Chp. 7: A Breath of Respite
January 24th, 2005
General Ikov's Field HQ
Ikov returned Captain Pavvo's salute as he approached the tent. The rain had started to pick up, and he hoped the man was reporting to him to pass along some good news for a change.
"Sir, the perimeter is completed. We have two fighting positions each covering a 90-degree arc with sentries in-between. We were able to deploy a few anti-personnel mines, but I've kept it to a minimum in case we have to move. I decided to have the next shift start now while the others rest. We'll rotate every four hours." He explained.
"Good job, Captain. I'll have the canteen crew come by around dawn to make sure your men are fed." Ikov replied approvingly.
"Thank you sir. Is there anything else you require me for?"
"No, Captain; proceed as usual."
Pavvo saluted again and hurried off towards some tall grass. Ikov remained outside for a few minutes. The collection of vehicles sat behind a hill to obscure it from the east. Should any ISAF jet happen upon them, men armed with shoulder-launched missiles stood ready. The distant rumble of explosions had faded for now, and only the ghostly light of far-off fires remained. He had little time to think about much else when Major Salo stuck his head out.
"General, if you have a moment?" He asked weakly.
"What's on your mind, Major?" Ikov replied before turning towards him.
The man emerged into the rain and stood at attention.
"Sir, I request that after the current situation has been concluded…I be allowed to write a proper resignation."
"Resignation? Over what?"
"I feel that I bear some responsibility for not foreseeing this attack, sir. My complacency endangered you and I believed too deeply that ISAF would not do anything like this."
Ikov started to scowl, but then his expression softened.
"Major, I will not accept your resignation. If anyone is to blame, it's intelligence at levels above our heads. Or Andric. If I fired every man for not predicting things correctly, this headquarters would be very small."
Salo stood there for a second, long enough that Ikov had to sigh.
"Major, if you need me to put it this way then I'm ordering you to remain at your post. Unless you wish to engage in dereliction of duty."
That worked in kicking on the man's patriotic instincts (and fears).
"I understand, sir. Thank you for your generosity." He replied crisply.
"No thanks are needed. Return to your post."
Ikov followed the man inside the tent attached to the back of his XA-185. The situation was much the same as it had been at his bunker, but it seemed that communications were steadily improving. One of the APCs with the group, dedicated to electronic warfare, had steadily been outsmarting the enemy's jamming as it tried to keep them suppressed. Iivari walked up to Ikov as he listened to the radio operators.
"Southern Command has finally managed to get through to us. Captain Ejdus suggests we use the satellite phone in case the jamming increases again. Southern Command has agreed and is awaiting your call." He advised softly.
Ikov nodded and climbed inside the Pasi. He closed the door behind him and pulled out his personal duffle bag. Using a phone, even one with encryption, felt very wrong in this situation. Orders were orders, however. The device took a minute to establish a proper relay from it to a communications satellite, then back down to the city of Calbury. The man he found himself talking to was none other than the head of the Erusean Army's Southern Command: General Avram Filppula.
"Good morning, General. I apologize for the delay in contacting you, but the enemy has made it a point to dismantle our communications abilities this time around." Ikov began. He was quietly surprised when Filppula left it at that.
"Yes, as well as our air assets. General Andric has not been in contact with us, so until further notice I am giving you full command of the district. What is your assessment of the situation?"
Ikov relayed everything he knew, including the apparent raid on the General's estate. It was still being secured, so the man's status was unknown. General Filppula compared it to what he knew, and then informed Ikov that his district was not the only one with heavy activity.
"Do you believe your district may be under threat of an amphibious raid, General?" The senior man asked.
"I cannot be completely sure given this new information. However, General, I do not intend to be the one district that is unprepared should such an attack occur."
"Understandable. I want your district to remain on alert for the next 12 hours. At that time we will reassess and either maintain the status or adapt as needed."
"And Andric, sir?"
"We need more concrete evidence before we commit resources. I will inform the SSD that your primary mission remains the defense of the district against any and all threats. Is there anything else needing my attention, Ikov?"
"No sir. I will inform you as soon as anything of significance occurs. Should anything of significance occur."
"I expect nothing less."
The man hung up as soon as the words left his mouth. Ikov stored the device and cleared his throat.
"It seems General Andric is considered missing. How sad." He commented.
"Should I have Salo draft up a search and rescue operation?"
"No, that is to be left to the SSD. Not even Filppula has a good idea what happened to him. Our main priority remains defending the beaches."
"Yes sir."
The two went back to the tent and a map hanging from a wooden frame. Ikov's first order, he felt, was fairly obvious.
"Filppula has ordered we remain on alert for the next 12 hours. I want to make sure all units are supplied for that stretch. Tell all military police units to be especially wary of attacks by the resistance. And, if possible, I want to flush some cells out before this is over."
"Yes sir."
He wasn't going to be caught off guard again, Ikov promised himself…
"How's he holding up, Davison?"
The medic looked up at Jamie, then back at their prize.
"He's gotten delirious enough that he can't speak, so no more half-mumblings about how we're a bunch of twits. He'll probably come to by the time we reach the refueling point." He explained.
"If he gets mouthy, just smack him. Nothing too hard though, alright?"
"You have my word, Captain. How's the knick you got?"
"Feels like a bad rug burn more than anything else. Almost an inconvenience, considering I have been shot before."
"That the one where you didn't even feel it?"
"Oy, respect the ranks you cheeky bastard. It was a round from an NSV, I'll have you know."
The two exchanged smiles, then looked at Andric as he started to stir again. The man's gaze locked onto Jamie, then up at the ceiling of the Mi-8. Jamie didn't think much of it as he walked towards the cargo doors, asking each man he saw how they were doing. The nylon seats had become one of the most comfortable things for most of the men. Jamie couldn't blame them as he turned around and made his way towards his seat near the cockpit. He checked his watch as he sat down, and figured they were another 45 minutes from refueling. He looked over to Yorke, who was asleep, and tapped the man's shin with his bootheel.
"Wake up, we'll be landing soon." He commented.
"Fuck off, I don't pump petrol." Yorke snorted back.
The helicopter hit a small patch of air and bounced the commandos up and down. Yorke reluctantly opened his eyes and grimaced.
"Why do I even bother…" He sighed.
"Oh please, you'll be back to sleep in no time." Jamie snarked.
"Yeah, and I'll be thirsty."
"Drink some water?"
"I want a lager."
"Thinking of home? That's gonna make me thirsty, tooo."
"Dreaming about being back in Chessington. Or better yet trips to Saint Ark so we could get pissed beyond belief. Remember Crazy Joe and that time he got smart with that cop?"
Jamie swallowed his laughter and nodded.
"Yeah…take out yah pen, and take out yah little notepad, and write on it Joe-wham!"
"God bless ya, Crazy Joe; wherever you may be."
The Hip hit another patch of rough air, then started to turn. Based on what their position was, Jamie realized they were heading south. Out of curiosity he rose and began towards the cockpit. The Flight Engineer looked up at him and cocked a brow. Jamie started to talk, but the man held up a finger. He retrieved a headset and gave it to the Captain.
"Curious why we're turning south, Sergeant." He explained. One of the pilots replied.
"Got incoming enemy aircraft, so we gotta look the part of Eruseans. Tell your men to keep their backs to the windows and keep your guest quiet."
"Copy!"
What that had to do with going south was never considered by Jamie as he turned around and relayed the message to Yorke and Connors. He found himself wedged in the arch between cockpit and cabin as the pilot fought more turbulence. He twisted his head to see a pair of jet engine plumes pass by. It was enough to get even him a bit on edge. The co-pilot lifted his boom mike away and leaned down to the Captain.
"Not the first time we've had this happen, Captain. Listen and be assured." He explained.
"I don't speak Erusean." Jamie replied flatly.
Jamie looked down the cabin as the commandos remained completely still. He looked out the front windscreen again and saw the engines levitating perfectly in place where they'd once been. His headphones gave him a lot of back and forth between the pilot and what he assumed were Erusean fighters. The man didn't even have an accent as he went back and forth with te native speaker.
"Says we're moving reinforcements to the northern part of the district. Reports of commando raids on the coastal defenses." the co-pilot translated.
That was all well and good, Jamie thought, but what if someone started asking questions about why the helis weren't on some flight schedule somewhere? These X Squadron guys seemed just a little too sure of themselves for his taste. He looked down the cabin's center as Andric began to squirm. He looked at Davison and made a motion over his mouth like he was zipping his lips closed. Davison nodded and pulled off his ski cap to stuff in the man's mouth. When that only worked a little, he jabbed the man with the business end of his sidearm. Jamie looked at the pilot, who remained akin to a block of ice. The conversation had been going on too long, and the jets had disappeared from sight. The pilot's tone went from businesslike to cordial, then he seemed to sign off.
"They're getting called to deal with another air raid further south. Almost didn't believe me, but we should be long gone by the time he can ask about us." He explained. Jamie nodded and pulled himself to his feet.
"Get questioned by Erusean birds often?" He dared ask.
"Not often. Think that was maybe the second time they've asked us where we're going?"
The commando didn't respond, but the co-pilot was ready to deliver some wisdom.
"You SAS blokes oughta start trusting us more." He winked.
"I'll consider it." Jamie replied hesitantly…
God, Neptune, or some other higher power had come through for them, Captain Harold Drew thought. The clouds and rain brought by the dawn had not been backed up by rough seas. ASFS Moresby (FFG 15) eased back to the left in unison with her sister ship, Hale (FFG 09), mirroring the formation of the Ferdinand (FFG 14) and Brunbarry (FFG 06) to the south. Between them was a single Kidd-class destroyer, guarding the ships from the ever-present threat of air attack. The crew was deathly quiet as another minute at general quarters passed by. It was broken when the navigator, Lieutenant Hira, spoke up.
"Captain, we've reached the beginning of our run!" He reported, hitting the lap button on a stopwatch.
"Steady as she goes, Mister Hira." He replied.
"Aye sir."
Drew tugged up the sleeve of his sweater and checked his watch. He grabbed his binoculars and looked at the Hale. An amber light began to blink a pattern, repeating it twice before one of Moresby's signalmen acknowledged. The main circuit box near him buzzed a few seconds later, and he had the handset to his ear before the second ring was complete.
"Conn." He stated, expecting who was on the other line.
"Conn, CIC; the Hale reports she's ready to fire. Standing by for your orders." Lieutenant Commander Brighton reported.
"Launch salvo when ready." Drew replied.
The two hung up just as an RGM-84E SLAM (Standoff Land Attack Missile) was loaded onto the bow missile launcher. The mechanism swiveled and leveled a little, then the missile raced skywards in a brilliant cloud of white smoke. The launcher went back to its original position, received a second SLAM, and fired that one in the same direction. After the fourth shot, the next weapon rammed into place was an SM-2MR anti-air missile. He raised his binoculars again and managed to spot the last SLAM as it dropped to wave-height and disappeared over the horizon.
"Alright Mister Hira, set a new course Heading 295. Maintain speed, keep us in a proper zig-zag." He ordered, gaze still fixed on the horizon.
"Aye sir."
"Just behind" them, the next launch cycle was getting underway aboard the carriers Fort Grace and Samuel Islands. Sailors in their bright-colored vests ran about, guiding F-14s and F-18s into position. The fighters were loaded to the max with bombs and missiles and fuel tanks, each one hopefully destined to strike an Erusean target. The mood aboard CV-03 and CV-04 was especially pumped today. No one seemed to care that they were about to bomb their own country. If it meant getting them back, even the battlegroup commander overseeing the enormous armada was happy to oblige. When the green light was given, the first salutes dropped and the catapults began to launch planes. One after the other, like guns in slow motion, until the sky was packed full of them. Much closer, the same level of activity was growing all along the coast as soldiers and marines boarded their landing craft. One of the command ships was transmitting a short radio signal over and over: Bunker Shot.