by John Bowers
It didn't take long. A single Sirian tank turned out of the line and rumbled down their street, stopping directly below Second Squad's window.
"Oh, shit! Get the hell out of here! Move! Move!"
Second Squad scrambled quickly, grabbing up packs and equipment, and raced for the corridor outside the room. Just as the last man reached the doorway, a deafening shriek of concentrated light ripped through a wall and the floor above, bringing down plasteel and other building materials. A second and third shot rocked the building as the Star Marines reached the stairwell and scampered down it, panting noisily.
In the lobby of the building they had two choices — right or left. To the right was the hovertank, so that was no option at all. Rico dashed for the door — what was left of it — and burst out into a courtyard that connected four tall towers. He looked around hastily, well aware that he couldn't possibly tell if anyone might be drawing down on them from one of the upper floors of any of the towers. The courtyard was eerily still, as if it were a quiet Sunday morning and no one had come to work. The starcrete rang with the sounds of combat boots as Second Squad followed Rico, dashing toward the alley that separated the buildings facing them.
They reached the alley and halted briefly, Rico counting heads, everyone heaving for oxygen.
"Where to, Beaner?" Texas panted.
Rico looked around, frowning. If only he knew! Connor and his people had pulled back, but how far? Without his headset he had no way of finding out. He just shook his head, and set out the way they'd been going. The rest of Second Squad followed nervously, eyeing every doorway, every window. Fear showed in their eyes, in the taut set of their mouths. Things had definitely taken a turn for the worse.
The alley ended at another courtyard, and the squad took cover briefly before entering it, checking high windows and listening for any sign of hostility. This should still be Star Marine country, but they could hear hovertanks ahead of them, doing the same thing those behind were doing. Maybe everyone had pulled out already. After a moment's reconnoiter, Rico inclined his head to the left.
"This way."
They cut across the very edge of the courtyard, keeping close to the nearest building, praying that no one was looking down at them through cross-hairs. Up ahead, perhaps a block away, small-arms fire chattered, accompanied by the spang of light lasers. The BC had gotten this far, then. Damn!
They reached the next street and halted, not sure if it was safe to cross — or if they were completely surrounded. A long look in all directions showed nothing threatening, but just as Rico was about to give the order to cross, three hovertanks appeared at the far end of the block, riding on their tracks as they accelerated toward them.
"Oh, fuck! Fall back! Quick!"
There was nowhere to go but into the nearest building — the courtyard was completely exposed to the street. They ducked into what looked like a boutique, crouching among racks of women's clothing as the hovertanks arrived in the street outside. Not a man dared breathe as they waited to see what the Sirian tanks would do. The tanks pulled abreast of the boutique and stopped, swiveling their laser rifles toward the courtyard.
"Jesus Christ!" Maniac whispered.
"God damn, I wish Preacher was here!" Texas moaned. "Maybe his praying did do some good. You never know, do you?"
His throat dry with fear, Rico didn't answer. No one did, all eyes fixed on the hovertanks. The tank rifles flashed, firing into one of the buildings alongside the courtyard. They heard Solarglas shatter as it cascaded to the ground, and could only wonder if anyone had been hit. The tanks sat motionless for a moment, then one of them fired again. Rico sweated, wishing he had something to use against them. Henderson had been their anti-armor man, but he was dead, his weapon destroyed by the plasma that killed him. Damn! Whoever had planned this operation …
As suddenly as they arrived, the tanks pulled out again, leaving eight very frightened — but very relieved — Star Marines crouching among the underwear.
"Christ!" Gearloose moaned. "I thought we were fucking dead, man!"
"Yeah, well, don't relax yet — you might still be right."
Rico edged toward the doorway of the shop and peered out. The tanks had moved on down to the next block, and were hammering another building. Rico moved outside to check the street in the other direction, and almost crapped his pants. Six BC infantry were approaching in single file not twenty yards away. Rico ducked back quickly, but too late — a laser beam streaked by his nose and he dived for the starcrete in panic.
"Cover!" he gasped. "BC!"
Two BC had charged forward, firing their lasers. As Rico scrambled back through the doorway he heard Spandaus firing from inside the boutique, heard Solarglas cascade to the floor, and the two BC outside the window fell dead in the street.
"There's more!" Rico said. "At least four! Hit 'em with plasma!"
Grove was closest to the window, and he unhooked a grenade. All he had to do was flip it outside and to his left, but he took the trouble to peer out first and locate his target. It was the last thing he ever did; as he released the grenade a laser beam ripped through him, missing his vest completely and piercing him under the arm, into his heart and lungs. Grove collapsed across the window frame, half in and half out of the shop. The plasma flashed and BC screamed in agony.
"Let's go!" Rico shouted. "Those tanks'll be back! Chavez, get his datatags!"
They dashed out of the shop and across the street, Chavez bringing up the rear. They heard random laser fire down the street, but nothing came in their direction. They ducked into another tall building on the other side and moved quickly through the lobby, stepping across litter and debris, scanning the escalators but seeing no one.
"How far we gonna go?" Texas asked.
"Until I see a Federation face," Rico grunted. "I don't know what the fuck is going on, but it's obvious the enemy is in control right now. I don't want to get cut off."
They exited the building on the other side, picked their way through an exotic little park that was intended to beautify the downtown area, and found a narrow service alley that led to the next street without having to enter another building. Once again they hesitated before crossing, and once again found a hovertank hosing the buildings above them.
"Goddamn it! How far have they penetrated?" Tiny grumbled.
"They're all over the place," Maniac responded. "My dick is killing me!"
"I thought only Sirians gave you a hard-on."
Maniac shook his head. "Um-um. If it's enemy, my dick knows."
Without warning, a heavy laser bolt slammed the building beside them, three floors up. Chipped starcrete rained down on them, and everyone swore.
"Inside!" Rico ordered. "Quick!"
They pounded through a service entrance and skittered down a narrow hallway, forced to make several turns before exiting onto the main lobby. There they saw two men in Star Marine fatigues crouched behind a heavy plasteel planter, peering through the foliage at the street outside.
"Delta Company!" Rico shouted. "Don't shoot!"
The other two Star Marines instinctively swiveled, swinging their Spandaus around, but sagged in relief at the familiar fatigues.
"Jesus, man, you scared the shit out of me!" one of them complained.
"Yeah? You're lucky," Texas declared. "I ain't got any shit left!"
"Who're you guys?" Rico demanded, noting that both were privates.
"I'm Sparks and this is Brown," one of them said. "Bravo Company, 31st Star Marines."
"I'm Martinez," Rico said. "Where's the rest of your people?"
"Fuck if I know, Corporal," Sparks replied, looking relieved to have someone present who outranked him. He was a skinny, bare-faced kid of nineteen. "Hovertanks hit us about an hour ago and we got separated. We're trying to find somebody to hook up with."
"You just did," Rico told him. He looked at the second man, whose bronzed face was strikingly familiar. "You say your name was Brown?" he asked.
The
other Marine nodded. "Tyrone Brown, Corporal. Ain't I seen you before?"
Rico stared at him a moment, then nodded.
"Yeah. Orbital 6, about a million years ago."
The other man grinned suddenly, as if encountering a lifelong friend after a long separation.
"Motherfucker!" he breathed. "I remember! How you been?"
"They ain't got me yet, man."
"I'm hip! We'll git outta this, too!"
"You guys have contact with anybody?"
"Just Periscope Patty," Sparks replied. "I'd like to punch that bitch out.'
"No shit," Brown agreed. "And then I'd like to fuck her!"
"You're my kinda guy, Brown!" Maniac grinned. "You gotta nickname?"
"No, why?"
"How about we call you Knee Grow?"
"Knock it off!" Rico growled, irritated. "Brown, you got any idea how far these fuckers have penetrated?"
Brown shook his head. "All the way back to the airport, maybe. They got armor everywhere."
"Yeah, looks like it." Rico glanced around at his squad. With the two new men they were now nine, three-quarters of full strength. "Okay, keep your heads down. We're moving out."
"What the fuck kinda name is Knee Grow?" Brown asked.
Orbit of Beta Centauri
Wade Palmer's eyes felt gritty as he hunched over the tabletop holomap. Ferdigssen stood beside him, both men resting their palms on the edge of the table. Neither had slept more than few minutes at a time since the invasion started.
"Another communication, Commander."
Ferdigssen looked up and took the hardcopy from the comm operator. Her name was Laval, and she looked as haggard as the rest of them. Wade leaned close to read the copy in Ferdigssen's hand.
"Lima Company," he murmured. "Back to the highway. Shit!"
It was one more small pebble added to the landslide. Local time was nearly 1400, and the morning had been a total disaster. The holomap showed where the Star Marines had been last night, and new markers depicted their current positions, as far as they were known. To put it mildly, the front had fallen apart. All units that reported in had fallen back nearly a mile, or were still in the process of retreat. Others hadn't even been heard from, and were presumed to be cut off … or dead.
Enemy positions were based on the most recent communiqués; many units were reporting heavy fire against their positions, and fresh holo-markers showed that Sirian armor and BC infantry had penetrated deep into the Star Marine line. Everything was all mixed up, as if all units on both sides had been placed in a jar and shaken vigorously. Several line companies were holding positions inside the enemy line; some were down to platoon strength, with no hope whatsoever of reinforcement.
"God damn it!" Ferdigssen fumed. "Look at this — we've got the strength to form a pocket right here." He pointed. "Delta and India Company are only two blocks apart, and here's Romeo only a block farther away. If they could combine forces, they might hold out until we break back in."
"Sure," Wade agreed, "but it's doubtful they know how close they are to each other —"
"And we can't tell them," Ferdigssen finished for him. "Fuck!"
Communications was the most frustrating feature of the current situation. Those in orbit couldn't communicate with the ground troops; the grunts were on a dedicated frequency, and the enemy had that frequency blocked. Company commanders were still able to transmit, using their command equipment, but weren't receiving. Thus, the mission commanders in orbit knew what was happening down below, but were unable to issue orders.
Sirian artillery had been busy since about midnight, and hadn't let up yet. Miles of residentials already captured by the Star Marines were now under heavy fire, and anything that moved through those miles of homes risked instant death. Thus the line companies trapped in the downtown area faced a double threat — stay where they were and be slaughtered by Sirian armor, or try to retreat and be slaughtered by Sirian artillery. Retreat? Or stand and fight?
Wade was glad the decision wasn't his to make.
"I don't think we're going to break back in," he said in response to Ferdigssen's remark. "Everything we have is committed, and there aren't any more troops in orbit to send down." He swore quietly, and added, "Even if there were, we can't get anything through their ASC defenses anyway."
"Therefore … "
"Looks like we're fucked."
Chapter 56
Periscope Harbor, Beta Centauri
It took them over an hour to make four blocks. Twice they had to double back and find another route. Every street seemed to be filled with enemy hovertanks, BC infantry following in their wake.
Pockets of Star Marines were all around them. They could hear Spandaus from time to time, and twice they came across bodies. Rico's mouth stung with an acid taste as he realized they were part of a full-scale rout.
They paused for breath in the rubble of a corner building that had largely collapsed. A glance at his wristwatch showed the local time as 1400 hours. Downtown was a death trap now, and Rico wondered if any place was safe. Sirian artillery and parabola guns were still pounding the area beyond the highway, which had instinctively become his goal. The breeze had died down; smoke hung heavy over the city, dimming the brightness of the star that now hung midway down the eastern sky.
"How's your ammo?" he asked the others.
"I'm down to three magazines," Maniac replied.
"I've got two," Texas said.
"Six," someone else chimed in. Rico checked his own bandoleer — he had five, plus a partial in his weapon. They were completely out of food.
"Okay, we'll make out," he said. "But if we run across any more bodies, take their magazines and as many grenades as you can carry." He wiped a hand wearily over his eyes, coming away with sweat and grime. God, when had he slept last?
"Where the hell are we headed, Rico?" Texas asked, using his real name for the first time ever.
"I dunno," Rico admitted. "Away from here. To the highway. We got to find our people, somehow."
A firefight crackled to life two blocks down the cross street, and all heads turned.
"Sounds like our people are in the same shape we are," Tiny muttered.
They heard the blast of heavy laser down the street, and then another. The rattle of small-arms fire stuttered to a halt. A Sirian hovertank rolled into view.
"Not any more," Brown murmured.
Polygon, Washington City, DC, North America, Terra
The holomaps at the Polygon showed basically the same detail as those aboard Anwar Sadat. General John Willard glared at them gloomily, his shaggy brows lowered over his piercing blue eyes. Haggard with lack of sleep, he looked wilder than ever. The general mood in the War Room wasn't optimistic.
"Mon general," Adm. Boucher said cautiously, "it would appear that it is time to consider an alternative to the original plan. The enemy's counterattack is more than we can withstand."
Willard shook his head slowly, still staring at the maps. The plan had to work, he thought, it had to! It was too bold, too daring not to work.
"Nobody said it was going to be easy," he rumbled. "The worst thing we can do right now is panic." He swiveled his shaggy head toward Boucher. "Those Star Marines are the finest fighting men alive today. I won't undermine their confidence by pulling the plug until we know for sure the situation is hopeless. When the going gets tough, the tough get going."
Boucher ground his teeth in frustration, but was by nature too cautious to risk offending the Federation's highest-ranking soldier.
"Sir," he said instead, "you are right, of course. But per'aps it is time to at least consider the possibility of a withdrawal."
"Withdrawal?" Willard scowled blackly. "Withdrawal! Goddammit, Admiral — whose side are you on!"
Boucher flushed red, barely containing his anger. When he spoke, his voice trembled only slightly, still thoughtfully polite.
"General, I merely meant that —"
"Go get some sleep, Admiral! You've b
een on your feet too long. Fatigue is coloring your perception."
"Sir —"
"Consider that an order, Admiral."
Willard turned back to the holomap, completing the dismissal. Boucher stared at him openmouthed for but a moment, then spun on his heel and stalked out of the room.
Periscope Harbor, Beta Centauri
As the star settled in the east, they could see the highway that divided downtown from the residential section of the city. Sirian armor was parked along the roadway, firing in both directions at whatever targets they saw. Two gaps in the roadway proved that QuasarFighters had managed to strike at the tanks at least once, but it was far too little.
Second Squad had made another two blocks since 1400, picking their way carefully through the streets, and now lay prone on a sidewalk behind a low stone wall that protected pedestrians from street traffic. Ten yards away lay two dead BC, apparently killed the day before. Blood trails indicated they'd been dragged against the side of the building to get them off the sidewalk.
Daylight was fading fast.
"Maybe we'll make better time after dark," Gearloose suggested as they scanned the street in both directions.
"After dark we'll show up on IR displays," Rico said.
"Yeah, but so will they."
"Maybe we oughta get up into one of these buildings until morning," Sparks suggested. "Those fuckers'll be all over the streets tonight."
"And tomorrow morning, too," Rico reminded him. "We're gonna keep moving, at least until I find somebody who knows what the fuck is goin' on."
"Hey —" Tyrone Brown tugged at Rico's sleeve, pointing. Rico followed his finger. "Down there, at the end of the next block."
"What?"
"It's an escalator to the lower level. If we can get underground … "
Rico nodded, considering. It was worth the chance, maybe. The 14th Division was supposed to have sealed off the underground at the airport, but otherwise the fighting was mostly on the surface. If they could get down there — and if they didn't get lost …
"What the hell," he said finally. "At least maybe we can get past that damn highway."
They moved in short rushes down the street, leapfrogging each other, trying to keep the windows covered in the towers across the street, not that it would do much good. They had to cross another street, and thankfully no tanks were in sight at the moment. But it still took a half-hour to reach the escalator.