L13TH 02 Side Show

by Rick Shelley

  “Asa, you’ll come with me. We’ll make the contact and go in.” Asa Gooding. “Ben, you and Vel stake out good positions to cover that nook, two different angles.” Ben Howard and Vel Zimmer. “Mac, you get up and back, cover our tails.” Robert “Mac” MacDonald.

  The others nodded. Ben and Vel got up just enough to start looking for their covering positions. Mac moved away from the others, toward the ridge line behind then.

  Gene and Asa started moving forward, cautiously on the slope, but not slowly. Mountain climbing was part of the ordinary training for Special Intelligence teams. The two men picked out their path, deciding in advance just where each step would take them. The slope wasn’t steep, nor the rock rotten enough to pose any great threat. There was no need for a line between them, or any climbing gear. They were able to keep a rifle in one hand and use the other hand, occasionally, for balance, or to guide them past a minor obstruction.

  The entrance to the secret lab was two-hundred meters–direct line–from where Gene had done his last visual search. On the ground, Gene and Asa covered three times that distance. Gene waited until the two of them were just outside the hollow before he switched to the special radio channel and made his call.

  “Gopher, this is Hedgehog,” he said after two sharp clicks on the channel.

  It took nearly a minute before there was any response. Gene had watched the seconds tick off closely. If there were no answer to his first call, he was to wait ninety seconds before calling again.

  “Hedgehog, this is Mole.” The change in call sign was a gimmick, part of the recognition process.

  “Amanda Pays sends her regards.” Gene wasn’t bothered at all by the ridiculous-sounding code sequence. It was one that would be impossible for any enemy to stumble on. To the best of Gene’s incomplete knowledge, only four people–besides himself–had been aware of it–the three senior researchers inside the lab and Colonel Stossen.

  “We got her roses” came from inside, the code that all was well. Anything else would have been a danger signal.

  “Coming in,” Gene announced. He ran the last twenty meters, with Asa right behind him. Both men had their rifles at the ready, safeties off. Despite everything, it seemed wise to be ready for anything once the door opened.

  There were no signs of footprints, no evidence that people had ever been in the cul-de-sac that held the door to the lab, except for the door itself, and that had been camouflaged, by a false rock facade over the actual door and frame. Although he had been given no instructions on the door, Gene thought that he saw the obvious handle, a place where you would have to reach up under a small overhang.

  Gene used his left hand. The right held his rifle. There was a bar under the overhang. He pulled back on it, then tugged on the door. It came open with surprising ease, silently.

  Asa was off to the side, the muzzle of his zipper pointed directly into the opening.

  There was no light inside, and at first, the two SI men had difficulty seeing. Had it not been for the infrared sensors in their night-vision gear, they would have been unable to see at all.

  Asa went in first. Gene covered him, then followed.

  They were in a cave then, a large chamber that had been left natural but for the door they had entered through, and another door at the back, near the left wall, about eight meters from the first.

  That door opened, slowly. One figure, dressed in loose coveralls, stepped through the opening, moving with exaggerated slowness, hands held high and out to the sides.

  Very obviously a female figure.

  DAWN BROUGHT a professional paranoia to Joe Baerclau. Light was more an enemy than a friend, particularly a thousand kilometers behind enemy lines. Echo Company had covered nearly two-thirds of the length of the narrow valley. If Heggies appeared now, there would–literally–be no place for the 13th to run, and little solid cover. They would be caught on the slopes flanking the valley, easy targets for enemy aircraft or artillery. Enemy mudders on the ridge lines could mow them down. A force back at the entrance to the valley, strong enough to hold down the two companies left to guard it, could pin them in place and allow their leisurely destruction.

  Joe felt his mouth getting dry, but he didn’t waste time wishing that he had less imagination. The best way to avoid getting caught in an untenable position was to work out all of the possible traps in advance, and do whatever could be done to counter them.

  Unfortunately, the only way Joe could see to avoid all of the potential hazards in this valley was to avoid the valley itself, and it was far too late for that, even if their orders had permitted it.

  Joe spent most of his time scanning the ridge lines on either side. Those were the most likely places for any threat to appear. Reccers were, supposedly, in place up there, watching the reverse slopes and the air approaches. But only half of the 13th’s recon platoons remained with the Team, too few men to adequately cover so many kilometers. The rest of the reccers . . . Joe swallowed hard and shook his head. There were rumors that one battery of Havocs and both of the recon platoons that had been sent to harass the enemy had been wiped out. Even on the march, scuttlebutt like that could not be totally suppressed.

  “Joe, we’re going on up to the ridge line,” Izzy Walker said. “Start your platoon up first.”

  Joe acknowledged the order, then switched channels to get the men turned. Climbing three hundred meters of slope was work, but it was easier on bodies than walking along the slope. Near the top, there were a couple of spots where it was almost real mountain climbing, but most of the path was relatively mild. There were trees all along the way, extra handholds and footrests when needed. Near the top of the mountain, the trees were puny little things, scarcely man-high, with trunks no thicker than Joe’s ankles. Many looked as if they could be pulled out with very little effort.

  Joe found a place for himself where he could look through a notch between two high, jagged rocks, to survey the reverse slope of the mountain. That far side was far more rugged than the.one that Echo had been traversing. Rocky and steeper–but it might still allow enemy mudders access, if they were coming that way. The rocky slope would even provide decent cover for an attacking force.

  I’d rather be attacking up that slope than trying to stop that attack, Joe concluded. An enemy might close to within forty meters of the ridge before they would be exposed to much wire.

  He scanned the slope as carefully as he could but found little relief in the fact that he didn’t see any enemy soldiers climbing toward him. He pulled back from the ridge line and spent a couple of minutes making sure that each squad was just where he wanted it, the men in the best positions available.

  Then he called the first sergeant.

  “We’re all set. How long do we have to wait?”

  “Until the SI team gets back. That’s all I know,” Walker said. “Shouldn’t be too long. But however long it takes, keep your eyes open. I think we’re going to get some air cover in.”

  Joe signed off, already looking into the sky. Air cover was handy, but it carried its own danger. Wasps circling overhead would be a beacon for any enemy close enough to see them, and in daylight, the Wasps could be seen. Especially now. The rain had finally stopped and the clouds were thinning out rapidly.

  * * *

  Zel could not recall ever being as nervous as he was in the few minutes that Blue Flight was on the ground. They had made the flight out from the main Accord lines without incident, then they had landed for fresh batteries. Out in the middle of hostile country, with fewer than two hundred mudders to protect them from whatever the Heggies might throw their way, Zel felt as edgy as if he had just been thrown into a pit of hungry lions.

  Roo Vernon was unnaturally quiet while the Wasps were on the ground. For a moment, he stood by Zel’s canopy, looking in. Over the radio, he said, “Sorry about Captain Reston, sir.” His face was drawn. It was all he said.

&n
bsp; All Zel could do was nod, and swallow hard. Roo’s words had brought back the sting of his loss. Again.

  With only batteries to replenish and separate crews to do the work on each of the three planes, the Wasps were back off the ground in record time. The support vans and their defending troops got ready to move. When Blue Flight returned, they would land in a new place, as far away as the ground crews could get.

  “We’re going to stage a few klicks away from the 13th,” Zel told his wingmen. “I don’t want to be right overhead unless they need us there.” His heads-up display showed several locators for the bulk of the 13th.

  “How about a chance to get some payback for . . . the others?” Irv said.

  “The 13th gets in and out and completes its mission, that’s payback enough. For now,” Zel said. Whatever the hell they’re doing in that valley. “Forget the chat. Keep your eyes open. Let’s not have any more losses.” It wouldn’t really be payback enough to satisfy Zel, but there was no way that he could bring back Slee or any of the others. The only true payback would be to chase the Heggies all of the way back to their core worlds.

  And then some, he thought as his eyes swept the horizon. In daylight, there was a good chance that a pilot might spot a Boem before his electronics did.

  “We’ll do a wide circle, ten klicks out from the blue-on-white blinker,” Zel said, referring to the locator for Colonel Stossen’s headquarters. “And we stay together. Jase, you’ll take high cover, four thousand meters above Irv and me.”

  Zel banked his Wasp left. There was some rugged country up ahead, the worst that Zel had ever flown over. If one of them had to eject, the ride down would be touchy. The escape pod of a Wasp might be well padded, but there seemed to be some nasty drops. Once a parachute was fouled, there would be nothing left but a fall. And even if a pilot reached the ground in one piece, he might have the Devil’s own time getting out on foot.

  “Good thing they don’t have to go in any farther than they do,” Zel mumbled. The valley the 13th was following was near the edge of the mountain chain. The easy part.

  Blue Flight had been back in the air for twenty minutes before Zel had a call from CIC.

  “We have a report from the one gun left in Afghan Battery,” the voice on the radio said. “He says there’s a flight of six Boem fighters that just passed over him. Their course is straight toward you. About six minutes off.”

  Zel acknowledged that and passed the word to Irv and Jase. “We might as well go out to meet them. Try to keep them away from the mudders.” If we can. Three against six. “Irv, I think you and I had better put a little more sky below us.”

  * * *

  “I’m Dr. Philippa Corey,” the woman said, still keeping her hands away from her body.

  Gene Abru blinked once and nodded. Then he identified himself. No one had mentioned that there were women here. Or said that there weren’t, he reminded himself.

  “I hope you have your people ready to leave right this instant, Doctor,” Gene said. “We’re short of time.”

  “We’ve been packed and ready since we learned of the landing, Sergeant. The others are in the next room.”

  “How many of you, altogether?” Gene asked.

  “Nine. That’s all there’s been since before the Schlinal invasion.”

  Gene nodded again. “Call your people out, Doc. I was serious about leaving immediately.”

  Dr. Corey lowered her arms, then turned and looked back into the room. She passed along Gene’s instructions and nothing else. He had the exterior microphones cranked up on his helmet to make certain that there were no extraneous asides.

  Eight others filed out. Three of them were also women. All eight were dressed much as Dr. Corey was, in nondescript coveralls. They weren’t camouflage, but other than that the garb looked about perfect for a long walk. One of the others handed Corey a pack. She slipped the straps over her shoulders.

  “I hope that there are more than just the two of you,” she said when she finally crossed over to where Gene stood, still near the exit.

  “A lot more, Doc, but it didn’t seem wise to bring them all in here.”

  “I take it that introductions can wait?” she asked.

  Gene nodded. “Is this place set up so you can destroy it after we’re out?”

  “Destroy it, no. But the overhang outside the entrance is mined. So is this chamber. We can bury the entrance under several thousand tons of rock.”

  “Good enough. I’ll lead the way out. You and your people stay behind me. For now, Asa will bring up the rear. Either of us says to do something, you people do it, at once. Save the questions for later.” It was much too long a speech for Gene, and his clipped tones made that obvious even to a stranger.

  “As you say,” Dr. Corey replied. “We’re in your hands.”

  Gene blinked again. Dr. Corey was an attractive woman of indeterminate age. She might still be in her late twenties from her looks, but from the way she spoke, Gene guessed that she might even be sixty or more. With the techniques available for stalling, or reversing, the aging process well past the century mark, there was simply no way to be certain.

  He turned and headed out of the stone foyer;

  At the edge of the shadows in the hollow outside, Gene stopped for a moment, both to let his eyes adjust to the higher light levels and to give his men across the way time to identify him.

  “How close do you have to be to bury this entrance?” he asked Dr. Corey.

  “I would suggest that we get at least a hundred meters away, and behind cover,” she replied.

  “Cross the way and up the slope?”

  Corey looked where he pointed. “It’ll do. The transmitter has a range of five hundred meters, but closer is better.”

  Gene simply started walking again, back over the route that he and Asa had followed on their way in. They had covered no more than half of the hundred meters when there was a radio call from Major Kenneck.

  “Ab, there are enemy Boems heading our way. They’ll be overhead in less than three minutes unless our Blue Flight can stall them.”

  “Odds?” Gene asked.

  “Six to three, the wrong way. You have those people?”

  “We’re on our way out. We’ll be blowing the entrance to the lab in less than two minutes.”

  “That’ll give the Boems a target,” Kenneck cautioned.

  “We’ll do what we can. A few Vrerchs headed toward those Boems from your location would help.”

  “Any that come close enough.”

  Gene hadn’t slowed his pace while he talked. As soon as he signed off, he turned his head toward Dr, Corey.

  “Enemy fighters on the way in. Three minutes. They see the explosion, they’ll be on us in a hurry.”

  “If they’ve got any idea where the lab is, that it even exists, it’s essential that we deny them access,” Corey said. “No matter what.”

  I wonder if she knows the rest of our orders, Gene thought as he picked up the pace. Then: I bet she does. She might even have given them.

  * * *

  It had taken Teu Ingels less than thirty seconds to convey the tactic to Zel Paitcher, and Zel had needed even less time to tell his wingmen. “Hit and run,” Zel said. “We dive in at them, shoot off a pair of missiles each, then run like hell. Clear those two ridges with less than fifty meters below us. Get them to chase.”

  If the major’s plan worked, it wouldn’t even matter if any of the Wasps’ missiles hit a target on the first pass. Hits would be a bonus.

  “There they are,” Zel said, not ten seconds later. “Tally ho!”

  The six Boems were flying in two three-plane formations, one a thousand meters above the other, and somewhat to the right. All six of the Schlinal planes were below Blue Flight, though. Zel nosed his fighter over on an intercept course. The weapons selector was already on rockets,
and Zel got lock clicks almost as soon as he showed the missiles their targets. He didn’t bother waiting to close the range. He was willing to give these pilots plenty of time to take their countermeasures.

  As long as they pursued.

  Zel did hesitate for a couple of seconds after launching his rockets. There was no sign that the Boems had locked on to his Wasp, or even that they had seen the six missiles streaking toward them. That didn’t last long, of course. The Schlinal pilots scattered, as if they were part of an air show, going in six different directions as they launched decoys and other countermeasures, and worked to get into position to launch their own rockets.

  Zel flipped his Wasp and headed back toward the ridges where the 13th’s mudders were waiting.

  I hope they remember we’re coming through first, he thought.

  Irv and Jase made their turns, both taking wide outside loops, putting more distance between Wasps for this part of the maneuver. All three Wasp pilots pushed their throttles to the stops. They wanted the Boems to follow, but they didn’t want them to get close enough for accurate missile fire.

  Eighteen seconds after Zel flipped, his Wasp crossed the first ridge. He was too low and moving too fast to have a chance to actually see any of the men on the ridge, but there were no surface-to-air missiles coming up at him, and that was all that really mattered. He kept going, past the second ridge, still losing altitude. The six Boems–none had been hit–kept coming, gaining very slightly on the Wasps, concentrating entirely on the pursuit.

  “Just hold off for a few more seconds before you look down,” Zel whispered. A rear-looking camera gave him a partial view of what was happening. He saw dozens–scores–of Vrerch missiles jump up from the first ridge, almost equal numbers from the second. The firing was so nearly simultaneous that it looked as if all of the rockets might have been fired on a single order.