The Buchanan Campaign

by Rick Shelley

  32

  “It’ll take a while to rebuild the barn,” Doug said, pointing out the wreckage to David Spencer and his other guests. The men of I&R platoon had their rifles slung. Most carried their helmets and had the hoods of their field skins pulled back off of their heads.

  “Was that foundation plascrete?” David asked, looking at the molten and fused remains of the structure.

  “The best we could make, foundation and beams,” Doug said, somewhat ruefully.

  David turned and looked at the scorched roof and siding of the house. Doug’s wife and son had moved back in, finally comfortable with assurances that there were no Federation soldiers near enough to pose a threat. Elena continued to use the return as an inducement to persuade her husband to remain with them but, so far, Doug had resisted.

  “It’s a good job the house wasn’t a few feet closer,” David said. “You might have lost that as well.”

  “I know.” Doug turned to make sure that Elena was out of earshot. “If there hadn’t been such a damned rush, I doubt I’d have had the nerve to do what I did. Elena and Jamie were in the storm cellar.”

  “If you hadn’t sent off that MR the way you did, you might never have had help.” David walked toward the barn. Doug followed. The rest of the platoon was scattered around the yard, many already inside the ruins. “Given enough time, the Federation could have established itself so firmly you’d never have a chance to get free. Bring in enough settlers to make your lot a minority. Something like that. They’ve done it before.”

  “I still can’t see why they came here in the first place,” Doug said. “It’s not as though we made anything of importance.”

  “Buchanan is a prime world,” David said. “It’s fully suitable for human settlement, as good as any and better than many. That’s lure enough if you’re looking to expand. It wouldn’t have taken much time for the Feddies to settle their own people and a docile government here. You’d be safer if you had ten times the population you do, safer still with a hundred times.”

  “Sounds like you’re making a pitch for us to join the Commonwealth,” Doug said.

  David shrugged. “I’ll leave that to His Highness, but I believe in the Commonwealth, or I wouldn’t have spent fifteen years in the Royal Marines. I’m certainly not in it for the money.”

  Doug walked on a couple of steps before he said, “I think some folks here might be bothered by the idea of a monarchy. That’s something that belongs to Earth, to the old times.”

  “Not necessarily,” David said. “The Federation, for all its symbols, is more despotic than the Commonwealth has ever been—all the forms of democracy but none of the meat. They claim an inalienable right to rule every world settled by humans, no matter where those settlers came from or what they want. The Commonwealth has royalty and nobility, but His Majesty’s government are popularly elected, and the King has very strictly limited powers.”

  “Or is that merely form as well?” Doug asked.

  “Not the way I see it,” David said. “And I’ve seen quite a bit of it.”

  Once they reached the barn, both men were more interested in examining the remnants than in continuing the political discussion.

  ‘ ‘Would you mind if I cut loose a chunk of this for our lab boys to examine?” David asked after getting his head down as close to the fused plascrete as he could.

  “Take as much as you like,” Doug said. “But whatever for?”

  “Intelligence and reconnaissance.” David laughed. “That’s supposed to be our job. I doubt that anyone’s ever put a lens on plascrete that’s been fused in atmosphere by a transit to Qspace.”

  “You don’t think this was caused by just the rocket blast?”

  “Not likely,” David said. “You had an old MR. Like as not, its firing chamber was lined with plascrete.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Doug conceded.

  “There’s newer materials now, but that’s what they all used to be lined with. Not just MRs either. A lot of hightemperature chambers were routinely lined with plascrete.”

  “Take the whole lot if you want,” Doug said. “I must admit, I’d be interested to know what your lab people figure out… if I could understand it.”

  “Right now, I’m not sure they’ll understand it.” David laughed. He pulled out his sheath knife and tried to chip out a piece of the fused material, without success. “You have, perhaps, a sledge and a sharp chisel?”

  “Look around. If they survived, they’re in here.”

  David took a quick look around, for form, then said, “I see what you mean. I’d hate to call in help.

  Whoever came would take all the credit.”

  “Should have a power saw in the house,” Doug suggested.

  “Unless it’s got diamondtipped blades, or something even better, I don’t think it would work, not if my knife didn’t,” David said.

  “I don’t have the faintest idea,” Doug admitted. “I’ll go have a look.”

  “Uh, don’t bother. We’ve got something better, if a trifle messy.”

  “What?”

  David raised his voice and shouted at one of the groups of men. “Roger? You got the beamer?”

  “Aye, Sergeant.” Zimmerman ran over, unslinging the weapon on the way.

  David held his hand out and Roger gave him the gun. “All right, you lot,” David said, very loudly. “Clear out of the barn for a few minutes and put your helmets on, visors down.” More softly, primarily for Doug’s benefit, he said, “I don’t want any accidents. I’m going to try to burn loose a chunk of this stuff.”

  “You think that’ll work?” Doug started to pull on his helmet. Two steps away, Roger was putting on his; he hadn’t hurried out of the barn with the others.

  “It’s worth a try.” David noticed Roger standing by. “What are you waiting for?” he demanded.

  “You have my weapon, Sergeant. My weapon, my responsibility. I’ll be happy to do the cutting. I might be able to coax a little extra power out of it.”

  Spencer stared at Roger for a moment, then nodded. “You might at that, lad,” he admitted. He handed the beamer back, then donned his own helmet. “I’d like about ten pounds, but I’ll settle for whatever I can get.”

  “If you and Mr. Weintraub would kindly step out of the way, I’ll see what I can do,” Roger said, his expression and tone hidden by the lowered visor over his face.

  David led Doug halfway across the remains of the barn. Even this might not be far enough, David thought, but he wanted to see what happened.

  “Darken your visor, Doug,” he said, “to the maximum.” He wiggled his fingers to set the polarity control of his own helmet. Doug, unpracticed, needed longer.

  “Whenever you’re ready, lad,” David told Roger over a helmet circuit.

  Roger aimed his beamer at the edge of a section of the fused material where there appeared to be the hint of a seam. His first squeeze on the trigger was short, testing, aimed at a shallow angle across the surface. The brilliant bluewhite beam sparkled off of the fused plascrete. When the glare died, Roger lifted his visor to take a close look at the target.

  “This stuffs tougher than mess hall pancakes,” he reported, “but I think I can get your sample.”

  “Do what you can,” David said.

  It wasn’t a quick operation. Roger ran the power charge completely down on his beamer, and the second battery pack was low before the hunk of fused plascrete finally fell free of the warped foundation. Roger set his weapon down carefully, leaning it against another section of the foundation. Then he lifted the visor on his helmet. David and Doug were already bending over the chunk that Roger had cut free.

  “I wouldn’t touch that yet,” Roger warned. “The surface temperature must be two hundred degrees.”

  David took off one of his gloves and held his hand over the chunk of plascrete, moving it gradually closer.

  After only a slight hesitation, he laid his hand right on the cut edge.

  “No
t much more than body temp. Didn’t hold the heat at all.” He stood and looked at Doug. “I’m more certain than ever that the lab boys will want to look at this stuff.”

  Roger took off both of his gloves and picked up the chunk. “I think it’s a bit more than ten pounds, Sarge, maybe closer to twenty.”

  “In that case, lad, I’ll let you carry it,” David said with a laugh.

  Two hours later, David was in Captain McAuliffe’s command bunker a mile east of Sam. First battalion had been moved, and turned around, facing out instead of in. Most of Second Regiment’s committed units were concentrated on the eastern half of a perimeter that enclosed Sam, Max, and the spaceport.

  The western half of the perimeter, consisting mostly of open terrain, was manned more lightly, relying on automated sentry systems and fire points. Any enemy movement in the open country on that side would be seen soon enough to bring reinforcements around, or to call in Spacehawks. It was in the forested areas east and southeast of the towns that heavier manpower was needed.

  “Your men ready to move?” McAuliffe asked when David entered the bunker.

  “Yes, sir. We’re getting to the point where a little action might be welcome, depending on what sort of action it is.”

  “It’s not liberty in Westminster,” McAuliffe warned.

  “We don’t expect that, sir.”

  “We’re going to try something different to clean out the last Feddies. It involves all the I&R platoons.”

  “In other words, a particularly nasty job of work?”

  “Not necessarily. It just requires I&R expertise. Each I&R platoon will be backed by two line companies. You’ll be dropped beyond the line that intelligence has decided is the farthest the Feddies could have gone, along the most likely routes. Your job will be to move back this way and either engage and destroy the enemy or flush them out so the mobile response teams can get them.”

  “How much support will we have? I mean, sir, will the recon shuttles be operating in front of us?”

  “A shuttle will work with each group. There will be two or three crews rotating duty, so you’ll have just brief intervals without cover. And Spacehawks will be available if necessary.”

  “And if there’s time for them to get into it,” David said. The way most of the engagements had gone on Buchanan, the Spacehawks had rarely arrived until the fighting was over.

  “You’ll be working with our Alpha Company and with Delta of the Fourth. You seemed to mesh nicely with Delta on that other business.”

  “Lieutenant Ewing and his lads seem to know their business,” David allowed.

  “Ewing will be in tactical command of the combined group. You know his lead sergeant?”

  “Bandar Jawad? Sure, I’ve known him forever. You mean the engineers let loose of him?”

  “Not willingly, I understand. But Delta is back together again. I hope you won’t have any trouble working with Ewing and Jawad.”

  “I wouldn’t expect so, sir. They’re both topnotch Marines. Like you and me.”

  McAuliffe allowed himself a soft laugh. “Maybe they can handle your softsoap better than I can.”

  The engineers had finally finished their road between the river and their original landing zone five miles east of it, and there were actually trucks down and running along it. David managed to commandeer transport to carry his platoon east. Delta of the Fourth and Alpha of the First had already moved to the landing strip. They had walked.

  “They give us lorries, it must be a real pisser coming up,” Alfie said as he climbed aboard.

  “The lorries were my cadge,” David told him. “It just means we’re going to get our quota of walking later.

  You heard the briefing, unless you had your fingers in your ears.”

  “An’ we’re goin’ in first, right?” Alfie squirmed to get himself a little more room in the back of the van.

  “That’s our job, Alfie lad.”

  The ride to the landing strip was short. Four shuttles were on the ground, with more circling to the north, ready to land and load as soon as there was room. Lieutenant Ewing was waiting for David. This time, Lead Sergeant Jawad was with his company commander.

  “You’d better be careful or they’ll transfer you to the Fourth permanently,” Ewing said.

  “No way, sir. Captain McAuliffe would never permit it,” David said. “Hello, Bandar. I see you finally escaped the engineers.”

  Bandar’s smile was characteristically tight. “None too bloody soon. You learned how to keep your arse down in a fight?”

  “At least I can still get mine out of the way, not like that corporation you’re carrying around.”

  “You spend as much time at a desk as I have to, you’ll balloon out too, mate,” Bandar said. “You seen where we’re going?”

  “Just on a mapboard. But we’ll go in first and have a looksee so your lads don’t get lost.”

  “You’d best hurry or you’ll miss your shuttle,” Ewing said, jumping back into the conversation. ‘ ‘Your men seem to be aboard already.”

  “I think we’ve got a good drop zone for you, Sergeant,” the shuttle pilot told David just after takeoff.

  “Matter of fact, we can put you down close enough to step out.”

  “That’s the way I like them, sir. How far from cover will we be?”

  “About a hundred feet to the northwest. But I doubt there’s any Feddies within eight to ten miles.”

  “Don’t remind me how far we’ve got to walk,” David said. “Still, better safe than shot.”

  “No argument from me,” the pilot said, and David returned to his seat.

  There was no hint of opposition to the landing. David got his platoon on the ground and into a defensive perimeter. Then the line companies came in, two platoons at a time, and took over the protective formations.

  “Take your men out and find us a good place to spend the night,” Ewing told David as the last of the transports cleared out. “We don’t want to march too far today, so try to find a spot within two or three miles.”

  Five minutes later, I&R platoon was on the march, working its way through the forest.

  “You realize that it’s entirely likely no human has ever walked this path,” Doug told David early on the march.

  David nodded. “At the moment, the only humans I’m interested in are Feddies. “I’ll be happy if none of them have walked any of the paths we do.”

  This was the sort of special operations mission I&R platoon was trained for, operating in front of other units. Although they had been assured that there couldn’t possibly be any Federation troops within ten miles, none of David’s men took their safety for granted. They spread out in two skirmish lines, one in front of the other, leapfrogging frequently, providing cover for each other.

  David had spotted three potential bivouac sites on his mapboard. It looked as if any of them might make acceptable positions for two companies and an extra platoon, but he wouldn’t be certain until he had seen at least one of them on the ground. If the first was acceptable, he wouldn’t insist on investigating the others. There was no need to comparison shop, not for one night.

  Doug kept an eye on his helmet sensors, but realized that the Marines would almost certainly spot any threat long before he could. The overlays on his visor display were still confusing. He also paid as much attention to the flora and fauna as he could. This was a part of his world he had never seen before, like more than ninetynine percent of Buchanan’s land area.

  Less than two hundred miles from home and it’s almost a different world. In the first hour of this trek, he counted a half dozen new species of trees, plus several new sorts of birds and small animals. As he had many times before, Doug wished he had more time simply to explore, but exploration had never been high on the list of priorities. The area the original settlers had chosen for their colony had served generations well. Several times, Doug knelt to grab a handful of dirt and let it sift through his fingers—light and sandy. It didn’t look parti
cularly suitable for intensive cultivation, but it supported a lot of healthy trees and occasional patches of underbrush.

  “Any idea what sort of animal might have made these paths?” David asked during one of the platoon’s brief rest stops.

  Doug shook his head. ‘ ‘They might be bluecapped deer like we have around the settlements, or something we’ve never seen. I think we can safely rule out hippobary though. They never get more than a couple of hundred yards from water, and there’s nothing deep enough for them around here.”

  “Your people have never made any systematic investigation?” David asked in a very casual tone.

  “No. It’s something that’s always been a step or two down the list of jobs to be done. You know, ‘We’ll get around to it when we have more time.’ ” Saying it was worse than simply thinking it. Out loud, the words brought a sense of guilt.

  David nodded. “I know. Things you’d like to do but that aren’t so critical that you can put other things on hold while you do them.”

  “Once this is over, I think we’ll have to find the time, particularly if we decide to join the Commonwealth.”

  “You think you will?”

  Doug shrugged. “If it were up to me, I’d say yes now. I think it’s likely. Depends on how the rest of this war goes, I suppose.

  “Yeah,” David said noncommittally. Like whether we win or lose.

  33

  Stasys Truscott had effectively locked himself in his day cabin. The Marine sentry outside had orders to admit no one, under any excuse. Even Ian Shrikes had been excluded. The admiral hadn’t communicated with anyone since shortly after 0700 hours, when he had informed the duty officer that he wasn’t to be disturbed for anything less than total disaster… or the return of Federation naval forces, whichever came first.

  Unexpectedly cut loose from his normal duties, Ian had gone to the flag bridge for a time, but without the admiral he was a loose cog and didn’t stay very long. He kept getting the same question: “What’s wrong with the old man?” Even Captain Hardesty came back to ask that question. Ian retreated to the flag wardroom with Prince William, but even that proved insufficient. Still, officers stopped to ask about the admiral. After the third or fourth interruption for the same question, the prince offered an alternative.