Stark's War

by John G. Hemry

  "Who is it, Sarge? Who's attacking?"

  "I dunno. But it looks like we finally pushed the First, Second, and Third Worlds a little too hard and they're pushing back harder."

  "We're at war with everybody else on Earth?" Chen exclaimed.

  "I told you I don't know."

  Before anyone could say anything more, the comm panel buzzed frantically, then began relaying data to Stark's own Tactical. He immediately started shunting it downstream to his Squad at the same time as he read it. Full alert. Major attacks imminent. Tactical scrolled orders even as it painted a sector map on Stark's HUD. "Okay, everybody getting this?" Stark demanded. "We're falling back to form a perimeter around that colony they've been building up."

  "Sarge?" Murphy called. "We're way outside that perimeter."

  "The Sergeant knows that, Murphy," Corporal Desoto snapped.

  Stark nodded. "Right. So, ladies and gentlemen, we are leaving as soon as Billings gets back. Say good-bye to clean living."

  "Hey, Sarge." Gomez waved her hand around to indicate the entire complex. "The orders say we're supposed to destroy this place when we evacuate, but we haven't got any demolitions. It'll take forever."

  "Yeah," Stark agreed. "It would, so we aren't going to try. On our way out we'll drop some incendiary grenades into the main computer room and call that good. If headquarters doesn't like it they can come do a better job themselves." Billings ran in, panting with haste as she fastened the last seals on her battle armor. "All right. Let's go. We're at war again, people. No screwing around and no screwing up."

  Stark looked back as he cleared the main entry, the large airlock hatch still glowing clearly on infrared, remembering when they'd assaulted the lab several weeks back. He wondered briefly if the angry female scientist would return, complaining about the mess Stark's Squad had made of the place, then put it out of his mind.

  "Sergeant." Stark looked over to Desoto, who pointed up wordlessly. He stared upward in turn, seeing strange new stars blooming far away against the lunar night. The Navy, fighting a desperate rearguard action. Suddenly a larger star erupted, growing into a ragged blossom that gradually faded. "Was that one of our ships?" Desoto wondered out loud.

  "No telling," Stark noted grimly. "Given the odds up there, it probably was. Okay, those sailors are dying to buy us time, people. Let's move it."

  Stark tried not to think about the distance left to be covered, tried not to realize how long it would take his Squad to reach the limited safety of the hasty perimeter that headquarters was trying to establish, tried most of all not to think about what would happen if they got caught by the enemy alone out here. They covered ground fast, the too-near horizon mocking them as it receded, endless vistas of rock and dust painted in shades of gray and black. "Sarge!" Hector yelled.

  "Keep it down," Stark barked, watching on his own HUD as distant tracks arched toward the lunar surface—landing craft, well behind them but telegraphing the arrival of ground forces in large enough number to panic headquarters.

  An ugly object suddenly jumped over the ridge before them, massive black armor glinting dully. "Hold your fire!" Stark shouted, "Wait for IFF!" even as his suit Identification Friend or Foe cheerily declared "friendly!" The APC pirouetted with absurd grace for such a mammoth object, coming to rest just before them.

  "Get aboard fast," the APC driver called, her voice crackling with tension. Stark hustled his troops, ignoring normal dispersal routines, body crowding body into the cramped cavern of the troop compartment. No sooner did Stark haul himself in last than the access hatch slammed closed and the APC jerked upward, pivoted, then shot forward. The soldiers were flung into a tangled mass, cursing as they sorted out harnesses and tried to strap in.

  Stark settled himself, checking suit readouts for the Squad. "Anybody hurt back when we took off?" A chorus of grumbles answered him, intermixed with disparaging comments about the APC driver's ancestry. "Knock it off. How many of you would rather be walking?" Stark jacked into the APC's systems, trying to get more information, but its Tactical displayed the same scattered picture as Stark's. "Driver?"

  "Yeah." Her voice reflected the concentration of highspeed driving through lunar terrain and the stress of impending combat.

  "How far you taking us?"

  "Not far enough, Sergeant." She stopped talking for a moment as the APC swerved violently. "Damn rocks. Don't wanna hit one. You get dropped a couple of klicks farther on."

  Stark checked his Tactical. "That's still outside the perimeter."

  "Uh-huh. I got more troops to collect, pal. I can't chauffeur you in all the way. No time."

  "Roger." Stark settled back, trying not to think too much about everything that could go wrong in the next few hours. It seemed only moments later that the APC braked hard enough to provoke another torrent of curses from the Squad, then slammed to the surface. "Everybody out," Stark ordered.

  "But Sarge," Chen protested. "We're still short of—"

  "I know!" Stark roared. "Move it!" They moved, tumbling out with all the haste Stark's command could generate. "Disperse!" Stark snapped. "Maintain combat formation." He consulted his HUD as the APC jumped aloft and shot away, back toward where the enemy landing craft had fallen a short time before. Good luck, buddy. "People, we haven't got a decent map download of this area, but we know where we're going. Let's go."

  As the Squad began legging it again, Stark switched to platoon-level scan, feeling a rush of relief as he spotted the symbology for Second Squad nearby. "Sanchez? You on?"

  "Roger, Stark." From the lack of excitement in Sanchez's voice he could have been on simulated maneuvers instead of facing actual battle.

  Stark checked his HUD again. "Looks like we're converging toward the same area."

  "Agreed. My left flank should make contact with your right flank in about ten minutes."

  "Great." Stark knew his elation was irrational in the face of the threat, but making physical contact with another unit meant that at least they were no longer alone on the empty. awful face of the Moon. "What about First Squad? Whereas Reynolds?"

  "I think there's an APC trying to do a pickup on them now."

  Stark felt a chill. "Damn. They were a long ways out. farther than my Squad."

  "Relax," Sanchez advised. "You or me, we might be in trouble. Vic Reynolds will get her Squad out, though."

  "Yeah, you're right." Stark fell silent, ushering his Squad forward until his right flank met Second Squad, until they reached the upwelling of ancient stone that marked the ridge they'd aimed for, until both squads flopped down, panting from their rapid movement, staring back down the way they'd come with dread anticipation.

  Rifles came up as their HUDs pulsed, pinpointing a fast-moving object. "Hold on," Stark ordered as the vehicle shot directly toward them.

  "I have no IFF," Sanchez reported.

  "Me, neither," Stark agreed, fingering his rifle even as an instinct nagged at the back of his mind. "But what enemy would be crazy enough to charge ahead like that?"

  "You think it's friendly?"

  "Yeah. Maybe something's wrong with its IFF."

  "Then my Squad will hold fire until you say otherwise."

  Rifles lined up, aiming toward where suit combat systems estimated the unknown vehicle would be when it came within range. They made an odd sight, almost thirty barrels individually moving in sync with each other as each soldier's combat system reached the same targeting conclusions. "Sarge?" Carter called. "How close does that thing have to get before our rifles can punch through its armor?"

  "Depends on what it is," Stark stated. "But nobody fires until I say so. Remember, that vehicle might be ours, and it might have friends on it."

  The vehicle finally came into sight, glimpses of a dark shape weaving through the rocks like a huge beetle in a gravel pit. Stark gradually realized the weaves were too erratic to all be deliberate attempts at evasion, staring as the armor grated against outcrops, then steadied to come on again with the determination of
a badly wounded animal seeking shelter.

  "Man, that is one beat-up piece of metal," Gomez whispered.

  Stark nodded silently, wondering how many of the dents and holes he saw marked penetrations of the troop compartment. The APC reached the spot where terrain began climbing and tried to rise with it, but staggered, grinding against the foot of the ridge, then came to a shuddering halt as bodies began leaping free. "Who's there?" Stark demanded.

  "First Squad," Vic Reynolds answered crisply. "Lieutenant Porter's been hit."

  "What happened?"

  "Firefight. Some enemy troops dropped almost on top of us. The APC yanked us out just before we got overrun. Unfortunately, it got shot up in the process."

  "Jesus. Get the driver and the gunner."

  "We've got the driver. She's been nicked but is mad as hell and has a sidearm. The gunner's dead."

  "Hell."

  Reynolds paused, then spoke again. "We'll have to leave him."

  "But . . ." Stark gritted his teeth. Have to leave them. The words echoed someplace where memories forever lay too close to the surface. No, just him. One guy. One too many, but what else are you going to do? Hold back all your living soldiers to help one guy who can't be helped anymore ? Too much mass to lug around even on the Moon, not when you had to worry about moving really fast. "At least nothing will happen to the body up here."

  "Yeah," Vic agreed shortly. First Squad members were coming up the slope, two with damaged battle armor being helped by other soldiers. "Can we hold here, Ethan?"

  "I doubt it. The position's not bad, but there's nobody here but us."

  "Sanchez? Anybody on your flank?"

  "Not in contact, no," Sanchez noted coolly. "There is a gap of perhaps half a kilometer between my left and the next unit."

  Big enough to drive a brigade through, Stark thought, but at least Sanchez had somebody providing support on that side.

  "This is Lieutenant Porter speaking." His voice wavered oddly, possibly from shock, certainly from weakness and the effects of the drugs his suit's medical kit would have been automatically pushing into him. "We will hold here in accordance with our orders."

  They waited, for moments that seemed longer than they should, until threat symbols popped into life at the edges of their HUDs. The symbols came on, flowing forward and to the side, marking infantry and vehicles moving ahead with deadly determination. Stark noted the numbers of oncoming threats, matched it against his own Platoon's firepower, and breathed a silent prayer.

  Textbooks laid it out clearly. To defend a position you needed to be able to prevent the enemy from attacking you from the side or the rear. It was as simple as the truth that a soldier could only aim and fire in one direction at once. If necessary, you could try forming a circular defensive line, much like the surviving companies of cavalry had at Custer's Last Stand. That could work if you were strong enough, if the terrain you occupied was strong enough, if the enemy didn't try hitting you harder than you could hold against. It helped to be a little crazy and keep fighting long after logic said to give it up. Mendoza had talked once about how the British had done that a long time ago at a place called Rorke's Drift, but then Stark had always thought most Brits were born a little crazy. But those were exceptions. The cavalry companies actually with Custer hadn't been able to form a strong enough circle and had died to a man. So had a lot of other people on a lot of other battlefields. Stark had known some of them.

  Stark could feel it, feel something that wasn't there, the absence of any other units beyond his last Squad member. The void worked at him, mocked him, told him his Squad had been hung out without support. Finally he could take it no longer, trying to speak without letting his ragged nerves show. "Lieutenant, I got nobody on my right."

  "I know that, Stark!" Porter obviously wasn't in a very good mood, doubtless nursing considerable pain from his wound, pain no doubt aggravated by the rough ride here on the crippled APC. "I've told headquarters! What do you want from me?"

  Stark licked his lips, fighting off another wave of anxiety, choosing his words with care even as he triggered a channel to ensure Reynolds and Sanchez were also listening to the conversation. "Lieutenant, I've got threat readings popping up steadily on the right. They're already behind us on that side. If we don't fall back we'll be outflanked and surrounded."

  Before Porter could answer, Reynolds called in, voice innocent as if she were unaware of Stark's last statement. "Lieutenant, recommend falling back to the next ridge. We need to buy time for reinforcements to cover our flank."

  It hung in the balance for a moment, Porter's fear of not following orders to the letter warring with his fear of losing his unit. The fact that he'd narrowly escaped capture or death a short time before may have tipped the balance. "Yes. Fall back by fire teams to the next ridge. I'll inform the chain-of-command that we're, uh, shortening the line to ensure we can hold."

  Thank God. Stark had barely formed the grateful thought when Vic called him. "Ethan, you okay?"

  "Yeah. I'm okay."

  "You sound really bad. What—?"

  "I told you I'm okay!"

  "Fine," she snapped, breaking off the conversation.

  Stark ordered his Squad into motion. Soldiers scampered back in pairs, dropping to cover the next pair as it retreated through them. They hadn't reached the next ridge when Stark's Tactical flashed with an update. Caught in midstride, Stark went to one knee to study the map, an involuntary whistle escaping his lips. They were going to shorten the line, all right, and for the first time the planned perimeter looked small enough to hold with the forces available. "De-soto, you get the new Tactical plan?"

  "Yes, Sergeant. The planned perimeter has shrunk quite a bit."

  "You might say that. The brass is finally getting real about this situation. We got a lot of falling back to do. You stay on the left and keep that end of the Squad moving proper while I watch the right side." Stark paused, then called up his command circuit tap to see if he could receive the big picture again. It took a moment to make sense of the chaotic picture that sprang to life. Apparently they'd had it easy so far, while units on the other side of the perimeter had taken heavy blows, been driven back, but were now hanging on. A cluster of unmoving enemy symbology apparently marked an attempted raid into the heart of the U.S. position, a raid which had cost the attackers their entire force thanks to the warning time the ground forces had received. Thank you, Navy. I'll never slug a sailor again.

  "Sarge?" Private Hector called.

  "Yeah, Hector."

  "What's up? I mean, we almost got trapped back there, and now we keep falling back. How far we gonna go? What's going to happen?"

  Stark stared ahead, seeing on his map display a long array of interlocking crater rims and ridges leading back toward the colony core of the perimeter. "Who do I look like, Hector, God? Stop worrying about what happened or almost happened. It's gone. Stop worrying about anything in the future. All that counts is that next ridge. Once we get to it, all that counts is the ridge beyond it. Understand? All of you, I want you thinking about now, because now is all that matters."

  "Yes, Sarge," Hector answered, audibly abashed.

  Something fast sped by far to the right, perhaps an enemy APC trying a risky maneuver to outflank the retreating American infantry. Even as Stark tracked the symbol, his jaw tense, hidden U.S. guns spat out heavy shells, and moments later a distant flash announced the destruction of the vehicle. Thank God. There's somebody to our right now. Hang on, guys, we're coming.

  They made the next ridge, a feeling of pressure growing behind them. Threat symbols flickered in and out, there and not there as enemy forces came on, closing the distance. On into the next shallow valley, the pressure real now as a few shots ripped overhead, enemy troops unfamiliar with lunar conditions firing too high. "Don't stop," Stark commanded. "Get to the ridge."

  They moved to reach the high ground, diving over the crest to keep silhouettes to a minimum, rifle rounds kicking up spurts of dust or
shards of rock as they spattered all around like a rainstorm growing in intensity by the minute. Stark checked his HUD. One more ridge back to meet the planned perimeter, but the enemy was pushing hard now. Static fuzzed around the edge of his display as jamming began interfering with signals. "Stark, Sanchez," Vic called. "I sent Porter on ahead with the APC driver. We'll do this last fall-back by squads."

  "Vic, they're on us," Stark objected. "One squad won't hold."

  "They don't need to hold. They just have to make the enemy pause a little." Vic's breath exhaled suddenly, the way Stark knew it always did just after she'd fired a shot. "Now, Third Squad goes first. Get halfway back, drop and cover us. Second Squad will follow, go all the way to the ridge and cover this ridgeline. Got that, Sanchez?"