by Kali Altsoba
Multiple red threats of varying shape and hue parallel the curving berm at 700 meters out. Blue symbols glow in parallel rows along its low rim: squares, rectangles, triangles and odder shapes representing hardened gun pits and varying unit types from entrenched infantry to combat engineers, to special assault squads armed with heavy maser and ball lightning cannon. Scattered at roughly even distances among the combat troops are green triage and medic units.
“Most of our units are sharply reduced in fighting power. You see?”
“Yeah,” Zofia replies. “Way down from barracks complement.”
“Madjenik’s not the only company to have fought hard these past months.”
“For sure. There’s been deadly fighting here, and many casualties in the garrison.”
A line of blue hexagons confirms it, showing most units at half-strength or less. The garrison’s so reduced it’s leaving thinned spaces in its line to concentrate elsewhere, to better defend more critical points and maintain something of a fighting reserve to plug any new gaps.
“If not for the berm and all that archie, Toruń must have been overrun long ago.”
“Krevans will sing ballads about this siege some day.”
“Yeah sure, if any of us are left alive to bow the tune.”
The strength of the defense is a strong crescent around the Gate, slow curving with the rotation of the berm. It’s a series of entrenched works half-a-klic deep and 1.5 klics long. The redoubt is studded with heavy cannon and support rapidos. A third of the way down either flank of the thick blue line on their HUDs heavy gun battery rectangles jut out at 45˚ angles.”
“That’s where the general has hidden her large guns, backed right into the berm wall.”
“I concur. Confirmed.”
“Constance clearly fears that the locusts will try to roll up her weakened line on the ragged and exposed short flanks of the Gate. Yes, especially on the right flank. Over there.”
“She must think they won’t try to blast a hole somewhere else through the berm. Just look where all her heavy batteries are. She’s all in around the Gate.”
“It’s because she knows they can’t bull their way through anywhere else. See? On the three month tac history scroll. Yes, there and there.”
“Right. They already tried that gambit, and lost a lot of men.”
“She’s done well, but now she’s forced to thin everywhere else to hold the Gate.”
“Wait! What’s that, captain? They look like big hidden redoubts, built into the wall.”
“You’re right, lieutenant! It only looks like she’s put every big gun she has right behind or above or beside the Gate. Her heaviest concentrations are really at either end of the central position, supporting the wider flanks just before they hinge around the curve of the berm.”
“That gives them full enfilade position on any Gate assault. Very clever! The bâtards may still force their way in, but it’ll be a slaughter when they try.”
“I bet those heavies haven’t even fired yet. She’s saving them as a surprise for the really big, direct RIK assault. Or do you think, maybe for something even bigger?”
“Who the hell knows, captain. I just got here. You’re the one in charge, aren’t you?”
It’s good to hear the old insubordination creeping back into Zofia’s voice and speech. It’s been awhile since he’s heard it. Since he heard her sound so, well, sarcastic and friendly.
“Either way, they’ve got a real nasty siege going on. Everyone’s dug in deep and tight.”
“Well, maybe we can help out our side out a little,” Zofia chirps, seemingly immune to the astonishing odds against that idea and Madjenik. “So, what’s your plan?”
Jan doesn’t answer right away. He’s focusing on a mid-range tac-view projecting three-klics of curving berm wall, showing the structure as taller and thicker than in his long-range tac-display. The berm’s soft yellow mass again curves into gentle nothingness at either edge of his viewscreen. In this view, however, the Gate is off-center but much more precisely indicated at 1.8572 klics due north, showing as a black upended rectangle inside double-yellow frames.
He notes six blue octagons indicating plasma-cannon in close camouflage, embedded two-thirds up the superhydrophobic concretized berm wall, either side of the Gate. The big cannon are well-sited to spray onto deadly, intersecting, carefully pre-sited fields-of-fire. Any RIK assault that tries to rush the Gate with mere blunt force will be in for a truly nasty shock.
“See that? This is General Constance’s main kill zone and the last line of defense.”
He worries about the big cannon’s survivability. ‘Once they give away concealed position by firing even once, there’ll be no moving them or saving them.’
It’s as if Zofia reads his mind. “Once they start, those guns will have to fire until the tubes overheat or counter-batteries knock them out and kill the crews.”
“Well, that’s someone else’s problem. The good general’s. Not mine.”
Jan directs the HUD command-link to open up to all platoon sergeants, including five he brevet-promoted. He had the company tek guys jump all their HUDs up to the officer-link back in Pilsudski Wood, after Madjenik lost most of its original NCOs and all but two of its officers, him and Zofia, on the first day at the MDL.
Squad orders are traditionally issued in the KRA by sergeants, over a low-level tac-link that officers could override and far too often did. Not in Madjenik. Not anymore. Jan knows it’s far better to issue plain orders then leave the squads and NCOs alone. The new sergeants have proved his trust in them is well placed. So he brings them all onboard his thinking now.
Like most smart company commanders he relies on NCOs for nearly everything. Especially the sergeants. The last original ones are filling in for dead lieutenants. Five of the company’s sergeants are only acting sergeants, with four wearing stripes less than two months. Ten surviving corporals or just acting corporals bumped up from private or specialist lead the squads, in place of all the dead or missing sergeants. Madjenik has suffered over 60% casualties since the MDL, but much higher rates than that among its junior officers and NCOs.
The good news is that all the new NCOs have trained in the toughest school there is. Not base camp or officer candidate courses but real combat. Where you learn to kill by killing, to fight by fighting, to lead by leading. Where the penalty for the smallest error, and sometimes even for success, is maiming and violent death of the people who trust you and follow you.
“Damn good fighters, all of them. You and I wouldn’t have made it to Toruń without them.”
“You got that right, captain.”
“Now I need them to help us get Madjenik through the Berm Gate.”
“They’re all on your link, captain.”
‘But fight against all that, guarding the Gate? How?’
“OK folks, I need to hear what our options are. Speak freely.”
***
Jan is still thinking over the NCO’s opinions when a flash message urgently lights up his visor. It’s TCC tapping into his emergency luminal com-link, asking if his tactical situation permits voice coms. Auditory only, no visual. He approves the upgraded connection.
A mature, authoritative woman’s voice is inside his helmet. “General Amiya Constance here. Greetings, Captain Wysocki. Well done getting your company to Toruń from the far southeast and into assault position across from my Gate.”
“Thank you, sir. Glad to be out here.”
‘Really?’ he chides himself. ‘Did you just say to a general in command of hundreds of thousands of fighters in Toruń garrison that you’re glad to be stuck outside her berm?’
“I hope we can help, sir.”
‘Shit! That was even worse.’
Jan sees Zofia roll her eyes up to the night sky, the deep black full of Orion’s stars with no canopy left overhead. He hears a throaty laugh inside his helmet.
“Well yes, captain, I suppose I’m glad that you’re out there in s
upport. But I’d rather talk about how we’re going to help you. Let’s get Madjenik through Toruń’s blocked front door.”
“Yes sir. I’d love to hear how to do it, general. Honestly, I can’t see any way myself.”
“Well, I was holding something back to surprise our RIK enemy when he finally tries a direct rush for the Gate, but things change. You’ve led Madjenik here. So here’s what we’ll do. We’re going to blow a big hole in the enemy’s line right in front of the Gate, then you’re going bull rush him while we do the same on our side. Can your company do its part in that, captain?”
“Yes sir.”
“My engineers will push a big plasma mine under the center of the enemy line. Then our biggest guns will churn the site into an abattoir, before Madjenik rushes any survivors from the east while a garrison assault team charges from the west. You’ll meet in the middle.”
“When you attack, do it in a single blunt wedge. There’s no time or space for trying fine maneuvers. Success relies on speed, surprise, and all due force you can muster. Fire everything you have while still in combat glide mode. We’ll do the same over here.”
Jan likes this basic plan, which the general code names Operation Trigon. It’s crude but elegantly simple in its design and brutality. Not some clever rapier thrust pulled from a tactical manual. It’s more of a mugging with a meat cleaver. Jan likes her next order a helluva lot less.
“They won’t see you coming, and they’ll still be dazed from the mine and the barrage. Pause for nothing and no one. That means you have to leave behind anyone who falls behind, for whatever reason. There’s nothing to be done about that. No stopping. That’s an order.”
“Yes sir.” He agrees with her in the abstract, but whatever she orders him do, he has no intention of leaving anyone from Madjenik behind. Not again. Never again.
“A heavy sortie from our side will attack simultaneously with your charge. So tell your people to watch their damn IFFs! Let’s not have any friendly fire casualties when you meet my fighters in the middle of the blast and kill zones the mine will make.”
“I’ll triple-check all our HUDs and double-warn everyone to expect to meet friendlies somewhere in the middle of the fighting zone, after we leave the crater farside.”
“Good, see that you do.”
When blood’s hot it’s not enough for officers to rely on battle tek like coms and HUDs and IFFs. Fighters in action don’t always see what’s right in front of them, flashing on their HUDs in bright and vivid blue. It takes more than tek to fight. A battle is not a video game.
Designated Relief One, a thousand volunteers from the Toruń reserve, mostly burly firefighters, as it happens, will rush out to meet Madjenik on the near side of the crater, to guide and escort the ‘Lost Company’ of Genève home. To bring Wysocki’s Wreckers to safety behind the berm wall. At least for awhile. Until the berm is breached and Toruń falls anyway.
“I can only spare a thousand. The rest must hold positions along the berm in case my counterpart sees this as an opportunity to attack the city perimeter elsewhere. We’re stretched thin already. I must keep my people ready at the archie tubes, in the event our RIK friends decide to send down a wing of Jabos because we’ve lowered the front shield to let you in.”
“I understand, sir. A thousand will be more than enough sir, with me leading 300 hard charging from the other side.” As soon as he says it he realizes it came out all wrong.
“Confidence is good, captain. So I’ll read that remark as regard for the proven fighting abilities of your company. As for your own judgment and leadership, let’s both wait and see.”
“The company, sir. Yes, that’s what I meant. They’re the best.”
He swallows hard and decides to just stop talking. The general’s curtness suggests the same course of action.
‘Gods, she’s intimidating! But it was just a simple slip of the tongue. Why is she ragging so hard on me over it? What does she want from me?’
His resentment surprises him. It’s not how he usually responds to criticism, instead assuming he must deserve it. Nor does he know that Constance is mapping his every word.
“My engineers will have the mine ready in six hours from now, UST.”
That’s three hours after military midnight, or four and a leftover bit past midnight in local Toruń time.
“We’ll launch the attack as dawn is breaking, just as Genève’s sun rises in the face of our enemy as he turns in surprise to find you stabbing him from the east.”
“We’ll be ready, sir. Knives out.”
“Rest until then, captain. You’ve done your duty, so far. There’s nothing more you can do until morning. Move to assault position 30 minutes in advance. Wait for the attack order.”
“Roger that.”
“Good luck, captain. I trust I’ll see you and Lt. Jablonski and the rest of Madjenik inside Toruń in a few hours. Constance out.”
***
“Everyone back 200 meters. Jablonski, get them under camo sheets 600 meters back from the rear of the RIK siege line.”
“You heard the captain,” Zofia whispers down the company audio channel. “Displace, camo up, and settle down. Then get some shuteye.” Madjenik disperses in near total silence.
‘They’re all much better soldiers than they used to be,’ Jan thinks as he watches each echeloned platoon move back in good order and disciplined quiet. ‘Except maybe me.’
No one in RIK Main HQ or on the berm line knows or even suspects that Madjenik is where it is. No one is looking for any threat at all to its perimeter siege lines approaching from the east, from out of the ash lands that used to be thick and green Toruń Wood. RIK thinks that the only things behind it are dead bandits and burned out trees. It ought to know. It killed both.
The last resistance on Genève is surrounded and locked inside Toruń. So confident is the local RIK combat brigade commander of this he posts no pickets behind his siege trench. The first lethal contact from the east will be a total surprise when Jan’s attack wedge arrives.
Madjenik burrows down under a soft gray blanket and individual camo sheets to wait out the night, its last in the ash zone, come what may on the morrow. Last to arrive where Jan waits with impatient concern is Zofia, trailing even the grim Forlorn Hope he ordered to do a final duty as the rearguard. He thanks and disbands the ad hoc unit, redeploying its 30 veteran fighters evenly across the Able-through-Easy combat platoons. Six to each.
There’ll be no reserve this time. Madjenik is going all in, as a single solid wedge. Just as the general ordered. It makes Jan uneasy, goes against his instincts. ‘But orders are orders.’
TCC sends the final details of Trigon at 8:00 UST, with two hours to go to military midnight and three more after that until the mine blows. Already, the autumn sun has set over the western foothills, indifferent to where it passes over mountains let alone its place on human clocks. Utterly uncaring about what will happen below when its first light returns to Genève.
After consulting in whispers with Zofia and flashing disposition orders to all the NCOs Jan tries to get some sleep. It doesn’t work. In his febrile tossing and worry he half-remembers an ancient apocalyptic vision. ‘Thence will come a fiery deluge, regions of sorrow and doleful shades and torture without end, where peace and rest can never dwell and hope never comes.’
Or something like that. He might be mixing two texts up. He does that. Sometimes he curses that his mother insisted on giving him a private classical education on top of his regular schoolwork. He curses more that he never really tried to master it, so that its verses elude him now when he tries to recall them. Still, he knows enough to recognize it means torture and Hellfire will soon rain down around the Berm Gate. ‘That’s for sure, once the general starts her barrage. Who’ll be damned and who might be saved after that is beyond my or anyone’s control.’
He can’t sleep. There are too many contingencies swirling in his head. He sits up and glances over at Zofia. She’s deep asleep, curled
around herself like a contented house cat. Or she’s feigning it, dealing in silent privacy with her own personal angst and her own looming mortality in a near-hopeless combat assault.
Few fighters sleep during the longest, and likely the last, night of their lives. Some are overexcited to be this close to Toruń at long last, after so much suffering in the southeast and on their forest trek. Others are curious about what the general and captain plan, and how “we’re all gonna get through the berm tomorrow!” Most think on missing lovers, lost friends, or their own old lives so dimly remembered they sigh and sway in the mind in the dark as gray and dead as ash zone trees. Still, it feels real good to rest legs, close both eyes, and maybe nod off for a few minutes now and then.
