by Danny Loomis
After the first cluster of people came off the plane, Captain Sanchez bounded down the steps and into the terminal. He met Lieutenant Stanton with a large smile and a crushing handshake.
“Well, Jerry, you leave any work for me to do?”
“Yes Sir, I think you’ll find your plate’s full. Overflowing would be a better term,” he said with a chuckle.
“I think I see relief in those eyes at my presence. Could it be you don’t think Company Commanders have such a cushy job any more, now that you’ve had a taste?” He guided Stanton toward the largest mass of people, who surrounded the President.
“I don’t think I’ll even be able to joke about it anymore, Sir.” The crowd parted for the two officers, until they came face-to-face with President Martinez.
“Mister President,” Captain Sanchez said, “May I present my Executive Officer, Lieutenant Stanton, who so gallantly defended the Red Diamond mine during the raid two months ago?”
The President gripped Stanton’s hand. “Lieutenant, you did my world a service we can never adequately repay. Once this current unpleasantness is over, I’d like to have a talk with you.”
“Thank you, Mr. President. May I say it’s an honor to meet you.” Stanton felt out of his depth, and sinking fast. Luckily Captain Sanchez took that moment to move him on, so others could meet the President.
“From the look on your face, I think you’d much rather have been here with the company than back in the capitol in my shoes.”
“Definitely. How’d you do it? That job is supposed to be for a trained diplomat, not a company commander.”
“When you’re the senior officer on a mission isolated from your chain of command, you learn to do whatever’s needed, no matter what your training.” Sanchez shuddered. “It’s not the most pleasant experience I’ve ever had, but it was definitely stimulating.”
He waved his hand in dismissal and headed towards the exit. “Give me a rundown on what you’ve done since our last conversation.” Stanton began speaking while they walked to the temporary company headquarters he’d established in conjunction with the artillery battery.
“The patrols have been out since yesterday, but I don’t expect to hear from them until this afternoon at the latest. Neither of the battalions of planetary regulars pulling security has what you’d call extensive training or experience in the field, except the officers. Several of them have been here in the west for a couple of years, and were involved in a few brushes with the rebels.”
They entered what was now Captain Sanchez’ office. “Here’s home, Sir.” Sanchez sat behind the desk, and Stanton dropped into the remaining chair. “I’ve narrowed my search down to three or four possibles and one probable as far as who the rebel sympathizers may be. Three are Lieutenants on battalion staffs, and one is XO of the 4th Battalion, the ones who’ve been here the longest.”
Sanchez leaned back in his chair and laced fingers behind his head. “What makes you suspicious of them?”
“They’ve disappeared with some regularity over the past several weeks, and no one seems to know where they go. Plus the XO was in charge of the investigation about the ease with which the rebels were able to break into the diamond vault while an entire company was supposed to be guarding it. Seemed somewhat of a white wash to me when the only ones found to be suspects were conveniently dead because of the same raid.”
Sanchez wrinkled his brow in thought. “I’ll have a quiet word with General Smith. Maybe he can get his Intel group to dig deeper. I have a meeting with their military in an hour. By the way, I want you to attend with me.”
“I’ve got a platoon to run. I know I was made your acting XO until we got a replacement, but…”
“Not so fast, Jerry,” interrupted Captain Sanchez. “You’re going to have to be Company Commander a bit longer. At least until a replacement arrives from the task force as military liaison. So you’ll attend as the commander of the Orion Confederation’s military presence here on Star’s End.”
Stanton gave a heartfelt sigh. “Okay, alright, I know when I’m licked. I guess it could be worse. You could saddle me with the military liaison detail.”
“Bet your ass, Lieutenant. Now let’s get a move on. I want to inspect your defensive deployment before the meeting.”
Captain Sanchez and Lieutenant Stanton were the last ones to arrive at the conference center in the airport terminal where General Smith had ordered all the commanders and their staffs to gather for the brief. They slipped into their seats just as the General stood.
“Gentlemen, I won’t keep you long. I realize we’re in a state of alert due to the current jamming by the rebels. I need each of you to give me a briefing concerning your state of readiness and what the logistical situation is at present for your battalions.”
The first battalion commander started to the front with his hands full of notes. Sanchez nudged Stanton. “Are any of those you suspect here?”
Stanton looked around. “There, over by the entrance. See those five? The XO is the short one on the right. All the others are staff officers . Two from first and two from second battalion.” The men in question moved towards the exit.
For several more minutes, Sanchez and Stanton listened to the briefing. Finally, Sanchez’ face hardened in decision. “I don’t like this,” he said. “I know I’ve been paranoid about the welcoming ceremony, but humor me. Get a squad of our guys to pull security for the President and his staff, wherever he is. And find out where those guys went. I want to know what they do between now and the end of the ceremonies tomorrow.”
“Will do, Sir,” Stanton said, rising and slipping out the exit. He put his helmet on and keyed an alert on the comm for Lieutenant Carver.
“Carver here,” came the quick reply.
“Rich, I want you to get a squad of your most dependable over to where the President and his staff are billeted. Pull tight security on ’em until further notice. I’ll give you more details in a minute.”
He then raised Lieutenant Daniels. “Franky, get your guys over to the guns. Make sure their commo is up and running. Also, get three of your biggest and meanest to meet me at company HQ.”
“Copy you, boss. Wilco and out.”
Stanton’s head pivoted as he tried to spot the five men who’d left the briefing. There, over by the combined battalion’s operations center…
A blast of sound and concussive wave knocked Stanton sprawling. He lifted his head and looked dazedly about. Blood trickled from his nose, broken on impact with the ground since he hadn’t closed his helmet’s visor. Stupid. He rolled over, looked behind himself and gaped. The building he’d just exited was a gutted ruin. Debris still rained down from the force of the explosion. Flames sprang up around and inside it.
He struggled to his feet and started back, then stopped. No help for those poor bastards now. He wheeled drunkenly around toward the operations center.
“Sir! My God, Sir, are you all right?” Three of Lieutenant Daniels men sprinted up, shocked looks all around.
“The ops center. Get to the ops center,” he muttered. His step firmed up and he started regaining control of his faculties. “Ops center’s being taken over by rebels. Fan out. You two go to the side door and make your entry there.”
“How’ll we know the bad guys?” one of the soldiers asked.
“If they shoot at you, kill ’em,” he said. They sprinted around the side of the operations center, needlers in hand.
He and the remaining soldier drew their needlers and dove through the main entrance, one to the left, one right. Inside was a scene of hellish confusion. Dead and dying bodies littered the floor. Muffled gunfire in the back room was evidence somebody still held out. Two men seated at the communications console spun around and triggered their light automatic weapons, the sound shatteringly loud.
A sharp tugging at his left sleeve was all Stanton felt before he fired his needler. Both enemy soldiers were down and threshing. He turned to the soldier with him.
&
nbsp; “You okay?” White-faced, the man held his hand over a bloody wound on his left leg.
“Fine, Sir. Might be a little slow, but fine.”
At the Lieutenant’s signal they propelled themselves through the next doorway, their needlers a humming response to the burst of gunfire that greeted them. More needlers joined in and sliced into the rear of the defenders. Within seconds it was over. All five of the rebel sympathizers had been killed, but not before they had wiped out most of the ops center staff. The reek of burnt plastic and fresh blood had Stanton gulping in an attempt to overcome a queasy stomach.
“Look for survivors. Try and get an idea of what may’ve been damaged or destroyed.”
Two lightly wounded staff soldiers were in a side room, where they’d managed to survive until Stanton and his men arrived.
The Lieutenant heard a crackling hiss, and voices from the radio in the next room. “Please clarify your last transmission, Oscar Two.”
He moved to the comm console. “This is Ops center. We’ve had some trouble here. What’s the last transmission you received from us?”
“This is Bravo Six. We were told to move to defensive positions on the east side of the airfield, but we heard what sounds like a fire fight and several explosions about a kilometer to our front. Please advise.”
He looked at the tactical display map. Bravo six was the northwestern edge of the defense. If that company was not in position during an assault, it would be all over. “Stay in place, Bravo Six. I say again, stay in place. Expect a frontal assault at any time.”
Stanton vainly tried to raise Bravo Three and Four, the companies adjacent to Bravo Six. Both off the air. Damn! Must’ve been switched to another frequency. No telling where they were. Best not to count on them. The southwestern company, Bravo One, answered his first call.
“What’s going on, Oscar One? We’ve lost contact with the unit to our north.”
“This is Oscar One. Apparently they were moved to another position on the perimeter. Hold in place, expect a frontal assault at any time. We’ll move something over to plug that hole. Out.”
Just then the tactical screen came to life. One of the wounded staffers had been able to jury-rig repairs to the console which the rebels had tried to destroy.
Stanton stared at the screen in dismay. No defenders left in the center of the western side. One good push and they’d overrun the remaining companies, unless… He switched to the artillery net.
“Alpha One, this is Oscar One. Fire mission, over.”
He smiled in relief when he got an immediate reply. “Oscar One, this is Alpha One. Fire mission, out.”
“Have you still got your hogs on their chariots?” The artillery gunners had nicknamed their guns “hogs’ due to their distinctive appearance when mounted on armored floaters.
“That’s a roger, Oscar One. What’s the sitrep?”
“Got ourselves a hole in the middle of the western perimeter. Need you to scoot your hogs over to the ops center, spread yourselves west of it in the following locations.” He proceeded to give coordinates that would emplace them fifty meters to his front, and fifty meters apart. With five gun tubes, it was the last and best line of defense he had if an attack did come. Plus they could still perform fire missions from their new locations.
“One more thing. Make sure you bring all your flechette rounds. I think you might need ’em.”
Flechette rounds were used only in final defense of a battery position when in danger of being overrun by infantry. The canisters each held thousands of darts four centimeters in length which would create a lethal spray of death out to three hundred meters.
“On our way. Be there in five mikes.”
True to his word, the hogs slid by the operations center five minutes later, and settled into their new positions. Smaller wheeled vehicles began to shuttle ammunition from their previous location.
The rest of Alpha Company also filtered in, frantically digging defensive positions between the big guns. Lieutenant Stanton informed both Lieutenants Carver and Daniels of the situation, and they brought the President and his staff to the operations center.
The President entered, and Stanton came to his feet. “Sir, have you been briefed on our status?”
“Yes, Lieutenant. Have you tried to call back the units drawn out of the perimeter?”
“Yes, Sir. We sent runners to locate them. Haven’t heard anything yet, but soon as they come up on the proper frequencies, we’ll get them back. Until then I think it’s safer here, sir.” Just then the hammer of a heavy machine gun was heard, followed by the crump-crump of mortar rounds landing. The radio began chattering, with both the northern and southern defenders reporting they were taking heavy mortar and small arms fire.
“Tell them to resist any direct push, but to let them go by their flanks,” ordered Stanton. “Once they find the hole in the center, maybe we can get them to bunch up for our hogs.”
“Sir, there’s a large attack forming,” the new commo tech said, still queasy about sitting at the hastily cleaned console which still had the odd splash of blood here and there.
Stanton took the comm. “Alpha One, fire mission,” he called.
“Alpha One, fire mission, over,” came the reply.
“Four rounds each tube, low airburst, at the following location…” He provided the grid coordinates that covered two hundred meters in front of the defending companies.
“Roger. Quick fuse, danger close. Advise all, danger close.” Any time artillery fired within 400 meters of friendlies, it was called danger close. They would have to fire the rounds at a steep angle into the air, since they were also physically close to the target area.
“Fire for effect,” ordered Stanton.
“Fire, over.” Five artillery guns fired as one, causing a large hammering sound felt as well as heard inside the operations bunker. A total of three more rounds were fired by each tube, with all rounds out before the first one exploded.
“Splash,” came the call over the radio to signal the first explosion.
When the detonations began, it made the previous explosions of the mortar rounds sound like fire crackers. The ops center was two hundred meters from the perimeter and four hundred from the explosions, but the air still clenched a person’s face when each round burst.
“Delayed fire mission,” Stanton said.
“Fire mission, over.”
“FPF, flechettes. I say again. Final protective fire, flechettes, over.”
“FPF roger, over.”
“First round when the enemy is at 75 meters. Each gun deflect five degrees left, and repeat. This is a fire for effect at your discretion. Probably be another minute or two from the looks of things.”
“Wilco, out.”
Sweat ran down Stanton’s face as he looked at the tactical display. The first artillery barrage had succeeded in pushing the attackers inwards towards the center. Their clustered icons, red in color, had begun to spill through the gap created by the withdrawal of the middle units. Less than two hundred meters. Looked like several hundred, maybe more than a thousand rebels. If they began to curl behind the defenders rather than push inwards, they would lose the airfield. It all hinged on—his shoulders sagged as several of the red icons turned towards the flank and rear of the defending companies.
He straightened in hope as he saw the icons hesitate, then join the inward rush. Another hundred meters. Come on, just another hundred steps. An eternity seemed to drift by as he waited.
Abruptly, the air shook. The first flechette rounds were fired with a giant SPANGGGG of sound, which rolled on and on. It was seconds after the last round fired before anyone realized the cannons had ceased. The tactical screen was blank. Stanton hurried out of the bunker, and trotted to the first hog in sight.
Climbing to its top, he almost bumped into Lieutenant Carver coming up the other side. They both stared in sick fascination at the hell they had helped create. A carpet of unmoving bodies covered the ground, from precisely
seventy-five meters out to an undetermined distance. Some movement was noted on the sides, where a few survivors crawled or staggered erect.
Stanton leaned down toward Lieutenant Daniels, who had just jogged up. “Go find the units that were pulled out of the line. Get them back into their original positions. They’ll be responsible for cleaning this up.” He gestured at the mass of dead and dying. “Also have the battalion on the east side send over a couple of platoon-sized patrols to do a recon to our west.”
He dismounted from the armored vehicle and tiredly walked back towards the ops center. The first person to greet him was the President, who looked pale but calm.
“Lieutenant, we had two other aircraft on their way for tomorrow’s ceremony. I’ve had them turn back. Still dangerous out here. I should have listened to your Captain Sanchez.”
“Were there any survivors, Sir?”
“No. Every officer of field grade rank and above has been killed. I would appreciate it if you remain in command of all western forces until this particular situation ends.”
Stanton took off his helmet and rubbed his face. He winced as fingers brushed his broken nose, which still seeped blood. “Sir, I’m only a Lieutenant. You must have higher ranking officers who’re capable of command.”
“Yes, I do. However, I know I can trust you to do a good job. Right now we need the strongest leader, not the one of highest rank. And that person is you.”
Reluctantly, Lieutenant Stanton nodded. Christ almighty! And to think he’d been bellyaching less than an hour ago about being in charge of a company.
NEAR SPACE – SUPERDREADNOUGHT TOLSTOY (Day +32):
Ian didn’t realize he had come back to consciousness until he felt himself blink, and remained in darkness. “Am I dead?” A croaking growl startled him.
“He’s awake, Doctor,” a soft female voice said.
