NationStates Jolt Archive

"Of course the car wins, it's made of steel. Who wrote this stupid textbook anyways?" Wilson flipped the cover of his Driver's Ed textbook closed and cursed the name of Glencoe-McGraw Knoll, a mainstream textbook company.

"Quit your complaining and cram in some last minute knowledge," Wilson's father Edgar Bavier said. "We're only 10 minutes away."

They sped down a long desert road, around a dried up lake bed to a larger, nearby community where Wilson had enrolled in a Driver's Education class soon after turning 16. Edgar had a rare day off and was driving his son out, instead of having him carpool with a friend. As they drove around the very northern tip of the lake bed, Egar spotted a car pulled over with its hazard lights on. This far from civilization it would be unlikely they would get a cell signal or meet anyone else for quite a while. He pulled over a couple lengths behind them.

"Stay in the car, I'll be right back," Egar said to his son before closing the door and walking over to the disabled truck. As he got nearer he called out. "Hey, you need any help? I've got jumper cables and a jack or I'd be willing to give you a ride into town."

But there was no response and when he came around to the driver's side window, there was nobody in the front seat. The door opposite him was open and he walked around to the front to investigate further. A bloody body lay stripped of its clothing face down in the dirt just beyond the right front wheel. Edgar looked back in alarm to his car where Wilson was still flipping through the text. He scanned the horizon and saw scavenger birds grouping around a dark shape heaped on the ground a little bit in the distance. He started to jog towards it to confirm his worst fear. A few steps later Wilson called to him, "Hey, Dad?"

"Stay in the car Wilson," he called back.
"Dad?"
"I said stay in the car!" he screamed over his shoulder.
"Dad, someone's coming out of the desert," Wilson offered finally.

Edgar turned to see the desert buggy bearing down on them from the sand covered wastes of Deserted Territories' desolate north. He broke into a run heading back to the car. "Stay in the car Wilson! You stay in that car."

As the buggy drew closer Edgar reached his car and hopped in. He fumbled with the ignition for only a moment and was about to peel away when the sound of a heavy machine gun and the sound of tearing metal hit them. A tactical burst of fire from a gun mounted on the buggy had ripped the rear axle of their SUV to pieces. Edgar tried to give it gas anyways, but the car responded only with a miserable lurch forward before breaking down. Thinking quickly Edagr opened his door and got out. "Come on, Wilson," he said "Stay low and run for that truck ahead of us."

As they broke for the truck, a burst of gunfire lanced in front of Wilson, causing him to turn and scamper back to the SUV. "NO!" Edgar screamed and turned towards his son, yelling to attract the attention of the gunner. It worked and soon he had to turn back to the cover of the truck. As he sprinted to put the solid frame between him and the buggy, a round tore through his lower leg, sending him flying to land half underneath the cab. From there he saw something he hadn't noticed during his earlier inspection.

Meanwhile, Wilson had turned back to the truck and his dad, but he had caught the buggy's attention once again. It was now right on top of him, close enough for him to hear the shrieks and whooping of the occupants. A line of bullets stitched closed the path between him and the truck and he ended up headed deeper into the desert. The buggy came to bear behind him and he could hear the engine revving as the driver pressed on the accelerator to run him down.

Underneath the truck, Edgar had managed to grab the hunting rifle that had fallen from the dead man's hand and had been hidden from view underneath the truck. He dragged himself out from underneath the car with the gun just in time to see Wilson get run down, his body whipping around the wheels several times before popping out the back in a lifeless heap.

"WILSON!" he crid in anguish, shifting himself onto his side and shouldering the rifle. He aimed as best he could and kept pulling the trigger untill the hammer sounded duly against metal. The brigands in the buggy took off as soon as they heard the first few shots and took off into the dunes.

Edgar dropped the rifle in disgust, having been unable to take revenge for his sons death. He wept bitterly as he pulled himself into the front seat of the truck. He didn't have the energy with his failing leg to take care of the two other dead bodies, but he drove over to his sons corpse and sobbed, clutching his son to his breast, desperately trying will him back, even as he loaded him into the back seat and wrapped him in his jacket.

He passed out honking the horn outside the emergency room of the nearest hospital. Nurses and EMT's running out as he collapsed over the steering wheel. When they opened the door worried voices said, "Oh my god, its Edgar Bavier."

-----

Just two days later Edgar had himself transferred to the capitol, Agrabah, where he was then able to get out to meet with the Sultan. Once wheeled up to the desk and the door closed behind the security guard who had wheeled him in, Edgar opened up.

"Something has got to be done, sir," he said. "Those criminals and scum are becoming far too bold to ignore. They were mere tens of minutes outside of my community!"
"There are certain risks with living in such a rural area, especially so far north in Deserted Territories. Those sands have long been the home of outlaws from across the globe. I'm not sure you're being objective about this," the Sultan replied.
"I live there to escape the pressures of my job and this world and all the shit that goes donw in it. And of course I'm not being objective! My son is dead. And you knew, I knew, we all knew those 'outlaws' have been getting organized and testing our borders, pushing closer and closer to civilization. There's no more time to sit back and asses what might happen with them. It has happened. The time is to act!" Egar said, voice raised. The exertion wore him out and he leaned back, still light headed from his wound, rightfully so.

The Sultan leaned back in his chair as well. "I know," he said quietly. "In the letter you sent me you suggest radical action. Just what do you mean? I don't know if 'radical action' is really appropriate with my retaining power from the Vizier so short a time ago."

"The people never stopped thinking you were their leader. That's a bullshit answer, you might as well have not left. And you know what I mean," Edgar tilted his head low and eyed the Sultan, almost looking straigth through him. "I won't let this go."
"I know," the Sultan said. "I've already drafted orders to clean up the southern border of the Wastes. But, such an order cannot come to satisfy the revenge of one government official."
"I thought you'd say as much. I have my resignation ready to turn in. But do me a favor, as a friend," Edgar leaned forward before continuing. "Don't stop at cleaning up the sothern border. Push all the way up and eradicate those squatter sons of bitches."

They exchanged nothing more than glances as Edgar was wheeled out.

-----

"The wheels of war are in motion, and the DT army is marching out to the sands beyond the norhternmost of our three cross-country highways to engage the band of outlaws attacking the communities there. Step one is to flush the assailants out of these communities. Only then can we pursue them up into the deep sea of sand to the north from which they descend upon our defenseless citizens without mercy..." the Sultans voice echoed around the press room as he finished his report to the nation.

OOC: I wanna see where this is going but I'll probably jump in

There was a clear line between the Waste and the land south of it. The Waste was covered in about a foot of loose sand as far as the eye could see. Dunes stacked higher in some places, and behind them, shielded from the sand the wind brought, rocks, small cliff faces and other hard, unmoving terrain features poked through. There was only just enough of this firm land to scrape a life out of. As one traveled south however, the land abruptly changes. While still a desert, this terrain is much harder with the ground be firm and sun baked. It is on this land that the furthest reaches of society and culture have inhabited. Any farther north and community life becomes immpossible.

This transition was only a handful of miles wide, though it stretched across the country. The middle expanse was where the line was most defined, and also where it was furthest from the watchful eye of authority. It was this stretch where the brigands and thieves of the Waste had come south and pitched camp. And it was from here that they orchestrated their mischief on the communities that lay on the south side of the line.

Trains, convoys, and planes brought troops from the military bases around Agrabah to this front. It was from one of these bases that intelligence officer James Dodd was preparing to depart with the advanced team.

"Allright you sons of dogs, this upcoming push to move the rebels back into the Waste is our only shot. Trouble is brewing in the Confederacy and DT's full support will only be available for this one campaign. After that, we are going into the Waste after the hostiles on our own with some very rudimentary desert equipment. So, all our resources are gonna disappear once we cross the border into the Waste, which means we need to collect intelligence on how the rebels are organizing themselves before we push through. But it won't work on our schedule, so we have to beat the army to it: get in, do your jobs, and get ready for the long haul solo. You've got your orders otherwise, get going," and with that the briefing ended.

James left the tent with all the other intelligence officers and took in the base. C-130's loaded up with Humvee's, Bradley's, RST-V's, and a few U-3A2 main battle tanks. They were setting up to land on closed sections of the cross-country mega-highway right outside the battle zones. Troops armed with M26 assualt rifles also loaded into the cargo planes. The advanced team was already heading out on V-22 Osprey's, a select few of them carrying Humvee's. It was to one of these planes, rotors alreadyin the vertical take-off position, that James borded. The eleven other soldiers in the plane would be his command for the remainder of the mission.


Along the disputed line, the first DT soldiers were already meeting outlaws in small skirmishes. They had rolled in first thing in the morning, issuing evacuation orders and setting up shuttles on military trucks to the nearest train station to take them along the highway and to safety. As light had flooded the over the horizon the small communities the first V-22's stared appearing, dropping squads of men right onto the front lines. Just north of the now evacuated settlements these troops marched through the desert, a few support vehicles already with them. Here and there they came across light resistance: a camp of 8 men who put up a short resistance after being startled by the soldiers, maybe a pair of dune buggies racing farther into the desert. The soldiers did what they could, but the outlaws were very mobile and were only found in small numbers. The TOW missiles the soldiers were equipped with proved difficult to aim at the erratic and quick buggies the enemy seemed to favor. Also, Humvee's had no luck in pursuing them as they weren't designed to handle the increasing depth of the sand as their targets sped north.

Just 3 miles north of Edgar Bavier's community, a 12 man squad chanced upon a group of the outlaws.

The lead soldier dropped to the sand, his comrades following suit. He made a quick motion with his hand to indicate the gully ahead of them outside of which 8 three-seat buggies with mounted large-caliber guns were parked. They manuevered untill they had a line of sight on the hostiles and called it in. Two other squads were directed towards their position to the enemy's flanks. The other two squads traveled with Humvees which moved into position to intercept any escape to the north. As everyone moved into position, a line of vehicles emerged from the north, pouring into the valley where the enemies were clearly discussing the advance of DT soldiers. From his prone perch upon a dune many yards away, the first squad's tactical sniper unit (a gunner and a spotter) observed a man exiting one of the new vehicles. He walked with an air of authority and the other outlaws paid their respect and attention to him.

With the arrival of 4 more car loads of hostiles, the odds weren't in favour of a direct assualt. The call went out for Spectre gunship support, but those units were not yet in position. Two additional squads were diverted to the gully, though it would take them a while to get in position as they were not adjacent to the gully as the other two supporting squads had been.

The squad leader's mind raced. He couldn't sit on his hands and wait for two more detatchments, who knew how long the meeting would last before they hoped in their buggies and took off. He asked for whatever air support was available and an AH-64A/D Longbow Apache helicoptor was vectored in from a smaller skirmish somewhere else, ETA 90 seconds.

As the chopper finished its previous mission and turned to fly for the gully, the squad leader organized tactics for the up-coming battle. Each squad spread out along what cover there was around the gully, taking positions across from the openings as the sides were too steep to fire down into without being right on the lip. The Humvee's prepared to circle in from the north and stop anyone trying to slip out past the fire squads and escape to the north. Each squad had 2 TOW missile tubes and they manueverd to put four on the larger group of vehicles and the other two on the newly arrived group on the other end of the gully.

20 seconds to the chopper's arrival and the spotter motions furiously to the squad leader. The meeting is ending and the outlaws are seem to be about to head back to their vehicles. The plan was light up the gully with everything at once, chopper included. But the spotter reccomends they don't have 20 seconds, or even 15 now.

He gives the order over the radio and the TOWs and tracers fly from all angles. The missiles disable 6 of the light vehicles, several outlaws falling right on the out set of the engagement. As the outlaws scurry for cover and their vehicles, care is taken to prevent their escape. The three snipers attached to the squads do their best to take down everybody reaching for a driver's side door. Tracers lace the area between the buggies and the crouching outlaws who are now quickly returning fire from behind the gully's plentiful cover. One man makes it to a buggy and the wheels spin in the sand as he pulls out of the gully, not taking the time to fill the other 2 seats up with whoever had arrived in them. As he pulls past the fire crew covering that side of the gully and turns north one fo the two Humvee's intercepts him. The heavy caliber gun mounted on the Humvee rips the lightly armored buggy's driver seat to shreds.

As the outlaws put up more and more resistance, inching closer and closer to their vehicles behind cover, the chopper finally arrives. As the Apache crests the edge of the gully it opens up with its cannons, stitching a long line of heavy ammunition through the outlaws. It then swings around and fires two rockets, finishing off the collection of vehicles the newcomers brought.

As the Apache made another pass it unloaded cannon fire and another pair of rockets to destroy another buggy that an outlaw had managed to get to and man the machine gun on. On its third pass the large man who had arrived from the desert and conducted the meeting stood with a large black cylinder over his shoulder. He aimed at the Apache and fired a Stinger missile. It was a direct hit, sending the stricken craft careening into the buggies left at the east entrance to the gully.

When the brass at the forward command center heard the news they realised these were no under-equipped leader-less outlaws, but renegaed militants with a point to make.

Back at the gully, the outlaws had no choice but to hunker down as two more squads of DT soldiers arrived to join what was quickly becoming a deadly standoff.

The squad leader turned to the communications specialist and shouted a message into his ear. The soldier then turned away from the fighting and yelled a message over his radio: "Sir says to rush the damn Spectres!"

Meanwhile, high above the planet, there is a puff of gas as the USSPP Beak-7 Tactical Satellite changed its position. The satellite carried a high powered X-ray laser, which hummed up to activation level. A message beams down to the government troops at the area. "If you require assistance, respond to this message. We are prepared to assist you with orbital bombardment.

"Negative," James responded after the message got transferred down to him as the highest ranking CO in the area. His V-22 was circling around the embattled gully to land behind the DT soldiers.

He had been communicating with commanders all up and down the battlefield and the man who was leading this group was the only one that had been caught in a fire fight. Similar meetings had been about to take place all over, but DT soldiers had opened fire before the small extra convoy had arrived and had scared off the other leaders. This guy was James's only lead, and he needed him alive.

He jumped out of the V-22 even as it was hovering another foot off the ground. His squad soon followed him to the top of the dune where the squad leader who had first made contact with the hostiles was waiting.

"Spectre's are on the way, sir," he said.
"Cancel them, we need the man you described in your message alive," James responded, pulling out his own binoculars and laying down in the sand to peer at the bunkering outlaws.
"No can do, they're too deeply entrenched, it would be too costly to go in."

"I'll decide what happens, if you don't mind," James said, climbing down the dune. "I need two squads on each end of the gully, providing heavy suppressing fire and ready to move in on my signal. I need your squad to come with me."

As the squads on the ends opened up with heavier fire, James took his two squads around to the edge of the gully. He spread them along the ridge, all of them crouched low behind the lip, it was only about a story down to the bottom where the outlaws were under cover. James made a hand signal and several soldiers down the line pulled out stun grenades. On his signal they threw them all down into the gully and plugged their ears, averting their gaze.

The grenades sent out a disorienting shockwave of sound and light, temporarily incapacitating everyone in the gully. James stood and called into his radio. "Go, go, go! Move into the gully, don't kill their leader."

James and his crew stood our leant over the edge of the gully, sluaghtering the outlaws from behind. There wasn't any cover that could shield them from all three angles at once and they were cut down by someone whereever they ended up. From the sides of the gully, the fire crews had rushed in and started to engage in hand to hand combat. Bayonets and small arms chewed the outlaws to pieces until the last surviving group raised their arms in surrender.

Several soldiers surrounded the leader of the group as he crept backwards towards the wall of the gully. He had been disarmed during the combat and was left only with a knife. He was crouched a litte, poised to die fighting as a wounded animal might.

As the soldiers advanced on him he yelled and threatened with his knife. "Don't come closer. I'll die and take as many of you with me as I can before I let myself be captured!"

He reached behind himself for his belt to grab a grenade but before he could he was struck and cried out in agony, dropping to his knees. The soldiers quickly moved in and secured his hands. Up on the ridge First Lieutenant James Dodd stood with taser in hand, a small wire stretching from the end down to the outlaw's back.

Across the desert, battles were in ending in a safer way. AC-130 Spectre gunships had arrived and were quickly and efficiently wiping out all the scattered pockets of resistance. 105mm, 40mm and 25mm rounds pounded outlaws, their vehicles and their cover alike, sparing sparing DT from any casualties. Whenever the gunships encountered shoulder-luanched anti-air missiles, onboard high intensity infrared lasers would blind them and leave the plane entirely unscathed.

A 105mm shell was more than sufficient to disable a group of vehicles and that was closely followed by some 40mm rounds to pummel the area the outlaws were hunkered down. After a quick check-in with the ground forces in the area, a few bursts on the 25 was suffiecient to wipe out the threat. One particular gunship had cleared three groups like this.

"Man, I cannot get over how cool this thing is," a young airman said over the comm. "This job would never get old."
"Nah, you don't want to work in one of these your whole life. You'll just end up going deaf and ruining your lungs," Gerribald said from the fire control console. "Pilot, where to next."
"That's the last of them... wait," he paused. "Reconnaissance picked up a fresh batch heading out of the desert. We on our way there."
"Don't these guys learn?" the rookie asked.
"Quiet, kid. Get on the horn with that reconnaissance team."

As the Spectre came in view of the enemy formation and banked to give its guns a shot, the interior became a flurry of conversation lighting up and confirming targets.

"The recon team is on channel 2," the rookie said.
"Good, get in touch with command now," Gerribald responded. "Targeting, hostiles at heading 2-9-0, range 2 km," he said to the Senior Airman at the targeting console. He switched channels from the comm. to chn. 2 and spoke to the recon team:
"This is Spectre Charlie; confirm unfriendly targets at 4° 15' S, 15° 15' E: multiple contacts, light to medium armored vehicles," he said.
"Confirmed, Spectre Charlie. Light 'em up," the response came.

Gerribald switched back to the comm. channel. "Airman, do we have authorization to engage hostiles?"
He heard no answer, and reapeated himself. "Rookie, what does command say?" This time he looked up. The rookies lips were moving but no words were coming out. Gerribald tapped his mike controls and signaled for the rookie to switch to the comm. channel.

It was clear the rookie was embarressed by his mistake, when he had straightened it out he responded. "Yes, command gives the green light."

"Good, Targeting, lets give 'em a show of force. Weapon systems are 'free.' You are cleared to open fire." Gerribald said, turning back to his console and flipping the fire control key to 'free'. The channel he had opened to recon team had a blinking indicator light by it. As the Senior Airman made the final targeting adjustments, Gerribald switched channels.

"...heavy anti-air capabilities. Repeat. Read-back: inbound unfriendlies possess heavy anti-air capabilities. Do you copy?" It was clear from the tone of the mans voice that he had been repeating the message for several seconds. Turns ou the rookies mistake could prove costly.

Gerribald first switched to the comm. channel. "Abort, abort. Targeting, do not fire. I repeat, do not fire," locking the weapons systems as he spoke. "Pilot: high anti-aircraft threat above hostiles, turn back. I repeat, turn back."

As soon as the weapons were secured, the pilot made a steep turn away from the advancing enemy force. Gerribald switched back to channel 2. "Aknowledged, hostiles have significant anti-air capabilities. Spectre Charlie heading out."

Before he had a chance to switch back to the comm. channel though, the recon team crackled over his headset again. "Be advised, Spectre Charlie, be advised. Hostiles have fired, 1... now 2 missiles into the air."
"Roger that," Gerribald replied. He flipped back to the comm. "Pilot, missiles in the air."
"I've got 'em," replied the co-pilot.

On the ground, two RBS-70 short ranged anti-air missiles were fired from tripods mounted in the back of technicals. They were being guided by a laser guide from the luancher. Since the guidance system follows the laser from the back end of the missile, 'riding' it to the target instead of following a reflected beam, the AC-130's countermeasures were useless.

As the pair of missiles drew nearer, it was clear the IR laser wasn't working. Gerribald closed and locked down the steel ammo locker to prevent the shells from detonating in an explosion. Similarly, the pilot bled extra fuel to keep it from igniting. The crew hunkered down for the impact.

At the last few moments before impact, the co-pilot ejected chaff. It successfully got behind the missiles and interupted their guidance long enough for the plane to slip mostly past them. By the time they had found the laser again they detonated around the tail, taking the latter half of the plane and the better part of the 12 man crew with them.

As the front end sprialed downward, the rookie, Gerribald, pilot and co-pilot were the only people who remained in the stricken aircraft. The pilot and co-pilot quickly made their way to their escape hatch and were gone. Gerribald was a little closer to the hole the other half of the plane had left and exercised a bit more finese in getting up. As he reached to pull himself out the door, he turned to the rookie. He was still sitting.

"C'mon kid, we gotta go!" he yelled.
The rookie just sat and stared straight ahead.
"We gotta go! What are you doing?" Gerribald turned from the door and, fighting the movement impairing effects of falling, moved a little closer. He stopped, turned back to the hatch and dove without another word.

As he fell, he considered the shrapnel that had protruded from the rookie's back. The kid was young, and he, Gerribald, was an aging, washed out Tech Sergeant still running the buisness end of a Spectre gunship. He should've been in a different position by now and some other young kid sitting where he was. Some young kid who would've diserved to survive that hit.

"Ah well," Gerribald lamented to himself. "At least I know I won't get shot down there. Then they'd have to award me a purple heart." And he pulled the rip cord.

James Dobbs sat across from the apprehended enemy, now relieved of all his weapons with wrists securely zip-tied, in the compartment of a Bradley fighting vehicle. The first mechanized elements of the force had begun to arrive and this was the first of those.

James looked at the man pensively and the man looked back. James was about to begin questioning him when he made a look to get James' attention. He then tilted his head down and motioned towards his breast pocket, where a folded piece of paper protruded. When James looked down the man's jaw moved a bit and he bit down on his molars. A sneered erupted on the mans face even as James sprung up to wrest whatever the man had eaten out of his mouth. It was too late. Whatever poison capsule the man had bitten did its work. James was left with only the note. He removed it from the dead outlaws body and read it.

Forward to The Sultan:

You over-estimate the affections of your people, my dear friend. When you deposed me, I thought I had been finally defeated. But as it turned out, not all of your people loved you. When I was cast aside, I found myself wandering the a criminal underworld of a scope none of us had imagined. Not just small pockets of rebels, but sprawling tribes of people sick of the 'civilised' life in Deserted Territories. Since I first stumbled upon them, I have rose in their favor and have organized them to stand up to you. No longer will all you cast off reside meekly in the sands you leave over. We are carving out our own existence and will reclaim more fertile land from those parts of your nation that we deem undeserving. We do not seek to fight you, but we will exercise our right to have an existence, and that requires more than the shifting sands of the Waste. This isn't personal. It's not even really political. It is about survival. You cannot exile your enemies anymore dear Sultan. For now, all who you forsake can find shelter in the Free Lands of the Southern Waste!

~The Vizier of the Southern Waste

---------

As the note James found was rushed to the capital, a battle was brewing between the S. Waste forces that had brought the Spectre down and DT forces. Hiding in the sand coulds behind the Waste forces was a complement of M48 Patton medium tanks. As reconnosaince reported back on the prescence of the enemy armor (only detected when they moved to the front of the formation to lead the charge) DT commanders realised they obviously had some kind of backing for their war. Suddenly they were a much more dangerous foe.

M1A1 Abrams main battle tanks fresh off of transports were assembling to meet the enemy on a firm strech of ground outside of the thick sands. It was packed desert terrain with scrub brush and the occasional rock formation, the most northern swath of firm ground. Soldiers prepared camo netting and dug the tanks in, a few sections staying mobile. Likewise, soldiers dug fox holes and TOW and Javelin anti-tank missiles were distributed. 40mm grenade luancher, recoiless rifle, and 50-caliber machine gun emplacements were set up in tactical areas. There weren't many features, so the only thing channeling the enemy force into the DT position was the thick sands that covered every other route south. Chances were, this was where the battle would be.

--------------

Gerribald put his compass away after sighting a southerly course to bring him back to friendly lines and started walking. As the trudged through the sands he looked around. To his left and ahead large clouds of sand marked the enemy formation. He didn't know where the pilot and co-pilot had landed and he didn't bother turning his beacon on. He doubted there would be any rescue choppers available with the impending battle. Plus, since they had clearly underestimated the enemy's anti-air capabilities, there probably wouldn't be much air support untill more intel had been gathered.

As he paused to survey the dust cloud again, he heard the tell-tale boom of 120mm mortars being fired.

-----------------

Gerribald was quite right. DT soldiers had opened up with 120mm mortars from the back lines of the defensive postitions. The shells rained down on the mostly lightly armored vehicles. Damaging and disabling many of the leading vehicles. But every time a spotter radioed in a hit, he also called in two more targets that had emerged from the sand cloud behind whatever had been hit. Clearly the Waste forces had refined deep desert combat as the formation they rode in kicked up ungodly amounts of dust.

This dust is what the DT forces saw first, racing over the sands towards them.

As soon as the Waste formation came in range, the full gamut of the DT forces opened up. Tank shells flew from bunkers, recoiless rifles savagely tore buggies to pieces and TOW missiles mopped up the softer targets. Soon small arms fire was breaking out as the leading wave of rebels, now ragged and lacking in numbers, came closer.

As the first M48's appeared the screwy flight paths of Javelin anti-tank missiles traced the sky. The rebel's lines were fragmenting as the neared the DT line, but each wave made it a little farthur before being wiped out.

Finally, buggies were speeding over the foxholes DT soldiers occupied and were penetrating the defenses, making the soldiers further back worry for friendly fire. Soon though, that wave was destroyed and the rebels stopped coming. A cloud of sand hung around the front of the DT position and streched onto the battlefield beyond.

All fell quiet save for the clicking and clacking of soldiers reloaded and the hydraulic hiss of a turret. Then, a soft whine was heard, quickly followed by more and suddenly large fistfulls of rocket artillery started to fall on the DT tanks. The bombardment was heavy and quick, lending itself to confusion.

This confusion was quickly taken advantage of as a new onslaught of M-48s pressed through the sand screen, this one more aggressive than before. Meanwhile, the rockets still fell on the back of the DT positions.


In the dunes a sniper and his spotter were observing the rocket trucks unloading their payload. A technical sporting RBS-70 anti-air missiles stood guard over the rocket trucks. The sniper lined up his shot and the spotter called it in.

Soon a pair of A-10 Thunderbolts were vectored towards the artillery. As they approached the man behind the luancher lined one of them up and fired. As he manually guided the missile with the laser sight, the sniper took him out. The luancher, and subsequently the missle, veered out of control and crashed harmlessly into the sand. The A-10s opened up with their rockets and miniguns and tore the artillery to shreds.