‘Cavalry is useful before, during, and after the battle’
- Napoleon Bonaparte
Cavalry forces provide an extremely lethal, flexible, adaptable, and sustainable contribution to the tempo of combat actions. Cavalry force elements are trained with the principles of mission focus, rat cunning, maskirovka, and operate best within an environment that fosters true mission command. Cavalry forces seek to seize fleeting tactical opportunities and deny the adversary the same in the pursuit of victory. To ensure the aforementioned quote by Napoleon remains true, cavalry forces must continue to operate within optimal structures, training continuums and be afforded the appropriate technology augmentation to contribute to all of the combat functions.
This article is designed to promote discussion on the short to medium term employment of Cavalry forces in the Australian Army. Consequently, it considers the opportunities and challenges of emerging technologies, force design options and career progression models.
CAVOPS 2029 uses fiction to explore the execution of future cavalry operations. The reader is encouraged to immerse themselves in the narrative and to ask whether they would conduct the operation differently from the lead characters.
To assist the reader, there are a number of supporting resources:
a GLOSSARY
a list of CHARACTERS
the ORDERS & OVERLAYS pertinent to the narrative
an extract from the CT 2IC's notebook following receipt of the Warning Order.
What did the author get right? What does the Army need to improve if we are to successfully conduct Cavalry Operations in the future? You can join the debate, and help shape the future of the Australian Army, by posting comments below.
CAVOPS 2029
V21 TROOP GROUP – DISPERSED IN GS 4305
The dim artificial glow of the turret electrical interfaces cast a shadow over Parry’s face, but the beads of sweat and furrowed brow on display was not lost on the two operators peering up at him through the turret gap.
'Anything?' Parry asked with a whisper.
Without looking up, Smith, the operator of the quadcopter spoke first. 'Heat signature in NAI 99 is consistent with an MBT troop hide,' his monotonous voice relayed.
Parry wondered momentarily whether Smith was a cybernetic organism, wired into the system. 'Nice work Robot,' Parry whispered.
Smith's crooked teeth grin, and the stench of stale sweat a rapid reminder he was indeed human, despite his eccentricities. Seeing this compliment as a green light for further interaction, Smith began to verbalise his internal monologue 'Engine temp eighty Celsius, meaning they have been firm for four hours and twelve minutes, vehicles exactly 23 500mm spaced, angle of the main armament is 2400 mils with a three hundred mil offset from line of centre….'
“'Wait, what!?' Parry interrupted, the inflection noticed by the quiet TPR Janton, but not by Smith.
Smith drew breath, preparing to regurgitate the previous assault of raw data. Parry saved his ears the onslaught, 'The bit about distance?'
Smith looked at him square in the eyes, this time with proud confidence 'The vehicles in the hide are in doctrinal formation, a fan hide, 23.5m apart from each other. Orientat…' Smith trailed off as their headsets crackled in the calming robotic voice that indicated it was a typed transmission on the data system being verbalised, and not the voice analogue radio transmitter.
'V21C this is V21 send SITREP over,' the radio demanded.
Subconsciously Parry sighed, and looked at his wristwatch, before clearing his throat.
Like a Stegosaurus at the end of the Jurassic… maybe I could make a meme out of him, and a Stegosaurus, Smith mused to himself when studying Parry.
The Bluetooth sensor in the helmet sensing Parry's mouth pursing near the boom microphone began recording the transmission for burst encapsulation. 'Ah Victor too wunn this is Charles, we are a yes on the mini, but I’m going to deploy FIDO to be sure, over,' the voice recording instantly translating itself into ones and zeroes hurtled through the air, arriving in the headset of the Troop Leader, Mitt, within seconds.
‘Elle Tee Mitt’, as he was known to all but his mother, stared into the HUD projected on his visor. The HUD’s 3D map flyover feature initiated, circled over an area on the virtual map – a map that would have once been stuffed behind a sight vision block with chinagraph pencils and map markers, waiting to be eaten by the bilge. With ruthless efficiency, he selected the 'Roger wait out' quick reply digital text button. Selecting a small switch on his Commander’s interface, the virtual keyboard changed to the Combat Team Command Net chatroom. '2A – 21, 99 compl 30m, 97 TBC as per ETIOV' he typed.
2 COMBAT TEAM HEADQUARTERS (MAIN) – GR 299 027
Despite her colloquial 'Ack' typed reply to Mitt, in the Combat Team Command Post, the Combat team 2IC’s blood pressure was mounting. Three Troop’s slugfest in the preceding twelve hours with the Disruption Zone’s armed UGVs had resulted in the twelve-hour repair of one CRV. Its Delta car had also ripped an axle off 'negotiating' a creek at high speed, and the electronic deception employed by the enemy now meant that Two Troop had a patrol-minus twenty kilometres north of where it needed to be, according to her synchronisation matrix.
CAPT Sarah Blue’s mind was now at warp speed, staring at the electronic CP table’s 3D display of the AO, rapidly trying to amend the COA within her jurisdiction until the Boss got back. 'The CAB’s tanks and mechanised infantry are due to enter the northern boundary and proceed to the designated AA at 1800' she recalled the OC’s face-to-face orders group from the preceding evening. Or was 1800 the time given in the bullsh@#% set of orders he’d transmitted over the known compromised frequency earlier that afternoon? That’s the problem with being part of the real mission construction, and the ruse. Consulting the electronic matrix, she saw the LTIOV column… '1800!' she announced out loud to herself. Prioritising her thoughts, Blue internally concluded: I need to shave off some time so Two Two can answer it’s SIR in time.
Like the great Thomas Beecham at an orchestra, her sensor glove covered right hand danced over the virtual map, circling and grouping blue icons, flicking them onto the NAI boxes that surrounded some red, and some pink antagonistically shaded unit and suspected unit icons that lay east on the map, all the while glancing at the synchronisation matrix. Her thumb movements in the sensor glove confirmed the actions, sending them out like an old authorisation stamp at a bank to the digital displays in each of the subordinate callsigns. All except for 23A. That Luddite’s display, as usual, was not functioning.
V23A PATROL – GR 400 025
SGT Critch’s display was not working – not because he had unplugged the GPS antennae as usual when he was fishing in a coastal training area, but this time, because his control box had been the primary impact point for the suicide drone. Small rivers of blood and sweat ran down his brow as he swung the turret around to the six o'clock, providing a visual complement to the tinnitus that was announcing itself in his head.
'Johnty, what’s the damage?' Critch enquired.
'Driving systems are 100%, the data link is dead, radio functional with some damage to HF component of the antennae, gun BIT says we are good,' the gunner crisply barked at full volume.
'Floor it Beech!' Critch grunted on the intercom.
The sound in revs indicated that without a word of reply, TPR Thomas Beech had heard the guy they all secretly called 'Stitch,' and was compliantly commencing the move back to the predesignated Patrol RV. With that, Critch exhaled a long breath. The absence of the smell of cordite he had been so used to in his formative years on ASLAV provided a short relief to his lungs as he spoke on the radio. 'Two zero this is Alpha, I can confirm the presence of three IFV and one command variant with medium size quadcopter attack drone at NAI 92. Oh, and also, my data means has s@#% itself, over.'
CAPT Blue, studying the expected enemy order of battle, was quick to reply. 'Roger, good work. How sure are you that it is a medium drone over?'
'Well, it just gave me a kiss!', crackled the reply.
Not fully understanding of the afore explanation, but trusting of his quirky response, Blue accepted the retort. 'Acknowledged, out.'
V21 TROOP GROUP – DISPERSED IN GS 4305
'It’s just too good to be true,' Mitt remarked to Jasper.
'Boss you’re gunna need to come up with something better than that. All the systems point to it being the tanks, and you've got no proof that it ain't,' he replied.
'Yeah I know, but it’s too perfect, too precise…. It’s just not human enough,' his answer came with a slight inflection of worry.
Sergeant Jasper Tout stared at the man half his age with a withering, slightly insubordinate frown. It was time to use the recruit instructor/dad voice. 'Sir, as per SOPs, you’ve used the Uggs, you’ve sent out FIDO, even my dish is saying it’s the tanks. If you send in the lads for a suicide patrol because of a ‘hunch’ how’s that gunna look?'
Mitt squared his shoulders in response, his eyes narrowing slightly. 'Get on with it Sergeant.' The ten-second square off seemed like an eternity to Mitt. I don’t remember this scenario during leadership training at RMC.
While Mitt maintained the stare, Jasper turned and raised V21C on his low power dismounted Bluetooth patrol net. 'Parry, get your operators with two three echo and BPT go take a look. Step in five, be back in two hours. Take your UGV thermal scramblers, and enough batteries this time!'
V22 TROOP GROUP – GS 4400
LT Tom Vine felt that his report card would be a mixed affair had it been another day on Puckapunyal range. He had successfully infiltrated between the BDET’s Disruption Zone forces to the southeast of the MDP and married up at the Objective Rally Point with his troop complete (and as far as he was aware undetected).
Once through the assessed Disruption Zone, which he had anticipated being heavily smattered with ATGM laden UGVs and nuisance "smart minefields," he had then orchestrated his Troop's movement around the rear of the MDP. The manoeuvre consisted of a combination of joint manned/unmanned patrols reminiscent of a CTR, vehicle coordinated switch-offs and listening watches, as well as UAV, UGV and FIDO patrols to areas of particular concern – all the while with electronic surveillance sweep measures being employed from his Troop Sergeant's vehicle.
His patrol had identified the 'ninety percent certain' enemy gun line position determined by the spooks, as a dummy. The unconfirmed report that his V21C vehicle's operator patrolling with his FIDO robotic reconnaissance drone may have urinated on one of the steel and electronic pulse fitted mock-ups was amusing, however, was also a testament to the proximity with which one had to get to confirm these with multi-spectrum deception methods these days.
Since then things had gone to the proverbial. His troop's battlefield management system had been hacked shortly after reaching the RV. In the period of darkness that followed as the troop was meant to sector search a grid square for the anticipated BDET reserve force, his Alpha and Echo callsigns’ tired eyes had allowed the electronic navigation aid (which was being spoofed) to lead them astray, rather than checking via map to ground.
It took them hitting an old quarry, twenty kilometres out to the north (through V21 AO) before they checked themselves and realised the error of their ways. Perhaps they had somehow found the Sarge because of his onboard electronic surveillance equipment that was unique to the Alpha vehicle. But I hadn’t told him to use it on active measures settings yet…. that wasn’t meant to happen until H Hr… Vine was roused from his melancholy thoughts by his gunner’s sharp whisper.
'Boss, dismounts, 12 o’clock, battle range!'
Vine peered into his Commander's sight. The thermal sights extraordinary vision quickly showed him the unmistakable outline of TPR Potting slowly patrolling back over the crest that the hull down Troop Leader's vehicle had occupied. Within a few minutes, the silence was interrupted by a quiet creak of the rubber seal.
The back door opened and in climbed Potting, his UGV control on hand, his rifle slung over his back. His exosuit nowhere to be seen. Vine wormed his way into the back of the vehicle.
'How’d you go?' he enquired to Potting.
'I've got the UGV picketing an IFV with a long mast, and three other vehicles covered in heat shroud nets in a fan hide behind it. The hide is also emanating a Bluetooth jamming function so I can't take it in any closer without it possibly going to sleep. I've tried six angles of approach, and the shroud nets are symmetrical. No way of telling for sure. LIDAR is inconclusive, and SCANDEX says it's one of thirty-two possible AFV at 3.3m high.'
'Could be the HQ,' Potting suggested.
'Or something worse,' Vine softly replied.
'We’re gunna need to get better clarity. Potting, take Resset and go check it out on foot. You’ve got two hours.'
With that, Potting gave a wry smile. As his hand clasped the door, he turned back to Vine. "Old school." The door clicked and quietly opened. With a rush of cold air, Potting was gone, off to find his exosuit, thermal binoculars, a fighting knife, and some hand grenades.
V21 TROOP GROUP – GR 430 048
With the thermal binoculars on hand, Shelley Ping peered over the lichen covered rock. The gentle whir of the exosuit alternator compensating for the hastily (and illegally) RAEME retrofitted thermal scrambler that was doing it’s best to drain the power source, but also keep her hidden. Although barely the sound of a whispering voice, it still unnerved her.
Scanning over the three opaque forms that lay neatly arrayed ahead, she tilted her head, opening up the AFV recognition dropdown list on her HUD. With a flickering that only her eyes could see, the program began its painstaking task of cycling between known AFV images and attempting to match it to the three forms. After several seconds, the machine had given up on the shape on the left, and the right, however for the centre vehicle it had made its choice. Gheuchan Main Battle Tank, the HUD displayed. Great, one of those M1A2/T-14 Armata ripoffs that were a child of successful cyber espionage against the big five tank producing nations about a decade ago. The HUD’s match indicated that she was staring at the back deck of the AFV.
'What is it?' the voice next to her hissed.
He’s snuck up on me again. I bet he’s not wearing his exosuit. She turned her head. Sam Ivy, encased within his exosuit a foot from her, stared back.
'Well we’ve got at least one tango in the middle, but..what’s wrong with this picture Sam?' she changed tact.
'Beats me,' he whispered.
'Look closer,' she insisted with an authoritarian tone that was typically reserved back in Australia for her two-year-old son, solving the problem that the four-million-dollar piece of hardware strapped to her head could not.
He shook his head and shrugged his shoulders in response.
'The track width, it’s different for the three vehicles. The one in the middle checks out, but these two side ones aren’t wide enough to be a manned tank!' she exclaimed.
It was only then that Ivy realised that the dirt they lay in was a path, a track path, to the unidentified left-hand vehicle. It’s former route, traversed earlier that day, and they had crawled in on it. Luckily they hadn’t done a fish hook, or we would be brown bread.
'Let’s check the other two out. We haven’t seen this before,' she demanded. With a short pause, she continued, 'And if there is only one tank per three vehicle group, where are all the other tanks...'
V22 TROOP GROUP – GS 4400
The panting grew louder and more laboured, engulfing his headset, despite the series of alert tones and the cool, calm female robotic voice of the exosuit telling him that he had really stuffed it this time.
'Medi patch stores depleted. Haemorrhage containment failed. Seek immediate medical care. Seek immediate medical care. Seek immediate medical care. User unit CASEVAC authorisation code X-Ray one, two six. You are out of range of appropriate medical care…'
The whine of the servomotor began to increase in pitch. The exosuit voice spoke again. 'Exosuit coolant levels fifteen percent. Power shutoff in six minutes.'
'Shut the f@#$ up!' he announced out-loud, ironically given the headset voice of the exosuit could only be heard by him from his moulded earpiece.
Potting was trying to run, but the blood pooling in his chest cavity wasn’t helping, despite the best efforts of the robotic exoskeleton that encased his body like a crude polio brace from a century before. He could feel the exosuit’s control arm attempting to pad the entry wound below his spleen, complimenting a warm liquid running down the back of his legs. Either I’ve pissed myself, it’s the coolant from the suit, or I’m about to patch out for good.
Reaching the crest, he slowed to a walk. Feeling the gyroscopes struggling to compensate, he crouched the suit in exit mode like a cicada preparing to shed its husk. Another wave of nausea washed over him. His mouth now dry, his left leg spasming. Looking down he saw the tell-tale sign of shredded camouflage pants. I've been chewed by a coaxial machine gun. But how did that thing see me? I must get this message out before I’m done.
Spitting a globule of blood at a nearby tree stump, he reached for the interface unit on his wrist and began to type frantically. His vision dimming, his fingers hammering, death's cool kiss calming his frantic heart.
COMBAT TEAM HEADQUARTERS (MAIN) – GR 299 027
As a shadow fell over her screen in the Annex, Blue looked up. The OC peered over her shoulder, updating his understanding within seconds thanks to the BMS screen.
'Sarah, situation update.'
'Boss the enemy ORBAT isn’t quite what we expected,' she matter-of-factly stated, before continuing, 'their tanks aren’t in the usual three vehicle platoons. We have seen two instances now, and a suspected third occasion of a single tank commanding two APC sized UGVs…like a hub and spoke sort of action.'
The OC ‘s back straightened, his gaze raising from the BMS screen and focusing on the projected kill sheet that adorned a secondary monitor. 'Then where are the other tanks?' he muttered to himself, before grasping his orders slate and staring at his old, hand laminated map.
23D – STRICKEN VEHICLE, M113 REPAIR UGV RV, GR 272 028
'Do you reckon in the future this will all be done by bots?' Roefe asked Louise, as they both sat on their haunches, exhausted after having undone the final drive coupling on their stricken vehicle.
'No, I doubt it,' she replied.
'Why not? They’re pretty good,' he responded.
'Well, who’s going to give them the autonomy for a start?' she asked. 'And what happens when you’ve got EMP, or you upload a virus, or there remains an angry man with a spear when all the bots are all dead?' she replied. 'The bots can never reason, or make complex decisions, like us. If they did, we would be done as a species,' she concluded in a matter-of-fact tone. 'As fancy as this blended outfit looks, there will always be a human on the button,' she remarked.
'What about the rumour that M113 UGVs will replace our Delta and Echo vehicles in the troop?' Roefe asked.
'Again, who’s going to control the surveillance and UGV equipment that these two PMVs have? You from an armchair, four hundred miles away? How good is your situational awareness going to be from there?' Louise said with a hint of scorn.
'Well at the moment we are usually at least one bound from the CRVs, that are one bound from the forward sweep of our reconnaissance platforms, that are one bound from the enemy,' he counter offered.
'Yes, but that still leaves you with the option of being able to confirm things with your own eyes if you need to. And believe me, with the electronic deception measures getting better by the day, the old mark one eyeball is still a pretty good reconnaissance tool,' Louise said.
'And also, if the enemy jammed us, or turned out bots against us, we’d be stuffed if there wasn’t a human with an override capability nearby,' he offered.
'Yeah, sure,' Louise replied.
'What about the missions. Are they easier to perform now? What about back in the day when you originally enlisted?' Roefe asked.
'Well we used to mainly collect on the spectrums that the human can detect – noise, sight, smell, etc,' she articulated. 'At the end of ASLAV, there was great confusion about what our job was,' she stated while looking into the distance. 'People didn't really understand cavalry. In that brief period where we downsized from ASLAV and didn't pick up this other multi-spectrum reconnaissance and offensive strike kit, we really struggled to do our job,' Louise said.
'Hmmm,' Roefe offered.
'Now though, we can collect on multi spectrums, in quick time. We are just lucky that with all the downsizing of our vehicle numbers after ASLAV retirement that we picked up the UGV, FIDO, and UAS. Otherwise, we wouldn't be able to see enough stuff, on a wide enough frontage, to answer the questions that need to be answered,' she concluded. 'While we have fewer men across the Brigade, we can now answer more things, in higher definition, so our precious amounts of infantry and tank can get in and do the killing,' Louise stated with confidence. 'So, to answer your questions, it's about an economy of effort,' Louise said while cleaning her hands on a rag. 'The Infantry Battalions used to have their own recce platoons, light engineers, and anti-tank forces you know?' Louise stated rhetorically.
'You sound like the Boss,' he sniggered.
'I’ll take that as a compliment. Now give me a hand putting all these bolts back in the side bin,' she demanded.
COMBAT TEAM HEADQUARTERS (MAIN) – GR 299 027
As the OC typed his transmission for the Combat Team, Blue did him a favour and raised V23A on the CNR. 'Two three alpha this is Victor Two Alpha, things have changed. Your Troop Leader is no longer the reserve. He will face to face at RV. Anticipate him discussing with you the changes to the mission when you get there to reduce electronic transmissions, out'.
With that, Blue peered at the HUD. The tell-tale sign that 23 Echo had acknowledged the transmission as well was evident when its two UGV icons began driving back to the CRV icon, hidden on the reverse slope of the feature to their west – their home, their master.
V23 TROOP GROUP – HIDE GR 391 024
'Any questions?' Grapple asked, finishing his orders above the hasty scratching in the dirt that symbolised the mud model.
Critch silently shook his head.
Patrick Westerson, the Troop Corporal, cleared his throat, 'How long did you say it would take the Engineers to complete the deception skirts Boss?'
'Fifteen minutes per car,' he replied.
'No further questions,' came the familiar post-orders retort.
The remainder of the troop were silent, a combination of fatigue and internal monologues raging between their confidence in the Troop Leader’s plan, juxtaposed against the high risk associated with the mission that could not be glazed with comforting words.
The Engineer Section Commander spoke up. 'Don't forget to set your CNR to medium power when we plug the tank mockups into your vehicle power harness. Otherwise, you will be reminiscent of a World War Two static mock up only, without all of the thermal and electrical aids.'
With that, the group dispersed to their vehicles, and the Engineer section commenced unloading their trunks from the M113 UGV that had followed them into the hide.
V21 TROOP GROUP – GS 4304
'Prepare to engage…. Wait….. Wait…. Fire now out!' Mitt's familiar fire order cascaded through several helmet earpieces. Within microseconds Sam Ivy's javelin exited its tube, before the rocket booster engaged, sending the missile skyward. Simultaneously, Mitt's 21E UAS released its payload, the rocket screeching towards the second target in the pod; it's two operators grinning like school children from the back of their PMV as they waited for the inevitable splash. The less impressive, but highly appreciated sound of the 21E UGVs firing their ATGMs completed the three-piece band.
With laser precision, the three mediums delivered their verdict. The javelin slammed into the MBT, pulverising its turret into the chassis and slinging the tracks and barrel into nearby trees. The UAS rocket, more like a surgeon’s scalpel, sliced its way into the junction box below the power coupling and detonated within its UGV target, sending the engine block cartwheeling down the embankment. The ATGM's, like torpedoes heading for a freighter in a long-forgotten war, also made their mark. The explosive-filled cylinders slammed into the third UGV’s side plate, shearing off its weapon arm and igniting the fuel source.
Mitt commenced his oral transmission on the radio, 'Two zero, two one, contact, ah one by tank and UGG Platoon engaged and destroyed at Grid four, four, wun, ah zero, five, wun. This callsign breaking now to establish ABF at Tiger, out'.
V22A – MOVING SOUTH AT HIGH SPEED, WELL NORTH OF WHERE THEY SHOULD BE
'When we rotate through rest next month, which specialty course will you choose?' Bannerman asked Ferguson, attempting to create conversation on the drive back to the AO boundary, that was unusually sullen from the turret crew, given the recent realisation of their folly.
'I’ll probably go the quadcopter after my gunner's course, and then maybe pick up the FIDO,' he remarked with a tone that was more confident than speculative.
'No fixed wing UAS and PMV light qual for you then,' she replied.
'Did you know they used to be part of Artillery?' he enquired. 'And once upon a time, tanks also operated as a Battalion, on their own,' he added. 'And infantry trained dismounted as ‘light fighters?''
'A Tank Regiment,' she corrected. 'That was back in the days before units were built as fighting organisations,' she added. 'We used to come together at the end of each training year, quickly smash some combined arms training out, and then forget about it over Christmas.'
'Were we any good?' he asked.
'That’s enough out of you two pocket generals,' the Troop Sergeant interjected over the intercom, sensing an uncomfortable pattern to the conversation’s likely future. 'Ferguson, in two thousand metres, through your right periscope, you will see a small knoll. Head for the left-hand edge of that,' the Sergeant barked, symbolic of the conversation being over.
V21 TROOP GROUP – MOVING WEST TO OBJ TIGER
'What if they don’t take the bait, Boss, and they realise we aren’t the tanks?' Bede Flatt had asked the question that everyone thought as the CRV's engine began to climb through the revs, but no one had for fear of unsettling the calm quiet in the vehicle.
Mitt ran a hand through his sweat covered five o'clock shadow. 'Then we allow them to pass and we attack their APCs and fuel, before playing a bit of hide and seek,' Mitt matter-of-factly replied. 'The OC suspects that this whole defensive position is a hoax, and the Brigade is being lured for destruction. That’s why our UAS is off scanning that depression with LIDAR,' Mitt concluded.
The answer seemed to be sufficient for Bede as he pursued a different line of enquiry, whilst Mitt took his helmet off. 'Who wants a jaffle?!'
Mitt nodded in confirmation but hadn’t noticed the text message sent to him on a private channel from Sergeant Critch, informing him that the dish from 23A was down, and needed time to reboot and patch a software repair.
COMBAT TEAM HEADQUARTERS (MAIN) – GR 299 027
'Six…. Seven…. Another command vehicle… Eight. Eight tanks total,' SGT Drew Banning yelled, before breaking eyes from the screen and turning to the OC.
After a few seconds, the OC spoke 'We were right. The enemy defensive position is the bait. He intends to lure us into an attack, before counter-attacking our assault force from behind… Crushing us against the anvil of OBJ Stug.' The final part of his statement was remarked with a smile.
Sarah Blue’s forehead creased, he eyes sharply narrowing. 'It’s almost like you admire him,' she stated, inferring towards the enemy commander’s suspected position icon that had entered NAI 31, along with the majority of the remainder of his force element’s tanks.
'Almost,' the OC replied, before refitting his fire-retardant gloves. 'I’m off to coordinate the V21/23 passage of lines. I'll be on low power till we are done. Sarah, you know the plan. If I’ve not raised comms with you by 0600, you know what needs to be done.'
Before she could respond, he was gone from the CP, striding towards his vehicle that his crew had idling and ready.
V21 TROOP GROUP – OBJ TIGER
With a sigh, the BMS terminal flickered, dimmed, and went black. Mitt looked down at the power cable. Sensing the problem, Flatt's body lurched towards the kit, jaffle remaining in his left hand like a receptionist looking for someone while holding the phone. The tell-tale greying of icons on his HUD confirmed the suspicion.
'Bede reset it with a different user config; we've been hacked!' Mitt exclaimed. Fumbling for his map in his leg pocket, Mitt dipped his head from the turret sight head and began to transmit, 'All two wun, this is two wun, here they come, quadcopters up, set the UGGS to auto, remember the plan, out.'
With a menacing whir, like hornets buzzing around an adversary at their nest, the quadcopters flared from behind the hill, searching their front for the slightest movement, the smallest signature, ready to pinpoint enemy locations for either friendly mortars within the Battlegroup Headquarters, or for the CRV within the troop to engage with direct fire.
The UGVs made no sound as they received their authorisation code for fully automated operations for the next eight hours. The first time they had ever received it. Dutifully, they drove into their ABF. Within seconds they were firing. Sequences of crossfire, frontal fire and depth fire permeated the engagement area, faster than a human could issue the direction. Streaks of white flashes violated what would have been a dark evening, with ATGMs detonating against MBT tracks, turrets, and engine blocks. The UGV heavy machine guns also commenced firing, mercilessly machine-gunning crews attempting to bail out of their vehicles.
Within seconds, however, one of the enemy tanks found their mark — the HEAT round obliterating the 21B UGV. Its sister UGVs from the echo vehicle weren't fazed like a human would have been, however, continuing to fire on the company minus of tanks closing with them.
Mitt stared at the radio set, willing it to commence talking. Hurry up Grapple. What’s taking you so long to hit play on the dish?! Maybe the enemy isn’t buying it. Well If he keeps me here another twenty minutes ill be all out of both ammo and vehicles. What a difference thirty minutes had made. The enemy had slowly recovered after their receipt of the V21 engagement and was now petulantly engaging them from a nearby tree line with accuracy. The felling of trees to the west of the clump suggested an attempted pending flanking manoeuvre, that posed a grave danger for V21.
With a powerful flash, Mitt heard the familiar thump of the CRV cannon. Looking out of his turret he saw 21B now in a hull down position to his left, with the vehicle perpendicular to his orientation. Its primary and coaxial weapon systems firing at their highest rate of fire possible. What on Earth is he doing?!
'Flanked, tank!' the brief warning from the crew commander came before the Bravo vehicle was engulfed in a fireball, and Mitt was blown down into the floor of his own turret, the wind knocked out of him, his face charred a sunburnt pink by the flash, and his windsock evaporated.
V23 TROOP GROUP – SHORTLY AFTER A CREW RECORD OF ELEVEN CANS OF ENERGY DRINK, CONSUMED IN SIXTY MINUTES
'There, got it,' Critch yelled with relief. The three green lights of the dish finally flicked to a constant glow. The unnerving hum of the processor’s cooling fan telling Critch it was working just as hard as him, and probably killing off any chance of further procreation when he got home to compliment his current band of three daughters. Its malicious program was a product of something the sigs had baked up in their oven of secrecy.
Within seconds the dish was working its magic, distorting thermal resolution, emitting radio wave transmissions consistent with the CAB moving into a counter attack position in Grid Squares 3903 and 3904, and jamming all enemy UAS banded frequencies. Reaching out of his turret to the side bustle, Critch switched on the final component of the plan. The loudspeakers, ‘borrowed’ from the physical training instructors after the last rest rotation through the mega echelon, commenced blaring the clanking of MBT noise and IFV revs.
V21 TROOP GROUP – OBJ TIGER
'They’re breaking northwest,' the voice on the radio stated.
It was the best news Tout had heard all day, prompting an enthusiastic reply 'Roger, maintain eyes on from turret down, and with the UAV from Delta, over.' He didn’t wait for a reply, 'And send Grids to the Avo or Arty Officer in the CTHQ, so he can nuke them with the CO’s attack helo’s.' Tout knew the operator on the other end of the line was relaying for V21C and the stricken Echo vehicle. He could not raise his Troop Leader, nor Bravo. Time to link up with the Boss.
DAWN BREAKS
With an asserted calm the OC’s voice interrupted the melee. The familiar tone of his SMEAC patter engineering an instinctive reaction from the officers and seniors within the team. Their tactical tablets updating with overlays as he spoke, areas of the map being zoomed in and out, as if he was sitting in the back of each of their vehicles, instructing them like some lesson they’d got at COAC, or on ACCC, or in the Squadron instructional room back in Brisbane.
Mitt, recovered from his proximity wound, nodded as he acknowledged the confirmation that thirty-eight enemy vehicles across the BDET had now been identified, meaning that the enemy defensive array had been determined, and the Brigade was commencing it's move to the FAA that 21B had spotted and plotted during the movement east the preceding day. Consolidating as the reserve, he knew he had a small respite period ahead, where he would have to read in a new reinforcement crew commander and crew from the strategic operating hub. Well, there goes my chance to commence a sector search for the enemy’s MLRS deep within the enemy’s Support Zone. It will probably go to the Combat Team Alpha Cav lads.
Vine smiled as he was being diverted to establish an ambush southeast of the MDP, in preparation to destroy enemy forces that decided to flee the battering ram that was the two mechanised battlegroups behind them that constituted the main body of the Brigade. Some elements will no doubt flee, considering most of their tanks have been crumped. The highway of death – part two.
Critch was happy to be told to 'turn off the music' and commence a sector search for the enemy's retransmission element on the adjacent ridgeline. Their usually poorly defended but well-camouflaged positions were a trick to find, and a treat to kill, particularly when they were an enemy divisional asset.
As the OC’s transmission ended, the sun began to break over the distant ridge to the east. M113 medical, stores, and essential class provision UGVs lumbered slowly along the dirt tracks that had been programmed into their route plan following a successful route reconnaissance by Battlegroup Warhorse. Further west, IFVs and MBTs began to fan out into assault formation, their menacing barrels pointing at the fires now alight in the vicinity of OBJ STUG, occupied by a disorientated enemy waiting to be destroyed. Further east, south and north the coordinated start-up of CRV engines signalled a new day, a new warning order, and the next phase.
