She didn’t bother with any flowery speeches. With a simple yell of “Follow me!” her platoon charged across the pot-marked hellscape ahead. Her driver howled as he roared their 43-ton mini-tank forward.
A few hundred yards farther, she found the first sergeant tossing black boxes of 25mm rounds from his Humvee into the back of some Bradley. He didn’t even look up when her spotlessly clean sci-fi vehicle clanked alongside him. “What’s going on, First Sergeant? Where’s the CO? Where does he need us the most?”
The first sergeant ran the last case of replacement ammo into the track. He came back down the ramp carrying one end of a stretcher. He glanced up from the moaning kid laying on it and finally noticed her. “Kampbell? Glad to see ya’. How much space do you have in the back of those Kraut tanks? We’ve got a lot of wounded to move.”
Casualties never fazed Kampbell. Not after how many she’d seen. Or caused. So long as they served a purpose, at least. “I don’t have time for any of that. We need to get into the fight, ASAP. This lull in the Feds’ fire means they have to be preparing for another push. We need to seize the initiative and hit them first.”
The senior NCO shook his head. “The CO’s somewhere in there.” He pointed at a flaming hulk in the distance. “The XO wants us all to fall back into town. Maybe you can help cover the withdrawal.”
“Jesus Christ! We have to stop them out here in the open! We cuddle up in town and the Feds will just surround it, seal us off and move on. Goddamn!” She knew she was wasting her time talking. She clicked on the radio. “Everyone, drop your dismounts and advance. No bounding, just stay online. We’re going to rip the heart out of this attack! Shoot anyone coming this way. No matter which side.”
Backing up her words with actions, she popped back out the turret with her pistol held high. She fired a warning shot over the first sergeant’s head. He didn’t flinch. “Good for you. Well, you might not be intimidated, but let your people know: anyone retreating will be considered a traitor and shot on sight!” She remembered something from school. Or maybe a movie.
All the URA soldiers stared on in amazement when she screamed, “For the Fatherland!” Her driver hit the gas and they were off. Missed crushing some wounded Guardsman by mere inches.
If only battles could be won with threats and catchphrases. Since Sophie was unpracticed in both commanding a platoon and an assault vehicle at the same time, it was little wonder a federal Bradley identified her first. Five 25mm armor-piercing rounds slammed into the sides and front of her vehicle. Striking, but then ricocheting off.
All the rucksacks, MRE boxes and miscellaneous supplies strapped on the sides of her track hid the Puma’s sharply angled and unbelievably thick armor. At $10 million apiece, these German-made wunder weapons outclassed any equivalent vehicle in the US Army’s inventory. Driving home the point, she finally located the enemy Brad half a mile away after its second salvo. With the help of their next-generation fire control computer, her poorly trained gunner easily landed three rounds from their own 30mm cannon on the enemy track. Judging from the billowing smoke in the distance, there wasn’t a point in firing any more shots.
Ignorant of all basic mounted warfare doctrine, Sophie kept up the pressure and forced the rest of her unit forward, as one line. Like an old-fashioned cavalry charge. Defying standard doctrine, and commonsense, this attack pattern actually gave her people the element of surprise. A squad of her dismounts loped behind each vehicle. Every other fighter carried an anti-tank guided missile launcher. Their never-ending deluge of rocket and cannon fire, combined with the suicidal charge, shocked the professional federal troops. Logic went out the window as they happily convinced their headquarters that they were outnumbered. On paper, it seemed absurd for a company-sized element to route a battalion in the open. In the bizarre world of combat though, shock is as powerful as a hundred tanks.
“Holy shit! We licked ‘em! Look at them run!” Sophie’s driver pumped his fist in the air and slowed the vehicle. Eventually parking next to a disabled and abandoned federal track.
Sophie’s legendary sixth sense went off again and she snatched the radio. “Hold off on the congratulations. Mount up the infantry. We need to keep moving. If we stop, we give them time to notice how much they really outnumber us.”
In minutes, they were pushing east again and slicing through the scattered Feds. Enemy artillery barrages kept dropping just behind them. Despite their reputation, Sophie’s militia weren’t robots. They ached to stop and dig in, but knew speed was their best defense. Of course, that success didn’t occur in a vacuum. Or unnoticed.
Sophie had no way to know, but she was leading a rally of the shattered rebel brigade behind her. With their headquarters knocked out by a Fed airstrike minutes ago, the surviving junior leaders took direction from the strongest example around… those fanatical militia folk who never stopped charging forward. Not to be outdone, every other Freedom Brigade unit in town attacked the Feds with the same suicidal recklessness. Shamed or inspired by the militia’s giant brass balls, every URA soldier and vehicle surged forward, racing to catch up with them.
Despite the rapid disintegration of the Feds’ spearhead regiment, Sophie wasn’t happy. Her maps told her they were minutes away from slamming into the two follow up brigades the Feds had waiting ahead. Sophie kept that knowledge to herself. No point in letting her troops know how badly they were screwed. Let them think the enemy was broken. When the first of hundreds of thermal signatures popped up on her display, Sophie wrestled with the fantasy of going out in a blaze of glory or just surrendering. Contemplating that juggernaut ahead, even her bloodlust faded.
She had no white flags around, so reached behind her and grabbed the nearest expedient from her rucksack and prepared to give up. As Sophie reached for the radio though, all hell broke loose overhead.
A dozen flaming arcs passed over them and soared towards the federal lines ahead. Sophie popped her head out the hatch in time to see six rebel Apaches flash past, pumping out missiles and rockets like machine gun fire. Thunderclaps from supersonic fast-movers at even higher altitudes washed over her. In the distance, giant MLRS rockets loaded with thousands of cluster munitions slammed the enemy and depopulated entire map grid squares.
They weren’t alone any more. Sophie’s gunner bounced in his seat and turned around to pump her fist. He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “What the hell are you doing, boss?”
Sophie looked down at the white panties hanging from a spare antennae mast in her hand and laughed. She tossed the coward’s tools aside. “Never mind. Let’s get back in the fight!”
Desperate as the rebel command was, when they noticed a previously screwed unit suddenly taking ground back from the enemy, they seized the opportunity. Every asset they could spare, and probably more than they should have, was redirected in minutes to help this unknown unit charging the enemy all alone.
Within an hour, that small eastward arrow on their strategic maps grew into a major thrust. With the steady arrival of ever-larger Freedom Brigade reinforcements, the bulge became a deadly pincer threatening to encircle the federal army. All hope of cutting off the rebels and surrounding their army in Denver was lost. In short, the URA seized the initiative.