by Rick Shelley
Dem pulled his bayonet out of one Heggie's gut, twisting the blade to increase the size of the wound. He spun left, seeing someone come at him from the side, rifle at high port, ready to swing the rifle butt toward his head. Dem didn't have time to get his own rifle aimed at the Heggie, to end the duel with a quick shot. All he could do was bring his rifle up to meet the other weapon. As the rifle stocks collided, Dem brought his knee up toward the Heggie's groin. The man twisted to the side, so all Dem hit was his hip, and the Heggie was able to press forward while Dem was off balance.
Dem let himself fall, bringing his rifle around as he did. As the bayonet came into line between the two men, the Heggie couldn't jump on top of Dem. The split second that the Heggie hesitated was fatal. Dem pulled the trigger and blew a hole high in the Heggie's chest.
Nimz was slow getting back to his feet. The fall had taken the air from him. But the fight was almost over. More reccers had been killed. Dem's sixty-man platoon had dwindled to the size of a line company platoon. He only had twenty-nine men left, and more than half of them had at least minor injuries.
—|—
Frank Symes was the only man killed in Joe's platoon during the assault on the hangars. There were several minor injuries in the platoon, but nothing that a medic couldn't handle. None of the wounded were hurt too seriously to continue.
"Joe, get your men on the roof. Set up your platoon's splat gun at the back corner, covering the approach from the main base," Izzy Walker said. "First platoon will be on the ground in front of you."
"Right," Joe replied. "Unless you want us to go inside and up by the stairs, we'll have to go up on ropes. Nobody's got enough juice on their belts to do it the easy way."
"Hang on a second," Walker said. It was closer to two minutes than one second before the first sergeant came back on the link. "Bring your men on in. We've got the inside secured. The stairs are along the wall on the south end of the building."
Echo's 1st platoon was already establishing its defensive line west of the hangar. With ground too hard to allow much excavation, the line was spread out to take best advantage of the irregular terrain.
Joe gathered his men, and they started back around the end of the hangar to one of the doors. There were lights on inside now. Someone had flipped the switches; the Heggies hadn't cut power to the building. The inside of the hangar seemed vast—eighty meters long, forty wide, and fifteen high, plenty of room for thirty Boems or more. There were only four fighters in the hangar, but they were all armed and loaded with fresh batteries. Obviously, the 13th's landing had caught those few Boems between missions.
"That's four buzzards that won't be giving our guys any more grief," Wiz Mackey commented. He raised his visor to spit in the general direction of the nearest Boem. None of the other men from first squad bothered to reply.
"Every building has stairs to the roof," Mort mentioned on the noncoms' circuit. "But we haven't seen any evidence that they really used the roofs for anything. No regular defensive emplacements, nothing. Too damn hot to start with. Why'd they bother?"
"Just be glad they did," Sergeant Degtree said. "Maybe they went up at night for a breeze."
As first squad neared the door leading out onto the roof, Joe whistled shrilly on the squad's channel, a signal that caused the men to freeze in their tracks.
"Hold up! This is no damn lark," Joe barked. "Who told you that the roof's secure? Figure there might be a platoon of Heggies out there with their guns trained on that door until you know better."
Sauv Degtree muttered under his breath. Nobody noticed, but there was embarrassment as well as guilt in his I should have known better.
"By the book," he told his squad. "My fault," he told Joe, switching channels just long enough for the confession. Only Mort glanced his way, just briefly. "Check your weapons for full load and power." He looked at his own. The charge was nearly full. He had better than half a spool of wire left in the rifle as well.
"Mackey, you yank the door and drop. I want everybody else aiming through the opening. Any hint of opposition, shoot first and we'll forget about the questions."
Second and fourth squads were lower on the stairway, guns also trained on the door. Baerclau was between first and second squads. He checked his rifle as well. He really did not expect Heggies to be waiting on the roof, but he had experienced a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach when he saw "his" squad racing for the door as if there weren't the slightest chance of opposition.
Degtree looked around at his men. He took a deep breath. Wiz was watching him. Sauv nodded, and brought his rifle up at the same time. Wiz hauled the door open and dropped to the landing in front of it, bringing his rifle to bear as he fell.
The lights inside the hangar made it impossible to see anything out in the darkness on the roof, but no fire came in through the doorway.
Joe counted silently to five, then said, "Go," on first squad's channel.
One fire team at a time, the squad went through, followed almost immediately by second squad. Joe moved to the side of the door and waited until both first and second squads were in position outside.
"It's clear," Sauv reported.
Joe moved outside the door and stood next to the kiosk while he directed the rest of the platoon out and got everyone in position, two squads on the side facing the main Schlinal base and the other squad spread out facing the landing strip.
"We're in position, Captain," Joe reported. "No opposition up here."
"Don't get too comfortable, Joe," Keye replied. "As soon as we've got the airfield secured and the Heggies' ammo and the planes we caught on the ground blown up or booby-trapped, we're going to be moving again."
"Yes, sir. As long as nobody blows this roof out from under us."
"If we blow it, I'll give you time to get clear," Keye said dryly.
—|—
"The Novas are withdrawing, pulling back up the peninsula," Eustace Ponks told his crew, relaying news he had just received. "Let's get moving, Simon. We follow them north until we're just three klicks behind our lines." Three kilometers: that would keep them out of the range of shoulder-launched rockets coming across the canal and allow their main gun to reach very nearly to the Schlinal base at the northern end of the peninsula.
"On the way," Kilgore replied, pushing the throttles forward.
"We'll keep our interval with the Novas on the way," Eustace said. "Just out of their range. Karl, Jimmy, fire mission coming in now. We're gonna hurry those Novas along."
—|—
General Dacik watched the withdrawal of the Schlinal armor on his large mapboard. The blips might be several minutes out of date by the time they moved, but it did give him some idea what was going on.
"They've heard about our landings at the far end of the peninsula," Jorgen Olsen guessed. "They're pulling the Novas back to dislodge the 13th."
"I want every effort made to be sure that they pull back all of the armor," Dacik said. "Get Wasps in as close as possible to hurry them along. We'll give them a few more minutes, then hit both bridges with everything we've got. We've got to force our crossing quickly now, get north before the Heggies have time to neutralize Stossen's command." Neutralize: that was the polite staff word for "destroy."
"We've got all of our ground assets poised," Colonel Ruman said quickly. "Just waiting for the word to go."
With the Heggie armor pulling north in a hurry, the bridge crossings might be a little less costly than they would have been otherwise, but if the Heggie infantry continued to defend the bridges with as much determination as they had so far, it would still be a bloody engagement.
"As soon as the tanks are twelve klicks north of the canal, and Jorgen can tell me that they've all gone north," Dacik said. "That's when we go."
Olsen was already busy on his radio links to CIC and to the Wasp flight leaders. He broke away from a radio conversation long enough to say, "It should be about nine minutes until all of the tanks we know about are past that twelve-klick li
ne. So far, it looks as if they're all going north. Still checking." It would be impossible to know for certain, but nothing in combat is ever certain.
Dacik pulled his visor down just long enough to glance at the time line on the display. Nine minutes.
"Ru, get on link and notify Kane, Foss, Bones, and LaRieu that we jump in ten minutes." Lieutenant Colonel Saf LaRieu had assumed command of the 34th LIR the first day of the attack against Site Charley, when the regiment's previous commander was killed.
Dacik's plan for the breakthrough, such as it was, had been finalized only forty-five minutes earlier. The regimental commanders all knew what was expected of them. The 5th and 8th SATs would spearhead the attempts to cross the two bridges. The 34th LIR would continue to support the 5th SAT. The 97th would back up the 8th. The two light infantry regiments were to maintain pressure along the canal first to prevent the Heggies from moving all of their assets to the bridges. Once the SATs established a bridgehead on the peninsula, the light infantry would cross behind them and move to the flanks, to clear Heggie opposition along the canal.
The 5th and 8th would drive north as fast as the opposition permitted. After covering the breakthrough from almost point-blank range, the Havocs of all three SATs would cross the canal as soon as the Heggies were far enough from the bridges to be out of rocket range of the artillery.
—|—
The 13th's 3rd recon platoon was pinned down on its rooftop. After disposing of the Heggies who had been there when they arrived, the reccers were taken under fire by more Heggie infantry—men on the ground and on roofs that hadn't been directly assaulted by air.
"Good thing we jumped with our locators on this time," Fredo Gariston told Dem. "We can tell who's who." Fredo was flat on his back, his left arm and hand bloody. Dem was wrapping medicated soakers over a dozen wire cuts.
"Try making a fist," Dem said after he had the last patch secured.
Both men stared at Fredo's left hand. The fingers twitched, but did not close. Dem shook his head.
"I was afraid of that. Doesn't feel like any broken bones, but you've got serious muscle damage in that arm, maybe even nerves cut."
"I don't suppose you've got a trauma tube in your back pocket," Fredo said. He was able to joke. The med patches had numbed the pain almost instantly. He didn't feel a thing in his left arm now.
"No, and I don't know how long it's gonna be before we can get you to one."
"No problem. I can fire a zipper one-handed. And reload it too. Just don't expect speed records."
"Never mind that. You just keep your ass, and your head, down," Dem ordered. " 'Less the Heggies get right on this roof with us again, you're out of it."
"They were waiting for us," Fredo said, his voice starting to go dreamy. It had taken three soakers to cover all of the wounds on his arm. The heavy dose of analgesics was starting to make him drowsy. It wouldn't be enough to put him out, but it did take his mind several steps away from full alertness.
"They were waiting for us," Dem agreed, pondering whether or not to hit his friend with a sleep patch as well. Fredo's left arm was in very bad shape. The wire had torn away a lot of meat, and Fredo had lost considerable blood before Dem got to him. Dem decided against the sleeper. Between loss of blood and the soakers, Fredo would almost certainly lose consciousness on his own soon enough.
"How many?" Fredo asked, fighting a losing battle to stay awake.
"Couple hundred on the roofs," Dem said, speaking slowly, softly, watching Fredo's eyes now. They were barely open. "More on the ground."
"Watch... the... door," Fredo said. The last word was almost unintelligible as he finally went into limbo.
Watch what? Dem thought before that last word penetrated. Door. He turned to look at the door leading in from the roof. It was shut. Two reccers were kneeling beside the kiosk, using it for additional shelter, but they weren't watching the door.
"Good thinking, Fredo," Dem whispered, knowing that Fredo could no longer hear him. "They could blast us good there." Quickly, he put two men to watch the door. "Keep your zippers right on it. It opens, don't wait to see who's there. Start shooting, then toss grenades in."
The rooftop fight was a cat-and-mouse game that showed no promise of ending quickly. Pick your moment. Get up just high enough to aim a rifle at the next roof. Spray a few meters of wire and duck before an enemy popped up to spray you. It worked the same for Heggie and Freebie. The most either side could hope to do was to keep the enemies' heads down.
Men guessed wrong, on both sides. They raised up to spray and got sprayed. If they were lucky, all they had exposed was a helmeted head. Accord helmets and faceplates would stop wire even at short range. Schlinal helmets did not have visors. That made them more vulnerable.
Twenty minutes after hitting the roof, Dem's platoon was down to nineteen effectives. There were three men hurt too badly to continue fighting. The rest were dead.
Dem looked up at the sky. I hope the line companies get to us in a hurry, he thought. Then he got on the radio and started asking about timetables. "We can't hold out long," he told Major Parks.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Near both bridges, Wasp maintenance teams had used aircraft ordnance to create ground weapons, the innovation that had gained a commission for Roo Vernon. Everyone had heard about his novel use for aircraft cannons and rockets. Now he had explained to his counterparts in the other two SATs on Tamkailo what his men had done on Jordan. All that General Dacik was interested in was the cannon mounts. The 25mm five-barreled cannons were set on tripods made from repair parts that the Wasp ground crews could assemble. Loaded with fragmenting anti-personnel rounds, a single gun's five barrels could spray fifteen hundred metal needles per second.
Four guns had been assembled and hauled into place near each of the bridges. One minute before the two SATs were to begin their assault, the makeshift guns opened up, playing back and forth along the Heggie lines near the north ends of the bridges. Those cannons, added to the rest of the weaponry that four regiments could bring to bear, suppressed most of the Heggie fire. The 10mm-long metal shards that the 25mm round separated into could cut through any body armor.
The 5th and 8th ran for the bridges, massed charges. They had narrow approach lanes. The bridge deck itself was not being fired on by the Accord. Fire zones on either side left a triangle that was safe from friendly fire. On the Heggie side of the canal only men with RPGs were getting in much work. Grenades could be launched from behind cover, sent out in arcs across the canal—or onto bridges. By the time the first Accord troops reached the bridges, something new was added. Tank rounds started exploding. At least a few Novas had not gone north with the rest, or they had turned around and come back within range of the canal.
Then the Heggies turned loose their remaining Boems for one last attack.
—|—
Zel Paitcher had been unable to get rid of a hollow feeling in his gut. It wasn't hunger. It wasn't even fear... exactly. "Just a nasty little itch," he had whispered to Gerry Easton the last time they had been on the ground for new batteries and ammunition. A nasty little itch that tells me this is my last campaign was the full thought, but he hadn't shared the rest of it with his wingman.
The 13th's Blue Flight was down to four planes now. Four planes and four pilots. Zel and Gerry. Ilsen Kwillen and Will Tarkel. The rest of the 13th's flights were in similar condition. The 8th and 17th had been hurt, but not quite as badly. The 5th's air wing had been chopped to pieces in the early fighting, when they were the only Wasps at Site Charley. Only five of its twenty-four Wasps had still been intact when the 17th IAW arrived. And two of those five had been shot down since.
Like the rest of the Accord forces south of the canal, the Wasps had a part to play in the general's desperate assault against the bridges. The Wasps were primarily assigned ground support missions, flying along the Heggie lines north of the canal, trying to put as many of them out of action as possible. Part of the 17th was higher, its mission to ke
ep Schlinal Boems away.
They weren't entirely successful.
The 13th's ten remaining Wasps were concentrated on the Heggie positions guarding the western bridge. They came in from farther west. Prior to the attack they had rendezvoused over the ocean, twenty kilometers away, and only twenty meters above the water.
"We'll stay down as long as we can," Zel told his men while they waited for the signal to start their attack. "Low and fast. Until we get close to the bridge, stick with cannon. We'll use both rockets and cannon approaching and leaving the area of the bridge. We run dry, we turn straight south and beat it, just high enough off of the ground to stay out of the way of artillery shells."
Zel led his flight in, climbing as they reached the shoreline, maintaining their relative altitude as the ground rose. The targeting diagram on Zel's heads-up display had been keyed to show the line of Heggie defenses in green. Zel cut back on his forward speed. When the ground-speed indicator dipped to 500 kph, he locked it in.
And gave the first touch to his trigger. Three hundred meters ahead, the metal slivers fired from five barrels converged on an area no more than two meters wide. The long diameter of the elliptical pattern was right along the main Heggie trench. No body armor could stand up to the hypersonic assault of that much sharp metal.
Zel kept his bursts short until the bridge came into easy range of his missiles. He emptied his racks quickly, aiming not at the bridge itself but at the defenses at its northern end, across the roadway and to either side. Then he switched back to cannons and kept his finger on the trigger as he flew over rocket explosions and past the bridge. When his forward cannons fell silent—out of ammunition—he accelerated sideways and up. The antigrav drive meant that there was no need to turn the Wasp in order to change direction, and Zel didn't waste the time to turn until he was far enough out of range of a ground-launched missile to afford it.
Only three planes from Blue Flight made it away from the canal. Ilsen Kwillen's Wasp was hit by a rocket while it was north of the canal. It broke into three main pieces. The escape module did separate, but the parachute failed to deploy.