Luka’s Thunder run: The Central Valley, August 23rd

I grimaced and ground my teeth, staring at the burning hulk. Flames spurted and sputtered from the open hatches, the paint blackened from the heat. The heavy scent of burnt flesh lingered in the air. The charred remains of the tank commander's arm still half visible, his hand slinging to the mg mounted on the turret.

I reached up to the mic hanging from my neck. I keyed the mic, watching the flames dance atop the hatches. "Any station this net, This is Rampart 6, radio check."

"Rampart 6, this is Warlord 5, I read you lima charlie."

"Warlord 5, what is your progress?"

"Rampart standby, break." the radio cut off for a few minutes as I watched several T-72s roll by, behind them the rest of the division's 4th tank regiment was following closely.

"Rampart 6, Warlord 5."

"Rampart 6."

"Rampart, the lead elements have entered Patterson, scattered reports of enemy armor."

"Good copy Warlord 5, inform Warlord 6 that the division will bypass the city to its east. Break,"

I grabbed my map, spreading it out on the roof of my turret, grabbing my red flashlight and shining it on the map. "Warlord, engage in a blocking action break, once the division is past, follow on as rear guard. Over"

"Good copy Rampart, Warlord will block and delay, once complete will follow, over."

I leaned down into the turret, "driver! Switch to the command net!"

"Yes sir!" came the reply.

I waited a little before I heard the driver key the mic.

"Any station on this net, radio check!"

"Previous calling station, this is viper 7, I read you quiet but clear." came a reply within seconds.

"This is Rampart 6 to all units, exit the highway, prepare to cross the San Joaquin. Locate any fords or bridges for the division's armor." I directed over the radio.

"Rampart 6, this is Viking 6, are we no longer following Route 5?"

"Affirmative Viking, the Division will cross the Joaquin and conduct a general advance north, we are bypassing the enemy in Patterson, advancing up Modesto. And resume our march on Stockton via state route 99."

I received a chorus of replies, just ahead I watched as the column of tanks diverted for the exit. BDRMs and BTRs raced across open and small country roads, soldiers prepared themselves for the crossings, closing and tightening hatches. The BTRs and BDRMs slammed into the river, throwing up large sprays of misty foam as they started crossing. Meanwhile armored columns of tanks started patrolling the west bank, looking for a potential crossing.

The BTRs and BDRMs came ashore, water falling off in rivulets as they screamed East. If it wasn't for the darkness of night Luka would have been able to enjoy seeing his division quickly perform a river crossing. Be as it may, Luka and a large portion of the division was slowed crossing the few bridges across the San Joaquin. Further west and somewhat north of the 4th's new line of advance the 7th tank regiment was engaging units of the California national guard around Patterson.

Not only the national guard, but thousands of undead were drawn from deeper within the city, like vultures to a dinner bell. Warlord advanced upon CNG positions, T-72s providing covering fire as BTRs raced forward, disgouring platoons of infantry to swarm over enemy positions.

Meanwhile the regiment's artillery began setting up, the night sky quickly being illuminated by thousands of rockets filing the sky. Explosions formed a semi circle around the southern end of Patterson, the outskirts turned into a veritable moonscape.

D-30s were emplaced, howitzers quickly readied and rounds were fused. Regimental headquarters began distributing fire missions, the thunderous crack of a battery of D-30s bringing a new continuous kind of firepower to the battlefield.

That was not to say the e battle was one sided, the national guard may not have been a active duty force, but they were fighting in their homes. Every foot was paid in blood.

Californian's wearing nods would ambush their Soviet counterparts walking around with flashlights, killing a handful for every one of their own. The city became a battleground, burning vehicles littered the streets. Undead mixed with the formations of both sides, sending both into constant disarray.

A sentinel came crashing through a convenience store. It massive hulk was instantly illuminated by the half dozen Soviet troops half a block away. But the massive mutant showed them no mind, glaring hungrily at the dozen gaurdsmen scattering around its feet. The beast swung its carapace shield flipping a nearby Bradley. M4s began lighting the beast up.

An AT4 was fired from nearly at the Sentinel's feet up at the beast's torso, the rocket exploded, throwing bits of flesh and carapace across the street. AKs and PKMs joined in, showering the small horde of zombies flooding behind the mutant in lead.

A T72 further down the street swung its gun into action, a single 125mm sabit blowing a hole clean through the mutant's chest. It came crashing to the ground, a thunderous crash. The small battle, like hundreds of others raging across the outskirts, would slowly come to an end.

The national guard, between the advancing Soviets and mindless undead, were forced back, closer to Soviet troops attempting to contain them. Slowly the Californians would find themselves in most enviable positions, a sort of impromptu no man's land between the invading Soviets and swarms of undead they'd been slowly clearing the city of. But now they were just inside the fires envelope of the Soviet troops.

Howitzers and mortars rained down on them. Meanwhile rifle and machine guns fired past them just as much as at them. Their vehicles, if not being destroyed by tanks and sentinels would find themselves being shot at by T-72s and rpgs.

By sunrise the 7th tank regiment had taken hundreds of Californians prisoner, weary wounded men that wanted to be anywhere but that hell between the relentless undead and Soviets. An impromptu camp was set up outside Patterson's southern outskirts. Soviet medics tended to American wounded, though those that were infected, and with some turning… Those poor sods were dragged out back and given Soviet mercy. A bullet to the back of the head.

Luka sat unhappily in his seat, watching as the miles were being devoured at the sun peeking over the eastern mountains. "Rampart 6, Warlord main."

He picked up the mic. "Rampart 6."

"Rampart, guard resistance is broken, small pockets remain. break." Luka nodded, a small smile crossing his face at the good news this morning was bringing him.

"Several hundred prisoners have been taken, break… undead horde drawn by battle, unable to disengage and follow. Over."

"Good copy warlord main. Continue holding action till relieved. Break, once relieved, rejoin the main division. Over." Luka said, glancing at his tanks racing up the narrow roads between farm fields.

"Affirmative Rampart, Charlie Mike." The General lowered his mic. It had taken too long to get the tanks across the San Joaquin, almost five hours wasted. Now the sun was rising, he wasn't in position to block further national guard forces from reinforcing San Francisco yet. Damn it! He'd given General Reichenbacher his word. Now he was late!

If 1st division was already in position… I shook my head, last I'd heard they'd been delayed by debris from a rock slide. They were likely still south of Monterey. The 4th will drive on, no respite, no mercy.