Chapter Five

NESTEGG had told them to hold fire. JACKAL had moved in and was working on the convoy and the last thing they’d need would be to have friendly fire rain on them. Still, she kept a watchful eye, waiting to take out any strays that would get away from JACKAL. The waiting was the worst part. She hated not knowing what was going on, the feeling like she could be doing more.
“Just got some bad news from NESTEGG.” Long Range called through the radio. “Bird Zero-One is down, three Hotel Alpha are down, and Hotel Bravo has two down. Stay alert THUNDER, we may not be done yet.” Reacting before thinking, she keyed her radio.
“Any word on who…” She asked, catching herself before finishing the question. Fuck. She had no way of knowing if Repeater and Fastdraw were Alpha or Bravo… but even knowing that would be little comfort unless they knew who was down.
“Negative Eight-Two.” He replied, before adding: “We don’t know if it’s any of your team that’s down, but whoever they were, I’m sure they’re important to somebody.” He emphasized the word 'your'. Who the fuck did this guy think he was?
“First off, I’m sure it ain’t any of my team, second, if God forbid it is, you can be sure it ain’t because of anything they did, but rather because some dumb motherfucker fucked up and caused it, okay? The last thing I need is some know it all sergeant sitting here giving me shit because I ask about the status of my team. It’s not like I fucked up what I was supposed to do here, because I didn’t. So excuse the fuck out of me for giving a fuck about the six other people that I count on..”
“You know, Spec, you cuss a whole fucking lot.”
“You know what, Sergeant?”
“Choose your next words carefully.” He warned, causing her to click off her headset for a minute before saying something she might later regret.. Hotseat was a far better leader than this guy could ever hope to be. At least Hotseat deserved respect. She clenched her teeth and averted her eyes, once again maintaining her composure before swinging an icy stare his way and keying up the radio.
“Just send me in, sounds like they could use a little Wolverine support.” She tried. “Wolves were primarily designed for close range combat, this artillery shit is secondary.” The waiting was the worst, hearing the calls come in, powerless to do anything until they received orders to move, at least if she was there, she could give them some back up.
"Again, negative. They'll call for support when they call for support, and then you can volunteer your ass all you want. Until we hear it from NESTEGG you're still on THUNDER, and THUNDER waits here until we get told otherwise. Clear?" A call came across the air from Falcon before she could respond.
"NESTEGG this is team HUNTER, have encountered two hostile tanks and multiple infantry, requesting some tank support.” Tank support, the Wolverine could handle that, it was designed to handle that..
“Hold up, Eight Two.” Long Range warned. “No one moves until we hear it from NESTEGG.” Fuck. Hotseat wouldn’t be so worried about the chain of command, that’s how he got shit done. HUNTER called for support! THUNDER had the ability to provide it, but they were just sitting there. Artillery was bullshit.
“JACKAL, this is NESTEGG. HUNTER needs some back up. Status?” Psyche Out called into the radio.
“Negative, Negative.” From Steeler, the el-tee in charge of JACKAL. He was at A10. “Convoy not destroyed, JACKAL still needed, requesting back up.” She swung her eyes back towards the near defeated convoy, back up? Shit, Wolverine could handle that too. What the fuck was Long Range waiting for?
“THUNDER, clear to send in Tango to assist JACKAL. Send Second Tango to assist HUNTER. ” From Psyche-Out. It was about fucking time.
Before she could move, Long Range responded with a “Tango Eight-one, I’m on JACKAL. Eight-Two…” He paused for a second, her starting to move before he could continue. They’d gotten the clear to go, she’d waited enough. “Eight-Two support to HUNTER.” He finished, after-the-fact, leaving Grand Slam next up in charge of THUNDER. She’d made it half-way into position when the next call came through.
"THUNDER this Kilo Bravo Zero-Three, I need fire mission at my coordinates, I say again, bring down Arty on this transmission, over." A smile briefly played over her face. Ripcord. The smile was cut short as she listened to his voice. Something was wrong. Arty on his transmission? Did he mean…
"Negative, Bravo Zero-Three, no range." Grand Slam reported. What the hell was Eight-Three’s problem? Stupid bastard, she thought she could count on him. He was at A10. Ripcord called for Artillery, you wait for the signal he’s out, you fuckin' volley. No range? What kind of shit was that?
"I have multiple tracks concealed at my location and GOD has reported expended all stores, insufficient weapons to counter, I require fire mission over." It sounded like he was calling through gritted teeth, anger straining his voice.
Fuck this. Ripcord needed back up. She keyed the radio. "Zero-Three, this is Tango Eight-Two, I‘m on it. Get your ass outta there, gimme a go when clear." She repeated the coordinates to him, before moving the platform into range. Let them bitch and moan about it later. About a minute passed. Nothing.
“Zero-Three, say again, Tango Eight-Two. Holding fire until clear signal received.” Still nothing from Ripcord. Shit! Was he wounded? His voice sounded strained, anger or maybe hurt? Fire, she’d run the risk of taking out one of her own. Ripcord or no Ripcord, there was one of their own. The fact that it was Ripcord made the matter even more complicated. On one hand, Skyboy was good. He knew what he was doing, she trusted that, trusted him. On the other, she knew he’d sacrifice himself for the mission, for the others. Fuck! Why didn’t he just answer? She flipped up her display and readied missiles 7-12. She flexed her fingers a few times, checking her watch. Another minute and a half passed. “Just answer.” She hesitated. She’d give him one more minute then fire. The seconds never seemed to move faster. Still no word from Ripcord. Fuck this artillery shit. She hated the idea of firing blind, artillery sucked. With armor, you had a visual. See your target, fire, see your target disappear. You knew instantly if you hit your mark or not, how many missiles connected, how many you wasted, and more importantly if there were any friendlies in the area. With this you had to count on someone else being there to tell you if your task was complete. “You best be out of there, Wally, please be out of there…” She said aloud to no one as time ran out. She took one more breath, ready to deploy 7 and 8.
"Dammit Tango Eight-Two, where's the fire mission?" He called angrily. He was all right.
“Holding until clear signal received.”
“Clear! Volley, dammit!” Ripcord shot out before she finished, her first two missiles shot out before he was finished talking. Three more quickly followed. All sounds of distant fighting stopped as she pressed the releases, the screaming of projectiles through the air the only thing audible to her, followed by several other distant explosions.
"Tango Eight-Two, repeat, repeat, repeat." The explosions were magnified by his call, he was fucking close. Repeat? Holy shit, how many of them were there? She didn’t question, him, repeating the volley until she was down to three missiles.
"Tango Eight-Two, status."
“Four remaining, say again four. Status Zero-Three?”
"-am missiles." She caught the tail end of something he said in a subdued voice. She was about to ask him to say again when a louder transmission came through the headset. "Recommend rearm. Zero-Three will attempt to eliminate remaining tracks."
"Goddamn Three, how many are fucking left? Will volley two more, again, two more then copy, rearm.”
"Count zero-two tracks undamaged, zero-three functional." Holy shit, what kind of stores did they have? Eight fired, still five tracks? Did she miss? She punched the control screen in frustration before taking a deep breath and responding.
“Copy. Volley Two. Paden, White, ready reload, Still two on move.” She released four and three before more screaming was heard, this time from a different direction. Fuck, missile, from where, from where? She didn’t have time to look, barely enough to cut a hard enough reverse right as she could as the projectile streaked by landing close, too close. She could heard shrapnel bouncing off of the vehicle's armor as the missile connected with the ground her platform had rested on just seconds ago. Sons of bitches weren’t going to get her Wolverine. She looked up to find the offender, a Heat-Viper hitching a ride on a lone STUN, most likely a stray from the convoy.
“Way to fuckin’ go, Knock-Out man.” She said with scorn as she readied her shot by visual. “One shot, make it count Krieger.” She flipped open missile two and launched. One left. The missile hit its mark, causing the small craft to disappear in a haze of fire and sand, but not before a second shot was fired from nearby. Once again she cursed, pushing the Wolverine forward as fast as it could from a dead stop. The second missile was also too close, the whole platform jerking so violently she thought maybe she’d been hit, closing her eyes to await a secondary explosion that never came. Sonsabitches! It looked like a civie, a jeep of some sort with a menacing looking missile tube rigged to its frame, not Cobra black and red, but it fired first. She visualed and released her last missile, not even taking the time to give a single 'one shot' chant as the jeep too disappeared into a charred haze. Fuck. Spent, and a ways to go to hit the reload site.
Without the added weight of the missiles, the craft should have moved more swiftly, but it was dragging. Something had to be wrong. Flipping the cockpit's hatch open she crawled out of the craft onto the deck, carrying her M-4 just in case. She noticed for the first time how bad things looked from her missiles. Barely identifiable bodies mixed with the fire-blacked metal littered the sandy spots where each of the enemy vehicles had once stood, the bodies looking almost like the product of a low budget slasher flick. She averted her eyes and went back to the assessment of damage. Fuck! Track left, rear idler bogie was near destroyed. Sonuvabitch! She’d be able to ride it back for reload, but no way would it hold with the added weight of the missiles. Bogies would take hours to repair. Without mobility, the Wolverine would be as useless as the Sluggers. “Stupid cheap piece of shit!” She said before crawling back inside the cockpit and making the call back to Grand Slam. “Tango Eight-Two, hit, major damage track left. Need to…” She paused for a second looking back out towards the distant pillars of smoke in the directs of the camp and the convoy. “Need to pull back.” She rubbed her hand across her forehead to wipe off the sweat that was accumulating above her brow before slowly easing the vehicle back. “Sorry boys.”


“Down!” Fastdraw yelled to Long Arm, as he pulled him back, taking cover in the crater. He took a minute to change the magazine on his weapon before peering out to fire a few rounds at the stray terrorists, smiling as he caught sight of Repeater doing the same in the nearby foxhole that Falcon and an RTO were also holed up in. He’d lost count over how many bastards he’d offed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the two tanks in the distance. Where was the old man and the chicken-shit when you needed them? He still had a single LAW rocket to go, but would save it until the last minute possible, knowing full well that from that distance they'd practically just bounce off the heavy armor anyway. He felt a large hand grab the back of his neck, and he was forcibly thrown to the bottom of the hole as a few bullets whizzed overhead. He’d been focusing on the tanks and hadn’t seen the two hostiles approaching. Luckily Leatherneck did. After pulling him to safety, the large marine cut the strays down in succession. The Sarge in charge. Always good to have a big marine.
He heard the missiles streak in the distance and took a chance to once again peer out of the trench. In the distance, he could hear the artillery getting closer, one explosion after the other from the opposite direction of JACKAL. What the fuckover? They had two tanks firing on them, and yet THUNDER was dicking around? Leatherneck said Falcon called in for support. He figured it couldn’t be Krieger, she‘d watch for the team first. He rolled his eyes as he dropped back into the ditch. Unless it involved Skyboy.
He took a quick drink from his canteen before rejoining Leatherneck in helping to ward off approaching hostiles, a feat made more difficult by the firing tanks. They were pretty much sitting ducks at that point, where the fuck was backup?
An eternity passed, still more explosions from the distance, the two tanks slowly approaching their positions. Fuck this. He wasn't about to wait in a pre-dug grave and die. He took one final peek out of the foxhole before unslinging his final LAW.
Before he could climb out, another explosion was heard close by. They were still pinned, he hated not seeing what was going on and worse, not being part of it. Another lesser explosion, then momentary silence. He slowly peered up and out to see smoke coming from one of the two tanks, the other engulfed in flames. Where the hell did it come from? He didn't hear any approaching anti-tankers... Didn't matter where it came from, was about damn time it did.


Gunshots. Psyche-Out could hear a few distant gunshots getting closer as he briefly removed his headset. From the sounds of the reports coming in, sounded like a hornet’s nest worse than Intel had figured. He looked about the tent, quickly taking stock.
“McMillan, Law, Ashleigh, get out there, consider yourself SPYGLASS until you hear otherwise. Take down anyone that’s not one of ours. No one reaches the command center.” He knew any terrorists that were out that far were just lone stragglers, but then again, with the way things were going, he didn’t want to take chances. He patted Sparks on the back while taking another breath before slipping his headset back on.
Psyche Out nodded his head slowly, listening to yet another grim report, two more soldiers down. He didn’t allow the gravity of the situation to alter the calm look on his face, though inside he feared the worst. It wouldn’t do the men in his command any good to see him phased, he rationalized. Their two remaining functional Tomahawks could do little more than circle the camp at a distance, taking out any strays that tried to make a break from the encampment due to the high fire intensity. Wounded were still on the battlefield, he had no way of sending in any extractions. HUNTER was pinned down, KILLER was scattered to the winds. JACKAL was having trouble containing the convoy, chances are they’d need a second THUNDER strike, and THUNDER was dangerously approaching the spent limit as it was. GOD still needed another 30 minutes give or take to refuel and rearm before another air strike was possible. On top of that, he had a sinking feeling things were going to get much worse before they got better.

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