Lieutenant, page 13
part #2 of Dirigent Mercenary Corps Series
The men under Lon’s command moved with the precision of men on a drill field, accomplished veterans. Routine maneuvers could be done without conscious thought, leaving the mind free to concentrate on greater need. That was one purpose of all of the drilling and field exercises. Remove, as far as possible, the need for the individual soldier to think when he was in danger. Drum all of the predictable moves into him so thoroughly that they will be done automatically—at need … or on order.
Lon moved with Girana’s squad, to the left of the reformed advance. Once more, a single squad had been sent out on each side, as scouts and flankers. The objective was still the park where the center of the Belletiene line was holding strong—unless they were intercepted first. Twice they encountered three-man enemy patrols. The first group managed to escape. The second was pinned down. Two of those men were killed, the third wounded. The wounded man was given first aid, then stripped of weapons and helmet, and bound. Lon had no men to spare for guarding a prisoner.
The two skirmishes were the only obstacles they encountered until the park was in sight—one park of so many in the city. Lon never questioned that it was the right one. Even without the sound of battle in front of him, he had the enemy positions on his mapboard and, once he was close enough, on the head-up display of his helmet’s faceplate.
“Get the men into cover,” Lon told his platoon sergeants when the point men were within a block and a half of the park. “Into the buildings. Something isn’t right here. Give me time to check with the captain.”
Orlis listened patiently. “Not a bit of reaction, Captain,” Lon said. “We’re almost close enough to spit on them, and it’s as if we were completely invisible. They’re in there, in the park, but they’re taking absolutely no notice of us.”
“I thought sure that you’d draw them in before this, Nolan. You’ve got your men under cover?” When Lon replied in the affirmative, Orlis said, “Stay put. I’ve got to buck this one up the line, see what we do next.”
It took fifteen minutes before the captain called back. “It looks as if things might get hotter for you, soon. As near as we can tell, Belletiene has moved virtually all of their men north out of The Cliffs. We’ve only managed a few isolated intercepts of electronics, but the main enemy force can’t be more than six-tenths of a mile south of you, and they might be a lot closer. To your west, things have settled down a little, but with Belletiene in control of the area near you, you’re going to have to head east. That’s the only possibly safe route. Belletiene’s troops have advanced farther our way on that side, so there shouldn’t be much more in your way than sentries and scouts, what you’ve been dealing with.”
“Yes, sir, take the men east. Any idea how far we’ll have to go before we can circle around to rejoin you?” There’s an ocean not too far away, Lon thought.
“I’m not sure yet that you’ll be able to circle around. The fighting extends almost all of the way to the beach. I’ll pass along any intelligence I get, but if anything unexpected happens, be ready to use your own judgment. You’ll likely have a better idea what’s possible than I will. Understand?”
“Yes, sir. Use my own judgment.” Take the responsibility … and the consequences, Lon thought. It was as close to independent action as any junior officer in the Dirigent Mercenary Corps was likely to come. “I think we’ll have to start by moving a little south before we turn east, Captain. We’re too close to the Belletiene lines here.”
“I’ll do what I can to keep track of you, and pass the information along to CIC. If they spot anything pertinent, they’ll be able to notify you directly if there isn’t time to go through me or through battalion.”
More fingers to point, Lon thought as he acknowledged the captain’s information.
After he signed off, Lon took a moment to collect his thoughts. You don’t know that this is going to be trouble. It might be a walk in the park. He grimaced at the unintentional pun. Don’t panic. Keep your head. Do everything by the book. As long as we don’t get boxed in by a far superior force, we can come through this, he told himself—almost with confidence. He took a couple of slow, deep breaths and let them out, then called his platoon sergeants to let them know what the situation was. Dendrow grunted at the news. Jorgen gave no reaction at all that Lon could hear.
“What’s our status on ammo?” Lon asked.
“Never enough,” Jorgen said, “but we’re not in desperate straits. We watch what we’re doing and don’t get bogged down in a major firefight, we should be okay for several hours. If this lark goes on much past sunset, then we might have to worry.”
“Depends what we come up against,” Dendrow said. “I’ve got a couple men down to half a standard load, but I’ve already had words with them. The rest of the men are in pretty good shape.”
“No one with physical problems that could slow us down?” Lon asked next, and both sergeants replied in the negative.
“We’re going to electronic silence, as far as possible,” Lon said next. “Once this conference finishes and you’ve had time to brief your men, I want passive scans only, no radio transmissions unless it’s vital. Hand signs and face-to-face when possible.” He did not need to define “vital.” The platoon sergeants, squad leaders, and most of the men could make that distinction reliably. If anything, they would generally err on the conservative side.
The two platoons moved south, staying inside buildings as much as they could, and using them as a screen between themselves and the enemy in the park when they had to move outdoors. Lon kept his men as dispersed as he dared, with one squad tailing well behind the rest as rearguard, another out in front, and a third on their right flank. For the moment, he did not put a squad out on the left, the side nearest the known positions of the enemy. The Belletiener lines were simply too close to take that risk.
Their progress was slow, cautious. Lon hoped to rely on stealth more than speed to see them safely across to the sea, or as close to it as they had to go before they could turn north. We get to the far edge of the fighting, there might be a way for us to sneak through the lines, he decided, though that might mean waiting for dark. In the dark, observing total electronic silence, Dirigenters could penetrate all but the most closely guarded lines without detection. Lon had seen it. He knew what he and his men were capable of.
One Belletiener patrol held up their movement for ten minutes. Lon moved two squads around so their beamers would have clear targets and others would be close enough to move in to finish the job as quietly as possible if any of the enemy survived the silent assault of energy weapons. There were a few gunshots in the fight. Maybe not enough to draw anyone’s attention, Lon told himself, but as soon as the nearest squad reported that all of the soldiers in the enemy patrol had been “accounted for,” Lon hurried his men on. They moved the next quarter mile as quickly as they could. Only when they reached the next park did Lon give his men a few minutes to rest.
The trees and flowers that Lon saw in this park—about five acres in extent—all appeared to be terran species, an arboretum to remind the Calypsans of the homeworld from which their ancestors had come. Lon was not familiar with all of the varieties, but there were nameplates identifying each. Many were tropical. But he saw magnolias and dogwoods, both of which he had seen in abundance in the southeastern portion of what had once been the United States, now one of the three major divisions of the North American Union, where he had grown up.
In the arboretum, Lon called his platoon sergeants together, using hand signals. With their visors raised, Lon said, “So far, so good. There’s an even chance that we’ll be able to get through this next stretch without difficulty. The fighting on this side is all farther north.” He paused. “At least it was the last word I had.” Observing electronic silence meant not using his mapboard to look for enemy positions.
“It’s what, a mile and a half to the coast?” Jorgen asked.
Lon nodded. “About that. I hope we don’t have to go that far. There won’t be any cover at all close to the ocean. A wide beach, long, gentle slope. Remember, this city was designed so that the government big shots would have a clear view of the sea from their offices.”
“From a mile or more away,” Ivar Dendrow commented. ‘‘Even at night it would be hard to cross that beach without being seen, if there’s anyone looking.”
“We know anything about what it’s like in the water?” Jorgen asked. “Currents, tides, predators, all that stuff?”
“People swim in it. That’s all I know,” Lon admitted. “Not something that was covered in the briefing. I don’t know if we could wade out and head north without abandoning most of our gear. Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“I’ve got a suggestion,” Dendrow said, and he waited for the lieutenant to nod before he continued. “Since we probably won’t be able to go through the enemy lines until after dark—wherever we do it—this seems to be as good a spot to wait as any we’re likely to find. We can make ourselves safer in this tree museum than in a building that the enemy could drop on us with a couple of RPGs, and we’ve got good fire zones and lines of visibility.”
“Weil, what do you think?” Lon asked.
“It makes sense, if we can risk being this far from the water for another six or seven hours. This city is full of parks. Chances are we’ll come across another one between here and there. But either way would work, I think.”
“The only argument against I can think of is that patrol we took out,” Ivar said. “If someone comes looking, we’re still not all that far away.”
Lon nodded slowly. “Or maybe they wouldn’t think of looking so close,” he said. “Let me think on this. We’ll take thirty minutes anyway, as long as things stay quiet. I’ll let you know then whether we’re going to stay or move on.” He shrugged. “Thirty minutes, everything might change anyway.”
The three men separated. Dendrow and Jorgen passed the word to their squad leaders that they would—probably—be staying put for at least thirty minutes. Lon took five of those minutes to make a quick tour of the impromptu perimeter his platoons had established. If we stay here, we’ll have to plant snoops out where they’ll give us some warning, he thought. The electronic bugs would catch any sound around them, and miniature cameras would switch on to relay what they saw. Too bad we don’t have any mines to plant. They had not carried any coming in, and had not been offered any from the Calypsan munitions.
Before he completed his tour, Lon had decided that Dendrow was probably correct that they were unlikely to find anyplace better to wait. But he did not rush his decision. He got off his feet, sitting with his back against a tree trunk, determined to get at least a few minutes rest before he committed himself.
I’m too tired to make any decision quickly I don’t have to. The longer I can mull it over, the better. He yawned. He did not quite doze off. His mind would not let go completely of his responsibilities, and the many questions that forced themselves on his attention. This is a crazy kind of fight, he thought. Nothing makes much sense. Everything’s all mixed up, here and there. It was nothing at all like the “clean” battle plans they had studied at the North American Military Academy, the fights they had looked at through the sieve of history, parsing decisions and performance, weapons and tactics—all to find the “inescapable” conclusion of why the winner had won and the loser had lost. A man could make sense of those. Not like this. The Belletieners have to know that we’re back here, doing whatever we please, but they’re ignoring us. Colonel Gaffney sends most of the regiment off into the mountains when the important action is here, and most of the enemy.
Lon’s sigh was almost inaudible, even to him. Maybe when we get home, Gaffney will explain why he made the decisions he did, Lon thought. Make it simple enough so that I can understand.
Slowly, his mind got back to the immediate choice, to move on or stay put past the half hour he had promised. There’s got to be a better way than flipping a coin. If he could just think through the situation with absolute clarity, he might find the one bit of data that would make the choice seem obvious. His eyes drifted closed a number of times. Once he realized that it was happening, he would open them quickly, as if afraid that someone might notice that he had almost fallen asleep. Each time, he tried to concentrate, but focus was hard to achieve.
I guess we can stay put a while longer, he decided after nearly all of the half hour had passed, but he realized that his decision was based more on inertia than anything else. Even then, he needed a couple of minutes longer before he started to move. He got to his feet slowly, as if he were infirm, and moved toward the center of the circle his men were in. As he moved, he gestured for the platoon sergeants to join him.
“Anyone seen anything?’’ he asked when they were face to face, squatting near the exact center of the two platoons.
“Nothing moving,” Dendrow said. Jorgen just shook his head.
“I’ve had no word from the captain or from CIC,” Lon said. “Maybe I’m too tired to think straight, but I can’t see any reason not to stay where we are a little longer. If I’m beat, the men must be too. Keep them on half-and-half watches. With a little luck, maybe we can all manage an hour or so to nap.”
He waited for the sergeants to nod. “Two hours will take us to about four o’clock, local time,” Lon said. “If nothing pops before then, we’ll start moving again, at least until we find the next good place to settle down.” Neither Jorgen nor Dendrow offered objections, or advice.
13
Once Lon saw the men return from planting snoops beyond the perimeter, he made himself as comfortable as the location and his gear permitted. He knew that he had to get at least a few minutes of undisturbed sleep—if possible. One of the platoon sergeants would always be awake. There would always be someone in command and, theoretically, alert.
Relaxing his body was no problem. Clearing his mind was more difficult. It was some minutes before he started to drift off, more before his mind finally let go….
“Nolan! Don’t answer. Just listen.” Lon came awake instantly at the sound of his name over the radio, though he needed a few seconds to realize that it was Captain Orlis on the link. “Colonel Gaffney has finished with the Belletieners in the mining region. The rest of the regiment will be coming to Oceanview and The Cliffs tonight, leaving their present locations shortly after sunset there. About twenty-two-thirty or twenty-three hundred hours here. Arrival about twenty-five minutes after they leave their present location. If you can find a good spot, dig in and wait. Try to avoid detection. Belletiene is still moving troops north from The Cliffs.” There was a short pause before Orlis said, “Click twice if you’ve heard this.” Lon clicked his transmitter twice.
“If I can, I’ll give you updates at five minutes past the even hours, more often if necessary. Off.”
Lon got up and went to pass the news to his platoon sergeants. “Have the men dig in. We’re going to be here for a while, so let’s make it homey. Then make sure everyone eats. After that, we’ll go back to half-and-half watches—if the enemy leaves us alone.”
It did not take long for the news to spread. Lon went back to his position and started excavating his own slit trench. He dug as close to the tree he had been sitting against before as possible. The ground was easy to work, mostly sand and humus. He needed less than half an hour to get down eight inches, working steadily, sweating freely from his labor.
He took his own advice and ate a full meal pack then, sitting in his new excavation, looking around at as much of his command as he could see. The new gashes in the terrain might seem obvious to anyone who happened to look, but they would not have to count on the trenches for long.
If trouble comes, they’ll do a lot more good, he assured himself, no matter how obvious they are. Even a few inches of protection could make the difference in a firefight.
Lon had just finished eating when his platoon sergeants came toward him. “Everyone’s set, Lieutenant,” Dendrow said when he slid to the ground at one side of Lon and lifted his faceplate. Jorgen took up a similar position on the other side and nodded his confirmation of what Dendrow had said.
“You two set things up so that one of you is always up,” Lon said. “I’m going to try to get a little rest, but I’ve got to be awake to get the updates from Captain Orlis. Make sure I am, on the even hours. Give me a few minutes to shake the cobwebs out.”
“We’ll see to it, Lieutenant,” Jorgen said.
“I hope they leave us alone, at least until dark,” Lon said. “Give us a chance to get back in touch with the rest of our people first. That would be even better.”
“When the rest of the regiment gets here, we should be able to finish this off in fair order,” Dendrow said. “Between us and the locals, we’ll have Belletiene outnumbered and up against it.”
“Better them than us,” Jorgen contributed.
“Just remember, that won’t mean that we head straight for home,” Lon said. “This contract could still last the full six months for us. The men start trying to talk themselves into thinking we’ve just got to beat this batch and collect our bonuses, stop them quick. Don’t let them build up false hopes. They could crash all too quickly. Even after we quash this invasion force, there’s nothing says that Belletiene can’t send more men in tomorrow or the next day. They don’t have to take two weeks to get here through Q-space.”
Just make like we’re not here, Lon thought after the sergeants had gone back to their positions, projecting his wishes as if the Belletieners might actually be influenced by them. Forget all about us until the rest of the regiment gets here and keeps you too busy to remember. It had not been necessary for Lon to reinforce the order for electronic silence, or to say anything about avoiding unnecessary movement. The sergeants and squad leaders would handle those details, should there be any need. But everyone seemed content to lie in their trenches and take their turns at watching and sleeping—or trying to sleep.
