“Ready . . . FIRE!” Melville roared, and the battle line cut loose with a withering fusillade. Each of the eighteen .45-armed warriors on the battle line had a round in the chamber and seven rounds in the magazine. In just a few seconds, 144 .45 rounds were expertly fired into the enemy. It took less than a second to slam a fresh seven-round magazine into place and release the slide, then 126 more slugs plowed into the enemy. Then another mag change, and 126 more.
But the real killers that day were the two BARs, sending magazine after magazine of .30-06 rounds scything into the enemy mass on full auto. Each high-powered, copper-jacketed bullet punched through several bodies, greatly multiplying their contribution to the death that day, as Von Rito and Kobbsven plied their twenty- pound weapons with almost supernatural strength and skill.
Bullets are not magic. If you point a gun and pull the trigger, the bullets will not seek out living creatures with some preternatural, malevolent intelligence. Some people seem to believe this, and those people usually die quickly if they’re unfortunate enough to get into a gunfight. In reality, just an eighth-of-an-inch elevation of a pistol barrel (the height of a front sight blade) at five yards is the difference between hitting an opponent between the eyes and having the bullet pass harmlessly over an opponent’s head. At twenty-five yards, the same eighth-of-an-inch elevation in the front of the barrel would cause a bullet aimed for the heart to fly ineffectually over an enemy’s head, and just a quarter-inch depression of the barrel at that range could cause a bullet to plow harmlessly into the ground. It takes a trained, skilled, determined warrior to kill consistently and well with a pistol, and that was exactly the kind of individual who stood on the firing line that day.
Each warrior held his pistol out in a firm two-handed stance, and then gently, carefully, lovingly pressed the trigger. “Two things you should never hurry in life,” Fielder told them in their training, “A good woman and a trigger. Both will give you the result you want in their own time. Rush either and you’ll be very frustrated.” And so they silently repeated the mantra of all armed professionals since repeating firearms were invented: “Front sight, press trigger gently. Repeat as necessary.”
Added to the physical effect of the thousands of bullets firing rapidly and accurately downrange was the impact of the noise. Again Melville thought of Lord Moran, the great military psychiatrist, veteran of both World Wars on Old Earth and author of the seminal book, The Anatomy of Courage, who had called Napoleon “the great psychologist.” And Napoleon truly got it right when he said that the psychological, or “moral,” factors were three times more important than the physical.
In this case the physical impact of the lead flying into the enemy ranks was tremendous. But the psychological effect of the sudden noise, flash, and concussion was even greater.
The effect of the two BARs was particularly potent. Its muzzle velocity of around 2800 feet per second, triple that of a .45, created intense concussion and noise for anyone downrange as it punched through the atmosphere at supersonic speeds. Its cyclic rate of fire of about 550 rounds per minute meant that the BAR tore through a 20-round detachable box magazine in under three seconds. Each magazine was like a burst of sustained thunder. Like a shattering, prolonged bolt of lightening.
Melville’s tactics instructor, Major Johan Farnham, a master of all aspects of weapons, had taught them about the BAR in the academy. His words came flowing back, in one of those distracting thoughts that can come up in combat. “Aside from its weight, the BAR’s only major drawback is its lack of a quick-change barrel. In order to sustain a high rate of fire, a machine gun needs to be able to quickly change barrels, or it needs a water-cooled jacket. I doubt you’ll get much more than five magazines out of a BAR at its max rate of fire without risking a stoppage due to overheating.” In this case, in order to maintain a sustained fire, his two BAR gunners both burned off four magazines and then started firing in short bursts, picking off particularly aggressive or excessively brave enemy attackers. Firing in careful bursts like this reduced the chance of a malfunction due to overheating.
The enemy line faltered and began to stagger back under this sustained psychological and physical onslaught. Out in front of them, only Marshall DuuYaan still stood among the Stolsh. The members of the firing line all worked hard to prevent hitting the Marshall. The good news was that so far no one had shot him in the back. The bad news was that the area immediately around him contained a high density of surviving enemy troops, and finally he was overwhelmed and brought down just thirty feet in front of them.
The enemy masses began to slowly surge forward again, in spite of the withering fire. Melville looked over at the Stolsh engineer commander. “Five minuutes!” called out the harried engineer. “Dear gods, juust five moore minutes is aall we need!”
It has been proven over and over again, that the attack is psychologically more powerful than the defense. And it is a fundamental principle of combat, that the best time to retreat is after a successful attack. Numerous great commanders, when hemmed in from all sides, have been able to gain a needed respite through a vigorous attack. The Guldur and their Orak allies were on the offensive from the beginning, and thus far they had not been the recipient of any deliberate, decisive assault themselves. Now Melville was determined to buy those five minutes, and to give the enemy a taste of their own medicine. Hell, he could even give his men a mission, an objective to focus the attack around.
“On my command!” bellowed Melville, “the line will rapid fire and advance to within point-blank range of the enemy! The reserve will cut through the center and rescue the marshall, then we will pull back to the bridge.” He looked at Broadax, who rolled her cigar to one corner of her mouth and gave him a nod of understanding coupled with a grin of absolute bliss. On her helmet her monkey capered gleefully. All along the line the firing eased as the warriors changed magazines so that they could launch the attack with a full weapon.
The enemy began to surge forward with renewed vigor as the fire ebbed. They were about twenty feet away when Melville stepped through the line, manhandling men to the left and right to create a gap for Broadax and her lads to come through. “Charge!” Melville roared, stepping steadily forward and firing his pistol in a two-handed grip as rapidly as he could bring the sights on target. The shots didn’t even register, all that existed was: Front sight, press trigger. Front sight, press. Front sight, press. Front sight, press. Front sight, press. Front sight, press. Front sight, press. Front sight, press. Change magazines!
As he drew closer, accuracy became easier and his rate of fire increased. Frontsight,presstrigger. Frontsight,press. Frontsight,press. Frontsight,press. Frontsight,press. Frontsight,press. Frontsight,press. Changemagazines!
To his left and right every other individual armed with a .45, including the corpsmen, was doing the same, and on the wings Kobbsven and Von Rito burned several magazines of .30-06 ammo at their max rate of fire.
Against an enemy armed with repeating, breech-loading rifles, a pistol-armed force such as Melville’s wouldn’t have survived. But this enemy was armed with muskets (most of those now empty) and bayonets, with an occasional sword or muzzle-loading pistol. A force equipped with .45 autos, supported by a few BARs, (not to mention the bullet-catching monkey on each back!) had a tremendous, decisive advantage against this enemy.
The men of Westerness advanced to just outside bayonet range, pressing the trigger as rapidly as they could bring accurate fire, and at this range that was very fast. Then the enemy was treated to Broadax, two rangers, their dog, and ten marines sallying forth from the battle line like a high-pressure hose plowing through an anthill.
But before Broadax charged, she had her reserve lob their “cheater.” Fielder had put it this way in their training, “The Most Important Rule of a Gunfight is, always cheat, because there are no second-place winners in a gunfight.” This was their cheater.
Ten fragmentation grenades, then ten more, and then ten more soared over the firing line as they advanced. While the third volley was still in the air, but before the first volley exploded, Broadax told her marines, “Boys, we’re gonna charge through the gap when the second volley explodes! Then we’s gonna snag the lizard in the tin can, an’ bring ‘im back!”
Private Jarvis, standing at the end of the file of ten marines, began to whimper quietly to himself. Yer jist the one we needs, Sarge sez. Saw action wit da bayonet on Broadax’s World she sez. Good, broad-shouldered farm stock she sez. Jist the sort I needs behind me on this one she sez. Oh God, get me out of this alive and I swear I’ll go back to the farm and never leave.