Unto the Breach

Chapter Thirty-Six

“Boss, we’re not moving as fast as the Chechens,” Vanner pointed out. “I just got an intercept from barely two klicks back and some of the sensors I dropped show their points are closer.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Mike said, trotting down the hill.

The Keldara were damned near exhausted. They were carrying a massive load of ammo, stretchers with the wounded and their already heavy load of body armor, weapons and other gear.

And the Chechens knew the area better. They knew where the trails were while the Keldara were spending half their time breaking brush.

They’d gotten up into the pine zone, out of the deciduous, but that was, in a way, worse. The slopes were getting steeper and the underbrush was a thick thorn that was really slowing them down. The Chechens were going to catch them well short of the pass.

“Dafid,” Mike said over the team leader net. Since Padrek was barely making it in that fucking rubber suit, Dafid had taken over as team leader.

“Kildar?” the team leader called back.

“Set some traps on the back trail,” Mike said. “We’re being trailed and I’d like to slow them down.”

“Yes, Kildar.”

“If we could just get out of this fucking scrub,” Mike snarled.

“This damned scrub is slowing us down,” Bukara snarled.

“We are still catching up to the Keldara,” Sayeed pointed out.

They’d been forced to leave their vehicles behind. The local guides had known a path that was vehicle capable for part of the way but about ten kilometers back they had had to dismount and follow on foot.

However, they were also being followed. Bukara had been using his satellite phone lavishly and every commander in the area was now headed towards Guerrmo Pass to try to stop the Keldara.

If they could catch them. And then there was Raza. The old mujaheddin was good, but could he cut the triangle fast enough to cut off the Keldara? And if so, could he hold them?

#

“Fuck,” Mike said as firing broke out to the rear. They were, at least, getting out of the damned scrub. But that just meant they were high enough that breathing was becoming difficult. The whole group had slowed and now they were going to have to slow more.

“Dafyd?”

“No casualties,” Dafyd replied. “Some of their point caught up to us. Can we speed it up, please?”

“Negative,” Mike said as a stretcher team passed him. The Keldara were breathing so hard they sounded like winded horses. “Time to change tactics. Keep moving to the next hilltop then hold that until I tell you to move.”

Mike took the larger C2 device from Vanner and looked at their position.

“Team Padrek, hold in place,” Mike said, starting to sketch on the touch pad. “Take up firing positions in support of Dafyd. Oleg, take position on this hilltop. Adams to Oleg’s position. Yosif, Sawn, you’re stretcher bearer detail and command security. Pavel, keep pushing forward to… here,” he added, pointing to another hilltop. “Take up security positions. We’re going to have to shift to retreat under fire.”

A retreat under fire is one of the most difficult maneuvers to effect. As one group slows the pursuing enemy the other groups have to get into a position to bring the first group’s position under fire. And they have to move fast. They have to get into position before the pursuer can flank the rear party.

On command, the rear party evacuates their position, usually bounding all the way to the front of the overall unit. The unit behind them then takes their position under fire since the enemy they had been fighting would generally assault the position as soon as it was evacuated.

Then the group had to do the whole thing all over again.

Casualties, which were inescapable, added to the complexity. They slowed everyone down. But the Keldara weren’t about to leave anyone behind. Not to the Chechens.

Dafyd crested the hill then turned around and flopped on the slope next to Oleg.

“This is fun, no?” he asked, gasping for air.

“I’d rather be heading at them,” Pavel said. “I hate running away.”

“Frankly, I’d rather be back at home, drinking a beer,” Dafyd replied. “There.”

One of the Chechen point men had appeared over the next hill. He was clear in Dafyd’s NVG.

“Do we wait until they get close?” he asked.

“I don’t think so,” Pavel replied. He touched his throat mike. “Braon, take him,” he called to the team sniper.

There was a crack from Dafyd’s right and the Chechen dropped.

“Team,” Pavel continued. “Fire as you bear. Snipers, try to find the commanders.”

Bukara paused, panting, as fire broke out to the front.

“We have them,” Sayeed said.

“Maybe,” Bukara replied. “We have to move forward.”

“Dafyd, Pavel.”

“Go Kildar,” Dafyd said, firing to his left. He could see some of the Chechens moving down on the side of the hill, trying to flank their position.

“Get ready to leave,” the Kildar said. “Pull straight south. Oleg is to your southwest. Skirt the edge of his hill then check your pads. They have your positions. Move as soon as you are sure you’re ready.”

“Yes, Kildar,” Dafyd said. He quickly switched to the team frequency. “Antoniya, status?”

“All here,” Antoniya replied. “No casualties.”

“We’re good, too,” Pavel said. “You go first.”

“Right. Team, retreat to the streambed and form on me. We are leaving.”

“Can I shoot, now?” Shota asked as the first Chechen crested the hill where Pavel and Dafyd’s people had been. Pavel had almost passed their position but Dafyd’s team, Padrek’s really, was still at the base of the hill.

“One round,” Oleg replied. “The new one.”

“Yes!” Shota said, happily. He already had one loaded and the range to the hilltop. “Clear!”

“They’re retreating under fire,” Bukara said. “Doing it well so far.”

They were in the streambed on the back side of the hill, just starting to ascend. It was clear that the Keldara had abandoned it.

“Perhaps Haza Khan will stop them,” Sayeed said as the hilltop was enveloped with fire. “What in Allah’s name?!”

“Fuck their mothers!” Bukara shouted, shaking his head to clear the ringing. The back of the hill was suddenly pelted by rock, dirt, twigs and wet things. “Thermobaric round! Send the rest of the men around the hill.”

“Oooo! Pretty!” Shota said, pulling another round out of the rack on his side and sliding it into the rocket launcher. “Can I do that again?”

“No,” Oleg said. “Not yet, anyway. Stay under cover. If they see that thing you’ll be fired at by every Chechen. I’ll tell you if we need it.” He touched his throat mike. “Where are they?”

“Coming around both sides of the hill,” Jitka replied. “They don’t seem to like the top anymore.”

“Fire as you bear,” Oleg said, spotting one of the Chechen fighters on the east side of the hill. “Snipers, look for leaders.”

Sveryan Shaynav was normally a spotter for Juris. But Juris had been hit by the fucking Russian sniper at the raid so now he was the boss man. He’d grabbed Gregor Makanee, one of the regular riflemen, and given him a very brief class in using a spotter scope. But it was the first time the kid had spotted for a sniper so Sveryan wasn’t hoping for much.

“Left side of the hill,” Gregor whispered. “Range… five hundred thirty-two meters. Guy waving his arms.”

Sveryan swung the scope back and forth and finally spotted the guy he was talking about. Sure enough, he looked as if he was in charge of the group. He adjusted the scope for the indicated distance, took a breath, let it out, stroked the trigger.

“Target down,” Gregor whispered. “Thirty meters uphill. Guy carrying a big gun of some sort.”

“PKM,” Sveryan said, stroking the trigger.

“Whatever… He’s hit but not dead. You wanna finish… Okay. Right side of the hill, think it’s one of their snipers. There’s two rocks near the top of the hill. Just down from them. Range… four seventy.”

“I’ve got to give you a class on spotting,” Sveryan sighed…

“Oleg, got your little pad thingy working?” Mike asked.

“Go, Kildar.”

“Next position,” Mike said. “How you doing?”

“Whisky, one,” Oleg replied, indicating one casualty. “Mobile. Ready on your command.”

“As soon as you’re ready,” Mike said. “Pavel is to your southeast. Head due south. Your next position is on the chart.”

“Roger, Kildar,” Oleg said, switching to the team net. “Team, prepare to pull out. Everyone mobile?”

“Yes,” Dmitri replied. “Mikhail took a round through the arm, but he’s good otherwise.”

“Can I fire now?” Shota asked.

“No,” Oleg said. “Save your rounds. I think we’re going to need them. Team, pull out… Now!”

The temperature was dropping again, the rain had turned to snow, but that was fine. It meant the fucking Chechens had to dig to stay warm.

Haza knew how to put in a defensive position. He had fought the Northern Alliance, off and on, for years. That had been a war of attrition and no-man’s-lands towards the end, trenchlines that stretched sometimes for miles. Occasionally one side or the other, usually the Taliban, would get an advantage and the lines would shift. Then it would be time to put in another defense. He had done it over and over again.

He, therefore, wasn’t just letting the Chechens dig shallow scrapes and be done with it. That seemed to be the way around here. But that wasn’t good enough for Haza. He had had them build a zig-zagging trench across the brow of the hill, with fields of fire in boht directions and to the sides. Machine gun teams had finally straggled in, nearly exhausted, and he already had positions dug for them with sweeing fire covering the front and sides of the hill. If the Keldara tried to pass to either side they’d be taken under a whithering fire. And assaulting straight at the position would be suicide.

Haza could hear the guns, now. The Keldara were retreating under fire, that was pretty clear. And it was also clear they were heading right towards the pass.

Let them come. Then it would be much warmer.

“Thank you for coming to the White House,” the president said, smiling at the president of Burundi and shaking his hand. The two men were turned slightly sideways so that the White House photographer could get a good picture of them.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” the man said. “It has been my pleasure to meet you.”

“And I you,” the president said, ushering him out of the Oval Office. “I wish you well on your return trip.”

“And many wishes to you, Mr. President,” the Burundan said. He was quite pleased with the visit. His country had picked up a bundle in aid, which would please his cousins no end since most of it would go in their pockets. Well, that which he didn’t skim. He could probably buy that chalet in Switzerland he’d had his eye on.

The POTUS walked back to the Resolute Desk and slumped into his chair. He looked at the documents on his desk, pulled one over and picked up the phone at the same time, hitting a button with his pinkie finger.

“Keldara?”

“They’re retreating under fire, Mr. President. Weather is breaking and the Predators are starting to get some observation. They’re about fifteen kilometers from the Chechen side of the pass. However, their intercepts, and ours, indicate that somewhat more than four thousand Chechen fighters are closing on their position, many of them carrying heavy weapons such as mortars and heavy machine-guns. If they are slowed much more, the main force will catch them. In that case, sir… ”

“They’ll be wiped out,” the president said.

“Probably, sir,” the major replied, unhappily.

“Major, you’re a good man,” the president said. “But I want someone with ground combat experience to start answering the phone. I want someone who can make calls based on that experience.”

“I understand, sir,” the major replied.

“Call Office of Special Operations Liaison,” the president said. “See if Colonel Pierson can come by.”

“Tiger One this is Tiger Two.”

“Go,” Mike said, looking at the map.

The command group, with the wounded just ahead of them, were in movement to the next position and Mike was trotting while watching the pad and thinking about the terrain ahead.

“Valkyrie is inbound. We need an LZ.”

“It’s gonna have to be a fly-by,” Mike replied. “She got ammo?”

“Yes. And machine-guns.”

“Hoorah,” Mike said, tiredly. The first stars were visible in the sky at the same time as the vague light of dawn. The clouds were clearing off fast, though and the temperature dropping. It was gonna be one cold, raw, day. And the Keldara couldn’t exactly worry about sweat. Fortunately, the pass was low enough that, given that they weren’t planning on stopping moving, they shouldn’t have to worry about freezing to death. “I’ll designate an LZ. Tell them to drop the stuff and don’t even fully touch down. We are not in a position to stop.”

“I’ll pass that on,” Nielson said. “We just got a satellite pass. It looks as if it’s clearing over there.”

“It is,” Mike replied. “It’s gonna be a pretty, if cold, day.”

“Gretchen.”

“Go.”

“The LZ is a long, open, ridge running east west. When we get down, just start pushing the shit out the door. We’re only going to pause for the wounded. Got it?”

“Got it,” Gretchen said. She was holding on to the handles of the minigun, hoping to see some Chechen bastards.

“Then it’s back through the pass,” Kacey continued.

“I’m ready,” Gretchen replied.

The Hind banked sharply to the right and she braced her feet, hanging backwards from the gun, as it dropped sharply. As it leveled out she could see some men running, but from their clothing they were Keldara. And several of them bore stretchers. More than they could carry.

As soon as the bird leveled out she slid back the door. The interior of the plane had been cleaned but there was still water on the floor from the cleaning. The water had frozen during the flight and the footing was treacherous. But she got behind line of ammo boxes and braced her foot on the far, closed, door.

“Start dumping!” Captain Bathlick said, slowing the chopper to the speed of a walk.

Gretchen pushed with a grunt and once the boxes started moving they slid easily enough. She then grabbed the four machine guns and stood in the door, carefully dropping them in a line. Last, she braced herself again and shoved out another series of ammo boxes. All of it was belted 7.62. It seemed like a lot of machine gun ammunition.

Leaning out the door she could see the stretcher bearers waiting. They were down on one knee and looking back over their shoulders.

She’d just noted that when she heard a “ping!” and looked up to see a tracer floating towards her. The thing was going so slowly it looked funny. Then she realized that one tracer meant five more bullets. And there were more tracers.

The line of fire went behind the bird but the gunner was going to correct.

Fuck that.

“Get them on!” she screamed, grabbing the handle of the minigun and swinging it towards the source of the fire.

Her first fire was very low, she hadn’t realized the hillside was as far away as it was. But she walked the rounds up towards the machinegun position and onto it just as the helo stopped to let the stretcher bearers load the wounded.

On the basis that a machinegun is rarely by itself, Gretchen continued to walk the fire across the hillside until she sensed out of the corner of her eye that the wounded had all been loaded and the strecher bearers had unassed the bird.

“Go, go, go!” she shouted over the intercom. “They’re all on!”

Four stretcher casualties and Gregor Makanee who had a bad wound in his abdomen but, somehow, was walking.

“Gregor, lie down,” she said, pushing herself away from the guns and making her way to the Makanee. “You’re going to need to lie down. I’ll get you some blood.”

“See to… Stephan,” Gregor said, but he lay down on the deck which was already getting slick with blood. “He needs… help.”

The rear bottom stretcher was Stephan Ferani and she could see what Gregor meant. Stephan’s left shoulder was swathed in blood-soaked bandages and he was bubbling bright red out of his mouth. Despite that, he was conscious.

“My own personal Valkyr,” Stephan said, trying to smile.

“You better not die on me,” she said, hooking a unit of O positive blood up and pulling the IV he already had in. “It would ruin my record.”

“Gretchen, I didn’t know you cared,” Stephan said then slumped.

She felt at his neck and couldn’t find a pulse. Frantically, as the helicopter banked up and to the left, she pulled down the defibrillator kit. She didn’t know if it was going to work but the Ranger medic had told her if anyone’s heart stopped to put it on and step back.

Most of Stephan’s blouse had already been cut away to get at the wound so she only had to find the right places for the three connections. She glanced at the chart and then hooked them up as fast as trembling fingers could work. As soon as they were in place she hit the big green “On” switch.

“Detecting… ” the machine said. She hadn’t know machines could talk. “No pulse detected. Charging. Stand clear of the patient. Charging. Stand clear of the patient.”

Gretchen backed away from Stephan and held onto one of the other stretchers.

“Defibrillating,” the machine said and Stephan’s body jerked. “Detecting. No pulse detected. Charging. Stand clear of the patient. Charging. Stand clear of the patient.”

Another jerk.

“Heartbeat detected.”

Gretchen touched her finger to Stephan’s neck and there was a pulse. It was faint and fast, but it was a pulse. She reached up, wide-eyed, and squeezed the bag of blood. He definitely needed more blood. Definitely.

“We live in an age of miracles,” Gregor said. “Now could I have some morphine, please?”