He heard the H&S commander calling for 81-millimeter mortar fire on the Russian recon-element men who were dismounting from their troop carriers, and Vandal company acknowledging that high-explosive rounds would soon be on the way.
More Javelins were fired at the Russian tanks at the cemetery, but again the tanks survived the onslaught by using automatic antiair missiles and reactive armor that detonated in front of the inbound missiles, destroying them before impact.
The radio reported T-90 tanks appearing at the cemetery as well, farther away than the T-14s. The sounds of battle, both near and far, made Belanger’s adrenaline pump, but he had to keep cool, continue directing his forces.
“Sir, this is Havoc, be advised: Those tanks are pushing across the bridge, we’re not set up yet. Permission to drop a shitload of smoke.”
“Copy. I’ll get Vandal on the net to take your call for fire.” Belanger couldn’t lose that bridge. Early Sentinel had said the point of penetration was at the bridge, and it had been right. Now it was up to him to do his work and hold it.
He heard three quick whumps in succession, followed by five distinctive cracks.
Enemy tanks main gun, thought Belanger. Shit.
The battle raged all around for a dozen minutes more, until Belanger got a call he’d been expecting for more than five of those minutes.
“Darkhorse Six, this is Havoc Six. We’re out of Javelins. The enemy is sending more tanks. I am taking casualties. Their 120-millimeter guns are working over my positions. Sir, I have only AT-4s and SMAWs left and I don’t think they are going to do shit against the T-90s.”
“Roger. Stand by.” Belanger knew that AT-4 rockets and shoulder-launched multipurpose assault weapons would be highly potent against a multitude of armored threats out there, but the Russian tanks were just too big and high-tech to be threatened by either of the weapons. He turned to his fires officer, who confirmed that they were firing continuous 120-millimeter smoke and high explosive onto the far shore of the Neris, but it wouldn’t do a thing to the remaining T-90s except slow down their advance.
Belanger realized he needed to get his reserves moving into position to help Lima.
He pulled his radio back to his mouth. “Sledgehammer Six, Sledgehammer Six, this is Darkhorse.”
“Sir, Sledge Six, I read your mind. I’m Oscar Mike already,” said the company commander, clearly itching to get into the fight. “With your go, we can make the bridge in five mikes with the tanks and put the main guns into action.”
“Go now!”
“Roger, on the way. Hooorah!” said the commanding officer of Kilo. Belanger knew only a U.S. Marine in a Humvee could get excited charging into the teeth of the lion. At least he knew he’d guide those M1A1 tanks into a good position.
Havoc then called on the battalion net. “Darkhorse Four, I am retrograding out of the woods now. I need medevac for a lot of my men. I can self-lift them to the medical exchange point, but no further. I need you to take them. These enemy tanks just keep coming.”
Five minutes later the Kilo Company commander came back over the net. “Havoc Six, this is Sledge Six. I have the fight. You boys get out of there. The T-90s will be on your heels smelling blood and I’ll fuck them up!”
Belanger stood over the map now, and worked out with his weapons company commander a final firing solution for the 81- and 120-millimeter mortars. He knew they needed a hellacious amount of smoke both to get Havoc out and to obscure Sledgehammer’s tanks as they moved into position to the west of the bridge.
If they could just clobber a platoon of enemy tanks, Belanger knew, he could get the Russians to grind their advance to a halt. No one, not even the Russians, could stomach losing one full platoon at a pop. It would make the enemy back out of the area and regroup, hopefully buying enough time for Belanger to reposition and rearm.
“Sir, this is Sledge. We see T-90s on Havoc’s heels. They have spread out and are leaving the cemetery, coming this way, but my attached tankers are ready.”
“Okay, you are clear to fire.”
“Copy, rounds on the way.”
Belanger listened. There was a terrible pause, and he imagined they had again lost the targets in the fog, or maybe the smoke had drifted.
Then a crack, then crack-crack-crack.
The tank battle went back and forth for a full minute in the distance, and while this was happening, the H&S Company commander reported that all four Russian BTR-90 reconnaissance vehicles had been knocked out, along with the forty troops. He was transporting multiple wounded of his own back to the battalion aid station.
Finally, Sledgehammer 6 called in. “Darkhorse Six, this is Sledge Six. I have three burning Russian tanks, and a fourth that stopped but has no movement. Say again, four T-90s are down. Break… The rest are backing out of the cemetery! Their explosive reactive armor is no good against our tanks’ main gun rounds. Sir, permission to advance and counterattack.”
“Roger, clear to advance. But no further than our side of the bridge. Hit them till you can’t see them in retreat any longer.”
“Copy that, sir.”
Belanger looked around the CP one more time. In the red light of their battle lanterns, with the grip of fatigue setting in, the men looked like zombies, but they had done it. And more important, they were ready for more.
Belanger left the second story of the farmhouse with Sergeant Major Garcia minutes later, mounted up in their Humvee, and headed to the battalion aid station. He knew the “docs,” as they affectionately called their Navy corpsmen, would be working frantically on all the wounded from Kilo and Lima companies, but he hoped his other Navy personnel, namely the chaplains, wouldn’t be performing any last rites.
His hope was in vain, as he knew it would be. You don’t battle tanks without taking losses.
77
Terry Walker had been told nothing about his family’s escape, but he could see the panic on the faces of Limonov and Kozlov, and he knew something had happened. He sat at his computer, making his trades, sending billions of dollars into invisible accounts, quite possibly for the Russian president. But while he did this he kept one eye on the Russians, trying to figure out what was going on.
Soon the four security officers were taken aside by Kozlov, and then they moved out into the hallway. He didn’t know what they were doing at first, but when he asked to go to the bathroom Kozlov himself drew his pistol, then led Walker down the hall, past the four men, all of whom had their guns out and trained on the elevator and stairs.
He’d asked Limonov what was up, but the Russian bean counter would not speak to him at all. He just chewed his fingers and made his trades, argued with Kozlov in Russian, and looked like he might have an aneurysm at any moment.
When it was time to leave for the day, all seven men moved down the stairs and out to the vehicles. Walker walked in the middle of the group; he was the only man without a gun.
As soon as one of the security men put his key in the door of one of the Land Rovers, laser beams shined lines of red light from several directions. The security men raised their pistols high; then the men began spinning and dropping to the ground, one after another.
All four were dead in under two seconds; flashes of light across the parking lot were the only indicator of the source of fire, but Walker hadn’t heard a single gunshot. He dove to the ground. Above him Kozlov fired a single shot before he too tumbled facedown onto the parking lot.