For now, he’d give them what they needed to survive. The bigger picture about the Chinese bases in the Baltic, possible fracturing of alliances, and blockades disguised as inspections, they could wait. His job was to keep these soldiers alive and fighting when abstract threats became concrete reality.
If EUCOM was wrong, if this exercise was more than theater, they’d find out soon enough.
The tanks thundered across the field in a bounding overwatch formation, with one group of tanks covering the others while they advanced. The roar of tank engines echoed through the valley as Alpha Company assaulted a simulated defensive belt. Muzzle flashes lit up the night as they reached the first obstacle line — rows of dragon teeth anti-tank obstacles interlaced with barbed wire in front of a tank ditch deep enough they’d need specialized engineering vehicles to cross.
Surging forward from behind Torres’ platoon came a trio of engineering vehicles with attached Sapper teams — combat engineers trained in breaching complex obstacles and fortified positions.
The four Abrams tanks in 2nd Platoon laid down suppressive fire as a pair of M5 Ripsaws flanked out ahead, scanning the trench line for enemy ATGM teams with thermal optics and LIDAR pings.
“Loader, AMP!” Torres barked as he spotted a target his gunner should have.
“Gunner, shift — bunker complex, eleven o’clock, six hundred!”
“Identified!” Burke’s Cajun drawl cut through the noise.
“Fire!”
“On the way!”
The 120mm main gun cracked. A moment later, the target bloomed in a flash of simulated fire and smoke — another OPFOR strongpoint taken off the board.
Live rounds punched into earthen berms behind the targets. The crack of tank cannons mixed with the steady hammer of coaxial machine guns. Overhead, illumination rounds burst like miniature suns, casting stark shadows across the obstacle belt.
“Sapper element is moving up,” Lieutenant Novak reported from Alpha-21. “Assassin Two-Three and Two-Four, suppress flanks. That tree line’s hot.”
“Gunner, coax — fixed fire, trench line, ten o’clock,” Torres ordered, eyes locked on the flickering IR signature along the berm line.
“Identified,” Burke replied.
The M240 coax opened up with a stuttering burst, red tracers stitching the edge of the trenchworks. Alongside, Alpha-22 and -23 joined in, hammering suppression with coax and .50-cal fire from the commander’s remote operated weapon station. The engineering vehicles surged forward under the covering fire from Torres’s platoon.
Moving abreast of them, a pair of M1150 Assault Breacher Vehicles advanced in staggered formation to the obstacle line. One of the ABVs fired its MCLIC, a rocket-dragged line charge that arced high before slamming down across the dragon teeth and tangled concertina wire.
“Fire in the hole!” an engineer called over the company net.
A concussive blast ripped across the obstacle belt — flame, dust, and shrapnel shearing through the concertina wire and dragon teeth. Smoke hung low as the breaching lane began to take shape. Without delay, a Joint Assault Bridge vehicle crept forward, aligned with the cleared gap. The JAB vehicle deployed its bridging array across the shallow anti-tank ditch. The span locked into place with a metallic clank.
“Assassin Two-Two, Castle Two-One,” came the call over the company net. “Lane is clear. Bridge set. Passage open for armor.”
“Copy, Castle. Alpha Two-Two moving,” Torres replied, keying his throat mic.
To his left, an M5 Ripsaw crossed the newly created bridge and pushed out toward Phase Line Dallas, its turret sweeping side to side. Torres tracked it on his multi-function display. A thermal ping bloomed behind the far berm — a small, fast, humanoid heat signature.
“Possible missile team, eleven o’clock,” Burke announced.
“Loader — switch out Sabot. Give me AMP!” Torres snapped.
“Copy,” Munoz replied, already reaching. He ejected the sabot shell and locked in the Advanced Multi-Purpose round. “AMP up!”
“Gunner — send it,” Torres said.
“On the way.”
The 120mm barked, hurling the programmable round downrange. The round detonated mid-air, showering the target’s cover with shrapnel. The thermal signature winked out.
“Good effect,” declared Burke excitedly.
“Good shot! Maintain overwatch,” Torres congratulated, settling back into his seat. “Driver, get us on the move and across the bridge. Assassins Two-Three, and Two-Four, follow behind us.”
Specialist Boone got them across the bridge quickly and safely as the Ripsaws cautiously advanced ahead of them. Torres felt like they were steel wolves being unleashed, searching for targets to kill.
“Contact! BMP, ten o’clock! Five hundred and fifty meters!” The Ripsaw’s sensors had found something. Its 30mm autocannon barked, tracers walking across a concealed position. The remote-controlled target vehicle — dressed up to look like a BMP-3 — shuddered under the impacts.
