Eye of the Storm lota-11

by John Ringo

  “I wanna see the gun,” Cristman said. “We’d better get a chance to work the gun soon.”

  They’d been manual training for a week, completing paperwork and immunizations and studying the minutiae of their new jobs. Much of it was familiar, like learning to ride a bicycle. Other parts were completely different. But they had to know both, perfectly, or their ass was going to be grass.

  “And today is the day,” Sergeant Moreland said. “Fall into your tracks, dismount your guns and lay them in for ground mount.”

  The process was slow. Everyone had read the steps but that was different from doing them. Finally, with the gunner and the primary ammo bearer carrying the barrel, the assistant gunner carrying the bipod and the primary ammo bearer carrying the baseplate, they got all the stuff out of the track. Keren, as squad leader, had the really tough job of carrying the sight.

  Laying the gun in was also slow. Much of it was similar to the 120s they’d all used in the Posleen War. But that was not only a long time ago, there were subtle differences. The barrel locked in differently to both the baseplate and the bipod. The sight locked in differently. The elevation and traverse were both different.

  Running out the aiming posts was still the same old pain in the ass.

  “I will not ask you to attempt to remount it in the track,” Sergeant Moreland said when Three Gun finally called ‘UP!’ “That is for advanced training. So we will now go through the steps of ground mounting it again. And again. Until you are satisfactory in my eyes.”

  * * *

  “Oh, my aching back!” Griffis said, lowering his end of the barrel to the ground.

  The gun systems, in a move that truly shocked Keren, had been turned over to the squad for storage in the barracks. It was nearly 2200 and while they had not ever mounted the gun to Sergeant Moreland’s satisfaction, they were getting faster. Almost up to standard according to the manual.

  The problem being, any squad leader expects his team to be faster than standard.

  “Your aching back is going to have to wait,” Keren said, looking at the wall mounted clock. “We have until 0430 to learn to mount this gun to my satisfaction.”

  “Oh, tell me that you’re kidding,” Oppenheimer said.

  “I don’t disagree,” Cristman said. “But we’ve got to do this all over again tomorrow. We’re scheduled for two days of ground mount training. If we’re up all night tonight, there’s no way we’re going to be optimal at end of business tomorrow.”

  “We’ll stop at 0200 and get a couple hour’s sleep,” Keren said. “Or when we hit 25 seconds. Adams, think we can hit 25 seconds to mount?”

  “We got to thirty at one point,” Adams said. “Standard is thirty five, you know.”

  “And if we’re hitting thirty on the first day, the standard isn’t what we should be shooting for,” Keren said. “We all know it. Get the pieces and fall into the platoon assembly area.”

  “Easy enough for you to say,” Oppenheimer said, lifting the baseplate with a grunt. “You’re carrying the sight.”

  * * *

  Oppenheimer dropped the baseplate, locking lug aligned downrange, curved to the side in a steady run, trotted to the rear, picked up the aiming posts and bolted downrange. Aiming posts were ancient technology, and there were newer and, arguably, better ways to lay a gun. There had been even before the Posleen had showed up. But there were advantages to the aiming posts, too. Several of the bigger ones were that the posts were completely passive and undetectable by sophistcated means, amazingly simple, and utterly reliable. Perhaps the biggest advantage, though, was that this crew understood aiming posts without any need for explanations or additional training. Given the schedule, this was all to the good.

  By the time Opie was curving to the right Cristman and Griffis were dropping the barrel into place. With Adams holding the bipod up to receive it, they dropped it unceremoniously into the curved lower holding yoke. Adams flipped up the closing yoke and Griffis hooked it into place, spinning the locking wheel to lock it down.

  While he was doing that, Keren set the sight to 2800 mils, mounted it, then stood back. Oppenheimer had planted the first pole and was hurtling downrange for the second plant point. He knelt down, eyeball aligning the second pole then stood up, holding the stake with one hand.

  In the meantime, Cristman had unlocked the sight and spun it around to align on the first aiming stake. Since the rear one was almost on line already, all he had to do was make some small gestures to get Opie to align, then give the gesture to plant, two thumbs poiting straight down. He made sure that Oppenheimer hadn’t planted the stake at an angle then stood back.

  “TWO GUN UP!” Keren shouted.

  * * *

  “Twenty-two seconds,” Sergeant Moreland said, looking over at Richards.

  “One and Three aren’t up, yet,” Richards pointed out as first one gun then three shouted ‘UP!’

  “Twenty-seven and thirty-one,” Moreland said. “We’ve dicked around enough with this. This is one task they can train on on the ship. We need to switch to vehicles. Call the company and tell them that we’re accelerating the training schedule.”

  * * *

  “Cutprice is scary,” Major Knight said as he entered the CO’s office.

  The 1/14 S-3 was medium built but extremely tall. In the inter-war years he’d been a high-school history teacher and basketball coach. All fifty. Same small rural high-school. Except when he got a crop of just really impossible players, after the first decade or so he stopped caring if they won the district championship. The Class C school had won the overall state championship for Michigan fourteen times. Five years in a row at one point.

  The coaches in districts around him would have been surprised that Buddy Knight thought anyone was scary.

  “How so?” Colonel Simosin asked. He was looking over the proposed loading schedule and trying to find any way to cut it down.

  “Bravo is twenty percent ahead of the training schedule,” the operations officer replied. “I know he didn’t pick and choose his privates.”

  “Napoleon said that good regiments are the result of good officers,” Simosin said, not looking up. “The truth is that it requires good NCOs as well. He picked those very carefully. Sergeant Major was down watching the mortar training. They’re not just ticking things off on a sheet.”

  “I didn’t think they were,” Buddy replied. “I just think they’re scary.”

  “It’s good to have a scary company in a battalion,” Simosin said. “It keeps the other ones on their toes. If you see the Smaj, tell him to stop by.”

  * * *

  “I didn’t know we could go ahead of the training schedule,” Sergeant First Class Dwyer said. The Alpha Second platoon sergeant watched the fire and maneuver exercise and shrugged. “They’ve got movement by squads down, Smaj. You’re telling me we can move to patrolling?”

  “Yes,” Sergeant Major Park said, trying not to roll his eyes. “If you’re comfortable with their proficiency, if they can pass the test, move on. Buckley.”

  “Yes, Sergeant Major?” the Buckley said. “You know that it’s all going to end in blood, right? No matter how hard you train… ”

  “Just order an NCO call for this evening,” Park snarled. “Purpose, acceleration of the training schedule. And am I gonna have to reset you again? You know how you hate it when I reset you.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Rest, Karthe thought. Slowly back down.

  An Indowy mentat stood in the center of the training room, arms folded. Arrayed against him were Kang Chan and four human adepts. The exercise was to determine if the group could burn through Mentat Koth’s shields and force him to take a step forward.

  “The exercise is not complete,” Chan said, slowly withdrawing his power.

  “There was sufficient energy being used that I feared damage to Mentat Koth,” Karthe said. The lesser adepts along the walls — there to control the secondary effects of the battle — were showing more signs of s
tress than the combatants. “I am the… referee, yes?”

  “Agreed,” Chan said then bowed. “You are very strong in sohon, Mentat Koth. You are a worthy opponent.”

  “As are you, Mentat Chan,” Koth said, bowing back. “I, however, found the exercise very disturbing. I would request some time of mediation to regain my center.”

  “Of course,” Karthe said, bowing. “I hope that you may return soon.”

  “I’m afraid this is not a good thing for your people, Karthe,” Chan said, using a towel to wipe away sweat. “That is the third mentat who has withdrawn.”

  “We are quite unused to any form of battle as you know, Mentat Chan,” Karthe replied. “It is not in our nature.” I find it disturbing that you human mentats have taken to it so readily.

  So do I, Karthe. So do I.

  * * *

  “Tell me some good news,” Mike said as Michelle entered his office. “So far, all I’m getting is bad. The teleport thingy is complete on Daga Nine and they’re charging it. The Himmit say that they can attack any time from four weeks from now. I’ll barely have the SS on the ground by then. And a major task force has left Daga space. Presumably it’s the attack force for Gratoola. Which means I’m going to have to start moving some of your people out to Gratoola and hooking them up with Fleet and the SS.”

  “We may need to do that soon,” Michelle said. “We have determined various attack methods and defenses. But we’re still unsure if they will work over large areas, such as a ship. The thing is, we are not sure if we even truly understand the offensive side of this.”

  “Go on,” Mike said, leaning back and reaching for a can of Skoal.

  “So far, we have been making it up as we go,” Michelle said. “Human mentats think of attack strategies and we use them against Indowy. So far, it looks as if defense is easier than offense in many ways. That is to the good. But we don’t know if our attacks are those the Imeg and Hedren use.”

  “You need to probe,” Mike said, shrugging. “You need to find out before we get into the first battle.”

  “Unfortunately, we do not have an Imeg to fight,” Michelle said, shrugging. “So I cannot guarantee we will succeed.”

  Mike pinched his temples then shrugged.

  “AID. Himmit report of Imeg being shipped to Daga Nine. I know I read it at some point but… ”

  “Imeg adepts along with Glandri subjugators have been slowly moving from Caracool to Daga Nine,” the AID said. “A Hedren cruiser called the Gorongur has been the primary method of transfer. Himmit estimate no more than one or possibly two Imeg per transfer with an additional fifty to sixty Glandri.”

  Mike looked at Michelle and raised an eyebrow.

  “You have to be joking, father,” Michelle said, frowning.

  “AID, time from earth to an intercept point in Caracool space using the Des Moines.”

  “Six weeks at maximum warp. Himmit reports indicate that the Gorongur uses the same point to warp out each time. There should be a transfer during the near time-period of the Des Moines reaching the star system.”

  “How well do your guys get along with SRS?” Mike asked.

  “We hardly interact,” Michelle said. “I have spoken to Colonel Mosovich a few times as well as members of the Clan.”

  “Start working on how you’d snatch an Imeg using your adepts and SRS. Figure that you’re going to be doing more of the work-up on the ship. Don’t go yourself. But send your toughest guys. I doubt this is going to be easy.”

  * * *

  “My brain’s about to implode,” Mueller said, looking at the warning order.

  “The Himmit can’t tell us where, exactly, this Imeg guy is going to be,” Mosovich said. “Or where the guards, these Glangli guys, are. They’ve got schematics for the type, but they admit they’re old. There have probably been changes. Especially since the Gorongur has probably been modified specifically to carry the Imeg.”

  “Glandri,” Mentat Chan corrected. “And I would not suggest getting into close contact with them. Their spines are lethal.”

  “Ain’t planning on it,” Mosovich said. “Warning order says we’re matching up with the Des Moines in three days. Mentat Chan, I’d like to take sufficient sohon force that we’ve got a fair chance of taking this cruiser’s engines down without having to shoot it. Can you control this Imeg guy from range? I remember the last time I got into a fight around a couple of mentats and it wasn’t fun.”

  “Lesser adepts should be able to prevent the Imeg from harming the ship or your personnel,” Chan said. “Some of them may have to accompany the assault teams. Those, for many reasons, must be human. Indowy can prevent actions against the ship and any shuttles you may choose to use. They need not be mentats but simply high level adepts. To control the Imeg directly? I cannot guarantee getting him to cooperate, but if a mentat accompanies the assault, he should be able to stop him from any action. Bind him if you will. Assuming we know anything of their methods. The point of this is to capture him for just that purpose.”

  “If you can just get him still, we can get him out,” Mosovich said. “And who’s going to run that side of the show?”

  “That would be me,” Chan said with a slight smile.

  “Well, there’s one thing we can’t do on the ships,” Mueller said, standing up. “I’d better go look for someplace to do some live fire training.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “At last,” Opperheimer said. “Live fire training!”

  They weren’t firing the mortars, yet. They had to get qualified on their individual weapons, first.

  The company had managed to cut two days off their training schedule so they had the range to themselves. They’d spent the previous afternoon zeroing their weapons on a short range inside the base defenses. Nobody wanted to wander out to the ranges, feral territory, unarmed. And you couldn’t hit shit until you zeroed. Each of the troops was issued a basic load for the movement to the range and given a security sector. Any Posleen feral bursting out of the trees lining the right of way would have been in for a hot reception. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on the mood of the individual troops, the Posleen had failed to surface.

  Cadre, who had already qualified in their munificent spare time, manned guard posts as the troops carefully cleared their weapons on the firing line. The range had thirty firing points and a mass of pop-ups, ranging from static to moving. For the initial training, Keren figured they’d only use the static.

  “Okay, yardbirds,” First Sergeant Wacleva said from the safety of the range tower. “We’re gonna start this a bit different. Since you’re all trained troopers, we’re just going to let you have at your sectors. The first thirty personnel take their positions. I will then engage the pop-up system. You will then engage for the period of engagement. Firers take your positions.”

  The First Sergeant waited for the first thirty personnel to get into position then keyed the announcement system.

  “Firers, lock and load one five hundred round magazine. Ready on the left? The left is ready. Ready on the right? The right is ready. The range is hot. Engaging pop-up system.”

  Keren snuggled the butt of the weapon into his shoulder, leaned forward against the sandbags, flipped to full auto and started servicing targets. They started with static pop-ups and he carefully engaged the closest first, working back then moving ones popped up, close, distant. Plastic was flying everywhere. He was in the zone when the magazine started to beep at him.

  “Low ammo,” a female voice chimed. “Low ammo… ”

  He looked at the counter in shock and could not believe he’d just burned through four hundred and sixty some odd rounds. He wished he’d had one of these in the War.

  “Cease Fire! Clear all weapons. Is the right clear? The Right is clear. Is the left clear? The Left is clear. Note your ammunition usage and fall back from the range.”

  * * *

  “Did anyone use less than two hundred rounds?” Wacleva asked the gathered firers. “No?
Three hundred? One hand. What happened?”

  “Jam, First Sergeant,” a bush bunny from Third said grinning. “Got it cleared, though.”

  “Glad you did,” the First Sergeant said, mildly. “How many burned through their whole magazine?”

  Most of the hands went up.

  “Good for you you FUCKING IDIOTS!” Wacleva screamed. “When we fought the Posleen the only way to stop them was to hose them down like water. WE ARE NO LONGER FIGHTING THE POSLEEN. The fucking Hedren are smart! They may flank us, they may cut off our supply lines. We can’t be sure of supply, anyway, given that we’re going to be on another planet. If there is ONE THING I am going to teach you know-it-all IDIOTS it is a little thing called FIRE CONTROL! Now go get some spare pop-ups since the ones on the fucking range are now SHREDDED!”

  “And that’s why they call it goood training,” Adams said as they headed to the storage shed.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Hagai looked at the Buckley in disgust. It was the first real chance he’d had to work with it since Ginsburg had been being a real prick lately. The ship time should have been a chance to rest after the constant training on earth. But Ginsburg felt that there was no such thing as too much training. Intellectually, Hagai agreed with him. Emotionally, he thought the Feldwebel was just being a prick. He was pretty sure that Ginsburg was one of the closet anti-Semites in Freiland and was getting his enjoyment from making the little Jew-boy sweat. Or maybe he was trying to prove that, name or not, he was not a Jew.

  But he finally had some free time and while tired had chosen to take a few minutes to get the Buckley started. He’d heard rumors they were… difficult on start-up. He wasn’t looking forward to it but duty was duty.