Koban 4: Shattered Worlds

by Stephen W Bennett

  “Nothing to shoot at down here and I want to see where we’re going. We get two hundred shots per feeder rod anyway. I’ll load up before we go.”

  “Use your visor to see what’s in front, you knuckle head. The cab doesn’t have a see through windshield anyway, they use a video feed to see outside the armor shell, except for the two rifle slots to shoot through.”

  “No. I want to keep an eye on your crappy driving. You get in first then I’ll climb inside.”

  “Crappy driving,” muttered Reynolds. “It’s a damned near straight tunnel,” he grumbled.

  Sure enough, they both fit in front, if Reynolds sat a bit to the left side, but they were almost shoulder-to-shoulder. Luckily, leg and headroom was ample, for the bulkier PU armor. The two gun slits were positioned high enough so they could bend to look out of them if they shifted their heads down slightly, and their built in energy weapons would target whatever they could see on the inside of their visor screen.

  Slipping the unfamiliar throttles slightly too far forward, the ladybug jolted ahead before Reynolds pulled the steering yoke to the left to control the tracks. They clipped the rear fender of the ground car as they grated and screeched past.

  “Perhaps I should drive, and you ride in back,” Thad proposed. “Caldwell will bill us for that repair.”

  “Shut the hell up,” was Sarge’s reply, as he swung wildly around the two electric carts and accelerated down the glow strip illuminated tunnel. Thad’s chuckle sounded in his earpiece.

  ****

  Sergeant Skalsgard knew they had stepped in it big time, when he saw the eight clanships headed for the Small Urals. From his observation post on one of the peaks overlooking the roads, which passed through the ancient mountains, he realized the Krall were turning the tables on the First Army. Up until now, the planned fallback had drawn out the over eager warriors from the minor clans exactly as planned. Those Krall, largely on foot, with a handful of Dragons with them, currently were dashing themselves against the first of the stronger fortified bastions, where they were trying to beat their way through the heavy fire pouring down from the high ground.

  The second and last major fallback point was around and below Skalsgard, and along the ridge tops. This was where a few thousand troops, in prepared bunkers with escape tunnels, were expected to hold back the Krall as long as they could. The bulk of the half million troops would pass below Skalsgard along two major interior valleys on either side of his post, racing to escape the confines of the surrounding ridges. The lead elements, troops riding in two columns of trucks, with various mobile artillery, laser and plasma batteries mixed with them, had started passing his highest of the observation posts.

  They were soon to successively split up and pass out through eight different routes on the eastern side of the Urals, staying well ahead of the pursuing Krall. The warriors, even in armor, could scale the steep sided ridges and sweep along the tops, overtaking the retreating main body below them if allowed. They were to be kept under continuous fire, and swept from the exposed ridge tops from a hundred prepared positions. After the columns were clear of Skalsgard’s unit, preset charges would bring down avalanches on the roadways when the enemy tried to use them. It wouldn’t stop the warriors, but the Dragons and artillery defense system couldn’t go with them.

  Skalsgard turned to his corporal, who was talking to Turbulence Control, providing visual links from various suit visors linked to this post, to feed images to the AIs that were controlling the seeker missiles in the absence of radar. The clanships had just roared by them, flying below the higher peaks for concealment. Their passing had shaken rocks loose with their supersonic shockwaves.

  “They need to knock some of them down to leave passes out of here open.” He shouted to his overstressed corporal, who was already doing all he could do. It was redundant, but he felt better for pointing out the obvious. Watching the back door being slammed on the troops below was too stressful to just sit quietly and watch. He and his men had escape tunnels, which would lead them out of the Urals in multiple directions. As usual, they were mined, with Krall detector sensors activated that would deny the enemy use of them.

  Barely had he completed his frustrated commentary when he saw two widely spaced billows of orange flame and black smoke in the distance. “Yes! Two down. Let’s get some more.” Only there were no more explosions, and one blast looked too small to suggest complete destruction of a clanship.

  He stepped in on the corporal’s link to speak directly to Turb Control. “The smoke column rising above the northernmost pass tells me you probably destroyed that ship. The smoke column that rose over the central pass seems too small. I don't think that was a kill.”

  “Sergeant,” sounded the irritatingly reassuring lieutenant’s voice, “the telemetry tells me we brought it down, because it definitely did not continue to the eastern end of the canyon. You can bet that both of them are gone.”

  Skalsgard thought of a way to avoid the appearance of doubting the officer’s word. “Sir, we need to know how much wreckage is blocking the road before the main column gets that far. Can you send me your orbital surveillance to tell us where any burning debris is located along the valley floor?”

  This was a bit of a trick question. Debris from a single clanship couldn’t possibly close the entire valley. Such wreckage would only create a slight delay to clear pieces, or it could be bypassed. However, the experienced sergeant didn’t want to sound like he was questioning the second Louie’s strong assertion that his unit’s missiles had killed both ships.

  There was a brief silence, as if mute were selected when the officer apparently repeated the question to someone at the other end. A disparaging comment was no doubt included.

  Background noise soon resumed on the link, and so did Lieutenant Smithers reassuring condescending voice, sporting a Hub world accent that contrasted with the rustic speech of the Poldark born Skalsgard. “I can confirm that the road appears completely clear visually after the smoke cleared, and radar from a heavy cruiser detected no debris your people will need to clear away. There are also no brush fires.” He didn’t send the orbital images requested, but his description was adequate to help the sergeant reach a conclusion.

  “Thank you Sir. Madigan Post One out.” He turned again to his corporal.

  “Tommy, advise First Army Command that it is highly likely that a clanship landed in the main valley about…,” he paused as he used his visor to measure the range to the ridge top where the small smoke column was fading. “Thirty miles east of Madigan’s peak. The enemy may have blocked the central pass, and a Krall force could reach the branch to the northern pass in thirty five to forty minutes on foot, if that ship landed intact. The lack of a flaming debris field tells me it did exactly that.”

  The corporal had been in on the link. “Sarge, Smithers will report that it was destroyed.”

  “Tommy,” the sergeant continued in a threatening voice, despite the casual first name use. “Kindly inform our Command Center that ten year combat veteran Staff Sergeant Vilinkin Skalsgard believes the enemy will advance to meet our main column before they can complete a diversion to follow the northern route out of the Urals. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes sergeant” was his meek reply.

  Selecting the channel for the unit in charge of directing this leg of the retreat through the mountains, he told his suit’s AI. “Link to Major Albertson, urgent.”

  In seconds he was connected. “What’s happening on Madigan’s peak that’s so important, sergeant?”

  “Major, I think we have a problem.” He explained what he knew and what he suspected.

  “Good information sergeant. We’re holding them back at the western end for now. Has the front of the main column already passed to the east of the fork to use the northern route?” The split in the ridges to access the other wide passes was supposed to happen farther east of where the potential clanship landing had happened. There was only one way to go that wouldn’t requ
ire them to try to fight their way through, thus allowing pursuit to catch and pin them in the mountains.

  “Yes Sir, the forward elements have moved several miles beyond that branch, and I can see the line has curved around the bend where that resort and rest area are located.” In normal times, this had been the scenic midpoint of a well-traveled tourist route.

  “OK. I’ll divert everyone that hasn’t gone past it to turn onto the northern route, at least until we know if the Krall are really that close to us. We may have to fit as many as we can into the tunnels if we are cut off. Shit! This is a real bottleneck. We need some time.” He thought for only a few seconds.

  “I’ll order the forward part of the column already beyond the hotel to prepare for an attack. They won’t have much time, but thankfully, there can’t be more than two thousand warriors coming at them. Poor bastards. Those troops were sent back first because they’ve been on the line the longest. They’re tired and battered, but we need them to hold as long as they can. We may have to trickle as many as we can on foot through those tunnels.”

  “Even if they can hold them Sir, if the Krall closed seven of the passes, they might split off a force to block the northern route somewhere along its length. I can see where it splits off, and that’s a narrow cleft of a canyon.” From Skalsgard’s standpoint, if the tunnels filled up with trapped and fleeing troops, he and his men’s own back door would squeeze shut. The Krall would certainly know where the shooting came from up on the ridges and peaks, as Skalsgard’s men shot warriors off the ridge tops above the retreating columns. These were very accessible bunkers, on ledges of peaks often scaled by civilian rock climbers. The Krall would swarm them.

  “I’ll confirm if the actual orbital images show no wreckage. Lieutenant Smithers had better not try to put me off or I’ll have his ass. We have some new air support that was only slated to get airborne when we were ready to pull back on the west side. We may need it over here first. I’ll send you the orbital pictures.” He signed off, leaving Skalsgard feeling vindicated, but in the center of a probable trap.

  ****

  Bored, Thad was looking at his visor map overlay while Sarge drove on in what seemed like an endless tunnel. The glow strips went off quickly after they passed, and their dim glow began only as they drew within a thousand feet. The ladybug was moving almost as fast as the tunnel sensors were set to activate the strips. The monotonous tunnel walls were rarely interrupted by the wide intersections of cross tunnels. Occasionally there was a fork, where a passage was cut to follow under another ridge. That was Thad’s fascinating job. Saying “left” or “right” as they approached one of those. Occasionally a passage would join with theirs. They were a few miles from the spec ops hub, a large nexus where many tunnels met. He was examining the surface area around that nexus, wondering where they might meet up with either spec ops troops, or regular army.

  “Hey, there’s a civilian complex right above and adjacent to the hub. It sits on the main road through the mountains. I drove that road in years past, even before I joined the Poldark Militia. Very scenic drive through the Urals, but there was no restaurant or hotel back then. I hope it’s open, I could use a hot meal.” They had missed lunch and it was well past midday now. Not down here in this glowworm of a tunnel of course, whose intestine they seemed to be trapped in as they drove in the endless gloom.

  “Kinda forgot there’s war on, didn’t ya? That pass is an evacuation route for the First Army. They were pulling back into the Urals before we even left. A field rat’s all you can expect.” Field rations had been a mainstay on Koban for several years of Thad’s initial incarceration there by the Krall. He never outgrew his dislike of the repetitive bland taste.

  “Yippee. How I yearn for another lukewarm spaghetti and meatball grease lump, with a lime jell cup, chocolate mint cookies, and fake coffee.”

  “You are thinking of those old Poldark, pre-war PU Army rations. The modern stuff, before I was captured, was pretty damn good.”

  “Sure, and you don’t think your socks stink. I don't trust your sense of smell or gastronomical preferences. You even eat rhinolo liver.” Thad shivered at the thought.

  “Doc Rafe should have added some of the ripper taste buds to your sense of smell mods. You don’t know what the hell is good! Rippers love organ meat, just like I do.”

  Delivering the barb his remark begged someone to use, Thad said, “Ripper males lick their own favorite organ. I wonder if you like that taste?”

  Sarge’s expected retort was interrupted when the chime on the navigation system in each suit’s AI let them know they were now a half mile from the destination parking garage, adjacent to the spec ops underground command center in the Small Urals.

  As they slowed, the echoing noise of the tracks and rush of air diminished, and at first, they thought something had worked loose underneath, because they heard thumping. However, the ladybug wasn’t vibrating in time with the sound, and a loose track link would have caused a repetitive sounding thump.

  The parking area was already illuminated as they approached that, evidence that it was or had recently been occupied. Slowed from almost seventy miles per hour to fifteen, they entered the open space, immediately noting there were numerous electric carts, ground cars, and several ladybugs parked haphazardly.

  An amplified voice shouted out from behind a ground car. “Stop right there. What unit are you with?” It didn’t sound particularly threatening, but the order sounded firm, and the speaker had remained out of sight.

  Thad responded. “We aren’t assigned to any PU unit. Major Caldwell, in General Nabarone’s war room, gave us authorization to come out here to observe the Krall up close. What’s happening? Is that artillery I hear thumping on the surface?” As Sarge brought them to a halt, the intermittent distant thumping continued.

  Suddenly, Thad’s visor showed him a shadowy outline rise from behind the front hood of the concealing ground car. The figure had another couple of questions for them. “Why aren’t you two stealthed? I see the heat signature of two in the front, nobody in the back. Sort of a casual entry into a combat zone, isn’t it?

  Reynolds, seeing Kobani issue armor made an easy assumption. “You’re spec ops. Except, how did the Krall reach here from Novi Sad so damn fast? We came to watch how their new body armor performs against ours in a fight. We thought we had a full day before they reached here, if they even kept coming this far. We assumed they would be pulling out soon.”

  The other suit suddenly shimmered into full visibility. “OK. You know too much to be regular PU, and we have the same armor. If you aren’t attached to any PU unit, and you came from the War Room, I think you two probably out rank me. Did you arrive from some planet I have yet to visit? I’m corporal Deke Madigan, ODA412. With the glamorous job of keeping any of the regular PU troops from working their way down here and making off with what little transportation we have.”

  Thad told him, “Corporal, I just had my AI send yours our authorization to be here, and our ID. Technically, we are attached to General Nabarone’s staff. Although both of us were born on Poldark, in answer to your question we do call another world our home now. If I correctly caught your oblique reference, I’ll confirm we are Kobani, as I know you are, and we are indeed full mod versions.”

  Checking his visor for the authorization, Madigan was suitably impressed. “Colonel Greeves. I’m honored to meet you Sir.” In an embarrassed afterthought, he hurriedly added, “You too Sergeant Reynolds.”

  Reynolds harumphed. “Humpf. Neither of us has an official military rank on Poldark anymore Deke. Not even at home for that matter. We are a quasi-military civilian group. We wanted to try our hand at fighting a few Krall in their new armor today, and see how theirs matches up to ours.”

  Trying to remember to leave off respectful Sirs to the civilians, Madigan told them, “I’ve been monitoring the action topside on my visor. If you stick around here, you’ll do more than try your hand at fighting them. They sent eight warrio
r loaded clanships to block the First Army’s escape routes out of the Urals. One ship was brought down early, but landed intact, close to us and in the main pass. There are two thousand warriors fighting their way towards us to close off access to the one remaining open pass. It branches to the north a few miles from where we are. The regular PU units are not holding them back well at all. That’s why my team and some other Kobani forces were directed here. We have to help hold them back while the First Army rushes to make the narrow turn to the open northern pass.”

  “OK. We want in on this. What sort of access to the surface, or up to the ridges do we have from down here? I see three other ladybugs here, and Sarge and I found we can link in and control them remotely. We can use these four tri barrels to chew on the Krall from as high as we can place them.”

  “Uhh…,” Madigan thought for a moment. “The hotel and restaurant are built against the side of the ridge, and there’s a VTOL landing pad on the roof, for when snow or snow melt closes the road. There’s a freight elevator up through the ridge that opens on the side of the landing pad, to bring down supplies. The lift might be able to hold a ladybug. They should be light enough, if they can fit inside.”

  “Fine. I see where that is on the map. Tell your team leader we will get the guns at least as high as that landing pad, and perhaps one or two placed somewhere else.”

  Greeves and Reynolds activated the other three ladybugs, and linked their AIs to their own. They each slaved one “bug” to the one they each would drive, and as they were about to head down the tunnel to the freight elevator, Madigan linked in to their com sets.

  “Lieutenant Spartan and Staff Sergeant Mills will meet you at the tenth level, which is the roof landing pad. They appreciate the idea, but you need to hurry. They say the Krall are closing fast. The PU troops sent to hold them back are crumbling.”