The Circle War (37 page)

The Ghost Riders were not carpet bombing the

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column. Rather they were using their invisibility shield to precision-bomb the highway. One bomb from each plane then the whole formation would swing around and start the whole procedure again.

It was a devastating strategy. The B-ls bombed with impunity. The hundreds of SAMs —their radar-homing target devices rendered useless —were being shot every which way. Many fell back to earth, hitting vehicles in the column. This only added to the fright and confusion of the Soviet troops. They were leaderless yet ordered to stay at their positions. They were being bombed but were unable to fight back. Some ran. Some tried to maneuver their vehicles out of the burning, twisted traffic jam. But it was of no use. The blockbusters were coming down in clockwork precision. The column and all the precious SAMs were being systematically destroyed. Thousands lay dying in the Kansas sun.

Russian blood mixing with American soil.

Another Soviet foreign adventure was coming to an end . . .

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"Sharpshooters! Front and center!" Dozer yelled into his radiophone.

The advancing Circle army was now only a quarter of a mile away from the Western Forces' defense line. He had yet to order his ground troops to fire.

The sight of the approaching rabble, most of them young kids with no weapons, was causing his head and his belly to ache.

Up and down the line, the sharpshooters of Dozer's 7th Cavalry got into position. "Pick off the ones they've strapped with TNT," Dozer's order went out.

One by one the crack Marine riflemen aimed and fired at the approaching human bombs. One by one The Circle kamikazes were hit by the rifle bullets, exploding in a flash of fire and a spray of bloody guts. Each human bomb that went up killed a dozen of the comrades closest to them.

Yet still the human wave advanced.

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All along the defense line, the Western Forces soldiers were getting anxious.

They, too, could see the approaching army was little but a rabble, yet, not every human bomb had been destroyed. They were assuming the worst and figuring that many of The Circle troops were also booby-trapped. Yet the trench soldiers would hold their fire until they received the order . . .

Dozer had made his decision. He couldn't risk the lives of his troops in the hand-to-hand fighting that would follow if he had his soldiers hold their fire now.

The Marine captain shook his head. His radioman nearby heard him whisper: "God forgive me . . ." Then the captain grabbed his radiophone and yelled: "Fire!"

As one, the entire two-mile line of Western Forces opened up on the approaching horde. The first line of Circle troops fell. Another line appeared. Another volley and these unarmed soldiers were mowed down. Another line, another volley. Line after line of the enemy simply walked into the murderous barrage of lead. Stomachs were ripped open, skulls exploded. The brainwashed rabble kept marching. Over the horribly shot up bodies of their comrades and sometimes crunching right through them. The air was heavy with smoke and the smell of gunfire and blood.

It was a slaughter. Still no Circle soldier fired a shot. Only later would the Western Forces discover that of the few Circle soldiers carrying guns, none 402

of them had ammunition. The Circle commanders and their Russian allies had hoarded it all, preferring to send The Circle grunts into the mouth of death without so much as a bullet.

Two volleys from the trench hit The Circle line just 100 feet away. Several of the enemy troops broke into a run toward the defense line, but they were quickly cut down. One last volley all along the trench and then it was over .

. .

The gunfire stopped. The gentle wind blew the smoke away. It was quiet for the first time in what seemed like an eternity. The Western Forces soldiers looked up from over their rifles and took in the carnage in front of them. A few screams and moans could be heard coming from the field of dead and dying before the trench. Tens of thousands of the enemy lay mangled and twisted before them.

Not a single Circle soldier had made it to the defense line . . .

Now, more news was flashed back to the Western Forces' troops in the line. The enemy column on Route 70 had been stopped. There would be no more Circle soldiers charging the trenches. The back of the evil Circle-Soviet alliance was broken.

Although the war was apparently over, the soldiers in the trenches couldn't relax. The anxious hours, days, weeks. Adrenaline pumping. All to end in the slaughter of innocents? The mass kill-403

ing of the hopped up brainwashed kids. It was disgusting. Death for death's sake.

But the calm did not last too long . . .

Dozer scanned the horizon. He felt something. Out there. Beyond the ridgeline.

Something much more dangerous than the helpless troops they had just gunned down.

Then he saw them . . .

"Jesus Christ ..." Dozer said, blindly reaching for his radiophone to call Hunter. "There's thousands of them . . ."

For miles in every direction, on the ridges in front of them, sat the 30,000

men of the 1st Mongolian Cavalry . . .

They had come out of nowhere. The unexpected variable. The troops in the trenches suddenly found themselves alert again. Tense again. It was frightening. The line of the Mongolian soldiers covered the whole horizon.

Dozer radioed all along to his officers. Each report was the same. The Mongol horde stretched for miles. And it was preparing to attack.

Word was instantly flashed back to the Denver Air Station. Most of the jets that had defeated the Yaks had returned and shut down. Now they learned they had to quickly refuel, bomb up and speed back to the front.

Hunter was the first one off the ground . . .

"Here they come!"

The cry went up in the Western Forces' trenchworks. Every soldier stared out on to the flatlands

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before them.

The Mongols were bringing their horses up to a canter.

"Get ready!" the word passed through the Western Forces' lines.

Dozer's Marines walked among their volunteer troops on the flank, making sure everyone was in position with a full-load of ammo. The regular Pacific American soldiers in the middle of the line waited patiently in grim anticipation —to finally to draw blood from the Asian horsemen.

Two miles out, the Mongols kicked their horses into a fast trot. They fanned out until their line was nearly two miles across. Many of them were wearing uniforms akin to those worn by their ancestors—bright, colorful, evil-looking.

Others were simply dressed in used Chinese Army fatigues. Each carried some kind of rifle—the Mongols' proficiency was shooting well from a moving horse—and the mandatory, razor-sharp sword.

The leader of the horde, a man known as the Great Obo, was at the head of the column, dressed to the nines in the ancient oriental costume, riding a tall, pure-white stallion. He would lead his men into battle this time, just as he had done for the past few months. They would move as he moved.

The moments passed tensely through the Western Forces' line. Dozer, the powerful pair of electronic spyglasses pressed against his face, had identified the Great Obo as the cavalry's leader 405

and watched him every step of the way. Even through the scope, the warrior looked fierce, fearless and proud.

When the horse column reached a mile out, Obo broke his horse into a slow gallop. His army followed in kind. Dozer raised his hand. The young Marine radioman stood close by, holding a phone which crackled continuously with static. High above and far away, the sound of jet engines could be heard ...

Dozer had Obo in full view now. Suddenly the Mongol gave his steed two, sharp cracks with his whip and the horse responded by breaking into a full gallop.

Obo, reins and a rifle in one hand, raised his sword with the other and pointed it toward the trenches. Dozer could almost read the man's lips as Obo screamed the Mongol equivalent to "Charge!"

"Now!" Dozer yelled, pumping his raised arm like a trucker pulling his horn.

The word was instantly passed a half mile back of the lines to the 30-piece howitzer column that waited there. Almost simultaneously, the big guns opened up.

Dozer grabbed the radioman's mike, nearly strangling the kid in the process.

"Now, Hawk!" Dozer yelled. "Now!"

The Stealth materialized out of thin air. One second, the sky was empty—the next instant, the strange black jet was roaring overhead, just 50 feet off the ground, rushing to meet the charging cavalry head-on. Close behind were the F-4X

Phantoms of the Ace Wrecking Company. Behind them were more airplanes

—Crunch's F-4s, the F-104s, A-7s, T-38s, A-lOs, the old F-84.

Each plane carried a full load of napalm . . .

"So this is what it's come to," Hunter thought as he gripped his weapons'

release control. "Jets against horses? This is the pure insanity of war."

"Drop on me," he radioed the planes behind him. A chorus of "Rogers," came back.

The jets fanned out to form a large arrow formation with Hunter in the lead.

He aimed the Stealth right at the center mass of the Mongol horde. Even before the first bomb was dropped, he imagined he could already smell the stink of burning horse and human flesh. "Too bad," he thought, punching the weapons control system computer one last time. "You guys should have stayed where you belong."

He was so low and so dose to the charging cavalry now, he could see the determination on the faces of the horse soldiers.

". . . three . . . two . . . one . . . now!"

With that, two napalm cannisters dropped from the Stealth's wings and exploded in the midst of the Mongols. Those in the Western Forces' trenches, again holding their fire until the order was given, saw a tidal wave of flame wash over the attacking cavalry. Horses and men were seared through in an instant.

Some of the animals were reduced to skeletons before they even hit the ground.

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The Ace Wrecking Company Phantoms dropped their napalm cannisters as soon as they saw Hunter drop his. Sixteen additional bombs landed on the horse soldiers, drawing a blanket of fire over the attackers. Then the rest of the air armada unleashed their bombs containing jellied gasoline. At the same time, the howitzer shells started landing among the charging cavalry, sending up great plumes of fire, smoke and deadly shrapnel.

The Mongols were about a half mile from the Western Forces' lines and still they kept coming. Hunter gunned the Stealth into a tight, 180-degree right hand turn, positioning himself above and parallel the leading edge of the charging army. He released two more napalm cannisters which exploded on the ground slightly ahead of the charging Mongols. Unable to slow their steeds, the cavalrymen plunged right into the sheet of flame, some emerging on the other side, still charging, horse and rider horribly engulfed in fire. The other jets followed Hunter's maneuver, relentlessly laying down a wall of flame in front of the Mongols' lead horsemen.

As many as half of the original 30,000 horsemen were now either dead or dying.

But still the remaining attackers plunged onward. Hunter did a quick loop, knowing he would have time for one more pass before the Mongols hit the Western Forces' lines. Again parallel to the attacking edge of the cavalry, he opened up with his cannons.

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The Stealth shuddered as the shells ripped through the mounted troops and their steeds. He continued to fire across the entire length of the attacker's front line. The howitzer barrage intensified, pounding the rushing Mongols.

The trench soldiers now opened up with mortar fire. Next came the shelling from the tanks dug in along the Western Forces' lines. The Phantoms and the other aircraft were also blazing away with their respective machineguns and cannons. Hunter called a predescribed order over the radio. On his command, the Cobra Cousins' attack choppers, hovering nearby, were thrown into the fray and started firing on targets of opportunity.

The remaining Mongols were 100 yards from the Western Forces' lines when Dozer gave the word to his riflemen to fire. At once the entire line opened up on the attacking horsemen. Those riders who had survived the napalm, the howitzers and the strafing were now met by a wall of lead. Horses were hit head on, reared up and then collapsed, causing the steeds behind them to trip and tumble. The mounted soldiers were thrown and trampled by the unstoppable, panicking animals.

Again and again, up and down the line, the defenders fired into what was left of the charging horsemen. Then the first Mongols reached the defenders'

ramparts. The fighting became intense in close quarters. The trench soldiers fired away at the attackers' horses, killing the animals, then shooting the displaced cavalrymen. The Mongols

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were barely able to squeeze off a shot, the fire from the trenches was so heavy. Hand-to-hand combat ensued up and down the trenches. By this time, Hunter had swung the Stealth back around and was strafing the rear elements of the attacking army, as were the other fighters.

The battle pitched back and forth for what seemed an eternity. The fighting was so close that howitzers stopped firing for fear of hitting friendly troops. Hunter was confined to making low passes, the jet's screaming engine spooking the Mongol horses.

From his perspective high above, he could see the bodies begin to pile up. The soil was actually turning blood-red. Fires were everywhere. Smoke was obscuring the battlefield.

Then, the battle began to turn ...

The Mongols were slowly being drawn into the center of the defenders' lines.

Urged on by Dozer's Marines, the volunteers on the flank, bolstered by the air support's decimation of the Mongols and smelling victory, swept out of their trenches and began a pincer movement to contain the horsemen. Many minutes of intense combat followed until the Mongol attack finally ground to a halt.

Completely surrounded, the attackers began to panic. They faced the crack Western Forces' troops to their front, the advancing volunteer irregulars on their flanks and, now, to the rear. Helicopters were peppering them from above. Jets continued to streak in low, rattling the horses.