September 16, 1675 D+23
I walked into a small building that Schroth had taken as his CP. Schmidt was already there, leaning against the wall and about to dose off. I couldn’t blame him. I was exhausted.
“Any idea what the big news is?” I asked him, sling the assault rifle.
“Nope. Sounded important though.”
Schroth walked in, followed by one of his tankers. He carried a small Mayan submachine gun he had gotten his hands on. The other tanker carried a radio.
“Good evening gentlemen.” Schroth said to us, tipping his helmet. Schmidt grunted at him. I tipped my helmet but let the expression on my face show my mood. Schroth got the point.
“I bring to you, a Mayan radio we found in the bank of that tank we captured.” He turned and presented it to us as though it were some trophy. He had a grin on his face as he told us the next bit; “We’ve reached the 1st Guards Army HQ and told them pour status. They’re sending a whole regiment to reinforce us.”
“What?! You got in touch with the Army HQ?” Schmidt asked, a funny look on his face like he’d just been slapped when he’d least expected it.
“Which regiment?” I asked.
“Yours. A company is leading the way. From what I heard some captain was really pissed about his missing rifle platoon.”
“What kind of artillery can we get?”
“Three batteries of 155s’.”
I let out a low whistle. The 155mm Howitzers were new. They had destructive power that was unrivaled.
I turned to the paratrooper.
“How many men do we have battle ready, give or take?” I asked him, a plan being formed in my mind.
“Around a hundred and twenty, give or take.” He answered. “Why?”
“We’ve been holed up in here for quite a few days.” I grinned. “I think its time the scenery changed.”
“We’re attacking?”
“Yes Sergeant.” We’ll have one tank in support, the other, along with about thirty guys stay here and hold the town. There’s a strategy I heard of back during the fight in Carthage. The Mayans used it. Called it ‘Creeping Artillery.’. They’d plaster and area with artillery, and slowly advance it until everything between the attackers and whatever they wanted was gone. We hated it. Now,” I paused and looked at the radio. “I say we use that strategy against them. Sergeant round up about ninety men, weapons and ammo only. Schroth, pick whichever tank you want to take on the attack, leave the other. We head out in two hours.”
I left most of my gear in my CP, grabbing just a pistol, my assault rifle, and around 260 rounds of .30 cal ammo for the rifle. Along with frag grenades, smoke grenades, gas canisters, a bayonet, a trench knife, and a can of machine gun ammo, I was ready. Using the radio I coordinated with the artillery and gathered my force at eastern edge of town, where the Mayans had attacked most commonly. As we waited it was hard not to vomit. The stench of the corpses decaying in the hot sun made me gag.
One hour passed. Then two. All was quiet. I glanced at my watch, and looked around. No sound. I looked again at the watch, the second’s hand moving quickly.
“Okay.” I said quietly to myself. I raised a finger. “About three…two…one…now.” I brought the finger down hard as the first 155 shells began to plaster the ground on the outside of the town. The barrage smashed through the area, tearing up the thick debris, and throwing trees around as though they were nothing. Dirt was being sent up into the air only to rain down on us. The barrage hit the ground remorselessly, tearing huge chunks into it for about five minutes before it began to move at a walking pace.
“Guardsmen, lets move!” I yelled, getting to my feet and waving my arm forward. My men got to their feet and began the advance, hugging the artillery as closely as possible. Occasionally I ordered the advance to halt and had the artillery pay special attention to areas that I didn’t like or didn’t look damaged enough.
We reached the first bloodied Mayan slit trench after our first real pause. It looked like an observation post. There was no trace of the men who had been there other than pools of blood at the bottom. One man found a pair of boots with the feet still in them. We kept moving.
We were about five minutes out when we hit the first real opposition. A machine gun opened up off to my left. I could hear cries for a medic. “Stop here!” I yelled and motioned my radioman up. The two of us moved to the MG position, found it, and leveled it with concentrated fire. I had been told the artillery men had an almost inexhaustible supply of shells, and I had no intention of letting my men get killed doing what hundreds of pounds of explosives and shrapnel could do.
After another hundred yards shooting started off to my left, and rapidly spread down the line to my right. I hit the ground and told my radio op to do the same. I raised the assault rifle and began to hose the area in front of me as the operator adjusted the artillery fire. I didn’t know it at the time, but we had marched into a counterattack being led by the fiercest troops in the Mayan army: The Jaguar rifle corps.
I walked into a small building that Schroth had taken as his CP. Schmidt was already there, leaning against the wall and about to dose off. I couldn’t blame him. I was exhausted.
“Any idea what the big news is?” I asked him, sling the assault rifle.
“Nope. Sounded important though.”
Schroth walked in, followed by one of his tankers. He carried a small Mayan submachine gun he had gotten his hands on. The other tanker carried a radio.
“Good evening gentlemen.” Schroth said to us, tipping his helmet. Schmidt grunted at him. I tipped my helmet but let the expression on my face show my mood. Schroth got the point.
“I bring to you, a Mayan radio we found in the bank of that tank we captured.” He turned and presented it to us as though it were some trophy. He had a grin on his face as he told us the next bit; “We’ve reached the 1st Guards Army HQ and told them pour status. They’re sending a whole regiment to reinforce us.”
“What?! You got in touch with the Army HQ?” Schmidt asked, a funny look on his face like he’d just been slapped when he’d least expected it.
“Which regiment?” I asked.
“Yours. A company is leading the way. From what I heard some captain was really pissed about his missing rifle platoon.”
“What kind of artillery can we get?”
“Three batteries of 155s’.”
I let out a low whistle. The 155mm Howitzers were new. They had destructive power that was unrivaled.
I turned to the paratrooper.
“How many men do we have battle ready, give or take?” I asked him, a plan being formed in my mind.
“Around a hundred and twenty, give or take.” He answered. “Why?”
“We’ve been holed up in here for quite a few days.” I grinned. “I think its time the scenery changed.”
“We’re attacking?”
“Yes Sergeant.” We’ll have one tank in support, the other, along with about thirty guys stay here and hold the town. There’s a strategy I heard of back during the fight in Carthage. The Mayans used it. Called it ‘Creeping Artillery.’. They’d plaster and area with artillery, and slowly advance it until everything between the attackers and whatever they wanted was gone. We hated it. Now,” I paused and looked at the radio. “I say we use that strategy against them. Sergeant round up about ninety men, weapons and ammo only. Schroth, pick whichever tank you want to take on the attack, leave the other. We head out in two hours.”
I left most of my gear in my CP, grabbing just a pistol, my assault rifle, and around 260 rounds of .30 cal ammo for the rifle. Along with frag grenades, smoke grenades, gas canisters, a bayonet, a trench knife, and a can of machine gun ammo, I was ready. Using the radio I coordinated with the artillery and gathered my force at eastern edge of town, where the Mayans had attacked most commonly. As we waited it was hard not to vomit. The stench of the corpses decaying in the hot sun made me gag.
One hour passed. Then two. All was quiet. I glanced at my watch, and looked around. No sound. I looked again at the watch, the second’s hand moving quickly.
“Okay.” I said quietly to myself. I raised a finger. “About three…two…one…now.” I brought the finger down hard as the first 155 shells began to plaster the ground on the outside of the town. The barrage smashed through the area, tearing up the thick debris, and throwing trees around as though they were nothing. Dirt was being sent up into the air only to rain down on us. The barrage hit the ground remorselessly, tearing huge chunks into it for about five minutes before it began to move at a walking pace.
“Guardsmen, lets move!” I yelled, getting to my feet and waving my arm forward. My men got to their feet and began the advance, hugging the artillery as closely as possible. Occasionally I ordered the advance to halt and had the artillery pay special attention to areas that I didn’t like or didn’t look damaged enough.
We reached the first bloodied Mayan slit trench after our first real pause. It looked like an observation post. There was no trace of the men who had been there other than pools of blood at the bottom. One man found a pair of boots with the feet still in them. We kept moving.
We were about five minutes out when we hit the first real opposition. A machine gun opened up off to my left. I could hear cries for a medic. “Stop here!” I yelled and motioned my radioman up. The two of us moved to the MG position, found it, and leveled it with concentrated fire. I had been told the artillery men had an almost inexhaustible supply of shells, and I had no intention of letting my men get killed doing what hundreds of pounds of explosives and shrapnel could do.
After another hundred yards shooting started off to my left, and rapidly spread down the line to my right. I hit the ground and told my radio op to do the same. I raised the assault rifle and began to hose the area in front of me as the operator adjusted the artillery fire. I didn’t know it at the time, but we had marched into a counterattack being led by the fiercest troops in the Mayan army: The Jaguar rifle corps.
