Soldiers

by John Dalmas

  Esau crouched beside a tree. His answer was a rush of words. "Sir, this is Esau. I'm not far from it, and Jael's with me. The rest of the squad's close by, but I don't know how many's left. There's fighting all around, like things were stirred with a spoon."

  "The southeast tower demolition team can't get up the tower," Mulvaney said. "They're under heavy fire. Take your squad and suppress it. We must take out that tower!"

  "Yessir." Esau changed channels. "4th Squad, 2nd Platoon, move to the southeast tower. We need to take out enemy fire that's holding down the demolition team there. Otherwise we may not have a ride home. And give me your names while you're on your way, so I know how many of us there are."

  Then he started, his stocky body darting from tree to tree. Behind one he stumbled on a trooper with his head blown half off. Behind another stood a wounded Wyzhnyny, guts dangling, looking the other way and firing a carbine. They're tough! Esau thought. With superb night accuracy, he snapped off a single pulse that blew out the Wyzhnyny's brain. He could die himself in the next second, but his warrior muse wasn't entertaining thoughts like that.

  Now he saw the tower, a thick-legged tripod in a clearing some eighty or ninety feet across. Jerries lay on its slab, at least two still alive, returning fire from behind tripod legs. He could see several sources of the Wyzhnyny fire that kept them on the ground. Pointing, he growled. "Jael, that one's yours." Then he moved toward another, whose attention was on its target. Someone else loosed a short burst, putting that one down. Esau found a third almost hidden from view, threw a grenade behind the Wyzhnyny and dropped to the ground.

  After it blew, he took stock, then opened the command channel again. "Captain," he said, "this is Esau, 2nd Platoon, 4th Squad. We seem to have cleaned out the folks shooting at the southeast tower team, but no one's going up the tower. I don't think they know it's cleared yet."

  "Good work, Esau. I'll tell them. They're hung up at the southwest tower, too. Go help."

  Esau ordered 4th Squad, then started himself, glancing at the southeast tower as he left. They'd gotten lines up earlier. Now two people were climbing them.

  Intense fighting continued around the parked tanks. Bolts passed within feet of him, and he dove for the ground behind a tree. Jael's voice spoke in his helmet. "I got him!" she said, and Esau was back on his feet, running again for the southwest tower. He approached the Wyzhnyny harassers from behind, shot one, then came under fire from another. Hit the dirt behind a tree, legs protruding on one side, head on the other. Fragments of bark and wood flew, and he scrabbled on his belly to better conceal himself. No further pulses struck, and cautiously he looked around the base. Saw a Jerrie kneeling behind a fallen Wyzhnyny, peering toward the southwest tower, blaster ready.

  Gathering himself, Esau darted to the man and knelt beside him. One of 4th Squad, a replacement, Tom Clark. "You know if any of the others are around?" Esau asked.

  "I've seen Joash Steele and a couple others. That's all. I've been keeping track of you, best I could, you and Jael. Helps she's so small."

  Jael trotted toward them, then something heavy, a slammer, cut loose at them, and she scrambled for shelter while Clark and Esau hit the dirt in opposite directions. Esau belly flopped, and kicked around into a prone firing position. The enemy weapon fired another burst, and Esau fired back. The enemy fire stopped, and they saw a large powerful body thrashing on the ground.

  "Clark," Esau said, "I'm going to see if anyone's still alive over there." He thumbed toward the tower. "You folks keep anyone from plugging me."

  "Right, Sarge."

  Esau got to his feet and ran to the tower, briskly but not sprinting. Five Jerries lay dead there. Now Jael sprinted across to him and flopped prone. "I wish you'd get down," she said. "You're too good a target, standing like that."

  He knelt. "And I wish you'd have stayed over there," he answered.

  Ignoring the comment, she pointed toward the trees. "Someone over there's firing at the top of the tower," she said. "I think he's one of ours."

  Esau peered where she'd pointed. At the moment there wasn't much blaster fire close by, though someone was banging away with a pistol. Slowly and deliberately, probably short on ammunition. "You stay here and cover me," Esau said. "I'll check it out."

  Part of a large tree lay on the ground, cut to make room for the tower, and not cleaned up. He ran over to it, and finding two Jerries kneeling in a large fork, joined them.

  "What are you men doing here?"

  The one who answered never took his gaze from the top of the tower. "We were sent to give covering fire to the tower team, but they all got shot. Now he's covering me, and I'm covering the grapples."

  "Grapples?"

  "The team fired two grapples at the tower platform, and they both caught on the railing. Then two guys tried to climb it, on those little seats that ratchet up when you pull on the rope. They both got shot. They're hanging up there in their harness."

  Esau hadn't noticed them before, one almost to the top, the other some ten feet lower. The blasterman raised his weapon and fired another burst at the top of the tower. "One of the Wyz just came out," the man said. "The way he dropped, I think I got him. They can crawl along the platform without us seeing, but they have to get up to free the grapple. I'm hoping I can kill enough of them, they can't man their guns."

  They're probably worried about that themselves, Esau thought.

  "The team had three grapple throwers," the blasterman said, looking at Esau for the first time, a quick glance. "There should be another one out there among the bodies. With a climbing seat," he added suggestively.

  Esau squinted, then decided, and ran back to the tower in a crouch. Among the bodies, he saw what he needed: a satchel charge with shoulder straps, and a sort of drum with handles. On top of the drum lay something resembling a grenade launcher. A three-hooked grapple was seated in it, and from a slot below the muzzle, rope led to a hole in the top of the drum. Beside it lay a harness, with a little seat, and an attachment. He knew how it worked; 2nd Platoon had been introduced to them, though they hadn't tried them out.

  The heaviest fighting was near the center of the woods now, as if the demolitions teams had finished their work or been killed. No one seemed to be shooting at him for the moment, but that couldn't last. And there was more gunfire than blaster fire now-a bad sign. He dismissed it; he still had work to do. The satchel charge had a detonator in place, with a short length of fuse taped on the side, and an igniter. Taking off his combat pack, he removed a phosphorus grenade and hooked it on his harness next to his remaining fragmentation grenades. Finally he lay his blaster by his pack and slipped his arms through the straps on the satchel charge.

  Picking up the grapple gun, he handed it to Jael. "Bring this," he said. Then he carried the drum to the edge of the slab, took the grapple gun from Jael, and eyed the platform atop the tower. "Well," he muttered, "here goes nothing." Raising the gun, he pulled the trigger. The recoil almost separated his shoulder, and the blast hurt his right ear like a knife thrust. The grapple flew upward while the launch shank flew free. Rope sped from the drum; the grapple struck the turret, then clattered to the platform.

  Jerking on the rope, he felt no resistance. The grapple popped from the platform and caught on the pipe atop the bulwark.

  He turned to Jael. "This is an order," he said, pointing. "Go back there and shoot at any movement on top that's not me. I don't want some sonofabitch unhooking this, or shooting down at me. Then, if our folks start getting pushed out of the woods, I want you with them. I'll get out all right."

  She nodded soberly and ran toward the trees. As she did, Esau saw the blasterman in the fallen tree fire another burst at the top of the tower. The clatter of the third grapple had stirred them up overhead.

  Carrying the now-depleted drum, he went to where the seat lay, and attached the ratchet to the rope. Then he buckled himself into the harnesslike seat, located himself beneath the grapple, and after a deep breath began to climb hand
over hand, the ratchet securing every gain. He got the rhythm of it at once, climbing as rapidly as his short arms allowed. Thinking that if an energy pulse hit the satchel charge on his back, there'd be nothing left of him for a Wyzhnyny to eat.

  Just below the platform he paused, removed a fragmentation grenade, pulled the safety clip, thumbed the plunger, then lobbed the grenade over the railing. It roared. With quick strong movements he reached the railing and bellied over it, releasing his seat harness almost before hitting the platform. A Wyzhnyny body lay there. Rising to a crouch, he moved to his right, came to the open gunport, and removed the phosphorous grenade from his harness. As he activated it, he realized the gunport shield was sliding shut, but he had only one phosphorous grenade, so he tossed it anyway. If it had struck the shield, he'd have died horribly.

  Ignoring the screams from inside, he scuttled to the door, shrugged out of the satchel charge, then tried the latch. Unlocked! Bullets smacked the turret near him. He depressed the igniter, stepped behind the edge of the armorsteel door, and opened it. Someone inside fired blindly, bullets spanging on the bulwark behind him. He slung the thirty-pound charge in by a shoulder strap, slammed the door and fled in a crouch, around the curve of the turret to the grapple and over the railing, not bothering with the seat. He started down hand over hand. I should have thrown a fragmentation grenade in ahead of the charge, he thought. Someone in there's still alive and fighting. If he brings the charge out and throws it over the railing, I'm a goner.

  He heard the roar, and knew he'd pulled it off, but had no time to exult. Still thirty feet up, a burst of blaster fire passed too near. He slid-would have let go and free-fallen if it weren't for the concrete slab beneath him. Almost at the bottom, he gripped the rope hard again, braking, felt searing pain in his palms, and hit the slab hard enough his knees buckled, aware that another burst of blaster fire had missed him as he'd dropped. He sprinted for the trees.

  "Here!" Jael almost screamed it as she stepped into sight, and he veered toward her. "Folks are pulling back!" He realized he'd heard that on his helmet comm, and ignored it. Together they ran, Jael leading. Not northward toward where the company had landed, but westward, toward the curving river. Northward would take them into a no-man's-land.

  ***

  Ensign Kemau Zenawi Singh arrived in a staggering run, carrying a man who weighed more than he did. Wyzhnyny weapons racketed behind him. Crossing the break of the bulldozed bank, Zenawi hit the sandy slope on his butt, sliding feetfirst. Company medics were working on wounded. He rolled the body off his shoulder. "It's Captain Mulvaney!" he gasped, then lay back heaving for breath. "Somebody get Lieutenant Bremer!"

  He'd passed Bremer and hadn't noticed. Now the lieutenant appeared beside him. "What? Captain Mulvaney?"

  "Yessir. Hit by a bullet. It exited through his face, his mouth. We were heading back here and suddenly he went down. I think he was hit again, while I was carrying him."

  "Blessed Gopal!"

  "You're in charge now, sir."

  Bremer turned to look at Mulvaney, but a kneeling medic was in the way. "Sir," the medic said without looking back, "the captain is dead. Bullet through the brain."

  Bremer sounded unbelieving. "Don't just… " He groped for an appropriate word. "Just kneel there! Give him something!"

  "I have, sir. Stasis 1. But it's too late, believe me." He rose to a crouch and started back to the wounded.

  Bremer turned again to Zenawi. "Kemau," he said, "what do I do?" His eyes looked large, desperate.

  "Sir, you know the situation better than I do. But I presume we have a defense perimeter covering the beach."

  Bremer's head bobbed rapidly. "Yes. Of course. Of course."

  "I'd hole up here on the beach and give the rest of the men time to get here. Then take to the boats and go downstream."

  "Downstream? Good lord, man! Downstream is the wrong direction." Bremer sounded close to panic.

  "Downstream," Zenawi repeated calmly. "It's in the plan. That's where they're supposed to pick us up. Unload on the other side, far enough away that hopefully the evacuation floaters can get in safely and land. The last I knew, the enemy still held the southwest tower."

  Bremer was breathing hard now, hyperventilating. "We have men in the park here. We can't leave them. We'll simply have to charge! Clear the Wyzhnyny from the park and bring out the casualties."

  Zenawi's hand gripped his wrist. "Don't order it, sir. Every man in your company will die. You'll carry the weight of it on your soul forever."

  Forever was how long Bremer's stricken expression would stay with Zenawi; the XO was over the edge. "Let me take care of it for you, sir," Zenawi said, and clicked his all-personnel channel. "B Company, this is Zenawi for the company commander. Perimeter, hold fast. The rest of you retreat to the beach in an orderly manner!" He repeated it. "In three minutes we begin evacuation. In three minutes we begin evacuation. Perimeter, don't shoot anything on two legs!"

  ***

  Jael and Esau reached the river downstream from where the Wyzhnyny had bulldozed the riverbank. Going over the levee top, they picked their way along the steep sideslope, gripping brush on the levee brow to keep from sliding into the water. Esau wasn't even aware now of his torn palms. In two or three minutes they were within the Jerrie perimeter undetected. Overhead, bullets popped, ricochets sang, blaster pulses hissed. It was then they heard Zenawi's order. Ahead they saw men kneeling on the smoothed-down beach. A moment later they reached it, and crouching, trotted to the officers they could see.

  "I need to report to Captain Mulvaney," Esau said.

  Lieutenant Bremer, the tallest man in the company, rose abruptly, as if there were no hostile fire. His face twisted. "Wesley!" he snapped, "where's your rifle? And your pack?"

  "Sir, they're back under the southwest tower. I… "

  "GO GET IT, SOLDIER! RIGHT NOW!" His face swelled with sudden rage. "GET THAT SONOFABITCH OR I'LL SHOOT YOU FOR COWARDICE!"

  Esau stepped backward as if slapped.

  A black hand gripped Bremer by a sleeve, pulling him down, and the XO went suddenly slack. "Sir," Zenawi said, "Captain Mulvaney ordered Wesley to the southwest tower. Let's hear what he has to report." Zenawi's black face turned to Esau. "Captain Mulvaney is dead, soldier. Is the southwest tower disabled?"

  Esau was still in shock at Bremer's outburst. It was Jael who answered. "Yessir. Esau disabled it, sir. That's why he doesn't have his blaster. The tower team was all dead, but there was a grapple gun laying there, and a satchel charge, so he went up alone, all that way. Threw a phosporous grenade in the window where the guns shoot out; I could hear them screaming up there, clear from where I was. Then he threw the satchel charge in and came back over the railing, and slid down the rope. And the turret blew up! The steel door flew off the hinges, off into the trees, and Wyz on the ground were shooting at Esau, so's he fell the last ways. And lit on his feet! Then we ran!" She paused. "And now here we are."

  Zenawi peered at her, then looked at Esau again. "Good work, Wesley!" he said. "Now you better get your head down. Be a shame to get killed before you even get your medal." Still stunned, Esau squatted, and Zenawi reached out. They shook hands. The officer felt the wet stickiness, different than the feel of blood, and retrieving his own hand, glanced at it before turning to Bremer again. "What Wesley did was worth a medal, wouldn't you say so, sir?"

  Bremer's nods were like twitches, the sight penetrating Esau's shock. The XO had lost his mind!

  While they'd talked, the Wyzhnyny fire had slackened. Now it stopped entirely. The silence was eerie. The only voice Esau could hear was Lieutenant Zenawi reporting to Division: "The flak towers have been taken out. Send medivacs, APFs and fighter cover."

  The group on the beach looked at each other, then at the woods. Along the Jerrie perimeter, men lay or knelt, holding their breath. Those who hadn't already fixed bayonets, did so. Surely the enemy was about to charge. It seemed to Esau that if they tried to evacuate, they'd be overrun while l
oading the wounded on the boats.

  An interminable minute passed. Two. Abruptly the woods in front of them erupted with crashes of exploding antipersonnel rockets, and the formless roar of multibarrelled slammers sounding from the sky. Zenawi reacted at once, his words broadcast wide band. "Everyone to the boats! Head downstream! That's downstream. Fighter command, we're under air attack. APFs, pick us up at rendezvous, half a mile downstream, on the west bank where the woods pinch out!"

  Torn palms still ignored, Esau had already run to the nearest pile of boats, Jael with him. Alone they manhandled a top boat into the water, where he stood holding it. Others grabbed a second. Soldiers were spilling onto the beach, a small flood. More boats were launched, and wounded were loaded into them. For some reason the Wyzhnyny air attack was focused on the woods instead of the beach. Zenawi helped Bremer into a boat, the XO like a doddering old man, then jumped in with him.

  ***

  The escape hardly used half the boats, and some of them weren't full. Some had still not gotten under way when Indi fighters hit the Wyzhnyny attack floaters.

  The rendezvous beach had no place to land, so the troops went over the side, towing or carrying casualties, then boosting and pulling them and each other up the bank. Floaters were waiting, with medics, who helped first at the cutbank, then at the floaters.

  By that time a group of antiarmor floaters hovered over the tank park. These too were Indis, and their fire was not antipersonnel. They wanted to make sure no tanks remained fit for renovation.

  Chapter 52

  Afterward

  Seven large APFs had landed in the Wyzhnyny pasture, only twenty to fifty yards from the cutbank-an APF for each platoon, and two medivac versions for casualties. The unwounded had already pretty much sorted themselves by squads and platoons-their "families and extended families." Crew chiefs called out the names of the platoons they'd come for, and the surviving officers and senior sergeants began loading their people, recording who was there.