Fourth Vector Ch. 23

Meyer gave her a confused look. "Why would we want to make our position on the open field? We're outnumbered still. Shouldn't we look for more cover to protect our numbers?"

Magda shook her head and made a tsk-tsk noise. "No, we won't need to. I have eight more regiments coming to reinforce us."

Meyer nearly choked on the words. "Eight, you say?"

"Mm-hmm, and an offensive surprise from Lord Avila himself," said Magda in her sweet manner. "Enough to tip the scales. With those in mind, all we need is open ground with which to destroy them with. We'll have equal numbers of men at that point."

"What about their flying toys?" asked Meyer. "They'll spot us from miles away if we stay on the open ground."

Magda gestured to the small wooded area just behind the main hill. "This is where we wait until we get confirmation. They'll never see us coming until it's too late. They won't expect such a fierce counterattack, believing that we'll be huddled out in Zarah awaiting them like what happened in Burwick." Magda grinned wickedly. "It'll be bloodbath."

"It just could work," muttered Meyer as he observed the map one more time.

"I'm glad to get your endorsement," purred Magda. "Get the men in position and let's get a scouting force up front. I want to know the exact moment the Picard army blunders into this position. They'll be unorganized and not expecting a fight."

She put her hands together and rubbed them. "This will be the moment we start the reconquest of Picardy."

*****

More than a week after Magda had found the perfect battlefield, the allied army came moving down the road from Burwick. Their pace had not been measured, much to Dustin's disgust. In fact, the army moved much like one that had already tasted final victory. The Picards seemed to be the worst offenders, many of them quickly forgetting their training before the Battle of Burwick and assuming all they had to do was to show up at Zarah and the Swabians would surrender.

It made Dustin shake his head in disappointment. A victorious army could be one the hardest places to maintain discipline, and so far, they hadn't tasted anything like defeat. To their credit, Dustin and Greg kept the Javans going through their usual training, and the marines remained in remarkable fighting shape, but if the resistance they faced in Zarah was anything substantial, the army couldn't rely on the small number of marines to win the day alone.

Frankly, Dustin had a bad feeling that the fight would find them much before they even reached Zarah. It was entirely pointless to let an army get bottled up in the city as had happened at Burwick. No one could be that stupid to let that happen twice, and he highly expected to find the Swabians in some position to contend their move south. It was what a proper strategic mind would do, and there was no way they were this feared in this part of the world by being so inept so far.

That very morning, Dustin was once again going on about the gut feeling he had about the enemy to Greg as they were on their way to speak with Neil.

"I'm telling you, Greg. If I were them, I'd find a small little hole or a canyon or something and then just make us pay for every inch we pushed south," said Dustin as they neared the tent. "There's no way I'd let myself be surrounded in an urban environment."

At least Greg seemed to be on the same page with him about the topic. "You'll find no disagreement with me, but for all of our sakes, I hope that's not the case. This army seems to have forgotten that we're still at war."

They were shown into Neil's quarters where the man was already dealing with a disciplinary infraction. A forward group of Picard soldiers that were supposed to be on watch during the night had fallen asleep, a grave offense in any army.

"Do you have any idea what could've happened while you two were snoozing?" said Neil with an angry tone. "You could've let the whole Swabian army down on our heads with no warning!"

At least the men acted like soldiers in front of their commanding officer, and Dustin noted with a degree of satisfaction that at least one of the men was shaking in his boots.

Serves him right, he should be afraid. That's what he gets for almost getting us killed.

"I'm putting your entire squad on latrine duties for the rest of the week," said Neil with a disappointed look. "I don't want to hear another word about any of you for a long, long time—"

Neil never got the chance to finish his sentence. His head craned to one side, his ears having caught the sound of . . . something in the distance. The rest of the men noticed it too, trying to make out the sound that appeared to be right on the cusp of all of their ears.

It was Dustin that figured out what it was. "Hot damn, that's gunfire! Automatic rifles!"

The tent erupted with a managed version of chaos in the next second. Neil and Greg began to issue orders to the men, mostly all trying to figure out what was going on. By the sound of the gunfire, it was frequent and steady, the sound of a serious fight. Dustin shared a tense look with Greg as he wondered if the fight they'd been talking about had just found them.

Finally, a junior Picard officer arrived at the tent to see Neil. "General, sir, we've engaged a Swabian force at the bend in the road just a half mile from our current position."

"How large is the force? How many of them are there and are they dug in?" asked Neil.

"No more than a company, sir, but they're dug in. We've taken some casualties but they are starting to pull back," replied the lieutenant. "They are withdrawing into the field on the right-hand side of the road. We are moving to pursue."

"Excellent, keep on going," said Neil. "Any sign of a larger force?"

"Negative, sir, but I expect they aren't that far away. I think we've stumbled onto the scouting force. We'll keep putting pressure on them until we know more."

With those words being said, Neil issued orders to his own forces at the same time that Luis did the same for his Carinthian soldiers. It was decided that the Picards would form the main body while the Carinthians and the Javans would form the flanks just like they had back in Burwick. Being as the right flank would have the longest to travel over the open land, it was given to the Javans since they were the most prepared to execute it.

"Make sure you keep my men in good order where they meet yours on the flank," cautioned Neil to Greg and Dustin as they moved out from the tent. "You know as well as I do that Picard discipline is not where it should be."

"We'll keep them in shape," said Greg confidently. "Especially once the bullets start flying, they'll remember their rightful place."

"And besides if they forget it, we'll show them how proper fighting is done," said Dustin in a brash tone.

As men rushed toward the front of the line, Greg and Dustin made a short detour to the main Javan lines, where men were already starting to form up from the sounds of battle and from their able lieutenants.

"Let's go, men! The Swabians have decided to pay us a little visit," said Dustin as he walked along the battle-hardened marines. "Let's show them some Javan hospitality, all right?"

The marines roared together as one. They set off toward the front where the remnants of the initial Swabian force could already be seen executing a fighting retreat back toward the open hill behind them. That was the first indication that something was wrong to Dustin. The Swabians had shown no particular tactical skills beyond what could be learned in basic training, and a fighting withdrawal was one of the hardest exercises to nail for a professional force. The fact that they were doing it with such precision could only mean it had been practiced several hundred times.

It also could be due to the fact theywanted to be pursued by the allied army, potentially drawing them in to be defeated in detail. Dustin's mind flashed back to the Battle of the Dunes back in Andalucia when they had drawn in that Swabian regiment only to destroy it completely by encircling it. In the back of his mind, he considered the possibility that the Swabians might use it against him.

Thankfully, Greg seemed to read his mind before he'd even opened his mouth. "Keep the flanks strong," he said while gesturing to the marines. "Don't let yourself get encircled."

"Got it," said Dustin as he took the battalions under his command and occupied the extreme right flank of the army. From behind the retreating Swabians, Dustin could now see the top of the hill was occupied with more of them, many of them in entrenched positions but that was when Dustin noted that something else was wrong.

When an army prepared a defensive trench, they usually did it as one long trench at the same depth and without any breaks (unless there were natural formations that you couldn't dig into). The defensive trench of the Swabians seemed to defy the conventional wisdom, and Dustin could see their defensive line was broken in nearly fifty different spots, many of them large enough for a squad of men to walk through linked at the elbows.

Dustin had to scratch his head at the odd layout.What the hell could they be getting at on that ridge? What are they up to?

"Watch the enemy when you press forward, boys!" roared Dustin as the men began to assault the hill. There was about two hundred yards of open ground between their position and the crest, and it wasn't long until the Swabians on the top were pouring fire into their ranks. The marines took many casualties on their assault, and Dustin could now see just why the initial Swabians had been positioned by the road.

They knew we would pursue them and attack a fortified position defended by the heights of the hill. We've been tricked into a battle where it's going to take a lot of dead men to overcome that hill.

At least his men had the good sense to take cover where they could. The Picards in the center seemed to be having a tougher time of things as they moved toward the top of the hill, many of them moving forward with bravery alone, marching straight up to the top without taking cover. Those were the foolish ones—cut down first and dying in the shadow of their comrades.

"Keep pushing, men! We can take the top if we keep up the pressure," said Dustin, finding himself stopping to get off his own short bursts of fire just to keep them alive. Too many marines were getting struck and falling in place just to take this hill in the middle of nowhere, and he was determined as ever to deal a blow to the Swabians from which they would never recover.

It just wouldn't be in this battle.

As Dustin's men reached the highest part of the hill, it suddenly became deadly apparent why the Swabians had left the gaps between their trenches. Between each gap was a giant hulk of metal, spanning five men across and almost ten feet high. What was worse was the machine guns poked out the front of the metal enclosure, as well as the tracks along each side for movement.

It was a rolling, enclosed, armored death trap, and for the first time in a long while, Dustin felt the fear of the situation racing down his back.

"What the fuck is that?" he swore out loud as many of the marines did the same.

They didn't have long to process it before the metal boxes began to move. It was a slow pace at first, barely faster than a normal walking stride, but when the machine guns began to open fire, there was next to nothing that could stop them.

"Take cover!" roared Dustin as the marines hit the deck when the guns opened up on full automatic fire.

Dustin winced as his face smashed into the dirt from the force of the throw but the feeling of whizzing bullets over his head was second to none. Other marines hadn't gotten down so quickly, and they were quickly made into casualties.

Dustin managed to pivot around to see the coming vehicles as they started to move downhill. He let out several quick bursts from his NT-12, watching with a degree of horror as the bullets bounced off the metal harmlessly without managing to slow them down or stop the firing.

"Ceasefire on those fucking metal cars," yelled Dustin to the marines within earshot. "We can't touch them with the NT-12 so no use in wasting ammunition!"

"What do you want to do then, sir?" asked a private about two feet from Dustin.

Dustin reached into his jacket pocket until his hands gripped a grenade. He looked back at the private. "Get back to General Fagan and ask him to get those artillery pieces firing." He then looked around at the rest of them. "Give me some covering fire, will you?"

As the one private set off sprinting down the hill as fast as his legs could carry him, the rest of his platoon opened up on the nearest vehicle, now moving in their direction but still about twenty yards away. Even with the covering fire, it was a long distance to go where the enemy could still fire on him without the need to hide, and Dustin rapidly moved back up the hill and prayed that no one would get off a good shot.

He stopped just a few yards short of the vehicle but too low for the machine guns to angle down to hit him. He dug three grenades out of his pocket and pulled the pins on all three in rapid succession.

"See how you like this," he said out loud as he tossed all three under the vehicle. He pushed up and ran another ten feet before diving to get away from the blast.

The sound of the explosion was mostly drowned out from the small arms fire, but Dustin looked up to make sure the grenades did the trick. He wasn't exactly sure what was under those enemy vehicles, but he figured if the whole topside of it was immune to firepower, there was a good chance the bottom side might be vulnerable.

Much to his disgust, one the smoke cleared from the grenades, the vehicle continuing moving down the hill without so much as a break in pace. Not only was it still moving, but the machine gunners inside were still firing, meaning the grenades had done all of jack shit to stop them. As he ran back down the hill, he felt a bullet nick the side of his leg, causing him to stumble and almost fall face first into the dirt. He yelped in pain as his free hand went to the leg, already seeing his trousers stained with blood.

"We got to get the fuck out of here," he yelled to the remaining men. "Short of the artillery, we have nothing to prevent those damn things from rolling over our lines!"

"Where the fuck did those things come from?" asked one of the privates, watching as they started to descend down the hill.

"I have no idea, but we need a new strategy to counter them. I can't believe I'm about to say this." Dustin grimaced as the vile words formed in his throat. "But we need to pull back!"

For the first time in recent memory, Javan marines moved away from the enemy in the heat of battle, moving back toward the lower ground near the road from where they started. In the meantime, they were shot at by the Swabians who charged down from the hill, many of them outrunning the much slower pace of the armored vehicles that caused the initial problem.

The Picards took the brunt of the attack. Many of their disciplinary woes came to a forefront during battle, and they paid the ultimate consequence for it. The stragglers who made it back to their initial positions were usually the better soldiers. The less capable ones were still laid out on the side of the hill.

It was those bands of survivors that fought closer to the road, holding off the pursuing Swabians who finally saw their chance of victory. When it was just the Swabians, they fought on more or less equal terms, but seeing as their armor couldn't move as fast, it meant the rest of the army was able to pull back and hold a rather steady line at least until nightfall. At one point, Neil even sent up a few airplanes to deal with the new vehicles, making pivotal diving runs at them to release the new ordnance that Jack had used when they captured Daban.

While they secured the occasional lucky shot, the vehicles were much smaller than fortifications or other ships, and so they were harder to hit from the air. Those that managed a direct hit were disabled, but the rest of them absorbed the blast through the thick armor plating.

By the time the sun was down, they'd only managed to take out a small handful of vehicles. The front line had been pulled back far enough away from trouble but there was no escaping the fact that it was a defeat. The casualties alone had been more than enough, especially on the Picard side, which lost nearly seven hundred men in the fight. The Javan casualties were considerably lighter, but from the way the Swabians continued to press their lines in the morning, it was obvious that they'd been reinforced.

It was only late at night that the assembled commanders of the army were able to meet at Neil's command tent to decide what to do. Dustin stood next to Greg, both of the men shoulder to shoulder with the other Picard leaders. Several of them were noticeably absent, either dead on the field or being treated by the army doctors.

"So what do we do?" asked Neil as he hovered over the map. He had his fingers jammed in both eyes, rubbing them repeatedly as they discussed their position for the better part of an hour.

"What else can we do? Does anyone have a way to counter those armored vehicles?" asked a Picard colonel, one who looked to Dustin to be particularly displeased.

"We can hold them off with artillery for now," said Neil while looking rather sickly. "But if they attack in force, we don't have enough of it to hold back a full on press like we suffered earlier."

"Then there's not much we can do," said King Aedan finally, making his opinion known. "We can't stay here or we won't be able to stop them from overrunning us. We can't press forward, so the only thing we can do is pull back."

"Retreat?" asked the same colonel, now looking thoroughly disgusted. "How can we retreat?"

"It's the best thing to do right now, Tavish," said Neil. "At least until we figure out how to counter those vehicles."

The colonel crossed his arms in front of his chest but offered nothing further for the time being.

Neil wrapped up the conference about ten minutes later. In the morning, they would begin to pull back their forces to Burwick. In the meantime, the planes would continue to scout the enemy position and see just how many of these new armored vehicles the Swabians had. Neil also designated a special commission of the leaders from all three countries that would work together to find a way to counter the new threat.

As just about every officer left the tent to retire for the evening, Dustin heard elevated voices back in Neil's tent. He doubled back, letting Greg go ahead, and stopped for a minute just outside to observe what was going on in the tent.

Neil was sitting around a map of their current location, his eyes swept upwards to the same colonel that had raised so many objections during the meeting.

"This is your fault, Neil. You led this army into a trap and you know it," accused the officer, his tone ruthless.

"You forget your place, Tavish," said Neil with weary eyes. "I'm your superior officer."

"You're superior to me in nothing. This should have been my army, Neil. And this battle proves it." The colonel stormed off a moment later, pushing the flap of the tent out of his way as he exited. Dustin had only managed to sidestep to avoid the errant colonel, only managing to avoid being sighted by the darkness of the night. After the colonel had left, Dustin managed a look into the tent at Neil, who was once again rubbing his eyes.

I'd sure hate to be him right now. Especially being talked to like that by a more junior officer, thought Dustin.

*****

Back in Galicia, the predawn hours of the morning streaked the sky with various colors of purple, orange, and red. The sun had yet to crest the horizon, although it wouldn't be long until it did. For that reason, Will Calland stood around the docks nervously as his father's ship was loaded up with precious supplies.