by Rick Shelley
“Sarge!” He barked the word in his helmet.
Tory had started to move away. He turned back toward Dayle. “What is it?”
“We’re missing a bunch of these bastards. We had, what, ninety-seven helmets tagged before we started. A short company, you said. Even with the dead, there must be almost a platoon of them gone.”
“Keep your eyes open, all of you,” Kepner said on the platoon channel. “Spread out and watch all the way around.” He scanned the Federation soldiers he could see, dead and alive, trying for a quick count. Then he linked tothe sergeants from the platoons that Alpha and Delta had sent in to help, trying to account for the rest of the enemy helmets. It was nearly a minute before he heard enough to let him start to relax.
“It’s okay, Dayle,” he said. “We’ve got them all. It’s the other lot that we’ve got to worry about next. As soon as we get these separated from their weapons and helmets.”
With the platoon from Alpha standing guard around the perimeter—Delta’s platoon was already on its way to rejoin their company—the I&R men went among the prisoners and dead, removing weapons, ammunition, and helmets. Until helmets were taken away, the prisoners had radios. The confiscated gear was piled up some distance from the prisoners. Two medics started treating the wounded from both sides, tagging those who would need extended treatment from the battalion’s medical team.
“Turn the prisoners over to Alpha,” Captain McAuliffe told Tory. “We need your platoon back here.”
“On our way, sir,” Tory replied. “The lieutenant’s dead.”
By the time that I&R rejoined their company, H&S had pulled into a tight defensive arc. Several trees had been brought down with beamers to provide better cover against the continuing fire from the other Federation unit. On either flank, Alpha and Delta were moving to close the gaps between them and H&S.
“What are we facing?” Tory asked as he slid to the ground next to Spencer.
David shook his head. “Nobody knows for sure, but it looks as if a full battalion crept in around us. There’s trouble skyside too; a Feddie fleet popped in just as this mess started. Captain says the rest of the battalion got hit the same way, where they are. Maybe some of the other battalions also. I’m not sure about that. News is a little scarce.”
“How bad was the company hit?”
“Bad enough, but we’re not out of action. Right now, we’re just trying to hold on until the fleet comes back and we can get some air support. If we can get any.”
• • •
Even the shortest Q-space transit required a minimum of ninety seconds. It took that long for the Nilssen generators to cycle for the next jump, either going into or coming out of Q-space. On the bridges and in the CICs of the Commonwealth ships that jumped into Q-space after the arrival of the new Federation battle group, the first ninety seconds were a controlled confusion. No new information could be gathered in the gray limbo of Q-space, but the CIC computers continued to digest data that had been collected prior to transit. Admiral Greene and his staff immersed themselves in the flood of information almost to the point of drowning, trying to glean enough clues to allow the most intelligent decisions possible under the circumstances.
“We have to get back over Coventry as quickly as we can,” Greene told his staff. “I don’t want to leave the Marines or our Spacehawks hanging a second longer than we absolutely must. And while we’re in normal space before jumping back to Coventry, I want an MR to go to Buckingham with the latest information.”
As the fleet prepared to exit Q-space for its rendezvous twenty light-minutes away from Coventry, on the far side of the system’s sun, information started to come out of the processors, summaries of the last action reports from the surface and the sensory input of all of the ships and surveillance satellites.
Admiral Greene scanned screens of data. The first time he looked from the screens to the three members of his staff who were gathered around, he said, “It’s still just frigates. Not a battlecruiser or dreadnought in sight before we jumped.”
Sheffield and the rest of the ships emerged from Q-space at the rendezvous a short time later, close enough together that there was no significant lag in communications. A holographic conference with all of the skippers and operations officers was set up as quickly as CIC summaries could be relayed to the other ships.
“We’ll come out behind those frigates, if they haven’t jumped back to Q-space, far enough back to retrieve as many Spacehawks as possible first. Get the last squadronswe have aboard Sheffield and Hull out to join in the attack on the frigates. I want liaison on to Colonel Laplace and the commanders of the various detached units as quickly as possible. Some of those units hadn’t reported in before we bounced. And we need to get a handle on how many more Feddies there are on Coventry. It’s clear they’ve got a lot more than we figured, at least double the number we allowed for, hidden away for all the days we’ve been here.” He paused and shrugged.
“We’ll have to puzzle out later how they managed to stay concealed for six days. And we need to get our own situation squared away a little before we can think of dispatching Spacehawks for ground cover operations. The Marines will simply have to hold out in the meantime. At least the Feddies didn’t bring in any aircraft to make that more difficult.”
He looked around at the people in the room with him and at the holographic projections of the others. “Eight frigates can’t match our firepower, but it’s enough of a force that they can do us considerable damage if we’re not smart and careful.” Greene glanced at one of his monitors. “The MR to Buckingham is being released now. We’ll jump to Q-space heading to Coventry in two minutes. By that time CIC will have your navigational instructions ready.
“Good hunting, and good luck.”
After the holographs faded, Greene looked at his staff and shook his head. “We’ll need the luck, I think. This could get sticky.” Then he blinked furiously several times and straightened up. “We’ve got jobs to do. Let’s do them.”
15
There were only finite amounts of ammunition available to the units of the Second Regiment, and no one knew when the fleet would be able to get more supplies down. Every officer and noncom had to start worrying about his men running out, and balance that possibility against the more immediate chance that the Federation soldiers they faced would overrun their positions if they cut back too drastically on their shooting.
In Hawthorne, Captain McAuliffe conferred with the leaders of Alpha and Delta. The three companies started to shrink their perimeter, pulling in, looking for more defensible positions.
“This is still no good, Spencer,” McAuliffe said after he had finished coordinating with the other commanders. “It’s ground the Feddies chose, and that’s bad enough. There’s no telling how many more surprises they’ve got waiting for us.”
“I’ve been thinking about that, sir,” Spencer replied. “But they’re making it hard for us to spring loose, even if we knew which way to go.”
“We’re going to try to break east, then south,” McAuliffe said. “Alpha will try to poke a hole in the Feddie lines. We’ll move in behind them, and Delta will bring up the rear.”
“That’s dicey as hell, sir. We’ve got wounded to carry, quite a few.”
“I know, David, but it can’t be helped. We’ll move our casualties the best we can. The fleet is in and out overhead. They’ve got at least eight enemy frigates to deal with before they can turn their attention back to us. We’ve got to do for ourselves for a while. I’m going to use Kepner’s platoon to provide a little distraction for the move.”
“That’s part of their job description, isn’t it? You going to tell Tory or should I?”
“I’ll handle it. You get your lads ready. When it starts, we’ll be on the go in a hurry. Up and down a couple of times to get in position, then straight out … if this works.”
“Aye, sir. We’ll be ready.”
“About five minutes. We’ll give the I&R lads a chance
to go to ground. When the rest of us move, they’ll stay in place, hidden, then move again once we pull the Feddies past their position. When Kepner’s platoon get to where they can distract the Feddies, Alpha will try to punch a hole in their front.”
Hide? Where the blazes are they going to hide here? David asked himself.
“Beautiful mess they left us, ain’t it?” Alfie asked Tory.
“Write up your complaints after we get back aboard Old Vic,” Kepner said. “Just get your lads in the best you can. We’ve got a chance. That’s all any Marine can ask.”
“It’s not all I could ask, mate,” Alfie said before he started moving his fire team into position.
Tory was not at all thrilled with the chance himself, but no one had asked his opinion. It could be worse, he told himself. The platoon had moved into the middle of the area that had been burned. Several trees had come down in the blasts, but not lost all of their foliage, not been burned too badly in the fires that had caught the rest of H&S Company. If the Feddies went through in a hurry, there was a chance that the I&R platoon, its uniforms covered with soot and the odd piece of natural camouflage, would escape notice. Captain McAuliffe had assured Tory that the rest of the company would do everything they could to keep the Feddies from having the leisure to search carefully.
“I want everyone to get in position and then freeze,” Tory whispered over the platoon circuit. “I mean go as rigid as if you were already dead and cold. If you aren’t, you willbe, and maybe a lot of your mates with you. We’ll have both sides firing over our heads for a time. Then we’ll have Feddies closer than you ever want them. We’ve got to lie doggo until they get far enough past us that they won’t notice when we slip out and move on to our real job.”
Intelligence and reconnaissance. I&R Marines were supposed to be able to move past an enemy, or hide from him.
We ‘re just not trained to let them crawl right up our arses, Alfie thought as he slid into the position he had selected for himself. The others in his fire team were already in place. Alfie had added the finishing touches to their camouflage before moving in himself. He wedged himself between a trunk and a large branch that had bent and then snapped. He had to lift the branch a little to slide under it. When the branch moved back into place, Alfie was wedged in. Getting out would take time, even if he didn’t have to do it silently.
Now we wait, he told himself.
Captain McAuliffe provided updates on a channel the entire platoon could hear, whispered notes and assurances that it would not be long before the new action started.
The increase in the volume of gunfire would have been clue enough for most of the hiding men. Then the focus of that fire started to shift. The sounds of Commonwealth guns moved farther away. The sounds of Federation weapons moved closer. H&S was making its first move, back toward Alpha and Delta, trying to draw the Feddies after them—and past the hiding I&R platoon.
Alfie found himself holding his breath, and consciously forced himself to resume breathing, quietly and shallowly. He focused hard on his breathing. That gave him something to occupy his mind that was more productive than wondering if he would notice being killed.
Ten yards away, Geoffrey Dayle felt a different itch. Lying silent to let the Federation invaders walk past him unmolested was almost more than he could bear. He knew that he could not surrender to his urge to start spraying bullets as soon as the enemy came within easy range. That would be stupid. It could do no more than get him and his mates killed to little purpose. But the urge was almost overwhelming. I hope the wait’s not too long, was almost a prayer. I don’t know how long I can stand this.
Each man was alone. The situation was similar to the ride in from ship to shore before battle. If the isolation was not as physically absolute as being alone in Q-space, it provided a near analogy for infantrymen in the middle of a fight—a fight they could only listen to for now. It made little difference if the man were a veteran or a rookie. Not even the few who had been in the battalion’s every campaign in the war had ever been asked to perform quite this feat before.
“The Feddies are moving again,” McAuliffe’s soft whisper said over the I&R channel. “Their skirmish line is almost on top of you now.” Then he went silent, worried that even his whisper in insulated helmets might give the platoon away. From two hundred yards away, he tried to watch, but he could not show too much interest, or expose himself to the fire of the advancing Feddies just to satisfy an almost ghoulish curiosity.
Tory Kepner had one of the more exposed, less protected hiding places, near the edge of his platoon. He heard the footsteps of at least one Feddie, steps that crushed charred grass and twigs. Tory held his breath, waiting for the sound of those footsteps to move by. But they seemed to stop, almost next to his head. Tory felt the need to urinate, almost certain that the Feddie had spotted something, that his concealment was not sufficient. Tory’s hand was in position on his rifle, the right index finger on the side of the trigger guard. He fought the urge to move that finger to the trigger, not wanting to make even that small movement, in case he had not yet been seen.
He would have fired by now if he had seen me, Tory thought, not certain whether or not he believed that. Were the Feddies just gathering forces to take all of them at once? He squeezed his eyes shut. Under the tinted visor of his helmet, in deep shadow, there had been little chance that anyone could see even the whites of his eyes. The faceplate was totally non-reflective, even without the smudges of soot.
There was a flurry of shooting, too close. But there were no sounds of people hit or crying out in pain nearby. The
Feddies still had to be firing at the other platoons of H&S company, not at I&R. The noise started to recede then, moving south, past Tory. After what seemed like hours, he let out the breath he had been holding and sucked in another deep one.
“Their first line is past you,” McAuliffe reported. “But stay put. They’ve got a second line moving behind the first, about twenty yards behind you, moving forward. Just hang tight.”
Easy enough for you to say, Alfie thought. He wiggled his nose. The smell of the ashes made him want to sneeze. Once the thought came, he had to concentrate to keep from actually sneezing. One line past, one more to go. I hope the second lot doesn’t decide to kip out right on top of us.
This time it was Alfie who heard a Feddie walking past. Alfie was too deep under his tree for it, but he thought that he might have been able to reach out and trip the nearest enemy. Loud bloke. I bet he’s got socking huge feet.
“The second line is past you, but not far enough,” McAuliffe said. “You’ll need to give them a few more minutes. We’re pulling back, so I won’t be able to tell you when it’s safe. Kepner, you’ll have to make that call. Good luck.”
Ten minutes, Tory decided. We’ll wait that long no matter what. Then, if I can’t hear anything close, I’ll take a look.
It was a long ten minutes. Discipline within the platoon was flawless. There were no whispered questions, no rustling of branches. Tory could imagine the impatience of his men. He knew his own. He could almost hear the voice in his head saying, “Do something; do anything.” But he would not listen to that, watching the time line on his visor instead. He had made his decision. He would give it exactly ten minutes, not a second more or less—unless he heard movement nearby.
He listened. As far as he could without moving, he also looked, but there was little that he could see beyond the confines of his hiding place. It could all end in a hurry, he reminded himself. Maybe the Feddies are playing it even cuter than we are. There might be a squad, a platoon, even a company of soldiers with their guns training on the I&R platoon’s hiding places, just waiting for the men to emerge.
Five minutes passed. The sounds of gunfire were still moving away from Tory, but not by so much that he was tempted to cut short the time he had allotted for waiting. There would still be Federation soldiers close enough to require stealth from his men when they did emerge. But there were no sounds
close, nothing that might suggest a trap.
When only two minutes remained, Tory started flexing the muscles in his arms and legs, gingerly so that he would not disturb his camouflage. He didn’t want to try to move and find that he was too stiff to accomplish anything easily. Tense and relax, do it one arm or leg at a time, over and over. Make sure you’re limber.
Tory stared at the time line as the last seconds of his ten minutes elapsed. Then he moved carefully. He shifted his position from half on his side to prone, then started to slide toward the edge of the branches that hid him, moving an inch or so at a time, looking out under the hanging foliage in front of him, searching for any trace of an enemy.
Before he exposed more than his head, he scanned as much of his surroundings as possible. Finally, his field of vision was more than a few degrees wide. There was no one in sight. He moved farther out and lifted his head to get a better view.
“Okay, come on out, but be dead quiet about it,” Tory whispered on the platoon channel. “There’s no one right in our faces, but they’re not all that far off.”
Tory moved into a solid shooting position, kneeling, still mostly concealed by the tree he had been hiding under before. A quick glance around showed no Federation soldiers behind him. Both skirmish lines had moved south, chasing the rest of H&S Company and the other two companies.
Just keep looking that way, Tory thought. He saw the first of his men, Alfie, and the other squad leaders getting into defensive positions ahead of any of their men. Black against black. There was little hint of the designed camouflage pattern visible on any of the battle dress uniforms that Tory could see, or on the helmets.
“Keep low and quiet,” Tory whispered. “We don’t wantto start this lark quite yet. Give us a chance to pick our ground. We’re going to slide to the left and move farther back from the Feddies first. Alfie, take your team out first. We’re heading for the edge of this park area, into the wild growth.”