Regardless of what the hyperactive reporters called the long stream of American vehicles rushing back into Kansas, it was far from a rout. On the ground, watching the carefully choreographed retreat and talking to the thousands of soldiers who missed out on the desperate fighting in Denver, you had a different perspective than those watching on TV. You might even believe all the generals and politicians talking about a “strategic realignment.”
Unfortunately, most Americans weren’t on the ground. Far removed from the fighting, their news was processed and spun through patriotic outlets and given a strong East or West flavor. Disgusted with rhetoric and half-truths, more and more civilians turned to the internet to get their news. A confused and unedited 30-second battle clip uploaded to YouTube by some private’s helmet cam held more journalistic credibility than any professional news outlet. When such isolated videos of disaster in the federal ranks became the national narrative, just as many people sniffed opportunity as felt fear.
Temporarily cut off from supplies, several hundred thousand federal soldiers calmly abandoned the Colorado offensive and began the cumbersome retreat to Kansas. The rebel forces in Denver and the northern part of the state were far too exhausted to offer more than a symbolic chase. South of them, though, a relatively fresh URA force, led by thousands of fanatical “Freedom Brigade” fighters, pushed north with suicidal bloodlust. Only a thin desert-tan line of federal soldiers blocked their ambitious drive toward the US Army’s rear area. Around a small town 30 minutes northeast of Colorado Springs, Sergeant Major Brown and his warriors made their stand.
Brown personally helped his men stack sandbags along the precipice of the slit trench the engineers hastily carved out of some wheat field. He paused as one of the soldiers popped his head over the sandbags for almost two minutes. Only his helmet stood exposed, not even his face. Brown threw a dirt clump at him. “Hey shit for brains! Keep your fucking head down unless you’re bringing up your weapon too!” The kid dropped back into the trench sheepishly and clicked a button on his helmet.
“Fucking combat cams.” Of all the gadgets soldiers lugged around nowadays just for fun, nothing pissed Brown off more than those tiny, helmet-mounted video cameras. When everyone’s the star of their own action film, dumb things always follow. To be fair, Brown couldn’t fault the kid too much for wanting to see the action though.
He risked a glimpse over the ledge himself. The long-distance tank duel did make for a helluva show. Especially when you’re in the middle of the crossfire. How long until all those shells whistling overhead started targeting them?
SFC Walker tugged on Brown’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be up at the headquarters, Sergeant Major?”
“Nothing to do there. The whole battalion’s job is pretty simple right now. Keep this little town from being surrounded and delay the rebs as long as possible while the rest of the army retreats. Figured I’d come down here and see how I can help you folks out.”
“Well, we could really use some more ammo. Plenty of rifle rounds left, but the heavy machine guns are down to the last few belts. Please tell me you have a truck or two of ammo squirreled away somewhere.”
Brown gritted his teeth. Giving excuses cut his heart open. “I’m sorry, Sergeant. I’ve personally double-checked the supply platoon’s stores. They’ve distributed everything already. Those damn airborne fanatics squatting on our logistics tail are still holding on despite being hammered on all sides. Until we can dislodge them and turn the supply spigot back on, we’re on our own.”
Walker didn’t waste her breath complaining about what she couldn’t change.
“Roger that, Sergeant Major, but how about convincing headquarters to pull us out of these damn trenches and let us bunker down in town?” She waved her hand at the small farming village a mile north and then at the fields around them. “You don’t have to be Napoleon to figure out foot soldiers shouldn’t be fighting tanks in the open!”
Despite her low voice, too many other soldiers in the crowded slit trench could hear her. Brown knew the rumor mill would be working overtime. He’d need to watch his words carefully. “Sergeant, crazy as it sounds, I actually agree with the officer folk for a change. Peyton and its road cluster represents the last chokepoint around.” He raised his voice as more soldiers leaned in to eavesdrop. “Let me put the strategy in simple terms. If we don’t hold the enemy here, they’ll roam freely about our rear area and fuck us in the ass.”
That was enough for Walker, but some junior soldier grumbled. “All the more reason to hole-up in Peyton. Under the cover of all those buildings, we could turn the place into one giant fortress! Haven’t you ever seen Saving Private Ryan?” A bunch of soldiers muttered agreement.
Brown scowled. “Pardon me for disagreeing, General, but you don’t know what you’re talking about.” The private shut up and sat back down. Brown drove on. “Modern armies are too mobile. If you sit in one central location, you’ll be bypassed and surrounded. That’s why we’re out here. We need to keep those bastards not just out of town, but even from coming nearby at all costs or the whole line will collapse.”
“Sergeant Walker! Something’s happening!” She and Brown halted the gabfest and popped up. The back and forth tank shelling came to a screeching halt when a giant smoke barrage popped over the rebel lines. Over the ramparts they watched the gallantly streaming shells deliver the largest smoke screen either had ever seen. Across a kilometer frontage, and swirling an easy hundred yards high, rebel forces were completely invisible.
“Get ready, everyone. They’re finally pushing forward. You all know what to do!” Walker checked that the “clacker” detonators for her set of Claymore mines were armed and ready. Up and down the zigzagging trench, dozens of carefully dug in machine guns and rocket launchers readied to make those rebel vehicles pay dearly for every inch of ground.
Enemy artillery rained down a second smoke screen right in front of the federal trench. Walker and Brown exchanged worried glances. “Something is odd here, Sergeant Major. Do you think we should open fire blind?”
“No. This cuts both ways, as long as we don’t fire yet. We can’t see them, but they can’t see us to suppress our defenses. By standard doctrine, they should be smothering us with artillery and direct fire right now. Forcing us to keep our heads down. This isn’t your normal attack—”
Thumping blades cut him off just as eighteen Blackhawk helicopters erupted from the cloud. If the shock wasn’t bad enough, door gunners hosed the trenches with machine gun and mini-gun fire as they darted past. In barely ten seconds, the choppers roared on out of effective engagement range.
Walker blazed away with her rifle in vain at the fading helicopters. “Goddamnit! They’re heading for Peyton! We’ve got nothing in there except the headquarters element.”
Her radioman slapped her shoulder. “Speak of the devil, Sergeant. Command wants you to mount up as many troops as we can spare and head back into town. Clear out those infiltrators.”
Brown jumped up. “Don’t worry. I got this. Leave me a platoon and all the missiles. We’ll hold them here.”
Walker nibbled her lip. “I don’t know. We’re spread thin as it is and now we’ll be dividing even smaller. Are you sure you can handle the sector with so few troops, Sergeant Major? It might take hours to root the raiders out and get back here to help.”
Brown shrugged. “We’ll do what we can. If there’s too much heat, we’ll just fall back to the secondary line. Doesn’t matter. That’s a much bigger threat about to land in town. Come on. We’re wasting time. Get your people moving!”