“You have to have a cock, first.”
“I’m serious.”
“Father of All, you never listen, do you? Fifty-seven years I’ve been watching you pay attention only to your own bellowings and I’m about sick of it… ”
“Oh… go to Hel! ///sic/// And tell me how to cock this fucking thing, smart ass! We’re nearly there!”
Sayeed crouched behind a pile of bodies. They had nearly made it. But only nearly. The mortars had stopped too soon. The men had been too slow. Again, as they got close enough to throw rocks at them, the Keldara had opened up with a whithering fire. How so many could be alive after the pounding of the mortars he couldn’t imagine.
He lay prone, using the bodies for cover, and looked through the gap between the chest and mostly exploded head of one of the dead fedayeen. He would fire if he saw a good target. Otherwise, he was going to wait for Sadim’s Brigade to finish off these Keldara fuckers before he was moving again.
Kiril threw his last two boxes of SAW ammo onto the ammo step and slid in a belt. He had a total of four but he wasn’t going to bother belting them up. The next Chechen wave was already less than seven hundred meters away. This one wasn’t just charging, either. Oh, they were running, but they were using fire and maneuver, running forward to cover then dropping and firing up the hill to cover the next group.
He ducked as rounds impacted his position then took a long swig from his camelbak. Ammo, Liquids… Damn. It was in English and he still was struggling with that. And he didn’t fucking care anymore. The only thing that mattered was ammo. He just wanted to see which ran out first, his ammunition or the fucking Chechens. When the ammo ran out, he was going to climb out of this fucking trench and take them the axe until the oceans ran with blood…
“Tiger Three.”
“Go,” Adams said, taking a swig from his camelbak and breaking down his SPR by feel. It had started to get “hinky” on him in the last fight. Not jamming just… hinky. Probably the gas tube was getting fouled; he’d put a bunch of rounds through the damned thing.
“The next group, engage with the 60s,” Mike said. “But not until I say. And tell Shota to stand by.”
“Roger.”
“How’s Oleg?”
Adams looked over at the Team Leader. He was discussing ammo crossloading with Dmitri. There was a big red rag over his stump. Every now and then he’d wince then go on talking as if nothing had happened.
“Great.”
“Make sure that there’s plenty of rounds for the 60s. Belt them together and when the time comes make sure the gunners know to just go to full scale rock and roll.”
“Mike, that’s going to burn the fucking barrels and we don’t have any spares.”
“It won’t. Trust me. If we’re still fighting after that long, we’re not going to care.”
“Jessia, Mother Lenka is at the gap. Go to white phosphorus now.”
“Two gun! White phosphorus, traversing fire! Continuous!”
“Now they fire smoke?” Kamas asked as the white smoke drifted over the trench. Then he screamed as burning white metal fell on his skin and the white smoke started pouring from his shoulder and head.
White phosphorus is a chemical, mostly the metal phosphorus, that, once ignited, is practically impossible to extinguish. It carries its own oxidizer so it needs no oxygen to burn. Water will not quench it nor fire-fighting foam. Flesh, especially, will not put it out.
When it hits flesh, white phosphorus is drawn downward by gravity inexorably. It stops only when it hits bone and even then for mostly mechanical reasons. And it continues to burn. It is a poor killer for it cauterizes the flesh even as it burns it. Deaths from white phosphorus come from mainly mechanical issues, such as when it hits the throat and damages the trachea, or from shock. For white phosphorus is most intensely painful.
Much more common are blinding when it hits eyes, damage to the lungs from inhaling the freshly released smoke, which is extremely hot, and of course horrific scars. And it is frightening. It breaks the will more than it kills.
But for all its military utility, white phosphorus is considered a poor weapon. Steadfast units will take the horrific casualties and continue fighting. It does not, after all, kill. Not well.
The military value of white phosphorus lies mostly in its smoke. The burning metal releases clouds of the stuff. It’s not inherently harmful; once it is cooled it can be breathed without serious short or long-term damage. And created faster smoke than conventional smoke rounds with the added benefit of being, well, horrific.
It was for these dual purposes that most mortar “obscurement” rounds were made of white phosphorus. The ladies of the Keldara had not intended to kill Kamas, they just wanted to blind the unit in a cloud of white.
Of course, burning a fucking Chechen was always a good thing. Blinding one, in truth, was even better. Burning off balls would be happy making.
The Keldara mortar women loved white phosphorus.
Haza looked down the zig-zag trench as more of the Chechens began screaming in pain. Many were already dead or severely wounded from the terribly accurate mortar fire; most of the fire had been dropping right in the trenchline. He could hear the fuckers; they were close. But the way that sound echoed in this damned pass, he couldn’t place where the fire was coming from. It could be anywhere.
But he knew what the white phosphorus meant.
“Get up!” he screamed, lifting himself to the lip of the trench. “Get up! They are coming!”
He didn’t know who was coming, he wasn’t sure what direction they were coming from. But smoke only meant one thing. The infantry would be right behind.
Mahmud fired at the shape of a helmet behind a pile of bodies then darted forward as the group ahead of him went to ground to provide covering fire.
There wasn’t much in the way of cover on this slope. He could see where rocks had been pried out of the ground and even the remnant of sticks that had been range markers. The defenses were well prepared which just made this assault that much more idiotic.
Sho’ad was running beside him, as he’d been instructed, yelling as much as the thin air would permit and firing his AK in long, unaimed bursts. Mahmud considered telling the young idiot to conserve his ammunition then decided he didn’t have the air or the care. He’d started the same way, screaming and running at the enemy, firing bullets everywhere but at the enemy. If he lived, the young idiot would learn.
Mahmud sensed rather than saw the rounds and dropped to his face, lying behind a convenient body, as bullets, sharp sounding, probably 5.56 from the enemy’s squad automatic weapons, ripped overhead. He heard the thud of the bullets hitting something and then the thud of a body hitting beside him.
Looking to his right he shrugged. Sho’ad wasn’t going to be learning anything.
He reached over and took one of the dead idiot’s magazines. He was going to need the ammo and Sho’ad sure as hell didn’t.
Kiril fired a burst at one of the Chechens but the guy dropped before he could have hit him. However, his partner was still on his feet, screaming at the Keldara lines and spraying and praying. Kiril fired a burst into his chest and sent him to Allah as he wished.