Firestorm: Stripes

Major Rasilov was rudely awakened by the stammering of foot steps up and down the stairs of the commandeered house. He could hear men yelling and talking to each other but could not make out what was being said. He rose to his feet, still feeling the vodka from the previous night, put on his boots and pants and stumbled into the hall way. Men were running back and forth. “Hey, sergeant, what is going on, its 4:30 in the morning?” Rasilov asked. “We have reports of enemy vehicles in the woods to the south, unknown how many, but they hear engines.”

Rasilov turned around and went back into his room, finished getting dressed and grabbed his rifle and gear and headed down to the command center. When he arrived, he saw Lt. Col. Damba was standing next to the map. “Where exactly are the vehicles at? How many?” he asked and aide. The aide had a look of confusion on his face, unsure how to answer that. “It doesn’t matter, tell the men to get ready for anything, they can handle it.” Damba told the aide.

Hearing helos race overhead, Rasilov goes over the radio and listens in. “Raider1 this is Raider2, enemy AAA near the south woods. Permission to engage?” “Raider2 this is Raider1 permission granted, good hunting.” All of a sudden, it seemed like someone opened the gates of hell. Rasilov could hear heavy fire being pored into the Hinds. “We have enemy vehicles engaging us.” Then he could hear the tone as a AAA missile locked onto the helicopter. “Missile lock, evasive maneuvers.” “Break right, break right!!”, then static, on bird down. “This is Raider3, feeling some wobbling in the stick, gonna try and bring it home. I have lost all control, Raider3 going down, I say again Raider3 going…………………”

It was not looking good for the home team. With in a matter of seconds at least 2 birds were down. The Americans were here in force. “Where is my air cover?!” Rosilov could hear his commander say, apparently, he did not know what just happened. It was still obvious that his commander was still drunk from the night before and still had a drink in his hand. The colonel was not your typical soldier. He was a man who had connections. The man was a soldier in name only, he used his money and influence to rise the ranks. He, in Rasilov’s opinion, did not deserve command of a mop, let alone a rifle battalion. “I SAID, where is my air cover?”. No one dared answer him for fear of a beating. “They are gone”, Rasilov said, “they are all dead. You got them killed.” Rasilov was the only one who could look his commander in the face and say such things, and nothing would happen.

“Sir, our tanks have arrived, they are heading down the right flank.” Damba look at the radioman, “Send them in, full force, kill anything that is not Russian.” “Yes, Comrade Colonel.” The aide told the tank commander what the colonel had said. That is typical of someone who knows nothing of tactics, Rasilov thought. No right-minded commander would just send a unit in half-heartedly.

With everything that was going on, all the destruction that has happened so far, we still did not know exactly were any of the enemy was, or how many were out there, just general locations. We knew they were there, but they must be keeping their heads low.

“Enemy sighted, engaging.” Rasilov overheard the tank commander. “Target AT vehicle, range 200 meters, load HEAT.” “I see smoke, target down.” Our tanks had engaged and knocked out something. Now we know that they have AT assets. These Americans are silent, and patient. This has me worried, Rasilov thought. We are in for a big surprise.

“Sir, our second company has arrived. Right behind the tanks.” “Ok, here we go,” Damba said. “It’s time to attack. Tell all unit commanders to attack, get on line and push forward.” “Yes sir,” acknowledged Rasiov, reluctantly. “All units attack. Observer, bring the pain, light up those woods.” As he was giving the order, an order he did not want to give, Rasilov tried not to show his distaste of the colonel. Launching a wholesale attack against and unknown enemy, with unknown strength, it was suicide. Nonetheless, Rasilov looked out the upper floor window. He heard the scream of the rockets and could see the impacts in the dawn’s light. The Carnations came in shortly after and shook the leaves from the trees. He saw a window in a near by building break from the shockwave of the artillery fire. “If they are not dead, they are not happy”, he told himself.

While he was looking out the window, Rasilov could see some of the infantry moving, but it seemed like they were dancing. He looked through his binoculars and could see little round, cylindrical objects. Mines. The infantry was running through a minefield. Why, he thought, why send these men into a minefield to a certain death, against an unknown enemy. Rosilov thought these guys were nuts, but they were attacking, and to his amazement, there were no casualties. He could hear the whole line light up with red tracers, thousands of red tracers.

With all that fire, surely something broke. Then out of now where, green tracers light the early dawn light. Rosilov can hear missiles being launched and tank guns being fired. All along the line he could see vehicles and tanks exploding. It was hell on earth. He could hear the screams of men from his window. The adv had been halted. “Dog1 this is Whiskey6, report over.” “This is Dog1, we are pinned, heavy casualties, stuck in open and cannot retreat due to minefield. How copy, over.” Reports like this were coming in from all down the line. “This is what happens when you attack without proper knowledge, your attack stalls, stops, then good men die for nothing.” Rosilov said, to no one in particular.

Major Rasilov went downstairs to see if he could help. When he arrived downstairs, he noticed that there was no one left. The commander was nowhere to be seen. Rasilov took ahold of the radio from the operator, “All units, this is Whiskey5 actual, fall back, I say again fall back.” He walks outside and to the north he could see his commander about 200 yards away from him. In the background, he hears missile launch from a loan BMP and strike its target. A futile last attempt, he thought. “I have never seen someone in such a hurry to meet with his own firing squad.”, Rosilov mentioned to his radioman.

Side Note:
I have to give credit to 81sPapaSmurf, he had a little phycological warfare going on, I was fighting my old battalion. 3rd Bn/24th Marine Regt. But all in all it was a good game.