Battlefield Russia

Battle of Huatung Valley

“I hate chili-mac,” Sergeant Price said to no one in particular as he finished scooping the last spoonful of the stuff out of the MRE and shoved it in his mouth.

“Oh, come on, Sergeant. It isn’t that bad. It comes with the jalapeno cheese pack,” chided one of his soldiers good-naturedly.

Price sat against the trunk of a large tree. Around them, the birds in the forest sang their melodies and did their best to ignore the human intruders to their environment. In the distance, helicopters and the occasional fighter plane flew overhead.

Price spotted Lieutenant Martinez walking over toward him and the rest of his platoon. “Five minutes, guys! We’re pulling out in five mikes, so get your gear ready!” he shouted.

“We finally got orders off this rock?” asked Sergeant Price.

The LT nodded and pulled out a map. “Yeah. The brass wants us to make our way down this ridge so we can patrol and clear this sector here,” he explained, pointing to the location. “Word has it the enemy has a base camp somewhere on the opposite side of this river.” Martinez waved for the other squad leaders to come over so he could show them as well.

Once their company had secured the air base on D-Day, their unit had completed the long trudge up to the top of the Dulan Forest. They’d been prepared to fight their way to the top, but once they’d pushed past the first set of defenses, the enemy had just evaporated. Granted, the Australians had had it hard taking the beach and securing the city, but once that initial fight had been won, the enemy had withdrawn into the countryside.

They’d spent nearly three weeks patrolling and clearing the ridge and low-lying mountaintops for enemy bunkers and hidden positions, but now they were coming up empty and it was finally time to move further inland. The terrain they had been battling on was brutal, similar to some of the mountains of Afghanistan. It had definitely been a challenge to traverse this area with eighty-pound packs and body armor. Sergeant Price would certainly not be alone in his excitement to get off the ridge.

The soldiers gladly finished stuffing any last items into their packs and prepared to move out. Sergeant Price noticed that one of his soldiers seemed a little less excited than everyone else to be moving on.

“Sergeant, you know the nice thing about being stuck on this mountain, patrolling through the woods like this?” he asked.

Price pulled his ruck straps tight. “No, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” he answered with a chuckle.

“We haven’t lost anyone since the first day,” the trooper replied with a somber look. Then he made his way down to one of the trails where the rest of the squad was forming up.

“Man, he’s right,” Price thought. “Poor guy’s still hurting over Tyler.”

Like a lot of soldiers in their unit, Private Tyler had been killed during the combat jump on the first day of the invasion. He was a well-liked guy from Colorado, the sort of guy everyone wanted to hang out with on a Friday night. His loss had hit several of the guys really hard. Of course, it didn’t help anything that they’d only had five privates join them during the three weeks they were in the field — they were still short six soldiers in their platoon and eighteen for their company.

They all slowly made their way down the mountain, until they came across a small family farm. At first, the sight of nearly a hundred heavily armed soldiers coming in their direction scared the family, who had been tending to their property. However, once the locals learned the soldiers were Americans, they were more than happy to greet them and talk with them.

The soldiers fanned out and secured the area, and then Sergeant Price brought their interpreter over so they could have a legitimate conversation with the man who owned the farm. Since they didn’t have a Chinese linguist in their unit, their battalion had hired a few dozen local nationals to act as their guides and interpreters, at least until vetted contracted linguists could be brought in. The local national that was working with Sergeant Price’s company had been a college student studying to be a doctor, so his English was superb. It sure didn’t hurt anything that he was very physically fit, considering all the rough terrain they’d been traversing. He’d told the Americans to call him Mr. Lee, since none of them could pronounce his Chinese name without butchering it.

Mr. Lee warmly introduced himself, the major and the lieutenant to the farmer, who then began speaking very rapidly, waving his arms wildly and pointing toward the large river a couple of kilometers below their current position.

Major Adam Fowler, the company CO, told Mr. Lee, “Hey, get this guy to calm down so we can ask him some questions.”

Mr. Lee nodded. “The man and his family really just wanted to thank you and your men for liberating them from the communists. He said they would prepare food for your men if you would like.”

The officers nodded, not wanting to insult them. The woman set off for the house along with two of their children. Lieutenant Martinez and one of the other soldiers went with her, to make sure the house was clear of enemy soldiers, and to make sure the woman knew they would be paying them for the food. They wouldn’t take from a family in need, and the company could easily write up a voucher receipt that follow-on units would honor.

Major Fowler changed the topic. “Mr. Lee, ask him where the communist soldiers went,” he instructed.

The two men went back and forth for a few minutes before Mr. Lee turned to face Fowler again. “The man says the communists left the area shortly after we arrived,” he explained. “The enemy soldiers moved to a fort they built nearby. It’s over in that area there.” He pointed toward what appeared to be a large hilltop across the river, at least seven or eight kilometers away from their current position.

Major Fowler nodded. “Ask the man if the roads and trails are clear of enemy soldiers until we reach the edge of this side of the river.”

More banter went on between the two Taiwanese men before Mr. Lee once again turned back toward Fowler. “Yes,” he answered. “The road and trails around here are clear of enemy soldiers. He said we don’t need to take the hard way down the mountain. The communists left the area several weeks ago, and they’ve been using the roads and trails without incident.”

The company stayed at the farm for an hour while they refilled their camelbacks and contacted battalion. They wanted to pass along the intelligence they’d found and see if any of the other units had heard the same thing about this enemy fort. Shortly before they left, the farmer’s wife brought out some sort of chicken and rice dish for the soldiers, which they greedily ate every morsel of. With full bellies, it was time to get back on the road.

Continuing their descent to the bottom of the mountain, they encountered half a dozen other small farm plots. In each location, the people were eager to greet them and share what information they knew about the enemy with the men they viewed as liberators.

As they neared the base of the mountain, they came across a small village that sat just above the river they would eventually need to cross. Once they entered the village, several locals came out to greet them and talk with them. One of the locals who introduced himself caught the major’s attention because he identified himself as the only police officer left in the local area.

“The other police officers were killed or taken away by the communists, never to be heard from again,” Mr. Lee translated.

Mr. Lee and Major Fowler started talking with the man to try and gather as much intelligence as possible on this enemy fort they kept hearing about.

“He has confirmed that he knows the fort exists, but he doesn’t have the exact details of how big it is or know how many soldiers are there,” translated Mr. Lee. “All he knows is that most of the local villagers were rounded up many months ago to work on building it.”

Given this new bit of information, Mr. Lee looked for volunteers to provide some more information. One of the villagers seemed particularly happy to divulge any information that might compromise their occupiers. “The bunker is built with reinforced cement — it’s going to be hard to destroy,” explained Mr. Lee. “He says its located at Luyeh Highland, which has a commanding view of the river and surrounding area. If we are going to move further inland, he says we have to destroy it.” The villager and the policeman confirmed on a map the location of the fort.

Sergeant Price had been listening to all the back-and-forth exchanges between the interpreter and the major. He hoped they would just make camp at this village for the night and try to probe the enemy fort in the morning. It had already been a long day, and it seemed like finding this fortified position could wait another day.

The following morning, their company made their way along the edge of the river, until they came to the Luanshan Communication Road, which spanned 300 meters in length across the river leading to Luye Township, south of Luye City. The bridge was situated at the mouth of the Huatung Valley, a critical piece of real estate they needed to capture.

Knowing there was a fortified enemy position nearby, Major Fowler had requested some armor support before they tried to cross the location on foot. Before long, a company from the 73rd Cavalry Regiment arrived with a dozen of their JLTV vehicles. A feeling of excitement permeated the group when they heard the sound of those joint land tactical vehicles approaching.

Several of the JLTVs had the long-range acquisition systems or LRASs on them, which allowed them to search for targets up to ten kilometers away and lase them for artillery or airstrikes. Using the LRASs, the vehicles quickly searched the high ground behind the township for potential enemy positions.

One of the privates operating an LRAS signaled for Sergeant Price to walk over. When Price arrived, the private told him, “Sergeant, check this out. There are several areas with a heavy concentration of radio antennas.”

Price shared the news with his CO. “We must’ve found them,” confirmed Major Fowler.

They set about making plans and preparations for how to proceed, and Fowler called in for additional support. Around midday, two squadrons from the Australian 14th Light Horse Regiment arrived with a squadron of Aslan armored vehicles, which were armed with 25mm chain guns. Sergeant Price smiled when he saw the squadron of M1A1 Abrams battle tanks they’d brought with them.

After everyone had been brought up to speed, Major Fowler sent a squad of Rangers to clear the bridge, making sure there were no explosives rigged to the structure. Everyone collectively held their breath while the search took place, but eventually, the Rangers returned unscathed and gave the all clear.

The Ranger Commander spoke with the Aussies. “Can we get you to send two of your Aslans across the bridge? You all have heavier armored vehicles than us, and they could take the hits better than the ones we have here.”

The Australian major in charge obliged, and soon two Aslans were rolling across the structure. Their journey was uneventful. Once they’d crossed over, they moved to either side of the road, roughly 100 meters ahead of the bridge exit to provide cover for the tanks. One by one, the Abrams tanks were sent over and took up positions on the opposite side of the river.

Something about this just didn’t feel right to Sergeant Price. “Why haven’t they taken a shot at us yet?” he wondered. “They have to see us.”

The armored vehicles continued to cross the bridge one by one, and still no one had had any contact with the enemy. The rest of the Aslan vehicles and the 73rd Cavalry Regiment joined them. Not to be outdone by the armor and reconnaissance units, the rest of the Rangers also crossed the bridge.

Despite the continued calm, the hairs on the back of Sergeant Price’s neck stood up. Then all hell broke loose.

Zip, zap, whoosh, BOOM, BAM!

Heavy machine-gun fire raked the infantry positions, and a fusillade of RPGs and antitank missiles sprang forward from Luye Junior High School directly in front of them and a Buddhist temple to their right. The tanks’ antimissile defensive systems prevented the first barrage of missiles from hitting most of them. However, two of the Aslans exploded in spectacular fashion, throwing fire and shrapnel in every direction. The twelve tanks in the squadron fired several rounds into the buildings where the enemy fire was emanating from, silencing the attack as quickly as it had begun.

While the area was temporarily covered in smoke from the explosions and cannon fire, the Australian and American troops did their best to use that as cover to push further into the small township toward the enemy positions. As they rushed forward, Sergeant Price heard the dull thumping sound of mortars being launched. Then a higher pitched scream really caught his attention.

“Crap, those are katyusha rockets,” he realized.

Boom, boom, boom, crump, crump.

The 82mm mortar rounds and 122mm rockets peppered the bridge area and the edge of the township. The Australian infantrymen and Rangers did their best to get into the town and seek shelter. Rockets and mortars began exploding all around them. High-velocity shrapnel whizzed past them, hitting nearby trees, buildings, and anything else in its path. Sergeant Price felt his heart pounding out of his chest as he raced to get out of the impact zone.

As Price looked up toward the elementary school to his right, he spotted movement in the tree line. “Contact front!” he shouted. “Two hundred meters to my three o’clock!”

“I see it! Enemy machine gun!” yelled one of the other soldiers, who leveled his M240G at the new threat and lit up the position. Seconds after firing into the tree line, a barrage of bullets flew right back at them from several enemy gun positions they hadn’t spotted yet.

Pop, pop, pop, zing, zing, crack.

Several tree branches from the trees above Sergeant Price’s position disintegrated, dropping leaves and chunks of wood on him. “Suppressive fire!” he yelled to his squad. They changed positions rapidly, instinctively following their training. A couple of guys threw some grenades at the enemy, and the others used their M4s and opened fire on the enemy positions.

One of Price’s soldiers leveled his grenade gun at the tree line, where the heaviest concentration of enemy fire was coming from, firing the 40mm grenade and quickly ducking before a slew of bullets flew over his head.

Sergeant Price turned to look behind him and saw a cluster of Australian soldiers pointing in their direction. Then an Aslan started heading their way. A couple of the friendly soldiers motioned for them to take cover.

“Everyone down!” Price shouted, straining to be heard over the roar of gunfire.

Seconds later, the 25mm cannon on the Aslan tore into the tree line in front of them. When the vehicle had stopped shooting, Price stuck his head up and saw the area had been ripped apart. The Aslan had shredded the enemy positions; most of the trees had been cut down to stubs.

Sergeant Price recognized that there was an opportunity to seize while the enemy might still be disoriented. “Charge!” he screamed to his squad.

The Rangers jumped up and ran forward with their weapons at the ready. The Australian soldiers and the lone Aslan advanced quickly behind them, ready to provide support should they need it. When they reached the enemy positions, they found the dead and dying littered about in a chaotic mash. Most of the Chinese soldiers had been ripped apart by the high-velocity cannon shells. Some were missing limbs, desperately calling out for help. Price’s lone medic began to help the enemy wounded where he could; then a couple of Australian medics came forward and also rendered aid.

“Staff Sergeant Price!” shouted his platoon leader.

“Yes, Sir?” Price asked as he turned to face Lieutenant Martinez.

“We’re going to hold up here for the moment,” ordered Martinez. “One of the reconnaissance units found the enemy fort that the police officer and farmers told us about. It’s roughly two kilometers in front of us. One of the tanks was just hit by an antitank gun built into it.” The LT waved in the direction of the stronghold.

“Please tell me someone is calling in an air strike on that location, LT,” said Sergeant Price.

Martinez smiled and nodded. “Yeah. It’s inbound now. Going to drop a 2,000-pound JDAM on them. The CO wants us to move over near the tanks and be ready to support them when they move on the enemy fort. It looks like you guys have this area cleared — why don’t you leave it to the Aussies here to clean up? We need to get moving.”

Price nodded and yelled out to his squad, “Follow me! Let’s get moving.”

A couple of Aussie platoons moved into the enemy positions they’d just cleared. They would hold this section of the town while the Rangers moved to the next location.

Once Sergeant Price’s men reached the location where the tanks were currently sitting and waiting, they dropped their packs and broke out their boxes of extra ammo. His soldiers knew what to do without even being told. They would use their free time to reload their empty magazines and get ready for the next assault. While they waited for the Air Force or Navy to send a jet over to drop some bombs, some of the Rangers pulled out MREs and wasted no time chowing down on some food. The level of physical exertion they had expended in the last several hours had drained many of them, and food and water was one way to replenish some of that energy.

Thirty minutes after Price’s squad had sat down to wait for the Air Force and the tanks to make their move, their company CO walked over to talk to them.

“Listen up, Rangers. There’s been a change of plans,” announced Major Fowler. “A brigade from the 63rd division is moving up here tonight. The Air Force is going to plaster the enemy fort tomorrow morning and the 63rd, along with the Aussies here, are going to clear it out, along with the rest of the valley. After nearly a month in the field, we’re being pulled out and back to the airfield. I have no idea where we’re going next, but let’s enjoy the reprieve for the moment, because you can bet your paychecks they’ll be sending us back into the thick of it soon enough.”