Уильям Дитц - Battle Hymn

“What about ammo?”

“There’s a reserve supply, but it isn’t especially large.”

“Okay, good work. Let’s put that backhoe to work digging more trenches. Eventually, we’re going to need some fallback positions.”

Duke spoke as Wu departed. “Lieutenant Cassidy reports that two attack helicopters are inbound from Fort Polk, with four Chinooks bringing up the rear. ETA, five minutes. She put out a call for air support.”

Mac swore. The enemy had decided to send an airborne force ahead of the relief column, in the hope that they could recapture the facility quickly. And since each Chinook could carry up to thirty-three passengers, Mac could expect a 132-person assault team.

What was she up against? Mac wondered. A highly trained rapid-response force? Or a conglomeration of troops who happened to be available when the poop hit the fan? The first possibility was worse than the second, but both amounted to a threat. The battalion’s Strykers didn’t mount any AA weapons other than light machine guns and, once in their revetments, they couldn’t maneuver. A ground attack would have been preferable from Mac’s perspective, but the rebs didn’t give a shit about her perspective.

Mac took the handset. “This is Bravo-Six actual. Even-numbered Stinger teams will prepare to engage two attack helicopters, ETA, four minutes. Odd-numbered Stinger teams will engage four Chinooks, in six minutes. The rest of the battalion will get ready to engage airborne troops. And remember… The enemy might try to land aircraft inside the compound, or they could fast rope down, so be ready for both.

“Don’t forget… You are the best of the worst. Let’s kick some ass. Over.”

There were cheers all around. And then, as the sound died away, Mac heard the distinctive sound of helicopter engines, and the whup, whup, whup of rotors as the Apache gunships appeared from the north. Rockets flashed off stubby pylons and explosions marched across the compound. The battle had begun.

FORT KNOX, KENTUCKY

Samuel T. Sloan awoke in a good mood. And why not? The war was going well, or as well as any war can go, realizing that good people died every day. So he took a shower, got dressed, and ate a hearty breakfast. Then with Secret Service agents in tow, Sloan made his way through underground tunnels to the Situation Room for his daily briefing.

But, as Sloan entered the room, he could tell that something was wrong. Twice the usual number of briefers were present for one thing, and all of them had long faces. “Uh-oh,” Sloan said as he paused to look around. “What happened?”

Director of National Intelligence Martha Kip cleared her throat. “Nothing good, Mr. President. Based on orbital imagery, plus photos taken during high altitude flyovers, it’s clear that thousands of Mexican troops are streaming into Texas! The lead element passed through Brownsville last night. And if you look at the main screen, you’ll see a montage of pictures taken an hour ago.”

Sloan looked. What he saw was a bird’s-eye view of American Humvees, French Jaguars, German personnel carriers—and what might have been Kenworth trucks hauling tank carriers behind them. All of which was consistent with Kip’s report since the Mexicans had a tendency to buy military equipment from everyone. He dropped into his chair. “Please tell me that the Mexicans are attacking the Confederacy.”

“There are no signs of resistance,” Secretary of Defense Garrison said tactfully. “So we aren’t looking at an invasion.”

Sloan’s mind flashed back to the report he’d read. The one that mentioned a meeting between General Macintyre and President Salazar. And a lot of encrypted radio traffic flying back and forth between the Confederacy and Mexico. Shit, shit, and more shit.

Various theories had occurred to him at the time, including the possibility of a drug deal, but an alliance? That never crossed his mind. Sloan’s previously high spirits plummeted. “Okay, lay it out for me. What are we looking at?”

“That depends,” General Jones said cautiously. “President Stickley cut some sort of deal with President Salazar. That much is clear. But, as with most things, the devil will be in the details. How many Mexican troops are coming our way? What role will they play? None of their units have combat experience… Yet a lot of their officers were trained in the U.S. And, based on our experiences fighting Mexican mercenaries, we know they can be effective.

“But one thing is for sure,” Jones continued. “Assuming the Mexicans plan to fight, the strategic situation will change.”

“In what way?” Sloan inquired. “What does that mean in practical terms?”

“It means that the advantage will shift to the Confederacy,” National Security Advisor Toby Hall said. “It means the big push will stall.”

“Or the big push will turn into a big retreat,” Garrison added gloomily.

Press Secretary Besom broke the ensuing silence. “There’s another problem as well. Once news of this gets out, it will reenergize our critics, scare the crap out of our citizens, and have a negative impact on military morale.”

Sloan scowled as he scanned the faces around him. “Okay,” he demanded. “Would anyone else like to chime in?”

Lora Michaels, the Secretary of the Treasury, raised a hesitant hand. “Yes, Mr. President. Once the news comes out, the Dow Jones Industrial Average is likely to drop by three or four hundred points.”

Sloan winced. “All right. We have a lot to do. Let’s get to work.”

WEST HACKBERRY STRATEGIC PETROLEUM RESERVE, HACKBERRY, LOUISIANA

Mac jumped down into a trench as the Apache helicopters fired their rockets. Duke was right behind her. An engine roared, and Mac could feel the wash from the gunship’s rotors as it passed over her head. Rather than leave the Stinger teams in their respective companies, Mac had chosen to consolidate them into a single platoon, led by Lieutenant Burns. He had orders to coordinate their efforts. And that plan paid off as Burns called the shots from his position near the center of the complex. “Stand by, six. Stand by, two. Fire!”

The FIM-92A Stingers were infrared-seeking, fire-and-forget weapons specifically designed for use against low-flying aircraft. And when two missiles struck a single Apache, the results were spectacular. A loud BOOM sounded as the gunship exploded, sending pieces of fiery debris whirling in every direction. Wreckage continued to rain down as Burns spoke again. “Nice job… Now let’s…”

Burns never got to finish his sentence because a Union A-10 swooped down out of the sky. Rockets flashed off the Warthog’s wings and barely missed the remaining Apache as it turned to race away. “Bravo-One-One to Warhorse-Three,” Cassidy said over the air-ground frequency. “Thank you, and good hunting. Over.”

So far so good. But as Mac climbed up out of the trench, she was painfully aware of how little she’d been able to see from down in the ground. And that would be an even greater problem once the rebel soldiers arrived.

“Come on!” Mac said, and began to run. Duke had little choice but to follow. They ran toward a white storage tank that loomed to the north and would offer a good vantage point. The distant drone of helicopter engines was getting louder as Mac reached the tank, made her way to a maintenance ladder, and started to climb.

Mac was short of breath by the time she stepped off the ladder onto the top of the tank. And sure enough… the lead Chinook was halfway across Black Lake and coming straight at her! Closer in, at the edge of the lake, Mac could see a dock and the barges that were moored just offshore.