Doyle stood more erect and took a few slow, deep breaths. “You’re right, boss. I’ll do it.”
Kerr looked down. “Look at your arms now.”
Doyle lifted them. The tremor was almost gone.
“Now go and let your men see they’ve got a strong fire team leader.”
Doyle took another deep breath. “I’ll do that.”
Kerr didn’t say anything, just pointed at the bunker door. Doyle left him and was almost marching by the time he disappeared through it.
Kerr looked up and down the corridor and saw he was alone. He shuddered and leaned against the wall, took a moment to let his own fear show. Then gathered himself together and moved on to check his other fire teams.
CHAPTER FOUR
Lieutenant General Kyr “Killer” Godalgonz, Acting Commander, 10th Provisional Corps, strode purposefully up the ramp from the landing bay followed closely by his “retinue”—a grim, heavily scarred ensign. Several passing enlisted men, noticing the silver novas on Godalgonz’s battle dress, came to attention as he passed. “Stand easy, people.” He growled, “This is a goddamned combat zone. Besides, I’ll be in the area all day.” The men grinned at that. This was a very unusual lieutenant general!
Godalgonz stopped at the top of the ramp. “Cooper, where the hell do we go from here?” he asked Ensign Cooper Rynchus.
“Well, we’re several days early, sir, maybe the brass band is still practicing.” Rynchus wrinkled his nose and smiled. “These guys have been cooped up in here quite a while, sir. Reminds me of the Siege of Mandelbaum, 265 days of shitting in our mess kits.”
General Godalgonz laughed. “Well, Cooper, that’s the smell of fighting men.” He breathed deeply. “We’re right where we always wanted to be, eh, Cooper?”
From a passageway to their left they could hear someone running toward them. Godalgonz looked at Ensign Rynchus and raised his eyebrows. “Guy’s got flat feet,” he said.
The flap-flap-flap of someone’s destroyed arches drew nearer. Major General Balca Sorca appeared, panting heavily, snapped to attention, saluted, and gasped, “Welcome to Bataan, General, Godlylganz, sir!”
“Godalgonz, General, Godalgonz.” Godalgonz returned the salute and held out his hand. “You must be General Sorca, General Billie’s chief of staff.”
“Sorry, sir. Yessir, I am. Er, where’s your staff?” Sorca glanced around nervously as they shook. Sorca’s hand felt limp and damp in Godalgonz’s grip, which was so firm it made Sorca wince. That told the Marine all he wanted to know about Balca Sorca.
“Back in orbit. I want you to meet my ADC, Ensign Rynchus. Cooper, this here is Major General Sorca, chief of staff to General Jason Billie.
Sorca only nodded at Rynchus. He was too low-ranking to merit a handshake. Sorca did not know what to make of this pair. The lieutenant general, tall, whipcord thin, emanating energy and determination. When Godalgonz talked he fixed his listener directly with piercing blue eyes, his prominent jaw protruding like a boxer daring his opponent to strike the first blow; the iron gray hair at his temples lent character to his distinguished appearance. Overall, he impressed people as a figure who had just stepped out of a history vid of Marine Corps heroes.
Ensign Rynchus was another matter. Shorter than the general, broad in the shoulders. Sorca judged his age as nearly fifty, rather old to be an ensign. Then he remembered that in the Marines all officers had been enlisted men. Evidently this ensign had been an experienced noncommissioned officer before he got his commission. Also evident was that he’d been around—the scars on his face testified to that. To Sorca he appeared a dangerous and disagreeable person. Sorca, like most army officers, never could understand why the Marines insisted on some enlisted service before officers were commissioned. Marine officers never seemed to lose the rough edges they acquired in the barracks.
“Well, sir, if you will follow me, I’ll take you directly to General Billie.”
“General, you’re early,” General Jason Billie said, rising from his desk. The statement was more an accusation than a welcome. Lieutenant General Godalgonz came to attention and saluted smartly. “Lieutenant General Godalgonz, acting commander, 10th Provisional Corps, reporting as ordered, sir!” Ensign Rynchus had been unceremoniously asked to wait outside.
Billie returned the salute. “Be seated, General. Have a Clinton?” He offered the cigar. Godalgonz shook his head. “Balca, please get General Cazombi. When he gets here we’ll have a closed-door conference. Well, General Godalgonz, we didn’t expect you for a few days yet.”
“The troops were ready for embarkation, so we left early. My philosophy is get to the battle early, fight early, go home early.”
Billie arched his eyebrows at that. “Ah, well, yes, yes, General, I take your point. Good to have you on board.”
“I brought two army divisions, sir, the 54th Light and the 87th Heavy plus two Marine FISTs, the 17th and 29th. Equipment, personnel, all combat ready, itching to go. Sixty thousand men, sir. At your disposal. May I ask what your battle plan is?”
“Now that you’re here, we’re ready to break out of this hole. I want to wait until Lieutenant General Alistair Cazombi gets here, General. You know him? Army officer, my deputy commander. Had we known you were coming today, we’d all have been waiting for you at the ramp.” Billie smiled tightly.
“No problem, sir.”
“Your staff? When will they land?”
“They’re in orbit with the fleet, sir. I’ll land them when you say you’re ready to bring down the troops.”
“Excellent. That ensign? Your aide?”
“Yessir. Ensign Cooper Rynchus. Good man, sir. Been around. He got the Marine Medal of Heroism at the Siege of Mandelbaum. Were you there, by any chance?”
“Uh, no, General, I wasn’t.”
“Good man, that Rynchus.”
“I see. Ah!”—Billie stood—“Here’s General Cazombi at last! Alistair, come in, come in! Meet Lieutenant General Godlygonz, newly arrived 10th Provisional Corps commander.”
“Godalgonz, sir.” He shook hands with Cazombi.
“Bring any Davidoffs with you?” Cazombi grinned.
“Don’t smoke, General.”
“Pity.” Cazombi took a seat. “Well, General,” Cazombi said to Billie, “let’s go to war.”
“Close the door, Sorca. Cigar?” Cazombi shook his head.
General Godalgonz did not miss the exchange between Billie and Cazombi. No love and less respect there, he reflected. He remembered what Commandant Aguinaldo had told him about Billie. “Not worth a kwangduk’s ass.”
“Alistair, General Godalgonz is here a bit early,” he said, emphasizing early, “so we’ve had no time to prepare a full briefing on the situation. But I just wanted us to get acquainted here first, then we can discuss my plans for the breakout. Later. Tell us about yourself, General.” He turned to Godalgonz.
Godalgonz shrugged. “I never expected to command a corps, even provisionally, much less get in on this fight, sir. But now I’m here, I want to fight. That’s what I do.”
“Um, yes. Well, General, tell us something about yourself personally. Married? Children? Education, the usual.”
“Yessir, all that crap.” Godalgonz stuck his jaw out aggressively and fixed General Billie with those blue eyes. Billie rapidly shifted his glance to avoid the piercing orbs.
Billie realized he was getting nowhere with this man. “Alistair, would you show General Godalgonz to his quarters, work with him to get his staff and commanders landed? Let’s keep your combat units in orbit until we’re ready to use them, but land your logistical and support people. Alistair, find someplace to stick them. Very good, gentlemen. We’ll have a full staff briefing when your people have arrived and been situated.”
Cazombi and Godalgonz stood, saluted, about-faced and marched out of the office. “Close the door, Balca,” Billie ordered. Then: “Jesus on a haystack, Balca, just what I don’t need, another goddamned jarhead-kick-’em-in-the-ass Mari
ne!” He slammed a fist on his desk.
“We can use the reinforcements, sir,” Sorca ventured.
“Yeah.” Billie was silent for a moment. “Sorca, I have an idea.”
“Nice place you have here.” Godalgonz grinned at Cazombi as they negotiated the narrow passageway. They paused at an intersection. Tunnels ran off in different directions, each marked with arrows and symbols that pointed the way to various parts of the underground fortress. “A guy could get lost down here.”
“You get used to it. Mind if I call you Kyr?”
“Not at all. Alistair okay with you? My aide’s Cooper, old NCO.” He nodded at Ensign Rynchus.
“Cooper.” They shook hands. “Well, we’re at the heart of Bataan. These tunnels”—Cazombi gestured at the passageways branching off—“lead to every part of the fortress. This place was a storage depot when I arrived here. It was huge and almost empty. Our engineers did a wonderful job of deepening the chambers and fortifying the place. Three problems: too many men in here; we’re surrounded by water that seeps in everywhere; and we’ve been stuck down here far too long.”
“How do you handle all that water?”
“Filtration systems recycle the stuff and we consume the product. The seepage from Pohick Bay is our major source of drinking water, actually. Sewage is also filtered and the, uh, ‘results’ are used to supplement the nuclear generator that provides electrical power to run the air-filtration and climate-control systems, such as they are.” He wrinkled his nose. “The detritus the engineers produce from their excavations is broken down into its constituent elements in special furnaces installed for that purpose. The heat that produces is used to thaw this place out. Believe me, it can get mighty cold and damp down here and you’ll come to appreciate the warmth that system generates.”
“Vermin? I’ve heard of creatures called slimies.”
Cazombi permitted himself a twitch of his lips that on him passed for a smile. “We’ve got them under control. Nasty buggers. What the engineers couldn’t exterminate, well, we were short of rations for a while and the troops…” He shrugged.
Godalgonz gave Ensign Rynchus a knowing look. They both had been there, done that at Mandelbaum. “Hell,” Godalgonz said, “you’ve got a whole field army down here and in orbit. Why haven’t you broken out yet?”
“Well, that’s up to our”—he hesitated—“commanding general.” That pause told Godalgonz volumes about the relationship between the two general officers.
“How is Billie to serve under?”
Cazombi hesitated again, looking evenly at Godalgonz before he spoke. “You’ll find that out, General,” was all he said. Godalgonz smiled to himself. He remembered what Aguinaldo had told him. Obviously Cazombi was a loyal subordinate who wouldn’t say a bad word about Jason Billie to a stranger, even though he despised Billie.
From down a shaft running deep into the rock came the noise of many men working in a closed space. “What is all that, sir?” Rynchus asked.
Cazombi glanced at the markings stenciled onto the rock. “I have to remind myself every now and then who’s where,” he apologized. “Down there are several regiments from the army’s 21st Corps. It’s one of several huge caverns we’ve managed to cram several thousand men into, with all their gear. We’re about a hundred meters below the surface here, so this area is impervious to enemy fire. The men can relax and work in relative comfort. We’ve been rotating the brigades and regiments between these rest areas and the surface fortifications. Just before the Big Push, whenever in the hell that’ll be, we’ll move the designated assault units into the fighting positions topside. Care to go down and take a look?”
“Thanks, Alistair, but let’s wait till I get my bearings. I want to visit my Marines first chance. Um, Alistair, do you think you could drop me off at Ted Sturgeon’s HQ?”
“They’re on the other side of Bataan from here. Don’t worry, we ain’t gonna have to walk. Just ahead is the shuttle system we use to get around fast down here. I use it to visit the corps and divisional commanders every day. All the engineers had to do was expand and improve the system that was installed when this place was a storage depot. Once you get to know how it works, it’s very efficient. When his nibs calls one of his staff conferences we’ve all got to be there ASAP, so you’ll get to know the shuttle routes very well before we get out of here.”
“Kyr! Cooper!” Brigadier Ted Sturgeon leaped to his feet and stuck out his hand. The three Marines shook hands enthusiastically.
“I found these two jarheads wandering around looking for a way out of this place,” Cazombi said. “Couldn’t think of a better place to dump them than on you, Ted. Gentlemen, excuse me now.”
“Hell, Alistair, we’re all lookin’ for a way out of this friggin’ hole!” Sturgeon laughed.
“Well, let me know if you find it.” Cazombi grimaced, as close as he ever came to allowing a full smile, and left them.
The three Marines had all served together at one time or another and enjoyed that easy camaraderie of men who knew each other well and had shared the same hardships and triumphs. For a while they traded memories, talked of men they’d known and places they’d been. Then General Godalgonz got to the point. “Tell me about this Billie.”
Sturgeon shook his head. “He’s a disaster, Kyr, a pure disaster. And he hates Marines.”
Godalgonz nodded. “Anders warned me of that when I talked to him before coming out here. Is he that bad, Ted?”
“Worse. He’s snatching defeat from the jaws of victory,” Sturgeon answered bitterly. “He has fucked up this war and gotten a lot of good men killed, and he’s fixing to get some more killed, mark my words.”
Godalgonz did not show the surprise he felt. This was Ted Sturgeon, for heaven’s sakes, morale on the floor. Things had to be bad if Sturgeon felt like this. “Well, Ted, we’ve been through shit like this before and survived. We’ll pull through again. Hell,” he said, changing the subject, “remember that navy captain who was in charge of that troop transport—what the hell was his name? The most unmitigated disaster ever to wear a uniform?”
“They should have put Cazombi in charge of this mess,” Sturgeon muttered. “The way General Billie hides out down here, there’s no chance the enemy will oblige us with a change of commanders.”
“I’m beginning to get the picture,” Godalgonz replied. The morale had to be extremely low, he realized, if a man like Ted Sturgeon was giving in to talk like that. “Buck up, Ted! Now that I’m here, we’re going to kick some ass. I’ll handle this Billie guy, you bet!”
“Balca”—Billie leaned back comfortably—“I’m gonna rid myself of these damned Marines.”
“Sir, that might be easier said than done,” Major General Sorca replied.
“Mebbe not. Look.” Billie called up a 1:100,000 vidmap of the battle theater. “See here, Lyons’s got a full division here, at Phelps, and another one here, at this little town just outside Gilbert’s Corners. Those troops are locked and loaded; Lyons’s reserve as well as the protective screen for the Coalition’s government. I’m gonna take this hard-charging three-star and the 17th, 29th, and 34th FISTs and send them on a raid against Gilbert’s. They’ll be outgunned and outnumbered. Keep them busy out there saving their asses from annihilation and out of our hair while we prepare the main thrust. What do you think?”
Major General Balca Sorca hesitated before he replied. “Well, um, sir, that would mean we’d have to sacrifice some of our own men, just to get them out of the way?” That was as close as Sorca would ever come to questioning an order from his mentor, but privately he was beginning to wonder if he’d hitched himself to the right set of stars in this army.
“It’ll also pin down those reserves and disrupt the Coalition government. Come on, Balca! You play chess. You know that to win you have to sacrifice pieces, even some valuable ones!” Billie regarded his chief of staff through a cloud of cigar smoke. Was Balca losing his nerve? Was every officer in this hole except Jason Billie
himself unable to see the Big Picture? “You chop wood, Balca, you get chips. Issue the order.”
CHAPTER FIVE
At a hundred-plus kilos and standing only about 180 centimeters, Major General Golda Clipper was almost as broad as he was tall. But once given a mission, he pursued it like a boulder rolling down a mountainside.
“Mr. President”—General Clipper ran a hamlike palm over his closely cropped head as he spoke; it came away wet with perspiration mixed with the dust of the road he had taken to get to Gilbert’s Corners—“I believe an attack is imminent and I suggest you communicate this intelligence to your gov’mint ’n’ evacuate to a safer location.”
Preston Summers, President of the Coalition of Independent Worlds, gazed silently at the rotund figure. Slowly he removed the cigar from the side of his mouth, fished out tobacco shreds with a finger, and said, “Gawdam cheap seegars, fall apart on ya before they’s even halfway smoked.” He wiped his finger on his trousers. “So ya think this place is gonna turn into a battlefield, Gen’ral?”
“I know it is, sir.”
“Then we’re fucked, aren’t we?” Summers squinted through the cigar smoke.
“Wouldn’t put it quite that way, sir.”
“Don’t shit me, Gen’ral. They’ve awreddy attacked us here once, ’n’ they’s plannin’ on doin’ it agin, ain’t they? Only this time they’re comin’ with a force big enough to hold this place. Well, we survived that first attack so what makes you think we won’t weather this one you think is comin’ now?”
“That was just a probe, Mr. President, to prove they could attack you at will; to scare you to keep you off balance—”
“Sure scared the stuffings outta me!”
“They even kidnapped some of your officials that time, didn’t they?”
Summers laughed. “Hauled ol’ Heb Cawman off like a sack o’ sticks, they did! I wonder what he’s tole ’em by now? Y’know, we did talk about evacuatin’ Gilbert’s Corners some time ago, Cawman, some others ’n’ me. He was against it at the time, as I recall. Best thing ever happened to this war for us was them capturin’ that ol’ galoot.”
David Sherman & Dan Cragg - [Starfist 12] Page 4
