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Forged in Iron and Ambition (Web Novel) - Chapter 833: Death in the Valley
Chapter 833: Death in the Valley
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In the flatbed of a pickup truck sat a large bore high velocity gun. By the looks of it, the weapon was a modified PaK 38 anti-tank gun.The gun itself was stripped of its usual carriage and shield, and instead placed on a reinforced mount that allowed the weapon to be operated from the back of a truck.
Currently, the painted truck was concealed within the brush and rocky outcrops sitting above a main road that drove between the town of Verdi and the burgeoning city of Reno.
In the bed of the truck stood two men, one loading the gun with a Panzergranate 39 shell.
These old shells were the primary form of military aid Germany provided for many of the factions fighting for control of what had once been the United States of America.
They had millions left over from the Great War and the early Interwar period that were no longer in service even among reserve units within the Reichsheer and its allies.
And what was there to do with old hardware that was still capable of being used on a battlefield? Dumped into the nearest part of the world that needed a little chaos.
The shell entered the chamber, and the sliding block was closed behind it. The gunner looked back to see that the anchors had been dropped from the bed and properly embedded into the Earth, allowing some much-needed stabilization to the truck.
Lest when he finally took the shot, the Truck would warp, bend, or twist in ways that were deeply unnatural, and that’s if he was lucky. The driver popped his head out of the window and gave his crew an update.
"Scouts say they hit the convoy up north. Those Union boys had no idea what hit them, nor were they capable of pursuing our guys after they ran off. So our job is to take out whatever gnarly piece of steel that’s acting as the vanguard, and then get the fuck out of dodge. You go it?"
The gunner raised his thumb from behind the gun, signaling he had heard the driver’s shouts. All the while he continued to aim down its sights, downrange and towards the road below.
Meanwhile, the reloader and support were on standby. Their jobs were crucial to the survival of their team and the success of their mission.
One would hand the extra shells to the gunner and eject the spent casings, firing off three shots at the target before the other brigand pull up the anchors, throw them in the bed, and then hop in the passenger door so they could take off.
These men had learned by trial and error how their hit-and-run tactics worked in the vast open plains of the Great Basin. And the lessons had certainly been costly.
As the men stood by watching and waiting, they knew that several other trucks like theirs were laid out at other vantage points. Allowing them to pepper the approaching armored column with heavy shots and machine gun fire before pulling out and withdrawing entirely.
Still, despite engaging in these kinds of attacks multiple times, the job never got easier. Nor did the nerves fully disappear as they stood, waiting, anticipating, perhaps even fearing what they most certainly knew was coming.
Then the roar of tank engines and tracks cascading over the cracked pavement drowned out all other noise in the vicinity.
But by the time the sound of the armored column’s approach reached the highwaymen, they had already known they were coming.
Not from radio calls, or echoes of gunfire in the distance from other units like theirs. No, it was a far simpler and more natural phenomenon.
On these dusty old roads, the armored column kicked up enough sand to leave a visual sign of its movement from miles away.
Hell, by now these men could tell by the severity of the dust trail with near-exact precision how far away the enemy was.
The gunner’s fingers wrapped around the handwheel, but his grip did not intensify with each passing second as the enemy came closer and closer to him.
Instead, it loosened and relaxed. A sadistic sneer formed across his face, beneath the facemask he wore both to conceal his identity and to keep the dust and debris from affecting him.
After all, when this gun went off it would kick up a storm of its own. And he was prepared for it.
His hands delicately moved the wheel, adjusting the aim both in terms of elevation, pitch, and yaw. The barrel of the gun, painted in a makeshift brush camo like the truck itself, spun into position aiming down at the weakest link in the approaching medium tank’s armor.
And just when the tank reached the perfect spot on the road, the gunner slapped the knob in the center of his handwheel.
A loud and mighty thunderclap cracked across the sky. Like Thor striking his hammer, the world threatened to tear itself apart under its ferocity.
But neither the Gunner nor his comrades waited to see the result of their work. Instead, the gunner ejected the spent shell with the pull of a lever, and the reloader inserted a fresh round.
By pushing the same lever forward, the block sealed itself, and with another rapid adjustment of the wheel, the Gunner fired another shot.
The first shell had taken out the lead tank’s tracks, while the second went straight through the weak point on its skirts. Igniting its ammo compartment and killing its crew in the process.
But this was not the only roar of thunder to spread across the valley. Heavy machine guns, autocannons, and other light anti-tank weapons just like this one had gone off in a chorus of fire and chaos.
The valley had turned into a love letter written to Death himself. The Pacific Union’s soldiers tried their best to hold the line and return fire, but by the time they could get their wits about them, the attackers had already pulled up their anchors, jumped in their trucks, and driven off.
Leaving behind only a trail of dust and a pile of bodies as proof that they had ever even been there to begin with.
By the time the convoy recovered and left their dead behind another ambush was already lying in wait further down the line.
The Union’s men would not make it to the target of their assault, because they would be a feast for carrion long before they ever touched the outskirts of the Devil’s Oasis in Reno.
