Willard
01-27-2007, 08:46 AM
Chapter 17
The ambush team assembled a week later at the cave. The three man stay behind security
team at the cave had started to inventory the contents of the truck right away, and had
assembled several distinct piles around the perimeter of the cave.
"There's a full manifest here," declared Thomas, the security leader at the cave, "but
basically it's a bunch of ammunition-rocket, M-136, the boxes say, boxes marked 'mine,
apers, M-18A1'-we don't know what 'apers' means, figure it's German; a bunch of
medical supplies-IV fluids and kits, sutures, hemostats and other surgical supplies, gauze,
all the stuff you'd need for an aid station." Thomas was an EMT on his local fire
department, and was much more familiar with the medical supplies than with munitions.
"The trailer was full, absolutely full, of MRE's. Like 90 cases. A few odd boxes in there,
too. Water purification tablets, heat tabs, toilet paper. Bag of mail for the Krauts, we had
the runner bring that to NHDF headquarters when we figured out what it was, along with
the other papers we got. Take a look."
Jim nodded. Dave and the others were rummaging around the various piles of captured
wares. "Thanks. We'll go over this and figure out what to do with it. We brought your
replacement team, too, so you have a week off at home."
"That will be nice change. Shower and a warm bed are in short supply here."
"We'll be leaving in an hour or so, so get with your relief over there," he pointed at a
bearded man in Realtree camou, "and square him away on your situation."
The supplies from the truck were broken up into bundles for transport. Some of it was left
in the cave, which made just as good an ammo bunker as anything in town. Dave's group
wound up with a dozen AT-4 84mm anti-tank rockets, 15 Claymore mines, two cases of
40mm HE rounds for the three HK launchers they had recovered when they rescued Dave
and the Antonellis, smoke grenades, some medical supplies, and two cases of hand
launched signal and illumination flares. What they really wanted was some 3rd
generation night vision requipment, but so far they hadn't captured any. Like most
survivalists they had tons of ammo, food, and plenty of guns, but no good night vision
equipment. In retrospect Dave thought he should've sold a few guns to fund such a
purchase.
They held classes for the local units on the new weapons they were equipped with. One
of Daves group had a fired AT-4 he had picked up at a gunshow years back, and they
used that too familiarize everyone with the operation of the 15 pound disposable rocket.
Likewise they had, among their wildly varied stores, three training Claymore 'apers', or
anti-personnel, mines, liberated from the military and sold at gunshows by enterprising
individuals. Using these and other inert items, they trained to set up mechanical
ambushes, booby traps, time delays, and chains, or series, of mines. If they needed to do
so, Claymores gave ambushers a great advantage upon initiation of the battle.
Things were fairly quiet in their area for weeks. Other than the lone convoy that had
netted them one truck, there was no other activity on the ground in their area. Once or
twice a week, never on the same day or at the same time, an aircraft would be heard in
the valley. It was at times a helicopter or a jet. From sightings they ranged from Lynx
scout helos to Mig-29's from the Luftwaffe. Some buzzed the treetops at high speed,
others flew so high they were hard to hear. From what they put together from information
coming from the defense forces and other areas, they were trying to determine where the
larger population centers were, and looking for large groups of people assembled away
from buildings and roads. Apparently losing a truck in the area made the ISAF forces a
little suspicious, particularly since they found the nearly decapitated corpse of the driver
and the ventilated body of the gunner laid neatly by the roadside with "Live Free or Die"
bumper stickers applied to their chests.
Dave and the team were prepping the Claymores, which were to be distributed among the
men to be carried as part of their equipment. They carefully uncoiled the detonating wire
from the plastic spool it came shipped on. Working in pairs, one man held up his hands
while the other wrapped the wire across his upheld fingers. After getting five or six wraps,
they used small elastic bands to bind the ends, and repeated the process until the entire
100 feet of wire were done. Now if they needed to employ the mine they just had to pull
the wire and the elastic bands would pop off. Being coiled only six times per section
ensured that any tangles wouldn't be too severe. In this manner they mine could be
employed quickly and quietly. Using six of their acquired electric blasting caps, they also
prepped a half dozen of the firing wires with double caps, with an extra 20 feet of wire
between them. If they needed to they could quickly and safely rig two mines for
simultaneous detonation. If they didn't they could just tuck the other cap into the second
fuse well of the mine, or cut it off and try to save it for later.
Part of the security team’s job at the cave was to inspect the truck and its cargo for signs
of tampering. The militia couldn't be too sure that the ISAF wouldn't plant a truck like
that and booby trap or alter its cargo. As best they could they swept the load for hidden
beacons. Then examined the contents for external signs of booby traps. Finding none they
emptied the trailer and truck deliberately, one case at a time, each case being given a
thorough examination as it was stacked. This load, in fact, wasn't tampered with, but it
wouldn't be long before just such things would happen. The militia in Dave’s region, due
to their diligence, avoided lone trucks or suspicious scenarios and avoided getting tainted
arms, but some other units weren't so lucky. They would grab items from an apparently
abandoned truck by the road and would blow themselves up the first time they opened a
case of MRE's or grenades, or their rifle would explode in their face firing captured
ammunition.
Any suspect ammo or supplies were stored at an abandoned house far from any occupied
dwelling, with the idea that later they would put it all in an old pickup and leave it by the
road somewhere where ISAF would find it, making it look like the truck had broken
down.
Chapter 18
In the back of the Chinook huddled a mass of arms and legs and helmeted heads, looking
like one large creature in the dark. The head of that creature, Major Mueller, stood
huddled under a red light, trying to orient his map with the terrain that was speeding by
below and above him. The CH-47 was flying NAP of the earth, or Near As Possible, and
the valleys they used to mask their route had mountains and ridges that towered above
them. They were a group of Fallshirmjaeger, German paratroopers, and they had been
training in action in Afghanistan and Bosnia for several years. This would be their real
test-hunting American Guerrillas on their own turf. Tonight’s mission was to set up a
platoon sized patrol base and send out four man patrols to monitor traffic and activity
patterns for this sector. They were developing information first, using this and several
other areas of Operations (AO's) as testing grounds and its occupants as lab rats.
They were going to link up with a team from the regiments recon platoon, who had
HALO'ed in three nights before and had finally radioed back that they had secured a
suitable patrol base. The Major and his intelligence section had met with the pilots and
had discussed the route they would take, contingencies, and LZ procedures. The captain
was now, however, unhappily convinced that they were on the wrong path. Trouble is, it
is very difficult to navigate at night, from the air at an altitude of around 40 feet while
flying at 160 miles per hour. If only those damned Jet Propulsion Laboratory eggheads
hadn't reprogrammed the GPS satellites before the Chinese occupied their complex and
captured or killed many of the scientists.
He depressed the push to talk switch on the aviator’s helmet he wore.
"Damnit, I tell you we are two valleys over from where we are supposed to be. You are
taking us into Vermont."
The pilots glanced at each other in the dark. The copilot gave a shrug that the pilot
couldn't see.
"Major, we are experienced pilots, we know right where we are....see, there are your
markers, at 1 o'clock."
Mueller leaned forward and looked out over the copilots seat. There, in a small clearing,
was an inverted "Y" of chemlights, a technique adopted from the Americans. Laid out on
an LZ, the helicopter merely had to land between the v shape of the Y, pointing his nose
to the long axis. The Jaegers who laid this out were experienced pathfinders and would
have chosen an area big enough to allow the bird to take off safely in its direction of
flight.
Mueller tore off his helmet and spun in place "Thirty seconds!" he yelled over the noise
of the huge counter rotating propellers above him. Throughout the cabin men tightened
buckles, gripped their weapons, and readied their packs. The platoon sergeant loosened
some of the straps that held down extra equipment mounted on the tailgate. It would be
pushed off as the first men exited, and recovered after the bird flew off. The doorgunners
looked more alert and swept the muzzles of their window mounted machineguns from
side to side, looking for targets and obstructions that might damage the former
Connecticut National Guard helo. The tailgate started to lower as the bird started to flair,
gaining altitude and slowing into a brief hover, then settling onto the snow covered field,
the tires breaking through the layer of ice pack on top and sinking several inches into
powder below. The loose powder on top of the ice layer was churned into a white tornado,
blinding everyone in the bird to anything more than 40 feet from the helicopter. The first
men in the rear stood and started pushing the palletized container off the ramp. The Major
yelled to himself 'Faster, faster!' as the men around the door all seemed to stumble, some
staggering, some falling down. More men rushed to the ramp to help them and they too
fell, one man spinning a dramatic minaret. Suddenly the fuselage of the large CH-47
echoed with what sounded like large pieces of gravel being thrown against it. The
Mueller screamed above the noise, turning to the cockpit "We're under fire! Get us out of
here!" The pilot and copilot looked at him quizzically as the right side window imploded,
the pilot jerking in his harness. The copilot hesitated and then applied power to the
throttle as the pilots windscreen started to sprout holes. The pilot jerked in his harness as
more bullets plunged into him.
In the back, one doorgunner slumped at his gun, falling backwards over several
fallshirmjaeger troops seated on the floor. His body pumped blood wildly as he
momentarily pinned their legs to the deck. The two men struggled to free themselves, and
then, taking the initiative as they had been taught, pushed their rucks out the window of
the bird and followed after them, landing in the snow and starting to shoot blindly into
the dark. Several more troops poured out of the back of the helo, only fall lifeless into the
snow as bullets from an unseen assailant swept them off of their feet without mercy. The
men still inside the bird felt the engines noise increase, and stayed put even as bullets
pierced the thin fuselage and struck them. The abandoned doorgun had been quickly
manned and both left and right guns were being fired at their cyclic rates, the gunners
sweeping side to side in a vain attempt to suppress the fire tearing their ride apart.
Suddenly the rear of the bird tilted up and the men felt the familiar sensation of their
stomachs dropping as the bird pulled pitch and lifted into the air. Bullets continued to
reach out of the dark and strike the ship, more fire being concentrated on it's two massive
engines mounted externally under the rear rotor assembly. Even as the helicopter
shuddered it smacked a large pine tree head on. The nose crumpled as the bird climbed
for altitude. Another tree loomed before the pilot as he struggled to control the shaking
ship. The 'Hook banked to the left as the pilot unconscously flinched from the tree. As he
did the blades struck another row of trees, the blades shattering and tearing as they came
up against the irrestable force of two foot thick White Pine. The helicopter lost its power
of flight while it retained its forward motion. Slamming into the wooded hillside, the thin
aluminum aircraft didn't stand a chance. It landed belly first into a barren, rocky area,
causing the rear mounted engines to break free of their mount. As the kerosene fuel
spilled from the mortally wounded beast, it sprouted flame, which almost instantly
ignited more fuel from ruptured fuel cells. The mountainside exploded into flame as all
aboard were immolated in a pyre of burning fuel, equipment, and pine.
-------------------------------------------------
As a guerilla force we have the responsibilty to act violently, strike quickly, and retreat
rapidly. We cause more damage to the enemy by remaining out of his grasp than by
inflicting large numbers of casualties at the expense of casualties of our own.
-Introduction to Guerilla Fighting, training manual assembled by the White Pine
Irregulars, Republic of New Hampshire.
"In addition to surprise, what else is needed for an effective ambush?" Dave looked over
the assembled unit. Like most local militias it was manned by an assortment of small
town America. The bearded loner, the earnest face of a scared man, the bored look of the
man who already knew it all. Dave pinted at the man who looked like guerilla war was
way over his head.
"If you were initiating an ambush against a numerically superior force, what would you
want to have before you fired your first round?"
The man swallowed noticeably, considering his answer.
"An escape route?" he replied. The room filled with laughter.
Dave paced across the stage of the Middle School.
"That's a valid answer. You!" pointing to the know it all, "What would you add to that?"
"I'd want my shotgun."
"Why?"
"Cause I could take out more of them German SOB's that way."
Dave looked at him. "How is that relevant to oru general discussion. I want to know what
you feel is needed to successfully ambush and destroy these people. What else?" he asked
again, scanning the faces. The scared looking guy opened his mouth like he was going to
say something, then shut it. Dave pointed.
"Go ahead, don't be shy."
The room laughed again. Dave scowled and it quickly trickled off.
"I'd want the most firepower I could get. Mines, bazookas, machineguns."
"Excellent. Fire supremacy. You initiate the ambush with the most casualty producing
weapon you have, that's Army doctrine. Claymore anti personnel mines, machinegun.
And you maintain such a volume of fire that the enemy can't return fire effectively. Now,
we are likely to be outnumbered and outgunned. What can we do to make up for that?
Anyone?"
Silence. Then a hand went up. Good, he wanted them to think. Fresh minds and fresh
answers. As much as Dave and the team were travelling around helping to spread the
word, they too were casting their nets for new ideas and new approaches to old situations.
There were a lot of clever minds out there, they had never been turned ot the concept of
ambushes and attacks before.
"Go ahead"
"How about using tricks, like decoys and stuff."
"Good idea. Give me a scenario where we could use that....."
The discussion lasted until after dark. Good. After it got good and dark they were going
to do night movement training. Most folks, even experienced woodsmen, seldom had
experience crossng terrain on a compass heading in the dark. It had to be done to be
appreciated.
__________________________________________________
Dave stood up from his postiion to the left of the old water cooled Maxim. It was
mounted via its sled mount tripod to a toboggan, for easier movement over snow. The
guns was smoking now, having fired nearly two full belts straight in the rear doors of the
CH-47, and into the engines as it tried to take off.
"Pick up what you need and take off," Dave ordered the crew.
"You got it," came the reply. Lit by the flaming wreck, they quickly cleared the feed
block and secured the empty belt. Making sure the gun was secure the three man team, all
older then 60, started off through the snow. They would secure the toboggan to their
snowmobile which was about a mile away, behind the mountain, and be home in an hour
or two.
Dave walked over to the left flank and checked on the MG-3 team. They too were
picking up in the firelight, securing the pieces of tripod and gun to three seperate plastic
sleds, each about 6 feet long. The men would trudge three miles throught the snow to
their snowmobiles, and be home shortly thereafter. As Dave walked his side of the line he
was pleased to find no casualties. The assault team in this case was, except for the
Machingun crews, armed with larger rifle. FAL's, Garands, a few HK-91's, and larger
deer rifles. The Garand shooters used their relatively few rounds of Armor piercing to try
to hit the helo's engines and cockpit, the rest of the men were instructed to fire along the
length of the bird (or birds) to keep the inside interesting. Jim led the search team, which
swept the LZ for prisoners and collected what they could of useful equipment.
Radioing his overwatch teams, Dave used code to tell them to sit tight, ambush successful.
The team leaders organized their men and led them off in threes and fours. Dave met up
with Jim in the middle fo the field.
"This worked well," said Jim, happy with the nights work.
"Yup. Let's get going. They might wise up and bomb the LZ to get us." answered Dave.
"Right. I'll see you tommorrow," said Jim, shaking Daves hand.
"OK then," answered Dave, slinging his L1A1, "Let's do lunch."
Jim laughed, "Sure, hollywood. Stay chilly." and he tromped off into the dark.
Dave answered three radio calls, all from team leaders reporting that their men were off
of the LZ. They had no live Germans, a few weapons, a radio and CEOI codebook, and a
bunch of maps with markings. These would be sped to the NHDF headquarters, so that
any germain intel could be acted on ASAP.
Dave made one more call, telling the overwatch teams to leave in ten minutes, and calling
for his ride. In a few minutes he heard the muffled sound of Steves snow machine coming
up. Wordlessly Dave hopped on in back of Steve, who paused a moment to gaze at the
flaming crash site. He then gunned the throttle and headed back the way he came, taking
a circutious route to his house, where Dave had left his truck. It had been a long three
days waiting in ambush in the cold. Time for a hot bath, a good meal, and a warm bed.
The ambush team assembled a week later at the cave. The three man stay behind security
team at the cave had started to inventory the contents of the truck right away, and had
assembled several distinct piles around the perimeter of the cave.
"There's a full manifest here," declared Thomas, the security leader at the cave, "but
basically it's a bunch of ammunition-rocket, M-136, the boxes say, boxes marked 'mine,
apers, M-18A1'-we don't know what 'apers' means, figure it's German; a bunch of
medical supplies-IV fluids and kits, sutures, hemostats and other surgical supplies, gauze,
all the stuff you'd need for an aid station." Thomas was an EMT on his local fire
department, and was much more familiar with the medical supplies than with munitions.
"The trailer was full, absolutely full, of MRE's. Like 90 cases. A few odd boxes in there,
too. Water purification tablets, heat tabs, toilet paper. Bag of mail for the Krauts, we had
the runner bring that to NHDF headquarters when we figured out what it was, along with
the other papers we got. Take a look."
Jim nodded. Dave and the others were rummaging around the various piles of captured
wares. "Thanks. We'll go over this and figure out what to do with it. We brought your
replacement team, too, so you have a week off at home."
"That will be nice change. Shower and a warm bed are in short supply here."
"We'll be leaving in an hour or so, so get with your relief over there," he pointed at a
bearded man in Realtree camou, "and square him away on your situation."
The supplies from the truck were broken up into bundles for transport. Some of it was left
in the cave, which made just as good an ammo bunker as anything in town. Dave's group
wound up with a dozen AT-4 84mm anti-tank rockets, 15 Claymore mines, two cases of
40mm HE rounds for the three HK launchers they had recovered when they rescued Dave
and the Antonellis, smoke grenades, some medical supplies, and two cases of hand
launched signal and illumination flares. What they really wanted was some 3rd
generation night vision requipment, but so far they hadn't captured any. Like most
survivalists they had tons of ammo, food, and plenty of guns, but no good night vision
equipment. In retrospect Dave thought he should've sold a few guns to fund such a
purchase.
They held classes for the local units on the new weapons they were equipped with. One
of Daves group had a fired AT-4 he had picked up at a gunshow years back, and they
used that too familiarize everyone with the operation of the 15 pound disposable rocket.
Likewise they had, among their wildly varied stores, three training Claymore 'apers', or
anti-personnel, mines, liberated from the military and sold at gunshows by enterprising
individuals. Using these and other inert items, they trained to set up mechanical
ambushes, booby traps, time delays, and chains, or series, of mines. If they needed to do
so, Claymores gave ambushers a great advantage upon initiation of the battle.
Things were fairly quiet in their area for weeks. Other than the lone convoy that had
netted them one truck, there was no other activity on the ground in their area. Once or
twice a week, never on the same day or at the same time, an aircraft would be heard in
the valley. It was at times a helicopter or a jet. From sightings they ranged from Lynx
scout helos to Mig-29's from the Luftwaffe. Some buzzed the treetops at high speed,
others flew so high they were hard to hear. From what they put together from information
coming from the defense forces and other areas, they were trying to determine where the
larger population centers were, and looking for large groups of people assembled away
from buildings and roads. Apparently losing a truck in the area made the ISAF forces a
little suspicious, particularly since they found the nearly decapitated corpse of the driver
and the ventilated body of the gunner laid neatly by the roadside with "Live Free or Die"
bumper stickers applied to their chests.
Dave and the team were prepping the Claymores, which were to be distributed among the
men to be carried as part of their equipment. They carefully uncoiled the detonating wire
from the plastic spool it came shipped on. Working in pairs, one man held up his hands
while the other wrapped the wire across his upheld fingers. After getting five or six wraps,
they used small elastic bands to bind the ends, and repeated the process until the entire
100 feet of wire were done. Now if they needed to employ the mine they just had to pull
the wire and the elastic bands would pop off. Being coiled only six times per section
ensured that any tangles wouldn't be too severe. In this manner they mine could be
employed quickly and quietly. Using six of their acquired electric blasting caps, they also
prepped a half dozen of the firing wires with double caps, with an extra 20 feet of wire
between them. If they needed to they could quickly and safely rig two mines for
simultaneous detonation. If they didn't they could just tuck the other cap into the second
fuse well of the mine, or cut it off and try to save it for later.
Part of the security team’s job at the cave was to inspect the truck and its cargo for signs
of tampering. The militia couldn't be too sure that the ISAF wouldn't plant a truck like
that and booby trap or alter its cargo. As best they could they swept the load for hidden
beacons. Then examined the contents for external signs of booby traps. Finding none they
emptied the trailer and truck deliberately, one case at a time, each case being given a
thorough examination as it was stacked. This load, in fact, wasn't tampered with, but it
wouldn't be long before just such things would happen. The militia in Dave’s region, due
to their diligence, avoided lone trucks or suspicious scenarios and avoided getting tainted
arms, but some other units weren't so lucky. They would grab items from an apparently
abandoned truck by the road and would blow themselves up the first time they opened a
case of MRE's or grenades, or their rifle would explode in their face firing captured
ammunition.
Any suspect ammo or supplies were stored at an abandoned house far from any occupied
dwelling, with the idea that later they would put it all in an old pickup and leave it by the
road somewhere where ISAF would find it, making it look like the truck had broken
down.
Chapter 18
In the back of the Chinook huddled a mass of arms and legs and helmeted heads, looking
like one large creature in the dark. The head of that creature, Major Mueller, stood
huddled under a red light, trying to orient his map with the terrain that was speeding by
below and above him. The CH-47 was flying NAP of the earth, or Near As Possible, and
the valleys they used to mask their route had mountains and ridges that towered above
them. They were a group of Fallshirmjaeger, German paratroopers, and they had been
training in action in Afghanistan and Bosnia for several years. This would be their real
test-hunting American Guerrillas on their own turf. Tonight’s mission was to set up a
platoon sized patrol base and send out four man patrols to monitor traffic and activity
patterns for this sector. They were developing information first, using this and several
other areas of Operations (AO's) as testing grounds and its occupants as lab rats.
They were going to link up with a team from the regiments recon platoon, who had
HALO'ed in three nights before and had finally radioed back that they had secured a
suitable patrol base. The Major and his intelligence section had met with the pilots and
had discussed the route they would take, contingencies, and LZ procedures. The captain
was now, however, unhappily convinced that they were on the wrong path. Trouble is, it
is very difficult to navigate at night, from the air at an altitude of around 40 feet while
flying at 160 miles per hour. If only those damned Jet Propulsion Laboratory eggheads
hadn't reprogrammed the GPS satellites before the Chinese occupied their complex and
captured or killed many of the scientists.
He depressed the push to talk switch on the aviator’s helmet he wore.
"Damnit, I tell you we are two valleys over from where we are supposed to be. You are
taking us into Vermont."
The pilots glanced at each other in the dark. The copilot gave a shrug that the pilot
couldn't see.
"Major, we are experienced pilots, we know right where we are....see, there are your
markers, at 1 o'clock."
Mueller leaned forward and looked out over the copilots seat. There, in a small clearing,
was an inverted "Y" of chemlights, a technique adopted from the Americans. Laid out on
an LZ, the helicopter merely had to land between the v shape of the Y, pointing his nose
to the long axis. The Jaegers who laid this out were experienced pathfinders and would
have chosen an area big enough to allow the bird to take off safely in its direction of
flight.
Mueller tore off his helmet and spun in place "Thirty seconds!" he yelled over the noise
of the huge counter rotating propellers above him. Throughout the cabin men tightened
buckles, gripped their weapons, and readied their packs. The platoon sergeant loosened
some of the straps that held down extra equipment mounted on the tailgate. It would be
pushed off as the first men exited, and recovered after the bird flew off. The doorgunners
looked more alert and swept the muzzles of their window mounted machineguns from
side to side, looking for targets and obstructions that might damage the former
Connecticut National Guard helo. The tailgate started to lower as the bird started to flair,
gaining altitude and slowing into a brief hover, then settling onto the snow covered field,
the tires breaking through the layer of ice pack on top and sinking several inches into
powder below. The loose powder on top of the ice layer was churned into a white tornado,
blinding everyone in the bird to anything more than 40 feet from the helicopter. The first
men in the rear stood and started pushing the palletized container off the ramp. The Major
yelled to himself 'Faster, faster!' as the men around the door all seemed to stumble, some
staggering, some falling down. More men rushed to the ramp to help them and they too
fell, one man spinning a dramatic minaret. Suddenly the fuselage of the large CH-47
echoed with what sounded like large pieces of gravel being thrown against it. The
Mueller screamed above the noise, turning to the cockpit "We're under fire! Get us out of
here!" The pilot and copilot looked at him quizzically as the right side window imploded,
the pilot jerking in his harness. The copilot hesitated and then applied power to the
throttle as the pilots windscreen started to sprout holes. The pilot jerked in his harness as
more bullets plunged into him.
In the back, one doorgunner slumped at his gun, falling backwards over several
fallshirmjaeger troops seated on the floor. His body pumped blood wildly as he
momentarily pinned their legs to the deck. The two men struggled to free themselves, and
then, taking the initiative as they had been taught, pushed their rucks out the window of
the bird and followed after them, landing in the snow and starting to shoot blindly into
the dark. Several more troops poured out of the back of the helo, only fall lifeless into the
snow as bullets from an unseen assailant swept them off of their feet without mercy. The
men still inside the bird felt the engines noise increase, and stayed put even as bullets
pierced the thin fuselage and struck them. The abandoned doorgun had been quickly
manned and both left and right guns were being fired at their cyclic rates, the gunners
sweeping side to side in a vain attempt to suppress the fire tearing their ride apart.
Suddenly the rear of the bird tilted up and the men felt the familiar sensation of their
stomachs dropping as the bird pulled pitch and lifted into the air. Bullets continued to
reach out of the dark and strike the ship, more fire being concentrated on it's two massive
engines mounted externally under the rear rotor assembly. Even as the helicopter
shuddered it smacked a large pine tree head on. The nose crumpled as the bird climbed
for altitude. Another tree loomed before the pilot as he struggled to control the shaking
ship. The 'Hook banked to the left as the pilot unconscously flinched from the tree. As he
did the blades struck another row of trees, the blades shattering and tearing as they came
up against the irrestable force of two foot thick White Pine. The helicopter lost its power
of flight while it retained its forward motion. Slamming into the wooded hillside, the thin
aluminum aircraft didn't stand a chance. It landed belly first into a barren, rocky area,
causing the rear mounted engines to break free of their mount. As the kerosene fuel
spilled from the mortally wounded beast, it sprouted flame, which almost instantly
ignited more fuel from ruptured fuel cells. The mountainside exploded into flame as all
aboard were immolated in a pyre of burning fuel, equipment, and pine.
-------------------------------------------------
As a guerilla force we have the responsibilty to act violently, strike quickly, and retreat
rapidly. We cause more damage to the enemy by remaining out of his grasp than by
inflicting large numbers of casualties at the expense of casualties of our own.
-Introduction to Guerilla Fighting, training manual assembled by the White Pine
Irregulars, Republic of New Hampshire.
"In addition to surprise, what else is needed for an effective ambush?" Dave looked over
the assembled unit. Like most local militias it was manned by an assortment of small
town America. The bearded loner, the earnest face of a scared man, the bored look of the
man who already knew it all. Dave pinted at the man who looked like guerilla war was
way over his head.
"If you were initiating an ambush against a numerically superior force, what would you
want to have before you fired your first round?"
The man swallowed noticeably, considering his answer.
"An escape route?" he replied. The room filled with laughter.
Dave paced across the stage of the Middle School.
"That's a valid answer. You!" pointing to the know it all, "What would you add to that?"
"I'd want my shotgun."
"Why?"
"Cause I could take out more of them German SOB's that way."
Dave looked at him. "How is that relevant to oru general discussion. I want to know what
you feel is needed to successfully ambush and destroy these people. What else?" he asked
again, scanning the faces. The scared looking guy opened his mouth like he was going to
say something, then shut it. Dave pointed.
"Go ahead, don't be shy."
The room laughed again. Dave scowled and it quickly trickled off.
"I'd want the most firepower I could get. Mines, bazookas, machineguns."
"Excellent. Fire supremacy. You initiate the ambush with the most casualty producing
weapon you have, that's Army doctrine. Claymore anti personnel mines, machinegun.
And you maintain such a volume of fire that the enemy can't return fire effectively. Now,
we are likely to be outnumbered and outgunned. What can we do to make up for that?
Anyone?"
Silence. Then a hand went up. Good, he wanted them to think. Fresh minds and fresh
answers. As much as Dave and the team were travelling around helping to spread the
word, they too were casting their nets for new ideas and new approaches to old situations.
There were a lot of clever minds out there, they had never been turned ot the concept of
ambushes and attacks before.
"Go ahead"
"How about using tricks, like decoys and stuff."
"Good idea. Give me a scenario where we could use that....."
The discussion lasted until after dark. Good. After it got good and dark they were going
to do night movement training. Most folks, even experienced woodsmen, seldom had
experience crossng terrain on a compass heading in the dark. It had to be done to be
appreciated.
__________________________________________________
Dave stood up from his postiion to the left of the old water cooled Maxim. It was
mounted via its sled mount tripod to a toboggan, for easier movement over snow. The
guns was smoking now, having fired nearly two full belts straight in the rear doors of the
CH-47, and into the engines as it tried to take off.
"Pick up what you need and take off," Dave ordered the crew.
"You got it," came the reply. Lit by the flaming wreck, they quickly cleared the feed
block and secured the empty belt. Making sure the gun was secure the three man team, all
older then 60, started off through the snow. They would secure the toboggan to their
snowmobile which was about a mile away, behind the mountain, and be home in an hour
or two.
Dave walked over to the left flank and checked on the MG-3 team. They too were
picking up in the firelight, securing the pieces of tripod and gun to three seperate plastic
sleds, each about 6 feet long. The men would trudge three miles throught the snow to
their snowmobiles, and be home shortly thereafter. As Dave walked his side of the line he
was pleased to find no casualties. The assault team in this case was, except for the
Machingun crews, armed with larger rifle. FAL's, Garands, a few HK-91's, and larger
deer rifles. The Garand shooters used their relatively few rounds of Armor piercing to try
to hit the helo's engines and cockpit, the rest of the men were instructed to fire along the
length of the bird (or birds) to keep the inside interesting. Jim led the search team, which
swept the LZ for prisoners and collected what they could of useful equipment.
Radioing his overwatch teams, Dave used code to tell them to sit tight, ambush successful.
The team leaders organized their men and led them off in threes and fours. Dave met up
with Jim in the middle fo the field.
"This worked well," said Jim, happy with the nights work.
"Yup. Let's get going. They might wise up and bomb the LZ to get us." answered Dave.
"Right. I'll see you tommorrow," said Jim, shaking Daves hand.
"OK then," answered Dave, slinging his L1A1, "Let's do lunch."
Jim laughed, "Sure, hollywood. Stay chilly." and he tromped off into the dark.
Dave answered three radio calls, all from team leaders reporting that their men were off
of the LZ. They had no live Germans, a few weapons, a radio and CEOI codebook, and a
bunch of maps with markings. These would be sped to the NHDF headquarters, so that
any germain intel could be acted on ASAP.
Dave made one more call, telling the overwatch teams to leave in ten minutes, and calling
for his ride. In a few minutes he heard the muffled sound of Steves snow machine coming
up. Wordlessly Dave hopped on in back of Steve, who paused a moment to gaze at the
flaming crash site. He then gunned the throttle and headed back the way he came, taking
a circutious route to his house, where Dave had left his truck. It had been a long three
days waiting in ambush in the cold. Time for a hot bath, a good meal, and a warm bed.