Fourth Vector Ch. 49

Gavin cracked a grin. "It's about time."

*****

It was raining again by the time that Jack's army had settled into the Javan village of Mobust.

Like the days before, it was a thick, never-ending downpour that greeted them, creating even more muck and mire as the army carved out a defensive position to await the enemy.

Jack had his headquarters set up a short distance from the town on the highest ground he could find, and even that was a muddy mess.

"I don't relish the thought of fighting in this mess," said Greg as he looked outside.

"At least we have the tent," grunted Ambros. "The men outside only have their helmets."

"Unfortunately, it's just going to have to do for now," said Jack. "The clouds to the west are breaking up so hopefully the rain will stop. At least then we can fight a battle without our men drowning out there."

"All the regiments are in position around the town," said Greg. "All we're doing now is awaiting Bancroft."

That was music to Jack's ears. Their position around the city of Mobust took advantage of the ground when they were able to but for the most part, his right flank was anchored on the village and the rest of the line extended outward in a northeasterly direction before the extreme left flank rolled back and faced due east. Knowing that it was likely he was going to be outnumbered by Bancroft, he wanted secure flanks just in case his old mentor got the idea of using his advantage of numbers against his weak spots.

Since the army was now dug into the mud (which made it easy on the men in terms of digging), they just had to await the enemy.

They weren't waiting long.

It was the scouts posted far out in front of Mobust who were the first to bump into forward elements of Bancroft's army. In the air, Dustin had regular patrols watching the Javan Army as it continued its journey to the village. They were also the first to report the presence of Javan tanks, something that Jack had long suspected.

"This is no different than the last war," said Jack to Greg. "We went head-to-head with Swabian tanks and we still prevailed. At least the Swabians had the benefit of testing the technology against us and making adaptations. Bancroft will be going in without that luxury."

"We can assume those tanks won't go off the coastal road too far then," said Greg. "Our first versions weren't great at rough terrain so they'll probably keep them closer to the road."

"Good idea, let's have most of our sticky bombs kept with the regiments closest to the road. They'll be the ones to need them the most. I still want to keep some of them on the left flank too. It's the one most vulnerable to a mass of armor. I think we can allocate some to that flank and let our own tanks take up the slack on the road as well. Should be an even split between the two."

Greg nodded. "I'll see it done."

Those words couldn't have come with better timing. From outside, the sound of low-flying airplanes soon became clear, and both Jack and Greg stepped out of their tent to see several planes flying directly to their east.

"They're not flying in formation," said Jack, watching the planes fly about haphazardly.

The sounds of explosions a moment later soon confirmed their identity.

They were Javan planes.

The Battle of Mobust had begun.

*****

Bancroft was in a fine mood despite the poor weather around him.

At this point in time, he was beginning to receive reports of running into Easterbrook's army directly in front of him, and his men were pushing through, scattering any resistance as they neared the village of Mobust. Just a short while ago, he gave the order to send his airplanes aloft, hoping to catch the Fourthie army unawares and make them regret ever having invaded Java.

The sooner he could beat Easterbrook, the sooner he could get back and crush the rebels that had taken over his capital. Bancroft felt oddly calm about the insurrection back in Belfort. At first, he'd been in a rage about the uprising but he found himself calming down once he learned it was Michael Bainbridge who was leading it, even going so far as to crown himself emperor.

Michael wasn't a threat to Bancroft. At the end of the day, he was just a silly boy who was playing a game that he didn't understand, and once Bancroft returned to Belfort, Michael would pay the ultimate price for his failure.

But first, he had to demolish this Fourthie army.

At least his army seemed to be in good spirits as well. Most of them had never seen Fourthies before, and they relished the chance to defeat what should be a technologically-inferior enemy.

Just as Bancroft suspected, Menard was the one most ready to attack.

"When do you want us to launch the attack we've planned?" asked Menard later that afternoon, once the Fourthie position had been scouted and a plan had been put together.

"We're going to give the order within the hour," said Bancroft. "I don't want Easterbrook's army to rest through the night. We're going to fight until it gets dark or until his army routs."

"The men are eagerly awaiting their chance to fight," said Menard, his enthusiasm showing clearly in his eyes. "I'm having some of our planes scout their position from above as well as look for their planes. If we can give the ordinary troops below a show above them by shooting down their planes, we might crush some of their morale before the battle even starts."

"That's an excellent idea, but why not have them take some bombs with them?" asked Bancroft. "Today is the perfect opportunity to test out the prototype aerial bombs that we've developed. Let's drop them on the heads of the Fourthies and see if we can really demoralize them."

Menard grinned cruelly. "I will give the order at once."

Sure enough, it was barely a half hour later that Bancroft heard his planes soaring overhead, making their way toward Easterbrook's army. In the distance, he could hear the first explosions of their dropped ordnance, kicking the battle off from above.

"Time to fight, Jack," Bancroft muttered. "Time for you to join your sister."

*****

"Keep your heads down! And for fuck's sake, someone tell Dustin to get his men in the air!"

Jack and Greg were huddled into the nearest foxhole watching the Javan planes above release bombs on their positions. While not great in number, the Javan planes were now flying directly overhead when they released, ensuring that the bombs dropped far too close for comfort.

Greg yelled into his radio. "Dustin, get some planes in the air goddamnit!"

While Dustin was quick to give his acknowledgment, the bombing continued with frightening results. One bomb in particular landed directly on a foxhole about fifty yards from Jack's position. All eight men that occupied the hole were killed instantly, leaving only a cloud of smoke and the smell of burning flesh as reminders of their former position.

"Make sure your men take enough bombs to retaliate!" ordered Greg, still talking with Dustin. "And take a few Sorellan fire canisters too! Let's show them what we're capable of!"

As if things couldn't develop any faster, Ambros was soon radioing in from his portion of the battlefield, which just so happened to be the left flank that was the most vulnerable.

"Jack, we have enemy contact over here. My men are reporting the Javans are closing in and attacking our positions."

"Tell them to hold fast and prepare for more," said Jack. "I'm sure Bancroft is about to throw everything he has at us!"

That was entirely true as reports soon came in all down the line of Javan pressure. The roar of battle started off slowly but became more intense as everyone now felt the hail of bullets.

The ultimate contest was now on.

*****

"Let's go, get in the air now!"

Dustin smacked the side of his airplane as his men lined up to taxi to the starting point on the runway. Even from this distance away, he could hear the sounds of battle to the south, and he knew there would be plenty of Javan planes overhead that they would be able to take their pickings. He had four squadrons going up, which was the max available airpower he had that was on the continent and not still on theCenturion.

Two of those squadrons would seek out the Javan attackers and look to shoot them down. The other two squadrons were laden down with bombs and Sorellan fire canisters, meant for attacking the Javans' own lines.

Dustin had himself attached to the bombing group. He had four bombs strapped to his wings, two on either side, and he was ready to drop them on the heads of any of Bancroft's men that got in his way.

All twenty planes started down the runway, going two at a time to get airborne more quickly. By the time they were in the air and turned south, the two groups separated, making for the battlefield.

Dustin's group was the first to see the Javan planes flying over their own lines, and that was when the fighter group broke off definitively while his group maintained their southerly bearings.

Finally, he saw signs of Bancroft's army below, at which point he rocked his wings to signal the beginning of their bombing run. Each of the planes separated in turn, choosing different sections of the line to drop on. Dustin's section was an open plane where he could see the Javan soldiers scrambling under him to avoid any incoming bombs.

"That's right, you bastards," he muttered. "Flee for your lives."

His plane rocked slightly as he released the first bombs. Though he couldn't tell if the explosions below took out any men, he soon circled around to release the other set of bombs, creating small craters in the field below.

The last thing he had to drop was his canister of Sorellan fire. Waiting until he was over their lines once more, he dropped it from the side. Dustin saw the small fire that developed from the canister once it made contact with the ground, and he could only hope that their bombing was sufficient payback for the bombs that the Javans already dropped on his side.

Across the Javan lines, he could see two other small fires breaking out, evidence of the other pilots in the group having dropped their own canisters of the fire. With their ordnance spent, Dustin gave the order for the group to start searching the skies.

It was time to go on the hunt. There were still Javan planes that needed to be shot down.

*****

"What in the fuck was that?" swore Bancroft as he watched a small fireball envelope several of his troops not far from his position. The fire was incredibly strong, and even as the soldiers dropped to the ground to roll out the flames, it followed them, cooking them alive.

None of the men managed to extinguish the flames. Ten men were burned to death from whatever had been dropped from the air by the Fourthie planes.

"That must be the fire ordnance that Admiral Reynolds had mentioned," said Menard from Bancroft's side. "He said the Fourthies have fire that can't be extinguished."

Sure enough, the fire kept burning on the corpses long after it should have run out of fuel.

It was the sight of their unmoving bodies burning uncontrollably that shook Bancroft to a rage. Now he wanted to make Jack suffer as those men had suffered. He wanted to regain his control of this fight before more death rained down on them from above.

Bancroft grabbed Menard by the shoulders. "I want you to put the Elite Guard into the fight. Where did you say their line was the most vulnerable?"

Menard blinked twice before answering. "On the flank. Our right flank, or their left. If we can shatter their line there, they won't stand a chance."

"Do it," ordered Bancroft. "Put them in and let's get this over with. I want our tank battalion put in as well. Send them immediately forward too. Also, put the word out to all the men. I want Easterbrook captured alive. The first man to bring him to me will be rewarded beyond his wildest dreams."

Menard was soon radioing to the new commander of the Guard. "Send them in. Right flank. Hold nothing back."

*****

On the Western left flank, Brian was in the thick of the fighting. His regiment was spread out of about four hundred yards of enemy frontage, creating a thick defense in their section of the line. Just behind them was another Galician regiment, while a Picard regiment was on his left and a Swabian regiment was on his right.

They'd been taking heat from the Javans for little more than an hour now but their half-hearted attacks were soon becoming more focused and more deadly. Brian was in a foxhole with his friend, Sven, and they were constantly shooting down Javans that strayed too close to their position.

But for every Javan that they took down, it seemed like two or three more appeared to take his place. The Javans kept inching forward, and it seemed that no matter how much lead was poured into them, they wouldn't stop.

"These bastards don't know when to give up!" yelled Sven from his side, taking time to insert a new magazine into his rifle. "There's got to be a pile of dead Javans over there at least a few feet deep!"

"If we don't get more help here, they're going to reach our hole any minute now!" replied Brian.

Two more Javans got incredibly close to them. One managed to throw a grenade before he was taken down, the small explosive sailing over Brian's head to land in a hole about ten yards away. The explosion killed two Galicians inside before they had a chance to react, which soon had several of their friends aching for revenge.

The distance between the two forces continued to close. Brian himself was pinned down in his hole, forced to duck under as several bullets flew by just overhead. Next to him, Sven did the same until they were able to get the break they needed to attack back.

When they looked up again, it seemed like the entire Javan Army was now attacking their position.

"We can't stay here much longer!" yelled Sven. "We have to go back!"

"We can't go back yet!" replied Brian, firing off several more bursts at a group of Javans only fifteen feet away. "If we lose our position, we leave the regiments next to us vulnerable!"

"We won't be able to fight back if we're dead, Brian!"

Sure enough, another explosion went off just feet to their right, shocking both of them and leaving them choking on the smoke. The explosion disoriented Brian right from the start, and he struggled to get his bearings and get back in the right headspace.

Sven wasn't nearly as fortunate. He was closer to the blast and the first thing he did was take off his helmet in order to pound at his ear.

"Sven, put your helmet back on damnit!" yelled Brian but it was far too late for that.

It only took a single Javan bullet to enter the side of Sven's head, sending him directly to the ground. The look of terror never registered on Sven's face, only the blank stare that he wore from bearing the blast of the explosion.

He died instantly.

Around him, the Javans continued to push forward, overwhelming the holes of the Galicians nearest to them. If Brian stayed put, he was going to share the same fate.

He shuffled out of his hole, firing behind him as he moved.

*****

Near the center of the Western Army, Arnold was having just as hard of a time trying to contain the Javan attack. His position was more open than Brian's but that was hardly a blessing for them as he covered most of the main road going into Mobust.

That meant that it was his regiment that had to deal with the appearance of the Javan tanks.

Though he was familiar with the Galician and the Swabian designs, the Javan tanks appeared relatively crude by comparison. Their main gun was much smaller than their Western counterparts, and they were much slower in regards to speed.

There was no doubt about the deadliness of the Javan tanks when they opened up fire with their machine guns on the positions nearest the front of the lines.

From there, it was a rush to disable as many of them as possible, especially as the Western tanks soon moved forward from the rear.

The roar of battle was only made worse as the tanks started to go at each other. The main gun of the Western tanks was able to blast holes into the Javan tanks but the very thing that tanks relied on the most--their mobility--was severely hampered by the mud around the road.

More than a handful of tanks on either side became stuck, unable to dislodge themselves from the muck and mire and becoming sitting ducks for the other side. The mud was worse on the Western side, which could be counted on as a blessing as their tanks just couldn't go toe-to-toe with their foes. If the Western tanks could have moved forward, they would have been able to crash into the Javan line but as it were, they were stuck repelling whatever attacks the enemy could throw at them.

As the battle between the tanks largely spun out, the main infantry attacks began. Arnold was incredibly lucky to find a position that had such a commanding view in front of him, able to attack the Javans largely before they'd even located him. To make matters worse for the enemy, the Swabians were able to rain down mortars on the Javan position, destroying heavier attacks before they could pick up cadence.

However, just like Brian on the left flank, Arnold soon noticed how the Javans just kept coming. No matter how many of them they killed, there appeared to be no end to the hordes of enemy troops that pushed forward through the mud. Several men on Arnold's side fell to never rise again and slowly but surely, their forward positions started to thin out.

Before long, he could nearly make out the features of the Javans attacking against his position, and as his officers radioed for men, Arnold only wished for the strength to have them hold out for a little while longer.

Just keep holding, he vowed to himself.They will not take this fight!

*****

Back at Western headquarters, the reports from the front kept flowing in quickly.

The situation at the center was largely stable despite a heavy Javan attack alongside the road where the tanks fought. On the Western right flank, which was anchored in the village of Mobust, fighting had been largely skirmishes of little consequence, with very little to report in the scale of casualties.

It was the Western left flank that everyone was worried about. Ambros' reports from the battle showed several regiments being chewed up by the Javan attack, with casualties extremely heavy after only a short time of fighting.

"There has to be some kind of elite fighting force doing this," said Ambros through the radio as he talked with Jack. "The enemy is still making forward progress and they are just shredding my men here. Can you send any reserves? Do we have any tanks left?"

"No tanks on that side of the battlefield left," said Jack. "Those that we do still have are stuck in the mud in the center."

"What about the reserves, Jack? I'm afraid they won't be able to hold on much longer if we don't get any relief."

Jack looked at the battle plan in front of him, studying it with Greg. For this battle, he'd kept five regiments in reserve, occupying a rear position not far from their left flank, where he expected to need the most help. Two of the regiments were Swabian, two were Galician, and one was Carinthian.

"I have the reserve close by, Ambros, but do you really need it? If we commit it now and see a breakthrough in another part of the line, we could lose this fight in a hurry."

Ambros' reply was clear and to the point.

"Jack, if you don't commit the reserve, we won't have a flank left to defend. These men are getting mauled and they won't last much longer under this kind of pressure."

Jack wanted to hold back further but he trusted Ambros' opinion on the matter. He looked over at Greg.

"Commit the reserve now. I want them to move due east until we are in the position to fall upon the enemy's flank. They tried to outflank us with their attack and now we're going to give them a taste of their own medicine."