Chp. 5: Avalanche

September 5th, 2015

Otara, Southwest Emmeria

Sous-Lieutenant Louis Charland didn't know how many more times he could do this. The infantryman's throat was dry as he ran down the narrow alley with the remains of one of his squads. His energy had been drained by the late-summer heat and the day's battle. The Estovakian onslaught had been relentless; how could a nation thought to be in shambles have so many tanks? So many men that they could throw them endlessly at the Emmerians' defenses? The sounds of small arms and light artillery always seemed to be as close as the last block they'd cleared. Friendly forces were scattered as they made a dash for the harbor, and the stronger perimeter there.

The only thing slowing the enemy behind them was the need to clear the tightly packed maze of houses in the neighborhood of Quartier des Pecheurs. Some more foolhardy members of the local Troupes de Marine garrison had decided to fight to the death. Louis couldn't decide whether to thank them for taking the heat off of his men. Or if he should curse them for such a cavalier attitude. He stopped as the alleyway ended, opening into a hillside market. He raised the scope on his FAMAS G2 to his right eye and scanned the rooftops. One of his squad leaders, a broad-jawed man named Morel, went to the opposite side of the alley and did the same.

"Should we deploy smoke, Lieutenant?" He asked.

"Keep watch for now; I want to consult the map." Louis replied.

He ducked back and pulled the item from behind his combat vest. His radio operator, Infantryman First Class Michel Capron, scurried over to him on instinct.

"We're moving in the right direction; the church the Capitaine told us about should be past that hotel." He explained.

Morel craned his neck and pushed himself against the wall so he could see the building. He nodded and looked back to a machine gunner.

"Your orders, sir?" He added.

"Deploy smoke, then position your squad to cover uphill. I'll take the others downhill. We'll position ourselves across from the hotel and wait for you." Louis said as he stuffed his map back under his vest.

"Capron, as soon as we're in position I want you to contact the Capitaine."

"Yes, Lieutenant."

Louis rose to his feet and signaled his command and an odd fireteam to stay with him. Morel tossed a smoke grenade into the open and waited just long enough for the veil to fill out. He charged forward with a couple riflemen to the stalls across the street. Louis took that time to at least wet his tongue, then drew in a breath and burst onto the road. His eyes remained fixed on a newspaper stand and a bunch of bicycles at the bottom of the curving path. He stopped behind a low wall only when he thought he heard something. He looked back to Morel's position, then at the rooftops. When he was sure it was clear, he got moving once again. He stopped behind the bikes and leveled his rifle in the direction of the Estovakian advance. At least, the general direction it was coming from. He looked back as Capron and the others came down the street. He looked away when a familiar sound reached his ears. The scream of incoming artillery pushed everyone to grab whatever cover they could. Some of the men simply threw themselves to the ground and waited as the word "incoming" was shouted up and down the thoroughfare.

Louis yanked down the pair of goggles on his helmet in anticipation of the first impact. They snapped tight against his face as the concussive force from a mortar shell washed over him. He dared look up, then crawled his way towards the rest of his command as the next rounds landed. His eyes had just barely focused on his radioman when the young soldier disappeared in a flash of fire and smoke. Louis huddled against the ground and felt an intense heat. He almost thought his insides were going to turn into liquid. Several hard pieces of shrapnel and stone scraped against the top of his helmet and his vest. He could feel the sting of a few as they ripped at his fatigues. The finale came in the form of something wet and heavy. It landed on the man's helmet, then plopped onto the ground. Something of a similar quality landed on his back. Louis opened his eyes to see streaks of red traveling down his goggles. A piece of something rolled off the top of his helmet and onto the lower part of his face. With growing horror, he realized it was pieces of Capron…

Louis's first instinct when he recounted his horror was to check his face. All he felt was a stray strand of hair. He quickly withdrew his hand and settled back into his seat. The close encounter with a 81mm mortar round had left him somewhat cooked for the better part of a month. Once he was well enough, he'd been sent back to the frontlines. His platoon had been turned into a group of individual replacements for a company of the 25th Infantry Regiment. Those he'd fought in Otara with were in other units, save for Morel. The Isari-Emmerian had been promoted to be his platoon adjutant.

Acting on a random impulse, he pulled down his goggles, pulled up his scarf and opened the hatch above him. His driver, Dayot, was busy following the platoon ahead of them as they made the final leg of their march. The air was thick with the stench of rubber and burning gas as the wheeled IFVs moved down the dark highway. Through rolling hills filled with farmland and wilderness. The thought made Louis's eyes go skywards, and flakes from another flurry dotted his view. No words could describe how much he hated the cold. The freckled redhead clutched the sides of his cupola. An intrusive thought wished that he might spontaneously freeze to death before the inevitable came. The men in the vehicles behind him were all at least somewhat experienced, but he was terrified to have any power over them. Not like I have a choice he thought mournfully.

It was almost all that could occupy his mind as they approached their assembly area. Family, home? None of that state in his mind for very long. Soon the cold didn't matter as much anymore. The IFVs crested a shallow rise, where the road straightened out, and came into view of a train yard. Louis ducked down into his station to check the battlefield management system. The same collection of blue boxes he'd been checking on was there. As they sank into a small forest, he saw a pair of VBLs stradling the road. A military policeman saw them and held up a hand to the lead vehicle. The stop lasted only a few seconds, obstinately because the MPs were telling the lead driver where to go.

"Rhino 6 to all Rhino elements, standby to turn right and disperse into our final positions. Officers' meeting one hour after we're in position." Captain Charrier radioed.

"Rhino 2-1 copies all." Louis replied.

The convoy started up again and turned onto a logging road that weaved through the trees. The pace slowed to a crawl as the lead vehicle negotiated bumps and turns meant for smaller vehicles. Louis lowered himself down until everything below the shoulders was back in the relative warmth of the VBCI. The distant roar of a jet engine, audible even over that of his mount's drew his eyes to the sky. The entire convoy jolted to a halt until Charrier barked for them to keep moving. Louis reached back and grabbed his hatch and decided to button things up.

"Rhino 6 this is Rhino 2-1, was that one of ours?" He dared ask.

"Unknown, Rhino 2-1." The senior man hissed.

Louis forced the matter out of his mind as Dayot turned from the road so Morel's driver could move into position on their left. The other two vehicles in the platoon went to the right and helped formed a line off of 1st Platoon's positions. Commandant Gerard watched them move into position on his management system before he keyed his radio.

"Rhino 6 this is Steel 6, confirm you have a visual on us to your front?" He radioed.

"Affirmative, Steel 6. We have a visual on you and friendly engineers clearing a pathway for us." Charrier replied.

"Steel copies all, out."

The leader of the Steel Gunners checked his watch but kept his comments on the time of 25th Infantry's arrival to himself. The hours until the opening barrage were few and it seemed like there was still too much to be done. He was going over his regiment's alternate plan of attack for the fourth time when he heard noise atop the turret.

"Halt!" His gunner barked.

Gerard cocked a brow as the visitor identified himself from outside the LeClerc. Gerard knocked against his hatch a few times to make sure no one was standing on it. He saw Jacques approaching from the rear quarter at the gunner's command.

"Good morning, Lieutenant! What brings you this way?" He asked, issuing a warmer welcome now that proper procedure had been satisfied.

"Legs have been feeling a bit stiff, Commandant. Thought I might work it out of them before we have to get arching again." He explained.

The way the words came out, Gerard suspected he was also deep in thought.

"Well, don't let us hold you up. Don't be out too long, either; I want everyone on hand in case that single aircraft from earlier is the start of something bigger."

"I won't, sir…think I'll head back now."

The young officer turned around and walked off into the trees once more, leaving Gerard and his gunner to ponder the encounter.

"Odd fellow, I must admit. Surprised you didn't lecture him for going on a stroll, sir." The junior of the two commented.

"Just can't bring myself to chide a man for wanting to maintain his health. Not when my energy is best used elsewhere." He sighed.

He looked beyond the edge of the woods at the wire fence that was their Line Of Departure (LOD). He raised his binoculars to look at the bridge that was their ultimate goal. Beyond that, the only thing he could make out were the outskirts of Misko. Dominated by the two churches in the town and the sporadic lights through the steadily thinning trees.

"Hand over the rifle, La Cour, then go on and get some sleep. I can take over the watch."

It seemed as if a little of the lieutenant's thinking had rubbed off on him…

"My dearest Frederick, I write from the safety of a town in Nordennavic, where I have found work to better support the children. The relief camps can only provide so much."

The fears of Capitaine de Corvette Freddie Durand had evaporated as soon as he'd recognized his wife's handwriting on the envelope. He'd read further to give him a boost of morale, and to know that Gisele, Elanor and Eve were all okay. Otherwise, the past few months aboard the Chaulet (R01) had been torture for the acting commander of Flottille 2F. He'd felt humiliated, having to run. Aeronavale pilots were an especially proud breed. They walked the tight rope during every part of flight. The bright-eyed brunette he'd loved so much for a decade seemed to have sensed that when she'd written to him.

"I pray that peril has not swayed your love of the sea. That love, that desire to teach me and the girls to scuba dive, is part of why we love you. I see it bring you the same happiness that you tell me I bring you. Nor has your worry for us clouded your vision. I will not tell you not to worry, but I ask that you remember those you work alongside."

He wondered if he should confide in her some of the lowest valleys they'd been in since that day in August. He stopped himself there and re-read her words to shut down any negative thoughts. Instead, he followed the rest of his command out of the equipment room. Two of those men, Lieutenant de Vaisseau Paul Pernet and Enseigne de Vaisseau Andre Moreau, were waiting outside for him. Two of his fourship; Freddie glanced around and raised a brow.

"Where's Torrent?" He asked.

"Washroom; told him not to have so many cups of coffee. I've been telling Serac that he should keep the boy from drinking so much. Bad for his health." Pernet, known as Blizzard to his colleagues, snorted.

"He's a grown man; my only responsibility for him is when we fly." The shorter of the two replied evenly.

"Tell that to our Capitaine."

"You're both right." Freddie replied as he shifted to deal with all the weight on him.

Enseigne de Vaisseau Darche came hurrying down the corridor a minute later, and immediately snapped to attention when he saw Freddie.

"Apologies, Capitaine!" He blurted out. The senior man returned the gesture.

"Darche, from now on no more coffee within two hours of us launching. We have a timetable to keep." He scolded.

The young aviator shrunk a bit but kept his expression neutral.

"Yes sir. Apologies, sir."

Not that he could say too much, given that the other pilots had already gone topside, but the commander wasn't about to open that can of worms. Instead he strode forward, taking his brightly painted helmet from its bag as he approached a hatch. A blast of cold air hit him as he exited onto the catwalk of the carrier. He set his helmet over his closely cropped blonde hair to keep his ears warm. The four ascended to the flight deck and strode aft of the island to a gaggle of Rafale Ms. Even though the sun wasn't even a quarter of the way into the sky, Freddie pulled down his visor as he approached his plane. His crew chief greeted him with a firm handshake and gave him the news that his aircraft was in top shape. Even then, Freddie did his due diligence and gave his aircraft his own inspection. Not that I expect her to get this far and fail me He thought with a brief grin. He patted one of the Magics on the wingtip pylons and felt that love of his job returning.

He returned to the boarding ladder for the plane and ascended past a sizable kill count. All around him, the flight deck of the Chaulet was abuzz with activity. Over a dozen Rafales and Super Etendards were being manned and readied for the launch cycle. Freddie loved the sight; he felt like Paul De Saint-Pierre looking over his fleet before it repelled the Lenish from Catabeu in 1809. The displays before him lit up and flickered through their tests. He set the center display to his GPS and worked through the startup procedures. The radio came to life as the dozens of aircraft were checking in with one-another and the carrier's air traffic controllers. A Plane Director in a yellow vest beckoned him forward from his spot with the rest of his flight. The only aircraft ahead of them were more Etendards readied for refueling.

He pulled the envelope from his flight suit and enjoyed one final whiff of his wife's scent. He slid it back into place as the Jet Blast Deflector lowered back into place. The Catapult Officer waved him forward and Freddie felt the adrenaline starting to flow.

"The Stovies are about to have a really, REALLY bad day." He growled.