by Rick Shelley
Another five minutes passed before a firefight opened in the gap between Alpha and Charlie. Two platoons from each of those companies caught the point of the West main force, and hammered it from both sides as it moved into the vee of the ambush. Delta Company, whose camp was near the southwestern corner of Hope, was sending two platoons around to flank the attackers.
In the air, the combat drifted closer. West had all of its fighter aircraft up, and most were targeted against Hope. There were not enough Shrikes to match the enemy one for one, but the Shrike pilots were mostly combat veterans. Their opposition was not. Lon saw a couple of explosions in the air but had no way to determine whether the losses were friends or foes.
West's riflemen got additional help. Mortars started a systematic bombardment of the defensive emplacements of Alpha and Charlie companies. Those did little damage, and not
only because there seemed to be only two mortars directed against each company. The mortar fire was not efficiently directed, and the mercenaries had had time to prepare. Their trenches were narrow targets, and the lines were staggered enough to prevent a hit from being overly disastrous.
That's too far out for us to do anything about it from ," Lon reported to Captain Orlis. "It looks as if the aearest mortar is twelve hundred yards out."
e can't get a Shrike in yet," Orb's replied. "And I *t want to deplete our numbers by sending a squad out
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to try to get close. Just disperse your men as much as possible. Have your beamers looking for targets out there. That's a long shot even for them, but maybe someone will get lucky."
Lon spread his men out along more of the perimeter, and moved a few back into the linking trenches toward the center of camp to minimize the number of casualties that one explosion could cause. He worked toward the west himself, trying to get to a vantage point where he could see how the fight in the gap between Alpha and Charlie's positions was going. That fighting was fierce, and had been going at full tilt for more than a quarter hour. He had only been able to monitor Carl Hoper's reports sporadically, catching a shout now, a few tense words then.
"Captain!" Lon blinked at the intensity of Carl's shout. "We need help fast. We're facing two full companies here, and we can't hold much longer."
"Delta's people are almost in place on your left," Orlis said. "Pull back if you have to, toward our positions. Let—"
There was a loud explosion then, undoubtedly only a grenade, but amplified by someone's radio, cutting off whatever Orlis said. Lon blinked against the almost physical pain of the noise over his earphones. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the ringing in his ears.
Thirty or forty seconds passed before he was able to hear anything but the aftereffects of the blast.
' 'Carl, are you there?'' It was Orlis, shouting. "Hoper?"
' 'Captain, this is Sergeant Grawley. I think the lieutenant's dead. The cadet, too. I haven't been able to get anyone to them, but a grenade went off within four or five feet of them."
Lon felt his breath catch in his throat. Ernst Grawley was first platoon's sergeant.
"Grawley, you and McCoy"—Roy McCoy, second platoon sergeant—"start pulling your men back toward our position. Charlie's platoons will try to give you cover UPTJUN
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before they start pulling back, too. We're going to let West through, give them a chance to run into the next line."
"Roger, Captain," Grawley said. "I've got Roy on our channel and he's listening in. We'll start back quick as we can. We've got at least twenty wounded between us."
"Nolan, send one squad to help them get their wounded back in," Orlis ordered.
"Right, Captain." Lon signaled to Dav Grott. His squad was closest. Lon felt an urge to go out and help himself, but he restrained the impulse. His place was with die bulk of his men, especially now that it appeared that Carl Hoper was dead. Lon had to put Carl's fate out of mind. He had more urgent work. Grieving for a friend would have to wait until there was time.
The rest of Lon's men increased their rate of fire to cover the squad going out and the platoons coming in. Lon used his helmet's electronics to separate friend from foe in the gap west of his position, directing his fire at the enemy who were closest to first and second platoons. It was nearly dawn. The sky was lightening, but there was a low, light haze of smoke in the air.
One Shrike got free of entanglements in the air and swooped down out of the north, loosing two rockets at the nearest enemy mortar positions, then banking slightly to bring the enemy force penetrating between Alpha and Charlie under Galling cannon fire—for the second he
could without endangering the withdrawing DMC units. Tte pilot went into a tight bank, turning before he reached Hope to come back for a second pass down the center. By the time he was in position again, the withdrawing platoons from Alpha and Charlie had given him more freedom. He launched rockets and started his cannon firing, coming in low over the heads of the enemy before {Hilling into a steep climb and accelerating as rapidly as flic Shrike could to get away from two antiaircraft mis-sUes. Lon's attention was drawn to that race. For several seconds it appeared as if both missiles would hit the - Shrike before it could climb above their operational limit.
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The pilot deked from side to side, unloading chaff to confuse the missiles, and undoubtedly using electronic jamming as well.
One enemy missile suddenly veered left and dove for the ground, exploding a thousand feet from anyone. The Shrike's pilot banked hard right, east, gradually increasing his lead over the remaining missile. The fighter climbed out of sight, and the missile was marked only by the bright spot of its rocket. Lon watched for a few more seconds, but there was no explosion.
The Shrike did not return. Lon assumed it had burned for orbit and rendezvous with its carrier. It would take at least an hour to rearm and return. Lon scanned the north-em horizon, looking for any trace of other aircraft. Friend or foe. He saw nothing, but could only spare that search a few seconds. He had men at hazard. They needed his attention. It was only then that Lon realized that one of the mortars had been silenced.
The fight to Lon's west picked up in intensity again, but only for two minutes as Grott's squad joined in and all of the mercenaries worked to disengage and return to the trenches. Medics were waiting for the wounded. Captain Orlis came over to see the damage for himself. It was bad. The two platoons had lost nine men killed, and a fourth of the survivors were wounded.
"Keep as much fire on the enemy as possible while they're going through," Orlis told Lon. "I'll handle first and second platoons myself until we've got time to get better organized."
Delta's two platoons had been redirected. Instead of going around Charlie Company, they moved between the two northern camps and Hope. They would strike as soon as the enemy came within reach, then pull back to avoid being caught in a crossfire between West's force and the defenders inside Hope. The sun was up now, more than half its diameter above the horizon, banishing the last of the morning twilight. Delta's men would not have the benefit of night's cover. They would have to pull out before the enemy got too close.
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It was then that the next wave of West's soldiers arrived, landing south and east of Hope.
Their passage had been unhampered by DMC Shrikes. All of the mercenary fighters had been forced to return to their ship to rearm.
Even without Shrikes, the mercenaries were not completely without air support. The three shuttles that had been kept on the ground near 2nd Battalion got into the air before the second wave of Wester ground forces landed. With two Galling gun cannon mounts and a rack of HE missiles, the shuttles were far from being just cattle carriers. Shuttles were less maneuverable than Shrikes, though, and more vulnerable to ground fire. The three DMC
craft dared not expose themselves for long to the enemy. They made quick strikes, expending as much of their munitions as they coul
d, then burned for orbit. But in the few seconds they were on hand, the DMC shuttles made their presence felt. One of the incoming enemy shuttles exploded as it touched down, another as it was unloading its passengers.
"It helps," Captain Orlis told Lon. "Battalion figures that West must have a thousand men on the ground here, maybe more. And it looks as if there's another wave of them coming."
"Even if there are a thousand here now, that still gives us the edge in numbers, adding the garrison of Hope in/' Lon said. "Will our Shrikes get back before this next wave arrives?"
"It's going to be close," Orlis said. "And West is attacking the rest of the regiment again, forcing CIC to divert some of the fighters up that way."
There was time for no more. Lon and the captain were still trying to get Alpha Company reorganized. Medics were treating the wounded. Several men had been moved 221
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into one of the squad tents in the center of the camp and put into portable trauma tubes. Dav Grott had one man slightly wounded in his squad. The wound was treated and the man back with his mates.
In both Alpha and Charlie Companies' camps, the mercenaries received only passing attention from the troops moving between them. In a variant of fire-and-maneuver tactics, part of the West force stopped to take the mercenaries under fire while the rest continued to press toward Hope.
Unless they've got a lot more men coming in soon, that's suicidal, Lon thought, astounded at the tactic. They 'II be in the middle, with a superior foe in position to encircle them.
After a hiatus of twenty minutes, mortar rounds started hitting the camp again. The frequency was less than before, and the aim unimproved, as if West was merely scattering mortar bombs over the entire area to make the defenders keep their heads down.
"I think they moved the mortars," Lon told Weil Jor-gen.
"Off behind their troops in the middle now," Jorgen said, nodding. "Looks like they didn't leave more'n about a squad of rifles to protect the tubes."
"You think you could get to them and back with a couple of squads?" Lon asked.
"At night, sure, Lieutenant," Jorgen said. "Now, in the daylight? It wouldn't be fast, and it might not work at all. They'll probably move the guns faster than we could get close."
Lon hesitated. It would be difficult to sell the idea to Captain Orlis in any case. "I suppose you're right. Oh, well, it was a thought." He shrugged.
Jorgen laughed, a short bark devoid of humor. "I know, Lieutenant. I've been having the same thought myself, every time one of those damn bombs goes off anywhere close."
"Keep your beamers looking over that way once in a CAPTAIN
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while. Maybe we can knock off one or two of the gunners."
"We've already had one or two of them," Weil said quietly. Then he was off again, moving toward his fourth squad.
Another half dozen Wester shuttles landed, this time east of Hope, between Alpha and Bravo Companies' camps. The landers came in fast and low, and their passengers disembarked as if the fires of hell were no more than a step behind them. In a way, they were. The returning Shrikes were coming in hot. They had accelerated into Aldrin's gravity well, pushing men and machines to the limit, braking at the last possible second. Sonic booms and the roar of engines suddenly switched to maximum reverse thrust muted the sounds of combat on the ground. The Shrikes launched their first missiles at the grounded shuttles and the troops leaving them at long range. The cannons could not be fired until the fighters' airspeed was reduced, or the Shrikes would run into their own rounds.
On the ground, the shuttles were easy targets. All six were hit. But their soldiers had already moved out and away. The only casualties would have been among the lander crews—if they, too, had not abandoned their craft immediately.
Eight Shrikes came in, two waves of four fighters, twenty seconds apart. They separated while they were above ten thousand feet, giving each other room to maneuver when surface-to-air missiles started coming at them.
Lon pulled his head down and watched. For a moment the Shrikes had slowed the pace of combat for Alpha Company. West's soldiers were more concerned about the threat from the air. Even the mortars stopped firing at the camps, though they were no threat at all to
aircraft.
Lon used the lull to check with his squad leaders and to get the latest updates from Captain Orlis and battalion, including the most recent news of the other battalions, now under more serious attack. Although it was not spec-224 RICK SHELLEY
ified, Lon assumed that 2nd Battalion would get no reinforcements on the ground until 12th Regiment landed. West now had at least fifteen hundred men around Hope, possibly two thousand. The combined defenders—mercenaries, Eastman garrison, and Hope's civilian militia— were at least matched in numbers and might already be outnumbered.
Do we start moving into Hope? Lon wondered. Under the circumstances, he thought, consolidating within one defensible perimeter might be the best move, despite the mercenary doctrine of remaining mobile as much as possible. We're not very mobile hunkered down in four camps, and there isn 't enough cover on this savanna to let us operate the way we do best. At least inside the town we 'd have all of our forces together until 12th gets in and helps out. But unless the move was made before West's soldiers could fully establish a siege of Hope, it might be difficult—and costly.
If we stay out, Lon thought, still trying to reason his way through the situation—the way Colonel Black and his staff must also have been doing, we force West to split their forces several ways as well. They can't ignore us. We 'd be tike four massive knives at their backs.
An explosion in the air brought Lon's mind back from his tactical exercise. Every plane we lose is one less we have to keep us out of trouble later, Lon thought. How many so far? It was a question he could not begin to answer. There had been no way for him to keep track of what was going on in the sky.
"Nolan!"
"Yes, sir," Lon said, responding instantly to Captain Orlis's call.
"Start shifting your platoons around to the south and southwest in the trenches. I'm going to leave first and second platoons to cover the rest of our perimeter. We've got to start putting pressure on the troops who made it through. As soon as CIC gets the situation sorted out, we're going to counterattack. Things are so damned confused now, nobody knows who's where. West has their
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forces split up even more than we do. We've got to find out what's going on before we can do anything effective."
"I'll start sliding my men around, Captain. I take it we're going out after them, not just sniping from long distance?''
"That's the plan, once we know where we can hurt them. Just get moved and stand by. I'm going to be busy for a while, getting the other platoons organized and setting up a little better cover for our medtechs."
West had finished its penetration between Alpha and Charlie. The northern part of the battlefield had grown almost quiet. Even the mortar teams had moved through the gap, perhaps to target Hope. Lon relayed the orders to his noncoms, then stayed with Grott's squad until squads from the other two platoons could move into place—in case West had left a few troops behind to exploit any holes in Alpha's defenses.
The trench system proved its value. Lon's men were able to move without giving away the fact of the move, or exposing themselves to the few enemy snipers who were still operating against them—from maximum range. As soon as the first squads from second platoon came around from the east, Lon passed the codes for the mines and snoops to the squad leaders, then started moving to his own new position with his last squad.
"Make sure everyone is carrying a full load of ammo and water," Lon told his squad leaders while he moved. "When we go out, I don't want anyone running short. No telling how long we'll have to operate on our own." It was almost an afterthought when he added, "Tell them to grab a meal as they can, too."
Once they were in position near the sout
hwestern corner of the camp, Dav Grott handed Lon a meal pack. Lon nodded, but set the pack aside. Before he could eat, he had to have a good look at what lay in front of the platoons' new positions. He switched his faceplate to maximum magnification and did a slow, careful scan of the attire front. If there was confusion in CIC and at battalion,
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Lon wanted to get as much information firsthand as possible.
Virtually all of the grain had been harvested, leaving wide tracts of ground with no cover at all. Some of the savanna grasses had burned during die fighting. There were areas with a haze obscuring vision—heat and smoke, slow to disperse.
Hope's outer perimeter was slightly more than two miles from Lon's position. He could see grenade and mortar explosions, occasionally the flash of a rifle muzzle. The sounds of battle were muted by the distance and the heavy tropical air—background to death and pain. Only rarely did a single event provide enough noise to override the background.
It appeared that the ring around Hope was not complete. West had—so far—not chosen that route but had grouped its forces at a number of positions that gave them fire zones covering the entire northern flank of the town. Probably the same all the way around, Lon thought. And they might still be hitting Bravo Company over on the southeast. That was where the latest West force had landed. Lon thought they probably had not had time yet to get everyone through to throw against Hope.
"I hope Major Esterling and his men are coping," Lon said under his breath. They've got civilians to contend with as well, and hard telling how they're reacting to being under fire again.
There was little especially heartening about Lon's scan of the fighting. It would be brutal out there in daylight, with no darkness to give even a semblance of safety, and virtually no cover.
In the dark, the mercenaries could snake their way along the ground, silent, and presenting little in the way of thermal signature to give them away to infrared night-vision systems. In the daylight... This is one time I wish we had heavy weapons with us, Lon thought. Artillery, even a half dozen tanks pounding the enemy into the ground. Or a lot more Shrikes.