Red Metal

CHAPTER 66

Shank woke to someone shaking him by the knee where he sat in the heated truck. He opened his eyes and saw Jahdek.

“You need more pills?”

Shank felt a little better. Not good, just better. “No, I’m okay. What time is it? I think I fell asleep.”

“Yes, no trouble. It’s almost nine o’clock. Paulina looked in here and saw you sleeping. She ordered everyone to leave you alone.”

Shank asked, “What about the Russians?”

“A company of tanks and some troop carriers are coming this way. PLF has seen them just to the west, but that unit doesn’t have anti-armor weapons, and our air force is down to our last F-16s. There will be no chance if your pilots don’t come help.”

Shank quickly went about trying to raise anyone on the radio. Five minutes, nothing. Ten, still no one.

After a few more tries he heard a distant voice. It was weak, but clearly it was calling for him. His antenna was simply not enough. He needed them to fly closer.

Paulina came by. “Radio working? You have plane?”

“I can hear them; they just can’t hear me. Still trying.”

“Please,” she said. “Not too much time.”

Shank continued calling out on the radio. Behind the lines, where he sat in the truck, was a bustle of frenzied activity, and Shank just sat there, rubbing his cast gently.

Paulina watched him a moment, then heaved a heavy sigh. She was disappointed in him, and it made him feel like shit.

She began to turn away, when a voice came over the radio.

“Shank? Shank, this is Nooner. You receiving me?” The broadcast was loud and clear.

Shank grabbed the mic. “Hot damn, Nooner, you bastard! I’ve got you Lima Charlie.”

Paulina smiled. She understood enough to realize Shank knew the pilot he was talking to.

“Roger, sir. Same, same. We thought you were dead until we got word back at… well, you know… back at our airfield.” Nooner was cautious with his words over the unencrypted radio channel. “You all right?”

“I look like shit but I’m operational. I’ve linked up with a Polish militia unit. We are forward of the Russian advance, which has split into smaller elements.”

“Yeah, they have. They’re all over the damn place down there.”

“Roger that. We have eyes on some roads and fields that are going to be rotten with Russkies in the next few minutes.” Shank ran his finger over the map. “A town called Kraśnik is about twelve kilometers west of my position.”

“Copy. We’re a four-gun flight, ready for work. Let me know what you want to do.”

“I want to integrate you into the Polish militia ambush. You’ll kick it off. I need you to set a battle position in the vicinity of a place called Zamość. We’ll call that BP Raiders. I need you then to fly along Route 74, heading west, then veer hard north at Frampol. From there I want you to run in two craft sections, one every five mikes, then back to BP Raiders and then along that route again. We’ll start there, then see what effect we achieve and shoot up another nine-line brief for changes as needed. Good?”

“Nooner copies all. What’s the TOT?”

“Copy. TOT is…” Shank checked his watch; it was 2210 hours. “Can you make twenty-two-thirty hours?”

“Roger. We copy. First TOT is set for two-two-thirty hours.”

Paulina stood near Shank again, right at his shoulder, listening intently.

“All okay?” she asked.

“Yes, all okay.” He smiled back. She held up his left arm and examined the bandage carefully. She unwound it a few feet and then retied it more neatly.

She gave him a pat on the back. “We need planes.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Shank said.

Paulina walked off into the night while unslinging the rifle from her shoulder.

Minutes later Shank could tell the Poles had spotted the Russians. The first of a series of hushed whispers arose from the position nearest him. It was a little earlier than he’d anticipated, so he snatched up the radio handset again. “Nooner, this is Shank. Need you to accelerate TOT. Can you make a new TOT? Two-two-two-five?”

There was a pause, then: “Copy, Shank. We can make that TOT.”

“Good man. Lean into that throttle, brother.”

Shank trudged through the snow on his crutch toward the Polish lines. He found himself pleasantly surprised to see a mountain of anti-tank rockets, grenades, and boxes of machine-gun ammunition. Slit trenches had been dug into the frozen earth, and the Poles were protected enough to stay safe from all but airbursts and overhead hits.

Pretty good, thought Shank.

The operator of the massive DShK machine gun waved him over and motioned for him to look through the starlight scope of his weapon. Doing so, Shank immediately saw a line of tanks. It took only seconds to ID them as T-14s.

He turned away from the scope without a word and rushed back to the truck as fast as his crutch would take him. When he got back, Nooner was already broadcasting, declaring himself ready to attack.

“Shank, this is Nooner. BP inbound. I can see a row of tanks. They’re right where you said, sir. I have clear line of sight.”

Shank’s heart pounded as if he was about to deliver ordnance on target himself. “Roger. I need you to clear our gun target line. Pull right off target. There will be a lot of shooting going on down here, and your chances of getting hit are high if you don’t fire your ordnance and climb immediately.”

“Copy all,” Nooner said. “Let your people know we’re starting our attack run now. PGM first, then second passes with guns.”

“Copy all. Clear to prosecute targets.”

Shank heard the unmistakable whine of the A-10s above on their attack runs, then the terrific sounds of two missiles shrieking through the air. This was followed seconds later by the rolling explosion of destroyed Russian armor. Fireballs lit up the night sky and now machine-gun tracer fire lanced across the open field from the wood line, pounding into the approaching vehicles.

The gunners blazed away, lighting up the night. Shank looked up and down the line and saw six other heavy weapons pouring fire into the Russian column.

The Russians quickly determined the source of the fire from the incoming tracer rounds emanating from the woods on the hilltop, and in moments Shank heard a spinning, whirring noise as 120mm tank gunfire rolled across the open farmland and toward them, passing overhead.

This was followed quickly by more incoming tank rounds. Again, most were high and arced over the hilltop only to cause devastation kilometers behind the Polish force, but a few hit just in front of the militia, shook the ground, and dumped what snow was still clumped in the pine trees above after the jackhammer assault of the machine-gun and cannon fire.

Someone shouted over the crashing sounds: “They’re moving through the field in our direction! Four hundred meters!”

Fuck, thought Shank, they’ll assault right through. These little trenches and felled trees aren’t enough to protect us from a full-on attack.

He moved back over to the radio. Above him he could hear limbs snapping as the coaxial machine guns on the Russian tanks peppered the wood line with heavy fire.

He ducked low and reached for the handset.

Before he could broadcast, his wingman came over the radio. “Shank, this is Nooner. I’ve got eyes on armor headed toward your position.”

“Nooner, this is Shank. Set up for an immediate reattack. Bring the BP to just west of my position and cycle on target. The Russians will be on top of us in minutes if you can’t hit them hard and fast right now.”

“Can do. Am I clear onto the target?”

“Yeah, ASAP. Pull right stick off target and gain to six thousand.”

Before Shank had finished speaking the night erupted with a loud and inordinately long Brrrrrrrrrrt. By the sounds of things, Shank estimated Nooner had dumped over a hundred rounds onto the Russians in one blast.

A second after the first sound ended, there was another long burst as Nooner’s wingman fired his cannon.

Racing jets flew low, just overhead but invisible in the darkness.

The Poles at the wood line erupted in cheers, and they continued pouring their own fire down at the approaching enemy.

Shank keyed the radio. “Nooner, Shank. You’re making friends down here. What’s your time left on station?”

“I can push past war limits, but I still only have another fifteen mikes left. We burned a lot of fuel looking for you.”

Shank pointed to his watch and then held up one and then five fingers to Paulina. She nodded and ran forward to another of her machine-gun positions.

Shank watched her a moment as she went, then pulled up the mic again. “Roger. Let’s get to work. Be advised, we are still in danger of being overrun.”

“Copy all. Bringing it in tight. Make sure your guys are keeping their heads down. We’re going to crisscross that kill zone with everything we’ve got.”

For the next fifteen minutes Shank coordinated the air-to-ground battle. The direct fire from the Russians continued closing in on the Polish positions. As the enemy got closer, the sounds of smaller- and smaller-caliber weapons added to the mix told Shank that dismounted infantry was nearing the woods. He gave Nooner some more guidance, then decided he couldn’t stand it any longer.

He had to get another firsthand look at the fight to get a better view. He climbed behind the wheel of the truck next to the radio, then put the vehicle into drive. He drove forward toward the machine-gun position with the lights off. He knew the Russians would be looking for thermal signatures, so he didn’t move too close to the wood line before putting the truck in park.

A Russian tank round slammed into the trees just twenty meters off his ten o’clock position, and a spinning branch spider-webbed his windshield.

“Fuck!” he shouted. He fell out the door of the truck, reached back in for his crutch, and then moved as fast as he could toward a machine-gun emplacement. The cuts on his legs had all split open and he could feel blood oozing out.

Looking out over the Polish valley now, he could see the Russian tanks and BTRs. Ten pieces of armor burned, but another ten sprinted up the hill, moving in pairs forward, while another two shot volleys of suppressive fire. The closest vehicles were now less than one hundred meters away, clearly desperate to make it into the trees and among the Poles so that the NATO aircraft above couldn’t continue whittling down their ranks.

In front of Shank’s eyes a precision-guided missile drilled the lead tank as an A-10 passed low under the cloud cover. A second Hog followed only three seconds behind, its 30mm cannon spewing fire. The tracers blazed through the night in a long and continuous red and yellow streak across the blackness, directly onto a BTR. At least half of the rounds penetrated the vehicle. They were more than enough; the crew had no chance. The vehicle burst into flames; then the ammunition cooked off, sending sparks and flares into the night. Brilliant flames licked thirty feet into the air from the blasted open top hatches of the vehicle.

“Good work, Nooner!” Shank shouted, though he wasn’t on the radio.

The assistant gunner of the Dushka spun about, hearing Shank. His face was covered in blood. One of the tank blasts had sent shrapnel into his position.

Now Shank did return to the radio and grab the handset. “Pour it on, Nooner!”

The level of incoming fire began to slacken.

“Nooner, Shank. Do you see signs of withdrawal?”

“Affirmative. I see vehicles turning back to the road. They are headed due east. Looks like they’re bookin’ it. I think you’re just fighting their rearguard now. Want us to hit them in the ass on the way out?”

“Negative. Please remain on station here. If these positions show signs of slackening, they could still overrun us. We’re so lightly manned, I think a platoon of Russians with night-vision equipment could kick our asses.”

“Copy all. We’ll keep an eye on your flanks and let you know. We have great thermal pictures with the temps so low.”

Shank put the radio handset down. He could see the outline of Paulina approaching him, her AK-47 up at the ready. He stepped out of the truck again. “Hey, looks like…,” he began, but she raced forward and threw her arms around him and hugged him hard. It was painful on his wounds — he imagined it was painful to her injured arm as well — but he hugged her back. He laughed, happy that she was happy. Then he noticed she was sobbing. He pulled back and looked at her. She turned away but then back to him again, wiping tears that left streaks on her dirty cheeks as she smiled brightly. He reached up with his good hand and brushed the tears away. It didn’t do more than smudge the dirt around, but she leaned into his hand, enjoying the personal gesture.

“You save many Polish today. You kill many Russians today.”

“I just got my guys in the sky to do the work,” he said, and she hugged him again.