The Fires of Coventry

by Rick Shelley

  I might not be the best man to lead this mob, but nobody else seems to want the job. They sure as hell won’t listen to me if I run off and leave them to fend for themselves. And if I’m back here, maybe it will stop a few folks from giving up and letting the Feddies take them.

  After a time, Noel moved up along the line, slowly, urging people on. He drove to the front of the main body then stopped to wait for everyone to move past him. After trailing the exodus for a time again, he repeated the sequence, making sure that everyone had a chance to see and hear him. For a few minutes now and then he got down from thefloater and walked, leaving Polyard to drive the vehicle, hoping that Michael would not panic and race off. Staying active, encouraging the others, helped Noel minimize his own doubts. And fears.

  Whenever he was at the tail end, Noel stood silently, straining to hear any sounds of pursuit. I could go back a bit and have a look, he would tell himself. He knew that it was a foolish impulse, but that did not lessen the attraction. The need to see for himself that there were, or were not, Feddies coming up behind became almost overpowering.

  “You’ll know far too soon if there are,” he muttered during one moment of temptation.

  Even before the end of the first hour, there were stragglers, people who simply moved aside and sank to the ground. Each time, Noel would stop to urge them on. If they were too exhausted, they might earn a ride for a few minutes. But there was no way that Noel could carry a tenth of the people, not even if they abandoned their supplies.

  They had been moving for three hours before Noel started to nurture some hope that they might escape—or that the Feddies had not really been coming for them. Three hours: marching soldiers would move faster than tired and hungry civilians, some of whom were well into, or beyond, their sixties.

  “We’ll have to stop before much longer,” Polyard said. With an absence of competition for the position, he had become de facto second-in-command. “Some of them can’t take much more. And sunset can’t be more than twenty minutes off.”

  “I know. I just want every yard of distance we can get before we stop, just in case. You take the floater up ahead. Try to catch the others. Tell them to find a good spot and wait for us. When we catch them up, we’ll camp for the night. I’ll stay at this end until you get back.” Noel stopped the floater and got out. “I have no idea how far ahead the other floaters might be, if you’ll even be able to catch them up.”

  Michael shook his head. “They’re no more than a mileor so ahead. I buzzed up to them the last time you got out to walk and told them to ease off.”

  There was little pretense of making camp when they stopped. Fear and exhaustion left few with energy to do anything more than the absolute minimum. Some could not even manage to eat cold food. They found places under trees and wrapped themselves in blankets, as close to where they had been when Noel called a halt as possible. Even the people who had driven the floaters, or ridden much of the distance, seemed to have little energy. But Noel gathered those he thought should be in the best shape.

  “We need to post sentries tonight,” he said. “It’s going to be up to us, payback for riding on our arses all afternoon.”

  “What the hell good could we do?” one of the drivers asked.

  “Maybe not much, but we still need to do it. If we get five minutes’ warning of Feddies coming, maybe we can get away again, at least some of us.”

  “Get away for what?”

  “If nothing else, just to make it harder for the Feddies to bag us all. Remember, there may be Commonwealth troops on Coventry now. And if they aren’t here already, they will be soon. The more we can do to spread out the Feddies, the easier time our blokes will have trying to pick up the pieces for us.” He waited, but the complainer did not add any other objections.

  “Two of us at a time, one hour on, three off. That’ll give each of us two tours and nobody will lose that much sleep. Thurston, you and I will take the first watch.” Emery Thurston was the complainer. Noel watched to see where the others bedded down before he took Thurston off and placed him where he wanted him.

  “Just keep your eyes open and sing out if you see or hear anything that doesn’t belong,” Noel said. They both had helmets, so they would be able to see, and the sound pickups would let them hear things a little farther off. “I’ll come back to collect you when our hour’s over.”

  “I still don’t see what good it’s going to do.”

  “You don’t like the idea of doing sentry turns, walk tomorrow and we’ll give someone else the option.”

  Thurston did not reply.

  Noel moved farther back along the trail that they had been following. The temptation to hike back for a mile or so was easier to fight off now. Noel was tired, and he now knew better than to count on his ability to sneak up on Federation soldiers. The lump on his head from his first attempt was gone but not forgotten.

  The refugees and their vehicles had left a track through the woods that a blind man could follow. Noel moved away from it and found a place where he was sheltered overhead by a broad-leaved evergreen and on three sides by dense shrubbery.

  An hour with nothing to do but think. It had been hard to concentrate on the run. There had been too many distractions. Now Noel thought while he watched and listened. How far can we run? Where should we go? Is there any purpose to it?

  Questions. I’ve got more than enough questions. What I need is answers.

  When Noel returned to his floater, Michael was still awake, sitting up, leaning back against the vehicle’s skirt.

  “Anything?” Polyard asked.

  “No sign of Feddies. I got some thinking done though.”

  “And?”

  “In the morning, if we make it through the night, I think we ought to head a little more toward the northeast.”

  “You mean toward Hawthorne?”

  “I see you’ve been doing some thinking too.”

  “No way to escape it. Hawthorne’s fairly small. Maybe the Feddies haven’t hit it. Maybe they’ll only send a few troops there, few enough that we can make a difference if we get a chance. Anywhere but back to South York, and Hawthorne’s the closest real town on this side of Danbury River.”

  “We know things are a mess in South York. We don’t know that about Hawthorne,” Noel said. “If nothing else, we might at least find some help.”

  Part 4

  13

  It was the sixth time aboard the shuttles in as many days for the Marines of the First Battalion, Second Regiment. The entire battalion was moving again, but for the first time they were not all heading to the same destination. H&S, Alpha, and Delta companies were traveling together toward the next town along the main road south of The Dales. The battalion had been clearing one town at a time. Now the plan was for the two halves of the battalion to leapfrog each other from one town to the next.

  “The Feddies are still burning everything they can,” Captain McAuliffe told H&S before the men boarded their shuttles after less than five hours of rest. “Colonel Laplace and the admiral want us to stop it double-quick. That means going in piecemeal.”

  The six days of fighting had been brutal, not so much because of the fierceness of the opposition but just from short sleep and the frantic pace. Combat was always like that, but there was something about this operation that seemed to exacerbate the usual numbing of body and mind. H&S Company had paid its share of the price, eight dead and more than a dozen wounded severely enough to need several hours in a trauma tube. Four hours in a tube could handle all but the most severe injuries—neurological damage or traumatic amputation. Even Eugene Wegener, with multiple shrapnel wounds, had been back on duty in three hours. But no easy way had ever been found to cure the mental confusion, even damage, that combat could inflict on even the most hardened Marine.

  “It’s a crazy way to run a war,” Tory Kepner said on his private link to David Spencer.

  “They catch the Feddies who ordered this, they ought to roast them slow, over an open fi
re,” David replied as he fastened his lap strap. Six days had given the Marines plenty of chances to see what the Federation plan had been: burn everything and turn out all of the locals to live or die in the wild.

  “Dayle suggested slicing them up with a pair of fingernail scissors, one bloody joint at a time.”

  “Captain says they might try the Feddie officers and noncoms as common criminals instead of holding them as prisoners of war,” Spencer said. The shuttle was accelerating rapidly, on a short arc to its next landing zone. Talking helped minimize the discomfort of the flight. There wasn’t enough time for sleep.

  “Might do for the officers,” Tory said. “Can’t say as I’m all that keen on doing the noncoms. When did a sergeant or corporal ever have a choice about his orders?”

  David permitted himself a tight smile. “Officers would say the same thing, no doubt. “Just following orders like every other bloke.’ “

  “They could say that all the way to the top, and that’s the chap who never pays for his sins.”

  There was no en route operational briefing. Each of these excursions started like the rest. The Marines were landed just out of range of the enemy, then moved in on foot. If necessary, Spacehawks came in to keep the Feddies occupied until the men on the ground were ready to take over. There would be a fight. After the first day, the Feddies had been less reluctant to surrender, often after only a few shots had been fired. Afterward, the Marines would make contact with any refugees who were near, set them to looking for their compatriots. The real work of providing relief for the refugees had not yet begun. Small-scale assistance was all that had been possible.

  This time, the opposition was estimated to be a single company of Federation soldiers, perhaps not at full strength. That would give the Commonwealth force an advantage ofthree to one or better. The burning of Hawthorne, observed by the fleet and by spy satellites, had been going too slowly for there to be more enemy troops involved. But more than half of the town and outlying houses had already been destroyed.

  Ritual: the pilot gave her passengers a ninety-second warning. Captain McAuliffe gave the order to “lock and load” weapons. Officers and noncoms talked to their men. Keep their minds occupied in those last seconds, was the drill. Don’t give them a chance to think about getting scared.

  The drill for a combat landing for the Marines was to get out of the shuttle as fast as humanly possible, out of the box and into the open where they could defend themselves.

  Spencer popped the release on his lap strap and lurched to his feet as the shuttle touched down, before the amber light over the ramp showed that it was being lowered. He turned to his men and gestured them up as he gave the same order over his helmet radio.

  “Move it, lads!” he shouted as the ramp swung down. David’s concern was the noncoms and other ranks. The officers knew what they had to do. If they screwed up, it would be between them and Captain McAuliffe.

  I&R platoon was first out. They were the “true” fighters of H&S, the men best prepared for whatever might be waiting. They ran down the ramp in two files, Tory Kepner with one and Lieutenant Nuchol with the other. The squads separated as soon as they were outside, and moved to either side, ready to hit the dirt and lay down covering fire if needed. It made no difference that they had been told that there would be no enemy troops close enough to take them under fire. Long-range spy-eyes might miss troops that did not want to be seen, especially if they were not actively using their electronics.

  As soon as I&R was out, Spencer led headquarters platoon out. After seventeen months under him, they moved out into the initial perimeter almost as smartly as I&R.

  There was no gunfire. David glanced around as he ran tohis position. The other two shuttles were spaced around the clearing, no less than a hundred yards apart. The landers did not stay on the ground a second longer than necessary. As soon as their passengers were clear, they boosted for friendlier sky, out of range of portable surface-to-air missiles.

  As the shuttles lifted off, Nuchol and Kepner led I&R platoon out of the initial perimeter. They had the positions of some enemy helmets. The closest was nearly two miles away, but they did not assume that all of the enemy had been pinpointed.

  “Shut down everything you don’t need,” Tory told his men. “I don’t want any transmissions that might give us away. It’s time to play ghost and get up their armpits before they know we’re around. Third squad, right flank, a hundred yards out. Fourth, you’re next in. I’ll be on your left with first. Second that puts you on the left flank, a hundred yards out.”

  Once away from the LZ, the Marines moved slowly. Each squad formed two skirmish lines, one fire team in front of the other by forty yards. Tory stayed with first squad. Lieutenant Nuchol moved with the rear fire team of fourth squad.

  Alfie Edwards had his fire team in front. Looking around, he thought that the wooded area they were walking through had to be a park. The trees were too far apart and placed too regularly for the layout to be natural. There was no undergrowth, and little evidence of old leaves or the other debris that normally cluttered the ground in a forest. Too many trees seemed to be the same age, no mixture of young and old. Good-sized town. No reason they shouldn’t put in a park, he thought. His speculations did not detract from his alertness; they were part of it. He kept his eyes moving, his head turning, looking and listening for anything. The trees were in the midst of shedding their leaves for winter, but the leaves had not been on the ground long enough to get dry and brittle.

  Beyond the wooded stretch was another open space, almost the twin of the one the shuttles had set down in. Past that there were buildings running along both sides of a wide street. These buildings were larger than private homes—blocks of flats or commercial space, Alfie thought. The important thing was that they had not been destroyed.

  Once more, I&R’s mission was to take the enemy under fire as soon as possible, put an end to their arson, and hold them long enough for the rest of the force to arrive and finish them off.

  Supposed to be odds-on again, Alfie reminded himself. They would have a clear numerical superiority—if the intelligence was right.

  There would be no sneaking about in buildings this time. After the first episode, the I&R people were under orders not to tempt fate that way again. “You got away with it once. Don’t count on being lucky a second time,” Alfie had been told by Captain McAuliffe in what was nearly a formal reprimand.

  “We split up here,” Lieutenant Nuchol told his noncoms. “Third and fourth bend around to the right. First and second to the left.” There was burned out rubble to the right, wilder woodlands to the left. Another ten minutes of movement would put them in good positions, give them angles on the Federation soldiers that would leave the Feddies with little chance to hide.

  That was the way the Marines wanted it.

  As they moved around the open space, the squads moved from skirmish lines to single file, with ten yards between men. Alfie found himself at the tail of the two squads moving to the left. “Tail-end Charley” was almost as important as the point man. It was up to the man at the rear to make sure that no one overtook them from behind, or moved in to close off their retreat before an ambush struck in front.

  When the squads reached their attack position, Alfie moved from the end of the line to put himself in the middle of his fire team. He led them forward toward the edge of the wood, snaking forward on their stomachs. When he got as far forward as he could, Alfie adjusted his position to get comfortable, as if he were preparing to spend hours there. There was a thick tree trunk just in front of him, with a little ground cover around it—knotted little vines no more than six or eight inches high. He slid his rifle through the vines, then looked through the gunsights, traversing the barrel slowly, checking his field of fire. When he was satisfied, Alfie looked to see that the others in his fire team were ready for action.

  Unless they were spotted by the Feddies and taken under fire, it would be some time before Tory or the lieutenant
gave the order to start shooting. The I&R platoon was to wait until the rest of the three companies got into position.

  Either way, Alfie was ready. He reached down to his side to make certain that the pouch with his extra ammunition magazines was where it was supposed to be. He spent most of his time looking at targets, sometimes through his gunsights, sometimes over them. The sights had electronic enhancements that could be linked to his helmet to provide targets even in conditions of extremely poor visibility.

  Alfie hummed silently, an old drinking song that always came to mind whenever he anticipated fighting, either in combat or during a liberty pub crawl. He was scarcely aware of the humming. It was a subconscious habit whose origins he would not have been able to guess at. In other circumstances, the humming might have been audible. When he had been drinking, it could get loud. But not now, when silence was important.

  Seconds and minutes ticked away on Alfie’s visor display. The red dots showing enemy helmets with active electronics were barely visible, not enough of a glow to interfere with aim. It could be confusing to a rookie, but sorting out everything was as unconscious as the humming for Alfie.

  Eight minutes. What’s keeping them? Alfie wondered. It was just a vague curiosity. If necessary, he could wait all day and half of the night without fidgeting. But he preferred to get the necessary over with as quickly as possible. Better soon than late, but best not at all.

  • • •

  Three more minutes passed before Tory came on the line. “Another five minutes, at least. Spencer saw something he wants checked out before we start this donnybrook.”

  What kind of something? Alfie wondered, but did not ask. If it was important, he would be told.

  • • •

  Company lead sergeants did not go wandering off alone for a recce in a combat situation, not according to “The Book,” but David Spencer gave that tome no more than pragmatic attention. He wasn’t certain what he thought he might have seen, but something was not quite right. He brought the rest of H&S Company to a halt while he went to look. Alpha and Delta companies continued to move around on the flanks, as they had farther to go. David let Captain McAuliffe worry about passing the word that H&S had stopped for a moment. The sooner he got out, the sooner he would get back.