Colonel

by Rick Shelley

  “Had their contract called for them to conquer Elysium, no doubt they would have acted differently,” Lon said. “If their contract was, as we suspect, merely to force you to submit to the overlordship of the Confederation of Human Worlds, then their actions are perfectly understandable. Their job was to frighten you, or embarrass you into accepting the CHW, and the Confederation would have less use for an Elysium devastated by extreme rules of engagement.”

  “We will never accept the Confederation,” Rogers said. “We were not so inclined before and, after what we have been through in the last weeks, we would not submit as long as one Elysian remained alive to contest the issue. We sincerely hope that your people will be enough to convince the Confederation to forget about Elysium. If not, though, we will still not accept them. Should all else fail, we will seek membership in the Second Commonwealth, though we would prefer not to.”

  “There is one matter that we need to bring to your attention now, Colonel,” Chancellor Berlino said after a glance at the president indicated that Rogers was done speaking. “It’s something that may have slipped the attention of your staff. The New Spartans do still have approximately six hundred men south of the Styx. Since both bridges across the river were destroyed early, those men have been of less concern, but we have reports that they are moving upstream, most likely looking for a place they can cross to the north shore.”

  “We haven’t forgotten them,” Lon said. “Our ships have been keeping track as best they can. Those companies have been minimizing electronic emissions, but every time they use active electronics, we update our fix on their positions, and we occasionally get a visual sighting as well. As I understand it, there are no other bridges across the Styx, and they will have to go forty miles east of University City before they can find a place where the river can be forded, correct?”

  “Correct,” Berlino said, and Rogers nodded. “Just slightly less than forty miles right now, because of the season. That is about twenty-six miles from their current position … as of fifty minutes ago.”

  “Are there boats on the south shore they could commandeer to make the crossing before that point? Or a place where they could use ground effect vehicles?” Lon asked.

  “Not in sufficient numbers,” Berlino said. “They might find half a dozen small rowboats and possibly twice that number of floaters. There are several places where the banks slope gently enough on both sides for floaters to get in and out of the water, but even if they used all of the floaters and rowboats they might find, they could hardly move sixty men at a time. But there are plenty of trees. I would think that they could assemble enough rafts to cross in short order. Or simply fell trees and let their men paddle across using them.”

  Lon’s smile was minimal and quickly gone. “It’s always good to see all of the possibilities, but I suspect that paddling rafts or logs across rates rather low on the scale. The crossing would take too long, and there would be far too great a chance that their preparations would be observed and we would be waiting to pounce as soon as they got in the water. An infantry commander would prefer to keep his men dry as long as possible, then make the most rapid crossing possible. If there aren’t enough boats or floaters, they’ll almost certainly wait until they get far enough upstream to ford the river.” Lon shrugged. “If it were a matter of getting a patrol across to strike a specific target, it might be different.”

  “You do think they will attempt to cross at some point, though, don’t you, Colonel?” Berlino asked.

  “It seems likely. They appear to be drawing all their forces together. We’ll be watching, though, and once those six hundred men get in the water, we’ll use our rocket artillery to make the crossing expensive for them. In the meantime, we leave them strictly alone. If they think we’ve forgotten about them, so much the better. It might make them careless when they do make their crossing.”

  “And their main force?” President Rogers asked. “You do plan to move against them soon?”

  Lon smiled. “Very soon, Mr. President.”

  The Elysians left, under strong escort. Lon’s command post was relocated, half a mile farther east, and much of 7th Regiment shifted position as well, more to the north and east. Shortly after dark, elements of 15th Regiment started a series of harassing attacks against the perimeter of the New Spartan main force, never in more than company strength—with the men in each raiding patrol maintaining electronic silence as long as possible—in what Lon hoped would appear to be a totally random fashion. Similarly, the Dirigenter rocket artillery launched an occasional missile at the New Spartan positions. Lon knew he had to be sparing with his use of the artillery. There might not be a chance to land more rockets or howitzer shells, and Lon did not want to run out at a critical point. Keep them off guard and guessing. Make it impossible for them to get any sleep. Frazzle their nerves.

  There was nothing radical to the plan Lon had laid out, but harassing tactics could never settle the main issue. All he wanted was to degrade enemy capabilities—psychologically and physically—while he moved his forces into position for what he hoped would be the final engagement of the contract. At the earliest, that would not begin for another twenty-four hours … unless the New Spartans forced the issue sooner. And that seemed particularly unlikely.

  “They may turn and fight at some point,” Lon had told Phip Steesen a little earlier, “but only when their commander decides it’s the only viable option left. I expect the first thing he’ll try, once he decides they can’t just sit and absorb the punishment, is a further withdrawal, maybe more to the north, where the land gets rougher, try to find ground to his liking for the next fight, or just try to postpone the battle until he gets reinforcements.”

  “And we don’t want to give him that much time because that will reverse our relative positions and put us on the short end of the stick,” Phip had noted.

  “Exactly.”

  The New Spartans had brought together all of their forces north of the River Styx … save, perhaps, for patrols that might have been left out for reconnaissance purposes, or to stage ambushes as the Dirigenters moved after the main force. South of the Styx, the approximately six hundred New Spartans there—the equivalent of three companies, a short battalion—were still moving east. It appeared as though they might reach the first ford slightly before first light—if they pressed—but it seemed more likely that they would not try to cross before dark the next night.

  Lon spent twenty minutes conferring with Fal Jensen and the battalion commanders from both regiments. “It’s too soon to start claiming victory,” Lon told them, “but the situation looks fairly favorable. They can’t have much rocket artillery left, maybe four or five launchers, but probably few or no rockets left for them to fire. Our own supply of artillery munitions is limited, but not near exhaustion. If we can’t get new supplies of those in, we can at least keep the enemy from getting resupply. We definitely have at least a slight numeric advantage in troops, six-to-five, maybe even seven-to-five, even including the short battalion they have on the other side of the river.”

  “We are set up to get resupply of small-arms ammunition, aren’t we?” Fal Jensen asked.

  “We are,” Lon confirmed. “I hope to bring in fresh supplies during daylight tomorrow, before we force battle with the New Spartans, at least for those companies that have had the greatest expenditure of ammunition so far.” The distribution had been uneven; some units had scarcely fired a single shot, while others had been through several intense firefights. “Assume that will mean using resupply rockets to bring it in, since it’s not likely we’ll be able to use shuttles safely.”

  At ten-thirty—2230 hours—7th Regiment started moving east, angling a little north. As they got close to the enemy, 15th Regiment would slide around the perimeter to the south, so that the Dirigenters would have the New Spartans pincered. The heavy-weapons battalions were also moving, on both sides, staying far enough away to be out of the reach of the New Spartans, but close enough to take part i
n the fight … when it came.

  The day’s rest had been welcome and needed, but Lon felt relieved to be on the move again. He walked with his headquarters detachment, near the middle of the two battalions with him. Second Battalion was to the north, moving toward a rendezvous with 1st and 3rd Battalions before dawn. Fourth Battalion was still to the south, and farther east than the rest of 7th Regiment. Closer to the enemy, 15th Regiment continued harassing the New Spartan perimeter, giving them no rest. The two heavy-weapons battalions were also on the move—almost a constant for them in the field; standing still was an invitation to disaster. The rocket launchers could cover the main New Spartan force and the short battalion on the south side of the river.

  Lon felt as relaxed as he ever had during a combat contract when battle was in the offing, even though it did not seem imminent. It was almost a peaceful feeling, ironic though that might be. Junior had come by for a short talk during the afternoon. Father and son had spent thirty minutes together. Junior showed no obvious aftereffects of his wounds. In fact, Junior had seemed more concerned with his father’s reaction than with what had happened to him. They had parted, their final words to each other the same: “Be careful.” Junior had grinned and flipped his father a casual salute. Lon had returned it, his face serious, almost somber. Be careful.

  Ten minutes past eleven was when the first report came in from Fal Jensen. “The New Spartans are heading northeast, as we expected. Their rear guard and flankers are keeping us occupied at the moment, resistance in strength. The time they’ve had, I think we can count on a few nasty surprises if we try to go through where they were camped, so I’m going to start angling my men around their flank, on the south.”

  “You have any people in front of them to slow them down?” Lon asked.

  “Not enough, just a one-platoon patrol, and they’re not directly in front.”

  “Have them do what they can. I don’t want to call in an artillery strike yet. We may need the rockets and shells later. I’ll turn my people to the north a little, and push the pace as much as I can. We’re a bit farther from them than you are.”

  It’s a good thing we had a day to rest, Lon thought after he gave the orders to his battalion and company commanders. We’re going to have to race to get anywhere near the enemy. And if the New Spartans pressed their own move, it might be impossible to close with them before they reached ground they might choose to defend … or before their reinforcements reached Elysium.

  It was impossible to just wheel the entire formation around to march on the new heading the way it could be done on a parade field in garrison. Advance scouts had to move onto the new route first to look for any surprises left by the enemy and to mark a trail. Flankers had to be moved as well. Then, company by company, the rest made the thirty-degree turn. After fifteen minutes everyone was moving in the right direction, and Lon gave the order to the point platoons to pick up the pace. Lon passed orders to keep active electronics use to a minimum, as close to electronic silence as possible, to make it that much more difficult for the New Spartans to track their progress. Not total electronic silence: An occasional blip on their tracking systems would not tell the New Spartans if the target was a squad or a battalion, and it might lull them, while total electronic silence would simply make them more wary.

  How hard can we push the march? Lon asked himself. If they went too slowly, the New Spartans would keep their distance, even increase it, postponing battle until … whenever. If they went too quickly, the men would get exhausted, be unready for the fight when it came. There was also the danger of losing men to land mines or booby traps if the pace was too rapid to allow the men on point enough time to spot concealed devices.

  Take a little more time between breaks, and keep the rest stops as short as practical. Don’t push the pace too much to be dangerous. Lon shook his head. He really had little choice, at least during the hours of darkness. At night, the trip wire for a mine or a booby trap would be nearly invisible. Once morning came, there would be a chance to reassess, depending on how far the New Spartans had traveled, how fast they were moving.

  If we have to, I can order a few rockets fired at their van then, Lon decided. In the morning. Slow them down at least a little, or goad them into changing direction to something more favorable for us. He hoped that would not be necessary. He still wanted to husband the finite supply or artillery munitions as long as possible, save them for the battle he hoped to force before the New Spartans could be reinforced from out-system.

  It was not until just before one o’clock in the morning that Lon signaled for the first rest stop, and he held that to only five minutes. He sat down in place, stretching his legs out in front of him. After taking a quick sip of water, he massaged his calf and thigh muscles through the rest of the break, easing the aches that had started, and hoping to prevent cramps later. Lon was ready to get back to his feet when Phip came over and squatted next to him and raised the faceplate of his helmet.

  “You know, we can’t go on forever like this, two and a half hours hiking, five minutes resting,” Phip whispered. “We’ll end up going slower rather than faster.”

  Lon lifted his faceplate. “I know, Phip,” he said just as softly. “There aren’t many legs here older than mine, and they’re talking loud and clear. I just wanted the fast start. If we can travel just a little bit faster than the New Spartans think we can, it gives us a little extra edge, maybe. We’ve got a lot of distance to cover and we can’t expect them to sit still and wait for us to catch up. We’ll go for maybe an hour and a quarter this time, then take ten minutes. After that … well, after that depends on what the situation is later.”

  Phip grunted. “Give it our all now, then fifteen percent more later. I know how that works.” He got back to his feet. “Just remember, it won’t do us any good to catch those buzzards if we’re too tired to fight when we do.”

  “How could I forget when I’ve got you for a conscience and memory bank?” Lon laughed as he stood and adjusted the straps of his backpack. “Between you, my legs, and my feet, I’m not likely to forget. Come on. It’s time to start hobbling forward again.”

  The next break came twenty minutes sooner than Lon had planned. The point men on the left came across a series of explosive devices that had to be deactivated before the march could resume.

  “They weren’t concealed very well,” the sergeant leading the point squad reported. “It’s almost as if they wanted us to find these. Makes me think maybe they’ve got a second set hidden better, to get us when we think we’re in the clear.”

  “Take whatever time you need to make sure,” Lon said. “If you can do it safely, just deactivate everything instead of detonating it. That way we avoid giving the enemy an easy marker for our progress.”

  “No problem, Colonel. That’s what we had already started doing.”

  The delay gave most of the men time to eat a meal pack and get off their feet for a little longer. Once the mines had been cleared, Lon ordered a slight change in the direction of the advance, hoping to avoid any further traps that the New Spartans might have left.

  On through the night the Dirigenters hiked, nearly silent, advancing toward the retreating New Spartans, moving to flank them on both sides. Men from 15th Regiment ran into two enemy patrols, occasioning brief and indecisive flrefights; the New Spartans broke contact as quickly as they could. Second Battalion of the 7th encountered slightly heavier resistance, an ambush manned by perhaps half a company of New Spartans. That fight lasted nearly forty minutes and ended with most of the ambushers withdrawing safely. An hour before dawn, the point squad for 4th Battalion of the 7th tripped an enemy mine. Two men were killed. Another man was seriously wounded and had to be transferred to a trauma tube.

  Overall, 7th Regiment averaged nearly 2½ miles per hour through the night. Not bad, Lon thought, though he would have been happier had they managed better. By dawn they were near where the New Spartans had been camped before this pursuit had started. The enemy wa
s nine miles east-northeast of most of 7th Regiment, and continuing to move away from them. Fal Jensen’s regiment was two miles closer. A battalion of Elysians was also on the move, on the right flank of 15th Regiment, almost even with them, pushing themselves to try to get in front of the New Spartans.

  As the sun peeked over the eastern horizon, Lon called a halt for his regiment. “Thirty minutes,” he said on the channel that connected him to his battalion and company commanders. “Make sure everyone eats.”

  Lon was halfway through his own breakfast when he received a call from Peregrine that completely killed his appetite. “Five New Spartan ships have just emerged from Q-space, four transports and one fighting ship, one of their heavy cruisers with room for maybe another twenty fighters. We estimate that they’re seventy-four hours out from assault orbit.”

  19

  “Okay, gentlemen, we’ve got our deadline,” Lon told Fal Jensen and all of the battalion commanders. He had just passed the news from Peregrine about the New Spartan ships that had arrived in-system. “We need to get the issue settled on the ground before this new fleet can land its troops, and we’ll be a hell of a lot better off if we finish with the enemy we’re chasing soon enough to let us get some rest and get any wounded back to duty before we have to face the reinforcements. Four transports means a full regiment, or close to it. We don’t dare let them land before we take care of what we’re already facing.” That much was obvious. No one on the channel questioned it.

  “Fal, you’ve got troops closest to the New Spartans. That means you’ll be the first to face them unless the Elysians set some kind of record moving around in front of them. I’m going to use thirty percent of our remaining rocket artillery rounds and half the howitzer munitions to try to slow them down enough to let you catch up with them by dark tonight and launch your attack. We’ll pull the tanks from both heavy-weapons battalions forward to coordinate with your assault. My 4th Battalion shouldn’t be more than half an hour behind you, and they’ll join the fight as soon as they arrive. The rest of 7th will close as quickly as it can, but we’re probably looking at two hours or more after you begin the action before we’re all committed.” “Are you going to hold any troops as reserve?” Jensen asked.