Shaking his head in amazement, Webster replied, “That, my friend, was a miracle.”
Then the loud tearing sound and wave of explosions started up again, only this time a little further down the line. It tore into the next enemy position.
“Seriously, what the hell was that? I’ve never seen something like that,” Ryle added. He craned his head around to look up at the sky. Corporal Webster looked up too, but all they could see was a layer of clouds and intermittent red lines slashing through the gray covering.
“That was an Air Force AC-130 Spectre gunship, Ryle, and it just saved our lives.”
Captain Jason Diss and his tankers were physically exhausted. Their brigade had been in almost constant combat for the past four days as the Allies began their final move on the PLA amassing around the Beijing capital region. The 2nd Brigade Combat Team or “Black Jacks” of the 1st Cavalry Division still had another 130 kilometers to travel to relieve a brigade from the 10th Mountain Brigade that was hunkered down deep behind enemy lines.
Looking behind him, Diss saw the Abrams tanks and Bradley fighting vehicles of his battalion steadily moving along the G1 or Jingha Expressway. They had been making good time ever since they’d finally jumped on this route.
“Anything is better than snaking through one endless village after another,” thought Diss. Tanks didn’t belong in cities. They needed room to maneuver.
Looking up, Diss saw a pair of Apache gunships several kilometers to his right zoom ahead of them, scouting for possible enemy armor or threats.
“As long as the flyboys keeps the Chinese Air Force off my tanks we’ll be fine,” he thought. Diss remembered a few weeks back when one of those new PLA UAV ground-attack planes had torn into his battalion. They’d lost several tanks before the drone had been shot down. The sight of that thing had scared the hell out of them — it was the first time they’d seen the PLA’s newfangled weapon.
Diss heard some radio static in his CVC and then the familiar beep as the SINCGAR synced. “Mustang Four, this is Hawk Three. Be advised, enemy armor spotted nineteen kilometers to your front. Enemy armor at least battalion strength. Moving to engage them now. Out.”
“Well, at least our gunships found the enemy before they found us,” he thought, trying to look at the bright side. Part of him was selfishly upset that the Apaches would get to score some kills before his tanks arrived on scene. His company already had more tank kills than any company in the brigade, and it was a point of pride for his unit.
Depressing his own talk button, he spoke to his tankers. “Heads up, Mustangs! FRAGO follows. Our Hawk element has spotted enemy armor. Roughly battalion-size, nineteen kilometers to our front. They’re engaging them now. I want everyone to get ready to move off the expressway in a few more kilometers. We’ll approach from the fields to our left.”
A few minutes went by as the tankers drove a little closer to the enemy on the smooth surface of the expressway. Then Diss’s lead tank bulldozed through the cement barrier on the edge of the expressway, creating a hole for the rest of the company to follow through.
As they approached the outskirts of Gengyang, they saw a handful of black smoke columns drifting skyward, evidence of the Apaches’ earlier visit.
“Damn, those guys were probably setting up an ambush for us in the city,” Diss thought, grateful that the gunships had made their visit first.
Captain Diss examined his map; they were roughly halfway to their objective of relieving the 10th Mountain Unit. This was the last place they wanted to get bogged down — it was one of the few major cities between them and the soldiers they were supposed to relieve.
A familiar crackle of static echoed in his CVC before the radio beeped. “Mustang Four, Warrior Two. I’ve got eyes on at least twelve Type-96 tanks intermixed inside a small cluster of multistory apartment complexes. We’ve also spotted seven Type-11 assault gun trucks. Unknown number of dismounted infantry, but it looks to be at least company strength. How copy?”
The Warrior element was their scout platoon assigned to them from brigade. The combat observation and lasing teams were specially equipped M1200 armored cars that would speed ahead of the armored forces, looking for enemy targets for the armor to engage. In this case, they zeroed in on the targets the Apaches had found and would lead the tanks right to them.
Captain Diss depressed his talk button. “Warrior Two, this is Mustang Four. Good copy. We’re eight clicks from your current position. Can you get some steel on those assault trucks?” he asked, hoping they might be able to get some artillery support. He was concerned about the AT trucks in particular — although not heavily armored, they could really damage his tanks if they got within range of their antitank guided missiles or 105mm cannons.
“Copy that, Mustang. Stand by while we see what’s available,” came the reply.
Diss switched over to his company net. “Mustangs, I want everyone to reform into a wedge formation and slow down to fifteen kilometers an hour. Stay alert. We’re approaching Warrior’s position.”
As their company approached the outskirts of a small village southeast of the major city, their scout platoon spotted movement.
“Mustang Four, this is Warrior Two. We’re unable to find a way around this village. Recommend following close behind us as we look to navigate a clear path through the village. We’d sure like some support as we move in. How copy?” asked a very nervous lieutenant on the other end.
Diss snickered before he replied; he knew exactly what the young officer wanted. He wanted him to lead his tanks into the village hot on their heels, in case they ran into trouble. He didn’t blame the guy — who wouldn’t want a 62-ton tank or a 27-ton Bradley fighting vehicle for backup?
Depressing his talk button, Diss replied, “Warrior Two, that’s a good copy. Stand by at the edge of the village while I position a couple of Bradleys to take point.”
He then switched over to his company radio and ordered two of his infantry Bradleys to move forward and saddle up with the scout cars. His tanks and remaining Bradleys would follow behind them as they moved through the village.
Standing in the commander’s hatch, Diss made sure the Ma Deuce machine gun was ready for action. He saw the other tank commanders popping out of their commander’s hatches, doing the same. Then the gunner’s hatch opened, and Sergeant Cortez popped up and unlocked the other turret-mounted machine gun, the M240.
Slowly, the scout cars started to advance with the two Bradley fighting vehicles maybe ten meters behind them. The infantry soldiers in the vehicles chose to stay buttoned up inside until a threat materialized that required them to leave their secured cocoons. The armored column made it four blocks deep into the small village before all hell broke loose.
Swoosh…BOOM.
Ratatat, ratatat, zip, zip, zap, crack, BAM.
In dozens of nearby windows, machine-gun crews sprang into action. Then, on the roofs of many of the three-to-six-story buildings, dozens of enemy soldiers wielding RPGs and Molotov cocktails materialized. The wicks on the flaming concoctions were already lit, and they hurled them speedily through the air.
“Ah hell, here it comes,” Diss said aloud to no one in particular. He swiveled his M2 toward the roof top of a building and started aiming for soldiers carrying RPGs.
Bang, bang, bang, bang.
The roar of his 50-cal. added to the overwhelming racket assaulting his every sense. He quickly saw the first set of enemy soldiers explode into a cloud of red mist as his projectiles cleared the rooftop of enemy threats.