by E. G. Castle
“Huh. He sounds like a handful.”
McKain snorted.
“Gift for understatement you got there.”
Harrumphing a chuckle, Frank asked, “Is that it? Does it at least mention what he looks like?”
“Not exactly. There are a lot of differing descriptions. Still, what few pictures and videos I have of him seem to indicate he’s nothing more than average height. Dark hair. Not much else.”
“Would you recognize him if you saw him?”
The sergeant hesitated.
“…Maybe, sir.”
Frank almost sighed, but caught himself. The situation was only getting better by the minute…
“All right. Share all you got with everyone- and send a copy to me as well. I might as well take a look at the base data.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And tell everyone to be on their guard. We don’t really know that much about these guerrillas; and there’s no guarantee that the pirates won’t pop up at any moment. And on that issue, try to find out from the guerrillas what their defenses and camouflage are like, and whether they think the pirates can and/or will find them.”
“Yes, sir!”
The sergeant saluted and strode away. Still considering the situation, Frank slowly walked on, bending his mind to the problem of figuring out what to do next.
Chapter Five
“Well?” General Juan’s tone was almost sarcastic.
“I’m sorry, sir, but as I said, I needed to consult with my sergeants first.” The lieutenant’s voice was slightly wooden.
“And?”
“They agreed.” Frank left out the part where they did so only under protest.
“Excellent!” The general was now genuinely enthusiastic. “I’ll start organizing the teams immediately! Of course, I’ll leave the selection of your Marines to you.” That last bit came out a trifle condescendingly.
Brushing it off, the lieutenant simply said, “Yes, sir.”
Once the Marines had settled in, the guerrilla general had wanted them to immediately start helping him regain control of the planet. The lieutenant hadn’t been adverse to that, but then the question had arisen on how and what to do.
His Marines had favored using small teams of Marines to launch quick, in-and-out attacks, while the general had insisted on his troops taking part. And it had been further complicated by his insistence that at least one Marine accompany his troops, in order to provide them with the benefits of a battlesuit’s firepower.
But there the sergeants had balked. A squad of battlesuit armored Marines could take on most things, but a single battlesuited Marine was in a far worse position.
While the lieutenant had understood that, he felt that they had to try to accommodate the general’s wishes as well. Further, he honestly doubted how effective a platoon of Marine were going to be by themselves, especially if, as was likely, some squads got caught. If they sent only a Marine or two with a squad of guerrillas, he’d only lose a fairly small portion of his force, if he lost a squad of Marines, he’d lose a sixth.
While his sergeants hadn’t appreciated having that fact point out to them, with all the overtones of callousness it carried, they nonetheless had to admit it was a fair point. And McKain had also supported him, which had finally gotten them to agree to it.
Of course, Frank could’ve simply ordered them to do it, without discussing it with them, but as any real commander knew, the trick wasn’t in giving orders, but in making sure that the people carrying out the orders got it done.
Not that they had to be happy about it, though.
Coming back to the present, Frank gestured at the map the general had laid out on the table in front of him.
“Sir, if I may ask, why… Why do you have several squads heading nowhere in particular?”
General Juan grunted.
“Misdirection. If they manage to detect any of the squads, they may chance on one of those. They’ll try to follow them, of course, but the squads’ll keep under enough cover to avoid anything more than an occasional hint to their location. And since they aren’t heading anywhere in particular, I don’t have to worry about them getting caught when they attack something.”
Frank didn’t really get the idea, feeling it seemed redundant at best. Still, he doubt it would hurt either.
“All right. So, your current plan calls for twenty-seven simultaneous missions?” The lieutenant couldn’t keep his tone from sounding dubious.
“Yes. I want the pirates stretched as thin as they can get.”
“Well, I can understand that. But with that many things happening at once… I’m, ah, worried we might get caught out by something, or simply be overwhelmed if the situation breaks down.”
The general shrugged.
“We’ve got small, not particularly well armed groups. Except for your Marines,” he added sourly. “There isn’t much we can do unless we’re willing to take risks. This is just one of them. I’d’ve thought you’d understand that, lieutenant.” The last sentence came out sharply.
Frank stiffened, although it was hardly noticeable in the battlesuit he was wearing.
Then he said carefully, “I do, sir. However, I feel it is my job to make sure every possible problem is examined. Just in case.”
“Hmph.” The general turned away without saying anything further.
Keeping quiet himself, Frank examined the map, while mentally cursing himself. He really should’ve thought before speaking. Though he hadn’t meant it that way, he had ended up sounding overcautious. Of course he was rather inexperienced at these sort of things, having only been in the UFM for three years now, and an officer for less than one; so it wasn’t surprising that he’d tend to the cautious side when planning for combat.
But he had had it drilled into him, many times, both in training and in discussions, the old aphorism, ‘he who cannot risk, will not win.’
Pushing his embarrassment to the side of his mind, the lieutenant studied the map, as he considered the plan the general had cooked up. It involved separate attacks, and multiple objectives… which in most military circles would be considered a Bad Idea.
On the other hand, the general had made sure that none of the objectives really depended on each other, and had told Frank that each team had been told to keep completely silent about its mission, so even if a squad got captured, the others could still accomplish their jobs without worrying the captured team would betray them.
The general definitely understands the concept of operational security! Frank thought, with a mental chuckle, still carefully considering the map.
“Sir,” he said finally, “I think… I’d like to go along, with one of the teams, sir,” he said more formally.
“What?” The general blinked. Then he said, much faster and more emphatically, “What?! Absolutely out of the question!”
“Why-”
“You’re the commander of the UFM forces!” Juan snapped. “You cannot allow yourself to be put in a dangerous situation without reason!”
“I’m hardly that important,” Frank said, suppressing a smile. “Besides, over half my platoon is going to joining your teams. I think my place is with them.”
The general waved his hand in vigorous disagreement.
“But a half of your platoon is here! Obviously, you have an obligation to stay where the majority of your platoon is!”
There were several obvious flaws in the general’s argument, but Frank decided to avoid mentioning them.
“I get your point, sir. But still, I think I need to go.”
Over the next minute, General Juan continued to try to dissuade him, but Lieutenant Harsmith held firm.
Finally giving up in disgust, the guerrilla general said, “Fine! Put yourself in front of a bullet; why not? Which?” he snapped.
“Sir? Oh. Well, I was thinking of the one that was going on the munitions center strike.”
“That one?” The general frowned. “That’s one of the most problematic.”
“Yes, sir. That’s one of the reasons I want to go. In order to be on the spot if something goes wrong.”
Juan eyed the lieutenant.
“Oh, all right,” he finally grunted. “I’ll tell Captain Fil’dwis you’re coming along.”
***
“Captain Fildwis?”
“That’s Captain Fil’dwis, actually.” He gave Frank a look-over, as the lieutenant did the same to him. The captain was a trim, tall man, with a rather firm look in the eye. The lieutenant hoped they’d be able to work well together, but he had his doubts, if for no other reason than the other’s rank, which, to Frank’s Marine mindset, was absolutely ridiculous, considering the meager number of troops Fil’dwis had under his command.
There was always rank inflation in militia/planetary-armies, the officers desiring higher rank than what they could actually get. And since the armies usually weren’t too professional and practical minded, there were always ludicrous ranks being awarded, often to the point of insanity. Some militaries would even have ‘generals’ commanding ‘armies’ that were little more than platoons!
Indeed, the captain’s ‘team’ was only the size of two squads worth. Not counting the two Marines and the lieutenant of course. One of the Marines was Sergeant Javer, who had been assigned to the team on the basis that his experience in sneaking and scouting would come in handy, on a mission that was suspected of being likely to turn problematic.
“Well, come along,” the captain finally grunted, “You might as well come and meet my team.”
His ‘team’ as it turned out, looked pretty experienced. Of course, they had spent the last month or so running missions, so it wasn’t surprising. Still, Frank got the feeling the general had assigned one of his best teams to the mission; which, the lieutenant had to admit, was somewhat a comfort.
“Where’s the sergeant?” the captain demanded.
“She said she needed t’go, captain,” one of the team members responded, busy cleaning his weapon.
“One second, ah, lieutenant,” the captain said, searching. “She’ll probably be b- Ah! Sergeant!”
“Sir?” A small woman appeared, weaving around a group of guerrillas. Though other adjectives could be searched for, in honest truth, the best way to describe her was mousy.
“This is Lieutenant Harsmith, of the United Federations Marines. Lieutenant, this is Sergeant Ashley Dri’ver.”
“Sir!” She managed to pull herself into a close parody of a formal salute. Frank nodded at her, while wondering why the obviously competent captain had her as a second-in-command.
“Sergeant.”
“Lieutenant, may I ask when your men are coming?” the captain broke in.
“Momentarily. I’m not actually sure what’s holding them. My platoon sergeant said he wanted a word with them, but that shouldn’t have taken too long.”
“Ah? Well, I’m going to get my team ready. Sergeant! Get ‘em moving!”
As the guerrilla team started pulling itself together, Frank scanned around the large open room, where various units were getting ready. Although he saw several Marines, none of them were the ones that had been assigned to Captain Fil’dwis’s team.
Finally, Sergeant Javer and the other Marine appeared.
“Javer! Over here!” the lieutenant called, his voice a trifle impatient. It was hardly proper for professional troops to be ready only after the amateur ones.
“Reporting, sir!” the Marine said, saluting, Javer simply offering a vague wave.
“Good. We’re moving out-” He checked his battlesuit’s clock. “-in four minutes. Captain Fil’dwis,” he gestured at him. “-is in general command. You should have been given the information for the mission already. Any questions?”
“No, sir.” the two chorused
“Good. By the way, what did Sergeant McKain want?” He was slightly curious.
The two Marines looked uncomfortable.
“Nothing… much,” said Javer, finally. “Just to be careful.” Frank eyed the both of them suspiciously, then let the matter drop.
Sergeant Javer, behind his wooden face, was quite glad of that. Actually, the platoon sergeant had spent a several minutes ordering them to take particular care of the lieutenant; and to make sure he got back alive, and intact. But Lieutenant Harsmith would hardly have been happy to hear that.
The team got on the move then, heading out of the room, then the base. They were in for quite a walk…
***
Several hours later, the team had reached their destination. Or nearly.
In front of them was a well protected compound, a short way out of the city of Newholm, and not all that far from the governor’s mansion. Which, altogether, meant that they could be detected at any moment.
Working his battlesuit’s sensors, Frank tried to find out what he could from the compound.
He didn’t get much.
“Javer?”
“ECM, sir.” he unnecessarily reported. “Good enough to mess up our sensors.”
“Shit. Well, at least it looks like we’ve managed to get here undetected. Captain?”
“One second.” the captain grunted, still studying the munitions dump. After several seconds, he made a gesture at his second.
“Move ‘em now, sergeant.”
With quick, yet surprisingly harsh orders from the mousy sergeant, the attack team was on the move.
They covered the field in front of the compound without too much trouble, although they had to go slowly. Most of them kept anxiously glancing around, expecting to be discovered at any minute.
“Roger, Jack, over the wall!” Sergeant Dri’ver gestured at the wall in front of them. “Jasey, Hall, help ‘em up.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Frank told her, “My sergeant will be able to get us over.” And indeed, a second later Javer jumped the eight-foot wall. A moment, and then a rope was thrown back over the wall.
Immediately, the guerrillas started going over the wall, with a practiced smoothness. Frank and the other Marine simply jumped right over it, taking flanking positions to guard the arriving guerrillas.
Javer had already handed the rope to some of the incoming troops, and was now reconnoitering forward, moving with the odd, stealthy quickness of a professional scout.
“Where’s your man going?”
“He’s scouting ahead, captain.” Captain Fil’dwis eyed where the Marine had disappeared around a nearby building, then shrugged.
“Hope you don’t mind if I send a few of my own guys ahead.” It wasn’t a question.
“No, sir.”
Nodding, the captain gestured a few of his men forward. They had taken several steps forward, when suddenly something flew up from inside the compound. It was big, a good bit larger than a truck, but moving too fast to be clearly seen.
“What th-”
“Gunboat!” the lieutenant snapped, his internal helmet display already targeting it. Unlike the gunboats they already knew about, this one was lighter and faster, obviously designed to work in the atmosphere, as well as space.
With a grimace, Frank also saw that the gunboat, a Windstrike, had fairly heavy shields, compared to a Blastfire at least. The only real comfort was that the gunboat was too small to carry much in the way of weaponry. But how had it launched itself so quickly? A regularly scheduled flight?
“Gunboat.” Captain Fil’dwis stated, almost musingly. “But it shouldn’t have been prep- Shit!” He glanced around. “Everyone, hold! It’s an ambush!”
Instinctively accepting the captain’s reasoning, Frank surged forward.
“Andy, stay with the captain! Guard the team, especially from the Windstrike!” he ordered over the com. The Marine acknowledged, unslinging his exby rifle.
“Yessir!”
Battlesuit sensors seeking out his opponents, Frank tried to figure out where he should head, aside from forwards.
Before he could get far, though, Javer reappeared, heading towards him, jogging leisure
ly.
Over the com, the sergeant said, “Sir, they’re coming out of the main building. All of ‘em armed. They’re charging in this direction.”
“Got it, sarge. The guerrilla scouts?”
“Right behind me.”
Indeed, several guerrillas were scrambling behind him, occasionally turning to let off a shot, at the pirates who were beginning to appear.
“Shit. There must be a hundred or more of them.” Frank stated flatly.
“Yessir.”
The lieutenant thought for a moment, while raising an arm and snapping off a shot from his weg.
“Okay. Andy, use a grenade. Blow out the wall behind you. Javer, you and I will try to slow the-” At that point, an alert beeped on his comp.
Immediately, Frank twisted and looked up, now facing the sky, where the Windstrike was boring in, right behind two missiles.
His arms immediately swung up, and he began firing rapidly at the approaching missiles, mind and sensors measuring coolly how much time he had before they’d be in range.
Two point seven seconds…
Then one exploded as a shot from his left weg cannon hit it, followed by the other, from an exby shot from Andy, who was, as ordered, guarding against the Windstrike.
All three Marines then commenced firing on the Windstrike itself, but the gunboat, after launching another set of rockets, immediately pulled away.
By the time the two new missiles were taken care of, the Windstrike was out of range, its damage at most a few metaphorical shield dents, if that.
Giving up on it for a moment, Frank turned back to the pirate mob, shooting rapidly, along with the other guerrillas and Sergeant Javer. A second later, there was an explosion from the wall, as Andy took care of their escape route.
“Sir, get down!”
“What-?”
The lieutenant then got tackled.
“What’re you-” he spluttered.
“A battlesuit’s tough, sir, but not impenetrable.” the sergeant calmly explained, using a weg to take out an approaching pirate. “And they do have some heavy weapons.”