by Danny Loomis
Neutralize was a more politically correct form of the word killed. Some of the locals were pretty good at sneakin’ and peekin’, too. Enough so they cleaned out one sector of its sniper infestation without military assistance.
“Unless there are any questions, I’ll turn you over to your unit commander. Thank you for your time.” Ian braced to attention as the Major left, barely able to contain himself.
SFC Boudreau looked around the room. “We’ll reassign one of the fire teams from north of Richland due to the success by the militia. I’ll meet with squad and fire team leaders in fifteen minutes. The rest of you are dismissed until 1800 hours tonight.”
Ian rushed after Brita as she hurried from the room. “Valkyrie. Hey, wait up.”
She paused, impatience on her face. “Make it quick, Irish. I’ve got a lot to do.”
“I found a way to locate the snipers. I think.”
She gave him a strange look. “Irish, are you aware you still have your helmet on?”
“Oh. Forgot again.” He snatched it off. “Look, Brita, I’ve found a way to locate the position of the Alliance snipers. It has to do with the electronic equipment they carry.”
Her eyes widened. “Let’s go talk with Top.”
Boudreau groaned and began to shake his head while listening to Ian. “Do you know how much extra work you cause me? It would be a major pain in the ass if we tried to react to ‘sparks of light’ on a tactical display.”
There was a knock on the door, and Major Grant hurried in. “I came as soon as I heard. Here are the data chips for the past two weeks worth of maps with sitreps and satellite recon.”
Boudreau stared at him. “Sir, according to Ian, he just spotted this. How did you know to bring these over?”
Grant had the grace to look embarrassed. “Whenever Corporal Shannon taps into the satellite net, we put a trace on what he’s doing. When he did an overlay on a map with no discernable marks, we became curious and tapped into his audio. Sorry, Ian.”
Stunned, Ian could only give a stiff nod. Come to think of it, he’d felt something the last couple of times he’d tapped the satellites. Hm, interesting.
The Major gave the discs to Boudreau, who slipped them into his computer interface. “Okay, this is what Ian saw a few minutes ago,” Grant said. “All the white ciphers are of known or suspected sniper positions. Now watch when we overlay that with the satellite recon maps of the same time frame.” Small flickers of white specks came and went close to the white ciphers.
“We thought this was just more interference from the jamming still being attempted. Corporal Shannon seems to think otherwise. Can you explain your thoughts on this, Ian?”
“I think so, but can you bring up a map from about a week ago? Satellite recon first.” The screen filled with a map. “Please speed it up to an hour a minute, and freeze it when you see any sparks come up.” Five minutes went by. “There,” Ian said. “Freeze it there.” Four locations on the map displayed small white specks that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
“Now overlay that map with known or suspected sniper activity.” Two of the sparks were covered with ciphers. “I think you’re seeing two locations where we spotted them, and two that got away from observation.”
Grant gave Ian a probing glance. “How accurate is this? I mean, if we were to go to those spots and search, what would our success rate be to find anything?”
Ian thought a moment. “Using regulars, twenty percent. LRS, fifty percent. Using me, eighty-six percent.”
There was a moment of silence. Boudreau was the first to speak. “How can you be so sure on your percentages?”
Ian touched the right front portion of his head. “Because the Tolstoy’s computer told me.” “Okay,” Grant said. “Okay, I believe you.” He turned to Boudreau. “Top, even though I have reservations about Ian’s bio link, it seems to be offering us another tactical advantage. I recommend we use it.”
“All right,” Boudreau said. “Brita, get your fire team back to the airfield. I think we’d better go snipe hunting.”
Ian was definitely spoiled having a flitter assigned to his beck and call. He watched the ground fly by, as he and Pointy were moved to a suspected sniper location. He’d found a couple of spots close to the task force base, so J.C. and Brandy would be kept busy around there. Now, the two of them were bound for the nickel mine twenty-five klicks from the airfield.
* * *
Captain Vogel flattened himself into a crevice on the back side of a slope as a flitter roared overhead, outbound from the Task Force encampment. The three men with him had also gone to ground. Once the flitter was out of sight, the Undertaker cautiously eased himself out of the uncomfortable hole, and continued his slow movement toward the airfield. He and his men traveled one kilometer a day on average, to ensure they weren’t spotted. He’d been successful on the coast, eliminating a dozen militia and four Orion Confederation soldiers.
Now he was after bigger game. It would be sweet indeed to add the task force commander’s name to his list of kills. He disappeared into the forest.
* * *
Ian debarked at the small airstrip near the nickel mine. He waved Pointy over to the nearest structure, which was little more than a shack set close to the mine itself. Inside, they met with the local militia commander. Lieutenant McCaulley was over two meters tall and broad as the doorway they’d come through.
“Pleased to meet you, gentlemen,” he said, holding out a large paw. “Your reputation precedes you. Sergeant Dykstra passed on word of you to the rest of the battalion, of which we are but one part.” Ian felt like a child as his hand was engulfed.
“I understand you two are going to remove the recent annoyance we’ve experienced,” McCaulley said, leading them toward the mine’s entrance.
“Yes Sir,” Ian said. “We’d appreciate a place to stash our gear, and maybe even clean up once in awhile.”
“Yeah, and maybe some chow, too,” Pointy said, a hopeful look on his face.
McCaulley boomed out a laugh. “Gentlemen, you’ve come to the right place. This mine may be inactive, but I’ve been able to bring the kitchen up to speed quite handily. You see, I’m a chef by trade in the civilian world, and my men are some of the best scroungers in the country. Will you have time for a meal before you begin your hunt?”
“You’re sure tempting us, Sir,” Ian sighed. “But we’d better earn our keep. We’ll take a quick scout of the area and probably be back in by tomorrow morning.”
“Then I will ensure you have a breakfast such as you’ve never had before,” McCaulley said. “You can store your gear in the rooms just inside the entrance of the mine, and to the right. I’d better get back to inspecting my men’s defensive positions.”
“Now that’s a big man,” Pointy said, as McCaulley walked off. “Didn’t look like much fat on him, either.”
“I’m more interested in getting out so we can complete our scout and get back for that breakfast he talked about,” Ian said. “Let’s dump our gear and go.”
Within minutes, with Pointy in the lead, they moved into the forest. Most of their patrol would be spent going up or down, since the area around the mine was extremely mountainous. Many slopes were so steep they were bare of trees, with an occasional patch of bushes or grass clinging to their sides. They stepped with care, and constantly searched side to side as they eased into the mountains.
A kilometer from the mine, Ian stopped and tapped into the satellite recon map with his helmet ’tronics. Ten minutes went by. Fifteen. He thought he saw a spark on his helmet screen to their northwest. They set out in that direction. With no trail to follow, it was rough going. Staying concealed while they moved was a primary concern.
Two kilometers out. Ian stopped, and again tapped into the satellite recon net. As he did so, he “looked” for the unnamed feeling he got when someone eavesdropped. Sure enough, there it was. He thought he saw a way around it, but not now. He was on a hunt. No flicks of light, no sparks.
He gestured upwards and began to lead Pointy in a roundabout way to the top of the ridgeline. From there they could observe most of the western approaches to the mine. It was slow going, but they reached the top by late afternoon.
Pointy scanned the countryside until well after dark, while Ian continued to monitor the satellite maps. Finally Ian stirred himself. “You see anything, Pointy?”
“Naw, quiet as a church on Monday mornin’ up here.”
“I’ve tracked something about eight klicks west. Seems to’ve settled in for the night. Let’s go back to the mine and get some sleep.” They eased back from the ridge and began their slow trek back to the nickel mine.
In the predawn light they moved stealthily up to the perimeter the militia had established around the mine. Ian flipped over to the local tac net. “Charlie Three, this is Scout One, over.”
“Charlie Three here, over.”
“We’re three-oh meters to your front. We’ll wait until first light to come in, over.”
“No need to wait,” said a voice behind them, causing Ian and Pointy to jerk around. A large shape rose up, with two smaller ones behind. “We’ve observed you for the past hour. You move pretty good for flat-landers,” Lieutenant McCaulley said.
“Fuck me,” Pointy said. “I think I pissed my pants.”
Ian stood, shaking his head. “I don’t think we’ve ever had anyone sneak up that close to us before. You guys are good.”
McCaulley laughed. “My friend, when you live in this country all your life, you become skilled at little things like this. Let us move to the mess hall, where I will show you something that takes real skill.”
“More crepes, anyone?” McCaulley asked. He would have looked ridiculous in his tall chef’s hat, except for the graceful way he moved while preparing each crepes.
“One more, please,” Pointy said. “But no more than that, or I’ll bust somethin’.” McCaulley adroitly whisked two more berry-filled crepes onto his plate, with a beam of approbation. Pointy moaned faintly, but dug in with a will. Ian watched in awe as he shoveled crepe number six and seven into his bottomless pit.
McCaulley seated himself with a grunt. “I appreciate finding two starving wretches such as yourselves to feed. My subordinates have long since been spoiled by me.”
“You can spoil me anytime you want,” Ian said with a grin. “In fact, I could guarantee you a full time job if you came back to Alamo with us.”
McCaulley smiled and sipped his coffee. “Thank you, my friend. Now, sadly, to business. What did you observe to our front?”
“What looks like one sniper with several support troops. Probably one is his spotter, and the others act as security. They’re ten klicks from here. We expect them to show up tomorrow afternoon, and ready to begin shooting at you by the day after.”
“Ah, good. In the past, we have received little or no warning before one of my men suddenly found a bullet in him. We chase, but it is very difficult to catch.”
Ian grinned. “Well, Sir, I’ll be truthful with you. Pointy and I can spot and shoot at ’em, but it’d sure be nice to have a fire team along to provide security. Maybe even sweep an area after we’ve killed the sniper. You think anyone here’d be interested?”
A huge smile split McCaulley’s face. “Most interested, my friends. Most interested indeed.”
“You understand, anyone going out with us would have to take their orders from me. The sniper’s the guy in charge in this kind of tactical action.”
Lieutenant McCaulley removed his bars. “Sergeant Jim!” he bellowed, making Ian spill his coffee in surprise.
An older man shuffled into the room. “Yes, Sir?”
“Find Tonio and Marska. Tell them they are now Privates. You and I are also Privates, Private Jim. Our new commander is Corporal Irish.”
“Of course, Sir. Will that be all?” At McCaulley’s headshake, he shuffled from the room.
Ian and Pointy had watched the proceedings with their mouths open, not sure what had occurred.
“When will you be ready to leave, Sir?” McCaulley asked. “We await your orders.”
Ian leaned back and looked up at McCaulley, a new respect beginning to form. “Are the other three good as you in the woods?”
“Better, Sir. Private Jim taught me how to hunt this wilderness when I was eight years old.”
Pointy looked doubtful. “Can you guys keep up with us? No disrespect intended,” he said hurriedly, “But it’s our asses on the line here.”
“None taken, Corporal Pointy,” McCaulley said. “You will find that the last one of us to drop will probably be the oldest, Private Jim.”
Ian slid back from the table, and gave a huge yawn. “In that case, could you wake us up two hours before dusk? We can brief you and be gone by dark.”
“And eat,” Pointy said hurriedly. “We of course need our privates to cook us a good supper to keep our energy up while on the march.”
McCaulley smiled beatifically. “My friends, you are too kind with your largesse of compliments.”
An hour before sunset Ian and Pointy slipped through the mine’s security perimeter, headed to the same location they’d been last night. McCaulley and his three “privates” followed two hundred meters behind. No activity had been observed within twenty kilometers of the mine throughout the day, which led Ian to believe the gooners would wait until nightfall to cover the last ten kilometers to the mine.
While Ian and Pointy toiled to the top of the razorbacked ridge, McCaulley and his men settled in at a notch of it several hundred meters to the south, a logical route for the enemy. The ridge top was still semi-light even though the sun had set an hour before. They’d made pretty fast time. Maybe a bit too fast. Have to ensure careful rather than fast, since they didn’t have ghillies for concealment.
Ian scanned the darkened canyon below, and realized he wasn’t able to see the bottom of it. Too dark.
“I am such a jerk,” he whispered. No moon tonight. Why hadn’t he checked that sooner? He nudged Pointy. “Can you see the bottom of the canyon through those Zoomies?”
Pointy pulled out the extra-large binoculars, and began to scan. “Just barely. Wouldn’t be able to call a shot, though—Oh, damn. No moon tonight.”
Ian shifted around. “One of us needs to go down and be added firepower for McCaulley’s crew. The other can stay up here and spot. I think our best bet is to ambush them.”
“My turn, man,” Pointy said. “Your body count has gotten ridiculous. Gimme a couple extra needler mags.”
As Pointy slipped over the edge and disappeared into the dark, Ian commed McCaulley on the local tactical net. “Charlie Three this is Scout One. Looks like it’s up to you guys. Pointy’s on his way to join you. I’ll stay up here and spot for you in case they use another route.”
A double click of acknowledgment was his only reply, impressing him still more with the level of expertise for this particular group of militia. Unit commanders sometimes tended to become garrulous on the radio.
Ian settled into a comfortable position and closed his eyes. Immediately he was again tied into the satellite net, both communications and recon. He focused on the area within twenty kilometers of the nickel mine until he located himself and McCaulley’s unit. Nothing else seemed to… Wait. A spark of light, five kilometers closer than where the gooners had been last night. Another. Yeah, they were on the move all right. At their present speed, they’d arrive below him in about an hour. Better wait ’til they were in the canyon to let McCaulley know. He felt a moment’s disorientation, as the data tried to overload his brain. He focused, willed it back down. This was happening more and more lately. Not the place to go on sick call.
Time for some extra recon. He keyed into the main task force communications network and hailed the commo officer. “Tango Charlie, this is Eagle Five, request fly-by recon.”
“This is Tango Charlie, say again Eagle Five?”
“This is Eagle Five. Request fly-by recon o
f the following area.” He projected a map of the route he wanted surveyed onto the comm officer’s console.
“What the—Eagle Five, are you—uhh, roger that, Eagle Five. Tango India says it’s a go. Expect flyover in 30 mikes, and download of data soonest.”
Tango India? Who was Tango India? Ian searched the tactical computer’s data banks. Oh. Major Grant. Sometimes it was nice to have some pull, even if the person providing it scared the bejesus out of him.
* * *
“Sir, no ground-pounder should be able to do that,” the comm officer said. “Only pilots, military pilots, can project maps with their bio links.”
Major Grant rubbed his eyes in a vain effort to dispel the sleep that still lingered. “I realize that, Lieutenant. Let’s just say Eagle Five is a pilot and leave it at that. Okay?”
“Is this a ‘need to know’ thing, Sir?”
“It certainly is, Lieutenant. So please put a security seal on anything having to do with Eagle Five. Understood?”
“No problem, Sir.”
Major Grant turned and shuffled tiredly back toward his bunk. Hopefully he had everything else covered, at least for the time being. If they could just keep a lid on this until after the mission was over, he would die a happy man.
* * *
Once Ian had a download from the flyover, he was able to pinpoint the enemy. Looked like four gooners had just turned into the canyon that headed towards McCaulley. Time to let him know.
“This is Scout One. Four gooners just entered the western edge of the canyon that leads to the notch you’re in. Should arrive your location in thirty mikes. You copy?”
“Four in thirty,” came the whispered response.
Man, this guy was good. You’d think he was allergic to radios. He swept the canyon with the Zoomies he’d gotten from Pointy. Every little while he gave a 360 degree scan, just to be on the safe side. He was also tied in with the satellite recon, which now actively followed the four men. Another klick and they’d be at the notch.