by Rick Shelley
"It looks like about even odds who rolls up whom," Lafferty said. "If we slip up on this, even a little, there won't be any second chances."
"I'd suggest that you move your headquarters prior to the attack," Colonel Ruman said before Dacik could respond to Lafferty's comment. "Besides the obvious fact that this site will probably fall within an hour after we start this, command and control is going to get... dicey, at best. We need to be located somewhere where we can avoid getting bagged by the Heggies and yet stay close enough to the main action to respond to whatever happens."
"A mobile CP has already been set up, ready to move, Colonel," Captain Lorenz said.
Dacik nodded. "We'll move here." He turned and pointed to a spot on the map again. "Right behind the central breakout. It might not be any safer there than here, but it will sure keep us on top of the situation."
"When do we move?" Ruman asked next.
"Local sundown, which will be 1907 hours tonight, according to CIC. That's the time for the staged retreat on the right. The exact timing for the breakout may change, depending on how the withdrawal goes, but—temporarily at least—it should start exactly one hour later, 2007 hours."
"Preparatory bombardment or air strikes?" Ruman asked.
"Nothing to give them any warning. We'll have Wasps up and Havocs in position covering the withdrawal from the north, but no site preparation at either of the breakout locations."
"Diversions?" Lafferty asked.
Dacik glanced from Lafferty to Ruman. "Ru, I think we'll pull in the left end, just a little, beginning fifteen minutes after the start of the movement on the right. They have secondary positions prepared?"
"They should have, General," Ruman replied. "I'll check."
"Just that little bit then, and maybe"—he turned and stared at the mapboard again—"a patrol in strength... here." He stabbed at the position. "That's about halfway between the two places where we're actually going to attack, and it's where the Heggies pulled out one of their units."
"How much strength for the patrol?" Ruman asked.
"A battalion. With cover from a single battery of Havocs if they run into trouble."
Dacik walked back over to the head of the table but didn't sit.
"It's not going to be pretty, gentlemen, and... well, Lafferty might have been optimistic with the odds. But we have to do something, and there won't be any cavalry to the rescue to bail us out. Anything gets done, we've got to do it ourselves."
"What about the 13th?" Ruman asked.
Dacik frowned. He had almost forgotten them. "They're in deep trouble. There's precious little we can do to help them but win this fight here tonight, or make such an effort that the Heggies think we might win." He stared down at the table and his frown deepened. "It looks as if the Heggies have turned at least four regiments against the 13th—ten, maybe as many as fifteen thousand men. That's really the only thing that gives us a chance. Even if we mop up everything here, we might still lose the 13th."
He turned away. In his mind, that "might" was already "will."
—|—
The 13th ran into one ambush after another. Although they no longer let themselves be bogged down by firefights, each ambush did cost time, even if no more than a few minutes. One company, sometimes two, would be detailed to stop long enough to allow the rest of the 13th to bull through. Until the next one. Each minute that the 13th lost to these delaying actions allowed the other three Schlinal units trying to reach them to get a minute closer to interception.
Just before sunset, the enemy massed all of the Novas it still had in the area for a determined bombardment of the 13th. A half dozen APCs and several support trucks were lost before the 13th's Havocs and Wasps drove the Novas off again. Not more than 10 percent of the men in the hit vehicles survived to be picked up by other vehicles.
The two Heyers carrying Dr. Corey's research team and their SI "minders" were kept near the exact center of the 13th. Gene Abru was with Philippa Corey. They spoke little but stared at each other most of the time.
—|—
Dem Nimz was driving slowly as sunset approached. Somewhere, probably very close, was the Schlinal convoy they had been following. Dem had turned the captured Schlinal truck away from the track at the first distant hint of the enemy, hoping to circle around them without being spotted. The Heggies had stopped for what Dem suspected would be a very short break. The few rest stops that the column had made had all been very short, never more than ten minutes.
At Dem's side, Fredo sat with his rifle muzzle out the left-side cab window. The safety was off, and his finger was over the trigger guard, lightly, ready to move at the slightest provocation. He stared toward the north as if he expected to see the trucks carrying the Schlinal force. They were too far away for that though, if Dem had taken as big a loop around them as he thought.
"You still plan to curve back in front of them?" Fredo asked.
"Yes. They're on the shortest track to the 13th. All we have to do is stay in front of them and follow the 13th's tread marks. That way, the Heggies will never know that there's another vehicle out in front of them."
"They wouldn't know if we stayed a couple of klicks over to the side either," Fredo pointed out. "We know where everybody's at, as long as that mapboard still works."
"That couple of klicks might make the difference in our catching up in time."
"In time for what? You think that nine of us are going to affect the outcome?"
Dem just glanced at him for an instant. "We belong there, Fredo. We belong there."
—|—
An hour after sunset, the 13th turned slightly toward the north, closer to the river. Thirty minutes after that, 4th recon left their APCs and moved away from them on foot, into the forest. As the rest of the 13th reached the first group of parked Heyers, they too stopped and disembarked. The running was over.
"This is probably the best defensive position we're likely to find," Stossen told his staff when they gathered near his command post. "We've lost too much time to keep running. We've got a fight on our hands. All we can do is choose the ground."
The colonel had already issued his preliminary orders for the various components of the 13th. Everyone was moving into position as quickly as he could. It would take some little time for them all to get situated. Fourth recon was out to try to make sure that the rest had that time.
"We're at the extreme range for Wasps operating from behind our lines," Teu Ingels said. "But we can't look for any help from there. It looks like all hell's broken loose back there."
"I talked to General Dacik two hours ago," Stossen said. "Crunch time." He let that hang for a moment. None of the others broke in with any comments. "The next twelve to twenty-four hours will likely tell the tale. Win or lose, the Jordan campaign is near the end. Our job now, besides making sure that those scientists don't fall into enemy hands, is to keep as many Schlinal troops occupied for as long as we can. We do our job right, maybe the general will manage to pull Jordan out of the coals."
—|—
There were a handful of trucks that had backhoes or scraper blades. They couldn't possibly do enough excavation to provide sound cover for every vehicle with the 13th, but they did what they could. Men with shovels worked as well, as many as half of the regiment at a time. More was needed than simple foxholes for the infantry. Positions were arranged close behind the perimeter for the Heyer APCs. Their splat guns could contribute materially, as long as the APCs could be protected. Trenches were dug for them, with the dirt piled up in front and on the sides, lessening the amount of surface accessible to enemy rockets or tanks shells. Camouflaged thermal tarps might help them escape detection as well, for a time. The support trucks for Havocs and Wasps were camouflaged and bunkered also, farther back, in the last stands of trees before the river. The 13th's remaining Havocs were split. Only half were kept with the perimeter that was being hastily established. The three remaining guns of Basset Battery, the one left of Afghan, and one from Ding
o were sent on farther east with their support and orders to "get lost"—avoid detection—but stay close enough to help when the fight came.
Joe Baerclau dug his foxhole between first and second squads, working fast even though he took time, frequently, to look up and down the line to make sure that everyone was working, and doing the job right. "We don't have all night," he warned—among other banal cautions. What he said wasn't all that important. Every man in the platoon knew what was needed. The platoon sergeant's voice was enough to keep anyone from slacking off.
As soon as he had his own position prepared, Joe started walking the platoon line. There were faint sounds of firing by then, in the distance, where 4th recon was operating. Several of the line companies also had men out beyond the new perimeter, to set mines and listening devices along the most obvious approaches to the 13th's positions. Joe spent as much time looking out beyond the platoon's line as he did inspecting the foxholes the men had dug and the other preparations they had made. Somewhere out there was the enemy.
"First and third squads. We need a line of mines and bugs across the platoon front. Mines at 80 and 120 meters. Bugs at 200."
The two squad leaders got their men up and moving out. The rest of the platoon waited, ready to provide covering fire should that prove necessary. In the meantime, the men continued working. Joe walked back the length of the platoon's section of the perimeter, then walked back to the three Heyers that were dug in behind it. Lieutenant Keye had his command post slightly behind and off to the right, behind the junction where first and second platoons met.
"Your men ready?" Keye asked.
Joe lifted his visor and nodded. "Soon as the men get back from laying out greeting cards, Lieutenant. Any word on how close the Heggies are?"
Keye shook his head. "The ones who've been playing tag with us can't be far. The rest... just take a look at your mapboard. One regiment could be here in less than an hour, the other two not long after that. Within two hours, we're going to be ass-deep in them, maybe four or five to one against us."
"We're gonna stay right here and slug it out?"
"Far as I know," Keye said. "That's the current plan, anyway."
"How 'bout we haul some of the reserves up to the line, ammo and food?" Joe suggested. "I'll feel a lot better if I'm not worried about running short of wire again."
The lieutenant's hesitation was minimal. "Get your working parties out." He turned to the first sergeant. "Pass the word to the other platoons, Izzy."
Joe gave the lieutenant a casual salute, lowered his visor, and headed back to his men. On his way, he paused to look at the three Heyers. All were dug in so that their front splat guns were just barely above the earthen berms in front of them. That fire wouldn't be far above the heads of men in foxholes on the line. The turret guns would be less of a hazard. Except to approaching Heggies.
"While they last," Joe whispered. He had no illusions. The Heyers would draw heavy fire from the start. They were unlikely to survive for long, even dug partially in.
—|—
Zel Paitcher almost hyperventilated. He was back in his Wasp for the first time since being relieved. It felt so good that he started breathing, deeply and quickly, until he started to get light-headed. By that time, he had trouble slowing his breathing again. A slight pain developed in his forehead over the left eye.
He took his hands off of the control yoke one at a time and flexed them. He had also been gripping the yoke too tightly.
I am nervous, he thought. He scanned his heads-up display and the monitors below it. They told him everything he needed to know about the Wasp, and everything that was known about its surroundings. Irv Albans was flying off his right wing. Jase Wilmer and Roy Carney were flying together, some distance away. The latest data on enemy locations was on the map monitor, some of the information hard, most of it guesses based on outdated intelligence.
The Wasps were looking for the enemy now, not just to update the data.
"That one vehicle moving by itself, that must be those reccers they told us about," Irv said when the single infrared blip showed on his TA system.
"I'll go down for a closer look," Zel said. "You stay up here to make sure I don't find more than I expect."
He hardly waited for a response before easing back on the throttles. The Wasp started down like an express elevator. Zel turned the nose to come up on the truck from behind. He wasn't worried about being spotted from the ground. It was dark enough for invisibility, and with the engines throttled back, he couldn't possibly be heard over the sounds of a truck engine.
Zel came down below fifty meters, an equal distance behind the truck. At that range he could distinguish the individual heat signatures of seven men in the rear of the truck—at that range, clearly a Schlinal half-track. The truck was moving too fast for foot soldiers to keep up, and there were no other vehicles anywhere close.
A smile played over Zel's face as he thought, I could almost get close enough to make sure those are Accord helmets. But he wouldn't. At that range, his Wasp would occult enough of the sky to be noticeable, and he didn't want to spook the reccers into firing at him. Instead, he eased the throttles forward and started to climb.
"It's them," he told Irv. "Now, let's find the Heggies who're chasing them. They can't be far."
Twenty kilometers.
"In and out," Zel reminded his wingman. "We're just here to slow them down."
"And pare them down," Irv replied. "The more we zap, the fewer there'll be to hit our mudders."
In the dark, the Wasps had every advantage. There was nothing visible of them until they fired their first rockets at the lead trucks. Then, before anyone in the half-tracks could respond, they allowed themselves a four-second strafing run before they split, one to either side, and climbed as rapidly as they could without blacking out from the gee-load.
Three Schlinal SAM rockets came up into the night sky, blind shots. None achieved target lock. They rose harmlessly, then fell back after they exhausted their fuel and momentum.
For their second run, Zel and Irv came in from straight behind, almost at ground level, too low for their Wasps even to show up by occulting stars. Missiles and cannon. Once more the two fighters split, left and right, and climbed away from the enemy column.
"Now let's see if we can find the next batch of 'em," Zel said. The other pair of Wasps was already looking for that next collection of Heggies.
—|—
The crew of Basset two was out of their gun. They were hiding under bushes some twenty meters from it. They had stretched a thermal tarp over the Fat Turtle. Now all they could do was wait.
"I feel like my butt's hangin' out the window," Simon muttered after they had been in position for fifteen or twenty minutes. "Out here all alone, nothing but a pistol in my hand."
"Shut up," Eustace said, mildly. "It could be worse. The guns shut up inside the perimeter got no room to maneuver. Not enough, leastwise. The shooting starts, they won't last long if the Heggies bring up Novas or Boems. Out here, we got a chance."
"Chance for what?" Simon asked. "To be the last ones bagged by the Heggies?"
Eustace growled. "If it comes to that. Even that's somethin'." We'll give 'em what-for even then, Eustace promised himself. As long as they had the Fat Turtle and rounds to fire, they would keep fighting. And after that, they still had their pistols.
Eustace grinned. Bloodthirsty bastard I've become.
He cleared his throat. "If the dope we got was good, we've got an hour, hour and a half, before we have to worry too much. Unless the Heggies have more Novas lying doggo in close."
"Like we're doing," Simon said.
"Yeah." They ambush us, we ambush them. Helluva way to run a war.
"Peekaboo, I see you," Karl Mennem said in a falsetto.
"We didn't play it with 200mm howitzers when I was a kid," Simon said.
"Enough," Eustace said. "You guys try to get a few minutes' shut-eye. It might be a long time before we get another chan
ce."
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
The noises in the night might almost have been nothing more than distant thunderstorms. More rare than the muted crump-thump of explosions were the brief flares of light that the infantrymen manning the 13th's perimeter saw. More rarely yet, a man might hear an artillery shell whizzing overhead, outbound. There was fighting going on, but it wasn't close. Not yet. In fact, the obvious distance of the enemy—marked by the muted sounds of Havoc shells and Wasp rockets exploding—had a calming effect on many of the infantrymen waiting in their newly dug foxholes.
A lullaby was how Joe Baerclau thought of it. One man per fire team was left on watch. The rest tried to get some sleep. Nearly everyone was exhausted enough to sleep now, if only fitfully. Joe might have wakened a half dozen times in the hour he permitted himself to sleep, curled up in his foxhole. Sometimes it was one of the distant noises that woke him. At other times, it was a brief message over the radio, or someone moving close by. But each time he woke, he would listen for a moment to satisfy himself that the danger wasn't imminent, and then slide back into sleep for another minute or five. Until the next time.
It was a little more than an hour before Ezra Frain called and told him that his time was up. Joe took several deep breaths and went through a stretching routine. He stood and looked around. The flashes were no longer quite so far away.
"They'll be here before long," he told Ezra over a private channel.
"Last word from the lieutenant was that we might have another hour. The Heggies that have been chasing us have been slowed down quite a bit. All we've seen lately is a few sniping incidents from the Heggies right around us. I guess the rest of them are waiting for reinforcements."
"They might wait until all of them rendezvous," Joe said. "Now that we've gone to ground to wait for them. They don't have to slow us down any more."
"Sounds logical to me," Ezra said. Then, after a pause, "Joe?"
"Yeah?"
"This is gonna be worse than Porter, isn't it?"
"Could be, Ez. Nobody's going to come in-system to rescue us this time."