Lieutenant, page 12
part #2 of Dirigent Mercenary Corps Series
That doesn’t prove anything, Lon thought. “Keep your eyes open. Maguire’s not one to see things that aren’t there.”
Less than a minute later, Lon had a call from Captain Orlis. “Something more for you to watch for. The Calypsans just passed along a message they got from a civilian in The Cliffs. Belletiene has started moving troops our way, breaking off from what little resistance the Calypsan army had been able to put in front of them there.”
“Any idea how many, or how soon they might get here?”
“No, and I’m not certain how long ago the message was sent. The colonel is trying to find out more, but it’s iffy. They may be moving without electronics, which cuts down on the chances of the fleet spotting them from above. Calypso has scouts out, and people working their complink nets, but we don’t have any confirmation yet. Just be careful.”
“Any change to our orders?”
“Not for now. But if you run into these new troops, give me a holler at once.”
You can bet on it, Lon thought. He passed the news to his noncoms. “We do everything we can to keep from being surprised,” Lon told them. “If we run into any enemy concentrations, I want to know about them before they know about us. We move as if we were trying to infiltrate a known enemy position. Move one squad from each platoon at a time, use the rest to provide cover. The enemy might be observing electronic silence, so don’t count on seeing blips on your faceplates.” He felt self-conscious reminding longtime veterans of such basics, but did not let that stop him. Nor did any of the noncoms object to his lecture.
There were the little things, habits. For Lon, that always included checking the safety on his rifle. It was off, as he wanted it. He glanced at the timeline on his head-up display. He surveyed the overlay that showed him the positions of his men, even though he could see all but one squad from where he was.
Lon was with third platoon. It was not simply a matter of dividing his time between the platoons in the most equitable fashion, moving with third now because he had been with fourth before. It was also a matter of comfort. He was more at ease with third platoon. That was where he had served as an officer-cadet. He knew the men of that platoon, especially its second squad, better than he knew any of the others. For the same reasons, he attached himself to the platoon’s second squad, taking his position just behind Tebba Girana.
“You think this is going to get hairy, Lieutenant?” Girana asked over a private link.
“Why do you ask?” Lon replied.
“That’s when you’re most certain to show up here,” Girana said with a soft chuckle. Like running home to Mommy, he thought but would never say—to anyone. He had too much respect and affection for his lieutenant to cause him any embarrassment.
“Could be, Tebba. At least with the bunch of you, I’ve got a damn good idea which way everyone will jump if something does happen. You’d better be careful, though, doing all that thinking. Someone’s apt to notice and transfer you to Corps Intelligence.”
“Bite your tongue, Lieutenant,” Girana said with horror that was not completely feigned. “I’m no egghead, no more’n I gotta be to stay alive.”
The conversation was slow, interrupted often, resumed when possible. Neither man let the talk interfere with watching over the men, and watching for trouble. Lon also had to switch channels to talk with the sergeants and the other squad leaders now and then. The two platoons reached the spot where the enemy sentry had been killed, and turned east. Ben Frehr’s squad had gone on. It was several blocks away now, stalking another of the isolated Belletiener sentries.
“Weil, put one of your squads out on the right,” Lon told Sergeant Jorgen. “If there are enemy troops coming up from The Cliffs, I want to know as early as possible.”
“Right, sir,” Jorgen replied. “I was gonna suggest that.”
Lon looked up at the sky. Midday. The sun was bright in an almost cloudless sky. Day or night made little difference against an enemy who also had night-vision equipment, but like most soldiers, Lon felt safer operating in the dark. It gave an illusion of security, like a child pulling a blanket over his head to hide from “night monsters,” but it was also something more. The night-vision systems in most battle helmets (not only those of the DMC) provided minimal resolution at a distance. The range of danger was lessened somewhat.
One squad from fourth platoon split off and moved in a different direction.
I hope I’m not forgetting anything important, Lon worried. That was something he worried about often, the nagging fear that somehow he would fail because he was not good enough. He occasionally had nightmares that men died under his command because he had screwed up, made some inexcusable mistake, or overlooked something basic. He feared that more than he feared the possibility of his own death. The most extreme version of the nightmare had him as the only survivor of his platoons.
“Weil, I want your platoon farther to the right,” Lon instructed after both platoons crossed one of the broad avenues. “The next street or alley. Give us a little more room.”
Jorgen acknowledged the order and redirected his men.
Lon turned his attention to the area directly in front of third platoon. Two blocks over was another of the many green preserves of Oceanview. “If Belletiene hasn’t claimed it first, that would make a comfortable spot for us to waylay them,” Lon said when he pointed the park out to Tebba. “If that was what we were out here for.”
“It’ll get us out of the open for a few minutes, anyway,” Girana replied. “We can go in and pick where we want to come out. That park manicured or wild?”
“Somewhere in between, I think. Most of them at least have paths and clearings so the locals can enjoy them.” Lon got out his mapboard, unfolded it, and adjusted the view. “It almost connects with the city boundary strip,” he said after scanning the image at the best magnification the mapboard could provide. “A permanent structure right in the middle, octagonal, about a thirty-foot diameter. Maybe a band shell or something like that. So the rest of the park is probably ‘improved’ as well.”
“Might not be much cover at ground level then, past those bushes we can see right at the edge,” Tebba said. “Less chance of running into an ambush if the enemy has got there first.”
“If there’s an ambush, it will likely catch us trying to get into the park,” Lon said. “Men at windows in buildings surrounding the park, just waiting for targets to show up. But they shouldn’t be waiting for us, not yet. It’s too soon, even if they noticed right when they lost that sentry.”
Lon was wrong. Gunfire came from behind, from the west. The start of the attack was coordinated, more than a dozen rifles opening fire simultaneously. The Dirigenters dropped to the ground quickly. The reaction was instinctive, drilled into them in training and honed through each combat contract. Get down, then worry about where the gunfire is coming from and how you’re going to respond. Despite quick reactions, there were casualties. Four men were wounded and two men were dead.
“Get the men around the corner, out of the line of fire,” Lon ordered. “Keep down, but move.” He had the platoon sergeants arrange for covering fire. The troops nearest the enemy would respond while the rest moved. Then they would pull back once the rest of the men in the two platoons were in new positions and could work to suppress enemy fire.
At first, Lon stayed back, turned toward the enemy. He was an expert with both rifle and pistol, and this was rifle work. He could not be certain how many Belletieners were present. They had obviously had time to prepare their surprise. In addition to men on the ground and sheltered by the corners of buildings, they had men in windows and doorways in the next block. He reported on the backdoor ambush to Captain Orlis as he started firing short bursts toward the most exposed targets.
“I’ve got men down, dead and wounded, but—for the moment, at least—we’re coping. Must be at least a platoon, more likely two platoons or more. If they’ve got other troops moving around to intercept us, I can’t tell yet.”
“The colonel doesn’t want to put more men in until we’re certain that we’ve got something major going, Nolan,” Orlis replied. “Find out as quickly as you can.”
“I’ve got squads out looking. Neither has reported coming across any of the enemy yet.” Lon emptied the magazine in his rifle and replaced it. A few seconds later, Ivar Dendrow called.
“We’re set up back here, Lieutenant. You and the others should start pulling back now.”
Crawling backward, and continuing to spray short bursts of rifle fire while he did, took concentration. And time. The movement was awkward. But finally, Lon found himself at the end of the building, close to the covering fire of rifles and grenade launchers. He ducked around the corner and sat with his back against the wall, taking a few seconds to catch his breath—and to let his mind catch up with the rest of him.
Then it was time to get on the radio, to talk to the leaders of the squads that had been moved away before the attack. Fourth platoon’s scouts had already started moving around to try to assist. They were almost in position south of the Belletieners. Third platoon’s scouts had been farther off.
“Find out how many got in behind us,” Lon told both squad leaders. “If you can do it without letting them see you, so much the better. We’re okay now. We got everyone back.” Everyone who was still alive. The wounded were receiving first aid. Two men were hurt badly enough that they would need time in a trauma tube—soon—to survive.
Lon called Captain Orlis to tell him that. “If someone can’t get to us, I’m going to have to turn loose a squad to take them to the medics,” he said. “So far it looks as if we haven’t hit a really large enemy force. My scouts are moving in on both sides, and neither of them has seen anyone. But I’ve got two men who have to have medical help without delay.”
“Have a squad bring them in,” Orlis said. “I’ll have medics meet them.” He gave Lon map coordinates, and then the street names of an intersection. “How long will your men need?”
“They can be there in ten minutes if they don’t run into more trouble along the way,” Lon replied.
“Your orders are to continue your mission,” Orlis said after a pause during which he dispatched the men to meet Lon’s wounded. “Get free of this ambush if you can, or stay there and fight it out if you see a chance to inflict damage at minimal cost to your own men. We still want to draw out more of the enemy.”
“We obviously aren’t going to give them much of a surprise, Captain,” Lon said. “They’ve got to be expecting a counterattack, and that might be when we find they’ve got more people than we expect.” He did not pause long enough for the captain to say anything. “I reckon that would give the colonel what he wants. We’ll give it a try.”
12
Lon sent all of the wounded toward the rendezvous, not just the two men who needed more attention than they could get where they were. With one squad to escort the wounded, and two others already separated from the platoons, both working their way around toward the flanks of the Belletiene ambush, Lon only had five squads left to deploy, with two of those shorthanded.
“I’ll keep one squad from each platoon,” he told the platoon sergeants. “We’ll work our way through the buildings between us and the enemy. I want the other squads to circle around, join up with the men already out there, to hit them from both sides. You two will have your own men there. If all we’re up against is a couple of platoons, they might retreat rather than risk having the horns close around them.” He paused. “If there are more Belletieners waiting, we should find out soon enough.”
“We going to all hit at once?” Weil asked from his position behind the building across the street from Lon and Ivar.
“The squads I keep will try to keep them occupied until the rest of you get into position,” Lon said. “Once you’re hitting them from both sides—and yes, I want that coordinated if possible—we’ll start working in from this side. If the enemy takes you under fire first, respond, but if we have a choice, I want both horns to open up together. Check on the squads you’ve already got out. Link with them if you can. Now, get started.”
Lon kept Tebba Girana’s squad from third platoon and Wil Nace’s from fourth. While the others pulled back and started their encircling maneuver, Lon briefed the two squad leaders on what they were going to do. “We don’t know if we’re going to run into fifty of the enemy or five hundred. Or more. Be ready for anything. We may have to beat a hasty retreat if we bite off more than we can chew.”
Two men on either side of the street were sent to break into the nearest buildings between them and the enemy, to make certain that the Belletieners did not use those covert routes. The rest of the men in the two squads faced the enemy directly, with rifles and rocket-propelled grenades. They did not try to overwhelm the enemy with volume of fire. This was not a time to be spendthrift with ammunition. All Lon wanted was to keep the enemy occupied.
It took ten minutes for his flankers to get into position. Neither Dendrow nor Jorgen reported any sign of additional enemy soldiers waiting to pounce. “That don’t mean they’re not there,” Weil added, “but if they are, they’re inside buildings and being damn cute about it.”
“Wouldn’t you be, in that situation?” Lon asked. He did not wait for a reply. “Assume that they know cute as well as you.”
Both platoon sergeants were on the link. Lon said, “One minute from now, start hitting them. Then we start moving.” As soon as the sergeants acknowledged the order, Lon told Nace and Girana to be ready as well. While he was doing that, Lon slipped a new magazine into his rifle.
For a change, the waiting went quickly. The added volume of gunfire was immediately audible. The noise level nearly doubled.
“Let’s move!” Lon said—almost shouted—on the channel that linked him with Girana and Nace. “Inside and on.”
Janno Belzer and Phip Steesen went through the door as if they expected the room beyond to be filled with enemy soldiers, even though Lance Corporal Dav Grott and Gen Radnor had already gone in to secure the building against that possibility. Girana was the next man through the door, and Lon followed him, with the rest of the squad close behind.
The building was a professional arcade. The center of the building was a large atrium with a lightly tinted skylight that gave a soft pink touch to everything. Offices surrounded that on all three floors. On the ground floor, the center was arranged as an indoor garden with small trees and several beds of flowers around a fountain and reflecting pool.
Many of the interior doors had been broken open. Grott and Radnor had been busy. Girana had his men briefed. Grott was sent to the right, to keep watch on that side of the building. Radnor was sent to the far end, nearest the Belletieners. The rest of the squad moved into offices to find windows they could use as vantage spots to fire on the enemy—half on the ground floor and half on the levels above. Lon glanced upward, tempted to go to the third floor to see what was visible, but instead he moved through the center of the building, past the fountain, to the door at the far end where Radnor was posted.
“See anything?” Lon asked when he knelt on the other side of the doorway.
Radnor shook his head. “There’s that next building in the way. I haven’t seen anyone shooting from that, so maybe the enemy isn’t in there.”
A paved courtyard stood between the arcade and the next building. There were a half dozen plascrete tables with benches and large umbrellas over them in the courtyard. Several small pieces of sculpture lined the street side of it.
Lon nodded, then called Corporal Girana. “Tebba, when we move out, I want Ericks and Steesen upstairs providing cover until the rest of us get into the next building.” For close work, those two were the best marksmen in the squad, and both would keep their heads no matter what they came up against.
“Yes, sir. When do we move?”
“Hang on a second while I check with Nace.” Lon switched channels to see how the squad across the street was faring.
“We’re ready to move whenever you give the word,” Nace replied. “Not much here in the way of vantage. I’ve only got three men where they can bring the enemy under fire.”
“Okay, let’s move.” Lon gave Girana the same order.
The first few men through the doorway came under gunfire. A few Belletieners were located where they could cover that terrace. But the incoming fire stopped quickly, and none of Lon’s men were hit. The plascrete tables and benches provided excellent cover. The door to the next building to the west resisted efforts to open it. Two men working together could not dislocate door from frame, and the lock resisted two attempts to shoot it open.
“That’s gonna take a shaped charge, Lieutenant,” Girana said. “And that’s something we don’t have.”
Lon shrugged. “Maybe we don’t need it,” he said. Weil Jorgen was talking to him at the same time.
“They’re pulling back, Lieutenant,” Jorgen said. “No more than forty of them, looks like. Do we keep after them?”
Lon hesitated, almost ready to call Captain Orlis and pass the decision to him. Then he shook his head. Original mission, he thought. “No, Weil. Hang on while I bring Ivar into this.” When he had both platoon sergeants on link, Lon said. “Keep them under fire as long as you’ve got targets but do not, repeat not, pursue. As soon as they’re out of range, pull back and we’ll go on with what we were doing before. That’s still the assignment.”
He waited for their acknowledgments before he asked, “Any additional casualties?”
“Not here,” Ivar replied, “but the enemy lost a few men.”
Weil had one more man wounded, but it was not serious, and he would be able to continue on with the rest of the platoon.
After a time, the senses of an infantryman in combat become almost feral, attuned to his environment with a fineness that cannot be duplicated except under circumstances that might prove lethal. He hears and sees, he notices. Even his sense of smell can become abnormally acute, filtering out the smells of gunpowder and fear, and whatever mayhem he may have been through, for any hint of new danger. He can move with exaggerated caution, patiently stalking the enemy, or onto ground that might be under observation, but the surge of adrenaline that will propel him to whatever new physical exertions are required is never more than a heartbeat away.
