“Sergeant, I’ve got movement. 11 o’clock, 300 yards. Looks like twenty or thirty men. A whole platoon.”
“So those Fedefucks think they can infiltrate our lines in the dark? Let ‘em get a little closer and then… oh.”
The movement wasn’t coming towards the rebel outpost. The heat images stalking through the woods were heading east, straight into federal lines.
None of the soldiers were armed.
His gunner sneered. “Fucking deserters. I bet I can drop them all with only fifty rounds.” The NCO reached over and safed the machine gun before he could react.
“Stand down. Let them go.”
“Sergeant! What about our orders? All deserters must be shot on sight.”
The sergeant kept his hand firmly on the safety switch.
“For starters, I didn’t get into this business to kill my own people. Do you want such bad karma hanging over your head when it’s your turn to give up?”
The gunner hissed. “The hell you say! I’ll never surrender to those Washington goons!”
“Oh yeah? What are you going to eat tomorrow?” He kicked their last box of MRE’s. Only one carton left to share among the nine men in the squad.
“Fucking squirrels or something. Confiscate what we need from the civilians. Whatever. I won’t turn chicken over an empty stomach.”
“I love your gung ho spirit, but this has nothing to do with guts.” He slapped their last crate of 7.62mm rounds. It jangled, far from full. “Okay, tough guy. Use your brain. Do you really want to waste our last few rounds on a bunch of guys getting out of the fight?”
That got the gunner’s attention. He sat back and crossed his arms. His pride demanded that he get in the last word though.
“Fine, but when we get more ammo, it’ll be a different story. Shouldn’t take long. I bet you the officer folk are whipping something up right now.”
100 miles away, on the far west side of the trapped rebel forces, URA Colonel Myers was working that issue. He was finally ready to cut the US noose around his army’s neck and break them all out of this pocket of death.
The first morning rays shimmied through the trees. He held his radio close. A few more minutes and he could use the powerful weapon again. Myers broke his own orders by popping his vehicle’s hatch and sticking his head out.
“I need a better view.” His command crew eyed him jealously, but were too disciplined to complain. Truth was, his old back needed a stretch. Just like all the men in his reinforced armored brigade, they’d been living in their tracks for two days now.
He’d trickled his unit into place along the Texas border, in little groups over the course of a week, to avoid arousing the suspicion of federal observers. That sneakiness alone wasn’t enough though. No, once a tank, infantry fighting vehicle or even Humvee slipped into place and tossed up their camouflage netting… they went on lockdown.
Myers knew he’d pushed his unit to the verge of a mutiny. Three thousand troops pissing in bottles and crapping in bags, all while stacked on top of each other and forbidden to make a sound, did not make for a happy command. Maximum light, noise and radio discipline must be taking a toll. No one had felt the embrace of an air conditioner or taken a hit from a cigarette in so long. The troops must be frothing at the mouth.
Which was fine, because all their stealth had paid off. It was time to release his enraged war machine into Texas. Myers cleared his throat and clicked the radio.
“Execute Fire Plan Bravo. All maneuver elements: prepare to engage.”
Besides the running silent routine, Myers convinced the URA field command to let him strip the rest of his division of fuel and ammo so that he could have a fighting chance. An entire separate division had wrecked itself in pointless attacks against a dozen random points on the federal lines over the last two days. Their sacrifices weren’t in vain. From URA intelligence reports, the enemy had no reserves left in this sector.
Most importantly, the federal brigade blocking their way didn’t have a clue what they were up against. Of course, maneuvering the enemy into the right spot and surprising them wasn’t enough. At some point, you had to get your hands dirty.
Colonel Myers didn’t need to be with his spearhead. It was probably counterproductive even, since the last thing his troops needed was the boss hovering over their shoulder. He didn’t care. Myers wasn’t about to miss this show.
Even from two miles away, the concussions rocked the colonel. Most of the corps artillery, several hundred howitzers and three dozen MLRS launchers, carved out a sizable chunk of east Texas. The barrage didn’t last long, since they couldn’t be too spendthrift with ammo, but it got the job done. In only three minutes, the artillery sanitized a sector ten kilometers wide and six deep. Roughly equivalent to a low-yield tactical nuclear weapon.
Almost giddy with excitement, the colonel waved at his lead battalion commander. “Let’s move. I’ll race you to the next phase line!”
Five miles west of his jumping off point, Colonel Myers took a break on the far side of the shattered US defenses. His carefully orchestrated breakout was a textbook example of how surprise and shock, lubricated by massed artillery, could punch a hole in any entrenched force.
Myers pried his eyes off the burning federal tanks and interrupted his cheering command staff. He strutted up the back ramp of his M577 command vehicle, trying hard to rein in his own excitement.
“Ok, ok. Great work, but don’t get carried away. We got lucky. It’s time to expand this gap and make sure it stays open. We have these wide-open plains to maneuver in; I say let’s use them. We have less than an hour to peel back the Feds along a twenty-click front. If we’re going to evacuate the whole army, they need a bigger door.”
Myers stomped off the ramp and lit a cigar he’d been saving for too long. He paced around for a bit outside, savoring the chance to stretch his legs. He turned back to his command staff, huddled together in the mobile map room. “So. Leave the mech infantry battalion here to cover our flanks. Have the cavalry and armored units cut southwest with all possible haste. We need to roll up the federal flanks before they can react. We got the initiative, now let’s shove it up their—”
His command track and every officer inside disintegrated in front of him. Myers was in such shock, he never even hit the deck. He just spun around in a full circle as half his headquarters company exploded. Through the smoke and shrapnel, he spotted his tormentors.
Six strange fighter-bombers, vaguely similar to A-10’s, circled around for another pass. They flew in perfect formation, as if at an airshow. Instead of the typical missile and bomb load out, each simply carried a pair of 30mm auto cannons. One under each wing. Instead of rocket pods, rows of fat ammo drums fed the busy guns. Despite his horror, Myers abstractly marveled at the pilots. Both cannons on each plane engaged targets in separate directions at the same time and no aircraft doubled up on the same target. Unbelievable coordination.
Not that it mattered in the long run. These clever Fed pilots might be flying too low for the Patriot and Avenger air defense batteries to engage, but the rebels weren’t helpless. More than a dozen shoulder-fired, surface-to-air missiles raced after the attackers, at least two heat-seekers homing in on each bird.