Zemplen War

 This is part of a ongoing worldbuilding/RP story I am working on with some friends.

The character posts are here: https://forum.nationstates.net/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=480695&sid=8f2e2efb1c239f00602455e2b5c2c412

 The background story is here: https://iiwiki.us/wiki/Zemplen_War

April 19th, 2009
Just south of Sagerejo, Ruvelka

There wasn’t any snow left anymore. Winters in Ruvelka were long and bitter, and snowfall was common but by the end of March it had all melted away. Part of that was of course due to the rising temperatures, but it couldn’t have been helped by the burning fires that dotted the landscape. They were everywhere, each one of them churning pillars of ugly black smoke into the sky. The rubber was the worst, once it burned you could smell it for days and no matter how hard you washed yourself it wouldn’t come out.

Not that the Syarans manning the front line had many opportunities to shower. In the past few weeks they had few chances to do anything hygiene related. Major Viktor Miroslavov Lukanov hadn’t had the chance to shave for three days and now he had a stubble coming in. Had he been back in garrison such a thing was unthinkable, but now shaving was the least of his concerns. Lukanov sat in the cupola of his tank, blankly staring out at the horizon.

A few months ago the southern side of Sagerejo had been small suburbs and villages, home to Ruvelkan families who worked in the city but commuted to the city in the early morning onboard either the local bus route or the train. The railroad that had carried the commuter train was now broken in several locations, craters from mortars and artillery rendering it unusable for its normal function; now it served as a defensive line for the Ruvelkan troops defending Sagerejo.

Almost a month earlier the Syarans had begun their assault on Sagerejo, one of Ruvelka’s bigger cities. Sagerejo lay at the foothills of the Kurilla Mountain Range, the central spine of Ruvelka that divided the country almost perfectly between east and west. Behind the Kurillas was Debrecen, Ruvelka’s capital, and Sagerejo was the last major city in the way. That wasn’t entirely accurate, since instead of a straight road towards Debrecen the Syarans would then have to summit the massive peaks of the Kurillas, all ringed with hundreds of thousands of Ruvelkan troops. It would be an unbelievable slog to try to break through, but before that could be tackled Sagerejo needed to be captured.

For the past three weeks Lukanov and his brigade had battled its way through the suburbs and low urban rises of the southern outskirts of Sagerejo. Lukanov’s unit bore the scars of a difficult campaign; his Myrmidon tank was covered in soot and scorch marks. The coaxial machine gun atop had been torn off, and hastily re-applied blocks of reactive armor were linked across his turret and hull. Casualties had been heavy; their battalion commanding officers had been killed a week prior, putting Lukanov in charge. Many of the soldiers milling about around Lukanov’s tank were replacements, young boys barely old enough to be called legally men. They still flinched under the sound of artillery fire, and were clearly anxious about their upcoming endeavor.

Lukanov’s mind turned sour as he contemplated what lay before him. The previous day he had been pulled off the line to attend a briefing at division headquarters with the rest of the brigade command teams. Major General Rumen Steriovski, commander of the 37th Mechanized Infantry Division, laid out the basics. The opposing force, the Ruvelkan Eighth Army, was nearly broken. It’s reserves were depleted and it was short on ammunition and manpower. For the past two weeks the Ruvelkans had steadily been pushed back under a withering barrage of Syaran artillery and combined arms assaults. While the fighting in the city itself had reached a stalemate, the Ruvelkans in the south were on their last legs and holding onto an increasingly tenuous position. If the 37th Mechanized Infantry Division could punch through and rupture the last line of Ruvelkan defenses, then IX Corps could pivot and destabilize the entire Ruvelkan First Central Front, eventually swinging north and encircling Ruvelkan forces in Sagerejo.

To do that the 372nd Brigade would attack first, rupture Ruvelkan defenses along the rail line and drew in their tactical reserves. Once they were committed the 373rd, Lukanov’s brigade, would punch through the depleted Ruvelkan forces and press into their operational depth. Major General Steriovski was confident it was possible; the Ruvelkan forces opposing them, the 65th Infantry Division, was badly damaged and only had two functioning regiments remaining. Their artillery was outgunned and they had just a single battalion in reserve; no match for a Syaran heavy mechanized brigade. Or so Lukanov was told.

He had subsequent briefs with the brigade command team, then disseminated the information to his company commanders. By now they all more or less bore the same expression of weariness and exhaustion, but they did their duty. Lukanov could ask no more of them.

In the distance the sound of cannon fire, automatic weapons, and the made-made thunder that was artillery could be heard. The 372nd Brigade was currently attempting to rupture Ruvelkan defenses along the rail line. Lukanov had a friend in one of their battalions; before they had set off Lukanov had wished him luck. Lukanov wondered if he was still alive. Possibly. Possibly not.

The round of boots rapidly slamming against asphalt alerted him to the arrival of a member of the battalions signal section. A young NCO ran up to the side of Lukanov’s tank and reported. “15 minutes until green light.” Lukanov nodded, and the NCO ran off. It was time. Hauling himself back into his tank Lukanov sat down in the driver’s seat. He was a bit big for a tanker, large arms and legs that didn’t always agree with the ergonomics of Syaran tank design, but he managed. He put on his headset and keyed his radio to the battalion net. “All callsigns, 15 minutes.”

His company commanders sounded off in order, letting him know they were ready to follow his lead. Lukanov had three companies of tanks not including his own section of four. Attached to his battalion was a company of mechanized infantry. Lukanov wondered which ones would survive this attack. Beta Company was commanded by a Senior Lieutenant now, Atanasov. Alpha was still under Captain Velevski, Gamma under recently promoted Captain Nunkov. The mechanized infantry commander, a Clanner by the name of Bozigian, seemed competent enough, but Lukanov had never worked with him before. It was anyone’s guess how well they would all do.
Lukanov had tried to inspire them the previous days with words of encouragement, but he had fumbled through the praises of the All-Mother in a way that let them know he hadn’t brushed up on the Chronicles in years. He only hoped the spirit of his words had ultimately carried through. It might be the only comfort they had.

The 15 minutes refused to pass with any degree of haste. It seemed more like an hour, but then all of a sudden that was it. Lukanov keyed the mic “Green light; green light to engage.”

With a sputtering of engines and the creaking whine of treads, Lukanov’s battalion began to lurch forward, following the pathway that had been laid out by their sister brigade. To their north and south their sister battalions followed suit. Syaran doctrine held they stay on line until they made contact, or reconnaissance information suggested otherwise. Lukanov had no reason to deviate for now. As he rode forward his column passed by the remnants of what had been homes, shops, and neighborhoods, most of them leveled or in some state of disarray. Automobiles crushed or tossed aside, personal belongings scattered here and there. Homes shattered beyond belief.

The sound of gunfire grew louder and louder, until Lukanov sat down in his tank and sealed his hatch. His metal coffin was now his entire world. He leaned forward in his seat and stared out at the upcoming battle. His sight was far more limited than he prefered, but by now he was used to it. Ahead of his tank was Alpha Company, behind him Beta Company, then Gamma, his NCOIC, Senior Master Sergeant Avedikian, and finally the mechanized infantry. They tried to space out as much as possible to avoid being taken out all at once by artillery or airstrikes, but amid the ruined streets there was only so much space.

They were getting closer and closer now to their starting line. Lukanov switched his radio to the frequency of the 372nd brigade inter-unit net. “Brontes, this is Echion main, preparing to pass Line Alpha.”

There was a burst of static, and the voice on the other end replied. Lukanov could detect the sound of gunfire in the background. “Copy Echion, proceed as planned and bypass point Damocles. Good luck, out.”

So far so good. Lukanov’s battalion continued to move forward, now passing the rear of their sister brigade. Hastily set up artillery batteries were still firing away at the Ruvelkan lines. As they moved closer they saw the rest of the brigades support elements; a medical center overflowing with casualties, a communication system that was nestled between the ruins of what looked like a parking garage, and finally the reserve element. Lukanov noted with some discomfort that they were just a company strong, not the battalion size they were supposed to be.

It took only twenty minutes for them to reach what had been the front. The rail line that ran north and south, and had been the defensive line for the Ruvelkans, was now in Syaran control. It had clearly come at a cost. Scattered about were Syara armored vehicles, either burning profusely, tossed on their side, or simply smoldering where holes had been punched into them. Bodies were comparatively rare, as Lukanov had come to note in mechanized warfare, but here and there you could find clusters; usually crew served weapons whom had been manned until the very end. Sometimes there weren’t bodies, just parts here and there scattered near craters and blast marks. Some of the remains were Ruvelkan at least; Lukanov could tell where a Ruvelkan anti-tank team had held out until the end, their gun twisted and broken while their bodies were partially burned. Lukanov’s tank passed close enough to see the trio were all young faces, their eyes glossed over and forever now locked on the sky.

Lukanov didn’t like to think about the enemy, but it was hard to do so as they passed further and further past the rail line. Scattered about were small clues as to what had transpired. A Ruvelkan mortar team overran, their bodies riddled with machine gun fire. The Syaran machine gun team in turn mowed down by rifle fire a few hundred meters later. A Ruvelkan armored personnel carrier lay split open by a tank shell. Not too far away a Syaran infantry fighting vehicle still burned along with its crew and it’s passengers who weren’t able to evacuate before a guided missile had hit. A kilometer down the road what had once clearly been a triage facility was now a massive crater courtesy of a 155mm shell. The sundered pieces left over told Lukanov it had been in use right up until its destruction.

Alpha Company radioed in that they were passing the 372nd’s limit of advance. Lukanov acknowledged while gunfire echoed in the distance as the Syarans hunted down the remnants of the Ruvelkan defenders. This area was at least mostly clear; soon it would be just them and the enemy. By now they had left the denser suburbs for scattered homesteads among sparse forests and groves of trees. Smoke billowed up above the treetops and residual gunfire echoed off the trees. Lukaov’s own tank was soon passing the limit of advance of their sister brigade. He peered out of his periscope at the units now manning the line. Scarred tanks, reactive blocks blown out, and missing radio towers were commonplace. The infantry, who were hastily preparing firing positions, were covered in mud, grease, and blood. Lukanov noted he did not see the command vehicle anywhere. A moment later his radio sparked to life.

“Echion Main this is Curetes 2. Be advised, UAV recon has identified hostiles 2 cliks ahead. Stay sharp, over.”

Lukanov noted also he was talking to the battalion’s second in command. “Roger that Curetes 2. Echion Lead out.”

He keyed his radio back to his battalion net. “All Echion Elements, spread in standard formation. We’re on our own from here on out.”

Alpha Company took the lead, spreading out its tanks in a staggered crescent while Gamma and Delta took up the flanks. Lukanov’s headquarters section and the mechanized infantry took up the rear, along with their long distance communication set which was their lifeline back to brigade artillery. They crossed through fields interspersed with groves of trees, clumps of brush and dirt roads. Lukanov briefly wondered if this had at one point been someone’s private estate or a community park of some kind.

Five minutes passed with no indication as to where the enemy was. His forward security detachment, assigned to Alpha Company, radioed back nothing. As they rode forward Lukanov suddenly noted his radio was blinking on the brigade net. He switched to it and was immediately blasted with a loud, static whine before a voice broke through the mess.

“-Infantry and armor, a lot of infantry, at least two companies, in the tree line! Request fire mission at Grid Location Kappa Zeta 4850 1254, one salvo, HE, over!”

Luaknov recognized that as the voice of 1st Battalion’s Command RTO. It seems their brothers up north were taking fire. He switched back to his battalion net just in time to hear Velevski scream “Contact! Contact! Contact!”

Lukanov practically slammed his head into the periscope to try to see anything, but Alpha Company was too far ahead.

“Report!”

“Alpha 1-3 is hit! Engaging enemy armor and infantry in the tree line, range 700!”

“Driver move forward, full ahead!” Lukanov barked. He spoke back into his headset. “Beta, Gamma, report sightlines!”

“Neg, Lead.” Atanasov reported. Nunkov did not reply at first before his voice came out urgently over the radio. “Contact! 600 meters, in the tree line!”

“Spread out and engage!” Lukanov ordered. If the enemy had the area presighted for artillery fire, he didn’t want to give them a chance to take out the entire company at once.

Lukanov’s tank lurched forward over the brush and weeds, tearing up the still soggy soil underneath. He peered into the periscope and could make out the outlines of Alpha Company’s tanks who were now firing on the Ruvelkan positions along the three line less than a kilometer ahead. One of Alpha Company’s tanks was burning bright orange.

So much for recon.

Lukanov’s tank moved forward until it was level with the rest of Alpha Company. They were spaced out between a grove of trees, large bushes and small mounds of dirt. “Bozigian, get your men up here!” Lukanov ordered as he scanned for targets.

“Ghosts, 10 o’clock!” Someone yelled over the radio.

Luaknov turned the turret of his tank in the direction called out. Amid the smoke now emitting from the fired cannons it was difficult to make out at first, but then he saw them; small, sleek tanks moving out from the underbrush. The Ruvelkan Ghost was an odd looking tank, more of an assault gun than anything, low to the ground. It’s armor was paperthin and its main gun was only 105mm, too weak to penetrate Myrmidon armor, but they were more than capable of taking out treads or some of the lighter skinned vehicles with them.

Lukanov laid his sights on one. “Gunner, target 11 o’clock!”

A moment. “Target acquired!” He answered back.

“Fire!”

The chassis shook as the main gun bellowed, filling the interior with the smell of breach. The shell screamed out towards the Ghost, slamming into its side. The whole thing suddenly shook like it had been kicked. Smoke began to pour out of the gaping hole on its side. The other Ghosts nearby were moving quickly now, trying to get into position. Lukanov guessed they had been trying to flank his battalion without realizing how large it was.

Lukanov scanned the area, his turret traversing the field searching for more targets. More Ghosts were moving around, at least two platoons, but Lukanov’s other tanks were targeting the other ones. Another Ghost exploded in flames. They fired back in a staggered burst, a few shells slamming into the Syaran armor. Most bounced off with little flare. Another Ghost went up in flames, and then smoke started to rise up in the air; the Ghosts were popping smoke and trying to pull back. Lukanov left the rest of Alpha Company to deal with them.

“Bozigian, status report!” Lukanov barked into the radio.

“Reaching the line now.” The Clanner reported back. The infantry began to roll up in their infantry fighting vehicles, their autocannons firing off in bursts against the tree line where the Ruvelkan defenders were still dug in. Lukanov searched for more targets, but against the backdrop of the forest he couldn’t make out any armored vehicles. Ahead of him and to the right, one of the infantry fighting vehicles came to a halt and its rear ramp opened up. Out poured the infantry with their rifles and machineguns, beginning to take up positions near their armored transport.

One of the infantrymen wielded an RPG; he ran out a few meters to the left of his vehicle, kneeled down, took aim and then fired his RPG. The projectile went flying into the woodline, exploding and taking out a tree that proceeded to topple to the ground. Just as the soldier was standing up, a round blew off his head and he flopped onto his back.

Lukanov winced. This was going nowhere. He keyed his mic “Nunkov, status.”

“Taking pot shots, but nothing serious.” Was the answer.

“Beta Company, prepare to advance on the flank of the mech infantry. Flush out these bastards directly in front of Alpha.”

“Yes sir.” Nunkov replied.

“Driver, left stick, forward.” He ordered.

“Aff Lead.” The tank began to roll forward, coming parallel with the infantry on their firing line. Lukanov peered through his periscope again, trying to see anything to shoot at. His tank shells weren’t suited to taking on clusters of infantry, but he spotted something that looked like an armored vehicle, at least form this distance.

“Gunner, target 12 o’clock!”

There was a noticeable hesitation before he replied. “Target acquired.”

“Fire!”

The tank rocked back slightly as the main cannon fired, and Lukanov’s guess turned out to be correct as the armored vehicle cracked open in an explosion of flames. Lukanov couldn’t help but grin at that. He switched to his machine gun and began raking the tree line with fire, uncertain if he was actually hitting anything but determined to do something. Out of the corner of his vision he saw Gamma Company move in nearly a kilometer to their left, cannons booming and machine guns sputtering away at the tree line. Suddenly Lukanov could see an awful lot of movement, confused until he realized the Ruvelkans were falling back.

“Press them.” He ordered into his radio, and ordered his driver to continue forward. Alpha Company began to advance, machine guns firing, mowing down Ruvelkans as they attempted to retreat further into the woods. Lukanov knew they couldn’t follow them there. “Gamma, swing left through this brush and converge on the other side. Alpha, follow me on the right.”

Lukanov’s tank lurched sharply to the right and began moving parallel to the woodline, aiming for where it ended some 600 meters away. Lukanov traversed his turret to the left, making sure that his cannon wouldn’t catch on any of the trees. Alpha Company formed up behind him in a typical wedge formation. Lukanov could see movement in the forest, but amid the shadows and tree trunks he couldn’t make out enough for something to target.

Alpha Company crested the edge of the forest and began to pivot to circle around it, where it tapered off into a field which then turned into a small valley. Lukanov parked his tank in line with the rest of Alpha Company and began firing at the Ruvelkan forces trying to cut across the field to the safety of the valley beyond. An armored personnel carrier bolted like a rabbit, moving so fast its wheels were bouncing and sometimes off the ground. Lukanov put an expertly placed round right into it and the vehicle exploded in a fireball.

The rest of the Ruvelkan infantry began to tumble and fall as they succumbed to machine gun fire from the Syaran tanks. It was a one-sided slaughter, and just the kind of crushing defeat to clear out the last resistance from this sector. Lukanov was about to tell his units to cease fire before Nunkov screamed into the radio “CONTACT!”

Lukanov slammed his face into the periscope just in time to see a round impact against one of Beta Company’s tanks on the far side of the clearing. “On the hill, they’re coming down!”

Lukanov practically spun his turret to see. There, emerging from the woodline at the edge of the clearing was a company of Ruvelkan tanks. These were Ulhans, better armed and armored then their Ghost counterparts. Lukanov for a moment wondered why on earth they were coming out; they had the better position in the woodline; it was suicide to charge out into the open like that.

One of the Uhlan’s raced forward to put itself between the Syarans and what was left of the retreating Ruvelkan infantry. They were trying to protect them. Lukanov could appreciate the act, like a mama bear defending her cubs. They would pay the price for their nobility. “Gunner, target 12 o’clock!”

“Target acquired!”

“Fire!”

A shell went screaming out towards the lead Uhlan, smacking into the vehicle so hard it rocked back on its treads and began spewing sparks until it exploded in a blossoming fireball. Lukanov began guiding his turret to the right when one of the other Uhlan’s fired. Alpha 1-1, Captain’s Velevski tank, had pulled up just ahead of Lukanov and took the round right into the belly. Velesvki’s tank began to shake suddenly and violently. Lukanov keyed the radio just in time to hear the Captain scream while in the background, explosions could be heard in rapid succession. A veteran tanker like Lukanov recognized it immediately; ammunition cooking off.

“SHIT!”

Velevski’s tank exploded, the turret skyrocketing atop a pillar of flames before it crashed back down to the ground with a thud. The rest of the hull burned away.

Lukanov’s jaw dropped, then clamped back down. He set his sights on the Uhlan responsible. “Target, 1 o’clock!”

“Target acquired!”

“Fire!”

Another shaking chassis, and the shell screamed out and impacted the Uhlan dead center. It began to spark and smoke, clearly a mission kill.

Lukanov was in the mood for revenge. “Same target.” He ordered

The cannon fired again, and this time the Uhlan exploded in a shower of flames. The rest of the Ruvelkan armor didn’t last long, caught between the two Syaran companies and out in the open. They took some of the Syaran tanks with them, five in all. By the time the shooting was done more columns of black smoke had been added to the atmosphere. Lukanov wanted to stop and take a breather, but he had his orders. He ordered Beta Company to fall in on them and secure the area, while Alpha and and Gamma continued to advance.

Lukanov suddenly felt like he was operating on borrowed time. He ordered his tanks forward, pushing through the valley, aware that it was the perfect spot for an ambush. His tank lurched forward on dirt roads, throwing up mud and dust as it moved. The sun was beginning to set, without even realizing it several hours had passed. Lukanov felt like he was stuck in a box that was steadily closing in on him.

The valley ended by rising up into a ridgeline that looked like it would overlook most of Sagerejo. Lukanov could practically see the line of Ruvelkan armor and infantry waiting for him as his tank engine whined, treads digging into the dirt as his metallic monstrosity climbed the hill. He finally crested it, treads coming back to rest and found himself facing nothing.

Nothing. No Ruvelkans in sight. He could scarcely believe it.

Against the protests of his driver he rose out of his cupola and peered out into the air again, no longer sealed inside his tank. The sun was close to setting, but from his vantage point he could look out into the north and see the city of Sagerejo, much of it on fire, but very clear. They had done it; they had broken through. He practically fumbled for the headset and had to key the mic twice to pick up the right net.

“Any station, any station, this is Echion Main! Echion has reached high point at Grid Location Kappa Zeta 4855 1256, request immediate reinforcement!”
The voice on the radio started saying something back, but Lukanov couldn’t hear him over his own elation. They had done it. They had broken through. He couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across his face.

The sound of a jet engine didn’t register with him at first, until his eyes caught the flash of sunlight on it as it banked low, seemingly heading right for him.

“Enemy air, incoming!” His driver screamed.

Lukanov didn’t move, even as his driver frantically began to reverse the tank. It lurched awkwardly, while Lukanov remained upright in his cupola, staring at the incoming fighter jet.

“Shit shit shit!”

It wasn’t a Ruvelkan model. It was a delta wing set up, coming in low and fast. One of the Acrean planes. The bumps on its belly were certainly missiles. Lukanov tried counting the individual hard points but he couldn’t make them out.

“Son of a bitch!” His driver was on the radio, desperately ordering the other tanks to move away.

“Back up! Back up! Back the fuck up!”

Something detached from the jet and sped right towards him, barely visible for a second before it impacted right in front of him, and Lukanov felt a heat warmer than any he had felt before.