Pedestals of Ash (19 page)

Fitz could see the thermal signatures of several vehicles clearly now and was trying to remain calm on the radio as he reported his observations. It was a difficult task. From his perspective, the entire 1
st
Calvary Division was marshaling just a kilometer away
,
and he was urgently begging for either permission to withdraw or reinforcements
to hold
his
position
. He had just received word to expect two other units from his platoon to be moving on his position when the distant popping noises of M4 rifles reached his ear and reports of “Contact! Contact! Contact!” filled the airwaves on both sides. When
a crew-
served .50 caliber machine gun opened up, it became clear to everyone that the battle was joined.

It was about then that
Fitz could make out two targets;
one was clearly a tank moving to support
the enemy’s
infantry
.
His fingers were shaking as he pushed the appropriate button an
d flipped the right switches to
fully arm the TOW launcher. He muttered “God forgive me,” as t
he first missile hissed
and
soared from
the launcher. It was quickly followed by a second launch, and both warheads tracked perfectly to their targets.

The sound of the first Bradley being
struck by Fitz’s missile echoe
d
across the rural Louisiana landscape. The missile hit the lightly protected vehicle at a slight
ly
downward angle
,
and the cone shaped charge pierced the armor with a stream of molten metal moving
at over 10,000 feet per second.
Designed to kill heavily armored Soviet era tanks, the thin skin of the Bradley didn’t stand a chance. Fortunately, the infantry had already dismounted from the carrier, but the crew was killed instantly. While it appeared as a single explosion, in reality there were two separate events – the missile striking the vehicle and the secondary blast caused by all the ammo and fuel igniting from the
4,000-degree
heat. Pieces of the dead machine weighing several hundred pounds were thrown into the air like con
fetti and had just begun the descent
back to earth when the second missile struck a nearby Abrams tank.

The M1A2 tank was better suited to handle the TOW’s wrath. Its armor was not only thicker, but of a superior design. The missile’s warhead struck just behind the turret above the engine compartment. The explosion generated a jet of liquefied metal that destroyed the tank’s power plant
and rendered the turret inoperable
. The tank’s commander was killed instantly, but the rest of the crew survived with only busted
eardrums
and some severe burns.

The commander of the remaining Bradley
witnessed
his two sister units destroyed in a matter of seconds,
and
had a general idea of where
the missiles had been fired
. He motored his 25mm
cannon around and sprayed
rounds into the area where he thought the attackers were hiding. At the same time, he fired several smoke grenades from the
four-barrel launcher and screamed
at his gunner to find a target for the TOW missiles. He eventually ordered the driver to withdraw from what he thought was the kill zone of an ambush, and prayed the smoke would help cover his movement.

Major Owen
s had been looking directly at the tank when it was struck. He was stunned for a moment at how quickly the fight was escalating, but shook it off
, and ordered
additional units to join him. He
surmised
that he had somehow bumbled into the primary force opposing him and was going to make them pay for
the
cowardly ambush of both his CO and his men.

Colonel Marcus listened to the avalanche of reports being broadcast over the command net. While several observation posts reported sporadic movements, it was clear that the serious action was concentrated at one point along his front. Mar
cus
heard confused reports of a helo being shot down and was
yet
unaware that the U.S. Army had
just
lost its first general officer in combat since WWII. He had no way of knowing the impact of that act, nor
did he realize that his counterpart
witnessed the event. What he did know is that a force-on-force skirmish was taking place
,
and he still believed a
large-scale
battle could still be avoided if he could send
a strong message to the young m
ajor he had ju
st met. The message must convey
that the
Cav
was up against a capab
le foe that had no reservation
about
fighting
. He hoped calmer heads would prevail
,
and the act might get the higher ups on both sides talking.

Marcus decided to reposition some of his forces and focus them on the hotspot. He looked up from his map and then stabbed his finger onto the paper while looking around at his gathered staff. “Right there gentlemen…right there is where this is all going to go down. Let’s send the
Cav
a message. I want our combat power concentrated in this section. Anything not absolutely necessary to cover our flanks should be busting ass to this position immediately. Any questions?”

The huddled group of officers and NCOs all pe
ered at the spot marked by the c
olonel’s finger. Notes were scribbled and radio commands began flowing to the field. No one had any questions. 

In the history of
warfare,
it’s not uncommon for a specific location to become the center of a battle. Often, there is a logical reason why some
feature of the terrain or its tactical
value results in men dying by the thousands over a rel
atively small, otherwise insignificant, piece of ground.
During WWII, the small town of Bastogne was such a place, with its intersection of roadways being of importance to both sides.
D
uring the battle of Gettysburg
, a strategic rise called Cemetery Ridge was another such example
, where thousands of men died while fighting over a
40-foot
high track of elevated ground.

Other instances have puzzled historians
, unable to explain
why a certain aspect of some location caused it to become a fulcrum of death and destruction. Hill 875 during the Vietnam War is one such occurrence, with Hitler’s fixation on Stalingrad during WWII being another. The history of conflict is rife with examples of commanders
’ illogical, relentless pursuit of
some piece of real estate that held little or no
long-term
strategic value. Perhaps some of those instances were the result of quantum physics o
r random chaotic circumstance.
Maybe others were due to some sort of weird,
armor-sized
type of molecular cohesion. Regardless of the cause, on this day in 2015 the area around Scott’s Farm and Dairy, eventually known simply as Sco
tt’s Farm, would achieve such infamy
. If the history of battles were ever to be documented again, the clash at Shreveport would become known as the Battle of Scott’s Hill.

Fitz’s radio informed him that two friendly Strykers were approaching his rear, and he provided
their commanders
instructions on
where
they were needed
. One of the new units was a MGS, or mobile g
un system variant. This unusual-
looking machine had a slightly smaller version of a tank turret sitting on top
of the
eight-wheeled
chassis.
The MGS used the same basic aiming technologies as the Abrams tank and was the newest member of the Stryker family. While the MGS could shoot with any ta
nk within a certain range, it was
still equipped with the same thin armor as the other Stryker models.

Just as those fresh units were taking up posi
tions, four of the Independents’
tanks were arriving as well. Colonel Marcus had won the battle-within-a-battle, managing to reinforce his position first. It was a critical turning point in the engagement.

Major Owens was trying desper
ately to gather his forces in order
to apply one of the cardinal rules of American military doctrine – strike at the enemy with overwhelming force. The problem was that his assets had started the fight
while
spread in a column formation
,
and it was taking them far too long to
regroup
for an attack. He was trying to marshal his forces in a field just south of the airport where the wreckage
of the
general’s helicopter still burned.

While the Ironhorse’s armor may have withdrawn from the first clash, two of her scout snipers had remained in hidden positions where they could see Scott’s Hill. When one of the snipers reported
he saw tanks approaching, Owens’
skin turned cold
,
and his mind raced with
unanswered
questions.
Tanks? The 10
th
didn’t have tanks. Whose
tanks were those?

Reports were now coming in from both of the snipers; the 10
th
was reinforcing the area directly east of his position
,
and the major’s confidence waned ever so slightly. Sudde
nly, he wondered if his counterpart
was gathering
his
assets faster than the Ironhorse could get on line. Perhaps
the
Cav
was about to be hit with overwhelming force?

The m
ajor made up his mind to strike with the limited assets currently available to him
,
rather than wait for the rest of the brigade to form up. He issued the orders
,
and immediately
9
tanks and 14
Bradley
s pulled out in formation
,
heading for the enemy.