Stephen Coonts - Combat

She was down to her last three rounds when two massive, dark shapes roared past on the floor of the pass. ABLE and CHARLIE running side by side and charging headlong for the bend in the canyon. Mary May realized that her barrage had been performing multiple functions. Not only distracting and suppressing any Algerian forward observers but blanketing the sound of Bolde’s charge through the pass. In a moment someone was going to be most unpleasantly surprised.

The cavalry vehicles vanished around the curve and the silvery glare of muzzle flashes reflected off the walls of the gorge, strobing with the orange of explosion flame. The hills trembled with the piercing crack of booster-gun fire, the thudding cough of grenade streams and the slam of Claymore panels.

And then silence and darkness and a single satisfied voice over the radio link.

“And some damn fools say cavalry is no good in the mountains.”

ABLE reappeared around the bend in the canyon. Rolling to a halt below Mary May and Trebain’s position, its tail ramp swung open. Before the vehicle had even come to a halt, however, Mary May had Trebain to his feet. Supporting him they slid-hopped down the slope toward home.

“See, Lee, I told you we’d get out.”

The only answer was a tightening of the arm around her shoulders. Mary May lugged the injured trooper into the scout bay and dumped him into one of the air seats spaced around the bulkheads. As she secured his safety harness, the tail ramp lifted, and ABLE rumbled ahead.

“Hey, Lieutenant,” she yelled forward. “There’s still one tank destroyer left at the mouth of the pass.”

“Understood, Five,” Bolde called back. “Miss Shelleen is sorting that gentleman out right now.”

Wired into CHARLIE drone’s remote cyber senses through her Helmet-Mounted Display, Brid Shelleen snaked the big robot through narrowing confines of the pass, keeping the throttle trigger pressed to its limits. The enemy knew of their presence and intent. There was no room left for subtlety, no more than there would be in a high-noon shoot out between two old Western gunfighters. Speed and precision would decide this last engagement.

For a split second Brid toggled across to the overhead tactical of the area around the pass mouth. The Algerian Centauro was off to the right of the roadway by about fifty meters, covering the exit and waiting.

She built the engagement sequence in her mind. Fire smoke grenades … Clear the pass entrance and pivot to the right … Switch to thermographics … Acquire the target … Take the shot … Do it now!

CHARLIE ’s grenade throwers hurled a cluster of smoke bombs out into the open ground beyond the pass mouth, the drone plunging into the dense swirling haze produced by the bursting charges. Brid started to brake for the turn when, abruptly, a shadowy outline loomed in her visor.

The problem with any military plan of action rests with the fact that the enemy rarely consults with you concerning his own intents. The Algerian tank destroyer crew had apparently elected at that moment to cut across the entry to the pass. Their intent, no doubt, was to take a snap shot at their oncoming foe. Instead, they had found themselves engulfed in an unexpected smoke screen and had come to a halt directly in the path of the charging US vehicle.

Brid locked up CHARLIE ’s brakes, but before she could halt the drone it had plowed headlong into the Centauro , centerpunching it between its second and third set of drive wheels.

She hit the firing button of the booster gun, but the three-round burst blazed futilely over her opponent’s deck. The casemate mount could neither depress nor traverse enough to engage this closer-than-point-blank target. She saw the tube of the Centauro’s 105 swing across her video field of vision, then caught the vibration as the gun barrel jammed out of line against CHARLIE ’s hull. The Algerian gunners were caught in the same conundrum as she, unable to bring an effective weapon to bear.

Unable to reverse away from the deadlock, Brid opted for her only other alternative, she rocked her joystick hard forward and crushed the power trigger to maximum output.

CHARLIE shuddered, its massive tires clawing at the unyielding stone. Red and yellow systems overload warnings flared all around the periphery of Shelleen’s Helmet Mounted Display and a grinding vibration blurred the camera imaging. But CHARLIE began to gain ground.

As the deck tilted beneath him, the Algerian driver frantically and futilely attempted to break away but the five hundred horsepower of the Centauro could not match the twelve hundred of the Shinseki. Remorselessly the gun drone bulldozed the tank destroyer sideways and over, the Centauro’s wheels spinning helplessly, until the point of overbalance was reached.

With a final crash the Algerian vehicle went over onto its side. With the deadlock broken, Bridget backed CHARLIE off twenty meters and waited. The Algerian crew scrambled out of the hatches of their doomed vehicle, fleeing into the night, and she let them go with a prayer.

I thank you, My Lady, for granting me this option of mercy.

Then she tore open the belly of the tank destroyer with another booster-gun burst.

“The pass mouth is clear, Lieutenant,” she said, lifting her voice to the world outside of her helmet display.

Nate Grey Bird fed his last clip of 9mm into the butt of his Beretta. A lot of extremely odd noise had just come from over the ridge crest, and he sincerely hoped it was indicative of a relief-and-rescue operation.

“Nate, what’s your sitrep?” Lieutenant Bolde’s voice was coming in over the squad channel now.

“Pretty much the same, sir, except the Algerians are getting closer. They’re going to be in hand-grenade range pretty quick, and they have four throwing arms to our two.”

“That will be an irrelevancy here in a moment, Specialist Grey Bird. Roman, you still with us?”

“Yes sir!” Johnny’s enthusiastic response came back. “Right here.”

“All right, here’s the package. I have fixes on you and Nate as well as on the bad guys. In a second here I’m going to toss some CMMs over the ridgeline and onto the Algi positions. Crawl under your helmets because they are going to be close. After the rounds hit, the two of you fall back to the ridgeline and drop down to where we’re waiting. We’re parked almost underneath you.”

“Uh, begging your pardon, sir.” Johnny’s voice had lost a great deal of its enthusiasm. “But that descent is almost vertical. How do we get down?”

“The operative word here, Mr. Roman, is ‘almost.’ As for how you get down, I suggest you step off the edge and let gravity take its course. You can grow some new skin on your next leave. Dedigitate, gentlemen, we do not have a great deal of time here! Rounds on the way!”

Aimed almost vertically, the box launchers belched out their four pre-programmed missiles, the flame spraying over ABLE’ s armored back.

“Rounds look good,” Brid reported from her workstation. “We have hits … Johnny and Nate are moving …”

“Right. Get CHARLIE moving, too, down and out onto the flats. Expedite!” Bolde swiveled the weapons pack around, intent on doing a little housecleaning. The Teal/Specter radar unit still sat at the edge of the plateau. Its crew had bailed out of the unarmed vehicle as the fighting had gotten close, and it was far too valuable an asset to leave intact.

Laying his sights on the generator trailer, Bolde demolished it with burst of 25mm from the OCSW. Elevating fire, he chewed away the antenna array and finally focused on the rear hull doors of the transporter track, caving them in and gutting the systems bay.