by Rick Shelley
"For the sake of argument, let's assume that we're going to draw just about all of the Schlinal troops out of Maison. If that's the case, as soon as we have full dark tonight, we'll move 3rd recon and Echo Company around in a counterclockwise loop to come in from the east. Liberating Maison is the tactical objective, even if that liberation only lasts for as long as we're on Porter. Besides, if we manage to get our men in behind the Heggie force, we can cut them off from their base and pincer them between the two forces."
Charley and Echo companies, even reinforced by two of the 13th's four sixty-man recon "platoons," would still be outnumbered by more than four to one, but once those elements were in place, they would have help—all of the help that Stossen could get to them.
—|—
Charley Company and 1st recon moved out first. Shortly after their departure, the companies whose segments of the perimeter bordered Echo's moved to cover that wedge. The companies that were being moved toward the routes down the escarpment shifted at the same time. Echo Company moved back and northeast through the forest to rendezvous with 3rd recon, which had already moved beyond the lines of the main perimeter. They would all take what rest they could manage until sunset. Then they would start their long march to come into the town of Maison from the far side.
"Close to twenty klicks, in the dark," Joe whispered before telling his men to grab some dirt and try to sleep for a few hours. "And we need to cover it all before first light." He was only talking to himself. It would be a long march, even if there were no problems along the way—and there were always problems.
Night was the friend of the infantryman. The infrared detectors in their helmets meant that it was that much less likely that they would walk blindly into an ambush, and they would be able to see their targets no matter how well they were camouflaged. The night-vision systems the Accord used in its infantry helmets combined techniques to optimize seeing. Infrared technology was added to that for enhancing available visible light. Although the combination meant that the wearer required a certain amount of time to get accustomed to the double vision, the system provided better results than either technique used on its own. Even under a forest canopy beneath a moonless sky—Porter had no proper moon, only a pair of very small rocks, asteroids captured by the planet's gravity—the battle helmet allowed seventy percent of daylight vision, with relatively little loss of depth perception. There was also little loss of night vision after a sudden blare of light. Without augmentation, the eye's capability to see under night conditions could be seriously degraded for a half hour or more by even a modest light; with the helmet optics, it took less than thirty seconds for the system to readapt.
Joe took his own advice to get a little sleep. On his third campaign, Joe was an old hand. He had no difficulty at all dozing off. A soldier had to learn to take whatever opportunities for sleep came his way in the field. Once he had settled himself on the ground, close to the largest tree in his vicinity, Joe simply shut his eyes and took one long, slow breath. By the time it was out, so was he. There were no dreams to trouble his slumber, and no further air raids to interrupt it. He slept until a call from Max Maycroft told him it was time to get ready.
"On your feet," Joe said over the squad frequency, instantly alert. "Grab a meal and a drink. Do whatever else needs doing. We move out in fifteen minutes."
While he was talking, Joe pulled the heat strip on a meal pack. Ten seconds later, he tore off the lid and started in on his supper—his first meal since leaving the troop ship fifteen hours earlier.
CHAPTER SIX
The troops formed up silently, without undue wasted motion. The major sound was of rifles being checked one last time for full magazines and charged power packs. Helmet radios picked up the softest of whispers, and visors kept soft voices from carrying other than through the radios. Earphones channeled transmissions directly to the ears, gently enough that the soldier could still hear any sounds in the environment around him. If hearing became more critical, it was possible to turn on a pass-through feature that would have microphones on the exterior of the helmet pick up sounds and run them through the earphones within. Once the force started out for their night march, the scouts and flankers would use those pickups routinely.
Twelve men of 3rd recon led the way, starting out ten minutes ahead of the main force. It was the recon squad's job to scout the route, to discover any enemy that might be lurking in wait, to neutralize them if possible, or to warn the main force. Behind the advance squad, the rest of 3rd recon took the point on three different columns. One platoon of Echo Company would cover each flank. Another would bring up the rear. That left 2nd platoon in the center with the headquarters staff and the heavy weapons and counter-air sections of the company.
Captain Teu Ingels had made the choice to put 2nd platoon in the middle. "Baerclau's lot has had their rough duty for the day," he told Lieutenant Keye. "Of course, once we get there, things may change." Ingels was a popular commander because no matter how rough he had to be, in training or working his men, he was scrupulously fair, and in any dealings with outsiders, he always supported his men. His criticisms were never reckless, and he was even quicker to praise good work. He managed to seem friendly even while maintaining the degree of aloofness that any commander must have to lead men effectively.
Being in the center of the formation moving cross-country did not necessarily mean that Joe and the rest of the platoon were in the safest location. A well-placed, and well-led, ambush might easily wait for the center to come by before opening up. Any air or artillery attack would likely aim for the heaviest concentration of troops. But being in the middle did mean that they were farther from the audible clues that might be the first hint in the night that something was amiss. The sounds made by their comrades, soft and infrequent though those noises might be, would cover up any but the grossest sounds coming from farther away.
Echo Company kept a steady pace, moving forward fifty-five minutes out of each hour. There were few alarms, and none of those proved genuine. In one case, Joe and his men saw a small antelope bound away. Half of the company had moved past the animal before it took alarm and fled, giving dozens of men a fright they neither needed nor welcomed.
Near the end of the second hour of the advance, the recon squad out in front of the march did find humans, but not the enemy. They were the Jeomin family—father, mother, and three children, two of them almost full-grown. The Jeomins knew enough to freeze when commanded to, and they waited until three recon soldiers came close enough to identify them.
"You outta Maison?" a corporal named Nimz asked.
Oscar Jeomin shook his head slowly. "We're farmers. Our place is this side of Maison, about six kilometers. We heard about the landing. We had to come to you." Jeomin looked as if he were fit enough for the 13th. His two sons were both tall and broadly built. Only their faces showed that they were not yet men. All of the Jeomins were dressed well, if plainly. They did not look as if they had been through any real physical discomfort.
Nimz nodded slowly, as if the Jeomins' decision to come out at night, hike through a forest, and make contact with the new army made perfect sense to him. He detailed two men to escort the family back to his sergeant, who asked a few more questions and routed the family on to Captain Ingels.
It was almost time for a five-minute rest when the Jeomins arrived at the main body of the force. Captain Ingels did not hesitate to stop the company a few minutes early. A civilian family was a complication he had not anticipated, and did not relish.
"Sit down," he invited. He did so himself. Half of his headquarters staff was standing around, watching curiously. The men were not nearly as concerned over the complication that the Jeomins posed as they were curious about what they might have to say about the occupying Schlinal army.
"Have you eaten lately?" the captain asked next, casually, as if he had nothing better to do than spend the entire night chatting with these strangers met in a forest. Small talk gave him time to organize the
more important questions he needed to ask.
Oscar Jeomin chuckled, but quietly, as if he fully understood the danger of noise. "We've eaten. That's not what made us set out. You can tell by looking at us that we haven't missed many meals. It's just that those bastards have taken over our farm, just this evening. We knew about the landing and figured you must be close, if not this close. Coupla times, Jason—he's my oldest—heard heavy shooting, artillery, he thought. When we saw the Heggie bastards coming, we hightailed it as quick as we could. But Jaiza threw together a picnic basket. We left that after we ate."
"How many soldiers?" Ingels asked. "At your farm."
"Thirty-six. I counted twice," Jeomin said. "Rifles, some heavier guns, and rockets. Nothing one man couldn't carry without getting a hernia though."
"What's it been like with them on Porter?"
Jeomin shrugged. "Hasn't been all that bad up here in the highlands, leastwise, not till lately, but we've heard stories about down in Porter City, and around there. We don't have much industry on the plateau, and industry seems to be mostly what the bastards are keen on. Brought in managers and so forth to take over, and posted soldiers everywhere to make sure the managers were obeyed. But it's just recently that we've really had a fair number of them soldiers on the plateau. They been moving up kinda regularlike for the last two, three months. And buildin' barracks for more of 'em. Making us build the barracks."
Ingels had dozens of questions he would have liked to ask, but there was no time. Echo Company had its mission to accomplish, and Lieutenant Colonel Banyon had sent orders to escort the Jeomins back to headquarters. Ingels did get Oscar to locate their farm on a mapboard, and to give a brief description of the buildings, and the vantages that an infantryman might use to set up an ambush.
"I know you mayn't be able to help it, but please try not to bust the place up any more'n you have to," Jaiza said. "It's been good for us."
"We'll do what we can," Ingels said. "I'll send a man along to guide you back to our headquarters. I'm sure the colonel has some questions, and the folks back there can probably find you bedrolls and a place to spread them."
A quick radio conference with Colonel Stossen brought a small change in plans for Echo Company and its recon detachment. Two of the recon platoon's twelve-man squads would detour to the Jeomin farm, along with two squads from 3rd platoon and two splat gun teams from Echo's heavy weapons squad. The splat gun was the lineal descendant of earlier machine guns. It fired heavy bursts of the same wire that the Armanoc zippers used, but the splat gun spat longer segments at a higher rate and velocity, and instead of twenty-meter spools, it loaded two-hundred meters of wire at a time. Up close—within fifty meters—it was as deadly as the cannons of a Wasp, able to saturate a target area.
Echo Company and its recon platoon did not start out until ten minutes after the Jeomins had been led back toward the LZs. Then, Ingels directed the raiding party that was going to the Jeomin farm off at an angle to the main advance. He told them to push their pace so they would be in position well before dawn. After that group was gone, the rest of Echo and 3rd recon angled more to the other side, rapidly putting distance between the two forces. No matter what happened at the farmhouse, there would be no reinforcements for the men sent to take it... at least not before morning saw the primary job finished.
—|—
Zel Paitcher had been sleeping in the narrow clearance under the cockpit of his Wasp. After spending ten hours cramped up in his fighter, he was exhausted. His entire body ached. Even for a small man, the cockpit of a Wasp was tight.
The Wasps were almost maintenance free; theoretically, they could be kept in the air as long as there was a pilot to sit in the cockpit. But, as valuable a weapon as each fighter was, there were limits, human limits, to the time it could spend in the air, whether in combat or not. There were no spare pilots. Pilots needed sleep. Ground crews needed sleep. In a sense, perhaps even the Wasps needed their share of "sleep," inactive time to allow circuits and weapons to cool, to give batteries longer to recharge, to permit more thorough maintenance inspections.
Beginning late in the afternoon, the colonel had started ordering a few Wasps down at a time, hoping to give all of the pilots as much rest as possible while keeping enough of them in the sky to fly a proper air cap and respond to any renewed Schlinal assault. At least there had been no second major air raid by the enemy. From time to time, two or four Schlinal Boems would shoot in a few rockets from extreme range, but they went to great pains to avoid engagement. They always veered away as soon as Wasps started toward them.
Zel was untroubled at having nothing more than hard ground under him and a slight thermal blanket to provide some cover. He slept through exhaustion in something scarcely less deep than coma. Though flying a Wasp was not particularly demanding physically, it did take intense concentration, and that could be even more draining than physical exercise. Zel had not even taken off his flight helmet when he crawled under his plane. At least the cushioning in the helmet gave his head some ease.
It seemed that he had only been asleep for minutes when Slee nudged Zel's foot with his own.
"Up an' at 'em, Zel." Slee's voice sounded as exhausted as it had when they had finally been relieved from flying. Slee was also slightly hoarse after breathing in chilly air for several hours. Even though the day had been scorching hot, the night was almost cold. The plateau was four-hundred meters above sea level.
For more than a minute, there was no sign of any response from Zel. Save for the snoring, he might almost have been dead.
"Come on, Zel," Slee said. "I'd like another six hours myself, but we've got to let the others have a turn."
Slee stretched his neck, flexing it as much as he could, back and front, side to side. There was a deep ache right at the back of his neck, as if he had taken a stiff jolt against the top of his spine. The ache had wakened him once, if not for long, and the pain was worse now.
Finally, Zel moaned, soft but long, and turned over. Slee nudged Zel's foot again, which brought a slightly louder moan, almost as if the touch had caused physical pain.
"I know it's hard, but they keep talkin' about sound discipline, Zel. You'll make folks think there's a lovesick heula around here." The heula was a thousand-kilo ruminant from Slee's homeworld. It liked to wallow in shallow water and wail through the night.
Zel pulled his knees up toward his chest, then wrapped his arms around them. He was awake now, barely, but far from alert. He was a flyer. His instincts did not jerk his mind to the ready instantly, the way a veteran infantryman's would.
"Let me die in peace," Zel mumbled.
"Come on. Get a stimtab in you. We're supposed to be in the air in five minutes."
Never make it, Zel thought, but his mind was beginning to function. Slee knelt at his side and forced a stimtab between Zel's lips. Zel resisted, but only for a moment. He sucked on the lozenge and slid out from under his fighter, pulling himself up to a sitting position.
Their crew chief was running a final check of the two Wasps. The planes had been replenished with ammunition and fresh batteries immediately upon landing, six hours earlier, in case they were needed in a hurry, sooner than planned. Now, the chief was simply double-checking everything. Roo Vernon, crew chief for these two Wasps, was a very cautious man.
"Any special orders for this trip?" Zel asked as the stimtab started its work.
"Mostly quiet work. Scouting. The colonel's trying to keep track of every warm body on the planet."
Zel stood and went through a series of stretches. That, and the stimtab, soon had him alert.
"She's all ready, sir," Roo told Zel.
"Thanks, Chief." Zel suppressed a yawn. "Two minutes, and I'll be ready." He wasn't exactly thrilled at the idea of getting back into the air, but as ready as he was likely to feel. There were times now when Zel could hardly recall that it had not been all that long before that he would have gladly forsworn sleep altogether to stay in the air a little longer.
—|—
Cruising in a Wasp at night was very like being a ghost, or even the shadow of a ghost, almost completely invisible. The light-absorbing skin of the fighter made it almost impossible for eyes to see the craft in the dark, save as it might occult some light source, and the plane was always invisible to radar. Cruising at minimal speed, it was also nearly silent, the whisper of its passage easy to miss, or to pass off as nothing more than a gentle zephyr. Most of the time, the loudest sound in the cockpit was the pilot's own breathing—and the cockpit was insulated well enough to prevent that sound from escaping.
Once Zel was in the cockpit of Blue four and going through his preflight checklist, all thought of exhaustion and aches vanished. As always, Zel felt himself becoming part of the Wasp rather than merely a rider in it. At night, the metamorphosis was even more convincing. Outside, there was the darkness, a cloak. Inside, there were only the soft green and red indicator lights and the muted colors of the video displays, contrast and brightness kept as low as possible. Every surface inside and out was designed not to reflect even those minimal levels of light; numbers and graphics seemed to float in the blackness.
Zel tightened his safety harness. The comforting pressure of the straps quickly faded from his awareness. He could reach everything he needed to within the cockpit. There was so little room for the pilot in a Wasp that Zel could almost have reached all of the controls with his elbows.
"Clear on the ground," Roo Vernon reported over his radio link.
"Roger," Zel replied automatically. "Slee?"
"Let's do it," Slee said.
Not fifteen meters from Slee's Wasp, Zel could scarcely mark the outline of the other fighter's canopy. At night, the flyers would depend on instruments to maintain station on each other. Encrypted electronic beacons let them fly in close formation—wingtips as little as fifty centimeters apart—even when they could not see each other. The encryption kept the system safe from enemy interference, or even detection. The Wasps also had anticollision systems that would automatically veer them away from each other if they came closer than fifty centimeters.