Jump Pay

by Rick Shelley

  The fuses had only a ten-second delay. When the charges blew, Dem allowed no more than two seconds before he started into the doorway. Not all of the debris had settled yet. Joe Baerclau and Wiz Mackey were in just behind him, with the rest of the platoon moving in as rapidly as they could.

  The first men in started shooting before they knew whether or not they had any living targets. Dem stopped where the wall of the doorway gave him a little protection and fired out into the interior of the warehouse. Joe and Wiz went past him, diving off to the side, careful to get under Nimz's gun level.

  There were Heggies in this warehouse, at least a platoon of them. That was Joe's initial assessment as he dove to the floor and rolled to cover next to a stack of crates. But for as much of the interior as he could see, there might have been three or four times that number.

  The explosion that had blown the door into the warehouse hadn't hit anyone, but it had given Joe's platoon the couple of seconds Dem had promised. Then the Heggies started shooting. Some obviously pulled their triggers from reflex, before they had the weapons pointed toward the doorway. There was little accurate fire on either side during the initial seconds of the firefight.

  Joe pulled the pin from a grenade and lobbed it. From the corner of his eye, he noted two other grenades going away from the doorway. He scrambled forward on his stomach, heading for the next stack of crates. When the grenades started to explode, he stopped, pulled his arms and legs in as close to his body as he could get them, and hunched his shoulders up, covering the vulnerable junction between helmet and fatigue shirt.

  Once the grenades had blown, Joe got to his hands and knees and scuttled across the aisle. That drew fire. He felt a burning sensation in his right hip and knew that he had been hit. At the ranges available inside the warehouse, he had no doubt that his net armor had been pierced. With wire, he expected that there would be several wounds.

  The pain took a moment to reach his awareness. Joe had little time to fret over it, though. Al Bergon was already at his side, examining, then slapping a medpatch over the wounds. The analgesic in the patch worked quickly. The blood clotters worked even faster, stopping the bleeding.

  "Doesn't look too bad, Sarge," Al said while he worked. "All in the meat. Shouldn't even slow you down for more than a few minutes."

  Joe blinked a couple of times. "You mean I've got a fat ass."

  "You said it, I didn't," Al said. He slapped Joe on the shoulder and started looking for his next patient.

  Joe sat up, too quickly, when he realized that the shooting inside the warehouse had stopped. Sauv and Low had their squads moving across the building, toward the northwest corner.

  "What's going on?" Joe asked over his link to the squad leaders.

  Sauv answered. "The Heggies worked their way out of here in a hurry, Joe. Looks like they've gone underground."

  "Make sure, both of you, then set guards over all of the doors. Where's Nimz?"

  "West wall, near the door." It was Dem's voice on the radio. "My guys are in the next lane so this side should be secure."

  "Get some backup before you open the door, just in case," Joe said.

  "I know what to do," Dem said, keeping his voice neutral at the cost of some effort.

  "Mort, take your fire team over to support our reccer," Joe said after switching channels. "His guys should be on the other side of that door, but don't take chances."

  "On the way," Mort said.

  Joe stayed down for a moment longer, thinking, trying to make certain that he hadn't forgotten anything that might be critically important. His wounds no longer hurt. A medpatch didn't take long to neutralize local pain, even worse pain than he had felt from the wound in his hip—his butt, rather. Once he was as certain as he could be that nothing essential had been omitted, it was time to find out whether or not his wounds were going to slow him down.

  He got up to his knees cautiously, then straightened up, sitting on his haunches. There was stiffness but no pain, more a tightness that might have stretched the new scabs over his wounds. Using his rifle as a support, he got to his feet. He felt no dizziness, no discomfort. The slight limp when he tried walking was more psychological than physical. It faded away after just a few steps.

  Then he called Captain Keye. "We've got the interior of this building secure. The Heggies who were in here have apparently turned mole, gone through an interior doorway we think leads to a tunnel system. Nimz is getting ready to contact his men on the far side of the building. As soon as we finish checking what we've got, we'll go for the roof."

  "Give the roof to the reccers, Baerclau," Keye said.

  "Yes, sir."

  "Joe," the captain said after a slight hesitation.

  "Yes, sir?"

  "We don't have much time left to get the job done here."

  "This is the last base, isn't it?" Joe asked.

  Keye let out a long breath. "Yes, but we've got complications." Hilo didn't like keeping information from his people. At least his platoon sergeants and platoon leaders had to know.

  "More Heggies?" Joe asked.

  "A new fleet coming in," Keye admitted. "For the time being, this news doesn't go any further. You understand me, Joe?"

  "Perfectly, sir. How much time do we have?"

  "Can't be certain. From the briefing I had, certainly no more than an hour before the new fleet is in position to start launching shuttles. And fighters. Maybe less than an hour now. I'm not sure. You can figure out the rest."

  "Any idea how many of them?"

  "Just guesses with nothing to base them on. Anywhere between two and four regiments is possible from the number of ships reported. Until we know better, we have to assume the worst."

  The worst? Joe thought. We couldn't even handle the best end of that estimate. "I hope our navy lads take care of a good share of them, sir" was what he said.

  "So do I. Remember, Joe. This goes no further, not even to squad leaders. I really didn't have clearance to tell you, but I want my platoon sergeants to know what's coming."

  "I appreciate it, sir. What about Nimz? He's the reccer platoon sergeant."

  Keye hesitated before he answered. "You tell him, Joe. Face-to-face, not over the radio. Make sure he knows not to tell anyone else without orders. Far as that goes, he may already have the word."

  —|—

  "One hour. Sixty minutes," General Dacik said. "I want every man and every piece of equipment north of the canal by then." He had his entire staff and all of the senior unit commanders except Colonel Stossen on the link for this session. "And then I want both bridges blown."

  "We might have trouble getting across that quickly," Saf LaRieu said. "The 5th has widened their bridgehead a little, but not enough."

  "Then bring the rest of your people across to the other bridge and turn east once you get over the canal. We've got to break this end of the peninsula loose," Dacik said. "Whatever it takes."

  "Yes, sir," LaRieu replied.

  "If we can clean out Heggie resistance on the peninsula, we're got a chance to hold on for quite a time," Dacik said. "These new Heggies will have to come to us. And without bridges to cross the canal..." He let that hang for a moment. "I'm sure that this fleet wasn't coming in expecting that they would have to fight for Tamkailo. That's our only advantage. No doubt they know what's waiting for them now. That people here were probably in contact with them within minutes after the fleet emerged from hyperspace. And even if they weren't, the new fleet would have spotted our ships soon enough. But a few hours to plan an operation with whatever troops they happen to have on those ships isn't the best way to work. If we're particularly lucky, they won't even have any great stock of ammunition. With all the stores we've found here, the newcomers might have no more than standard issue."

  This time Dacik paused long enough to give the others time to throw cold water on his hopes, but no one spoke. "We need to have the Havocs and all of the support vans for the artillery and air far enough north that they'll be out of ran
ge of any Novas that the newcomers might have with them. The howitzers close enough to support any action along the canal."

  "What if they drop out on the peninsula?" Luro Bones asked. "They know what the situation is. That's probably their best bet."

  "We'll blow as many of their shuttles out of the air as we can," Dacik replied quickly. "Try to deal with the troops from any that get through as expeditiously as possible. If we can break the 5th free in time, we'll use it as a quick reaction force. And use all of our Wasps to back them up."

  "We're going to have our butts stickin' up in the air here, General," Colonel Ruman said. "There still might be three or four thousand Heggies on the loose on the peninsula. No way in Hell we can neutralize all of them before the new fleet unloads."

  "We'll concentrate on the ones between us and the Heggie base," Dacik said. "Stossen reports that the Heggies there are withdrawing underground again, fighting all of the way. The 13th can sit on those Heggies. If they're down in tunnels, they're irrelevant."

  "Unless they've got bolt holes prepared," Major Olsen said. "If they've got exits out somewhere that the 13th hasn't found, they could raise real Hell."

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  In space the dance continued.

  Within fifteen minutes of emerging from hyperspace, the Schlinal fleet had stopped braking for a routine orbit around Tamkailo. A few minutes later, the incoming ships accelerated, increasing speed and changing course. The individual ships also moved a little closer to one another, maneuvering slowly into battle formation. Ships did not make hyperspace jumps too near one another. Even the mass of a ship complicated that process.

  Closer in, the Accord fleet accelerated out of its parking orbit, away from Tamkailo.

  Both fleets wasted copious amounts of energy, opting for maximum movement rather than fuel-efficient trajectories. At the moment, propulsive energy was the least of the concerns of either commander. There would be no shortage of antimatter for their engines and weapons systems. In CICs in each fleet, the other's course was plotted. During the early stages, the time required for light to travel from one fleet to the other was greater than the amount of time that the CIC computers needed to correct and project the enemy's course, and to evaluate possible changes in course and time of interception.

  The opposing commanders made their own adjustments to those of the enemy, which were met with further refinements. And so forth. Plans for the engagement were made, refined, and changed again: a simplified version of chess with fewer pieces and movement possibilities.

  Nearly two hours before the fleets could come close enough to begin the actual fight, it was clear that the battle would take place between forty and fifty thousand kilometers above the northern hemisphere of Tamkailo, above and east of that world's northern continent. The fireworks, if there were any, would be visible from the peninsula that held the Schlinal base designated Site Charley by the Accord. It would still be night on the ground when the battle in space started.

  —|—

  The 13th's Havocs followed those of the 8th across the western bridge. The few Havocs remaining to the 5th would be the last to cross the canal, and they would cross the eastern bridge to support their infantry and the parts of the 34th LIR that had crossed there.

  It would have taken an observer several minutes to be certain that the Havocs were indeed all aiming for a bridge crossing. As usual, the gun crews worked hard to avoid showing a pattern to their movements, and there was certainly nothing recognizable as a formation. The howitzers continued to fire and maneuver on the way, only gradually moving into a wedge-shaped area leading up to the bridges.

  Primarily, the targets that the 13th's Havocs were aiming for were enemy Novas. There were still at least two dozen of those roaming the peninsula, firing at the Havocs and at the Accord infantry. The 8th's artillery divided its attention between enemy tanks and the infantry that the 8th was attempting to push through as it headed for the Schlinal base at the far end of the peninsula.

  "Where the hell is everyone?" Simon Kilgore demanded as he steered the Fat Turtle toward the bridge.

  "Your guess is as good as mine," Eustace replied, one of the few times that he might be willing to concede that anything anyone else could do might equal his own abilities. "North of this ditch, that's for sure. And our guys are at the far end of the peninsula. They need help."

  "We can help them from down here and be safe at the same time," Simon said.

  "Not for long," Eustace replied. "Captain Ritchey says we got more Heggies coming in. The general wants us where we can hold 'em off." Eustace was far from crazy about the idea that the battery commander had outlined, but Eustace tried not to worry about anything larger than the crew of his own gun. That was more than enough trouble for any noncom.

  "Why not just get out while the gettin's good?" Simon asked.

  Eustace didn't have an answer for that. Getting out seemed to be the smartest move to him as well.

  —|—

  Kleffer Dacik wasn't certain that his answer for that question was the right one. At one time or another in the couple of hours since they had learned of the approaching Schlinal fleet, nearly everyone on his staff had made the suggestion at least once. Their arguments were valid. They had already inflicted major damage to the Schlinal depots on Tamkailo, totally disrupting any plans the Schlinal warlords might have had for using the stores of materiel and the thousands of troops that had been collected on Tamkailo for their next invasion. The Accord had killed or captured at least five thousand Heggies, perhaps as many as six or seven thousand. They had destroyed or captured thousands of tonnes of munitions and other supplies. And destroyed about three regiments of Nova tanks.

  "We've already scored a major victory here, General," the argument went. "Why jeopardize what we've done already? Why risk losing the rest of five front-line regiments and an air wing for what little more we might accomplish?"

  "We haven't finished the job," Dacik replied, with a bulldog persistence that belied his own doubts. "There might be another three thousand Heggies on the peninsula, plus most of the supplies in Site Charley. And whatever that fleet is carrying. I want it all, or as much of it as we can get. We have a chance to end the Schlinal threat against the Accord, if not permanently, at least for a good long time."

  It was a desperate gamble, and no one was more aware of that than Kleffer Dacik. He watched the time line on his visor display. He listened to frequent updates on the progress of the two fleets from CIC. It came as something of a relief when one important deadline passed, when there was no longer time to get friendly shuttles down and all of the men back up to the transports before the enemy fleet arrived within striking distance.

  As another military commander had written thousands of years before, on taking an equally desperate gamble, the die was cast. Withdrawal was no longer an option.

  —|—

  Site Charley was silent. Echo's second platoon was in another warehouse, doing little but standing around. Or sitting. A few of the men were eating. The platoon's wounded had all been treated. There had been no deaths in second platoon in the fight for the main base. A team of engineers was welding the door leading from the warehouse into the underground complex to its frame. There were thirty-seven buildings in the main base, thirty-seven metal doors that did not open onto the outside. One team had gone back to the airfield to see if there were openings to the tunnel system there. If so, those would be sealed as well.

  "Burying them alive," Mort commented. His visor was up about halfway. Even though he was a dozen meters from the welding, he didn't want to look toward the welder's arc without eye protection. The faceplate of a battle helmet would not be sufficient for that up close, but at a distance, it would do. "There could be a regiment or more of them down there."

  "I doubt that it's that final, Professor," Joe said. "Even if they don't have exits that we haven't found, they've almost certainly got gear down there with them that will let them break out. Sooner or later. If nothing
else, they'll have explosives. We're just doing what we can to make sure they don't get out too soon. If they escape once we've left this cinder, that's fine with me."

  Mort shook his head, unconvinced. "We came here to kill Heggies, and we're certainly doing that. Wholesale. Regular combat is one thing, but this is going to be like the underground garage at Site Alpha—simple slaughter."

  "Them or us," Wiz Mackey said. "An' I'd rather it be them any day, and twice on Sunday."

  "This Sunday?" Mal Underwood asked.

  "Beats the hell out of me," Wiz said. "I'm not even sure what month this is."

  "By our time, I think it's Wednesday," Olly Wytten said. "Or it's Wednesday back on Albion."

  "Totally irrelevant here," Mort said. "In any case, the Hegemony uses a different calendar than we do."

  "Enough," Joe said in a tired voice. "Before anybody gets too carried away, let's appropriate a few of the goodies." That got everyone's attention. "Hand grenades," Joe said, raising his left hand shoulder high and extending the index finger. "Stuff 'em anywhere you can. One man in each fire team grab an RPG launcher and grenades for it." He raised a second finger. "One man in each fire team take a bundle of these Heggie rockets and a launcher." A third finger. "They may not be as good as our Vrerchs, but they'll do in a pinch. Everybody else, grab either RPGs or rockets to help supply the men with the launchers. Load yourselves down with everything you can carry and still function. We've got a shuttle coming up from south of the canal to bring in more wire for our zippers, so we can forget about Heggie rifles this time."

  Very softly, Mort asked, "You trying to tell us something, Sarge?"

  Joe hesitated before he answered. "I'm trying to tell you that you're still soldiers in a combat zone and that there are still plenty of Heggies around. We may have corralled some of them here, but there's mudders and armor coming at us from the south, maybe a couple of regiments. The 8th and the 5th are driving the rest of them our way. Reason enough?"