by Rick Shelley
pep talk.
When the shuttle pilot gave Lon a warning that takeoff would be in thirty seconds, Lon passed it along and gave a final tug to his safety harness to make certain it was as snug as possible. The entire flight would be atmospheric, hopping hedges and wavetops. The plan was for the flight to head southwest until the shuttles were well out to sea, then curve around to come in on Port Orca from die northwest, low and hot. Riding at low altitudes, fast, in a shuttle could be bumpy. It was not what they were designed for, and atmospheric turbulence could buffet passengers around badly.
There were too many empty seats in the shuttle. Each of the craft was designed to hold two platoons and part of the headquarters detachment. Neither of Alpha's shuttles would be full for this trip. As his lander made its short takeoff run, Lon tried not to look at the empty places, but could not keep his eyes from them. And he could not stop the thought How many more will be empty when we finish this fight tonight? He did not wonder if his seat would be one of the empty ones. It never occurred to him to worry about his own survival. Going from being the junior lieutenant in Alpha Company to being its com-270
RICK SHELLEY
mander had happened too fast, and in the worst way.
As soon as the shuttle was up and on its way, Lon pulled out his mapboard and started going over the terrain at the other end of the flight. There had been too little time to study the charts. Lon liked to go in knowing the land as if he had been there before. But he had never heard the name Port Orca until Colonel Black had said they were going in. Tonight.
The town was not right on the ocean, but several miles up a small river. Port Orca was on high ground, with the wharves for its fishing fleet fifty feet lower, at the base of a fifty-degree rock slope. The river ran through a gorge. There was a fifty-foot cliff on the north side. That means they can't easily use floaters—ground effect vehicles—to get across if the bridge is blown, Lon thought, nodding in minor satisfaction. They'll have to go ten miles upstream to find a slope gentle enough to get floaters down and back up. For a time, at least, the battalion would have to face only whatever opposition might already be north of the river.
Most of the area on that side was forested. From the views he could find through his mapboard, Lon saw that there were no more than half a dozen farms there, and a small cluster of buildings near the base that might be the local equivalent of Camo Town—bars and so forth to service the garrison.
The clearing where the battalion's attack shuttles would set down was the only one of any size—except for the runway inside the base. It's a wonder we don't set down right there, Lon thought. Right in the middle. Establish our perimeter and just push them out or run them over.
It was not, Lon realized with little more thought, really a good idea. No commander likes the idea of being surrounded, and starting out that way, in the center of an enemy base, would be right only under very restricted circumstances.
Lon had plenty of time to study the charts, cranking the mapboard to its maximum magnification, going over the ground where the battalion would land and the routes CAPTAIN
271
to the air base almost yard by yard. He made preliminary plans for the deployment of his men—subject to the vagaries of whatever opposition they met. For an infantryman, the terrain was much less intimidating than the open savanna around Hope. North of Port Orca the ground was rolling and forested, with plenty of cover once they got away from that one large clearing. // we move fast, we could be on them before they know we're coming. If they're not expecting trouble, we might be able to roll them over before they can get their rifles from the armory. Assuming they were stored the way they might be in garrison, under lock and key, unloaded. There might be no more than a dozen men on guard duty with loaded rifles, a few officers with pistols.
Maybe, but don't count on it, Lon reminded himself. They know they're at war.
The journey was more than half over before Lon glanced at one of the bulkhead monitors showing the terrain below the shuttles. They were over the ocean, in the dark, only highlights showing up even with infrared. Lon looked around the compartment then. Few of his men were watching the monitors. / don't know if that's good or bad, he thought. He hadn't noticed any particular signs of poor morale before leaving. No one had seemed quite as "up" as they had been at the start of the contract, but that was normal. They had been through a iot.
Coastline. Waves breaking against the shore. Lon received a warning from the pilot, then relayed the news to the men with him. "We're three minutes out," Lon said. "Lock and load.
Let's do this by the numbers, as quickly as we can."
The monitors showed the scene directly in front of the shuttles now. There was little sky visible. The shuttles were coming in below the crest of the bluffs overlooking the sea. Lon felt his stomach lurch when the lander climbed sharply to get over the bluffs. The view of sea and rock changed abruptly to a forest of green flashing by far too rapidly—vastly inflating the feeling of speed.
272
RICK SHELLEY
Lon closed his eyes for an instant, and did not look directly at the monitor when he opened them again.
The shuttle's crew chief provided a countdown of the last sixty seconds before landing. Lon wished his non-coms a routine "Good luck."
Then the shuttle was on the ground, skidding to a quick stop with its engines at full reverse, shaking the craft so much that Lon felt his cheeks vibrating. He did not hear the explosions he assumed were taking out the bridge to Port Orca, but any blast would have to be almost on top of the shuttle to be heard over the engine and other noises of landing.
Lon slapped the release on his safety harness as soon as he had rebounded from the last lurch against it as the shuttle ground to a halt. "Up and out!" he called on the all-hands channel, the way he had often enough as platoon leader. "We've got a perimeter to establish."
Even with so many men missing from the company's ranks, this deployment went as smoothly as a drill. It was a task they practiced often, getting out of the box and into position to defend themselves. "The box" could be a deadly place to get caught, with men unable to do anything to defend themselves or escape if the lander was hit.
Ninety seconds after Lon released his safety harness, Alpha Company's section of the perimeter was complete, the men facing out, lying on the ground, weapons protruding, leaving room for the shuttles to make their hasty exit. The crews of the landers wanted to get to safety as quickly as they could, out of the reach first of enemy surface-to-air missiles and away from any fighters that might come hunting them.
"Hold fast while the shuttles take off," Lon reminded his men. Like many of them, he lowered his head until his faceplate was in the din as the sound of so many shuttle jets revved up to maximum and they took off. Not one of them had been on the ground for three full minutes.
Nothing about enemy fighters coming in, Lon -thought as the din faded. That means they should be able to make
CAPTAIN
273
their pass at the buildings on the base before they burn for orbit.
Spreading confusion would be almost as much help as the destruction and casualties the rockets might create. The order came through to get the battalion up and moving.
Alpha and Bravo moved on the left flank. The other two companies were on the right, two hundred yards away. Within the columns the companies moved in well-dispersed fashion, men four abreast. Skirmish lines would not be formed until they reached the air base or came under fire. The pace was rapid at the start. The leading elements of Alpha were only eight hundred yards from the air base's perimeter fence when they started.
The explosions, ahead and to the right, started before the battalion had fully formed for the
short march. Pillars of flame and illuminated smoke were visible through and above the trees. At least two buildings continued to burn, adding a flickering illumination to the night.
Lon moved at the side of his company, watching his men as much
as he watched the forest off to the side, occasionally talking to a platoon sergeant or squad leader. A squad from second platoon was alerted to move ahead as scouts, to cut holes in the base's perimeter fence if it was undefended, and the fence could not be closely defended unless there were far more troops present than they had been led to believe. "Probably no more than sentries every fifty or a hundred yards, if that," Lon told the squad leader. "But don't take that for granted."
Cut through the perimeter if it's not tightly defended. Cut loose platoons to roll over any sentry posts while most of the battalion tackles the barracks and whatever defense they manage. Destroy any aircraft on the ground, and as much of the support facilities as possible. Colonel Black's directions had been brief if somewhat vague. Each platoon carried a few extra charges of explosives for the destruction of enemy assets.
For Lon, the first few minutes were the worst. Then his tension eased instead of increasing.
He felt, if not relaxed,
274
RICK SHELLEY
at least comfortably in command of himself. He even noticed the smells of the forest, something quite familiar, like the pine forests of the Great Smoky Mountains near his childhood home, a resinous fragrance in the damp. Damp. And cool. The temperature was just under sixty degrees, a decided relief after the tropical savanna.
"Send your scouts out and slow the advance to give them a chance," Colonel Black instructed by radio. "There's no sign of any significant force along the base's perimeter. A couple of guard towers in our path. One directly in front of you. Have your scouts take that out if they can get to it."
Lon acknowledged the orders. "Send a man with a rocket launcher along with the scouts,"
he told Jeb Rogers. "Let's get that tower fast."
Except for the scouts, the battalion took a four-minute rest, men dropping to the ground behind the nearest cover, waiting almost motionless. Keyed up. Ready for action.
Four minutes. Lon started his men forward again. They moved more slowly, segueing into skirmish lines. Lon shifted into his own proper position behind third and fourth platoons, near the center of the formation now that he had the entire company. Three squads up front, one behind. That was the formation for each platoon except die one that had the scouts out. They were two and one.
Lon heard the explosion of the rocket in front of his company, then the quick report from the squad leader that the tower was down and the fence was being cut to drop a fifty-yard-wide section. "We're using little boomers to drop the fence posts," the corporal said.
Three minutes later, all of Alpha was at the fence line, inside the base. Bravo sent two platoons to the left to chase any sentries or guard posts along the way, and the other two platoons moved straight across toward the far side of the base, ready to string its own sentries along that line, cutting the base in half.
The forest ended fifty yards outside the fence line. Lon noted mat the locals had not cut down the cover far enough. They had never made contingency plans for a CAPTAIN
275
ground attack against the base. If they had, there would have been at least three hundred yards of ground cleared around it.
There were no trees inside the fence line. It was an air base. There was only one paved runway—Aldrinian shuttles and fighters had wheels rather than skids—with two parallel taxiways. The buildings were all at the south end of the base, along the sides of the compound, hangars and maintenance sheds to the south, barracks and offices on the north.
"Okay, Nolan, start bringing your people west, angle about thirty degrees to the left, toward
the hangars," Colonel Black ordered. "We're just starting to hit opposition."
Lon could hear rifle fire in the direction of the barracks and offices. "We're on our way, Colonel," he said.
As soon as the skirmish lines could be turned, the company started along the new heading, across ground that was flat and offered no cover. Hell of a place to get caught in a firefight, Lon thought before they had covered fifty yards. Not even a tall blade of grass to hide behind.
Alpha Company moved at a slow jog. No one needed to be told to hurry. Their goal was the cluster of hangars and maintenance sheds another three hundred yards away. One of those buildings was smoking from a rocket hit, but from this distance Lon saw no sign that any of the other buildings in the group had even been hit.
He could see muzzle flashes at the other corner of the base, rifles flickering on full automatic, and he could hear the gunfire. "Keep low," he warned on his all-hands channel. "Some of that stuff is liable to reach us." They would be moving into the angle of fire from Charlie and Delta Companies before they reached their own target.
The skirmish line was within two hundred yards of the nearest hangar when Lon noticed a few scattered muzzle flashes coming from just in front of it. A single squad, if that, he realized almost faster than his mind could reason through the data. "Take them under fire but keep going," he ordered. "Not more than a handful, probably mechan-276
RICK SHELLEY
ics who couldn't hit the broad side of one of those hangars from the inside."
As soon as Alpha started to return fire, the shooting from the hangar stopped. Lon saw a couple of figures start to run, but neither got very far.
"Jeb, take your platoons around to the left. We'll go the other way. I want a quick look inside each building before we start planting the charges."
"I always did like blowing things up," Rogers replied.
Lon was within fifty yards of the first hangar when gunfire started coming from inside it, through the open aircraft door in the center of the near wall. This was more than just a handful of men, and they were close enough that even mechanics could not avoid hitting some of the available targets.
Suckered! Lon thought as he dove to the ground. ' 'Put a couple of rockets in there. See if there's anything flammable left," he told Weil Jorgen. "Jeb, get your men down. We're going to blow this sucker now." First and second platoons were moving around behind the building. They had to be warned.
It took only a few seconds for men with rocket launchers to set up and do their work. Lon watched the rocket trails head inside, saw the blast of their warheads ... and then the subsequent eruption of a fuel tank blew the hangar apart.
Flame and debris rained down on Alpha Company. All anyone could do was lie fiat, pulled in as tight as possible, and hope that nothing large or particularly hot hit. There were casualties, but—luckily—no fatalities in the company. The same could not be said for however many men had been inside. Little would ever be found of them, certainly not enough for a definitive body count.
"Jeb, how much of that crap hit you?" Lon asked as soon as he had a chance to think of anything but what he could see.
"Too much, but I think we're okay. I'll let you know as soon as we can check our wounded."
"Move out farther. We'll take out the rest of these CAPTAIN
277
buildings the same way. Get it done fast." The hell with looking inside, he thought. It's not worth risking lives for.
"Suits me."
The series of explosions seemed to have an effect on the fighting in the other corner of the
base. Each blast muffled the distant rifle fire, but after the last explosion waned, the gunfire slacked off as well. The remaining members of the base's garrison had surrendered.
It took three more days for the government of Aldrin West to ask for a truce and agree to binding talks with East, but the fighting was over for 2nd Battalion. No effort was made by the Westers to retake the air base at Port Orca. The early negotiations were not easy. A full month passed before they had progressed far enough for the commanders of the two Dirigenter regiments to decide that 12th Regiment could maintain the truce alone. Seventh Regiment had arrived first and faced the enemy longer. It would go home. A few Shrikes were left from the contingent that had accompanied 7th. They transferred to the fighter carrier that had come with the reinforcements.
There
was a parade across Dirigent City from the civilian spaceport to the Corps' main base. It was pure chance that Lon was looking out the window on the proper side of the bus when it turned to go through the main gate. The shock of red hair caught his attention. At first he could not believe his eyes, certain that he must only have imagined that Sara Pine was standing by the gate, looking anxiously at each bus that passed her. Then she saw him in the window and jumped up and down, waving both arms.
Lon's reaction was totally improper, perhaps unprecedented in the annals of the DMC. He jumped to his feet and shouted, "Stop the bus!" The driver, no doubt startled half out of his wits by the outburst, hit the brake before he had a chance to think what he was doing or why.
As Lon started toward the exit, he turned to Lead
273
280
RICK SHELLEY
Sergeant Jim Ziegler. "I'll be along as fast as I can. Get the men settled in."
Ziegler had time to do no more than nod, puzzlement obvious on his face. He did, however, see Sara Pine throw herself into Lon's arms outside the bus before the driver started the vehicle forward again.
Lon hardly noticed the cheer that went up from the men on the bus. His men.
"I just got here yesterday," Sara said as soon as there was time for coherent words. They had moved inside the gate, but no farther. "1 came as soon as I found out your regiment was on its way home."
"We can get married as soon as we set things up," Lon said. "They finally got all the red tape tied up."
"Daddy can have everything ready in two days," Sara said.
It was a small wedding, even for Bascombe East. Although quite a few residents of the village were present, Lon was represented by only a handful of people. Phip and Dean were there, as were Janno and his wife. Captain Orlis came, though he was still not back on duty status, using a cane to help him walk on his new leg. The wedding was in the village's only church. The reception was in the pub, but spilled out along the sidewalk and into the street.