The Regiment-A Trilogy

by John Dalmas

  Someone stepped into the door of the tent, and Dho-Kat got to his feet. "But that is at most a future script which may never be played," he went on. "Meanwhile you have the now, the present to enjoy—this night, this war, this world. Within the hour you will go into battle leading men who know well how to fight and take joy in it, against opponents who are better than many you might encounter.

  "Go into combat with the thought that you are already dead, that it simply has not happened yet, and enjoy the battle."

  The man in the door stepped outside then, and with a handlamp started off down the hill toward the scouts, Dho-Kat following. Jerym too got up, limbered his knees and joined his troopers, digesting what the T'swi had said.

  One part especially had stayed with him— "Go into battle with the thought that you are already dead. . . ." Considering 2nd Platoon's assignment for the night, it seemed a realistic assumption.

  66

  The cadet sergeant in charge of the "party girls" gated into the Klestronu officers' recreation compound and promptly stepped out of the way, looking around as he did so. He saw no one except the next two cadets, the third, the fourth, and at last the fourteenth. It was night, but not very dark there. The cadets were in shadow behind a squad-size tent with a raised floor, one of a large circle of them, their sides rolled down for privacy. In the center of the compound, unseen from where they were, the dance pavilion sent lanes of soft light between the tents. And music, foreign and rollicking.

  They knew the layout, from a diagram and from a crude scale mockup on the Regimental Headquarters hill. Lotta had visited the recreation compound in the mind of young officers three times in the preceding days. She'd come to know them through her meld with their general.

  When all fourteen cadets had gated in, eleven followed their sergeant between two of the lesser tents, remembering to walk like teenaged girls. The other two began to circle the tent ring from behind.

  The brightly lit dance pavilion was centered in a space of grassy ground, and its sides were rolled up, giving a sense of openness and a free flow of air. Inside, the twelve could see couples dancing. Four of the cadets would stay outside. They separated from the others, moving in pairs to two opposite corners of the pavilion. The pair at the front corner stood as if talking, looking past each other, hands in their shoulder bags. Those at the back corner knelt as if hunting for something dropped, to keep out of the line of fire.

  Meanwhile the others, regardless of the open sides, walked to the front entrance of the pavilion. A couple passed them, headed for one of the encircling tents—a Klestronu officer and a local girl who might have been sixteen. She was giggling. Her skirt was hiked up to her waist in back, and the officer had his hand in the rear of her underpants. Neither of them paid any attention to the newcomers.

  Two guards stood casually at the front entrance, the only guards in sight. They gave the new "girls" little more than perfunctory glances as they filed in; obviously the recreation section had found more who were interested in a good time and a wad of requisitioned local money.

  The cadets didn't worry about the guards. The two at the left front corner would take them out. The eight who went in sized up the situation as they distributed themselves across the front: The pavilion was crowded, girls in short supply, and a number of officers danced with each other while waiting.

  The cadets wasted no time. Their hands came out of their shoulder bags with guns in them, and they began at once to shoot, first at the officers who already had started eagerly toward them. The flat blasts of their shots were mixed with the uglier sound of blast slugs exploding in flesh.

  After the briefest moment, the screaming began, and the stampede. The cadets kept shooting, pausing only to eject an empty clip and slap in a fresh one. Bodies littered the dance floor. Several Klestroni tried to reach them and died. Most fled, scores of them ducking under the rolled-up sides; many of these fell to gunfire from the corners.

  * * *

  Except for the two door guards, the gate detachment and tower guards, the compound's security troops were posted in two large tents, side by side, from which they were to issue if called upon by whistles. So far they'd never been called on. Their shift lieutenant had arranged to be visited by one of the "hostesses," and had gone with her to one of the "rest" tents. Whereupon his men had brought forth a pair of bottles, passing them around to help shorten the shift.

  When the firing began, there was a moment of stunned bewilderment. Then they dropped bottles, scrambling for their guns. At that moment, at each tent, a "girl" stepped into the entrance, threw a grenade, then another, and hit the dirt outside, below the floor level. The first grenades exploded almost at once, the second a long moment later. The cadets reappeared then, and darted in to pour blast slugs into the sprawled bodies. One wounded Klestroni managed to draw his own weapon, and one of the cadets died, but no guard escaped either tent.

  * * *

  The other fifty-six cadets, those uniformed in black, lay dispersed but ready along both sides of the road between the rec compound and the headquarters compound. But much nearer the rec compound: some one hundred yards outside its high barbed wire fence, and somewhat farther outside its fifteen-foot concrete wall. They felt exposed, lying there, and in fact they were. Harrowed every week, the field was smooth and bare of growth, while near the fence, floodlights bathed it, their light spilling farther, diffusing and thinning.

  The fifty-six heard small caliber pistols begin to fire. So far, so good; their turn would come. The gunfire thickened. About a minute later there was a roar as the armored cab on one of the guard towers blew apart—one of the towers in front. The other blew a minute later.

  The floodlights and spotlights had been mounted on the towers, and their destruction had left the cadets cloaked in darkness. Now, like furious badgers, the boys began to dig quick shallow holes, something to lie in. Meanwhile a gunship appeared from the direction of the headquarters compound, and circled the rec compound well above the wall. Its spotlights walked about inside, but its beam guns did not fire. This continued for a minute, then a tower cab blew on the back wall, and the gunship climbed higher, not knowing what had caused the explosion.

  The cadets gave the gunship little attention. They too wore the new helmets now, visors down, watching as a column of twenty armored assault vehicles moved down the road from the headquarters compound. The fourth and final tower burst; they heard its roar. As the column approached, the cadets on the north side of the road opened fire on it with rockets. The AAVs stopped, turrets pivoting. Beam guns came to life, lancing across the field, firing mostly too high at first. More rockets hissed, slashed, exploded. Marines piled out the hatches on the off side, the south side, and as they did, rockets hissed from that side too, into the open hatches, while blast hoses and automatic rifles poured blast slugs into the marines. Fire from most of the turret guns ceased, but marine rifles sent scores of wire-thin beams sweeping and crisscrossing toward the cadet muzzle blasts in a deadly, well-drilled pattern.

  Meanwhile the gunship, unsure at first what to do, sallied out to hit the cadets in the field. Two rockets exploded on its armored bow, and its pilot swung away to fire from a distance, as if not wanting to risk his craft.

  Another powerful roar blew the gate and gatehouse, and the cadet riflemen, those who were able, began to pull back, leaving the blast hoses to hold the marines' attention. The marines advanced on bellies, knees and elbows, stopping only to shoot or die. Grenades roared. The hose fire thinned, stopped.

  * * *

  The combat personnel carrier slowed almost to a walk. "Visors down!" the jump master ordered quietly, and twenty grins dimmed behind face shields curved and tinted.

  "Gloves on!" They pulled on warm gloves; it would be cold outside.

  "Stand up!"

  They got to their feet, the two rows of men dovetailing to form a single line. They wore no reserve chutes and no field packs. Their rifles were snapped diagonally across their harness in front; thei
r magazine pouches were full.

  The right-side door slid open to the night and cold.

  "Stand in the door!"

  The front men shuffled forward, spreading the line a bit. Their platoon leader stood with the toes of his boots over the edge, looking at the Klestronu field base, recalling Romlar's orders: "Aim for the middle—the muster field." Headquarters and officers' country—the primary killing zone—were immediately east of it. "Kill the head, and the body's in trouble," he'd said. For an outfit like the Klestroni especially.

  And these troopers knew the base well, from aerial holos provided by a high overflight two nights earlier, had "drilled" their platoon and squad assignments on a crude scale mockup.

  The jump master watched the computer screen beside the door. It showed the Klestronu field base 12,000 feet down and 2,300 feet east of their line of flight. The red blip on the screen was their floaters; white blips were the others. The red blip led.

  The CPC's computer integrated atmospheric pressure, air movement, the lateral momentum that would be imparted to the jumpers by the floater's slow forward speed . . . A light above the screen lit green, and the jump master slapped Varns on the shoulder. The lieutenant dove, the line of men behind him following quickly out into nothingness. The jump master followed the last of them, leaving the troop compartment empty.

  * * *

  Jerym stood at the head of 2nd Platoon, watching as Renhaus and Romlar targeted the teleport.

  "There!" said Renhaus. "Looks good!"

  Romlar went and looked briefly for himself, then turned to Jerym and his men. "Okay. You'll gate into the exec messroom, as planned. Right now, as far as I can tell, there's no one there to see your mode of arrival, but don't depend on it. And remember, when you gate out, the entrance you'll be facing is at the south end, toward the operations area."

  Lotta had provided a lot of "eye witness" information for them, including sketches, from "personal" observation during melds. And they'd "drilled" repeatedly their individual and unit actions on a crude scale model, mocked up on the ground outside Romlar's headquarters tent.

  There were a dozen last minute advices Romlar could have given, but they weren't needed, and he knew it. "Any questions?"

  No one said anything. Teeth showed. Eyes gleamed.

  "All right. Alsnor, lead off."

  Jerym jogged through the gate . . .

  * * *

  . . . and into the Klestronu exec messroom. He moved to one side and turned to face the rear, the kitchen area, while the rest of his platoon gated in trotting, running softly. He saw no bogeys, and speaking quietly, sent two men to check the staff officers' messroom on the far side of the kitchen area. Then he moved quickly to a window by the door, where Warden, his platoon sergeant, was already peering out.

  He'd barely had time to look when there was a shot from the other messroom. The platoon, already distributed around the walls, turned; one fire team slipped into the kitchen, rifles ready. Seconds later, a trooper came back in to report there'd been a messman there, apparently checking an urn and platter of cakes for staff officers who might come in, perhaps after or before a shift. He'd run for the door and been shot.

  Jerym nodded curtly, reminded by this that they might have very little undisturbed time here. He looked at his watch and pressed a button on it. "Team leaders here!" he said quietly, and they moved to him. "That shot's been heard, must have been, but they're not likely to nail down the direction of an isolated shot like that. And with all the emergency radio traffic they must be getting now, they don't have much attention for anything else. If they don't hear any more shooting right away, they'll likely assume it was an accidental discharge by some security detail. Remember, their internal security uses projectile firearms too.

  "So we're going to sit quiet till I order otherwise—two minutes—and let their attention get back fully to what it was on before. Then you'll move out and hit your targets. Now take positions by the doors you'll move out of."

  He turned back to his window then. The area was lit by lights on poles, not brightly, but sufficiently for seeing. A hundred feet away, by the door of the Klestronu command center, a guard stood on the small porch. Before, his rifle had been slung on a shoulder; now he held it in his hands as he scanned the neighborhood, though overall his demeanor still seemed casual.

  Jerym looked at his watch. Most of a minute had passed since he'd set his timer. He waited half a minute longer, then swiveled his mike. His radio was set to transmit at minimum power. "Platoon listen up," he said. "The signal to move out will be a single shot from just outside the east door. Klefma!"

  "Yes sir."

  "Have Barkum go out the east side door and take cover behind the porch. There's a door guard at the entrance to the command center. I want Barkum to kill him with one round. And I don't want the guy to yell. Bang and he's dead. Then we move out. Barkum will join you when you leave. Questions?"

  Barkum's voice answered: "Bang and he's dead. Then I go with my team."

  Jerym grinned. "You got it. Start."

  He watched then, eyes intent. Seconds passed quietly, ten, fifteen. The shot sounded and the guard fell at the same moment. "Go," Jerym barked, this time not using his mike, and men began moving out the doors. The team assigned to destroy the command center itself moved past him out the south door, followed by the teams assigned to the other prefab buildings of the operations area: the communications center, the briefing center, and the dispatcher's center.

  Warden, the platoon sergeant, with Desterbi an interval behind, trotted toward the command center, slowly enough to mistake for marines going to report. They mounted the steps, then paused to let the strike men of the other hit teams—two from each—trot to their own targets. Their buddies stayed behind to give them fire support if needed. Warden bent and shoved the dead guard off the porch, while Desterbi put the basket bomb down, out of the way to one side.

  So far, Jerym told himself, so good.

  He'd hardly thought it when automatic weapons fire burst out north of the messhall, where four of the sweep teams should have been waiting for their cue to begin their kill sweep of officers' country. Across the way, Warden pushed open the command center door and stepped in, Desterbi right after him. Jerym could hear the racket of their rifles on automatic, and bare seconds later Desterbi was outside again, his back against the wall, waiting for Warden. From the nearby communications center, a basket bomb roared, followed a second later by another from the dispatcher's center, and almost at once by a third from the briefing center. With the particular explosive used, anything that might have survived the blasts would have been seared by heat flash.

  The nearer yard lights had been shot out, and Jerym lowered his visor to see better.

  The nearby gunfire was gaining intensity as the sweep teams spread into officers' country. Four or five long seconds passed before Warden backed out the command center door, dragging an inert body that had to be the Klestronu general. As Warden backed down the steps, Desterbi picked up the basket bomb, but before he could throw it through the open door, he fell, shot. For an instant Jerym held his breath, turning away to protect his night vision from the expected blast, waiting for the bomb to go off, to wipe out Desterbi, Warden, and the general.

  There was no blast; Desterbi had been shot before he could flip the time fuse. Warden was crouched beside the porch. When nothing happened, he raised up enough to see, and there was Desterbi, motionless, and the bomb. Warden sprang up beside him, snatched the bomb, and jumped down again. Gunfire yammered, and from somewhere, a Klestronit swept a rifle beam across the area. Warden fell. Still the bomb didn't go off.

  "First and 2nd squads!" Jerym snapped into his mike, "do whatever's necessary to suppress that enemy fire. Move out if you have to."

  "First squad moving out."

  "Second moving out."

  "Mellis!"

  "Yes sir!"

  "When I say 'go,' get over there and throw that Ambers-damned bomb in the door. Then take c
are of the enemy CO."

  "Got it!"

  Jerym waited. Gunfire erupted seemingly at the other end of the messhall. "Go!" he ordered.

  He watched Mellis dash in a low crouch, hit the ground, roll, scramble, dash, hit the ground . . . In short seconds he was beside the porch and the body of Warden. He bent, straightened, threw, hit the ground again. Again Jerym averted his eyes. Three seconds later the bomb roared, and he looked. There was a glow inside the open door as things flammable began to burn. Mellis was pulling off the general's shirt. It came free, and he crouched over the form again, working furiously, fell, got back to his knees, then pitched forward on his face. The automatic weapons fire increased.

  "Shit!" Jerym swore, and went out the door. There was no one else to send. He ran as Mellis had, dash, hit the dirt, roll, scramble, dash . . . He rolled Mellis off the general and quickly finished removing the general's trousers and shorts. Hairier than a bear, he thought. Three times hairier than Carrmak.

  Then, still oblivious to the gunfire, Jerym slipped off his light combat pack, drew out a small spool of det cord, and in what shelter the porch offered, he hog-tied the general.

  Done, he crouched beside the porch, looking around. In close, the shooting was only sporadic now, but it was furious nearby in officers' country. Three troopers ran toward the messhall from the direction of the ruined briefing and communications centers. The floaters would land at the muster ground north of the messhall, if they were lucky enough to get through. Jerym bent, grabbed the general under the arms, and dragged him into the open, away from the building. Then he turned and sprinted for the cover of the messhall.

  * * *

  Not far from Lonyer City, three combat personnel carriers, widely separated, held back as if spectators. They carried no troops, only their pilots and copilots, who watched three gunships exchange fire a mile away. The fight was brief, the two that fought with rockets and hoses shooting down the one that fought back with beam guns. By that time, one of the victors was losing altitude, angling off toward the city as if its pilot hoped to take refuge there.