East of Taloset, Duro One: Second Royal Orleans Guards Tank Army, 12th Motorized Orleans Foreign Legion Rifle Regiment, 23rd Orleans Foreign Legion Sappers Regiment, 7th Royal Orleans Reconnaissance Battalion.
Sous-Lieutenant Amand Segal wiped at his nose with his fingers and ordered his driver forward. The fighting on Duro One had bogged down, the forces of President Gray fighting tenaciously, somehow having been supplied arms and armor by an outside benefactor. The view through the vehicle commander's optics allowed no meaningful orientation. Rapid flashes dazzled in the periscope's lens, leaving a deep gray veil of smoke in their wake. The view was further disrupted by raindrops that found their way under the external cowl of the lens block. Segal felt as though he were guiding his reconnaissance track through hell at the bottom of the sea.
The shudder of the powerful artillery bursts reached through the metal walls of the vehicle. Suddenly, the armor seemed hopelessly thin, the tracks too weak to hold, and the automatic cannon little more than a toy. Occasionally, a tinny sprinkling of debris struck the vehicle, faintly audible through Segal's headset and over the engine whine. He could feel the engine pulling, straining to move the tracks through the mud of the farm trail.
"Sous-Lieutenant, we're very close to the barrage," his driver told him.
Segal understood that the driver meant
too close. But the Sous-Lieutenant was determined to outperform every other reconnaissance platoon leader in the battalion, if not in the entire Second Royal Orleans Guards Tank Army. "Keep moving," Segal commanded, "just keep moving. Head straight through the smoke."
The driver obeyed, but Segal could feel his unwillingness through the metal frame that separated them. For a moment, Segal took his eyes away from the periscope and looked to the side, checking on his gunner. But Durand was alright, eyes locked to his own periscope. Three men rolling in a steel box, no margin of safety in personnel now; everyone had to do his job without fail. Segal had never received the additional soldiers to fill out his reconnaissance platoon for war, logistical problems unaccounted for by high command, and he had no extra meat, no dismount strength in own vehicle. As it was, he could barely man the essential positions in each of his three vehicles. To himself, he cursed the bastards that were supplying the enemy, every shipment they received prolonging the war that much more.
It was impossible to judge the exact location of his vehicle now. If everything was still on track, his second vehicle would be tucked in behind him, with Sergent-chef Martin to the rear in an overwatch position. Segal laughed to himself. Overwatch. You couldn't see ten meters. He glanced at his map, anxious to orient himself. He could feel the trail dropping toward a valley or ravine. Artillery rounds struck immediately to the front.
"Keep going!" Segal said. "Get down into the low ground. Stay on the trail as long as the smoke holds.
Fast now,
move. Segal sensed that they were very close to the enemy. Clots of earth and stone flew into the air, hurtling across his narrowed horizon. Segal guessed that, if he moved off the trail, there might be mines, but that the trail itself would be covered by direct fires - which would be ineffective in the confusion of the Orleans artillery preparation. "Lieutenant, we're catching up with the barrage. We're too close."
"Keep going! We're already in it. Go right through!" Segal ordered through the internal comm system. "Sous-Lieutenant..." It was Sergent Bisset, his gunner and assistant. The boy's face was milky. "It's alright," Segal told him through the intercom. "Just spot for targets. If we wait and try to sneak through, they'll get us for sure." Just as he finished, an unidentified object thumped against the vehicle so hard that the vehicle jolted, as though wincing in pain.
"Go
faster," Segal shouted to the driver. "Just stay on the road and go as fast as you can!" The vehicle's RPM's slowed for a moment, "I can't see the road. I lose it!" The driver called out. "Just go!" Segal brushed his fingers at his nose. He felt fear rising in his belly and chest, unleashed by the impact of whatever hat hit the vehicle. Suddenly, the artillery blasts seemed to swamp them, shaking the vehicle like a boat in rough water. Segal realized that if they threw a track now, they were dead.
"
Go, damn you!" In the thick of the smoke, the lights of the blasts seemed demonic, alive with deadly intentions. "More to the left...
to the left!" The tracks seemed to buckle on the edge of a ditch or gully, threatening to peel away from the road wheels.
"
Target!!" Segal screamed, but the sudden black shape off to their right side was lifeless, its metal deformed by a direct hit. The driver swerved away, and the tracks came level, back on the trail again. Segal broke out in a sweat, he had not seen the shattered vehicle until they almost collieded with it. He wondered, for the first time, if he had not done something irrevocably foolish. Slop from a nearby impact smacked the external lens of Segal's periscope, cracking it diagonally, just as the vehicle reached a pocket where the wind had thinned the smoke to a transparent gauze. Several dark shapes moved out of the smoke on a converging axis.
"
Targets!!! Gunner, right! Driver, pull left
now!"
But the enemy vehicles moved away quickly, either uninterested in or unaware of Segal's presence. The huge armored vehicles disappeared back into the smoke, black metal monsters roaming over the floor of hell. None of the turrets turned to fight. "Hold fire." Segal quickly ordered, the enemy were evidently pulling off of a forward position. The fire was too much for them. Segal tried his radio, hoping the antenna had not been cut away. Queuing the transceiver, "Epee, this is Renard. Do you hear me?"
Nothing.
The heaviest fire struck behind them now. But the smoke, mingled with the fog and rain, still forced them to drive without points of orientation. Segal worried because he had once turned in a complete circle in a smokescreen on a training exercise, in the most embarrassing experience of his career. He could still hear the laughter and the timeworn jokes about lieutenants. Trying again, "Epee, this is Renard. I have a priority message."
"Renard, this is Epee." The control station barely came through the sea of static.
"Enemy forces in at least a platoon strength withdrawing from forward positions under fire strike. I can't give you an exact location." Segal let go of his mic, listing to Epee respond back, "Where are you? What's your location?"
"I'm in my assigned sector. Visibility is almost zero. We just drove under the artillery barrage. We're in among the enemy." A tense moment passed, "You're hard to read. I'm getting a garbled transmission. Did you say your are
behind the artillery barrage?" Queuing his mic again, Segal spoke clearly, "On the enemy side of it. Continuing to move."
There was a long silence on the other end. Segal sensed that he had surprised them all. he felt a bloom of pride. The the faint voice returned. "Renard, your mission now is to push as far as you can. Ignore assigned boundaries. Just go as deep as you can ad call targets. Do you understand?" He smiled, "Clear, moving now."
Segal switched to the intercom. The smoked thinned slightly, his first instinct was to move for the high ground so he could fix his location. But, he quickly realized that any high ground would not only reveal his presence but was likely to be occupied by the enemy. "Driver, follow the terrain, stay in the low ground. Just watch out for ditches and water." He switched the radio again, this time to the platoon net, trying to raise his other two vehicles. "Trembler, this is Renard." Moments passed with no answer.
He tried again, still receiving no answer. He swung the turret around to get a better view, straining to see through his cracked and dirty optics. There was nothing, misty gray emptiness. Suddenly, the radio cackled, "Renard, this is Bord." Segal heard Sergent-chef Caron's voice. "I can't hear any response from Trembler. My situation is as follows: moving slowly with the barrage. Can't see a damned thing. I lost you twenty minutes ago."
"This is Renard, transmission received. Continue to move on primary route. Watch for Trembler, he may be stuck out there. End transmission." His other vehicle might be broken down or mired. But, he realized that it was more likely they were dead. What was worse, was how little emotion he felt over the aspect of their deaths, shamed to realize that his thoughts dwelt more on the loss of fighting strength than life. "Driver, get on that trail to the right. That one." The vehicle moved sharply now, with the worse effects of the barrage well behind it. Segal's optics had deteriorated severely, the crack in the outer lens allowing water to seep in. Ahead, he called out, "Slow. See the trail into the trees?
Slow. Take the trail."
The vehicle eased onto a smooth forest trail that appeared very well-maintained. Segal hoped to find a spot to tuck into for a few minutes so they could clean off all their vision blocks and lenses and tighten the antenna. One barrage had already passed over the forest, and patches of trees had been splintered and blackened. The driver worked the tracks over a small fallen trunk. He drove the vehicle cautiously, with no desire to throw a track in such close proximity to the enemy. Over the intercom, "Lieutenant, I can barely see," the driver said. "Can I pop open my hatch?" Shaking his head, Segal barked, "No. Stop right here. I'll get out and clean the blocks.
The vehicle rocked to a standstill, Segal unlatching his safety bolt and pushing his hatch upwards. The sudden increase of the noise level was striking, the weight of the artillery preparation incredible, with the fires sounding much closer. It was difficult to imagine anything surviving the hellish onslaught. Segal took a breath of unfiltered air, tasting the freshness of the forest intermingled with the stench of spent ordinance. As the rain drops from overhead touched his face coolly, Segal surveyed the area. Just ahead, another trail crossed the one along which they had moved, deeply rutted and black with mud, evidence that several tracked vehicles had passed along it.
Drawing himself back down into the turret, Segal spoke quickly, "Bisset, make sure the auto-cannon's ready to go. We're not alone." Before he could exit, Bisset spoke up, "Lieutenant, let me check the exterior." Shaking his head, "No. You stay on the gun. Just be ready." Segal stripped off his headset, then snaked his way out of the turret. The deck seemed to slide away under his boots, forcing him to grasp the long, thin barrel of the auto-cannon to steady himself. The armament appeared to be all right, with no metal deformities. But the rest of the vehicle had not fared so well.
Stripped paint, dents, shallow gashes, bolt-on armor gashed or even sheared completely off. One fender was twisted skywards, mangled like some wretched claw. An external stow-box was missing, the spare track pads gone, and the shovel shattered into a dozen slivers. A silver lining was the antenna for the high-powered radio, barely nicked, but functionally intact. Sensing the increased rainfall, Segal hurried to clean the optics, hoping the rag he used would not smear them too badly. Wiping rain from his eyes, he got back into the turret as soon as he reasonably could. "The trail looks clear enough up ahead, but you can't see very far. The enemy has either passed through these woods or he's still somewhere in here with us."
"Perhaps we could wait here for a while, lieutenant. See what the enemy does, you know?" Bisset was clearly frightened. Segal hoped the gunner would be able to work his weapon when the time came. Twitching his nose, then rubbing it with dirty knuckles, Segal spoke, "No. We have to get a fix on our location. And if we just sit, the artillery with roll back over us. We are moving, and moving forward." The truth was, Segal realized, that he was afraid to remain motionless, afraid that he couldn't handle the stress of inactivity. Looking out ahead, he spoke, "Driver, can you see all right now?"
"Better lieutenant." The driver called out. "Let's go, nice and easy then." Segal wanted to make sure he spotted the enemy before they spotted his lone vehicle. He knew it would be impossible to detect moving vehicles until they were fatally close, due to the noise of the incoming artillery bombardment. Gripping the mantlet, Segal looked onward as his vehicle dug itself into the peat of the trail, then gripped and lurched forward. He unlashed his assault rifle, while he expected to fight with the auto-cannon and the onboard machine gun, he wanted to be prepared for anything. The open hatch of his turret serving as a shield, weapon at the ready, he left the flaps of his headset open to try and hear a bit of the world around him.
With a sudden movement, the vehicle pivoted into the rutted trail. The rain picked up, slapping Segal in the face, causing him to squint. Nervously, he ejected a cartridge from his weapon, ensuring it was loaded and ready. "Basset, how well can you see?" The young man responded, "I can see the trail." Nodding, Segal scanned the front, "If I duck down and start turning the turret, be ready." The gunner, eyes glued to his sights, curtly replied, "I'm ready lieutenant."
Segal took a deep breath, hearing the nerves in both of his crewmen's voices. He was furious about the lack of soldiers to fill out his crew, wanting all the fighting strength he could muster, but then again, who could have prepared for such a long drawn out conflict. His mind wandered for a moment, thinking of the 'Bastards who were supplying the enemy, enabling tyrants and criminals to hold out..' A short laugh escaped his lips, wishing that his missing vehicles were with him. Gripping the hatch ring, he watched as the tracks slid and plumed mud high into the air behind the vehicle. Behind the pluming mud, the immense roar of the artillery seemed part of reality now, clearly divorced from anything that would happen in these woods.
Black vehicle shapes. Thirty meters through the trees. Like a startled rabbit, Segal dropped into the turret, not bothering to close the hatch behind himself. Taking turret control, he pressed his forehead against the optics, scanning his foe. "
See them!? FIRE! Damn you, fire!" The auto-cannon started belching, recoiling endlessly. "
There. To the right!"
"I have him!"
"
Driver, don't stop. GO!" The vehicle pulled level with a small clearing in the forest where two enemy command tracks stood positioned with their drop ramps facing each other. Two light command cars were parked to one side, while a third track that had been hidden from view began to move down the trail on the other side. "Hit the mover,
hit the mover!" The auto-cannon spat several bursts at the track, which stopped in a shower of sparks. "Driver, front to enemy." Segal swung the turret again.
The enemy fired back with small arms, although one man stood still, helmetless, in amazement, as though he had never in his life expected such a thing to happen. The auto-cannon and machine gun raked the sides of the enemy tracks, all good, clean flank shots, punching through their armor. The track that had made for the trail now burned brightly, billowing smoke. The driver's hatch popped up, and Segal cut the man across the shoulders with the onboard machine gun. Looking back, the man who had stood still for so long in amazement slowly raised his hands. Segal turned the machine gun on him.
Fearful that he might have missed one of the soldiers on foot, Segal turned the onboard weaponry over to Bisset, standing behind the shield of his turret hatch with his assault rifle. Just in time, he saw an enemy soldier kneeling with a small tube on his shoulder. He emptied the entire magazine into the man, just as Bisset brought the machine gun around to catch him as well. Pulling grenades from his harness, he primed the first, then the second, tossing them towards the enemy vehicles. He dropped back inside the turret, listening to the flat sounding explosions, inconsequential to the artillery barrage. Shaking his head, he realized his hearing was probably going. "Sweep the vehicles one more time with the machine gun. Driver, to the rear, ten meters."
"I can't see..." Segal hissed through the intercom, "Just back up, damn it.
Now!" Popping his head back up, peaking around the hatch, he cursed to himself, willing to give anything to have his authorized dismount scouts now. If there was a price to pay for the system's failure, he'd have to pay it. The idea did not appeal to him, but what else could he do? Working another magazine into the assault rifle, he quickly clambered his way out of the turret, feeling as though it take painfully long. Once far enough out, he swung both legs over the side of the turret, sliding down its side and into the muck below. Boots in the mud, he crouched next to his vehicle, great clots of earth hung from the track and road wheels. He checked his rear, nothing. Nothing but forest and the empty trail.
To his front, the two command cars blazed, one with a driver still behind the wheel, a shadow in the flames. Between his vehicle and the devastated enemy tracks, Segal could see three enemy soldiers on the ground, one moving in little jerks and twitches. None of them made any sounds. Another body lay sprawled face down on the ramp of one of the command tracks, while yet another, the anti-tank grenadier, had been kicked back against a tree by the machine gun, hardly resembling a human being now. The track that had tried to escaped burned, its metal glowing red and orange. Segal could tell it was a foreign import, something supplied by a core-world manufacture. He crept forward, keeping well away from it as he approach the two command tracks. One still had its engine running, humming deeply in the silence of death.
These two command tracks were locally sourced and built, but bore off-world upgrades and overhauls. The uniforms of the dead men looked to be locals, Segal cautiously inched his way towards the rear of the vehicles. Halting, he leaned against the wet metal sidewall of the running vehicle, feeling the vibrations. Above the idling engine, he could hear the crackle of a radio, calling out in a strange language. He wondered if it was a call for the station that had just perished. Someone moaned, almost as if he was snoring. The silence. Taking a deep breath, he steeled himself, looking back towards the dead grenadier, his contorted remains seeming to mock him. Shaking his head, Segal turned to the corner, pulling his weapon in tight to his side, and threw himself up onto the ramp. He had forgotten about the dead man on the ramp, tripping over the corpse, flopping over the body and landing on his elbow. He landed with his mouth close to the dead man's ear, feeling the lifelike warmth of the body through its battle dress and sogging rain.
The dead man had fine white hairs mixed in with the close-cropped black on the rear of his skull, and Segal saw the red pores on the back of the man's neck with superhuman clarity. As soon as he could he pushed off the corpse and twisted so he could fire his weapon into the interior of the vehicle. Only that wasn't necessary any more. The occupants were all dead, torn to bits like meat in a stew. The dead lay strewn together, like drunken men who had fallen over after dancing, their uniforms torn and bloody. Segal realized that some of the rounds had penetrated the near side of the vehicle, but not the far side, instead ricocheting back and forth in the interior. The other command track stood empty, save two radio operators, dead at their consoles, a foreign voice calling out frantically.
Suddenly he felt sick, trying to make for the trees, out of some elementary human instinct, but stumbled instead over the dead man on the ramp, vomiting on the corpse's back. As he looked down at his mess, he panicked to see blood smeared over his own chest, before realizing that it had come from his embrace of the middle-aged corpse. Segal felt empty, belly burning with acid and his heart vacantly sick, wanting nothing more than at this moment to be home, in the fields of his family farm.
He wiped the strands from his lips, wondering if his crew had watched his little performance. The taste in his mouth made him feel sick again. Segal realized, belatedly, that the amazed man with his hands up had been trying to surrender, and that it had been wrong to gun him down. But during the fighting, it had never occurred to him to do anything but shoot at everything in front of him. The voice over the radio called again, pleading now it sounded for a response. Suddenly, he braced himself, staring at the silver ornaments on the epaulets of the corpse on the ramp. A foreign advisor, an officer... this was a command post, there would be documents, maps, radio communications data. Stomach twisting, Segal turned to his task.
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