Murphy's Lawless: A Terran Republic Novel

by Charles E. Gannon

  R’Bak

  As Athena bolted up the narrow gap and bounced from outcrop to outcrop, Aliza clenched the reins with every ounce of strength in her hands. She clamped her legs in the saddle to hold her in position atop the whinnie. Hands and legs burned from the effort, and she realized she’d been holding her breath. Forcing herself to breathe, Aliza bounced in the makeshift saddle again as Athena scrambled toward, and then up, a vertical face only a few meters high. Aliza gasped at the speed and audacity of the move. The speed of the climb shocked her. On the mostly flat, rocky ground of the tableland and surrounding desert, the animals were graceful and fast. But she’d seen no evidence of the almost gravity-defying climbing ability that Athena had demonstrated. Slipping over the top of the wall in less than three seconds, the whinnie moved uphill and deeper into the brush, the other whinnies trailing behind her.

  Aliza pulled back gently on the reins. “Slow down, girl. Let’s wait for the others.”

  Athena grunted and continued moving forward at a slow walk. The whinnie didn’t want to slow down but understood Aliza’s intent. As they climbed up the hill through the scrub brush, the narrow passage around the craggy bluff opened onto a wider area. While the brush seemed thicker and more pervasive, Aliza realized that Athena’s meandering path was purposeful. The whinnie chose her path to avoid thickets and anything that would distract her rider.

  To their left, the draw climbed up the mountain into a thicker forest that appeared to level out into a tight, but extended, valley that curved toward the northern rim of the tableland. There was no sign of how far it stretched. On their right, toward the summit location of OP Two, large, recent rock falls covered most of the area. Boulders the size of automobiles littered the landscape that would have given them the fastest way up to the high shelf of land. Aliza saw Athena stare up that slope for a moment before angling back to the left.

  “What have you got, girl?”

  Athena pressed ahead, faster now. Aliza looked over her shoulder and saw the rest of the patrol scrambling up the hill toward the vertical face they’d climbed. None of the whinnies appeared to have any trouble duplicating her feat. Aliza relaxed and let Athena pick up her pace.

  As they climbed into the forested area, the intense heat relented and Aliza could feel a cool—well, less hot—breeze on her skin. She wiped a sleeve across her forehead and reached for a canteen on her load-bearing equipment harness—olive drab canvas “H” straps attached to a pistol belt with a metal clasp. It wasn’t the most comfortable apparatus she’d ever worn, but it carried canteens, ammunition, her M1911 pistol, and a couple of other pouches with ease.

  The water was cool and good, and Aliza drank greedily. As she slipped the canteen back into its container, the rustling of the taller tree-like plants filled the little valley with a peaceful sound. But there was something else on the wind.

  “Whoa, girl.” Aliza tugged the reins and Athena stopped. Closing her eyes, Aliza put her entire focus on the sensory input from her ears. In the breeze, there was a barely audible trickling sound.

  Water.

  She smiled. I knew it! All we had to do was search up along this side of the tableland.

  Turning her head slowly, Aliza tried to locate the sound. She tugged Athena in that direction and the big whinnie trotted up the slope and between several copses of trees. In the center of a group of five trees was a small pool only a few feet across. On the uphill side of the pool there was a rock overhang. The water in the pool emerged from underground.

  A spring.

  She followed the flow from the overhang, through the pool, to a narrow stream that flowed for about five meters before it darted back underground. There was no sign that the spring returned to the surface anywhere in their vicinity. A lucky find.

  Aliza laughed to herself and shook her head in disbelief. She studied the pool and her eyes grew wide in recognition. Several very familiar and very rare plants blossomed at the edge of the water. She wanted to dismount and see them up close, but she remained in the saddle. There was no way of telling if the water was safe enough for them to—

  Athena stepped forward and lapped at the pool for several seconds. Satisfied, the whinnie raised her head and turned back to look at Aliza. Her dark eyes almost glittered. If it could have laughed, she imagined the whinnie would have.

  Aliza’s mouth fell open. “You knew.”

  Athena made a purring sound and stepped to the left of the pool and the tiny stream and continued up the valley. Dumbstruck in the saddle, Aliza didn’t react until they’d gone twenty meters beyond the spring. She looked back toward the pool and couldn’t see it.

  “What the hell?” She listened for a moment and could still hear it. The perfectly camouflaged pool wasn’t something casually seen or located. A very lucky find.

  No. A deliberate one. They led us here.

  The sound of an approaching whinnie at a fast trot caught her attention, and she turned to see Whittaker riding toward her.

  He pointed over at the hidden pool. “Aliza? Did you see that?”

  She smiled. “I did. Athena drank from it. They knew it was here.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll be damned.”

  Aliza brushed her dusty clothes. “Seems that way. What do you want to do?”

  Whittaker pointed up the valley. “Follow this around the bend as far as it goes. There has to be another way up to the tableland. If Athena wants us to go that way, we probably should.”

  Aliza pointed at the radio handset on Whittaker’s harness. Unlike Captain Moorefield, he’d chosen to carry the heavy radio himself. “We should report this.”

  Whittaker grunted and reached for the handset. “I’ll try. Line-of-sight to OP Two has been terrible.”

  Aliza swept back a lock of her hair the freshening breeze was fluttering across her face. She turned toward the west and saw a low cloud on the—

  Not a low cloud. An enormous dust cloud. They’re coming after us.

  “Sergeant Whittaker?”

  He paused and looked where she stared. “OP Two, Saber Nine. Over.”

  A static-filled voice replied. “Saber Nine, OP Two. Be advised enemy attacking in your direction. Saber Six is en route to your position now. Advise you find a way up to the tableland fast. Over.”

  Whittaker turned back to the curving, narrowing valley. “Negative, OP Two. Relay to Saber Six, we’re preparing a hasty defense. Tell him to bust his ass and join us. I’ll hang a lantern for him. Out.”

  “A lantern? It’s full daylight?” Aliza asked.

  “An expression. I’ll post a guide down below to get them up here in a hurry. We’ve got other things to do right now.”

  “As in preparing a defense instead of climbing up and over?” Aliza asked. “Isn’t that Captain Moorefield’s decision?”

  “He knows the stakes, Aliza.” Whittaker frowned. “They’re moving too fast, and we have the advantage of the high ground here. If they get up on the tableland, they won’t stop until they roll up everything we have. Our job was to deceive and delay the enemy, and that’s exactly what we have to do. We hold them here at least until he can slam those stolen vehicles into their flank.”

  “You’re certain?”

  Whittaker grinned. “It’s what I’d do.”

  * * *

  Whittaker’s report was exactly what Bo wanted to hear and his own plan of action crystallized. The immobile gun platform sitting utterly broken in the middle of the trail’s tightest section had become a solution, rather than a problem. The craggy rock formations pinning it from either side restricted movement in the immediate area. Leaving the trail to cut a new path up the pass would take a significant investment in time and blood. While their enemy might have the resolve to do so, the trail’s blockage could be used to channelize them to wherever Bo wanted them to go.

  Until they get the vehicle out of there, that is. Which they might very well be able to accomplish, given the larger vehicles they’d seen in reconnaissance. Yanking the br
oken vehicle out with something more powerful than a handful of whinnies wouldn’t be that hard. Bo studied the rocks on either side and smiled.

  Unless it is so jammed that even vehicles can’t get it out of the way.

  He grabbed the handset from Sublete and thumb-stabbed the transmit button. “OP Two, relay to Seeker Six. Need their sappers or demo team at the block point to detonate this vehicle and the surrounding rock formations. I want them to collapse the pass completely at this location. Over.”

  “Saber Six, OP Two. Roger all. TRP set on location and we’ll get the sappers moving that direction immediately. Over.”

  “OP Two, roger that. I’m moving to Saber Nine now,” Bo said. He took a quick breath. “Contact Saber Nine for grid coordinates in front of their positions and standby for contingency Charlie at my command. Saber Six, out.”

  He handed the handset back to Sublete and nodded at the young man. The young soldier projected confidence. “Ready to move, sir.”

  Bo pointed at Sublete’s mount. “You’ve ridden him at a full gallop before?”

  “A couple of times. A few minutes, tops.”

  “Then hang on for dear life, son.” Bo wheeled Scout to the east and waved at Cook. “When we get to the bottom, dismount and find a vehicle. Leave your whinnie; it’ll be fine. We’ll mount up and attack to the north, into their flank. Once we blow up the pass, they’ll take the bait and commit fully toward our screen. That’s when we’ll hit them. You’ll be the lead vehicle in the attack.”

  “Yes, sir!” Cook nudged his mount, and the whinnie launched into a trot that quickly became a full gallop across the desert.

  “Go, Sublete. I’m right behind you.” The RTO and his mount sped after Cook with a good interval between them. Anything they could do to confuse, confound, and slow down the enemy would be the priority. From the upslope side of the collapsed vehicle, Bo heard a group of whinnies approaching.

  He didn’t wait for them to dismount and prepare the explosives. “C’mon, Scout!” He tapped the whinnie’s side gently. “Time to put steel on target.”

  * * *

  Once out of the pass, Bo rode straight for the ragged line of vehicles concealed in the rocks and scrub. Cook was near the center and gestured toward a six-wheeled vehicle with a fat, wide turret on top of its hull. Its two large cannons pointed out over the front windows. They moved slightly from left to right and Bo knew they were already seeing, and tracking, the enemy.

  He was already working his feet out of the stirrups and Scout’s harness as they slid to a stop. He dismounted the whinnie and saw Scout’s triangular head turn his way. The animal’s eyes were calm and focused, and despite their frantic pace down the mesa, he appeared to be breathing normally.

  “Go home, Scout.” Bo turned around and made for the vehicles. The whinnie didn’t move. He pointed up the steep skirts of the tableland toward their compound and paddock. “Scout! Go home.”

  Scout trumpeted softly. The tone was deep and mournful, but the whinnie turned and trotted toward the bottom of the slope and made its way to the north. The other dismounted whinnies followed.

  Bo watched them for a second until Specialist Sublete appeared at his shoulder. “Sir, Saber Nine.”

  “Saber Nine, Six, go,” Bo said into the handset.

  “Confirm that OpFor regiment is advancing in three echelons. Forward elements are two, I say again, two mechanized infantry battalions. More or less. They’re moving toward our position now in a line abreast formation. Third echelon is behind them a couple of klicks or so. They appear to be heavy indirect fire weapons. Not artillery pieces, but with elevated tubes and smaller bores. Probably mortar carriers. How copy?”

  Bo clenched and relaxed his jaw. “Good copy. Anything else?”

  “We’re in a solid defensive position, sir. What are your intentions? Over.”

  “Counterattack. We’ll hit the southernmost echelon first. Either kill them or turn them toward the others. Based on the cloud, I don’t think we’ll intercept the further echelon until they’re on top of your position.”

  “Looks like that to me, too, sir. We’ll hold the second echelon provided their artillery isn’t accurate.” Whittaker paused. “If it is, we’ve got some secondary positions identified.”

  It will have to do.

  Cook pointed at the big vehicle. “Sir, you’re in this one. Sublete is on the next vehicle over.”

  Bo nodded and turned to Sublete. “Flag me down if the shit hits the fan.”

  “Yes, sir,” Sublete replied and went to his vehicle.

  “You’ve got Private Jackson and Private Cleric onboard this one, sir. It’s rough around the edges but can hammer armor from what the indigs tell us.” Cook moved toward the vehicle and kept talking. “There’s a hatch up top. You’ll probably want to use it: old-school everything in this bucket.”

  “Thanks, Cook. Good hunting,” Bo said and scrambled up onto the quiet vehicle using rungs on the right rear of the vehicle’s hull. He crossed over the engine deck and stepped easily onto the turret. An oval hatch in the center of the turret beckoned. He stooped and swung his legs down, putting his body halfway into the turret. He felt around with his soles and found a small shelf where he could stand. Some things are the same wherever you go. The amount of bodily exposure while standing in the hatch reminded him of the M1 Abrams.

  There was a rudimentary headset hanging on the lip of the hatch. He slipped it over his head and heard the two soldiers talking over the crew intercom.

  “Crew report,” Bo said.

  “Driver ready, sir,” Jackson replied.

  “Gunner ready, sir,” Cleric said. “I’m below you and to your left. Jackson is in the hull. We have eighty rounds aboard and we’re ready to go.”

  Bo smiled. Not bad for making it up as we go.

  “Standby for ignition short count,” Bo called. “We have no radios with the others, correct?”

  “Not really, sir. Some data sharing at my console, but direct comms are inoperable,” Cleric said. “Gotta do it the old-fashioned way.”

  “Roger that,” Bo replied. Let’s hope everyone remembers hand and arm signals.

  He stood in the hatch and looked in both directions. Every vehicle had at least one crew member looking his way. He waved the signal for “attention” and followed it with the sign for “prepare to move.” As he made the circular motion, he called to Jackson. “Start in three, two, one.”

  The vehicle growled to life under him. The other vehicles seemed to answer with their own roars and turbine-screams. Bo held both arms out to his sides indicating a line formation and ensured that all the crews saw him. He gave them the signal to move forward, and the line rumbled into the scrub and picked up speed.

  “What can you see, Cleric?”

  “It’s got a decent thermal type sight, sir. I can see the first battalion now. We’re coming in on their flank.”

  Bo kept his eyes on the formation. He pumped his fist into the sky several times. “Floor it, Jackson! As soon as we’re in range, Cleric, pick your targets and start firing.”

  “Yes, sir!” both men answered in unison.

  The vehicle picked up speed and bounced across the rocky terrain. Bo grabbed at the edge of the hatch for safety and wished there was any type of machine gun mount there to hold on to. His time aboard the Abrams, with its .50 caliber machine gun mount on the commander’s hatch, had spoiled him.

  Cleric fired, the twin cannons discharging a half-second apart. What rounds they fired Bo could not track as there was no tracer element. However, when they impacted the side of a similar vehicle in the attacking column, the results were spectacular. Along the line, Bo watched his vehicles fire and adjust into the marching battalion. The attackers never had a chance.

  “Hell, yeah!” Cleric yelled over the intercom. The turret swiveled to the right and fired again. Another vehicle, this one a dune-buggy-thing full of infantry, detonated in a bright orange fireball. “They’ve gotta be seven hundred meters away
!”

  Bo agreed based on what he could see. As the surprise effect waned, the enemy formation did not veer off to flee, but instead turned into the approaching Lost Soldier formation for a counterattack. From his position at the center of the line, Bo saw the edges starting to slow and push his formation into a vee shape. He flagged down the vehicles on the extreme left as Cleric kept up a steady rate of fire, locating, ranging, and engaging one target after another. The line sped up and closed with the surprised enemy.

  As the distance between the formations closed, the firefight began in earnest. One of Bo’s vehicles on the right side of the line exploded as they charged into the enemy flank. They hit another on his left, which heeled to a stop, smoking sullenly. But his attack kept moving forward and putting rounds downrange. Accurate rounds, whereas a great deal of the J’Stull shots went wild. Because it must be just like the locals told us, Bo thought with a nod at the absent indigs: almost none of the OpFor have any significant training. In fact, if the intel was as correct as it seemed to be, most were just strong-arm enforcers.

  Cleric fired again and again. Dust and smoke obscured more and more of the enemy formation. Bo frantically signaled his line to slow down, but they kept charging forward into the cloud. One second, Bo could see the battlefield and the next, the white and brown cloud encircled them. A flash of movement caught his eye, and he spun to see an enemy vehicle with a wide-bored gun tube pointed in his direction.

  “Contact left!” he called.

  Cleric swung the turret hard left as Jackson yanked the vehicle in the opposite direction. Bo lost his grip on the hatch ring. One moment he was standing in the hatch; the next, the vehicle’s lurch sent him skittering across the top of the vehicle. He slid off its side toward the rocky ground two meters below.

  Shit!

  He hit the ground and instinctively rolled away from his vehicle’s wheels. Pain swam in from every limb and almost every part of his torso. Eyes closed and face pressed into the desert floor, Bo quickly evaluated his body by feel. Nothing was broken, but he’d have a damned hard time moving as he recovered from the impact.