"You sit there for a minute, Captain."
Waving his hands, Marshall replied, "Get back to the radio," but Mulenga insistently started to pull out bandages, sliding antiseptic pads across his forehead that add stinging to his list of woes. He shook his head back and forth in an attempt to clear it, then found himself gagging on a drink; Mulenga had found a bottle of something and had poured some of it down his throat, it tasted like some sort of foul fruit juice, but it was at least making him feel a little better.
More shots rang out from the corridor, and he peered carefully out of the door, pushing Mulenga aside. Cunningham was tossing Esposito another clip; obviously she had run dry. They didn't have much time left in their glorious last stand, and he turned to look at the radio again, smiling as he saw Orlov replacing the panel. He dashed over to the console, placing a headphone to his ear as he spoke into the microphone, his other hand playing with the frequency tuner.
"Marshall calling any station, any station. Marshall calling any station, respond."
A series of shots echoed from the corridor, followed by swearing from Steele who dived back into the room, a gash running down her arm. Orlov took her place at the corridor as Mulenga began to treat her, leaving Marshall at the radio.
"Marshall calling any station, any station, come in please!"
He was almost deafened by a loud crackle, then a disbelieving voice replied, "Alamo here. Spaceman Ortega here, verify please."
Shouting into the receiver, Marshall replied, "Alpha-Tango-Bravo-Niner. Put Caine on."
It took a few seconds, and he could hear worrying sounds of sirens in the background as she replied, "Caine here."
"What the hell is going on up there?"
"I've just put Alamo on battle stations, am engaging enemy in eight minutes. Repeat, engaging enemy in eight minutes." The line was terrible, static almost drowning out the words. "Has Orlova got to you already?"
"Negative, staged a little breakout." He paused, the temptation to start commanding the ship by remote almost overwhelming. He could do it – but he didn't have any of the sensor reports, couldn't get any status updates. "Have Ortega switch me through to Orlova. Then you can get on with your little battle."
Another burst of machine gun fire resounded through the corridor, "You sound as if you're having a bit of fun yourself. Is there anything else I can do?"
"Not at the moment. Contact me as soon as the battle is over. Don't worry about giving me a running commentary." He paused. "Get this one thing clear. Take any action necessary to protect the ship. Disregard the ground forces, we can look after ourselves if we have to. Do anything that is necessary." Taking a deep breath, he continued, "And if it comes to it..."
"Alamo won't fall into enemy hands, Danny, you have my word on that." She mumbled something away from the microphone, "Patching you through to Orlova now."
"Good. Good hunting."
There was a brief pause, interrupted only by a combination of machine gun fire and swearing. Only two of their guns were firing now; it sounded like Cunningham was dry. Just as they were getting into contact with the ground forces, it looked as if they were about to be overwhelmed. At least they'd managed to create a nice distraction.
"Orlova to Marshall?" a quizzical voice replied.
"Marshall here. Good work Sub-Lieutenant. I presume that is you out there."
"We'll be coming in shortly." She paused, then chuckled, almost manically, "We were coming in to rescue you."
More machine-gun fire. "Oh, we still need rescuing." He took another breath, "But you have my permission to abort. If you think the butchers' bill is going to be too high, then don't do this."
He knew she'd heard him, but she acted as if she hadn't. "First boats will be hitting the water in a couple of minutes, we're just loading the last troops now. Have you got a good view?"
"Good enough for Cunningham to call in some targets for you. Have your plasma gunners standing by, and make it quick. We expect to be overwhelmed in a matter of minutes, our ammunition is about out." It belatedly occurred to him that others might be listening to him, but they'd have known how much ammunition they'd been able to grab during their breakout.
"Great, get those markers relayed to us. And Captain?"
"Yes?"
"I suggest you close your eyes. We've got a little surprise coming in about a minute, and I don't think you'll be having too much trouble after that. They're going to be far too busy with the assault force to worry about a few people crouching around a radio."
His mouth opened for a second, then he quietly whispered around the room, "Eyes closed, pass it on." He glanced out of the window and could see something falling from the sky, on a trajectory to take it straight for the landing site. Clamping a hand over his eyes, he waited for Orlova's surprise, while Esposito fired a final burst of shots into the corridor, emptying her clip. Whatever Orlova had planned, he hoped it was going to be good.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Orlova's eyes were still watering from Quinn's flare, but it seemed to have done the job. The fire from the beach was sporadic rather than the waves of machine-gun fire she had been fearing, and she began to think that there might actually be a chance of pulling this off. Her paddle hit the water in time with the others in her boat, and she glanced up and down the line.
Fifteen boats in the first wave, each with fifteen men, and another twelve in the second wave to follow up. The only Triplanetary hand she had with her was Sergeant Kozu, who had insisted on sticking with her; the rest were militiamen from Yreka wearing ill-fitting camouflage. It briefly flashed through her mind that they might as well have worn standard jumpsuits; the green and black pattern would provide excellent cover in the jungles but wasn't going to be of much help while they charged up the beach.
Closer and closer they paddled, flashes of green flying over their head from the ships behind them at targets pinpointed by Cunningham. All of the NCOs had been briefed on their location to avoid any accidents in the middle of the battle, she just hoped that they'd all been listening. She was carrying the same basic rifle as the rest of them, and patted her pocket to make sure that the spare ammunition clips were present.
For about the tenth time she wished they'd at least had an opportunity to make some modifications to them, or at least to spend some decent time practicing. The idea of recoil was something she wasn't enjoying getting used to, and her shoulder had the bruises to prove it.
As the shore grew ever closer the machine guns began to open up again more accurately, ripping into the water by the sides of their boat. She heard screaming to her right; the fire had been accurate enough to rip through a nearby boat, smashing into the soldiers inside. There was nothing she could do to help them now as the shore grew closer, and she began to hear a grinding noise from the underneath of the hull, the oars began to move them forward less and less.
"Right, let's get moving!" she yelled, leaping over the side of the boat and splashing waist-deep into the water, struggling forward as fast as she could while keeping down as low as possible. Her rifle was in her hand, a comforting crutch, and she plunged the butt down into the water to push her towards the beach more rapidly; she had been told time and again that these were extremely rugged and dependable weapons, and she was certainly putting that theory to the test today. Explosions ripped into the water all around her, covering her with salty spray, and another wave of plasma bolts slammed into the compound ahead, thinning out the fire a little as she began to crunch sand beneath her feet.
She had spent hours pouring over the satellite images beamed down from Alamo, and now all of that was being put to the test; she almost felt as if she had been here already. Just ahead was a ridge of some sort of debris, recently tossed up from the water, and that was her immediate target, sprinting into its shadow with the rest of the men from her boat behind her. She turned her head briefly for the first time, realizing that she had just assumed that they were following her. Ten men were in her wake, Kozu at the rear with
his pistol in his hand, and a pair of bodies drifted back on the water, casualties from the initial charge. That still left her missing three men, but she couldn't think about that.
Hurling herself into the shadow of the cover, she peered over the top. She couldn't see any legionnaires, all of them were far too well protected at the top of the beach, but she could see a lot of shattered walls where defensive fortifications had once been; the plasma gunners were certainly doing their job, and Cunningham was guiding them in nicely.
Hopefully they could hold out on the tower long enough to buy them the time they needed to get ashore; she looked up and down the beach and could see men streaming forward in long waves, heading for their preassigned cover, but there were dozens of bodies lying in the water and at the shoreline, a few of them moving about and groaning in pain, rather more of them still. The only one she could recognize was Grant, a grin now permanently fixed on his face.
Pulling her communicator to her face, she called, "Zabek, this is Orlova. Report."
"We've reached the first holding objective, coming under heavy fire. Plasma gunners informed."
"Good. We're about there ourselves, I'm going to call in the second wave. On my signal, get your men up the beach."
"Right, Zabek out."
She reached into her pocket for a long cylinder, dropping her rifle to the sand, and caught it before it could roll away on the ground, then planted it by the wall and pushed a button. A bright orange light flashed from the top of it, rising a hundred meters into the sky before exploding – a standard Triplanetary distress flare scavenged from the ruined shuttle. The second wave dropped down from the ships and began to row forward under worse fire than the first wave had faced. Killing that was now her top priority.
"Advance!" she yelled, leaping over the cover and running towards the top of the beach, belatedly realizing that she'd forgotten to pick up her rifle again. The idea of going back for it was dashed by a burst of machine gun fire that crackled within a few feet of her, killing the man immediately behind her. Even if they wanted to pull back to the boats now, it wouldn't be possible – most of them were likely in ruins anyway.
This time she was angling to the right, leading a hundred men in a wave of small clumps towards the jungle cover on the side of the beach; trying to simply charge forward under that much fire would simply have been a quick way of committing suicide, and she had other plans. She quickly glanced behind; Melnik was huffing and puffing, trying to keep up, his rifle dragging in the sand behind him.
Another series of green flashes shot overhead, and slammed into the high wall of the compound; the machine-gun fire stopped again, and she took a second to survey the beach. Her forces had broken into two wings, exactly as planned, all racing for the cover of the jungle. There was still a killing zone to worry about up there, but a much smaller one. Staggering at the rear of the formation were her own machine gun teams, and the wreckage at the bottom of the beach told her that quite a few of them had been lost. There were more than a few people sprinting ahead with no weapons at all, obviously abandoned or forgotten in a bid to get out of the firing line.
Out at sea, the second wave was speeding towards the beach as rapidly as possible, Montgomery in the lead with Varlamov by his side – and that she could see him from that distance suggested that he wasn't making enough of an effort to make himself inconspicuous, but there wasn't much she could do about that right now.
Resuming her sprint, pushing a couple of slower troopers on the back in a bid to speed them up, she suddenly heard a loud cry from the rear, and saw Kozu rolling back down the beach, clutching a wound in his leg as blood poured out of it. Her first instinct was to stop and run back to him, but she felt a hand grab her on the back and start to pull her towards the jungle.
"Let go, damn it," she yelled.
Blake replied, "We need you up there. The medics in the second wave will get him. Come on!"
Cursing, she followed the private into the tree-line, then slowly began to make her way around to the rear of the building, gathering her troops together with some hand gestures. The mass rapidly advanced through the undergrowth, crashing through the leaves and pushing aside anything that might be in the way, more fire was opening up into the undergrowth but they didn't have anything like enough targets to work with, not with all the cover they were using.
Pushing forward to the tree line, she quickly looked out at the compound; the wall in this section was still intact, a trio of machine gun nests perched on top of it. Only the wall had been on the satellite images she had seen – evidently the commander of the garrison had been busy over the last few days. She paused for a second, panting for breath, and looked up and down the line at the waiting men. Even if they all advanced at once, it would take them too long to get in – and by that time, the machine gun could have raked the entire column.
"Zabek to Orlova," her communicator crackled.
"We're hung up, Ensign. You?"
"Same, four machine-gun nests on the wall, look brand new. We'd have too far to run."
"Wait one." She dropped the communicator down to her side and looked out at the wall again, contemplating a quick run. They had grenades, but they wouldn't be much use until they were right on top of them.
"We'll take it from this side, attack as soon as we get the wall."
"I don't know what magic you're going to use, but we're here."
Taking a couple of deep breaths, she looked across at Blake, who nodded, and at the same instant they broke out of cover, rushing towards the machine gun nests, racing from side to side as bullets tore at the ground by their sides. She had a grenade already in her hand, ready to throw, as she ate up the distance between her and the wall. Covering fire began to belatedly open up from the tree-line, and a group of militiamen began to advance forward, drawing fire for the last few seconds required for her to throw the grenade up into the air and slide down into cover.
The resulting explosion showered small pieces of debris down to the ground, and she began to climb the wall as the militiamen surged forward. Hand-holds abounded in the hastily built wall, and she could easily scale to the top, though Blake was able to beat her to it, taking out the guards at the top with a couple of shots. The machine guns were twisted ruins, unfortunately, but the nests provided some protection from their counterparts on the far side of the compound as they turned to rip into them. Crouching down into cover, she pulled her communicator out again.
"Montgomery!" she shouted. "What goes with the second wave!"
There was a rattle of machine gun fire in the background as he replied, "Advancing under heavy fire, casualties moderate, proceeding up the beach."
"Keep back for a moment."
"We can't, the fire's too heavy. We need to go forward now!"
She paused for a second; she wanted to co-ordinate the attack better than this, and her forces were coming under heavy fire again, but he was the man on the spot. "Right, hit that wall with everything you've got! We'll push our attack from the rear."
The only reply was a muffled explosion; she hoped that the message got through, that it had simply wrecked the old campaigner's communicator. Raising a fist in the air, she pumped it twice, and a pair of volleyed shots burst from the line into the far wall. They'd organized that defense well, two guns pointed at her, two still firing at Zabek's wing. Inside the compound, legionnaires were dashing from cover to cover, bodies scattered around amid piles of smoldering debris from the plasma shots. A huge missile emplacement lay deserted in the middle of the compound, as large as the one at the desert port; useless in this sort of a fight.
At last the fire from her side seemed to be having an effect, and some of the machine gunners slumped down in their defenses, but her first wave was taking a bloody toll. There was a cry from her right, and Blake tumbled back down the wall, shouting obscenities all the way to the bottom – she couldn't spare the time to even see what had happened to him, could only hope that the medics following up behind would be abl
e to do something for him.
"Zabek, make your run. We can't wait any longer," she said into her communicator, as another series of plasma bolts rained overhead; they must be running low on targets. All the machine guns turned back to the jungle as they opened up on the advancing soldiers, but they only managed to get a few bursts off before her force, now free of distraction, could finish off the crews.
"Over the wall!" she yelled, climbing out of her cover – which was now only tatters of cloth and spilled sand – and sliding down the ladder to the interior of the compound. The tower was just a short run away; a startled legionnaire reacted to slowly to avoid being dropped by Orlova's left hook; she only belatedly remembered that she still had a pistol strapped to her side, but there didn't seem any time to draw it and fire as she sprinted across the open ground, bullets from all sides felling the few remaining legionnaires.
Zabek's forces began to spill over the wall themselves, many of them sporting wounds from the recent battle; the midshipman herself was leading the assault, a jagged gash down the side of her cheek and her pistol in her hand, a wild-eyed look in her face as she urged her forces on. On the other side of the compound, it sounded like the first elements of Montgomery's second wave had made it up to the wall, and the firing was finally beginning to abate.
As she knelt by the side of the tower, a squad of men behind her while the rest started to break into the other buildings, she pulled her communicator out again, "Orlova to Pryce, cease fire. Cease fire."
Without waiting for a reply, she kicked at the door to the tower; it was well made, refusing to budge, and she finally found a use for her pistol as she emptied the clip into the lock. At the next attempt it simply slid open, revealing a hastily evacuated office; charts were spread across the table, a half-finished cup of coffee still steaming away – she had to resist the urge to finish it. Running down the stairs, his arms covered in cuts, his uniform in tatters and a bandage hastily strapped to his forward was Marshall, his arms opened wide.
Battlecruiser Alamo: Tip of the Spear Page 19