by Rick Shelley
Zel put his Wasp through a tight, climbing turn, just barely in time to see the culmination.
The six Boems had no chance to escape. There were too many rockets coming at them, all at once. Anywhere they might deke to get away from one would put them in the path of two or three others.
Three of the Boems actually were hit by more than one Vrerch. It looked as if one of them was struck by four within the space of a few hundredths of a second. Only one Schlinal pilot managed to eject, and his escape module was hit by a missile before it got ten meters from his plane.
Jase Wilmer screamed in delight. “Six down!” he shouted.
“Can it,” Zel said sourly.
Just then, there was an explosion on the ground, on the mountain at the head of the valley.
* * *
“Somebody did good work,” Gene Abru said as he watched the dust clear across the way. The blast had not been excessive, but it had certainly done the job. An entire section of mountain had crumbled and slid down to cover the only entrance to the laboratory.
“Thank you,” Dr. Corey said without looking at him. She was still staring at the new mound of rubble. “I wish it hadn’t been necessary.”
“Yeah. Let’s get moving. I’m supposed to deliver you and your people to the colonel.” And then we’ve got to get out of this death trap, he thought.
SERGEANT DEM NIMZ wrapped a second soaker around his left elbow, with help from Fredo Gariston. The painkiller in the first soaker had worn off, and there was still enough pain to bring a grimace to Dem’s face. There were no broken bones in the elbow, but short of that there had to be considerable damage–torn muscles or cartilage, something. Anything that a soaker couldn’t heal in four hours was major. There wasn’t a single medic left from the ten that the two recon platoons had started out with. Medics always had high casualty rates, but this went beyond the normal attrition. The two platoons had been chopped apart. Together, they could only muster thirty-two men, little more than a quarter of their usual complement. And nearly half of them were wounded, a couple worse than Dem.
The two platoons had, in effect, merged. Dem was in command of the survivors. That they were cut off from any other Accord units by as much as three hundred kilometers rarely entered his mind. They still had a mission, to harass and delay a Heggie force that outnumbered them by approximately seventy to one.
Not that there was much they could do any longer.
“They’re moving again,” Fredo reported. He had recovered from his own, earlier, wound. He knelt at Dem’s side and watched the pain fade from Nimz’s face as the painkillers in the new soaker took effect. Dem let out a long, slow breath of relief, more emotion than he normally showed in a year.
“The new ambush?” Dem asked.
“They’ll hit it in five or six minutes,” Fredo said. All of the reccers who were still fit enough to move had gone off to set that trap. No one was short on ammunition. The reccers had been religious about reclaiming ammo from fallen comrades. Even after several hard skirmishes, the survivors had more ammunition than they had each started out with–wire for zippers, rocket-assisted cartridges for the Dupuys, Vrerchs, and hand grenades. The only munitions they were running short on were the RPGs. In this kind of work, that was often the preferred weapon.
“Then we’d better get moving too,” Dem said. It was awkward getting to his feet. He couldn’t use the left arm for anything, not even to extend it to the side to help balance himself. “Move around and get ready to hit them again.”
“Dem, we’re gonna have to contact headquarters, find out where we should go,” Fredo said.
Dem shook his head. “Not yet. Even if the Heggies can’t read our calls, they might be able to DF them. We’re far enough up against it without that. As long as we follow these bastards, we’re gonna get closer to our people.”
The two men stared at each other for a time, then Dem turned and started walking. “On your feet,” he said, speaking conversationally. Their Heyers were no longer available. They had been smashed by the Heggies several hours before.
The eight others who were near got up and followed. Fredo Gariston brought up the rear. They would rendezvous with anyone who made it back from the latest ambush up ahead.
* * *
The 13th was on the move again even before Abru’s SI team brought the researchers to Colonel Stossen. Those elements of the 13th that were in the valley headed toward a high pass at the far end, north, and farther into the mountain range. Those that had been waiting outside, including the artillery and support vehicles, were to circle around to the right, keeping as close to the rest as they could–with only a mountain between them.
“We’ll try to get as far as here,” Stossen told his staff, pointing out the location on his mapboard. “If we can stay just one or two valleys in from where the artillery can go, we might be able to keep some sort of cover from them. We’ll try to rendezvous at this point.” He indicated the spot on the map again. Then he looked around at the others. “If we can.”
“What about the APCs?” Dezo asked. “They’re still out there. They’ve taken a loop around Justice and still haven’t had any enemy contact on the ground.”
“The Heggies are chasing them,” Bal said. “They know that we’re here after losing six Boems, but they still seem more interested in the vehicles.”
“That’s almost the only good news we have,” Stossen said.
“That and the fact that we got the people we came for.” He looked up again. He could see the column coming–the researchers and the SI team.
Gene Abru didn’t wait for the colonel to beckon him closer. He lifted his helmet visor and went right up to Stossen. “Colonel, this is Dr. Philippa Corey, head of . . . these people. Dr. Corey, Colonel Stossen.”
Stossen had had his own visor up for his staff conference. “Dr. Corey, I’m glad to see you made it.”
“So far. I’d be grateful for anything you can tell me of the current situation. We’ve been pretty much in the dark.”
“I’m afraid it will have to be on the march, Doctor. We can’t hang around here. I hope you and your people are up to some hard walking. It may well be several days before I can offer you a ride.”
“It’s hard to stay fit cooped up in a hole in the ground,” Dr. Corey said, “but we’ll make do. We don’t have much choice, do we?”
“No, I’m afraid not. You might have been safer where you were.”
“That wouldn’t have lasted much longer,” Corey said. “Another six months and even our food replicators wouldn’t have been sufficient, even if the Schlinal army hadn’t found us.”
“Sergeant Abru. Your team will stay with the doctor and her people. From now until this mission is over, they are your only concern. You understand me?”
Gene did, completely. “Yes, sir.” If worse came to worst, it would still be up to the SI team to make sure that the researchers didn’t fall into enemy hands. “I understand.”
Stossen stared at him for perhaps a half minute before he nodded and turned his attention back to Dr. Corey. “We’re starting out immediately, over the pass at your end of the valley, into the next reach.”
“Difficult country, Colonel,” Corey said. “We’ll try not to slow you down too much.”
* * *
“I hear half of those people are women,” Wiz Mackey told Mort Jaiffer. “They gonna put you on a leash to keep you away from ‘em?”
“More slander?” Mort asked, as tired as his voice sounded. Mort hadn’t been able to escape rumors that he was a womanizer, that he had left his university post because of some scandal involving the dean’s daughter. Or wife. Both versions remained current. “Anyway, there are only four women, and they’re probably all too old anyway.”
“That’s not what I heard,” Wiz said. Word had quickly floated through the 13th of the women, and the men, who had been brought
in by SI. No one seemed to know just who they were, or why they were so important, but the general consensus–even among those who had no real information–was that those nine people were the entire reason why the 13th had been sent on this mission. “I heard that at least two of ‘em are real lookers, including the boss lady. Anyhow, they’re brainy types, like you.”
Mort shook his head. “I swore off brainy types when I enlisted. Now, get your mind back where it’s supposed to be.”
Mort pulled his visor down to emphasize the end of the conversation and moved farther ahead of Wiz. Like many others, Mort was still trying to puzzle out why those people were important enough to risk more than two thousand highly trained elite soldiers on what looked as if it might easily turn into a suicide inission. With my background, I should be able to figure it out, Mort thought, but beyond the obvious It must be really big, he didn’t have a clue.
The climb at the end of the valley was relatively easy, but the way was too narrow for comfort. All of the 13th had to funnel together; up a narrowing slope leading to a pass that was no more than fifteen meters wide along much of its length. Colonel Stossen called for speed, trying to get everyone through the bottleneck as quickly as possible. Intervals were cut to almost nothing, bunching up several hundred soldiers at a time. They were far too vulnerable to an air attack like that.
“Maybe the Heggies won’t be so quick to send Boems the next time,” Joe Baerclau muttered as he led his platoon through the narrowest part of the pass. “Not after what we did to that last batch.” It would be impossible to sucker another flight the way they had the first. But seeing six enemy fighters blown out of the sky simultaneously had been a major morale boost for the men of the 13th. There had actually been cheers along the ridge line. As if we’d just won the whole damn campaign, Joe thought, somewhat sourly. He had shouted at his men when they started cheering with the rest. Maybe it was a time for them to feel good, but in moderation. There was still a long way to go, and no better than an even chance to make it to the end.
If that.
Everyone who carried Vrerchs had one loaded. Anxious eyes watched the sky. The three Wasps had gone, off to find their ground support to rearm and get fresh batteries. It might take some time with the rest of the 13th on the move again.
Near the end of the pass, First Sergeant Walker was standing to the side, watching Echo Company move through. Joe got out of line and went over to him.
“Any ideas where we’re going now?” Joe asked.
Walker shook his head. “Not beyond this next stretch. Colonel hasn’t passed the word yet except that we’re going the length of this next valley. My guess is that we’re going to rendezvous with the Havocs and the rest somewhere up ahead. After that, your guess is as good as mine.”
“Anything on the civilians?”
“Just the same scuttlebutt I’m sure you’ve heard. Your lads keeping up?”
“We’re in pretty good shape, I guess,” Joe said. “And you?”
“Fit as ever.”
“We get around to taking a break, you’d better have your squad leaders do a quick inventory–munitions, food, and water. All our reserves are with the support vans.”
Joe grinned. He couldn’t help himself. “We are getting a bit tight on Vrerchs.”
“With any luck, we won’t need them for a while.” Izzy Walker shook his head to keep from grinning back. He had enjoyed the show himself. “Now, you’d better get going or you’ll have to run to catch up with your men.” Second platoon was already past the two men, as was half of third platoon.
Joe took a moment to scan the sky through a complete circle before he moved after his platoon. There were no planes visible, from either side.
The descent on the far side of the pass was somewhat more gentle than the climb, and the way widened out as well. The 13th didn’t have to remain bunched up for long, and most of the men got at least a few minutes to rest waiting for those wider intervals to develop.
The new valley was wide open. There were virtually no trees in it, merely grass and extensive patches of wildflowers. Little cover. Only along the lower slopes of the hills on either side was there any place for a man to hide. On both sides there were rather extensive scree fields–loose rock and a fair number of larger boulders. The slopes just above those fields were rocky and broken. The 13th could make decent time down the center of the valley and, with just a little warning, disperse to the rocks at either side if trouble approached.
One line company and one recon platoon were set to follow the high ground on either side, as close to the crests as they could reasonably get. Patrols were sent all of the way to the top to provide what security they could.
Joe whispered a short prayer of thanks that Echo didn’t draw one of the flanking assignments. The going had to be a lot rougher up high.
* * *
Three Nova tanks were coming along the riverbank, in line, not twenty meters from the water. Dem Nimz raised his head just enough to look over the lip of the slit trench he had excavated for himself. A camouflaged thermal tarp was stretched over the top of the hole, the edges weighted down with rocks. Three tanks. Dem pulled his head back down. At least none of the Novas were headed directly at his hole, or at any of the others scattered along this stretch.
We’d better get all three of them, the first time, Dem thought. Once the reccers showed themselves, they would be in for it again–unless all three tanks went at once.
Where’s their infantry? he wondered next. It was unlikely that tanks would have been sent without mudders. Armor and infantry depended on each other. Without mudders, tanks were juicy targets. Without tanks to back them up, infantry was also especially vulnerable. . . .
Dem gave himself thirty seconds before he lifted his head again. His hole wasn’t the closest one to the oncoming tanks, but he didn’t want to risk radio communications yet. All of his people knew what to do, and he had no doubts about their talents. Or determination.
The first tank was less than forty meters from Dem, between him and the river. The interval between the Novas was about fifteen meters, as near as Dem could estimate from his hole. Mudders? . . .
There. A skirmish line just behind the third Nova, a second line twenty-five meters behind them. Dem glanced at the time line on his visor display. Then he looked at the lead tank again. Any second now.
He slid his Armanoc forward a little. Once the tanks were hit, they would have to deal with the enemy mudders. It looked as if there were at least a full company of them, perhaps even as many as two hundred men.
Before the first Vrerchs streaked out toward the tanks, Dem discovered that he was holding his breath. He had to force himself to start up again. The rockets flashed out from concealed holes. None of them had more than sixty meters to travel, and even if the tankers had spotted the rockets the instant they were launched, they would not have had time to maneuver to try to escape them. Everything depended on the aim of the shooters, and the working of the Vrerchs’ video guidance systems. There wasn’t room for error.
The Novas went within a second of one another. The Schlinal infantry started shooting even before the rockets hit. Vrerchs did leave a thin trail in some circumstances. The reccers who had fired them were slammed with heavy return fire, first from wire rifles, and then also with grenades.
Dem pulled his head back down for an instant. They had all known the risks. But he did need a second to swallow the lump in his throat.
Let them get closer, Dem thought. Hold off until the last possible second, until wire would rip through Heggie body armor without difficulty and there were too many targets too close to miss. It might prove to be a last stand for the reccers, and Dem wanted to make it memorable.
One more quick look–just up a few centimeters, then back down. Anything longer or higher was too dangerous. The Heggie skirmish lines were still advancing. Several groups were coming together, m
oving toward the holes from which the Vrerchs had been fired.
Good, good! Dem told himself. The closer together they were, the easier it would be to mow them down.
All together now: Dem silently counted to ten, then said one word over his helmet radio. There was no longer any need to worry about the enemy intercepting it.
“Now!”
Dem came up to his knees, pushing the tarp back. His finger went down on the trigger of his zipper as soon as the muzzle was above ground level. He moved the stream of wire back and forth over a narrow front, scarcely aware that all of the men left to his command were doing the same.
The Armanoc Mark VI could fire continuously for twenty seconds before it emptied a full spool of wire. When Dem’s gun went dry, he already had the next spool in his left hand. His right thumb ejected the old spool, the new one went in, and within three seconds, he was back in business.
Firing one-handed was no problem. The Heggies were close enough that there was no significant loss of accuracy. Dem started tossing hand grenades, scarcely letting off on the rifle’s trigger each time he hurled one of the one-kilo bombs. The Heggies had, naturally enough, gone to ground as soon as the rifle fire started, but they had no real cover, not even the minimal protection of a slit trench.
It almost made up for the wide disparity in numbers.
Dem used every grenade he had. There was no sense trying to save anything for “later.” There was too little chance that there would be another opportunity to use any of his weapons. A third spool of wire.
The volume of fire, from both sides, faded quickly. Dem went back down into his hole as he emptied the third spool. Little more than a minute had passed since he had started shooting. Perhaps another twenty-five seconds had elapsed since the Vrerchs were fired.