Free Company- Red Zone

by D K Williamson

  “Brennan, grenades,” Smith yelled. “I’ll call direction and distance. The peak of the hill is zero. ‘Lino and Briggsy, suppress.”

  Briggs hefted the machine gun into a cutout and began firing at pop-up targets while Paulino snapped off shots with his rifle. Brennan knelt and after setting his rifle aside, placed three hand grenades on the floor of the trench.

  “Ready!” he said.

  Peeking around the edge of the wall, Fran called, “Five degrees left, twenty meters.”

  Brennan came to a crouch gripping a grenade and pulled the arming ring. Coming upright enough to throw while still under cover, he hurled the device and shouted, “‘nade out!”

  His three teammates ducked just before the grenade detonated. As Brennan reached for the second grenade, Paulino and Briggs resumed firing while Smith evaluated the results.

  “New target,” she called. “Twelve degrees right, twenty-five meters.”

  Repositioning himself, Brennan repeated his actions as before. “‘Nade out!”

  After taking cover once more, Brennan’s teammates rose again after the second explosion, Smith confirming her classmate had accurately delivered another hit.

  “Let’s move,” she called.

  Securing the remaining grenade and recovering his rifle, Brennan joined the others and they moved on.

  Rejoining with the rest of Hooton’s squad, they made their way to a breach in the wire protecting the bunkers farther up the hill. Having arrived before the other two squads in the platoon, they waited a brief time and when ready, all three squads attacked, the teams supporting one another. While one team moved, the other suppressed along with the squad’s machine gun team. Once finding a place of cover, the first team then suppressed while the other moved up. Eliminating the occupants in the bunkers was relatively simple—cooking off part of the grenade’s fuse before shoving it into a firing slit and waiting for the resulting explosion.

  Senior Sergeant Forrester seemed happy with most of the platoon’s performance and after speaking with the three squad leaders, departed without barking at anyone.

  Hooton chose to speak to the three elements in his squad separately, the machine gun team first followed by Team 1.

  The four greeners of Team 2 felt good about their performance, and when Hooton spoke with them they found they had a right to be.

  “You did fine, each of you,” Hooton said. “Good teamwork and you looked sharp.”

  “We went through service school together,” Fran said.

  “I know. That’s good. It makes adjusting easier and it gives you some comrades that you can trust. Unless you have some objection, I’m going to recommend you four go to the same platoon. I doubt you’ll be paired up, but that will be up to your platoon sergeant once you’re assigned.”

  “When will we find out where we’re going?” Paulino asked.

  “Once we’re back in barracks. I guarantee you’ll all four be in infantry platoons. Your performance fully warrants it.”

  “What happens to grunts that don’t get assigned to platoons?” Smith asked.

  “If they don’t meet company’s standards, they’ll be released. We have a small surplus of infantry troopers, so those that are sound but sit low on the evaluation lists will be assigned to assist sections or non-combat platoons. Once we start taking casualties, they’ll be replacements.”

  . . .

  Satisfied the sniper team was up to snuff on break contact drills, the eight members turned in their unfired ammunition and went to work cleaning weapons.

  All eight carried sidearms, service pistols for all but Matt Hicks who preferred a somewhat larger, louder, and far more destructive device—a short-barreled scattergun. Seeing its effectiveness during close contact engagements, some of the others filed ideas of acquiring similar arms for future use.

  After their maintenance task was complete, they packed the arms for shipment back to the company barracks in Nelson City. That done, Bellvue gathered the team.

  “I’m real happy about how all of you performed,” he said. “Filling in three-quarters of the team could have been a real fustercluck, but it wasn’t. We need to break down the order of command within the team. In all likelihood, we’ll be working in pairs or fours to support the infantry, but I know Hawkwood has advocated sniper teams work as a full eight trooper unit under certain circumstances. If it happens or if we suffer casualties, we need the pecking order to be set. Got me?”

  The others all voiced or gestured their understanding.

  “I’m one, obviously. Hicks is two.” Pointing at Taro he said, “I know you’re new to the sniper game, but you have more time in service than anyone on the team but me, so I’m putting you at three.”

  “Hawkwood mentioned telling someone when in over their head,” Lyman replied. “Leading what might be a six person team is beyond me right now. My previous field work was nearly always solo, so running a team is not on my résumé. Throw in wounded and being in combat….”

  “Fair enough, Taro. You’re four then. Nelson, even though you’re not a sniper, you’ll be three.”

  Nelson nodded with a distasteful look. “Like Lyman said, if I end up running the team it means we stepped in it. We’ll probably be functioning more like a recon team at that point. I can manage that.”

  . . .

  Senior Sergeant Brown looked up from the display with arched eyebrows and shifted his gaze between Jackson and Rivers for a few seconds. After reviewing Lunatic Red’s data recorded from the last range, he now knew the results.

  “You were spot on every shot, Jacks,” he said. “A hundred percent. Some of those targets were out beyond the ninety’s effective range.”

  “The ninety’s stated range, Brownie,” Jacks replied. “Lunatic has top shelf optics and targeting system, a spanking new gun, and me operating it. That shouldn’t be a surprise.”

  Brownie smiled and nodded. “True enough, hotshot. I have a surprise for you then. That loader of yours using my bolter system beat you to the punch five times.”

  “Five?” Jacks asked as he smiled and glared at Myles. “You’re sure you have that right?”

  “A hundred percent.”

  “Well, in my defense, the bolter’s energy beam is far faster than the ninety mike-mike.”

  “I recall you saying that wouldn’t matter,” Myles said with a grin. “I also recall the mention of someone living in a fantasy world.”

  Jacks laughed. “Brownie, if Myles with a Y here checks out when the shooting is for keeps, I want him in Lunatic Red for keeps.”

  “That’ll be up to Hawkwood, but I imagine he’ll go for it.” Looking at Myles he said, “Are you a crack shot or something?”

  “I’m good with a rifle, but that’s not why I did well with the bolter, sergeant.”

  “Oh?” Jackson said with amusement. “Maybe your vast experience as a grunt greener turned walker crewmember can create a plausible reason?”

  “The sights are dead on. The bolt doesn’t need any elevation adjustments for range… it’s put the sights on target and fire. Once I got a feel for the controller and the turret’s stabilization quirks, well, it wasn’t easy, but it wasn’t hard. The bolter is sniper rifle accurate. Hell, more than that since wind and temperature don’t play into it.”

  “You might have given it its name, Rivers,” Brown said. “Bellvue will pitch a fit, but I outrank him. The Sniper System, that’s what we’ll call it. Just remember, dust, smoke, and rain will degrade the effectiveness and range.”

  “You have any more tricks cooking in that mind of yours, Brownie?” Jackson said. “If ol’ sure-shot here can punch out the right bits on tanks and heavy walkers, we might be able to punch way above our weight.”

  “I have a whole lot of ideas, but until we have time the bolter will have to do. Taking on heavy armor isn’t likely to allow you to see future developments.”

  “If we can render them blind and senseless, all we need do is put rounds where it’ll hurt. I’m n
ot saying we do it voluntarily, but in a pinch….”

  . . .

  The day after the field exercise was spent readying for the return to the Red Light Company barracks in Nelson City. At the midday meal, word spread across the unit like a prairie fire—the company had secured a contract.

  “The company has a gig,” someone hissed.

  “Where? Do we know?” someone else said.

  “Off-world they said.”

  “That doesn’t narrow it down much,” someone at another table replied with irritation.

  Similar conversations took place through the rest of the day, but the destination remained a mystery, one that wouldn’t be solved until they returned to Nelson City.

  For most, where paled in comparison to the fact that the Red Light was returning to action.

  . . .

  Phoenix

  . . .

  The Red Light Company was called to attention as Commander Hawkwood strode from the company headquarters. Climbing the steps up the dais quickly, he too came to attention.

  “At ease. I’m sure every one of you heard the Red Light has a contract. In eight day’s time we lift for an orbital station and transit to the southern hemisphere of Planet Valenz, specifically the Fallasta region. There is a dispute over a production facility and power generation station. That is the issue we are to resolve. It’s a fight and that’s what we get paid to do. There will be a briefing on mission and engagement specifics prior to our departure. As soon as we are ready to deploy, I’ll release you on pass. That means the sooner you get this traveling war machine packed up for transport, the sooner you can cut loose one last time.”

  Hawkwood paused for cheers and yells to subside. “Come lift day, you best be sober and ready for a fight.” It was a comment met with many retorts, most of them offensive.

  “Packing lists are on the company net as are weight limits. There will be an inspection prior to placing personal gear in containers. Those items on the list labeled as ‘required’ had best be in your baggage,” he said sternly. “Do I make myself clear?”

  A chorus of, “Yes, sir,” was the reply.

  “Those things listed as ‘forbidden’ had best not be in your baggage. Is that clear?”

  Another acknowledgement followed, but carried far less enthusiasm.

  “Two more items,” Hawkwood continued. “Weapons, ordnance, and commo gear are today’s tasks. As I said, the sooner packed the longer the pass. One more thing you might find vaguely interesting… duty and unit assignments are now posted. Company, atten-huh!”

  Upon dismissal, nearly everyone stayed in place and immediately checked their data receivers.

  For Myles, Sam, and Vincent there was little drama. As they expected, Lunatic Red and the sniper team were their respective unit assignments.

  “Forrester’s platoon,” Lee Brennan announced as he looked up from the screen on his left forearm. “First team, first squad, led by Sergeant Hooton. Precision rifle.”

  “Same place, different job,” Briggs said. “Team gunner.”

  “Hooton’s squad, team two,” Fran said. “Precision rifle.”

  “Same, same, same as Franny,” Paulino announced. “How about that?”

  “Looks like I’m the only one without a classmate looking out for me,” Myles said.

  “That’s your own damn fault,” Fran said with a smile. “We all got slots. Seven out of seven. Not bad.”

  “I’m thinking that Sergeant Hooton liked what you did back at Moore.” Sam said.

  “Well, we all know our fates now,” Vincent said. “What task did we get for today?”

  “Ordnance loading? My back hurts just thinking about it,” Paulino groaned as he looked at his data-receiver. Looking at his six classmates he continued. “Any of you sharing my luck?”

  “I am,” Sam said.

  “Me too,” Vincent grumbled.

  “Commo,” Briggs said with a smile.

  The other three echoed Briggs’ call with smiles of their own.

  . . .

  Those assigned to ordnance detail gathered in the company dayroom. While the three greener classmates talked among themselves, the trio who had been Pauley’s companions before his dismissal approached them. Vincent stood and glared at them.

  “I think it’s okay, pal,” Sam said as he and Paulino stood as well.

  “We’ll see. One of them broke my nose.”

  “As I recall, you did the same to two of them.”

  One of the three raised her hands in a conciliatory gesture. “We’re not looking for trouble.”

  “We came to apologize,” said another.

  “Pauley didn’t tell us what he had in mind,” said the third. “Barb and I tried to explain that before Davout, well, you know… went on a rampage.”

  Vincent nodded. “I recall it now, but at the time I wasn’t really focused on what was being said. Sam’s a friend and when he went down I figured you were all in on it.”

  Barb nodded in return. “I can see why. We were throwing around what little weight we had from the start because that’s what they did in our old unit. The Red Light is packed with strac troopers, and I mean some off the top shelf. We learned real quick our bug hunt as you called it means less than shit to most of the mercs here. There are over a dozen PV-twos in the Red Light that were at Boomoon. What does our one stint mark mean to them? We’re in the same boat as you. It just took awhile for us to figure that out.”

  “It might be the same boat, but you have been on an actual deployment before,” Sam said. “We haven’t.”

  “And you’re always the diplomatic one,” she replied with a smile. “We should have listened to you from the get-go. A lot of pain and bloodshed might have been avoided.”

  “Well, with us all being on ordnance duty we’ll all be too exhausted by the end of day to manage that again so we might as well get along,” one of the others said. “I’m Perkins. This big ugly fellow beside me is Curtis and you already know Barb’s name.”

  “Barbara Somers,” the woman said. “Grunt and field communications specialist. Perk and Curt are slated to be rifleman and gunner with Senior Sergeant Forrester’s platoon.”

  “Four of our service school classmates will be in his platoon. Paulino here is one of them.”

  “Yeah, that’s part of why we wanted to put past the bad blood,” Perkins said. “We’re going to a place where others of our kind want us dead. Top made it clear there isn’t any room for bullshit once we’re in the red zone.”

  Barb nodded. “When he was done chewing us out, he brought up the prospect of what might happen if we ended up wounded, alone, and under fire. He asked, ‘What if the only troopers that might help were Healey or Davout? You think they’ll risk their tails for you? They already assume you wouldn’t do a thing were the situation reversed. Consider that. Consider what other troopers in the company think of you.’ We took what he said to heart.”

  “Let’s call it a wash,” Vincent said. “You were jerks. I was a hothead. Pauley is gone, and Sam was too slow to dodge a bag of metal. We all have our shortcomings.”

  The others’ laughter was cut short by a bellowing, “Ordnance detail, it’s time to work,” from Senior Sergeant Rod Mitchell who would oversee the detail along with Captain Posey.

  Mitchell carried a reputation as one of the top soldiers among those that called mercenary their profession. His demeanor was as every bit as nail-hard as Terry Holden, but he seemingly lacked the amiable quality the top sergeant displayed fairly often. While no sadist, Mitchell had quickly been tagged as a taskmaster who tolerated no slack from those under his command.

  “Any of you work with Senior Sergeant Mitchell yet?” Perkins said in a low voice as they walked toward the outer gates of the ordnance storage area.

  The others shook their heads.

  “I was on a range detail he oversaw at Moore and he led the platoon I was in on the last part of the field exercise. Don’t slack. Even when you think he’s not looking, he’
s looking. Those eyes of his… it’s like he looks through you. He’s mean enough when he likes what you’ve done. You don’t want to see him when he’s mad. Do the work and do it well and you’ll make out okay.”

  Perkins spoke true. More than once Senior Sergeant Mitchell verbally tore into troopers who didn’t meet his standards, fierce, gravel-voiced tirades that made those within earshot cringe, including Captain Posey who was beyond the man’s wrath.

  All morning and most of the afternoon was occupied with carrying heavy crates to be placed in transport pods. While most of the ordnance the company would use on Valenz was ordered and would be delivered to their area of operations, all small arms ammunition, grenades, and most other trooper-portable ordnance would accompany the unit on their interplanetary trip. The troopers wondered what they were headed toward when they saw how many anti-tank rounds for shoulder-fired tube launchers the unit was taking. No matter the type, each crate required confirmation as to its contents before it could be loaded, a time-consuming and back-breaking process. By the time the last pod was secured, every member of the detail knew they’d done a full day’s work and then some.

  Senior Sergeant Mitchell called the detail to gather and scowled at the group. “If I point at you, step over there,” he said with a gesture to his right.

  Within a minute, over half the detail including Sam, Vincent, and their former opponents from the training grounds stood to the side, Paulino among them as well.

  Looking at the segregated members, Mitchell said, “You are dismissed.”

  Wasting no time, they headed for the exit.

  “Half of those heading out the door are greeners,” Mitchell said to the remaining troopers. “Greeners. Each and every one of you got smoked by troopers just out of service school. Maybe you find that acceptable, but I do not. My opinion counts and yours does not. You should set an example and you shall… by illustrating what happens when you half-step. Each of you grab a broom and—”

  “See what I meant?” Perkins said as they left the building.

  . . .

  The next three days were busy ones for the Red Light. The last work day was a long one with an inspection of personal gear before it was packed into transport containers. Following this was the departure of the unit’s vehicles via rail to the platforms that would lift them to an orbital station. For those who had never seen the heavy lifters in action, it was a sight to behold. Only the most jaded of orbital lift field functionaries could ignore the incredibly powerful machines shoving huge loads skyward. From the port the vehicles and gear would be secured on a space vehicle that would transport them to the planet Valenz.