GWOT VI - The End Of Hope
Feb. 16th, 2020 07:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
drewkittyGWOT VI - The End Of Hope
Morning briefing. In the bunker, of course.
"Current estimate is that of the one million refugees we deployed to protect, approximately 700.000 have moved into the area controlled by the Refuge government. Another 50,000 have been accepted for settlement in Iowa territory, mostly by conversion to Christianity. About another 100,000 have exfiltrated as individuals and in small groups, based on statistics obtained from neighboring states, Red Lion and our own ground, water and air bridges.
"About 150,000 therefore remain in Iowa, not under protection, one way or another. They are dying, or being murdered, at an accelerated rate. Red Lion estimates 10% per day, up from 3% a week ago."
That was it, then.
We'd successfully saved 850,000 people … and lost 150,000.
"Army of God continues to respect the ceasefire. We are continuing to get reports that AoG forces are counter-deploying to protect refugees in motion westward. But only east of Highway 24, so what they're actually doing is completing the separation operation for the other militias to finish.
"Word of God Coalition is holding it together, despite all that we've done. Latest intelligence report is that they have finished massing killdozers in the primary staging area. They plan to hit us mid day today. Sixty killdozers, two battalions of howitzers including the Indian tubes, one battalion of Katyusha rockets and one each of medium and heavy mortars."
An armored battalion and a fucking division of artillery. On top of what amounted to a brigade of heavy infantry and two disorganized divisions of light infantry.
They'd gotten foreign help. Venezuela, Argentina, anyone with a little money or some leftover Warsaw Pact ordinance and an axe against the United States to grind. Mexico hadn't provided arms but they'd looked the other way as the arms were smuggled through. Reasonable people for a reasonable fee.
And I had three anti-tank weapons with seven reloads left. And two 81mm tubes with less than a hundred bombs. And a total of two hundred sixty three California soldiers supported by less than a thousand 'G' auxiliary troops. A few other Californians scattered here and there - observation posts, Red Ball Express truckers, communications sites. They would probably survive.
But in addition to losing 150,000 refugees, I'd lost over three hundred of California's finest troops.
The bunker rocked as a WHOOSH dragged air upstairs.
Six reloads.
"I must respectfully recommend that we surrender."
"Thank you for your evaluation of the tactical situation, which is completely correct," I began. "What are the odds that the Refuge government will be able to hold once North Fork has fallen?"
"None. They have no artillery, little antitank, and only four killdozers. Sixty thousand troops under arms, but virtually none of them trained. They have rifles and machine guns, that's about it. Some grenades, a little demo."
Courtesy of some of those Californians, the weapons maintenance platoon I'd brought.
On paper, six divisions.
"Will they try?"
"Yes. It's hold or die for them, and they know it."
We'd set the example enough times.
"Let's say it's the current enemy order of battle versus Refuge, and they hold. How long until they are reduced?"
"Two weeks, more or less."
"Enough time for how many refugees to break out to the north?"
The officers and NCOs looked at each other.
"The healthiest third. Call it 250,000."
"If we abandon this position and stiffen the Refuge forces," a sergeant began. Then stopped.
We all knew better. You can't retreat under enemy observation. We'd all just get kilt.
"Let's say they let us withdraw under flag of truce, and we renege and reinforce Refuge. How much combat power would they gain?"
"Not enough. We are more effective here, with bunkers and berms and substantial earthworks. Once we…." WHOOSH. Five.
"… we won't have any mobility left, and that has been our big value-add."
They were all looking at me as if I had a hat, from which I could pull rabbits.
_RCS Panoptes_ had gone off air two days ago. I doubted I would ever know what happened to them. The secret of the stealth blimp was worth more than their five lives. They had self destruct capability and no parachutes.
No one but me - and the Governor, and the SDF commanding general - knew that I had SDF release codes. I could pick up the radio, talk for five minutes to the operator, and drop a red pill on the enemy armor staging area. Fifteen minute flight time, not long enough for them to evacuate even if NORAD managed to warn Iowa directly.
First of all, there had been enough nuclear weapons detonated on this continent. Second, it would be a ballistic missile launch on America from California. Did I care to risk retaliation against Bakersfield or Modesto or Redding? Or Los Angeles or Sacramento or San Jose for that matter? Third, and least important, I had no doubt that I'd eventually get shot by California for treason if enraged Iowans or Californians didn't tear me from limb to limb first. Probably not hanged.
We had the nerve gas still. All eighty rounds. It would shock the world and be briefly effective, particularly against improvised armor without chemical warfare protective equipment. California chemical weapons policy was no first use. I'd definitely get shot. But it would buy maybe two days at the most. Never mind the technical details. If I'd gotten the Xtians to use gas on us first, sure. But they hadn't stooped that quite that low. And therefore I would not.
I even thought about two ancient throwbacks. Personal surrender. They'd shoot me and attack. Challenge to combat against a champion, the old David and Goliath move. They'd shoot me and attack.
I couldn't think of anything that would keep them from attacking.
Threaten to nuke? Threaten to use chemical weapons? Threaten assassination? Threaten to throw Lassie down the well?
They'd just attack.
So I knew what they were going to do. In theory that means you're inside the enemy's decision loop, and you can take advantage.
But I didn't have any counter moves.
I thought about it.
"The maximum we buy for the Refugee government is another day?"
"If that."
"Pass the word. We attack at 1100. Eat a good meal now, use up our rations. Grenades and bayonets. I'm not going to die in a hole. Their artillery is poorly coordinated. They won't be able to retarget. Let's go beat up on their little tonky toy tanks and overrun and steal their artillery and make them work for it."
They passed the word.
Sorry, fresh out of miracles.
We're all going to die.
All we get to choose is how.
###
For a stupid attack plan, it was pretty good. The auxiliary troops would lead the charge. We'd put suppressive fire in on the machine guns, execute our breakout. Satchel charges and short range anti-tank, of which I still had quite a bit, to do unto killdozers before they could do unto us. Maybe even steal a couple. Then try to seize the enemy mortars and lay down final protective fire in a circle around their position.
We wouldn't make it past the killdozers. We probably wouldn't make it into RPG range of the killdozers, which is only 300 meters.
###
At 1030 radio brought me a message.
"Unencrypted, in the clear. On the UN push. 'Await orders from UNNAPD.' From New York."
Well fuck that. I called New York on satphone.
"Hold what you have. That is an order," was the authenticated message from the operator.
Were the Christians so afraid of us that they'd gotten to the UN chain of command somehow?
Fuckers had basically given the Indian artillery tubes to the genocidaires. I didn't trust them.
No, the Commanding General was unavailable. But my orders were to hold. Don't move from my present positions.
I finally broke down and asked why.
"Don't know. That's the order."
I hung up.
###
1045. We were all taking turns at the latrine. Gearing up, grenades and gear. Bayonets sharpened. Checking magazines and ammunition.
"Sir, the California air defense message is off air."
Finally. Someone had taken out the last beacon. Surprising it had taken so long.
1050. Taking a last look at the map table.
Typed up my operational intent. My last operational message to General, California Expeditionary Forces.
"I feel I will gain the greatest amount of delay from this pre-emptive attack. Please capitalize on this if possible."
Fuck if I know how, or with what.
Hit SEND.
1055. The radio tech runs in.
"Sir. Sir! Operational message, in code, with verification!"
I pulled it up.
"California military forces are to hold their present positions."
Then I looked for the sender. None. And the verification. It had come in over the California network. And it was verified. But with a blank sender, it was not a message, it was a message fragment. I told the tech so.
His face fell. We both read it carefully a second time. Then he agreed with me.
The troops were staged in the doorways of the bunkers.
Then he listened to his handset, and put it to my ear.
"Urgent! California troops, take hard cover! Danger close! Danger close!"
We would only lose a few minutes if it were a false alarm.
"Pass the word," I directed, and our troops returned to their bunkers. I pulled up the remaining handful of cameras.
The ground shook and all the cameras went out at the same time.
The network went down when the satcom dishes lost alignment.
The overhead lights failed and the battery powered backups came on. Some of them dangling at an angle.
Had we been nuked?
No brilliant flash, no fireballs.
I went to the periscope, which had been heavily armored during installation for exactly this kind of situation - observing the outside during intense bombardment.
I saw arcing streaks of light in the sky and huge, huge explosions on the ground.
Concentrated on the enemy positions.
The streaks of light were falling, and where they touched, died.
Rocket bombardment systems. California didn't have those. Neither did Iowa, and I was as familiar with their order of battle as I was with California's.
"Fuck you. And your grid square."
On the heels of the rockets, more explosions. Smaller somehow, more precisely targeted.
The radio tech plugged himself into a hard line, fumbling from circuit to circuit in a half-destroyed room.
"OP3 reports air raid! Hundreds of aircraft!"
I panned the periscope. Then I tilted, to look up.
The first thing I saw was a parachute. Then another, another, another.
I zoomed out.
More explosions rocked the ground. Not targeted on us. But really big explosions, leading to bigger ones.
Secondary explosions. Something blew up that caused other things to go boom. Like the Iowa rockets and artillery.
I recognized the pattern of the parachutes.
Parachute air assault.
Not a small one, either. Hundreds of parachutes.
The radio tech patched to an antenna further away. Listened, turned on the speaker so we could all hear it.
"…say again, California Forces, this is Eagle Control. Hold what you have. Paradrop in progress."
Eagle. Control.
There was only one nation in the world that could do what had just been done.
"Acknowledge," I ordered. And went upstairs with my binoculars.
###
"Beautiful! Fucking beautiful!" raved a sergeant.
I had to agree.
Paratroops in the no man's land between the California bunkers and Xtian staging area. More paratroops to south and east, cutting off the roads.
The enemy artillery parks were burning. So was the killdozer staging area.
The paratroops moved with purpose and vigor. And they had a lot of anti-tank. I saw a killdozer flip end of end when hit by a Javelin round.
Rockets occasionally entered the battlefield from the north. I looked carefully and figured it out.
Apache helicopter gunships.
"Sir, satcom's back up! I've got the General on the horn!"
I took the call.
"Major. You are to hold your current positions. American forces are in movement and we need to avoid blue on blue. Acknowledge at once."
"Acknowledged, we are held in place."
"Do not fire on American forces except in direct self defense. I have a frequency and authenticator for you. Coordinate with them."
I took the info down. Changed frequencies.
"California Commander, this is Eagle Actual. Do you copy your need to hold current positions?"
"Copy, holding position. Who are you and what are your intentions?"
"82nd Airborne Division, Lieutenant General Stewart." With slight emphasis on General. "We are cleaning our own fucking house. Unauthorized Iowa combatants, which is everyone but the Iowa National Guard, will stand the fuck down or stand in mutiny against the United States of America. I understand that 150,000 Americans are still in danger."
Pause.
"I'm going to save every single fucking one. Your forces may stand down in place. You will be repatriated within the day. Out."
Some of the parachutes were equipment. Motorcycles and jeeps. The paratroops detached the chutes, packing materials and crush boxes, mounted up, and started roaring deeper into Iowa. The insect-wasp shadows of Apache gunships followed.
I started giving orders. Get the communications back up, bring the wounded above ground, get a helipad cleared. Link in with the Americans so that we could give them all our data as of yesterday, and my OPs in the field could feed them fresh data and not get shot doing it. Dismiss the auxiliary troops - Refuge would still need them. Give them everything they could carry that was not classified.
###
Four hours later, North Fork had stopped being a last stand and started being an American forward operating base.
An American medical field hospital set up. A water and shower point, which we all needed and promptly used. A POL point and a mess hall. Several tons of mortar and artillery ammunition, which started getting pushed forward to the American howitzers and mortars airlifted forward by the 82nd helicopters.
Every truck coming back carried refugees in order of medical priority. Our medics and the American medics were still busy.
They were giving the Xtian militias one chance. Drop your weapons and return to your homes. If they didn't, they found out what it was like to wage war with America. Briefly.
California forces held the perimeter, freeing up that many American forces to pursue.
###
A convoy of Humvees flying the 82nd pennant arrived two hours after that, just before dark.
I was there, of course, and saluted Lieutenant General Stewart.
He returned it.
"Major. I am very short on transport. Can I ask you to march your troops north?"
"Of course. If you don't need us here."
"I understand you have a number of Iowa POWs, medical personnel?"
"Yes."
"Will you leave your own medical staff here, and when there is no immediate need, we can repatriate all of them simultaneously?"
"Of course."
"Move out at first light tomorrow."
He paused reluctantly.
"Good work, Major. You of all people know the value of gratitude between nations."
I nodded.
"Nonetheless. Thank you, Major."
I saluted again. The General had a lot to do.
I didn't.
###
We marched in good order, carrying our confidential equipment - radios, computers, sights.
We'd had a little accident with explosives the previous afternoon. Nothing major. But those nerve gas shells were deeply buried. We'd have to arrange to retrieve and demilitarize them later. And some of our medical personnel were not just medical personnel; they'd keep an eye out.
American heavy metal passed us. Armor, artillery, mechanized infantry, support troops, trucks, trucks and more trucks.
We passed refugees on the road.
And every time we did, they did something I've never seen before.
They cheered us.
Refugees. Cheered. Troops.
###
Lunch in Refuge. The new government was busy, but not too busy to briefly thank us for their lives.
Then we linked up with Red Ball Express. We'd started pulling in our OPs, too, but it would take days for them to catch up.
A bad ride is better than a good walk.
That's when it hit me, with all the force of a sledgehammer.
Against all the odds.
We'd won.
Morning briefing. In the bunker, of course.
"Current estimate is that of the one million refugees we deployed to protect, approximately 700.000 have moved into the area controlled by the Refuge government. Another 50,000 have been accepted for settlement in Iowa territory, mostly by conversion to Christianity. About another 100,000 have exfiltrated as individuals and in small groups, based on statistics obtained from neighboring states, Red Lion and our own ground, water and air bridges.
"About 150,000 therefore remain in Iowa, not under protection, one way or another. They are dying, or being murdered, at an accelerated rate. Red Lion estimates 10% per day, up from 3% a week ago."
That was it, then.
We'd successfully saved 850,000 people … and lost 150,000.
"Army of God continues to respect the ceasefire. We are continuing to get reports that AoG forces are counter-deploying to protect refugees in motion westward. But only east of Highway 24, so what they're actually doing is completing the separation operation for the other militias to finish.
"Word of God Coalition is holding it together, despite all that we've done. Latest intelligence report is that they have finished massing killdozers in the primary staging area. They plan to hit us mid day today. Sixty killdozers, two battalions of howitzers including the Indian tubes, one battalion of Katyusha rockets and one each of medium and heavy mortars."
An armored battalion and a fucking division of artillery. On top of what amounted to a brigade of heavy infantry and two disorganized divisions of light infantry.
They'd gotten foreign help. Venezuela, Argentina, anyone with a little money or some leftover Warsaw Pact ordinance and an axe against the United States to grind. Mexico hadn't provided arms but they'd looked the other way as the arms were smuggled through. Reasonable people for a reasonable fee.
And I had three anti-tank weapons with seven reloads left. And two 81mm tubes with less than a hundred bombs. And a total of two hundred sixty three California soldiers supported by less than a thousand 'G' auxiliary troops. A few other Californians scattered here and there - observation posts, Red Ball Express truckers, communications sites. They would probably survive.
But in addition to losing 150,000 refugees, I'd lost over three hundred of California's finest troops.
The bunker rocked as a WHOOSH dragged air upstairs.
Six reloads.
"I must respectfully recommend that we surrender."
"Thank you for your evaluation of the tactical situation, which is completely correct," I began. "What are the odds that the Refuge government will be able to hold once North Fork has fallen?"
"None. They have no artillery, little antitank, and only four killdozers. Sixty thousand troops under arms, but virtually none of them trained. They have rifles and machine guns, that's about it. Some grenades, a little demo."
Courtesy of some of those Californians, the weapons maintenance platoon I'd brought.
On paper, six divisions.
"Will they try?"
"Yes. It's hold or die for them, and they know it."
We'd set the example enough times.
"Let's say it's the current enemy order of battle versus Refuge, and they hold. How long until they are reduced?"
"Two weeks, more or less."
"Enough time for how many refugees to break out to the north?"
The officers and NCOs looked at each other.
"The healthiest third. Call it 250,000."
"If we abandon this position and stiffen the Refuge forces," a sergeant began. Then stopped.
We all knew better. You can't retreat under enemy observation. We'd all just get kilt.
"Let's say they let us withdraw under flag of truce, and we renege and reinforce Refuge. How much combat power would they gain?"
"Not enough. We are more effective here, with bunkers and berms and substantial earthworks. Once we…." WHOOSH. Five.
"… we won't have any mobility left, and that has been our big value-add."
They were all looking at me as if I had a hat, from which I could pull rabbits.
_RCS Panoptes_ had gone off air two days ago. I doubted I would ever know what happened to them. The secret of the stealth blimp was worth more than their five lives. They had self destruct capability and no parachutes.
No one but me - and the Governor, and the SDF commanding general - knew that I had SDF release codes. I could pick up the radio, talk for five minutes to the operator, and drop a red pill on the enemy armor staging area. Fifteen minute flight time, not long enough for them to evacuate even if NORAD managed to warn Iowa directly.
First of all, there had been enough nuclear weapons detonated on this continent. Second, it would be a ballistic missile launch on America from California. Did I care to risk retaliation against Bakersfield or Modesto or Redding? Or Los Angeles or Sacramento or San Jose for that matter? Third, and least important, I had no doubt that I'd eventually get shot by California for treason if enraged Iowans or Californians didn't tear me from limb to limb first. Probably not hanged.
We had the nerve gas still. All eighty rounds. It would shock the world and be briefly effective, particularly against improvised armor without chemical warfare protective equipment. California chemical weapons policy was no first use. I'd definitely get shot. But it would buy maybe two days at the most. Never mind the technical details. If I'd gotten the Xtians to use gas on us first, sure. But they hadn't stooped that quite that low. And therefore I would not.
I even thought about two ancient throwbacks. Personal surrender. They'd shoot me and attack. Challenge to combat against a champion, the old David and Goliath move. They'd shoot me and attack.
I couldn't think of anything that would keep them from attacking.
Threaten to nuke? Threaten to use chemical weapons? Threaten assassination? Threaten to throw Lassie down the well?
They'd just attack.
So I knew what they were going to do. In theory that means you're inside the enemy's decision loop, and you can take advantage.
But I didn't have any counter moves.
I thought about it.
"The maximum we buy for the Refugee government is another day?"
"If that."
"Pass the word. We attack at 1100. Eat a good meal now, use up our rations. Grenades and bayonets. I'm not going to die in a hole. Their artillery is poorly coordinated. They won't be able to retarget. Let's go beat up on their little tonky toy tanks and overrun and steal their artillery and make them work for it."
They passed the word.
Sorry, fresh out of miracles.
We're all going to die.
All we get to choose is how.
###
For a stupid attack plan, it was pretty good. The auxiliary troops would lead the charge. We'd put suppressive fire in on the machine guns, execute our breakout. Satchel charges and short range anti-tank, of which I still had quite a bit, to do unto killdozers before they could do unto us. Maybe even steal a couple. Then try to seize the enemy mortars and lay down final protective fire in a circle around their position.
We wouldn't make it past the killdozers. We probably wouldn't make it into RPG range of the killdozers, which is only 300 meters.
###
At 1030 radio brought me a message.
"Unencrypted, in the clear. On the UN push. 'Await orders from UNNAPD.' From New York."
Well fuck that. I called New York on satphone.
"Hold what you have. That is an order," was the authenticated message from the operator.
Were the Christians so afraid of us that they'd gotten to the UN chain of command somehow?
Fuckers had basically given the Indian artillery tubes to the genocidaires. I didn't trust them.
No, the Commanding General was unavailable. But my orders were to hold. Don't move from my present positions.
I finally broke down and asked why.
"Don't know. That's the order."
I hung up.
###
1045. We were all taking turns at the latrine. Gearing up, grenades and gear. Bayonets sharpened. Checking magazines and ammunition.
"Sir, the California air defense message is off air."
Finally. Someone had taken out the last beacon. Surprising it had taken so long.
1050. Taking a last look at the map table.
Typed up my operational intent. My last operational message to General, California Expeditionary Forces.
"I feel I will gain the greatest amount of delay from this pre-emptive attack. Please capitalize on this if possible."
Fuck if I know how, or with what.
Hit SEND.
1055. The radio tech runs in.
"Sir. Sir! Operational message, in code, with verification!"
I pulled it up.
"California military forces are to hold their present positions."
Then I looked for the sender. None. And the verification. It had come in over the California network. And it was verified. But with a blank sender, it was not a message, it was a message fragment. I told the tech so.
His face fell. We both read it carefully a second time. Then he agreed with me.
The troops were staged in the doorways of the bunkers.
Then he listened to his handset, and put it to my ear.
"Urgent! California troops, take hard cover! Danger close! Danger close!"
We would only lose a few minutes if it were a false alarm.
"Pass the word," I directed, and our troops returned to their bunkers. I pulled up the remaining handful of cameras.
The ground shook and all the cameras went out at the same time.
The network went down when the satcom dishes lost alignment.
The overhead lights failed and the battery powered backups came on. Some of them dangling at an angle.
Had we been nuked?
No brilliant flash, no fireballs.
I went to the periscope, which had been heavily armored during installation for exactly this kind of situation - observing the outside during intense bombardment.
I saw arcing streaks of light in the sky and huge, huge explosions on the ground.
Concentrated on the enemy positions.
The streaks of light were falling, and where they touched, died.
Rocket bombardment systems. California didn't have those. Neither did Iowa, and I was as familiar with their order of battle as I was with California's.
"Fuck you. And your grid square."
On the heels of the rockets, more explosions. Smaller somehow, more precisely targeted.
The radio tech plugged himself into a hard line, fumbling from circuit to circuit in a half-destroyed room.
"OP3 reports air raid! Hundreds of aircraft!"
I panned the periscope. Then I tilted, to look up.
The first thing I saw was a parachute. Then another, another, another.
I zoomed out.
More explosions rocked the ground. Not targeted on us. But really big explosions, leading to bigger ones.
Secondary explosions. Something blew up that caused other things to go boom. Like the Iowa rockets and artillery.
I recognized the pattern of the parachutes.
Parachute air assault.
Not a small one, either. Hundreds of parachutes.
The radio tech patched to an antenna further away. Listened, turned on the speaker so we could all hear it.
"…say again, California Forces, this is Eagle Control. Hold what you have. Paradrop in progress."
Eagle. Control.
There was only one nation in the world that could do what had just been done.
"Acknowledge," I ordered. And went upstairs with my binoculars.
###
"Beautiful! Fucking beautiful!" raved a sergeant.
I had to agree.
Paratroops in the no man's land between the California bunkers and Xtian staging area. More paratroops to south and east, cutting off the roads.
The enemy artillery parks were burning. So was the killdozer staging area.
The paratroops moved with purpose and vigor. And they had a lot of anti-tank. I saw a killdozer flip end of end when hit by a Javelin round.
Rockets occasionally entered the battlefield from the north. I looked carefully and figured it out.
Apache helicopter gunships.
"Sir, satcom's back up! I've got the General on the horn!"
I took the call.
"Major. You are to hold your current positions. American forces are in movement and we need to avoid blue on blue. Acknowledge at once."
"Acknowledged, we are held in place."
"Do not fire on American forces except in direct self defense. I have a frequency and authenticator for you. Coordinate with them."
I took the info down. Changed frequencies.
"California Commander, this is Eagle Actual. Do you copy your need to hold current positions?"
"Copy, holding position. Who are you and what are your intentions?"
"82nd Airborne Division, Lieutenant General Stewart." With slight emphasis on General. "We are cleaning our own fucking house. Unauthorized Iowa combatants, which is everyone but the Iowa National Guard, will stand the fuck down or stand in mutiny against the United States of America. I understand that 150,000 Americans are still in danger."
Pause.
"I'm going to save every single fucking one. Your forces may stand down in place. You will be repatriated within the day. Out."
Some of the parachutes were equipment. Motorcycles and jeeps. The paratroops detached the chutes, packing materials and crush boxes, mounted up, and started roaring deeper into Iowa. The insect-wasp shadows of Apache gunships followed.
I started giving orders. Get the communications back up, bring the wounded above ground, get a helipad cleared. Link in with the Americans so that we could give them all our data as of yesterday, and my OPs in the field could feed them fresh data and not get shot doing it. Dismiss the auxiliary troops - Refuge would still need them. Give them everything they could carry that was not classified.
###
Four hours later, North Fork had stopped being a last stand and started being an American forward operating base.
An American medical field hospital set up. A water and shower point, which we all needed and promptly used. A POL point and a mess hall. Several tons of mortar and artillery ammunition, which started getting pushed forward to the American howitzers and mortars airlifted forward by the 82nd helicopters.
Every truck coming back carried refugees in order of medical priority. Our medics and the American medics were still busy.
They were giving the Xtian militias one chance. Drop your weapons and return to your homes. If they didn't, they found out what it was like to wage war with America. Briefly.
California forces held the perimeter, freeing up that many American forces to pursue.
###
A convoy of Humvees flying the 82nd pennant arrived two hours after that, just before dark.
I was there, of course, and saluted Lieutenant General Stewart.
He returned it.
"Major. I am very short on transport. Can I ask you to march your troops north?"
"Of course. If you don't need us here."
"I understand you have a number of Iowa POWs, medical personnel?"
"Yes."
"Will you leave your own medical staff here, and when there is no immediate need, we can repatriate all of them simultaneously?"
"Of course."
"Move out at first light tomorrow."
He paused reluctantly.
"Good work, Major. You of all people know the value of gratitude between nations."
I nodded.
"Nonetheless. Thank you, Major."
I saluted again. The General had a lot to do.
I didn't.
###
We marched in good order, carrying our confidential equipment - radios, computers, sights.
We'd had a little accident with explosives the previous afternoon. Nothing major. But those nerve gas shells were deeply buried. We'd have to arrange to retrieve and demilitarize them later. And some of our medical personnel were not just medical personnel; they'd keep an eye out.
American heavy metal passed us. Armor, artillery, mechanized infantry, support troops, trucks, trucks and more trucks.
We passed refugees on the road.
And every time we did, they did something I've never seen before.
They cheered us.
Refugees. Cheered. Troops.
###
Lunch in Refuge. The new government was busy, but not too busy to briefly thank us for their lives.
Then we linked up with Red Ball Express. We'd started pulling in our OPs, too, but it would take days for them to catch up.
A bad ride is better than a good walk.
That's when it hit me, with all the force of a sledgehammer.
Against all the odds.
We'd won.
no subject
Date: 2024-10-14 04:27 pm (UTC)I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel:
"As ye deal with My contemners, so with you My grace shall deal";
Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with His heel,
Since God is marching on.