But most of the incoming shells and rockets ran into the wall of metal that the tower’s twin C-RAMs threw out and were instantly neutralized. Most, but not all. Some managed to get through, and there were casualties as a result. And that’s why Major General Suzanne “Bunny” Smith continued to fire them. After dropping paratroopers south of the tower, she was determined to wear the defenders down.
What Smith didn’t know, or General Bo Macintyre hoped she didn’t know, was that two battalions of Confederate cavalry were racing north to kick her ass. So his task was to hold and keep holding. And he was all in… Meaning that Bo was going to stay until the battle was over. Trenches ran out to the twelve-foot-high berm like spokes on a wheel. Most were one-way. Some ran in, so that the wounded could be taken belowground for treatment, and others ran out, enabling personnel and supplies to reach the wall.
And it was understood that everyone, regardless of rank, was to grab something and bring it with them if they were headed out to the berm. Bo grabbed a can of 7.62mm ammo and lugged it along as he followed a couple of privates toward the east side of the perimeter.
Craters could be seen where artillery and mortar rounds had managed to penetrate the C-RAMs’ defensive fire, and one of them partially overlapped the trench. Bo winced when he saw a dark stain on the dirt. It was surrounded by cast-off bandages. Someone had been hit and taken away.
Stairs led up to a circular platform that wasn’t much different from similar structures that Bo had seen in the ancient fortresses of Europe. And that made sense since the functions were similar. Soldiers had to stand on something if they were going to fight, regardless of whether they were armed with a machine gun or a crossbow.
Bo paused to place the ammo can next to some others before beginning his tour. He was bareheaded, so everyone could see who he was, and armed with a golf club. The putter was part of his persona now. He had taken one into action in Afghanistan and become known for it. Now the club was a useful gimmick. The kind of thing that was sure to generate stories. “And there the general was,” a private might say. “Strolling around with a putter on his shoulder, cool as a cucumber, while the bullets flew over his head.”
That was bullshit, of course, since Bo was as frightened as anyone else. But, unlike some, he knew how to hide it. And the club was part of the act.
“How’s it going?” Bo demanded as he came upon a surprised mortar team. He knew that they, like most of the machine gunners, had yet to fire a shot. “Don’t worry,” he told them. “You’ll get your chance before long… And when you do, give ’em hell!”
And so it went as Bo made his way around the circuit with Major Arkov and his bodyguards in tow. Every now and then, Bo would climb up on top of the berm and make a production out of peering through his binoculars. Arkov didn’t like it, but the troops did, and that was the point.
A sniper fired at him, and a bullet kicked up a geyser of soil next to Bo’s right boot. The report followed a fraction of a second later. “The bastards can’t shoot,” Bo remarked as he forced himself to remain on the wall for an additional three seconds.
That got a laugh from the team assigned to a .50 caliber machine gun and gave Bo a chance to jump down. A lieutenant saluted him, and Bo made use of the putter to return the gesture of respect. That was close, Bo thought as he strolled away. I’m one lucky son of a bitch.
The tour continued. And Bo was about halfway around the circumference of the berm, and shooting the shit with a master sergeant, when Arkov interrupted them. “Excuse me, sir… But I have a message from the CO. He wants you to know that Union tanks are approaching the tower from the west. Lots of them.”
Lieutenant Colonel Fields was down in the underground command center, where he was supposed to be. And there were lots of cameras and sensors mounted on top of the three-hundred-foot tower. So if tanks were coming, he could see them.
Maybe this was it. After doing what she could to wear the Confederates down, Bunny Smith had decided to launch a full-scale attack. Or had she? Something felt wrong. “Ask Colonel Fields to take a look all around,” Bo said. “A careful look.”
Arkov nodded and spoke into a handheld radio. What seemed like a long thirty seconds dragged by. Then Bo saw Arkov’s eyebrows rise. “Really? Holy shit. I’ll tell him.”
Arkov turned to Bo. “Colonel Fields says that motorcycles are coming in from the east! At least fifty of them.”
Bo’s mind was racing. Motorcycles… What the? Then he had it. The engineers who designed the towers had been in a hurry… And rather than build two vertical retaining walls, and fill the space between them with earth, they settled for a steep slope. A slope that could be used as a ramp! One the bikers could use to jump the defensive berm.
The weapons on the parapet would cut down most of the motorcycle riders before they could do that, of course… But if Smith sent enough bikers, some would get inside. To capture the tower? No. To kill people and cause confusion while the tanks rolled in. All of that flowed through his mind in an instant. “Tell Fields to put out the word: Kill the bikers before they can jump the berm and land in the compound. Come on!”
Bo began to run along the top of the wall. The rest of them had no choice but to follow. The noise generated by the motorcycle engines blended with the sound of outgoing gunfire to create an asynchronous roar. The four soldiers were halfway to the east side of the compound when a biker managed to pass through the hail of bullets unscathed and soar into the compound.
The bike landed hard, and the rider was thrown clear. He came up shooting and managed to kill a couple of unsuspecting soldiers before a third put him down.
Bo swore as he followed a flight of stairs down into the compound below. Bo’s bodyguards were firing their assault weapons by then, and one of them managed to smoke an incoming soldier before his motorcycle could touch down.
A Union solider was lying on his back clutching his leg when Bo shot him in the head. The situation was critical, the biker still had the capacity to fire his weapon, and Bo didn’t have the resources to guard prisoners. A different biker saw the execution and fired his machine pistol at Bo. The bullets cut Arkov down as one of Bo’s bodyguards shot the Yankee in the throat.
Bo knelt next to Arkov to check for a pulse. There was none. He took the major’s radio. It looked as though the motorcycle attack was over. “This is Macintyre… We’re making progress in the compound. What’s the situation outside the wall? Over.”
“Our armor arrived,” Fields responded. “They’re duking it out with the Union tanks. So far so good.”
“Glad to hear it,” Bo replied as he fired at a Union soldier. “Keep your doors locked.”
“They’re sealed,” Fields assured him. “And our helicopters are on the way back.”
After being sent away, the command’s Apaches had been ordered to land and wait for orders. Now they were about to swoop in, and just in time, too, since surface-to-air missiles were flashing off the top of the tower, a sure sign that Smith’s aircraft had joined the fray.
The contest for control of the compound was over fifteen minutes later. The larger battle raged on for more than two hours. But when it was over, and Bo looked out over the battlefield from the top of the tower, he liked what he saw. General Smith’s forces had been forced to retreat northwards, leaving a hundred wrecked vehicles behind them. Some continued to burn. The threads of gray smoke came together to throw a pall over the ravaged farmland that surrounded the tower.