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Major General Zimmer exulted in the feel of the 1500 horsepower turbine engine driving the M1 Abrams tank beneath her boots. She kept it under thirty – it was a gas hog even at the best of times – but it could do sixty or better in a sprint. Right now it was the fifth M1 – an old tank but still a monster – in the convoy that drove steadily northward along US1 toward the rogues of Fredericksburg.
Where the road was clear they raced along. Where it was clogged with broken vehicles, the lead tank, fitted with a dozer blade, would shove a way through. It was glorious, and her blood sang with the ancient song of the cavalry.
Twenty-one tanks, six Bradleys, a gaggle of other war machines, supply and tanker trucks – and the MRAPs with the Homeland Security troops. It was probably the most powerful armored force within three hundred miles, but Alice didn’t believe in half measures. There was no such thing as overkill in her book. If the task force overawed the enemy into surrender, that saved lives. And if it didn’t, she wanted to smash them flat, fast.
By mid-morning the lead heavy rolled up to the wrecked former golf course and linked up with the survivors of the Civil Affairs battalion. Zimmer took the opportunity to have a team fly a tactical recon drone over the enemy lines.
It wasn’t long before her caution was validated. The drone video showed seven M1s scattered in hasty defensive positions, facing south, along with a dozen Stryker light armored vehicles. They must have gotten wind of our coming. Probably have at least one spy in Richmond with a radio. We’ll win this; the only question is how much it will cost.
Though she preferred to lead from inside a tank, she had brought along a command track for her tiny staff. Inside its pop-out tent she gathered her officers and those of the broken Civil Affairs battalion. “Lieutenant Colonel Muzik, good to meetcha.” The man looked worn out, but his grip was firm. “This here’s Jimmy-John, he’s got Alpha Company. Marty Fiddles here has Bravo. Chuck Gowler has the Bradleys.”
“And I have one Stryker, two Humvees and a couple of golf carts,” Muzik quipped. “And about three hundred support troops. A few of them are MPs, but I can’t call any of them grunts. Oh, and I guess the Homies are mine, though I’m happy to chop them to your command.” He grimaced wearily. “I’m really glad to see you, though, because they still have most of our women, and a few of our men.”
“Yeah, Stone always was a sonuvabitch and once he got power he got to let it all run free. We’ve known we had to clean the nest out eventually.” She turned to Envoy Tyler. “Travis, you said they’d be all discombobulated, but they got seven tanks emplaced, maybe more. Frankly, I don’t want to go nose to nose. We’ll lose people. You got any ideas other than the big stick?”
“Me?” Tyler laughed. “It’s your show, Alice.”
“Ma’am?” Colonel Muzik waved his only hand. “What you see is probably all they have, facing you here, dug in at the battlefield park. If you can flank them to the west, you can roll them up. We have information from their defectors that their center of power is on the campus of Mary Washington College, on Marye’s Heights, and that’s where the women’s slave barracks is.”
“Understood. Fix ’em, flank ’em, fight ’em, finish ’em. All right gentlemen, I got a plan in mind. We’re going to use all our tricks to save your people and teach the shitheads of Fredericksburg just what a huge mistake they made. That means you too, Colonel pretty-boy, with your best people.”
