Obo, reins and a rifle in one hand, raised his sword with the other and pointed it toward the trenches. Dozer could almost read the man's lips as Obo screamed the Mongol equivalent to "Charge!"
"Now!" Dozer yelled, pumping his raised arm like a trucker pulling his horn.
The word was instantly passed a half mile back of the lines to the 30-piece howitzer column that waited there. Almost simultaneously, the big guns opened up.
Dozer grabbed the radioman's mike, nearly strangling the kid in the process.
"Now, Hawk!" Dozer yelled. "Now!"
The Stealth materialized out of thin air. One second, the sky was empty — the next instant, the strange black jet was roaring overhead, just 50 feet off the ground, rushing to meet the charging cavalry head-on. Close behind were the F-4X Phantoms of the Ace Wrecking Company. Behind them were more airplanes — Crunch's F-4s, the F-104s, A-7s, T-38s, A-10s, the old F-84.
Each plane carried a full load of napalm…
"So this is what it's come to," Hunter thought as he gripped his weapons' release control. "Jets against horses? This is the pure insanity of war."
"Drop on me," he radioed the planes behind him. A chorus of "Rogers," came back.
The jets fanned out to form a large arrow formation with Hunter in the lead.
He aimed the Stealth right at the center mass of the Mongol horde. Even before the first bomb was dropped, he imagined he could already smell the stink of burning horse and human flesh. "Too bad," he thought, punching the weapons control system computer one last time. "You guys should have stayed where you belong."
He was so low and so dose to the charging cavalry now, he could see the determination on the faces of the horse soldiers.
"… three… two… one… now!"
With that, two napalm cannisters dropped from the Stealth's wings and exploded in the midst of the Mongols. Those in the Western Forces' trenches, again holding their fire until the order was given, saw a tidal wave of flame wash over the attacking cavalry. Horses and men were seared through in an instant.
Some of the animals were reduced to skeletons before they even hit the ground.
The Ace Wrecking Company Phantoms dropped their napalm cannisters as soon as they saw Hunter drop his. Sixteen additional bombs landed on the horse soldiers, drawing a blanket of fire over the attackers. Then the rest of the air armada unleashed their bombs containing jellied gasoline. At the same time, the howitzer shells started landing among the charging cavalry, sending up great plumes of fire, smoke and deadly shrapnel.
The Mongols were about a half mile from the Western Forces' lines and still they kept coming. Hunter gunned the Stealth into a tight, 180-degree right hand turn, positioning himself above and parallel the leading edge of the charging army. He released two more napalm cannisters which exploded on the ground slightly ahead of the charging Mongols. Unable to slow their steeds, the cavalrymen plunged right into the sheet of flame, some emerging on the other side, still charging, horse and rider horribly engulfed in fire. The other jets followed Hunter's maneuver, relentlessly laying down a wall of flame in front of the Mongols' lead horsemen.
As many as half of the original 30,000 horsemen were now either dead or dying.
But still the remaining attackers plunged onward. Hunter did a quick loop, knowing he would have time for one more pass before the Mongols hit the Western Forces' lines. Again parallel to the attacking edge of the cavalry, he opened up with his cannons.
The Stealth shuddered as the shells ripped through the mounted troops and their steeds. He continued to fire across the entire length of the attacker's front line. The howitzer barrage intensified, pounding the rushing Mongols.
The trench soldiers now opened up with mortar fire. Next came the shelling from the tanks dug in along the Western Forces' lines. The Phantoms and the other aircraft were also blazing away with their respective machineguns and cannons. Hunter called a predescribed order over the radio. On his command, the Cobra Cousins' attack choppers, hovering nearby, were thrown into the fray and started firing on targets of opportunity.
The remaining Mongols were 100 yards from the Western Forces' lines when Dozer gave the word to his riflemen to fire. At once the entire line opened up on the attacking horsemen. Those riders who had survived the napalm, the howitzers and the strafing were now met by a wall of lead. Horses were hit head on, reared up and then collapsed, causing the steeds behind them to trip and tumble. The mounted soldiers were thrown and trampled by the unstoppable, panicking animals.
Again and again, up and down the line, the defenders fired into what was left of the charging horsemen. Then the first Mongols reached the defenders' ramparts. The fighting became intense in close quarters. The trench soldiers fired away at the attackers' horses, killing the animals, then shooting the displaced cavalrymen. The Mongols were barely able to squeeze off a shot, the fire from the trenches was so heavy. Hand-to-hand combat ensued up and down the trenches. By this time, Hunter had swung the Stealth back around and was strafing the rear elements of the attacking army, as were the other fighters.
The battle pitched back and forth for what seemed an eternity. The fighting was so close that howitzers stopped firing for fear of hitting friendly troops. Hunter was confined to making low passes, the jet's screaming engine spooking the Mongol horses.
From his perspective high above, he could see the bodies begin to pile up. The soil was actually turning blood-red. Fires were everywhere. Smoke was obscuring the battlefield.
Then, the battle began to turn…
The Mongols were slowly being drawn into the center of the defenders' lines.
Urged on by Dozer's Marines, the volunteers on the flank, bolstered by the air support's decimation of the Mongols and smelling victory, swept out of their trenches and began a pincer movement to contain the horsemen. Many minutes of intense combat followed until the Mongol attack finally ground to a halt.
Completely surrounded, the attackers began to panic. They faced the crack Western Forces' troops to their front, the advancing volunteer irregulars on their flanks and, now, to the rear. Helicopters were peppering them from above. Jets continued to streak in low, rattling the horses.
In the middle of the battle, the Great Obo knew he had been betrayed — by The Circle and in turn, by the Russians. "We are like lambs," he thought, as he watched his once fierce army be slaughtered. "We are being sacrificed."
The fighting continued. Obo had his horse shot out from underneath him by one of the attacking Cobras. Unaccustomed to fighting on foot, he emptied his rifle into the Caucasian soldiers, then started flailing away with his sword.
Out of the sea of faces, he saw a powerful-looking, stocky man moving his way.
The soldier was wearing what Obo recognized as the uniform of a U.S. Marine captain. The name tag sewn above the man's left breast pocket clearly read: Dozer. They were suddenly face-to-face. The Marine was chopping away with a captured Mongol saber. Obo raised his own blade to deflect the Marine's thrust. The power, of the Leatherneck's blow knocked Obo off-balance. The Marine pressed his attack relentlessly. Obo wished he had the time to impale himself on his own sword, but the attacking officer showed no let-up. Another thrust from the Marine. Obo managed to deflect it, but lost his sword in the process and fell backward. On his back, looking up at the American, the fighting swirling around them, Obo reached into his belt for the dagger he kept there. Too late, as the Marine ran him through. A puff of blood exploded from Obo's nose and mouth. The fierce Marine put his boot on the Mongol's chest and brought his face close up to the dying man.
"What the hell are you doing here!" the Marine screamed at him. "What the hell are you doing in my country!"