Operation Sierra-75

by Thomas S. Gressman

  “That’s right, Marine,” Taggart said, beating Frost to the punch. “Dade, I guess you and Black had better get on the stick and move out. I’m still not certain what we’re dealing with here. If, as I’m beginning to suspect, it is a new alien race, we just might have a little more time than we would if we were dealing with the Neo-Sovs. Aliens might sit back a bit and try to analyze what just happened here. If we’re quick about it, we can get in to the wreck site, grab whatever survivors there might be, and bounce back across the hills to the LZ before they have much of a chance to react.”

  “If it is the Neo-Sovs, and I’m beginning to doubt that, we know what they’ll do. They’ll think about it for all of fifteen minutes, then send out a larger, well-equipped force and land on us with both feet. Either way, our best chance at grabbing the survivors and getting off this rock in one piece is for us to get a move on.”

  “Semper fi,” Dade muttered, quoting the abbreviated version of the Marine Corps motto.

  “Hoo-rah.” Taggart’s sarcastic response elicited some laughter from his troops, including Gunnery Sergeant Onawa Frost. “Move out, Dade. We’ll go with a five-minute lead time. If you run into trouble, holler, and we’ll come in to bail you out.”

  “Or to give us a decent burial, whichever comes first,” Black said.

  Without waiting for a response from their commanding officer, the scouts hefted their weapons and started off down the rift valley.

  As he watched the scouts picking their way across the valley floor, Taggart motioned Gunny Frost aside.

  “Onawa, you notice anything strange about all these trails we’ve been seeing?”

  “Everything about these trails is strange, sir,” Frost answered. “You got anything particular in mind?”

  “Yeah. We’ve seen signs of what now, four different walkers, and about a hundred mutants? If it is the Neo-Sovs, why haven’t we seen any booted feet?” Taggart waved a hand to indicate the unseen Neo-Soviet troops. “They’d have mutant handlers out with these critters, wouldn’t they? Every other class of Soviet mutant has at least one handler for every two or three mutants, right? And the handlers are unaltered humans, aren’t they? So where are the handlers? Where are the Vanguard troops who’d be protecting an operation like this?”

  “I’m beginning to wonder about that myself, sir.”

  * * *

  Moving along the valley floor took longer than the Marines had reckoned on. By the time Dade and Black reported that they had reached the crash site, the shadows were already beginning to lengthen into evening.

  “Lion, this is Falcon,” Dade called. “Falcon has reached the objective. We are two-zero-zero meters north of the objective. We have no activity in evidence. Request instructions.”

  “Falcon, Lion,” Taggart replied. “Hold position and continue surveillance. I am bringing the rest of the team up. We will hold five-zero meters short of your position.”

  “Roger, Lion,” Dade said. “Falcon will hold position and continue surveillance. If we spot anything, boss, we’ll let you know.”

  “Good enough, Falcon,” Taggart said with a thin smile. “Lion will be there shortly.”

  Thirty minutes later, the platoon, with the medical team in tow, reached the shelter of a shallow defile fifty meters north of the hide selected by the scouts. Taggart ordered his troops to remain in the cover of the defilade while he and Gunnery Sergeant Frost joined Dade and Black.

  Taggart and Gunny Frost dropped their heavy combat packs, taking with them only their rifles, sidearms, and the small items of gear clipped to their combat harnesses. Across the narrow defile, Dr. Lieutenant Cortez did likewise. Taggart caught Frost’s eye, and jerked his chin toward the Navy medic. Frost glanced at Cortez and shot a questioning look at her commander, who simply shrugged.

  “Dr. Cortez?” he called quietly. “I assume you want to go with Gunny Frost and me.”

  “That’s right, Captain,” Cortez said challengingly.

  “All right, I’m not going to argue with you this time,” Taggart said. “But make sure you keep your head down and stay quiet. We don’t know if the enemy has found Cabot yet. If he has, there’s a more than even chance that it was his troops and not survivors we saw from the ridge. Let’s not give away any more of our advantage than we already have.”

  Cortez gave no other reply than an icy stare.

  Gunny Frost let out a half-amused snort of laughter and slapped Taggart lightly on the back.

  “C’mon, sir, I’ll take point. You hang back a bit and make sure she doesn’t trip over her own feet.”

  “Listen, Sergeant,” Cortez snapped. “I may be a naval officer, and MCF at that, but I can assure you that I went through basic training, the same as you did. I can handle myself if need be.”

  “Yes, Lieutenant,” Frost said, her grin fading into a blank, unreadable expression. “I’m sure you can at that.”

  Without another word, Frost turned on her heel and crept out of the defile.

  Crawling fifty meters on one’s belly, while strenuous, is usually not a difficult proposition. When that same distance must be crossed quietly, and unseen, the process can become torturous, both physically and psychologically. Gunnery Sergeant Frost was one of the best in the business. As Taggart watched, she moved from one bit of cover to the next. She cradled her shotgun in her arms, scuttling along the ground on her elbows and hips in what was often called a high crawl. Once she had reached a point of cover a dozen meters away from the platoon’s hiding place, Frost paused. She glanced around, making sure no one had seen her moving. Satisfied that she had not been spotted, she gestured sharply at Taggart.

  “All right, Doctor, you wanted to come along. Crawl out there and join Gunny Frost. I’ll cover you from here.”

  Cortez gave the Marine captain a cold look, and dropped onto her belly. Unburdened by either rifle or combat harness, she moved more rapidly than did Gunny Frost. Watching the doctor as she wriggled across the gently sloping ground, Taggart found himself mildly impressed with Cortez’s reasonably stealthy movement toward the scouts’ observation post.

  Atop a low rise in the ground, the scouts had located a shallow nest between several large rocks. The reconnaissance team had carefully moved small stones to form a low wall in front of their position. The site overlooked the place where the survey ship Cabot had come to rest.

  “There she is, sir,” Dade said, once Taggart and Frost had ensconced themselves behind the low rock rampart. Taggart brought his electronic binoculars to his eyes and gazed in the direction his scout had indicated. Beside him Onawa Frost did the same.

  From two-hundred-odd meters away, Taggart saw that the aftersection of the ship was a mass of twisted metal. The shredded skin and structural members all bore greasy-looking black streaks, as though they had been smeared with dirty engine oil and soot. Many of the steel splinters appeared to be splayed outward, away from the vessel’s spine.

  “Gunny, you see this? The damage to her aftersection looks like a missile hit, or maybe a fuel or engine explosion,” Taggart said quietly.

  “Yeah,” Frost replied. “And she seems to have had a fire on board too. Look at her for’ard. Her hull is crumpled. I can see a few breaks in her skin, too.

  Taggart elevated his glasses to examine the survey ship’s forward section. Aside from spatters of mud, plowed up by the ship’s long slide along the valley floor, the ship’s paint was unmarked by the friction heating that normally occurs with an atmospheric entry.

  Taggart said, “Looks like she was under command when she entered the atmosphere. I can’t see her belly heat shield, but there doesn’t seem to be any reentry charring on her upper works. The pilot must have had enough control to keep her oriented properly for a hot reentry.”

  Taggart knew that Cabot had been designed to make slow, gliding reentries, rather than the straight plunge into the atmosphere that had characterized spacecraft of the previous century. Still, most S-Corps vessels were outfitted with a thick heat shield,
protecting their belly and nose, should a hot reentry be necessary.

  “What concerns me more is that there is no one moving around down there.” Cortez’s voice came from above Taggart and to his left. “Do you think we’re too late?”

  “Dammit,” Taggart swore. He caught Dr. Cortez by the belt and yanked her to the ground.

  “Listen, Doc. I don’t care if you want to take a look at the wreck. The way you were standing there, if there were any bad guys around here, you’d be breathing through another nostril by now, one right between your eyes. Now, you want to get killed, that’s your lookout, but I’d rather you didn’t get the rest of us greased along with you.”

  Cortez had the grace to look embarrassed. As a doctor, she hadn’t received the same degree of combat training as Taggart and his people. Though she knew in her head that looking over the top of a barrier silhouetted a person against the sky, such a “rule” had not been ingrained in her to the point of a phobia.

  “Sorry, Captain,” she said in a low, embarrassed tone. “It won’t happen again.”

  “Humph,” Taggart snorted. “As to your observation, Doctor, you’re right. I didn’t see anyone moving around down there. Now, that suggests we’re either too late, or the survivors are tucked in for the night. If we are too late, then what about those people we saw crawling all over the wreck last night? Who were they? Neo-Sovs? The critters that attacked our scouts?”

  “Could be either, boss,” Frost put in. “Or maybe both, if those things were a new kind of mutant.”

  “Right. On the other hand, because of the terrain in this valley, we haven’t had a good enough vantage point to have a look at the wreck until now. If there are survivors, it is possible, I suppose, that they are limiting the amount of time they spend outside the ship. It’s been a long time since the crash. The life-support packs for their environment suits have got to be almost exhausted. We may have just gotten lucky last night, and caught them outside. We have no way of telling, at least not from here,” Taggart said. “We’re going to have to move up to the wreck. Gunny, I think we’re going to use both squads. First Squad will make the approach. Second Squad will deploy to provide cover.”

  “Yes, sir. Recommend a roundabout approach.” Frost peered through her binoculars. “It looks like we’d have the best cover approaching from the east.”

  “Concur,” Taggart said. “Okay, Gunny, we’ll go with your plan. Bring up the platoon.”

  “Captain, do you think we have time for this roundabout approach?” Cortez asked sharply. “Those people in there have been without aid for a long time. If there is anybody left alive down there, they can’t last much longer.”

  “So what do you recommend, Doctor?” Taggart appreciated what she was saying, but he hoped she wouldn’t suggest something that would cause more casualties.

  “Leave your Second Squad here as a covering force, but the rest of your platoon and my medics should go straight in, no more wasting time.”

  “I’m sorry, Doctor, we can’t do it that way.” Taggart held up a gloved hand to forestall the inevitable protest. “This area is not secure. We’ve already suffered two attacks on this team that cost us one Marine and one of your doctors. I’d rather not expose the medical team to undue risks. I’ll tell you what I will do. Pick three of your people. They can go in with the approach team and start treating desperate cases among the survivors, if anyone is left down there. Then, once we have the area secure, the rest of your people can move up to the wreck with Second Squad. Will that do?”

  Cortez gazed at Taggart for a few moments. She wondered how far she should push the matter. Finally, she decided that his plan was sensible.

  “All right, Captain, we’ll do it your way. Permission to go brief my people?”

  “Yeah, go ahead.” Taggart was confused. Cortez had given in more easily than he expected. He wondered what she was planning to do next to make his life miserable.

  As Cortez vanished back into the defile where the rescue team was concealed, Taggart motioned to his scouts.

  “Okay, Dade, Black, here’s what I need from you. From the ship, two o’clock, about fifty meters. See that big outcropping? I want you two to go down there. That will give the approach team cover on their right flank.”

  Dade took out his electronic binoculars and followed Captain Taggart’s “clock-ray” directions. Using the wrecked survey vessel as a benchmark, the scout looked to his right, and fifty meters farther down the valley. He located the pile of limestone his commander had designated.

  “Got it,” he confirmed. “Should take us about thirty minutes to crawl down there, assuming the bad guys leave us alone.”

  “All right, move out.” Taggart slapped Dade on the shoulder. “And watch yourself, Corporal. I don’t want to have to write your mamma when we get back.”

  “Yessir,” Dade said with a deadpan expression. “She’d be real upset with you if you went and got me killed.”

  Without another word, Dade and his partner slipped from their hide and crawled off into the gathering gloom.

  “I’ve got the boys ready to move. They can step out as soon as you’re ready,” Frost said quietly, slipping up next to him. “Y’know, sir, we’re gonna be in starlight by the time this thing gets under way.”

  “I know, Gunny, but there’s nothing we can do about it.” Taggart grimaced. “As much as I hate to agree with Dr. Cortez, she’s right on this one. We can’t wait another night. Gunny, I want you to take First Squad. Move ’em in as fast as you feel safe. I’ll stay here with Second Squad and direct the overall op.”

  “Yessir,” Frost said. She nodded back toward the troop area. “Here come the docs.”

  Taggart turned to watch as a pair of medical corpsmen, each lugging two heavy medical bags, crawled up the gentle slope toward the hide. Trailing them was Dr. Lieutenant Rebecca Cortez, also heavily burdened.

  Taggart shook his head.

  “Gunny, if there is one thing I’ve learned in this man’s Corps, it’s to pick your battles. This is one I am not going to fight.”

  18

  * * *

  G unny Frost watched as a four-man section from First Squad moved toward the wreck. The Marines rushed forward a dozen meters or so, then went to ground. The Second Section, under her command, remained in place, providing an overwatch. As soon as the First Section was under cover, the roles reversed. Frost signaled her troops to move up while First Section kept a lookout for the enemy. In order to provide the greatest degree of protection for the noncombatants, Dr. Cortez and her medics were attached to the Second Section.

  Frost had been with Captain Taggart a long time, and was impressed with the man’s tactical ability and common sense. Many junior officers would have insisted on leading the approach team personally. A platoon leader’s place was not on the firing line. Officers belonged in the rear, where they could take in as much of the battlefield as possible. When an officer got down in the mud with the combat troops, he forfeited too much control over directing the men. Being down in the mud was a job for noncoms like herself.

  Frost moved toward the wrecked ship in a shuffling run, keeping her head up and her eyes and ears alert for any sign of the enemy. When she’d gone a dozen long strides, she slashed the flat of her right hand toward the earth, signaling her section to duck and cover. With no wasted motion, she dropped to the ground, breaking her fall with the stock of her shotgun. Quickly, she scuttled into the lee of a small pile of stones.

  As Frost’s team approached the shattered vessel, they noticed wreckage thinly scattered on the ground east of the crash site. Most of the flotsam seemed to be structural material, but one or two items that seemed to be personal effects were also found. This sparse debris field struck Frost as odd, but she could not quite lay a finger on why.

  “Lion Three, this is Six. Be advised, we have contact with an unknown five-five meters south of your position.”

  “Roger, Six,” Frost acknowledged Taggart’s message. “You hear that
, Koll?”

  “A-ffirmative, Gunny,” PFC Kevin Koll replied. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

  Frost turned and scanned the area before her. Seeing no opposition, she lifted her right hand, forefinger extended, and gave a short hissing whistle. A second later, she jabbed her extended finger toward the ship.

  In response to her signals, the men of the First Section rushed forward. They had only gone a few steps when a yell broke from the communicator.

  “Cover!” Taggart shouted. Then, “Decker, take him!”

  Marines dived for cover, as the sharp rattle of a three-shot burst from a Pitbull echoed across the rift valley. Frost dropped flat on her belly, using her weapon to break her fall as before. Dr. Cortez landed beside her with a muffled “oof.”

  “Decker, are we clear?” Taggart called.

  “Stand by,” came the reply. “I saw one of the bad guys, looked like he was lining up for a shot. I think I got him.”

  “Gunny, you’re clear,” the captain said. “Charlie-Mike.”

  “Roger that, Charlie-Mike,” Frost acknowledged. “Koll, you and Scarpetti get over there and make sure we’re clear.”

  “Right, Sarge.”

  “Section One, keep moving.”

  The men of the First Section got to their feet and dashed toward Cabot. When they grounded, the Marines were only about ten meters from the ship’s broken hull.

  “Section One, cover,” Frost called. “Section Two, move in, straight to the ship, now!”

  Marines leapt to their feet and bolted toward the hulk looming before them. Frost ran for the ship alongside them. Cortez and her medics were only a few steps behind.

  As she reached the vessel, Gunny Frost stopped with her back against the crumpled outer hull. To her left, the maw of an open cargo bay door yawned blackly. The five-meter-square combination loading ramp and hatch cover had been ripped away from the ship’s hull, apparently by the force of the crash.

  Cortez was about to bolt headlong into the hulk when Frost grabbed her by the arm and yanked her away from the hatch.