Renegade (The Kurgan War Book 7)

by Richard Turner

  The radio operator stared at Sheridan for a moment.

  “Do it! And for God’s sake tell them not to use high explosives. It won’t do any good against those positions. We’re going to have to burn them out.”

  The young man nodded and reached for his handset.

  Sheridan removed the dead lieutenant’s binoculars and hung them around his neck. The sound of bullets traveling overhead sounded like a swarm of angry bees. Sheridan adjusted his position and studied the Kurgan lines. They were dug in deep along the top of the hill. His mind began to form a plan of what to do next when he was kicked hard in the boot. Sheridan rolled over and saw a man with an SMG in his hands looking down at him.

  “On your feet, Convict,” snarled the man.

  “I’d get down if I were you,” replied Sheridan.

  The man brought up his weapon to his shoulder. He never had the chance to pull the trigger. Struck dozens of times in the chest, the killer dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

  “Idiot,” said Sheridan to himself.

  “Uh, soldier, regiment says the fire is inbound,” said the radio operator. “I don’t even know who you are. What am I going to call you?”

  “Hill, will do.”

  The sound of the approaching artillery shells flying overhead was a welcome noise. With a metallic pop, the shells separated right above the Kurgan lines. An invisible chemical rained down from the sky. Three seconds later, a small flare went off and ignited the gaseous cloud. Even from where he was, Sheridan felt the heat on his face through his mask as the cloud burst into flames and rained fire down from the heavens. He didn’t have to see what was happening to know that the Kurgans who couldn’t get under cover fast enough were being roasted alive. It was a horrible, painful death, but it was them or him.

  “Okay, with me to the top of the hill,” yelled Sheridan as he got to his feet. He climbed past the line of dead soldiers and rushed toward the summit. Behind him, what was left of the platoon struggled to keep up.

  Even through his respirator canisters, Sheridan could smell burnt flesh.

  A flare went off right above him as he jumped down inside a Kurgan trench. On the floor were two Kurgan warriors. Their bodies were contorted. What was left of their faces showed they had died in agony.

  Kozar and Wiman slid down inside the trench.

  “The smell down here is awful,” bitched Kozar.

  “Deal with it,” snapped Sheridan.

  The radio operator tripped over a rock and tumbled down beside Sheridan.

  “You okay?” asked Sheridan as he helped the soldier to his feet.

  “I think so,” he responded.

  “Does the radio still work?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, let whoever is still alive know we’ve entered the Kurgan trenches. We’re going to clear it from where we are to the west. Anyone coming in behind us should clear it to the east to avoid any friendly fire accidents.”

  Sheridan tapped Wiman on the arm. “Do you have an IR strobe on you?”

  Wiman nodded.

  “Activate it and leave it where we entered the trench so people know where we are.”

  The soldier opened a pouch, dug out a baseball-sized device, and turned it on. He reached up and placed it on the lip of the trench.

  “What’s your name?” Sheridan asked the radio operator.

  “Adams,” replied the frightened soldier.

  “I want you to stay here and when people from our platoon arrive send them down the line after me. If they’re not ours, send them in the opposite direction. Got it?”

  “You know too much. You were an officer at one time, weren’t you?”

  “Maybe. Now do as I say.” Sheridan spun around and looked down the defensive position. The light from the flares sent long dark shadows down the line.

  “Hill,” called Adams. “I got regiment on the line, and they say that B and C Companies have begun their assault on the Kurgan’s flank.”

  Sheridan gave the man a thumbs-up and stood. He grinned; because of the height of the Kurgans, he could stand without risking exposing his head to sniper fire.

  “Kozar, on my left; Wiman, on my right,” ordered Sheridan. “If anything steps out of the shadows assume it to be hostile and kill it.”

  With their weapons tight in their shoulders, the trio advanced down the line. They came across several dead Kurgans before they turned a corner in the trench and spotted a severely wounded warrior crawling along the bottom of the trench.

  “Hands up,” bellowed Kozar.

  The Kurgan stopped moving and reached for his holster.

  Sheridan never flinched. He fired off a single shot to the head of the Kurgan, killing him. “I told you two not to hesitate. Kurgs don’t surrender.”

  Kozar mumbled, “I ain’t never had to kill anyone before.”

  “It’s them or us. Don’t overthink about what you have to do, just react, and you’ll stay alive.”

  A whistling sound pierced the night.

  “Down!” screamed Sheridan as he threw himself to the floor.

  A second later, the world around the men exploded as Kurgan artillery shells rained down on the hill.

  Sheridan placed his hands over his head and tried to make himself as flat as possible. He knew the retaliatory bombardment was inevitable. The Kurgans wanted the hill as much as the Terran forces did.

  For close to three minutes the ground shook. Splinters of rock, dust, and debris fell on the men, covering them from the bottom of their boots to the top of their heads. When the shelling lifted, Sheridan got to his feet, brushed the dirt from his eyepiece, and looked around. A thick cloud hung in the air. He couldn’t see more than ten meters in any direction.

  “Is it over?” asked Wiman as he got up on his knees.

  “For now,” replied Sheridan. “As soon as they can muster the forces, the Kurgs will counterattack. It’s not just us who want this hill.”

  “Who’s there?” called out an unfamiliar voice.

  “Convict Hill,” responded Sheridan.

  A man covered in dust walked out of the dark. He had captain’s bars on his collar. “Are you with A Company?”

  “Yes, sir. We gained lodgment a little way back down the line.”

  “Is your company CO still alive?”

  “Sir, I have no idea who is still on their feet.”

  “Okay, Hill, I’m Captain Orton, B Company. My troops will link in with you here. Once you find out who is in charge of your company, send him down the line to liaise with me. My command post will be in an old Kurg bunker about thirty meters from here.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The captain turned and walked back down the line.

  “Wiman, Kozar, stay here,” said Sheridan. “I’m going to see if Adams survived the bombardment. After that, I’m going to round up whoever is still able to fight from our platoon and send them your way. Once that’s done, I’m going to see who else is alive in our company.”

  “Will do,” said Kozar.

  Sheridan wiped the dust from his watch and checked the time. It was just after two in the morning. The sun wouldn’t be coming up for another four to five hours. Once it did, the Kurgans would be back, and the real fight for the hill would begin.

  Chapter 25

  Sheridan found Adams talking with a lieutenant wearing a temporary gel cast on his left lower arm.

  “Are you Convict Hill?” asked the officer.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Sheridan.

  “Convict Adams told me that you took command of this platoon and took this position by yourself. Is this true?”

  “Not entirely. What’s left of the platoon helped,”

  “Well, my name is Lieutenant Emil, and I’ve taken command of the company. I’m promoting you to acting sergeant. The platoon is yours to command.”

  “Sir, I don’t I think I have a full squad on its feet.”

  “Be that as it may, until reinforcements arrive, you’ll have to do the bes
t you can with your meager forces.”

  “Sir, Captain Orton from B Company has set up his CP about one hundred meters down the line. He told me to ask you to liaise with him when you can.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see to the rest of the company first.”

  Sheridan watched the young officer limp away. A shattered arm wasn’t the man’s only injury. “How are you doing?” Sheridan asked his radio operator.

  “My head’s still ringing from that bombardment,” Adams replied. “Aside from I’m that not too bad, Sergeant.”

  “Did you manage to find any of our people?”

  “Yeah, There’s four of them in a bunker just off to the right of the trench.”

  “Okay, let’s round them up and place them with the rest of the platoon.”

  The four soldiers were reluctant to leave the safety of the bunker until Sheridan dragged one of them out by the collar of his uniform and threatened to shoot the rest if they didn’t move. He forced them at gunpoint to walk down the line until they met up with Kozar and Wiman.

  “Kozar, I want you to nip down the hill and bring back the mule,” said Sheridan. “We’re going to need the ammo and supplies on the back of the vehicle. When you’re done, take Wiman with you and load up as many of our wounded as you can on the back of it and drive it to the tunnel entrance where the unit aid station has been set up.”

  “Sir, we were told that penal regiments couldn’t use the mules to haul the wounded away,” said Kozar.

  “Who said that?”

  “I can’t remember his name, but we were told the first day we arrived in the 333rd that convicts have to help themselves.”

  “Listen up, and this goes for everyone. We’re not Kurgs, and we will help our people get to the unit aid station. If the MPs give you a hard time, use my name and tell them to come and arrest me. Ten to one, they’ll never leave the safety of the tunnel.”

  A chuckle rippled through the survivors.

  “Now, Kozar, on the double. Bring that mule up here ASAP.”

  “Yes, Sergeant,” replied Kozar enthusiastically.

  “Sir, company headquarters is on the line,” said Adams, handing the radio handset to Sheridan.

  “What’s our call sign?” whispered Sheridan.

  “You’re Knight-One.”

  Sheridan keyed his handset. “Knight-Six, this is Knight-One, send your message, over.”

  “Knight-One, report to the company CP immediately.”

  “Roger that, out.” Sheridan handed the handset back. “Looks like it’s officers’ call. Adams, you’re in charge until I get back.”

  “I can’t call you Sergeant,” said Adams. “It doesn’t seem right. You were an officer, weren’t you, sir?”

  Sheridan patted Adams on the back. “Don’t tell anyone but I still am. Now keep the line together while I’m gone.”

  Sheridan was the last platoon leader to report to the makeshift command post inside an old Kurgan bunker. Like himself, the company’s four platoons were now commanded by NCOs. Lieutenant Emil was the only officer still in action.

  “People, you may all be convicts, but I won’t lie to you,” said Emil. “The situation is grim. Our battalion lost close to four hundred men taking this hill from the Kurgs. The losses among the other battalions are just as bad, if not worse. Regiment has decided to amalgamate all the survivors under Colonel Denisov, who is coming here to take command of this position. This hill is considered to be vital ground by both ourselves and the Kurgs. Whoever holds this hill can dominate the rest of the Sayan Highlands. We cannot allow it to fall to the enemy.”

  “So what does that mean for us, sir?” posed Sheridan.

  “What’s left of the third battalion is being merged into one large company under Captain Orton. I will be his XO and you, Sergeant Hill, will command one of the platoons in that organization. All the spare soldiers from this command who can still fight will be reorganized in the next few minutes and placed under you.”

  “Why him?” asked a gruff-looking sergeant.

  “Because, I said so, Sergeant. It looks like he knows his business and we can’t afford to waste time holding a promotion board to determine command competency. You’re free to remove your rank insignia and serve as a convict if you wish.”

  “No, sir,” replied the sergeant, shaking his head.

  “Fine. You’re all dismissed. I want the re-org to be complete within the hour. So get a move on, people.”

  Sheridan came to attention and turned to leave the room.

  “Wait a minute, Sergeant Hill,” said Emil.

  Sheridan nodded and moved aside to let everyone else leave the room.

  Emil reached up and removed his gas mask. “God, I hate these things.”

  “Sir, is that wise?”

  The lieutenant held up a small chemical detector. “Trust me, the air in here is clean and breathable.”

  Sheridan pulled off his mask and scratched the back of his head. “I hate these accursed things too.”

  Emil took a seat on an old ammo crate. “Hill, before I called for you to come here, I ran your service file though our regimental database, and it says you’re a nineteen-year-old private whose military occupation specialty is 420-C. To be more specific, you’re supposed to be a tuba player in a military band. When bands weren’t needed, you were dispatched to an understrength infantry regiment as a rifleman. Now which part of your file doesn’t make any sense?”

  Sheridan felt like a deer caught in the headlights of an onrushing vehicle. “Mister Emil, you are correct; my file is a complete fabrication. I was busted from the rank of captain for punching my superior officer in the throat after he led us into a Kurg ambush in which almost my entire company was killed. My divisional commander, who also happened to be my uncle, gave me the choice of serving in a penal regiment or face a court martial. I chose the former as I didn’t want to drag my family name through the mud.”

  “I knew it. The way you act and talk gave you away. What’s your real name?”

  Bugger, thought Sheridan. He quickly remembered a name from one of his history tombs. “Sir, it’s Krieg.”

  “Are you telling me you’re related to our corps commander?”

  “Yes, sir, but I’d rather not say how.”

  Emil shrugged. “Your call. Just keep your people in the fight, and I’ll forget we ever had this conversation.”

  Sheridan came to attention. “Thank you, sir.”

  “Hill, when Denisov comes over to take command, I’m going to ask him to make you a second lieutenant for what you did today.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Because, my gut tells me you’re going to help us win this fight, and by being an officer, you’ll be eligible for transfer out of this unit when the fighting dies down.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that. Once again, you have my thanks, sir.”

  “Carry, on, Sergeant.”

  Sheridan saluted and placed his mask back over his face before walking out of the bunker. He walked back to his old platoon’s position and found Kozar driving the mule along the top of the trench.

  “Okay, everyone, get off your asses and help Kozar unload the mule,” said Sheridan to his depleted team. As they moved the supplies inside the trench, Sheridan told them of the pending reorganization. He made Kozar squad leader with Wiman as his assistant. Adams was told he was going with Sheridan wherever he went. A runner came down the line shortly after Kozar and Wiman departed to pick up their wounded comrades.

  “Sergeant Hill, you’re to follow me,” said the soldier, struggling to catch his breath through his respirator’s canisters.

  “Where are we going?” Sheridan asked.

  “I’m going to show you where your platoon is to dig in.”

  “How far away is it?”

  “Not too far. It’s a rocky outcropping called the Devil’s Rock by the soldiers who took it this morning.”

  “Why’s it called that?” asked Adams.

  “Because ov
er one hundred Kurgans and close to two hundred of our troops died taking it.”

  “Swell,” mumbled Sheridan to himself. “Okay, soldier, lead on. Adams, you’re with me.”

  As hard as he could, Sheridan couldn’t clearly recall the events of the day he was about to face. All that he recalled was the next twenty-four hours were a desperate fight which would eventually force the Kurgans to abandon their plans for further subjugation of the federation.

  Chapter 26

  Tarina sat straight up. Her heart began to race when she heard the door to the basement open. From where she was sitting it was hard to see who was talking with their captor, Angie. Her skin crawled when she heard a man’s deep voice.

  “Bring her over here,” ordered Angie.

  “Get up,” said Tarina’s guard, a girl with short red hair who looked to be no more than fourteen years of age.

  Tarina stood, brushed the dirt from her clothes, and walked toward Angie with her head held high. The man and Angie were standing next to the cot with Wendy on it. Thankfully, she was out cold from the drugs the doctor had given her earlier and couldn’t see the man lustfully leering at her. The man was in his late forties with a long black beard. He was wearing a mix of military and civilian clothes. He stank horribly and looked like he hadn’t washed his body in months.

  “See, Royce, I told you they would be worth our asking price,” said Angie to the man.

  Royce licked his chapped lips as his cold, dark brown eyes examined Tarina from head to toe. She crossed her arms when she felt his gaze lingering on her chest for far too long.

  “Well, you sure do know how to catch ‘em, Angie,” said Royce. “I ain’t seen women as pretty as these two since the Kurgs laid waste to the planet.”

  “Did you bring the food, water, and medicine we asked for with you?” asked Angie.