by Rick Shelley
"We can't count on the same level of surprise either," Bal Kenneck warned. "We've jumped twice here. The folks at this location might well have had time to radio news to Site Charley of how we hit them. If it had been me, that's the first thing I would have done."
Stossen nodded. "We'll put the recon platoons on these roofs here, at the northern edge of the complex. The rest of us will land on the ground, half here"—he adjusted the mapboard to show a two-dimensional view from overhead and pointed—"on this open ground right at the end of the peninsula, on the north side of the complex. The rest will land over here, on the east, at the airfield, as close to these hangars as they can get. Those will be the first objective for that section. Tie off any ground support for the Heggies' Boems."
"Which companies where?" Teu Ingels asked.
"Cut 'em straight down the middle," Stossen replied. "Alpha through Delta at the tip of the peninsula, Echo through Howard at the airfield." Under most circumstances, Stossen would have been horrified at the thought of dividing his command so cavalierly, but he was too spent to be able to think straight enough to look for the minute differences between one group of soldiers and another that might make a particular company better suited for one objective or the other. "Senior company commander in each group to take immediate tactical control."
"That's Captain Cavite from Charley and Captain Digby from Fox," Dezo Parks said, supplying the names instantly.
Stossen nodded. Once he heard the names, he knew that Parks was right. Recalling them first had been simply too much for his tired mind. "Tell them," he said.
In addition to being the two senior company commanders in the 13th, Ives Cavite and Jak Digby had been close personal friends since their days together in the military academy on Bancroft. Cavite's nickname at the academy had been "the Cavity," an obvious mispronunciation of his name, while Digby had inevitably been called Digger. Once out of the academy and serving together, those nicknames had soon metamorphosed into Hole and Mole—though rarely to their faces.
"One thing," Bal said. "It looks as if we can count on slightly more moderate weather at Site Charley. For what it's worth, it's winter in the northern hemisphere. That gives us a couple of degrees. The prevailing wind is from the northwest, polar, as well." Tamkailo's axial tilt was only six degrees, and there was very little eccentricity to its orbit, so the differences between summer and winter were minimal. "The Heggies have been using their armor at Charley, day and night."
"Small blessings," Parks mumbled.
"Maybe not so small," Stossen said. "I'll take a little less heat in exchange for enemy tanks any day here. We outrange the Novas with our Havocs. There's damn little we can do about the heat."
"This might be the last place we have that advantage," Bal said. "The latest rumble I've heard is that the Heggies have finally come up with self-propelled artillery that's in about the same class as our Havoc. They haven't used them against the Accord yet, but there are indications that they're testing them against the Dogel Worlds. One report suggests that these new Heggie SPs might even have a couple of klicks in range over the Havoc."
Stossen forced out a sigh. "As long as they don't have those guns on Tamkailo—that's all we can worry about now."
"And if we finish the job we started out to do here, we may never have to face them—if the general was right about crippling Schlinal offensive capability," Parks said.
"Don't hold your breath," Stossen suggested.
—|—
Hilo Keye spent most of the shuttle flight in a conference with regimental headquarters and the other company commanders. The plan of operations was drawn up en route. As soon as something almost solid was agreed to, Keye relayed it to his platoon leaders and platoon sergeants. Twice there were significant alterations that required new briefings.
"I wish they'd make up their minds," Frank Symes grumbled after Joe Baerclau passed along the latest changes. The shuttles were close to their objective. This journey had been much slower than most assault runs. There would be no screaming descent from orbit. Most of the way, the landers had flown less than two hundred meters above the ocean, as they followed a great circle route over Tamkailo's north polar region.
"Time is making up their minds now," Mort said. "Unless they put us in a holding pattern, we're within fifteen minutes of our jump now."
The reflex was automatic. Each of the sergeants and corporals on the link checked the time line on his visor.
"Do an inspection of the belts," Joe instructed. "Make sure you see one hundred percent power on every indicator." There were a few spares aboard the shuttle.
While he waited for reports on the inspection, Joe stared at the mapboard on his lap again. The captain had indexed the views available for the assault area, the base, the airfield, and the terrain in between. CIC had had plenty of time to get all of the information on the Schlinal installation and known forces into the mapboard network. Details of the battle plan were being added even as Joe studied his board. Light yellow ellipses indicated the drop zones for each of the platoons. Bright blue lines showed the anticipated lines of advance, the buildings—primarily hangars for Echo Company—that were to be the initial objectives of the company.
Dropping in the middle of an airstrip bothered Joe. There would be absolutely no cover for his men. If the Heggies were waiting for them...
—|—
Eustace's smile showed gritted teeth. The 13th's artillery had come by a slightly different route from the one taken by the infantry, moving more rapidly. The Havocs had been put right into the battle as soon as they came out of their shuttles south of the canal. The long-range duel had been going on for forty-five minutes now. Out on the peninsula, the Heggie tankers were showing more spunk than they usually did. With only half the range on their guns, they had to expose themselves to Havoc fire for at least eight minutes before they could get close enough to return it. But they were doing it. Despite heavy losses, they kept coming south along the peninsula, forcing the Havocs to stand back, out of range of the Schlinal base on the northern end of the peninsula.
The Novas did their best to follow erratic courses on their way south, using fire and maneuver as best they could. By the time a Havoc shell got to where they had been, they were somewhere else. Boems were occupying Wasps in the air. That part of the battle was as much a standoff as this one, but with the aircraft on both sides suffering heavier losses.
"Not a very efficient way to run a battle," Karl Mennem said after the Fat Turtle "spoke" again. CIC was plotting position and course on a single Nova, or a company of them, at one time. Then as many as two full batteries of Havocs would saturate the area where CIC expected the tank or tanks to be by the time the artillery shells reached the end of their ballistic paths.
Sometimes it worked. More often it didn't.
"We do what we can," Eustace replied. "Jimmy, how you doin'?"
"Just fine," Ysinde replied. "This is almost like a winter exercise on Albion." There was a short pause before he added, "Compared to Site Alpha." It would be a long time before he would be able to forget the heat.
"Yeah, well keep an eye on the thermometer, and if you start feeling the least bit woozy, let me know."
"Right, Gunny," Ysinde said. "Just find us something to hit."
"Fair trade," Eustace said. "Maybe we can't box them in, but they can't do any better against us."
"We might do better just picking a spot and firing at random," Karl suggested. "Don't even look for the Novas first."
"'I shot an arrow into the air,'" Simon quoted as he moved the Fat Turtle toward its next firing point. With the Novas moving south, the Havocs had to fire and move after each shot to keep the Heggies from zeroing in on them. "Like a cat that knows exactly how far the dog's leash will let it go," Eustace had said earlier.
It was time for another salvo. Fourteen howitzers fired almost at once—the "almost" because they were coordinating for "time on target," looking for all fourteen rounds to hit simultaneously.
This time, the dogs found something to bite. "Two Novas hit!" Eustace shouted, relaying a report from a Wasp. The pilot didn't have time for more. There were two Boems chasing him, and his own wingman had been shot down not more than thirty seconds before.
—|—
Approaching the northern end of the peninsula from three different directions, the shuttles carrying the 13th's infantry companies and recon platoons came in low, skimming the negligible waves for the last fifty kilometers. The landers were not quite as "invisible" to enemy detection devices as Wasps. The bulky shapes necessitated by their purpose limited their stealth. Flying at wave-top levels helped.
The armada of shuttles had separated to approach the three jump zones. The plan called for the shuttles to boost to drop altitude only in the last few seconds, almost as they reached the shoreline.
Dem Nimz sat next to one of the shuttle doors. For the last fifteen minutes, he had kept his eyes closed. His head was back against the bulkhead. As far as anyone around him could tell, he might have been asleep. He wasn't. The tableau was only partially a pose designed to make everyone think that he was as cool and collected as possible. Dem was cool and collected. It had been a long time since he had felt any real jitters before action, and he couldn't even remember anything that might reasonably be called fear.
He went back over the plan of attack in his mind. His memory was excellent. He no longer needed to look at mapboard views of the base to see it clearly. He knew where his men were supposed to drop, where the other recon platoons would be, and where the line infantry would be hitting.
Dem waited for the sudden increase in apparent weight that would come when the shuttle pilot accelerated to climb to drop altitude. When it came, he opened his eyes, sat up straight, and looked around—as casually as he could manage. Just a few steps away, the jumpmaster was already on his feet. The jumpmaster's orders came quickly. The reccers unfastened their safety harnesses, stood, and moved to the doorways. The reccers had plenty of room for this ride. One platoon to a shuttle. That left a lot of empty space.
The hatches opened. The jumpmaster gestured to Dem and shouted, "Go!" Dem dove forward, propelling himself away from the lander. His right arm cradled his experimental AG rifle. His left hand was on his belt controls. He counted to three before he turned the antigrav belt on. Dem wasn't in the least worried about jumping out of a shuttle. Counting training, he had made well over a hundred jumps, first with parachute and the older antigrav belts, now with the new Corey belt. There was always something of a thrill to the start of a jump.
Down. Dem looked to the building below. As usual, the shuttle pilots had dropped them perfectly. Dem marked the roof that his platoon was to occupy. Straight below. There seemed to be a bit of a breeze from the northwest, but it was blowing him more toward the center of the roof than toward an edge.
He was within fifty meters of the rooftop when he spotted movement there, and heard the first sounds of enemy wire coming up toward the jumpers.
The Heggies were waiting for them.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Echo Company landed too far away from the reccers to hear the initial rifle fire directed at the men jumping for the roofs, but within seconds an all-hands alert had been broadcast. Joe had already been scanning the ground around the drop zone, paying more attention to the hangars than to the open space immediately below him and leading over to the ocean. There had been no hint of enemy movement around the airfield. No lights showed from the hangars.
As he dropped below eighty meters, Joe aimed his carbine toward the nearest building, holding the zipper one-handed so he could work his belt controls with the other hand. Joe's right index finger rested lightly over the trigger guard of the Armanoc. If he had to fire on the drop, he knew that he was unlikely to actually hit what he aimed at, but he might keep the target from hitting him.
"I want skirmish lines as soon as we touch down," Joe said. "First and second squad watching the hangars. Fourth, cover the rest of the circle." Two ahead, one behind.
Echo Company was on the left flank of this assault, closest to the buildings of the main base. Echo, Delta, Fox, and George—south to north. It would be up to George Company to take the north end of the line of hangars and secure that flank. Echo would have to set up posts to cover the gap between the other end of the line and the rest of the installation. The southernmost hangar was over two kilometers from the nearest corner of the grid of buildings at the main base.
Joe was no more than twenty-five meters off of the ground when the first enemy fire came close. The sound of wire zipping by was unmistakable, but Joe couldn't see where it was coming from. Wire rifles showed no muzzle blast.
"Where's it coming from?" he demanded over the platoon channel as he got ready to land.
"Looks like the end of the last hangar," Mort said. "I thought I saw something moving there."
The platoon was hitting the ground by that time. Everyone went straight down into prone firing positions even though the hangars were too far away for wire coming from them to be a serious danger.
"Move it!" Captain Keye ordered over the company net. "Up and at 'em."
"By squads!" Joe ordered, switching to his platoon channel. "I want the cough guns zeroed in on the end of the last hangar and the gap between that building and the next to the right. Vrerchs and RPGs as well. Keep their heads down if you can't blow 'em off."
Fire and maneuver. One squad advanced a few meters, then went prone while the rest of the platoon gave them covering fire. Then another squad moved. The men with sniper rifles, Vrerchs, or grenade launchers used them from resting positions, then moved when it was their turn. The rest of the platoon sprayed wire, even though they were more than a hundred meters from the nearest possible enemy positions.
Before Joe had run a total of twenty meters, he was soaked in sweat. But that did cool him off. There was enough of a breeze coming toward Echo Company to make the temperature bearable. For a time.
The platoon's first casualty was Frank Symes, fourth squad leader. A heavy burst of wire caught him in the chest and throat just as he was getting up to lead his squad forward again, about eighty meters from the nearest point of the hangar that the platoon was moving toward. Just a few extra meters might have made the difference for Frank. The squad's medic was with him in seconds, but there was nothing he could do for his sergeant.
"Can't be more than fifty Heggies shooting, all along the strip," First Sergeant Walker said over a channel that connected him to all of his platoon sergeants. "Mechanics and guards is my guess." Soldiers who might be less than fully proficient at basic combat skills. "Let's blow 'em over in a hurry, before they get reinforcements."
That would make the odds four short companies of SAT troops against a handful of Heggies, hardly a fair fight—not that anyone would insist on a fair fight. A few seconds later, Walker was on the radio again.
"First and second platoons, take the end of the line. Looks like maybe a half dozen Heggies there. Secure that corner."
Joe spent ten seconds on the line with first platoon's sergeant, then switched channels to talk to his own men. "On my signal. Up and all the way." Ten seconds later, he gave the signal. He was already getting to his feet as he gave it.
First and second platoons were no more than sixty meters from the near corner of the hangar. The thirty-seven men left in the two platoons sprinted that distance, spraying wire at any spot that looked as if it might conceivably hold an enemy. Along the line, the rest of Echo and the other three companies with it were doing the same thing.
There simply were not enough Heggies to defend the hangars, though they did manage to cause several dozen Accord casualties before they broke and ran toward the buildings of the main base.
—|—
Dem Nimz's test rifle proved to be ill-suited for use during a jump. He gave it a good test, returning the Heggie fire. But the gun's mechanism could not completely damp its recoil. That set him swaying like a pendulum and made accu
rate fire impossible. Dupuy cough guns—two men in each reccer squad were equipped with the rocket-assisted rifles—were similarly "flawed," but the Dupuy was only semiautomatic, and its muzzle velocity was much lower than the new weapon's.
The rest of the reccers were still armed with Armanocs, though, and the recoil of the zippers was negligible. The reccers gave a good account of themselves, even in the air.
Dem hit the roof off balance and fell backward as he cut power to his belt. Under the circumstances, falling flat was the safest possible move.
Four reccers were either dead or unconscious when they hit the roof. They provided a macabre spectacle. The gyro stabilizers on their belts kept their torsos upright, but their legs were splayed out and their heads sagged forward or back, lolling around in response to movement. The thrusters of the belts scooted their bodies around, hands dragging, almost at random until they ran out of power or until someone managed to hit the shut-off switch.
It was several minutes before any of the reccers on the roof with Dem had any opportunity to worry about their fallen comrades. They had dropped into the middle of a Schlinal infantry platoon. A lot of the reccers were wounded, but still conscious, able to defend themselves to some degree.
Once the reccers were on the roof, knives became as important as rifles, often more so. Although Armanocs weren't equipped to take bayonets, Dem's test weapon was. So was the standard-issue Heggie rifle. Unlike this rooftop's defenders, though, Dem had taken time to get his bayonet in place. Few of the Heggies seemed to think about using bayonets, except as hand knives.
Roughly equal numbers of Heggies and Freebies fought for control of the roof. The free-for-all was a series of independent duels, with the balance turning only slowly from the Heggies to the reccers.