by C. R. Daems
After a few minutes, Todd got us in a line as Isaac checked each person. Then our conga line began moving up the street with Todd and Isaac providing cover. We reached the next street just as one of Clifton's squads reached the intersection. Isaac pointed to his TCom unit and then to his ears.
"They are certainly easier to kill when they aren't moving," Jacson, the squad leader, said into his TCom as he waved his squad into the next street. His smile turned to a look of concern. "Need help?"
"No," Isaac said. "We didn't run fast enough, and now we have flashbang hangovers."
Several minutes later, Tang appeared along with one of his squads.
"Good job, Luan. That certainly made the job easier, almost boring. But all units are reporting that the Crocs are onto what we have been doing and are now taking cover inside buildings."
"Let's go see," I said noting that most everyone including me were beginning to regain our vision, although the eyes were still red and teary. The next street had already been cleared and there was nothing except dead Crocs and civilians staggering around unable to see or hear.
Howard was waiting at the next intersection. "They have stopped retreating and are taking cover in the buildings. Any ideas, Jolie?" he asked as we neared.
"Which buildings?" I asked trying not to smile, but it was hard. I noticed a short frown before he continued.
"That one for starters." He pointed to a four-story apartment building. It looked to be in the area where the Crocs had been working and might even have been the building the residents and I evacuated because it looked like the Crocs’ next target.
"Smitty, Freddie, Carl, Pete, would you take care of evicting them?" The words had no sooner left my mouth than they turned and trotted off. "The Crocs should be coming out in five to ten minutes from now, but it's hard to tell the exits they will use. We should surround the building with fifty caliber rifles and flashbangs," I said. He just shook his head good naturedly and began issuing orders. Five minutes later, I stood with him and the rest of my squad facing the front entrance. I saw Smitty dart out from behind another building and hurl a Molotov cocktail through the side window. I knew, even though I couldn't see him, that Carl was doing the same on the other side. I had included Todd and Pete to provide fire support if necessary, but it appeared the Crocs where focused on the front and rear entrance and didn't notice Carl or Smitty until it was too late.
When Howard looked at me, I spoke, "The Crocs don't like fire any more than we do. It was the method they used to clear some of the buildings where the residents hadn't evacuated."
He laughed. "Simple and effective." He paused looking at me for a long time. I folded into a meditation posture, thinking he was debating some decision or other and needed time. Howard shook his head when my team members also sat. "I have a job for you, Fox," he said, and I rose hearing my call sign, eager to hear what he wanted me to do because he normally just sent me off to do my thing. "General Fairchild is going to meet with General Shelsbee on Sidon. He wants someone to show Shelbee how it is done."
I smiled and chirped, "Just in time. My boys are so bored they are getting ready to ask for transfers out of my platoon." I beamed a happy-happy smile. Howard snorted.
"I expect you will retire with that team of idiots. They get a month's salary and free drinks telling everyone about you and their exploits," Howard said. "Get them ready. The general's shuttle should be here within the next ten minutes."
The general must have been in a rush because less than a minute later, Howard pointed off in the distance at two small objects high in the sky. "I guess he's in a hurry."
The larger helicopter landed in the middle of the street while the smaller one, an attack chopper, remained overhead. When a shuttle's ramp dropped, my team hustled aboard. I followed last. My feet no sooner touched the ramp when it started to lift. As the helicopter began to rise, the general's voice could be heard above the rotors.
"Who's in charge?" he said looking at my team then at me. ''You Tasmanians could at least wear rank insignia when on assignment, so we could tell who the hell is in charge."
I raised my hand, biting back No one, sir, but thought the general would have me thrown out of the helicopter and we were up pretty high by then.
"Do you have a name…and rank?" he shouted and looked frustrated, or maybe he had passed frustrated and was approaching irritated.
I just hoped we landed soon as I bit back Sure and none, sir while my team fought the urge to smile. "I'm Jolie Luan and I'm the platoon leader." It didn't pay to contradict your company commander or more importantly confuse a general, especially while we were flying.
"Were you briefed on what the Tasmanians were doing to eject the Crocs?" he shouted.
I wished there were windows so I could see how high we were, as No touched my lips but mercifully didn't fall out. My damn brothers were silently tapping their feet in approval, but I didn't think the general would find I have a vague idea funny, so I settled for "I know what needs to be done, sir."
"Alright, will somebody tell me why all you Tasmanians are so amused. I'm not stupid," the general said, but he didn't sound angry.
"Sir, Tasmanian Luan is the one that came up with the idea. Her call sign is, Fox," Smitty said to nodding heads that were smiling.
The general smiled. "We need a good laugh now and then; otherwise, the pain of losing comrades and watching innocents die would drive us crazy." He paused, staring off at nothing. "Sidon is incurring heavy casualties like we did the last time the Abaddon invaded the USP. So, I hope you're going to show them how to kickass."
Nine Tasmanians and I shouted a resounding, "YES, SIR!"
The shuttle finally touched down, now that it didn't matter. When we exited, General Fairchild and another general stood talking. Fairchild waved me over.
"Gerald, this is the group that figured out how to drive the Abaddon off Magara. Tasmanian Luan, is the platoon leader. Her call sign is Fox. Luan, this is General Shelbee," Fairchild said, but Shelbee continued before I could make some bull about being pleased to meet him or some such rubbish to make up for not saluting.
"Well, I see they managed to find a female as arrogant as the men–"
"Yes, sir," I blurted before my brain began working.
"If you can remove the Abaddon, you'll will have earned your arrogance and my thanks," he growled.
"Which ones first, sir? And can you have some of your platoon and squad leaders present to observe?" I asked. After a minute he nodded and turned to his sergeant.
"Babcock, you'll be my liaison. You know our current problem areas; see to it we rotate platoon and squad leaders to watch," he said, turned, and walked toward an armored vehicle.
"Tasmanian, Luan–" a senior master sergeant began, but I interrupted.
"Jolie," I said. He nodded and pulled out a map with writing everywhere and pointed to the middle of a street.
"Jolie, 15th Street between 5th and 6th Avenue currently has eight to ten Crocs rounding up civilians. Last I heard they had close to a thousand. And between 4th and 5th Avenues, another ten Crocs are herding another thousand toward their shuttles…and on 13th Street between 4th and 5th Avenues is another large group."
"Alright, we'll start there," I said pointing to 15th Street and 6th Avenue. "We'll proceed down 15th Street in pairs, thrower and cover." As I talked, they were already pairing off. Before I could continue, three army sergeants and a lieutenant appeared.
"Are you here to show us how to do it?" a lanky senior sergeant said. "Your brothers haven't done any better than us." The others were nodding.
"You from Trika?" asked a tall, good-looking and muscular lieutenant. I nodded. "Rumor has it you've been successful there."
"Our Crocs were so sweet, we hated to ask them to leave." I nodded to the newcomers and Babcock. "Follow us and hit the ground when we do. Brothers, set your TCom to channel 200. Throwers, press channel 200 before you throw. We'll clean up and proceed to the next intersection and repeat the procedur
e." Before I had finished the last word, the pairs were off to one side of the street or the other. It still amazed me how automatically they paired off to implement my plan without saying a word, like we had scripted it beforehand. Just as we approached 6th Avenue, I noticed Tasmanians falling into line behind us. We were obviously going to a party, and they intended to crash it. Three minutes later, we reached 6th Avenue, and I could see the Crocs were about two-thirds down the street with the mass of civilians chained in long lines.
Cedric and Art, we're the lead throwers. They crossed the street and ran some twenty steps before pressing channel 200, flinging their flashbangs into the air, and diving for the ground while covering their heads. The flashbangs landed right in the middle of the crowd; pandemonium broke out as they exploded. At the same time, the rest of us began a double-time trot towards the chaos. When we reached the crowd, people were laying on the ground in fetal positions moaning and crying. Others were running wild dragging others who were chained to them. They tripped, fell, and ran into buildings as the flashbang had them temporarily blind. Tasmanians walked carefully through the crowd shooting the unconscious Crocs. Before the newcomers could ask questions, the Tasmanians had reformed and were moving toward 5th Avenue.
When we had finished with the next street, I signaled everyone close.
"We discovered that flashbangs overwhelm the Crocs senses, which are several times more sensitive than ours and causes their brains to shut down. Don't get confused. They aren't dead, just temporarily unconscious. Your ammo won't penetrate their armor unless you are carrying a fifty-caliber weapon. But they can penetrate their face masks." I paused awaiting questions. When none came, I continued. "Ironically, bombs aren't effective unless they are very close–five to ten meters. And they don't like fire any more than we do, so burning them out of cover works. Babcock, where to next?"
* * *
One of the Tasmanians assigned to support Sidon as we sat in the army’s temporary mess tent said, "This was turning into a nightmare assignment. It was the first time in five years that the thought of man-to-man combat—"
When he hesitated, I said, "Scared you?" and smiled mentally, knowing it was a word that didn't exist in the Tasmanian dictionary.
"…felt unwise." He smiled as did many of the men.
"Believe me, Fox, if we hadn't studied them before we attempted any combat, I wouldn't have wanted to fight them one-on-one. They can run as fast as a horse; they have hides like an elephant, much better armor than our combat soldiers, and talons on their feet that can shred you like a Japanese Katona," Smitty said, making a whishing sound as his hand made a downward motion with his arm. "Crocs are best killed at a distance."
"And that wasn't working. That damn armor appeared to repel the bullets," another Tasmanian said. "Never been so frustrated in my life. And it didn't help that we were losing our mystique. Thank the space gods you came along. You heard that army grunt's remark. Beginning to think the Tasmanians were no better than them. That rumor would have the grunts and us fighting in every bar in the galaxy."
We all rose as two generals approached. General Shelbee spoke as he neared.
"At ease," he said. His frown slowly turned to a head shake as no one was at attention. "That was a good demonstration. You killed more Abaddons in less than thirty minutes than we have killed since we arrived." He waved for us to sit. "Easy to conclude you stumbled on the technique by accident, but I was told you have a unit that does special reconnaissance that discovered it by trial and error." And now he smiled. "And is led by a woman."
"Yes, sir. Women are just sneakier than us men, and our sister, Luan, call sign Fox, is even sneakier," Smitty chimed in to an assortment of agreeing snorts.
Fairchild spoke next. "Every now and then somebody suggests we should do away with the Tasmanian brigade because their special privileges aren't compatible with the military. But I believe this operation has secured your positions for another hundred years." He looked to Shelbee who nodded. "We can finish up here. I have a shuttle standing by to return you to Trika city and your unit." They gave us quick salutes and left.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Planet Delphi: A Spectacular Event
"You got another two years added to your time in grade," Howard said as the two of us sat drinking coffee in his office.
"Give it to my platoon," I interrupted, thinking they had done all the work, so it wasn't fair to give me all the credit.
"We did." He laughed. "You know your actions on Magara guarantee you're always going to be a squad or platoon leader," he smiled, "and those men will be your permanent team members."
"Yeah, I fucked up, again," I said but was finding I didn't mind being the platoon leader of these men if it weren't for the fact they could die because of my decisions. Of course, that was the main reason nobody wanted to be a squad leader.
"Yes, you could put it that way, as you have more responsibility but no more pay. However, I suspect you don't mind the responsibility. It's the people dying that concerns you," Howard said, and I nodded. "On the other hand, good decisions save lives, like on Magara. If you had been on your own or part of a squad, you probably wouldn't have discovered what you did, and many of your brothers would have died."
"I give up, Howard." I threw up my hands in defeat. "Since whining about it won't change anything, I might as well focus on the positive side."
"And saving your job." Howard looked serious which scared me. The Tasmanians were my life. Howard took pity on me and continued before I could panic. "With every new generation of senior officers, the status of the Tasmanians resurfaces. What justifies their special perks: not having to salute, no service contract so they can just quit anytime they choose, and equal pay and therefore no rank. I think the later causes the most consternation. When they want the commander of the Tasmanians, they don’t know who he is or who will show up. A couple of days’ difference or a change in topic could get you two different people. And in the field, they never know if they are talking to a private or a general. Your discovery on Magara has justified our perks for another generation or two. And that is the reason for your time-in-grade upgrade. You now have six years and a pretty nice salary." He grinned. "Now, get out of here. Given your schedule, you're probably late for something."
He was right. I was either late for my explosive class with Smitty, or I had already missed it. A look at my TCom said I was late. So, I ran.
"Nice of you to join us, Jolie. If my memory serves me right, you have yet to actually dismantle a bomb in the field," Smitty said while trying to remain serious.
"Why do you think I have you on my team?" I quipped. "Those bombs don't have paint in them like yours."
"Well, why don't you show us all how you would dismantle that package." He pointed to a brown cardboard box. "Which if I'm not mistaken, is ticking."
He had no sooner said that than it started ticking. Thinking myself clever, I took out my combat knife, punched a shallow hole in one side, took it to the sink, and submerged it in water. To my horror, it began ticking faster. Everyone ducked under a table or behind a cabinet, including Smitty. It was a spectacular event. The water and the purple dye erupted like an exploding volcano, spraying the ceiling, walls and anything in its path like me. I stood there, covered head-to-foot in purple. Slowly, men emerged from their shelters and began clapping.
"Miss Luan, throwing it in a river or lake can reduce the bomb's effectiveness but seldom deactivates it." His smile was evil. "And since you caused this mess and so you won't forget this valuable lesson in the field, you can clean this mess up."
* * *
If I wanted a date, I was going to have to buy some civilian clothes. Ones that accented my unimpressive breasts and hid my Tasmanian tattoo, I mused as I sat at a table with six Tasmanians and four women: three single and one married. I didn't want to date Tasmanians, as I felt it may damage our brother/sister image.
"Jolie, we heard you blew up Smitty's classroom," Van said loud enough to be heard
over the music and general noise, which suddenly decreased several decimals.
"The class was so damn boring I thought I'd blow the classroom up and get a few weeks off while they repaired it." I sat with my lips pursed and shook my head slowly back and forth. "But standing next to it when it exploded was humiliating and having to repair the damage more boring than the damn class. And then to add feathers to the tar, I had to pay someone to scrub off the freaking purple dye."
"You could have called you brothers. We would have done it for nothing," a Tasmanian I only knew by sight shouted.
"Ya, paying for your hospital bills would have been a hot pepper frosting on the cake." I looked up as if pleading to the space gods.
"Since Jolie joined the Tasmanians, we haven't stopped laughing at the army's brass who tried to keep her from passing the school and at all the idiots trying to prove she isn't really a Tasmanian. We also get a kick out of her account of her and her teams exploits," Todd said.
Men are so easy to please, I mused as I took a sip of my beer and sat back, content with my life.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Planet Lochpin: The Moech
Being home at Fort Endeavor was never boring. Teaching Gong Luan on weekends, participating in the Tasmanian Qualification School, periodic field exercises, and attending my specialty classes–Sniper, Explosives, and Medical– meant I was always busy. For the past few weeks, I was beginning to feel like a medical intern; the training was so intense, including time at the local hospital working in the emergency unit. The army traveled with doctors, nurses, and medical staff when at war. On the other hand, the Tasmanians were a rapid response unit that frequently operated in hostile environments. Consequently, they were frequently isolated from the army's support personnel and facilities by hours and sometimes days and therefore required its members to double as doctors, bomb disposal experts, and snipers. You were first and foremost a Tasmanian, but each person was required to have at least one supporting specialty.