haven’t gone there before. Now, we might want to rethink that. But, as long as we use the right filters and keep cleaning things, we can take our ground vehicles in right now. Oh yes, current NBC protection systems for the crews of the Abrams and Bradleys are quite adequate for the conditions. Strykers as well. The logistics vehicles may need an upgrade.”
“Which brings us to aircraft. Bill?”
“Bad news all around I’m afraid Sir. Same problems Jerry and Greg have been talking about. Dust chokes the engines quickly and cakes the airframes. Being sucked through a jet engine causes hellish erosion problems, mostly on the blades but its pretty gruesome in the rest of the engine as well. You can take a zero off the number of hours between overhauls at least, probably two. That’s not the worst of it, the dust scours the aircraft itself, abrading the wing and fuselage surfaces. Faster aircraft go, the worse that gets. We need new coatings for the aircraft that’ll help cut that down.
“We tried the prop-planes as well. Mixed news there, the erosion problem on the airframes isn’t so bad since the aircraft are much slower but the damage to the propellers is wicked. You should see an old P-47 we stuck in a wind-tunnel and blasted with a simulated hell atmosphere while we ran its engine. After an hour, the prop was ground to nothing. Aircraft with liquid-cooled engines were a problem, the cooling system got jammed up so the engines over-heated and seized up. Radial engines were bad as well at first but we’ve managed some work-arounds for them. Oil coolers are still a problem though.
'Sum of it all, we’ve got a lot of work to do before we can deploy air power into Hell. Priority problem should be airframe erosion, once we can lick that, the others will follow.”
Schatten looked around. “Good work guys. I’ll transmit the data through to the Army in Iraq.”
Combat Team Alpha. By the Hellmouth, Western Iraq
“Hokay, lot of men told me to go to hell in the past. The Big Cheese is the first one who really meant it.”
“We really going into Hell, Hooters?”
“Sure are Biker. It’s a thunder-run. Hold one.” Stevenson flipped her radio system so she was addressing all 14 vehicles in her command. “Right, this is what’s happening. We’re going in through the hellmouth, according to our source, the area inside is called the Martial Plain of Dysprosium. It’s a prairie-like area the baldricks use for parades and so on. We can swing in, cross it and hit two encampments that are about twenty miles inside. We’ll take them down and shoot up any resistance. Anybody who shoots at us gets greased. Try not to hit non-combatants but if they’re being used as shields or getting in the way, that’s too bad. Word from the top is, we don’t deliberately target any non-coms but they’d better learn to keep out of our way. No vehicles to be left behind, there’s an engineer unit out here, if one of us gets immobilized, we send for them and they tow us out. All clear? Good. Formation, my four tanks lead, line abreast, Bradleys behind, four more M1s at the rear. Right hand tanks watch right, left hand watch left, forward center pair ahead, aft center pair behind. Bradleys, watch the sky, the Harpies are our worst threat. See one, kill it. I’ll command from Alpha-One-One.”
That would upset the two Bradley crews that technically formed the HQ section but Stevenson felt much more at home in her Abrams.
Stevenson flipped her radio back to the in-vehicle circuit, “Biker, take us through.”
“Coming inside Captain?” The driver didn’t know whether the radio was still set to company-wide so he was careful.
“Sure. Orders are to seal down. Gonna limit our vision though, everybody watch out, if something blows as we go through, we’ll need to react fast.” Stevenson relaxed, leaning up against the cupola ring as she heard the gas turbine behind her spool up The back of her tank looked different after the week waiting outside the hellmouth. It had what looked like a low tent over it, one made of metal filter foil. It would allow air in, some, but it would also keep dust out and stop harpy-fire basting the engine. The top edge of the Abram’s performance had gone, reduced airflow to the turbine had seen to that, but the big tank was still fast and agile enough. She took a last look around at the blue sky and yellow sun of Earth, then dropped inside her tank and dogged the hatch down. As the Abrams lurched forward, she could feel the air pressure increase slightly as the tank’s NBC system established a positive pressure gradient.
Outside the black wall of the ellipse was approaching as the tank accelerated towards it. There’d been a lot of debate about whether to crash through at high speed or to ease through. Eventually, the decision had been left to her and she’d decided the high speed approach was best. Get through and in before anybody waiting in ambush could react. Besides, nobody had even a slight understanding of what the inside of the portal was like and being half-in, half-out could be a very bad place.
It didn’t seem to matter; the wall approached them but Stevenson wasn’t aware of actually going through it. One moment she was on Earth, almost instantly and without any other sign, everything had changed to the thick red light of hell. No shock, no jolt, nothing. Just the sudden switch in lighting conditions. Stevenson looked through her optronic system and saw the terrain ahead brightening as the system compensated for the light. A check on the navigation system was more worrying, the compass needle was spinning around uselessly while the GPN navigation system had gone dead. According to the inertial navigation system, she was still on Earth, about a klick from where she had started. She wished that were true.
“All Alpha vehicles. I’m defining the hellmouth as position zero, its direction is East. Adjust all inertial systems accordingly.” She punched the data in herself and watched the electronic compass settle down. Her tank’s nose was pointing dead ahead, bearing two-seven-oh so to get back to earth she would have to drive on oh-nine-oh. She looked behind on oh-nine-oh by the compass and to her relief, the hellmouth was still there.
She had the hand-drawn map in her hands and carefully orientated it with the hellmouth. Whoever had drawn it had nice handwriting she thought. It showed the plain she could see now and the two installations way over on what would be her arbitrarily-defined south. She looked again through the optronic surveillance system, she couldn’t see much ahead, there was a pile of burned out timber over one side, she guessed that would be the reviewing stand the Predator had blown up in the first days of the war. Or what was left of it. Another glance at the compass showed that the computer had settled it down to correspond with her arbitrary alignment.
“Hokay, Biker, take off, head course one-eight-oh. Try and hold 20 mph.” She flipped the radio back to company net. “All vehicles, one eight oh. Expect target in 20 miles. Contact time one hour.”
The ground was a lot smoother than she’d expected; compared with the rough jolting she got every time her tank crossed the Iraqi desert, it was a positive luxury. She looked behind her, the Bradleys were following in her wake with the second group of M1s behind them. A cloud of red dust was rising behind the vehicles, a V-shaped cloud from each that merged behind them to give a fair equivalent of a smoke screen. If it had been white and at sea, it would have reminded her of water skiers at a beach resort. Only, it wasn’t white it was red and this wasn’t a beach resort, it was Hell although compared with the beaches in her home of Bayonne, it would be hard to tell the difference. And they weren’t water skiers, they were the point of a very, very pissed-off human army.
“Boss, target up ahead.” Anything here that wasn’t a tank or a Mick-vee was hostile. This didn’t need that distinction, a line of nine baldricks, tridents on shoulders, marching across the plain. A guard patrol perhaps? Stevenson didn’t know and didn’t care. Her laser gave a quick flash that was instantly translated into range. “All Alpha-One vehicles, targets one-six-three degrees, range 1,200 meters. Engage HEAT.”
The baldricks realized what was about to hit them a split second before the tank guns crashed. They turned, aiming their tridents at the oncoming tanks. Two lightning flashes hit Alpha-one-one’s turret, causing the computer to blip and reset. No damage and the shells exploded in the baldrick line, throwing parts of them skywards. Those who weren’t dead were still writhing on the ground when the four M1s drove over them. Stevenson could feel the tank shift slightly as Biker used his tracks to grind them into the ground. Then they were gone, just leaving a green stain on the ground.
A TOW-2 missile shot overhead, turned in mid air and plowed into a small stone building that had been half- concealed in a dip in the ground. Probably a guardhouse, possibly for the patrol that had just been summarily blasted out of existence. One of the Bradleys hadn’t wanted to be left out of the first engagement of the first human Thunder Run through Hell.
“Target should be up ahead.” Stevenson transmitted the message long after the mangled remains of the patrol and the burning guardhouse had been left behind them.
“Not here, Captain.” Baldy’s voice was regretful.
“It has to be. Map shows it due south of the hellmouth. Unless it ain’t that accurate. Hokay, we’ll do it the hard way. Bravo units form here. Keep radio link open so we can get directional cuts on you. Charlie team, go east, twenty minutes at 20mph then come back. Use Bravo’s links for direction. Alpha, we’ll go west, same time, same
