"Well, Linda," the man's voice said, "it looks as though Colonel Carlyle is making his move...."
That part of the commentary, fortunately, would have been edited out by the computer, assuming that Wolf was listening to the chatter at all. What Grayson was attempting to do depended completely on the fact that Wolf would be as blind to what was happening from his side of the battlefield as Grayson was from his. Grayson's vantage point gave him numerous views of the battlefield, but all were limited to areas where his troops were positioned, and from ground level only, since there'd been no aerial reconnaissance in the original battle. The simulation restricted each side's views of the battlefield, limiting them to recreate the effects of distance, of intervening hills or trees, and of drifting clouds of smoke.
Seminary Ridge was thickly lined with trees along its entire length, and Grayson was counting on the fact that Wolf wouldn't be able to see through them and into the valley to their west, any more than he could make out what was happening east of that low rise called Cemetery Ridge.
Of course, were their positions reversed, Grayson knew he would almost certainly send out recon units to try to pinpoint the location of the enemy's main body. He would have to assume that Wolf would reason the same way, which suggested that the enemy's cavalry would soon be put into play.
Secrecy and timing both would be essential for Grayson to pull this off....
* * *
In the press box, eighty meters away, the man called Pardo carefully picked up the attache case resting by his feet, positioned it on his lap, and opened it. Inside, nestled snugly into formcut foam padding, a weapon gleamed in five separate parts: stock, receiver, magazine, electronic sight, and screw-in barrel with integral sound-suppresser.
The other man pressed a button that lowered one of the window panes in front of them, giving them a clear and unobstructed line of sight to their primary target. "Let's do it," he said.
Pardo grunted assent and began to assemble the weapon with swift, sure movements....
7
Approaching Zenith Jump Point
Glengarry System, Skye March
Federated Commonwealth
1300 hours, 18 March 3057
For the past day and a half, the civilian DropShip Skye Song had been decelerating, backing down against the blast of her fusion torch as she slowed at a steady 1G thrust. "Below" her—in so far as terms like "below" had any meaning in space—was the system's zenith jump point, a nondescript point in space far "above" the north pole of Glengarry's orange sun. In another twenty hours they would be docking with the Altair, still invisible at a range of several million kilometers.
Alex and McCall had found seats for themselves in the ship's small passenger lounge—no small feat considering the fact that there were fewer seats there than passengers by half, and everybody aboard, it seemed, wanted to watch the Death's Head versus the Wolf match, which was being transmitted live from Glengarry—or as live as was possible with a speed-of-light time delay of nearly twenty-seven minutes.
At the moment, the 2D view screen covering one of the lounge's bulkheads was occupied by two commentators who were discussing the strategy in the contest so far, a scene transmitted almost half an hour before. Naturally, the strategy employed by the two was the topic of most of the conversation in the lounge as well.
"He'll be making a flank march, I'm thinking," McCall said confidently. "Pull back, swing t' the right, an' put himself across old Jaime Wolf's supply lines to the south."
"Would you like to make a small wager on that?" a florid-faced man in a loud shirt seated to McCall's right said. "The Colonel knows Wolf's troops are still disorganized after that drubbing he gave him. He'll head right up the center. Pow! Go for the throat! Like he did on Glengarry last year!"
"Och, an' I should take your money a' that, lad, just t' teach you not to gamble on the likes o' Grayson Carlyle!"
"A hundred C-bills says Carlyle goes up the center," the man said. "Straight for the jugular!"
McCall pretended to consider the offer for a moment. "Weel, lad, if you're that anxious t' part wi' your money, done! My hundred says he goes for the flank an' forces Wolf to come t' him! Alex? What would you do in the Colonel's place?"
"I, I'm not sure ... Davis." By previous agreement, the two were calling one another by their first names only, if for no other reason than they didn't want to be treated like celebrities by the other passengers. It was hard for Alex to get used to, though, calling McCall "Davis."
The fact that Davis Clay had been named for the Scotsman didn't help one bit. It made Alex uncomfortable, while resurrecting memories he really didn't want to deal with.
"Weel, noo," McCall said. "If you were in command there—"
"I wouldn't pull a flank march," Alex said abruptly. "If the enemy saw what I was doing, he could hit me with a concentrated formation while my 'Mechs were strung out across three or four kilometers. He could break my line in two, maybe even three pieces or more, and dispose of them one by one."
"That's right!" the man with the loud shirt said, grinning. "The kid's got a good head for tactics, Scotty, eh? Pow! Right down the middle!"
"So, Alex," McCall said, ignoring the man, "you've said what y' would nae do. What would y' do instead?"
"Take a strong defensive position," Alex said. "Make him come to me."
"Nope," the loud man said. "Not ol' Death's Head Carlyle! Pow! Right up the middle!"
"Tell me, sir," McCall said gently. "Seein' as how you're such a student o' military tactics. Have you ever studied the real Battle of Gettysburg?"
"The real Gettysburg?" The man blinked. "Well, say, Scotty, I can't say I knew there was another one! Where was that? A world in the Draco Combine?"
"Och, aye. Weel, let's just see wha' develops then."
* * *
"It looks as though Colonel Carlyle is up to his old tricks, Linda," the smooth-voiced announcer was saying. "He's pulling off a flank march right under Jaime Wolf's nose."
"That's right, Rob. Of course, Jamie Wolf is—"
And then the sound went dead as the computer cut out some part of the commentary containing tactical information about Wolf's movements.
No matter. For good or for bad, Grayson was committed now to one of the most dangerous of all tactical maneuvers—splitting his force in the face of a numerically superior opponent.
The real General Lee had done just that at the Battle of Chancellorsville, and with considerable success. Longstreet, his most able lieutenant after the death of the immortal Stonewall Jackson, had strongly urged the same sort of maneuver two months later at Gettysburg for various reasons now lost in the mists of history, and Lee had chosen instead to launch a series of direct attacks, gambling that the enthusiasm of his veteran soldiers would be enough to overcome their Union enemies, dug in on high and well-sheltered ground.
But that was a tactic Grayson Carlyle rarely favored. He only used head-on attacks against a strong enemy when he was sure of having the advantage of surprise and morale, or when the assault was a part of some larger strategic deception. Guessing that Jaime Wolf would probe with his scouts across the open valley between the parallel Cemetery and Seminary Ridges, Grayson had advanced one entire company—twelve 'Mechs—out from the tree cover of Seminary Ridge and into the valley, supported by a full battalion of foot soldiers and light hovercraft. Almost immediately, his recon-in-force flushed Wolf's cavalry, a strong force of hover armor already moving across the Emmitsburg Pike toward the seminary, taking advantage of folds in the ground and scattered buildings to conceal their advance from Grayson's scouts.
A sharp and highly mobile battle developed in the fields between the two ridges, as hovercraft howled and snapped at one another in tight, spinning turns, and Grayson's 'Mechs laid down salvo after devastating salvo, covering their own foot infantry's advance. Grayson was risking a lot here; most of his cavalry—representing the forces of the historical General Stuart—had not yet arrived on the field, and those hove
rcraft comprised almost his entire available reconnaissance force. It was a calculated maneuver, however, one designed to pin Wolf's attention on this side of Seminary Ridge, while the bulk of Grayson's army moved elsewhere.
He'd left only about thirty of his 'Mechs in position, strung out from the foot of Culp's Hill in the northeast to the northern half of Seminary Ridge in the west. The vast majority of his force, comprising his entire I and III Divisions, most of the II, and as many reserve units as he could scrape together, were on the move, a long, sinuous column of BattleMechs marching south, sheltered by the trees lining Seminary Ridge. The hardest part was to stay out of the line of sight of any enemy observers—and there were certain to be such—hidden in the woods at the top of Big Round Top, a cone-shaped eminence that dominated the entire southern portion of the battleground.
This was an enormous gamble. Wolf was certain to be expecting something of the sort, if for no other reason than that Grayson Carlyle had the reputation for daring and unexpected maneuvers.
Know the enemy, know yourself; your victory will never be endangered. Grayson long ago had committed Sun Tsu's immortal Art of War to memory, for the basic precepts of strategy and tactics changed little with the ages, whether the weapons employed were crossbows or Archers. The two men, Wolf and Carlyle, alike in so many ways, had markedly different tactical styles in the field. Jaime Wolf tended to unfold complex plans, with strategies that employed multiple wheels within wheels, misdirection, and surprise. Grayson, on the other hand, tended to be more spontaneous, concentrating on maneuver, strike, and maneuver again, with a fluid and opportunistic fighting style that probed relentlessly for openings, then exploiting them with lightning speed and power when they were revealed.
Knowing what he did of Wolf's character and reputation, he suspected that his opponent would anchor himself to the fishhook's hills and ridges, as Meade had done historically, while preparing some sort of multilayered surprise in the sheltered vale beyond, out of Grayson's line of sight. A mirror-image flanking maneuver to Grayson's end run was a possibility, but not, he felt sure, a probable one. More likely, Wolf would stick to the high ground, forcing Grayson to come to him, conservative tactics for the flamboyant Jaime Wolf, to be sure, but the best use of his forces in a situation like this.
But if Grayson knew anything at all about his opponent, it was that the man was unpredictable ... and that he would not long be fooled by Grayson's diversion in front of Cemetery Ridge. Grayson keyed in the command to increase the moving column's speed.
* * *
"I don't think we can wait anymore," Pardo said. The rifle, a deadly, smoothbore flechette launcher, was assembled, the electronic imaging sight snapped home and switched on. In the darkened press booth, the light from the targeting display cast a pale, yellow-green light across his eyes and the bridge of his nose. "I say pop the primary target. The secondary'll show up quick enough when he goes down, right?"
"Ice it, Pardo," the other man said. "Ice it down!" He checked the action of his needler with a quick nervous gesture. "We wait until I give the word, you got me?"
"Got you." Pardo returned his full attention to the display on his sight. At this range, with the magnification set to ten power, Carlyle's head nearly filled the screen, neatly quartered by glowing white cross hairs.
His finger tightened on the trigger ever so slightly. Damn, but he hated waiting!
* * *
The single most commanding feature on the battlefield was not a natural object like a ridge or a hill at all. Located a kilometer or two to the east of Cemetery Ridge, close by the Taneytown Road, was an imposing steel structure rising a hundred meters or more above the battlefield. Identified simply as the "National Tower," it was an ugly gray monstrosity of primitive engineering which Grayson doubted very much had existed during the original battle here. One of the problems with historical recreations, however, was the uncertainty of some of the research into older conflicts—in this case, a battle fought more than a thousand years ago. Many of the buildings present in and around the simulated town of Gettysburg were the product of guesswork and computer extrapolations, in particular the restaurants, motels, and souvenir shops. And the National Tower.
That tower, however, whether it had been present in the original battle or not, was definitely a factor in this one. Wolf would have lookouts up there, and from that vantage point they could see most of the battlefield in all directions.
The tower had to go.
So far, Grayson had managed to keep his moving column out of the tower's line of sight by sticking to the woods and the hollow in the land behind Seminary Ridge. Soon, though, he would have to cross in the open; if Wolf had observers up there, they would see Grayson's 'Mechs for sure.
He checked the time. It should be any moment now....
A roar sounded across the battlefield, echoed by the excited crowd watching. At the center of the field, the National Tower gave a shiver, then slowly, slowly, its saucer-shaped top swayed toward the east, falling, falling, then smashing into twisted steel wreckage across the Taneytown Road. .
Now! Move! Grayson's fingers clattered furiously across his keyboard. This had been yet another gamble, but a vital one. As he'd begun his movement, he'd ordered a team of four soldiers clad in individual combat armor to penetrate Wolf's lines and set charges at the base of the National Tower. It wouldn't be long before Wolf had other eyes aloft—in the trees on the crest of Big Round Top if he didn't have them there already—but the tower's unexpected demolition might buy Grayson a few precious moments of relative security.
Racing now, risking overheating with an extended run, Grayson's "Confederate" BattleMechs broke into the open almost two kilometers south of the Round Tops, moving east at full speed. Even without the tower, the enemy's scouts would almost certainly spot them in the open, but it shouldn't matter now. In a classic shift to the right, Grayson had swung around Wolf's left flank and was sweeping around toward his rear. He would be encountering Wolf's outlying pickets any moment now....
Contact! A scattering of light BattleMechs—Jenners and Locusts, mostly—blocked the way. Grayson keyed in a command and his lead 'Mechs rushed the enemy line in a blaze of rocketfire and lasers. Hits were scored and 'Mechs disabled, but Grayson ordered his line to ignore the cripples and keep moving. Damaged or routed twenty-tonners would pose little threat in his rear, and now more than ever, speed was of the essence.
When the line of nearly two hundred BattleMechs was stretched from just south of Big Round Top clear to Rock Creek, Grayson gave another order, and each 'Mech simultaneously wheeled in formation to the left.
Moving in line abreast now, each 'Mech separated from its neighbors by sixty meters, the Confederate line swept toward the north, squarely into the Union rear and astride the enemy's supply lines to the south. They'd begun taking fire, too, mostly scattered shots from isolated units of foot infantry and light armored vehicles. Grayson was feeling a growing apprehension. Where were Jaime Wolf's heavy 'Mechs? He'd expected to encounter most of Wolf's simulated army here, in the valley east of Cemetery Ridge and the Round Tops, but so far ...
An alert sounded, followed by scrolling lines of text on his primary display. Enemy 'Mechs had entered the line of sight of some of his units, moving into the open.
There! Grayson choked down a sudden burst of laughter. Jaime Wolf's army had indeed moved into the open. As though attracted by the cavalry fight between the north-south ridges, his heavy and assault 'Mechs were spilling down off of Cemetery Ridge to the west, striking hard at the 'Mechs Grayson had left in position south of the seminary. The camera view Grayson was seeing now was coming from one of those few defending 'Mechs he'd left behind, as a savage firefight snarled and swirled across the open fields and among the restaurants and motels along the Emmitsburg Road at the edge of the town.
So ... Wolf had elected to take the more dangerous option, moving over to the offensive, risking everything by leaving prepared positions, but with far more to win if h
e guessed right. If he'd caught Grayson's force while it was still in the process of moving, that might have ended the battle right then.
But now the advantage was with Grayson. Already blocking Wolf's supply lines to the south, he could hunker down and force Wolf to turn and attack him, knowing that the advantage generally went to the defender; that, in fact, had been a large part of Grayson's plan all along. But there was a splendid opportunity here.
Typing furiously, Grayson urged his 'Mechs forward at full speed, racing up the Taneytown Road from the south, pivoting like a gate behind the Round Tops to begin closing on Cemetery Ridge from the southeast. As the line extended itself, fresh volleys of fire seared in from the northeast, striking 'Mech after 'Mech. Grayson, his viewpoint now planted in a Confederate Marauder, paused and surveyed the field to the north. Rockets were rising in tightly packed, fire-tipped clusters from a wooded hill on the northeast horizon. A quick check of a topo relief map on one of his displays made him smile. By ironic coincidence, that elevation from which the LRM fire was coming was historically known as Wolf's Hill, a low and thickly wooded rise positioned in the Union rear. More missile fire was probing down from the Round Tops as well; there must be several Archers or Apollos up there, lobbing LRMs in indirect fire up through the tree cover.
Stop and deal with them? Or press ahead? He made his decision almost before he could mentally voice the question. If he paused to engage each of the hardpoints Jaime had left scattered about the Union rear, he would become so bogged down in small, separate actions that his main force would never win free in time; Wolf would turn his main body about and return to Cemetery Ridge, guns, lasers, and missiles blazing. He would keep moving, accepting the casualties as enemy fire raked his flanks.
Tactics of Duty Page 9