Nuclear winter book 4 go.., p.26
Nuclear Winter | Book 4 | Going Home, page 26
part #4 of Nuclear Winter Series
Pete ignored him. “I'll have a team here, and Rick will have a team here,” he said, pointing to a couple spots on the northern side of the perimeter. “When the defenders poke their heads up to respond to Jim's attack we pick them off. If that goes well and we give ourselves enough of an opening then I'll give the signal and we'll move in, hit this farmhouse here and this barn here. We break in, clear them out, and then find vantage points inside them to put people who'll cover us as we continue the attack. They'll keep the defenders pinned while we clear the rest of the settlement.”
“What if it doesn't go well?” Rick asked.
He gave his friend a lopsided smile. “Depends. In a real attack if things didn't go well the attacking slavers would probably just cut their losses and withdraw. They're not proper soldiers going for military objectives, they're raiders trying to get in, take whatever and whoever they can, then get out. They won't take chances if they can avoid it.”
He waved vaguely in the direction of the well-defended village. “Honestly, most slavers would probably steer clear of a place like this entirely, since they usually don't cross the border with the kind of numbers to pose a serious threat to it, and if they did they'd have to worry about drawing the border patrols. Not to mention even if they did have the numbers they might decide to try an easier target anyway.”
“But shooting a few paintballs and running away is no fun, and isn't very good training either,” Jim pointed out. “So if things go wrong in our attack, what then?”
“Then we spread out and keep picking them off. If we see an opening we have a few people try to make a break for one of the buildings, force ourselves an entry we can use to crack this nut.”
Rick was frowning again. “It sounds like this simulation isn't the greatest for preparing for a real slaver attack.”
Pete shrugged. “Yes and no. Once we're done I'll give you a more thorough rundown on how slavers conduct raids and how you can expect them to behave in most situations, and how this scenario differs from what I usually see in actual combat, both when defending against them and when carrying out raids in CCZ territory.”
He drew his combat knife and buried it in the center of his crudely drawn map. “At the same time, you can't always anticipate how people will behave. Remember, slavers hate us just as much as we hate them, and not all of them are rational or experienced enough to make sound judgment calls. I've seen slaver squads make suicidal attacks before, and squads I've been part of have been ordered into some reckless attacks as well. Plan even for the unlikely; wasted time is better than a wasted life.”
With the plan laid out Pete separated the raiders into his, Rick's, and Jim's teams. Then, with a last look around to make sure everyone knew what they were doing, he nodded in satisfaction. “Alright, let's move out.”
Rick nodded and grinned. “Time to have some fun,” he said as he double-checked his gun's CO2 canister.
There were a few chuckles from the assembled group. Pete smiled too, but kept his voice stern. “Yeah, doing a simulated raid with dozens of people using paintball and plastic pellet guns is probably going to be fun. But don't forget why it is we're doing this.” That wiped smiles off a few faces. “Take this seriously and don't do anything stupid. As far as you're concerned this is a real raid with real bullets.” He let his smile widen. “Remember what the losing team gets.”
There was a bit of muttered grumbling about that. The losing team would be sent back to pick up the vehicles the raiders had left five miles away. Pete wasn't heartless so he wasn't going to make them lug their packs that distance, but those caught goofing off or who'd put in a particularly bad showing would be stuck carrying the water for the rest of their team.
The raiders split up, everyone creeping along to their designated positions. Pete kept an eye on his watch as his team settled in and began picking out targets among the distant buildings. As he did he couldn't help but notice that Mitch, who he'd assigned to his team, was looking a bit nervous.
He crawled over next to him. “Ready for this?”
Mary's husband did his best to smile. “As I can be. Although to be honest even though I know I'm supposed to be treating this as real, I'm glad it's not.”
Pete clapped the man on the shoulder. “Remember, fortune favors the bold.”
Mitch grimaced. “Yeah, well misfortune also favors the bold.”
That was a perspective he didn't hear often. “Maybe, but misfortune is all that favors the timid,” he shot back. He clapped him on the shoulder again. “We've got about five minutes.”
Actually it was more like two, because at about that time they heard shouting from the village. Cries of “To the north!” “North!” and things like that, followed by the barely audible thwack sounds of compressed air weapons being fired in the distance.
Pete bit back a curse: Rick's team must've been spotted. He hoped Jim would think to revise his part of the plan and become one of the attacking teams now that Rick had fallen face first into the role of decoy. He would've planned for that contingency, but for an inexperienced group that wasn't used to working together making the plan too complex could be as bad as no plan at all.
Besides, most plans immediately began falling apart at the first moment of contact. Time to teach his trainees how to improvise.
“That's our cue,” he hissed, lifting his rifle.
His team began breaking from their hiding spot, rushing forward to closer spots of cover within shooting range of the nearest defender emplacements. Pete had picked a dip in the ground behind a large sagebrush, and he bolted for it with almost the same tense adrenaline he'd feel if it was real bullets shooting at him.
No splats of paint or stinging welts from pellets. He skidded into the dip, readjusted the safety goggles he was wearing, then peeked through the bush's branches searching for a target. He settled on a sentry dug in behind a couple sandbags beside a shed, whose head was still turned the other way focused on Rick's team.
Time to teach a lesson on situational awareness. Pete leaned out from behind the bush and aimed with his rifle, firing off a few quick shots at the man's side, exposed beyond the cover of the sandbags. The man squawked in surprise and twisted, clutching where the pellets had hit. Then, looking pissed, he sullenly set his weapon down and sprawled on the ground as a “corpse”.
Actually, after Pete had ducked back behind the sagebrush and then peeked through to reassess the situation, he spotted an opportunity. Most of the attention was still on Rick's group, and the rest of it was to the south where Jim's team was whooping and bellowing loud enough for Pete to hear them even from this distance.
Pete's team had an opening, if they were quick enough to take it.
His first instinct was to shout for the charge, but he wanted to keep their presence an unknown for as long as possible. So instead he waved his rifle silently overhead and pointed it towards the barn they'd planned to assault first. Then he scrambled out from behind cover and charged for the dilapidated building, waving wildly for his people to follow.
He wasn't sure if they did, or if he was running in all alone like an idiot. But even all alone he planned to wreak some havoc.
As he ran he fired at another sentry who'd spotted him and turned to open fire. He saw paintballs splatting on the ground around him, but either skill or luck was on his side because the man abruptly yelped and clutched at his cheek just below his goggles.
Oops. Before starting this exercise one of the safety rules they'd laid out was to try not to aim for the head, even though everyone had eyepro. In Pete's defense he'd actually been aiming for center mass, but even at the best of times firing while running was mostly spray and pray.
The guy was yelling in protest about the shot to the face, and rather than sprawling as a corpse he settled down in his emplacement with his arms crossed, weapon discarded on the ground beside him. Pete didn't really care as long as he didn't keep shooting or otherwise interfere.
He reached the barn a dozen steps later, slamming into the side and checking both ways for enemies. Instead, to his relief he saw his team pelting across the distance to join him. A few, he was pleased to see, were even pausing to provide cover fire for everyone else.
Mitch was one of those, which Pete had to admire. At least up to the moment a paintball slammed into the man's shoulder and he went down with a disappointed yell.
Pete only gave himself a moment to assess the situation, then he grabbed a loose board from the wall of the barn and yanked it free, squeezing into the ramshackle structure through the gap he'd created.
He found himself in a stall, and looking over its shoulder-high walls he spotted a defender on the far side of the barn, leaning out the front door and firing. Pete shot the man in the back twice and darted out of the stall to begin clearing the structure.
At which point he came face to face with Trev, caught in the middle of creeping towards the stall and looking as surprised as he felt. His friend had obviously heard the racket Pete made tearing the board free and come to investigate, and his rifle was held close to his chest where it wouldn't impede his movement in the cramped space.
For a split second they stared at each other. Pete had never considered himself slow to react, but before he had time to move his rifle a few inches to take aim, let alone fire, Trev dropped his own weapon and lunged, catching the tip of Pete's rifle and wrenching it out of his hands.
Blast, his friend always had been ridiculously fast.
Even if this hadn't been an exercise Pete wouldn't have been too interested in hand-to-hand, and Trev seemed to feel the same way. They both leapt backward at nearly the same time, and Pete dropped his hand to draw the unfamiliar pellet pistol from his belt.
His sidearm had barely cleared its holster when two paintballs splatted on his chest. He couldn't help but gape at Trev, who'd drawn, aimed, and fired in the time it took Pete just to reach for his own weapon. The guy had probably still been midair from his jump.
“Gotcha,” his friend said with a slight grin.
Pete obligingly dropped to the ground to play dead, swearing in combined annoyance and admiration. “Sometime in the last six years I forgot how quick you are.”
Trev retrieved his rifle and slipped over to take cover at the entrance to the stall, in case any more of Pete's raiders tried to use the opening he'd created. As he did his friend shook his head ruefully. “Yeah, well speed's about the only edge I've got on you. If I hadn't caught you coming around the corner I'd be toast.”
The self-effacing reply just irritated Pete even more. He'd spent six years as a soldier, he'd darn well better be more combat capable than a civilian who hadn't seen fighting in years. “Be a different story if I'd clocked you instead of going for my sidearm.”
“Maybe.” Trev shook his head. “I hate hand-to-hand combat. Way too much can go wrong.”
Pete had a feeling his friend had some experience that had taught him that lesson. He was about to reply with his own experience during the slaver ambush when the blatt blatt blatt of air rifles firing nearby made Trev tense. He curtly shushed Pete. “Hey, play dead already before you give my position away.”
Moments later the rest of Pete's team stormed the barn. Trev managed to take out two before going down himself, settling on the ground beside Pete with a grin as the trainees made a big deal about their instructor getting tagged.
Pete wanted to tell them to shut up and finish clearing the barn before continuing the attack, but he couldn't since he was dead.
Instead he just lay there and scowled as his raiders finally got back to business. In less than a minute they'd left behind a couple men to shoot from openings in the barn, and the rest had left to continue trying to take the village.
Leaving Pete and Trev and the other defenders and raiders who'd been taken out to hang around waiting until it was all over. “So,” he told his friend. “Don't suppose you brought some cards.”
Trev grinned. “There's always rock paper scissors.”
✽✽✽
In the end Lewis's defenders won.
Which shouldn't have been too surprising considering the dog's dinner Rick's team had made of the approach, and the chaotic mess the attack had turned into afterwards. At least it had been somewhat close with only six defenders left standing, one of them Lewis himself. Not bad at all considering the raiders had been attacking a fortified position that was alerted to their approach.
Pete's group was pretty pissed about having to walk back and get their vehicles, though. “I signed up to learn how to fight slavers, not waste the entire day hiking ten miles,” one of the trainees groused.
“Hey, at least you didn't spend the morning doing heavy labor digging ditches and filling sandbags,” Alvin replied. “All you had to do was walk around, we had to make this place defensible.”
Pete would've been happy to endure the punishment with the rest of his raiders, even carry water since he'd been one of the first ones taken out, and he felt like a hypocrite that he wasn't going to be.
But the fact was that he was the instructor, and while the raiders were busy retrieving the vehicles he was going to sit down with Lewis and the defenders and talk through the preparations they'd made, what had happened during the raid, and how they'd responded. A full, in-depth analysis of the situation, and how it squared with usual slaver tactics and the lessons they could learn from it. He'd also take them through the raiders' side of the attack so they could see the other perspective and the tactics involved there.
Then while the defenders prepared dinner Pete would have a similar talk with the raiders. Finally, after the meal, he'd get both groups together and give them a more complete rundown on what he knew about slavers and the Locust Swarm, do his best to give them the full benefit of his years of experience fighting the enemy.
Everything he could think of that would help them if they ever had to face slavers themselves.
Surprisingly, in spite of their grumbling most of the raiders seemed fine with him staying behind to teach. Pete had to admit they'd gotten sort of a raw deal during the day's exercise, and resolved to make it up to them during the final half-day of training.
With them on their way Pete rejoined Lewis and the defenders. “That was pretty exciting, huh?” his friend said with a grin. “Like back in the old days fighting the blockheads.”
Pete gave him an incredulous look. Sure, for Aspen Hill the fighting hadn't directly touched them for six years, so it really was starting to become a distant memory. But for Pete this was his life, and exciting wasn't the first word he'd use for it.
Lewis caught his expression and flinched slightly. “Oh, uh, right.”
“No worries,” Pete said, forcing a smile and clapping him on the shoulder. “You've seen enough fighting for a lifetime, you've earned some peace.”
“You too, when you're ready for it,” his friend replied solemnly.
Pete felt his smile slip. Everyone was awfully eager for him to stop being a soldier, but they didn't seem to understand. The six years he'd spent in the Army felt longer than the life he'd had before it, and defined him more as a person.
Being a soldier wasn't what he did, it was who he was. How exactly did he stop being one? How did he walk away from his brothers-in-arms, from a fight left unfinished? And who exactly would he be if he did?
The thought of civilian life, with no order, no structure, no identity, terrified him. Even if he had a place to come home to.
But he wasn't about to get into that with Lewis at the moment. To be honest he didn't really want to think about it at all. So he clapped his hands to get everyone's attention and raised his voice. “All right, people, let's get started!”
✽✽✽
The rest of the day went smoothly. Pete led the defenders back to camp and finished his after-action assessment with them, just in time for the sweaty, exhausted raiders to return. Pete let them rest and get some water while he went through pretty much the same assessment.
He had to admit that if he could do the exercise over again it would probably be better for him to not be on either team and just remain an outside observer. That way he'd be able to get a better picture of how the fight had gone, and offer more constructive feedback to the trainees. As it was he'd been sitting in a barn for most of it and was forced to go on everyone's descriptions of what had happened during the rest of the raid, which were often vague or even contradictory.
Sure, even as an observer he wouldn't have been able to watch everywhere at once, but it would've been an improvement. As an instructor it was his job to provide the best training, even if that meant not being part of the fun.
He supposed it was something to consider if he ever ended up doing something like this again. But aside from that he was pretty satisfied with how things had gone as he finished his assessment with the raiders and they all took a break to wolf down some dinner.
His more detailed rundown on slaver tactics after the meal also went well, with everyone gathered around a blazing fire relaxing and nibbling on snacks as he covered his experience over the last six years. Particularly in the first year and his time in Missouri and Illinois before and after his exile, which accounted for by far the majority of his combat experience.
Although his time in Canada did allow him to give some detailed pointers on fighting in deep snow and bitter winter conditions.
As his speech was winding down the mood grew a bit rowdy, as people started getting together with buddies from the other team to rib them about their performance, or lack thereof, in the earlier exercise.
Jim was ribbing Mitch about being one of the first to get taken out, and wasn't trying very hard to keep his voice down. With the general noise level rising anyway Pete decided that instead of getting on his friend's case he should probably wrap things up there, while people were still at least pretending to pay attention.
“And that concludes our training for the day,” he said to various relieved cheers and a smattering of applause. “Tomorrow we'll do more drilling and some individual and small group urban combat simulations, including busting into an occupied house or, on the other side, defending a building.”
