John Schettler - Crescendo of Doom

Above he could see men streaming out of the last plane, and then he saw something come streaking in at the JU-52, plunging right into the fuselage like a fiery harpoon. The bright fire of the explosion lit up the night, sending ripples of color on the flanks of thin clouds. He saw the sky peppered with the dark shapes of other drifting parachutes, men dangling beneath them as they fell.

What was it Feldmann had just said to him? Lightning at the edge of the storm! A rallying cry to bolster his spirits, but to see his men there now, hanging there at the mercy of the marauding enemy, he realized it was someone else’s lightning in the sky this time.

Off in the distance he could see the shadowy square shapes of buildings, and the glimmer of moonlight on the winding bend of the Euphrates. The evening crescent was just rising. Then the ground seemed to come up much faster than he expected, and he was tumbling down onto the hard desert floor in a bruising landing. His parachute scudded along before finally collapsing on itself as Ramcke struggled to get up, feeling the bite of pain from his left ankle. Thank god nothing was broken, and he was able to stand, alive and still in one piece as he slipped out of his parachute harness, struggling to get his wits about him.

One minute he was on the plane talking with Feldmann over the drone of the engines, then the wild fall, and now the relative quiet of the desert night. Three planes had fallen of the nine, and as cruel as his fate had been, it was better than that which had befallen the men on those stricken JU-52s. Two other men fell close to him, and he started for the nearest, knowing his job was now to collect his company as best he could, and get them into a position to make an advance on the town.

It was going to be a very long night.

Fedorovheard the planes in the sky, his eyes squinting into the inky night as he saw the first rockets fire. The mobile force had landed at Raqqah several hours ago, ready to concentrate their full force to try and seize the airfield and bridges over the Euphrates. To their great surprise, they found the settlement largely empty of enemy troops. Most all of the French garrison there had been pulled south to the renewed fighting around Nebek, north of Damascus. Only a few desert cavalry units had remained, and when the sleek X-3 helos made their first runs over the town, this last remnant was soon taking to anything they could ride and hastening away as fast as they could.

After overflying the airfield, the team descended there, the Russian Marines storming out in four groups led by Troyak, Zykov, Chenko and Popski. They fanned out, quickly securing the tarmac and hanger area, and then making their way into a few buildings that served as an administrative facility, and a squat makeshift control tower. They found the base empty, but saw signs of recent occupation, even a cup of tea that was still warm in the admin building offices. Apparently the French authorities had also made a hasty retreat.

“We’ll need to make sure there’s no fifth column still in the town,” said Fedorov. “When the Argonauts land, we should sweep the whole place, but I want to see the bridges first.”

Troyak led the way, with Zykov’s team in support, leaving Chenko and Popski to hold the airfield and guard the vital KA-40. The X-3s lingered above, until they had satisfied themselves that there was no threat near the town. Then they made for the airfield to set down, and the Argonauts soon reinforced the ground teams with another thirty men led by Lieutenant James Byng. A distant relation to the storied Earls of Strafford who bore that family name, Byng was all military. He came to the Fairchild security team aboard Argos Fire after a five year stint with SAS, a tall, well muscled man, sandy haired, trim, and thoroughly professional.

Popski met the man at the airfield, admiring the black suited Argonauts as they assembled there.

“Half the Russians have gone off to have a look at the bridges,” said Popski. “The place was all but deserted when we arrived, but we can’t count on that for long. We may have surprised them, but they’ll know the value of this town just as we do. So we’ll need to plan our defense here. Word is that the Germans have had enough at Dier ez Zour, but that means they’ll be heading our way, and they could be here by tomorrow. Have a look at my map, Lieutenant, and see what you think.”

Byng removed his goggles and gloves, his automatic weapon still slung over his shoulder. The map was not the sort of well detailed document he might be accustomed to, but it depicted most of the key terrain features near the town.

“This high ground north of the airfield will have to be occupied,” he said at once, and Popski nodded.

“I thought as much,” he returned. “The rise northeast of the field looks to be a good place to set up our mortars. It overlooks both the town and airfield.”

“Good enough, and you might post a squad on that hill as well.” Byng pointed to an elevation due north from their position. “You’ve only twenty men?”

“Twenty-one, counting the pilots. We lost a man at Palmyra.”

“Well I was thinking to take my Argonauts south to the river. We can put some defense into the town, and hold the bridges. Your men might best be held here to cover the airfield and that high ground. We were heavy on missiles this loadout, so I’ve only brought three ten man squads. But we’ll be breaking into teams of five men each. I’ll designate them Argo one thru six.”

“We’ll do the same,” said Popski, “four fire teams. I’ll post our team Chenko with me here to hold this field. Troyak and Zykov will occupy that high ground.”

Byng looked over the hills again, the concern on his face obvious. “We won’t be able to hold here for very long,” he said frankly. “You can put ten men on that high ground, but they won’t be able to stop any determined attack. And that town is the real problem. If they get men on the east side of the river, they’ll be able to approach through this area here.” He pointed to the map at a place labeled Samara. “They’ll come through the town like water through a sieve. If I have a fire team covering each bridge, and one in reserve, that leaves me only fifteen men to watch that flank and cover the town itself.”

“Yes, it’s not a pretty picture,” said Popski, “but we’ll have to touch it up as best we can.”

“Very well, Colonel. By the way, let me say it’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. I’ve…” Byng smiled. “Let’s just say I’ve read about you and that private little army you set up in the western deserts.”

“What? Popski’s Private Army?” Popski always liked the sound of that. “Shan Hackett gave me that handle, though I’ve yet to sink my teeth into the business. This bit here is a good workout for the time being. One day I’ll get back to Egypt and Libya. If you’re ever at large there, look me up, Lieutenant. I’ve seen your blokes go at it. Damn good men.”

“That they are, sir.”

“I’ll let the Russian Captain know what we’ve planned, and fill his ear with your comments as well. For my money, I would rather see us concentrate the whole force available on one objective, like this airfield here. It’s really the principle supply point. Roads east and south are long and hard, and there’s no rail connection to this place. So any supplies will have to be flown in, and this field is vital for that. I’m sure he’ll agree. He’s damn touchy about that helicontraption of his there, and seeing what you lads can do in those little birds of yours, I can understand why.”

“Yes sir. Nothing like knowing LT Ryan is up in those X-3s on overwatch,” said Byng.