The New Moon

What frightened me more than the fighting itself was the thought of the convoy stalling in the high country of Monarch Pass — a name that meant, quite literally, the sovereign's crossing.

Eleven thousand feet above sea level. Just drawing breath made your chest seize. The cold up there plunged past forty-five below, a freeze that killed without mercy. Spend a night at that altitude and the old and the weak wouldn't last — and neither would the trucks.

Once we rolled, the entire column had to clear that pass while the sun was still up. No exceptions. That meant every obstacle in our path had to be stripped away completely, and fast.

I took the vague outline I'd been turning over in my head and made it concrete. Marking the operational zones on the map in red ink, I looked at Gunner.

"Gunner, how do you want to structure the Special Tasks teams?"

"Well, those guys have been training together. They've got their rhythm down. You and I pull three men and we form Alpha Team."

"Go on."

"The other five go to Snake as Bravo. Kid's Force Recon — infiltration's what he does."

"Good. Then the northern ridgeline on the left side of the road is AO Alpha. Southern ridgeline on the right is AO Bravo. Infiltration routes and strike points are yours."

"Got it. Looking at the map, the real problem is getting onto those ridges. Engine noise or a stray light and we're done. We'll have to dismount at least half a mile out and go in on foot."

"Get the night-concealment gear and clothing staged ahead of time. I don't want a single footstep carrying."

"Yeah... we'll need to think about the vehicles that take the teams to the insertion points, too."

"Do it. Kill every light on those trucks and run IR only. How are we sitting on night vision?"

Gunner answered like a man who already knew he'd won the argument.

"Relax. Colonel Gibson pulled something special out of deep storage. GPNVG-18s."

"Four-tube night vision?"

"That's right. Issued them to everyone. Ninety-seven-degree field of view — you don't even need to turn your head. Bright as day out there. And every weapon's already got a PEQ-15 designator mounted."

"Good."

The infrared laser from a PEQ-15 is completely invisible to the naked eye. Only someone wearing night vision sees it — a vivid green beam cutting through the dark. In that pitch-black void, the enemy wouldn't even know where the rounds were coming from. They'd never see the laser dot painted on their chests before they died. It was an overwhelming tactical advantage. It was as close to one-sided slaughter as a piece of equipment could get.

Gunner checked the calendar, then a knowing smile crept across his face.

"Perfect timing. New moon in two days. Not a scrap of moonlight — pitch black. For us with night vision, it's a playground. For those blind bastards, it's hell. Couldn't ask for better conditions."

I nodded and looked around the trailer. Every pair of eyes in the room was burning with the same hard light.

"All right. Tentative D-Day is 0400, two days from now."

I turned to Matthews and Jake.

"We've got a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠rough picture of their positions and strength. For the operation, I need better. Use the drones for everything they're worth — weapons emplacements, sentry posts, patrol patterns, and a full Recon Map of the infiltration routes the Special Tasks teams will use."

"Understood. I'll map every shrub and every rock big enough to hide behind."

Matthews said it without a flicker of doubt. I looked back at the map. The red lines I'd drawn looked like a noose tightening around the enemy's throat. They had dug the trap. Now it was our turn to own it.

I looked from Matthews to Ryker.

"Listen carefully. Once the Special Tasks teams take the M2 positions on the ridgeline, Matthews, your platoon deploys two armed Humvees and hits their forward outpost. This is a come-on. Stay behind cover and pour on the fire — I want them to counterattack."

"We're not committing the armor?"

I shook my head at Matthews's question.

"No. We hold the Strykers. When their reinforcements arrive and they try to smash their way out of the kill box, that's when the armor goes in. The Strykers only fight once the enemy has broken through the beaten zone."

"Understood."

"The moment contact starts, get drones in the air and track them in real time. Anyone the Special Tasks teams can't see, you paint with IR lasers. Mark their skulls from the sky. Am I clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

"Last thing. Stand up a separate supply team and keep them ready. The instant those outposts are ours, I want Carl Gustaf recoilless rifles, extra ammunition, and water going up that ridge as fast as you can haul them."

I looked around at Bill, Dave, and Frank.

"If the enemy is fully ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cleared before 0900 on D-Day, the entire column rolls immediately."

The three of them waited.

"If the fighting runs long or the situation turns ugly, we hold one more day and leave the morning after. Plan for both."

As the briefing wound down, Mike spoke up, his expression grave.

"The plan's damn near perfect... but there's one thing that's eating at me."

"Speak freely."

"Even if we wipe out that forward outpost, the ground we actually have to pass through is Cimarron — their home base."

I waited.

"Their main body isn't going to empty out just because the outpost is under attack. If whoever's left holes up in Cimarron and sits tight, we're going to have a real problem."

I smiled at the sharpness of it.

"I was just about to get to that. Mike, would you call up the battery commander?"

Mike's eyes went wide. Then he slapped his knee and reached for the radio.

"Ah. Of course."

Mike set the handset down and looked at me.

"You're going to shell them out of their own house?"

"That's right. Whether they crawl out on their own or huddle inside those buildings makes no difference to me. Nobody keeps their head when high explosive starts landing on the roof. Their will to fight, their combat power — both will drop to something we can handle."

"Haha. That's it. Whether they hunker down, come down the mountain for a stand-up fight, or scatter into the high country in a panic, we don't lose either way. A man who's never been under a real barrage cannot imagine that kind of fear..."

Mike added the last of it quietly, as if tasting an old memory he didn't care to keep.

A few minutes later, Sergeant Ark, the battery commander, opened the trailer door and threw a crisp salute.

"You sent for me, Commander."

"Ark. Come here and look at this map."

I brought him to my side and put a finger on Cimarron.

"This is their home base. We're going to put fire on it."

Ark checked the map scale with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the ease of long practice, laid a ruler across it, and nodded.

"Straight-line distance is approximately 5.5 kilometers. Both the 81-millimeter and the 120 are well within range."

"What's the CEP?"

"About thirty meters on the 120. Forty on the 81. But if we spot the impacts with drones and walk the fire in, we won't be putting rounds through windows — we'll put them through buildings, no question."

"Good."

I tapped a point on the map, satisfied.

"Their compound sits about fifty meters off the road. Take the center of the base as your reference point. We need that road intact."

"Yes, sir. I'll get it ready."

Ark studied the map more carefully.

"Where do you want the initial firing position, and what's the TOT?"

I indicated a stretch of shoulder where the road met a low, level rise, just off the pavement.

"That's your gun line. Time on target is the moment their reinforcing element leaves Cimarron and arrives at the outpost."

Ark frowned.

"You want us to wait until the reinforcements have already left the base? Wouldn't it be more effective to hit them while the troops are still concentrated?"

"Killing a lot of them is not the point."

I drew a line between the two positions with my finger.

"Our tactical objective is to destroy the enemy and, at the same time, cut their line of retreat and maximize the chaos. We hit the home base when their main force is trapped in the kill zone on the road to the outpost."

Ark was silent, working it through.

"The reinforcing element is isolated. Whoever's left at the base panics — do they fall back, or do they send more men? Either answer is fine with me."

"Understood. Hammer and Anvil — which one are we?"

"We can be both. Your battery is the hammer. When the main body drives up that road, you become the anvil. What matters is pinning them on that narrow stretch of asphalt."

"Ah. I have it, sir. We'll cut them in half at the waist and turn their home base into rubble."

"I'm counting on you."

"Don't worry. I'll compute the target coordinates and ranges to the meter and have the firing tables perfect."

Ark answered with iron in his voice, then saluted and left.

Behind me, hundreds of families lay sleeping. For them to see morning, someone had to paint the dawn with blood.

Hannibal had sacrificed his elephants to cross the Alps. I swore I would lose not a single soul crossing this mountain.

The briefing ended and the work began, and a day vanished before I knew it.

I finished the early-dawn routine the way I always did and walked the camp with Wolf at my side. Gunner and the Special Tasks teams were running gear checks. Ark's mortar battery had the tubes pre-positioned on the trailer mounts and were deep in conversation with the truckers, arguing — from the look of it — over exactly where and how to park the trailers, since that single decision would set the clock on the opening barrage.

Gunner watched them for a moment, then glanced at the sky.

"Boss. New moon and cloud cover to boot. Dawn's tomorrow. Maybe try sleeping."

"Could you?"

"Yeah, fair point. Haha."

That was when the entrance to the laager erupted. A moment later, a frantic transmission came in from the outer sentry.

The voice was breathless and half-scrambled. I keyed the handset.

Gunner and I ran for the camp entrance. Dave and Frank came pouring out behind us, along with a knot of Division operators.

In the distance, a column of some ten vehicles was coming on through a boil of dust. Guided in by the sentries, the trucks rolled to a stop in the open ground in front of the camp.

The man who climbed down from the lead vehicle was Staff Sergeant Stone, who had commanded the group left behind in Fallon. His combat uniform was caked in dirt. The moment he saw me, he locked into a salute.

"Reporting in, Commander. Remaining Fallon personnel — nine operators and twenty-three family members. All accounted for. All safe."

While I returned the salute, Jed moved quietly along the line, running a radiation detector over the vehicles and the people themselves.

A moment later Jed caught my eye and nodded. Only then did I let out the breath I'd been holding.

"You did well, Staff Sergeant. Thank God."

Mike came up and clapped Stone on the shoulder. Division comrades who had heard the news came running, cheering, pulling the new arrivals into rough, grateful embraces.

Stone pointed toward the back of one of the trucks.

"We brought supplies. KI ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠— potassium iodide — and Prussian blue. Filled a pickup to the rails."

"The Colonel's doing?"

"Yes, sir. And there's a special message I'm to deliver to you, Commander."

"A message?"