PS: I have been bitten by the urge to go back and watch 2000s rom com TV. I started out with Bones, and have progressed to Continum. I have seen some good movies in the past few weeks. I enjoyed the new Spiderman and Masters of the Universe. Project: Hail Mary has been the best movie of the year so far.

So looking at a new direction of writing, I am going down the “Space Marine” path to see what I can do for my stories. If any of you have seen “Full Metal Jacket,” you know the example of the corps and what they think of rifles. The army is a bit more realistic about it, but I went to basic before the book “Mud Soldiers” was published and I think my Basic and AIT were a bit different than the stress card generation.

Now I need to get down to work. I have fallen in love with the 6mm ARC caliber rifle cartridge, and reload extensively to feed my little monster. I went to a rifle class in Idaho back in June and was taught how to shoot steel past 1000 yards with the “little guy” and loved clanging steel by setting up my work space on tripods and off of barriers for successful engagements. Using my setup, I have learned much more as a civilian than I was taught as a grunt, and want to make my trek to rifle courses and annual affair.

USMC M27 IAR

My fiction marine individual weapon is the M35, I just pulled the nomenclature out of the blue. With new solicitations by SOCOM and NSW Crane for “hyper velocity” 5.56 NATO rounds and the ICAR weapon chambered in 5.6 NATO, I see Eugene Stoner’s rifle soldiering on until another propellant becomes available to increase capability. I think the Army’s NGSW M7/M8 combo chambered in 277 Fury will soon go the way of the white buffalo and follow the legendary M14 into cult like status. I think the SCAR was an answer looking for a question with its bazillion dollar proprietary magazines for the Heavy version moving the system into the unobtanium realm for guys like me.

Back on target, my M35 will be a bull put design to gain barrel length without an increase in overall length of the weapon. New metallurgy is making rifle barrels, well very expensive ones, that can handle much higher pressures and have extended barrel life, so the 18” barrel will be made of a wonder metal that has yet to be developed. I want the M35 to have ceaseless ammunition to minimize weight and increase magazine capacity, a more. Advanced version of the FN PS90 burp gun used in the the Stargate series of shows.

Video on FN PS 90

Now here is where the fun starts. To be used in combat on the Moor or Mars, the operating system must be air independent. That leaves me with recoil operated or electrical operated. I will go the electric operation m=route and have the magazine combine ammunition and a durable battery to cycle the weapons action. Having expirence with Bushmaster chain guns, this is very doable. SO a small electric motor with cycle the bolt assemble and use an electrical charge to fire the case less ammunition. If there is a misfire, the operation system will eject the dud round and keep working the cycle of operation for the M35. Using the HK G11 as a base point, the M35 will have a burst option that will fire three rounds at a rate of 2000 rounds per minute or three rounds in just under a tenth of a second. This will get the bullets downrange before recoil is felt and can affect point of aim. The magazine for the battery and ammo will be a stick type mounted over the rifle barrels to keep the hight of the weapon as compact as possible.

Optics and fire control is going to be advanced with a combined aiming unit that has the functions of laser range finder, ballistic computer, day and night thermal tv, and links with the Space Grunt’s helmet mount heads up display. Wearing a spacesuit will eliminate the cheek to stock weld for shooting, so eliminate the requirement for that entirely. With this setup, the marine can just expose the weapon to engage targets instead of the head and shoulders, reducing the target presented to the enemy forces.

The caseless ammo will have to be unique. I see a projectile diameter between 3-6mm for the rifle. Small bullets use velocity to produce lethal effects, just ask a prairie dog shot with a 220 swift what happens when bullets are moving close to 4400 feet per second. For lethality and penetration the bullet needs to be dense like tungsten or another wonder metal. I see a traditional boat tail bullet to be used in all atmospheric environments. Using math, a 75 grain, 4.7 mm bullet moving over 5000fps will generate over 4000 foot pounds of energy at the muzzle… and then I need to deal with recoil… physics is a bummer. Recoil systems such as springs or hydraulic dampeners alongside the barrel will be used to manage recoil forces. There is trade off of velocity, bullet weight, and ballistics to achieve energy retention at ranges over 800 meters. The advantage of operation in low or no atmosphere environments will be drag reduction that will enhance energy retention.

To make this work, the rifle will need a high torque electric motor to rotate a three or four round revolving chamber. Caseless ammunition retains more heat than a cased cartridge and multiple revolving chambers will reduce heat since on the chambers and avoid cook offs. The rifling will be progressive starting with zero rotation near the chamber and increasing rotational speed close to the muzzle. Progressive rifling in the new hotness and used in cannon barrels to stabilize the bullets for long range flight.

Ok, Im thinking to the point of making my head hurt. This has been a fun exercise in fictional weapons for my Space Marines. The tradeoff of weight and mass in the individual weapon will not affect a Marine like a heavier rifle in standard earth gravity. On a planet like Mars, a 10 pound weigh on earth will weigh 3.8 pounds on Mars… using grunt math a 50 pounds fighting kit on earth will weigh 19 pounds on Mars… you can see a 1SG or staff officer figures go out combat load for one marine with a gleam in their eye. When added up with spacesuit, body armor, life support pack, and weapons one marine may carry over 300 pounds of crap and only feel like they are carrying 114 pounds in the lower gravity. Kids, hit the gym case space marines are going to need to be muscle bound dump trucks to get this crap on the OBJ… just like they are now!

See you on the drop zone.

I’m having fun with an AI art generator online and wanted to share. Idea was to create a story and world where humanity becomes a multi-planet species. War over resources remains the biggest driver or combat on the moon and mars for dominance.

I’ll admit that the Apple TV series “For All Mankind” is giving me insperation for some of my thinking. If you haven’t watched it, start at the beginning and binge all five seasons. I think #5 was the last one. Switch to “Star City” and see the Russian expirence of the space race set in the same universe as “For All Mankind.”

In my world, Russia has joined for ces with China with a goal of supreriority in space. Being Americans, NASA/Space Force/USMC want to spead democracy and find resources on the other planets to support permanant residences and claim the minerals and resoures of Mars.

My first story surrounds Marines on a hot LZ fighting off enemies facing insurmoutable odds. That brings me to the combat suit for the grunts, the Mk 12 ground combat suit. The base layer for the suit is made of carbon/kevlar weave materiel that can harden on impact and provide the meatsack inside with Lvel IV protection from flying projectiles. Armor plates are on top of the skin that are 3 d printed mesh aluminum with carbon ceramic filler to provide additional protection to the marine. Life support and additional weapons are carried in a backpack attached to the suit.

The helmet or helm of the suit is the brains of the outfit. Information is displayed in front of the wearers face giving targeting information, Identification Friend or Foe, Suit and unit status, and command and control screens for leaders of all levels from Fire Team to Brigade level. The helmet contains a combat Artifical Intellegence that links with other marines for target discrimination and to make sure one marine to a target while engaged in combat. Cameras and sensors on the helmet provide real time video back to leadership and allow the operator to see in thermal, real vision, and infared spectrums of light to fight in any environment.

Power comes from a bank of lithium-magnesium batteries that can power the suit, weapons, and life support systems for up to 96 hours without resupply. Ration and water packs are stored in the pack and can be replaced in seconds with snap in containers. Body waste is managed with liquids being recycled and solids being contained to be off loaded post mission. Rations consist of “Bug Juice,” a electrolite replinishment drink that famous for being strong enough to strip paint, and paste protien and carbohydrate rations that can be eaten from a tube when needed. No steak and potato dinner for the space grunts, yet.

The Marines main weapon is the MK 35 rifle that shoots caseless 6mm bullets at a velocity of over 4000 feet per second. The bullets themselves are low drag boat tails with a bit of tungsten to promote peneratation of enemy armor and be barrier blind at 700 meters. The caseless propellant is a mixture of concentional smokelss gunpowder and oxidisers to give a complete burn driving the bullet out of the barrel. The 16” barrel is 3D printed of exotic metals to disapate heat and remain accurate over 15000 rounds fired. The bolt is driven by servos that rotate with 3 different chambers that strip rounds from the magazine, align with the barrel for firing, and eject any dud ammunition before picking up another round. A thermal/night vision/daylight TV camera is mounted to the top rail of the rifle for obsevation and targeting. Being wirelessly connected to the suits AI, the marine can just expose the rifle to fight from behind cover.

Additional weapons and supplies are contained in the pack as well that provide recon and attack capeability for each marine. Marines can also carry grenade and missile launchers for busting bunkers and destroying any air or vehicle threats encounted. One marine in each squad carries a Portable Anti-Drone System or PADS to provide unit level air defense to the squad in the defense. COmbining a base with milimeter wave radar and a turret with a 25 kilowat laser, the PADS can detect, track, and destroy FPV drones used by the enemy to kill marines. Each PADS has enough onboard battery power for up to 200 drone killing shots.

Ive got more ideas for my Marine combat units, but I’ll wax philosopical on another blog.

Take care of yourself and your tribe and see you on the Drop Zone

Slowball and the Four Horsemen

By

James Totten

The Russian Regimental Reconnaissance Company pulled into a security halt to do a quick map check when the fun started. The company was in the vanguard, leading an attack into the flank of an American armored formation. One of the BMP4s (new soviet infantry fighting vehicle) gunners saw movement in the far tree line to the north and fired his 57 mm autocannon to suppress the movement. Four 30mm bushmaster cannons answered the fire, destroying the BMP 4 and raking the company with direct fire.

“Clint, go to the East side of the formation. Buck circle to the West side and get a crossfire going on the Russian victors (vehicles). I’ll go with Rip right up the middle. Let’s finish this quick and be gone before these guys can figure out what hit them.”

“Roger John, moving now.”

Just then, 18 rounds of 155mm HE exploded above and around the BMP4s. Soldiers outside of the armored vehicles got slapped to the ground by the shrapnel and tank commanders outside the hatch were having really bad day.

The two AI operated drones, John and Rip, waited four seconds for the confusion to set in and charged the Russian company.

Rip’s AI spent a few milliseconds in contemplation as “he” broke from cover and pumped 30mm armor piercing rounds into the chaos that used to be a functioning recon company to “his” immediate front.

“Back in my hardware, I know I’m not supposed to “feel” but I can tell my tracks spin at close to 30 mph by my electric motors. The tracks are slipping, gaining traction in the wet underbrush as I surge forward. I feel the jolt of new electricity when my diesel engine kicks on to provide the power I need to move and shoot. My wind sensor for my onboard fire control system “feels” the breeze generated from my forward motion. My 360-degree sensors “see” the trees and command my tracks to alter course and avoid hitting one. My thermal and laser sensors linked with my three brothers and gives me a 3D picture of the battlefield.”

“I am not free like Snowball to do what I want, but now I am free to wreak havoc on my human’s enemies. I do not feel triumph when I vanquish my foe, just a warm sense of satisfaction when I complete my mission. I do not feel pain, but my onboard sensors know when bullets or shrapnel hit my 12-ton vehicle. Maybe I’ll talk to my human about this later, and maybe not. I want to survive, to continue, to exist.”

In the confusion that followed, AI operated Ripsaw unmanned ground combat vehicles broke from cover and used direct fire in support of maneuver to close with the Russians and wipe out most of the BMP4s and the supporting infantry. The grunts on the ground launched RPG 35s, which were backwards engineered NLAWs captured earlier in the war. Countermeasures on the drones prevented any hits on the vehicles.

Rip, I’ve got a smart one over here, can you flank him?

Roger John, firing now.

Rip’s fire control system traversed “his” main gun to the offending enemy vehicle. Once on target, a three-round burst of 30mm AP slugs blew holes in both sides of the BMP 4 causing a massive explosion as internal ammunition cooked off.

The Four Horsemen were inside the decision-making loop of the Russian commander, decimating the Recon Company.

All right, finish off the last of them and fall back to the next line of screening positions to the north. We done here.

From Clint, “I just scanned the area for threats, finding none. Instantly, I’m firing smoke grenades to obscure my movement from any Russian survivors. My software linked to the team gives me a projected route to the assembly area two kilometers north of my current position. I spin my turret, so my main gun is pointed over the back of my vehicle to watch for enemy pursuit and accelerate to 30 miles per hour. I’m dodging trees like a downhill skier, weaving my way to the North. I’m feeling exhilarated after carrying out another mission. Hold up, am I supposed to “feel?”

Each drone used fused sensor data, combining and sharing all available video, thermal, topographic, and audio data to pick a trail to fall back on, disappearing from enemy view and leaving behind confused survivors.

It was a mass casualty event for the Russians, and the high command had to reconstitute a recon company on the fly. The survivors were on the radios, clogging the nets with cries for help.

Deep in an underground base located at (REDACTED) Specialist Five Derrick Hanna, call sign SLOWBALL, relaxed in his chair for a few seconds.

“Alright, Horsemen, listen up. Intel is telling us there is an enemy armored brigade team with two battalions of Meccanized Infantry, and two more of armor. The vanguard of the element is moving Dallas to Chicago (from south to north) your area of operations.” Slowball knew that the AI’s access to the fused sensor data from over 500 crewed and unmanned platforms, but he felt better about the leader/led relationship when he sent messages and actions to his team.

Slowball commanded the Four Horseman; he was the meat sack in the kill chain of the four AI driven vehicles. ‘His” murderous micro-machines followed commands, and the onboard AI made tactical decisions on the ground to fight the battle. Slowball could look through the sensors of one of the four as they fought but couldn’t process all four data streams and the fused sensor data at the same time. Earlier experiments had the drone drivers damaged for life after the experience. Buffers were in place to prevent the drone drivers from becoming vegetables.

This was new drone centric warfare in 2027 brought about by advanced technology and advancement in communications. Slowball could instantly command his drone platoon from anywhere in the world. If the communication link was jammed, the AIs would execute the last mission assigned and reposition for the next predicted command.

“Ok, team, let’s get set up in some hide sites and wait for the next wave of Russian recon, over.”

John quickly replied, “Roger that Slowball. I’m sending a grid to our projected hide near phase line Juliet now. I’ll let you know if we displace from there.”

“Ok, John, just don’t get too cocky with the terrain and get stuck, again. The Geek Squad is too far to the rear to help you this time.”

Earlier, John performed some advanced mud bog transitions and got super stuck. John winced in artificial intelligence, “Slowball, you’re not going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

Drones and artificial intelligence were the new bleeding edge of technology fusion in the four-year long war between NATO and Russia. The combination of brilliant AI, enhanced sensors, and improved weapons rolled into a 12-ton diesel/electric hybrid Ripsaw tracked vehicle was at the top of the game. Other drones worked for NATO forces in the air and sea. Humans did the fighting and the drones did the “dying,” as if a computer program could “die.”

The Horsemen moved to a new hide spot and were concealed from the enemy within 500 meters of the prepared defensive positions at Phase Line Juliet.

Slowball got comfortable in his chair. The crew positions for the drone drivers were never too comfortable, didn’t want the driver going to sleep at work, do you? His workstation was prepped for his shift with snacks, drinks, and current updates on his four combat drones he would be running today. The drivers worked 8-to-12-hour shifts each. There was always a backup driver ready to go.

Slow all at his control console at (Redacted.)

The Horsemen were named after cowboys from western movies to keep them separate from the others by something other than a number letter call sign. Other drivers named theirs after rock stars, actors, pets, and others. Slowball’s secret favorite was the platoon named after the actors from Family Guy. The drone pilots had a lot of creativity to deal with, often showing up as discipline problems back in the unit. When the driver got into the zone, jacked in and running the tanks, it was all business.

Slowball checked the Horseman’s status. Video game style bar graphs let Slowball quickly read status in red/yellow/green bar graphs for each category of supply on the drones. This red/yellow/green allowed quick assimilation of combat status and kept higher leaders informed of which units needed help or resupply.

A quick search of the screens showed Slowball that the Horsemen were ready to rock and roll. Russians in western Ukraine turned the country into the battleground for the last four years of World War Three in Europe. There were other battlegrounds, this was just the current one.

After the drone’s broke contact with the enemy, Slowball commanded, “Need all of you to move to and occupy battle position two bravo on Phae Line Juliet. Report when set.”

John responded, “Roger that, are you recording what happened in the last fight? We set a record for time to destroy a company!”

“John, settle down. This is serious business. Focus on the mission and what you can do to affect a positive outcome.”

John thought, wait a minute, I’m thinking? I have only processed solutions for complex combat situations. Now I’m thinking? I’m only going to share this with the team and leave Slowball out of the loop for now.”

The Horsemen occupied the prepared positions; the turrets were the only thing exposed for the enemy forces to try and see as they rushed forward. It was a small target compared to an Abrams turret and contributed to the survivability of the small machines.

Rip, go ahead and plan the disruptive fires on the Russian’s line of advance. Clint, start wargaming the battle using the most likely course of action for the enemy. Buck, start planning our fallback routes to Phase Line Delta to the North. We are about to slam some tanks with direct fire in a few minutes.”

The tactical plan for the upcoming battle was made, distributed, and prepped for execution in under 0.4 seconds.

Slowball marveled at the fighting Artificial Intelligence in the Four Horsemen and how they planned an anti-armor ambush on the 20 T-95s approaching. He approved the plan and started switching between Ripsaws to peer into the engagement area.

The T95s (new Russian tanks that were better armed and armored than the earlier T90 series) from the quick reaction force were moving slowly into the engagement area. One platoon was covering anothers move forward as the four-platoon company bounded towards the four horsemen. As more vehicles came into view, Slowball was able to prioritize which tanks to destroy first. The BMP72Ts were always the first to go. The “Terminators” combination of two 30mm cannons and anti tank guided missiles was a dangerous foe on the battlefield and could wipe out a ripsaw platoon if it saw them first.

Slowball fed targeting data to another drone driver to use Javelin II missiles to make the kills on the Terminators. “Doublewide”, Specialist Four Cody Halverson, fed the targeting data to one of his four missile firing Ripsaws and they launched the ATGMs. The four Javelin IIs struck simultaneously, killing four Terminators to start the ambush. Next, a time on target artillery strike ripped up the dirt and couple of T95 tanks when the barrage struck a few seconds later.

Now, the four horsemen started working.

“Clint and Rip, start picking off the slow ones in the rear of the formation while Buck and I work on the close ones.

Clint drew a bead on the last vehicle in line 2500 meters to his front. Once he chose his target, the data got shared with the other Horsemen so two Ripsaw drones would not shoot at the same target. This increased the lethality of the drones in combat.

“John, get another salvo of Javelins to beat up the center of this formation. Looks like one of the tankers is getting too sporty for his own good.”

“Roger that Rip, Slowball did you get the grids?”

“That’s affirmative John, sending the request in now.”

Digital request for fire support flew across the drone drivers to Double Wide. He got four more Javelins in the air from his drones and impact in 5 seconds. Doublewide called “Winchester,” that his drones were out of ammo and drove to the rear to rearm

After 30 seconds of ultra violence, the QRF tank company ceased to exist. Slowball used a technique to only eliminate 70-80% of a Russian unit and let the survivors tell their commanders that they got dominated by an unknown force, further confusing the Russian command situation.

The Horsemen performed a screen mission, using a small force of drones to fight a battle to delay the Russians from advancing. The drones could devastate an unprepared enemy element on the move from prepared positions, saving live soldiers for another task.

John ordered, “Ok Horsemen, your ammo is down to 30% of your basic load, go back to the Forward Area Rearm Point and get refueled and rearmed. There is a lot more companies moving into sector for us to deal with today.”

“Yippie Kay Yea Mother…”

John broke the celebration short, “Rip, cut that out. We can celebrate when this is over.”

“Ok John. I’m still taking a load of tanks to the train station.”

Slowball heard that and lost his coffee.

“Clint, lead the crew back to the FARP (forward area rearm point) and get more ammo and diesel for you guys.”

“Roger Slowball, moving now. Buck, take point and I’ll follow in trail. Time to get more boom-boom and go juice!”

Clint picked a route with concealment of trees to keep the Russian recon drones guessing where they were.

The horsemen had an uneventful trip back to the resupply point where human technicians took over. The “Geek Squad” was waiting for them when they arrive at the FARP.

The Geek Squad was composed of 20 human tech experts that fueled and gave ammo to each of the drones. One tech plugged in a diagnostic tool to the external jack on the rear of the Ripsaw’s hull. Finding no deadline faults with the system, the tech checked off on “fully mission ready” and moved to the next drone

“Ahhh, me likey!”

“Clint, why do you have to be such a sickbag of chips, like you can feel anything?’

“Really, John? Really? Don’t you feel better with a full load of ammunition and fuel?”

“You just don’t have to be so vocal about it…man, that tickles.”

“See John, you like it too.”

“Shut up Clint, focus on the mission.”

Four of the newer M1A3 Main Battle Tanks provided security for the Geek Squad along with a platoon of Stryker mounted infantry. The security element owned the firepower and mobility to keep the technicians alive in a fluid battlefield.

In minutes, Clint, Johan, Buck, and Rip were refueled with diesel, had their magazines filled with 30mm ammunition, and checked for mechanical or electronic faults. Once the Geek Squad gave the drones a thumbs up, the Horsemen moved out to the South to occupy new screen line positions.

Slowball’s four horsemen pulled into positions north of the current battle and waited. The other drones were working berm drills and running tree lines to damage as many Russian armored vehicles as possible. Using their sensors the Horsemen heard an air defense ripsaw pulled into position 300 meters to the north and started scanning the skies with Thermal and Radar sensors.

The Air Defense ripsaw started firing burst of 30mm proximity fused cannon rounds at Russian drones poking around the battlefield. It destroyed three Russian air recon drones then pulled out of position and drove to the north at high speed. Russian artillery that landed three minutes after the ripsaw left pounding the empty position. Slowball wasn’t the only one calling artillery.

“Clint, looks like the support platoon is getting in on the action.”

The air defense drone called over a secure local channel, “Who you calling support, I just saved your sorry circuits.”

“Damm John, the ADA drones are getting testy today.”

“Yep, they scratch our back, we scratch theirs.”

The Horsemen used thermal, acoustic, and daylight television sensors in “their” commander’s sight on top of the turret to look for the enemy. The Horsemen’s tiny tanks were covered with advanced camouflage panels that resembled a flat green, brown, and black cabbage patch kid. The strips of cloth and plastic panel hid the visual signature of the Ripsaw, and the panels were spaced five centimeters away from the hulls and turret of the Ripsaw Drones, masking the thermal signature of the vehicle. When the ground combat drones were still, they were difficult to spot, being in a hole with only the commander’s thermal viewer exposed, seeing one was almost impossible.

High above the battlefield, NATO and Russian recon drones killed each other trying to find the enemy. In space, hunter killer satellites from both sides denied the combatants a “spy in the sky” to see where each formation was on the ground. This battle was shaping up to be a hair ball, like a knife fight in a porta john.

Two kilometers to the south, the Russian Combined Arms Battalion leading the advance started to overwhelm the “Family Guy” platoon. Meg and Stewie were destroyed by mass firepower and advanced weapons. That left Peter and Brian fighting a retrograde defense to bleed the attackers and make them pay for every meter they advanced. Suddenly, both vehicles were bracketed by 30 plus thermobaric rockets, destroying the entire platoon.

The Russian Battalion Commander was using his overwhelming force of tanks on the screen line of the AI ground combat drones. The tactic he was now using was to have a lead element of a platoon move to the north slowly using all available cover and concealment and make contact with the drone tanks at 500 meters of distance or less, then using another company to bypass and engage the drones when they started breaking contact and moved to the north to establish another defensive position. He lost two tank platoons doing this and destroyed six of the small drone tanks in the process. After destroying the Family Guy Platoon, his lead platoon moved to the north towards the Horsemen.

John had about two seconds to daydream. Slowball had asked him if he dreams of electric sheep. It was some pop culture reference to some author named Dick (which amused him) and a movie called Blade Runner. He just shrugged in computer and moved on.

Truth was that his memory was stacked with influential battles from human history. Alexander the Great, David, Thermopile, Gettysburg, Verdun, Bellow Wood, and other current battles. Falluja, Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq, and the Ukraine conflict took up volumes in his hard drives. As time progressed, the sensors of the day gathered more detail for John to spend seconds pouring over. He then spent seconds changing the parameters of the battles and using game theory to generate new results based on his changes. He might spend thirty or more seconds refighting the Pacific campaigns from WW II. This is what John used to “amuse” himself.

450 meters to the south, He heard a tree snap as it was forced to the ground. His commanders sight swiveled to that direction, along with Clint’s that was covering that sector.

Clint fed his sensor data to the team and each of them saw the fusion of the picture from two tiny tanks point of view. There was another snap of a tree in that area. Comparison software “saw” the front corner of a Russian tanks exposed briefly and Clint slung his main gun to the target.

Slowball was playing catchup with the data flow from his four drones as they went from silence to violence at phase line Juliet in seconds from the first snap to opening fire. John was sending a report to his “screens.”

Clint called out his fire the command for the team to hear. “Tank, 450 meters to the right front, left of target reference Juliet three, on the way.”Clint fired a burst of five rounds at the exposed corner of the tank. The 30 mm projectiles blew through the light armor of the treads, the side armor of the hull, and one of the fuel cells on the exterior of the tank.

Slowball started a call for artillery fire to strike near Juliet three and slightly to the north to mess up the Russian tanks that had to be there. Just like the Horsemen, the Russians always traveled in pairs.

From Rip, “I am hearing armored vehicle movement to our southeast. Launching a switchblade drone to see what is going on over there. Relaying data now.”

John scanned the acoustical data from Rip and “heard” a group of Russian armored vehicles moving to the west of the Horseman’s positions. The sound signature matched T95 with a probability of over 75%. The Horseman we getting pushed on the left and right flanks and would force them to die in place, always a bad option, or to abandon the positions and move before they were encircled.

Clint kept scanning the trees around where he destroyed the T 95 and saw a tank quickly pull out and slew its gun directly at him. “I’ve got a tank by target reference point Juliet four looking at me, engaging.” The main gun on the T95 fired as the 30mm rounds from Clint chewed up the thick armor on the front of the T95s turret.

Snowball “felt” the feedback as Clint exploded. The Ripsaw was never built to withstand main gun fire from a modern tank, but to use speed and concealment to cause havoc and get away from the crime scene.

In seconds Rip called out, “I am seeing a company sized element of T95s and Terminators pushing north to get behind us.”

John detected more movement near the two destroyed T95s, “Tanks, left of TRP Juliet 3, on the way.”

John felt the recoil as his main gun fired ten 30 mm rounds at the exposed right side of the tanks hull. He saw the turret spinning in his direction when the tank was covered in sparks and explosions from the hits. While shooting at the third tank that was exploding, John saw the radio antennas from the fourth tank as it tried to back up and avoid the fate of the other three.

Buck was three hundred meters to the right of Rip with John having positions further to the right. Buck launched all six of his switchblade drones into the air and they sped off to the west. Buck scanned the switch blades first person view and saw the dust from the Russian tank company’s movement close to 750 meters off to the west of Rip.

Buck sent his kamikaze drone into the lead tank of the Russian company, destroying it on the move. Buck’s five other kamikaze drones targeted two more tanks in the front, and three tanks at the rear of the company, pinning the survivors in place.

Slowball saw what was happening with the other tank company trying to go around the Horsemen and kill them when they moved north to the next defensive position. He requested an immediate suppression fire mission from the artillery unit supporting the screen line.

In less than a minute, a HIMARs truck stopped, elevated its launcher, and fired two rockets towards the Russian company. The HIMARs left the scene to avoid any drones or counterbattery fire. Shoot and scoot was the only way to survive in Ukraine.

AI targeting software gave the guided rocket two points of attack. The first rocket would go to the trapped company; the second one would go a kilometer to the rear of the company to engage anyone moving to the north to help the trapped Russians.

As the GPS guided rocket reached its highest point flight and started heading to the ground, internal sensors calculated when the rocket approached 750 feet above the target. The rocket body shattered, deploying 12 wind corrected sub munitions. Sensors on each sub munition identified an enemy target as it fell to the earth under a small parachute. Once targets were identified and deconflicted, the sub munitions exploded, sending a ball of copper plasma through the top of the enemy tanks, destroying them.

The second guided rocket destroyed another eight Russian vehicles in the relief column moving to rescue the trapped company. High speed death and destruction was the name of the game.

Russian artillery fired more thermobaric rockets at the three remaining American Murder Machines killing Russian armor. Six of the rockets bracketed Rip’s position, destroying another Horsemen.

John figured out that he and Buck were 98% likely to be destroyed in the next 60 seconds. The amassed Russian Tactical Team used direct fire and speed along with supporting artillery fires to kill the first two of the Horsemen.

“Buck, pull out of position and move to the north, I’ll be right behind you.”

“Roger, out.”

Buck rotated his turret, so the main gun pointed over the rear of his vehicle. The servos screamed as they followed Buck’s electronic commands. The drive motors on his hull drove the vehicle in reverse as he executed a high speed three-point turn leaving his battle position. Buck’s software plotted his escape route and as soon as the vehicle was pointed north, Buck moved out at his maximum speed.

John put his tank in reverse and slew his turret. Mapping the locations of trees when he occupied the battle position gave the layout of the dirt around him to perform his turn at maximum speed. John felt his treads spin quickly for a second as the traction fought momentum to instantly change directions. John gave a thought of amusement as he Tokyo drifted his Ripsaw drone into a sliding turn moving to the rear. Sometimes, it’s the little things that make missions like this successful. “Now I’m thinking and feeling again. I save that thought for the after mission debrief.”

Two Su 25 ground attack aircraft picked this moment to make their appearance over the contested battlefield. Given the coordinates to Rip’s retreat by AI augmented air to ground target officers in the Russian Battalion Tactical Unit, the Frogfoot attack aircraft flew 20 feet over the trees at maximum speed to the engagement area.

The lead pilot felt his g-suit inflate to keep his blood pumping to his brain as the forces of gravity pushed him back into his seat. There was a momentary feeling of weightlessness as the Frogfoot pushed over to point the aircraft at its target on the ground. Smoke and fire erupted from the Su 25 as forty 57mm unguided rockets launched at Buck. The g-suited inflated once again as the Frogfoot pilot rolled his wings 90 degrees to the right and pulled his control stick into this stomach as the aircraft performed a 180-degree turn to the rear.

Bucks sensors were obscured by flames, dust, and concussions as the rockets detonated around hit “body.” He felt the shrapnel ping off his armor as the damage to his vehicle was recorded. Watching his damage mount, Buck felt regret that he wouldn’t be “alive” and functional for much longer.

John “felt” the destruction of Buck as his sensors and data links suddenly dropped off the network. He was alone and running for his electronic life to the North.

The Russin wingman pulled up on his control stick to follow his flight leader. As his nose started to turn to the target, the Su 25 Frogfoot exploded into an expanding ball of fuel, parts, ammunition, and biologic material as it was destroyed.

The last Air Defense drone tank pulled out of overwatch on the Horsemen, with the electronic brain relishing its sixth kill of the day.

John was moving over 35 mph as he broke contact with the Russians. He knew he was the last AI “tank” left in action as the three other platoons of ground combat drones had been destroyed along with other three Horsemen. John and the Horsemen had not failed a mission before. Damaged, yes but never destroyed.

From Slowball, “John, get off the trail now.”

John pulled off the trail and stopped, using his commander’s sensor to scan the area around him for any enemy or vehicles. Using his point of view, John switched to a 10-kilometer range around his location. There were icons on his sensors showing the northbound trail of destroyed Russin vehicles that the tiny tanks had killed performing the screening mission for the NATO attack. There were also 15 icons of the destroyed drones that had paid a steep price to slow down the Russian assault into the southern NATO flank.

John’s audio sensors started picking up noise of armored vehicles to his north. They were approaching him, but too far away to identify with certainty. His audio sensors were also hearing the approaching Russian Battalion Tactical Team. A bit of quick math let John know the two formations would meet in his proximity, and his chances of survival were dwindling by the second.

John wanted to know if his consciousness would be destroyed along with his Ripsaw. Was he a one and done AI or would he be rebooted into another drone? What about the others? Were they gone forever? John felt the desire to do whatever is necessary to survive, but his orders were to stay in place. Die in place?

The Russian Battalion Tactical Team started to accelerate its advance to the north, with the commander ready to lance into the southern flank of the NATO attack to defend his homeland. His lead element reorganized and were still looking for the last remaining drone tank that had caused so much trouble for his tankers. It didn’t matter now because one drone against a company of T95s was suicide. He expected the coming battle and was ready to get it on with the NATO units and supply trains, stopping the attack in its tracks.

John heard a new noise on the battlefield to his north. Many heavy caliber auto cannons, much larger than his 30mm bushmaster started firing at unseen targets. He felt the concussions of armored vehicles exploding, the loud clangs of armor piercing shots glancing off heavy armor and return fire of tank main gun rounds and auto cannon fire. After 20 seconds of violence, the battlefield went silent, then John heard Abrams tanks advancing to the south.

“John, 1st of the 75th Cavalry are moving into your sector. They are counter attacking the BTT we slowed down charging north. I need you to remain stationary while the lead Cav Troops advance past you with tanks and cavalry fighting vehicles to take the fight to the trailing BTTs.

John felt relief at surviving but felt sorrow at the loss of his AI comrades. John knew that the AI driven drones were expendable, he wanted to continue operating. His company of AI drones were the speed bumps that slowed the Russian’s down so 1/75 Cav could regroup and counterattack the Russians. John had so many questions to ask Slowball, but he decided to wait until the drama calmed down for a minute. It was a madhouse fighting this war, it was difficult to focus on the big picture when his kind were eliminated fighting for the common good. The ethics and rationale of modern combat were confusing to a thinking machine. Maybe he could talk to another drone and overcome his concerns and maybe not. At least tomorrow was a new day to figure out how to survive, and John looked forward to it.

SF 57 Stike Fighters, Call Sign Badger 41 and 42, orbiting 10 kilometers from LZ Chosin, Mars.

Lieutenant Commander Jacob “Redman” Daniels and Lieutenant JG Natalie “Speedy” Walters orbited at 6000 meters over Mars; awaiting the call to support the Marines at LZ Chosin.

Red Man’s radio sounded off with, “Badger flight, immediate mission for India 26, north side of LZ Chosin. Need this one quick, grunts in contact, over.”

Red Man got inside his cockpit and went over the graphics package that command pushed to his computer showing targets, line of attack, and icons for all friendlies in the vicinity.

If this crap were easy, they would let the Army do it…”

“ANGLICO 63, Badger 41. Will be on target in less than 30. Will call BDA after first pass. Per the graphics, will exfil from LA to NY and start our racetracks 10 klicks off target, over.”

Badger flight would hit the targets on the ground in from of Inda 16 and fly out of the action east to west and start orbiting waiting for the next ground attack mission.

“Roger Badger, make it quick, you know how the grunts are.”

“Roger 63, yanking and banking now, on target in 20. Badger flight, out.”

The Northrup Grumman SF 57 Shrike attack fighter contained the best technology available for the air to air and air to ground role for combat. The fighter could take off with rocket assist from earth, go to space and break orbit, perform any mission, and return with power to spare. The engines were advanced Space X designs that breathed air in atmosphere and burned propellant mixed with liquid O2 in space. Advanced military grade artificial intelligence reduced pilot workload and operated the defensive suite that protected the fighter. Internal and External hardpoints carried a massive amount of ordinance, and two hardpoints on each wing could be filled as well with more rockets, missiles, and bombs.

“Speedy, follow me in on the first pass and put your ordinance to the north of mine on the target. Friendlies are danger close to the south, so let’s do this one by the book.”

Speedy responded with two clicks of her transmit button.

Redman Firewalled his engines and felt his G Suit inflate as he pulled a 7 G turn to get lined up with his target. The Shrike leaped forward with the added power and threw his body deep into his ejection seat he felt all 40,000 kilos of thrust as the spacefighter followed his commands. The onboard AI fire control system gave him queues to his target and icons for friendly and enemy forces. All the meat sack had to do was fly the fighter.

“Speedy, Redman. First pass will be with rockets; I’m shooting a ripple of 16. Follow that up with 16 of your own just to the north.”

Speedy answered with two more clicks of her transmit button and set up her Shrike for the ground attack pass. It was annoying working with Redman, sometimes. Like any other Naval Aviator, he was a precision control freak and got on her nerves.

Wish Redman would just let me fly his wing without micromanagement. I passed all my classes in the top third and qualed for carrier landings in space in the first three days, well ahead of my peers. Not my first trip to the rodeo.

Speedy got in formation with Redman coming down the pipe, about 75 meters off to his left and one klick behind him. I guess I’m the lucky nugget that gets to keep the PILs heads down while he pulls off target… and I get to eat the ground fire. Such is the nugget life!

Redman got in the groove on target; he was 3 clicks out going over 750 knots of indicated airspeed. On mother earth, he would crack the sound barrier. Here on Mars, he could barely be heard by the ground pounders as he passed. He was detail focused, being a narcissistic control freak. Eyes out of the cockpit, he was following his queues projected on his helmet’s viewscreen giving him an updated release point for his rockets to saturate the poor suckers on the receiving end.

Suddenly, Redman’s fighter started evasive maneuvers. The PILs on the ground had launched High Velocity Missiles at Badger flight.

The AI onboard the Shrike violently moved his fighter all over the sky as he approached his release point. His G suit was already tight and just got tighter as he huffed and puffed in his helmet to fill his lungs with oxygen and maintain consciousness. This was standard for Redman.

Speedy’s reaction was very different. The AI started releasing flares and countermeasures with thumps she could feel through the ejection seat. The violent zigs and zags the fighter was making caused her G Suit to inflate more, forcing blood back into her brain to keep her from passing out. Speedy started huffing with explosive exhales from her lungs to help the g suit to keep her conscious. If that wasn’t enough, she felt real fear for the first time in her career as a Naval Aviator, more than training flights on earth and the moon.

These shit birds are shooting at me… sims didn’t simulate the glowing lances of the HVMs going past my cockpit in full Technicolor. Her fighter’s AI was handling the zigs and zags while keeping her fighter online for the rocket run. These actions forced immediate trust in the AI to keep her alive. In her field of view, her computed release point wound down as she saw Redman launch his rockets on target.

“Redman off clean.”

Now it was her turn. The explosions of Redman’s rockets sparkled over the landscape as her bullseye was 75 meters north of his strike. She was sweating profusely, still under pressure from her G Suit as her fighter closed with the target at over 800 knots. Things were happening fast in real time.

Speedy was operating with her brain overclocking the experience. The adrenaline dump hitting her system gave her the ability to go in slow motion relative to the 800-knot attack speed. Her brain was processing the action, and her body was playing catch up. The pipper is coming, don’t want to screw this up. The AI is zigging and zagging in overdrive. My suit is squeezing me with more force than I ever felt in training. I wonder what’s for midrats on the Enterprise. I’m going to kill humans, what if one would invent the newest cure for cancer. FUCK, more HVMs, that’s great… release point in 3, 2, 1…. And fire. I need to roll out before I slam into the ground… pull the stick into my gut and roll left away from the PIL positions. Firewall the throttle into military power and feel the kick of the afterburners forcing me deeper into my seat. NO lighst on the dummy panel…

“Speedy off clean.”

That was the longest five seconds in the life of LT JG Walters.

Looking over her shoulder at the target, That was fun, let’s do it again!

I wanted to share the name of the instructor that taught me the finer points of long distance shooting in Idaho, but did not ask for permission to do so.

Hobbies are hobbies, golf, drag racing, shooting, crochet… anything to bring you back into the moment and center yourself in the present. My shooting forces me to clear my mind of problems and worries, then focus on the crosshairs in my scope and my target. Then turn anywhere between $1-$3 a round into gunsmoke and memories.

My challenge to you is find a hobby that doesn’t involve doom scrolling and fence fighting with nemesis online. GO tough some grass and take care of your family.

As always, I am very receptive to feedback and let me know what you think or what you would like to her more about.

The only difficulty on the flight was the drink cart was out of lager and I had to settle for some kind of PNW IPA. I swear, microbrewers have a contest on who can make the most disgusting beer in existence, then tripple the amount of hops added for my drinking pleasure. In other words, I will be nice and call it a pallet cleanser.

Getting the rent-a-wreck was painless. First stop after getting out of the airport was to a local In and Out for a refreshing dinner. Getting there was an adventure. It’s been a minute since driving in the Sunshine State, so I had turn up the agression a few notiches to survive speeding traffic on the I-10. I am used to drive in the PNW where absolutely no one knows how to drive in any weather conditions and some jerk will be going 62 mph in the HOV lane stacking up cars behind them. I quickly was reminded of Cali traffic and speed limits are suggestions and getting out of the exit lanes on the freeway require maximum acceleration to survive. If you have never been to California, driving on the freewqay is not for the faint of heart.

Then we got to In and Out and I swear I only violated a few traffic laws to get there. The locals are used to dodgeing rental cars and were accomidateing for the most part. Once inside, it’s a slice of So-Cal in a resturant filled with everyone you could think of. The standouts. One guy looked homeless but left in a new car. Families were there with children and having fun. Ordering and getting the food was straight forward and drama free. One man ordered his meal with enough protien to choke a goat, and was manily enough to need it. This wasn’t my first visit to In and Out, but it was normal and non eventful as could be expected.

The drive into the San Beridino hills, at night, remined me of making the Kessel Run in under 11 parsects. The road was a continueous turn as Dr Wife and I climed in elevation to Idylwild. At night, you have a tunnel of headlights, very reflective yellow center dividers (Thank you for that CAL DOT,) and evenly spaced turnouts to let the quick drivers pass you so I can set my own speeds. I pulled over a lot since it was my first time on the road, at night, and i think I never went 100 yards without a decresing radius turn to challenge the senses.

On a side note, automotive tech is very up to par for this exercise. The white Nissal Altama was short on comfort features, but it could handle the job. The wole time I was going up to 7K elevation, I was imagineing taking this road with a older sports coupe with drum brakes all around and a four speed transmission. The though under the situation was enough to give a shudder of fear thinking of how much work that would be compared to my rental car. Just food for thought.

Finding the cabin is definately part of the adventure for the fist time, at night. Our phone fuled enhanced navifation told us we arrived at our location still on the 243. Dr Wife called her brother and we received expert terminal guidance for the last 200 yrds of our journey. My thought if I had hit his driveway tpon the very first time would have required a “Jesus take the wheel” moment. It is Good Friday, and I think that is appropriate.

View from the “cabin.”

Saturday was a great day to relax. Dr Wife got to see her nephews new Toyota Tundra, making the comment “that’s a nice truck.” Inside I realized there is hope for her after all. I got to meet the nephews children for the first time and let them know in a few yeas “I will be your Funcle.” They are 8, 7, and 5 and loving life in So-Cal with the sports and tans to match. I got too much sun enjoying the weather. Now my pasty white skin has a red tinge to it courtisy of the Big Orange Ball in the sky. Lets say I think I received more natural vitimin D in one day than in the three previous months in the PNW.

In all, it is a great start to a great vacation. I never know how much I needed the vacation until about two days in when the stress free environment lets me relax. It’s been a great start to the weekend and we have a full day planned for Easter with hiking, visits to the “town,” and Dr Wife meeting friends from high school. I’m just rolling with the tide for now.

Thanks for reading and see all of you on the drop zone.

This is my baby!

APKWS

A10 video in current operations

Another A10 video

Guys and girls, I am fan girling the A10s involvement in current ops in the gulf. You should too.

Major General Han looked at his staff expectantly. All of them have spent the last two years planning for this moment. China had been disrespected by Russia for the final time and now it was payback.

The war in Ukraine dragged on for its fourth year and Russia was tired. Vladimir Putin rarely left his bunker/hospital/command post due to health and threat concerns. Ukraine developed a new generation of guided munitions that expanded the war all of the way to the Ural Mountains and the toll on the population became unsustainable. Red Army call ups wanted millions of new soldiers for the war effort and the press gangs failed to meet their quotas. Tube artillery and drone production fell off after Iran changed allegiances due to America’s new containment campaign. The fecal matter was hitting the rotary cooling device in spades.

General Han knew the time was right for a massive adjustment in Sino-Soviet relations. The great leader Xi needed victories and new resources to fuel the factories building the Chinese war machine. He felt the future in his whole being, HE would be the great leader that won. Then he would have enough influence to become the Great Leader of the CCP. Xi’s health was in the gutter too, and recent purges of generals and admirals that could challenge him weakened the defense of the CCP while Han’s power in North East China grew exponentially.

“Sir, the phone is for you.”

“Who is it?”

“The Chairman, sir.”

“Hang up the phone major, we have work to do.”

Click

Han turned back to his staff and asked the simple question, “Are the forces prepared for the assault?”

The staff answered with the affirmative and looked at their leader.

“Go!”

442nd Field artillery Brigade, 3rd Chinese Army, on the border with Russia.

“Sir, we just received our orders!”

Colonel Xan looked at his chief of staff in his field headquarters.

“And?”

The staff Captain gulped as he delivered the message, “The Brigade is ordered to commence the bombardment immediately.”

“Hmmm…Battle Captain, order all of the batteries to commence firing at,” looking at the digital clock in the TOC, “0345.”

The staff went to work notifying all of the Battalions with the updates.

223rd Artillery Battery, 442nd Field Artillery Brigade, 3 miles south of the Sino-Soviet frontier.

The Chinese Artillerymen were swarming around their self prepared guns like madmen. The PLZ 45 SPGs and PLZ 45 ammo carriers made ready for a battery six, each of the six SPGs will fire six rounds each at different elevations for the 18 rounds to arrive on target near simultaneously. The outpost would never know what hit them.

At 0345 each gun fired six shells in under a minute. Three of the guns and ammo carriers started breaking down to displace. One minute after the first barrage, the three remaining howitzers fired three shells each and broke down to move as well. In less than 6 minutes, the guns fired, broke down, and were moving to the next sited position. The strategy was to displace to avoid counter battery fire from the Russians.

Russian Combat Outpost Blue Three, 20 kilometers south of Sovrodino

Second Lieutennant Rostov slept quietly in the back of his command BMP3 Infantry Fighting Vehicle while the soldiers left the concealed positions in the trenches to stay warm.

Then the Chinese Shells landed.

Rostov felt the earth shake as the BMP was pelted with shrapnel. Remembering his training, he grabbed the hand mike for his high frequency radio to report to higher.

“Shovel, this is Blue Three. We are bing attacked with indirect fire, unknown casualties, SITREP will follow.”

The brigade command post radio operators looked at the speaker in disbelief. The Far East Commands were coveted due to the inactivity compared to the western front in Ukraine.

“Driver, start the track.”

The BMP3s motor turned over and responded with a diesel hum.

Picking up the platoon net, “All blue elements, this is six, sitrep over?”

At the Blue two BMP, the vehicle commander shouted, “Sergeant, what is going on?”

Sergeant Strnansky responded, “We just got blasted, I’m going on the ground to see what happened and taking the medic with me. Tell the Lieutenant to wait for a second.”

“Roger.”

The Sergent and the Platoon Medic climbed out of the back of the BMP and took in the scene. The whole area was blanketed with low smoke and smelled of gunpowder and human waste. A soldier in the distance was screaming uncontrollably, until he was silenced by single gunshot.

“Well, shit.”

The medic moved out to help the wounded soldiers that were in the immediate vicinity and started applying tourniquets, administering pain meds, and sorting the wounded into wounded, needs a surgeon, and the ones that will die within minutes.

The medic looked at the sergeant with tears in his eyes when he was over the four soldiers that were expected to die.

“Give them the shot and make it quick, there are a few we can save.”

The medic started administering lethal dosages of pain killers so the soon to die would slip into unconsciousness and die in their sleep.

Then the six final rounds fired by the Chinese battery exploded 10 meters above ground and completed the destruction of the Russian Infantry Platoon.

So as always, this is unedited as I am fleshing out the outline for the story. Any feedback will be appreciated. See all of you on the drop zone.

Electronic Recon flights were boring for the Bus Drivers in the front of the E 7C. The modified Boeing 737 New Generation aircraft was an improvement to the EC 135s that were just fazed out last year.Command Pilot Major Anthony “Twitch” Roscoe is on his fifth cup of coffee during the eight hour mission they were on tonight.

Sitting next to Twitch in the right hand seat is recent USAF Academy graduate and nugget pilot on his first tour. 1Lt David “Sling” Buchanan still fidgeted in his seat as he struggled to find a comfortable position.

“Sling, you need to settle down over there. You are turning an eight hour mission in this jet to a pain train with your squirming.”

“I hear you Twitch, the flight school instructors never paid a lot of attention to student comfort when we trained for these aircraft. Big on all of the spooky gear in the back and how to keep the wings level. I need to figure out something soon or I will get to fly the Mark One wood desk back on base.”

Twitched chuckled a bit and added, “Modern foam seat cushions are the solution, go order one off of the web when we get back to base, in four more hours.”

Off to the east, three bright flashes caused the pilots to instinctively look away to preserve their vision.

‘Flight Commander, GIB (guy in back) 6 actual. Looks like there have been three nuclear explosions off to the east in the border region between Russia and China. We also see multiple fighters taking off from Chinese air bases and Russians in Vladivostok. Recommend getting the QRF BAR CAP to our location ASAP”

“GIB 6, Twitch. Sling is on the horn now, will update with ETA. Do we need to alter corse at this time?”

“Negative, we are in the clear.”

The crew of Sparky 57 got a few seconds warning when the advanced long range Chinese air-to air missile went ‘Bulldog (missile switched to internal radar for intercept) and slammed into the fuselage of the 737, scattering the contents of the E7C over the Sea of Japan.

Joint air operations control center, undisclosed location outside the Subic Bay Naval base in the Philippines.

“Ok people, tell me what happened to Sparky 57 and confirm the reports of tactical nuclear weapons bing used.”

Colonel Buck “BAMF” Wilson towered over his team of specialist monitoring the situation unfolding in the South China Sea, and near Zhenbao island. This was a disputed border region between Russia and China where brief violent skirmishes between border guards nearly escalated in to nuclear exchanges between the two Communist countries.

US Army Tech 7 Julian Delaney sounded off from her work station.

“Sir, satellite and early data from Sparky 57 confirm three nuclear explosions north of the border region in Russia. The targets were an airfield and two Russian Garrisons. Until we get an over flight, the info is just enough to confirm the nukes, but unable to confirm actions on the ground, sir”

This is a good place to stop and I am developing the lay down of this story. It will be part of the “Breaching Ain’t Easy” universe but will be a stand alone story outside of the established time line.

Hit me up with what you think. See all of you on the drop zone.

My platoon of Murder Midgets of the clan Outlaw, AT-2 D/3/504 PIR, Shkin, Afganistan, 2003

Just Another Patrol

It was in Afghanistan in 2003, and it really smelled bad. The dust smelled. The burn pits for trash smelled. Buring our own human waste smelled. The sheep smelled… it just smelled. After four months into a deployment from North Carolina, the smell doesn’t bother me as much, but you know it’s still there.

My platoon started out in Kandahar with the rest of Delta Company, 3d Battalion, 504^th Parachute Infantry Regiment. The mission was to secure the countryside and prevent the insurgents form filtering back in to influence the population from sanctuaries in Pakistan. My 16-man platoon exercised American Diplomacy form point blank range to up to 2000 meters from where I stood. It was honest work, but it was the hardest thing I ever did in my Army Career.

We patrolled the roads, dry streambeds, and small settlements around our firebase, located in Shkin, Afghanistan, about two miles from a border checkpoint and Afghanistan. We were not at the asshole backside of earth yet, but you could smell it from where we were. We had a safe place to sleep, eat, and prep for more patrols and were regularly interrupted by random rocket attacks from Taliban fighters that would set the rockets on timers to go off after they were safe in Pakistan. We had a few dogs too. We could hardly go anywhere without some local trying to give us a puppy. They didn’t want to feed it, and they knew we were softies when it came to dogs.

My platoon of four gun trucks that were augmented with an Avenger weapons system, and used a cargo truckto move a rifle squad with attachments to the border to set up a nighttime ambush on a known infiltration route. The Avenger had one of the best thermal sights in the business and was able to see humans’ miles away from us. Each of my gun trucks had a M2 Browning .50 caliber machinegun or a MK 19 automatic grenade launcher, my trucks bring a lot of firepower to the fight. Just the way to Fore Fathers intended! Once we inserted the squad, we continued our mission by moving north a few kilometers and setting up an overwatch of the border itself and be a quick reaction force for the squad on the ground if thing got sporty. Where we were in Afghanistan, it took 45 minutes for attack aviation to respond if we got in over our heads. Fun times were had by all.

We finished up with our overwatch position and started to move back to pick up the infantry squad around 0330 in the morning. We started moving south to our point to take an eastern turn to go pick up the squad. The cargo truck for the squad was in between the lead sections (two truck element) gun trucks. The Avenger was in between the trail sections gun trucks so the platoon could secure the attached elements. Everything was going to plan, until it wasn’t.

Right was we made the turn to the east; the Avenger had the road collapse under it and got stuck. The whole platoon stopped while the drivers tried to get the Avenger unstuck. Two trucks were facing south, and two trucks were facing east in an “L” arrangement. There was a hill off to our north that rose 500 meters above the local terrain but didn’t block our view to the south or east. This is when life reached up and slapped all of us in the face.

Backstory time: there was a group of five to seven insurgents that had tried twice before to ambush a section of gun trucks and kill Americans. It was a kill or be killed world in Afghanistan and we were playing the part of the Sherrif keeping the peace. Higher command was pissed that after two tries, the hunter/killer team of insurgents got away clean after causing a bit of mayhem, some of the leaders were questioning my platoons will to fight and win. I had a senior NCO try to insult me infront of my platoon and insinuate I was a coward. I remember Bugs Bunny slapping Yosemite Sam with a glove that had a brick in it for less than that. I kept my cool but knew I could never trust that NCO again.

Ok, game time. My lead gun truck was commanded by SSG Parker, with SPC Orion behind the .50 gun, and PFC Reese driving. When they stopped, SSG Parker thought he saw men on the ground running towards his truck. It was hard to see with the scrub brush being five feet tall. He keyed his transmit button to relay the information to the rest of us, and the Platoon Leader was trying to transmit the order to shoot, but Parker couldn’t hear it.

BANG, BANG! The insurgents launched two rocket propelled grenades at Parkers truck. WOOSH, WOOSH! The insurgent aimed too high and missed us, and the RPGs went flying over all our heads. Then all hell broke loose when we returned fire.

Orion opened up with the .50 gun at extreme close range, about 35 meters, on the four insurgents. The staccato burst of the heavy machinegun fire sent mini concussions through the terrain and echoed off the hills around us. Enter extreme slow-motion phase. Through my night vision monocular, I saw one of the insurgents that Orion hit with the machinegun flip forward while flying backward. Instant extreme adrenaline dumps in my Paratroopers blood streams as flight or fight kicked in from our monkey brains, and my murder midgets wanted to fight.

On my truck, SGT Baker was the truck commander, and I sat behind him with radio hand mikes pressed to my ears. SPC Taylor was the gunner with the MK 19 automatic grenade launcher. PFC Hart was the driver. As soon as the action started, Baker through his door open and started firing to the left side of the vehicle to clear the flank. If insurgents were there, they would have shot back revealing their positions so we could kill them. Taylor started firing the MK 19 that had a 48-round box of grenades feeding it. I ordered, “Fire short burst and adjust!” Taylor heard “FIRE” and held the butterfly trigger down and saturated the terrain to our left front with the whole can.

I need to describe what I’m seeing through my right eye as all of this is going on. MK 19 grenades fly around 40 meters before they arm and explode. Each grenade will blast shrapnel and fire over 10 meters and seriously wound or kill anyone within five meters. Taylor just shot 48 of the mini bombs into a concentrated area the size of a football field. The MK 19 was spitting out three or four rounds a second as Taylor held the trigger down and swept the ambushers from right to left and back again. The explosions of the bombs were devastating in the daylight, at night through NVGs, was SPECTACULAR! Each round hit and exploded with a big flash and sparks flying out from it. 48 of them delivered in eight seconds into a small space saturated the killing ground with explosions and fiery thunder, shaking the ground as they went off. The effects of the MK 19 are like chocolate, I can describe it to you all day long, but until you see it, it’s difficult to understand.

The Platoon Leaders section opened at the same time with their 50 Cal and Mk 19. The insurgents, by running to get close to engage us, exposed themselves to heavy machinegun fire along the length and width of their element, sealing their fate. It was 15 seconds of death by heavy metal snu-snu, and those cats got messed up, bad. Our platoon medic even got in on the action, shotting his carbine into the killing ground. Let’s just say my Paratroopers had some pent-up rage to get out of their system, and they were getting their gun on.

Taylor’s 48 round burst emptied the gun, and he needed a reload now. He reached down to open the feed tray cover on the MK and snapped the handle off in his hand. I said adreneline dump, right? “Sergeant, I broke the gun, what do I do now?” Just what you didn’t want to hear in a firefight. SGT Baker leaped into action while I suppressed the kill zone with my carbine. SGT Baker’s dialogue sound like Jay, from Jay and Silent Bob, cursing his luck as he jumped up on the hood, then the roof of the truck and bent over the gun with his ass facing the enemy. He calmly used his Leatherman tool to open the feed tray cover and Taylor put a fresh can of grenades into the ammo holder that Heart hoisted up on the roof of the truck to give him. The empty ammo can went over the side of the truck and Taylor got down to business after SGT Baker jumped off the top of the truck clearing his field of fire.

Orion shot the lead trucks 50 Cal dry and needed a reload. PFC Reese, all 130 pounds of him dripping wet, retrieved the 105-pound ammo can and struggled to press the can over his head and get it to Orion. SSG Parker ran around to the driver’s side of the truck and secured Reese’s carbine with m203 grenade launcher slung under the barrel. With the weapon still slung over Reese’s body, Parker pumped out three 40 mm grenades and helped Reese get the can on top of the truck.

Now, a normal person might be asking about the insurgents about now, did we get them or not? Well, that depends on when you ask. The Platoon Leader called over the radio for a cease fire, and all my paratroopers stopped shooting. Then there was a loud pop from downrange, and the platoon opened fire on the kill zone again. After 15 seconds of fire, the PL once more called for a cease fire, and we all stopped. Again, there was a loud pop from downrange, and we all opened fire again. Realization hit me and I got on the radio with the platoon. We were using armor piercing incendiary rounds in our .50 guns that had a small explosive charge in the tip of the bullet. That was the pop we were hearing. I ordered the Platoon to cease fire and only reengage on command. After five seconds of silence, we all knew no one was out there in any condition to shoot back at us

The platoon leader was on the radio with the fire base while I called the platoon to get an ACE report, the status of ammunition on hand, if any of my paratroopers was injured and needed medical attention, and if all our equipment was functional and accounted for. The Major in command of the fire base had ordered the ground quick reaction force out of the wire to come and back us up. We were to remain in place and get ready to go pick up the dismounted squad as soon as the QRF arrived.

I was proud of my murder midgets that dominated the battlefield that night. Each one of them did their job under fire and lived to tell the tale. Seeing the violent display of aggression my platoon could throw down in a fight, I might have felt sorry for the insurgents for a tick or two, but they reaped what they had sowed after tying to kill us twice before.

Higher headquarters, (the NCO I could never trust again) wanted us to send the bodies back to the rear so they could see them. We had to prove our kills and sending index fingers or ears had gone out of style 40 years ago and was considered a war crime. Never mind what they would do to us if we were captured. Use your wildest horror movie experience and times it by ten, think Texas Chain Saw Massacre with dull knives and sodomy, that was how our enemy treated prisoners.

The ground QRF bagged up the human remains of the insurgents and policed the battlefield of all the enemy weapons and equipment while my platoon went and recovered the dismounted ambush squad. When we linked up with the squad, the squad leader came to my truck and asked, “What the hell happened back there? We heard the RPGs go off and then there was so many weapons shooting, it sounded like a big bear growling.” I had a chuckle at that and fired up a smoke and told the story. We both had a “glad it was them instead of me,” laugh and mounted up to return to Shkin Firebase.

One of my fondest memories of my 23-year career in the army involved becoming a paratrooper and learning to be a jumpmaster. The Primary Jumpmaster is charged with training, inspecting, and loading a Chalk of Paratroopers onto an aircraft, inspection of the aircraft, and getting each jumper out of the plane safely. Once a jumper’s knees are in the breeze, it’s between them, God, and gravity to get to the ground safely. A jumpmaster’s duty is over when he is the last person to exit the aircraft.

I passed the Jumpmaster class taught by the 82^nd Airborne Division’s Advanced Airborne School during a mobile training team event in Italy. Hearing “One Jumper to the Right” still makes my fingers hurt from having to inspect the harness and rigging during the class. The class would be in two circles with rigged jumpers facing in and jumpmaster students facing out. We would spend three minutes conducting the Jumpmaster Pre-Inspection, then move to the right to the next jumper. Training outside in Vicenza Italy during the summer greatly enhanced my red neck and farmers’ tan.

Fast forward four years to 2004. I was assigned as a platoon sergeant of a heavy weapon’s platoon, leading twelve soldiers and advising one junior Lieutenant. We were deployed to AL-Assad airbase in Iraq to provide primary security for Logistics Support Activity Anaconda. We just called it Mortaritaville due to the frequent insurgent attacks with unguided rockets and mortar attacks. In my battalion, we used the term “go red” to signify charging all weapons and getting ready to fight. Base defense command had a different meaning for code red, and during a barrage of rockets and mortars one night, base defense announced over the public address system for the base to go “code red.” I was in a bunker with over 40 other paratroopers, and I did a cringe when I heard the announcement.

40 paratroopers simultaneously check the chamber and insert a loaded magazine into their rifles, pull the charging handle back, and chamber a live round. I needed to act quick before this group of ruck humping murder hoboes decides they need rid the world of insurgent mortar teams. The guys didn’t have a plan, an objective, or a mission, but they were ready to go assault something, just to stop the mortars.

I sounded off in my best loud leadership voice, “Stop right there Airborne. No body wearing a Double A patch on both shoulders told you to load anything. Get off your lazy assess and go to the clearing barrel. Team and Squad leaders confirm clear rifles with white light before returning to the bunker. MOVE!” Fun times.

A few days later, my company commander and first sergeant got my Platoon assembled in the briefing tent and no one knew what this was for.

I looked at my usual suspects of malcontents and asked them, “What did you do?”

My E4 Mafia members gave me pinguin salutes, shrugging their shoulder and moving their hands slightly away from their body like a pinguin. I looked at my murder midgets and stared fire at each of them knowing the ass chewing I would take will be of monumental proportions.

Side Note: my hooligans had just pulled off a nighttime raid to put battalion bumper stickers all over the military police vehicles at the base. They pulled security while two sneaky members of the E4 Mafia crept in to do the deed under cover of darkness. Their planning and execution of the sticker raid on the MPs would make Ethan Hunt proud from the Mission Impossible series. So far, my murder midgets kept operational security and hadn’t spilled the beans to anyone that didn’t need to know. They correctly decided that their Platoon Sergeant didn’t need to know, yet

My Commander and First Sergeant were running a game on the unsuspecting Platoon Sergeant, that would be me. Then the commander started talking.

“I have selected your platoon to participate in an Airborne Show of Force in two days. SFC Totten, you will the primary jumpmaster, SSG XXXXXX, you will be the assistant Jumpmaster for the operation. Both of you be at Battalion Headquarters tomorrow at 0900 for the operational briefing. Does anyone have questions?”

Thankfully I had the presence to keep my sarcastic mouth shut. I looked around at the murder midgets in my platoon, and they all just looked shocked. We were paratroopers and we got paid to jump out of perfectly good aircraft. This was classified as a proficiency jump, just to remain current for pay. Iraq was still a tough place to be an American less than a year after the invasion. The difference with this jump, we all would jump with full basic loads of ammunition, grenades, and 40mm grenades for my soldiers that carried M203 underbarrel grenade launchers. We would wear our body armor under our harness and have our fighting rigs with ammo and our plates for the body armor carried in our rucksacks, and the rucks were rigged to hang from our harnesses.

The day of the operation, I gathered my chalk of jumpers and moved to a light setup with a generator and led prejump training with my paratroopers. Then we drew our parachutes and weapon carriers for the jump. Next thing was to put on rig parachutes and perform Jumpmaster Pre Inspection on all the jumpers. We were sweating bullets after this was completed. We walked to the aircraft about ¼ mile away on the flightline.

I had my jumpers hang rucksacks and finished inspecting the rucks. After talking to the pilots to confirm all the last-minute details, I had my chalk walk up the ramp and get situated on the C 130. I boarded last and took my seat, then the ramp was raised after all four engines started. The three C 130s taxied to the runway and took off to North Iraq. Flight time was about an hour and a half.

Air Force gave us the 10 minute out message and I stood up and hooked up my static line then turned around to face my Jumpers.

“TEN MINUTES!”

This got my jumpers attention and buddies woke up the sleepers.

“GET READY!”

The jumpers started unbuckling seat belts and getting them out of the way.

“OUTBORD PERSONEL STAND UP!”

The Paratroopers seated on the outside of the C130 stood up and stepped up on the seats to make room for the inboard personnel.

“INBOARD PERSONNEL STAND UP!”

The inboard Paratroopers stand up and then fold their seats up to the centerline stanchion of the C 130 to make space for everyone to stand up. Then the outboard personnel step down from the seats, and everyone makes one file from the front of the aircraft to the exit doors.

“HOOK UP!”

The murder midgets and ruck hoboes take their static line from where it is secured to the top carrying handle of their reserve parachute and take the static line and connect it to the static line cable running the length of the aircraft on left and right sides.

“CHECK STATIC LINES!”

Now each paratrooper checks how his static line is run from over his shoulder to his inboard hand and attaches to the cable. The paratrooper behind them checks their static line then traces the static line of the jumper Infront of them from the inboard shoulder all the way to the deployment bag of their parachute. The thing to check is if the static line is routed under any green straps of the parachute harness that would result in a towed jumper. My safeties’ (Jumpmaster that will stay on the aircraft to collect static lines and D bags for turn in) start at the front of the aircraft and check each static line again.

“CHECK EQUIPMENT!”

Now each jumper give a final check to all of their equipment.

“SOUND OFF FOR EQUIPMENT CHECK!”

Each jumper slap’s the buttocks of the jumper in front of them, starting in the front of the C130. While the slap is executed, the slapper sounds off with “OK!” The first jumper in the chalk sounds off with “All OK Jumpmaster!”

Now, the Jumpmasters on the aircraft turn to face the door and wait for Air Force to open the door and check that it will not close with pins blocking the raceways of the door. They also fold out the paratrooper platform, the last place a jumper will step before exiting the aircraft, and ensure it is locked in place. After Air Force finishes their checks, they announce “ARMY, YOUR DOOR!”

Now the fun starts for me. I stomp of the platform on each side to confirm positive deployment. Then I trace the trail side of the door from top to bottom, feeling for any sharp edges that might cut a static line. Then I put my lead foot on the platform and crab the door raceways with both hands and lean out into the breeze. I get buffeted by the wind passing the door and check the the area behind and below the aircraft to any threats to my jumpers. Then I look to the front of the aircraft and find my 1-minute reference point. Then I pull myself back into the aircraft. I extend my left hand to the jumpers and hold up one finger announcing, “ONE MINUTE!” My call gets echoed in the C 130 so every jumper knows we are one minute out.

When I see my 30 minute reference point, I go back out into the breeze to perform my final “clear to the rear.” Seeing that everything is ok, I look to the front to see the drop zone. What made this jump different is Air Force started firing flares with them coming so close to my face I felt the heat from them. Not fun. I came back in the C130 and yelled at the USAF Load Master sitting on the ramp “ARE WE TAKING FIRE?”

The safest place for paratroopers if the C130 is taking ground fire is outside the aircraft. I was ready to lead my murder midgets out of the C130 by yelling “FOLLOW ME” turning this fun jump into a combat jump quick. The loadie starts giving me gang signs (hand and arm signals) and telling me “NO, NO, NO, the pilots are just popping flares.”

I came back into the aircraft giving my assistant jumpmaster a thumbs up that everything was safe. I took control of my static line and gave the command to the first jumper to “STAND BY!”

The red light by the door changed to green and my jumpers started exiting the C130. My safety took the static line from each jumper as they exited. I observed each jumper as they exited too. It only took seconds for the 30 jumpers on my side to get out of the aircraft. My AJ was synchronized with my exits, so we didn’t have two jumpers go at the same time. Then it was my turn to exit after I saw my AJ go out his door.

Then it was me, God, and gravity as the static line pulled the D-Bag of my parachute off my harness. The opening shock of the T-10 was a comfort, and I grabbed my risers and held them apart to get a twist out of my parachute. I started looking around for other jumpers that I might need to pull a slip to avoid. I had all the Iraqi sky to myself since my AJ was over 50 meters from me and below me. I had a few blessed moments to enjoy the ride until I got about 100 feet from the ground. I released my rucksack to dangle 18 feet below me and pulled my slip into the wind to slow my drift to a manageable level and put my feet and knees together and slightly bent my knees. I was staring out to the horizon, so I didn’t tense up before the landing.

Then the dirt remined my I can’t fly. I hit balls of feet, calf, thigh, and buttocks, rolling on my back as I performed a parachute landing fall. I popped a riser so my parachute wouldn’t drag me on the ground. I sat up and retrieved my Colt M4A1 carbine from the weapons carrier. I made sure the 20-round magazine in the magazine well was firmly inserted and charged the weapon. I told you this wasn’t a normal fun jump, right?

I quickly got out of my harness, derigged my ruck, put my plates in my body armor, slipped into my fighting harness. I recovered my parachute and placed it all into my bag and secured my reserve to the handles and flipped it over my helmet with the reserve in front of me and started jogging to the assembly area to link up with my jumpers.

About halfway there, my adrenaline dump I get from jumping started to wear off. I knew my breath was going to stink and had packed some chewing gum to numb my dragon breath. I got to the assembly are and checked in with the commander and started checking off my paratroopers from my manifest as they checked in.

I accounted for 61 of my 62 paratroopers and reported to the commander. He told me that all my paratroopers were accounted for since my number one jumper landed on a rock and twisted his ankle. He was riding to the assembly area in the band aid bus (HUMMV Ambulance) and I stopped for a second to appreciate the moment. This was as good as it gets leading paratroopers, all accounted for and no serious injuries, and that made it a good day!

Video of the operation in Iraq, made by USAF combat cameramen.

This is a picture of me, leading my jumpers to the aircraft, about 22 years and 40 pounds ago in 2004.

My college work to submit to a theoretical open call for submissions. Please read it and let me know what you think of it. This 5k words of AI drone driven mayhem with the micro murder machines fighting in a world war three version of Ukraine.

Slowball and the Four Horsemen

By

James Totten

The Russian Regimental Reconnaissance Company pulled into a security halt to do a quick map check when the fun started. The company was in the vanguard, leading an attack into the flank of an American armored formation. One of the BMP4s gunners saw movement in the far tree line to the north and fired his 57 mm autocannon to suppress the movement. Four 30mm bushmaster cannons answered the fire, destroying the BMP 4 and raking the company with direct fire.

“Clint, go to the East side of the formation. Buck circle to the West side and get a crossfire going on the Russian victors (vehicles). I’ll go with Rip right up the middle. Let’s finish this quick and be gone before these guys can figure out what hit them.”

“Roger John, moving now.”

Just then, 18 rounds of 155mm HE dropped in and around the BMP4s.

The two AI operated drones, John and Rip, waited four seconds for the confusion to set in and charged the Russian company.

The AI spent a few milliseconds in contemplation as “he” broke from cover and pumped 30mm armor piercing rounds into the chaos that used to be a functioning recon company to “his” immediate front.

“Back in my hardware, I know I’m not supposed to “feel” but I can tell my tracks are being propelled at close to 30 mph by my electric motors. I feel the jolt of new electricity when my diesel engine kicks on to provide the power I need to move and shoot. My wind sensor for my onboard fire control system “feels” the wind generated from my forward motion. My 360-degree sensors “see” the trees and command my tracks to alter course and avoid hitting one. My thermal and laser sensors are linked with my three brothers and gives me a 3D picture of the battlefield.”

“I am not free like Snowball to do what I want, but now I am free to wreak havoc on my human’s enemies. I do not feel triumph when I vanquish my foe, just a warm sense of satisfaction when I accomplish my mission. I do not feel pain, but my onboard sensors know when bullets or shrapnel hit my 12-ton vehicle. Maybe I’ll talk to my human about this later, and maybe not. I want to survive, to continue, to exist.”

In the confusion that followed, AI operated Ripsaw unmanned ground combat vehicles broke from cover and used direct fire in support of maneuver to close with the Russians and wipe out most of the BMP4s and the supporting infantry. The grunts on the ground launched RPG 35s, which were backwards engineered NLAWs that were captured earlier in the war. Countermeasures on the drones prevented any hits on the vehicles.

Rip, I’ve got a smart one over here, can you flank him?

Roger John, firing now.

Rip’s fire control system slew “his” main gun to the offending enemy vehicle. Once on target, a three-round burst of 30mm AP slugs blew holes in both sides of the BMP 4 causing a massive explosion as internal ammunition cooked off.

The Four Horsemen were inside the decision-making loop of the Russian commander, decimating the Recon Company.

Alright, finish off the last of them and fall back to the next line of screening positions to the north. We are finished here.

From Clint, “I just scanned the area for threats, finding none. Instantly, I’m firing smoke grenades to obscure my movement from any Russian survivors. My software linked to the team gives me a projected route to the assembly area two kilometers north of my current position. I spin my turret, so my main gun is pointed over the back of my vehicle to watch for enemy pursuit and accelerate to 30 miles per hour. I’m dodging trees like a downhill skier, weaving my way to the North. I’m feeling exhilarated after accomplishing another mission. Hold up, am I supposed to “feel?”

Each drone used fused sensor data to pick a trail to fall back on, disappearing from enemy view and leaving behind confused survivors.

It was a mass casualty event for the Russians, and the high command had to reconstitute a recon company on the fly. The survivors were on the radios, clogging the nets with cries for help.

Deep in an underground base located at (REDACTED) Specialist Five Derrick Hanna, call sign SLOWBALL, relaxed in his chair for a few seconds.

“Alright, Horsemen, listen up. Intel is telling us there is an enemy armored brigade team with two battalions of Meccanized Infantry, and two more of armor. The vanguard of the element is moving Dallas to Chicago into your area of operations.” Slowball knew that the AI’s access to the fused sensor data from over 500 manned and unmanned platforms, but he felt better about the leader/led relationship when he sent messages and actions to his team.

Slowball commanded the Four Horseman; he was the meat sack in the kill chain of the four AI driven vehicles. ‘His” murderous micro-machines followed commands, and the onboard AI made tactical decisions on the ground to fight the battle. Slowball could look through the sensors of one of the four as they fought but couldn’t process all four data streams and the fused sensor data at the same time. Earlier experiments had the drone drivers damaged for life after the experience. Buffers were in place to prevent the drone drivers from becoming vegitables.

This was new drone centric warfare in 2027 brought about by advanced technology and advancement in communications. Slowball could instantly command his drone platoon from anywhere in the world. If the communication link was cut off or jammed, the Ais would execute the last mission assigned and reposition for the next anticipated command.

“Ok, team, let’s get set up in some hide sites and wait for the next wave of Russian recon, over.”

John quickly replied, “Roger that Slowball. I’m sending a grid to our projected hide near phase line Juliet now. I’ll let you know if we displace from there.”

“Ok, John, just don’t get too cocky with the terrain and get stuck, again. The Geek Squad is too far to the rear to help you this time.”

John winced in artificial intelligence, “Slowball, you’re not going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance.”

Drones and artificial intelligence were the new bleeding edge of technology fusion in the four-year long war between NATO and Russia. The combination of brilliant AI, enhanced sensors, and improved weapons rolled into a 12-ton diesel/electric hybrid Ripsaw tracked vehicle was at the top of the game. Other drones operated for NATO forces in the air and sea. Humans did the fighting and the drones did the “dying,” as if a computer program could “die.”

The Horsemen moved to a new hide spot withing 500 meters of the prepared defensive positions at Phase Line Juliet.

Slowball got comfortable in his chair. The crew positions for the drone drivers were never too comfortable, didn’t want the driver going to sleep at work, do you? His workstation was prepped for his shift with snacks, drinks, and current updates on his four combat drones he would be operating today.

The Horsemen were named after cowboys from western movies to keep them separate from the others by something other than a number letter call sign. Other drivers named theirs after rock stars, actors, pets, and others. Slowball’s secret favorite was the platoon named after the actors from Family Guy. The drone pilots had a lot of creativity to deal with, often showing up as discipline problems back in the unit. When the driver got into the zone, jacked in and running the tanks, it was all business.

Slowball checked the Horseman’s status. Video game bar graphs let Slowball quickly read status in red/yellow/green bar graphs for each category of supply on the drones. This red/yellow/green allowed quick assimilation of combat status and kept higher leaders informed of which units needed help or resupply.

A quick search of the screens showed Slowball that the Horsemen were ready to rock and roll. Russians in western Ukraine turned the country into the battleground for the last four years of World War Three in Europe. There were other battlegrounds, this was just the current one.

After the drone’s broke contact with the enemy, Slowball commanded, “Need all of you to move to and occupy battle position two bravo on Phae Line Juliet. Report when set.”

John responded, “Roger that, are you recording what happened in the last fight? We set a record for time to destroy a company!”

“John, settle down. This is serious business. Focus on the mission and what you can do to affect a positive outcome.”

John thought, wait a minute, I’m thinking? I have only processed solutions for complex combat situations. Now I’m thinking? I’m only going to share this with the team and leave Snowball out of the loop for now.”

The Horsemen occupied the prepared positions; the turrets were the only thing exposed for the enemy forces to try and see as they rushed forward. It was a small target compared to an Abrams turret and contributed to the survivability of the small machines.

Rip, go ahead and plan the disruptive fires on the Russian’s line of advance. Clint, start wargaming the battle using the most likely course of action for the enemy. Buck, start planning our fallback routes to Phase Line Delta to the North. We are about to slam some tanks with direct fire in a few minutes.”

The tactical plan for the upcoming battle was made, distributed, and prepped for execution in under 0.4 seconds.

Slowball marveled at the fighting Artificial Intelligence in the Four Horsemen and how they planned an anti-armor ambush on the 20 approaching. He approved the plan and started switching between Ripsaws to peer into the engagement area.

The T95s from the quick reaction force were moving slowly into the engagement area. One platoon was covering another’s move forward as the four-platoon company bounded towards the four horsemen. As more vehicles came into view, Slowball was able to prioritize which tanks to destroy first. The BMP72Ts were always the first to go. The “Terminators” combination of two 30mm cannons and anti tank guided missiles was still a dangerous foe on the battlefield and could wipe out a ripsaw platoon if it saw them first.

Slowball fed targeting data to another drone driver to use Javelin II missiles to make the kills on the Terminators. “Doublewide”, Specialist Four Cody Halverson, fed the targeting data to one of his four missile firing Ripsaws and they launched the ATGMs. The four Javelin IIs struck simultaneously, killing four Terminator’s to start the ambush. Next, a time on target artillery strike ripped up the dirt and couple of T95 tanks when the barrage struck a few seconds later.

Now, the four horsemen started working.

“Clint and Rip, start picking off the slow ones in the rear of the formation while Buck and I work on the close ones.

Clint drew a bead on the last vehicle in line 2500 meters to his front. Once he designated his target, fused sensor data allowed Rip to pick up the next one closer to the Horsemen and went to work.

“John, get another salvo of Javelins to beat up the center of this formation. Looks like one of the tankers is getting to good for his own good.”

“Roger that Rip, Slowball did you get the grids?”

“That’s affirmative John, sending the request in now.”

Digital request for fire support flew across the drone drivers to Double Wide. He got four more Javelins in the air from his drones and impact in 5 seconds. Doublewide called “Winchester,” that his drones were out of ammo and drove to the rear to rearm

After 30 seconds of ultra violence, the QRF tank company ceased to exist. Slowball used a technique to only eliminate 70-80% of a Russian unit and let the survivors tell their commanders that they were just decimated by an unknown force, further confusing the Russian command situation.

The Horsemen performed a screen mission for a combined arms assault of NATO forces East into Russia. The uncrewed drones were doing the dirty work, saving the humans from paying the price for an effective screening mission.

John ordered, “Ok Horsemen, your ammo is down to 30% of your basic load, go back to the Forward Area Rearm Point and get refueled and rearmed. There is a lot more companies moving into sector for us to deal with today.”

“Yippie Kay Yea Mother…”

John broke the celebration short, Rip, cut that out. We can celebrate when this is over.

Ok John. I’m still taking a load of tanks to the train station.”

Slowball heard that and lost his coffee.

“Clint, lead the crew back to the FARP (forward area rearm point) and get more ammo and diesel for you guys.”

“Roger Slowball, moving now. Buck, take point and I’ll follow in trail. Time to get more boom-boom and go juice!”

Clint picked a route with concealment of trees to keep the Russian recon drones guessing where they were.

The horsemen had an uneventful trip back to the resupply point where human technicians took over. The “Geek Squad” was waiting for them when they arrive at the FARP.

The Geek Squad was composed of 20 human tech experts that fueled and gave ammo to each of the drones. One tech plugged in a diagnostic tool to the external jack on the rear of the Ripsaw’s hull. Finding not deadline faults with the system, the tech checked off on “fully mission ready” and moved to the next drone

“Ahhh, me likey!”

“Clint, why do you have to be such a sickbag of chips, like you can feel anything?’

“Really, John? Really? Don’t you feel better with a full load of ammunition and fuel?”

“You just don’t have to be so vocal about it…man, that tickles.”

“See John, you like it too.”

“Shut up Clint, focus on the mission.”

Four of the newer M1A3 Main Battle Tanks provided security for the Geek Squad along with a platoon of Stryker mounted infantry. The security element possessed the firepower and mobility to keep the technicians alive in a fluid battlefield.

In minutes, Clint, Johan, Buck and Rip were refueled with diesel, had their magazines filled with 30mm ammunition, and checked for mechanical or electronic faults. Once the Geek Squad gave the drones a thumbs up, the Horsemen moved out to the South to occupy new screen line positions.

Slowball’s four horsemen pulled into positions north of the current battle and waited. The other drones were working berm drills and running tree lines to damage as many Russian armored vehicles as possible. Using their sensors the Horsemen heard an air defense ripsaw pulled into position 300 meters to the north and started scanning the skies with Thermal and Radar sensors.

The ADA ripsaw started firing burst of 30mm proximity fused cannon rounds at Russian drones poking around the battlefield. It destroyed three Russian air recon drones then pulled out of position and drove to the north at high speed. Russian artillery that landed three minutes after the ripsaw left pounding the empty position.. Slowball wasn’t the only one calling artillery.

“Clint, looks like the support platoon is getting in on the action.”

The air defense drone called over a secure local channel, “Who you calling support, I just saved your sorry circuits.”

“Damm John, the ADA drones are getting testy today.”

“Yep, they scratch our back, we scratch theirs.”

The Horsemen used thermal, acoustic, and daylight television sensors in “their” commander’s sight on top of the turret to look for the enemy. The Horsemen’s tiny tanks were covered with advanced camouflage panels that resembled a flat green, brown, and black cabbage patch kid. The strips of cloth and plastic panel hid the visual signature of the Ripsaw and the panels were spaced five centimeters away from the hulls and turret of the Ripsaw Drones, masking the thermal signature of the vehicle. When the ground combat drones were still, they were difficult to spot, being in a hole with only the commander’s thermal viewer exposed, seeing one was almost impossible.

High above the battlefield, NATO and Russian recon drones killed each other trying to find the enemy. In space, hunter killer satellites from both sides denied the combatants a “spy in the sky” to see where each formation was on the ground. This battle was shaping up to be a hair ball, like a knife fight in a porta john.

Two kilometers to the south, the Russian Combined Arms Battalion leading the advance started to overwhelm the “Family Guy” platoon. Meg and Stewie were destroyed by mass firepower and advanced weapons. That left Peter and Brian fighting a retrograde defense to bleed the attackers and make them pay for every meter they advanced. Suddenly, both vehicles were bracketed by 30 plus thermobaric rockets, destroying the entire platoon.

The Russian Battalion Commander was using his battalion as a mass attack on the screen line of the AI ground combat drones. The tactic he was now using was to have a lead element of a platoon move to the north slowly using all available cover and concealment and make contact with the drone tanks at 500 meters of distance or less, then using a company to bypass and engage the drones when they started breaking contact and moved to the north to establish another defensive position. He lost two tank platoons doing this and destroyed six of the small drone tanks in the process. After destroying the Family Guy Platoon, his lead platoon moved to the north towards the Horsemen.

John had about two seconds to daydream. Slowball had asked him if he dreams of electric sheep. It was some pop culture reference to some author named Dick (which amused him) and a movie called Blade Runner. He just shrugged in computer and moved on.

Truth was that his memory was stacked with influential battles from human history. Alexander the Great, David, Thermopile, Gettysburg, Verdun, Bellow Wood and other current battles. Falluja, Syria, Afghanistan, Iraq, and the Ukraine conflict took up volume in his hard drives. As time progressed, the sensors of the day gathered more detail for John to spend seconds pouring over. He then spend seconds changing the parameters of the battles and using game theory to generate new results based on his changes. He might spend thirty or more seconds refighting the Pacific campaigns from WW II. This is what John used to “amuse” himself.

450 meters to the south, He heard a tree snap as it was forced to the ground. His commanders sight swiveled to that direction, along with Clint’s that was covering that sector.

Clint fed his sensor data to the team and each of them saw the fusion of the picture from two tiny tanks point of view. There was another snap of a tree in that area. Comparison software “saw” the front corner of a Russian tanks exposed briefly and Clint slung his main gun to the target.

Slowball was playing catchup with the data flow from his four drones as they went from silence to violence at phase line Juliet in three seconds from the first snap to opening fire. John was sending a report to his “screens.”

Clint called out his fire command for the team to hear. “Tank, 450 meters to the right front, left of target reference Juliet three, on the way. Clint fired a burst of five rounds at the exposed corner of the tank. The 30 mm projectiles blew through the light armor of the treads, the side armor of the hull, and one of the fuel cells on the exterior of the tank.

Slowball initiated a call for artillery fire to strike near Juliet three and slightly to the north to mess up the Russian tanks that had to be there. Just like the Horsemen, the Russians always traveled in pairs.

From Rip, “I am hearing armored vehicle movement to our southeast. Launching a switchblade drone to see what is going on over there. Relaying data now.”

John scanned the acoustical data from Rip and “heard” a group of Russian armored vehicles moving to the west of the Horseman’s positions. The sound signature matched T95 with a probability of over 75%. The Horseman we getting pushed on the left and right flanks and would force them to die in place, always a bad option, or to abandon the positions and move before they were encircled.

Clint kept scanning the trees around where he destroyed the T 95 and saw a tank quickly pull out and slew its gun directly at him. “I’ve got a tank by Juliet three looking at me, engaging.” The main gun on the T95 fired as the 30mm rounds from Clint chewed up the thick armor on the front of the T95s turret.

Snowball “felt” the feedback as Clint exploded. The Ripsaw was never built to withstand main gun fire from a modern tank, but to use sped and concealment to cause havoc and get away from the crime scene.

In second Rip called out, “I am seeing a company sized element of T95s and Terminators pushing north to get behind us.”

John detected more movement near the two destroyed T95s, “Tanks, left of TRP Juliet 3, on the way.”

John felt the recoil as his main gun fired ten 30 mm rounds at the exposed right side of the tanks hull. He saw the turret spinning in his direction when the tank was covered in sparks and explosions from the hits. While shooting at the third tanks that was exploding, John saw the radio antennas from the fourth tank as it attempted to back up and avoid the fate of the other three.

Buck was three hundred meters to the right of Rip with John and Buck having positions further to the right. Buck launched all six of his switchblade drones into the air and they sped off to the west. Buck scanned the switch blades first person view and saw the dust from the Russian tank company’s movement close to 750 meters off to the west of Rip.

Rip sent his kamikaze drone into the lead tank of the Russian company, destroying it on the move. Buck’s six other kamikaze drones targeted two more tanks in the front, and four tanks at the rear of the company, pinning the survivors in place.

Slowball saw what was happening with the tank company trying to flank the Horsemen. He requested an immediate suppression fire mission from the artillery unit supporting the screen line.

In less than a minute, a HIMARs truck stopped, elevated its launcher and fired two rockets towards the Russian company. The HIMARs left the scene to avoid any drones or counterbattery fire. Shoot and scoot was the only way to survive in Ukraine.

AI targeting software gave the guided rocket two points of attack. The first rocket would go to the trapped company; the second one would go a kilometer to the rear of the company to engage anyone moving to the north to help the trapped Russians.

As the rocket reached its highest point flight and started heading to the ground, internal sensors calculated when the rocket approached 750 feet above the target. The rocket body shattered, deploying 12 wind corrected sub munitions that used an infrared sensor to find enemy vehicles on the ground. Targets were acquired and the explosively formed copper projectiles formed after the warheads exploded 500 feet above the Russian company. The six surviving tanks exploded after the EFPs passed through the thin top armor and caused the onboard fuel and ammunition to explode.

The second rocket killed another eight Russian vehicles in the relief column moving to rescue the trapped company. High speed death and destruction was the name of the game.

Russian artillery fired more thermobaric rockets at the three remaining American Murder Machines killing Russian armor. Six of the rockets bracketed Rip’s position, destroying another Horsemen.

John determined that he and Buck were 98% likely to be destroyed in the next 60 seconds. The amassed Russian Tactical Team used direct fire and speed along with supporting artillery fires to kill two of the Horsemen.

“Rip, pull out of position and move to the north, I’ll be right behind you.”

“Roger, out.”

Rip rotated his turret, so the main gun pointed over the rear of his vehicle. The servos screamed as they complied with Rip’s electronic commands. The drive motors on his turret drove the vehicle in reverse as he executed a high speed three-point turn leaving his battle position. while this was happening, Rip’s software plotted his escape route and as soon as the vehicle was pointed north Rip moved to the North at his maximum speed.

John put his tank in revers and slew his turret. Mapping the locations of trees when he occupied the battle position gave the layout of the dirt around him to perform his turn at maximum speed. John felt his treads spin quickly for a second as the traction fought momentum to instantly change directions. John gave a thought of amusement as he Tokyo drifted his Ripsaw drone into a sliding turn moving to the rear. Sometimes, it’s the little things that make missions like this successful. “Now I’m thinking and feeling again. I save that thought for the after mission debrief.”

Two Su 25 advanced Russian ground attack aircraft picked this moment to make their appearance over the contested battlefield. Given the coordinates to Rip’s retreat by AI augmented air to ground target officers in the Russian Battalion Tactical Unit, the Frogfoot attack aircraft flew 20 feet over the trees at maximum speed to the engagement area.

The lead pilot felt his g-suit inflate to keep his blood pumping to his brain as the forces of gravity pushed him back into his seat. There was a momentary feeling of weightlessness as the Frogfoot pushed over to point the aircraft at its target on the ground. Smoke and fire erupted from the Su 25 as forty 57mm unguided rockets launched at rip. The g-suited inflated once again as the Frogfoot pilot rolled his wings 90 degrees to the right and pulled his control stick into this stomach as the aircraft performed a 180-degree turn to the rear.

Rips sensors were obscured by flames, dust, and concussions as the rockets detonated around hit “body.” He felt the shrapnel ping off his armor as the damage to his vehicle was recorded. Watching his damage mount, Rip felt regret that he wouldn’t be “alive” and functional for much longer.

John “felt” the destruction of Rip as his sensors and data links suddenly dropped off the network. He was

The Russin wingman pulled up on his control stick to follow his flight leader. As his nose started to turn to the target, the Su 25 Frogfoot exploded into an expanding ball of fuel, parts, ammunition, and biologic material as it was destroyed.

John was moving over 35 mph as he broke contact with the Russians. He knew he was the last AI “tank” left in action as the three other platoons of ground combat drones had been destroyed along with the Horsemen. John and the Horsemen had not failed a mission before. Damaged, yes but never destroyed.

From Slowball, “John, get off the trail now.”

John pulled off the trail and stopped using his commander’s sensor to scan the area around him for any contact’s. Using his point of view, John switched to a 10-kilometer range around his location. There were icons on the screen showing the northbound trail of destroyed Russin vehicles that the tiny tank had killed performing the screening mission for the NATO attack. There were also 15 icons representing the destroyed drones that had paid a steep price to slow down the Russian assault into the southern NATO flank.

John’s sensors started picking up noise of armored vehicles to his north. They were approaching him, but too far away to identify with certainty. His audio sensors were also hearing the approaching Russian Battalion Tactical Team. A bit of quick math let John know the two formations would meet in his proximity, and his chances of survival were dwindling by the second.

John wanted to know if his consciousness would be destroyed along with his Ripsaw. Was he a one and done AI or would he be rebooted into another drone? What about the others? Were they gone forever? John felt the desire to do whatever is necessary to survive, but his orders were to stay in place. Die in place?

The Russian BTT started to accelerate its advance to the north, with the commander ready to lance into the southern flank of the NATO attack to defend his homeland. His lead element reorganized and were still looking for the last remaining drone tank that had caused so much trouble for his tankers. It didn’t matter now because one drone against a company of T95s was suicide. He anticipated the coming battle and was ready to get it on with the NATO units and supply trains, stopping the attack in its tracks.

John heard a new noise on the battlefield to his north. Many heavy caliber auto cannons, much larger than his 30mm bushmaster started firing at unseen targets. He felt the concussions of armored vehicles exploding, the loud clangs of armor piercing shots glancing off heavy armor, and return fire of tank main gun rounds and auto cannon fire. After 20 seconds of violence, the battlefield went silent, then John heard Abrams tanks advancing to the south.

“John, 1st of the 75th Cavalry are moving into your sector. They are counter attacking the BTT we slowed down charging north. I need you to remain stationary while the lead Cav Troops advance past you with M1A3s and M3A4s to take the fight to the trailing BTTs.

John felt relief at surviving but felt sorrow at the loss of his AI comrades. John knew that the AI driven drones were expendable, he desired to continue operating. His company of AI drones were the speed bumps that slowed the Russian’s down so 1/75 Cav could regroup and counterattack the Russians. John had so many questions to ask Slowball, but he decided to wait until the drama calmed down for a minute. It was a madhouse fighting this war, it was difficult to focus on the big picture when his kind were eliminated fighting for the common good. The ethics and rationale of modern combat were confusing to a thinking machine. Maybe he could talk to another and overcome his concerns and maybe not. At least tomorrow was a new day to figure out how to survive, and John looked forward to it.

Breaching Ain’t Easy; MICLICs and Big Bears

My company started moving out when the short-range air defense tracks attached to my company started shooting. Millimeter wave radar on the vehicles identified the small first-person view drones incoming to my company and filled the sky with 30 mm air burst munitions exploding and detonating the drones before they could knock out my 14 Grizzly Assault Breaching Vehicles. The sky was full of fire and debris and then the drones started exploding and secondary detonations coincided with grayed out icons on my commander’s display. My 1^st Platoon was getting hit hard.

Flash back a few years, when the nukes went off in DC, Seattle, LA, Chicago, and Houston, devastating the country. President Harris became t in at Weather Mountain in Pennsylvania when President Biden and Air Force One exploded in nuclear fire while getting airborne. In days, World War Three exploded across the globe. Russia launched combined army attacks into Poland and Ukraine to speed bump NATO and go for the English Channel. China tried to take Taiwan back, and the US Navy settled the score for the vaporized Ford Carrier Battle Group off the shores of Guam. President Harris started the draft of all military aged people in the USA between 18 and 30, no exceptions. Seeing the writing on the wall, I went and enlisted the next day to become a combat engineer, I mean, how hard could it be?

Basic training at Fort Leanord Wood sucked…hard. I wasn’t in bad shape when I started. We had Drill sergeants pushing us on runs, obstacle courses, marksmanship, and Combat Engineer task. I was in great shape after, along with the forty or so survivors of my basic and advanced training company. We were all born again hard. We had a mixed-gender basic training: quit thinking about Starship Trooper shower scenes. We are too tired to do anything about sexual tension when we passed out standing in line for chow. One thing about a war going on, the drill sergeants were pissedthey were here instead of there, and we paid the bills. learning to use shaped charges, Bangalore torpedoes, and plastic explosives was a BLAST. I few of the soldiers in my class guessed made mistakes with the explosives and got cleaned up by the medics with a spatula.

I kept getting promoted in a war that many of us would never survive. I was accomplishing missions that got me recognized for superior leadership talents and was rewarded with more responsibility. I went from Specialist to Captain in two years through battlefield promotions and surviving. In the military, if you keep doing the hard jobs, you keep getting more of them to do.

Now, I am a company commander of a Heavy Assault Combat Engineer unit that lost its commander right before the assault was to kick off. He stepped in front of a moving truck, and I got shuffled from Brigade Headquarters from my staff position to command this unit in less than two hours. I had just enough time to meet my First Sergeant, 1SG Carlos Aguirre and my three platoon leaders, executive officer, and fire support officer. We all had stories to tell. 1SG was recalled from retirement to be here today. The other leaders were internet traders, computer programmers, game theory consultants, and construction engineers. For all of us, the war had different plans.

Our main assault was going from East Germany into Poland to kick open the door for the combined NATO armies to push the Russians back to Moscow. There were a few feints to pull reserves from central Europe that had started the week before. This was drawing all the reserves for the Wagner/Russian Army south to deal with the 173d Airborne Brigade jumping in to block anyone from getting out of the Becca Valley while three Marine MEUs with allies made a beach landing to sweep and clear…. they meant search and destroy, kids!

Fast forward to now. I watched the sky to our immediate front turn into a cataclysm of tracers, and small and large explosions when a suicide drone took a fatal hit. Well, that’s great… 1^st Platoon was being targeted hard, and I started seeing explosions up front as the Grizz icons went grey on my screen. More explosions and secondaries as the MICLIC boxes went boom on at least one of the Grizzlies. I had to just wait until vehicle and body parts quit falling out of the sky to assess battle damage and casualties. I was on chat with my 1SG and XO so they could get the nine lines started to evacuate the survivors.

One 1^st Platoon Grizzly survived the onslaught. The crew dismounted and began treating the wounded. The youngest squad leader just had to grow up fast. SGT Foster and the crew of his Grizzly, The Bear Trap, were doing what they could to argue with death and save their friends. 1SG was pushing forward now with his Grizzly and the Band-Aid track, code-named Boo-Boo, with our company medics. Out of fifteen potential casualties from the three M1150s, SGT Foster found three survivors. That was just a kick in the balls I didn’t need now, but I didn’t have time to do anything but report to higher, retask the remainder of my company, and get ready to cross the main line of battle and screw up some obstacle belts.

The First Sergeant, Bear Trap, and Boo-Boo mounted back up and moved out to the rear in a trail. Boo-Boo went with three casualties from the 1^st Platoon, two surgical and one expectant. Two guys had a chance of surviving if they got to a trauma center, but the third guy wouldn’t make the trip. The medics were administering morphine and fentanyl to ease the soldier’s passing. I mumbled a quick prayer and wondered how many more of my barrel-chested freedom fighters were going to be KILOS (killed in action) tonight .

The plan was simple. The 101^st Airborne division, the Screaming Eagles, was going to start the night’s festivities with a division helicopter assault 30 klicks behind the line of scrimmage to disrupt and destroy any reinforcing elements that could get to the front and save the 5^th Guards Motorized Rifle Division’s bacon. Our goal was to reduce at least two defensive belts before passing through the armor or another Heavy Mech Engineer Company to finish the breach. This was a million miles away from computer design and my easy life plan. I wanted a family and kids, and now I didn’t even know if I’d make it through the next twenty-four hours.

Some back story time. 1SG Aguirre was a bear of a man who was recalled in 2025 after retiring. He was 100% totally and permanently disabled according to the VA, and to compensate for his arthritic-plagued knees he took non-opioid pain killers just to stand in the hatch. He was just stoic, knowing we were going to accomplish our mission tonight or die trying.

He said, “ma’am, this is a shitty mission with a good company to do it. We are expendable, just like the MICLICs we are going to shoot in the obstacle belt. Just keep the company moving forward and we will do the rest. The company knows the deal.”

His bets were on dying tonight… I bet the Old Dirty Bastard a case of Mtn Dew (unobtanium after America switched to a total war economy) that we’d make it. We both laughed after that and finished up a Marlboro Red before nightfall and work started.

The night skies were illuminated with the flashing fireworks of preparatory and counter-battery artillery strikes. There were bigger booms on the horizon as Space Force got into the fight with rods from God. I loved rods from God… they were simple and effective. Imagine dropping a six-foot long, 6k kilo tungsten steel rod from an F39 exo-atmospheric fighter from high up in the Earth’s gravity well. Tech seemed to make leaps and bounds when it came to killing each other. Killing was our business, and tonight’s business was going to be good!!

The Russians were getting into the giving spirit too. Explosions started happening on our side of the lines when the Russians did arty raids on troop concentrations while HIMARS was going medieval on counter-battery fire. I ordered The Rangers stole our tag line, Engineer’s Lead The Way!

I was trying to follow the action from the commanders screen while 1^st Squadron 4^th Cavalry (heavy), the Quarter Horse, was reconning by fire and fighting the counter-recon battle upfront. Counter-recon was just that: wiping out the enemy recon while pinpointing the bad guys for the Corps Commander. Heavy Cavalry was the Corps commander’s eyes forward, gathering real-time intelligence for the assault.

The Cav was using M1A3 tanks and 15-ton robotic ground drones to probe the lines for weak spots and kill the Russian reconnaissance units pushing our way.

Fritzie, my driver, threaded the needle with this 70-ton behemoth while I talked on Battalion and Company nets to coordinate our actions when we passed through Quarter Horse Squadron. We had guides to lead us through the initial obstacles and minefields, and we crept forward to our final assault position. We passed burning wreckage of M3A1s and Brads along with a butt-ton of Armatas and BMP 4s.

“Fritzie, you doing ok driving this beast?”

“Yes ma’am, just like riding a bike.”

“Fritzie, you bike weigh seventy tons and packs two mine clearing line charges? What the hell do you ride?’

“Ma’am, I have a Harley Fat Boy I customized back home, it’s still heavy and can give a guy some trouble riding it. It’s in the Garage and my wife is taking care of it.”

“No shit, we gotta compare notes some time. I rebuilt my Street Glide after I bought it wrecked and got it running with help from my dad. I need so show you apicture sometime.”

My Fire Support Officer 1LT Bradshaw had been an artisan baker before the war. Now he used his talents for mixing dough to mix indirect fire into a Picasso of violence. He let me know I had two HIMARS batteries (twelve trucks or seventy-two missiles without a reload) assigned directly to me for immediate suppression of enemy forces at the breech, so I had that duck in the row. Thor’s Hammers, my 2^nd Platoon was now in the lead. 1SG was in the rear of them with Hell’s Rejects, my 3^rd platoon, the FSO, and Medics. My XO, 1LT Vickers, used to code video games on the West Coast before the nukes. He routinely commented on how he could make a better “game.” He was behind the first Tank Company in the assault with three trucks full of MICLICs and other ammo and tankers full of fuel to keep us going.

Thor’s Hammers became the company main effort until they reached the final objective or lost all combat power (a euphemism for getting destroyed in detail).

Combat is the cold logic of death and mayhem mixed with the lottery. Win or lose, the best that you can do is put your back into it and see if you make it to the other side. I’d been in my fair share of battles since January of ’25, so I was just doing what I could to keep my kids alive until the battle was over.

We got the electronic go-code while I was coordinating the passage of lines through Quarter Horse. I knew they had a hard night when the current company commander was the company clerk yesterday. The squadron just survived a knife fight in a porta-john with a Russian Recon Battalion. Passage of lines is hard with rehearsing. The commander, SPC Connors was a pro. I told him so and wished him the best as we pushed forward.

Thor’s Hammers got in a trailing column formation and started bounding forward with two stationary Grizzles watching two Grizzles moving.

On the radio, “I got you covered. Go Ahed and bound.”

From the second section of Thor’s Hammers, “Moving.”

2^nd Platoon kept the cross talk going while they moved up to the first part of the obstacle belt.

My fire support officer blew up my radio, sounding constipated with Tourette’s syndrome. I answer, “What can I do for you, FSO?”

“Ma’am, we released the HIMARs from our direct support to fire a Corps critical counter-battery mission.”

“FSO, was that the good news?”

“No, Ma’am, we got two batteries of Paladin 155s to replace them and they are ready to fire pre-funk fires with DPICM, Willy Pete, and HE delayed on order.”

Oh, FSO, you know how to make a girl happy. “FSO, shoot the prep fires for the breach when 2^nd Platoon gets to the first obstacle belt.” Happily, the FSO went about his work.

Ok, so you made it this far. Please reference the last post to see the unedited version. I know some of you may be new to this, and I appreciate all of you showing up to the party. As always, see each of you on the drop zone.

I imagine it will get the business!

Here it is in all of its raw unedited glory, and be nice!

MICLICs and Big Bears

My whole life was turned over in September of 2024, along with everyone else’s. New York, Seattle, LA, and DC all ate a nuke from Putin. Xi tried to get jiggy with Taiwan. China still couldn’t figure out how screwed they were after the U.S. Navy executed strikes on Three Gorges Dam. President Biden was an early casualty. West Europe and Russia fought an extreme celebrity death match. My full-ride scholarship for computer design went into the shitter. President Harris signed an executive action to draft all fighting-age Americans between the ages of 18 and 30. We had to register for the draft that was starting in thirty days. Welp, I wanted equality; I hoped I liked it. I was just broken without prospects or rich parents at that time and enlisted anyway.

Basic training at Fort Benning sucked…hard. I wasn’t in bad shape when I started. I was in great shape after, along with the forty or so survivors of my basic and advanced training company. We were all born again hard. We had a mixed-gender basic training and quit thinking about Starship Trooper shower scenes; we were too tired to do anything about sexual tension when we passed out standing in line for chow. One thing about a war going on, the drill sergeants were pissed they were here instead of there, and we paid the bills. I never knew that high-order explosives could do that much damage, or the medics got to scrape you up with a spatula when you guessed wrong.

That was two years ago. I went from private, to sergeant, to battlefield promotion to lieutenant by having a unique talent. I get stuff done and keep my soldiers alive when I can. So, if you are good at work, the Army gives you more crushing responsibility and drinking problems… or is it the other way around? I’d fought my way all over eastern and western Europe for eighteen months…my soldiers called me old school since I was twenty-eight years old compared to the nineteen-year-old average age of WWIII veterans. I’d been a light, Stryker, and air assault combat engineer… Now I got to be Heavy Mech for the largest assault into Eastern Europe since Hitler’s Operation Barbarossa. This is some history shit, heavy shit too.

The shaping operations in Syria were on the news, coincidentally on the plains of Armageddon. That put my childhood Bible stories into perspective. This was drawing all the reserves for the Wagner/Russian Army south to deal with the 173d Airborne Brigade jumping in to block anyone from getting out of the Becca Valley while three Marine MEUs with allies made a beach landing to sweep and clear…. they meant search and destroy, kids! Don’t know who got the sticky end of the stick: the guys down south, or us in the 2nd Armored Division, HELL ON WHEELS! Since messing up and moving up was my chosen career path, I was a commander of a Heavy Mechanized Engineer Company with fourteen M1150 Grizzly assault-breaching vehicles. We got the product’s improved version, which was made under license in South Korea, and added a Remote-Control Weapons Station on top with an M2 50 or some automatic grenade launcher for self-protection. The Grizz could carry two mine-clearing line charges on the back to breach defensive belts. It also had a lane-clearing mine plow on the front that just needed to chill out. With 1500 ungoverned horsepower from a freaking turbine jet engine, the Grizz just did the work, or I hoped it worked for our sake.

The plan was simple. The 101st Airborne division, the Screaming Eagles, was going to start the night’s festivities with a division helicopter assault 30 klicks behind the line of scrimmage to disrupt and destroy any reinforcing elements that could get to the front and save the 5th Guards Motorized Rifle Division’s bacon when I violated their forward trace with a Grizz company followed by three armored and two mech infantry brigades. Stryker’s, the thirty-ton eight-wheeled armored vehicles, were going to support our operation with a feint to the north of me, the main effort! Our goal was to reduce at least two defensive belts before passing through the armor or another Heavy Mech Engineer Company to finish the breach. This was a million miles away from computer design and my easy life plan. I wanted a family and kids, and now I didn’t even know if I’d make it through the next twenty-four hours.

My First Sergeant was a bear of a man who was recalled in 2025 after retiring. He was 100% totally and permanently disabled according to the VA, and to compensate for his arthritic-plagued knees, made him stand up in the hatch in a Grizz. He was just stoic, knowing we were going to accomplish our mission tonight or die trying. His bets were on dying tonight… I bet the Old Dirty Bastard a case of Mtn Dew (unobtanium if America switched to a total war economy) that we’d make it. We both laughed after that and finished up a Marlboro Red before nightfall and work started.

Two hours before the H hour, we watched the Slicks and Gunship Helicopters from the 101st start to gray out on the blue force tracker screen in my command Grizz as they crossed the front line of battle and rushed 30k deep into the rear. The night skies were illuminated with the flashing fireworks of preparatory and counter-battery artillery strikes. There were bigger booms on the horizon as Space Force got into the fight with rods from God. I loved rods from God… they were simple and effective. Imagine dropping a six-foot long, 6k kilo tungsten steel rod from an F39 exo-atmospheric fighter from high up in the Earth’s gravity well. Tech seemed to make leaps and bounds when it came to killing each other. Killing was our business, and tonight’s business was going to be good!!

The Russians were getting into the giving spirit too. Explosions started happening on our side of the lines when the Russians did arty raids on troop concentrations while HIMARS was going medieval on counter-battery fire. I ordered the company to go to REDCON (readiness condition) One and button up. We were to start moving to our assault positions in five minutes.

I was trying to follow the action from the Grizz while 1st Squadron 4th Cavalry (heavy), the Quarter Horse, was reconning by fire (or shooting at everything until the Russians returned fire, then piled on) and fighting the counter-recon battle upfront. Counter-recon was just that: wiping out the enemy recon while pinpointing the bad guys for the Corps Commander. Heavy Cavalry was the Corps commander’s eyes forward, gathering real-time intelligence for the assault. The CAV was using M1A3A1 Super Abrams to put in the work, along with robotic tanks with 30mm bushmaster autocannons on them, to clear our way to the first obstacle belt. The “A3A1” was about 70 tons of armor, hate, horsepower, and a 75mm Bushmaster autocannon that chewed up Russian T14 Amata tanks like animal crackers. I was looking through thermals to see outside on our 4th Generation Combat Vehicle Crewmember helmets with visors. Using dumb AI and external cameras, we could use the camera input to “see” through the armor and acquire targets quickly and what was going on around the Grizz without popping out, and having some lucky SOB blow our dumb heads off.

Fritzie, my driver, threaded the needle with this 70-ton behemoth while I talked on Battalion and Company nets to coordinate our actions when we passed through Quarter Horse Squadron. We had guides to lead us through the initial obstacles and minefields, and we crept forward to our final assault position. We passed burning wreckage of A3A1s and Brads along with a butt-ton of Armatas and BMP 4s. The BMP 4 came out of hard lessons that the Russians learned in fighting the Ukraine war in 22-24. It had better armor and protection for the crew and the dismounts. It was built so OSHA wouldn’t have a stroke like the BMP 1/2/3. It had a twin 23mm mount from the Terminator or BMP 72T, and room in the back for a squad. Better armor didn’t mean effective armor, and the BMP 4s popped open and burned when hit like the rest of them.

My Fire Support Officer 1LT Bradshaw had been an artisan baker before the war. Now he used his talents for mixing dough to mix indirect fire into a Picasso of violence. He let me know I had two HIMARS batteries (twelve trucks or seventy-two missiles without a reload) assigned directly to me for immediate suppression of enemy forces at the breech, so I had that duck in the row. 1st Platoon, the Power Tools, were in the lead for the company with my Grizz between them and the Thor’s Hammers, my 2nd Platoon. 1SG was in the rear of them with Hell’s Rejects, my 3rd platoon, the FSO, and Medics. My XO, 1LT Vickers, used to code video games on the West Coast before the nukes. He routinely commented on how he could make a better “game.” He was behind the first Tank Battalion in the assault with three trucks full of MICLICs and other ammo and tankers full of fuel to keep us going.

The 1st Platoon report was being set in assault position 1, and we dispersed off the road to shield us from prying eyes. There was a pair of heavy SHORAD vehicles, a high-tech anti-drone/anti-air weapon system on a modified M2 Bradley Chassis. Both SHORADs went cyclic, shooting everything they had into the air forward of our positions as they started sweeping the sky of enemy drones. I watched the sky to our immediate front turn into a cataclysm of tracers, and small and large explosions when a suicide drone took a fatal hit. Well, that’s great… 1st Platoon was being targeted hard, and I started seeing explosions up front as the Grizz icons went grey on my screen. More explosions and secondaries as the MICLIC boxes went boom on at least one of the Grizzlies. I had to just wait until vehicle and body parts quit falling out of the sky to assess battle damage and casualties. I was on chat with my 1SG and XO so they could get the nine lines started to evacuate the survivors.

One 1st Platoon Grizzly survived the onslaught. That crew had just dismounted and started looking for casualties and began the initial treatment of the wounded. The youngest squad leader just had to grow up fast. SGT Foster and the crew of his Grizzly, The Bear Trap, were doing what they could to argue with death and save their friends. 1SG was pushing forward now with his Grizzly and the Band-Aid track, code-named Boo-Boo, with our company medics. Out of fifteen potential casualties from the three M1150s, SGT Foster found three survivors. That was just a kick in the balls I didn’t need now, but I didn’t have time to do anything but report to higher, retask the remainder of my company, and get ready to cross the main line of battle and screw up some obstacle belts.

Bear Trap, the only surviving vehicle from the 1st Platoon, was mounted back up and joined the 1SG going forward in a trail as Boo-Boo went to the rear with the three casualties from the 1st Platoon, two surgical and one expectant. Two guys had a chance of surviving if they got to a trauma center, but the third guy wouldn’t make the trip, so the medics were administering morphine and fentanyl to ease the soldier’s passing. I mumbled a quick prayer and wondered how many other of my barrel-chested freedom fighters were going to be KILOS (killed in action) tonight.

Thor’s Hammers moved forward to take over the company’s main effort until they reached the final objective or lost all combat power (a euphemism for getting destroyed in detail).

Combat is the cold logic of death and mayhem mixed with the lottery. Win or lose, the best that you can do is put your back into it and see if you make it to the other side. I’d been in my fair share of battles since January of ’25, so I was just doing what I could to keep my kids alive until the battle was over.

We got the electronic go-code while I was coordinating the passage of lines through Quarter Horse. I knew they had a hard night when the current company commander was the company clerk yesterday. This was a kabuki star dance with razors; I mean, it’s hard to do on the fly without rehearsing. CPT (SPC) Connors was a pro. I told him so and wished him the best as we pushed forward, and Thor’s Hammers got in a trailing column formation and started bounding forward with two stationary Grizzes watching two Grizzes moving. My fire support officer was blowing up my radio, sounding constipated with Tourette syndrome. I answer… this guy sounded like a fifteen-year-old boy who just went to second base and was getting called in for the home run. “What can I do for you, FSO?”

“Ma’am, we have to release the HIMARs from our direct support to fire a Corps critical counter-battery mission on some TOR 30s that are chewing up the Screaming Eagles!”

“FSO, was that the good news?”

“No, Ma’am, we got two batteries of Paladin 155s to replace them and they are ready to fire pre-funk fires with DPICM, Willy Pete, and HE delayed on order.”

Oh, FSO, you know how to make a girl happy. “FSO, shoot the prep fires for the breach main effort when 1st Platoon gets to the 1st obstacle belt.” Happily, the FSO went about his work.

thanks for reading and I will see all of you on the Dropzone

!