“Any chutes?” the senior controller asked over the intercom. The E-3 radar could track those, too.
“Three, maybe four ejected. Not sure who, though, not till we play the tape back. Damn, that was a quick one.”
The Russians didn’t have enough planes up to do a proper battle. Maybe next time, the colonel thought. The full capabilities of a fighter/AWACS team had never been properly demonstrated in combat, but this war held the promise to change that, and when it happened, some eyes would be opened.
C H A P T E R – 51
Falling Back
Senior Lieutenant Valeriy Mikhailovich Komanov learned something he’d never suspected. The worst part of battle—at least to a man in a fixed emplacement—was knowing that the enemy was out there, but being unable to shoot at him. The reverse slopes of the ridge to his immediate south had to be swarming with Chinese infantry, and his supporting artillery had been taken out in the first minutes of the battle. Whoever had set up the artillery positions had made the mistake of assuming that the guns were too far back and too shielded by terrain for the enemy to strike at them. Fire-finder radar/computer systems had changed that, and the absence of overhead cover had doomed the guncrews to rapid death, unless some of them had found shelter in the concrete-lined trenches built into their positions. He had a powerful gun at his fingertips, but it was one that could not reach over the hills to his south because of its flat trajectory. As envisioned, this defense line would have included leg infantry who’d depend on and also support the bunker strongpoints—and be armed with mortars which could reach over the close-in hills and punish those who were there but unseen behind the terrain feature. Komanov could only engage those he could see, and they—
“There, Comrade Lieutenant,” the gunner said. “A little right of twelve o’clock, some infantry just crested the ridge. Range one thousand five hundred meters.”
“I see them.” There was just a hint of light on the eastern horizon now. Soon there would be enough light to see by. That would make shooting easier, but for both sides. In an hour, his bunker would be targeted, and they’d get to see just how thick their armor protection really was.
“Five six Alfa, this is Five Zero. We have infantry eleven hundred meters to our south. Company strength and moving north toward us.”
“Very well. Do not engage until they are within two hundred meters.” Komanov automatically doubled the shooting range at which he’d been trained to open fire. What the hell, he thought, his crews would do that in their own minds anyway. A man thinks differently when real bullets are flying.
As if to emphasize that, shells started landing on the crest immediately behind his position, close enough to make him duck down.
“So they see us?” his loader asked.
“No, they’re just barraging the next set of hills to support their infantrymen.”
“Look, look there, they’re on top of false bunker One Six,” the gunner said. Komanov shifted his glasses—
Yes, they were there, examining the old KV-2 gun turret with its vertical sides and old 155-mm gun. As he watched, a soldier hung a satchel charge on the side and backed away. Then the charge went off, destroying something that had never worked anyway. That would make some Chinese lieutenant feel good, Komanov thought. Well, Five six Alfa would change his outlook somewhat, in another twenty or thirty minutes.
The bad part was that now he had perfect targets for his supporting artillery, and those old six-inch guns would have cut through them like a harvester’s scythe. Except the Chinese were still hitting those positions, even though the Russian fire had stopped. He called Regiment again to relay his information.
“Lieutenant,” his colonel answered, “the supporting battery has been badly hit. You are on your own. Keep me posted.”
“Yes, Comrade Colonel. Out.” He looked down at his crew. “Don’t expect supporting fire.” The weapons of World War III had just destroyed those of World War I.
“Shit,” the loader observed.
“We’ll be in the war soon, men. Be at ease. The enemy is now closer …”
“Five hundred meters,” the gunner agreed.
“Well?” General Peng asked at his post atop Rice Ridge. “We’ve found some bunkers, but they are all unoccupied,” Colonel Wa reported. “So far, the only fire we’ve taken has been indirect artillery, and we’ve counterbatteried that to death. The attack is going completely to plan, Comrade General.” They could see the truth of that. The bridging engineers were rolling up to the south bank of the Amur now, with folded sections of ribbon bridge atop their trucks. Over a hundred Type 90 main-battle tanks were close to the river, their turrets searching vainly for targets so that they could support the attacking infantry, but there was nothing for them to shoot at, and so the tankers, like the generals, had nothing to do but watch the engineers at work. The first bridge section went into the water, flipping open to form the first eight meters of highway across the river. Peng checked his watch. Yes, things were going about five minutes ahead of schedule, and that was good.
Post Five Zero opened up first with its 12.7-mm machine gun. The sound of it rattled across the hillside. Five Zero was thirty-five hundred meters to his east, commanded by a bright young sergeant named Ivanov. He opened up too early, Komanov thought, reaching for targets a good four hundred meters away, but there was nothing to complain about, and the heavy machine gun could easily reach that far … yes, he could see bodies crumpling from the heavy slugs—
—then a crashing BOOM as the main gun let loose a single round, and it reached into the saddle they defended, exploding there amidst a squad or so.
“Comrade Lieutenant, can we?” his gunner asked.
“No, not yet. Patience, Sergeant,” Komanov replied, watching to the east to see how the Chinese reacted to the fire. Yes, their tactics were predictable, but sound. The lieutenant commanding them first got his men down. Then they set up a base of fire to engage the Russian position, and then they started maneuvering left and right. Aha, a section was setting up something . . . something on a tripod. An anti-tank recoilless rifle, probably. He could have turned his gun to take it out, but Komanov didn’t want to give away his position yet.
“Five Zero, this is Five six Alfa, there’s a Chinese recoilless setting up at your two o’clock, range eight hundred,” he warned.
“Yes, I see it!” the sergeant replied. And he had the good sense to engage it with his machine gun. In two seconds, the green tracers reached out and ripped through the gun section once, twice, three times, just to be sure. Through his binoculars, he could see some twitching, but that was all.
“Well done, Sergeant Ivanov! Look out, they’re moving to your left under terrain cover.”
But there wasn’t much of that around here. Every bunker’s field of fire had been bulldozed, leveling out almost all of the dead ground within eight hundred meters of every position.
“We shall see about that, Comrade Lieutenant.” And the machine gun spoke again. Return fire was coming in now. Komanov could see tracers bouncing off the turret’s thick armor into the sky.
“Regiment, Five six Alfa here. Post Five Zero is under deliberate attack now from infantry, and—”
Then more artillery shells started landing, called in directly on Five Zero. He hoped Ivanov was now under his hatch. The turret had a coaxial machine gun, an old but powerful PK with the long 7.62-mm cartridge. Komanov let his gunner survey the threat to his bunker while he watched how the Chinese attacked Sergeant Ivanov’s. Their infantry moved with some skill, using what ground they had, keeping fire on the exposed gun turret—enough artillery fell close enough to strip away the bushes that had hidden it at first. Even if your bullets bounced off, they were still a distraction to those inside. It was the big shells that concerned the lieutenant. A direct hit might penetrate the thinner top armor, mightn’t it? An hour before, he would have said no, but he could see now what the shells did to the ground, and his confidence had eroded quickly.
“Comrade Lieutenant,” his gunner said. “The people headed for us are turning away to attack Ivanov. Look.”
Komanov turned around to see. He didn’t need his binoculars. The sky was improving the light he had, and now he could see more than shadows. They were man shapes, and they were carrying weapons. One section was rushing to his left, three of them carrying something heavy. On reaching a shallow intermediate ridgeline, they stopped and started putting something together, some sort of tube . . .
… it was an HJ-8 anti-tank missile, his mind told him, fishing up the information from his months of intelligence briefings. They were about a thousand meters to his left front, within range of Ivanov . . .