While only 19, Carlie had responsibilities far beyond her age, and those responsibilities gave her an unusual maturity. Since her mother Amanda had been born and raised among the Torgai, Carlie was one of the few of the new generation who really had the ability to fully understand Torgai, and who they fully trusted; she had been among them all her live. Since her grandmother had become too infirm in recent years to continue to coordinate the Torgai, Amanda had stepped into that role, and Carlie had been the best qualified to become her assistant. In that role she had moved to Dominica to work with the Torgai located there. That task had taken nearly all her time and had kept her from going on to school.
The group among the trees was divided about half-and-half between a mixed group of civilians, mostly women, children, and older men, and the uniformed reserve soldiers of Carlie's unit; with over a hundred people all-told. That didn't include the Torgai, who where Carlie's responsibility and who served as auxiliaries for their unit.
Carlie was worried. Some of the survivors of the roadblocks had caught up with them and reported they had been brushed aside by the Gath advance. But Eddie wasn't with them, and she could only wonder whether he was dead. She had mixed emotions when it came to Eddie. He was and continued to be one of her best friends, but she was uncertain about the gradual change to a romantic relationship. While the same age, Eddie was a little immature for his age, having lived in the protected environment of the headquarters complex, and sometimes seemed like he was much younger than her.
The next day, on the mainland . . . .
The clearing under the trees was a beehive of activity, the cries of the wounded mixing with the shouted orders and roars of vehicle motors. Further down the slope the larger clearing was filled with shuttles landing to disgorge their load of troops or equipment, or being loaded with wounded before leaving. Other shuttles loaded with troops sat waiting, with one or two leaving periodically on their assigned missions. Overhead Earthforce attack ships sped by in a protective pattern, or flashed toward the battle being waged against the Gath contingent holding the wooded cluster of hills. Several kilometers to the south the brightening dawn sky was further lit by the brilliant flashes of intense laser fire and exploding missiles. High above the glow were more streaks of light and flashes of explosions as the attack ships of the two sides engaged in a life and death battle for control of the sky over the scene of battle; a battle now becoming one sided as few Gath attack ships remained.
Sage and Jeff were huddled over a small table with several marine officers going over maps of the areas of Gath occupation, pointing out the best routes of advance and potential landing sites for the shuttles. As decisions were reached one of the marine officers would bark a command to one of his subordinates, and Sage would assign those of her mapping teams most familiar with the installation or area in question to accompany the assault unit. Jeff passed on the detailed instructions to the Torgai guides who would also accompany the assault units.
Brigadier General Solokov joined the group at the table and listened intently, occasionally contributing some comment. Similar but smaller battles were being waged near many of the Gath installations, but the group of Gath cornered here resulted from the Gath attempt the leave the largest of their compounds, that near New Athens. The number of cornered Gath was uncertain, but could be as high as 10,000 or more. They could not be allowed to add their number to the thousands that had already reached the foothills.
At least now Gath air cover was becoming less and less as more and more hangers became unavailable and their available ships fewer; most hangers now were either blocked or guarded by fleet troops with hand-held missile launchers. The end game for complete control of the air was in sight, leaving the long and bloody task of rooting out the Gath from their underground warrens, and, for those that had left, from their mountain refuges. Solokov thought to himself, "it had better be near an end; we can't sustain these losses for long."
CHAPTER 6: Storm’s End
(Early August, Alpha Year 52): Far below the surface of Alpha 2, Gath-Tuc-1 and Gath-Tuc-2 had just returned to their private quarters from the operations headquarters on the floor above, leaving notice that they be notified immediately if conditions changed. Their private quarters, a single room about 4 meters by 5 meters, while appearing spartan, was luxurious by the standards of overpopulated Gath. Part was occupied by a pair of desks with monitors and chairs, part by a small sitting area, part by a small kitchen, and the side-by-side hammocks that served for sleeping. While they had two children, they were rarely seen by their parents, and lived in the nursery or juvenile dormitories. Parents and children had no particular bond beyond their place in the clan.
Gath-Tuc-1 and 2 were new to their role; only following the battles for the moon base had they been promoted from their former rank of Gath-Tuc-3 and 4 when their predecessors had been called back to Gath. But while new, they were now answerable for success or failure.
Things were clearly not going well. While their moon base had been taken unprepared, that was more the fault of the officials on the homeworld and also their predecessors in command. Notice of the attack was received only two months before the human's arrival, and in any case, their predecessors bore that responsibility. Later they had become aware of what had happened to the burrows below the moon base, notified by the few remaining Gath in the sealed secure chambers; but again that was the fault of their predecessors who had provided and directed the design of the base. While they were familiar with nuclear power, the Gath had never had a need for weapons, so its use to destroy or seal the underground chambers had come as a shock. They had assumed the Gath at the moon base would be safe in their underground chambers until a relief expedition came; they had enough food and water to last years.
But it was not to be; and Gath-Tuc-1 and Gath-Tuc-2 knew they could no longer depend on their burrows for safety. That had led to the decision to find safety in the highlands for as many as possible, and to that end an attack upon the remaining humans in the islands was launched as a diversion. But even that had backfired. While they had presumed the humans would immediately go to the defense of the islands they had not; only a part of their air fleet had gone to the defense, and instead they sent the bulk of their attack ships to and landed troops near all the major Gath installations, effectively sealing them underground. The aircraft sent to support the island attack were unable to return and were lost.
All in all, not a good day.
Gath-Tuc-1 and Gath-Tuc-2 had finally retreated to the privacy of their quarters; no one on their staff having any useful suggestions. While this far underground they were safe, at least for now, it was clear their options were limited. They could sit here and await the end, or send their troops against the human forces above, which was practically suicide.
Gath-Tuc-1 seated himself at a console while Gath-Tuc-2 rummaged through the pantry in the kitchen looking for something to ease her hunger. Finally, carrying a bowl filled with a mixture of pale lichen and fungi raised in the underground gardens, Gath-Tuc-2 rejoined her mate by the monitors. Tonight they would discuss all possible options, and tomorrow have that decision passed down.
Even if a relief fleet were to arrive now, which they knew was impossible, they no longer had a future. The failings of recent days would be considered theirs, and their status and that of their clan reduced; perhaps even to that of common laborers.
On Dominica . . . .
Eddie, along with two other survivors of the fighting, worked their way up the ravine. All three were weak from hunger, having survived largely on nuts, berries, and what little else they could scavenge. One of Eddie's two companions had his arm wrapped to protect painful burns suffered when they encountered some Gath stragglers two days before. Luckily the three had been resting in a protected area when they heard the two Gath lumbering through the bushes, making no attempt to mask their noise. Eddie and the others had positioned themselves in ambush and, when the Gath were within less than ten meters, had all opene
d fire. One of the Gath had dropped immediately, but the other had fired blindly, continuing to stand in spite of the multiple hits he had taken. Then he too had fallen. The only damage they had sustained was the burned arm.
Eddie's companions seemed to know where they were headed. Having lived on the island they knew where the evacuees from the town would have gone, and that was the destination. They should be close now. Suddenly, at the head of the ravine, a Torgai with a rifle stood and signaled to them, waving for them to come forward. Several others also materialized from the underbrush and stood watching.
A short distance away Carlie was just returning from the Torgai encampment which was about half a kilometer from where the human refugees were located. The Torgai were the main source of information on Gath activities, and had patrols out as far as just outside the Gath positions, the nearest of which was about ten kilometers away. Others operated behind the Gath lines, or supporting raiding parties that attempted to keep the Gath pinned down, although ‘lines’ was a misnomer. The Gath stayed pretty much to isolated strong points and moved out only in strong columns. The Torgai and colonists had free-reign elsewhere with little risk of air attacks; no Gath aircraft having been seen since the first day. Those Torgai not monitoring the Gath were roaming as a screening force surrounding the colonist's camp.
Entering the camp Carlie greeted several persons as she walked to where her bedroll was stacked under a tree, on the way picking up some of the sparse rations at the commissary area. Two of her friends came over and joined her, the three joking together about the lack of water for washing, the dullness of the routine here at the camp, their worry about friends or relatives who were missing, and speculation about what was happening on Santa Clara.
They knew fighting was still going on between some of the colonist units and the Gath, and Carlie had heard from her Torgai patrols that the Gath positions were being bombarded by the Earthfleet. Whatever the situation, the Gath were making no further attempt to move inland. While the camp was too far away to be involved in the fighting, it did serve as a rear medical and supply area for colonist units. About two dozen wounded were currently in their makeshift hospital being cared for by the few persons they had with any medical background, which consisted of three nurses. There wasn't a great deal they could do for the severely wounded without more medical supplies or a doctor.
This wasn't the only refugee enclave; others were scattered throughout the highlands, some larger and better equipped than theirs included much more complete medical facilities. As to the other islands they knew very little, and what the situation was on the mainland was only a subject of rumors. Radio communications were kept to a minimum for fear the Gath could monitor the messages and pinpoint the locations, so much of what was classed as news was rumor only. Initially some stragglers had made it into camp, but these were becoming fewer and fewer, and now, nearly two weeks after the Gath landings those that did arrive were approaching starvation.
In orbit . . . .
Faud walked down the hallway toward the chart room. He had succeeded in taking a short three hour nap, his first rest in 48 hours. As he passed the medical section he had to step to the side to avoid the beds strung along the hallway where the severely wounded lay waiting for attention, less badly wounded standing or sitting on the floor.
Entering the chart room, Faud made his way to where the senior officers were seated, his assistant giving up his seat to make room. Rapidly going over the display screen and scrolling through the small status display in front of him, he briefed himself on the current situation.
It had been an expensive, bloody conflict, but Faud's ships had finally gained superiority, destroying or driving the Gath fighters back to their hangers. The only opposition in the air now was the occasional foray of a few fighters from those hangers not completely sealed. How many remained was anybody's guess, but if they could complete sealing the entrances the question was academic. Faud had allowed himself the brief three hours of rest, fatigue affecting his thinking. Now his mind was clear again.
Over 800 of their original 2,000 attack ships had now been lost, most of which they would be able to replace through new-builds, but that took time; too much time to be of value for the current campaign. While the battle raged it had become evident that, while they outnumbered the Gath in fighter craft, the Gath attack ships were as good or better than their own; it was their pilots who weren't up to Earth standards. The Earthfleet had managed to hold its losses down by evading direct conflict as much as possible, concentrating on sealing the hangers; once the Gath had exhausted their fuel the Earthfleet easily seized control of the air.
The situation on the ground was improving. They had successfully sealed nearly all underground facilities and destroyed most of those above ground. Now their concentration was on reducing the Gath forces that had escaped to the foothills. The ground fighting had been a bloody, lengthy fight, but they were beginning to see the light at the end of the tunnel.
The Gath now rarely launched an attack, and gradually the Earth ground forces were gaining control. It had not been easy, the Gath were a determined, strongly entrenched foe. Injuries that would kill or immobilize a human or Torgai would hardly make a Gath trooper pause. And they would fight with no thought of surrender or retreat. The fighting was brutal by Earth standards, with few captives taken by either side; it was a war of extermination.
Even on the islands the situation was under control. True, most of the Gath ground forces remained dug into strong points, but they rarely launched offensive operations and concentrated on a passive defense. For now they were being held in position by the local forces and the limited marine support, plus a low level of air attacks.
Admiral Lundblad's gamble had worked. The colonists had succeeded in evacuating the towns before the Gath arrived and retreated to isolated locations in the mountains of Dominica and Santa Clara, the only two islands where the Gath had landed troops. Captain Fuller's marines, and Colonel Lopez's colonials and Torgai, had fought a delaying action against the Gath, refusing to engage them in a full-blown battle. Beyond that initial contingent of marines sent to the islands on the first day, all available manpower was directed to the mainland.
The Gath had badly miscalculated. The approximately 10,000 troops sent to subjugate the islands were just not enough, and their diversion of 300 of their attack ships had cost them badly, nearly all being lost. The Gath had dug in along the coast and in the towns, and made little attempt to advance into the island interior where the colonists had established their camps. When the mainland was secure the Gath isolated on the islands would be easy prey, and for now were unable to inflict major damage on the colonists. Later they could be eliminated with a minimum of effort.
In the Medical Facility . . . .
The sky was filled with streaming lights, circling ever faster and faster. He couldn't breath, the pressure in his lungs overwhelming, as if they were going to burst. He knew he was far underwater, but above a glimmer of light showed where he had to go. He struggled upward toward the light, afraid to breathe, afraid of drowning. But more afraid of not reaching the light. Suddenly Quanah broke through into awareness, covered with sweat, shaking, and gasping for breath. Someone was squeezing his hand until it hurt.
Slowly his breathing slowed, and his feeling of panic receded. He was in bed in a room somewhere, but couldn't move his hands or feet. Raising his head to look he saw his hands were strapped to the bed, and it was his mother, Wren, squeezing his hand with both of hers. Suddenly someone else, dressed all in white, was standing beside Wren, looking down on him and smiling. Both were just standing and looking at him. The white figure leaned over and placed its hand on his head, turning it slightly so that it could look directly into Quanah's eyes, "do you know your name? Or where you are?"
Struggling to concentrate, it was a moment before he answered, "Quanah. In the hospital?"
His mind began to clear, and he began to remember. He had been in the ready room, waiting
for his immersion for the next mission, when he started to feel dizzy. He had trouble standing, and felt himself falling into blackness. That's all he remembered until now. Focusing, he began to listen to the voices, the man who appeared to be a Doctor talking to his mother.
". . not that unusual. We have a number of pilots, too many, in similar or worse shape. The pressure, the fatigue, seeing friends and squadron mates killed, never knowing if it’s your last moment of life. That, coupled with the effect of the rapid acceleration and deceleration in the liquid environment, and the unconscious fear of drowning caused by being immersed, accentuates a feeling of disassociation; a mild psychosis, sometimes not so mild."
Quanah could hear his mother's worried voice, "will he recover?"
After a moment the Doctor answered, "it's hard to say, but in Quanah's case there's a very good chance. Right now he seems aware of his surroundings, which is a good sign. Some have failed to pull out at all."
Adding, “almost as many pilots have been lost to psychosis as in combat.”
Quanah closed his eyes, and when he opened them after what seemed to him to be a short time there were three people standing where before there had been two. The third figure was his father. He felt much more alert than he had before.
"What happened?" he asked, causing the conversation to stop.
"Hey, you're awake," his father said, leaning over the bed grinning, "you just decided you needed a rest."
"How long have I been here?" he asked.
"Three days," his father responded.
Quanah thought for awhile, "how have things been going? How are Bert and Mitch? Did someone take my place in the team?"
"Going well. Hardly any Gath air activity, and for ground support the team members can act independently, so you weren't replaced. Both Bert and Mitch are OK; I checked with Faud before coming here."
The Final Act: Book III: The Settlement Chronicals Page 9
