“Profit is sweet, even if it comes from deception.”
-Sophocles
Damn it, this feels familiar, Saunders thought as she sat hunched by the store window and listened for the rotors beating above. And looking to her right and spotting Whitman, she knew she wasn’t alone in that feeling. Somehow, it seemed that whenever they were experiencing a close shave with death, a chopper would be involved sooner or later.
This time around, there numbers were a bit better. Between first and fourth squads, they had a good ten people huddled in the confines of the abandoned building, which was a step up. They also had the added benefit of having a CO and NCO who were up and about, unlike last time. Last time, it had been her who was the ranking officer, commanding less than a full squad of grunts in taking down an Apache with no missiles and a shitload of casualties.
On the downside, those odds were offset by the fact that they had two Apaches involved in the hunt for them. A single chopper could always be taken by surprise and downed if one had the right weapons and a clear shot. But two, those were some tricky odds and she didn’t much like them.
What was more, constantly finding herself in spots like this didn’t bode well for inter-service cooperation! How the hell was she supposed to trust in aviators again if they kept making a habit of shooting at her? She could feel herself inching towards becoming an ugly grunt, always suspicious and hostile of fly-boys. Given her service record with the airborne troops, that was not something she wanted to see happen anytime soon. Plenty of time for that if and when she ever underwent officer training!
In the back, Braun continued to try and reach command. With two of their vehicles out of action and the other two concealing themselves next to piles of burning rubble, they didn’t have a lot of options. Several dozen meters behind them, the bridge they were meant to cross sat and waited for them. But with those two choppers dogging them, there was no way they could cross them. Not without some kind of additional support or reinforcement.
“Rattlesnake, this Viper One Actual. Please respond.”
He released his hold on the mike and got nothing but faint static back. He waited a few seconds and pressed it again.
“I say again: Rattlesnake, this is Viper One Actual. We are currently pinned down east of our destination and in need of additional support. Respond please.”
More static. He stamped his foot and came around to face his grunts. “Looks like the transmitter on Victor was hit. We got no comms with command now.”
“What about the mobile radio?” Vasquez asked.
“That was in the vehicle and the vehicles trashed,” Gorman said indignantly. “Or weren’t you fucking watching?”
“Stow it you two! The LT’s talking!” yelled Grayson. Braun nodded to the Sergeant and went on, listing the possible options for this scenario. Pinned down inside a building, cut off from the other elements of their platoon, and unable to raise command for instructions or additional support. There were few to speak of…
“Alright, as it stands, I can’t raise Rattlesnake, and as long as we sit here, we’re in danger of being overrun. Either those two Apache’s are going to get tired of not being able to spot us and will just unload their rockets and blow this entire block to shit, or they’ll just radio in some tanks to close in on our position and blow us to bits that way…” He paused, making sure everyone understood thus far. “Which means we’re on our own to take down those two choppers. Suggestions?”
“Sir,” said Whitman, his hand going up. “We still got comms with the other squads right?” Braun nodded. They were lucky enough to have the ability to coordinate with them, at least. “Well, third squad still has the grenade launcher on their Humvee right? I say we get on the horn with them and tell them to lay down some fire on those assfucks, let us get to cover.”
“And then what?” said Gorman. “Us and third used our launchers covering your asses back when that armor hit us, and you guys lost your vehicle. What do we have left?”
“Yeah, we lost our vehicle. But we weren’t dumb enough to leave our kit behind like your dumbasses,” he said with special emphasis, and grabbed hold of the AT-4 he had snatched from the cabin.
Braun saw it and sighed. “First platoon’s last guided munition to speak of…”
Whitman slapped the side of it proudly. “Sir, it might be our last, but I say we get to a covered spot, shove this rocket up their tailpipes, and call it a day.”
Grayson was about to yell at Whitman for his blunt manner, but Saunders beat him to it. “Watch the tone, Private. That’s the LT’s squad your talking to there.”
Whitman cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am.”
She looked to Braun next, hoping he at least considered the idea. From the way he was nodding, it appeared he had.
“Not a terrible idea. One question, you guys at any reloads for it though?”
“Uh, no sir,” Whitman replied, promptly losing his smile. “But we only need to take down one of them. Third squad can handle the other, right?”
Braun hummed thoughtfully. “One problem with that theory, Private. Third squad not only has to clear whatever cover they got, they got to mount their vehicle and open up at least one of those choppers without either one of returning fire. You think they can do all that without getting shot to smithereens?” Whitman gave it a passing though and then shook his head. “Exaclty. We can kiss every member of third squad goodbye if we do it that way, and then we’d be down one more Victor for transport.”
Whitman looked to the floor, suddenly dejected and running his hand along the AT-4′s case. Poor guy wasn’t going to get to shoot off his rocket, something he was clearly looking forward to. That’s when Saunders got an idea and raised it.
“It’s not the best idea, I’ll admit,” she said. “But if we just reversed the order of it, couldn’t it work?”
“What’s that, Sergeant?” Braun asked.
“Let’s just say we sneak out the back door here, we get eyes on those two choppers, and fire off our rocket to distract them. If we get lucky, we might just take one down and third squad will have the distraction they need to get on their weapon and take out the other. All they really need is one good shot in the rotors, right?” She looked around, just about everyone nodded their agreement.
“And if we’re unlucky?” said Gorman.
“Then we either hope third squad has enough time to shift their fire, or we hit the second one with our Mike two-oh-threes.” She slapped the grenade launcher mounted beneath her rifle. “Like I said, we only need one good hit right?”
Braun seemed to consider that too. After a few seconds, his eyes sparkled a little and he smiled. “In that case, I say we do a quick inventory. Everybody who’s got two-oh-three grenades, produce em now!”
* * *
What a difference a plan makes!
She took several deep breath as they waited and kept crouched near the window. At the rear of the shop, Whitman, Francesco and Majorca stood, holding position near the door with the AT-4 in their hands. At the front, Grayson, Saunders and the LT were poised like a loaded spring, ready to go. And behind them, Gorman was waiting with all the remaining 203′s in his hands. Between the three of them, they had gathered all the working launchers together, and Gorman was on hand to help reload them in a hurry.
Hopefully, none of that would prove necessary. If things went off, they would take out the two marauders before anyone needed to expose themselves and pop off air burst shells.
Less than a block away, third and second were waiting for the go ahead to do their part. The LT had made sure everyone had been assigned a specific duty. While Whitman and his fire team provided the initial distraction, 2nd and 4th would take positions and start firing. In between all that, third would make for their vehicle and hop on their launcher, hopefully only target would remain by then…
But of course, there was a good chance that this was all a fool’s hope. There was no guarantee any of them would hit home with their munitions, after which point, they would be exposed and vulnerable. Like the LT said, it was only a matter of time before the chopper pilots ran out of patience and began leveling the area indiscriminately. A few near misses with a rocket and some grenades would be just the thing to push that envelope.
Braun keyed his comm and gave the final count. “All squads, ready to move on my signal…” He released the comm and waited a few seconds, taking a deep breath. He looked to Saunders. “You ready, Sergeant?”
Was that a look of glee in his eyes, she wondered. Was he pleased that they were doing this together, or just happy that they wouldn’t be dying alone or leagues apart? At the moment, it didn’t matter. She too was happy they were rubbing shoulders instead of butting heads. It was also pleasing to know that if they were to die, it would be as a unit for once. She had enough of the opposite for one lifetime now.
“Ready to go, LT,” she said. “Give the order.”
He miked the again. “All squads, one three. One… two… Three!”
Their heals dug into the concrete and they were moving. The thundering gunfire erupted a second later…
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