Valencia Defense (BF2142)

CC:5

The recce platoon slowed to a halt in Porta-Banon. Mid-day in Spain was a sweltering 23 Centigrade, a temperature few from Northern Europe could have imagined. The heat had turned the roads to dust, and the grime had obscured the white lotus emblem of the Pan-Asian Coalition. The black-clothes soldiers swung their weapons around the quiet houses, watching for the European Union soldiers. The recce units had shot south to Valencia, scouting for the armored brigades and mobile infantry. The swift search had covered 40 km, and had 40 km to go before the outskirts of Valencia.
Having covered that distance without even seeing any EU forces, Captain Stanislavsky was worried. So close to a major EU city without any resistance, that unsettled Captain Stanislavsky. Hojo 1 force, his force, was supposed to pin-point EU formations so Doragon gunships could swoop down and annihilate them. All the units were tracked by GPS units, and recon commanders were trained to be thorough, so thorough that it was said they could call a strike on a jeep in a parking deck. So far he had failed. While Stanislavsky could not doubt that no casualties were good, it was so odd that he had to approach cautiously. Even approaching Porta-Banon, he had expected EMP mines and ambushes. Camouflaged soldiers to suddenly appear on the roadsides. Nothing.

"Hojo One, Takeda One, report." The voice of Colonel Hiroshi buzzed in his ear, the Kyushu native a grizzled veteran of the Fall of Berlin and the assault on Verdun. His command of the 34th Recon Brigade had saved not only Stanislavsky, but the lives of many hundreds of PAC soldiers.
"Takeda One, Hojo One. 40 klicks from Valencia. No contacts," Stanislavsky almost felt his tongue forming those words. The months of constant fighting had shaded his eyes against the possibility of peace.
"Damn strange Hojo One. Keep on. Takeda One out."

The Hachimoto turned slightly, heading for the edge of the village. A main road cut through the town, white-washed brick houses lining the road. The surrounding countryside was hilly terrain, awash with green wheat, growing to fruitation under no man's hand.
The rest of the column slid into the town, and they sat down for mid-day break. The Hachimoto recce vehicles parked at the entrance and exit to the center of the town, the four Ocelot jeeps halting in the center of the town. The pickets were assigned, rations handed out, and smoking permitted.

Captain Stanislavsky walked among his troops as they broke for lunch. Despite the years of training and combat, the multi-cultural recce unit still split into ethnic groups. The five Finns ate alone, by their Ocelot jeep. The seven Chinese, the eight Japanese, three Russians, and the six Ukrainians all ate with their own. Stanislavsky was above this, and encouraged his lieutenants and sergeants to follow his example. Few did.
Then the radio buzzed in Stanislavsky's ear.
"Mori One to Tanto Alpha. Strike in Tango-Sigma 5.4, 4.2, 6.7."
"Roger that Mori One, striking target."

The strike was centered on Hojo One's current position in Porta-Banon.

"Tanto Alpha, Hojo One. Those current co-ordinates are our current location. Cease strike, I repeat, cease strike."
"Negative Hojo One, we show no PAC units in those co-ordinates. You are shown 20km north by your GPS trackers. Please check your GPS."
The satellites for GPS were still active, an unwritten rule between the EU and PAC.
Rushing to his Hachimoto console, Captain Stanislavsky checked the GPS. It blinked in blue letters.
Tango-Sigma 5.4, 4.2, 6.7.
"Shit."


The Doragon formation of five was in a V, flying over the rolling landscape of south-western Spain. They flew close to the ground, burning the leaves off the taller trees, leaving a blazing black streak across the landscape. It was worse in France and Germany since the trees there were so dry they burst into flame. That would screw up any pilot's surprise strike.
"Tanto One, Tanto Alpha. Annihilate Porta-Banon. It's an EU recce unit by Mori reports, so they could be moving out by now."
"Roger that Tanto Alpha, Tanto One out."

The Doragon formation spread out and slowed down. Recon units rarely went with anti-aircraft vehicles, so the threat was downgraded. The village soon appeared in the distance, nestled in the hills. White buildings splashed in the rolling green hills. The trees were cut back to provide fields for grain, and the Doragons now flew high over the ground. The gunners switched to their smart-rockets, aiming for the recon units scrambling to life as they realized the impending threat. The only thought that crossed the gunner's mind was
"When did the EU start to build Hachimotos?"

Captain Stanislavsky watched the Doragon wing swoop down, and two pilots launched their rockets. Then all five erupted into fireballs. Debris flew into the town, and the rockets flew straight as an arrow, blowing the roofs off two nearby houses.
"What the hell was that?" Stanislavsky stood in shock, watching the hulks of black twisted steel tumble down the hillside and burn. Secondary explosions ripped apart the stunned silence.
"Get into the cars NOW!" was the sergeant's yell, ushering the soldiers back into the Hachimoto jeeps and Ocelot jeeps. The pickets leaped into the beds of the jeeps, taking their rations over the bouncing highway as the recon unit sped out of the area.
Captain Stanislavsky hadn't planned on being attacked by his own air force, and their sudden destruction left tingling questions. The wing were no doubt the older Doragons. The constant shock of battle may have destroyed the wiring, causing a malfunction and destruction. It could be enemy contacts, and maybe that's what Mori One saw.

Then Captain Stanislavsky got what he was worried about. His recon platoon had scouted across terrain for the last four days, and now they hit EU soldiers. The first were camouflaged snipers, who suddenly appeared in the bushes and wheat fields. They were good.
The Hachimoto slew to the left as the driver was struck by sniper bullets to the head. As the scout vehicle turned, Captain Stanislavsky tumbled out of his co-pilot seat, pulled his Lambert Carbine clear, and sprawled in the dust and grime. The next two Hachimotos pulled to either side, disembarking the two passengers as the turret gunner swept the flanks with gunfire. Usually the snipers weren't good enough to take out a driver in a speeding Hachimoto.
Then the Ocelots barreled through, the passengers dropping out, the turret gunner hidden inside the steel box, sweeping the view with his gun.

Captain Stanislavsky watched the platoon of thirty ready their weapons and scan. Picking himself up, Stanislavsky scurried to the side of his Hachimoto. It was sitting off the road, angling off of the grain field. The snipers had hit the recon unit in a flat valley, where the fields were more level than the surrounding hills.
"Sergeant Romokov, get a squad ready, sweep the right. Wu, sweep the left. Take Ocelots. Shoot anyone you meet."
Stanislavsky's order resounded, as the 1st and 3rd squads were assembled, marched off at the quick. They spread out, sweeping for invisible snipers.
"Glad there weren't any EMP mines. Those screw up the Ocelots bad."
The lieutenant Su Yin spoke on the radio, his Ocelot the last of the four.
"Damn straight, I..." was all that lieutenant Bukilov could say before a sniper took his head off.