As Commander Gray watched a couple dozen Ospreys and other helicopters head toward the beach, he suddenly witnessed the violent destruction of two of them. His stomach sank as the fireballs descended down to the earth below, right on top of some of the Marines. Gray scanned the horizon. His eyes were suddenly drawn to a suspicious area on the side of the rock.
One of the other battle managers in the CIC must have spotted the same thing seconds before him. “Zoom in on that position!” he shouted, directing everyone’s attention to the spot. In seconds, they all saw where the enemy fire was coming from. Carved into the side of a steep ridgeline was a heavily camouflaged bunker. Looking more closely, they saw what appeared to be several bunker positions.
“Weapons! Take that position out now!” yelled Commander Gray.
The first railgun fired, slamming its projectile into the first bunker, silencing it quickly. The second gun quickly followed, hitting the next bunker and successfully ending its reign of terror. Unfortunately, another Osprey was torn apart by what appeared to be a minigun firing from the third position before the first gun could spool up again fast enough to take it out. Seconds after the Osprey lit up like a Christmas tree, that bunker was also obliterated by the railgun.
“Make sure to put a few extra rounds into the bunker system,” ordered one of the battle managers.
Commander Gray then walked toward one of the petty officers, who was manning a monitor. “Begin scanning the entire ridgeline for any possible signs of gun bunkers,” he ordered. “If you think there might be one, we’re going to light it up with a railgun.”
“Worst-case scenario, we might blow up a few extra rocks and trees,” Gray thought. In any case, if they eliminated other bunkers, they would definitely be saving lives.
The rest of the day was spent with the crew feverishly looking for enemy strongpoints and hammering them with their railguns. Their ability to provide direct kinetic support to the Marines as they moved inland was proving to be invaluable as they ran into one enemy strongpoint after another.
Armored Fist
Lieutenant General Mikhail Chayko was smoking his ninth cigarette of the day as he looked over the battle plans one final time. In six more hours, he and the other men of the 1st Guard’s Tank Army would launch the largest military offensive since World War II.
The sudden change of government in Britain prior to the summer had thrown the Allies into disarray. The British PM had ordered the withdrawal of British forces from the continent, including the North Sea, which had forced the remaining NATO Allies to put their large summer offensive on hold. This pause in combat operations in Ukraine, Belarus and the Baltic States had given Chayko the time he needed to get more forces moved into Ukraine for his own grand offensive.
Brigadier General Mikulin, the 4th Guard’s tank division commander, walked up to join Chayko in looking at the map before him. “Are you confident the northern line around St. Petersburg is going to hold when we launch this attack tomorrow?” Mikulin inquired. He wasn’t sure if he liked the idea of trusting such an important sector to a largely untested Indian army, especially in light of how poorly they’d fought in the Russian Far East.
“If our offensive stalls or doesn’t achieve our goal, then yes, I’m very concerned about our northern flank,” Chayko answered. “However, if we’re able to drive deep into Poland and the Czech Republic, then we’ll be able to relieve that pressure on our northern flank.” Chayko paused for a second, running his fingers through his thinning hair. “This entire offensive is a gamble, Mikulin. If we can achieve our objectives, then we’ll give the politicians a stronger hand to work with at the negotiation table, but we need to conclude this conflict before the end of the year.”
Mikulin rubbed the stubble growing in on his chin. “I’m concerned that it won’t matter how much land we grab or hold — the President won’t accept or pursue peace. We’ve already met our military objectives for this war eight months ago. We should already have our forces resting back home, dealing with the domestic problems. Instead, we’re still fighting on, with no clear objective. Mikhail, you have to make them see reason before we all end up dead.”
Chayko was a bit taken aback by Mikulin’s sudden reluctance — he was his best field commander, and he needed him focused on defeating the Americans, not worrying about politics back home. “I understand your concern,” Chayko finally said, being careful to speak very tactfully. “I have a call in an hour with General Egorkin. I was going to bring these points up to him as well. You need to stay focused on achieving the military aims of this offensive, and I’ll work the political aims. To that end, is your division ready to execute the plan?”
“Yes. My division is ready to hit the Americans,” answered Mikulin, speaking with a tone of regret. “Per your instructions, I’ve kept the Zhukov drones hidden. They’ll be providing overwatch for my armored formations. My main concern is the Allies’ Air Force. If we are not able to keep the enemy fighters off our backs, they’re going to tear my formations apart.”
Chayko nodded. “I’ve been told that with the added help from the Indian Air Force, that problem should be taken care of, or at least mitigated. They’ve provided several squadrons’ worth of surface-to-air missile systems to move with our forces and two hundred additional fighter aircraft. Their Jaguar aircraft are exceptional ground-attack planes. Say what you want about the French and British — they make fine warplanes. And in this battle, we’ll have them on our side.”
The two of them talked on for a short while before General Mikulin left to return to his command. The start of Operation Armored Fist was about to begin.
Childers spotted Lieutenant Colonel Tim Schoolman finishing up his first cup of coffee for the day. He had a very puzzled look on his face.
“Penny for your thoughts, Sir?” asked Childers.
Schoolman looked up at his Sergeant Major. “Intelligence says the Russians are going to start a new offensive sometime today. It just doesn’t make sense, though. They’ve achieved all their military objectives in Ukraine. They know we don’t have the force to push them back to Russia yet, but if they attack us now, they will squander the only forces they have holding us at bay.”
“You’re assuming their offensive won’t be successful,” said Childers, crossing his arms. “What if they’re able to push us completely out of Ukraine or cut deep into Poland? I imagine that would have a profound impact on our ability to push them out of Ukraine.”
“I don’t think they have the steam to launch a sustained offensive—”
Schoolman’s reply was interrupted by the shriek of incoming rockets. The early-warning system sounded, halting any further conversation.
Boom, boom, boom!
Thunderous explosions rocked the front lines a couple of kilometers to the front of their positions. As the explosions grew in intensity, the artillery barrage walked closer to their current location, forcing everyone to seek shelter in their foxholes.
While the artillery was keeping people’s heads down, the aerial dance of death between Allied and enemy aircraft began overhead as the Russian and Indian Air Forces battled to clear the skies for their ground-attack planes to rush in and begin to clobber the Allied positions.
General Cotton rubbed his temples, trying to ward away the migraine that was beginning to take hold. He realized that he had been clenching his jaw and attempted to relax his face. The sense of calm confidence he’d felt just a day earlier was now replaced by a feeling of surprise, dread, and uncertainty. The Alliance had finally gotten over the shocking assassination of President Gates when the Russians, who up to that point had appeared like they were merely going to try and hold on to their previous gains in Ukraine, had opted to go on the offensive and try to grab more land. Rather than spreading their forces out to hit the Allied lines across multiple sections, they had balled their armored forces up into a giant wrecking ball and summarily punched a hole in their lines.