Robert Frezza - [Colonial War 01]

by A Small Colonial War (epub)

  “Well, cut him off and get Raul. Matti, should you be leading a counterattack or something? ’ ’

  “Give it another ten minutes. Yoshida is dithering. Anton, I just can’t see how they could get more than a few hundred men there.”

  “Captain Sanmartin is on,” Haerkoennen inteijected. “Good. After I take it, get me Wojcek. Also see if Fuwa is on the line yet. Hello, Raul? What is your situation? . . . You are mopping up there? Good. Listen, Raul, I have a little job for you. Do you have a clear landing zone? . . . Well, get one. The spaceport is under heavy attack, along with everything else. Stuff a platoon and some mortars into Wojcek’s aircraft and take care of it for me. . . . Please try not to get yourself excited, Raul. It is a half-hour ride, and you will have plenty of time to think of something. Coordinate with Lieutenant Fuwa. . . . Fine, Raul, any time. Bye.”

  “There, that was easy,” Haijalo said.

  Vereshchagin smiled. “Raul is cleaning up the town. A hundred Afrikaners or so elected to hole up in the houses rather than run past Paul. Most are trying to blend in with the civilian population. Raul is searching the houses and scoping occupants for nitrates and gun oil.”

  “What about Paul. Is he still upset you wouldn’t let him pursue?”

  “Let us merely say that he is disappointed Chiharu is not handling his end in a more professional manner. I think that we can say that Chiharu has had his opportunity. After you clean up the perimeter, I will want a reserve from B Company.” “May I shoot Chiharu?”

  Haerkoennen interrupted. “Sir, Lieutenant Wojcek is on the line. Lieutenant Fuwa is standing by.”

  “Wait a moment, Matti. Timo, tell Fuwa that I am sending a relief force with Captain Sanmartin. Have him coordinate with Sanmartin and give me Wojcek. Stash? . . . You mentioned to me that you were beginning to run low on ammunition. How would you like to go back? . . . There is just one little errand I have for you. The spaceport is under attack, and I am sending Raul to take care of it. He is busy clearing a landing zone for you now. Please get the transports off and float up to lo’burg to give him a lift. You will be under his orders. . . . Yes, Stash,

  the usual thing. A platoon and a pair of mortars. . . . Why thank you, Stash, I will consider that a compliment. Good-bye, Stash. ’ ’ He turned back to Harjalo. “Patience, Matti. I know Chiharu is a. fool, but if we start shooting all our fools, they might stop letting us have any. Just relieve him, so that we might get on with fighting the war.”

  “Which one?” Harjalo asked, running out the door. “The one against the Dutch boys or the one against brigade?”

  "Matti, counterattack? ’ ’

  “Hai, O-Anton-san, I’m on my way.” Harjalo slithered on his belly out of the tunnel into the rain. The first officer he saw was Mizoguchi. “Mizoguchi, what’s happening?”

  “We are waiting for Captain Yoshida to seize the kraal and are taking sniper fire. The company has taken nine casualties. At least we have learned them not to hide in femtrees.”

  “The word you want is ‘taught,’ Hiroshi. Are there any targets worth wasting the mortars on?”

  “Negative. I strongly believe that they have had enough for the day and are pulling back.”

  “Running” was probably more descriptive of what the Boers were about. To the north, Paul was amusing himself in a small way. Until Yoshida managed to clear the Vlakkraal farm, every Boer that the Hangman’s hounds flushed would scamper off into the forest little worse for the ordeal. With No. 10 and the engineers still cleaning up Jo’burg, Paul was short on infantry, and probably on patience as well. Relieving Yoshida might be a kindness. Haqalo reached for his radio receiver.

  “Beppu point command. Break. Yoshida, this is Harjalo. Are you in position yet?”

  Yoshida was still yammering about snipers.

  “Fine! Sversky, are you monitoring? Captain Yoshida has just been relieved. You are in command. If you haven’t moved out in ten minutes, I’ll relieve you. Yoshida, report to Lieutenant-Colonel Vereshchagin. Haqalo out.” He redialed for Henke. “Date point one. Break. Paul what do you think?”

  “Any time you feel you are ready,” was the Hangman’s cool reply. Der Henker probably wanted to nail Yoshida’s thumbs to a cross.

  "I’ve just relieved Yoshida, and I’m up with Mizoguchi. We’ll start pushing them. We should be able to cut a few off.”

  “I doubt it, but we’ll enjoy ourselves anyway,” was the reply on the other end.

  “Ja, you have that right, anyway. Haqalo out.”

  The Hangman’s executive officer was a phlegmatic captain named Willem Schwinge, from Maarianhamina. In D for Date, they called him Swinging Dick. He and his crew had died when their side armor was pierced by a missile from a well-concealed launcher. Schwinge and his driver, Jouni Mainninen, were the only two rfiarried men in the Hangman’s company.

  Above them all, Wojcek’s helicopters were cutting by on their return from Johannesburg. In the jump seat of the second machine, lilya Pollezheyev commented, “Say, Coconut, you fly this thing pretty good.”

  The bearded pilot, an aviation sergeant named Kokovtsov, banked the chopper sharply just over the treetops. He didn’t bother to reply. The gunner who doubled as co-pilot was even less talkative. Pollezheyev looked out through the glass at the treetops, close enough to touch.

  “When that big gun of yours talks, people have to listen,” Pollezheyev opined.

  The gunner nodded and continued scanning the terrain below for some sign of movement. The rest of Pollezheyev’s team was sprawled out in the catwalk seats sleeping. The shock of combat hadn’t hit Pollezheyev yet.

  "Captain Sanmartin said we had a half-hour flight. ’ ’

  For all the response he got, Pollezheyev might as well have been talking to the wind. Kokovtsov again altered his course slightly, following Lieutenant Wojcek in the lead helicopter in his efforts to throw off any unseen antiaircraft, and Pollezheyev felt the safety belt tighten around his gut.

  Behind them were three light transports, carrying two sections and a pair of mortars. The other two choppers brought up the rear.

  “I’ll bet that most of the niobium they put into this chopper came from here,” Pollezheyev commented.

  There were no takers.

  “You know, Coconut, this is the third time I rode in this chopper, and I never once heard you say something. You don’t talk much, do you?”

  Kokovtsov replied out of the side of his mouth. “Parrots talk a lot, but they don’t fly much. Me, I fly. ” He kept his eyes glued to Wojcek, periodically zigzagging to throw off ground fire.

  Ahead of Kokovtsov, Wojcek banked his helicopter sharply and almost dumped Sanmartin out of the command seat and through the cockpit over the side. Sanmartin clutched his safety straps without relinquishing his grip on the helicopter’s microphone. Wojcek and his were more considerate to their aircraft than to passengers.

  “Whistle before you do that, Stash, I’m trying to complete a cail. Lieutenant Fuwa? Do you hear me? Sanmartin here. What is the situation there?” Sanmartin said loudly over the hum of the rotors.

  “Captain Sanmartin, sir, I hear you very well. At present, we have two companies of the volunteer battalion in position. The third company appears to have abandoned its positions. The fourth company and Hokkaido Company of Lieutenant-Colonel Higuchi’s battalion have been thrown in to retake the ground. Elements of Lieutenant-Colonel Higuchi’s Ehime Company are arriving by air from Complex. The construction engineer battalion is supposed to be on its way for air insertion, but communications with Admiral Lee and Lieutenant-Colonel Kimura’s headquarters have been lost and have not yet been regained. Exeter, Ajax, Achilles, and Graf Spee are standing by, but the cloud cover is too thick for effective naval support. They are prepared to launch guided projectile munitions if targets are acquired.”

  “Has anyone been monitoring the naval channel?”

  “No, sir. Colonel Lynch ordered the naval channel to be shut down after an interchange with commander G
raf Spee.”

  Kim, the commander Graf Spee, was known for his slashing wit. One naval rating had let slip that Rear-Admiral Irie refused to leave his cabin when Kim had the bridge.

  Sanmartin tried to hold his head steady to let the blood clear. “Fuwa, request permission to open communications immediately. Something feels rank about this whole mess.”

  “I shall comply with your directive, sir.” There was a brief silence. A moment later, Fuwa came back. “Sir, Colonel Lynch is not available, and Major Dong has denied my request to open communications with the navy in absence of the Colonel. ’ ’ “Listen Fuwa, this is very important, I think. On my nonexistent authority, ask the navy what’s going on at Reading.”

  “I will do so, sir. One moment,” Fuwa replied.

  Sanmartin said half to himself, “Lord in heaven, I hope I’m not right. ’ ’ He looked over at the pilot of the helicopter. “Stash, hold up. Don’t go any closer to the port.”

  “Wliat?” Wojcek turned around in his seat.

  “I said hold up, Stash. Don’t go any closer to the port. How long can we hover here before we have fuel problems? ’ ’ “About ten minutes.”

  “Do it.”

  Wojcek acknowledged, issuing the order. For some reason, Sanmartin began working the other riddle over in his mind, the one that had mystified Rettaglia. What could be packaged in a box three-tenths of a meter on a side that weighed five hundred eighty kilograms? Why would the Boers bribe Irie a week before a war?

  A moment later, Fuwa came back on. “Sir, the navy reports that both Reading and Upper Marlboro appear to have been destroyed by small nuclear devices. They have been trying to relay this information to us for the last seven minutes, sir. Major Dong has threatened to shoot me,” he added.

  “Fuwa, are any of the companies in the perimeter under pressure?”

  “One of the volunteer companies has stated that they are pinned down by intense fire, but all elements of Lieutenant-Colonel Higuchi’s companies report nothing but noise and fireworks. They have requested permission to pursue. Permission to pursue has been denied.”

  Sanmartin felt his throat go dry. “Listen, Fuwa, the spaceport is about to be nuked. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Get Higuchi and get Lynch. Tell them to clear whatever they can out of there immediately. ”

  “I will do my best, sir.”

  Wojcek turned, pale as milk. “Everything that isn’t in orbit is stored either in Reading or at the port.”

  Sanmartin said nothing. Instead, he found his mind dwelling on Irie’s prize, wondering how well Me had scoped the thing, what could be that dense. It was too heavy for gold, far too heavy for lead. Solid platinum? Or something that was intended to look like a solid cube of platinum.

  “Fuwa, this is urgent! Call Rear-Admiral Irie. Tell him to jettison his platinum cube immediately and clear the area. Tell him every second counts. Tell him there’s a nuke inside.”

  Fuwa betrayed no hesitation. “I shall endeavor to comply, sir.”

  A few minutes later, Wojcek spoke up. “If we don’t land at the port, we can either go back to Pretoria or divert to Complex.”

  “Is there any fuel left in Pretoria?”

  “Some. Not much.”

  "Head back. Tell the Variag we’re coming. What time is it? ’ ’

  Fuwa interrupted before Wojcek could speak. “Captain San-martin, this is Fuwa. Lieutenant-Colonel Higuchi has superseded Colonel Lynch and begun evacuating personnel. I shall stay to man the communications center. You have been given permission to divert or return. I have relayed your message to the navy with the urgency you requested. They have acknowledged.” There was a pause. “I have shot Acting Major Dong. I have nothing further for you at this time. Good luck to you, sir. Fuwa, out.”

  “Good luck to you, too, you little Jap,” Sanmartin murmured. He looked down at his hands and noticed he was clenching his fists. His fingernails had broken skin.

  “It’s four hours fifty-six,” Wojcek stated.

  They waited as they flew. “They could have synchronized their watches a little better,” Sanmartin murmured, possibly to Wojcek. Four minutes passed. Then there was a brilliant white flash, around them, behind them, that seemed to fill the sky. It was followed by a shock wave that jerked the helicopters about like little toys.

  “Any casualties back there?” Sanmartin yelled as Wojcek pulled the chopper on course with difficulty, buffeted by winds.

  “Grigori hit his head. He’s out, but the rest of us are fine,” someone shouted back.

  Sanmartin wiped the blood from his chin. “Stash, see if we still have communications. Call Vereshchagin. Tell him what’s happened,” he said quietly. For the companies that had been swallowed up, and maybe just a little for the companies that hadn’t, he started mumbling the words of a paternoster he had learned as a child.

  BELOW THEM IN PRETORIA, VERESHCHAGIN WAS SPEAKING TO Haerkoennen. His voice was unnaturally quiet.

  “Timo, please contact Rear-Admiral Me. Find out what the situation is and what his orders are.” Vereshchagin had only met Irie once, during an operations briefing on Shokaku a hundred years in the past. The import of the tremor that passed through the building had shocked him almost beyond words.

  “Sir, commander Ajax is responding. He is requesting orders from us.” Haerkoennen replied.

  “Is the navy aware that Admiral Lee is missing, presumed dead?” Vereshchagin asked.

  “Yes, sir. Wait. He says that a nuclear device, estimated to be two kilotons, has destroyed Graf Spee. The blast, coupled with the resulting fusion reaction, also eliminated units Achilles and Exeter. Rear-Admiral Irie was aboard the flagship when the device went off. He, along with Admiral Lee, is missing, presumed dead. Lieutenant-Colonels Moore and Ebyl are the only senior officers to have reported in. Commander Ajax states his vessel has sustained moderate damage but is still functional. He requests orders.”

  Vereshchagin felt himself laugh, until tears streamed down his face. “I am sorry, Timo. Tell Ajax to interdict any traffic coming west from Pretoria and Johannesburg along the road net, and to stand by for further orders.”

  HOURS LATER, IT WAS TIME TO ASSESS. “SO WHAT HAVE WE, Eva?” he asked Moore, acting commander of Complex and of odds and ends thrown off from the inferno that had engulfed the spaceport.

  Moore hesitated over her reply. “Forget Reading. Forget Upper Marlboro. Glassy slicks, no survivors. At the spaceport, over and above the ones who got out, you have fifty-seven who are dead and don’t know it yet. Most of them are from Higuchi’s H Company, they were in advance of the others and fairly quick with a shovel. For the moment, they’re functional. They’ve formed themselves into a platoon. I have sixty-seven more under treatment with varying chances of pulling through.”

  Raul Sanmartin’s warning had enabled Higuchi to send off most of the aircraft with a mixed bag of passengers. Characteristically, Higuchi had refused to board himself. None of the survivors knew why Colonel Lynch had failed to embark.

  “Thank you, Eva. Please tell them that I will be by to address them in an hour. It was a promise Vereshchagin meant to keep. It was a matter of pride that just as his battalion kept faith with the living, it kept faith with the dead.

  “One personal note, Anton, Claude Devoucoux was in Reading when it blew. I put him there. I sent him off to try and do something about the venereal disease.”

  Moore had divined that the loss of witty, urbane Claude Devoucoux meant more than all the rest of Reading’s dead. It would be better, Vereshchagin quickly reasoned, not to mention the circumstances surrounding Devoucoux’s death. It was the sort of brutal irony that made a mockery of war.

  Sensing his mood, she told him quickly, “Give my love to Solchava!” and broke the connection.

  Solchava had hung the cross and crescent out at the Pretoria hospital. She had her hands full, and a little girl, a spindly thing with a thin, ferret face, had attached herself to her remaining limbs. Her immediate problem was to arrange t
ransportation for casualties military and civilian to Lieutenant-Colonel Moore’s facilities at Complex, themselves overflowing.

  She had pulled perhaps a third of the staff and was doing as well as might be expected. The Afrikaner medicos—good Brothers all—were mostly out getting themselves shot. The first one to show came as a patient with mortar fragments in his spine from leading an Oxwagonguard squad with more zeal than discretion.

  Overall, the situation reported was grim. Ebyl’s battalion had ridden out the storm unscathed, positioned in the backwaters of the cowboy country. So had Higuchi’s G Company. The survivors of Higuchi’s light attack company were reforming themselves into a reinforced platoon, heavy on Cadillacs and light on slicks. Two platoons from his Ehime Company had been left behind at Complex, his reconnaissance platoon had made it out on a heavy transport. Still another platoon had put down an uprising at the ocean tap, albeit at the cost of heavy casualties. Of the other men Higuchi had preserved, Vereshchagin could put together five or six platoons of artillerymen and engineers as garrison forces.

  His own battalion had sustained thirty-four casualties serious enough to have been reported, concentrated in B and C Companies. The wastage was remarkably light. Still, Vereshchagin had only the training detachment and strays to fill the holes.

  More serious was the loss of the naval units, the runway, and the supply stockpiles. A considerable number of aircraft had been saved, but munitions were short. From this day forward the war would largely be fought on prayers and meditation. On the civil side of the ledger, the cowboys had been decimated, with their leaders wasted. USS had lost more than a hundred personnel in the fireball that enveloped the spaceport.

  Vereshchagin felt it important to take a moment to reflect upon Kosei Higuchi, without whom the losses of the day would have been higher. It was perhaps fortunate, in a grotesque way, that Raul’s serendipitous flash of intuition had proven out; several survivors remarked that as the last aircraft departed, Higuchi had been removing the ribbons from his tunic to award to the remaining members of the half section he had retained to ensure orderly evacuation.