NationStates Jolt Archive

It was well past dawn when Ruslan Dzherenko, a Starshiy Serzhant with the Russkyan Army, stepped from the PAF-02. Nicknamed a "Wazkav," an accompanying vehicle to the UAZ which had been dubbed "Wazik," the PAF-02's passenger seat had a KRA-03 GPMG mounted overlooking the front, and a BRG-15 HMG on the pintle mount that was part of the Mod.II rollcage's ring mount for the gunner. Draped in camouflage net, or as it was colloquially known, scrim netting, the Senior Sergeant cautiously walked up the ramp to the railhead.

A grassy field sat next to Rail Station Seven, which was one of ten designed to accomodate passenger cars. There were two additional terminals in other areas, designed to accomodate freight primarily. The train could be heard as it came within a kilometer of the station, beginning to slow. It was lightly loaded, a specialized train borrowed from the paramilitary organization attached to the national rail-line known as RUSRAIL. The paramilitaries were all retired Reserve soldiers, contracted by the Russkyan Army to transport personnel to and from various training centres and depots, supervised by Warrant Officers from the Logistics Branch.

Shuddering to a stop, the train doors opened and disgorged a hundred and eighty-two Aequatian Republic National Guardsmen with all associated Infantry kit. The train had a locked cargo car carrying their heavy weapons. Dzherenko, battered but pristine AKM rifle in hand, signalled the most senior looking ROTC officer he could see and gestured him over to the grass.

The Aequatians disembarked from the trains and worked to assemble into line formations, as they had not been formally organized before leaving the Republic, the reserve officers chose to instruct the national guardsmen into a rectangle six lines deep. The most senior of the ROTC officers, Acting First Lieutenant Matthew Vickers shrugged his shoulder into the sling on his G122 carbine and let it sit on his back as he approached Dzherenko and gave him a curt salute and drew his arm to his side sharply as per the usual drills, "All present and accounted for, I'd like to speak with your commanding officer ASAP," He said as he adjusted his rifle green beret, a silver "Vivid" pattern cap badge of the Infantry Corps sat above his left eye.

The late-Autumn weather forced the Aequatian reservists to don their intermediate climate gear, the regular heavyweight fabric was printed with the Army's digital "Artemis" temperate woodland uniforms on both the trousers and shirts, the former bloused into well broken-in Mark.VIID black leather combat boots. The group had noticeable differences in that the reserve officers, training for active duty with REGFOR, carried the same equipment used in the regular forces while the national guardsmen, having reached the end of their two-year enlistment, were still using RESFOR standard issue personal kit. Weapons were of usual Army pattern, although the reserve officers had the sleek modular G122 carbines while the guardsmen carried the older G128 carbines still in the green-shaded, molded-polymer furniture along with the usual small arms of an infantry platoon, including machine guns, recoilless rifles and lightweight 60mm mortars. Lance Corporal Paul Horne held the folded tripod for an MG260E1 sustained-fire machine gun in his hand as they stood in line, he had not planned to sign on for the leadership school, but circumstances had placed him in the formation after he not only signed a contract for active service, but also volunteered for the overseas course.

Oh Jesus, was the first thought that came to the NCO's mind.

Below the "Russkyan Army" shoulder-flash was the distinctive badge of the NORDLAND Cadre, a group of officers and noncommissioned officers with foreign language abilities who duplicated the functions of those who wore the NORDLAND Staff badge. All insignias on his camouflage sleeve subdued, Dzherenko visibly flinched when Vickers saluted.

Hissing so as not to embarass the officer infront of his command, Dzherenko opened up.

"Break the fucking formation and get spread out in a defensive perimeter with the rail station at your back. Don't salute in the field unless you want a sniper to plant one in you or whoever you're talking to. Your blank ammunition, adapters, and CTS04 units will arrive in thirty minutes on the rail head, you have that long to get these soldiers into some kind of cover. Issue munitions, get the CTS04 on, get the radios up, and wait for further orders."

Because the same rules applied to NORDLAND Cadre or Staff as did anyone undertaking the combat courses offered in the primeval forests, marshes, or limited fields, the Wazkav's crew were carefully monitoring the area around them. The Combat Training System (2004) vest was worn over combat equipment and resembled the Swedish take on MILES. The gunner behind the BRG-15 swung his weapon around to the right as the front gunner angled his muzzle off to the left, leaving his seat to stand behind the bonnet, muzzle of the 9,3x64mm GPMG featuring the dark red Blank Adaptor.

For some odd reason, in Dzherenko's mind, the officer had not yet complied with his commands. Straightening to a parade ground perfect attention, the NCO saluted the ROTC officer crisply and handed a thin notepad to him once he dropped the salute.

"Your commander will contact you over the radio. These are the Signals Operating Instructions for this phase of the exercise, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, sergeant," The lieutenant replied. Vickers had heard stories of how "hard" the average Russkyan was and how forward they could be, but the initial encounter with the Sergeant Dzherenko still stunned him as he had not realized that they were to be "switched on" upon their arrival. Upon receiving the instructions given by the senior NCO, the lieutenant immediately spoke with the other ROTC officer cadets and had the guardsmen broken down into ad hoc platoons, the most senior of the reserve soldiers, corporals, were assigned to senior positions such as platoon sergeants and squad leaders, as the six thirty-or-so groups hurried off into their defensive positions near the train station building.

Horne sat with the rest of his team at the left flank of their platoon's position, "Check your head space, for fuck's sake," He told the gun crew seemed to struggle getting the weapon set up under the eyes of the Russkyan instructors. After ten minutes of cursing and effort, the three guardsmen had finally readied the MG260E1 on its mounting and the lance corporal took up his own rifle and pulled back the charging handle as the first round in the single magazine of blanks each was issued was loaded into the breech.

The guardsmen with prior training on the PRC sets back home were assigned the radio sets and the group of officers studied the single notebook, a few making notes as they looked over the book, as they prepared to receive their orders. Vickers gathered his company headquarters and spoke with the platoon commanders, "I want an all round posture, keep observation on all sides, even the station, just in case we're supposed to be expecting anything," He said as the meeting broke and the Aequatian citizen soldiers sat in wait.

Basic dispositions of the ARNG were acceptable, though Dzherenko was in the process of ensuring each of the fixed weapon crews knew his fire-arcs and was giving them a basic refresher on the wonderous little item known as a "Machinegun Range Card" which was tied in with the rest of the ad-hoc Company to create a solid net of defensive fire. A similar card was given to light mortar teams, enabling any NCO to call in supporting fire on any part of the perimeter and the monitored area quickly and easily.

Unfamiliar with the MG260E1 itself, both the tripod and traverse and elevation (T&E) mechanism were identical to what Dzherenko knew from the "Foreign Weapons Familiarization Course" he'd been put through months ago. Making his way from position to position, the one Senior Sergeant was able to guide the National Guardsmen through the setting up process in a quick and efficient manner. If only they didn't dig so fucking slowly. Returning to the Wazkav, he ordered the vehicle to return the way it came, taking a spare lopata from the tool rack.

A knife-edged shovel, the issue entrenching tool didn't differ from the Russian one. Dzherenko dug himself in quickly, creating a scrape that was a half meter deep, fronted with a sod-covered parapet, a meter wide, and a meter and a half long before the train carrying additional blank ammunition and the CTS04 equipment arrived. He directed the ARNG to dig similar positions and when possible, link them into two to four man slit trenches while a quarter of the company provided security.

Once his position was complete, he was sitting for only a moment before the howl of the train's whistle announced its impeding arrival. Up on his feet again, lopata dangling from his left hand, he gathered the ROTC officers in the center of the position and again spoke quietly enough that their charges couldn't hear.

"Give me that rifle. You see how this isn't the same rifle, or even part of the same weapons family your soldiers are carrying? That's bad for morale. It's also tactically unsound. So are these bright goddamn badges. Put them in your pockets and do your best to look like one of your riflemen. Binoculars go inside your field jacket, hanging around your neck. Maps go in pockets. Helmets get scrimmed and foliage. Sidearms get strapped to a belt under your field jacket so they're not as obvious, or not carried at all."

Turning his head to watch the train nosing its way into the station, he pointed at an ROTC officer.

"You. Organize a detail and get the ammunition off that train and distributed to your fighting positions. CTS04 vests will be issued by the staff on this train, they're lightweight and stay out of the way rather nicely, so try and keep them on at all times or you'll get a thrashing. Everything here is as close to real as safety allows, and when you take a shit or lay down for the night, you don't become invulnerable. Let's break it up and get bombed up."

The reserve officers removed the silver cap badges from their berets sheepishly and placed them away into a pocket upon the advice of the sergeant instructor, the large REGFOR-issued binoculars were placed away in their soft fabric cases on the tactical belts of the Aequatian M1988 webbing equipment while smaller, commercially-purchased pairs of binoculars were placed underneath field jackets. Vickers ordered one of the platoons to begin the process of unloading from the train while the others were redeployed in the position to make up for the "loss" of personnel from the line. The officers passed on the orders to their men and women guardsmen, trying their best to improvise on their own with as little direct instruction from the Russkyan.

Horne shuffled slightly on the spot, as the team's field of fire was shifted with the train detail being established, and kept his rifle tight against his shoulder until he froze on the spot as he heard a click and felt something fall against his thigh followed by a quiet "thud" onto the ground. The G128 rifle's magazine release had caught against the M1988 equipment's yoke and the magazine had slid right out from the weapon, he moved quickly to retrieve the full magazine and set it back inside the magazine well, tapping it as quietly as he could before taking up his position again. The other reservists followed the orders with little incident, save for a mortar team that had a crate of rounds tumble and spill empty after one of the synthetic rope handles had snapped.

For his part, Dzherenko was not inclined to give the reservists difficulty for a failed handle or bad weapon design, such a thing was something they couldn't control. He didn't notice Horne's magazine falling free of his rifle, but his analytical mind was already examining a G128 laying beside the gunner of a fixed machinegun position. Absentmindedly, probably overwhelmed by trying to bed the tripod in and sort out his ammunition supply, the gunner had laid the weapon down with the ejection port facing the ground. Dzherenko knelt on the lip of the position and simply pointed at the rifle until the reservist grew uncomfortable and looked to where he was pointing.

"Pick that up, show me your stoppage drill, and remember to keep it close at hand and ejection port facing blue sky."

While he was bloody-minded with regards to the noncommissioned leaders and especially the ROTC officers, he knew better than to be harsh with the rank and file. Their standards had to be high, but mistakes could be corrected without shaming the soldier in front of his peers.
His understanding of the exercise was that at regular intervals, unit leaders would be rotated around so as to give everyone extended tries at small unit leadership in various positions. This would make their task more difficult, but once they fell into the routine they'd become intimately familiar with the operations of a Rifle Company and then become highly proeficient at their tasks.

As Dzherenko was dealing with the reservist, twenty staff on the train debussed and began fitting Aequatians to CTS04 vests. The lightweight and highly durable elastic straps were firmly secured over their combat equipment, with the "wound packet" being centered on a cross-strap across the chest and another on the back, with two more being located higher, one for each shoulder, and an additional pair lower, one for each leg. These wound packets were packed with coiled crimson ribbon. Upon activation of the vest via a "death signal," the packet would burst and spill the ribbon to signify a death or wounding. Emitters were issued, sitting alongside the blank adaptor at the muzzle of every reservist's weapon.

With the passing of fifteen minutes, the offloading tasks were complete and a further five minutes saw the entire Aequatian force equipped with CTS04 vests. The train left, and three minutes after that there was the single crack of a sniper rifle. It flew around the field and disappeared into the sky, and one of the ROTC officers found crimson ribbon spilling from his chest. Dzherenko was the first to shout the warning, rolling into his hole.

"Sniper!"

"Yes, sir," Replied the soldier as he retrieved his rifle from the ground and initiated the well-practiced drill. All riflemen were trained not to attempt to identify the exact cause of a stoppage and immediately begin the rehearsed drill of slapping the bottom of the magazine to ensure it is fitted within the well. The guardsman, tilting the weapon to the side while holding the forestock in his left hand, pulled the charging handle back and examined the chamber to see that it had not been fouled by the earth after a round had been ejected. He released the charging handle as it snapped forward and closed the bolt as it loaded another round before taking aim away from any other personnel and firing a single blank round, the entire set of motions had been performed within eight seconds from the rifle being on the ground to firing the single round. "The weapon is good to go, sir," He said with a proud smile at his drills, "I won't leave Sofia face down again, sir."

The fittings had gone flawlessly as the reservists were quick to put their equipment back on and were preparing for the next directions given by the Russkyans when the sniper had struck at the company, "killing" third platoon's commander. Most of the soldiers had been startled by the unexpected sound of the rifle and froze momentarily until the more acute guardsmen hurried those who they could behind cover while those more out in the open scrambled either to the ground or behind at least some sort of cover. "Medic!" Yelled third platoon's assistant, Acting Sergeant Thomas Langdon, having been standing next to the lieutenant when he was hit, brought the officer to the ground with him and started the normal first aid procedures for a gunshot wound as he called for the unit's assigned combat medic, who joined him with a quick slide on his knees having ran from his covered position to the two men.

Vickers knelt in his cover as he struggled to determine the sniper's position, "I could really use Callisto right now," He said underbreath, referring to the Army Counter-Insurgency School's experimental laser and acoustic detection system for counter-sniper tactics, as he scribbled furiously on his notepad as the company sergeant-major ordered the platoons to initiate the "Mad Minute" procedure as each platoon took up their fields of fire and the entire company began firing into their sectors, unleashing a hellish amount of small arms fire from the reservists into the surrounding area. One of the other reserve officers pointed off into the forest and Vickers nodded as he pulled the handset off his radioman's pack and grabbed his shoulder to prevent him from moving off while he contacted the corporal leading the company M226A1 60mm mortar squad and called for a smoke screen to be dropped inbetween the company and the assumed position of the sniper, hoping to provide him with a moment longer to determine his course of action.

Having eliminated a leader, and with the others having disappeared below cover, the sniper - Master Corporal John McGoughlin, formerly of the Highland Regiment of Russkya - let his right hand slowly bring the bolt through its sixty degree throw and cycle back slowly. Gripping the rim of the expended blank cartridge, the extractor gently flipped the casing from the chamber. Cycling the bolt shut, McGoughlin picked up the cartridge casing with an exquisitely slow movement and watched the mortarmen drop bombs down their tubes.

Target priorities: A sniper comes first, your duties in the sniper shield mean more than depriving a platoon or a company of its leader. Following the leader, communications equipment. After that, combat vehicle crewmen, including pilots if possible, followed immediately by the crew of any crew-served weapon within range.

Not having anyone else to shoot, and watching the smoke blossom to his front left, McGoughlin quietly relocated to the three o'clock of the Aequatian perimeter, assuming that twelve o'clock was magnetic North.

"Five hundred."

Sited well back in the forest, the concealed pair were relying on a break in the trees to show them their target. At the base of a tree, McGoughlin's hand adjusted the elevation knob. It clicked quietly, twice.

"Wind none."

McGoughlin's hand returned to the grip, finger resting lightly on the trigger guard. His spotter was laying beside him, binoculars lifted just above his shoulder. With the scrimmed tripod deployed, the SVR-08 rifle was anchored securely to the ground and his shoulder, and his spotter was just far enough off him to observe the shot. Most importantly, this position broke up both men's outlines further, improving the concealment provided by their ghillied jackets and trousers.

"Fire."

Finger touched the curved steel of the trigger gently.

"Fire."

Increased pressure.

"Hold."

Waited. An Aequatian mortarman was looking too close to them, and should he see a muzzle flash, he'd be able to vector the fire onto them. He wasn't the target. He looked down, and his buddy popped up to drop another 60mm smoke bomb down the tube.

"Fire."

Pressure increased once again. A repetition of the same command. "Fire."

The rifle punched back into McGoughlin's shoulder. He saw the crimson ribbon fall from the back of the mortarman's CTS04 vest, and cycled the bolt slowly again. An ever so slight breeze rippled the leaves around them: proper positioning included compensating for the muzzle blast effect from the shooter's weapon - unnatural movement of the foliage could indicate their position immediately post-shot. Attention to detail kept Russkyan Army snipers alive, as well as their world-renowned fieldcraft. Missing a shot at any range will never get you killed, so long as the enemy doesn't know where you are.

Dzherenko scrambled from his position to the Company Commander's hole. Once there, he waited to see how Vickers would preserve the unit under his command.

"Sniper!" Cried out one of the mortar squad soldiers as the teams hit the ground and took hold of their personal weapons. Genuine panic had not set in for the company, thanks to the simulated experience, but the soldiers had become skittish as the combined fire of the platoons died down from a continuous stream into petty trickles as the guardsmen spent more time behind some piece of cover instead of focusing on their fields of fire.

Horne felt the linked belt of 8.5mm rounds walk across his hands as it was fed into the MG260E1 machine gun fired by the team gunner, effectively hosing down their field of fire with the rounds. The lance corporal's eyes scanned the trees, the lack of tracers made it easier to observe the terrain as he thought back to the lectures given by the COIN School instructors when they visited his brigade months ago, "Watch for flashes," was the mantra that repeated in his mind as his eyes moved about, waiting for the sniper's next shot.

The screen dropped by the mortar teams gave Langdon and the medic the chance to carry third platoon's commander to one of the waiting trench lines until the second shot rang out, after which they broke into a light jog as they carried the officer and ducked back inside the slit trenches. As soon as the medic began "working" on the officer, the platoon sergeant was scanning the treeline using a trench mirror hastily-attached to the barrel of his G128 carbine. Vickers looked over at Dzherenko as he dropped down inside the fighting hole and groaned inwardly, "Fuck," He grimaced momentarily before returning to the process of locating the enemy sniper. Realizing that the shooter had relocated after the screen went up, he calculated an average movement speed and ordered two of the platoons to sweep a field of arc to each side of the suspected position, almost at once the Aequatian line had been revived as the guardsmen opened fire with their rifles and machine guns.

A combat veteran of both Sorachoak and the FLRJ, McGoughlin was glad for the nonlethal and invisible lasers that hit the trees to his front. Sheer volume of fire ensured that a few of the simulated projectiles would get between the tree trunks and through small gaps in foliage. Freezing in place with his spotter, the two edged themselves behind the semi-raised roots of a tree and were thankful that simulated machinegun fire could be neither speculative or searching, only direct fire, and that the beams didn't pass through trees and bushes as live ammunition would have.

With his back braced against a wall of the fighting hole, Dzherenko worked his entrenching tool into the ground until only a few centimeters showed above the parapet. Lifting Vicker's helmet from his head, he shrugged out of his combat jacket and balled it up tightly around his fist while working the liner free of the M5 LICH. Handing the liner back to the ROTC officer, he worked his fist free and balanced the helmet securely on the entrenching tool's handle. While he worked, he was talking to Vickers.

"Take advantage of potentially suppressing the sniper by moving. He has a precision rifle, not a gimpy, so he can't mow down an entire platoon that leaves cover. Moving in his general direction will almost always cause him to displace, especially in this thick forested shit. Because he can't see us unless he finds a break in the trees, since I don't think he's in the treeline. The major concern now is him calling in mortar fire to cover his withdrawal, but being out in the open and advancing rapidly towards him makes it harder to do that. Now, we know he's not behind the station, so that only leaves a 270 degree arc he could be in."

Holding his hand out while checking the bedding of the decoy, he felt Vickers hand him the weight of the service binoculars. These were rested on the rim of the position infront of the dummy head. It now simulated someone peering over the top of the fighting hole, scanning to their front with binoculars.

"Now, even if he engages this, it won't count you as dead. The little "I'm dead" packet will burst on the helmet, but the vest itself knows the helmet isn't within a quarter-meter and won't trigger the "You're dead, therefore you can't shoot" thing."

He shrugged and added: "There's a reason these systems are so damned expensive."

The lieutenant set the helmet liner to the side as he crawled to the side of the fighting hole and drew his bayonet from its scabbard attached to the front of his assault vest before sliding the top of the double-edged blade into a strap on the back of his issue trench mirror as he propped it up over the top of the position's lip and watched the treeline as Dzherenko held the decoy. He handed the radio handset back to the RTO seated behind him, having readied fourth platoon to quickly assault in the direction once McGoughlin had revealed his position to one of the few dozen or so officer cadets or guardsmen who had their eyes locked on the surrounding brush.

The mad minute completed, the platoons kept at the ready for the next shot, Horne took the opportunity to help reload the mounted machine gun with the gunner as the team's ammunition bearer or "lackey" ripped open the top of a small box and set it down beside the weapon as they slapped the weapon closed on the belt and the gunner pulled the charging handle back as he scanned the weapon's firing arc for the target as they would be anchoring the advance if it was their sector in which the the sniper would be located.

"It's up, he sees it... but he doesn't shoot it because?"

The RTO volunteered: "Because he's not there?"

Dzherenko responded with: "Because he knows its a decoy. When we put up a decoy, we advertise this position. But," he paused to gesture at the other nearby holes and slit trenches, "it can be difficult to tell if all of these positions are connected or not. So for all he knows, a countersniper could be waiting in a loophole somewheres, just waiting for him to shoot it. And he sees all these trench mirrors, don't you worry, so he knows we're looking now."

A bit of a pause, in which the sounds of metal on metal could be heard as machineguns were reloaded with full belts and the like, and then Dzherenko continued.

"So simply because of that, he may lie quiet for a bit. Or he might decide to withdraw and harass us later. Now, remember to animate any decoys you put up, to make them more convincing. Unless he's got one Hell of an optic, or he's pretty close, it can be hard to tell a decoy like this from a real head."

Rolling back onto his knees, the Russkyan NCO took the binoculars from the parapet carefully, snaking his hand over the edge to grasp the strap and gently tug them backwards and down. Lifting the entrenching tool smoothly, he moved it to the left a little before lowering it. Hooking the "Stahl" back to its liner, he handed it to the ROTC officer and went back to being still. He grinned when the ARNG RTO began to look impatient.

"Patience, young Padawan."

It was risk management. With the position now highly alert and beginning countersniper drills, McGoughlin knew he could use his superior fieldcraft to take one or two more undetected shots before having to withdraw to allow the next phase of his commander's plan to go into action. However, there was a good chance that in doing that he would provoke a more active response from the enemy.

Therefore McGoughlin and his spotter withdrew. At a distance of six hundred meters from the Aequatian position, he fired a single shot into the air and then continued moving back towards the primary camp. His spotter sent a curt message over the radio, and phase two was put into operation.

The company had remained vigilant in watching the surrounding treelines from the station position for a short moment after the sound of the last crack of the sniper's rifle as Vickers listened, "Sounded farther away that time," He thought as his mind jolted and he took hold of the radio handset, "First platoon, forward, sweep the trees to the left, fourth platoon will be on overwatch... penetrate inwards about a hundred metres, now!"

The affirmative was given in reply as the thirty-odd guardsmen emerged from their positions in a quick run towards the trees as they advanced cautiously into the bush, rifles, squad automatic weapons and hand grenades at the ready as they marched through the vegetation, searching for anything out of the ordinary as their security element scanned ahead of their movements. It would take about fifteen minutes until the brush had been declared clear and first platoon returned to their protected positions, the rest of the company now on alert and watching the surrounding area.

It wasn't long after the sweep when the radio addressed everyone within earshot of it.

"Aequatian company, Aequatian company. Your callsign now India One Alpha. This callsign currently Romeo Six Alpha. Aequatian company, your callsign is now India One Alpha. This is Romeo Six Alpha. Aequatian company, your callsign is India One Alpha. This is Romeo Six Alpha."

The message repeated until the RTO acknowledged it and handed the set to Lieutenant Vickers. He was informed that:

"India One Alpha, Romeo Six Alpha. You will displace from your positions on compass bearing two nine zero. I say direction again: Two. Nine. Zero. Move cautiously until you link up with reconnaissance unit Victor Two Charlie. Take everything with you. You have six hours to complete the move. Victor Two Charlie is located on azimuth two nine zero from your position, fifteen kilometers. Acknowledge, go."

The order to move was given down the lines as the company collected its weapons and other pieces of kit, all under careful overwatch security of the rifle platoons as Vickers used his orientation training to determine the necessary vector to their rendezvous point. The reserve officers changed out their weapons for a number of spare G128 carbines available and prepared themselves to present more of a "common" appearance with the rest of the company, they would now be difficult to distinguish from the rest of the guardsmen infantry. The lieutenant himself struggled with the bullpup rifle, realizing the weapon's flaws as he marched with the rest of his headquarters as interior components rattled loudly with each step.

Horne marched with a pair of hundred-round linked belts over each his shoulders along with a packed spare quick-change barrel for his team's MG260E1 machine gun while the ammunition bearer carried the connected tubes of the tripod folded on his back. The constant stops and starts as the rifle company were part of the "bounding caterpillar" marching order, which allowed each following platoon in a company to take point once the former had stopped to secure an assembly and rest zone. Horne's platoon came to a halt as they worked into the usual routine of deploying the weapon and its tripod, sighting the MG260E1 and integrating their fields of fire with the other riflemen.

Rather than stay back with the Headquarters element, the sole Russkyan in the column opted to stay up near point. Being part of the Cadre, he imitated other Russkyan Army units who spent the majority of their time in dense terrain by opting for the older AKM with its heavier cartridge than the issue AK-74M rifle.

It would be some time before the 7.62x39mm members of the "AK One Hundred" family saw widespread acceptance amongst the RA, simply because there seemed to be little reason to change over at the present, especially given the numerous small arms designers in Russkya. Watching the ARNG's passive acceptance of the G128's flaws and the practiced ease with which they corrected the problems as they occurred, Dzherenko concluded that the National Guardsmen were more than familiar with their rifles, something that couldn't be said about their officers, who'd had to change from the weapons they knew to the bullpup rifle.

Ruslan remembered the SKP and the larger BVP bullpups, developed by someone named Pushkarev, though they hadn't had any teething problems beyond trying to get melee combat minded soldiers to stop hitting people in the face by simply swinging the stock upwards from their side, which would result in bashing the magazine into their face and potentially damaging the magazine well.

Lying up next to the MG260E1 team, Dzherenko turned to Horne.

"I'm about a hundred and sixty-eight paces to a hundred meters, so by my count we've done about thirteen kilometers so far. You keeping track?"

Horne felt embarrassed as he replied to the Russkyan instructor, "I hadn't thought to count," He said as the gunner shifted the weapon to the side and scanned the field of fire. The guardsman thought before speaking again, "I thought the higher ups would be worrying about such a thing."

The encounter with McGoughlin had really shaken up the company as they all remained highly alert in their stationary positions, their eyes moving fast to check the trees in a hushed, but apparent, slight panicked state. Vickers had taken notice of those doing just that within his own platoon and, along with the more senior guardsmen, worked hard to reassure the soldiers to remain calm while staying vigilant to the environment, telling them that remaining "frosty" would keep them alive in the situation.

"It's one of those things that it's good to have a general idea of. You may not have a map, but you do know where you came from and roughly where you're headed and how far it should be. Keeps morale up to know how far you've gone, makes tactical sense to know how much further you've got to go. There'll be a chance to work out your pacings later, it's good drills."

The phase "good drills" was something that the ARNG and ROTC officers would hear a lot of whenever they did well or were introduced to a combat-useful concept. The shouted admonition "Bad drills!" was often accompanied by crimson ribbon hanging from the CTS04 vest, denoting a mistake made somewheres along the line.

Taking advantage of the shortest route to any location being a straight line, knowledge of the whereabouts of the reconnaissance unit the ARC - Aequatian Rifle Company - was meant to link up with allowed a group of ten professional soldiers dressed in mismatched combat uniforms and carrying an assortment of small arms to lie up ahead of the move column. Their nerves were beginning to fray as their picquet reported that the Aequatians were scanning the environment very carefully, and not having been in observation of the ARC earlier, the ambushing team did not know how long these rest stops usually lasted, or if the column's halt and alert personnel meant that a counterambush team was being sent ahead on the flank to route out his command.

As such, Warrant Officer Faulkner-Dmitriyev nestled himself under the bush's overhanging branches and pulled his scrimscarf up to cover his head completely, folding the edge back from his eyes. A black armband sporting the deep red letters "Ficticia Liberation Army" adorned his left arm.

"Roger that, sir," Replied Horne as he helped the team pack up their weapon for their platoon's movement in the company's marching order as he slung the spare barrel container over his shoulder, "I'll be counting now." The forward-most platoon of the ARC set the slow pace for the rest of the soldiers as the platoon's most senior personnel stalked ahead about ten metres of the first squad, the latter being tasked to rush forward and bolster the makeshift "platoon reconnaissance section" and double their numbers immediately in case of any sort of contact. Those set in the forward section were all lightly armed with G128 carbines or the MG146 squad automatic weapons, the latter a newly-introduced piece in the Aequatian services and proven its capabilities in endless field trials on exercises and low-key operations back home.

Walking with one of the platoons behind the "point" formation, Vickers remembered his lectures and textbooks as he ensured that the men and women of the headquarters section were spaced deliberately from each other so that in the event of an ambush or detonation of a mine only a few individuals would be wounded initially. The lieutenant hefted the G128 to his shoulder with a slight rattle, although he had run through a hasty familiarization prior to leaving the station, he was not entirely confident in his dexterity with the carbine, but he would still have to learn under fire if he needed.

The moment of greatest danger was the point element element passing by the first part of the ambush. Six very tense men waited in a line with two RPDs and three AKs, their leader to their far right, carrying an ages-old PPSh.

The other four opened fire, a PKM's rapid chattering underscoring the howling of two PPSh submachineguns firing cyclic. By this point the advance guard was outside his line of sight, and Faulkner-Dmitriyev was trusting those four to keep them suppressed or draw their attention to the right. The second phase of the ambush, located on the left of the trail, went into action on the leading edge of the column, the Warrant holding his fire. Before stunned ARC had a chance to react, he could hear the steady barking of an SVT-53 mixed with short shouts from a PPSh as the four man team broke off towards their rendezvous point nearly a kilometer and a half away.

With the RPDs having expended their belts, they withdrew at full speed from the ambush as the AKs covered, using aimed fire. W.O. Faulkner-Dmitriyev, simply "Faulk" to his friends, heard the man just to his left open up with a deep "Urrah!" as he changed magazines. His partner kept firing, starting his own war shout instead of the characteristic call of "Ammo!" to denote reloading. To further complicate matters, once all had a full magazine locked into the well they paused until the final shout had sounded.

Then they rose to one knee, and starting on the left, peeled back into the brush fifty meters, went to one knee, and covered the man to their right as he went running fifty meters beyond him. Moments later, only Faulk remained. He opened fire on automatic, bracing the PPSh from his hip, firing towards what few visible targets remained, the others having instinctually gone to ground or begun to assault towards his position. Switching the stock to his shoulder, he fired a short burst, saw red ribbon fall from his own chest, and simply fell over backwards with his chin tucked to his chest to protect his head.

He feigned death and heard the shouting of troops coordinating a quick advance to drive off the last of an ambush that had come from both directions, on a column too large to respond quickly to the bellowed "Ambush Left!" scream he'd heard from a Russkyan-accented voice.

The chatter of small arms could be heard at Vickers' position as the two lead sections responded to their respective ambushes in the common and practical sense of a straight assault against the enemy's positions and pursuing the attacking force through the trees. Taking his rifle's sling off his shoulder and setting it to fully automatic, he ordered the lead platoon's other two sections to advance on a skirmish line and attack the ambushing force on their left flank. Taking off in a short sprint with the other two sections in tow, the two dozen guardsmen and the reservist officer took up positions along the flank and waited for the arrival of the withdrawing attackers, the lieutenant himself leaning against a tree truck and aiming his G128 as he spotted the first of the retreating ambushers, "Weapons free!" He shouted as the sections started firing as the targets entered their zone.

Barely two hundred meters into their run, the four man team was sprinting swiftly and surely through the forest as if they'd been doing it all their lives. That's when the man toting the SVT-53 noticed that the tree ahead of him wasn't quite right in terms of shape, and then red ribbons burst from his vest and he theatrically toppled to the ground. The PKM was next to go, and the man with the decades-old "Pa-pa-shah" applauded Vicker's manouvre as he fell over "dead." The fourth man, winded, sprawled on the ground and enjoyed a brief rest.

Vickers tried to slow his breathing down to a calm as the adrenaline from the sprint and short-lived firefight dissipated from his bloodstream. The lieutenant turned to Senior Sergeant Dzherenko as the latter approached the position as the guardsmen examined the fallen enemies for documents, "Sergeant, make a note that I would be collecting the weapons from the dead, given that they normally wouldn't rise from the dead and kill my men for doing so normally."

After the check had been completed, the lead platoon fell back to their position as the marching order changed as the second platoon became the new point formation. The sections that had suffered in the ambush were busy as the sergeants made preparations for the care and evacuation of the casualties. The company's medics arranged for stretcher bearers as the standard-issue folding aluminum stretchers were removed from cases and used to carry those that had been killed in the fight with another platoon providing extra security in the marching order. Soon enough the ARC would rendezvous with the reconnaissance team at the given coordinates, although under a much more vigilant eye than previously.

"Yeah, Lieutenant, we do the same thing when we wargame with the ARMC. No one needs to get stabbed repeatedly."

Before the platoon switched out, Dzherenko called out to the team searching the bodies: "Lads, if they've got strange shit, like fucking laser guns and little space alien to English phrasebooks, you might wanna tell someone about it."

It was just under an hour later when the reconnaissance picquet flagged down the point element of the ARC column and directed them towards the command vehicle. The L-16TCP was sitting in a slight depression with its vehicle camouflage kit deployed around it, infrared-suppressing camouflage netting strung off various poles and points on the vehicle's hull to conceal its shape. The Infantry referred to it as "Butterfly," something that stemmed from the arrangement of the since-replaced Mod.I antennae that sprouted from the hull.

Sergeant David Quinn led the lead platoon's section when they were greeted by the reconnaissance team and were directed to their waiting vehicle post after completing the challenge authentication of their identity. Vickers was rushed forward from his place in the marching orders and he was introduced, learning from the lectures already from the Russykans, without any exterior signals that he was anyone important, "Lieutenant Vickers, O.C. for the eh-are-see, we're to make contact with your team for our next batch of orders. We have wounded that need to rest and be attended to a-sap, can that be done here?"

As the headquarters spoke with the reconnaissance team, Horne and his compatriots went to work of preparing temporary defensive positions, once again setting up the tripod and the MG260E1 weapon. The guardsman had been anxious since the rifle company first entered the forested area, the close proximity unnerved many of the soldiers despite their backgrounds in mechanized infantry, as they were most used to open plains or desert as their normal operational circumstances.

Victor Two Charlie's NCOIC asked Vickers what his casualties were, then relayed the need to CASEVAC them to his superior. Shortly, Romeo Six Alpha was calling for Vickers over the radio.

"India One Alpha, Romeo Six Alpha. You will stand down from command of Alpha Romeo Charlie and hand over to ROTC colleague. No black mark on your record, standard command changeover to spread the experience around. Remain at Victor Two Charlie's location and conduct operations at his discretion. Acknowledge, go."

A few moments after this, engine noise could be heard. A few L-16AMTs, the medical evacuation variant of the Vixen Infantry Section Carrier came into sight, were acknowledged by the concealed sentries, and dropped their ramps. The medics that came out of the rear conferred with their compatriots in the ARC, discussing wounds, treatment that had already been given, and loading the casualties into the troop bay of the armoured ambulances. According to conventional rules at NORDLAND, they'd be returned at the end of this 24hr cycle as "reinforcements."

The lieutenant provided Victor Two Charlie's senior man with a page from his notepad with names of those that had "perished" in the exercise so far as the casualties were loaded onto the arrived vehicles. Many of the company's medics had made quick notes on those treated and what medications had been applied, to prevent any accidental overdoses in the "treatment" before they were rotated back into their respective platoons.

Vickers' radio operator walked over and handed the handset to the lieutenant as he received the message from India One Alpha, he keyed the handset as he replied, "Affirmative India One Alpha, will relieve command of Alpha Romeo Charlie to next senior officer, will report back once next command decides on course of action, Romeo Six Alpha out," Once he had finished with the radio call, the junior officer approached the first platoon's headquarters section and greeted Second Lieutenant Lisa Cortez with a slap on the shoulder, garbed in mixed brown and green camouflage face paint her hazel eyes peered out from underneath the brim of her helmet, "Change in command, you're up to lead the company now, Cortez."

Her face lit up with a smile and surprise, "Why not Johnson in third platoon?" She asked as the G128 carbine was slung over her shoulder and let the loose strap on her helmet hang down at the side of her face, "He's the next most senior candidate in the class."

"That may be, but the decision was left to my discretion," He replied, "And nobody has a better field record in the class than yourself, I think you're ready for it. The see-pee is just over there," He said motioning to the small grouping of soldiers that made up the company's staff who were talking with the elements from Victor Two Charlie.

At once, Cortez picked up her rucksack and made her way over to the temporary command post and greeted the reconnaissance team's NCOIC, "What have you got for us today?" She said setting her heavy ruck back down at her feet.

The Noncommissioned Officer In Command, or NCOIC, was a gentle man named Trebemysl Ulyanov with a brother in the VDV who'd always spoken highly of Aequatian soldiers since he returned from Estonavia. He was beginning to wonder if the Ulyanovs had a penchant for meeting Aequatian women in uniform, Sergei having written of meeting one fellow NCO while on deployment there. Who had unfortunately happened to be married.

When the new O/C stepped up to the "huddle" at the rear of the camouflaged Butterfly and announced herself, Trebemysl answered with a string of indecipherable soldier-slang that only a combat veteran who fully understood the "offhand" of Russkyan slang could hope to comprehend.

Therefore, Dzherenko translated.

"He says that you should rebomb - that is, rearm - reorg, and get a meal in. This point is secure, despite being on the flank of the brigade, and the Kombat says we're all to stay hidden as much as possible, apparently you're his ace in the sleeve."

Ulyanov, who spoke good English but to his chagrin was under orders to be somewhat difficult, rattled off again. He kept his frustration at being unable to practice his English to himself for the moment. Like many Russkyans, he was a fanatic when it came to absorbing as many languages as possible.

"Now he's told you that his boys will show yours how to set up camouflaged positions you can do everything but light a fire in, in under twenty minutes. I know what he's talking about, they're comfortable, get the practice in now and use them when you've got the chance later. It's called a "Zindka," not at all like a "Zindan," mind."

Speaking through Dzherenko slowed things down in the communication, but it was still more than suitable for the situation as she passed on the orders for the rest of the company to redistribute their ammunition and supplies among the 'survivors' and reorganize into ad hoc formations for the time being. Cortez made sure that despite the relative safety of their current position, that the soldiers remained vigilant in their defence and monitoring of the perimeter. Those that were not undergoing the short seminar provided by the Russkyans in the establishment of the covered and entrenched positions made sure to take the quiet opportunity to eat as the soldiers unpacked the Individual Meal Packages or "imps" from their kits, Horne pulled out one of the IMP bags from his rucksack and sighed, "Chicken and salsa... For fuck's sake," He said quietly to himself before tapping on the shoulder of the weapon team's ammunition bearer, "Trade you, what do you have?"

"Beef Ravioli," He said as they exchanged the packages and activated the magnesium-fueled flameless heaters and left them to cook while Horne emptied the fruit punch juice crystals into his canteen cup with water and mixed it with the plastic spork utensil. He quickly drank half of the cup's contents before ripping open the packaged soda crackers and using the plastic knife to spread peanut butter over them as a snack while the entree cooked on the heater for the normal twelve minutes. As they ate, the rest of the company prepared their positions and worked to cover them so they could remain as hidden as possible to avoid detection, but temporary so that they could move as quickly as possible if orders came down the line to advance.

By the same name, though of course written in the Cyrillic alphabet that was part of their mother tongue, Russkyan Army combat rations included small packets of oatmeal, chocolate bars, and so on. With the RA's fastidious attention to detail, the long-handled plastic spoon was olive drab green, and all of the packets were either khaki or OD Green as well.

There had been nearly an hour of rest and time to rebomb and reorg by the time Cortez received her new orders. Delivered over the radio, as was the norm by now, they were to move forward to link up with No. 2 Battalion's "B" Company, where they would be briefed and conduct a joint operation prior to the end of this twenty-four hour cycle.

Dusk was four and a half hours away. The operation would have to be carried out before 00.00, or the half moon would dangerously illuminate the area as the recently arrived cloudcover moved off overnight.

Cortez took to her new role as company commander immediately once she had received the orders by radio and scheduled for the rifle company's departure from their security position for their rendezvous with the allied formation once the platoons initially detailed to security on the hidden position had been relieved by fresh units and had the chance to eat and "rebomb" themselves. Aequatians prided themselves on their technological advantages and the lieutenant made plans for the unit to move during the "magic hours" close to dusk as she outlined her plans to the other reserve officers and non-commissioned leaders in a short briefing.

"So we're moving from this position to link up with Bravo company, I want the company to move with a modifed vee formation with two platoons on the forward positions with the other four in a column following, this will allow for a broad front to move on and they will contact any flanking ambushes before they hit the main body," The commander explained as she sat on her helmet at the rear of the Russkyan vehicle, "The company headquarters will be moving with the first platoon behind the two point elements to maintain the best state of control over the entire formation."

The company's first sergeant continued, "We want soldiers who can navigate as well, preparations are worthless if the objective cannot be found in time or if we're compromised during movement. Commanders, plan on having at least two compass and pace men per platoon. The platoon's point men must not be tasked with compass or pace duties, their sole responsibility is forward security, so keep that noted."

"I will have support fire ready, even if we don't need it, and the 'sixties' will be ready to provide airburst-frag rounds on your call," Said Cortez, "The company will move in a traveling overwatch to best take advantage of both speed and security.

I want individual soldiers spaced about ten metres and rifle sections spaced about twenty five from each other, lead sections must be far enough ahead of the rest of the platoon to detect or engage any enemy units before the enemy observes or engages the main body of the unit. However, I want you to keep them close enough that the platoon's small arms can support them if they are engaged. Given the terrain, this should be no further than fifty metres.

Platoons in the column will not be moving in traveling overwatch as it is not necessary, but they are to maintain active and passive security measures during the march, in addition to the fact that they will be rotated from the column to the point positions. Are we green?"

The other officers and sergeants affirmed their understanding as the briefing ended and they returned to their respective units and made preparations for the immediate departure. The lieutenant returned to her headquarters section and made some last-minute compass orientations and packed her kit. The soldiers helped each other get the heavy rucksacks on their backs and collected their weapons, making sure to leave no evidence of their presence by taking the ration packaging with them. Within two hours, the company was on the move to their rendezvous with the allied formation.

"B" Company, 2nd Battalion was in contact. A prolonged contact that involved simulated mortar fire dropping down dangerously close to their positions while a blue chemical haze filtered through their positions. As soon as the haze had been spotted, the alarm had gone out: "Gas, gas, gas!"

Masked up in under six seconds, "B" Company went back to work. There was no particular chemical weapon threat, but out of concern that blue smoke might signify a chemical attack the soldiers of "B" Coy had masked themselves anyways. Also, being HHC smoke, it was better not to breathe it for any length of time if it could be avoided.

Doctrine that had survived from the 1940s had every RA soldier carrying a monolithic entrenching tool, a "half sized shovel" with a sharp blade. Once "B" Coy had halted here three hours ago, the entire formation had gone to the ground and dug out little individual scrapes, fifteen centimeters deep. In these, they could lay down and the incoming fire would whistle harmlessly over their heads.

Thirty minutes after that, those scrapes had been connected by half-section, also identified as fireteam. They now formed little four man slit trenches sufficiently deep that you could fire from the kneeling position.

An hour after that, they were well camouflaged and part of a carefully integrated fire plan. Some were deep enough that the occupants could stand and fire through their embrasures in the parapet.

At the two hour mark, all of the positions were that deep. They were connected to form section trenches, with complete camouflage and cut-outs that soldiers could lay in and sleep. The cynical troops of "B" Coy fully anticipated a move order that would make all of their handiwork obsolete. They were relieved at the three hour mark when no such order came.
Then they had begun to receive mortar fire. Then the smoke had appeared, pushed by a moderate breeze that cooled sweat-covered faces under helmet rims. Under this cover, an infiltrating group was approaching their positions.

Cortez and her Aequatian command would be able to hear the sporadic fire to their front pick up in intensity until it was a full on firefight. Measured machinegun bursts hammered through the twilight and the crackle of rapid repetition aimed rifle fire undercut this. Occassionally, there was a "Thwumph" as a GP30 fired.

Privates Lakarinomov and Ulko were the first to meet their assailants face to face. A flashbang tumbled into their section of trench and detonated underneath Ulko's helmet, jarring the young soldier's leg badly. A bearded face appeared over the parapet, and a moment later his rifle muzzle. Lakarinomov shot him twice and dragged him down into the trench as he'd been taught, delivering another two shots to the chest. Red ribbon burst from packets and Ulko threw a flashbang back over the parapet.

Three shapes rose above the trench and were cut down by Ulko and Lakarinomov in tandem. Glancing right, Ulko could see that the section's machinegun was unmanned, the crew laying against the back of their machinegun trench, "dead." He tapped Lakarinomov and pointed at the weapon. They ran to it, bent at the waist to keep their heads well below the parapet.

Their section commander was on the radio, shouting over the net to get No. 3 Section's machinegun to "Scratch our fucking back!" A flashbang sailed into the trench behind him and silhouetted him in the flash. It wasn't bad drills on his part or his section's part. It's just that they'd been selected as the focal point of the infiltration which had now officially gone tits up.

Swinging the muzzle across the safety peg, the gunner of No. 3 Section saw his loader clip the end of the loaded belt to a fresh one as he began to fire. Intermittent flashes and ghostly shapes in his passive night vision weapon sight sight became his targets. The loader earned himself a shouted "Good drills!" from an instructor interspersed with the training soldiers when he kept up the rhythm of clipping fresh belts to the existing one every five pauses. This saved them from having to feed a fresh belt through the weapon. A pile of cartridge casings and expended belt links was brushed aside into the trench to make room for more to fall in their place.

Forced back by the machinegun fire and unexpectedly determined resistance, the infiltrators began to back away, redoubling their volume of fire in an attempt to suppress the dug in positions. Doing so gave away their location to the machinegun of No. 1 Section, which locked into its sustained fire mount, was hammering the retreating "irregulars" in conjunction with No. 3 Section's weapon.

Lakarinomov was on the KRA-03P when the enemy began to retreat. Trailing a meter of belt from the weapon's receiver, he unhooked it from the sustained fire mount and walked up and out of the trench, firing from the hip. This was indeed "Bad drills, Seriozha!" but it felt right. Ulko accompanied him, running forward a few meters and firing his AK-74M into the backs of the retreating enemy. The two shouted across the few meter's seperation to one another, encouragement and various comments.

"That's the way, Kolya!"
"Look at them run, Seriozha! Look at them run!"
"Get fucked, Dukh, get fucked!"

They realized how exposed their position was when the adrenaline high wore off and returned sheepishly to the trench, where half their section were simulated dead. Another was wounded, and he was being tended to as the two reset the machinegun on its tripod and fed a new belt into the weapon.

The ARC's leading elements were greeted by a picquet pulling rear security while his partner remained in overwatch. To get their attention, he pulled a television remote control from the pocket of his combat trousers and aimed it at a spot to the front of the point element, depressing the "Next Channel" key.

He did this because unlike the infrared LED, it wouldn't reveal his position in a way that could be mistaken for a muzzle flash. The blotch that appeared on the ground was invisible to the naked eye but glared brightly in the view of anyone wearing a Night Optical Device, the official name for the night vision goggles that the Russkyan soldier wore. It seemed logical to assume that the Aequatian sets were infrared sensitive as well and would detect this sort of illumination. It traced back to where he was standing beside a tree trunk, as if he were holding a flashlight and shining the beam through dust-impregnated air.

Then he hailed the Aequatian point element quietly in eerily perfect English. "Hello!"

The acting-sergeant leading the forward rifle section took to a knee and signaled for the rest of the unit to halt and drop down as he noticed the infrared signal. Still looking ahead for their contact, his hand reached over to the PRC-577 set on the back of the section's RTO, "One-six, this is one-one, we've made contact with Bravo company's security, over."

"Wilco, one-one," Replied the platoon's lieutenant as he switched over to speak with all three sections under him, "Fold to one-one's position and move up to meet with Bravo company, one-six out."

Three distinct calls of "Affirmative" returned to the officer as he switched over to the uplink channel to speak with Cortez, "Romeo one-one for Romeo Six Alpha, come in."

"Reading you, one-one, go ahead," Replied the company headquarters radio operator.

"Have made contact with Bravo company elements, folding on their position and marking as G-R-P Alpha on the G-NET map, over," Said the lieutenant as he marked off the general reference point on the satellite map displayed on his handheld digital assistant.

"We got you crystal, we're moving to meet you," Replied Cortez as she took the handset, "Keep your foot in the door and make sure the cat doesn't get out, six alpha, out." The lieutenant quickly divided his platoon in two, keeping a watch on both flanks with a wide vee formation as the rest of the company funneled through to link up with their allied company.

When Cortez's command had redistributed itself amongst "B" Company, the Russkyan Infanteers who'd already been at NORDLAND for three weeks wordlessly handed the Aequatians their monolithic entrenching tools. One Ryadavoi summed it up succinctly: "Dig hole like ours. Live longer that way. When you have to leave hole after dig perfectly, swear. Take anger out on enemy. I will show you how to camouflage it as you work, now."

Pyotr Chebukhin, the Captain and officer in command of B Coy, greeted Cortez with a map. It showed, nearly a kilometer ahead of their position, a river.

"This is our job. We'll have to advance the, as you might say, buck and a dime to the river." By this, Chebukhin simply meant that the river's near bank was eleven hundred meters away from their current position. His long and calloused fingers traced over the map, illustrating the position. A greasepencil held in his right hand tapped on already-marked phase lines and planned movement routes.

"I've already had combat patrols out to shake up the enemy in this area and a few recce patrols have slipped down to the river to see what the enemy has and the general lay of the land. The far side is burned, only started regrowing last spring. So low foliage, some tufts of grass, but still mostly black charred wood and that sort of thing. That's all along the far side of the river and about a quarter-klick deep, it's shit.

"We're the point of the spear. A and C coys will bend out from our line here to protect our flanks, and the engineers will come up from behind us. D coy has our heavy weapons, and that means eighty-two mikemike and indirect heavy machinegun fire on call. Your headquarters team is going to get two of my FOOs and I get the other two. We need to be across the river by midnight.

"Three Battalion will pass through our positions, and continue the advance. The Kombat was hoping to rotate us back for a hot meal and showers. Have you seen your barracks yet? I got here and next thing you know I'm on the line, back and forth with constant fighting in this forest. Had to take on some light armour yesterday, two BMDs came up a trail and shot up first platoon's positions. Speaking of, we can expect to see some light armour on the far side of the objective. What do you have for integral antitank?"

Cortez smiled, "I'm afraid we've been in the same boat as you fellows, we were 'switched on' as soon as the dirt touched our boots," She said looking down at the collection of earth and dried mud on her sage green suede combats. Switching her mindset to the captain's question, "Each platoon has two organic ninety mike-mike recoilless rifles and the company's anti-tank section has three launchers for the Halberds in separate teams to deal out to whomever needs them," She said referring to the Army's man-portable, fire-and-forget anti-tank missile, "The Mauls will deal with basically anything up to full main battle tanks, while the Halberds can knock out anything up to and including low-flying helos."

As the lieutenant spoke with Chebukhin, the guardsmen chatted with their counterparts in Bravo company as the Russkyans demonstrated not only their methods in personal entrenchment but also in the close-combat properties of the small spades. Horne tasked himself with digging the firing pit for his team's weapon as the assistant moved earth while the lowly private ammunition bearer was tasked with obtaining materials for overhead cover, the lance corporal spotted one of the Bravo company men in their positions and caught their attention, "Is it true that these shovels can be used to decapitate a man?"

The positions being prepared behind them, Cortez examined the map along with her chosen executive officer as she continued to speak with the captain, "How long until we're to start the advance, captain?"

Captain Chebukhin checked his watch.

"Thirty minutes.

"My company has one RPG-7V per section, Weasel LAAWs scattered amongst the section as well at the commander's discretion. Each platoon has an RPG-29 team and I've got four Ostrich missile systems in my weapons platoon. I've also got two mortars under my command. Normally I'd have four PODNOS and quartet of machineguns too, but the brigade commander decided to impose some complications.

"So, just to state the obvious: Antitank in overwatch, smoke the far bank in accordance with prevailing wind direction, set up a strong base of fire, cross as the engineers dictate, secure the bridgehead, and wait for number three battalion. Any suggestions? I have no idea what the engineers will bring, but I'm pretty sure it's either going to be assault boats or rafting us across on pontoon segments until they can string a bridge together."

Pte. Lakarinomov looked up at the 'Lance-Jack' Aequatian.

"Yeah. Take head off a Muzh bandit beautifully. Return the favour, like mom tells you to." He patted the entrenching tool's carrier, which featured a small pouch for carrying a sharpening stone.

"Just how much resistance can we expect to see along the way?" Asked Cortez as she bit down on the end of her OG-painted field pencil, a usual habit from her time in class back home when she was trying to concentrate, "Moving two companies can be slow-going on its own, five times that if we even meet light defensive positions. Have the mortar teams prepared phase lines for quick calibration, or will they be moving with the general advance?"

"Bandits?" Said Horne as his eyebrow visibly raised, "Just how bad is the bandit problem that the army has to deal with them?" He asked in a perplexed state, similar to the other citizen soldiers around him, each of them pondering the poor state of law enforcement in Russkya at this point.

Lieutenant Vickers, having taken command of one of the platoons, moved between the positions of his sections and spoke with the men as he examined the positions dug with the advice given by the Russkyans, "We move out in thirty, so don't get too comfortable," He said to one of the rifle teams as they sighted their MG146 light machine gun.

"Are you kidding me, sir?" Replied one of the privates, "We just got here."

"Afraid so, soldier, short hop and we'll have the chance to rest," Said Vickers as he moved on to the next hole.

Lakarinomov leaned forward to peer more closely at Horne's chest.

"No, Horne. Bandits. My English is not as good as my German. You would say "Muslim Guerillas," I think. In Russkya, they are bandits. You know, blow up schoolchildren, cut head off PoW, that sort of thing. I tell you now, cops very good at job, don't play games with them. I think perhaps they think their job is to be rough with troublemakers more than law requires."

Chebukhin shifted positions to sit next to Cortez's left and laid his map on his left leg. The marked positions were now clear under the glow of a red lensed flashlight in the shelter-half covered fighting hole.

"I've put my PODNOS here to cover our advance. Platoon and section leaders can call for fire. Our recce patrols have determined there is no opposition to our front, but with the recent attack we just sustained there may be a few groups of hostiles holding out. My plan is to leave my headquarters team and heavy weapons here with two rifle sections to protect the mortars and company baggage. My company will cover yours. You bring the heavy equipment, my men travel light in forest combat order to screen your front and flanks. We will quickly overwhelm any enemy that impedes your movement until we reach this point."

He tapped the map and marked it with a blue grease pencil.

"From here you'll be able to deploy your coy to provide fire on the far side of the riverbank and begin fire cover for the engineers. My company will cycle backwards to escort the engineers, company baggage, and my mortar and heavy weapons teams. If the engineers have us using assault boats, my men will paddle yours across, give yours a slight rest. The engineers will be able to handle the pontoon rafts if that's what they bring. Normally the engineer commander would be here by now and we wouldn't have to plan for two different things."

Horne and the other guardsmen nodded as they understood and made their own connection from their own experiences back home, "He means like the 'Seppies' out in the Western Desert, like Olympus," Said one of the privates.

Horne addressed Lakarinomov and the other Russkyans, "Back in the Separatist Conflict, we had our own problems with a group of Muslims, they sound similar, the old and bitter twisting Islam for their own gains so the young and stupid would fight for them. Too many had to die before it came to an end."

"Yeah, but Horne, it had to end," Said another private, "All the shit that happened out there, they had no choice."

Cortez nodded in agreement as she finished her own notes, "Just give me a few minutes to address my platoon leaders and I'll be ready to move out, so just let us know when its time to roll out, sir," She said before being dismissed and returning to her section and outlining the same plan with the other officers.

They prepared their marching orders and integrated the callsigns for the weapons units before the lieutenant sent a runner to Chebukhin's trench, "Good to go," The private transmitted his message to the captain, his G128 carbine held tightly in his hands despite being surrounded by almost two hundred similarly paranoid and armed people, just as switched on as he himself was by now.

As the Aequatians prepared to move, Vickers helped one of his platoon's recoilless rifle teams out of their hole, taking hold of the MAWL-90 weapon and placing it over his shoulder as the young privates climbed out and hefted their packs, "Thank you, sir."

"No problem," He said handing the launcher back to the guardsman with a smile, "Get moving with your assigned section, your asses are vital for this tab," He said as the soldiers hurried off as the officer turned back towards his own section.

Rucksacks gathered in piles by platoon, it wasn't long before the RA soldiers were fully camouflaged, standing in loose lines across the front and flanks of the Aequatian company. On word from their platoon commanders they folded the stocks of their rifle to the left, locking them shut, and disappeared into the primeval forest. This is where they were meant to be.

Each half-section split into two teams of two. Taking advantage of the terrain, they bounded forward by pairs, maintaining contact with their comrades on their left and right. Each section could field four pairs, and in the event of contact these hard to detect soldiers coalesced into a complete rifle section or platoon and first fixed in place their enemy and then outflanked him. Combat in the forest was eerie in the extreme - trees bounced sounds around, unnaturally muting them to some, unnaturally amplifying them to others. Four noisy men could sound like a whole company, while an entire company could slip by unnoticed if they watched their footfalls and secured their gear.

There was a contact fifteen minutes into the move, on the front right. The chain moving ahead of the Aequatians suddenly went taut, forming into two rifle sections. Automatic weapons chattered, flashbangs and thunderflashes detonated to simulate grenades, and there was the sudden deep-throated "Urrah" as a section fell upon the enemy's flank at close range, erupting out of the trees firing into unmissable forms fixated on the contact to their front with the flitting shapes and muzzle flashes. This cleared, the chain resumed its original form and carried on.

Unburdened with rucksacks, the average Rifleman carried his weapon, an assault vest or webbing rig with twelve magazines and four grenades. He carried his bayonet, often a fighting knife strapped to his leg or hanging on his gear within near-instant reach, and his monolithic entrenching tool. In the confines of the forest, stopping to reload could easily be fatal and it actually became safer to bring a knife to a gunfight, using the fire cover of your mates to close with the enemy and engage him with cold steel. Sudden, overwhelming brutality was the order of the day.

The PODNOS mortars didn't have to fire, and the platoons watching the flanks grew concerned that the enemy had shifted to one side to let them through. A combat patrol was sent out, a section moving in column with selector switches on automatic and tensed shoulders, to sweep the flanks and make contact if at all possible. A sudden burst of fire, red ribbon hanging from the chest of the pointman, and then useless fire at rapidly moving shapes splitting into a line and advancing from tree to tree, returning fire as each man saw fit, until close enough to hear their opponent's breathing. A sudden rush, sometimes through thick brush, a crack on the helmet with the rear of the receiver, or thrusting the muzzle into the sternum and falling in a tangle of limbs to the forest loam.
Instinct kicked in as much as training: grab here, headbutt that, punch, punch, writhe free. Or, instinctively, pulling a knife clear of its scabbard or shrugging the grip of the entrenching tool into your hand, a solid thwack on someone's helmet with the flat of the blade or the pommel of the knife, a shouted "Yield!" This was the kind of fighting Russkyan Infanteers excelled at, the kind of fighting they spent so many long hours training to do.

Cpt. Chebukhin was forward with his command, leaving his support element under the guidance of his Warrant Officer. For the sake of command and control, he and his signaller were walking slack on the wedge-shaped chain that One Platoon provided, Two Platoon being to the left and Three Platoon on the right. He looked over his shoulder from time to time and could see the Aequatian point elements moving as quietly as they could despite being so heavily burdened. Chebukhin dropped back, standing alongside the point man, showing him how to move: feet pressing down flat on the ground, shifting slowly forward one leg to another, feet drawing half-circles bent towards the other leg as each foot went to move forward. Back straight, to help carry your load, weapon at the ready with muzzle tilted down just so.

The ARNG were quick learners, and this slower but smooth method of movement reduced the noise they made substantially. Now they just had to learn to look through foliage instead of at the foliage, and recognize the shapes behind it for what they were. A few birds chirped. It sounded melodious, but was anything but peaceable in intent: when birds chirp, it's a warning to stay away from the nest, a mating call, or a challenge to others. It isn't for the sake of song. It did however boost confidence in the ARC, being able to move through forest like this without causing the birds to take flight. They were accustomed to weapons fire, and returned to their nests shortly after every firefight.

Extra work now means less pain later. The Russkyans swept down to the riverbank, formed into a column, and made their way past the ARNG on their left as they returned to the company's positions. A and C companies bent their lines forward to link up with the ARNG and create a secured area in which the Engineers could move forward. B Coy displaced forward again, siting their PODNOS 82mm mortars near their Aequatian counterparts. The indirect fire weapons would be relying on adjustments from spotters to make their rounds count, because in the thick forest the furthest you could see at the best of times was barely thirty meters, and only on a narrow lane between trees.

The platoons making up the ARC got to work right away as soon as they reached the riverbank, half of the force sitting on security overwatch as the others began digging into the earth and entrenching themselves as before. Each platoon's GPMG team constructed their dugouts on each flank, keeping in contact with each other as they worked out the necessary fields of fire and ensuring that they had interlacing arcs. Each platoon's section of eight men were broken down into their independent fireteams organized around their powerful MG146 light machine guns and four-man slit trenches were dug, themselves maintaining wide fields of fire to support each other in case of a close assault. Lieutenant Vickers worked at the earth with his spade as one of the company-level sustained fire teams dug in next to them.

The sustained fire teams, although equipped with the same MG260E1 machine gun as the GPMG teams, had the reinforced and larger sustained fire tripod mount for the weapon, which allowed for indirect fire with the powerful 8.5mm round if necessary along with limited support for the practice of "all arms air defence" which included every man and woman with a weapon to fill the sky with lead, aimed in the general direction of passing enemy aircraft.

The ferocity of the Russkyans surprised many of the Aequatian citizen soldiers, themselves never been in combat and trained largely at home, and the brutal nature of the course had started to sink in as the guardsmen realized that such attitudes were necessary for survival in real combat. Many of the soldiers could begin to feel something of a rush when it came to the environment, a bloodlust of sorts as the pent up anxiety and paranoia of an attack kept adrenaline pumping through their system and ready to fight. The Aequatians were beginning to desire a confrontation with the OPFOR, any release whatsoever for the energy inside each of them so that they could return to normal. Until that time, they settled for preparing their positions on the riverbank and watching, weapons at the ready for their time.

The Germans noted, in every year between and including 1941 and 1945, the ability of the Russians to displace into forest, even primeval forest - sometimes best described as 'temperate woodland jungle' - and operate there for weeks, if not months at a time. These months could easily have stretched into years had not other circumstances forced the front's evolution, removing the forest from tactical and operational significance.

Only after painful experience did the Germans learn to encircle the forests and treat them as one would a beseiged city. They found that the Russians were able to survive prolonged bombardment in this environment, using the lopata to entrench themselves quickly and effectively even in areas where the root network was thickly intertwined just below the topsoil. Thick canopies made it exceedingly difficult for Luftwaffe reconnaissance to provide any information of significance. Often, tightly packed trees and thick undergrowth caused the encumbered soldier to become hopelessly stuck, increasing movement times by a factor of as much as six, and making them hideously vulnerable to sudden attack by a concealed, less heavily burdened enemy.

The ARC had thus far been deployed only in light woods, in support of Russkyan units deployed in a similar manner. They were now to encounter primeval Russkyan forest, thick and endless tracts of birch. It lay just on the opposite side of the hundred and sixty-three meter wide river, at the point they now faced, that formed the "belt" of NORDLAND.

For the Russians during the Great Patriotic War, it had been nothing to bring heavy KV-1 tanks and the lighter T-34s through forest. Roads were constructed, trees relocated carefully. Branches were woven overhead, this concealment being replaced where necessary as it died or thinned. Logs were split and laid side by side to provide passage through swampland. The Russkyan Engineers, men who'd learnt from these Russians, found it no problem to map a route complete with turnaround points and staging sites. The ground in this sector was firm, with what the RA termed "medium undergrowth." The mix of firs and birch were fairly widely spaced, and some quick calculations were done.

A few branches were neatly hacked off trees with handaxes. Having thus widened what appeared to be a game trail that meandered down past the ARC position to the riverbank, it was now capable to carry, portage-style, a quartet of assault boats down to the river. This was done by Three Platoon, with One Platoon providing security. Engineers were at work mapping out a route with two ninety degree turns in it down to the river - the turns were made so as to prevent an enemy on the far bank from observing the entirety of the road about to be constructed. With A and C coys providing flank security, the Engineers set to work.

Two Platoon of B Coy was assigned to act as the fording group. They stripped off much of their equipment, taping a magazine to the one loaded in their rifle before slinging it across their backs and leaving their kit in a neat pile at the ARC's overwatch position. Cortez was suddenly confronted with a face desperately in need of a shave that belonged to an Engineer senior non-com.

"Excuse me ma'am, but we're standing by to conduct the assault crossing."

"Proceed as planned," Said Cortez curtly as she watched a group of guardsmen fumble with one of the heavy MG260E1 weapons, "We got you on overwatch security, tell number two platoon that they're as good to go as possible, excuse me for a moment..." She explained to the field engineer before irritation fell upon her painted face and she marched over to the machine gun team and kicked the helmets of one of the guardsmen with her boot, crusted dirt coming off as she shouted, "For fuck's sake, get your shit straightened before I kick your testicles up into your hips."

"Yes, ma'am," Replied the three soldiers as they hurried to set up the weapon and its sustained fire kit.

Vickers watched as his fellow officer "motivated" the gun crew from his own position with his platoon's headquarters section. One of the guardsmen sat with an MG146 weapon set up on its bipod overlooking the river as he motioned to light a cigarette, the lieutenant quickly reached over and extinguished the ignited match with the palm of his tactical gloves, "No light, private, it draws fire and I'd rather not be in its way."

"Righto, leftenant," Replied the soldier as he put the weapon to his shoulder and scanned the opposite riverbank while the Russkyan soldiers pushed the assault boats into the water.

"Watch your spacing, don't leave any gaps," Said Vickers as he addressed his platoon's machine gun teams through the unit's local intercom channel.

The assault boats had been placed on the riverbank while Two Platoon lay quietly between and behind them. Lightly equipped, their only task was to paddle the craft across the wide river and return the boats to pick up the next group.
Well behind this activity, the engineers were working on the roadway quietly. Trees were marked for later removal and the bridging group brought itself into position, sending down a team of six to survey the area and plot the location of the bridge. They arrived just as 4 Platoon, ARC, was making their way down to the boats in battle order.

Two Platoon's leader crouched by the riverbank and split 4 Platoon into its eight man sections with Second Lieutenant Houzer. This particular model of assault boat could carry twelve, resulting in each eight man section of 4 Platoon being loaded on each boat with four men from Voloshchuk's platoon. Paddles were distributed, lightweight dark grey and olive drab painted aluminium affairs, and the boats struck out into the stiff current upstream of their intended landing site. Voloshchuk remained crouching on the bank, watching Four Platoon's progress and occassionally radioing to the lead boat to paddle more strongly slightly upstream so as not to overshoot the target area on the far bank.

Once their prows bumped against the far bank, two Russkyan Infanteers were over the bow before the Aequatians had time to lift their paddles from the water again. The boats were held in place by strong grips on the forelines as the ARNG disembarked rapidly and disappeared into the darkness of the treeline which abutted the river. The boats returned to the near bank, leaving 4 Platoon on their own.

Lieutenant Voloshchuk tapped the transmit key on his PRR again to report up his chain of command, where the scruffy pioneer waited near Cortez. He pressed his head to his shoulder, listening intently to the PRR's earpiece, and caught Cortez's attention.

"If you have a second platoon to send across, send them down now."

"Ready positions, medium spread!" Ordered Houzer as 4 Platoon went prone or went to a knee, each soldier spaced a few metres from their compatriots as they looked out on their fields of fire. The lieutenant rushed between the individual sergeants, checking up on his rifle sections, "Eyes open and weapons up, wait until the next batch gets here," He said, patting a guardsman on the shoulder as he moved by, his boots hammering the earth with his RTO in tow, the odd jingle of metal fasteners against each other sounding in the darkness, although not quite enough to effectively determine a position.

As 4 Platoon took up it's position and secured the opposite bank, Cortez looked down as the assault boats made their return to the bank again as she turned to her RTO, "Get Vickers and First Platoon across, make sure he passes it on to Houzer to start digging in eh-sap."

Vickers and his platoon started to pick up their things and started down to the boats, with 3 Platoon on overwatch, and loaded into the small craft, the platoon dividing itself up into its four, equal eight-man sections. As they approached the water, one guardsman slipped and fell to a knee, catching himself from a catastrophic fall in his heavy kit, as he moved to return to his feet, another soldier, reaching back on his belt order, tumbled over the hunched rifleman and sent both men forward into the water with a loud splash as Vickers and others helped to get them back on their feet and into the boats for the jump across, "Silly bastards," Said one of the grenadiers quietly to a few light chuckles.

Within minutes 1 Platoon was across and the process repeated itself with 2 Platoon, Vickers met up with Houzer and passed on the message from Cortez through word of mouth, which had started to become more common within the company for fragmented orders, instead of constant radio use, "Start digging in, the rest of the company's coming across."

"All right, left flank is a little exposed," Replied 4 Platoon's commander, "I could use your people out there, I don't want my ass hanging in the air."

"No problem," Vickers said as he directed his sections to a position down the riverbank slightly as 4 Platoon began to dig its positions, behind them 2 Platoon started up from the water and moved to the opposite flank, almost a mirror action of Vicker's unit.

As the two Guardsmen from Second Platoon tumbled into the water rather audibly, the Russkyans could be seen to cringe and crouch lower to the gunwhales of the assault boats. Their buckles were primarily hard-wearing polymers, with any metal buckles carefully taped to reduce distinctive metal-on-metal noise. Mother Nature was kind though, and helped masked the young Aequatians entrenching and jingling with the noise of the river flowing. This ambient masking would fall away if the ARC was required to move inland, when the harsh jangling noise of fasteners would become a major liability.

Sooner than later, one of the RA men who had been at NORDLAND for several weeks now would toss an Aequatian a roll of "green sticky" and tell him to silence his equipment, if necessary walking him or her through the hard-learned lessons of how. The boatcrews grinned at the dripping troops who made it into the boat before striking off across the river again, one stating quietly in English that; "Water is meant to stay outside the boat, okay?" as water drained out of the M1988 pouches that festooned the National Guardsmen.

Russkyan soldiers were first trained to operate in the dark without night vision equipment, and then moved on to use night vision sights and thermal imaging observation optics - nicknamed "Sasha," the device was basically an overweight pair of binoculars - before training on their proper night vision equipment. Therefore, it wasn't uncommon to see a flare pistol tucked into webbing, or handflares strapped to chestrigs beside grenades. One of these sparked to life just as the assault boats touched the far bank, casting a flickering red glow over the river. Silently and swiftly, the RA jumped out of the boat and held it secure to the bank, unslinging their rifles and readying themselves for combat.

One hissed back over his shoulder at the ARNG as they debussed the now all-too-exposed boats. "Stay calm! Stay low! If we don't fuck about they'll move first and we'll slot them."

On the "friendly" side of the riverbank, the Engineers saw the flare go up and sighed. It would likely be a contested crossing now. Shadows danced between trees while Engineers wrapped detcord around trunks and intricately choreographed the movement of heavy machinery, in order to keep noise down to an absolute minimum in terms of duration. Voloshchuk froze in the thigh-high grass on the riverbank and sank back down to his haunches, waiting for the flare to fade before confirming that his remaining sections had formed an all-around defence to protect the embarkation point.

There was a thump somewheres to the front of Four Platoon as a parachute flare was fired. Thanks again to Mother Nature, the forest confused all noise. To some men it would sound as if that flare had been launched under their noses. Others wouldn't be able to hear it at all. A handful might have a general idea of which direction the noise originated from, others were more likely to turn in the wrong direction. Even experienced soldiers had difficulty with determining the origin of sound in forests.

Amber light cast itself over the river, floating high in the night sky on a small parachute, rocking back and forth under the silk canopy.

The remaining Aequatians of 3 Platoon, the Weapons Platoon and the ARC headquarters accepted the tape from their Bravo Company comrades and got to work on securing their webbing equipment and any other pieces of kit that made noise in the usual actions in the field. The flare rising into the air and lighting up the night as it hung by its parachute froze 3 Platoon in its positions on the "friendly" side of the river as they brought up weapons and peered across while 1, 2 and 4 Platoon on the opposite side hunkered down to whatever cover they could find. Lieutenant Houzer brought his G128 tight against his shoulder as he switched on the night observation filter on his weapon's M64 Holographic Combat Sight and scanned the forest before him, he turned his head to speak to the rifle section on his left, "Watch for silhouettes against the background light, don't fire unless you're sure there's a target," He said swinging his head around to the section on his right, the chinstrap for his M5 Helmet dangling unsecured as he moved, and repeated the same order to the other section.

On Houzer's flank, under Lieutenant Vickers, the company's 1 Platoon kept on their toes as the lieutenant took up his own position, his fighting hole only half finished as he pulled the charging bolt back on his own G128 and readied himself. To his immediate left, one of his sergeants was correcting a private and pointing him towards the forest, who in the confusion of the flare's launch had taken aim back towards the river having believed he heard the sound on the platoon's rear quarter.

Cortez sat with a tactical map under a red lamp and the handset from her RTO in her hand as she spoke with the sergeant leading the company's mortar squad, "Six ready rounds at hand, I want fires of quick succession prepared on T-R-P Alpha as marked on G-NET map, over," She said as the officer marked down the target reference point on the personal digital assistant outlined by SPACECOM's satellite positioning system before putting it away in a pouch on her belt.

"Affirmative, Alpha-Romeo-Six, rounds at the ready," Replied the sergeant, "We'll be waiting for the call, out."

Clad only in old VSR-pattern combats with a an old Soviet-era magazine pouch on his hip and an equally old AK-74 across his arms as he leopard crawled through the woods, Corporal Dzhirkvelov relied on the ankle-high grass to make his passage near silent. The careful design of the CTS04 sensor vest kept it neatly out of the way.

In 1998, the suddenly-made-surplus stocks of VSR were treated with an infrared suppressant, and were popular with Russkyan PMCs such as PRELIKAZ and to a lesser extent, "Red Stone." Face and hands blackened, Dzhirkvelov moved carefully so the hessian wrapping the barrel and furniture of his 'vintage' Kalashnikov wouldn't snag on foliage. Beside him were a line of other soldiers, and crouched in the forest in full camouflage was Dzherenko, who observed through his night vision equipment.

The flickering light of the flares made for a very confusing play of shadows at ground level. A full three dozen men, some armed with KML light machineguns, were conducting one phase of what the Russkyan Army's Infanteers were famed for: the infiltrating assault.

More flares burst into life overhead, sent out by the NORDLAND Cadre and by the headquarters team of the OPFOR platoon now a scant twenty meters from the Aequatian fighting holes. The forest was so dense as to provide superb concealment even from this distance.

Every time a flare ignited, Dzhirkvelov stopped and laid his chin on the ground. He whistled the call of a nightingale, causing a private in his section, who, with exquisite care, crawled up beside him. Without a word, Dzhirkvelov rolled onto his side and produced a trio of thunderflashes from his jacket pockets, handing them to Pte. Gabardayev, a Shapsug-descended man from the town of Nizhniy Chernorakhaya. That man, more used to the mountains than to dense forest, inched his way forward cautiously until he, and two others similarily equipped, lay a scant five meters from the Aequatians, concealed behind the trunk of a tree, a thick bush, or in the case of one soldier, a damp and shallow depression.

And then they waited.

On the friendly side of the river, the Engineers waited for a lull in the sporadic illumination put out by the OPFOR. Over the B Coy and ARC radio nets came a quick warning:

"Alpha Six, Romeo Bravo Romeo, this is Sierra Romeo. Fire in the hole, fire in the hole, fire in the hole. Out."

With a roar of explosives and the sudden crashing of trees, a rough road was cut into the thinner forest - when compared to what lay across the river - that after two turns lead down to the river. Powerful diesel engines grumbled as heavy vehicles, including a substantial L-31 Mammoth OCV, moved forward. Trees were moved off to either side of the road to provide a sort of curb, and would later be recycled as firewood, unditching logs, or turned into a simple field-expedient raft.

Cortez looked up at the sky as another flare ignited and threw the dim light through the trees and over the company's positions. One handset from a PRC-577 radio was pressed against her ear under the brim of her M5 helmet linked to the platoons across the river while another was gripped in her other hand, linking her to the waiting fire support, she sat in her cramped position with her RTO as the lieutenant waited for what she expected was an immediate attack. Most guardsmen and reserve officers trained for mechanized warfare and were prepared to operate with a largely armoured force, the light role aspects of the course thus far had been almost alien compared to the experience the Aequatians carried with them, Cortez herself undertaking cross training with a cavalry regiment and adopting their gung-ho and impatient nature. "Always be on the attack or just preparing to attack," She remembered the charismatic troop major she was operating under, who still wore his black Stetson-style hat instead of his M6 "Tanker" vehicle helmet, yellow scarf and silver spurs on his combat boots in the field.

The officer was brought back to reality with the detonation of the engineers' explosives, which also caught the attention of the guardsmen as they recovered from the momentary concussive blast of the explosions and peered out into the forest, weapons at the ready. Although the guardsmen were "pumped" for a fight, many of them were nervous for that moment contact would be made, given the previous attacks that occurred since the arrival. Vickers pulled the sling over his shoulder and let it fall loosely as he set the weapon's firing mode to fully automatic with his thumb, resting the green plastic forestock on the top of his knee with his hand on the weapon's grip, he strained his eyes in the low-light conditions, turning to one of his squad leaders beside him, "I don't want any hesitation, as soon as we get hit, I want the fire to stay constant... don't stop firing until it's long over," He said finishing his order with a slap on the acting sergeant's shoulder as the lieutenant tried to maintain confidence despite the sinking feeling in his own stomach.

The forest did ugly things to men.

Every man developed a sense of his own concealment. It was based on observation, confidence, and experience. The nervous man could think that he was in plain sight and the enemy was toying with him, and then give himself away with a required movement executed too quickly. The inexperienced man often did the same, and failed to close the distance with the enemy to make the infiltrating assault work. Confidence in one's own abilities was required, and this was regularly cultivated.

The soldiers of the RA, particularly anyone whose task involved the word "Infantry", could be found playing stalking games for training and even relaxation. The task would generally involve getting from point A to point B undetected, or staging an ambush on some poor soul carrying a crate of alchohol. At times, the reconnaissance units practiced their prisoner grabs on the wives of their commanding officers - this was dangerous though, as the startled wife in question had sometimes been known to open fire if she didn't recognize the men for what they were.

Generally speaking, the logic was that any assault required the same basic skills, be it after a fifty kilometer route march with full equipment, or leaping out of the back of a Badger or BMP IFV. Mechanized Infantry could be expected to work independently of their vehicles, and therefore had to cultivate the same skills as Light Infantry. Air-Assault troops were effectively Light Infantry. Each individual Infanteer's aggression would combine with his skills and mesh with the drills he practiced incessantly with his partner, with his half-section/fireteam, and with his section. This would bring them rapidly into proximity with the enemy, where he would be overwhelmed and destroyed. Killing at stand-off ranges was the work of platoons and companies. The close in fight always de-evolved to a section's battle, that of a fireteams, or one soldier in his enemy's hole battering his counterpart to death. The forest demanded the close in fight, and made command and control above the company level very taxing.

As a result, a mission framework was given during the briefing, and carried out by the units subordinate to the commander who'd drafted the mission framework. This commander was operating within a mission framework of his own, and supporting assets were handed out where required, if not organic to the command in question. This was known as Auftragstaktik to the Germans and numerous students of military affairs. Fighting in primeval forest required lightly equipped Infantry who were well trained and equipped with copious automatic weapons. The fleeting nature of engagements meant that a two second burst would put more steel on target than a quick double-tap, and in the forest, a submachinegun could be just as lethal as an assault rifle, if not more so as it was generally a handier weapon.

They took a risk now, communicating via birdcalls. It was possible the Aequatians would know birds don't often sing during the night, and that would put them on a higher alert, but the intermittent sounds only lasted for a few moments before the last flare extinguished itself in the river. They came from the shadowed depths of the forest, moving smoothly with their weapons in the ready, their silhouettes broken by the trees behind and beside them. Twenty meters. Fifteen.

At ten, Dzhirkvelov pulled a Bosun's pipe from his pocket and clamped the metal stem between his lips, taking care to breathe through his nose. At eight meters, he took a deep breath and blew hard on it. Hand-thrown thunderflashes detonated beside ARC positions, just forward of ARC positions, or just behind. Other whistles screamed through the night sky, disorienting as it came from all directions but that of the river. Other than the sudden flashes and blasts, and the earsplitting howl of the whistles, the assault went in silently.
Because it would be far more unnerving to the inexperienced opponent than the characteristic gutteral "Urrah" that carried the Russkyans into melee combat so often.

The shrill whistle startled many of the guardsmen as their eyes darted about trying to pierce the darkness as the attack fell upon them, those subdued by the grenades were the first victims as they were "killed" within seconds of the contact. The hair on the back of Vickers' neck stood up on end as his ears perked at the sound of the whistle, but immediately he brought his bullpup carbine to his shoulder and fired long bursts into the darkness as the enemy muzzle flashes broke the night's edge. The lieutenant continued to shout orders to those near him during the assault, dropping the magazine out of his carbine and reaching into his webbing to retrieve a new magazine, his hand touched on the ribbon having fallen from his CTS04 vest and with a heavy sigh in the midst of the cacophony, he sat down inside his hole and rested his rifle against his knee as he waited.

The thin, front positions of the three platoons would be overwhelmed quickly as the opposing force personnel assaulted in close and fast, stopping and sweeping the sides of the positions before moving onto the next. Guardsmen within their fighting positions found themselves getting sharp taps or prods with fingers on their helmets or chest rigs, the Russkyans knowing not to actually use their trusty blades or entrenching tools on the poor citizen soldiers as they moved on to assault the central positions where the platoon headquarter sections were located, along with the heavier weapons.

Lieutenant Houzer, now without his M5 helmet after it had fallen to the ground in the chaos of the assault, directed his own platoon's heavy weapons to sweep at the darkness. His fingers themselves almost shooting out themselves as the weapon squad's MG260E1 weapons followed his sharp arm gestures as he yelled over the noise, "Forward right, rifle section, long bursts!" He faced the machine gun team as the weapon swung on its tripod mount and chattered away into the dark at two pairs of OPFOR soldiers as they assaulted a slit trench from each flank. Houzer squinted as his own G128 clicked and ceased firing partway through a magazine, "Piece of shit," His inner voice screamed as he threw the weapon down and drew his P9A3 sidearm with his right hand, his left still directing machine gun fire, watching as one of the guardsmen stood up to challenge one of the Russkyans, only to be quickly dispatched as the man's partner rushed forward and placed a double tap on the Aequatian's chest.

The MG260E1 weapons chattered away into the darkness, sweeping across the first line positions as they were overrun, Lance Corporal Horne found himself firing his own G128 rifle at the opposing force as the team gunner held the belt of ammunition with his left hand as it fed into the weapon being fired with his right, the buttstock anchored against his shoulder. Their own prudent thinking led to the use of two attached 100-round belts into a long, 200-round linked belt for longer periods of fire, after discussions with their Russkyan counterparts on the benefits of having a lot of ammunition at hand. Horne pressed the magazine release as he ripped out the empty steel magazine and without looking away from a pair of attackers moving to assault from one fighting hole into another, pulled a full magazine from the pouch on the front of his webbing and slid it into place inside the weapon, tapping it in securely and pulling the charging handle back with a reassuring "CLICK" as he poured bursts of fire at the targets.

Across the river within her fighting position, Cortez listened to the assault with both ears, both as an eyewitness and through the radio channels as she moved without hesitation and tapped the shoulder of the company's forward observer, "Call down the two-two-sixes on that position, now!"

The lieutenant nodded as he tore open a pocket on his assault vest and set down the chart he pulled from it next to his notepad before grabbing the handset from his own PRC-557 strapped to his back and keyed the set, "Alpha-Romeo-Six-One for Alpha-Mike-Six-Zero, come in, over!" He said into the handset as he released the key with no response, "Fucking cockshitting hell!" He screamed as he pulled the set off his back and set it down in front of him as he checked the frequency to that on his notepad, the state of the radio's antenna and the handset itself before trying again, "Alpha-Romeo-Six-One for Alpha-Mike-Six-Zero, come in, over!"

"Alpha-Mike-Six-Zero here, go," Came the reply from the sergeant leading the company's mortar squad.

"At my command, I want continuous sixty mike-mike HE brought in on TRP Alpha immediately, danger close to our positions," He said as he held the key and flipped the page on his notepad with his free hand, "Fire!"

"Alpha-Mike-Six-Zero, we are firing for effect," Came the reply as the mortars 'fired' their rounds, "Rounds shot, over."

"Rounds shot, out," Replied the observer as he waited and looked over at Cortez as she prepared to have the company's GMG-40 automatic grenade launchers to saturate the area with sustained fire across the river.

The radio's reply brought his attention back to his job, "Rounds splash, over!"

"Roger that, rounds splash," He said as scribbled on the page of his notepad with his pencil, "Repeat, out," He said as the rounds would have effectively struck down on top of the assaulted positions.

Alpha Romeo 6-1's conversation with AM 6-0 was being listened in on by the cadre staff sitting comfortably in a nearby Exercise Control Station. Most were kicked back in well-padded swivel chairs with their boots on desks, radio headsets plugged into various radios running on A/C power provided by a generator outside their shack. A junior officer selected a number of CTS04 vests at random from the Russkyan group attacking the bridgehead. He selected the appropriate command, and a dozen kilometers away, seventeen Russkyans were surprised to find that they had been slain.

Dzhirkvelov felt the taste of the evening's meal of pelmini come up in his mouth as he received a solid jab to sternum. He bellowed, swatting the Aequatian aside. Stubbornly, the National Guardsman lashed out again, this time with his rifle. The NCO stepped back, let the swing go past, and stepped in with a knee to the inner thigh. Dzhirkvelov stamped his foot down to one side of the ARNG rifleman, gripped him by the shoulders - as opposed to the head - and tore him off his feet as he was thrown flat on his back onto the ground. The Corporal recovered his AK-74, flicked the selector to automatic, and fired until the hammer released on an empty chamber. Red ribbons burst satisfyingly from the Guardsman's vest.

"Stay dead!"

He crouched, reloading expertly, and rejoined the attack. Wind well above their heads moved the clouds away from the moon, illuminating the battlefield. Gabardayev caught movement out of the corner of his eye, spun, and found himself face to face with Houzer. He didn't have time to fire before the officer calmly shot him twice in the chest and returned to directing his platoon's fire. Gabardayev toppled over and curled up into a ball, lest he be stepped on accidentally in the organized chaos of the assault.

One soldier with a KML knelt, firing a long burst at the MG260E1 teams. Blanks jostled each other on their way out of the under-receiver magazine into the feedwell, and spat out the far side with disintegrated links. Between pauses, the soldier could be heard shouting in English: "Get killed, ya fucker! Get killed!" The mortars could be heard, their reports sharper than if they were firing live ammunition thanks to the design of the blank used.

No flashes could be seen, and the amplification of the forest meant locating them via sound-ranging and directionality was out. A side effect of fighting in the forest is that unless the rounds were delay-fused, they would detonate in the tree branches more often than not, improving upon the fragmentation effect of every bomb. The soldier with the KML light machinegun was gunned down by a MG260E1, as was his partner. The sweeping fires of the tripod-mounted GPMGs were proving effective in forcing the assault to ground. This meant that the RA personnel were tumbling into depressions in the ground or into captured Aequatian positions to get out of the fire, which gave them enough time to reload, take a breath, and coordinate.

Although he only heard parts of the conversation between the company's forward observer and the mortar squad, he immediately realized after several of the assaulting OPFOR soldiers, along with a few of his own, died mysteriously as he reached over to his "dead" RTO and scooped up the handset as he dialed in the proper frequency and spoke quickly, "Alpha-Romeo-Four for Alpha-Romeo-Six-One, come in!"

"Alpha-Romeo-Six-One here, go ahead, over," Replied the FOO as he released the key on his handset.

"Hold those mortars," Said Houzer as he brought his pistol up and fired at a pair of Russkyans diving for cover in an guardsman's slit trench, "We need some air, over."

"Roger that, Four," Said the lieutenant as he switched frequencies, "Alpha-Romeo-Six-One for Alpha-Mike-Six-Zero, come in, over!"

"Go, Romeo-Six-One, over" Said the mortar sergeant.

"Check firing! Check firing!" Called the observer as he set his pencil down, "Hold rounds until call for fire mission, over."

"Affirmative, that Six-One," There was a pause, "Rounds hold, out."

Changing back to Houzer's channel, the lieutenant keyed the mike, "You're clear, now, Four, out."

Houzer did not bother to reply as he signaled to his surviving squad leaders, "FORWARD!" His gesture said as the sergeants nodded and rallied their remaining guardsmen. Seeing that the sweeping machine gun fire had brought the attackers to slow their assault, the lieutenant had made the snap decision to make a hasty counterattack against the OPFOR, he had not counted on 1 or 2 Platoons from following their lead, and frankly he did not think to need them, and just hoped that they could hold the flanks against any potential OPFOR skirmishers. Reloading the magazine in his sidearm and pulling the slide back to load the chamber, the lieutenant thrust his hand forward as the umpteen or so remaining guardsmen, with bayonets fixed to their rifles, stepped up over the edges of their fighting holes and rushed forward towards the trenches and holes the Russkyans had taken to avoid the fields of fire from the MG260E1 weapons. Letting out a guttural roar of "URRAGH!", Houzer led his small spearhead assault into the positions held by the OPFOR soldiers as the other guardsmen followed suit and screamed their own warcries as they sprinted over the soft ground.

Horne tapped the the magazine against his helmet to set the rounds inside before inserting it into the well when he heard the team's weapon cease firing. Turning his head to see what was apparently the matter, the gunner slumped back as the ribbon on his chest had unfurled, more than likely from that series of bursts from one of the enemies light machine guns directed at their position. Setting his rifle down with the ejection port facing away from the dirt, the lance corporal took up his spot behind the weapon and continued to fire at the enemy positions as the belt links and empty brass fell to join the pile that had gathered in the assault.

With freshly loaded weapons, the RA waited for a count of two after Houzer's challenge. "Stand to! Stand to!" Dark shapes rose from the shadows of fighting holes, and the irregular muzzle flashes caused by the blank adapters strobed in the night. The ARNG rapidly grew so close that they overfilled the rear sights of every soldier's weapon. RA Infanteers pulled triggers. At this range they couldn't miss. One volley later, double-taps rattling against the noise of the fusillade laid down by the machineguns of both sides, the Aequatians were back in their own holes.

Unfortunately, this often found them being seized by one leg and hauled off balance into the fighting position where they were promptly dispatched with ruthless efficiency. Alternatively, they were shot from extremely close range. Or a Infanteer would leap from his hole, parry the bayonet, and ram his own muzzle into the chest of the enemy. Dzhirkvelov parried, lost his grip on the rifle as a powerful counter-parry ripped it from his grasp, and instinctively stepped in close. That should have been the end of him, but the counter-parry did not translate well into an immediate riposte, trapping the rifle ineffectually between the two soldiers. He gripped the helmet's chinstrap, yanking the camouflaged head down to his chest, and kneed the man solidly in the gut out of courtesy. Then again, and twice more. He pulled the man back into the fighting hole, shoving him against the dirt until the National Guardsman managed to yield.

Weaponless, Dzhirkvelov shouted for his section. Less than half responded, still in cover. The counterattack seemed to have been stopped, but Houzer's action had broken the momentum of the attack. With the significant casualties inflicted and the platoon leader killed by a "weekend warrior" with quick reflexes, the section leaders and fireteam leaders began assessing the situation. Russkyan shouts filled the night for a brief moment, sporadic shots breaking the brusque conversations.

Smoke was deployed. Taking refuge in tactics drilled into them, the Russkyans coalesced into understrength sections once more and began methodically taking apart the opposition. A position would be indicated by a section leader, treated to a pair of hand grenades - or in this case, flashbangs - and then assaulted by two to four Infanteers. Dzhirkvelov picked up a KML and ran grubby fingers over the belt and selector switch, checking the weapon's status. He called out in English.

"Pistol! That was balls out. Good drills!"

A flashbang cracked blinding light to fill a machinegun position and was stormed. A G128 chattered, an AK responded. No voices rose from the hole. Another flashbang did as its nickname would imply, and a rifleman shouted out in English. "Good drills! Badass! Where the fuck are you?"

Houzer breathed heavily as he was pulled back to his hole, his sidearm still clutched in his hands as he slumped down at the boots of a guardsman tapping away at figures in the dark and into the smoke with his G128 still armed with its bayonet. Even though he had been leading the charge straight into the OPFOR positions and even blinded by one of the flashbang grenades going off, miraculously, he had not been shot in the ensuing close-quarters combat. Having stumbled and fallen after being blinded, his sight returned by the time he was being pulled back to his platoon's positions. The cacophony of the massed fires on both sides had been absolutely deafening in the short range and was now reduced to the few chatters of machine guns or snapping of rifles.

Taking only a second to realize that he was still effective, the lieutenant clawed at the RTO's "corpse" and retrieved the handset as he cleared his throat with a loud cough and keyed the microphone, "Alpha-Romeo-Four for Alpha-Romeo-Six-One, come in!"

"Good to hear you again, Four," Said the FOO excitedly, "Go ahead."

Houzer took his finger off the handset key and muttered, "Cocking shit..." He cursed before pulling out his torn tactical map and looking over it, "Fuck, need fires at... Adjust fire, shift alpha-bravo-one-zero-zero-one. Mark as TRP Bravo and fire for effect!" As he threw down the handset and waited for the 60mm mortars to drop the high-explosive rounds atop of the likely avenue of retreat for the OPFOR if they attempted to break contact in the aftermath of the skirmish. Just as he reloaded his P9A3 sidearm, the lieutenant heard the repeated burst grouping fires of the GMG-40 automatic grenade launchers across the river, "Shit..." He muttered before calling out to whomever could hear him, "GET DOWN! GET... DOWN!" As the area was bathed in "shrapnel" and "small detonations" from the imaginary 40mm rounds of the weapons just over their heads and into the positions held by the Russkyan OPFOR.

Popcorn. It sounds like popcorn, thought Dzhirkvelov. Not having encountered the weapon before, they were unprepared for what was in effect low-angle plunging fire. It arrived quickly and dropped into their positions, either killing or wounding those exposed to it. Each round was fluorescent orange for training purposes, as they were expensive little things and would have to be recovered and reused later. Odd that rounds used for training would hurt the budget more than those used for killing. Sweat more; bleed less. Both Aequatio and Russkya worked from these principles, and so it didn't seem so odd to the soldiers who saw the small munitions.

One tried to get a look at his casualty card in the dark and felt along the edges for the cut outs. One was immobilized by wounds, two was walking wounded, and three was rendered unconscious. He couldn't remember what four meant, and flicked his lighter to read the card. Ah, of course. Wounded and hysterical. Sometimes, realistic training demanded a minor in theatre. He shouted, screamed, and when he paused to take a breath his section-mate in the hole next to him shouted at him.

"Shut up, goddamnit! Your mother didn't scream that much, even if you did march out!"
"Hey, fuck you, Tolya! You should be happy that my balls are on the parapet! At least now your girlfriend can get some rest."

He switched to English. Horribly accented English, but English all the same. "My balls! They shot off my balls, the bastards! You bastards, you took my balls! I'll kill you! Kill you!"

The RA deployed smoke between their positions and the river, policed the wounded they could reach and trusted those they could not to the mercies of the ARNG. They'd not killed wounded Aequatians and were trained to evaluate their enemy's sense of chivalry as best they could in order to avoid unnecessary losses. The first team to withdraw ran straight into the 60mm mortar fire and was decimated, unfortunately with two prisoners selected from the Aequatian wounded with them. The raid's purpose was to sow confusion and delay the establishment of a bridgehead, not annihilate it. To increase the confusion, a number of Aequatians were being brought out, gagged and hands tied with rifle slings.

The hysterical rantings of the "wounded" Russkyan led to a round of laughter from the guardsmen dead and alive alike, despite the lack of rest, the arduous effort they had made and the brutal fighting, the Aequatians had failed to lose hold of their iconic sense of humour. Reaching for one of the orange training rounds sitting on the ledge of the fighting position, Houzer's black-gloved hand nearly consumed the piece as he examined it in a serene moment of apathy to the surrounding environment, "Shiny," Said the dead RTO laying next to the officer, the young guardsman's smile allowing his teeth to stand out in the low light.

Tossing the small canister to the soldier before turning his attention back to the handset, he keyed the talk button, ""Alpha-Romeo-Four for Alpha-Romeo-Six, over," He said curtly.

"Six here, go ahead, over," Replied Cortez, her speech slightly sped up as though she were half-focussed on a number of different tasks.

"It's getting to about that time over here," Started Houzer, "I think it's about time we got some company over here and put those bed bugs down for the night, over."

"Wait one, over," Replied Cortez as she set the handset down and took hold of her G128 before stepping up from her fighting hole and approaching the grizzly Russkyan engineer as he was overseeing the work being finished up with the forest roadway, "Fighting's died down across the river, if you have some folks you want to get across, this'd be the time... It ain't getting any safer.

We can give supporting fires from the MGs and grenade launchers if you can take the last platoon across in that Gator down there," She said, referring to the engineer's PTS-M amphibious tractor sitting down by the water, "The last ones to go across are 3 Platoon, and they can provide overwatch from the compartment along with the rest of the company's firepower on this bank."

"I will have the Mammoth move down to the bank and protect the track when it goes across the water. If your AGLs can lay speculative fire fifty meters away from your forward positions over the river, that will help drive off the opposition. Mammoth will shoot anything threatening the crossing."

He pointed at a vehicle over nine and a half meters long, three meters tall, and 4.38 meters wide. It mounted a squat 165mm howitzer and bristled with two OWS, one fitting a BRG-15 HMG and the other the AGS-30T AGL. The camouflage netting helped break up its shape, and sitting immobile in the woods like this, the sheer size of it helped hide it from human eyes - the mind simply had a hard time accepting that such a large vehicle could be moved through the woods. A group of engineers were nearby, assembling a fascine mat and preparing the L-31's winch.

Winching the mat up onto the fore of the L-31 took only a minute, and then the engine's deep bass note reverberated off trunks and branches as the L-31 moved down the roadway to mount the fascine on the rear of the PTS-M. The engineer watched the crew lash the fascine in place and raise the rear ramp. "Load your platoon, Lieutenant, we'll get them across quick."

The bow vane was locked in place, and the L-31 shifted over to one side of the narrow roadway to provide support if needed and leave a lane open for other traffic. Pontoon bridging elements were ready to be emplaced, the sappers having already bedded one bridgehead and manhandled the heavy boats needed to move the floating sections into position down to the bank. Once 3 Platoon was aboard the PTS-M, its driver shifted into gear and sent the vehicle roaring down the twenty meters of roadway blown down to the riverbank and eased in on the brake to let the vehicle nose into the water gently. They drifted for a moment until the twin screws engaged and pushed them across the river at a stately twelve kilometers per hour.

Opening his hatch, the vehicle commander stuck his head out and lifted night vision goggles from his eyes, locking them up on the harness that held them in place on his head. "We're going to drive straight up the bank, drop the ramp, and unroll the fascine. The sides are proof against small arms fire, so get low and jump over the sides once we're stopped." He mimicked an airline steward: "Please keep your extremities inside the vehicle and remain seated until we have come to a complete stop. Thanks for riding with Engineer Service today, we hope you enjoy your trip."

"Shouldn't be a problem at all," Said Cortez to the engineer as she scribbled notes while talking, "I'm going to walk the sixty mortars up as well, roll right over their most likely avenue of approach in a counterattack against the other platoons." The lieutenant returned to her "command hole" and the radio sets so to get to work alongside the forward observer in setting up the proper fire missions with both the GMG-40 grenade launchers and the 60mm mortars. After the brief discussion and scurrying about the hole, the guardsmen quickly set about preparing for the suppressive fire as ammunition bearers rushed forward with crates filled with belts of the 40mm training rounds, those not in immediate use were placed to the rear of the fighting hole, behind a parapet to protect the rounds from incoming direct fire and to protect them from detonation, should the crates be hit with incoming indirect fire.

As the company elements were preparing themselves for the coming crossing, Second Lieutenant Walter Ludin collected the men and women of 3 Platoon and brought them to the waiting amphibious tractor, As they were walking, the officer turned to his platoon sergeant, "Take three section and the MG squad on the right, I'll take one and two sections on the left," He said walking as the platoon split in two groups. The recessed footholds running along the side of the vehicle's length helped speed the process as entire sections were able to climb up and take up a spot within the open-topped compartment, Lieutenant Ludin took up his own position at the front of the vehicle, behind the driver's "cockpit" so that he could keep in close communication with the PTS-M tractor's commander through the open circular hatch.

The platoon sergeant sat in a low crouch along with a SAW gunner and a rifleman as he directed them to cover their own fields of fire, "Eyes peeled, but move on my order, once we stop, we're the first ones over the side... so clear the way and watch your hands on the side edge," He said as the rest of the platoon took up their own positions in the cargo bed before the center-mounted engine shook the vehicle as it started down into the water.

Ludin turned to the platoon as the screws churned up the river water, "One and three sections are the first to go over the sides and secure the flanks, two section will come up the middle and form the spearhead on the wedge formation... Once we're sorted, we'll link up with 2 Platoon's flank and hold our position as the engineers do their thing!" He shouted before returning his attention to the vehicle commander who had now lifted himself out of the hatch. The vehicle lurched and crawled up the opposite bank, all the while as the supporting weapons saturated the area above with suppressive fire, before it moved on to the small clearing where the other rifle platoons of the ARC were hosting their "get-together" with the OPFOR and came to a halt.

Without any words, from Ludin or the sergeant, the guardsmen reacted instantly as they clambered over the sides and advanced to their positions on the flank and started putting suppressing fire in the same direction from where the enemy had been coming from as two section dashed forward and hopped down into fighting holes abandoned by both 2 Platoon and the Russkyans that had captured it. Once they were secure, the lieutenant called out, "Section one! Section three! FORWARD!" as the rest of the platoon moved to take up positions on the flanks of their comrades and guard against anything threatening the engineers as they began their work and the amphibious tractor unloaded its fascine pipes from its ramp. Seeing the arrival of 3 Platoon from his own position, Houzer waved his arms, rifle in hand, as a short greeting to Ludin, "Fucking psychopath," Said Ludin under his breath with a grin as he waved back, before Houzer disappeared back inside of his fighting hole.

The moment Three Platoon jumped clear of the vehicle, the vehicle commander was up and out of his hatch trailing the wires of the intercom headset behind him. He kept low in the loadbed, untying the fascine mat while the driver edged closer to the river. Standing, bracing the mat against the rear ramp, the commander made a wonderful target for any rifleman in the woods. Fortunately, they were suppressed or busy dealing with targets closer to hand.

"Hard lock starboard!" The PTS-M shifted suddenly, ninety degrees from where it had been angled before. He scanned the far bank and told the driver to ease forward another few meters. "Drop ramp!" The ramp clanged down, and he bodily shoved the mat out, watching it thump onto the riverbank. "Raise ramp! Standby."

Selecting wirecutters from the vehicle's toolbox, the engineer doffed his vehicle crewman's helmet and leapt over the side of the track and approached the baled mat while watching the Aequatians keep his countrymen at bay. He cut across the mat, snipping through thick wires. Clambering back up onto the rear of the amphibious cargo carrier, he stuck his head in down through his still-open hatch.

"Reverse slow!"

This achieved two things at once. First, the mat was unrolled as the vehicle nudged it open, and then the mat was bedded as the tracks pressed it into the soft soil of the riverbank. This would make it easier for the bridging team to move vehicles about on at least part of the bank without reducing it to a slick mud track. A few dozen meters away, Dzhirkvelov pressed a hand up into the canvas bag clipped under the receiver that held the KML's belted ammunition. It felt about a quarter full. Slipping the sling over his head to rest the weight of the weapon on his left shoulder, the grip and butt down by his right hip, he retrieved the whistle from his breast pocket.

"Withdraw by section!" He blew two short blasts on the bosun's pipe, and eased his right elbow out of the sling in order to shoulder the weapon. "Withdraw by section!"
"One section gone!"

A handful of men rose from their holes, fired double taps through the smoke towards the enemy, and began running. Dzhirkvelov, along with other machineguns, kept up a staggered burst fire. "Two section gone!" More men sprinted back into the forest and formed a loose skirmish chain in the woods. Wounded and prisoners had already been evacuated, and the skirmish chain kept falling back in bounds as the speculative fire from the GMGs forced them further away from the bridgehead.

"Keep up the fire, lads!" Shouted Houzer as he fired off bursts from his G128 as soon as he heard the whistle shrieked over the other noise, "Pour it on!" The lieutenant's order brought new vigour to the surviving guardsmen as there was a fusillade from the lines from G128 rifles, MG146 SAWs and MG260E1 machine guns fired off against the suspected enemy positions.

A few minutes of sustained fire from both the bridgehead units and the newly arrived 3 Platoon was halted with a call, "Cease fire!" From Cortez as she ordered Ludin's unit to consolidate with the other platoons while the engineer's vehicle continued its work on the bank. Content that the opposing force would not attempt to make another counterassault, she called for the 60mm mortars to stop and for the rest of the company's elements to prepare for anymore surprises that the instructors could throw at them. Unsure whether or not they were to be relieved by an allied force, she ordered across a number of heavy weapons, such as a handful of GMG-40 teams, with the engineers as security units while the pontoon rafts were put in place and the bridge constructed.

Cortez stood at the brim of her fighting hole monitoring the operations, her helmet sitting at the edge next to her G128 rifle leaning against the side of the hole, as the engineers put the PMP bridge was assembled on the friendly side of the river, and then when it was to be emplaced, the assault boats brought it across the river to the anchor point. Engineer sections upstream installed float guards in the water. The lieutenant noticed as Captain Chebukhin arrived with the remainder of B Company from 2d Battalion, "Captain, nice to see you again," She said picking up her weapon and starting towards the officer.

Two sections from B Company had already gone across in the assault boats to relieve members of the Aequatian platoons and discuss the previous attack on their position, Ludin and Houzer informed the coming leaders about avenues of approach, the effective killing zones and fields of fire and the callsigns and frequencies for their own fire support.

It was when Houzer and Ludin were briefing the reinforcing units on the SEOIs for the ARC's organic fire support that some of the RA's officers cheated. Two were meant not to have a good understanding of English, while in reality they spoke English perfectly well as it was a strongly recommended course during the Initial Officer Training Program. They simply looked blank and uncomprehending for the sake of anyone watching while jotting down the details in their notepads.

BMK-T boats hauled the PMP across the river, hinged to its friendly bank bridgehead. Once it was in place, a PTS-M track had two thick lines run from the bridge to the track's rear, to hold it in place as a field expedient while the engineers bedded the far side pontoon, anchoring it in place securely. The entire operation took less than five minutes. Once it was in place, additional troops poured into the beachhead, rushing by platoons across the road-deck so as to present the fewest massed targets available. They spread out into the woods beyond the ARC's positions, which were improved and reorganized in order to make offloading from the new bridge an easier prospect. A strong combat patrol was sent out to reconnoiter the planned route for the engineers, who began stockpiling demolitions to help create another road through the forest, should it become necessary to knock down more trees.

Before Cortez could reach Chebukhin, her radio crackled.
"India One Alpha, message, over."