Operation Just Cause - Official
Panama, Central America (UNREDACTED) // 50 // NOSSBI
RESTRICTED (YORKTOWN) ECI // SAP (SACK CLOTH) // 50 // NOSSBI
RESTRICTED (SIGMA 1) ECI // SAP (ANGEL HEART) // 50 // NOSSBI
TOP SECRET // (SEAFOAM) //NOFORN/ORCON// 50 // NOSSBI
SAP (RAVENCULL) NO LONE ZONE (OPERATIONAL) // GAMMA
SCI VRK (ROADWAY) NO LONE ZONE (OPERATIONAL) // ECI
20 December, 1989 (APPROXIMATE) SIGMA 1 (YORKTOWN)
1200 Hours - Local (APPROXIMATE) SIGMA 1 (YORKTOWN)

Cromwell, Heather, Sergeant, US Army - Active
Echo-Five-Actual Primary Field Medical Specialist

The AMR went off again as I fired another M-203 round, this time dropping the HE straight down on the top of the fourth building on my target list.

"Tango down," Little-Bit said again. She wasn't talking to anyone into particular, she was just following years of training, practice, and experience. She rolled to the side, bumping me, then rolled back down, setting the bipod down.

"Raven this is Actual, Raven this is Actual, come in Raven, over," Foster sang. "DANGER CLOSE DANGER CLOSE DANGER CLOSE!" he called out. "MASK MASK MASK! I SAY AGAIN! MASK MASK MASK!" he called out over the radio.

Somewhere there was an AWACS recording every last scrap of conversation.

I thumped out another M-203 round, aiming for building five's roof.

The mortars went off behind us. Second ranging shot. The roof of building five exploded into splinters in the middle while I was sliding in the next round.

These ones dropped HC Thermal smoke at the four corners of the parking lot surrounding the middle building. Bomber pumped his fist and yelled out: "FIRE PLAN ALPHA! FOUR ROUNDS EACH! WAIT FOR CROMWELL'S SIGNAL THEN FIRE PLAN DELTA!"

Bomber had gone over his plan repeatedly, setting out multiple fire plans for the mortars, contingencies and rapid shifts. Plan of Warfare. He'd set it up, made sure I heard my place on each fire plan, while I had been walking the members of Raven through medical procedures. He'd made sure everyone knew their place.

"All Raven Elements, GAS GAS GAS!" Foster called out. "CS in Fife through ait volleys, I say again, fife through ait. GAS GAS GAS!"

In front of me I had my green notebook, where he'd outlined my part according to each fire plan.

Proper preparation prevents piss poor performance.

I heard Groom yell something back as Little-Bit fired again and I fired the M-203.

Bomber's plan had been simple: Blow out the roofs of the buildings and the sides facing us. Drop 60mm rounds of CS in between the main building and the surrounding building. Then move to twelve rounds of what we'd packed in the bunker. Little-Bit hit the targets she'd ID'd through the facility. Stokes on the fifty, Aine and Nagle on sixties to keep an eye anyone who tried to come at us.

The mortar shells popped a hundred feet up, dropping through dense rings of CS gas before hitting the ground and erupting in huge clouds. My M-203 kept hitting roofs. I was grabbing the 40mm's I'd prepped and laid out on either side of me.

I loaded and fired as fast as possible, the M-203 heating up in my hand as friction from round after round accumulated.

It took twenty shots to make the holes we wanted in the roofs. The few A-10 passes and the F-111 pass hadn't created the kind of damage we needed. It helped, but there was more to our plan than just smoke and tear gas.

"DELTA! GO GO GO! I SAY AGAIN, DELTA!" Bomber bellowed out.

The AMR roared again. "Tango down."

I loaded up white phosphorous smoke, hitting the front of the buildings that I could see. The impact fuse would blow the casing apart, causing the white phosphorous to ignite, which would start spouting out smoke from the fragments that were burning hot enough to melt steel. One went through a window and I cursed, firing again.

I slammed another WP into the pipe, slapped it shut, and fired again. The Willy-Pete flew out and I dropped the rifle down into position.

Smoke and CS gas were everywhere down there. I saw two figures dart from one of the out buildings toward another and I banged a handful of shots of.

One went down and I cursed. The zero was off. I pulled out my Skilcraft and adjusted the sight while Little-Bit fired again.

"Little-Bit, grid Charlie-Four, you see him?" Bomber called out.

"Charlie four. Target aquired," Little-Bit called out. The AMR fired again. "Reloading, two magazines left."

"They massing at Golf-Two, looks like they're going to try to rush us," Stokes called out.

"Aine, give 'em a taste," Bomber called out.

"FIRING!" Aine sang out. Her M-60 roared as she fired, the tracers wobbling out at the side of the building closest to us.

"Up one, right two," Bomber called out.

Aine adjusted her fire, the tracers lashing at the wooden building. Wood might provide concealment, but against the heavy 7.62mm round it didn't provide any cover. The rounds were punching right through the wood and into anyone hiding behind the wood like it would be anything more than sheet metal and wishes.

"Stokes, Golf-Eight, Fire Plan Echo," Bomber called out.

Stokes cut loose with the .50, the tracers whipping out as the heavy API started clanking against the heavy fuel tanks. The tungsten steel penetrator got the bullets in, the magnesium cores burning at over a thousand degrees, into the fuel. It was compressed liquid, the cores boiling the fuel as they bounced around inside the steel tanks.

The tanks exploded and Stokes let off the trigger, grabbing round and connecting the next belt to the tail end of the expended belt.

I watched through my sights, sweeping the tarmac between the fence that faced us and the buildings on our side of the industrial complex. Three guys ran toward the fence and I checked the fire. Stokes was hammering a tanker truck just to hammer on it. Aine and Nancy were raking the backs of the buildings on our side of the complex, the far side.

I aimed, exhaled, and began squeezing the trigger, leading them as they ran. Flight time on the bullets was a half second, enough that my bullets would miss if I didn't lead them. Nine shots, all three went down. I put two more into each of them while they laid there just in case they were playing possum on me.

I looked over and saw Foster fiddling with his radio before he ducked down.

Bomber held up his fist and extended to fingers, pumping it twice. The mortars stopped for a moment, then they started to crack again. I knew that these mortar rounds were different and I saw Bomber slap Foster across the back of the helmet.

The rounds went up, arced up high, and started coming down, four at a time, two seconds in between each round as the aim was adjusted and the next mortar dropped down the pipe. The propellant rings had each been prepped, thickness and amount according to the ranging grid Bomber had drawn on the ground with a stick. When the round hit the bottom the rings ignited, expanding, throwing the mortar round almost straight up. At the top of the parabolic arc the fuze triggered, metal rods slamming the vials back against the arming posts, shattering the glass inside the sleeves. The fins guided the round down, and at one hundred meters the sides popped open, the cylinder spinning, spraying aerosol fluid into the air as it plummeted through the roof.

What he transmitted next chilled me even though I knew it was coming, even though I'd helped set it up.

"BREAK NET! BREAK NET! THIS IS ECHO-FIFE-ACTUAL ON PRIORITY TRANSMISSION, LOCATION: GRID SQUARE TREE TOO WUN FOW-ER DASH FIFE FIFE WUN NINER, YORKTOWN YORKTOWN YORKTOWN! I SAY AGAIN, YORKTOWN YORKTOWN YORKTOWN!" he yelled the last part, then repeated himself twice.

The mortar rounds reached ten meters height and the cylinders released the steel sleeves, releasing the last of liquid and glass to spray.

It was invisible, spreading out in an invisible cloud, drifting down from where the 60mm aerosol delivery system had spread the payload.

Following directly on the heels on each one was another CS mortar round, crashing into the  building, releasing CS gas everywhere.

"All Raven elements, cease fire, let 'em run! KEYWORD YORKTOWN! AUTHORIZATION YORKTOWN! ALL RAVEN ELEMENTS CEASE FIRE ON ALL TARGETS SOUTH OR EAST!" Foster bellowed out over the radio.

Panamanian Defense Soldiers were stumbling from the buildings. Any of them that came toward us got hammered on by the fifty, the survivors pulling back into the buildings.

According to the map there was a PDF base, nearly three thousand men strong, less than ten miles away. While an F-111 strike had destroyed the bridge, it was still crossable on foot.

"I SAY AGAIN! YORKTOWN AT TREE TOO WUN FOW-ER DASH FIFE FIFE WUN NINER! I SAY AGAIN, YORKTOWN YORKTOWN YORKTOWN AT TREE TOO WUN FOW-ER DASH FIFE FIFE WUN NINER!" Foster yelled out.

They were fleeing now. Heading south-east by south. Any who attemped any other direction were mowed down. Yeah, it was nearly a thousand meters to the far side, but the tracers and skill of our gunners meant that the crew served weapons were accurate.

No vehicles, on foot. The large building, which looked like administration, still had fire coming from it.

"Bravo-Five isn't running, give 'em some encouragement, Cromwell and Stokes," Bomber called out.

"All Raven elements, check masks," Foster called out on the radio.

I fired another 40mm, HEDP, hitting the near wall. A flash an explosion, largely lost in the daylight, and smoke. When the smoke cleared there was a hole in the wall.

Little-Bit fired and I heard her mutter "Tango down" to nobody in particular. Stokes's fifty-cal roared as she dumped the last of her belt into the building across the hole, stopping long enough to reload while I fired another round into the wall. I fired a third when puffs of dust appeared on the hillside about four meters below me.

"Little-Bit, Golf-Three," Bomber called out before I could yell that someone was on me.

Another burst of dust as Little-Bit rolled onto her side and back down to shift position.

Stokes started firing again.

The mortars behind started cracking out rounds, sounding like quail overhead, fluttering away from us.

My belly tensed as another burst of rounds hit, this time closer to me. I rolled toward where the rounds had been, knowing that whoever was trying to get a piece of me would shift fire.

The AMR roared out, a second past, it roared again, another pause, and Little-Bit fired a third time.

"Reloading! One magazine left!" Little-Bit called out.

Whoever it was down there had probably lost interest in me. A bullet that size usually convinced whoever the target was to go bother someone else.

"POPPING SMOKE!" Bomber yelled. He tossed one, two, three canister grenades down the short hill in front of us. The grenades were already hissing smoke in the air, leaving arc, and he rolled out of that position, the trails giving a rough line back to him.

The grenades were high concentrate white smoke with thermal masking.

"They're routing!" Foster called out. "Raven says they're going assholes and elbows on us!"

"CEASE FIRE! ALL ACTUAL ELEMENTS, CEASE FIRE!" Bomber called out.

Stokes ran the last of her hundred round belt through the fifty, same with Nagle. Aine slapped down her feed tray, pulled the charging handle, and took her hand off the pistol grip.

We could hear the odd rifle fire. Most of it the flat pop pop pop of Raven's weapons.

The silence was deafening.

"Tell Raven to stay in the building. Do not approach the outbuildings, do not leave the building," Bomber said. Foster started relaying the directions as Bomber turned to me. "Cromwell, as sono as Little-Bit calls all clear, you head down there, they've got wounded. We'll load up, head down there. Take Aine, we'll meet you. Toss a couple more smokes down there. Use green."

"Raven, this is Actual, sending down too men from the north-by-north-east corner. Medical support is enroute," Foster sang into the radio. "Try not to shoot our guys, out."

I nodded, pulling three green 40mm smokes out of my bandoleer. I fired three, enough to cover the distance between me and the center building. While I waited for the smoke to spread I took a deep breath, reaching over and grabbing my two medical bags and the bag full of stickers in metal cases. I waited, laying there in the dirt and the underbrush, as the amount of fire slackened off then stopped entirely.

"Looks clear, I'll provide cover," Little-Bit said.

"Don't let anyone shoot me, you midget," I snapped, standing up. I masked up, cleared the mask, and headed into the white smoke. Aine followed two heartbeats later and we jogged downhill. Soon we got into the green smoke and used it to basically lead us straight to the main building.

When we got to the building we followed the edge till we got to a door. I stood next to it, reaching out and banging it with a fist.

"RAVEN, IT'S ACTUAL!" I called out.

The door open revealing a scrawny guy in a as mask. "It's steamy as hell out there," he said, looking out into the smoke.

The sign.

"Ruining my laundry," I said from the side, sticking my hand out, giving the kid the countersign. I moved in front of him, holding my weapon off to the side. "Fat-Girl, Fruit-Bat, we're here to help you out."

"You're here to help the wounded?" He asked me, waving me in. He shut the door behind me.

"That and other things," I told him.

"They're this way. Hurry up, some of them are real bad," He said, waving at me to follow him.

"Let's go, Fruit-Bat," I said, waving her next to me.

"What else are you doing?" He asked me as we trotted across the room.

"Nothing," I told him.

Yeah, so I lied.

We'd started Yorktown.

Those Panamanians didn't know it, but within twelve hours they were going to be sick.

Real sick.

Sucks to be them.