“Show time!” Davis grinned and stood atop the vehicle. He bounded down to the dusty ground. “Standby all tubes; prepare to fire!”
“All tubes, prepare to fire!” his indig master gunner, Ahce, called to the five tubes spread out in the clearing. He turned to Davis. “Targets, Lieutenant?”
Davis grinned. “Stick with the plan, Ahce. TRPs 1 and 2. We fire and adjust. Simple.”
“Simple,” said the indig with a shake of his head and a smile that revealed a few teeth to be missing in action.
It was anything but simple, and Davis knew it. After his promotion, he’d taken over the mortar section when Staff Sergeant Key rotated into the operations staff for Forward Operating Base Masada to their rear. Key hadn’t been a mortarman, though. Only a few of the Lost Soldiers were even familiar with the weapons. Old, yellowed procedural manuals crammed in their original containers proved invaluable. Fortunately, it had been enough for the Lawless, but not necessarily for their partners. Forced to learn something completely different and modifying the commands and procedures so the indigs could understand them without proper context, Davis had done the best he could. But there were still far too many opportunities for screw ups.
“Make it up as we go” ought to be our motto.
Davis smiled at Ahce and brought up his binoculars to study the gated complex on the western glacis. The angular walls would make pinpoint fires difficult, but not impossible. While there appeared to be several weapon emplacements, almost all of them were located at the junction of the acutely angled walls. Davis’ mortars were targeted on them to the best of his indigs’ abilities, but without a true fire direction center, his battery was shooting from the proverbial hip.
Ain’t nothing new.
Davis reached for his PRC-77’s handset. “Desperado Six, this is Tequila Sunrise. Standing by.”
There was no reply, which Davis expected. The attack was supposed to kick off at the top of the hour, and it was two minutes prior. The main vehicle contingent would be starting their engines and preparing to move. The vehicle assault force under Major Moorefield was already rolling toward Imsurmik.
Davis grabbed the radio and knelt atop his vehicle. In the northwest, he saw dust from the main road on the valley floor. The attack was on.
Here we go.
“Tequila Sunrise,” said Moorefield’s static-backed voice, “this is Desperado Six. Fire TRPs 1 and 2.”
“Desperado Six, Tequila Sunrise. Firing TRPs 1 and 2. Out.” Davis turned to Ahce and raised his voice. “Fire mission! Fire TRPs 1 and 2!”
* * * * *
Chapter Eight
Imsurmik
Aliza startled awake, alarmed by a rattling of the trash bins closest to the tunnel. She backed away until her spine was pressed against the cold, sharp rock where the walls of the crevice came together.
The sound of voices reached her, not taut with urgency but dull with boredom and weariness. Laborers, tossing trash into the bins before departing back into the dwellings. Aliza allowed herself to breathe again, but listened closely.
Nothing, except for a few creatures Aliza couldn’t see as they scampered and rooted about in the rotting rubbish. At one point, something hissed like a cat in the near darkness. The noise sent a shiver up her spine as she was startled by the memory of a strange, childhood encounter with a village tomcat.
She’d fallen during a game and skinned a knee. Not wanting to let others see her tears, she ducked into a space between two of the buildings in the square, and the cat had been there. Old and ragged, with a chunk of its right ear missing, the cat always hissed at everyone and ran from any approach.
But as Aliza had sniffled and dabbed at her bloody knee, the old cat edged closer tentatively. Instead of a hiss, it gave a soft mewl as if consoling her. She’d frozen, unsure, and then reached out slowly. The old cat let her touch its head and ruffle its ears. Her tears stopped, but then the cat, scared by the sudden yelps of children behind Aliza, had darted away.
She flinched away from the sounds that had startled her out of her drowsy recollection. There were footfalls on the stairs moving up to the dwellings. Two excited soldiers running in her direction. Not part of the patrols she’d heard the night before. They were on an urgent errand.
“Dust clouds on the main road. Do you really think it’s some kind of attack?” one with a high-pitched voice asked.
“Everything is a threat as the Sear approaches. We must fight to protect what we have taken and hold it for as long…” The deeper voice trailed off into silence as they moved beyond her hiding spot and into the dwellings.
So, it had started. Bo’s vehicles were on the way. And, in all likelihood, the dwellings would be swarming with soldiers, some of whom had probably been looking for her well into the night. So she couldn’t go that way.
Aliza counted to thirty and stood slowly. If not out into the town, she would have to take her chances in the tunnels. Her muscles ached, but the relief of returning to her feet and moving felt good.
Committed to her simple course of action, she descended the winding stairs as quickly as she could. Within seconds, she heard running water and realized she must be approaching the man-made canal at the eastern edge of the glacis. Far below, at what seemed to be the base of the stairs, was a pool of early morning light: an opening. Possibly, an escape route.
Aliza looked up, away from the stairs, and slowed her pace so she could figure out her next move. She heard footsteps above her, but then they ceased. Given the many apertures and small passages she’d noticed on this and her earlier trip through the tunnels, there was no way of telling how far sound was travelling, much less its actual point of origin. Resolving not to be paralyzed by every faint noise, she pressed on toward the light below her.
Her own softly padding feet were all she could hear until, with a sudden clump of boots behind her, a soldier reached down and grabbed her right arm.
Aliza spun in his grasp, reaching for the pistol holstered on her leg at the same time. She brought it up in a smooth motion, catching her assailant by surprise and landing the muzzle squarely on the soldier’s nose. Aliza heard rather than felt a distinct crack before the young man yelped in pain and slumped back against the stairs. Behind her assailant, a second soldier froze. She aimed the pistol at his chest, and the wide-eyed young man, face painted in the red-stripes-on-white of the J’Stull—brought up his hands. He backed away, tossed down his weapon, and ran up the stairs. There were more shouts and calls, but she did not look back. She holstered the pistol, ran down the last stairs, and emerged into the eastern end of the Inner City, only a few hundred meters from the sluice and artificial waterfall through the city’s walls.
Above the rising din of a city full of increasingly alarmed or active people, she heard the familiar whump of mortars launching.
Yes, the attack was on.
As she burst into the brightening daylight among the buildings on the inhabited side of the canal, the first explosions rocked the western side of the city. Bo and the cavalry had arrived. Numerous guns and artillery pieces opened fire outside the glacis. In seconds, the Inner City’s streets were filled with chaos. People moved in all directions, clamoring for news, desperately seeking safety. Civilians rushed into their homes, crisscrossing with the soldiers who were running for the glacis walls at the same time.
Aliza heard several men screaming emphatically from the parapet overhead. A barrage of rockets leapt away from a launcher mounted on the glacis somewhere off to her right. She didn’t know Bo’s entire plan of attack, but he had told her what common sense was telling her now: find a safe space. With so many people running in every direction at once, she couldn’t reach the spot she’d chosen. Her best bet now would either be to descend the walkway that paralleled the waterfall outside the town or to find a hiding place in the buildings built against the glacis near the eastern end of the walls.
She assumed the vehicles would come across the farmland south of the town. The western road, w
inding as it rose to the gate, would not be the ideal choice for a safe approach. Bo’s forces would have to deal with intense fire on such a restricted approach. Whatever forces he placed there were more than likely meant to draw attention and direct fire, so he’d almost certainly bring up the heavier vehicles straight across the farmland. It was the fastest and easiest route to the objective and gave them complete coverage of the glacis. Also, coming up from below the walls might allow them to get close enough to inflict damage before the defenders could respond.
Aliza dashed across a footbridge over the canal and glanced back, seeking her pursuers. They had not followed her out of the staircase, but in scanning more widely, she discovered Waornaak staring at her from down the street toward the city square.
Shit.
In their brief eye contact, it was as if they exchanged droves of data. He was clearly a high-value target, and he believed she was a spy. Both were true. The big man started toward her, yelling to men she could not see for assistance. Aliza realized her only choice was to go under the glacis and try to hide. Heading to the waterfall and getting to the walkway would take too long. All she could do now was hide and pray Bo and the others found her before Waornaak did.
* * *
Attack Position
Mortar rounds poured into the city’s gate, though not exactly as planned. As the indig-augmented mortar platoon fired and adjusted, it took them several rounds from each tube to find their range. Once they did, they walked the rounds along the top of the glacis at its westernmost extent. Bo’s first section of vehicles charged up the road toward Imsurmik like they were taking part in the Pikes Peak Hill Climb. The cloud of dust they spewed into the surrounding air rose through the Outer City, adding to the shroud of smoke covering the gate. As he’d hoped, the combined cloud tracked east with the gentle breeze and provided additional cover to their movement. Enemy forces atop the glacis were responding with increased fire into the Outer City, but it wasn’t enough to impede the vehicles. Maybe the militia were concerned about collateral damage after all?
The moment Bo decided the enemy was completely fixated on the small attacking force in the Outer City, he sent the hand and arm signal to move out. As they built speed, he directed the main assault vehicles, including the heavy tacticals, onto the road where they accelerated even more rapidly. They raced east until there was nothing but farmland between them and the city’s walls.
“Driver, hard left,” Bo ordered.
The vehicle veered and tore into the recently harvested fields. Behind him, the other vehicles executed an almost perfect flanking maneuver, turning left at the same time. Line abreast, they ripped through the outer farmlands toward the city with their guns blazing. In less than a minute, they crossed the fields and reached the bottom of the knoll on which the city rested. Slowing, but still bringing fire onto the wall itself, the vehicles found their purchase and climbed the rock-strewn hill.
“Phase three,” Bo called over the radio. “Tacticals, pick a spot on the glacis and pound through it. Mortars, stand by to lift and shift fires to TRPs 3 and 4.”
Target reference points allowed for swift and effective fire to be directed at specific terrain features. In this particular case, Bo was targeting the missile emplacements on the outermost points of the glacis and what appeared to be concentrations of larger cannons. In both cases, they were far enough away from the center where Aliza would shelter. Hopefully. He flinched away from that dangerous distraction and focused on fighting his vehicle up the slope.
Several small rocket impacts rocked the chassis but did only minor damage. The relative lack of effect surprised Bo, but did not slow his racing heart. Amid the explosions, he caught sight of a boulder ahead, the kind capable of high-centering a vehicle and stopping it cold. He dropped behind the makeshift cupola’s protective armor. “Guide right!”
As he came back up to the cupola and worked the familiar Browning M2 .50-caliber machine gun mounted there, Bo saw the first of the tacticals successfully punch a hole in the glacis to the east. He reached for the radio and paused. Several soldiers appeared on the wall with weapons that looked ominously like rocket-propelled grenade launchers.
“RPGs on the wall! Tequila Sunrise, lift and shift fire! Lift and shift fire!”
* * *
By the time the mortars engaged, Stewart and the others atop the plateau were more than ready to move; no other J’Stull soldiers or militia had arrived to relieve the observation posts. When the attack was near, he’d ordered his riders onto their mounts. While his nervous energy drove his heart rate up to prepare for their attack, Olympia and the other whinnies seemed almost bored.
“Alpha Section,” Stewart called after the mortar rounds started hammering down on Imsurmik’s main gate, “you’re up!”
The seven whinnies bounded down the northern edge of the plateau and into the cache site. Stewart stared into the box canyon, looking for the enemy’s response. The guards positioned along the top of the security wall to the east attempted to engage the whinnies as they moved but had little effect. Stewart put his fingers to his mouth and whistled sharply. The indig infantry platoon moved to the canyon’s rim and fired on the security forces. In seconds, any coordinated effort by the enemy to secure the cache site fell apart. Taking casualties, the enemy soldiers abandoned their posts, most fleeing into the main tunnel, while others darted for what looked to be yet another staircase leading to God-knows-where.
Stewart found the Alpha Section leader, Sergeant Andrechyk, in the primary area of the site. His arms were held wide with his palms up as if to ask where everybody had gone. Below their feet came a sudden tremor, and a cloud of dust poured from where the wide main tunnel to the city opened into the cache site.
Oh, shit.
The enemy didn’t care about the cache site. Whether they’d fully collapsed or just blocked the tunnel with explosives didn’t matter. Stewart’s attack would no longer have the effect Major Moorefield was counting on. The enemy would not defend the cache site; instead, they would focus their efforts on the main attack and potentially deflect it with their collected strength.
Stewart bit his lip. There was another way in, of course: the staircase. But whether or not it went where they needed it to, and what a team might encounter along the way, were complete unknowns. On the other hand, with the tunnel presumably blocked, there were only two ways to help the main assault: go overland mounted on whinnies or go through the tunnels. And either of those ways might prove impossible; he couldn’t afford to gamble all his assets on just one. Even if that meant splitting his forces.
Stewart whirled in the saddle. “Morton! Get your men down that staircase! Find a way through, if you can.”
Morton immediately yelled at his men. “Dismount! Get down into that opening and find me a way to the main tunnel or the city. On the double!”
Stewart was already moving east along the canyon rim. “California, this is Fastlane. Relay to Desperado Six, we’ve secured the cache site without a fight. We’re moving to support the attack from the east. I have troops headed down a staircase into the tunnels.”
“Roger, Fastlane,” Fahey replied. “The attack has slowed near the wall. You might want to hurry.”
“I was afraid of that.” Stewart re-attached the handset to his vest and whistled again at Alpha Section. He gestured east and gave the “follow me” hand signal. The riderless whinnies formed up around him and darted toward the escarpment to look for a way down.
Olympia bounded forward and took off after them, descending the canyon wall nose first. Stewart leaned as far back in the saddle as he could and grabbed the whinnie’s reins. “Whoa! Whoa, Olympia! Whoa!”
Neither the whinnie nor her riderless companions listened; they raced down the wall as one.
“Fastlane, California. Desperado Six says to hold the site, and they’ll fight their way to you.”
It’s a little too late for that.
Besides, Stewart couldn’t reply; Olympia suddenly lea
pt from the canyon wall to the top of the security fencing over thirty feet below.
* * *
Specialist Vernard Morton and his section reached the bottom of the staircase without resistance. They emerged into the dwellings at the eastern end of the inner row. Despite the chaos in the city outside, the part beneath the overhang was relatively peaceful. There was another descending passageway which became yet another spiral staircase, just a few meters away. Courting the shadows, Morton soundlessly directed the others toward it. He checked behind one last time and saw only one person looking their way: an older man with smeared face paint and close-cropped white hair. He had no weapons, nor did he point and call out to alert any guards in earshot. He might have been a person of interest, one of their targets, but a rattle of nearby gunfire scattered the otherwise oblivious civilians and the man disappeared among them.
Ah, fuck it.
Morton spun into the new staircase and followed his men down into the city. With the battle raging along the south and western wall, the side near the waterfall would be less defended. From there, they could flank the enemy and draw some of their fire.
Desperado (Murphy's Lawless: Watch the Skies Book 2) Page 8
