By the time the ground based command center finally sent them targets again, it was too late to make a difference. The same scenario was being played out across the sunny skies of Florida. All those war birds could hurt and harass the enemy, but by the time they were finally turned loose the chance to decisively influence the battle was past. That was the exact quote the history books would use to explain the limited role air power played in the entire Florida campaign.
High Tide
Downtown Lake City
After one hell of a hard fought hour, the Army managed painfully to claw their way into dominating half the mall. The local’s last line of defense was anchored on a Publix supermarket. They were totally on their own now. The small professional guard contingent and their newfound Georgian comrades were busy dealing with some federal counterattack from the north.
Every spare man the militia could scrounge up had long since been shoved into the fight. Far too many fighters in way too small a space. It only guaranteed casualties would be even higher than necessary. Unfortunately, safety in numbers was the only way for these amateurs to build the confidence necessary to stand their ground.
There wasn’t even any fire support left. The rebel’s last mortar and artillery rounds were long since expended. Either shelling the small airport or various other high value targets, the poor infantry didn’t rate high enough on the totem pole to get any support back when there was ammo to spare. Now the guns were silent and the Feds’ air force did a damn good job making sure no more supplies reached town.
Regional command promised one convoy after another but they all disappeared somewhere along the open road. Where the war birds used to be so hesitant to strike, terrified they might hit civilian refugees rather than combatants driving civilian vehicles, they now took the gloves off. Something about getting their asses handed to them broke down their reserve. The heat of battle tends to bend the iron of ROE. Thankfully, they were only turning up the heat outside of built up areas…so far. They’d yet to drop a single bomb in town despite plenty of observers and opportunities.
The short ebb in the fighting ended with the Feds reclaiming the initiative. They had long since dismounted the secondary armament, automatic grenade launchers and heavy machine guns, from the artillery pieces. Not surprising, considering their supply dump sat in a truck stop only two miles away, they had no shortage of ammunition.
Several Mk-19’s thumped out an endless stream of 40mm HE grenades into the militia’s positions. They were small explosives, but with each gun firing 40 rounds a minute, there were a hell of a lot of them. This mini-artillery barrage cleared the roofs of the occupied buildings, often by collapsing them. Machine guns of all sizes hammered anyone trying to shoot back.
This final push was far better organized than previous assaults. The Feds moved some of those artillery pieces far enough away so they were able to slam some high angle fire on the rear areas of the rebel lines. Ignoring the ROE and hitting anything suspicious paid off. Two lucky shells smashed a bowling alley being used as the temporary militia command center. A few more unfortunately leveled a church serving as a makeshift aid station, for wounded from both sides.
Three small smoke screens blossomed in no man’s land a few minutes into the intense bombardment. All three on the right flank of the rebel’s line. The defenders took note and concentrated all their suppressive fire into the clouds, hoping to break up whatever assault the enemy had in the works. The exhausted on scene commander even committed his tiny reserve to reinforce that wing.
The actual assault came without much prep work on the far left flank. A line of six hulking M88 recovery vehicles grumbled just inches abreast towards a Lowe’s Home Improvement store. The tracked and heavily armored tow trucks smashed through the thin pine trees and high bush on an undeveloped lot between the lines. They blazed away with roof mounted M240’s at the rebel’s forward pickets, who skittered away like so many panicked armadillos. Just like the little rodents, they were doomed to be road kill.
While the mechanics played tankers and drew attention, a mixed company loped along on foot a few dozen yards behind them. This team was made up of a real scout platoon, a fresh group of MP’s and a few loose infantrymen assigned to desk jobs for some reason. Just about all the combat troops that could be rounded up in the rear area.
If they could crack that retail redoubt, even if just a little bit, these worn out rebels would collapse. Behind them came a company of fresh combat engineers ready to exploit the gap in the enemy’s lines. The most powerful wedge they could find to drive into that foothold. In the ragged state the militia was in, it should be more than enough to pry them loose from their dug in positions.
The rebels knocked one vehicle out with the last of their supply of handheld antitank rockets. An overzealous mechanic in another one stopped a round with his neck when he stuck his head too far over the gun shield, hoping to get a better look at his targets. Unfortunately, the vehicles didn’t exactly do a perfect job shielding the dismounts from fire.
One infantryman went down with a painful gut shot. Another round striking square in the IBA knocked some other guy right off his feet. The body armor saved his life, but that much force still cracked a rib. No doubt, he was out of the fight. The two wounded men took four more fighters out of the battle while they helped haul the injured out of the kill zone.
Messy or not, the assault force crossed the open area and breached the loading dock of the big box retailer in moments. The wide aisles inside made clearing easy. They didn’t even suffer a single casualty from the backroom to the cash registers. In less than five minutes, the only strong point on the rebel’s flank rested in federal hands. In bloody federal hands. The professional soldiers gleefully mowed down the amateur enemy survivors trying to retreat across the open parking lot. Payback was a bitch.
As luck would have it, God was on the rebel’s side. Maybe the two dozen Brads growling down the street weren’t avenging archangels, but they’d do until the real deal showed up. The high water mark of the Fed counterattack was also their last hurrah.
The mixed Georgia/Florida Guard team finished breaking up the weak counterattack up north less than 20 minutes ago. With nothing better to do and no higher command to interfere, they hauled ass out to the only other source of fighting around. The shocked support troops had broken out so few anti-armor weapons from stores. There simply wasn’t any need to earlier. The Feds were supposed to be the only force around with armored vehicles! The few AT-4’s they had handy were poorly deployed and even worse employed. Except for a single glancing blow that blew a track off of one vehicle, none of the enemy Brads were harmed.
One company of IFV’s raced west down the main boulevard to shred the artillery pieces mercilessly shelling the rest of town. The other company hung around the shopping mall. Their bursts of 25mm rounds or coax 7.62mm killed any camouflaged thing that dared move. In a flash of inspiration that was far from SOP but effective nonetheless, they rammed their 32-ton mini-tanks straight into the enemy’s lines. Firing the whole way.
The squad of infantrymen in the back of each track shoved M-4 barrels through the firing ports and added poorly aimed but plentiful 3-round bursts into the fray. Maybe it more closely resembled a video game than a traditional breaching operation, but the results spoke for themselves.
By the time the tracks barreled through the Army and dropped their dismounts a safe distance behind enemy lines, the Feds were thoroughly broken. They had no chance to regain the offensive and they knew it. All around the mall the devastated troops began falling back. Firing the whole time, but clearly bugging out.