by Danny Loomis
“Turn off all ’tronics. From this point on, you’ll pull security for me. I’ll tune my comm to the signal being put out by whatever’s west of us, and have it guide us in.” With that, she eased into the forest, Ian and Pointy on either side of her and twenty meters back, forming a triangle whose point faced west.
They started climbing a steep hill, and were within sight of the top when Brita signaled a halt. Ian and Pointy closed up, almost touching helmets with her.
“Some sort of device is on peak of the hill,” she whispered. “Sweep the perimeter. I’ll meet you at the top.”
Ian moved to the left while Pointy circled right, both moving silently through the thick undergrowth. There were few trees on the hilltop, and the brush had thickened and grown taller than a man’s head in places. Every few paces, Ian would stop and survey his surroundings. He also sniffed the air, searching for any scent that might indicate another human.
He was halfway around the brow of the hill, 100 meters from the top when he stopped to wait for Pointy. He knew his friend would easily locate him.
A “click-click-tick” brought him alert. That was Pointy’s heads up signal. Seconds later a large wolf-like creature burst through the underbrush and knocked him to the ground as it ran over him. He floundered to his hands and knees and froze. Not two feet away, the eyes of a second—bigger—wolf looked down at him, with a quizzical expression.
For a timeless instant the two stared at each other. The wolf blinked and was gone, silent as smoke.
Ian sat back and exhaled. Damn! What in the—He could have sworn there was active intelligence in the creature’s eyes, mixed with a deep amusement.
Pointy crept through the brush, and knelt by Ian. “You okay, Irish?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I think so. Just got run over by a couple of wolves, or whatever they call ’em here.”
“Heh. Thought I saw somethin’ come off the top. Must’a been them. They look as mean as the pictures we saw?”
Ian was silent a moment. “You know, I’d swear the second one was laughing when he saw me on hands and knees. Probably thought I was the scrawniest, weakest wolf on the planet.”
They both worked their way to the top of the hill and joined Brita near a sensor array, with its probe extended two meters above their heads. It was connected to a container the size of a shoe box on the ground.
Brita motioned for silence and continued to disconnect a series of wires she’d found under a recessed lid. After a moment, she relaxed.
“That’s it, I think. Definitely not the standard Alliance sensor package. Much too small and complex for them. Or even us, for that matter.”
She unlimbered the antenna and lifted the unit. It began to buzz, and a frying sound emanated from the bottom of the box.
“Damn, must’ve tripped a destruct mechanism,” she said.
Ian chinned his comm on, and was relieved to note the decrease in static. He could even use his map screen again without much more than an occasional flicker. On a hunch, he turned on his scanner.
“Hey, look at this,” he said in pleased surprise. His scanner was functioning without the heavy interference on its screen it had previously displayed. “You were right, Brita. That thing was part of the ECM attack. We’re in the clear for the moment.”
Brita turned her scanner on and studied it for a moment. “I wonder…” She stiffened. “Do you see the static pulse west and south of here? I think these jammers were put up as a fence to make sure we didn’t see what happened out here.” She keyed her comm. “Recon one, this is Alpha one.”
“Recon one, go.” Although still shot through with static, Franny’s reply had been audible.
“Scanners now operable. Imperative you join us at Hotel 105.” Since they weren’t on a hill tall enough to deserve its own name, the one they were on was classified by its height.
Two hours later Franny and the rest of the squad had settled in at the hilltop. “Alright, what’s so important you pulled us off our patrol line?” asked Franny.
“I think the mine and airfield have been ringed with electronic jammers,” she said. “The battery pack on the one we shut down has a life of about seventy-two hours. If you subtract the number of hours since they started, there’s another sixty hours of battery life. During which time I think the gooners will attack.” Ian and Pointy looked at each other in sudden understanding.
Franny stared at her, then flipped open his scanner. After a few moments he turned back to Brita, a grim look on his face.
“I think you’re right.” He motioned Sgt. Roosevelt over. “Brandy, we’re going to split into fire teams. Take yours on north, then west to the location marked on your map. Call it ‘point x-ray’. I’ll be with Brita’s fire team. We’ll head southwest to the furthest corner of our patrol zone, then north. Once we link up at Point X-ray, we’ll begin to move along the east-west and north-south lines six klicks from the mine and airfield. Once contact is established with a large force, company sized will be considered large, ambush ’em and harry their flanks long as possible. If you get them to commit to an attack, break contact and run like hell for the mine site.”
He gave everyone a sweeping glance. “I’ll be Recon One, Brita’s two, and Brandy’s three. That’s also the chain of command if I’m knocked out. Grenadiers are to use up all their rounds fast as possible, to achieve max noise. Might also make ’em think we’re a lot larger force.”
Franny turned to Ian and Pointy. “Irish, you and Pointy will be our insurance. Position yourselves one klick southeast of point x-ray. That’ll put you approximately halfway between both patrols. If you hear sounds of battle, head for the mine. We still don’t have commo with them, so you’re our ace in the hole to ensure they’re warned in time if they don’t hear us. Your call sign is Two Bravo.”
Brita raised her hand. “Should we make an effort to knock out more of those jammers?”
Franny nodded. “As many as you can. It may help improve commo to the point we can talk with Nance. If that happens, Irish, you and Pointy get to our location ASAP.”
“We only got a day of rations left,” J.C. said. “What’ll we do if this drags on?”
“Irish and Pointy can go on a supply run if that becomes necessary,” Franny said. “Any other questions? Then let’s do it.”
Within minutes everyone moved off the hill, and out of sight of each other seconds after that. Ian and Pointy headed towards a promontory that bulged from a ridgeline running southwest to northeast. A dirt road and major trail joined together at the base of the ridge. The road ran close to the promontory, through a break in the ridgeline and to the southeast, eventually coming out near the airfield.
Full dark descended. Ian was glad their night vision capability was intact for the helmet visors. They came to the dirt road leading towards their objective, and Pointy turned up it without hesitation. Their speed was doubled by use of the road, and even being cautious they were able to reach the small peak well before dawn.
They eased off the road through the sparse layer of undergrowth that lined it. Trees became larger the further west they moved, until the underbrush thinned due to overhead canopy. The peak itself was a barren slab of granite thrusting towards the sky, with a few scraggly shrubs along its sides. The predawn light brightened into a false dawn. They found a notch filled with brush about two-thirds of the way up the slope. Ian looked out over the small valley below, barely able to make out the junction of road and trail. Perfect.
“Pointy, why don’t you put out some sensors and scout a couple of back-up sites for us while I dig our fox hole?”
“Glad to, man. Anythin’ to keep from diggin’ more than I have to.” He disappeared.
“How’s he do that,” Ian muttered, unfastening an entrenching tool from his webbed belt. The clouds piled up to the west while he worked, threatening rain for the first time since they landed.
By noon he and Pointy managed to dig in and camouflage the primary site, and scrape out two more hasty defen
sive positions in case they had to withdraw under fire. Pointy also placed four sensors and several booby traps to their flanks and rear. Ian was busy ranging in various points around and on the junction which was six hundred meters to their front and fifty meters drop in altitude. A difficult shot to the junction, made even harder by the capricious breeze which changed direction on a whim.
The rangefinder built into the Webley’s scope helped but there was still a windage factor which kept Ian busy.
“Lunch break,” Pointy said. “You got a choice between the green tabs or blue. I recommend the blue, since they taste like horse shit instead of cardboard.”
Ian leaned back from the edge of the foxhole and rubbed his eyes. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll stick with my roast beef and potatoes.” He pulled out his next-to-last package of rations and tore off the top, adding water to the contents. Steam rose as his meal warmed up.
“You know, they do look like horse shit before they’re heated.” He took off his helmet and vigorously scratched the top of his head. They’d all gotten their heads shaved before leaving Alamo, but now he had over an inch of brownish thatch that wanted to grow in all directions.
“Remind me. I need to get a haircut when I get back to the mine site. This stuff drives me nuts when I wear my helmet.” He looked at the clouds which had gotten heavier and darker. Maybe rain by dusk.
Pointy sat up straighter. “Thought I heard somethin’. Yeah, there it is again. I think we’re gettin’ some commo from the guys up north.”
Ian slipped his helmet back on, in time to catch a burst of static and Sergeant Brandon’s voice. “…is Recon Three. Anyone hear me? Over.”
“This is Recon Two Bravo. You’re coming in weak but clear, Three,” Ian said over his comm.
“Hey, Irish. Good to hear your voice. We knocked out another of those damned sensors. Seems to help with the commo. If you hear from Franny, tell him we’ll be at Point X-ray in fifteen.”
“Gotcha, Three. Haven’t heard from them yet, but we’ll pass on your message. Anything further?”
“Negative. I’ll call once we’ve settled in.”
An hour before dusk Ian scanned his front, fighting to stay alert. He and Pointy pulled two hours guard on and two off until dark, then would go to four on and four off. Movement down near the junction brought him to full alert. Two minutes later a pair of figures walked down the road and stopped at the intersection with the trail.
He put the scope of his Webley on them, and saw they were armed with automatic weapons, and wore camouflage. He nudged Pointy. “Contact front. At the junction.”
Pointy eased over to the lip of the foxhole and fumbled out a pair of binoculars. After a quick look, he slid back. “Scouts, I’d say. Lightly armed, not carryin’ much else.”
“Get hold of Brandy, tell him we’ve got gooners in our area,” Ian said. “See if you can get through to Franny, too.” He ejected the magazine from his rifle to double-check it was full, and clicked it back in place. “I’ll keep an eye on our friends, and an ear open for anything from our sensors.” He snapped the bipod legs into position, and placed a cloth under the front of the barrel to keep any dust flying up from the muzzle blast in case he had to shoot.
Once he acquired the two scouts on his scope, Ian dialed its magnifying power down from 12x to 7x. this enabled him to scan a larger area. The two figures at the intersection had moved on, both keeping to the road. They would pass their position in another forty-five minutes at their rate of speed. A light sprinkle began, while in the distance a heavier curtain of rain moved their way.
Movement on the road. Lots of movement. Ian fixed his scope on it and zoomed to maximum gain. A double file of men moved down the road, one file on each shoulder. “Pointy, did you raise anyone yet?”
“Just got Brandy. He’s in touch with Franny, and yes I see ’em. I’ll pass on the word, then we’d better get outta here.”
“Not before we knock off a few. Maybe slow ’em down a bit. Give us time to get back far enough to pop off a few grenades and warn the airfield.” With that he cinched the Webley tight into his shoulder, the scope’s eyepiece glued to his eye. “Spot my hits,” he said.
Rather than target the first soldier, he scoped back down the line until he saw what he thought was an officer. “Twelfth guy back, left side,” he said as he squeezed off his first round. The burping sound of his first shot had barely registered before he’d acquired his second target, a man behind the first one.
After the second shot was on its way, Pointy said “Hit on first target. Lower chest.” By the time Ian had fired his third round, the double lines had dissolved into scurrying figures rushing for cover off the road. “Hit on second and third, also chest,” Pointy said.
There was a low beeping squeal. One of their sensors had been tripped. “Right flank sensor, lots of movement,” Pointy said. “Looks like there’s more than what’s below us.”
“Two more shots, then we move,” Ian said, pumping out two more as he spoke. Then they were up and moving left, toward the next prepared position. Another sensor squealed, this time near the roadway to their front.
“This way,” Pointy said. He turned onto a faint trail that skirted the side of the promontory, took them around it, and down into the trees within minutes. Once in the woods, they slowed their scrambling rush and began to move fast and silent as possible on a line of march towards the airfield. Distant thuds of grenades and the hammer of a heavy machine gun brought them up short. Ian grabbed a quick drink of water. The sounds of battle seemed to wax and wane, concentrated in the northwest and southwest behind them. Rain fell even harder.
“The rest of the squad’s joining the party,” he said. “We’d better start to put some distance between us and the front elements of this force. They’re moving about three klicks an hour. We need to at least double that to give us time. When we’re two klicks out from the mine, we’ll set up an ambush and make lots of noise when we spring it. Then we beat feet for the mine. Got that, Pointy?”
“Can do, man. Follow me.” He loped towards the east.
The wind whipped by as they dodged between thick tree trunks and hurtled small bushes. Vines reached for them, while the hazards of fast movement across rough ground continually threatened a fall. The enemy in pursuit gave an added boost to their adrenaline level, made the difficulty of running full out through a heavily wooded area seem minor.
Twenty minutes later they intersected the road, and prepared their ambush at the first bend. They would wait at the apex of the curve, which would give them a shot down the throat of the straight stretch. Pointy set up six of the flat anti-personnel mines coated with ball bearings he’d scrounged from the Alliance camp, covering fifty meters of the roadway. Ian put several more grenade booby traps on their flanks, plus smoke and flash-bangs. The flash-bangs would disorient anyone within ten meters of them for several minutes due to the concussive blast mixed with a sun-bright strobing flash.
Since fields of fire were limited, they switched to needlers. A much better close-in weapon due to its high rate of fire, and it was devastating at ranges of less than 100 meters. They had just finished their camouflaged positions when the enemy appeared. Several scouts flitted from tree to tree, parallel to the road. They lay motionless in their camouflaged trenches and let the screening force go by. Sweat trickled into Ian’s eyes, a momentary distraction. He felt the tension mount as they waited for the main body.
Several dozen forms materialized out of the darkness and rain. Ian and Pointy waited until the kill zone was filled with moving shapes, and detonated the mines.
Concussive blasts of sound hammered their ears while thousands of steel balls spread a path of death across the road and ripped into the enemy. Upon the heels of the explosions, Ian and Pointy fired their needlers on full auto, two hundred rounds each in less than twenty seconds of a sustained burst. Eighteen soldiers had been caught in the kill zone, and all were dead or dying.
The next group char
ged through the smoke and forest litter thrown up by the violence of the explosions in time to meet the fusillade of needles. Eight more died outright, an unknown number wounded.
Ian and Pointy lobbed grenades as fast as they pulled the pins, on the move before the first detonation. They came face-to-face with the four scouts who returned at the sounds of the ambush. Needlers hummed a counterpoint to the stuttering crash of fire the scouts managed to unleash before all fell victim to the impact from dozens of needles. Ian felt shocks to his body and stumbled, almost fell. Pointy was suddenly there with an arm around him. He dragged him from the immediate area of the ambush.
Pointy sat Ian against a nearby log and gave him a quick examination. “Gut shot and upper right leg. Have to get you back to a medic fast, man. Hang on while I patch you up.”
As he bent to unfasten Ian’s first aid kit from his belt, two shapes rushed them. Pointy dove left and reached for his holstered needler. Ian lifted his needler and fired, knocking both attackers down. Something thumped to the ground next to him.
“Grenade!” he gasped, scooping it up and flipping it away, but not in time. Ian saw a bright flash, and descended into darkness.
* * *
Lieutenant Stanton watched the large jet circle the airfield with mixed feelings. He was relieved his commander was on board so he could turn the company back over to him, yet apprehensive due to the VIPs accompanying him. With the satellites knocked out as well as the jamming of his electronics, he felt blind. Word should be back soon from the three squads he’d sent out to recon the area around the airfield.
He turned to Lieutenants Carver and Daniels, his fellow platoon leaders. “Once they’re on the ground, make sure everyone stays on high alert until we hear back from our patrols.” They nodded and moved off. Two months seniority he mused, watching them leave. If he’d been promoted just two months and a day later to First Lieutenant, Carver would have stood where he was and he’d only have to worry about his own platoon, not the whole damn company. One of his secret fears was to screw up so bad he would cause unnecessary deaths of those who followed him. Irritably, he shook off his thoughts and trotted toward the airfield’s small terminal, where the rest of the reception party awaited the planetary President and his retinue.