The Fires of Coventry

by Rick Shelley

  Alfie whistled softly over his private link to Tory. “Here come the rest,” he said when Kepner glanced his way. “Spread clean across, both sides of the road, and leapfrogging themselves.”

  Tory raised up just enough to look for himself. A two-second scan gave him enough information. He pulled his head down. The Feddies were moving in three sections, one centered on the road but spilling off into the front yards on either side. The other sections were moving behind the houses, one section on this side of the road, the last on the other. Each section was moving in two lines. One covered the other as it retreated ten to fifteen yards, then they switched roles.

  “We’ll take them just before the lead elements get level with us,” Tory told the platoon. “We want to be shooting at their backs the first volley. When they get fifty yards from Alfie, I’ll give the order to fire. Concentrate on the blokes who are closest to us. They’re the ones we have to worry about first.”

  On the private channel, he told Alfie, “Give me the word when you’ve got them fifty yards off. Use your range finder.”

  “The nearest are seventy yards now, Kep,” Alfie replied. “It won’t be long. Two more jumps.”

  “Just tell me when.” Tory switched channels to tell Captain McAuliffe that they were about to open fire.

  “Fine,” McAuliffe said. “We’re close enough to make sure they don’t have time to think about dancing on you for long.”

  Dancing on our bodies, you mean, Tory thought. He raised up to look. It was time. He brought his rifle intoposition. He had scarcely settled in when Alfie said, “Fifty yards.”

  Tory gave the order.

  Geoffrey Dayle could claim the first shot, if by no more than two or three one hundredths of a second. He had been waiting, finger on trigger, for more than a minute before the order came. He had been tracking his first target for half of that time. Totally focused on what he was doing, Dayle felt no more tension than he would have on the practice range on Buckingham. The figures going down might have been cutout silhouettes instead of human beings. Dayle was not really conscious that he was counting shots, or just how closely his shots and hits matched. Nor was he really aware of what the Feddies were doing. He was through his first magazine before any of them seemed to figure out that they had been taken under fire from the flank, from up close, as well as the fire they had been receiving from the north. Even then, there wasn’t a lot that the Federation soldiers could do, those who were closest, those who did not have houses to duck behind. They were caught out in the open with no cover but mown grass.

  Most of those Feddies caught went prone and tried to return fire. A few tried to run for the cover of the nearest houses. One man charged directly at the I&R platoon, firing his rifle at full automatic. He took six running steps before several bullets and a spray from a needle gun brought him down.

  The Feddies had little time to respond, but Tory was surprised at how quickly they did adapt. The response was not one of the possibilities he had imagined. The middle section of troops stopped long enough to provide covering fire for those who were trapped in the open east of the road. Those who could make it out of the close-in killing zone did. Then all of the Feddies changed course, moving obliquely, retreating from both threats, southeast, pulling away from the road and going behind the houses on the west side.

  Tory reported that news to Captain McAuliffe.

  “Make sure they keep moving,” the captain said. “Don’t worry about fighting them, just move along your side of theroad and watch them. We’ll push in behind for a bit yet. We want to get them clear of the houses that are still standing, far enough off that they can’t start burning again.”

  “I’ve got one serious casualty here, sir. He went catatonic several minutes before the Feddies showed.”

  There was a slight pause before McAuliffe replied. “I’ll get a medical orderly over as quickly as possible. Put a green flag on his position marker. You’ll have to leave him behind. I want you close enough to those Feddies to nudge them along if they start coming back toward the road.”

  “Aye, sir. We’re moving out now.”

  21

  For perhaps three minutes, alone in the privacy of his day cabin aboard Sheffield, Admiral Paul Greene allowed himself to feel unbounded optimism—a most unfamiliar emotion for him. The half dozen firelights in progress on the surface of Coventry were no worse than standoffs, and in two skirmishes his Marines were clearly having the better of it. Evasive fleet maneuvers were continuing over Coventry without any great damage to any of his ships. Casualties among the Marines on the ground and the shuttle and fighter pilots were … statistically acceptable. But the real reason for the brief surge of confidence was the message rocket that had arrived twenty minutes before.

  Greene had read through the one action message among the data that the MR had carried. He still had that message on the complink screen set in his chart table. The Fourth Regiment of Royal Marines and its transport’s escort ships were finally on their way to Coventry. Their estimated time of arrival was less than six hours away.

  We can maintain the status quo for six hours, Greene thought. With the boost in firepower the incoming ships would add, the combined fleets should be able to land the Fourth Regiment without unacceptable casualties, and maybe even force the Federation battle group to flee the system. That would spell the end of the Federation ground forces. Together, the Second and Fourth Regiments could mop up any residual opposition, even if the enemy still had numerical superiority. The Feddies might even surrender quickly once they knew that they had been abandoned.

  Two or three days for the mop-up. Then we can concen trateon collecting the locals who have been made homeless. Start the ball rolling on their relief. Thinking of the problems that lay ahead for Coventry started the erosion of Greene’s optimism. CIC’s latest estimate was that seventy percent of the homes and vehicles had been destroyed, and more than eighty-five percent of the public buildings. It would take massive help from Buckingham and the other major worlds of the Commonwealth to repair all of the damage—an expensive and time-consuming operation, one that the government was ill-equipped to handle in addition to the military expenses of the war.

  Greene leaned back in his seat and stared at the overhead. Fire had—somehow—become the Federation’s weapon of choice of late. On Reunion, a world with only a few tens of thousands of residents and a quarter million soldiers in for training, fire had been launched by missiles shot in from near space, setting off a firestorm the likes of which had never been seen before.

  The admiral closed his eyes. At least they didn’t try that here. They might have killed most of the residents. That sort of catastrophe would almost certainly have been more than the Commonwealth could survive politically. There would have been massive defections, and that would have forced surrender, and the end of the Second Commonwealth. Even without widespread civilian deaths on Coventry, there might still be major repercussions.

  The full extent of damages on Coventry was hard to imagine. Seventy percent of the homes destroyed translated to perhaps thirty-five million people left homeless, with winter coming and many of them already fighting off starvation any way that they could.

  First steps. Greene straightened up in his chair and tried to concentrate on the most immediate concerns. CIC and his own staff had started putting together provisional plans for the interim relief needed on Coventry. Every surviving food replicator on the planet would have to be put into constant use, and all of the refugees would have to be guided to areas where relief could be accomplished most efficiently.

  Buckingham was already trying to organize the secondstage, the transfer of industrial replicators, not just for food but also for building materials, clothing, furniture, and everything else that the Coventrians would not be able to make for themselves until the reconstruction was well under way. Months, years, would pass before everything could be finished, and the local residents would still have to do most of the work. The Marines certainly cou
ldn’t stay to do it all.

  Greene stretched and closed his eyes again. The battle group was forty-five light-minutes from Coventry, safely hidden from the Federation ships by the bulk and emissions of Coventry’s sun. He could afford to relax for a few minutes. First things first. We have to win the battle before the rebuilding starts. The battle won, prisoners lifted offplanet, the refugees fed and given what services the fleet and two regiments of Marines could provide to get them through the first days and weeks.

  Greene yawned. Relaxation was one thing, but he had been critically short of sleep ever since arriving over Coventry. He had managed no more than the occasional catnap, never more than an hour or so at a time. He hadn’t been out of his clothes in six days, except for the few minutes needed for a quick shower and a change to a fresh uniform once or twice a day.

  “I can’t sleep now.” He got to his feet to stretch and pace around his chart table. It would be another six hours before the Fourth’s battle group arrived. The smart thing to do would be to get well away from Coventry for at least five of those hours, hide in Q-space long enough to let his crews get some sleep. Get everyone up to a slightly higher level of alertness and efficiency before the big fight came.

  “Zombies don’t fight smart,” he muttered.

  He took another lap around the chart table while he thought through his options. Knowing that he was tired and not completely on form, he forced himself to look closely at each possibility. When he finally sat down again, he felt moderately refreshed and slightly more alert. He signaled for the flag operations officer and gave him new orders for the battle group.

  “We’ll jump six light-hours farther out on this side ofthe system to wait. To make sure we don’t miss anything, we’ll use the two supply ships for observation. Split the time between them. If they see anything, or learn anything that we need to know, they beat it out to the rendezvous point. My major concern is that the Feddies might bring their battlecruisers in and launch air strikes against our lads on the ground. Other than that, we’ll stand down as far as possible, rest up for the big push when our reinforcements arrive.”

  The operations officer repeated what the admiral had said to make certain that he had everything correct, then left to transmit the orders to all of the ships in the task force.

  Greene allowed himself to relax again. As soon as the battle group made the Q-space transit, he would see if he could get a few consecutive hours of sleep.

  After the Marines broke off their pursuit of the Federation soldiers south of Hawthorne, the I&R platoon kept pace with the retreating Feddies while staying out of sight. The Feddies picked up their speed as soon as they were able to stop looking rearward every second and fighting as they moved. After an hour, they took a short break. It appeared that the rest was more to give them time to treat casualties than anything else. The break only lasted ten minutes. Then they started moving again, southwest, away from the last houses along the road.

  “This is far enough for us,” Tory said. “The captain just wanted us to make sure they moved on to where they’ve got no houses to burn.”

  “Are we in any hurry to get back?” Alfie asked.

  “We’ve got Baker back there,” Tory said. “But I guess we’re due a few more minutes to rest.”

  Alfie got down and stretched out on his stomach in the grass. He would have preferred to lie on his back, but that would have meant stripping off his field pack, and that was simply too much bother.

  “Any idea what comes next?” he asked.

  Tory sat down next to Alfie. “Not a glimmer. We don’t know what the Feddies will do. I rather think we’ll get put to work helping the locals if the fighting’s over for us.” Hehesitated. “Not that I really think we’ve finished with the Feddies, even in this town. There are too many of them left, and a fleet overhead to boot. And more towns we haven’t got to yet.”

  “If they can’t bring shuttles down to move us around, how are we going to get at the rest? We sure can’t walk from here to wherever. Not like that lot from South York who walked here.”

  “Don’t say ‘can’t,’” Tory advised. “Some sod with more gold braid than brains might take that as a challenge.”

  Edwards started to say something else, but Kepner held up a hand to stop him, then lowered his visor. Alfie shut up, knowing that Tory had received a call.

  “Yes, Captain, we’ve broken off our surveillance,” Tory told McAuliffe. “They were a good half mile past the last house we saw, and heading farther away, moving southwest at a good clip. You want us to head back or should we set up a surveillance line somewhere near the last houses?”

  “Bring it back in,” McAuliffe said. “You might march your lads right down the center of the road, let any locals who are still in their homes know that we’re around.”

  “What do we tell them if anybody asks what they should do?”

  “Tell them we’re here and we’re not leaving until we’ve taken care of the Feddies. Tell them they’d best stick close to their houses for now, and suggest that they should offer whatever help they can to any of the refugees who come along.”

  “I’d hope they’d do that without anybody telling them, sir, but will do.” Tory got slowly to his feet, then got his platoon up. “We’re going back in. Time to put on a little parade for the locals on the way.”

  Al Bailey had been the only one of the civilians to notice that the Marines were leaving their positions around the camp. He had been watching them carefully all morning, going around the edge of the clearing and trying to spot where each of the men was concealed farther out. He had only been certain of the positions of seventeen of them, though; the rest had been hidden too well to be seen even from behind.

  He waited for a few minutes after the Marines rushed off before he said anything, wanting to see if they were moving because of trouble nearby. When he decided that whatever was going on was too far away for him to see, he said, “The Marines have left,” loud enough that the others in camp heard him.

  Al remained where he was, staring off after the Marines even though he could no longer see them. His father and several others came to him, asking questions. The only one that Al could answer was, “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. They all got up and started running off that way.” He pointed.

  “Is the fighting going so badly that they need every last man?” Ted asked. The battle had been audible for some time.

  “They were here to provide a surprise for the Feddies if it was needed,” Reggie said. “Maybe it was needed.”

  “We’ll know soon enough, I think,” Noel said. “If our chaps win, they’ll be back. If not …” He shrugged.

  “One way or another, the Commonwealth will be back,” Reggie said, frowning at Wittington. “If not this lot, then another. They came quickly. They won’t give us up for lost no matter what happens today.”

  “They might not have anyone else to send, not in the near future.” Noel was unable to step free of his sudden flood of pessimism. “If they had bags of troops available, wouldn’t they have sent enough to make an easy go of it?”

  “They came. They’ll finish the job,” Reggie insisted. “What are you going to do? Are you going back to the rest of your people to let them know what’s going on?”

  Noel looked around at the others who had come with him. They stared at him, obviously waiting to hear his choice.

  “Not just yet, I think. What have I learned? Just that there are Commonwealth troops here. It’s better to wait until I have something more, what we should do, where we should go.”

  “If we stay away too long, we’re liable to have everyoneelse trooping after us, wondering why we haven’t returned,” one of Noel’s companions said.

  “We haven’t been gone long enough for that. I doubt anyone will work up to that kind of choice before tomorrow morning at the earliest. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if it took that lot two or three days.”

  Eric nudged Reggie’s arm, then gestured with
his head and moved away from the others. Reggie followed.

  “I think it’s time we start thinking about moving ourselves, just in case,” Eric whispered, looking over Reggie’s shoulder to make certain that none of the group from South York was paying any attention. “If things go badly for the Marines, moving may be our only option. Too many people know where we’re at.”

  Reggie nodded. “We have to think about it, at least.”

  “It’s hard telling which way would be safest for us to go,” Eric said. “We know this lot is south of us, and there’s no telling how many thousand people are off to the east.”

  “We’ll likely find mobs of our people no matter which direction we go, unless we head back in toward our homes. The Feddies have been pushed on past them now.”

  “There won’t be any game to hunt in where it’s all been burned over.”

  “Maybe, maybe not. But with the Commonwealth here, I’d hate to think about going farther away from town.”

  Captain McAuliffe led H&S company out along the road to rendezvous with the I&R platoon, meeting them near the midpoint between the last burned out houses and the last houses at the end of the lane. After the shooting had stopped, civilians started to emerge from their homes. I&R’s progress slowed to almost nothing. The rest of the company was equally slow moving out to meet them. McAuliffe left people, mostly lieutenants, to explain what was going on—as far as possible—to groups of families along the way.

  Despite requests to the contrary, some of those people followed the company as it moved south, hoping to hear more, looking for assurances that the danger to their homes was past, that the Feddies would not be back. The Marinescould not offer that assurance. There was still a Federation fleet overhead; there were still Federation soldiers on the ground. Neither had been decisively beaten. The Marines reminded the local residents that the real ordeal—taking care of the millions who had been left homeless, and rebuilding their world—had not even begun.