Stark’s Crusade

by John G. Hemry

  “Yeah. Ill-met in the Mixing Bowl, huh? Come on.” Rash led the way inside, past pale-faced sentries with confused expressions fingering their weapons. “In here. Our command center.”

  Stark strode in, wondering at the image he presented in battle-scarred armor, rifle in his hands, a platoon of mean-looking soldiers at his back. Several officers in battle armor were gathered at the main display, their postures proclaiming various states of bewilderment. “Sergeant Stark here.”

  “How’d you get past the sentries?” One figure off to the side gestured violently. “Surrender yourself—”

  “Shut up, Kalnick. I don’t have any time for your crap today.” Stark scanned the others. “Who’s in command?”

  A moment’s silence, then one of the figures raised one hand and waved it around the group. “That’s what we’re trying to decide.”

  “Excuse me? I hate to push things, but we’ve got a real mess out there,” Stark made his own gesture toward the picture shown on the main display nearby, “and we cannot hold this position.”

  “Sergeant Stark, with the additional forces you’ve brought—”

  “No. Sir. I’m sorry. You can’t see it from here, but from the other side we can tell there’s a whole lot more enemy forces moving up. This place is nicknamed the Mixing Bowl because once an enemy occupies the rims he can scramble anyone crazy enough to try to maintain a position here. We learned that the hard way years ago.”

  “I see. Thank you for your assessment, Sergeant. I am Major Kutusov.”

  “Major? You’re the senior officer here?”

  “One of the senior ones left. You probably didn’t notice several shuttles blast out of here a short time ago.” Kutusov didn’t try to conceal her bitterness. “Our commanding general pulled a MacArthur on us. He decided the situation was hopeless so he told us to fight valiantly as long as possible, while he ran for safety. Those shuttles that lifted out of here held him and most of the rest of our highest ranking officers.”

  Stark shook his head. “So now the senior officers are just throwing their young to the wolves. Does anybody here doubt that we’re all on the same side?”

  “He’s lying! Don’t—”

  Kutusov turned her head slightly. “Shut up, Sergeant Kalnick. So far your advice hasn’t proven very valuable. What are you suggesting, Sergeant Stark?”

  “A truce. Between us. We’re on the same side here, and we’re gonna need every soldier we’ve got to get our forces out of here in one piece.”

  “Sergeant, I don’t—”

  Major Kutusov was interrupted by another officer running into command center. “Lieutenant Colonel Hayes, Sergeant. I’m senior. Thank you, Major.”

  “Colonel, I was just trying to convince the major—”

  “I know. Save it, Sergeant. I’ve been out there, and it looks really ugly. You know the Moon and this particular position. What are our chances of holding here?”

  Stark smiled at the lieutenant colonel’s brusque, no-nonsense manner, as well as the knowledge that he’d been trying to organize a defense while others fled. “Chances are slim to none, sir.”

  “What’s your alternative, Sergeant? We don’t exactly have any place to go.”

  “Get out of here. Evacuate everything you’ve got inside the Colony’s defensive perimeter. We’ll cover you.”

  “There’s two problems with that, Sergeant. One, we can’t get everything out. Not in any reasonable length of time. There aren’t enough shuttles and heavy lifters.”

  “Fine. Then we blow whatever we have to leave. I assume you’ve got a lot of ammo stockpiled?”

  “We do, though I doubt that course of action will be looked upon favorably by the next promotion board. The second problem is more basic, Sergeant. I cannot in good conscience surrender this force to you.”

  “I understand, sir. I won’t ask you to do that. Withdraw everything you can inside our perimeter, and we’ll give you and your forces direct passage to the spaceport. You can go home with all your weapons.”

  “Why would you do that, Sergeant Stark?”

  Stark, feeling the surprise and suspicion his statement generated, spoke quickly but respectfully. “Because we’re on the same side, or we ought to be. We know what’s going on back home, how they stripped bodies out of the other two brigades in Second Division to bring your brigade up to strength. That leaves too damn little to defend America. They need you back there.”

  “That’s it? You’re willing to risk your forces to save us, then let us inside your perimeter, with all our weapons, for the good of the country?”

  “Uh, yessir, that pretty much sums it up.” Stark checked his scan once again. “We don’t have much time, Colonel.” The officers huddled, debating urgently among themselves.

  “Ethan? Am I getting through?”

  “Vic? Yeah. I guess somebody finally linked the relays.”

  “What in hell is going on? I’m trying to get more units activated and over there, but it’s taking time.”

  “We don’t have the time, and we don’t want to hold here, Vic. I’m talking to the acting commander right now… wait a minute. Yes, Colonel Hayes?”

  “I’ll probably get to share your firing squad, Sergeant, but we’re taking your offer. I’d welcome your suggestions on how to carry out this operation.”

  “Vic? It’s a go. We’re all pulling back into the perimeter. I’ll need somebody screening our flanks as we retreat through the dead zone.”

  “Roger. Are you going to sort out forces there or wait until you get back here?”

  “We ain’t got time here.”

  Stark turned back to the colonel just as another officer rushed off. “Our senior combat engineer,” Lieutenant Colonel Hayes explained. “He’s going to see how much he can destroy with a lot of ammo and very little time. I’ve already ordered all noncombat personnel to head for the berm with everything they can carry.”

  “Good. There’ll be APCs waiting at the bottom of the berm. You can load those people on them. Any of those damn Jabberwocks left?”

  “You mean the autonomous robotic combatants? No. Every one we had went in on that last attack. I take it you didn’t save any, either.”

  “No, sir. Though there’s probably enough pieces lying around to slap together a few, not that we’re so inclined.” Stark faced the main headquarters display. “Vic, have you got the map for this place yet?”

  “Yep. This is going to be hard, Ethan.” Reynolds began sketching out a withdrawal plan, speaking hurriedly as Stark shunted her words over to the rest of the Mixing Bowl base command center. “That’s the best I can offer off the top of my head.”

  “Colonel?” Stark indicated the plan now visible on the display. “That okay with you?”

  “Yes, Sergeant. I hate doing it, but I can’t see any holes in the plan. Let’s do it.”

  Stark trotted out of the command center, his escorting platoon and Rash Paratnam still in attendance. “Listen up, everybody. All soldiers in all units inside this valley. Copy my Tac.” Bright lines glowed across the map of the base on the tactical display, lines crafted to take advantage of what defensive shelter existed. “Everyone west of Line Whiskey take up blocking positions. You will hold until I say so. Everyone east of Line Whiskey begin falling back in good order. Pass through Line Whiskey and keep going until you reach Line X-Ray. Sergeant Milheim.”

  “Here.”

  “You’ve been beat to hell, but I want you to cover getting as many wounded onto those shuttles that brought you in as you can. As soon as they lift, pull back fast.”

  “I understand.” Milheim sounded exhausted but determined. “Will do.”

  “Chief Melendez.”

  “Aye.”

  “Chief, you’ve done one helluva job, but your shuttles will be sitting ducks without infantry cover. I want you in the air along with the shuttles carrying the wounded.”

  “Ain’t no air up here, mud crawler, but I copy. Aye, aye.”

  “Ain�
��t no mud, either.” Stark shifted circuits, catching Lieutenant Colonel Hayes confirming the fallback orders to his units. “Rash, I expect you’ve got a unit that needs you.”

  “I do. I’ll see you inside the perimeter, you big ape.”

  “Look who’s talkin’.” Stark checked his scan again, watching the enemy beginning to tentatively follow the American withdrawal, no doubt fearing a trick. As he watched, first one, then another shuttle blasted away from its position near the north flank, followed by the rest of the cargo shuttles and Chief Melendez’s armed shuttles. Other shuttles shot up from the Mixing Bowl landing field, following Stark’s shuttles toward the Colony with cargoes of whatever personnel and matériel could be crammed into them on short notice.

  Despite the size of the valley, a large number of soldiers were inside the Mixing Bowl now, their numbers concentrating toward the east end where the berm sat. “Sergeant Stark.”

  “Yes, Colonel.”

  “I’ve got equipment that won’t get down that berm face, and I really hate to leave it. What happens if we drop it in this gravity?”

  “If it has enough mass, it still gets messed up at the bottom, but I guess that’s… oh, heck, where’s my brain? Use the tunnels.”

  “The tunnels? Of course. How could I have forgotten? Those tunnels we excavated to allow covered egress for the autonomous robotic combatants are plenty big enough to handle all but our largest lifters. I’ll send the equipment and as many of my people as I can out through those.”

  Stark checked the scan again, scowling as he saw enemy forces pressing close upon the withdrawing Americans. With their units hopelessly intermingled, the Americans were having trouble maintaining a coordinated fire and fallback operation. “On my command, everybody east of Line Whiskey stop withdrawal, face front, and fire like hell. I want to get those attackers to back off. Standby… fire.”

  Stark was moving again, watching scan with one eye and the terrain before him with the other. He saw threat symbology suddenly surge from the Americans as they unleashed a concentrated barrage, and saw the pursuing enemy recoil in response. “Okay. Fall back again.” Units were passing through Line Whiskey now, moving more rapidly once the troops in the defensive line could cover them. The enemy forces, closing in again, once more got stung by a burst of fire as they hit Line Whiskey.

  Stark came through Line Whiskey himself, finding he was near the Mixing Bowl command center once again. Soldiers were coming out of the building, some ready for combat and some hauling vital equipment. He wondered for just a moment if Sergeant Kalnick was retreating as well or had decided being captured was preferable to owing his freedom to Ethan Stark. The thought vanished as more artillery came in, impacting all around, many of the blasts confined by surrounding buildings. Stark and his accompanying platoon headed west, instinctively hunching over as they ran, as if it were rain falling around them instead of high-explosives and shrapnel. More shuttles rocketed past overhead, followed closely by a warning over the command circuit. “We’re about to blow everything around the landing field.”

  Stark checked his position, finding himself still entirely too close to that area. “Let’s go, people.” Line X-Ray was solidifying into a jumbled but strong defensive barrier. “Everybody on Line Whiskey start falling back. Pass through Line X-Ray and take up defensive positions on Line Yankee. Milheim, how’re you doing?”

  “Clearing Line Whiskey.”

  Stark, checking scan as he talked, exhaled in relief as he saw the battered but steady soldiers of Fourth Battalion falling back. From Milheim’s voice, and the number of casualty markers glowing among his force, the unit had been severely stressed. “Okay, Milheim. Keep going. Take your people all the way back across the dead zone. You’ve done enough today.”

  “If we’re needed—”

  “If you’re needed I’ll call on you. Just get back inside the perimeter.”

  Milheim had trouble hiding his relief. “On our way.”

  Stark found himself and his escort mixing in with other units falling back. As the scattered portions of Second Division’s Brigade Combat Team gathered into the defensive lines their numbers became more apparent. At some point, their numbers would exceed those of Stark’s remaining battalions. Don’t worry about it. If they’re gonna double-cross me, they will. It’s too late to second-guess things now.

  “Fire in the hole!” The dead lunar surface suddenly rippled like a thing alive as shockwaves ripped through it. Scan highlighted debris flying high into space, as multiple detonations tore through the stockpiled ammunition near the landing field.

  Stark wondered briefly how many of the attacking enemy forces might have been caught in the blasts, then mentally shrugged. At the very least, that blowup will take some pressure off our withdrawal. Indeed, the enemy forces bearing down on them had slacked off, concerned by the fury of the destruction at the landing field.

  It didn’t last, of course. Enemy commanders, apparently sensing their prey were escaping through an unexpected exit, appeared to be driving their soldiers hard. The withdrawal from Line X-Ray proved to be hard fought, with exchanges of fire at nearly every step.

  Stark and his escort, pausing while Stark tried to puzzle out the situation on his scan, came under fire. He dropped, rolling to bring his rifle to bear as the platoon laid down deadly fire on the attackers. Aiming points glowed brightly on armored figures pressing ahead. Aim. Squeeze. Fire. Aim. Squeeze. Fire. The attackers fell back, leaving several of their number dead. “Come on, you apes, let’s get out of here.”

  They moved fast, merging once again with the crowd of retreating forces. Line Yankee loomed suddenly, an invisible line on the map made concrete by clusters of soldiers forming interlinked zones of fire. “The enemy’s right behind us,” Stark advised.

  More detonations added to the chaos as the combat engineers destroyed all the equipment and ammunition stockpiles they could. A fine rain of Moon dust kicked up by all the explosions drifted slowly, dreamily down around the masses of retreating soldiers, punctured by the path of bullets pursuing them and artillery shells dropping to the rocky surface. The ever-dark lunar sky seemed even blacker, with the dust screening out most of the stars overhead. Stark heard a deadpan chuckle close at hand, turning to see Sergeant Sanchez. “What’s so funny?”

  “I was thinking of Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow.” From Sanchez’s bland tone, he might have been explaining the joke in a rec room back at headquarters. “I studied it recently. This is our version of snow. It seemed amusing.”

  “I’m in hysterics, Sanch. How’s your Battalion holdin’ up?”

  “Like all the other forces, it is mixed in with so many other units I cannot sort out the status of my soldiers. But I have seen no indications that morale is breaking.”

  “Me, neither. Thanks for the escort, by the way.”

  “Stark, if I had tried to assign Corporal Gomez to any other duty, I would have had my own mutiny to deal with. I will see you inside the perimeter.”

  “You got it, Sanch.” Line Yankee held just long enough for Line Zebra to begin forming, then started falling back. Stark moved through a mass of soldiers and equipment, all slogging steadily toward the berm at the entrance to the Mixing Bowl, the debris of battle now thick enough to begin fogging sensors. A heavy-lifter stalled up ahead, its cursing driver bailing out and hurriedly rigging an explosive charge to the vehicle as the crowd of foot soldiers separated to pass around the barrier. Light glowed from several points behind the retreating soldiers as stockpiles of fuel burned, supplying their own oxygen to keep the blazes going.

  Stark checked scan again, cursing as enemy jamming and the fallout of battle broke up his picture. “Lieutenant Colonel Hayes. I want to drop back to the berm.”

  “We’re still getting people over and under it. Can you hold inside the valley a little longer?”

  Stark measured the soldiers around him, standing up on a nearby piece of abandoned equipment to peer back as if he could gauge the enemy pre
ssure better that way. “Sir, I don’t want to. I don’t think I can stop the withdrawal at this point. I will slow it as much as I can.”

  “I understand, Sergeant. I’ll be waiting for you at the berm.”

  Stark paused, surprised. I guess I figured he’d be already halfway across the dead zone to safety. Good on you, Colonel Hayes.

  Acting Corporal Murphy was by Stark’s side, one hand steadying him and the other urging him down. “Sarge, you’re awful exposed standing up there.”

  “I gotta see what’s goin’ on, Murph.”

  “Uh, Sarge, what would you tell one of us if we were doing that?”

  “I’d tell you that you were ten kinds of idiot and to get your head down.” He surrendered to Murphy’s urging, dropping back into the mass of retreating soldiers. “Since you’re thinking so good, do you have any ideas on how to hold off the enemy a little longer?”

  “Gee, Sarge, didn’t you always tell us to make sure we were using everything we had to pound the enemy with?”

  I’ll be damned. He did listen to me when I lectured the squad. “That’s right. Vic, can you copy?”

  “Your signal’s weak and broken, but I hear you.”

  “Good. I need artillery.”

  “You’re inside the enemy perimeter, Ethan. They’ll knock the shells down before they get to you.”

  “That’s what I was thinking, too, because I forgot they pulled their defenses out of this area when the official American force moved in.”

  Stark thought he could hear Vic’s hand slapping her forehead.

  “Yes. Of course. Somebody loan me a brain. Where do you want the artillery?”

  “As close behind us as you can manage. I want to discourage the pursuit a little.”

  “On its way.”

  It took a few minutes, nonetheless, until Stark’s sensors spotted the incoming shells and his HUD cried an alert. Heavy shells began impacting not far behind the mass of Americans, the shock of their detonations dimly transmitting the fury of the explosions through the soles of armored boots. Stark paused again, trying to assess the results of the artillery screening fire, but gave up as the friendly artillery tossed further junk upward to cloud scan and sensors. “All soldiers on Line Zebra, begin withdrawal to the berm.” He switched to speak only to his accompanying platoon. “Let’s head for the berm, too, people. Murphy, you just made permanent corporal.”