William W Johnstone - Ashes 06

Author:Wind in the Ashes
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2011-08-09T13:50:42+00:00

Using sappers, they blew the bridge over the Redwood River and blocked Highway 299, trapping several platoons of IPF troops. The IPF troops could do nothing except retreat back to the south.

Leaving only a small force of heavily armed and well-dug-in Rebels north of the Redwood, the remainder of the motorized column headed east on

299.

With tanks spearheading, the Rebels blasted and smashed through the thin lines of already confused and demoralized IPF troops; those IPF troops now leader less and in a panic.

The IPF troops, neither trained nor skilled in guerrilla warfare, found that whatever direction they turned, they faced some new hideousness from the Rebels.

Those bastards and bitches that made up Ben Raines’s Rebel army just simply did not play the game of warfare fairly.

And what in God’s name-God’s name?-were children doing in war?

God’s name?

That thought seared through the minds of many IPF troops as they ran in panic, searching for someone to tell them what to do.

But there was no one.

So the IPF ran and sweated and died.

Ike’s team knocked out the small force of IPF personnel and stormed across the battle lines. All up and down Highway 20, from Fort Bragg on the coast to Nice, the Rebels surged across the line and into IPF territory.

Ike stepped around a corner and came face to face with a young Russian. Lifting his submachine gun, Ike sent the Russian into the arms of that shrouded bony gentlemen.

Swinging his weapon, on full auto, Ike cleared the street of all living things and waved his team forward, ejecting the empty clip and slapping home a full, fresh one.

He grabbed his radio operator and told him to get Ben on the horn.

“Ben! I’m going to skirt the heavy timber and ram up the coast on 101. Can you pull Cecil’s bunch in?”

“Affirmative,” Ben radioed back, the sounds of gunfire and explosives loud in Ike’s ears through the headset. “Pull all your civilian fighters up from the valley and spread them along Highway 20. That’ll close off the south end of the box. I’ll have Cecil’s gang spread along the edge of the wilderness, closing off the eastern escape hole. I’ll put Dan in charge of everything up north and we’ll start the squeeze. You copy this?”

“Ten-four, Ben. Ou.”

“I copy your transmission, General,” Dan radioed in. “Carrying out orders.”

“Ten-four, Dan.”

“I’m moving now, Ben,” Cecil radioed. “We’ll plug it up from this end.”

“Go!” Ben spoke into the mike. “Go, Go, Go!”

“Now I see why you wanted out,” a mercenary said to Sam Hartline.

The men sat monitoring a radio. They could not understand any of the Rebel transmissions-they were all scrambled-but they could understand the frantic radio messages from IPF.

“Yeah,” Sam said. “Striganov flipped out. I’ve been watching him over the months; especially the last few months. I could see it coming. Striganov is finished. Raines waited him out and he’s going to

win.” He reached over and flipped off the radio. “Fuck him!” Sam said. “Khamsin may be a goddamned wog, but at least he’s stable.

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