"Now we get to wait. In space, tightbeam laser communications don't reveal your positions. If you are in close combat, the enemy sees exactly where you are. Here, concealment is everything," Chang explained. "Perhaps I am being a boring old man, saying what you already know in excessive detail, but my briefing did not mention how much crosstraining you do."
"The Comrade General is most kind to remind us of matters that I at least have almost forgotten in the many years since I was a cadet," Villiers said. She kneaded the back of Rohan's neck.
"I am happy to be of assistance, Comrade Fleet Captain," General Chang said. "Though it can hardly be very many years. Meantime, I believe our assault on the cantonment is going in. And our, hmmhhh, the events at the two outposts are becoming a bit confusing. Our volunteers seem to have collided with a group being relieved from watch, not on the regular schedule."
Images shifted to a static forest scene. Time ground on. "And there goes the ambush of the reaction force," General Chang announced. "They walked right into it, too. I even have an image. That's an American PIT -- Powered Infantry Transporter -- as its fuel stores light off." The picture revealed a low set machine with the contours of a giant scorpion erupting in blue-white flame. "How sad. It appears the squad it was transporting did not have an opportunity to disembark." Villier's hand tightened convulsively on Rohan's neck. The General appeared thoughtful. "And now I believe our patriots are making their planned withdrawal. It is quite late. I have a note from General Xiang. He notes the rain was much colder and more intense than expected, our men will be exhausted, and therefore he must regretfully postpone your meeting with our patriots until tomorrow afternoon. His limousine is waiting to take you to the Thousand Ponds Resort."
Rohan and Villiers exchanged a meaningful glance. Every time life had become interesting on the ground, they had advanced to the next component of the operation. They'd both seen exercises go belly up before, training officers covering their backsides, and hadn't missed the symptoms here. "It is indeed very late, General," Rohan said, "And I look forward to a complete summary of the victories your heroic volunteers have won here and at the other points along the front."
FRONTIER OBSERVATION LINE
TRAINING BATTALION, BELLA ABZUG BRIGADE
SOUTH HARBIN STATE PARK
HARBIN, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
July 18, 2174, 3:47 AM HLT
Wonderchick lay in a shallow depression, peering up the creek toward the platoon cantonment. She had allowed the Chinese--nearly 60 of them--to pass her, and had followed. The ground dipped and then rose again. Atop the rise the Chinese had left a blocking group. The Platoon Commander had been quite emphatic: The Chinese had come through this way, and if they wanted to exit quickly, they would be coming back the same way. Perhaps. She was to wait, and not reveal that she was following the Chinese. After the first half-hour, the blocking group seemed to have faded. Someplace to the west, Smart Blond was covering Wonderchick's rear. Hastily-deployed strands of extra sensors should pinpoint another infiltration attempt, if one occurred.
The platoon comm net was in chaos. The ChiComms had broken into the cantonment and hit the command position. Several people were seriously down. Monica Schumacher had apparently remained inside the command post, unable to move, but still giving orders. She couldn't really have both legs broken, could she? Or had she crawled out of the post to the reserve post? It was hard to tell. Cadre had not yet said a word. Why weren't they in the loop? Monica had spent half an hour before the attack asking the reserves--18th Alabama, Men's Volunteer Forces--to show up before the ChiComms attacked, half an hour after the attack warning them that there might be ambush forces, and fifteen minutes setting a counterattack to rescue them when they drove straight into the ambush. Fourth squad had deployed at a run, relying on inertial mappers and night vision equipment to put them into the right places. Wonderchick told herself that even the 18th Alabama could not have managed to lose an Infantry Transporter to ambush, no matter what she was hearing. Now things had quieted down...except the bistatic radar was giving her hints of motion across the ridge she was facing, and for sure Deborah Troop had no one out there.
Night vision goggles or not, nothing was in line of sight yet. Earlier on, she'd thought there'd been a ghost of motion off to her left, but Smart Blond had dropped extra sensor chains across that flank and not found anything. She reminded herself to be careful if she moved. Ultracamou was dirt-tolerant, but lying on muddy ground for a few hours was pushing its limits. The pooled rainwater did do a nice job of submerging her ultracamou heat dump, so she should be black in the IR, but if she weren't careful she'd still show in the visible. Now the bistatic was very quiet. Had people gone off some other way? She typed a warning to platoon on her glovepad, even though she was not at all sure that Signals was hearing her.
Assuredly, that was an IR target peering over the slope opposite, looking out around a tree stump. Hot, too, pushing 100F. Someone had been running. She told herself to wait and see what else showed up. The creek bottom was open and clear for almost 200 yards, with fairly steep slopes a distance out on each side. If they were going to return the way they came, this was a good place to wait for them.
Voices carried well through the night. Chinese. Something was repeated. Two dozen men came over the ridge crest. They began running toward her, spreading as they advanced. No, they were running along the flat ground, no sign that they saw her, not in good tactical order, some with weapons across backs, none seeming to cover flanks or check six. The targeting on her Tsunami came up. The fractional AI targeted the front of the group--she pushed it to cover the group's rear. Here the objective was not to break the charge but to trap them in the kill zone. No more men came across the ridge. The Chicomm in the rear of the formation closed to Tsunami range. She fired the mine and began shooting, sweeping left to right, double aimed rounds per target. The ChiComms began shooting back, spraying the woods at random. With all that noise, for sure they weren't now going to localize the sound of her weapon. After a bit, the few survivors went to ground. Shouts suggested regrouping. Screams suggested men unavailable to regroup. An occasional crack overhead suggested someone had a guess as to her position.
She switched her weapon to grenade targeted autofire, gave the weapon servile the targeting points she wanted, and swept her weapon across them. The targeting servile matched her current aim point against her requested targets and fired automatically when her aim was as close as seemed likely. Five grenades fired in under two seconds, her rifle butt shoving hard into her shoulder. She ducked. They could have spotted her firing position, not that it was going to do them much good for very long. They would be dead before their brains could react.
Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam! She rolled fifteen yards left to her alternate firing point and looked over the field. Men lay on the ground. Several were still screaming. One was firing his weapon at full automatic, in entirely the wrong direction. She worked through the surviving men, making one head shot after the next until all was quiet.
Now was not the moment to stay put. She had given away her position to any ChiComm backup. The second alternate firing position was a modest distance north, far enough that anyone attacking her start point would be unlikely to see her until it was too late. She made her quiet crawl to the new location, slowly rising off her knees to climb behind the next boulder. Her suit motion detectors triggered. Something was fairly close, not in line of sight, being seen because as it moved it dopplered the border defense polystatic radar standing wave. She froze. Where was it? Moments crept by. There was a whispered voice. Suit babelizer put a translation up. 'That tree stump replaces your bipod.' What tree stump? She made herself envision the ground she had passed through. What stump? Nothing was visible forward. What stump? A thicket blocked her rearward view. What stump? She could hear motion. Don't move, she told herself. Don't move. Your internal heat store is masking your IR. You're under ultracamou. Don't move until you see them.
The motion was right
behind her.
Don't move. Don't move. They're talking. They'd say if they saw you. Don't move. Don't move.
ChiComm ultracamou was not that good. She told herself afterwards that only the lucky placement of several pine boughs let two ChiComms walk right up to her before she saw them. Afterward, she told herself that no one would ever believe that a ChiComm had settled his machine gun on her left shoulder, without noticing she was not a tree stump.
Pivot. Combat scream. Assault knife automatically in left hand. Right arm knocks machine gun aside. Slice upwards, full strength of both legs behind the drive. Knife point slides under body armor, exactly like fighting target dummies. Second opponent, slightly farther back. Shove and back kick. Second opponent, still reacting, bounces into pine branches. He comes back at you. Left kick, hard, to free knife from ribs. Brilliant infrared flare: spilled enemy blood and body parts. Second opponent grabs right arm, keeps rifle from coming around. Still, clip first opponent across skull with barrel. Left arm is free. Stab out. Knife thrust into eye socket. Enemy goggles shatter. First opponent spills to ground. Pull left arm back. Knife traps in opponent’s eye socket. Jerk up, hoisting opponent from ground. His hands wrap around your left arm, gradually releasing as his grip becomes flaccid. Continue right pivot, drawing weapon back for underhand fire into opponent's chest. Swing left and fire down into grounded foe.
Turn to sweep valley. Nothing moves. Stop, suddenly out of breath.
On careful later examination, the rifle rounds fired at extreme oblique angle had failed to penetrate either set of Chinese body armor. Knife blows and unremembered kicks to two heads had been fatal.
HEADQUARTERS, TRAINING BATTALION
BRIGADE BELLA ABZUG
SOUTH HARBIN STATE PARK
HARBIN, UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
July 19, 2174, 7:45 AM HLT
A tired but exuberant Rachel Goldsmith, still in mud-soaked combat dress, made her report to the Training Cadre. Her Cadet Troop Leader, one arm in an inflatable splint, leg casts hidden under her bathrobe, sat in a hoverchair, preparing for her follow-on. "So I went out for a look-see, found myself in the middle of a bunch of Chinese, and dropped into a hole in the ground. Full of water, killed my IR signature; they never saw me even at pointblank range. Two of them stepped on my cloak. They marched by. I followed. My team-mates set up perimeter on the bunker. The ChiComms hit it with an AT rocket, charged in, and team took them from behind. I followed the ChiComms up the ravine, had to stop when they left a blocking force behind. Then there was shooting, twice. Finally this whole bunch of ChiComms ---a couple dozen-- ran down the ravine at me, so I shot them. And these two walked into me from behind, so I sliced and diced them."
"Brigade recovered your 22 bodies, including the two you gutted," said Major Rubenstein. "The two got around you -- we think we can find the IR trail in your scan, but only after more enhancement than your goggles could supply in real time -- got turned around, and apparently walked into your behind without knowing you were there. Overall we counted 48 dead infiltrators. The three who hit Post 4 bugged out early -- though there were two blood trails. About a half dozen figured out the attack on Troop Quarters had gone bad and evaded. Your 22 were the surviving folks who ambushed the Reaction Reserve. Troop Leader?"
Monica Schumacher guided her chair to the front of the room. "When Posts 2 and 2-A sent the warning I notified Cadre and ordered our response plan. Cadre did not receive or acknowledge receiving my warning, and I acknowledge it was my fault that Troop didn't act on their silence. I failed to check. People in outposts dispersed. Troop dispersed from cantonment, set ambush positions behind expected step-off points for a ChiComm attack on the cantonment, and set an ambush in the cantonment. I stayed in Troop HQ a little too long. When the rockets hit, I was a bit shaken, and had difficulty advancing, but electronics stayed up, so I stayed in HQ to inspire and assist the Troop."
Veronica Rubenstein looked skyward. From the concussion when Chinese rockets had hit her position, Monica had broken both legs, broken one arm, and would have been challenged to crawl out of the bunker under her own power. She'd dosed herself with more antishock nanites than a MinuteGirl who'd just made Phoenix Guard, and led from as close to the front as she could get. Rubenstein's estimate of the Cadet Troop Leader, newly elected last week, went up a notch. Cool was not the word for her.
"Ambushes at Posts 2-A and 3 executed perfectly, killing 6 ChiComms. Ambush and defense of Troop Quarters repelled the attack. Adele Smith and Nancy Ho were injured and put into temporal stasis," Monica continued. Veronica Rubenstein shuddered. By standards of previous centuries, the two girls were dead as doornails, but with reconstructive biomedicine they'd be good as new. Another half-dozen women had lesser injuries. Goldsmith had lived up to her nickname: She ought to have died. The fellows she'd killed hand-to-hand should have had surprise and position. Rubenstein keyed a note on her tabletcomp. She had to make very sure Goldsmith didn't think she was indestructible.
"I ordered everyone to ground. We knew there were two dozen more of them out there, so I expected a second wave. That's when Moriarty -- Troop Signals -- realized we hadn't heard from cadre. Cadre monitors were working -- you could see us. Downlinks went through Training Captain Padma, whose radio was busted -- we couldn't hear you. Then the ChiComms ambushed the reaction force, almost on our position. Reaction was responding to the botched attack on OutPost 4. I ordered 4th squad to maneuver around, hit the ambushers with fire -- when we did the ChiComms bugged out. No one in either squad got a good target; ChiComms were deep into wet fir trees. We just poured rounds into the areas giving off hostile fire. Bodies were recovered.
"Is there a report from the 18th Alabama?" Training Director Jones asked, her grandmotherly smile hiding her actual emotions. Not only had the Reaction Reserve not reacted in a timely way, her girls had rescued them rather than the other way around.
"Ma'am," Rubenstein answered, "they report they're still sorting out. They have three dead, a dozen in temporal stasis and medevacced, another dozen in the hospital. That's out of the light platoon -- 37 men -- they sent. Combat tracking shows they came straight down the road in four vehicles, no point or flank."
"Cadet Schumacher, did you warn reaction reserve about what they might meet?" Jones' voice was deceptively calm.
"Ma'am, I did send to Cadre uplink when Wonderchick, ummh, Cadet Goldsmith, reported she was blocked from the head of their column. I reported numbers on the cantonment attack force, once I had numbers. I reported my evaluation that the attack on Post 4 was anomalous, might be a snare, and that the ChiComms had a squad or two not accounted for. Reaction Reserve Commander did acknowledge the last report," Schumacher said. "That should be on the tapes."
"Your evaluation? What did you and your troop right? You get to reconsider later." Jones asked.
"Defensive doctrine: Avoid the blow. Use the weakness the blow exposes. Strike with surprise. They attacked empty structures, gave away their exact positions. We used their mistakes against them," Schumacher said.
"What did you do wrong?" Jones asked.
"I failed to identify the comms failure. I failed to leave Troop HQ soon enough. I failed to recognize Won -- Cadet Goldsmith -- was on their retreat line, and reinforce her. I almost got her killed. I failed to reconnoiter effectively to identify the ambush on the Reaction Reserve before it triggered. I asked for permission to counterattack -- which was denied -- instead of counterattacking immediately over the border."
"Based on preliminaries, I concur," Rubenstein said, staring at notes on her tabletcomp. "The cross-border counter is only an option." Fortunately Schumacher had not exercised it. The Chinese Division opposite on the border was at high alert, had heavy reserves, and had not been reconnoitred.
"We'll have a full review tomorrow. Once your troop has finished repairs, you will all have three days leave," Jones announced. Except for the wounded, she thought, some of whom are in surgery for the next few months. "18th Alabama will cover your posit
ions, just in case the ChiComms want a second pass." They won't, she thought. They tried a half-dozen of these last night along the whole length of the American border, and they'll want to work out first why some of them went royally wrong. "Dismissed!"
Rubenstein waited for the young women to file out, then closed the door. "OK, so where was cadre during all this?" she asked.
"Deborah Troop, Esther-3-1. The Troop Adviser and Number Two got food poisoning -- we think the roach coach did it. They were replaced by MacPherson and Padma from C Platoon. MacPherson and Padma didn't make it to D cantonment. Their AV hit a ditch, tipped, took out both radios. D-Esther-3-1 was by themselves," Roth continued.
"We are training MinuteGirls, not a bunch of boys. D is a really mature group of women," Veronica observed. Teenage boys would get into mischief. Girls? They really were not likely to try marching on Peking unsupported, not without filing a workable mission plan first. Well, Miss Goldsmith would have to struggle before girlfully rejecting the temptation.
"We had a ChiComm infiltration," Roth announced. "Reaction Reserve didn't want to get wet, not for some lost Chinese wandering in the rain. They get lost often enough. So they didn't react."
"Who is reserve?" Rubenstein asked.
"Detachment of 18th Alabama Militia, Ma'am. Not our chain of command, even," Roth answered.
"MinuteDads." Veronica mouthed the word, hoped Roth hadn't heard her. A non-heirarchical militia structure was a time honored survival from two centuries ago, when FEU infiltration of the Popular Army was the primary challenge to success. At the moment, Command DisUnity meant her girls' reserve backup went to their rescue only if the reserve commander thought it was needed. We train for Command DisUnity, she told herself, don't doubt the doctrine when it is tested.
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