[GZG] [GZG Fiction] Operation Heavy Hand

Operation Heavy Hand

After months of patrolling the desolation west of Marin, an armoured thrust
into enemy territory has marked a triumphant end to this phase of the
operations. Knowing we have cleared and secured the line down to within 30km
of Severns certainly makes the austerity of the past few months seem much more
tolerable. While the bitter cold had became the norm, I for one had never got
used to the sand storms. None but the worst stung you like sand blown on
Earth. It was more the irritation of sand that pervaded everything. There was
no item of clothing, no meal, no possession that was not eventually
infiltrated by the fine red grit. So it was a fine relief to find out that it
had all been toward a good end.

It was a fierce fight and we suffered fairly heavy losses. Thankfully we
inflicted even more. The push began in the early hours of the 17th of
November, with the 2/34 joining two other mechanised infantry battalions
as the left flank and forward screen for two NAC armoured divisions. They
pushed southwest from Marin in an attempt to sweep into the eastern edge of
Severn. Simultaneously, jump troops landed on the west of the
peninsular to hold key ground, which the 2/34 was to eventually secure.

The evening of the 16th were made camp early and were given the heartiest of
meals I can remember for my time on Mars, the cook even giving us a ration of
liquor each. Our living conditions were still as primitive as ever, but the
usual horseplay was in scarce supply. Most were sitting in small groups
talking or recording messages to loved ones. There was a sombre mood, the
sobriety of the company striking me quite strongly given its stark contrast to
their usual state. We all sensed this might really be it.

Rurik was perhaps the only exception to the quiet, rumbling away in a long
series of what I assumed were Russian folk songs and ballads. They always
sounded so doleful that they seemed to quite fit the bill tonight.

“…But ee am not sad, and not deprrressed, my fate sayms comforting to may.
All ze good zings God gave us in our lifetime ee have sacrrrificed for zese
arrrdent ayes.”

Then he slipped into Russian, the purring baritone lulling me part way to
sleep. My brain snapped me back awake however when my faltering Russian caught
up with the lyrics of one song.

“Tý poidi, maya karovushka, damoi, tý poidi, maya buryonushka,
damoi…”

“Go home, my dear cow?!” I rolled onto my back, casting him a querulous
look in the dim light.

“Vhat? Zey nayd comfoot. May leetle vnook find zis very comfooting.”

Shaking my head with a smile I lay back down and must have drifted quickly off
to sleep, as next thing I new I was getting a boot in the backside and told to
pack up and head out.

Beginning from our final camp site on Cabot Plain the 2/34 pushed from
the midpoint of the neck of the peninsular down towards the cliffs of
Auchinleck, overlooking the Plain of Ballachulish that extends back northeast
of the rim of the primary urban zones of the Severns crater. This apparent
wasteland was the heartland of the Krak’s northern defences. While the NAC
used armoured might and the element of surprise to storm down the highway, we
were once again bouncing our way across the sand and rocky outcrops of the
Martian countryside.

At least it seemed the Krak had thought it so unappealing as a route of
contact that there were few mines and the only major hurdles were trenches,
berms and other engineering works. Iron George was kind enough
to let me share his comm unit’s direct feed off nav-AI sensors on the
lead tanks under General Troughton. The picture over there was a completely
different story. The roads and tracks seemed peppered with cutaways, block
walls and mines. The images were a little grainy and jumpy (thanks to the Krak
jamming) and the haze made the images all soft edges so even after only a
short while your temples ached with concentration. It was informative though
and impressive, in a gut twisting way.

Perhaps the most striking image that has stayed with me involved one of the
enormous sabre heavy battle tanks. The NAC didn’t have many of these on
Mars, relying more heavily on their Phalanx and Paladin for any heavy armour
operations. For this operation they had thrown in the heaviest components of
the NAC Martian strike force, a regiment of 120 tonne Sabres. These behemoths
aren’t as large as the legendary Leviathan ‘monster’ tanks Lord
Shrewsbury used to hold the Krak out of the Pitkellony industrial complex on
Cumannaí, but they are still a mighty sight. The turret flat and taking up
much of the top of the body of the tank, a huge 140mm cannon its main weapon,
augmented by missiles and small mount lasers. Its front slopes down and
encasing armour covers the 4 tracks. It even has auxiliary grav thrusters to
help when it has low traction, is captured by terrain or needs to have a track
rethreaded. These beasts are breathtaking, the flat top of the turret standing
more than twice the height of a tall man and with the body running 12m long
and over 8 wide.

The feeder mount must have been on the second or third line of tanks, probably
on a Phalanx or Hoplite, the ride was too jumpy to be one of the K77 half
tracks. It had been slowly sweeping back and forth across the width of its
swivel and I could see a line of large sabres to the front with columns of
smaller tanks to the left and right. The ground
was the usual mix of rubble-like rock and fine sand that kicked up in
great sprays if a tire dipped in too deep. There was the occasional
flare of out-going shell or missile fire and twice the whole thing
became an impenetrable mass of what I think was smoke and gas. I can only
guess that some nearby vehicle had taken a direct hit. There were small nav
markers that flashed up as they passed key points, but there was no sound. Not
that I needed any, my head already pounded and I had the cacophony of my own
transport for ambience.

I’d been watching the feed for about 45 minutes and my forehead was
beginning throb from trying to squint the jumping and indistinct imagery
clear. Suddenly one of the Sabre’s heaved into the air. It broke apart,
armour torn apart, parts flying off to all points of the compass, tracks sling
shooting away, turret cartwheeling through the air before embedding itself
into the road ahead. Thick black toned smoke billowed, as if some giant hand
was covering the burning hulk with a shroud. I had been reading of William
Dampier and the other ancient buccaneers only days before and the idea of this
being some metallic caricature of one of the giant chelonian, flipped over and
gutted on the sands of some Caribbean Isle stuck in my head. As the feed mount
swivelled further around the scene I realised the Sabre hadn’t been the only
casualty, though there was little left of the smaller vehicles, which looked
as if they’d been shredded in some great mechanical hopper and spewed out
across the road, amongst craters and other great gouges in the dirt. The
silence of it all making the cataclysmic scene seem simultaneously more
surreal and terrible. I found out later that they had hit the edge of a
minefield stocked with a new form of devastatingly effective
anti-vehicle mine. It took the engineers three and a half hours to clear
enough of a path through it for the advance to continue without leaving any
gapping holes; all the while under harassing fire.

While we were avoiding the explosives strewn along the main approaches, the
fighting was still brutal, with snipers also making our progress costly. As
soon as we were within striking distance of their foremost positions the Krak
opened fire on us. It started slow and sporadic, but as we pushed closer still
it built up to what was probably the most furious barrage I’ve ever
experienced. It felt is if I was on a school
yard topsy-turvy the ground shuddered and skidded and the sound was
deafening, even through the cancelling channels of the headsets.

A few hours later, just as we cleared the far side of a shallow ravine, there
was even a Krak infantry assault. They attacked along a slight diagonal, to
hit our forward scouts. They were in such an enraged state their momentum bore
on through our frontal fire, but they died or were pushed back by the
enfilading artillery, machine guns and weapon mounts. The mechs covering our
advance found the remnants of 70 Krak corpses
scattered amongst the boulders and scree. From that and a vid-based head
count of the attack we gauged their losses in their futile charge as fairly
heavy.

Boyed but still cautious Brigadier Henninger, who had been given command of
this sector of the attack, sent a small reconnaissance party headed
by four half tracks and 2 Hunter MMRAV tank-killers, supported by 3
phalanx (or desert beetles as they were affectionately known by the
troops) carrying a squad each of the 2/34 in full power armoured
regalia. I was allowed to squeeze into the last of the three, wedged in
between two of the op stations.

When we were within 10 clicks of Auchinleck two of the half-tracks
dropped a trio each of recon drones, while the third deployed 2 autocannon
equipped support bots. These took a little while to move forward, but Iron
George had no choice as none of the sparrowhawk surveillance flights he’d
called for had materialised (they were likely tasked to the main thrust in the
east).

The images they sent back certainly made me swallow hard, at least at first.
Across the arid ochre wasteland so typical of these parts of Mars swarmed a
Kra’Vak army of what initially seemed momentous proportions. As the comms
crew took over the vision and drilled down with consummate skill I realised
what initially seemed a staggering opposition was actually more a phantom of a
force than a real army.

They were sitting in desolate terrain, with rocky patches interspersed
with fields of sand, meagre clumps of knotweed, stone-breakers,
gentians, whitlow-grasses and Martian desert thorn bushes. On their
seaward side the rock-bound cliffs of the eastern end of the Auchinleck
ridgeline penned them in. Landward a rock plain stretched east until it hit
the foot of the Harding Range. Behind them you could just pick out the lights
and structures of Severns.

After a moment’s reflection, the scuffs and trails on the ground clearly
showed where the main body had moved east, with another large group having
pulled back to Severns. What was left was largely a wrecker’s yard of
cannibalised and abandoned hulks. Maybe the Krak were as exhausted, if not
more, than we had dared hope. I took a deep breath to calm myself, as I
couldn’t let the rush drag me on into fancifully supposition. There were
still troops down there. It was a much smaller force than it had at first
appeared (given all the old vehicle bodies), more comparable in size to our
own, though no doubt still battle worthy.

The Krak infantry were moving about behind a complex of stonewalls, likely
constructed because the mosaic of hard rock and fine sand of the barren
terrain offered little to no cover. About now we got a report from the push in
the east that the ground there was "literally crawling" with enemy tanks and
that there would be no possibility of extra troops coming from that sector.
Soon after the Brigadier sent Iron George the
word to commit the 2/34.

Iron George lead a feint down the face of Auchinleck. Some of the power armour
made short jumps straight down the cliff, while the APCs and 8 Hoplites slid
down the switchbacks onto the plain. This got the Krak’s
attention and the 2/34 was soon under heavy fire. As the Krak swung
their functional vehicles into place the Brigadier sent the main body of his
force forward so they just cleared the ridge and had them pour a terrific
volume of fire down on the Krak. It was hard to see much from where I was,
crammed into a phalanx that was being jostled by incoming fire, but from what
I did catch it was a blazing sight. Big Paladin tanks and Hunter and Striker
MMRAVs had all rolled forward and were painting the sky with fire. On top of
that came MAK and HEF from the field guns, gouging great craters and sending
plumes of dust and smoke in great vertical fountains.

With all my senses tingling, trying to keep up with everything going on, a
wave of new icons appeared at the edge of the TAC map displayed on the lower
left of my specs. Bombers. Big ESU Sikorsky bombers.

I held my breath as I watched them slide rapidly across the map.

“Bombs hot. Impact in 22 seconds.”

I may have imagined it, but it seemed that across the battlefield all our
vehicles slowed, not wanting to end up on the wrong side of the drop zone’s
horizon. This was going to be danger close.

I caught my breath as the counter on my specs clicked down to zero. An
incandescent wall of light sliced across the plain, right through the Krak,
swallowing them up. A string of apocalyptically effulgent pillars shot out of
the earth as if the attack had come from below not above. Molten rock and
shrapnel rained back down across the open ground. Even the sharp edge of the
shock wave was clear enough to watch it roll out across the landscape.

Everything in the immediate area of impact had been vapourised. Vehicles,
Kra’Vak, stonewalls, the very surface of the plain. The
whistles, cheers and bawdy exclamations proved just how awesome the 2/34
had found the ESU’s display of airpower.

“Fuuuck! Where the hell have they been hiding those puppies?!” one of the
troopers in the rear of the Phalanx called out.

“Keeping them for the next take over” was the cynical comeback

“Well they’re here for us now, so lets just settle down and
concentrate.” The cool clipped tones of Sgt Eileen Gunn cut through the
conversation, calming it before old biases could boil up. “ We’ve been
tasked with securing the platforms across that sand trap,
in five-three-mike-delta-victor-seven-nina-eight-one-nina-zero. Make
ready.”

I couldn’t pick the target out by eye, though with it picked out on my specs
I could see the edges of the platforms, dusted with fine red grit. A bridge
across a river of sand, if we could secure them intact it would make our
attack on Severns all the easier.

As we sped down the last of the incline at the foot of Auchinleck and plunged
across the plain a string of Krak traffic scurried back across the platforms.
Other Krak stayed to try and hold us off and the craters of the earlier
strikes meant we were rattled to our bones as we jounced our way forward. I
hit my shoulder hard against a bulkhead as a result of a particularly jarring
contact and a dull ache spread down my arm and up my neck.

We lost one tyre to an IAVR hit, but that barely slowed us down. I was
marvelling at the skill of the driver, pushing through such heavy fire
with a single-minded determination, when I heard a familiar voice.

“Rayght siyn vay arreeve. udAchi!”

Rurik. My grin nearly split my face.

Then the rear flap dropped and we were pounding down and out into the cold and
dust and noise of a firefight. I was last down, but could see the press of
bodies ahead of me eager to get away and into cover. There were flurries of
fire to left and right. Five of us, myself included, stayed by the tires for
cover while the other five dashed forward to duck behind masonry, scraps of
vehicles or to drop into craters. Once they were in position then we moved
clear of the vehicle, scurrying bent low into cover.

The small Krak force directly to our front was trying to organise a defence
based around a large solid shot Krak machine gun. Cooper curtailed their plans
by dropping a cluster of three grenades right on the gun, knocking it out.
Cathy lead a five mean team to the left, while Nic and his team split right.
Catching the remaining Krak between them we were soon clear to push forward.

Cath dropped to one knee behind a stonewall and motioned for the two teams to
be ready to move separately out and across the platforms. Cathy’s team to go
first while Nic’s covered. She then pointed directly at me at tapped the top
of her head, the sign for me to get over to her.

Keeping low I scrabbled quickly over to her.

“Yep”

“We’re likely to get cut up pretty bad through this. Do the best you can,
but nothing silly, as we’re not going to get any extra support. They’re
locked up pretty good south of Marin, we’re in this by ourselves. Roger?”

“Roger”

With two quick shakes of her bent arm Cathy sent us all racing straight into
hell. Running hard we sprinted for the platforms, we couldn’t let any Krak
demolition squads blow it before we got it.

My lungs were already aching and we had what seemed an impossibly long stretch
to go. Small arms fire cracked past us and kicked up shards of pebble and
gritty sand. Nic’s team slid in by the sides of the platforms; lying flat
they covered Cathy’s team as they ran for the far side. As I pounded past
Chris I realised he was wiggling between shots, trying to make a small
depression and provide a sliver more cover.

As we hit the bridge at full pelt the low clanging of our footfalls
distinguished it from the rocky ground behind us. The ricochets made for a
dizzying racket, ZWING, CLANG, THUD. The next 200m felt like 200 miles.
Stretched out before us with no cover. Sweat was trickling down my nose and
back, raising goosebumps where it was exposed to the chill air.

When we’d made it about a quarter of the way across the whole thing shook,
Cathy skidded onto her left side as her feet slipped out from under her; Keoni
stumbled forward but managed to keep his feet; Ase also smoothly bounced back
up, going part way into a crouch, but pushing smoothly back up off his left
hand; Grace meanwhile disappeared, arms wind milling, off the edge; and as I
sprawled face first, palms out in front I saw Riley land on his arse, firing
as he went down and killing 3 Krak who had leapt from cover with more
explosives to set. In seconds Cathy and Riley were back on their feet and
chasing after Keoni, his mammoth Polynesian form in full charge. I half
crawled, half stumbled to the edge of the platform to see if Grace was intact.

“Get going Jock, you’re too exposed! I’ll go ahead down here” she
yelled as I knelt and looked over the edge.

If it had been anyone of size, like Keoni, I would have doubted the
veracity of her claim, but her lithe little ex-ballerina body was
quickly skipping across the sand, leaping from one rocky pinnacle to the next.

A round striking by my fingers, the vibrating metal stinging them where I
gripped the edge, was sufficient motivation I didn’t need to be told again.
Pushing up and off I also headed for the far side of the platform. The
explosion had buckled one edge, bending it up perhaps 15cm, but miraculously
any damage was slight.

Keoni was stopped about three quarters along, on the opposite side, but about
as far down as where the first charge had gone off. The lower half of his huge
form was recumbent while his front half hung off the bridge pulling at wires
and tearing at explosives with his hands. He was completely exposed to any
Krak fire, which seemed to be coming thick and fast. How no one had been hit
was beyond me.

Grace came up from below to help Keoni. Cathy, Riley and Ase continuing on and
dropping in beside the far edges of the platform to provide covering fire
against some Krak hunkered down on the other side of a small rock ridge about
100m further on. Looking quickly between Cathy’s firing positions and Grace
and Keoni I made my decision. Breathing hard I dropped in behind Ase. That way
I was with them if they were hit, but could still see what Keoni and Grace
were up to. Grace was gingerly detaching detonators before Keoni jerked away
the body of the charges and hurled them away into the fine sand. It didn’t
look particularly safe, but perhaps spoke to the heady pace of the fire and
the critical value of the objective.

As the last arced out across the sand Keoni pushed back and up, but instead of
making his feet spun landing on his back.

Leaping back onto the bridge I dashed back to him. A Krak slug grazed the back
of my helmet pushing it down hard onto the bridge of my nose. Eyes watering I
pushed it back and reached for Keoni’s shoulder, which he was clutching with
his opposite hand – the hand of his wounded arm still gripping his rifle.

“Ugh, just a scratch Jock. It smarts, but isn’t bad. Lets get out of
here” he said twisting on to his hands and knees. Still concerned I followed
him forward and off the left side where he took up position with Cathy.

“Jock I’m fine” Keoni rumbled realising I’d followed him and was
attempting the impossible of craning to see his shoulder while keeping my head
down to avoid being shot.

“Let him patch it Keoni, better sorted than distracting you” Cathy
ordered.

He slithered back down a little, not that there was much of a slope to
the depression. A couple of minutes and a stim-pack later he was back
with Cathy, keeping the Krak pinned down. While the Krak were tied down enough
to prevent any rapid counter attacks, neither side was making rapid headway.

More worryingly the intensity of incoming fire was growing thicker. We were
obviously being targeted by more than just the Krak directly opposite. It
could only be a matter of time until one or more of us were hit. If the body
of the force was to push on we really needed to root the Krak out faster.

I felt the rumble before I heard it, my shoulder resting against the plate of
the bridges. Turning I glanced behind to see a Phalanx rumbling out and onto
the platform.

“Herre, comes zee cavalry boyz!” came an excited Russian voice over our
comms.

“What’s he doing?” Cathy called back over her shoulder

Staying in a crouch I swivelled on my toes, nearly sliding over in the gritty
fines. Rurik was about half way across now, sparks from small arms flashing
off the forward armour.

“He’s bringing the beetle across” I called back.

“Lets hope he doesn’t get a missile up his nose then” Riley said over
the headsets.

The rumble of the APC added to the din and we were forced to duck even lower
as it attracted even heavier fire, which ricocheted off to pepper us as well.
It slid to a halt in front of us, putting himself between us and the Krak’s
cover, kicking up a cloud of dust.

“Vhat you vant, inveetations?” Rurik boomed with a strained chuckle as he
lowered the rear ramp.

I could see the conflict on Cathy’s face, her brow furrowed in thought. We
needed to hold the bridge, but our current position wasn’t great, it would
be better to get to a more solid ground. She turned to look back the way we
had come and then suddenly she was signalling for us to get to the APC. All of
that had happened in a snap, what had set her mind so quickly?

I threw a quick glance over my shoulder and saw a column of tanks headed our
way. Now I understood. I scrabbled up the shallow incline, the grit of the lip
digging into my palms as my feet threatened to slide away underneath me. Then
I was pounding forward again. Today my life was running and ducking, dust or
smoke and gunfire.

In the next few hours scores of tanks, MMRAVs and APCs pushed across those
bridges. They brought troops, armour and guns.

Our fight wasn’t done for the day, we were soon dismounted again,
using the ruin of an old mud-brick quarry office as cover, keeping as
many Krak infantry as possible occupied while our troops kept flowing in.
After all the broken sleep of the long months of patrolling and the action and
anticipation of the last couple of days I had been ready to drop from fatigue.
But watching the count of our vehicles on this side of the plain steadily
climb I was revitalised. I found myself grinning and bubbling with adrenaline.
We were really doing this.