James Tarr - Dogsoldiers

“Seriously, Richards, slow the fuck down. My only real worry is that the assholes are going to realize they screwed themselves, and take off before we get there and have a chance to fuck them up, but if you even scratch the paint on that Growler I will kick your ass.”

He heard Richards’ gulp over the radio. “Yes Sergeant.”

Strangely, Toads used up nearly as much diesel per hour just idling as they did roaring down the road. In fact, even though it weighed over sixty tons a Toad could keep up with an IMP. However, because they were a mixed troop of vehicles the ranking officer, Major Keira Lunis in the lead IMP, was having them keep their speed under thirty miles an hour.

Lunis was on the radio, communicating with the two troop leaders, S/Sgt. Dietz in KICKASS and Sergeant Major Nichols in CHAOS, the other Toad, callsign Foxtrot One-One. “I want elements of Charlie to break off at Amsterdam and advance north up 2 ndAvenue,” she told them. “Three Growlers and an IMP. They’ll be heading right toward the Fisher Building and should get us early eyes on. I want the rest of Charlie to circle around to the west, take up a position a couple hundred yards west and north of the target building. I want eyeballs on all sides of that building, I don’t want them escaping out the back door.”

“Charlie One-One to Foxtrot Actual, where do you want us?” Dietz asked the Major. He had a tablet out and was studying the digital map as they powered up Cass Avenue. All of this should have been planned out before they left the base, but none of them wanted to miss the opportunity to trap the guerrillas in the Fisher Building. Seizing the TV broadcast facility might be a great PR stunt, but if they were still in there when the Army rolled up in force it would mean they would be trapped. That building was so easy to surround.

“Charlie One-One, how about you stage at 2 ndand Baltimore. You can provide overwatch for those advance units.” Dietz checked his map. Baltimore was two blocks south of Washboard, and he’d have a direct line-of-sight to the Fisher Building less than a quarter mile away.

“Charlie One-One is a roger on that.”

“Foxtrot units One, Two, Three, and Four, position yourselves at Cass and Washboard. I want two Foxtrot units to circle around to the east and sit on the northeast side of that building.”

“Foxtrot One-One to Foxtrot Actual, Lothrop Street there is the border of the Blue Zone and blocked off to vehicle traffic. Those units will have to go out wide if they head to that side.”

“Shit, roger that. Okay, I want Foxtrot units at Washboard and Cass, Washboard and Woodward, and… Woodward and Bethune, just north of the Blue Zone border. We’ve lost contact with all friendlies on Washboard, so keep your eyes open. Be advised command is reporting enemy radio traffic at that location. Encrypted.”

The armored force, spread from one side of Cass Avenue to the other, proceeded north across the bridge over the I-94 freeway and began to slow down. Washboard was just half a mile ahead.

The advance force of three Growlers and an IMP increased their speed and raced ahead. Dietz could see them in the distance as they turned left on Amsterdam Street. “Charlie One-Four can see the target building,” everyone heard over the radio. “Can see a smoke column. Moving to position. Will advise.”

The four vehicles roared down the narrow street, old brick industrial buildings to either side. 2 ndAvenue at Amsterdam was wide, with a small grassy median. The four vehicles made the turn and rolled north, passing under a double railroad bridge. As soon as they were through the Fisher Building was directly in front of them.

“Charlie One-Four is eyes on and approaching,” the IMP Commander called out. He’d been standing in the roof gunner’s spot, behind the Mk19 grenade launcher, but decided discretion was the better part of valor—he ducked in and closed the hatch. Beside the vehicle gunner and driver there were six soldiers in the back of the APC, geared up and ready to fight. The vehicles slowed down as they drew close, finally stopping, four abreast, on 2 ndAvenue just short of Washboard.

“Charlie One-Four, Foxtrot Actual, be advised we are in position at Second and Washboard with eyes on. There is a disabled Growler on the north side of Washboard, and another on the south side. We see several friendly KIA.” He looked out through the blocks that made up the IMPs narrow windshield, then moved close and peered upward. Where was the TV station, was it the eighth floor? His eyes ran up the building. He didn’t see any freshly broken windows, although there were a few covered with plywood. He clicked his radio. “No visible enemy movement, although I’ve got a lot of civilians running around.”

Suddenly the IMP rang with the sound of metal rain. He looked around and spotted muzzle flashes from the lobby of the Fisher Building. One of the men with him yelped from nerves, but the Commander remained calm. The personnel carrier was armored for this very reason, and the rifle fire wasn’t much of a threat to the up-armored Growlers either. “Charlie One-Four has enemy contact,” he said calmly into the radio, excited but not scared. “Taking small arms fire from the ground floor of target building, unknown number of hostiles.” The number of incoming rounds doubled in number, and he peered upward through the driver’s view slot. “Also, taking incoming fire from...” he counted with his finger. “Looks like the eighth floor.” He glanced up at the closed gunner’s hatch, thinking of the grenade launcher up there. “Permission to return fire? We’ve got a Mk19 ready to go, over.”

“Foxtrot Actual, all units. Remaining Charlie and Foxtrot units moving into position, thirty seconds out,” he heard Major Lunis say over the radio. “Charlie One-Four detachment, maintain your position and remain eyes on, give us call outs on the tangos. Stand by, but do not return fire, I don’t want them scared away just yet.”

“Charlie One-Four is roger that, command,” the IMP Commander said, staring out and up at the building. “Be advised—” His next words were cut off as there was a giant roar outside the vehicle. The entire IMP rocked and the driver instinctively ducked.

“What the fuck was that?” somebody yelled.

“Grenade,” the Commander said, not scared, not yet, but slightly more concerned. “We can be eyes on from a little farther back. Bobby, back us up.”

The driver had time to put the IMP into reverse, then there was an incandescent flash and roar inside the vehicle. The IMP rocked on its wheels, then settled, rolling ever so slowly backward. From the outside it appeared nearly undamaged, just a narrow spiral of smoke trailing from the top deck, but every man inside it was dead.

“High-rises suck for combat,” Morris had told the squad leaders bluntly during the mission briefing. “‘Death trap’ I think is an apt word. First you’ve got to assault up them. Trust me, I could teach you four excellent ways to proceed tactically up a stairwell and all of them suck if there’s a Tab at the top with a gun. You’re going to lose people even if you do everything right. And then, once you’re up there, you can either wait for them to come kill you, and eventually they will, or you head downstairs, where they’ll be waiting for you. But high-rises have certain advantages, which I hope to make great use of. I also want to give you every advantage I can, which means not putting everyone in the same goddamn building waiting to be surrounded. Surprise and stealth, remember? But not necessarily in that order.”

He stabbed down at the map, at the cluster of buildings in the New Center Area. “All things being equal no good commander who has any sort of experience leading armor should get anywhere near buildings, tall or short, without having them be completely cleared by infantry. However…” He smiled. “We are not in a fresh clean war, are we? Correct me if I’m wrong, but you gentlemen have barely had any RPGs or rockets in this war, and for the last few years you’ve had just about zero.”