by Rick Shelley
“That’s nothing, really,” Phip said. Lon almost jumped, he was so startled by the voice speaking close to him. He had not heard Steesen get up and move. “When the whole horizon is smoking, burning, along one side, then you’ve got something. Lucky it’s not the height of the dry season here. A wildfire could really raise havoc.”
“I think this will do, for me,” Lon said. “We don’t have to try to set any records along the way.”
Phip laughed. “Now you’re getting the right idea. Do the job and get out as easy as possible.”
“I don’t think there are any easy ways out of this,” Lon said. Phip did not reply, but only because there was a call from Lieutenant Taiters on the all-hands circuit.
“The action should be starting in about an hour,” Taiters said. “Listen up, this is what we’re going to try to do … ”
11
There were limits to the practical routes out of Norbank City for the Dirigenters and the unarmed militiamen. The only forest cover was north and east of the defensive perimeter, where the terrain was uneven. From north-northwest around to southwest, to First River, most of the ground had been cleared and used for farming. The city’s spaceport was on that side as well, thousands of acres of cleared land. There was not enough cover on that side of the city to hide two hundred men—only occasional small groves of trees, mostly fruit and nut trees of terran species brought along by the original settlers. The nearer of those all held rebels now, as did the port.
After sunset, gunfire was almost constantly audible inside the perimeter. A series of small firefights, initiated by the Dirigenters—a squad or a platoon at a time—was intended to disrupt the rebels while the rest of the mercenaries moved into position. The main force made every effort to avoid contact with the rebels, to “get lost” long enough to provide an element of tactical surprise when the attack was finally launched.
Inside Norbank City, Sergeant Dendrow and his squad leaders briefed the Norbankers who would be traveling with them, telling them what would be expected, warning them to stay close together and to remain as silent as possible. The militia “company” numbered only one hundred and forty men, thrown together just that day. They had no training or experience as a unit.
“It’s going to be like trying to keep a flock of hungry geese quiet,” Arlan Taiters told Lon.
The loyalists manning the perimeter were all alert now, kept awake and nervous by the gunfire outside—some of it less than a half mile away. But there was no shooting from inside the city. All of the defenders were under orders to conserve ammunition. They were to fire only if there was a direct assault on their lines. With the fighting going on out in the forest now, there was not even any sniper fire coming in.
Colonel Alfred Norbank now had a DMC radio that would allow him to confer with Colonel Flowers. And he had unarmed runners to keep him in contact with the sections of the perimeter.
An hour after sunset, Lon’s platoon and the Norbankers who would be going through the perimeter with them moved east, toward the point where they would make their breakout. They were careful to avoid exposing themselves to any rebels who might be watching through nightscopes on their rifles.
Once they were in place, Lon took a moment to lift the faceplate of his helmet and look up at the sky. Too many stars and not enough clouds, he thought. The night would not be dark enough to suit him. Then he shrugged. At least there’ll be a little light for the locals. They won’t be totally blind.
He lowered his visor and glanced at the timeline on his head-up display. It would be an hour before the order to move came, maybe ninety minutes. The battalion would attempt to drive a wedge into the rebel lines northeast of the city to open a corridor for Lon’s platoon and their charges. Once they were through, the battalion’s actions would depend on the prevailing conditions. They would attempt to do as much damage to the besieging forces as possible. If they could roll up a significant section of the rebel line, they would do that before moving to help establish a secure landing zone for the shuttles that would bring in supplies for the Norbankers. Otherwise they would withdraw immediately, continuing to screen the group coming out of the capital.
Ninety minutes after sunset, the second element in the preparatory work started. Two shuttles attacked rebel units. One worked over the force that had been trying to contain the main force of the Dirigenters. The other worked over the rebels besieging the city. Guns and rockets. Each attack shuttle made two passes, with twenty minutes between. Then those shuttles burned for orbit and rendezvous with Long Snake while two more shuttles came in to cover the main action.
“Get ready, but keep down,” Taiters warned over his platoon circuit once he got word from battalion. “If everything goes right, we’ll be moving out in fifteen or twenty minutes.”
The start of the battalion’s attack was clearly audible. Colonel Flowers hit the rebel line with everything he had. The squads and platoons that had been cut loose from the main body to make harassing attacks earlier resumed, wherever they were around the rebel lines. Thirty seconds later, the latest pair of shuttles added their rockets and gat-lings to the fray.
“That’ll give them all something to think about,” Phip whispered. “I know I’d hate to be on the wrong end of all that.”
“Don’t feel sorry for the rebels,” Lon whispered back. “The more hell they catch now, the less we’ll catch when we go out.”
The unarmed militiamen looked uncomfortable. Lon wondered if they were thinking of the men on the receiving end of the barrage … or if they were simply facing their own fears, knowing that the attack meant that the time for them to go out through the enemy lines was getting that much closer.
“The battalion is pushing forward now,” Lieutenant Taiters said on the channel to Lon and the platoon’s noncoms. “As soon as they get the path open for us, we’ll be moving. Squad leaders, tell the locals you’re responsible for.”
The militiamen had been divided into four platoons. Each Dirigenter squad was assigned to escort one of them. Lon tagged along when Corporal Girana went over to “his” Norbankers.
“We’ll be going out pretty soon,” Tebba told them. “I know you’re nervous, but we’ll get you through the best we can. All that noise is designed to open a safe path through the rebel lines. Just remember to stay as quiet as possible, and stay together. When one of us gives an order, don’t ask questions. We’ll explain if there’s time, but there probably won’t be. Just do what you’re told and save the questions for later.
“When we go through the lines, we’ll be moving as fast as possible for the first few hundred yards,” Tebba continued. “Jogging, not an out-and-out run, so it shouldn’t be too difficult even if you’re not used to heavy physical exercise.” The men who had been chosen for this militia company ranged in age from eighteen to forty, but none of them had appeared to be hopelessly out of shape. “Stay low, but stay with the group. We won’t be able to dawdle to collect stragglers.”
They should be able to keep up, Lon thought. We’re carrying full combat kit, and they’re not carrying anything but themselves and maybe a knife or club. If they can’t keep up like that, they won’t be much use even with guns.
He turned his head as the sounds of fighting drew closer. Can’t be more than a couple of hundred yards out, he thought. We’ll be going very soon now. Lon looked at Tebba. Girana nodded, as if he had read Lon’s thoughts. Very soon.
“Get the squad over here, Lon,” Tebba said. Lon lowered his faceplate and made the call on the squad channel. The others moved quickly, taking up the positions that Girana had assigned them before. One fire team would stay on each flank of the platoon they were covering. Girana would be at the front. Dav Grott would be at the back, trying to prevent stragglers. The other squads were also moving into position with the locals they were to escort. All that was needed now was the order from Colonel Flowers to move.
Three minutes later the first order came, to move up to the barricades. “Stay down, out of si
ght,” Girana warned the Norbankers. “When I give the word to move out, move.”
Once he got to the barricades, Lon could tell that the fighting had started to move to either side. Directly in front of him there was relative silence. The gunfire had broken into two distinct segments as the rest of the battalion worked to provide a wide corridor out of town for them.
Anytime now, Lon thought, looking toward Lieutenant Taiters, who was thirty yards away. The lieutenant’s head was slightly bowed, in the attitude that many soldiers almost habitually adopted while they were talking on the radio. Lon’s hand moved along the side of his rifle, the fingers feeling to make certain which position the safety was in: on. That was where it was supposed to be, until they headed out.
Anytime. Lon turned his attention to his breathing, long, slow breaths, using that to help relax him, just a little. He did not want to be too hyper when they started out. That would come soon enough, as soon as bullets were coming close and they were running the gauntlet.
Lieutenant Taiters lifted his head and looked around, scanning his platoon and the Norbankers. Lon caught a breath on the way in and held it. Here it comes.
“By squads,” Taiters ordered over the platoon channel. “Ten yards between sections. Go!” He brought his right arm up and back in a gesture, pointing over the barricade. A dozen Norbankers from the perimeter force pulled two sections of the barrier out of the way. First squad went through the nearest opening, herding their militiamen along a little roughly.
“Let’s go!” Tebba ordered over his squad channel as soon as the first group was nine paces out. “Nolan, stay with me.”
Lon went through the gap right at Girana’s heels. The two of them stopped just beyond the barricade as the Norbankers and the rest of the squad came through. Only when Tebba saw Dav in the gap did he start running to get back to the front. Nolan stayed with him, dropping back only a few feet, running crouched over, rifle at port arms, the safety now switched off. For now, there was no question of maintaining normal separation between men. The mercenaries had to stay close to the Norbankers.
The ground in front of the barricades was open and relatively flat, and, with the available starlight, it was no great challenge for men without night-vision equipment. The few buildings that had stood between the current perimeter and the forest had been razed, the rubble burned or dumped into cellars.
Lon and the other members of the squad stayed close to the Norbankers, urging them on with gestures and, when necessary, with a hand on an arm, tugging, pushing. Sounds like a herd of stampeding buffalo, Lon thought. He had heard buffalo running, if not stampeding. The Springs had maintained fifty of the animals on one section of the military reservation, a tenuous link to an all-but-forgotten past. I hope the rebels don’t have sound detectors planted.
It was more than a hundred and fifty yards from the barricades to the edge of the forest. The nearest trees were young, saplings, some no more than five or ten years old. There was also undergrowth along the verge, where vines and shrubs could fight for a share of the sunlight.
Out in the open, Lon could feel a strange crawling sensation along his spine—a nervous response to danger. Enemy fire might start coming in at any time. With the Norbankers so bunched up, gunfire could scarcely avoid finding targets, unless the shooters were abysmally bad marksmen. Professional soldiers firing automatic weapons would butcher the group. The chance of survival would be small.
They’re not pros. They don’t have a lot of automatic weapons, Lon told himself as he stopped to urge on the Norbankers nearest him. He hoped that the second statement was as accurate as the first. The rebels did have some automatic weapons. The Dirigenters had learned that in their first large-scale firefight. But most of the rebel rifles had appeared to be semiautomatic or even bolt-action—the same variety of weapons that the loyalists in Norbank City were armed with.
Lon felt as if crossing the open range between city and forest were taking forever, as if the men were running on a treadmill. They ran, but the forest appeared to come no nearer. Lon was not paying attention to the timeline on his helmet display, but by the time he was halfway to the first line of trees, he would have guessed that ten minutes had passed—more than ten times the actual elapsed time. Seconds ticked past in preternatural slow motion. He felt that he was aware of every iota of sensory input, every breath, every heartbeat. It seemed almost as if he could hear each individual gunshot in the battle that was raging to either side, now at least two hundred yards off to left and right.
“Drop back and help Dav keep the stragglers in, Nolan,” Girana said on his private channel.
Lon stopped instantly, glad for even a few seconds’ respite. The platoon of unarmed Norbankers had strung out over forty yards. Lon dropped in next to the assistant squad leader and they picked up their pace, crowding the last of the locals, urging them forward, almost stepping on their heels. Dancing around to avoid actually tripping over the rearmost of the militiamen occupied Lon’s attention. The last stretch of the run seemed to take much less time than the first. He heard the leaders crashing through the underbrush, into the forest, and almost immediately he was going through it as well.
They did not stop even then. Lieutenant Taiters did slow the pace for a few minutes, but the group kept going, in a hurry to get away from the city and the fighting, anxious to avoid detection by the enemy.
Past the new growth, the forest floor opened up and the group moved past visible reminders of the fighting that had taken place in the past hours. Two Norbankers tripped over bodies of rebel soldiers, starting a chain reaction that nearly brought down half of the platoon running with second squad.
Lieutenant Taiters finally gave the order to halt. The rest was no more than two minutes for the men in the first two groups, less for those in the other half of the assembly.
“Now we go for quiet,” Corporal Girana explained to the Norbankers he was responsible for. “We’re going to be walking, an easy pace, but we’ve got to keep moving, and we’ve got to keep quiet. We’re through the bottleneck, but out here, there’s always the chance we’ll run into rebel patrols.” Or a whole damn force of them, he thought uneasily.
This time, when the group started moving, the soldiers of Girana’s squad were spaced evenly along the flanks of the Norbanker volunteers. The pace was only half that of a marching cadence, sometimes less, with frequent pauses—not rest stops, just a few seconds of everyone standing motionless while the professionals listened for any sounds of enemy activity.
“Tebba, any word yet on how far we’re going, or what the rest of the battalion’s doing?” Lon asked. They had been moving inside the forest for nearly thirty minutes.
“The rest of the company is moving to shield us,” Tebba replied. “The other companies are still engaged. The section of the enemy line to the right of our breakout has collapsed, I guess just about all of the way to the river. The colonel’s trying to exploit that. Not for too long, though, I guess. The entire battalion is still supposed to rendezvous so we can get the supplies in for our militiamen before dawn.”
Lon glanced at the timeline on his helmet display. Local dawn—first light—was a little more than five hours off.
12
A Company was almost back together. While its third platoon continued to shepherd the Norbankers, the rest formed a screen around them, one hundred to two hundred yards out on either flank and in front, no more than fifty yards behind. They moved slowly and stopped frequently, making ample allowance for the militiamen who had nothing to augment their vision in the dark.
At least with the rest of the company as outriders, the noise these guys are making isn’t quite so dangerous, Lon thought. Even to him, the Norbankers seemed to be making a racket as they stumbled through the woods. The forest floor was relatively open. The only places where bushes or shrubs could establish themselves were near creeks and treefall gaps. Away from those openings, there were only the trunks of canopy trees and the rotting detritus that covered the
ground. But the canopy robbed the Norbankers of the starlight they had enjoyed out in the open, leaving almost total darkness. Each column had to be led by a Dirigenter with the night-vision system built into his battle helmet. Behind him, the Norbankers followed, jammed up as close as possible, often walking with a hand on the shoulder of the man in front of them.
They headed almost precisely north from Norbank City, averaging less than a mile an hour. But luck held. There were no run-ins with rebel forces, not even a patrol.
“Bravo and Delta are catching us up,” Sergeant Dendrow told the noncoms of his platoon during a brief halt at about three o’clock in the morning. “The colonel’s leaving Charlie behind to harass the enemy through until we get the shuttles in and out. We’ve got two miles to go to reach the LZ, and only an hour and twenty minutes before the shuttles touch down. I know,” he said quickly, anticipating the objection. “There’s no way to move the Norbankers that fast in the dark. But we have to push harder than we have been. First platoon is going to move ahead and set up security around the LZ, but we still need to get there fast, pick up the goods, and get away before any rebels move in. We’ve got two birds coming in, and they’ll be bringing in ammo and food for us as well. And the wounded coming back to duty after the first night’s action.”
“We got any wounded for them to take out tonight?” one of the squad leaders asked.
“I guess, a few at least. They’re getting moved forward too. The shuttles won’t be able to stay on the ground long.”
Squad leaders explained to the Norbankers that they were going to have to speed up. “You’ve had plenty of practice the last few hours,” Tebba reminded his group. “We’ve just got to make it a little faster so we can get you to the rifles and stuff. We don’t get there in a hurry, your rebels might beat us to them. I’m sure you don’t want that.”