littered the snow.
"It seems it's over." General Gordon stated as he watched the satellite feed. "Initial reports from the medical section of the twenty-fifth division are coming in, but it seems fatalities are low, probably under a hundred and twenty or so but they've got over a thousand cases of wounded soldiers to treat. We've also got search and rescue efforts out for thirty or so pilots. Their HQ had locations for other ten or so pilots of theirs that went down."
"I will have to address the nation tonight and explain our actions, it would be prudent to let the media in and see the base, at least giving them limited access." The president rubbed the side of his cheek and glanced once more at the displays. "They fought well."
General Gordon nodded. "We received a message ten minutes ago from Admiral Jerome Borda." He sighed and lifted the teletype to his eyes. "Congratulations on your military victory over the World's Policeman. It is with my sincerest hopes that great loss of life was averted in the battle. Your nation alone is the world's protector from chaos. The keys of damnation and salvation are now in your hands. Use them wisely."
Gordon coughed into his hand and sighed. "I'll be watching. Sincerely, Jerome Borda, Admiral, United States Navy (retired)."
"Any idea where he is?" The President asked.
"The NSA is attempting to back track the signal." Gordon sighed. "He's almost certainly outside of the country by now." Gordon glanced at the satellite feeds and shook his head. "Any idea what we should do with them?"