Jump Pay

by Rick Shelley

  "Come on, Professor. Let's go talk to the men," Degtree said. He let Mort lead him over to first squad.

  Joe trailed along. He strapped on his web belt, put the Corey belt over it, then picked up his rifle and other gear. He slung the rifle over his shoulder but just carried the backpack and the items that normally hung from it. He pulled down his visor long enough to make a quick call to the first sergeant.

  "Where are you?" Joe asked.

  "North end of the wall, just before the shade runs out," Walker said. "How you feeling?"

  "Good as new. I'll be there in a couple of minutes."

  Joe walked slowly. Even in the shade, it was oppressively hot, and there seemed to be no particular hurry. It was obvious that no one in the company had any news of impending action. I guess nothing is going to happen before the captain gets back, Joe thought.

  "Take a load off," Izzy Walker said when Joe got to him. The first sergeant indicated a patch of ground next to him, against the side of the building. His visor was up and his helmet tilted back at an angle. "This wall is almost cool," he added. There was a space of almost three meters to the next man along the wall, the largest opening along the entire length of the building.

  Joe sat before he spoke. "I've got seven dead and two in the hospital."

  Walker sighed. "I know. Degtree gave me the platoon report thirty minutes ago. The rest of the company's been hit just as bad. Almost thirty percent killed or too badly hurt to get back to duty in the next twenty-four hours."

  Any injury that required more than four hours in a trauma tube was rare, and serious. Those were life-threatening injuries, the type that were usually saved only because of very prompt treatment.

  "Why couldn't we just sit back and let the flyguys and gun bunnies do the work? Hell, we coulda stayed on the ships until they leveled this place, just come in to clean up," Joe said, his voice somewhat plaintive. "That frontal attack..." He shook his head. "That was just plain suicide."

  "Time, Joe," Izzy said. "These stone buildings, it would have taken days for the Havocs and Wasps to bring them down. The reccers cooked off a whole warehouse full of explosives, and hell, that didn't do much damage to anything else but two buildings just on either side." He paused before he added, "We've got a schedule here, and we're far enough behind it now."

  "Farther north," Joe whispered.

  "Hopefully, that'll still be a night action," Izzy said. "There's another reason why we had to get Site Alpha taken before dark. Somewhere around here, there's got to be a whole fleet of Nova tanks."

  "I heard that SI's interrogating prisoners. They find out where those tanks are, or why they haven't been used?"

  Izzy shrugged. "Not as I've heard. The reccers are out looking for them. And every eye in the sky. One thing for certain, they're not in this compound."

  "Where the hell is there to hide tanks on this rock pile?"

  "Man who comes up with the answer to that, before the tanks come out and hit us, is likely to get a promotion on the spot, and enough medals to build a Havoc. Only thing anybody can figure out is that they must be underground—somewhere."

  "Scuttlebutt was that they can't operate Novas in this heat, 'cept maybe at night," Joe said after the two men had been silent for a minute or more.

  "You noticed the Havocs weren't spittin' very fast," Izzy said.

  "I thought it was just me."

  "Even with cold air pumping at full speed it got so hot inside them buckets that they had to back off. Had a lot of heat casualties. I've talked to men who've looked over the insides of Novas. No air conditioning."

  "So, as soon as it gets dark, we're apt to have trouble?" Joe asked.

  "Wouldn't surprise me."

  "We staying here tonight?"

  It was time for another shrug. Izzy stretched this one out. "According to the plan, we're supposed to be back on the shuttles before sunset today, moving to attack that next Heggie place on the west coast, north of here, northwest. Site Bravo." He glanced at the sky, then out at the length of the shadow stretching away from the building. "Nobody's saying anything about moving now, though. I checked with the CSM." The command sergeant major was Friz Duke, the ranking enlisted man in the 13th SAT. "Everything's on hold."

  "For how long?"

  "Until somebody says different. I just don't know. I hope they're not gonna try a dawn landing at the other spot. We try to work during the day at Site Bravo, it'll be a hundred times worse than today."

  "And if we wait for tomorrow night, they'll have that much more time to get ready for us."

  "That's about the size of it," Walker agreed.

  Joe got to his feet slowly. "I'd better get back to my men." He was shaking his head as he walked away.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Although oceans had ceased to be commercially important for human settlements thousands of years before, men still sought locations near them, on almost every world that was settled. Oceans were a constant: if a world was suitable for humans, between 50 and 80 percent of its surface would be covered by water. No matter the vagaries of weather, and the often serious threat of tropical storms, men sought the sea. The first settlements on any newly settled world were almost always near the mouths of major rivers as well. There were always excuses for both choices, some of them valid. Oceans tended to moderate climate. Rivers provided abundant sources of fresh water and made the natural growth of crops possible. In addition, if the local waters did not contain edible fish and other seafood, terrestrial varieties could be introduced and established. Although food replicators could provide virtually any crop, or meat, that humans had ever cultivated or craved—as well as novel varieties that had never existed in nature—few social groups cared to subsist totally on the provender of nanofactories, preferring to keep at least a portion of their diet "natural."

  Even on Tamkailo, a world where no human food crops could grow, where no terran animals could graze, the Schlinal settlers had chosen sites near the sea. All three Heggie bases were within a few kilometers of ocean, situated on or near major rivers. The rationale, in addition to natural tendency, was clear on Tamkailo. All three settlements had started out as penal colonies. Oceans provided a clear limit to the directions an escapee might take. To a lesser extent, so did major rivers.

  It had scarcely occurred—or mattered—to the planners of these penal colonies that there was no place for an escapee to run to on Tamkailo. Leaving the isolated settlements was certain suicide. Absolutely certain. If the heat didn't kill the escapee, he would die of hunger. Nothing grew on the world that would sustain human life. But proper reverence had to be paid to the traditional Schlinal methods of operation.

  —|—

  Only four Wasps were in the air. The 8th SAT was currently providing that air cap. The rest of the planes were on the ground undergoing routine maintenance. Their pilots did what they could to remain cool. They had eaten. Most tried to sleep while they could, but the heat made that difficult. Still west of the captured Schlinal base, the pilots and their support crews did not have cavernous stone buildings to shelter in. They had to make do with tents and open pavilions for cover from the late afternoon sun. Mechanics had jury-rigged a few large fans, but those provided only minimal relief.

  The Havocs of the two SATs were also idle, parked around the Schlinal base. The artillery crews were inside buildings, or on the shaded sides of those buildings. Nearly a third of the men from the gun crews were in the hospital being treated for heat exhaustion or worse. The Havocs had suffered no losses from enemy fire during this attack—they had never been close enough to enemy infantry to worry about shoulder-launched missiles, and the Wasps had kept all of the enemy Boems well away—but one loader in the 8th had died from the heat before his crewmates could get help for him.

  Jimmy Ysinde was back with the rest of Basset two after spending two hours in the hospital. He still looked pale and felt weak, but the medtech had cleared him for duty.

  "I was off in some neverland," Jimmy said as he s
at in the corner of a building that contained a dozen industrial food replicators, stacks of raw materials for them, and finished meal packs. The others stared at Jimmy. For a moment, he stared at the floor between his feet. When he did look up again, he said, "It was hell coming back." The strained look on his face was more than just a reminder of his physical suffering.

  "But you are back," Karl Mennem said, worried at the way Jimmy sounded—almost as if he regretted the return trip.

  "Yeah. But what about next time?"

  "Hey, they know how vulnerable we are now," Eustace Ponks said. "Some of the crew chiefs are working on a way to make things easier for us. Rosey said there ought to be a way to rig a third air cooler in each of the guns." Rosey Bianco headed the maintenance crew that serviced Basset one and Basset two.

  "There enough spares for that?" Simon Kilgore asked.

  "Rosey says yes," Eustace said. "Maybe even a fourth in some of them, but I think the chiefs want to keep a few handy for replacements."

  "That might help here," Jimmy said, "but we're going closer to the equator for the next operation. Will it be enough?"

  No one could answer that.

  —|—

  The chief regimental surgeon kept Colonel Stossen in the hospital for nearly six hours. The only way he could do that was to keep Stossen unconscious until right near the end. No sooner was Stossen awake than he wanted his helmet so he could get back in touch with what was happening. He still had a minor headache. Still, or again. Stossen was aware of it as soon as the nanobots scrubbed the last of the sleep patch's medication from his system and he woke up.

  "Just take it easy for a few minutes, Colonel," the surgeon said. "You came close to not waking up at all."

  "But I am awake," Stossen said. "And I've got a command to see to."

  "Soon enough. Look, this battle is over. You're inside what used to be the Heggie base. We're secure. The exec knows what shape you're in. He'll be here to pick you up in a few minutes. Until then, you just lie there and let the knitting finish. I should have kept you out and in the trauma tube for another hour. In any case, I'm not releasing you for duty until Parks gets here."

  Stossen took a deep breath. The surgeon did have that authority, even over him. "So I'll stay," he said. "At least let me communicate."

  "Not a chance, Colonel. A radio puts you back on duty." He looked around, as if he hoped to spot Lieutenant Colonel Parks coming into the hospital. Actually, he hoped that the executive officer would stall as long as possible.

  "Just a link to General Dacik then."

  "Colonel, you've had a rough time. You spend much more time trying to wheedle me out of doing my duty and you're not going to be fit to do yours. Is that clear, sir?" The surgeon stared at the colonel without blinking until Stossen nodded.

  "I get the message." Stossen closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Maybe it's just as well, he thought. We're in the Heggie compound. Things must be going okay here, or the doc wouldn't keep me down so long. Maybe.

  As he relaxed, the ache in his forehead started to ease. Faster than he would have thought possible, Stossen started to drift back toward sleep. He didn't even try to fight it. Then, just as he was ready to cross the divide, he felt as if he were suddenly falling, and that snapped his eyes open.

  Dezo Parks was standing over him.

  "Doc tells me you haven't been very cooperative," Parks said.

  "That's his business. Mine's running the 13th," Stossen growled. "You here to spring me?"

  Parks nodded. "We've got a briefing to attend in about twelve minutes."

  "Dacik?" Stossen asked as he sat up—slowly, cautiously.

  Parks nodded again. "HQ's in the next building north of here."

  "Any idea what we're going to hear?" Stossen was relieved that he didn't feel dizzy or light-headed, and the pain didn't return. Standing was the next procedure to attempt, but he did plan on taking his time about it. Despite what he had told the chief regimental surgeon, he did know that he was still shaky. The medical nanobots of a trauma tube might repair damage in a hurry, but there was always a little left to get through afterward.

  "Other than that we're more than ten hours behind schedule, no," Parks said. "I imagine we'll get a new schedule, maybe find out what's happening with the 5th and 34th on the other continent."

  "Give me a hand, Dezo. I don't want to fall on my ass again."

  He really didn't need much help. He used Parks more for balance than real support, and he let go as soon as he was on his feet and confident that he could stay there.

  "How badly were we hurt?" Stossen asked as he experimented with easy movements. He had to look fit moving, at least until he was away from the hospital and the watchful eyes of the surgeon.

  "Pretty bad," Parks admitted. As they walked across the warehouse to the door, he told him just how badly.

  —|—

  It was an unusually large meeting for a combat zone, even if there seemed to be little immediate prospect of continued fighting. It would have been much more normal for only the most essential of people to gather in one place for the conference. The rest would participate by radio, with linked mapboards. But Major General Kleffer Dacik preferred to be able to have eye contact. He and his staff were all present for this meeting, along with the commanders, and the executive and operations officers for the 8th and 13th SATs, the 97th LIR, and the 17th Independent Air Wing. The subsidiary air and artillery commanders for the two SATs were also in attendance. Van Stossen and Dezo Parks were the last to arrive.

  "Good to see you back on your feet, Van," Dacik said as he gestured the two men to seats. The seats were packing crates. The conference table was a collection of crates that had been covered with a tarp.

  "I feel kind of foolish about it all, General," Stossen replied. "Hell of a way to get injured."

  "There aren't any good ways," Dacik said. "I assume your exec's brought you up to date on the basics?"

  "Yes, sir, as much as there was time for on the walk over from the hospital."

  Dacik leaned back and let his gaze drift around at the faces that had gathered for this briefing. All were career military men, but until the start of the war with the Schlinal Hegemony, none of them had had actual combat experience. There were privates who had seen as much or more battle than these men. But they were the best that the Accord had, and the past few years had made them all experts. The hard way.

  "I've been on the line with CIC for the better part of a half hour, running our options through the computers," Dacik said when he had finished his visual survey. "There's no mistaking the fact that our timetable for Tamkailo has been shot full of holes." He shrugged. "We more or less knew that it would be DOA, one way or another. The 13th's problems on those rocks... well, that's something we couldn't possibly have planned for. SI has been collecting samples. A shuttle's already taken those up to the flagship. There's a chance the lab people might make something useful of it."

  "I'd settle for a way to counter it," Stossen said. The laughs that came from the men around the "table" told him that everyone knew exactly how he had suffered his injury.

  "I'd rather have a way to deal with the heat," Napier Foss, the commander of the 8th SAT, said. "We know about the moss now. Some of us better than others." He didn't bother to wait for the laughs. "We can avoid the moss or run Wasps across again if we come up against it. What we can't avoid is the heat if we're going to operate on a world like this."

  Colonel Luro Bones, C.O. of the 97th, snorted. "Unless someone's got air-conditioned skivvies, we're out of luck on that."

  "As a matter of fact, sir," Captain Lorenz, Dacik's aide, said, "that has been tried. Not here, and not skivvies, but air-conditioned battle fatigues. The idea was discarded as totally impractical, something we weren't likely enough to need to spend the necessary money."

  "Skimping on Corders. That figures," Bones said. He snorted again. It was a trait he was rather noted for, especially among his own officers. Some claimed that they could
distinguish among at least a dozen different snorts that the colonel used regularly. And decipher them.

  "We're not here to discuss the failings of the Quartermaster Corps," Dacik said pointedly. "We make do with what we have, as always."

  There were no apologies. That would have upset Dacik even more than the digression, and everyone at the conference knew that.

  "The immediate problem remaining at Site Alpha is that we still have two regiments of Heggies unaccounted for."

  "Two?" Stossen asked.

  "One regiment of armor, Nova tanks, and one regiment of armored infantry and their APCs."

  "Hasn't Intelligence managed to find out where they are from the prisoners?" Bones asked.

  "Only in the most general fashion," Major Jorgen Olsen, Dacik's Intelligence chief, said. "Within twenty-five kilometers of here, in some sort of underground complex drilled out of the bedrock. There was no sign of that sort of thing on any of our surveys from space, and we haven't been able to pick up anything even now that we're looking for it. We hope to avoid active seismic mapping. We'd have to bring gear down from the fleet for that, and it would mean more delay. There are no piles of debris or anything else to give us a clue. Apparently, the rock quarried in the construction of the underground complex was used in building this base. It's been here since the beginning, according to our sources at least."

  "And we didn't have a glimmer as to its existence until we started looking for the missing Schlinal armor," Dacik interjected. When Olsen looked at the general, Dacik made an impatient gesture for him to resume.

  "Our guesses this morning that the Heggies had realized that they couldn't use their armor during the day appear to be accurate. But that's still conjectural. On all three bases, the Heggies have apparently done most work at night, leaving the daylight hours for sleep. More to the point," he said, with a quick glance at Dacik's impatient look, "the soldiers who manned this base had virtually no contact with the armor and mounted infantry regiments in this underground base we're looking for. All they could say for certain was that they had never seen Novas during the day, except when they were brought off of the shuttles. The chain of command connected only at the very top on Tamkailo, and the separation was enforced with the usual Heggie rigor."