First To Fight

by David Sherman

  "Bring in the view," Conorado ordered. The scale of the map on the screen immediately changed so that the circle of green reached almost to the edges. He looked at the view and shook his head. Buildings were in the way. From its angle of view, the satellite couldn't pick up enough detail of what was happening on the streets.

  The Marine captain didn't even glance at the navy admiral before beginning his intelligence, assessment, planning, and action sequence. Admiral Willis, for his part, may have been the senior man present, but he knew when to defer to the expertise of others and stood quietly out of the way, regathering his dignity after being hustled out of the square.

  "What are you getting from your UAVs, Cowboy?"

  "Cowboy" Bill Flett, the company's unmanned aerial vehicle chief, sat with his head encased in a virtual reality helmet and his hands and feet on the controls of his remote-controlled reconnaissance drone. On the other side of the room Corporal "Speed" MacLeash, the company's other UAV man, was operating another recon drone.

  "OP Delta is under attack by unidentified people inside two facing buildings," Flett answered. Observation Point D, OP Delta, was represented on the map by the green spot to the southeast. The eight OPs, located at a distance of three blocks from the square, were each manned by three Marines from first platoon. The assault section that came down with them in the first wave was on building tops immediately around the square.

  "Any idea how many attackers, or how they're armed?"

  "They're using projectile weapons, Skipper, I can see that much. There might be a reinforced squad, it's hard to tell. I'm looking for the mortar."

  "Find it." Conorado turned his attention to the other UAV man. "What do you have, MacLeash?"

  "OP Golf is under assault. I see about two squads maneuvering through the street toward them." He paused, wondering if he should continue, then added, "You're not going to believe this, sir, but they're wearing skirts."

  "What? Golf is being attacked by women?"

  "Nossir, not unless the women here have hairy faces. It's men with beards, but they're wearing skirts and blouses."

  "Skirts. Right." Conorado concluded they were probably Bos Kashi. The Siad wore robes MacLeash would have described as "dresses." A corner of his mouth twitched as he realized the briefings he and Myer gave the Marines on board the Gordon hadn't included enough ethnic information on the inhabitants of Elneal. MacLeash had one small unit under observation. Conorado wondered if one of the other warrior tribes was also in the city. Was one of those groups attacking Delta, or were they ready to attack elsewhere in the city? And who was on the mortar?

  "Do you see anybody on rooftops?"

  Both reconnaissance men answered in the negative.

  "Do you see anybody else?"

  "Not in the patterns we've been flying," Flett answered. Inside his helmet, he was able to switch points of view between the UAV he controlled and the one MacLeash was flying, which he did frequently enough to be on top of what his assistant was observing. "Radio," Conorado said.

  "OP Delta reports no casualties," replied the company's senior communications man, Corporal Escarpo. "They think they took out two of the men with projectile weapons, and fire has slackened. OP Golf reports they've got their attackers pinned down and unable to return fire. No other OPs report any hostile activity."

  Conorado nodded to himself. These attacks on the two observation points could be isolated actions undertaken by a few Bos Kashi who wanted to demonstrate their lack of fear of the Marines before laying down their arms. It didn't have to mean any real resistance was going on, but making a wrong assumption could be disastrous. He needed more information.

  "Get me third platoon's command unit," he told Escarpo, and put his helmet on. "And send them a map."

  The communications man touched several buttons on his radio.

  Almost immediately Conorado heard Lance Corporal "Moose" Dupont, third platoon's communications man, in his earphones acknowledging the call.

  "Three Four," Conorado said—he almost said "Three Actual," but remembered in time that Bass was no longer the platoon commander, "this is Six Actual. Do you see the map yet?"

  There was a brief hesitation before Bass answered, "I've got it."

  Conorado imagined Ensign Baccacio handing over the commander's locator, and knew he'd have to explain to him why he was giving his orders to the platoon sergeant instead of to the officer in charge. But that could wait. He also knew he should be giving these orders to Ensign Baccacio, but he wanted an experienced man in command of the situation. Too much, including the lives of his men, depended on the man in charge. He leaned over Escarpo's shoulder and tapped a few keys on the pad. "Your position is marked in blue. OP Golf is green. The red-speckled area west of Golf is approximately two squads of Bos Kashi with projectile weapons. They are pinned down. Take your platoon and round them up.

  Recon Two will fly for you. I want at least one live prisoner. Any questions?"

  "They have projectile weapons, and we don't have body armor," Bass replied.

  "You're in armored vehicles."

  "On our way, sir."

  Conorado flicked off his radio and glanced at MacLeash to make sure he got the message to fly reconnaissance for third platoon. "Recon, project," he said. The two smaller wall screens blinked on, slowing the view from the two UAVs. Recon One, being flown by Flett, was well above the city, flying a quartering pattern in the direction the mortar rounds had come from. Recon Two gave a clear picture of the street where OP Golf was fighting. The two squads of Bos Kashi had good cover from their front, but most of the fighters were fully exposed to their rear.

  "Do you see what I do, Charlie?" Conorado asked into his radio.

  "That's an affirmative, Skipper," Bass replied. "We can walk right up on them. Just make sure Golf knows we're on our way."

  "Sir," Escarpo interrupted before Conorado could acknowledge Bass's request. "Delta reports heavier fire from the buildings and requests suppressive fire."

  Conorado looked at Willis for the first time since entering the command post. "Sir, how hard do we have to try to avoid damaging the buildings?"

  There was a cease-fire in effect, and someone had violated it. Because of the cease-fire, the Marines came in unequipped for all-out combat; they were peacekeepers who were attacked. More, Admiral Willis had seen the carnage the Bos Kashi and others had inflicted on innocent civilians. As far as he was concerned, they were vermin to be disposed of as quickly as possible. He didn't have to think about it before saying, "The Negev Protocol is authorized, Captain." He then looked toward an apparently blank stretch of wall and added in a strong, clear voice, "For the record, I am P'Marc Willis, Fleet Admiral of the Confederation Navy. I hereby authorize the Marines on Elneal to put into effect the Negev Protocol." The microphone concealed in the wall dutifully recorded the Admiral's statement.

  Twenty years earlier, the Marines had a peacekeeping mission on Alhambra. A squad came under heavy fire from a large number of men in a village in the Negev district. The squad leader, seeing that his men were severely outnumbered and in extreme danger, called in an air strike, which leveled the village. Two hundred civilians were killed, along with every man in the unit that had fired on the Marines. The Marine brigadier in command of the mission immediately backed up the squad leader's decision and announced that any further attacks on Marines would be met with overwhelming and devastating force. No one fired on a Marine for the remaining four standard months of the mission—and no villagers harbored armed men who wanted to resist the peacekeepers. Such a strong response became known as the "Negev Protocol." There was no clear policy on when the protocol should be used. It was left up to the commander on the scene to determine if his forces were in danger of unprovoked attack and if massive retaliation was appropriate.

  Admiral Willis thought it was appropriate in these circumstances. Captain Conorado unhesitatingly agreed—those were his men out there with their lives in danger.

  Conorado activated
the all-hands circuit in his helmet radio. "All hands, now hear this," he said. "This is Captain Conorado, commander of Company L, 34th FIST." He used his name and position to make it absolutely clear to everyone who was speaking. "Until further notice, the Negev Protocol is in effect. If anyone shoots at you, or threatens you, you are authorized to use all necessary lethal and destructive force to stop whatever threat you are faced with. That is all." Then he turned on the circuit to the assault platoon headquarters unit and ordered, "Get a section to where it can support Delta. Knock down as many buildings as you have to to convince whoever's shooting at those Marines that it's a bad idea."

  From the instant Bass realized Conorado was leaving him in command of the platoon, he carefully avoided looking at Baccacio. He could imagine what was going through the young officer's mind. When he got a moment, he'd think of a way of explaining to the ensign that this was a good training opportunity, but in the meantime he had a strike to plan and execute. Bass spent a few seconds examining the map on the locator. Both his position and OP Golfs were precisely marked—where the Bos Kashi were located was more generally indicated. As he moved forward to the crew chiefs station he took stock of who was in the Dragon. He had his own first squad and one assault gun team, along with half a squad from second platoon.

  The crew chief was examining his own map of the area, which showed not only the same positions that were marked on Bass's map, but all the vehicles of his platoon.

  "How does this look to you?" Bass asked, tracing a route that would bring the two armored vehicles to less than a block behind the pinned-down Bos Kashi.

  "If we do it this way," the crew chief traced two lines on his map display, "we get them caught in a three-way cross fire, and neither of my vehicles blocks the other."

  Bass thought about the suggestion for a second or two and saw it would take only half a minute longer for them to arrive at the two-way positions. He clapped the crew chief on the shoulder. "Let's do it." If they didn't run into anyone else along the way, it would be fairly easy.

  The crew chief gave his driver a hand signal and spoke into his radio. The two Dragons carrying third platoon and part of second roared out of the square at high speed.

  Bass glanced at the crew chiefs map to get the designations of the two vehicles and flicked on his radio. "Foxtrot Five is going to November Twenty-seven," he said, reading off the map coordinates of his vehicle's destination, "and Foxtrot Six is going to Oscar Twenty-eight." He pressed the button on the locator that sent the map image to the Heads Up Display in the squad leaders' helmets. "When we get where we are going, third platoon will dismount and take positions on line facing the Bos Kashi. The members of second platoon who are with us will dismount and take defensive positions facing the rear, and will be the reserve. When we are in position, I will hail the Bos Kashi and demand surrender. We are here to capture them, not kill them. Nobody fire until I give the word, or unless fired upon. Questions?" There weren't any. Bass didn't turn off the HUD transmission; his squad leaders could cancel it individually when they had seen enough to know where they were going and what they'd do once they got there.

  Baccacio had come up next to Bass as he was transmitting, and the platoon sergeant now looked at him.

  "Just like an immediate reaction drill," Bass said. "Except lives are on the line."

  Baccacio's jaw was locked too tightly to speak. He nodded curtly.

  It took less than two minutes for the two Dragons to get into position to dismount their passengers, but that was long enough for Conorado to come back on the radio with his all-hands message.

  "Negev," Baccacio said, a skull-like grin splitting his face. "You don't hail them, Bass. We get in position and fry them."

  Bass gave Baccacio a steady look. "The Skipper wants a prisoner. We hail first."

  "Negev, Bass," Baccacio repeated. "He didn't say anything about prisoners this time. He said Negev. We fry them."

  Bass kept his eyes fixed on the ensign's as he flicked on the company command circuit. "Question for Six Actual, this is Three Four. Do you still want a prisoner?"

  Conorado's voice came back immediately. "Capture all of them if you can, but don't hesitate to kill as many of them as you have to. I want at least one prisoner. I say again, I want at least one prisoner."

  "I hail them," Bass said after signing off.

  Baccacio glared at him.

  The Marines within hearing studiously avoided looking at them.

  The chemical reaction explosions from the gunfire the Bos Kashi were directing toward the Marine observation post that had them pinned down, combined with the crackling of shattered masonry from the Marines' blasters, kept them from noticing the noise of the approaching Dragons, so the vehicles were able to get as close as Bass wanted. When Foxtrot Six radioed that it was in position, Bass gave the order to dismount. "Squad leaders, you know what to do," he added.

  The squad leaders did know, and in fifteen seconds the men of third platoon were under cover and deployed, facing the Bos Kashi who were still pinned down by OP Golfs fire.

  As soon as Bass assured himself that his men were in position, he filled his lungs and bellowed, "Bos Kashi, you are surrounded by Confederation Marines. Surrender and you will live."

  "We are Bos Kashi," shouted back a defiant voice. "We do not surrender. We kill!" More gunfire erupted from the Bos Kashi, but Bass's voice had echoed off the walls, so they couldn't tell where he was and their bullets went wild. Bass was about to order one fire team in each position to return fire when more gunfire broke out behind his other unit, and he heard Eagle's Cry over the radio:

  "We're being hit from the rear by a force of unknown size. I am redeploying to face it."

  Chapter Nineteen

  "Kerr, can you move?" Eagle's Cry asked his first fire team leader as soon as he finished his report.

  "I think so," Kerr answered, but he didn't sound certain. He'd faced projectile weapons before, but this was the first time he'd faced lead bullets without wearing body armor. "They don't seem to be hitting near us." They weren't. The Bos Kashi attacking from the rear were concentrating their fire on the rear guard from second platoon.

  "Stay low," Eagle's Cry told him. "Get to that building to your left, then go around it and see if you can flank them. We've got Recon Two. I'll let you know as soon as I hear anything from them."

  "On our way." Kerr signaled to his men, Schultz and McNeal, and started crawling on his belly toward the house to his side.

  McNeal looked across the rubble-littered pavement toward the building they were headed for, saw it was only twenty meters distant, then flattened himself on the ground and began following Schultz's inchworming body. No sooner had he started than a bullet cracked over his head. He'd thought he was already flat on the ground, but the nearness of the projectile made him somehow hug it even closer. He crawled and crawled, scraping his face so close to the pavement he thought he might never have to shave again. He pressed his chest, belly, and thighs so tightly to the ground he was certain he was fraying the material of his uniform right off his body.

  When he felt that he'd gone far enough to be well behind the building, he raised his head to look for Kerr and Schultz. Kerr was on his feet, hunched over, looking around the building's far corner. Schultz was a few meters behind the fire team leader, on one knee, looking back and grinning at McNeal.

  Schultz pumped one fist up and down in the "Hurry up" signal. "You taking a nap back there, McNeal?" he called. "Get a move on."

  McNeal groaned—he had covered only half the distance.

  The crack and sizzle of Marine blasters was louder than the bang and zing of Bos Kashi bullets, building blocks cracking thunderously from being hit by Marine fire almost completely drowning out the whine of projectile ricochets. The sounds told McNeal that the Marines had the upper hand in this firefight. They had to, didn't they? Didn't they? Still, he felt more naked than he ever had in his life. Without thinking about what he was doing, he surged to his feet and reac
hed the cover of the building in three rapid strides.

  Still grinning, Schultz shook his head. "Good going, bright eyes. You just told them where we are."

  Hyperventilating as he was, McNeal barely heard Schultz's words, but still managed to understand them. "But..." he gasped, "how did you...?"

  "Don't worry about it," Schultz said. "You get caught in the open like that another time or two, you'll learn how to crawl fast." He turned his head toward Kerr and added in a lower voice, "If you live that long."

  Kerr pulled back from the corner of the building and faced his men. He studied McNeal a brief moment, then decided the young man's expression indicated anxiety and not panic. He was sure McNeal could work his way through the anxiety, and that it wouldn't affect his ability to function. He gestured for McNeal and Schultz to come closer. Quickly, he shifted pebbles, chunks of masonry, and bits of wood to make a three-dimensional map.

  "This is OP Golf." He plunked down a broken brick. "These are the buildings lining the street, running away from it." He laid out two parallel strips of scrap wood with one end at the brick. "This is first squad." A scattering of pebbles went behind the far end of one of the wood scraps. "This is second squad." Another scattering of pebbles behind the far end of the other scrap. "This is our building." He touched the building they huddled against with one hand while the other placed a small chunk of masonry to the left rear of the second-squad pebbles. "Here's the fire team from second platoon." Three pebbles went into place farther from the strips of wood indicating the street; another scrap placed at an acute angle across their front showed the far side of the street the second platoon fire team was blocking; a chunk of masonry to the right front of the one indicating the building they were behind showed the next building over. "I couldn't see anything around the building, but Recon Two reports there's a squad of Bos Kashi here." He scattered a few pebbles just beyond the second masonry chunk. "Recon Two doesn't see anyone else, so we go here." He used his finger to line a route behind their building and the next one to their right front. "Is that clear?"