Stark's War

by John G. Hemry

  First Squad took up covering positions around the bunker, ready to deal with it when the time came or if the mercs somehow figured out what was going down around them. The timeline showed green, everything hitting on schedule again, as Second Squad moved on, toward the metals refinery. After the deadness of the normal lunar environment, and the survivability-driven low signatures of military gear, the refinery stood out as a carnival of light and vibration. Heat blared from the complex, pulsing in time to the automated production sequence. Stark's gear adjusted frantically, dropping intensity scales to avoid burning out circuits. He stared, briefly, at an alien world, where life wasn't measured in the same ways he knew.

  Don't know how the enemy sensor net could notice anything with that noise show going on, Stark thought, then reconsidered. Yeah, but they're probably calibrated to recognize it and spot anything outside parameters. That merc bunker's probably there mainly to check out any alarms and make sure the mining company doesn't get nailed for false alerts.

  Second Squad came up to the refinery perimeter as Third Squad headed out to the left, individual members of Stark's unit moving to place mines on the access road leading in and then fall back to take up covering positions. This process, at least, had been immeasurably simplified by the soldiers' Tacs. Put this mine here. Put that mine there. Piece of cake. Just follow the dots on the map on your HUD.

  Stark moved directly to a position where he could overview the process, covering his troops as they placed and activated the mines. Watching state-of-the-art mines be activated had always fascinated Stark, focusing intently as each device scanned its immediate surroundings, then altered surface texture and color to blend in until he lost track of it visually. The mines could even extrude smooth or jagged edges to match nearby rocks. Fascinating, and really scary, because enemy mines could do the same things. If it weren't for the automatic disarming mechanisms that after a few days turned the mines into objects almost as inert as the rocks they resembled, Stark would have been afraid to take a step on the surface outside the American perimeter.

  Mine emplacement had almost been completed, his soldiers scuttling back to drop into their own covering positions, when Stark noticed Sanchez's Squad sitting stalled on the perimeter of the refinery. "Vic, what's with Sanchez?"

  "They found a secondary alarm net. Looks independent of the main security system." Vic sounded clipped and professional, keeping transmissions short.

  "Why in hell would a metals refinery have a secondary independent alarm system?"

  "Lieutenant Conroy guessed it's some insurance requirement."

  "Insurance?"

  "Yeah. Property insurance or something. Civ stuff." Vic let worry show through her voice, talking only to Stark. "Since it's independent of the sector sensor grid, our worm doesn't affect it. Sanchez thinks they can work a bypass on it fast, though."

  Hope so. The time display numbers were changing shade, gradually lightening from bright green toward yellow. They were already behind schedule, working a timeline that, like every timeline developed by officers back at headquarters, required everything to work perfectly for it to be met. In this case that timeline had also been driven by concern the worm would fail and someone would come down the road Stark's Squad was guarding to find and trap them out here. Minutes dragged by, each seeming to stretch forever, and the yellow numbers on the timeline began to take on an orange tinge that threatened to shade to red. Move it, Sanch.

  Abruptly, Second Squad's symbols did move, converging on a single point in the refinery perimeter and then fanning out rapidly through the complex. The ugly orange of the time display, deepening to red, held steady as Second Squad moved furiously to catch up with the timeline. Each soldier had charges and exact places to put them, some on equipment, some on structural members, some on the terminal for the mag-lev rail line running to the enemy industrial complex. More minutes crawled as the other two squad leaders waited, one eye on the areas they were covering and the other on the progress of Second Squad.

  After a seeming eternity, Sanchez's people started moving back toward and through the rupture in the perimeter. Stark permitted himself a sigh of relief. We may get away with this after all.

  Battle armor motion alert sensors suddenly pulsed, focusing on the point where the access road cut through a minor crater rim. "Vehicle inbound," Stark's suit calmly announced, "ID uncertain." Stark cursed briefly, then called the Lieutenant. "Sir—"

  "Got it, Sergeant," Lieutenant Conroy cut him off, speaking rapidly with a sharp edge of tension she couldn't hide. "What is it?"

  Why ask me? The Lieutenant had access to everything Stark did, but it was natural for a new officer to lean on her Sergeants at a time like this. Within moments, visual and broad-spectrum observations from all the soldiers in Third Squad were correlated by Stark's Tac system, which checked the information against its database and came up with a guess. "Tentative ID," Stark's suit spoke again, "light armored car, probable Manta export variant."

  More bad news. A civ car they might have been able to take down without too much fuss, but even a light armored vehicle would require some firepower to stop. Damn. "My Tac says it's probably a Manta armored car, Lieutenant. That model is merc equipment."

  "What the hell are they doing here, Sergeant?" Conroy demanded.

  You want me to ask them? "Sir, they're coming straight in, like they're not worried at all, so it's probably a routine patrol, maybe a relief crew for the bunker."

  Seconds ticked by while the new Lieutenant dealt with her first real combat decision, the armored car closed the distance, and Second Squad's last member cleared the perimeter. On Stark's HUD, the timeline readout began to glow an angry red. If this had been a normal operation, half a dozen officers from headquarters would already have been issuing a barrage of orders to the Lieutenant as well as howling directly at the individual soldiers to get back on the damned timeline, target/don't target the Manta, and dig in/run away. This time, thanks to fears of uncloaking the worm with comm transmissions, headquarters was forced to remain silent. As he waited for the Lieutenant's reply, Stark had to fight down a sudden absurd impulse to laugh at a mental image of senior officers hopping around their headquarters communications terminals in wild frustration.

  "Sergeant Stark"—Conroy paused, as if taking a breath—"destroy the armored car if it makes it through the mines you planted."

  "Yes, sir." It was a lousy choice, guaranteed to announce their presence here in a way the worm couldn't hide, but it was also the only choice they really had. Stark passed the word to his Squad. "Fire on my command." Thirteen weapons lined up to track the oncoming vehicle as it neared the Squad's positions and the mines scattered across and around the road. Stark waited, double-checking the statistics on the armored car's defenses with grim satisfaction. Against the light armor the Manta carried, even the rifle rounds would punch through at this range, if it came to that.

  It didn't. A third of the way through the minefield, the Manta suddenly hesitated, then lurched upward, propelled by a jet of high-velocity gas from the shaped charge in an antivehicle mine. The top of the armored car blew out, edges peeling upward, as a column of metal, gas, and other fragments vented overhead. The car sagged back down, slid sideways, then wedged itself into the surface halfway off the road. Its fountain of debris dwindled, gases rapidly dissipating while solids fell with dreamlike slowness back to the lunar soil.

  Stark was jerked from watching the death of the armored car and its occupants by other detonation alerts on his scan. Behind, First Squad had triggered its charges, blowing in the merc bunker, disabling its weapons pits, and knocking out the enemy sensors covering their route back. The mercs in the bunker had probably still been open-mouthed with shock from the fate of the armored car when their own end came. Stark felt a momentary pity for them, playing soldier against professionals and probably never realizing how poorly prepared they were for the role. Too bad, but it was you or us. Live stupid, die stupid.

  The universe s
eemed to pause to catch its breath, then shot back into motion. Stark's long-range scan showed enemy emergency sensor sats being lofted toward their location, trying to fill a sudden gap. Guess that confirms the worm's dead. Before they made their positions, the sats flared and went out, victims of waiting American antilunar orbital systems. That'd keep the enemy from targeting them right away, but the enemy already knew where they were, and it wouldn't take a genius to figure out where the Platoon had come from and which way it would be falling back. All of which meant it wouldn't be long before unwelcome company started coming down that road in armored vehicles that made the dead Manta look like a toy.

  Lieutenant Conroy came on line, voice cracking with tension. "All Squads, Egress Plan Charlie. I say again, Egress Plan Charlie."

  Egress Plan Charlie. Conroy's voice triggered the Tacs of each soldier in her Platoon to display that operation option, which was just a fancy name for Run Like Hell. Falling back by the numbers, with overwatch and careful movements, would be counterproductive now. If the Platoon got caught anywhere this side of the dust plain they were as dead as the mercs, with no cover or support of their own, doomed to be overwhelmed by superior firepower. Stark called his own troops, even though they'd heard the order at the same time he had and were already moving. "You heard the Lieutenant. Go! If anybody falls behind, I'll kick their asses up between their ears."

  Even as he swung into motion, Stark watched on scan as First Squad moved quickly away from the ruined bunker site, a straight line toward the pass. Second Squad came right behind, all of its personnel clear of the refinery and converging on First Squad's route. Last, farthest out, were the soldiers of Third Squad, falling back swiftly to join the path of retreat somewhere beyond the bunker area. "Gomez," Stark commanded, "get up front and set the pace." With Gomez to keep up with and Stark dealing with laggards, Third Squad should continue moving rapidly.

  As Stark passed the bunker area, its imploded shell off to his right now, Sergeant Sanchez broadcast a warning. "Heads up! Refinery's going." Stark braced himself, then felt tremors rolling through the rock beneath as Sanchez detonated his charges. Pebbles in place for uncounted centuries broke free to roll silently down as the shock waves from the charges rippled by. Stark stole a glance back, scan highlighting junk flying every which way, energy discharges flaring from shattered power lines and buildings slowly collapsing inward. Helluva view, almost worth the ticket out here.

  "Keep moving!" he yelled into the Squad net, causing several halted figures to leap back into motion. No time to spare playing tourist, not with the mech infantry just down the road. They'd be limited to foot travel following the Platoon through rocks, but they'd get to the edge of the rough terrain fast in their APCs, especially with that damned Manta advertising the presence and location of the minefield. Once among the rocks, they'd move faster than the Platoon could, not worried about conserving strength for the run across the dust plain. You just had to hope they weren't too quick in responding to the alarm.

  As Stark cleared the first rise, entering the rocks, his battle armor alarm sounded again. Far back on the road, a probable enemy vehicle symbol appeared, closing fast on the site of the ruined refinery.

  This is gonna be one hell of a bad day. Stark dropped beneath the level of the rise, hiding from detection by the enemy but also cutting off his view of the oncoming vehicles. "Lieutenant, I spotted enemy armor coming up the road just before I made cover."

  "Did they see you?" Conroy shot back, her voice still pitched too fast and too tense.

  Stark fought down a sarcastic reply, recognizing the tension gnawing at his own judgment. "I don't know, Lieutenant. Probably not. They only had a moment, and one soldier in battle armor is a lot harder to spot than a moving tank."

  "That's right." Conroy's relief was palpable. "Maybe that'll buy us some time."

  "Maybe, Lieutenant," Stark temporized as he launched himself on a long arc down the slope. Or maybe if they'd seen me the enemy would have thought we'd left a covering force behind and would advance a lot slower to avoid an ambush. Hell. No way of knowing, and too late to do anything different anyway. He felt the force of events driving him hopelessly onward, just as his own movement dislodged rocks that could fall only as gravity and terrain dictated.

  The rocks, slopes, and ridges that concealed the Platoon from the enemy hunting them also slowed down their own progress. Stark kept pushing his soldiers, snapping at their heels like a guard dog whenever one seemed to lag slightly, even as he studied the map on his HUD. How far could they go at this pace before tired soldiers began slowing? The battle armor could help, providing support and partial assistance to a walking soldier, but power supplies were limited. Push the soldiers too hard or push the suits too hard and the results would be the same, giving out short of safety. And I only get one chance to get it right.

  Behind them, the symbology of their pursuers clustered, pulsing and shifting as updates and estimates jumped probable positions in a weird dance. The jerky motion of the enemy symbols always tended their way, though, closing with certainty on the one route through the crater wall ahead.

  "Incoming supporting barrage," Stark's suit warned. Best news I've had in a while. Stark glanced up, instinctively and unnecessarily, since there was nothing to see and his Tac display was tracking the rounds. The incoming warheads burst and faded from display, too early and too far out. Hell. We're too damned far inside enemy territory. With the Platoon still under the enemy's defensive umbrella, their own artillery couldn't reach their pursuers. It was unlikely there'd be any more barrages. Shells cost, and the chances of one making it through were too small.

  "Hey, Vic," he called.

  "Here."

  "Did the Lieutenant call in that artillery?"

  "Yeah." Reynolds' reply held a mix of anger and resignation. "She's screaming for support, but that's all we're getting."

  Stark checked his own back door into the command circuit, hearing Lieutenant Conroy's desperate calls for cover for the retreating Platoon being met by only occasional noncommittal acknowledgments. "How come headquarters is so quiet, Vic?" Stark wondered. "Why aren't they telling us what to do, like they usually do? The worm's dead, so they can micromanage everybody again."

  Vic's laughter held no humor. "Ethan, we're in a lot of trouble right now, and unless a more senior officer tells her what to do, Conroy's the only person directly responsible if we get blown away before we reach safety."

  Stark grimaced. "Sure. I forgot nobody high-ranking is ever at fault when something goes wrong. At least if it comes to that, we'll be able to die without some idiots back at headquarters ordering us to choose different targets or run in a different direction."

  "That's looking at the bright side."

  Stark checked his map again, measuring distances and movement rates, knowing what had to be done but delaying all the same. Can't put if off much longer.

  "Sarge." Gomez called in on the Squad circuit, sounding calm but slightly breathless from the hurried pace.

  "Yeah." Answer the same way. Nice and calm. Don't let the others know how bad this is, how worried you are. Just another drill out here, people, keep your heads and you'll be okay. He frowned, noticing Gomez's symbol beginning to drop back from its position at the head of the Squad. "You got a problem?"

  "We got a problem." Like she was discussing a glitch in the sentry schedule. "Ain't gonna make it across that plain, Sarge. They're too close. They'll get to that big crater rim while we're still out there, and pick us off like roaches caught on the mess hall floor."

  Tell me something I don't know. He'd reached the same conclusion several minutes ago. The Platoon was tired, worn from the long march out here and taking out the objective. They were feeling the effects of those long hours, while the enemy troops were fresh, rested, and mad as hell. Fear, training, and conditioning kept the Platoon ahead but couldn't open the distance. "So?"

  "Is there gonna be anybody meeting us this side of the dust plain? Any support?"r />
  "None that I know of."

  "So we need a rear guard. I'm it."

  "The hell." He should've guessed Gomez would make that move, and shouldn't have waited as long as he had to make his own. "You stay forward, got me? The Squad needs you out front."

  "They need me watching their backs."

  "No. Makes no damn sense for you to fall back this far. The troops will start to lose it if they see you dropping back. ¿Comprendo?" Gomez's symbol had steadied, keeping up with the others while she argued with Stark. The other symbols were dragging slightly, trying to maintain their position relative to Gomez. "You're already slowing them down. Get back out front, now!"

  A long pause, then Gomez's symbol surged ahead. "Okay, Sarge, but that don't solve the problem." From her tone, she was mad as hell and putting that emotion into her movement.