Gettysburg: A Tale of the Second War for Pennsylvanian Independence

by Chris Pourteau

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Briefing at dawn,” the QB said. “And get some sleep. Tomorrow’s likely to be a sunny day.”

  Trick paused. “Understood, ma’am.”

  As he left her tent, she looked down at the map. Such a small town. Such a huge risk. And everything riding on her orders and the bravery of Bestimmung Company.

  She prepared for bed and said a prayer she hadn’t thought of in twenty-five years. Then she slept like a baby.

  The Second Day

  Hatch woke at oh-five-hundred, his left leg numb from resting on it all night. The laser burn still smarted on his right calf, so his choice of sleeping position hadn’t really been an option.

  “The ladies will love the scar,” yawned Stug, sitting up on an elbow. “And you need all the help you can get.”

  “Says the upright-walking bulldog,” Hatch replied, wincing as he sat up. “I hate getting shot.”

  “Grazed,” corrected Stug. “Let’s not be melodramatic.”

  “Hey, can you lovebirds keep it down when you go at it? Or get a room?” Bracer grumbled. “There’s men trying to sleep here.”

  “Where?” Stug shot back.

  “Okay, okay, we’re all awake now,” said Hatch. “The sun’ll be up in half an hour. The QB wants us and the other squads at attention at oh-five-thirty. Eat hearty. Double-check your equipment. No FUBARs today, boys.”

  Stug lightly kicked at a snoring Hawkeye, who snorted and implied the sergeant’s mother was less than virtuous. But he woke up.

  After morning routine, the men of Alpha Squad were standing with their comrades from Bravo, Charlie, and Delta. As the QB exited her tent, Echo Squad, the heavy-weapons support unit, stepped into line. The twenty men and women of Bestimmung Company stood, wide-eyed and stock-still, in front of the QB and her aide.

  “Good morning,” she said, and was answered by a chorus of “Morning, ma’am.”

  “You’ve all been briefed by your squad leaders on the situation. Our knowns are these: Gettysburg holds a huge supply of okcy. We need it. There’s at least a dozen enemy soldiers guarding the town. We’re making that assumption based on the one dropship Bravo Squad engaged yesterday. The enemy has drones. How many, we’re not sure yet. The town is full of civilians.

  “Our unknowns are everything else. There might be fewer Authority troops there than we think. There are likely a lot more. We have no idea where the sympathies of the civilians lie. They’re employees of Transport, by and large. Will they obstruct us or open the city gates, metaphorically speaking? How much okcy is actually in the larger warehouse on the south side of town? To access it, we need to secure the smaller, cylindrical warehouse at the southern city limits. What’s in that one? All unknowns. Questions?”

  Trick raised his hand.

  “Lieutenant Mason.”

  “What have our drones told us, ma’am? Have they mapped the town’s interior?”

  A slight grimace across the captain’s face was all the frustration she showed her troops.

  “Our drones have not returned.”

  Mumbling among the TRACE fighters. She raised her hand to quell it.

  “Before you assume anything, here are the facts: at oh-three-hundred this morning, the first pair of drones surveying the town sent an alert signal to C&C. Apparently they contacted the enemy at some point because they evaded, which is standard operating procedure. Before they went off the grid, we sent them behind the mountains to the northeast. Each of the other pairs followed. They should have reemerged by oh-five-hundred. They have not.”

  Lieutenant “Charger” Freeman of Delta Squad raised a hand.

  “Yes?”

  “How does this affect our timetable, ma’am?”

  The captain took a measured breath. “It doesn’t.”

  More murmuring. Stug looked sideways at his lieutenant.

  Hatch responded with an almost-imperceptible shrug. Oops.

  “But ma’am,” said Charger, “we’ll be blind without those maps. And you just said we’ll likely be outnumbered. We already know we’re outgunned.”

  She nodded, granting the point. “We won’t know the town’s interior beyond the public GIS maps we already have. But we already know our target: the warehouses. And the fact that we’re outgunned is precisely why we’re going in. Without that okcy, we’ll always be outgunned.”

  “Ma’am—” began Charger.

  “More to the point,” the QB continued, “the longer we delay, the more they reinforce. This isn’t Medieval Europe on old Earth. We can’t simply besiege the town until they raise their collective hands. Every moment we delay gives Transport an opportunity to reinforce. They already know we’re here, and only a moron wouldn’t know why we’re here.”

  “So, then, we’re not sure they know why we’re here, ma’am?”

  Stug was nothing if not sardonic. He received half-hearted giggles, even a grin from the QB, in response. It helped break the tension stoked by Charger’s fears.

  “Lieutenant Freeman, you’re right to be concerned,” the captain said, her quiet voice helping to snuff out the tittering. “But we have an opportunity here. This war has been going on as long as most of you have been in the world. It’s true, TRACE has done well for a long time, since the SOMA broke the BICE codes. But we still lag behind the power curve. If we don’t break out of this hit-and-run cycle, eventually Transport will bleed us dry. At the end of the day, it comes down to the mathematics of resources. We have to change that equation.” She pointed at the ground beneath them. “Here.”

  Charger looked straight at her, ruminating a moment, then nodded. “Yes, ma’am!” Emphatic. Committed.

  “Reboot your BICEs, set them to LAN only. Until we hit Authority troops with jammers, we can at least coordinate squads. Stay off the Internet. No sense handing Transport our exact location, though I’m pretty sure they’ll know where we are soon enough.” Someone mouthed approval at that bit of black humor. “Any other questions?”

  Silence. Then Stug raised his hand.

  “Sergeant?”

  “Do I get to hit someone today?”

  More giggles in the ranks, though they were tentative, as if testing the waters that it was all right to find humor in such a serious moment.

  This was a time to be a comrade as much as a leader, the captain decided. “It’s been more than a day, hasn’t it?” she said, putting grimness in her voice.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he gruffed. “That’s a whole week in dog years.”

  Open laughter now. Even Charger giggled quietly to herself.

  “For better or worse,” the QB said, “I imagine the answer to your question is yes.” She sent a silent prompt to her aide, who snapped, “Ten-chun!”

  The score of men and women immediately stood up straight, all joking silenced.

  “Squad leaders to me. The rest of you, double-check weapons and sling extra ammo. You’ll need it.”

  “Dismissed!” the aide said.

  Lieutenants Hatch, Mason, Freeman, Lutz, and Gray joined the QB while the rest of Bestimmung Company prepared themselves for a fight. She kneeled on the ground, arranging rocks as landmarks and drawing a rough perimeter of the town with a stick. On the right side of the crude map, she stuck one small and one large rock. The warehouses. In the middle she placed an upright stick representing the guard post Alpha Squad had nullified yesterday. Behind the town she scattered sticks for mountains. While she could’ve drawn a 3-D image of the same plan using their BICE connection and shared it on their squad leader channel, the QB preferred battle plans she could touch. She was old-fashioned that way.

  “Mason, you’ll take Bravo Squad, supported by Gray’s Echos, and secure the guard post by oh-nine-hundred. No doubt it’ll be remanned, maybe even reinforced. Alpha Squad, once they’ve done that, we’ll move up from the woods to the south, with support from Charger and Delta Squad, and probe the warehouses.”

  “We, ma’am?” Hatch already knew the answer, but he wanted it con
firmed.

  “I’ll be attaching myself to your squad for the duration.”

  Well, there it was. Not a surprise and certainly not unprecedented, given the company’s history. Still . . .

  “Captain, if I may speak freely—”

  “I’m going,” she said. “Now speak freely, but make it fast. We’re burning daylight.”

  Hatch took a breath. Dangerous territory. He admired her bravery. She set the standard for the unit. She was also too important to it to become an oo-rah poster model collecting laser holes.

  “Strategically, we’d be better served with you coordinating from here, ma’am,” Hatch said quietly. There was no ego here, no “nobody leads my squad but me.” He was simply stating a fact.

  “Coordinating how, Lieutenant?” she asked. “BICEs will be useless once the forward squads are in range of Transport jamming. And I’ve forgotten my smoke signal alphabet.”

  Hatch acknowledged the point with a nod. There was more to his concern than a simple consideration for military strategy, if he was honest with himself about it. There was the history between them. But best leave that unopened in the folder marked Past and Done. No time for it here.

  “We’re short on bodies as usual,” she continued. Ever the tactician, she was aware his silence gave her the advantage to press forward. “We need everyone we can get on the front line today.”

  “Then the entire company is going in?” asked Gray, called Smoker.

  “Not quite,” she answered. “Lieutenant Lutz and Charlie Squad will remain in reserve in the woods south of the town, behind Delta’s tree line position, to preserve our flexibility. Once we probe the warehouses, we’ll have a better sense of their numbers. Then we’ll decide if and where to commit your squad.”

  The lithe lieutenant said, “Yes, ma’am. But I have a question. Why send Smoker with Trick to take the post? Wouldn’t Echo’s big guns be more useful supporting the attack on the warehouses?”

  The question was reasonable. Echo’s two chain guns fired four hundred rounds per minute, sustained. Each took two men to operate, one to aim and fire the weapon, the other to feed them ammunition.

  “I want them to think we’re coming up the same slot we cleared yesterday,” the captain answered. “Transport thinks we’re a bunch of untrained rabble, even though it should know better by now. The stupid maneuver of a frontal assault across open ground should play right into their preconceptions about us. If we unroll the chains on their front door—”

  “Diversion,” said Hatch, “while we infiltrate the warehouses from the south.”

  The QB clicked her teeth, telling them all he’d gotten the correct answer. “Besides, we need to stay light. We have to take the first building and secure the second while Delta moves up and makes a landing zone for our converted airbuses to land and load.” Itching to move, the QB slung her rifle to rest on her shoulder. “Any other questions?” Her tone made it clear they’d better be necessary.

  There were none.

  “All right, then. Trick, you and Smoker take that post by oh-nine-hundred. Let’s go.”

  As the others moved out, Hatch lingered.

  “Mary, you sure about this? You said it yourself: we have no idea what’s really there. Want to call Neville for backup?”

  She looked directly at him. Just for a moment, he saw the woman he’d known so intimately, if briefly. A woman who could melt your heart in the right light. Someone who had no business being called captain on soft evenings.

  “I intend to, Sean. Right after Trick and Smoker take that guard post. By the time Neville arrives with reinforcements, we’ll have secured that okcy. The good colonel can cover our retreat.”

  “And if there’s a company or more of porters in that town?” he asked softly.

  Her eyes flattened, taking on that computer-like, steely gaze she got when staring down the problem at hand. “Then it’s going to be one long, hot day,” she said.

  “You did what?”

  The colonel’s voice grated in her head over the secure Internet channel.

  “We’ve established a position on the left and are preparing to assault the facility,” the QB sent back. “Sending you a packet now with the tactical situation.”

  The good news for her was, their Internet link could only be secured confidently for another thirty seconds. TRACE had built an algorithm into its Internet protocol to auto-countdown conversations carried on the Internet during a tactical situation. Every ten seconds, the detached feminine voice, known as Marlene for some unknown reason, helpfully reminded the parties their time was limited.

  “Twenty,” Marlene said. Which meant the colonel could only dress down the QB for another twenty seconds.

  “Goddamn it, Captain, you should’ve informed me before moving on the town.”

  “Security protocol, sir, essential messages only. Transport might’ve hacked this line already.”

  “Ten.”

  “You should’ve—”

  “We need your other two companies and the converted cargo ships here as noted in Figure One’s timeline.”

  “Captain, if this goes sideways—”

  “Communication terminated. Reestablish?”

  “Oh, hell no,” the captain answered.

  Trying not to eavesdrop and failing miserably, Hatch stood in the tree line gazing at the smaller of the two objectives: a two-story, cylindrical building. He was standing exactly where Bravo Squad had set up its machine gun yesterday to cover his own squad’s retreat. Hatch felt an 18-millimeter caseless shell in the dirt beneath his boot. He bent over and picked it up. Rolling it between his fingers, he looked at it absently, considering their position. To his left, Bravo and Echo squads had just secured the guard post and turned it into a defensible anvil. Again, they’d found only one Transport soldier defending the guard post. Again, that Transport soldier had died. Echo’s two chain guns were now deployed behind a makeshift berm facing east from the guard post, covering the town. Now, it was time to swing the hammer at the warehouses.

  “Where the hell are they?” wondered Stug. “Can there really be that few of them?”

  “The downside of having everything you need as a fighting force is that you don’t have to innovate,” said the captain.

  “Sorry, ma’am, I’m just a sergeant. What does that mean, exactly?”

  “It means,” said Hatch, “that they’re not the brightest military geniuses on the planet. They should’ve guarded the okcy with more troops to begin with. Now they’re rationing out the soldiers they have here until help arrives.”

  But the big man shook his head. “Still doesn’t make sense. They had all night to reinforce.”

  “And TRACE has been more active in the City lately.”

  Stug understood then. “The cops go where the crime is.”

  “By that logic,” offered Charger, “the cops will be showing up here soon.”

  “Hell, they should’ve been here already,” said Stug. “Okcy ain’t cheap.”

  The QB nodded. “Which is why we can’t stand around here talking about our good fortune all day.” She looked at the sun halfway up the side of the hills behind the town. “It’s oh-eight-thirty, give or take. Lieutenant Hatch, your squad will take point. Lieutenant Freeman, your squad will maintain vigilant support until Alpha is at the first building.”

  “You mean, ma’am, if we aren’t killed, Delta Squad can come out of hiding?” asked Stug with a smirk.

  Despite the grumbling from Delta Squad, the QB said, “Something like that.”

  “Ma’am,” said Hatch, addressing the QB formally, as he always did in the company of others, “Might I suggest you hang back with Delta Squad until—”

  “You can suggest it,” she said, cutting him off again and immediately regretting it. She knew she was reacting to him the same way he was reacting to her. Anticipating arguments in conversations, overcompensating for the baggage. At best, it was unprofessional and unbecoming of a soldier. At worst, it was damned dan
gerous and could get someone killed.

  Clearing her throat, she said, “I appreciate your concern, Lieutenant.” The daggers he’d been shooting her way softened and disappeared. “But the colonel is already polishing his gavel on this one.” She turned to the two assembled squads, who were watching the two of them carefully.

  No secrets in foxholes, her inner voice said.

  “Let me make this clear. Lieutenant Hatch is in charge of Alpha Squad, and on all matters tactical, I’m placing myself under his orders.”

  Stug raised his eyebrows, which only made his forehead look like the grille on the front of an ancient automobile.

  “But I reserve the right to make command decisions related to this mission,” she continued.

  Hatch blinked once, then nodded. “All right, let’s go,” he said. “Hawkeye’s already scoped the advance. Stay low and use the rolling berms for the approach, just like yesterday.”

  “Remember, LAN only for comms, ladies,” said Stug. “Er, and Captain. Ma’am.”

  With the sergeant on point, Alpha Squad humped it out of the trees and toward the long, silver warehouse, a.k.a. Objective One, on the outskirts of town. As they made their way to the buildings, the company hunkered down at each of the embankments while Hawkeye re-spotted. Each time he would communicate with Looker, Delta Squad’s spotter, and once he confirmed the coast was clear, they would move up again. Before long, the silver warehouse was only fifteen meters from their present, gut-down position.

  “Okay, I know I’m repeating myself, but this is too easy,” Stug said. He lay on his back, his weapon clutched to his chest to protect it from the dewy grass. A whiny quality had begun to creep into his tactical assessment voice. A strange combination. “Where the hell are they?”

  “Only one way to find out,” said the QB, rising and running for Objective One’s tin wall.

  “Wait!” yelled Hatch, way too late. “Goddamn it!” He was up and over the berm and on her heels in seconds.