Уильям Дитц - Battle Hymn

“We’re kind of exposed up here,” Duke observed. “And what’s in this tank anyway? Something flammable?”

Mac’s mind was elsewhere. “Give me the handset. This is Bravo-Six actual. I have eyes on four Chinooks coming in from the north. Odd-numbered AA teams will stand by. Over.”

“There’s no cover up here,” Duke said wistfully. “Maybe we should find a place to hide.”

Mac’s attention was focused on the lead Chinook. It was turning west. Why? They’re going to put down south of the complex, Mac concluded. And that works for me… The rebel troops will be forced to cross the minefield and face the Strykers to enter the compound.

The second helicopter followed the first. But just as Mac was starting to feel good about her chances—the third ship began to bore straight in! Closely followed by the fourth. They’re going to fast rope down on the north side of the complex, Mac decided. And crush us in a vise.

“This is Bravo-Six actual… It looks like choppers three and four are going to drop troops on the north side of the reserve. Wait for the Chinooks to hover, then hit them hard.

“Bravo-Six-One, do you read me? Over.”

Six-One was a second lieutenant named Taylor Forbes. She was in charge of the six-Stryker fast-response team that was hiding in a metal building at the center of the reserve. “This is Six-One,” Forbes responded. “I read you five by five. Over.”

“Wait for it, Six-One… Then make your move. Over.”

The lead Chinook had swung into position by that time. Ropes fell, soldiers slid down them like beads on a string, and the Chinook was firing flares that were intended to pull Stingers away from them. Burns ordered one of his team to fire, but the ruse was successful, and the Stinger missed.

The second missile wasn’t to be denied, however… It slammed into the Chinook as the last soldiers touched down. The resulting explosion blew the big ship in half. As a rotor blade whirled away, Mac saw a stick figure drop out of the aft section of the fuselage and fall free.

The forward half of the ship slammed into the ground, quickly followed by the other section. There was a loud whump as the wreckage burst into flames. One down, and one to go.

But as Mac turned her attention to Chinook Four, she saw that the helicopter was flying north and racing away! Was it running? Yes, but only after dropping its load of thirty-plus soldiers into the water. As they waded ashore, the troops from Chinook Three were there to greet them.

Forbes was ready. Her vics began to fire seconds after they emerged from hiding. Rebel soldiers fell like tenpins as the Strykers fired their .50 caliber machine guns and 40mm grenade launchers. “We have a problem,” Duke told her. “Chinooks One and Two put down half a mile south of the reserve and sent troops north. But that isn’t the worst of it… The POWs were able to overwhelm our guards and are holding them hostage.”

Mac felt a terrible sinking sensation. She’d forgotten to turn the POWs loose. And, as a result, the battalion had something like sixty enemy soldiers inside the compound—while more attacked from the south. Mac remembered her conversation with Sergeant Logan. “Yes, ma’am. No prob.” That’s what he’d said. But Mac had let Logan and his fire team down. Now it was her responsibility to free them, but how ?

Mac turned to the south and raised her binoculars. Thanks to the height of the storage tank, and the angle involved, Mac could see into the trench. And sure enough… four of her soldiers were seated on the south side of the ditch, with their hands clasped behind their heads. Five of the rebs had weapons. Four assault rifles plus Logan’s handgun.

Mac held the glasses with one hand and motioned for the handset with the other. Negotiations were out of the question under the circumstances. Was there a bloodless, risk-free way to resolve the situation? If so, she couldn’t think of it. “Bravo-Six actual to Bravo-Five. Pull a rescue team together. Tell them to put night-vision gear on and drop smoke into the trench. The rest of it is obvious. Over.”

“Roger that,” Munson replied. “Over.”

A full-fledged firefight was under way by then as the rebs on the south side of the complex attempted to advance and were systematically driven back by the wall of fire from the Strykers and two LAVs. Had things gone as planned, the Confederates attacking from the south would have faced half of the Marauders—while the rest were forced to turn north. But things hadn’t gone as planned, and the rebs were getting their asses kicked.

“This is Six,” Mac said. “Put some mortar fire on those bastards… Push them at least a thousand yards back. We need to regroup before the rest of our guests arrive.”

The mortars began to thump even as gray smoke billowed up out of the trench where the POWs were corralled. Mac heard the sharp crack of pistol fire, followed by the rattle of an assault rifle on full auto, and knew there would be casualties. She was correct. “This is Five,” Munson said. “We lost a hostage but rescued the others. Three POWs are down. Over.”

Mac felt a terrible mix of sorrow and self-recrimination. There was nothing she could say except, “Well done. Carry on.”

A strange silence settled over the scene. As Mac turned to the north, she saw the scattering of bodies marking the area where a quick, decisive battle had been fought by the response team. A column of reb prisoners was being marched south to join the rest. Mac wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. Something had to be done regarding the POWs.

Mac closed her eyes and opened them again. Everything looked the same. West Hackberry was hers for the moment. But more enemy troops were on their way—and she was supposed to hold the facility for what ? A few days? A week? When will the big push arrive? Mac wondered. And who will own this chunk of land when it does? There was no answer other than the crackle of static from Duke’s radio, the intermittent pop, pop, pop of rounds cooking off inside the burning Chinook, and the raucous caw of a crow.

EAST OF HOUSTON, TEXAS

It was a surreal moment. Bo was sitting next to Major General Matias Ramos in that officer’s restored Cadillac convertible as they rolled through the town of El Toro, Texas. Locals lined both sides of the highway, and many of them were waving Mexican flags. Never mind the dislike that many citizens of Texas had felt for Mexico prior to the war.

Now, based on the carefully managed news reports they’d seen, Texans were ready to welcome the Mexican Army with open arms if it could defend them from Yankee aggression. “God bless you!” a man in a Stetson shouted, and Ramos waved at him.

The whole thing was a shit show. As the convoy traveled east, at least a hundred disabled vehicles had been left in its wake. Ramos expected the Confederates to recover, repair, and deliver them to the front. And that was the least of it. Bo’s supply people were struggling to obtain the fuel required to fill hundreds of Mexican gas tanks and keep them filled.

Meanwhile, thanks to iffy communications, the Mexicans had fired on and done damage to a Confederate supply column that was traveling in the other direction. And that would happen again if steps weren’t taken to stop it. And on and on. So it wasn’t surprising that most of Bo’s staff were in favor of a four-or-five-day pause. Time that could be used to address some if not all of the problems associated with the sudden influx of soldiers.