"All lies, Corp, all lies. Now, we don't need two pairs of eyes, so how about I take the first half hour, then you take over?"
"Sounds good to me."
Time dragged; Michael had drifted off into a doze when a soft scraping brought him back to life. "Visitors," he whispered to Chengkiz, setting his rifle to his shoulder. Unlikely to be Hammers, that much he knew, but it did not pay to take chances.
The familiar shape of a Fed combat helmet emerged out of the gloom; it was all the identification he needed. "Anna," he hissed. "How's it going?"
"Fine," she murmured back as she slid into position alongside him. "The barbecues are on their way. It's going to be a bitch to get them through, but somehow I don't think that's going to bother Colonel Mokhine. Never met anyone like him. No such thing as a problem. All he sees are situations and solutions. Amazing."
"So what happens now?"
"Mokhine wants you to pull back to the cross-tunnel once the engineers turn up. You'll find C Company there. Report to them for orders."
"Okay. Shit, hope this works. There have to be ten thousand Hammers waiting out there."
"At least. The last briefing said the Hammers were going to throw at least one hundred thousand marines into the attack." She shook her head. "Hell, maybe there's even twenty thousand out there. Who knows… who cares? See you later."
Leaving the combat engineers to finish up, Michael made his way back down the tunnel past squads of troopers carrying boulders to tamp explosives in place, a pattern of small charges to clear the tunnel mouth of the remaining debris; a millisecond later the barbecues would fire. When Michael had first seen a fuel-air gun-the NRA called the crude assembly of plasteel pipes barbecues because they were perfect for flash-grilling Hammers-it took an effort not to laugh. They looked exactly like what they were: crude and homebuilt, the work of some crackpot inventor.
Crude or not, they worked. Spurred on by a desperate shortage of ordnance, NRA ingenuity made sure of that; Michael had seen the holovid. The damage just one could do was enormous, and Juliet-24 was going to be on the receiving end of six. Each barbecue lobbed a pattern of bomblets into the air, the bomblets' aluminum-boosted fuel command-fired by a flash laser to create an enormous fireball. What the fireball did not kill, massive overpressure and the subsequent vacuum would; that was why they were so devastating in tunnels and caves and why Branxton Base had so many blast doors in its connecting tunnels.
Michael could only hope that they worked, that they took out all the marines in the portal. ENCOMM's planned counterattack would throw two brigades at the Hammers. At best that meant eight thousand troopers, and that was being optimistic given the casualties the NRA must have suffered so far. It would have to be the best ground assault ever planned to have any chance of hurting the Hammers, never mind persuading them to pack up and bugger off home.
Getting Tek's troopers back to the cross-tunnel was not the nightmare Michael had braced himself for, and in a gratifyingly short space of time he was making his way down tumbled rocks. A small team of engineers was putting a blast door in place across the entrance; C Company was waiting in a cave down the cross-tunnel, they said.
The company was a sobering sight, the walls of the cave lined with troopers, most slumped asleep, those still awake staring grim-faced at nothing. Nobody talked. Michael felt for them; the coming battle was one the NRA had to win. Problem was, its chances of defeating all those Hammer marines with only two brigades could not be good; all military logic said so. He found Anna talking to C Company's commander.
"Lieutenant Helfort, sir," he said.
"Welcome to C Company, Lieutenant. I'm Captain Hrelitz."
If Hrelitz shared Michael's doubts, she was not letting it show. "Not long now," she continued, a woman undaunted by the day's terrible events. "ENCOMM says we'll have the charges placed inside the hour, and then I think we'll be showing the Hammers why taking us on on our home turf was a bad idea."
"Can't wait, sir," Michael said.
Hrelitz laughed and slapped him on the back. "You worry too much, Lieutenant."
Michael shook his head. "Not sure I do. There's a shitload of Hammers out there."
"What are we looking at, sir?" Anna asked. "When the 120th was briefed, ENCOMM said we'd be facing a hundred thousand of them."
"Intel says that's about right. That's the bad news."
"There's good news?" Anna said, face tightened into a skeptical frown.
"Oh, yes. ENCOMM says our Gordians hacked at least twenty of those damn landers of theirs out of the attack. That the bastards did not expect."
"Shit," Michael hissed. "Twenty landers? That's a lot of dead Hammer marines."
"Yup, it sure is," Hrelitz said with a savage grin. "Thousands. When will they ever learn not to take us for granted? The other good news is that the Hammers launched three major and five diversionary attacks. We've stopped every one of them, but ENCOMM has just confirmed that the Hammers put something like twenty-five thousand of them into the attack on this sector."
Michael and Anna exchanged glances.
"Sounds like a lot, eh?" Hrelitz said.
"Twenty-five thousand is a lot," Anna said firmly, "especially as we can only muster, what? Eight thousand?"
"No, no," Hrelitz said, shaking her head. "We'll have more than that. ENCOMM's scraped the barrel big-time. The 176th, 44th, and 13th are being transferred from Echo and Kilo sectors."
"Hey, outnumbered less than three to one," Michael said. "What a relief. Why was I worried?"
"My sort of odds," Hrelitz said with a huge grin.
When Anna and Michael responded with halfhearted smiles, the grin faded to a look of grim determination. "Look, guys," Hrelitz said. "I know what you're thinking, but there's more to this than you realize. We're not facing twenty-five thousand marines, not directly, anyway. About twenty percent are rear echelon. Kraa! Maybe even thirty percent. Lander crews, logistics, intelligence, technicians, c-cubed staff, the combat engineers they used to break through our defenses… Shit, the list is endless. One more thing. Most of these Hammer marines haven't seen serious action in twenty years. They've left those poor bastards in the PGDF to do almost all the fighting, and yes, the average marine is tough and well trained, but let me tell you, they are nothing like as tough as an NRA trooper."
"Fair point, sir," Anna said, "but… yes, that still leaves what? More than seventeen thousand of the sonsofbitches waiting for us, not to mention all their armor, artillery, drones, and landers."
"Well, then, we'll just have to see, won't we?" Hrelitz said. "I'm not much of a betting woman, Sergeant, but my money's on the NRA. We need this. The Hammers don't. Remember that. Now, enough talk. Anna, I want you to take over Second Platoon. You'll find them down the back somewhere. Ask for Corporal Gur. He knows you're coming."
"Sir."
"You might as well go along, Lieutenant," Hrelitz said, turning to Michael. "I know you can handle an assault rifle, and the Second has taken a bit of a beating."
"Fine by me, sir," Michael said, feeling anything but fine. After the transcendent peace of his and Anna's weekend escape, the day had turned into the stuff of his worst nightmares. It was not going to get any better. Screw it, he thought, too drained to worry about what might happen. Shouldering his rifle, he set off after Anna.
"Right, any questions?" Anna paused, looking at each of her subordinates in turn. "No? Okay, good. Right, we jump off in sixty minutes, so section commanders, make sure everyone's fed, canteens topped up, gear checked, and ready to go. You know the drill. And one more thing. The Hammers' tunneling machines have dumped loads of caustic dust outside the portal, and the barbecues won't have burned it all off. So watch out for any white stuff lying around and make sure your masks are secure; trust me when I say you don't want any in your lungs. Okay, that's it."
Michael watched Anna's platoon break up in subdued confusion; they were the roughest collection of soldiers he had ever seen, combat overalls tattered, faces streaked wit
h dirt, hair tangled with sweat and dust. Rough, maybe, Michael thought, but the burning intensity in their eyes more than made up for it. Anna waved one of them over, a tall woman with eyes so dark that they were almost black, her body, like that of most NRA troopers, painfully thin.
"Michael, meet Lance Corporal Ketaki Sadotra. She has Yankee section."
"Corporal Sadotra," Michael said as he and Sadotra shook hands.
"Welcome to Second Platoon, C Company, sir," Sadotra said. "The sergeant says I'm to keep an eye on you."
"Oh, right," Michael said, acutely aware of how inexperienced he must seem.
"You have three things to remember, Michael," Anna said. "Just three things, okay?"
"Three things. Got it."
"One, stay close to this woman. Two, do what she says, no arguments. Three, shoot as many Hammers as you can, and if you can't find one of them to shoot, shoot down a drone instead. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Sarge," Michael said.
"Good. Do that and we'll all be happy," Anna said. "All right, Corp, I want to borrow your rookie for a while. You'll get him back by 21:30. Sorry to turn you into a baby-sitter, Corporal, but he can at least shoot."
"Roger that, Sergeant. Anyone who can kill Hammers is fine by me. See you later, sir," Sadotra said to Michael with a grin. With a casual wave of the hand, she turned and followed the rest of the platoon.
"Gee, thanks for that," Michael said with a scowl. "Bit old for a baby-sitter, don't you think?"
"No, I don't," Anna said with a firm shake of the head. "Trust me. What comes next is like nothing you've ever been through before. You'll be scared witless, you'll be confused, and all your experience captaining dreadnoughts will not count for a pinch of shit out there. Don't think I'm saying this because I love you and all that romantic bull dust."
"Hey," Michael protested.
"Well, maybe partly," Anna conceded, "but it's more because I need everyone in Two Platoon to do their bit, and as long as Lance Corporal Sadotra keeps you pointed in the right direction, I know you won't let me down."
"I'm not sure whether you've just insulted or praised me," Michael said, "but in the interests of our long-term happiness I'll assume the latter."
"Good call. Right, Michael, chow time," Anna said, pointing down the tunnel toward the mobile canteen, the NRA's term for a ramshackle cart carrying a vat of gruel and a coffeebot.
"Not for me, thanks."
"Listen up, soldier," Anna said. "It might be a long time before we get to eat, and a smart trooper never argues with his platoon commander."
Michael was about to do just that when the determined set of Anna's jaw changed his mind. She might be the love of his life, but right now she was Sergeant Helfort and he was a no-account trooper.
"Yes, Sarge," he said, face creased into a frown of resignation.
"That's better. Come on."
Collecting a bowl of gruel-garlic chicken, according to the skinny kid in charge of the canteen-and a large mug of coffee, Michael sat down beside Anna. For a while there was silence. Spooning the last of the gruel into his mouth, he set his plate down before taking a sip of coffee, as always amazed at how good it was. Under the circumstances, it was close to miraculous.
"So, Anna," he said. "I know I'm just a grunt, but this operation… well, it looks like a recipe for disaster. It's going to be dark, we're outnumbered n thousand to one, Mokhine's splitting his forces into two, and we'll be attacking in two directions at once. I have to say-"
Anna frowned. "Yeah, well, you may be right. Probably are right, but needs must. When the 5th and 12th jump off, anything we can do to take the pressure off them has to help. As to the fuckup factor, what can I say? Yes, it'll all go to shit, but so what? As long as we're creating mayhem, we'll be doing our job, and if the Hammers think they're under attack from two directions at once, that'll be a bonus. Remember this. We don't have to beat them. We only have to convince them they are wasting their time."
"Not a recipe for a long and happy life, though, is it?"
"Nope," Anna said. "It's not, but so be it. I'm here, I hate the damn Hammers, and I'll kill as many of them as I can and hope they don't kill me."
"Wish you wouldn't say that."
"Sorry," Anna said, taking his hand. "Look, Michael. Keep your head down and your wits about you and you'll come through. And if we're confused, the Hammers are going to be even more so. Okay?"
"Yes, Sarge."
"Right, company orders group awaits," Anna said, climbing to her feet, "and I am told that Hrelitz does like people to be on time. I'll see you in twenty. Just hope the damn plan's not changed. I just want this to get started."
"Over would be better," Michael said softly as Anna worked her way through the crowd milling around the mobile canteen. What a life, he said to himself as he made his way over to refill his coffee mug. Anna was right, of course. Get in there, wreak havoc, and survive if possible. What more was there?
At least the plan was simple; what Michael knew about infantry operations was not worth knowing, but he did know one thing: Keeping operations as simple as possible was one of the cardinal military virtues.
When ENCOMM fired the fuel-air demolition charges, 5 and 12 Brigades would launch their attacks on the Hammers in the valley. Amid the confusion, C Company, supported by combat engineers, would slip out of Juliet-24. Its objective was the equipment park holding the Hammers' heavy tunneling equipment, 300 meters to the east of Juliet-24. Once there, their job was to destroy the hardware, wire up demolition charges to take out the fusion power plants, then move into a blocking position across the crudely constructed road connecting Juliet-24 with the Hammer's forward lander base to the east. While all that was going on, the rest of Second Battalion would head for the Hammer's command post; ENCOMM liked their chances of cutting the head off the Hammer operation around Juliet-24.
So what could be easier?
Yes, Michael decided, put like that, it was pretty simple… until you factored in all the problems: It would be dark, the NRA's comms were not the best, the Hammers outnumbered them by a large margin, the NRA was desperately short of heavy weapons, they had no artillery or air support, the attacks launched by the 5th and 12th might fall apart, the… Michael stopped there; there was no point listing the NRA's weaknesses. Anyway, maybe they were not that important; maybe the NRA's incredible fighting spirit outweighed all of them.
He would soon find out, he thought as he climbed to his feet and looked around to see where Lance Corporal Sadotra had gotten.
"Confirm radio and tightbeam lasers set to receive only, infrared beacon off," Sadotra said. "And any transmitters connected to those damn neuronics of yours."
Michael fumbled with the unfamiliar controls on his tactical data unit, the thin box strapped to his left forearm one of thousands churned out by Chief Chua's microfabs to a Rogue Worlds design. Compared to a Fed marine's, it was primitive, but it was a huge advance on the disorganized grab bag of gear the NRA had been using. Even better, Chua's people had produced a version that connected with his neuronics, so he could dispense with the awkward microvid screen and earbud worn by NRA troopers.
"Confirmed," he said. "All set to stand by."
"Good. Not long now."
Michael nodded, his mouth and throat dust-dry, horribly aware of how unprepared he was. For the thousandth time he asked himself what he was doing there when all he had ever wanted to be was the command pilot of an assault lander. He had not joined Fleet to end up a grunt fighting in the mud and muck of ground combat, yet here he was, about to do just that. He scanned the operation order uploaded into his neuronics one last time; the tactical schematics showed the ground outside Juliet-24 in muted greens and browns, the whole place infested with red icons marking Hammer positions. He knew that the detached precision of the display did nothing to convey the horrors that awaited Second Platoon. With a quiet prayer that he would not let Anna and the rest of the platoon down, he reset the display to show only C Company's part
in the overall operation; what Colonel Mokhine and the other two companies of the 2/83rd needed to do to capture their objective-the Hammer's headquarters-was none of his business.
The atmosphere was tense as the clock ran down. With seconds to go, Michael breathed in hard, his eyes locked on Anna, just another body-armored shape amid the packed ranks of NRA troopers waiting to go into action, her face invisible behind the plasglass faceplate of her helmet.
With a bang, the barbecues fired and their fuel-air charges exploded, the air filled with a thunderous whump whump followed an instant later by the shock wave, a giant fist smashing into the tunnel, its walls and roof shaken bodily, rock shards spinning down onto the waiting troopers.
"Holy crap," Michael muttered, shaking his head to try to clear his mind. It was going to be chaos out there, and the last thing he wanted was to be cut off from Anna and the rest of the platoon.
Hrelitz was on her feet. "Go, go, go," she shouted before turning and running into the dust-loaded air. As one, C Company pounded after her in a disciplined rush. With a silent prayer that Second Platoon's new commander would keep her pretty little head down when the shooting started, Michael followed Sadotra and the rest of Anna's troopers through the blast door and down the tunnel toward the portal, the air stinking with the acrid smell of burned fuel and something else he struggled to identify, sickly, sweet, like, like… His stomach heaved as he fought to keep his last meal down, mouth open to keep the smell of burned flesh out of his nostrils.
Emerging from the tunnel and into the portal was the work of moments. When he emerged, Michael stumbled to a stop, appalled by the sight that greeted him. "No time for sightseeing, trooper," Sadotra barked. "Keep moving!"
Michael did as he was told, running hard, doing his best not to stand on the flame-seared bodies of dead Hammers. They lay everywhere, more than he cared to count, still smoking and tossed into charred heaps by the force of the blast, armored vehicles thrown bodily back against the rock walls of the portal. It had been a massacre; Michael could see not one living Hammer marine among the hundreds carpeting the ground. If any of it bothered the NRA troopers around him, it did not show. Stopping short of the portal's mouth, Hrelitz and her squad leaders marshaled the platoon into formation.
The battle for Commitment planet hw-4 Page 34
