The Feeding of Sorrows

by Rob Howell

  “Got it, sir.”

  “Once the attack starts, I expect Zuul CAS to fill the air. I want each platoon to dedicate a fire team to take them down. There are likely to be dropships and atmospheric birds out there. Aim at the atmospheric ones first. They’ll be easier to kill, especially with M-8s. We’ll send our dropships out to deal with theirs.”

  “Don’t forget the quad-MACs, sir,” added Sheridan.

  “Right. There are also several tracked units with quad-MACs roaming about. Take those out quickly. They’ll hammer the CASPers, as well as our dropships.”

  A series of clicks answered him.

  “Tell Captain Kjetil which team you’ve tasked with that role. Kjetil, have Masood assign a team of engineers carrying M-8s to support each platoon’s fire team.”

  “Can do, sir.”

  “Platoon leaders, keep those teams moving. It’ll only take a couple of downed birds before those bastards will go SAM hunting. Release those teams for independent maneuvering. Tell them to stay close, so if you need them to take out a position, they can give you cover. Understood?”

  They clicked their assent.

  “That mobility goes for all of us. The Zuul have anchored themselves to the base and outnumber us. Fine. We’ll maneuver to get numbers at spots, blow through those spots, and then mop up. And when I say mop up, I mean taking as many captives as possible. I want those doggies to know they’re beaten, but I want to leave enough of them alive to go back to their kennels and tell horror stories about the Foresters. Tenacious and versatile!”

  “Tenacious and versatile!” answered the platoon commanders.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 48 – Pvt. Rhan’Kiial’Tala

  South of Forward Base Maquon

  Jeriasker Province, Maquon

  That didn’t last long.

  The descent’s reign as the most frightening experience Kiial ever had was over. The shuttle ride from the avgas plant was far more frightening than coming down hot with SAMs flying about. His seat faced forward, and he could see the shuttle pilots grimly concentrating with every cough of the engines. The shuttle groaned with the weight of his platoon. The co-pilot pointed at a gauge, and the pilot slowed the shuttle. Now the shuttle didn’t cut through the buffeting crosswinds as easily.

  Thank Mizar we’re understrength.

  It seemed like he could touch the heavy clouds above them. That didn’t bother him. However, he also felt like he could touch the treetops, so when a downdraft hit the shuttle, he couldn’t restrain a curse. No one commented at the lack of radio discipline, since many of the others had done the same thing.

  At least this time, I’m not airsick.

  Three hundred klicks.

  Normally, a shuttle could cover that in an hour. Easily. That day, it took two.

  The landing wasn’t soft, but Kiial didn’t care.

  Down in one piece.

  First Platoon, Delta Company of the Queen Elizabeth’s Own Foresters unassed the shuttle as quickly as they could. In other parts of the clearing, the rest of Delta did the same thing.

  Schmidt gathered her troopers together. “Delta 21, we’re going to march along the river. Stay close enough to see it, but remain in the trees.”

  “Yes, Sergeant Schmidt,” replied Kiial, along with the rest of the section.

  “Also, remember to keep your feet out of the bigger piles of vines. Tripping sucks when someone’s firing at you.”

  She had mentioned the underbrush a number of times on the Algonquin, but Kiial hadn’t quite believed her until he saw it. The trees were tall and spindly, not like the big, heavy ones from GrBatch, and the vines were everywhere.

  He desperately wanted to twitch his tail, as he was on edge and tense, but the constraints of the CASPer, even one designed for a Cochkala, made that impractical.

  After the first klick, he and the rest of Delta 21 settled into the rhythm Schmidt had drilled into them in the simulators.

  After the second klick, dealing with the underbrush became the new normal.

  After the third klick, the walk in the woods became boring, even though Kiial remained alert for Zuul.

  It was just like what McWhorter and the other vets at West Rocks said would happen.

  Boring, boring, boring, bullets, boring, boring.

  “Hold in place, Delta 21.”

  Kiial froze. Ericson was about five meters to his right. Schmidt was left and forward about ten meters. Section 21b was to the left.

  He had his 12.7mm machine gun trained on his sector. He strove, and mostly succeeded, at keeping his eyes there as well.

  After a moment. “Delta 21, continue the advance. We’ll reach a road in about two hundred meters. Pause for any native traffic.”

  Kiial clicked his comm.

  The road was old. It had once been paved, but had deteriorated to crumbling rock, dirt, and Maquonese grass. To his right, a stone bridge, crumbling on the sides, went over the Jeria.

  “Kiial. Cross the road first. Then hold next to the bridge and shout if someone comes along.”

  Kiial clicked again. He advanced to the tree line and glanced both ways. He glanced again, then moved quickly across.

  He found a spot behind a mound of brush to conceal him. He could see not only the bridge, but also a bit of the road beyond. “Delta 21 Actual. I’m in place.”

  “Confirmed. Delta 21, proceed.”

  Two minutes passed. Long minutes.

  “Delta 21. Reform and continue.”

  Kiial pulled back from the brush and marched on. After about six klicks, Schmidt commanded them to hold in place.

  “Delta 21. We’re here.” She highlighted a point on the map about half a klick south of the base. “Our intel is out of date. We don’t know what damage we did or what changes have been made since the attack yesterday. We’ve got the orbitals, but because of the consistent cloud cover we’ve had, we haven’t been able to get much in the way of orbital photos. We’re going to assume they have what they had the last time we checked.”

  “When was that?” asked Johnson.

  Schmidt answered with a sharp laugh. “Two weeks ago.”

  The section snorted.

  “Delta Company is going to breach the east gate, and First Platoon gets the privilege of opening the door. What they last had on the east gate was a platoon of Zuul and a heavy rocket team, but they’ve got to be on alert after the fake assault. If they’re smart, they may have realized the drop was a fake. My personal assessment is they’ll have way more than a platoon there, so let’s be ready. Got it?”

  Delta 21 clicked back at her.

  “Our role hasn’t changed. Delta 11 will make the first charge. They’re going to blast the gatehouse. If they do their job, we’ll be able to move past them to cover the T-intersection. Delta 21a to the right, Delta 21b to the left. If we do our jobs, Delta 31 and Delta 41 can get past us to clear the main guardhouse and the motor pool. When the attack begins, we’ll launch K-bombs. On your screens, I’ve marked your individual targets, your sectors, and your routes. Do you see them?”

  More clicks.

  “Good.” She paused. “We’re to hold as the rest of the regiment moves into position. That’ll probably be ten or fifteen minutes. If you’ve got an itch, don’t scratch it. If my aural registers pick up a sound from any of you, I promise to use my imagination to find something unpleasant for you to do after the battle. Just for your information, battle always gets my imagination going.”

  The section laughed.

  “Right. Rest if you can. The good news is, since you’re all hooked up, when you piss yourselves, it’ll just go into the catheter.”

  More laughter.

  Then the waiting.

  Kiial had no idea where the other Delta platoons were. Alfa was supposed to be circling to his left. Bravo could be on another planet, as far as he knew.

  Fuck my uncle.

  He twitched his tail as best he could.

  He could hear his breathing.

&n
bsp; “Fuck my uncle.”

  “What was that?” snapped Schmidt.

  “Nothing, Sergeant. Just clearing my throat.”

  “Clear your throat without activating your comm. Wouldn’t want me to imagine what I could do with your tail, would you?”

  “No, Sergeant!”

  Fuck my uncle!

  He saw the minute number on his chronometer change.

  Four minutes? That’s all that’s passed? Fuck my uncle.

  Five.

  Six.

  Suddenly, he started. The chronometer showed eighteen minutes had passed.

  Schmidt was in his ear. “Delta 21. We’ve a countdown. It’s mirrored on your screen. Launch K-bombs in 30 seconds…Mark! Then follow your designated path.” It popped up on his map.

  After a moment, she continued. “Balls to the wall, ladies and gentlemen. Or whatever the hell Cochkalas got.”

  Laughter popped up on the platoon comm channel.

  Eight seconds.

  Four.

  Fuck my uncle.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 49 – Col. Roosevelt Edmonds

  South of Forward Base Maquon

  Jeriasker Province, Maquon

  “Sir, we have control of the orbitals.”

  “I see that, Major Sheridan.”

  “Then you probably saw the Algonquin.”

  “I did. We’re never going to be able to replace Gonzalez and his crew.”

  “No, sir. There’s a piper to be paid.”

  “Yes.”

  The two paused.

  “Tenacious and versatile, right, Major?” Edmonds sighed.

  “Tenacious and versatile, sir.”

  Another pause.

  Edmonds shook his head. “Dropships topped off and ready to go?”

  “Yes, sir. We’ve brought what little fuel we have and all the dropship missiles we could find down to the clearing. We don’t have much, but it’s better than no resupply at all.”

  “Keep the sky clear.”

  “We’ll be tenacious.”

  Edmonds chuckled. “Speaking of which, is Helman in place?”

  “Just about.”

  “Forsberg and Alfa?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any issues with Delta?”

  “Not really. They’re not up to our norm, but we gave them straightforward tasks.”

  Edmonds looked at the tactical plot on his pinplant. “Helman better get across the river, especially if there are doggies on Hill 296.”

  “He will. Blaine’s idea was a good one, and it worked. Two dropships hit right where we wanted them.”

  “We’re going to have a bunch of apologizing to do to the Maquonese.”

  “Only if we win, sir.”

  “That’s a good point.” Edmonds laughed. “Any word from Jackson?”

  “He and Steele are less than a klick from Hill 296. They haven’t seen any movement, but the jungle is thick there.”

  “We owe those kids.”

  “That we do, sir.”

  Sheridan cocked his head. “Helman just reported in. He’s in place. All sections in position, sir.”

  “Thank you, Major. Any reason to delay?”

  “No, sir.”

  Edmonds took a deep breath. “Sunray Actual to all units. Commence attack.”

  Icons started moving on his pinplant.

  I hope to hell that Hill 296 isn’t covered with Zuul.

  He switched to Alfa Company’s feed just in time to hear Forsberg say, “Alfa Actual to Alfa Four. Get up that hill. Alfa Three cover their right.”

  Clicks answered him.

  Edmonds held his breath as the platoons advanced.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 50 – Lt (j.g.) Maxwell Jackson

  Southwest of Forward Base Maquon

  Jeriasker Province, Maquon

  “Shit!” Jackson fumbled with his phone. “Jackson to Sunray Actual!”

  “Sunray Actual to Jackson.”

  “We got Zuul on 296!”

  “Count?”

  “Hard to tell, but your company is about to get—”

  In the days after the battle, Jackson would learn the name of the trooper driving the lead CASPer. He would find out she had been the commander of Section Alfa 43. He never forgot she was blond.

  A heavy rocket impacted her CASPer. The warhead penetrated the armor and blew it apart from the inside. Bits of armor flashed in the light of Maquon’s F0IIIa star. Her head, blond hair flying wildly about, glittered as it soared over her section.

  No, Maxwell Jackson would never forget Sergeant Sheellah Kennedy.

  But he pushed her memory away for the moment. “Jackson to Sunray Actual. They got heavy rockets. And I’m just a cherry el-tee, but that doggie commander’s got an eye for terrain.”

  “Got it. Keep out of sight but keep checking in.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jackson started to lift the binoculars again but hesitated.

  “What is it, sir?” asked Steele.

  “My momma’s boy is an idiot. Edmonds just told me to stay here. Keep watching.”

  “He’s smart. Forward observers help.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why does that make you an idiot?”

  Maxwell handed her the binocs. “Yeah, he needs the intel. That’s your job.”

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Give me your spare mags.”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “My momma’s boy can’t stay here.”

  “Your momma’s boy is damn well staying here.”

  “I can’t, Steele.”

  “Don’t be like my husband, Jackson. He’s dead, and you’re not.”

  “Yeah, well, I guess I heard too much of the Steele bullshit. Give me the mags.”

  “No.”

  “Then I’ll leave without them.”

  “You asshole.”

  Jackson turned to climb out of their spot.

  “Then I’m coming with you.” Steele started to follow.

  “No. You stay here and give Edmonds the intel he needs.”

  “No. You go, I go.”

  Jackson shook his head. “No, you stay, I go. You can give him better intel than I can. Down there, I can do something. And I’ll take a phone.”

  “You’ll get yourself killed.”

  “My momma’s son wasn’t thinking of charging right fucking in.”

  “Doesn’t matter. It’s a battle, el-tee. It’s not the ghetto.”

  “Ain’t as much difference as you think. I’m going. You’re staying. You have to. Edmonds needs the intel and you…”

  “Don’t say it,” warned Steele.

  “I’m saying it. You gotta stay alive for the kid.”

  “Don’t do this to me.” Tears ran down her cheeks.

  “Give me your mags.”

  “You asshole.” This time it came out as a plea.

  “The mags, Corp.”

  Weeping, Steele opened the pouch holding her two spare magazines. Slowly she drew them out.

  Jackson held out his hand.

  “Don’t do it, Jackson. Please. Don’t leave me alone. Not again.”

  “I’m sorry, Corp.” He glanced at Hill 296. “I never was good at doin’ what I was told.”

  Then he was gone.

  All she could do was raise the binoculars to her tear-filled eyes.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 51 – Capt. Jim Helman

  North of Forward Base Maquon

  Jeriasker Province, Maquon

  “Bravo Company. Advance to your attack positions.” Captain Jim Helman was the shortest member of the Foresters, or he was until the Cochkala enlisted.

  But height never mattered once I got in a CASPer. I’m still Tiny Jim, but I’m the baddest trooper around.

  It was the same thought he had every time he went into battle, and so far, he had been right.

  Binnig designed the CASPers to be tough, not quiet. However, the Foresters had worked on being stealthy for yea
rs. They would never be perfectly silent, but their opponents who didn’t pay attention or got distracted often missed them.

  An attack on the far side of the base was, by definition, a distraction.

  Bravo Company reached their position without any evidence of being seen by the Zuul.

  “Bravo Actual to all M-8 teams. I’m assigning targeting priorities. You should have clear shots at the quad MACs in the open. Your reward for finishing them off is to take out the SAM launchers. Your reward for not finishing them off is MAC rounds ripping through your CASPers. I suggest you don’t miss.”

  A flight of CAS and dropships appeared over the hill separating Jeriasker and the base.

  “Bravo Actual to Sunray Actual. Incoming air. Four dropships and six atmospheric birds. Repeat four and six.”

  “Got it.”

  The CAS started an attack run near a hill south of the base when M-8s started racing toward them from several directions.

  Two of the closer assault ships took direct hits. One went down, and the other wobbled away, trying to keep altitude. The other four fired rockets from their wing launchers from much too far away and then veered back toward Jeriasker.

  The four dropships curved and went after the SAM teams, separating their formation slightly as they did.

  One reached firing position and launched a salvo of rockets.

  Tiny Jim winced, because it damn sure looked like they hammered that SAM team.

  But before the other Zuul aircraft found targets, long-range Human AAMs came over the far ridge. One dropship didn’t seem to notice or didn’t care, as it continued its attack run. Just after it released its rockets, the AAM struck. At first, nothing seemed to happen, then it started shedding pieces of fuselage before exploding.

  The dropship that had completed its run eluded a missile. The other Zuul dropships abandoned their runs, trailing countermeasures as they curved up and around. One escaped, but the other took a missile right up its exhaust. Pieces of it showered the jungle.