Chapter Three: Breakthrough

“Rollin' Rollin' Rollin'. Keep movin', movin', movin'. Though they're disapprovin', Keep them doggies movin'. Rawhide!” sang Raymond in his Texan accent. Next to him Gordon grimaced as he plugged his ears with his fingers, never having accustomed to the larger man’s singing. Maik turned up the volume on his headphones, and Kolish just endured it, like any soldier would.

The entire tank roared as it leapt forward at maximum speed, the rest of the wyvern following its lead. The defence line wall loomed up suddenly on Kolish’s scope, growing ominously larger. The ensign simply sat patiently and waited as his vehicle hurled itself at the wall. Malakai speared a worried glance at the screen showing the approaching bastion, and gulped.

About a hundred metres away form the sheer vertical surface, Kolish gave his command. “Theo. Fire.”

The massive cannon of the Death Jester shrieked as it fired, the shell thumping into the wall and boring through half its thickness before detonating, hurling chunks of rubble everywhere and cracking the entire surface for a full ten metres in all directions. A weak point.

“It isn’t down!” cried Malakai, deathly pale. “We’re going to crash!”

“Stay on course!” roared Kolish, and Raymond revved the engine and slammed the tank into the weakened portion of wall.

With a horrific thunderclap which shook the entire structure of the vehicle, sending it‘s crew sprawling, the one hundred metric tonne machine slammed into the defence wall. Already weakened form the shell that had pierced it the moment before, it gave way immediately, sending debris hurtling inland as the Death Jeter rammed its way through to the other side.

Inside, the crew were scrambling back into their seats as Raymond let out a Texan yell as the tank slammed down into the ground on the other side of the defence line. In it’s wake it left a crumbling rend, through which rolled the two Scorpion tanks and the pack of Rough Riders. The infantry coming up the rear turned their grenades and flamethrowers onto the exposed tunnels running through the wall, filling them with burning fuel and shrapnel, allowing the vehicles to plough on and wreak more destruction.

Kolish smiled slightly in triumph as the two other tanks broke formation and moved to either side of him, and the small offensive jeeps known as Rough Riders careened through the gaps between the larger war machines, speeding off ahead to scout out the next enemy position.

Taking a momentary reprieve from basking in the successful execution of a wyvern manoeuvre that would have made his teachers proud, the ensign surveyed the area they had broken into. He drew in a sharp breath, his mind forgetting all notions of pride as he saw that they were going to have their work cut out for them.

They were on the ridge of a valley running parallel with the coastline, and the second defence line was located on the crest of the opposite hill. To reach it, they would have to head down into the narrow valley and back up at the line, all whilst suffering heavy fire. It was a good defensive position, and the enemy had taken advantage of it to the fullest. If they advanced, they would come under heavy fire from both walls, as their gap had not been exploited to the fullest yet, and some weapon emplacements were being swung around even now to get a bead on them.

Raymond had not let up on the driving stick, and the tank was still rumbling forward, leaving behind the infantry as it rolled on forewords with the rest of the vehicles. Kolish turned to Maik, gritting his teeth.

“Call in a strike on the position in front of us,” ordered the tank commander. The radio operator looked at him in surprise before nodding and opening a channel to the fleet. Kolish turned away from him and looked at the screen, watching the portion of the wall they were heading for become surrounded by a red square signifying targeting information. Even now a set of missiles would be screaming at it and-

Abruptly, one of the rough riders that were bouncing down the slope in front of them exploded, turning into a fireball, the wreckage being flung high into the air. Suddenly, another went up in flame as well. The panicked call came over the radio.

“Minefield!”

The Scorpion tank on the Death Jester’s left abruptly swung away, to try to go around the field, only to hit a mine placed on the slope and have it’s left track shredded.

“Full stop, reverse us!” cried Kolish to his driver, turning to his radar operator. “Malaki, why the hell didn’t we pick up those mines on scans!?” he demanded, as another of the rough riders perished.

“They must’ve been put down recently, I can’t find any trace of them at all..!” explained the brown haired man, sweat forming on his brow. “The pulses aren’t detecting anything! They’re stealth!”

Stealth mines…Kolish felt himself go limp for a second. The idea of making hidden mines…it simply hadn’t occurred to him. They had been made powerful, and resistant to attempts to make them pre-detonate, but to actually manufacture them with specifically built stealth technology to let it go unnoticed by pulses? It was unheard of. He shook of the feeling of surprise and shouted at Raymond. “Get us to stop already dammit!”

“I can’t!” the burly driver replied through clenched teeth as he wrestled with the controls. “Our momentum’s too great! The track’s cant get any grip on this soil!”

The tank commander felt himself go numb slightly as he sat back in his chair, the other Scorpion running directly over another mine and exploding into tiny metal shards, and watched helplessly as his tank began the slow slide into the killing field.

Admiral Hammerson felt the Victorious vibrate as it unleashed its missiles, watching their progress on the monitor, their trajectories portrayed as dotted white lines. The enemy forces were falling back from their first defensive line, running back and taking up new positions on the second line.

He looked over the entire display, noting how numerous groups of infantry and armour had grouped together, combining their fire onto certain points along the wall, cracking it apart before forcing their way through. Several groups had made it through, closing the gap between the falling Defense and the still forming one on the second wall, seeking a chance to overwhelm it at speed.

The admiral watch the contacts sped towards the enemy, only to change to black as they crossed some unseen threshold. His eyes went wide as enough vehicles to constitute an entire armoured company simply ceased to exist in the space of five seconds. He looked up disbelievingly, staring at the giant screen denoting the entire operation area, only for it to confirm what his monitor had shown. Then Wan spoke up.

“They’ve hit a minefield. It’s been ascertained to have stealth capability.”

The ageing commander swore softly. “So we don’t know how many of them there are, or where they are located.”

“No sir.”

Hammerson scratched his chin as he considered his options. He had no dedicated mine clearer's with him, and it would take too long to retro fit the vehicles they had with mine clearing flails. It would kill the speed of their assault, allowing the enemy to consolidate and their reinforcements to approach. Around him, the bridge continued to bustle with activity, orders being transmitted and reported, moves and attacks being sent to the generals back on the mainland. He tuned it all out, until it was silent, just as he had learned after years of working aboard such a vessel. Hearing nothing but his own thoughts, hen cased his eyes and visualised the battlefield in his mind, seeing it set out before him like a child’s game.

He was no great tactician, always scoring just below average in the academy. But one thing he had in his favour was simplicity. Consequences there would be, but his ploys tended to work magnificently. The admiral’s eyes snapped open as the solution occurred to him.

“Have everyone form a wedge at point C56,” he ordered calmly.

“Sir, that’s a wyvern formation!” replied Wan, looking at his commander for confirmation.

“Indeed. Gather the entire landing force into one formation, and hurl it at the enemy,” clarified the admiral. There was a tense silence between the pair.

“Are you planning to overcome the minefield through sheer numbers?” asked the operator levelly, not letting his emotions show.

“Not at all,” answered the admiral with a predatory smile. “Contact the Kestrel. Have them lay down a spread of Titans from sectors D51 through D61, all they way to that wall!”

Wan’s eyes went wide, but he complied. Committing the entire stock of Titans…it was simple, would cost the tax payer a lot of money, but it would work. A mine clearance action of 31 missiles designed to penetrate bunkers and annihilate bases, The communications officer briefly wondered if anything would be left of the valley after they were done.

“Incoming orders from the Victorious!” shouted an excited William, the radio operator on-board the Kestrel. Tomlinson looked up sharply from where she had been dozing, her interest caught. “We are to move to strike range of the main coastline.”

The Captain sat up quickly, making herself look smart as she did so, and turned to Eskridge. When the man nodded, she gave the command.

“Move us in. Prepare to launch!”

Gearkov threw done the communiqué in disgust. “We’ve been ordered to hold,” he said in way of explanation to his aides, as he leant heavily on the table, glaring at his orders. It was suicide. His superiors had realized, just like he had, that it was impossible to stop the advance of the UIS assault. But unlike Gearkov, the generals had decided to slow it by having every last man die on the wall, rather than fall back and harass the enemy as they set up a forward base.

They were all going to die here. That was certain. When would depend on the integrity of the wall and the men upon it. The minefield bought them time to regroup but nothing more. It did not matter if the mines were stealth or not, once the enemy knew they were there, they could deal with them and resume their attack.

“Send whatever reserves we have left forward. Everyone man the walls,” ordered the commander coldly, reaching out and grabbing his helmet as he headed for the door, pausing only to grab a weapon from the rack. His aides shared worried looks before running to join him, one staying behind to send the last message to all military forces in the area.

Silently floating off the coast, the ships of the fleet welcomed back the transport craft as they paused for minor repairs and to taker on extra fuel. They would be escorted back to the northern UIS continent by the Havoc and Devestator, whilst the rest of the fleet would continue to hold station and threaten any possible counter offensives with their long range munitions.

They would not last long however, especially after Hammerson’s escapade, but a second fleet with more ground forces was already nearing. Amphibious assaults needed swift reinforcement, and could easily be left stranded.

But no more.

A new era of war was dawning. With superior tactics and logistics, the UIS would prosecute the Third War in a manner befitting the 21st century.

“Oh-shit-oh-shit-oh-shit!” swore Gordon, as he pounded his monitor, trying to elicit a response, whilst next to him Raymond continued wrestling with the controls, swerving the tank from side to side in order to slow its descent, but the vehicle’s size prevented it from coming to a full stop.

“Well, everyone knows about the minefield now…” commented Maik dejectedly, trying to look on the bright side of their situation.

Kolish tilted his head in respect for the younger officer’s attitude. “A valid point, though such information shouldn’t be bought at the cost of a Mastodon,” he replied. “Gordon, what’s taking so long?” the man asked, a note of panic creeping into his voice at the thought of his impending doom.

The engineer stopped panicking and swearing long enough to shoot his commander a black look. “What else do you expect with this software package! Portal XP my ass! I told you we should’ve used Vista!”

Kolish groaned. Here they were, about to die, and Gordon still had a complaint about the programming of the tank.

With a snarl, the blonde slammed his palm onto the screen again, and all of a sudden, there was a confirmation chime and the sound of machinery engaging. The engineer gaped at the screen momentarily. “Erm…”

The Mastodon tank, apart from being a true Behemoth of the modern age, outperforming all other tanks in all respects, was also a highly versatile utility vehicle. The crews were taught to you’re their initiative, and many added their own modifications to the war machine, from upgraded sensor or communications equipment, to extra hull weaponry or even a full living space for extended missions.

The crew of the Death Jester however had, for a laugh, added a pair of tow cables to their tank. When asked about it, the ensign in charge of the vehicle had simply answered that the only thing that could move a broken down Mastodon was another Mastodon, and left it at that.

Each cable had an electromagnetic grapple, in order to securely hold onto any metallic surface, powered by its own internal battery. These were loaded into pressurised cylinders, which could shoot the grapple and cables out over a fair distance, allowing it to salvage broken down vehicles from a battlefield, regardless of distance.

It had proven to be a wonderful tool in simulations and live-fire practice, but now showed itself as a potentially a vital addition to the Mastodon’s already formidable repertoire of tricks.

The Death Jester jettisoned its grapples, which flew over the ground at the speed of a bullet, and slammed into the remains of the first defence line before deploying. There was a moment before the cables went taut, and utterly stopped the tank, with the unfortunate side effect of hurling the entire crew not strapped to their seats into a large pileup at the front of the vehicle’s interior.

“Congratulation’s Gordon,” breathed Kolish, slumped against Raymond’s back. “You finally remembered which button to press,” he deadpanned as he tried to untangle himself form the mess of bodies.

Groans filled the cabin as battered and bruised crew members made their way back to their stations. Amazingly, no one had been injured, but Kolish suspected that was mostly due to no one actually hitting the front armour plate of the tank, as the sudden stop had thrown everyone forwards, down the funnel-like front of the vehicle, right into Raymond.

The burly, black haired man sat up with a wheezing sigh before turning in his seat and grinning at everyone, who had by now made it back to their stations no worse for wear. “Damn you fella’s are heavy,” he remarked. No one chose to challenge that statement, simply grateful to Gordon for managing to stop the tank. And only ten metres away from where the first rough rider had gone up in flame.

“Gordon…you may want to start reeling us back in,” laughed Maik weakly all of a sudden. Kolish raised an eyebrow at the communications officer as the engineer promptly initiated the processes to begin retracting the cable, slowly dragging the Death Jester back up the slope. Catching his superior’s look, Maik forwarded the data being sent to him to the other man’s monitor, where it popped up as a window.

Scything through the water, the Kestrel powered on towards the coastline. As it entered range, the missile tubes once more revealed themselves from behind hexagonal armour plates, and the death dealing Titans were slid into position.

Data from the fleet and landing force poured into the targeting arrays, and the programming sorted through in a second, deciding how many rockets to fire and how to space them out for most effective clearance. Then the ready light switched on, and the Titans were primed.

This time, Captain Tomlinson didn’t bother waiting fore Eskridge’s approval, something he silently commended, and hit the firing sequence at once. Once more the entire salvo was launched in one go. The young woman had adopted this tactic as a personal trademark, and no other naval officer was as willing to attack with so much might at once. The sheer number of missiles would mean that it would be nigh on impossible to prevent all of them from reaching their targets.

However, the stress and heat generated by the simultaneous launch of several rockets provided an element of risk with the tactic. In the earlier days of ship launches, melting of screens followed by ignition of stored munitions tended to have explosive results.

But the Kestrel had been designed for such actions. When firing, it was no longer hidden form the enemy, and so it had been designed to get into position fast, fire everything at the designated targets, and get back out. The cost for this modification was the reduction in war stocks the ship was able to carry, making it impractical for use in engagements requiring long term bombardment.

With Titans deployed however, there was no more need of bombardment.

Gearkov stood on the second wall, surveying the marshalling UIS forces before him. They were gathering their might at one point, probably going for an all out attack with which they would overwhelm the defences. And once a breach occurred, it would widen and widen until the whole line was destroyed.

He didn’t feel anger, or hate. He just felt numb. Standing there on top of the old, steel reinforced concrete, the cold wind tugging at his overcoat, he felt weary. Around him, troopers rested their weapons on the parapet, rubbing fatigued eyes and trembling slightly.

The commander took off his helmet and ran a hand through his matted hair, spitting some phlegm over the side of the parapet as he did so. Shoving his helmet back on, he picked up the binoculars hanging from his neck and peered through them at the massing Union forces.

Several super-heavy tanks were easily identifiable, dwarfing everything around them. About fifty main battle tanks and a hundred of the smaller jeeps with various support weaponry. No APCs, meaning that the vehicles had to wait for the infantry to catch up from the beach.

But the units were already trickling in, scrambling over the gaps torn through the first defensive wall. Some soldiers had taken position on the first wall, quickly repairing several positions and fortifying it against any counter-attack. With the beachhead secure, more and more forces would arrive, allowing the UIS to force its way deep into Coalition territory.

Lowering the binoculars, Gearkov exhaled heavily, glancing along the length of his position, filled with the knowledge that none of the men here would survive the next couple of hours, if not minutes. But it was either die as a soldier here, or die as a deserter further inland.

Not much of a choice.

Hammerson studied the tactical readout intently, rubbing his stubble. The landing force was making good progress into the Xiangxing Line, the name given to this network of defences protecting the east coast of the CER. There had been severe losses, mostly amongst the infantry, but some vehicles had been trashed too.

The full list of the casualties and cost was still being compiled, but as long as lives lost didn’t exceed half a million and war cost stayed below five billion dollars, they’d be in no risk of reprimand.

True, they had burned through most of their Titan warheads in a very short time, but he considered the results worth the cost. And there was no more risk of a counter-attack destroying the ground elements of the fleet. If a CER force should appear, the fleet could fall back and meet up with the next battle group heading for the coastline, and whatever military forces left behind would be more than able to hold out until they returned with supplies and reinforcements.

The admiral tapped his screen, and information about the battle group heading his way appeared. They were still about four hours away, but making good time. With them, the military strength would double, and a forward base could be established.

A chime alerted him to incoming information, and his tactical readout of the area under his jurisdiction change to how the trajectory of a salvo of rockets from the Kestrel, heading for the minefield. A small countdown appeared, speeding towards zero as the missiles approached their targets. Hammerson sat and watched the unfolding show with a sense of pride, confident his usage of the missiles was the best choice in the circumstances.

The Titan warheads once more fell upon CER soil, digging through the ground along a kilometre long stretch of the valley floor, each one spaced two hundred metres apart. Once more they buried into the soil, shrugging off any mine detonations they caused. And once more they tore the landscape apart, obliterating everything in a chain of fire which raced along the foot of the valley.

The intense heat blistered the front armour paint on the Death Jester, having just pulled itself out of the danger zone. It ignited the grass clinging to the slopes, baking the moist sol hard until it cracked. Great pieces of earth thrown upwards rained down, and men from both sides took whatever shelter was available, whether in the shadows of vehicles or in pillboxes dotting the line.

“Confirmed hit on targets,” reported Eskridge emotionlessly. “Dispatch from Victorious says we are to hold position here now, in case of further missile support being required.”

“Acknowledge message and stow away the used launchers. Keep the anti-ship rockets on standby,” replied Tomlinson. “Also, check latest sne4sor sweeps. A counter-attack of some sort should be incoming.”

“And what makes you so sure?” asked the armaments officer, for the benefit of the crew on the bridge.

“Common sense,” replied his superior.

“Fair enough.”

Struggling to his feet, Gearkov stuck his head over the edge of the parapet. The heat wave that had followed the detonation had been punishing, but thankfully not lethal nor hot enough to ignite their ammunition.

The valley in between the two defence lines, the mined heart of the Xiangxing Line, was now a cratered hell that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a painting of the First War. Smoke drifted from hellish gouges in the earth, and craters had been punched into the mud. Down into this desolate plain the UIS force charged.

The rough riders, as always, went first, their suspension allowing them to travel quickly over the broken ground. Gearkov began to shout orders, taking aim with his rifle. He held his breath before pulling the trigger, his shot cracking in the air, barely audible above the ringing in his ears.

The bullet caught the driver of the lead buggy between the eyes, slamming him against his seat as his head burst open. The man’s dead hands went slack, and the vehicle careened out of control, the gunner leaping off the back and tumbling along the ground. The buggy slammed into a crater lip and flipped over, rolling in.

Gearkov exhaled as he shifted his weapon in search of another target.

Death Jester charged into battle for the final time, its cannons roaring. Shells slammed into the wall as the turrets swung form side to side, raking the final defences of the Xiangxing Line. Before it a trio of Mastodon’s advanced, firing upon a specific point until the second wall too had been breached.

Masonry rained down as the surface crumbled away, the men atop falling to be crushed amidst the debris. The vehicles ploughed through the dust cloud, shunting aside any remaining obstacles. Bodies and rocks were ground to dust beneath steel-shod treads, and the UIS broke through the Xianxing Line, the lead elements swinging around to attack the enemy either side of the breach from the rear.

Having their orders, the CER soldiers fought to the last.