Chapter 7

The Phone Call

"Sarov," spoke a voice in English with a North African accent...obviously Libyan in a rather rude and cocky manner, "our forces are winning!"
"I know that, you nitwit!" he snapped back at the Libyan tactician, "and you don’t have to rain your spit all over my best uniform!"

Commander Sarov breathed heavily, as if he had ran thousands of miles to look for water. His voice broke into Russian.

"The first wave of Rhinos is destroying their defenses...it appears that General Nikolayevsk was correct! I had overestimated their defenses. But no matter...take no prisoners. Fire the V3s!"

Not long after, there was a large ‘whoosh’ as five V3 rockets rose to the heavens. Within ten minutes they would kill almost all of the Ft. White Fox defenders.

Meanwhile...

"Commander Leech," suggested a French officer, "If I were you, I’d ask General Holmes to call in an airstrike."

Leech paused. "Air support would be a good idea, but I don’t think that’s necessary...we’ve got plenty of anti-tank weapons."

"But Leech!"

The African-American raised his hand, silencing the Frenchman.
"Then again, you’re right." At once, he called General Holmes. Not long after the call, a squadron of AV-8B Harrier IIs...the American version of the British Harrier, screamed into the skies. They had only minutes to arrive at the fort and take out the Soviets.

Men were armed with TOW Launchers were scattered all over the place, firing missiles at the oncoming tanks. Private Ranger, who was hiding behind a metal crate, fired a single bullet between the eyes of a Conscript who never kept peeled eyes. The man screamed in agony as the bullet created a third eye between his other two eyes. He sprawled away as he spent his last seconds on earth. Pvt. Ranger heard screams and the smell of flak.

"Huh?" he wondered, and spun around.

It was a gruesome sight. He swore, wishing he never turned around. What had been joyful buddies were now major headaches. You see, they were no longer friends that could help you or anything like that. They had been turned into a mountain of limbs and organs. Blood decorated the tatters of what used to be their uniforms. He knew what did this to them: a Flak Track.

He turned around to see four Flak Tracks, half tracks with flak cannons on them, at the mouth of the gate. The first one’s gunner spotted him. He turned the flak cannon at him. Pvt. Ranger’s face fell. There was only one word in his mind: doom. But it didn’t end that way. A large slice of air was heard as a TOW missile barged into the right side of the Flak Track. A ball of flame savagely punched a gaping hole into the armor of the vehicle. The man using the flak cannon was shoved off by an invisible hand, his arms and legs flailing around madly. A sound of fear was racing out of his mouth...a scream. He landed on his head, causing a concussion which killed him instantly.

He looked up and smiled, giving a quick salute to a tall and thin man standing on the damaged north wall. Corp. Houng saluted and quickly dashed down the wall, giving fire support for two other soldiers. Two explosions were heard as he helped total two other Flak Tracks. Gunfire was heard as large clusters of soldiers behind him fired shots at the last Flak Track, which was carrying soldiers. The driver, with devilish, beady eyes, swore in Russian through gritted teeth then slammed his foot on the accelerator. The Soviet vehicle shot off like a rocket, a foolish decision as one of the men behind Pvt. Ranger had a frag grenade. The soldier tore off the pin with his teeth and threw it no more than three centimeters in front of the vehicle. The driver, blinded by his hatred for capitalists and his will to crush the men, persisted. The frag grenade exploded, creating a small oval ring of orange fire; clearly it wasn’t the fireball from the movies.

The Flak Track lurched down; looking like it was going through a bad day. The gunner aimed the flak cannon at the man who tossed the grenade. Thinking quickly, Pvt. Ranger raised his M16 semi-automatic rifle and aimed at his head. He squeezed the trigger, a streak of bright-yellow light. It buried itself through the back and reappeared through the gunner’s forehead.

The man pathetically fell backward, bounced on the French soil once and laid still. The driver of the Flak Track, grabbing his M1 Carbine, screamed "For the Soviet people!" in Russian before diving out and pumping lead into one of the men in front. But he was a rotten shot and the only thing they hit was the muddy French soil. The men fired back, and the driver wailed with pain, raising the gun one last time. Since he no longer had any energy to pull the trigger, it only fell back to the ground.

Five Conscripts ran out into the battlefield, only to be caught by the Grizzly Battle Tanks, which blew them to literal meatballs. Some of the Allied soldiers, who had been waiting for the tanks to take out the Conscripts, immediately ran to the derelict Flak Track. One of them used the flak cannon, which was still operational. A couple of the other soldiers were using the Flak Track as a shield to block enemy fire, while another stood on top, armed with a TOW launcher to back up the man armed with the flak cannon.

Pvt. Ranger decided to stay where he was. He loaded another cartridge and got ready for the tanks. And just at that minute the Harriers had arrived. Pvt. Ranger looked up and saluted as they briefly zoomed across and began to take out the advancing tanks. Alas, the old saying "You win some, you lose some" came true again. After the Harriers went away, he saw five rockets that were entirely draped in white, except on the nose, which was in red. The Hammer and Sickle symbol of the Soviet Union was in gold. John looked at his watch and realized it took them ten minutes to arrive. And he realized that the Harriers came late. 

He took cover.
He said a prayer.
He shut his eyes.

"BOOM!"...the sound of an explosion rocking the north wall up and down. Another explosion was heard as a V3 crashed into the Ore Refinery, taking a mouthful of the building with it. A few screams were drowned out as the third V3 in between the damaged Flak Track and Grizzly Tanks. Another dived into the Western Wall, killing all on it and the last one narrowly missed the Communications Center and landed on the supply storage, totaling it and it left the Communications Center’s windows blown to fragments.

John Ranger opened his eyes. He swore, knowing that the Allies had to abandon the base.

to be continued...

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