William Weber - Turning the Tide

There was no response. He called again and waited before hearing a voice on the other end.

“Nearly bit the big one there, Colonel,” Reese said. “Looks like part of the church is on fire.”

“We tried, Reese. Really, we did. We just couldn’t get them all in time.”

The sight of Russian tanks in the distance engaging targets let John know not all the Americans were dead or wounded.

He tried to bring up Rodriguez and General Brooks at headquarters and faced a wall of static. His calls a moment later to Henry were more successful. They struggled to hear each other over the roar of weapons firing nearby.

“I’m trying to get through to General Brooks,” John shouted. “Tell him we knocked those last TOS-1s out of action.”

“I don’t know how to tell you this,” Henry said. “But the headquarters took a direct hit.” The emotion in the radioman’s voice was unmistakable. “General Brooks, Colonel Higgs and Rodriguez. They’re all dead.”

John and the others raced back as quickly as they could. The death of the senior leadership was a terrible blow. It could lead to a panic or, worse, the American forces being routed from the field. But the other stark implication was that John was now in charge.

Thick towers of black smoke rose from craters where the missiles had impacted. Several of the structures lining the highway as well as the suburban dwellings to the north were ablaze. Galloping alongside Interstate 81, John could see the Russian armor battling ferociously against his men. Tracers streamed back and forth. A BTR-T lowered its ramp to offload a squad of troops right as an AT-4 streaked in through the hatch, blasting the vehicle into the air and killing everyone on board.

The handful of American tanks and Bradleys running and gunning from one concealed position to another didn’t stand a chance. Seeing the burning hulks of American armor made John sick to his stomach.

Approaching the industrial building they’d been in before launching the attack on the TOS-1s, John saw that it had taken a direct hit and was on fire. He got on the walkie and called for the company commanders to report in. Slowly they came in, one by one, often little more than a quick reply amidst the sound of machine-gun fire. By the end, only fifty percent of the units called in. That didn’t mean they were all dead, but it did mean issuing them orders would not be easy. He could only hope that their training and personal initiative would keep them alive and fighting.

The building next door hadn’t been hit and John and his men climbed to the roof. Keeping low, they made their way to the edge where a platoon-sized group was already dug in along the edge, pouring fire on the enemy.

One of them was a Lieutenant from the 101st. “Sir, General Brooks is―”

“I know,” John snapped, crawling next to him and taking aim with his AR. A group of Russian infantry were running behind one of the T-90s, taking fire from both sides of the highway. John looked for the squad leader and saw a soldier waving them forward. That would be his target. He squeezed off four rounds. The first two ricocheted off the rear of the tank and bounced harmlessly into the air. The next two found their target, dropping him to the ground. With the squad leader dead, the rest of the troops attempted to scatter and were immediately cut down.

“Russians are trying to flank the northern embankment by cutting through the suburbs,” the lieutenant shouted. “If we don’t do something they’ll roll up our positions to the north and then do the same to us. What are your orders, sir?”

They were being overrun, plain and simple. Apart from attempting to retreat, there was no tactical decision that could win the day. What they needed was more help from the air. He got on the walkie to Henry. “I want you to find out what air assets we have nearby and patch me through to them.”

Just as Henry acknowledged the order, the T-90 that had been trying to shield the infantry began swinging its gun turret in their direction.

“He’s gonna fire on us,” Moss shouted, getting up and preparing to relocate. The others followed suit.

They hadn’t gotten more than five feet before the Russian 125mm smooth-bore gun shot a round straight into the side of the building.

Shards of searing hot metal and chunks of cinderblock were thrown in every direction. Four men were killed outright, others lay wounded. John caught a scream ahead of him. Moss was lying on his back. A piece of shrapnel had taken his leg off below the knee. Blood gushed from the wound. With ringing ears and blurred vision, John scrambled on all fours to his friend. Reaching into one of his utility pouches, he came out with a tourniquet. Moss was still in shock and hadn’t yet realized what had happened. He tried to stand up and fell back down.

John jumped on top of him, cinching the tourniquet above his wound. “Hold still, you stubborn mule, or you’ll bleed to death.” He applied a pressure bandage with blood-clotting chemicals and shouted for a medic.

John’s walkie came to life. “Colonel, I’m putting you through to Major Donaldson.”

“Major, this is Colonel Mack. We’re in a real bad way here and could use a hand. A Russian armored division is about to break our position in half.”

The walkie filled with static. “The Russians aren’t supposed to be this far south.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to them. We need all the close air support you can give us.”

“Colonel, I’ve got an asset a few klicks from your position, but we’re on strict orders to patrol our current location.”

“Forget your orders, Major. The enemy is here. If you do as you’re told, you’ll be signing the death warrant for thousands of American troops. We’re at the junction of Interstate 81 and 26. Our armor’s been knocked out, so was our artillery, so whatever you see rolling on the ground belongs to the bad guys.”

John didn’t get a response.

The lieutenant from the 101st crawled up next to them, along with a medic, who took over.

“Are they sending anyone?” he asked, trying to mask the desperation in his voice.

“Doesn’t look like it,” John replied. “They’ve got orders to patrol an empty stretch of highway further east. I just don’t understand it.”

With Moss being cared for, John and the other unwounded soldiers made their way back to an intact corner of the building. The Russian tanks and IFV’s were now drawing into two parallel columns, firing back at the Americans in both directions. AT-4 rockets streaked down from rooftops as well as the top of the embankment on both sides. A few vehicles were hit and exploded into violent balls of flame. Others were protected by their reactive armor and riddled the AT-4 teams with devastating fire.

A brave group of Russian troops stormed up the embankment, scaling its steep slope and engaging the Americans on the other side. John and the others fired down on them, drawing the attention of the armored column stretched along the highway. Heavy shells from the BTR’s 30mm cannon ripped into their position and John ducked down, feeling the pebbles from the industrial roof hurled into his back and sides from the explosions.

A second later the BTR exploded in a yellow and orange burst of flame, followed by the T-90 right next to it. Soon the highway was awash with explosions that forced John’s head back down for cover. It was only when he saw the Russian infantry melt under Gatling gun fire from the sky that he began to understand. Major Donaldson had sent an AC-130 Gunship, essentially a Hercules transport plane bristling with weapons. A 30mm Bushmaster 2 cannon, 105mm M102 Howitzer and ten AGM-176 Griffin air-to-surface missiles were only some of what the aircraft could bring to bear.