by Rick Shelley
“Or can they hide their electronics so well that you just can’t see them?”
David had shook his head violently at that—instinct reacting before he had time to put rational thought to it. ‘ ‘They switched their helmets back on when they ambushed us in the forest. We saw their electronics the second they did.”
That discussion had been interrupted for supper. The table talk had been much different. It was a reunion for Doug and his family. They wanted to know what he had done while he was gone, and he asked how they had fared during the occupation. The two Marines had listened without taking any active part.
The sun started to slip below the horizon. On the porch, Doug took a deep breath and looked around at the houses that were close to the Genners’ home. Lights were on in every house. Folks were hurrying to get their lives back to normal.
The time that Doug had spent on the complink had provided a lot of information, most of it negative.
The one major item of tragic news had been the report of the death of Franz Bennelin. As close as anyone could tell, he had attempted to destroy his complink terminal when the Federation troops burst into his home. He had apparently succeeded. Either that or the terminal had been destroyed when the troops opened fire on him.
“He made it impossible for the enemy to get our population database,” Doug had explained to the Marines. Franz’s terminal had contained the undeletable master files. The other members of the commission, the ones who had been on the net with Doug at the time, had managed to wipe their copies.
“They never knew who was missing.” What he still found hard to put into words, even as a thought, was that Franz and the others had made his own escape possible. The Federation soldiers could never be sure how many people were missing, or who.
“Having second thoughts about continuing?”
Doug spun around quickly. He had been so rapt in his thoughts that he hadn’t heard anyone come up.
David was standing in the doorway.
“You gave me a turn,” Doug said. “My nerves aren’t what they should be.”
“After what you’ve been through, you’re doing terrific.” David grinned. “You’d have done the Royal Marines proud. For someone who hasn’t had all the training and drills…” He shook his head. “Let me put it this way. If one of my lads had been daring enough to launch that MR, and had the foresight to do it, then managed to survive alone in the wild as long as you and your friends did, and finally came back in and knocked out three enemy shuttles without a single casualty, he’d be up for every medal His Majesty’s Combined Space Forces have to give. Probably get a King’s Cross and cluster, and His Majesty would hang it around his neck himself, like as not.”
“You’ll have me blushing,” Doug said.
“Get used to it. You’re a genuine hero, without all the bleeding most heroes have to go through. I’ve already told your wife and family everything I just told you.”
“I wish you hadn’t, really,” Doug said after a little stammering.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” David said.
Doug made a quick gesture, dismissing the matter, and turned to look at the sunset again. David moved closer to the porch railing and watched with him.
“I’d just as soon forget any of it ever happened,” Doug said. “We did what we had to do. I find it rather hard to believe now. It’s like something out of a juvenile adventure vid.”
“You have done your bit, you know,” David said. “Everyone will understand if you want to leave the rest to us. You’ve got a government to reorganize and such.”
Doug didn’t hesitate, shaking his head decisively. “No. I’ll see this through. It’s something I have to do.
I’m not certain I can explain the why.” After the last of the sun disappeared behind the horizon, Doug turned to David. “The first duty of a government is to keep its people safe. Without that, nothing else is possible. I had a lot of time to think while I was hiding in that cave. I had to try to understand why I had done what I had, why I was off hiding like a hermit, grimy, hungry, maybe no more than halfsane.”
“I still say you’ve done remarkably well,” David said softly. “I wish I could be sure that I’d do half as well in similar circumstances.”
When David and Doug went back into the house, Asa Ewing was busy on his helmet complink, moving Delta Company into position and coordinating with the other companies that were to turn their attention to the Park. David put on his own helmet so he could follow the discussion. As needed, he transmitted on his noncom circuit to the squad leaders in his platoon. For a few minutes the need to concentrate on two overlapping conversations took all his attention. The snap back from the light society of the dinner table to full military responsibility shut out the civilians completely.
They seemed to sense that. Doug escorted the others back toward the door leading down to the cellar.
“Until we see how this goes, you’d better play it safe,” he told them.
“You’re not going back out there, are you?” Elena asked.
“The job’s not finished. I can’t quit yet.”
“You’ve done more than anyone could decently ask,” Elena insisted.
“I haven’t done more than I can ask,” he told her softly.
After Elena and the others headed down the steps, Doug went back to the two Marines and put on his own helmet. He glanced at a wine bottle on the dining room table. I’d like one more drink, he thought, but he refused to take it.
Approaching the Park with David’s first squad, Doug felt curiously at ease. He was alert but no longer particularly nervous. Spencer was directly in front of Doug. The squad’s two fire teams moved parallel to each other, the men all ten to fifteen feet apart.
I’ve got to be careful, Doug thought. I can’t be the weak link that hurts any of these men.
Delta Company and I&R platoon were to cross the Park, north to south, using the main path joining Sam and Max, and establish fire points at primary intersections, leaving a fire team or squad at each. More importantly, they were the decoys being sent in to flush any Federation rabbits who might be hiding.
Other units had ringed the greenbelt, ready to intercept any Federation soldiers who tried to flee, ready to move in to assist—or rescue—the men crossing the center of the woods.
Watch yer buns now, Alfie lad, he told himself as he took the point into the forest. You haven’t got yer last convalescent leave yet. Don’t go earning another. He kept his mouth shut. There was enough to concentrate on without useless chat, and even Alfie Edwards knew when to stand mum. He walked slowly into the wood, looking around constantly, using the infrared and sound detectors in his helmet as well as the full headup display on his visor. Integrating it all was second nature. He never even thought of the complexity. His rifle was a needier, able to spray two thousand highvelocity darts a minute. The darts, each threequarters of an inch long, could clear quite a swathe, shredding everything in their path until there was nothing left out to a hundred yards.
It had taken Alfie five years to earn the privilege of carrying a needier. No matter what the sergeant or his mates said about Alfie’s jokes and carrying on, he knew that he was secure as long as he continued to carry the needier for his fire team.
Occasionally, Spencer passed instructions on the squad frequency. A couple of times, Doug Weintraub provided a detail of information on the terrain they were approaching. Doug’s voice was loud on the channel; he hadn’t had the proper practice at this sort of drill. The microphones in the helmets would pick up even the softest whisper.
“Off to the right, just a few steps ahead, there’s a clearing,” Doug said now. “About twenty five feet from this path, with thick brambles between. There’s a smaller path, a hundred feet on yet, that curves around and back to it.”
At the front of the line, Alfie whispered a soft “Roger,” to show that he had heard and understood.
Bloody fine place for an ambush, Alfie thought, and he moved the muzzle of his needier
in that direction, ready for an ambush if it should come.
It did.
Prepared for the possibility, almost anticipating the instant when it came, Alfie was on his way down as the first shots sounded, even before the scattering of red blips appeared on his visor display. He shouted a warning over the squad frequency and opened up with his needier before he hit the ground. Alfie fired in short bursts, clearing a way through the trees and vines, knowing that even in the first seconds some of his needles would reach the enemy positions, though none of the red blips disappeared as quickly as he might have hoped.
Farther back along the path, Doug didn’t get his rifle into play nearly as soon as the Marines did. He dropped to the ground sprightly enough, but while the Marines hit the ground already moving into firing positions, it was two separate motions for Doug. And even though his rifle was an autoloader, it wasn’t fully automatic like the Marine weapons. He had to squeeze the trigger for each shot.
There wasn’t time to get many shots off. One by one, the red blips disappeared from his visor, and as the last one vanished, Spencer whistled softly over the squad frequency and the Marines stopped shooting.
“Tory, take your team in and make sure they’re all accounted for,” David ordered. “We had seven blips.
I want seven bodies, hot or cold.”
Tory Kepner and two others got up and trotted toward the connecting path that led back to the clearing.
They hadn’t quite reached the intersection when there was an explosion just in front of them, and more shooting started as another lot of red blips appeared—this group farther south along the main path.
“We’re in for it now,” a voice on the squad frequency said. Doug didn’t have any idea whose voice it was.
This firefight went as quickly as the first. It ended when another squad of the I&R platoon shot off a volley of grenades that dropped behind and among the red blips, erasing them.
“Hugo, move up past us, with third and fourth squads,” David ordered tightly. “Lieutenant Ewing, we need help. I’ve got casualties.”
Doug realized that he had been holding his breath and let it out. He scarcely had finished that thought when David Spencer crawled over to him.
“How do you feel?” David asked. “You in much pain?”
Feel? Pain? Doug stared at his new friend, not comprehending. It took forever before he managed to ask, ‘ ‘What do you mean?” The dreamy, halfconscious slur in his voice shocked him. I’ve been hit! The shock he felt was more surprise than anything else. He didn’t feel any pain. He didn’t feel anything at all, other than surprise.
“Just let me take care of things,” David said, opening Doug’s visor. David pulled two med patches from his belt pouch and slapped them on Doug’s neck. Then he stuck him with an injector of nanoscrubbers.
I wish I’d had that last drink, Doug thought. I don’t want to die thirsty. He was only vaguely aware of what David was doing. He scarcely noticed at all as other Marines ran past, jumping over them when necessary, moving deeper into the Park.
And then he slipped into a dream.
David checked Doug’s vital signs again. They were weak, but quickly stabilized as the drugs and molecular machines went to work. It was time to turn his attention to the others who had been hit. David was kneeling over Tory Kepner, who had already been given first aid, when Asa Ewing arrived and knelt beside him.
“How bad?” Ewing asked.
“I’ve got four men injured,” David said. “So far, it looks like they’ll all pull through if we get them up to Victoria in a hurry. One of the wounded is Weintraub.”
Ewing whistled. “What’s his condition?”
“I think his spinal cord’s been damaged, maybe severed. He didn’t even know he’d been hit.”
“That’s going to boil some blood,” Ewing said softly.
“I know. I was supposed to take special care of him. But he’ll be okay. Tory here is in worse shape. He took about a pound of shrapnel.”
“We’ll carry the wounded around to that clearing the first ambush came from. Medevac will pick them up there. The shuttle’s already moving into position. Any wounded in your other squads?”
David had to call the other squad leaders before he could relay the negative to Ewing. “But first squad is gone,” David said. “Besides me, there are only two men who weren’t hit.”
“Turn your platoon over to your number two, Spencer, and I’ll rotate them to the rear of Delta,” Ewing said. “Take your whole squad up to Victoria. We’ll finish this go.”
“I’ll send the others, but I can still run my platoon,” David said.
“Forget that nonsense,” Ewing said sharply. “Look at your own vitals, man. You’re too stressed out to be effective. You’d be like an ox dancing on glass.”
David was about to click over to another frequency to appeal the decision to Captain McAuliffe when the captain came on line.
“It was my order, Spencer,” McAuliffe said. “Get your men up to Victoria. As soon as this patrol is over, I’m pulling the whole platoon. You lads have had the brunt of everything since we landed. You all need a couple of days.”
David opened his mouth to argue, but the fight drained out of him then, without warning. “Aye, Captain.
Going up.”
There were seven bodies in the clearing. David counted them for himself, twice, while he waited for the medevac shuttle to lower the first litter basket. A voice from Delta Company passed along the news that there were four more Federation bodies farther along the main path, where the second ambush had come from—four bodies and one badly wounded soldier. He would make the ride up to Victoria with the other wounded.
“Bang up job, huh, Sarge?” Alfie asked when Spencer knelt to check on him. “That makes it two convalescent leaves you owe me.” The first had been earned as a result of a work accident on Devereaux.
“Anything to get out of an honest day’s work,” David said lightly. “I’m surprised at you, Alfie. I thought you were turning into a real Marine.”
Alfie laughed, but with some difficulty. Despite the pressure bandages across his chest and stomach, and the med patches and all, he could still feel pain, if not so much that he couldn’t think of anything else.
“We don’t get out of here soon,” Alfie said after a moment, “I’ll be able to retire off convalescent leaves.
That’d fix you up right enough.”
“Dream on, laddie,” David said, smiling behind his visor. “Dream on.”
Part 6
24
Admiral Truscott appeared totally relaxed, as fully at ease as Ian had ever seen him. They were alone, sitting at the flatscreen chart table in the admiral’s day cabin. Truscott was in his bathrobe, tracking the progress of the mission to clear the greenbelt between Buchanan’s two towns. A speaker provided a soundtrack of the frequencies being used by the Marines in the woods. Each time a skirmish occurred, Truscott would close his eyes for a moment. The view available on the flatscreen was incomplete because of the trees and the darkness. Infrared could tell him only so much. An occasional glimpse at the map of the forest to locate each new group of red blips, to see where the larger numbers of green blips were positioned, was sufficient to fuel Truscott’s imagination. That gave him a better picture of the action.
“It still comes down to basics,” he whispered at one point. “Strip away all the technology, and what those men down there are doing is no different from the first fighting humans did, tens of thousands of years ago, when the warriors of one tribe went out to bash in the heads of the warriors of the next tribe with crude axes and clubs.”
“Does it ever make you wonder whether we’ve learned anything at all?” Ian asked.
“We’ve learned how to do the job more efficiently. Mind, I’ve never been sure if that’s progress. Perhaps not, in the greater sense. I can make the argument either way. The need, real or imagined, for one group of humans to protect itself from another has also led to the developmen
t of most of the major innovations that have made our civilization what it is today.” He made an airy gesture with one hand, then shook his head.
“Everything turns into fodder for people like you and me, Ian. Example. Ever since we started moving into space, people have talked about how the human diaspora would make major war impossible. At the same time, we created ships like Sheffield and Victoria, and weapons that we could scarcely have imagined before the diaspora—weapons no one could authoritatively say would ever be needed, or practical. It looks as if the human animal will find a way to fight no matter the obstacles. I’ve become quite willing to accept the argument that it’s hardwired into our genes.”
Ian had heard the admiral’s lectures on the subject on other occasions. One of the canned talks that Truscott dusted off for his occasional public appearances dealt with the seeming contradictions implicit in the Commonwealth’s oftstated need to prepare for a war that might never come, that might not even be feasible. The Federation’s longstanding claims of sovereignty over all human worlds had served many generations of Commonwealth military leaders with every argument they needed to build and maintain the Combined Space Forces and layers of planetary defense systems.
“And you really believe this engagement will turn into something more than it is now?” Ian asked.
“I’ve a feeling about it, Ian.” Truscott held up a hand as a burst of activity sounded on the Marine command channel. Another group of Federation soldiers had been flushed. This fight went as the others had. The enemy had a brief initial advantage, switching on their helmets only as they sprang their ambush, but they quickly lost that advantage, and the engagement.
“We’re taking too many casualties,” Truscott said afterward. “But unless we can come up with a better way to detect them before they switch on, I don’t know of any way to avoid it, other than burning out whole patches like that greenbelt, and we can’t do that.”
“It could be worse, sir,” Ian said. “We could have more killed and fewer wounded. Between field skins and nanoscrubbers, we’re saving almost all our people. The Feddies don’t seem to have anything to compare.”