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«Elevation fourteen hundred! Charge one!» Nearly the lowest charge and highest elevation possible, the mortar rounds would not be going far. «Five rounds, traverse, at will and run like hell!» Everyone had been instructed on the route to use to reach their secondary positions. At the command the drivers all started the big diesel engines, like race-car drivers at a tracked Indy race.
Keren could see tracers from the Bradleys' 25mm Bushmasters through the trees. A bright flash indicated the erasure of another fighting vehicle from the remnants of the company. He was just as glad that the sight was obscured by trees.
«It's okay, Keren,» shouted the platoon leader. He climbed in and dogged the troop door just as the first round went downrange.
As the mortar tracks began firing, the driver of the FDC track pulled out. It would take only moments for the rounds to be expended and then all three mortar tracks would «run like hell.» Better to already be on the road than contributing to the log jam.
«Don't matter,» continued the lieutenant, grabbing a stanchion. He smiled grimly. «We're fine as long as we're not on charge zero!»
* * *
Arkady Simosin looked at the scrawled-over paper map of Prince William County and sighed internally. He refused to succumb to despair, despite what the map was telling him. His units, his beautiful divisions, were so much scrap scattered through the woods. But there were still troops to save.
«Reinforce the order from CONARC, regarding the retreat.» He stared at the red arrow of Posleen, charging up the I-95/U.S. 1 corridor. Unlike the horses they resembled, Posleen seemed inured to fatigue. They would be to the Occoquan bridges within the hour.
«Send a message to the Thirty-Third and Forty-First to pull back to the beaches. See if we can get some craft down to the water to pull them out. The battleships were never tied into the fire net and they've been accurate so far. They might be able to cover the withdrawal. Get on that stat.»
«I'll handle it,» said the pla
«Okay, all the rest, turn them towards Manassas, modify the original pivot plan. Tell them to retreat as fast as possible, Nineteenth Armored to take the back door and slow the Posleen.» He glanced at the map again. «The Thirty-Third, Forty-First and Fiftieth DivArty should be able to make it across the bridges. I'm sure they'll hurry. Have them follow the back roads along the Occoquan. They should be able to provide some fire from there.
«The units are to retreat until they are in reserve of the Ninth Corps, in the area of . . .» He looked at his chart and smiled grimly. «Bull Run National Battlefield Park. We will reorganize there.»
He paused and looked at his staff. «Gentlemen, we all know that a retreat under fire is the most difficult maneuver of all to effect. This is, effectively, a rout. We have to get to Manassas before our troops do, and get them stopped behind Ninth Corps. We will use the units that are still combat-effective to reinforce Ninth Corps and stop the Posleen on that axis. Prince William County is as far as they go!»
CHAPTER 48
Occoquan, VA, United States of America, Sol III
1344 EDT October 10th, 2004 ad
Lieutenant Ryan tried not to listen to the quiet murmur of the troops around him, but the rumors of defeat were reinforced by the continuous rumble of artillery vehicles crossing the I-95 bridges. A few armored perso
He had moved his command post to the high ridge on the north bank of the Occoquan. Screened by a thicket of beech saplings—their palmate leaves turning brilliant yellow in the autumn chill—he had a clear view of the town, including the opposite ridge and both bridges. The last orders he had received were to blow the bridges when the Posleen were in sight and remain in position to cover the old dam. Until an infantry unit could be found to replace him, his platoon was responsible for preventing the Posleen from crossing that vital defense work.
In preparation for the oncoming tide, the engineering platoon had been busy little groundhogs. A slit trench ran the length of the top of the ridge, with V-cut positions for riflemen stretched along its length and intermittent reinforced positions for machine guns. The slope was a mass of concertina and barbed-wire tanglefoot and the road ru
When an artillery battery began firing from just behind the ridge, with impacts on the south edge of the town sending woodwork flying into the autumn sunshine, Ryan decided that knowing how to contact artillery might be a good thing. A brief scroll through his ANCD, however, indicated that there might be a problem. He did not have listings for Tenth Corps units.
Since the platoon had been drawn from a training establishment, their chain of command did not include any of the local tactical forces. The ANCD listed a vast number of training units in the Belvoir local area and even higher command frequencies that few platoon leaders would have under normal tactical conditions. But, unfortunately, there was not a single artillery unit listed. The closest thing to an artillery unit was the cryptic entry: «Continental Indirect Fire Net.»
With a shrug, he flipped his PRC-2000 to the listed frequency and keyed the mike . . .
* * *
Since the prohibition on automated indirect-fire, the Fire Direction Center had been stymied. Even when automated fire was allowed, so few units had direct contact that the Fire Control could only order fire on rough guesses of enemy location. Even worse was the lack of feedback. Nothing got a gun crew hopping like the word that they just destroyed an enemy.
So when the crewwoman heard a faint whisper in her earphones, she clamped her right hand over the earphone and responded instantly.
«Unit on this net, unit on this net, you are coming in faint and broken. Say again callsign.»
«Oscar-Fi—is—Romeo—«
«Unit on this net, you are broken. Say again, or boost signal.»
«St—by.»
«Roger, this is Oscar Five Uniform Four Seven, standing by.»
A few minutes later the calling unit came back in, still faint but clear.
«Oscar Five Uniform Four Seven, this is Mike Eight Romeo Six Seven, over.»
«Romeo Six Seven, this is Uniform Four Seven. Authenticate Victor Hotel.»
Pause. «Authentication, Bravo, over.»
«Romeo Six Seven, welcome to the net, over.»
«Roger, adjust fire, over.»
«Adjust fire, out.» She began to enter the order as she hit the foot trip to switch to intercom. «Fire mission!»
«Target, Posleen in open, coordinates 654894. Can you range, over?»
«Romeo, what map sheet are you on, over?»
The lieutenant stared at the private next to him and realized that he was no help; they were both trainees.
«Sergeant Leo!»
«Yes, sir?»
«I got an artillery unit that needs to know what map sheet we're on!» The platoon leader looked at the military grid map covered in incomprehensible signals. «Where the hell is it?»
«Why do they need the map sheet, sir?»
«You want me to take the time to ask?»
The NCO forced his way through the troops between himself and the lieutenant and ran a practiced eye over the map.
«There it is, sir, in the upper right. Occoquan. That was next week's course,» he finished with a wry grin.