by Joseph O'Day
Brogan chuckled in spite of himself, then sat down heavily in a convenient chair. “Top, you think the general made a mistake?”
“Naw!”
“I don’t know. I might end up with a big regret before this thing’s over.”
“Don’t worry about it, son. You need to get some shuteye. I’ve known General Nagamoto since he was a shave tail, and he don’t make mistakes.”
Brogan stirred. “Top, would you like to be an officer?”
The grizzled sergeant bellowed with laughter. “You’ll go far in this man’s army, Captain. But if I live through this campaign, I’ll be a sergeant-major, and I’d rather be a sergeant-major than any second lieutenant in the whole galaxy.” The top sergeant paused. “But you already knew that, didn’t you, sir? You know, I like the way you think. If you hadn’t asked me, you would always wonder if I resented not being asked. Now you know that my pride is intact and that you can count on me doin’ my job and backing you to the hilt. That’s very good. You continue to amaze me.”
Just then a man staggered into the bunker with a body over his shoulder. He let it drop with a sickening thud. “They told me I’d find you here,” Sergeant Manazes said to Brogan.
“Is he dead?” The Top motioned to the prostrate Captain Jantsen.
“Not yet, but he’ll wish he was. He’s only stunned. We should get him into restraints before he comes to.”
Brogan gave the order, then asked Manazes to give his report. “We caught him on top of a nearby hill trying to signal. But the rain and fog kinda put a damper on that,” Manazes replied, laughing at his own joke.
“Excellent work, Lieutenant Manazes.”
“What? Lieutenant? What do you mean?” Manazes left his mouth hanging open as he stared at Brogan.
“Brogan here has been promoted captain,” interrupted the Top, “and he’s been authorized to make two battlefield promotions. Looks like you’re the first!” Looking sheepish, he added, “Captain asked me first, but I’m smarter than you. I said no. Too bad you won’t. You had the making of a decent NCO.”
“Lieutenant Manazes, get some chow and report back here. I’m appointing you executive officer.” Looking at the first sergeant, he said, “Sorry, Top, I need someone with two good pins to help organize things. You can resume your duties as first sergeant. Have somebody get Sergeant Tanaka in here. I’ll give him the other commission and put him in charge of First Platoon.”
Soon Tanaka arrived, and Brogan sent the new officer, along with Manazes, to establish an internal perimeter; the manpower was not available to defend the larger perimeter of the base. Time was running out, in fact may already have run out. The rebels may have already surmised that the position had been overrun because of the sudden termination of radio contact. Their position could be attacked at any moment. They had to be ready, for the coming battle would be the fiercest yet.
Brogan ordered the Top to get some techs to program the droids to destroy the artillery pieces at the code command “Ebinezer” should the necessity arise. Then he instructed the platoon commanders in the use of the code to ensure that someone would be left to give the command. Having inspected the artillery pieces and discovering that they could be converted to direct fire, he set some men to that task. No one in Brogan’s outfit had the training to make the computations required for indirect fire.
Soon the interior perimeter was in place and the guns ready. Each makeshift gun crew had been given hasty instructions on how to load, aim, and fire. Some of the men had been able to get badly needed rest, and everyone had gulped down some C rations. Already the sun was up and well on its way to midmorning. Brogan wondered that the rebels had not attacked yet.
Sunrise had brought the first relatively clear day since Brogan’s planetfall. Even so, the sky remained hazy, and a pall of smoke hung over the main base in the distance. In this kind of weather, the orbiting weapons platform should be able to lend the force of her laser banks to the battle.
“Sir! LP droid reports enemy movements in southeast quadrant,” the Top reported.
“Very well. Have the droid pull back but maintain sensor contact. He is not—I repeat—not to engage the enemy.” Droids were too precious to sacrifice in single combat, and in this case Brogan had to keep some in reserve to destroy the guns. They would also need the droids’ firepower for their final defense.
Brogan reviewed the defenses one more time. Everything seemed militarily sound, but he muttered a distracted prayer anyway. Though quick to reject his home planet and his religious heritage, rejecting God was another matter entirely. There had been plenty of times when he had appealed to God for help, but that was where Brogan left it. God was there to help in time of need but was not, to Brogan’s thinking, a God who demanded total allegiance.
Since the attack seemed to be coming from the southeast, Brogan reinforced that section of the perimeter. But he was not foolish enough to weaken the rest of the perimeter beyond sufficient defense. What appeared to be the case was not always so. His thoughts returned to the story Uncle Charles used to tell. Suddenly he missed his home and his family. He wondered how his mother and his brothers and sisters were doing.
The concussion shock waves from artillery blasts yanked him from his revere. Enemy mortar fire had commenced. They were using the wicked “bouncing betties,” so called because upon hitting the ground a small explosive hurled them back into the air with a sharp crack to a height of about four feet where they detonated, sending tiny slivers of machined shrapnel whistling through the air all around. Their effect on upright soldiers produced a shudder in even the most hardened combat soldier.
His Majesty’s Fusiliers squeezed lower into their trenches to escape the murderous onslaught. Brogan ordered the heavy guns to fire into the tree line where the enemy was assembling. Their deep rumble, added to the higher pitched explosions of the bouncing betties, created a deafening cacophony of sound. Occasional cries for medical aid were heard over the din, but none could brave the maelstrom of metal to assist them.
White-hot metal showered the area when one of the big guns was silenced by the blast of a heavy laser cannon. One by one, the gun crews abandoned the other artillery turrets, fearing the same fate. But at the same time, the firing of a howitzer on the reverse slope, protected from laser fire, could be heard. Brogan felt a surge of pride and hoped that he (and they) lived to reward the gun crews’ initiative in getting the howitzer operative for indirect fire. Presently two more guns on the protected reverse slope were firing with some effect. They were able to place many of their shots near the tree line, making the rebels suffer punishment in kind.
One good turn deserves another, thought Brogan.
“Here they come!” yelled someone into the com. Contrary to historic expectations, technological innovation had not replaced the foot soldier. Combat droids made life easier for infantry by taking point and flanker positions, but usually droid fought droid, and man still fought man.
A line of enemy infantry advanced out of the trees. Three heavily armored flyers soared above them. The laser crew brought down two of them before they reached the defensive perimeter, but the third streaked in, wreaking havoc and destruction before the laser was able to burn it down.
Defying the perilous, though lessening, shrapnel, Eagle Company began to return fire from the trenches. The sky was aflame with the refractions of light from lasers and explosives. The attackers came grimly on even though many were being burned down. But Eagle Company was suffering many casualties as well. Soon Brogan realized that they could no longer hold their perimeter. He ordered his forces to retreat to the inner defensive perimeter.
The stern discipline of the Fusiliers paid off as Eagle Company fell back squad-by-squad in an orderly fashion. Brogan caught glimpses of personal heroism as soldiers dragged or carried wounded comrades with them. Soon all who remained alive occupied the inner trenches. The other half lay dead or dying on the battlefield. Brogan groaned inwardly at their losses and wondered briefly if
any would survive.
The shelling having been discontinued, the rebels regrouped and charged the inner perimeter. Brogan ordered his men to vacate the howitzers, then gave the command word “Ebinezer” to his two remaining droids. Within seconds the huge guns were smoldering slag.
The charging attackers crashed into the last defense. The perimeter broke in a handful of places, and a group of enemy soldiers lunged for the CP. Brogan grabbed a laser rifle and burned down two of the leading men. Then they were on him. Brogan shifted into the hand-to-hand combat mode drilled into him at the Academy: swift uppercut with the butt, follow through with a smash to the face.
A knife slashed at his face, but he parried the blow with his rifle and knocked the defender off his feet. Seeing a rifle pointing toward him out of the corner of his eye, he rolled to his left, and a laser blast singed his shoulder. As he came up on his feet he swept his laser rifle around, blasting in retaliation. As he did so, he saw Dombrowski go down. He blasted his attackers and leaped at them to finish the job hand-to-hand. Suddenly he knew he was hurt, but he couldn’t tell where.
Through the numbness of his mind, he heard someone yell “Filters!” Mechanically he flipped down his protective eye filters. As he parried another blow, he heard the thunder of intense lasers searing the ground nearby. Brilliant shafts of light probed the area, seeking the rebel forces. The heavy orbiting cruiser had finally been able to loose her terrible power. Drawing energy from the sun, she poured it directly onto the planet’s surface.
Meanwhile no enemy soldier was left alive in the CP, but outside, in the compound, the fighting increased in intensity. The rebels now knew that they had to conquer or be thrown into the blazing furnace behind them. But the discipline of the Fusiliers gradually stiffened, and the lines held. The attackers began to waver, then to retreat. They fled into a section of jungle as yet untouched by the cruiser’s lasers. Many fell making their escape, but some succeeded in reaching the safety of cover.
Brogan leaned against a broken wall, taking deep, shuddering breaths as his adrenalin subsided and relief welled up within him. The orbiting platform shut down her laser banks. Once again the sky thundered and the wind howled around them as clean air rushed in to replace what had been ionized by the laser beams.
“We did it!” breathed Brogan. “We held! Thank God for that platform!” He didn’t know that now-Lieutenant Unger was serving on that cruiser, and Unger had no idea that he had helped save the life of his old friend.
But Eagle Company had paid dearly for the victory. Out of the nearly 150 men who had left camp, only 62, including the wounded from the ambush, had survived. First Sergeant Dombrowsky would never be a sergeant major. Lieutenant Tanaka would never celebrate his recent promotion. No one would ever know who figured out how to fire the howitzers indirectly. That hero died in the final assault.
The list went on and on. Brogan felt old and worn out and as empty as a thrown-out cornhusk.
8
Brogan collapsed onto his cot exhausted. It had been a tough operation, and he was glad to be back. Experts had forecast for centuries that the foot soldier would become obsolete. Brogan wished it had already happened. But each technological advance was eventually nullified by a counter measure. Each new shield was stymied by a device developed to penetrate it, and a defense had been found for each new offensive weapon. The military hardware had become more and more sophisticated and more and more deadly, but they still had to be used by people. Men still must grapple with men, and humans must be present to hold captured territory.
Four months had passed since Brogan’s first patrol and the historic ambush. The Imperial forces had steadily expanded their zone of control on Peru II. The first tenuous foothold had grown to encompass nearly half a world. Darkhow was now a general. Brogan was still a captain, but rumor had it that he would soon be promoted to major. To be a field-grade officer at twenty-five was considered extremely rapid advancement. Darkhow had once hinted that Brogan’s star was rising as rapidly as his own.
“Ahhhhh, a real cot at last,” exclaimed Manazes as he dumped his gear into a corner and fell onto his bedding. “I was beginning to think that a real bed existed only in my dreams.”
“You mean you don’t like cuddling up to slimy mud?”
“You’re a real funny guy, Brogan.”
Brogan lifted up on his elbow. “Seriously, Manazes, you ought to clean your gear before you flake out. What kind of example is that to your men?”
Manazes groaned. “Lighten up, sir. I’ll clean it soon as I get a bit of relaxation.” He stretched out the last word, enunciating each syllable with precision, savoring the meaning.
“Sure.”
Brogan and Manazes had become fast friends, and this kind of bantering went on all the time. Manazes was now official company XO and was certain to succeed Brogan as company commander once Brogan was promoted.
“Don’t you ever take a break?” complained Manazes, turning toward Brogan with a sneer on his face.
“Only after I’ve cleaned my gear and made sure the men did too. By the way, how many of the men did you let flake out before they cleaned their gear?”
“Oh, alright! You win,” whined Manazes with tired resignation. He sat up and pulled his gear in front of the cot. “If I have to clean my gear, you have to stay awake long enough to talk to me till I’m done.”
“You teeter on the brink of insubordination, mister. But I acquiesce to your wishes in deference to my own, as any first-rate commander would.”
“I am humbled by the magnanimity of such an august officer,” Manazes retorted with a grin.
Manazes worked on his equipment for a few minutes in silence. Then he resumed the conversation. “Say, when do you think they’ll send me to CIO School? It’d be great to get back to Earth. But, then, anything would be better than this moldy planet! Why would people be so fanatical about this lump of jungle anyway?”
“I guess its home to them,” replied Brogan absently, hands clasped behind his head, gazing at the ceiling. “What else would drive people to such passion? The Emperor is the rightful sovereign of all known worlds, but I can’t help wondering if these people don’t have a right to self-determination. When I enlisted, everything was black and white. My duty was to defend the Emperor and the Empire from all aggressors. But these people seem only to be after what we achieved on Cirrus decades ago.”
Manazes, bent over his gear, continued working in silence for a few moments. Then he stopped and said in a strangely choked voice, “Well, Captain, it’s all pretty clear to me. I’d give my life for the Emperor. My home world—New Brazil—was colonized by one of the sublight hive ships. You’ve probably read about them. They were sent out after the Great War to colonize several planets. Ours was built and manned by Brazilians in 2108, a few years after Rio became the capital of the new Western Empire. The idea was that several generations would pass before the ship reached the designated planet. By then the original crew members would have multiplied to fill the whole ship, and they would be numerous enough to start a strong colony. By the time we reached our system, tens of thousands of colonists were bursting the seams of the ship.”
The development of the self-contained hydrogen engine was the fundamental advance that made sublight colonization possible. The hydrogen engine had been applied to jet aviation as early as the 1950s. That engine used liquid hydrogen as its fuel. Over the decades other experimental applications ensued, but none proved to be efficient or economical enough to effectively supplant fossil fuel engines.
Nevertheless, limited applications began early in the twenty-first century. But it wasn’t until 2086 that researchers succeeded in developing a revolutionary hydrogen engine that converted the energy of hydrogen molecules directly from water by means of hydrolysis. In space ships, the energy needed to hydrolyze water was obtained from solar panels. In planetary applications, hydrolysis was accomplished by means of solar, battery, or nuclear power.
It was a technological inn
ovation to rival the invention of the wheel. Such a fuel source was not only inexhaustible; it did not produce waste. After the engine used the power of the hydrogen molecules, the oxygen and hydrogen recombined into water again—effectively unchanged. The water could be hydrolyzed over and over again with no depletion of the water’s molecular energy. The self-contained hydrogen engine, therefore, quickly replaced nonrenewable fossil fuels and even renewable sources of energy, such as hydraulic power, wind power, and solar and nuclear energy.
The application of the new hydrogen engine to space travel was immediately realized. If the engine propelling a space ship could repeatedly reuse its existing fuel, it could continue propelling the ship for extremely long durations, shutting down only for maintenance, repairs, or replacement. Thus, instead of a space ship simply drifting at the speed attained from its initial thrust, its velocity could continue building to the edge of light speed. The same principle, of course, could also be applied for deceleration as well.
The hydrogen engine not only revolutionized society but the military as well. No longer was fuel consumption or availability a limiting factor in a campaign. Bigger and more complex equipment could be developed. For a few years technology went crazy. But gradually things settled down into a less frenzied pattern.
“New Brazil turned out to be a lush planet, and life was easy for the settlers. In fact, it was too easy. Before they realized what was happening, a couple of the more ambitious families had established a monarchy and proceeded to enslave the rest. I guess the first couple of generations didn’t mind it too much ’cause life was easy, and it wasn’t hard to support the new royalty. But as time passed the demands of the royal class grew. By the time I was born, starvation was commonplace among the peasants. How ironic that people should be starving on a rich world like New Brazil!” Manazes spit out bitterly.
