Armageddon?? (14 page)

“Sabre-One
Actual.” Lieutenant McLeoud’s voice was calm, studied. “All Sabre One units.
Confirm sealed down.”

Bass
thumbed his transmitter button. “Sabre One-two sealed down.”

“Very
good. Recon tells us the baldricks are moving, straight at us.” There was
immense satisfaction in the Lieutenant’s voice now. ‘Straight at us’ meant
straight into the minefields and on to the razor wire. We will be opening fire
at 5,000 meters with HESH. Aimed shots only boys, we can’t waste ammunition.
Hold Fast!”

The
last words were McLeoud’s family motto, repeated with almost boyish enthusiasm.
Young officers bass thought, a little patronizingly, a little sadly. So keen,
so likely to die. “You heard our Lieutenant. Load HESH.”

“Up.”
The one word meant that the 120mm gun was loaded, ready to fire. Bass leaned
forward slightly and peered through his commander’s periscope. Even in the
brief time since they’d mounted up, the sun had risen enough to start lighting
the battle area. Across the dunes, Bass saw a section of the horizon turn
black. Baldricks crossing it in strength, a great square of them. He knew the
numbers, 81 ranks, each of 81 baldricks. This was the cavalry, their advance
guard. As he watched the great square changed, splitting into three rectangles,
the two at the rear moving up either side of the lead so they formed an
extended line. Then the rectangles split again, into three sections, one behind
the other. The numbers played in Bass’s head, 729 in each sections, almost
2,200 in each of the three closely packed waves. This would be a bloody day,
Bass had read the intelligence on the baldricks and of their wild, primary
color blood. So what color would the blood be?

“They’re
charging by battalion.” Bass lased the formations that were approaching at
steadily-increasing speed. “Range 17,500 meters. They’re not holding formation
very well. No discipline there at all.” A critical point, a charge had to hit
as a solid blow, a fist formed of every available asset. If the charging
cavalry were ill-disciplined enough to allow their formation to break, the
strength of the blow would be much reduced.

F-14A
Tomcat over the Al Badiyah Al Janubiyah, Western Iraq

“Lion-Leader,
the enemy are moving. Engage airborne threats as detected.” Lieutenant Hooshank
Sedigh looked around at the other Tomcats making up his formation. The last
weeks had been strange, after decades of sour hostility, the airfields around
Dezful had seen a constant stream of C-5 and C-17 transports landing as the
Americans shipped in supplies of spare parts for the Iranian Air Force. Not
just spares, stocks of AIM-54C missiles for the F-14s that had done without for
so long and, even better, American technical service teams, Tiger Teams, to
bring the Tomcats back up to full serviceability. Aircraft that had been
stripped hangar queens for years had been towed out and were being repaired.
Sedigh’s Tomcat had been upgraded by a team lead by retired Navy maintenance
chief who had been drafted out of his civilian job. Now, more things worked on
the aircraft than they had for years.

“Be
advised, Indian Air Force Su-30s are closing on your position from Omidiyeh.”
Another change, Iran’s airfields were crowded with aircraft from all the
surrounding countries. A weird mixture of types and technologies. It was lucky
the American AWACS birds were up, keeping sense of it all. “F-15s approaching
from King Khalid Military City.” The American controller tactfully didn’t
mention that the F-15s had been Saudi until quite recently. The Saudis had been
terribly hit by The Message, a huge percentage of their population had just
died. Typical of the Sunnis thought Sedigh then mentally kicked himself. The
time for that nonsense had gone. It didn’t matter any more. How could he rail
against unbelievers when everything he had believed in was a proven,
demonstrated lie? Anyway, the Americans had repossessed the Saudi Air Force,
although it did seem that, even before they had done so, a surprising number of
“Saudi” pilots answered to the name of ‘Bubba’ or ‘Jim-Bob’.

“We
have first target group on scan now. They are stacked behind lead ground
element, estimated number approximately 950. Lion Group will engage. Fire at
will.” Sedigh swelled with satisfaction, his 24 F-14As were Lion Group. They
would fire the first shots of the Battle of Al Badiyah Al Janubiyah.

First
Brigade, First Armored Division, Tel Ash Sha’ir, Northern Iraq.

“It’s
starting.” Colonel Sean MacFarland looked at the electronic displays in his
command center. He’d zoomed in on Al Badiyah Al Janubiyah where the map was
showing the first of the Baldrick formations moving up. They were leading with
their cavalry down there, just like they were doing here. MacFarland zoomed
out, moved his point of display up to Tel Ash Sha’ir then flipped the display
mode from synthetic to raw video. The pictures from the Global Hawk showed the
baldrick cavalry shift from a solid block to a column of three long lines. The
British had placed their faith in wire and minefields to stop the initial push
but MacFarland was relying on his artillery. It wasn’t as if he was short of
it.

Command
Sergeant Major Frank L. Graham picked up the microphone. “All Ready First
units, now here this. The enemy is moving. These are the bastards who thought
we’d just knuckle under to their wishes. Well, they’re wrong and we’re going to
show them just how wrong. We’re going to teach them what American values stand
for. We’ll show them the meaning of truth, justice and the American way, and by
the last of those I mean, of course, mindless indiscriminate violence.” There
was a chortle of laughter at the crack. “So show them just how much violence
Old Ironsides can do when we put our minds to it.”

He
put the microphone down. “The MLRS and Paladin batteries are waiting Sir. Just
give the word.”

Cavalry
Legion, Right Flank of the Army of Abigor, Al Badiyah Al Janubiyah, Western
Iraq  Visharakoramal kept his beast in hand, trying to keep lined up with the
other members of his unit. It was hard, the great beasts wanted to surge ahead,
their claws snapping in anticipation of biting into flesh, their tails arched
up, ready to strike. Ahead of him the first rank was already breaking into a
gallop, the beasts covering the ground with great loping strides. The second
rank were into the trot, waiting for the order so they too could start their
charge. Visharakoramal’s third rank was still at the pace, their turn had not
come yet. Far ahead of him, he could see a strange shimmering cloud that seemed
to stretch across the battlefield. Odd, but then this human world was full of
surprises. It wasn’t the way they’d expected it to be.

It
was time, his beast broke into its trot as the lines in front shifted to the
gallop. The waves had spaced out, the gaps between them lengthening as the
beasts accelerated to full speed, their riders letting them have their head in
the race to gain the honor of being the first to crash through the enemy lines.
Then, the surge and the pounding in his rear end as his beast went into the
gallop, its head stretching out as its muscles pushed it faster towards the
enemy. Visharakoramal sneered at the enemy in front, instead of forming up in
the open where they could fly their banners and show their defiance like proper
warriors, they were hiding behind the hill crests. Not that hiding would save
the humans. In front of him, the first wave was nearing the shimmering river.
Then, the earth opened up and swallowed them.

F-14A
Tomcat over the Al Badiyah Al Janubiyah, Western Iraq

“Fox-Two,
Fox-Two, Fox-Two, Fox-Two, Fox-Two, Fox-Two.” Lieutenant Hooshank Sedigh was
one of 24 pilots making the ritual chant as the missiles streaked away from his
Tomcat climbing up, high into the stratosphere as the started their deadly
course. This was what the Tomcat had been built for, taking on a massed
formation of enemy aircraft and blasting them apart with long-range weapons. It
was, after all, what their American Tiger Teams had said, it was all very well
to win a fight but much better to kill your enemy before he knew the fight had
started.

The
radio crackled again, the Su-30s were opening fire with their long-range
missiles. They didn’t have the multi-target capability of the Tomcats, not
quite, they could engage four targets at once instead of the Tomcat’s six, but
they were firing their R-77 missiles in a stream at the mass of harpies. As the
first four hit, the radar would automatically switch to the next four, and then
the next. Sedigh realized something else, the harpies would be looking at the
huge salvo of missiles aimed straight at them, not upwards to where the AIM-54s
were already hurtling down. Off to the south, the American F-15 formation was
already closing to follow up the initial long-range pounding.

Over
a hundred kilometers away, Inkraskalitran saw the sky in the far distance turn into
a white could, one that lengthened towards the flock of harpies with incredible
speed. This had to be the fire-spears thrown by the human sky-chariots, the
harpies had all heard of them and quietly discussed them. There was word that
three of the great Heralds had been destroyed by the fire-spears, if so, what
could the smaller fliers do against them? He watched the fire-spears
approaching, then the whole world seemed to turn upside down.

His
eyes blurred, de-focused from the shock, Inkraskalitran looked with horror at
the chaos wrought upon the harpy flock. One of his wing-mates had taken a
direct hit from a fire spear and had been blown to fragments. Others around him
had been caught by the blast and fragments and were fluttering down, crippled,
wings torn apart, some already burning where their bodies were being seared by
their blood. Even as he watched, the members of his flock were dying as more
fire-spears tore into them, the explosions adding to the chaos in the flock.
Hundreds were dead and dying as Inkraskalitran tried to absorb the havoc that
was being wrought. In the chaos, he saw a fire-spear coming for him.
Panic-stricken, he dived and turned away, trying to accelerate as fast as he
could but the fire-spear obediently changed course and followed him. That just
wasn’t fair.

“I
love it when a plan comes together.” The voice in Sedigh’s earphones was a
mixture of professional satisfaction and awe. The sky where the harpies had
been was a mass of explosions and fireballs. “Lion Group, return to base,
maximum speed. Reload and get back out here fast. Don’t worry about fuel, we’ve
got tankers up if anybody gets short. Tiger Group,” That was the Indians Sedigh
thought. “close on what’s left of that harpy formation and slaughter it as soon
as the F-15s have finished. Don’t hang around, don’t get close, zoom and boom.
Watch out, the F-15s will be there as well.”

Sedigh
thumbed his transmitter. “Eagle Eye, kill totals?”

There
was a laugh in the controller’s voice. “Bloody fighter pilots. Hard to say Lion
Leader. In that mess, its hard to work out who’s killing what. We have Lion
Group down for 121 kills, Tiger Group for 290. Panther Group is about to
engage. Good luck Lion Leader, look forward to seeing you back here.”

It
made sense, Sedigh thought. The Tomcats were long-range killers, they had no
place getting mixed up in a wild furball, but the fighter pilot in his soul
screamed in protest still. Because what a furball it was going to be. Behind
him, the area of sky occupied by the harpies redoubled in its fury as the
salvoes of AIM-120Cs tore into it.

Cavalry
Legion, Left Flank of the Army of Abigor, Tel Ash Sha’ir, Northern Iraq.

Zorankalirtagap
jabbed his heels into the neck of his beast, urging it onwards, towards the
enemy who was supposed to be trying to stop the Legions of Abigor. His beast
responded gallantly, straining every muscle in its body to get ahead of his
rivals and be the first to start the slaughter of the humans. Dawn was well
advanced, the sky turning from black to blue, only it wasn’t? Zorankalirtagap
took time to glance upwards, there was a weird white cloud rising from behind
the humans, a cloud tinged red from the rising sun. The appearance of a cloudy
red sky for one second made Zorankalirtagap homesick but the clouds shot
through with streaks of intense white fire. Suddenly, Zorankalirtagap saw the
streaks of fire were curving through the air and the curve was going end with
him.

The
mathematics were simple and deadly. Just under 25 kilometers away from Tel Ash
Sha’ir were 29 M270A1 MLRS rocket launchers. Each had 12 rockets. Each rocket
had 644 shaped-charge multi-role sub-munitions. 12 x 29 x 644 = 224,112.
Getting on for a quarter of a million sub-munitions were descending on the
6,600-strong cavalry legion that was charging across open terrain. The United
States Army had a name for what was happening. They called it steel rain.

Zorankalirtagap
was staggering around amid the wreckage of the cavalry charge. His beast was
down, threshing on the ground, screaming with the agony of holes blasted
through its body. Great craters seared by the fury of the shaped-charges that
had blasted raw copper plasma into its body, they were something that the beast
had never experienced before. All around it, others of its kind were in the
same condition, screaming, legs, claws, tails blasted off, their faces melted,
their bodies ripped open and their organs hanging out. Some were dead, they
were the ones who had been fortunate enough to be hit so hard that even the
tough body and lust for war that was bread into the beasts could not allow them
to survive. Between the bodies of the great beasts, their riders were strewn,
some dead, some screaming from their wounds, all hurt in a way none had ever
experienced before.