The sum of all fears - Tom Clancy [420]
Callaghan ran to the side. Colonel Lyle jumped off and did the same. Inside the vehicle, the driver backed off ten yards, took the engine to the red line, and slipped the brake. The M728 crushed five vehicles, slamming them aside. The tank was moving at perhaps a mile per hour, but it didn't stop. Its treads ripped up the asphalt, then it was through.
The area immediately next to the stadium structure was amazingly intact. Most of the wreckage from the roof and upper wall had been thrown hundreds of yards, but here there were only small piles of brick and concrete fragments. Too much for a wheeled vehicle, but clear enough that men could walk. Firefighters advanced and sprayed everything. The asphalt was still very hot, and the water steamed off it. Callaghan ran in front of the tank, waving for his men to go left and right.
"You know what this looks like?" a NEST team member said, as the helicopter circled the ruined stadium.
"Yeah, Chernobyl. They had firemen there, too." Parsons turned away from that thought. "Head downwind," he told the pilot. "Andy, what do you make of this?"
"Ground burst, and this wasn't any hundred-KT weapon, Larry, not even twenty-five."
"What screwed up NORAD's estimate, do you think?"
"The parking lot. Asphalt, plus all those burning cars - it's the perfect black-body material - it's even black, for God's sake! I'm surprised the thermal pulse didn't look bigger than that - and everything around here is white from the snow 'n' ice, right? They got a mega-reflection, plus a huge energy contrast."
"Makes sense, Andy," Parsons agreed.
"Terrorists?"
"That's my bet for now, Larry. But we gotta get some residue to be sure."
The sounds of battle had died down. The Bradley commander heard scattered firing and guessed that the Russians had pulled back part way, maybe all the way to their own kazerne. It made sense, both side's tanks had been badly mauled, and it was now a battle for infantrymen and their fighting vehicles. Foot soldiers, he knew, were smarter than tankers. It came from wearing a shirt instead of a foot of iron. Vulnerability made you think. He changed position yet again. It was odd how this worked, though he'd practiced the maneuver often enough. The vehicle ran close to a corner, and a man would dismount to peer around it.
"Nothin', sarge. It's all - wait! Something moving, "bout two miles down the street " The soldier raised a pair of glasses. "BDRM! The missile kind."
Okay, the sergeant thought, that'll be the reconnaissance element for the next wave. His job was entirely straightforward. Reconnaissance was a two-part job. His job was both to find the enemy, and to prevent the enemy from finding things.
"Another one!"
"Get ready to move. Traverse right, targets to the right," he added for the gunner.
"Ready, sarge."
"Go!" The Bradley's armored body rocked backwards as a vehicle leaped into the intersection. The gunner brought his turret around. It looked like a small-bore shooting gallery. There were two BDRM armored scout cars heading straight towards them. The gunner engaged the leader, exploding the anti-tank missile launcher on top. The BDRM veered to the left and rammed some parked cars. Already, the gunner shifted fire to the second, which jerked right to evade, but the street was too narrow for that. The chain gun was a nice compromise between a machinegun and a cannon. The gunner was able to walk his tracers into the target, and had the satisfaction of watching it explode. But -
"Back fast - now!" the sergeant screamed into the intercom. There had been a third BDRM back there. The Bradley retreated the way it had come. Barely had it gotten behind the buildings when a missile streaked down the street it had crossed, trailing a thin wire behind it. The missile exploded a few hundred meters away.
"Time to leave, turn us around," the track commander said. Then he activated his radio. "This is Delta Three-Three. We have contact with reconnaissance vehicles. Two destroyed, but the third one spotted