First Strike

by Richard Turner

Sheridan found Cole sitting with Garcia, Roberts, and Tammy in their bunker. A chemical stove in the corner of the room kept the bitter cold away. A warmed up ration pack awaited Sheridan’s return. Before Sheridan could take a seat, there was a knock on the door. Garcia opened it and welcomed into the room a mother with a small child in her arms.

  Cole nudged Sheridan’s arm and quietly said, “Garcia has been cleaning out and treating wounds suffered by kids during the last bombardment. The field hospital is overwhelmed with military casualties. They’re turning away civilians who aren’t in need of immediate lifesaving care.”

  “We don’t have a lot of medicine ourselves,” pointed out Sheridan.

  “One of the medics who arrived with the reinforcements is a friend of hers, so he gave her a top up of her med bag. I told her it was okay to help out.”

  Sheridan took a seat and watched while Garcia treated the child for burns on her arms. When she was done, Garcia gave the women a small bottle of ointment for the wounds and a couple of fresh bandages. The woman thanked Garcia and turned to leave. Roberts jumped up and held the door open for the woman and her child.

  Cole waited until the door closed and then handed Sheridan his food. “I take it, sir, that the young woman you kissed back at headquarters is the one your mother doesn’t approve of?”

  “Correct,” Sheridan responded as he took a seat on the floor.

  “What young lady?” asked Roberts.

  “What does she look like?” prodded Garcia.

  Cole said, “From what I saw, she’s quite beautiful, slender, bald, and has a strong South African accent.”

  “I’m not fond of bald women,” confided Roberts. “But I do like accents.”

  “I wasn’t asking,” Sheridan retorted.

  “Where did you two meet?” asked Garcia.

  Sheridan placed his meal down and looked over at his comrades. “What is this, quiz the lieutenant day?”

  Garcia nodded. “Sir, we don’t get much gossip around here, so, yes, you’re on the hot spot. I’d really like to know where you two met.”

  For the next couple of minutes, Sheridan told them all about Tarina and about his mother’s dislike of her because of her skin color. The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs to their bunker ended the conversation. A Marine private walked in and handed Sheridan a note. He read it over, signed it, and then gave it back to the soldier.

  When the Marine was gone, Cole looked over at Sheridan. “So, what’s on the go, sir? More liaison work?”

  Sheridan shook his head. “General Gruber wants to see you and me in his office tomorrow morning at 0800 hours.”

  “Did the note say why?”

  “Nope. Perhaps we’re going outside of the city again to gather more intelligence on the Kurgans’ activities?”

  Cole said, “The general really likes you.”

  “Yeah, I guess he does.”

  “That’s not always a good thing, sir.”

  Sheridan was taken aback. “Why would you say that?”

  “Sir, with all due respect to the general, he’s clearly not afraid to trade lives, a lot of lives to get what he’s after. Remember when the Kurgans first struck our position on the outskirts of the city?”

  “Sure. What about it?”

  “A lot of good men died at the hands of the enemy’s drones. General Gruber deliberately kept his air-defense assets from engaging the enemy so he could see what the enemy’s tactics would be when they met resistance. Also, those men on the far side of the river who were massacred when they tried to withdraw . . . they did not need to be there. They were there as bait to let the Kurgans think that we were still planning to resist their advance.”

  “Generals have to make hard decisions to win. Sometimes people die.”

  “Sir, I’m not disputing that. If you don’t think that Gruber would use you to gain a battlefield advantage, then you’re fooling yourself. You, I, all of us are a means to an end. You’re young and you care about the people you serve with, and that’s a good thing for an officer. The sooner we’re assigned back to a regiment the less of a chance of us being used up and tossed away.”

  Sheridan shook his head. “You do realize that you can be quite the cynic sometimes, Sergeant.”

  Cole smiled. “Sir, I tell everyone that I meet that you’re the smartest officer I have ever met, but you have one failing.”

  “And that is?”

  “You trust people too much. A healthy dose of pessimism from time to time will serve you well in your career. Look, I could be wrong about the general, but my experience to date tells me to be leery.”

  “Okay, let’s wait until tomorrow to see why the general wants to see us. If it’s for some foolhardy scheme, then you may be right. However, until then, I’m going to continue to be me.”

  Cole stuck out his hand. “Fair enough. I wish I still drank. I’d bet a case of Scotch on this and I’d win.”

  “Dream on, Sergeant,” replied Sheridan shaking his friend’s hand.

  At precisely 0800 hours the next day, General Gruber’s aide escorted Sheridan and Cole into his office. The general stood by a map on the wall, carefully studying it. The aide announced that Sheridan and Cole were present. Gruber dismissed the officer and asked his guests to join him by the map.

  Sheridan could see all of the Marines and the known enemy positions marked on the map. The Kurgan had acted doctrinal to date; therefore, it had been easy for the intelligence staff to plot their expected locations on the map.

  “Gents, in about four days’ time, I’m going to need to be able to speak with all of my units and with anyone in orbit above us,” announced the general.

  Sheridan and Cole exchanged a look of surprise.

  “That’s right, gents, help is on the way. You, however, are forbidden to repeat that to anyone outside of this room. The problem is that the enemy won’t let me talk to anyone, so I need someone to go outside of the capital and find and destroy the Kurgans’ jamming station. My intelligence folks think that it’s located here near the rear of the Kurgan administrative echelon forces.” Gruber pointed to a spot on the map at least thirty kilometers from the city.

  Sheridan leaned forward to study the map. They had walked within a few kilometers of the site when they were trying to reach the capital.

  Gruber continued. “Obviously, you can’t do this all on your own, so I’m going to provide you with a platoon from the newly arrived Marine battalion. They’re fresh and are spoiling for a fight.”

  Sheridan said, “Sir, a platoon moving around outside the city is going to be spotted far too easily. We’ll need to split up into four-man teams to move through the refugee camps as unobtrusively as possible. All I need are sixteen volunteers to get this done.”

  “Son, I’m not finished. I also want you to escort a fire effects officer and an aerospace controller to a safe location where they can see the bulk of the Kurgan forces. I was thinking that these high grounds to the west look good.”

  At the academy, Sheridan had been taught that a fire effects officer could control and coordinate the fire from a mortar all the way up to a battleship in orbit high above the planet. The aerospace controller would be responsible to bring in the landing ships and fighter-bombers from the approaching fleet. Sheridan stepped forward and studied the positions the general had picked. They were on the route he would have to use to get to the jamming station. “Sir, this means that I need six more volunteers for a total of twenty-two. Anything more than that and we’ll be spotted for sure.”

  “I think you may be selling yourself short, but it’s your call, son.”

  Cole spoke up. “Sir, I have to agree with Mister Sheridan, it’s unfriendly territory out there. Too many new faces moving about will make people suspicious.”

  Gruber nodded. It was done. “Gents, I’ll make sure you get the best soldiers I can get my hands on.”

  “Sir, please make sure we get some women,” added Cole. “In my experience, women refugees tend to ope
n up to other women more than a bunch of strange men who walk into their camp and start asking questions.”

  “That’s a good point,” agreed Sheridan.

  “Okay, I’ll make it happen. Anything else?” asked Gruber. Both men shook their heads. “Well, if that’s it, I’ll hand you two off to the intelligence staff again. They’ll give you all the details you’ll need to pull this off.” With that, he shook their hands and dismissed the two Marines. “Good luck to you. An awful lot of people are counting on you to end the Kurgans’ ability to jam all of our comms.”

  Outside the room, Cole turned to Sheridan. “No pressure, sir. All they want us to do is stroll thirty klicks through enemy territory, find a jamming station, which is probably guarded by at least a platoon of Chosen warriors, blow it up and then get out of there without being killed. I think I just won my case of Scotch.”

  “Yeah, you may have,” said Sheridan.

  Eight hours later, in the basement of an abandoned house, Sheridan stood over a model on the floor of the ground they were going to have to move across. He, like everyone there, had changed into civilian clothing. Some carried their uniforms in their small packs to be put on later while others brought Chosen winter white coveralls. All carried Kurgan small arms taken from the dead. Sheridan looked into the eyes of the men and women who had volunteered to come with him. They all looked incredibly young to him. Although only twenty-two, Sheridan felt old compared to the sea of eighteen-year-old faces looking up at him. “Okay, people, listen up, first off, I want to thank you all for volunteering for this dangerous assignment. Secondly, and this isn’t a dig at your officers and NCOs, but you don’t know crap. It’s a different world outside of the capital. It’s a lawless environment in which refugees, collaborators, black-marketeers, and Chosen soldiers interact.”

  He paused for a moment. No one said a word. Sheridan pointed down at his model. “Marines, this is what I want to happen . . .” For the next two hours, Sheridan briefed and then quizzed his people on what they were going to do. Once he was satisfied that they understood their jobs, he broke them down into their teams. Garcia was going to lead a group escorting the fire effects officer. Roberts’ group would look after the aerospace controller. Sheridan’s assault force was broken down into four groups of four. He and Cole would travel together through the refugee camps trying to learn what they could about the jamming station. The remainder would take a longer route through the woods trying to avoid any contact whatsoever with the refugees and the enemy. They would all rendezvous at a spot near the jamming station in a few days’ time.

  Cole walked over by Sheridan. “Sir, that was a good set of orders, I don’t think you missed a thing. However, time is slipping by, and we’ll need to get moving in the next thirty minutes if we’re going to meet your timings.”

  Sheridan glanced down at his watch. He was surprised how fast things were proceeding. “Okay, Sergeant, let’s get to work.”

  Hidden in the darkened tunnel’s exit, Sheridan looked out at the falling snow and smiled. At least the weather was cooperating. Their initial moves would be unobserved. He turned and whispered to Cole, “First team up.”

  Garcia moved beside Sheridan. He shook her hand and wished her luck. “See you back at the bunker, sir,” said Garcia. With a wave of her hand, she led her team out of the tunnel. Within seconds, they were lost from sight. Roberts was up next. Five minutes later, he shook Sheridan’s hand and with Tammy by his side, Roberts and his group stepped off on their journey. At five-minute intervals, all of the teams departed leaving Sheridan and Cole alone in the tunnel.

  “In for a penny, in for a pound,” said Sheridan as he stepped out into the night. He pulled up the collar on his jacket to stop the swirling snow from going down the back of his neck. Cole, with his hands jammed deep into his coat’s pockets, walked beside Sheridan, neither man saying a word. Behind them, the heavy metal grate was closed and locked by a couple of MPs.

  Sheridan and his people were on their own again.

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