Assault by Fire by H. Ripley Rawlings

Author:H. Ripley Rawlings [Rawlings, H. Ripley]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Pinnacle Books
Published: 2020-07-21T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 24

Ned’s Center position was manned by a small group of twelve of his special forces soldiers. The rest of his men had set up a defensive position at Tyce’s actual HQ. They’d redistributed a bunch of their ammo to the other positions, but kept a few AT rockets and had crafted a lot of improvised explosives. They were dug into small fighting holes that were only thirty feet off the east side of Route 72, near a green highway sign that read DAVIS 19 MILES. They peered anxiously through their NVGs at the green silhouettes of the BTR-90s who were firing occasionally into the hills trying to find Tyce and the German 88.

“They seem pretty well distracted,” he whispered to the soldier in his dugout. “I’d say part one of the plan is working.”

The nearness of the enemy’s armored vehicles made their adrenaline pump. But they were ready. Major Asher’s orders had been tight. They had done no fewer than three full battle rehearsals, and so far, the route the enemy vehicles had taken was consistent with their predictions. As they had guessed, the infantry passed right by them fixated on whatever their vehicles were firing at, and were now about 150 meters in front, reluctant to get too far off the road in the dark pine forest. They appeared not to be really checking the area over much, and they also looked like they had no night vision. The vehicles’ drivers were clearly more anxious, bounding swiftly from cover to cover. The sounds of Tyce’s gun seemed to have increased their pucker factor.

The second German 88mm round had scored a hit. It hadn’t penetrated but had ricocheted right off the front slope of the armored hull. From the sound of it, it had hit with tremendous force. Enough that the vehicle stopped just in front of Center’s position while its crew, stunned, tried to make out what had just happened.

“Go,” whispered Captain Blake.

Captain Blake watched his men. A specialized sapper team he’d hand selected, led by his trusted Sergeant, Sergeant Dean, followed closely by two corporals, Franklin and Miller. The three leapt from their small fighting hole and ran toward the parked BTR-90.

They got within a few feet, and Sergeant Dean’s NVGs flared up when Corporal Miller lit his Molotov cocktail. As the alcohol in the old Jameson bottle burned brightly in the otherwise dark night, Sergeant Dean’s NVGs washed out, and he ripped them off and pulled his carbine to his shoulder to cover the other two.

In the moonlight, the big silhouette of the BTR-90 was now plainly visible to the naked eye. Dean’s stomach churned as he realized they would also be visible to the dismounted Russian infantry just in front of the vehicle.

Corporal Franklin jumped onto the vehicle and threw a huge homemade grenade down the open hatch. It was crafted from an empty 10-pound can of pork and beans, the gunpowder left over from making the 88mm high-velocity shells, and a fistful of heavy horseshoe nails from the farm.

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