The Buchanan Campaign

by Rick Shelley

  Thataway.” He pointed. “Everyone, keep your eyes open. Just because we don’t show any enemy helmets in the area doesn’t mean it’s clean. They may be smart enough to turn them off long enough to spring an ambush.”

  “Now, that wouldn’t be very nice of ‘em,” Alfie said.

  “Put the lid on that chatter. Let’s not get careless.”

  The new men were scattered through the middle of the line. David kept special watch on them, and would, until he had seen them in action. New men made David nervous. He had no way to predict how they might react to anything.

  Roger Zimmerman stayed to the animal trails he could find—after clearing that decision with his sergeant.

  “Might as well,” David told him. “Keep a close watch on your sensors, but I doubt that the enemy’s laid booby traps out here. No damn reason to.” It was a questionable decision, and David knew it, but if there were booby traps out in the middle of the forest, then the entire landing might be in real trouble.

  Tory Kepner was behind Zimmerman, followed by Seidman, Alfie, Henny, Jacky, and Montez. David took the back end, where he could watch his men as well as the terrain behind them. It kept him busy.

  But the others were doing their jobs. Even the new men seemed aware of the basics: watch the sides, avoid unnecessary noise. The squad’s spacing was too tight. Several times, David passed the word to spread out. “We don’t want to be a row of ducks in somebody’s shooting arcade,” he said once.

  Don’t let an ambush take out an entire patrol. That was one of the first maxims of infantry training. If you are ambushed, make sure at least some of your people survive to answer the incoming fire.

  David stopped the squad once for a short break, and to give himself time to check his mapboard and make contact with the lieutenant who was leading the engineer detachment. After the break, he rotated Jacky White up to the point.

  “The engineers have a sentry out, here,” David told Jacky. He pointed to the spot on his mapboard. “Still a mile off. Be watching for him.”

  Jacky nodded and moved off. David signalled for the rest of the squad to follow.

  The engineers had already started their work by the time David and his squad arrived. A survey crew was laying out lines. Trees were being sawed off at ground level with cutting beams. Men with drag lines and portable winches were hauling timber and shrubbery out of the way. A small earthmover was levelling terrain with the blade on its snout and spraying the first layer of plascrete from a rig on its rump.

  But the engineers hadn’t bothered to put out sentries, except for the one man who was watching for the I&R squad.

  And one man was just standing by, watching the rest work. David didn’t need to see insignia to know that was the lieutenant.

  “Sergeant Spencer?” the officer asked when David reached him. David nodded. “I’m Lieutenant Guran.”

  ‘ ‘Lieutenant.” David lifted his visor and looked over at the earthmover. ‘ ‘I hope that thing has a real high gear on it, sir.”

  “How’s that?”

  “You know you’re going to have to build a fourmile road to get your bridging equipment to the river. The terrain’s all like this, some worse.”

  “We needed a decent place to set down, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir, but what if the admiral decides he wants those bridges today?”

  “Not my problem. We can only do the possible.”

  If you’d set down where you were told to, it would be possible, David thought, but he couldn’t say that to an officer he didn’t know.

  “By now, sir, just about everyone’s down this side of the river, except for the rest of your people and heavy equipment,” David said. Delta Company of the first was landing just then. “The line has been established three miles west of here. There’ll be patrols out on the flanks and such, but that’s too much area to cover adequately. Your people will have to watch for infiltrators or ambushes.”

  Guran lifted his visor. “We were supposed to have infantry cover so we could do our work.”

  “Excuse me, sir,” David said, in his most respectful tones, “but you were supposed to be twoandahalf miles west of here, where you would be close enough for that cover, where our Delta Company is landing now.” You might as well have stayed aboard Victoria for all the good you’ll do here, he thought. Or even back on Buckingham.

  Guran held up one hand to stop David. With the other hand, he pulled down his visor. Even though David couldn’t hear anything, it was clear that Guran was referring the matter to his superior. David decided it was time to let Captain McAuliffe know what was going on as well.

  “I’ve been monitoring you,” McAuliffe told him. “I’ve already contacted the colonel on this. Watch your mouth, Spencer. You know what I’d do if you backtalked me like that?”

  “But I’ve never know you to pull a boner like this, Captain. You’re a pro, like me.”

  McAuliffe chuckled. “God help you if you ever pull a mouthful when you’re in the wrong.”

  “I do my best, sir.”

  “For my sake, David, ease off. Let the facts stand. Don’t confuse the issue by letting Guran claim you’re insubordinate.”

  “Yes, sir,” David said meekly. He had made his point. The higherups could haggle all they wanted to.

  Guran’s call took longer. When he lifted his visor again, his face was red, and he had trouble keeping his voice in check. David kept his own face as blank as possible, but he couldn’t help wishing that he had been able to overhear the other conversation.

  “Two companies of the reserve are being sent down to provide cover,” Guran said. “As soon as they arrive, you can take your squad back to your company.”

  “Yes, sir,” David, said, as respectful as a boot in his first week of training. “I’ll get my men posted.”

  The men would be spread painfully thin, but that couldn’t be helped. The engineers were cutting a landing strip three thousand feet long. Loaded with heavy equipment, even an STOL shuttle needed room.

  David gave the eastern side to Tory Kepner and his fire team. David kept the rest on the western side, where any threat, however unlikely, was most apt to appear.

  “Full active sensors,” David said. “Active links to the eyes above. Keep your own eyes open though. The sensors won’t pick up anyone with thermal shielding and an inactive helmet.”

  “We know all that, Sarge,” Alfie said.

  “Humor me, lad,” David said. “I like to hear myself remind you. That way, when you doss out and get yourself fried, I won’t have to feel guilty about it.”

  As the morning erased itself, David had his men improve their defensive positions. “Dig in, it’ll help pass the time,” he told them. From time to time, David made contact with Captain McAuliffe or Hugo Kassner, keeping track of the rest of his platoon and the rest of the war. The main landings on the far side of the river remained on schedule. Resistance was light, but Federation helmets had been turned off in considerable numbers as the enemy went to ground. The Second Regiment hadn’t gone hunting for the occupying forces yet. The operation was still in its first stage, landing and establishing initial positions.

  The Spacehawks from Sheffield were the only Commonwealth units actively seeking out and engaging Federation forces.

  Meanwhile, the combat engineers raced to complete their landing strip. Foot by foot, they cleared obstructing trees, levelled the course, and sprayed the surface of their strip with quickdrying plascrete, several coats. It was a noisy procedure, and occasionally some of David’s men had to move quickly to stay out of the way of falling timber.

  It was noon before the extra line troops arrived, rappelling in over the first completed sections of the landing strip. David answered a call on his command link and went to meet the first load of troops who came down.

  “Sergeant Spencer, I’m Asa Ewing.”

  David lifted his visor. “Good to see you, Lieutenant. Your men ready to take over minding the engineers?”

  Ewi
ng grinned. ‘ ‘Babysitting is better than sitting it out completely.”

  “There’s been no sign of threats here, sir, but I’d sure like to get back to my platoon.”

  “So I hear.” Ewing was still grinning. “Give me a few minutes to get my squads into position and you can take off.”

  “Thank you, sir. We’ll take lunch while your men settle in.”

  Just knowing that they were about to leave perked up David’s squad. Alfie even found time, and the materials, to erect a ‘ ‘Foxhole to Let—CHEAP” sign. The return march took less time than the march out, even though David kept slowing his men down and nagging everyone to keep close watch. Even after they passed through the pickets Delta Company had posted behind the battalion’s main position, David tried to keep his men fully alert.

  “Get your men in position,” McAuliffe told David. “You’re several hours behind in digging in.” When David started to flush, McAuliffe laughed and held up his hand. “Don’t bother. I know, and so does the whole chain of command, all the way to Admiral Truscott.”

  “Is it my butt being fried?” David asked.

  “Just don’t let any of the engineers catch you alone on a dark street for a time,” McAuliffe suggested.

  “I’ll watch it,” David promised. There are always men in the regiment with long memories for grudges. ‘

  ‘Anything interesting going on over on the other side?” David asked.

  “Quiet, so far,” McAuliffe said. “The last update I had was that the Feddies have turned off most of their helmets.”

  “1 take it they’re not dropping dead of fright?”

  This time, McAuliffe’s smile was thin. “No such luck. Somebody on the other side spent time preparing this. They’re going to try to hold out. They must expect reinforcement.”

  “Well, sir, we’d expect it, wouldn’t we? I mean, even if the ships had to bug out.”

  “The RM take care of their own,” McAuliffe said. It was an article of faith.

  “Feddies must feel the same way.” When McAuliffe nodded, David took a moment to think, then said,

  “I’ll get my lads busy, sir.”

  “Let them get what rest they can this afternoon. You’ll have to put out patrols tonight.”

  “Aye, sir. I expected that.”

  16

  When the pilots of fourth squadron were sent to their fighters, it was no panic scramble. They had been sitting in their ready room watching what little action there was below on their complinks.

  “We’ll be looking for targets of opportunity,” Commander Bosworth told her pilots. “Keep your spacing, and stay alert. We’ll stagger the three flights, high, low, and periphery, and move them around, just like a drill.”

  Just like a drill was the cliche of the day.

  “Don’t go getting any dirt on her nose,” Andy Mynott told Josef while they were getting him strapped into the cockpit.

  “Haven’t you got any new advice?” Josef asked.

  “Can’t get you a new bird out here, sir. You don’t bring this one back, we’re all out of work until we get back to port. And I make a terrible spectator.”

  “I’m not overly fond of the sidelines either, Andy.”

  “Third squadron must be raising hell about getting back,” Andy said just before he lowered the canopy over Josef. “You’re going out in a gang launch. The rest have been single shot.”

  Josef held himself to a soft grunt as the canopy came down and sealed itself.

  “Green lights across the board,” he told Andy over the intercom. “Unless you want to ride along, you’d best get your butt back through the airlock.”

  Andy pulled the jack on his headset, flipped Josef a casual salute, and hurried toward the airlock.

  “Red three ready for launch,” Josef reported over the squadron channel.

  “Stand by,” Commander Bosworth said. “Ready for cylinder extension.”

  Josef felt the movement as the LRC slid out from the fuselage of Sheffield and he lost the ship’s artificial gravity. He scanned his screens and telltales again to make sure that no problems had surfaced on board, then toggled the switch that turned full control of his Spacehawk over to the launch master.

  The countdown went without a hitch and the six Spacehawks of red flight were kicked out of their tubes. Around the fuselage of Sheffield, blue and white flights were also ejected from their LRCs.

  During the first minutes, Josef focused his attention completely on the flight, ready to overrule the automatic pilot if necessary. With the neural jack active, he was as much a part of the Zed3 as any of its other instruments or controls. Like most fighter pilots, Josef nursed the conceit that he could react more rapidly to an emergency than the automatic systems. In any case, he had to be prepared to react if those systems failed.

  “Okay, red flight, follow me down,” Commander Bosworth said once the Spacehawks cleared the immediate vicinity of Sheffield. “We’ve got the first lowball detail.”

  Suits me, Josef thought. He watched the commander nose her Spacehawk over until it was pointed directly at the spaceport. Both main rockets kicked him. Off to her right and just behind her, Bosworth’s wingman, Ensign Seb Inowi, matched her maneuvers precisely. Ten seconds later, Josef put his bird into its stoop, and a quick glance at his monitors showed Kate Hicks stuck to her position off to his side.

  Red flight corkscrewed around to approach the settlements from the north. They would brake below the sonic barrier well away from the settlements, sparing the colonists sonic damage. After each run, the Spacehawks would climb south to turn and make another run. Even at stalling speed, the birds had only seconds over the target area. Targets had to be acquired early, or transferred to the next Spacehawks coming through.

  All of the fighters showed the first targets of this mission. “Lock on those blips,” Bosworth told her wingman. “We’ll each shoot two moles.” Moles were thin missiles that would follow an electronic signal back to its source, even if it was several meters underground, below reinforced plascrete.

  “I have a lock,” Seb replied.

  Josef automatically noted the targets on his screen, even though he wouldn’t get a shot at them. If Bosworth and Inowi missed, maybe the last pair of Spacehawks in the flight would have time to lock on.

  Josef and Kate certainly wouldn’t. They would be past the targets before the results were certain.

  The sky was clear, but there was some thin haze low. Commander Bosworth went below five hundred feet as she lined up her targets and released her missiles. Almost simultaneously, Seb launched his moles, and the four missiles left thin vapor trails as they dove toward their targets.

  Fully occupied with his own Spacehawk, Josef was only able to spare the lead pair of birds the slightest fraction of his attention. Eyeballing out the canopy had to be balanced against the demands of the monitors inside the cockpit. It was pure chance that he saw the plume of the fifth missile.

  “Fire coming up!” he shouted over the command channel. Before the words were out of his mouth, the last missile had struck Seb Inowi’s Spacehawk. Fighter and missile erupted in a golden ball of fire.

  Smoke and debris were hurled away from the fireball. Josef pulled back on the control yoke of his own bird, fighting to get above the fragments.

  “I’ve got a lock,” Kate’s voice said, and Josef saw the trail of two missiles launched from her Spacehawk, heading for the ground and the point of origin of the missile that had hit Seb’s fighter.

  “Seb didn’t get out,” Kate added, before her missiles hit.

  The knot in Josefs stomach doubled in size, but there was no time to think about Seb now.

  “Let’s go back around for another pass,” Commander Bosworth said, her voice under precarious control.

  ‘ ‘Watch your butts.”

  There was a numbed air of unreality about the rest of the patrol. The demands of flying and, rarely and briefly, fighting left little room for emotion or extraneous thought. But the memory of Se
b Inowi’s loss was there, reduced perhaps to an icon at the moment, ready to expand into fullscreen awareness as soon as there was time. Seb was the squadron’s first combat loss ever. It had been many years since a pilot had been lost even through accident. When Josef popped the canopy on his bird and Andy Mynott helped him out, there was none of the usual chat. The pilots headed to the ready room for the inescapable postmission debriefing.

  “A rescue and recovery team has been down,” Commander Bosworth announced when she stepped up to the podium. “They didn’t find anything.”

  That was all that Josef would ever remember of that debriefing.

  17

  Nightfall turned the world pale green for Marines in combat helmets. Their optics extended vision into the infrared, showing the results in ghostly overlays on normal vision. From time to time, David Spencer scanned the positions of his men. If a Marine’s uniform, helmet, and field skin were all properly fitted and functional, the man was virtually invisible in infrared. Traces of movement were the most reliable guide to location then. Early this evening, thin, high clouds blocked much of the light of the stars and the one moon that was above the horizon, but there was still a little visible light, enough to detect gross movement on the ground. But the Commonwealth camouflage pattern was well suited to Buchanan. It did not stand out in light or dark.

  Shortly after sunset, David sent his third and fourth squads out on separate patrols to cover the milewide strip of forest between the battalion’s position and the river. After those patrols returned, the first and second squads would go out. Until then, David had little to do but wait.

  That didn’t mean that he wasn’t busy. David kept track of the early patrols, listening in on the squad and noncoms’ frequencies. Captain McAuliffe relayed the main points of the evening briefing from fleet command. Before sunset, the two settlements and spaceport had been ringed. Second and Third Battalions had linked up and had extended their lines to the river on either side of the two towns. No attempt had been made to advance into the towns yet. Opposition remained light. The Federation troops refused to engage. Threequarters of the troops originally pinpointed by their helmet electronics had switched off and moved almost immediately. Now there wasn’t a single Federation helmet being tracked. Very few of the missing enemy had been located so far. Commonwealth losses had been light on the ground; three killed, two wounded and evacuated to Sheffield. The one major loss was the single Spacehawk and pilot lost to a surfacetoair missile. The engineers were still working, trying to get their road built through the forest.