* * *
Legion’s advance on his western front was announced by a fiery barrage of thousands of missiles raining down on the nearly abandoned outer defense perimeters. Alba shook her head. “The Marines and Special Forces always seem to catch it first. How will any survive such a bombardment?”
Sergeant Kfir calmly replied, “Capt’n, those people are better prepared to withstand that assault than any of us. You watch. When the attack finally comes, the enemy’ll be knocked back on their knees from the defense our fellows make.” He then took a deep breath. “Smell the rain, Capt’n? That warm breeze’s been pushin’ it all night. A couple more hours and we’ll be swimmin’ in it.”
A short time later, Alba looked up from her rifle pit, straining to locate what was making the roar across the plain in front of them. “The night’s so black, I can’t see a thing!” She complained. “Sounds like the whole damn flats are filled with advancing armor!”
Kfir reached over and touched Alba’s arm. “Not the bad guys, Capt’n, not yet… Wrong sound for the monster engines needed to drive those heavy armored tanks. And listen! The sound’s comin’ and goin’ this way and that. Relax a bit. In a little while you just might see a real show.”
For close to two hours Alba and Kfir watched the distant bombardment of their advance positions. Kfir explained that the soldiers out there knew what was coming and had been preparing the past three days for it. They had dug in deep, using metal sluice pipes, boulders, wood or whatever they could find to cover their bunkers. It would take a direct hit or possibly several to destroy such a place. When the enemy crossed down from those hills, there would still be plenty of hot metal coming out to greet them.
Just as the glimmer of daylight began to make its appearance, two more things happened. From the far side of the river, Alba heard the big guns open up. These were stationary cannons brought in the night before by giant sky train transports. Inventions of Jebbson Garlock based on weapons used in his old realm, these guns could pitch explosive shells weighing over one tonne better than twenty leagues, dropping them on targets in the distant foothills. Even at this distance from the river, the ground would shake when one of these guns let go.
As if the sky was becoming incensed at the braggarts down below with their puny display of power, it opened with a deafening cacophony of its own. Streaks of fire raced along the landscape, swiftly followed by mind-numbing explosions of thunder. Then the wind joined its voice to the chorus. Alba turned to watch the show, the tumultuous roar pounding in her good ear. Lightning flashed across the sky as galing winds swept the surrounding hills. Soldiers who had not secured their canvas shelters well were scurrying around, trying to rescue them from the angry tempest.
Suddenly, rain hit in stinging sheets mixed with hail, whipping and driving madly. Alba and Kfir squirmed into their shelter, but not before sustaining painful bruises from large chunks of ice. Alba shouted, “If this keeps up, we won’t need the enemy to finish us off!”
Kfir shouted back, “If this keeps up, there won’t be any enemy to finish us off! We’re at least hunkered down! They’re in the open, waiting orders to attack after the initial cloudburst, the rain eased back as the winds died down. Alba looked out through the downpour, searching the darkness to find the source of new sounds coming from the frozen flats to her front. Visibility was down to a half mile or less. Warm rain hitting the steaming ice created a ground fog that was also beginning to close in. Using special filtration binoculars helped Alba see a little further, but not much. She moaned, “We’re dead for sure now. They’ll be atop us before we can get out of our pits.”
Kfir was reassuring and upbeat. “Not to worry, Capt’n. I think this is hurtin’ them far worse than us. Just wait an’ see. Things are still in process. Watch the show. It’ll be awhile before our work starts. Things have ta’ happen first.”
“They’re coming!” Alba shouted, grabbing her assault rifle and starting to crawl out of the shelter.
Kfir got hold of her pant leg, yanking her back under the canvas. “Hold on, Capt’n! Hold on!” He shouted. “Don’t want ta hurt our buddies, do you?! Hold on!”
Alba’s heart was beating so hard she thought it was about to burst. She barely heard Kfir. He shouted twice more before she began to calm down. Alba eventually saw dark, motorized shapes loom out of the fog. She looked down to see Marine gravity trucks inching their way from the flats up the hillocks. As they slowly passed by, trying carefully to miss the army’s rifle pits, Alba could see many were filled with dead and wounded. She and Kfir ventured out of their shelter to get a better look.
One truck came up the hill straight for the captain. It turned and stopped next to her. The truck had better than a dozen wounded and dead. Only the driver and one medic appeared unscathed. A grizzled lieutenant asked for some food and medical supplies. Kfir hurried away, returning momentarily with two arms full of both.
The lieutenant thanked them. Then, looking back across the plain, he sighed, “They’re all yours now. Can’t hold ‘em any longer. They’re like flies.” He stared into Alba’s face, breaking into a garish grin. “We swatted a whole damn bunch of ‘em! There’s fewer of ‘em now.” Then he smiled. “You sure are pretty. I wish we’d met under more pleasant conditions.” He engaged the turbines and started off toward the river.
Alba was shocked speechless and was only able to nod her head in goodbye. In those few fleeting seconds, the lieutenant had made the captain forget the war, the dangers and the dying, and think of herself as the young, flirting maiden teasing boys in the summer moonlight.
Over the next half hour, Marine and Special Forces units trickled back across the wide flats. Each transport looked much the same as the one preceding it. Wounded and dead appeared to outnumber the uninjured. Alba could hardly believe her eyes at the horrific number of casualties. What amazed her most was the fact that these veterans of earlier wars had willingly suffered the battle, knowing full well what to expect. And, she knew, after some rest and regrouping, these same soldiers would willingly take up their next, equally dangerous assignment.
Occasionally Alba saw or heard a gunship or small transport flying overhead, either coming or going. Kfir explained that they were searching for any soldiers still holding out or escaping on the ice. “We’ll get most of ‘em back, Capt’n.” He said, nodding reassuringly, a tear in his eye. “We’ll get most of ‘em back...”
Kfir lifted his head as if sniffing the air. He pulled on Alba’s shirt. “Better get your children underground and fast, then do the same yourself.”
Alba shouted orders for everyone to lay flat in hiding and then crawled back into the shelter next to Kfir. She had no more than settled in before hearing the loud ‘whoosh!’ of missiles and the whistle of fast-moving aircraft.
There soon followed a bone-shaking explosion…then another, and another. Alba’s head began pounding from the incessant exploding of bombs and missiles as enemy planes swept up and down the army’s defensive line. Then came ‘rat-tat-tat!’ and ‘froosh! froosh!’ of shipboard solid-projectile guns from strafing aircraft. The insanity seemed to last forever. Alba buried her face in the cold mud, putting her arms over her head.
A few minutes passed before she recognized another more chilling sound. Cries and screams from torn and shattered wounded rose above the din, creating a surreal symphony in her head. How strange it felt, as time passed, that the woman was almost able to find a melody in the surrounding chaos.
A sudden urge came over Alba to crawl out of hiding and fight back, or run, or laugh, or do anything other than just lay on her belly, waiting to be blown to bits. She got up on her elbows and started for the opening. Kfir’s strong hand pulled her down, dragging her back in.
He shouted, “Not yet! Not yet! Give ‘em a minute, Captain! There’s a change in the air! We’re not dead yet!”
Alba struggled a bit, sputtering, “Le
t me go, Sergeant! Let me go! I can’t breathe in here! Gotta get some air!”
Kfir’s hand went to her coat collar, clutching it as he shook her, crying out as though in panic, “Now you wait a minute! Hear me! The weather’s changing any minute now! You wait here…” He sobbed. “I’m scared. Don’t leave me! Please!”
Kfir’s pretend pleas for help calmed Alba. She relaxed and put her arm around his shoulder, reassuring him. “I promise not to leave. I’ll stay with you. Don’t worry.”
This initial barrage from the enemy lasted the better part of only four minutes, but to those who survive such things, that time feels like hours or days. Alba kept her mind focused on Kfir. It was strange. Hearing her own soft, encouraging words soothed her, too. Eventually her heart’s pounding eased and she closed her eyes to rest.
Alba was jarred awake by the ferocious roar and ‘KaKow! KaKow! KaKow!’ of missiles and anti-aircraft guns. Her panicking eyes searched Kfir’s face. He smiled. “Told ya’ the weather was gonna’ change. Our people are startin’ to give ‘em a taste of their own medicine.”
The captain wiggled through the opening to get a better look. She poked her head up and searched the landscape. From hidden gun emplacements, for as far as her eyes could see, crimson streaks of tracer bullets and shooting flames of anti-missile missiles filled the sky. Out of the heavy ground fog behind her, she watched hundreds of spouts of fire reaching into the heavens, filling them with angry black clouds.
A brilliant flash caught her eye. She watched as parts of a fighter came tumbling out of the burning smoke. Alba jumped up, shouting, “They got the bastard! They got the lousy bastard!”
Kfir stepped up next to Alba, staring into the gray drizzle. Alba spun around, grabbing his coat, laughing, “Did you see that? We got the bastard!” She looked around, wild-eyed, grinning. “We’re making the whole goddamned world shake! Do you see what we’re doing?”
The sergeant smiled, giving his captain time to soak up her surroundings, letting her release some of her pent-up anxiety. Eventually he recommended they check on the others. Alba agreed, hurrying off to see about casualties in her company.
By this time, several others from Rock Company were scurrying around to search for and assist the wounded. The company was not yet up to full strength, having only about three hundred of the five hundred it was supposed to have. There were a few injuries - two that were life threatening. Otherwise the company had been spared the first air assault. Kfir knew there would be more.
Rock Company sat astride a ridge of hills, spread out in a series of rifle pits about a quarter mile wide. HillLander Company overlapped their line on the right about one hundred yards in front, contacting CraSandar’s Company, which passed off to the left. Both had received several direct hits, taking heavy losses. Alba watched, helpless, as dozens of bodies were dragged from trenches waiting removal, while scores of wounded were loaded in lories that labored back toward the river.
About this time, the last of the Marine holdouts were making their way from the flats. Wide-tracked, lightweight machines called ‘ducks’ - ‘sitting ducks’ by many who used them - crawled through the flooded fields of ice, oftentimes pulling improvised sleds filled with soldiers. A smattering of gravity trucks and other assorted vehicles able to cross the now very treacherous fields made their way to the slopes.
A few of the trucks were driven up the hill past the rise. There, they were filled with the wounded, Army and Marine, and sent on their way. Most of the other machines were parked at the base of the rise on the edge of the flats. In a flurry of activity, the remaining Marines began digging in around the trucks or dove into empty rifle pits.
Alba and Kfir turned toward new sounds. Coming over the rise behind them, lines of gravity and tracked gun-trucks worked their way forward. The tracked trucks, many with mounted field cannon or short-range missile systems, parked helter-skelter alone the eastern face of the hills. Alba saw hundreds of these machines, stretched out along the battle-line for as far as the eye could see.
The gravity gun-trucks slowly floated onto the flats, pulling out into the fog bank. Alba watched in wonder. When the machines turbines went dead, she asked Kfir, confused, “What are they doing? And…” Her eyes riveted on the vast number of machines. “Where did they all come from?”
“Captain,” Kfir smiled, “them corduroy roads are savin’ our bacon. I think a lot of ‘em came from the river during the night. I think others were dug in right here and camouflaged.” He scanned the falling rise to the west back toward the river. “And I bet there’s a lot more still hidin’ out there.”
Alba turned to stare at Kfir. “What of the…”
Kfir rested a hand on her shoulder. “‘Old Indian trick’…as I’ve heard some of your kind say.” He looked into the fog. “They’re comin’ to hit us…soon. With the motors dead on those machines, it’ll be real hard for the enemy to pick ‘em up on their radar. They’ll be right on top of ‘em before they know they’re there.”
“And…” He squeezed Alba’s shoulder, “you know all that racket we heard on the flats last night?”
Alba nodded, remembering how curious it seemed at the time.
“Well,” the sergeant started his drawl again, “I think our people put down a whole bunch a’ mines…thousands…darn, possibly hundreds a’ thousands. When them folks get in the right spot, you’re gonna’ see some mighty big fireworks.”
Kfir’s laid back talkin’ was comforting. He usually did it when he was relaxed. But why could he be so sure of what he was telling Alba?
When asked how he knew what was coming, and if he knew why the enemy would go right on and blunder into it anyway, he grinned, casually replying. “They’re not allowed to think for themselves. Boss at the top tells ‘em what to do. He says, ‘Go forward’ they go forward till he says, ‘Stop! Then they stop. Most of ‘em haven’t learned to study the battlefield.” He then turned his face to the east, lifting his head as if sniffing the air. “Besides, Capt’n, you can smell it.”
The steady rain increased its incessant rhythm, and the giant cannons beyond the river began their angry retorts anew. “Better get our kids back to hiding, Capt’n. Looks like another storm’s acomin’.”
Alba agreed. They hurried along their line, giving orders and checking to see they were obeyed. Finally, they too dove under cover, into three inches of muddy slop. Kfir turned to Alba, wearing a wry grin. “‘Least our skin should be soft and subtle by the time we’re done here...”
(Author’s note…General NoazOhfehr was well suited for the commanding general’s position at PrasiaOdous. His younger days in the Outer Ranges had toughened him to the privations dished out by this strange planet near the vortex of the universe. In fact, it was said by many close to him at this time that he reveled in the constant weather changes, especially enjoying the impossible blizzards winter would often dish up. It was his passion for using such deplorable conditions as part of his battle strategy that eventually earned him the name, ‘Winter Wolf’.
Noaz had a penchant for detail when things were slow. Those forced to put up with his incessant grumbling about orderliness and safety nicknamed him ‘Old Fussy’ - a name he actually took pride in. He has also been accused of being cautious to a fault, an attribute given to him for his methodical and deliberate use of the forces in his command.
On the surface it would appear that these deficiencies hindered Noaz’ ability to lead, causing the army under his command to suffer needlessly at times. If this were truly the case, it would bring into question Lowenah’s recommending him to be one of Field Marshal Trisha’s commanding generals.
I have studied Noaz’ battle strategy and battle reports, as well as interviewed dozens of his immediate lieutenants. Then, to satisfy my own curiosity, I have walked many fields of battle he directed. My conclusions are thus:
While it is true to say that Noaz was not particularly we
ll known for his lightning strikes and blinding attacks, there is no evidence to show the army was seriously hindered by the general’s deliberate actions. In nearly every contest, Noaz out-thought and out-fought the enemy he faced, having an uncanny ability to seemingly know what his adversary was about to do.
As at the Battle of Silk Mountain, the attacks Legion implemented against the PrasiaOdous defenders at the beginning of Asotos’ MueoPoros campaign, Noaz pulled his forces back to a series of hillocks and knolls that stretched for several leagues in the middle of a vast flooded plain running parallel with a deep, sluggish river to its west. He moved over a hundred thousand troopers out of frontline defenses across fifteen miles of ice in blizzard conditions, and the enemy never found out until after they attacked, finding near empty trenches defended by a relatively small number of Marines and Special Forces. By the time the enemy had been able to regroup and renew their advance, the weather conditions had changed against them. Another plus was that, in its initial thrust, the enemy’s air arm had exhausted its fire power on empty targets, stalling its attacks on the second line until its planes had refueled and rearmed.
This kind of strategy became one of Noaz’ trademarks. Tricking an unsuspecting enemy into delivering its blow on abandoned entrenchments and then railing him before he could regather his strength became so commonplace the enemy eventually took to skulking out the lines before advancing. This cost them time and very often the edge in battle. As one captured officer was later heard to complain, “How can you fight a man who can hide an entire army up his ass?”
Keep in mind that General Noaz was responsible for defending the entire range of the PrasiaOdous that the Empire controlled. It stretched north to south for about two hundred leagues, one league equaling three nautical miles. He had at his disposal around a million combat soldiers to defend that line. The Silk Mountain region in the north was where Legion had collected his main taskforce - the distance, and rugged hills, limiting him to only minor incursions further south. Still, without full knowledge of the enemy’s plan, Noaz could little afford to abandon his other defenses to give further support to the four divisions holding the Silk.
It is with this preceding knowledge that we discover Noaz’ greatest strength: his willingness to take calculated risks to lend support, unasked for and unexpected. At the same moment Alba was watching the retreating Marines, General Noaz was quietly gathering together fifty thousand precious veteran soldiers, along with the needed transports, for a very important mission. He was also assembling over four hundred fighters, including ten full squadrons of his new VoshanShar flying tank-busters to join them.
It is true, the reduced air defense over the Silk cost Noaz’ troops hundreds of added casualties, as many critics have attested, but it saved countless more lives on other fronts.