by Chris Bunch
“But we will be gone, gone with more weapons, perhaps even some of their vehicles if the chance presents itself. I’ve already set a rendezvous for any seized aerial vehicles to be secreted in the middle of the Highlands, where the giptels will never look for them.”
There were shouts of approval. Jord’n Brooks stood. “No,” he said loudly, and there was sudden silence. “This is the worst, most dangerous sort of adventurism. For you … not we, but you … are pinning the hopes of the future, the struggle of years, on a single engagement. If we win, that is marvelous. But if we lose, brother? What if we lose?”
Brien glowered. “We shall not lose, brother. I know that. But let it not sound like this is just my decision, or that I am somehow trying to become some sort of Supremo. Tell me, brothers, sisters. What should we do?”
Brooks listened to the shouts of “Fight,”
“Hit them,”
“Yes!”
“Attack!” His face was still, unmoving. “Very well, Brother Brien,” he said. “We shall attack. But I hope the doom that comes will not be for all of us.”
• • •
“Oh my aunt Fanny who sitteth on Buddha’s right frigging hand,” Cent Angara said. “Get your sorry ass off that cot, Hedley, and come look at Nirvana.”
Hedley was instantly beside the big screen that relayed data from the Electronic Warning Grierson orbiting a kilometer above the ’Raum team. “Why kiss my money-making ass,” Hedley said. “Look at all those little red dots streaming along. We done sprung ‘em out of the woodwork.”
“Sure as hell,” Angara agreed. “Officer of the Watch!”
“Sir?”
“Get the Old Man up, and the troops moving. Full alert, ready to launch in three-zero minutes. Caud Williams’ll give the attack order.”
Hedley was at another com. “Roll the pickup team,” he said. “Get my people off the ground.” He changed channels. “Golan Flight, I need one of your Zhooks for a quick-and-dirty. Hell yes, now. If I wanted them in ten minutes, I would’ve called you in ten minutes. Direct authorization from Lance Actual.”
• • •
“Roll out,” Dill snapped. “Gamma’s ready to come out. And they’re warmish.” The hangar lights went full on, and Dill’s crew jumped off the cots set up beside their aircraft. Gorecki had his boots on, unfastened, and flopped his way toward the Grierson’s cockpit. The hangar door lifted, and Camp Mahan was a flare of activity as the Grierson’s drive whined on.
• • •
“Sibyl Gamma, Sibyl Gamma,” Hedley broadcast. “This is Sibyl Control. Get ‘em up and ready. You’re coming out. The birds are in the open.”
“This is Gamma,” Kipchak, who never seemed to sleep, snapped. “What about the boys I’ve been chasing?”
“We’ll do it sanitary from the air,” Hedley advised.
“They’re mine, goddamit!”
“Not anymore, Petr. Now they belong to the meatgrinder.”
Ten minutes later, a Zhukov dived in on the ’Raum team half a kilometer from the Gamma Team, weapons systems slaved to the EW Grierson’s sensors, and a ripple-salvo of Furies spat. The Furies exploded, and the small camp was a hell of flame. The Zhukov banked across the holocaust, came back, 35mm chaingun ravening, the vehicle commander’s cupola-mounted 25mm spitting fire. All ten of the ’Raum patrol died before they came awake.
• • •
The Grierson settled into the tiny clearing, smashing through branches and small trees. The back ramp dropped, and yellow light, honest, man-made light flared through the night.
“Mount up,” Kipchak ordered, and the exhausted survivors of Gamma stumbled into the Grierson. Kang and Dill passed out boiling hot coffee and heatpaks containing a fresh roll stuffed with wine-baked giptel, mustard, pickle, and a fried egg on top. Garvin helped Njangu to a bench, and he slumped down, unaware he was still wearing his pack. The ramp closed, and there was blessed silence, and the Grierson lifted out of the jungle.
“You did it,” Garvin enthused. “You got them into the open.”
“No shiteedah for sure?” Njangu said.
“No shiteedah for sure. The whole Force is gonna roll on ‘em. You’ll probably get a medal after we obliterate them.”
“Probably,” Njangu said, through a double mouthful. “And if I’m real good, maybe a bath or even a fast hosing-off?”
Garvin sniffed. “Lord. Since you mention it, you folks do smell a little ripe around the edges.”
Deb Irthing snickered. “Like somebody pissed on us, maybe?”
“Not quite that bad. But close.”
“Real close,” Njangu said, and took another bite.
• • •
“Very good indeed,” Caud Williams told his regimental commanders and staff, staring at the screen. “We’ll put First Regiment in against these troops in the open on the left … Second on the right closing in a pincers, then Third assaulting straight into that base of theirs, whatever and wherever it is. Fourth will remain in reserve.”
Hedley turned from the photo montage he was studying, took off the interpreter’s tri-dee glasses. “Sir?”
“What is it, Alt?”
“I think I’ve got their base spotted,” he said. “I think it might be this area here. Tracks lead to this cliff face, and vanish. I think our goblins use a cave for their hideout.”
“What of it?”
“Caves can be hard to clean out.”
“Alt,” Williams said firmly, “your people did a good job of finding the enemy. I’ll take care of finishing them.”
Hedley inclined his head, didn’t respond.
• • •
It took almost all of the Force’s Griersons to load the combat elements of First and Second Regiments, and the troop compartments were still crowded. The air was a staccato chatter of commands as the Griersons, in three elements, slashed low to the west of Leggett, toward the ’Raum columns. Their drive-hum shrilled over the jungle, and hunting beasts heard and scurried for cover.
Lead elements of the ’Raum head the Griersons and ordered antiaircraft crews to the alert. These men and women, still not familiar with their confiscated weapons, fumbled with the controls as the sound grew” louder and the first wave could be seen, dots against the morning sky.
One Grierson was Ben Dill’s — they’d barely had time to offload Gamma when they were ordered to the parade ground to pick up a load of First Regiment soldiers. “Somebody’s looking for us,” Finf Kang announced calmly from her “turret.”
“Scanning … scanning … he’s got a lock.”
“Gorecki … maneuver on her command,” Dill ordered.
“You tell me, Ho,” Stanislaus said.
“Tracking … tracking … he’s launched! Go low!”
The Grierson dived hard, and Garvin tried to ignore his stomach as he waited behind his weapon sights.
“Gunner,” Kang said, very calm, “TA my beam … I’ve got the launch site …”
Garvin switched acquisition systems to Kang’s antimissile tracker. “Locked on,” he said.
“What about the frigging missile?” Gorecki snapped.
“It’s still coming on … still tracking … Garvin, throw something at the launch site,” Kang ordered. “Driver … hard left to nine o’clock … missile at three o’clock … incoming … climb hard!” The Grierson moaned as Gorecki slammed full power. “Ah-hah, little bastard, went and screwed its mind,” Kang said. “It’s searching … blanking it … blanking it … gotcha! Missile toppled, skipper … Garvin, are you ever gonna shoot at anything? And by the way, you owe me a beer for saying they weren’t gonna have anything trickshit for me to worry about.”
“Target acquired,” Garvin said, as his head banged against the sight and water filled his eyes. “Tracking … locked …”
“Launch when ready, Mister Gridley,” Ben Dill said.
“Launch one, launch two, launch three … lost target … bring me left, more left, dammit,” Garvin snapped, and Stani
slaus obeyed.
“Target acquired … launch four … HOLY SHIT!” Jaansma shouted as the jungle in his sight turned flame, black, then brown and cloudy and he saw equipment and men fountaining. “Target destroyed.”
“Mister Jaansma,” Dill said. “Watch your commo discipline.”
“Sorry, Ben. Searching …”
“Three minutes from LZ,” Gorecki said. “Get the crunchies ready.”
“Searching,” Kang echoed Garvin. “Searching …”
• • •
The first assault wave came out the back of their Griersons into a sheet of fire. They went down, and a few stayed there. SSWs and blasters returned the ’Raum fire, at first spattering, then a solid roar. Noncoms bellowed orders … move, move, you sorry shitheads, get off this LZ and on them … stay here and die, you idiots … come on, move, move …
Soldiers were up, zigging, maneuver elements going forward, fire support blasting at seen targets or just the area, and the Force overran the ’Raum’s forward positions, blasters, rocket launchers stuttering destruction.
• • •
“Where are the rest of our fighters?” Brien asked.
“Twenty minutes, perhaps more, away,” the woman carrying his com reported.
“Too far. Tell them to drop everything but their weapons and ammo and come at the run, or we’re lost.”
The woman nodded, touched her mike’s sensor.
• • •
The Second Regiment hit an unprotected flank, and the ’Raum fell back, re-formed. A few of their fighters broke, ran, and were cut down. The others firmed their resolve, and continued fighting. There would be no mercy shown on either side on this battleground.
• • •
“Oh you dumb sons of bitches,” the woman aiming the portable rocket launcher gloated. “Didn’t anybody ever tell you about bunching up?” She pressed the stud and the rocket hissed out of its tube and exploded in the middle of the ’Raum. A moment later, a ’Raum sniper saw her weapon, caught her in his range finder and fired. The round caught the rocketeer in the calf, and she howled, dropped her weapon, and rolled on the ground in agony. Her sometime lover, a rifleman, hesitated, then followed orders and picked up her heavier weapon and its ammo vest. He moved on, hoping the woman would get her med-pouch open, or there’d be a medic, before she bled to death. He shut off that part of his mind and looked for a target.
• • •
Dill’s Grierson had just cleared land, going back for another load of troops, when it bucked, slewed sideways in midair, rolled twice drunkenly. Garvin heard the drive cut out, then start again, then cut out once more.
“Hang on, people,” Stan said. “Trying to restart it.”
“Stand by for ditching,” Ben ordered. “Ho, Garvin, out of your turrets.” The two obeyed, strapping themselves down on a troop bench. “Seventy-four meters above water,” Dill reported. “I’ll try to pancake the turd in.”
The drive caught, hiccuped, then caught again, but whining shrilly, like a high-speed motor with sand in its bearings.
“We’re going again on sixty percent,” Gorecki reported. “But for how long is crystal ball territory.”
“Remembering that a Grierson, sans power, has the glide pattern of a brick,” Dill said, “stay at ditching stations. I’ll try to lumber this prick to something a little solider than what’s underneath us.”
Garvin listened to the drive whine, break, whine, break, and found his lips moving. No, he thought. You are not praying. You do not believe in anything more than Garvin Jaansma. So stop with the stupid prayer already.
The Grierson, smoke pouring from its vents, limped over the beach and slammed across the parade ground at seventy-five knots, wallowing, sliding, slewing from side to side.
Eventually the crashing and slamming stopped. Garvin opened his eyes, looked up at Kang, realized the situation was unusual, because she’d been across from him when he closed his eyes and the bouncing had started. Dill clambered from the VC compartment into the troop box, yanked the manual hatch release, and the rear ramp fell away. “Come on,” he shouted. “Griersons don’t burn, but this one just might. Outside, outside, outside!”
Garvin punted Kang out in front of him, jumped clear, ran to the front of the Grierson, and pulled Gorecki bodily out of his compartment through the emergency hatch. Not looking back, the four ran, bent over, then went flat. Eventually they realized there wasn’t any explosion, any fire, and lifted their heads to the accompaniment of onrushing sirens.
“Aren’t they going to be all pissed off,” Garvin said, “when there isn’t anybody bleeding for ‘em?”
“Yes there is,” Dill said. “See? I scratched my pinkie. Medal time, medal time, medal time!”
• • •
Four Cookes darted across the smoking jungle, autocannons roaring, and a ’Raum counterattack hesitated, broke. They spun, blasted the area again, and caught two AA missile crews in the open.
• • •
“Cambrai Leader, got a whole bunch more of them,” an electronics Grierson reported. “Humping like they’re late for something. Passing the target along to you.”
“Thank you, Big Eye. Guess they’re afraid they’ll be late for the ball.” The Zhukov commander switched channels. “All Chambrai elements … we have a big target. Men in the open … looks like reinforcements. We’ll use main arty, finish them with the chainguns. Let’s go collect us some heads.”
The four Zhukovs dived on the ’Raum, and collision alarms screamed. Their pilots pulled control wheels back into their laps, and the Zhukovs shuddered, nearly stalling, as five alien ships flashed out of the cloud-cover over the Highlands. They were scythe-shaped, the curve of the C forward, about twenty-five meters from horn to horn. On the top and bottom of the ships were pods, each containing one prone Musth. The Musth called them aksai, after a snakelike creature of their home-worlds, known for viciousness and lethality.
The standard watch frequency came to life: “It isss perceived you have isssolated our mutual enemiesss. Perhapsss we ssshould offer asssistance.”
Without waiting for a response, the Musth ships rolled into the attack. At the horns of each aksai air ionized, and a line seared into flame. The ships sprayed fire across the ’Raum formation, then again.
The Zhukov pilots recovered, came back. But there was few targets for their 150mm autocannon except roaring fire, as everything, trees, brush, men, and women, even, it seemed, the ground itself, burned.
“It isss good to sssee the wormsss burn, isss it not?”
• • •
“Shit,” a rifleman said. “I don’t see anything left to kill.”
“Nope,” his teammate said. “Guess we — ”
“There’s one,” the other interrupted. A ’Raum got out of a shell crater and stumbled toward them. He was holding something against his chest, and shouting incoherently. Both infantrymen fired, and the body spun sideways, lay still. “Wonder if he was carrying anything worth souveniring?” the first asked.
“Let’s go check — ”
The explosives the ’Raum carried blew up, and the two soldiers flattened. Dirt rained, and the two stared at each other. “That guy,” the first soldier said thoughtfully, “took things way too serious.”
• • •
Comstock Brien picked himself up, wiped blood from his eyes. There were no more than fifteen or twenty of his fighters still moving, and all were wounded. His com carrier was unconscious, blood spurting from a severed artery. He picked up her mike. “Base, this is Brien.”
There was a crackle, then: “This is base. What is going on? I tried to contact you twice, without result.”
“This is Brien. Don’t know. Some kind of shell hit us.” Brien wiped his face again. “We are surrounded. Are there any reinforcements? Are there any more reinforcements?”
• • •
Jord’n Brooks looked around the cave at the thirty men and women, touched the corn’s sensor. “There are no more rein
forcements. Can you break away?” Silence, then: “No. We are trapped.” Again a pause. “Brooks … this is Brien. You were right.” Brooks looked at Poynton, grimaced. “I wish I wasn’t.”
“This was one ending, but a beginning, too,” Brien’s voice said. “Now, it is your Task to see it to its end. Don’t mourn for us, Jord’n Brooks. See that we did not die in vain.” The com went silent.
“You heard him,” Brooks said. “I want you … you … you …” He pointed around the cave at ten people. “Your Task is with the guards outside, holding back the enemy, for they will be attacking in minutes. Fight to the last, and keep them from following us. The rest of you … take what records, what files you can carry. Be ready to move in five — ” A bomb blast outside rocked the cave. “No, three minutes. Take what is essential. For we are now the heart of the ’Raum, heart of The Movement, heart of the Revolution, and we must not fail.”
• • •
The Force swept across the battlefield, found only a handful of wounded to take prisoner, and some of those suicided or made soldiers kill them. One might have been Comstock Brien, for one soldier said a wounded man with a livid scar played dead, then shot three soldiers before being killed himself. But when II Section realized who the tenacious warrior might have been and went back, no trace of his body was ever found.
Force casualties were comparatively light — fewer than seventy-five killed, twice that wounded, for almost five hundred ’Raum killed.
“Now we take their base,” Williams ordered. The Third Regiment, augmented by I&R Company, started forward, a little cockily, sure the battle was over, and fire sheeted. Four officers were down in the first blasts, and half again as many noncoms. They fell back, regrouped, attacked once more, and again the ’Raum drove them back.
“All right,” Caud Williams said. “If they want it the hard way … Mil Rao, we’ll use Zhukovs to reduce their base from the air.”
“Sir, if we could take some prisoners, it would be — ”
“Alt Hedley, you can do your scavenging among the dead after the smoke clears,” Williams said furiously. “I will not lose another of my men uselessly. And I’d advise you to hold your tongue, for the goodwill you’ve gained by finding these ’Raum is being rapidly dissipated.”
