Starfist - Flashfire. Part 18

The Dragon had backed into defilade behind a coral outcropping. The top of the outcropping was jagged, vaguely resembling the crenellations of a medieval castle wall. First squad scrambled up the rocky face and found positions where they could look over it without exposing any more of themselves than they had to. A hundred meters to their right, second squad was doing the same in a field of broken boulders. The gun teams stayed behind; their a.s.sault guns wouldn't be much good against tanks. If the tanks had infantry support, though, the guns would move into position to take them on.

Pasquin swore when he looked between two small peaks on the top of the coral outcropping. Unless Ensign Ba.s.s had managed to come up with more Straight Arrows, third platoon had fewer than sixty of the tank killers. It looked like there were more tanks than that chugging through the gap they'd blown in the defensive works two hundred meters away. He slid the magnifier screen into place and swore again-what looked like an entire battalion of infantry was moving among the tanks and leading them.

"Choose your targets and start picking them off," Ratliff's voice said in his earpieces.

Pasquin sighted in on a tank moving across his front at a slight angle. "Watch my hit," he said on the fire team circuit. "Longfellow, take out the one to my left, Shoup, get the one to my right." Satisfied with his sight picture, he fired. The Straight Arrow roared and an instant later fire enveloped one of the tanks. It shuddered to a stop, hatches flew open, and burning crewmen struggled out. One man rolled on the ground to put out the flames that enveloped him, another ran like a human torch until he dropped, the third didn't move after he hit the ground.

Longfellow and Shoup fired simultaneously. Pasquin swore for the third time since looking over the coral outcropping; Longfellow's aim was low and his Straight Arrow erupted in the treads of the vehicle he'd fired at. At least the tank couldn't maneuver. It was a sitting duck for anyone who wanted to fire at it. Shoup yelled in frustration, his rocket lodged between the barrel and forward armor of his tank and fell off unexploded when the tank swiveled its turret toward them.

"Down!" Pasquin shouted, and slid back several meters. The tank's first shot struck the forward slope of the outcropping between his position and Shoup's. It exploded, throwing rock shards all over, some impacted behind the ridge and Pasquin felt them pepper the backs of his legs and glance off his helmet. He didn't have time to think about whether any of the shards tore through his chameleons and into his flesh, because more cannon rounds exploded against the forward face and rained more shards and chips onto the Marines.

"Get your fire going!" Ratliff shouted into the squad circuit. "Hit enough of them and they'll break off. They aren't suicidal."

I hope not, Pasquin thought. Pasquin thought. If they are, we can't kill all of them, and the ones we don't will do for us. If they are, we can't kill all of them, and the ones we don't will do for us. Out loud, he said, "Let's get back up there and kill some bad guys." He scrambled to a position a few meters to the left of where he'd originally fired from. On the way, he reminded Longfellow and Shoup to shift their positions as well; it sounded like the tanks were concentrating their fire on the spots from which they'd already fired. Next round, all three of them got kills. Out loud, he said, "Let's get back up there and kill some bad guys." He scrambled to a position a few meters to the left of where he'd originally fired from. On the way, he reminded Longfellow and Shoup to shift their positions as well; it sounded like the tanks were concentrating their fire on the spots from which they'd already fired. Next round, all three of them got kills.

Corporal Kerr did his best not to think about the boulder field second squad was in. The boulders were good protection against the infantry weapons they were facing, but a tank barrage could shatter the boulders and send sharp rocky shrapnel flying thick enough to wipe out the entire squad. He had positioned Corporal Doyle and PFC Summers before finding a spot for himself behind a large, slab-sided stone. Or he'd positioned Summers. Corporal Doyle had picked a spot that Kerr wished he had himself: closely hemmed in on all sides, it provided cover from most hits that weren't directly on him, while giving him two good directions in which to fire and three easy routes out if he had to leave in a hurry, and he had s.p.a.ce for the backblast to diffuse without bouncing back on him.

Kerr looked around the side of his boulder. A tank had advanced to within a hundred and fifty meters of second squad. A boulder to Kerr's front partly obstructed his view of the tank, but he had a clear view of its turret. He aimed his first Straight Arrow to barely skim the top of the obstructing boulder and fired. The rocket cleared the boulder by centimeters before dropping out of his view. Then it hit, stopping the tank and rocking it backward. After a few seconds, secondary explosions threw the turret into the air, where it crashed upside down onto the tank.

To the left of his kill, where Kerr couldn't see, there was another explosion, from Corporal Doyle's shot; Kerr's kill clanged when fragments of jagged armor pelted it.

"I hit the gun!" Summers shouted excitedly a second after another explosion to the right of Kerr's kill.

Kerr risked rising up to take a look. Twenty meters from his dead tank, another lumbered backward with its cannon jutting out of the turret at an odd angle-that one needed its barrel, and maybe its entire turret, replaced before it could return to duty.

A flash of light made Kerr drop back down-the infantry supporting the tanks was beginning to fire at the Marines. Where are our guns? Where are our guns? Kerr wondered. Kerr wondered.

Sergeant Kelly positioned his guns, first gun team in the middle of first squad on the coral outcropping, second gun team on the right flank of first squad in the boulder field. He didn't like the position of either gun, but there was no place he could position them where they wouldn't be too exposed to return fire from both the infantry and the tanks. But he had confidence in Corporals Barber and Taylor; they'd keep their guns from getting killed too easily.

Corporal Taylor didn't like second gun team's position any better than Kelly did. There was no way he could bring his gun to bear on the rebel infantry without rising above the boulders. Not for the first time in his career as a gunner, he wished for a gun capable of indirect fire. But plasma guns were strictly line-of-sight. The boulders were aggregate, mixes of coral and sandstone. If he'd had the time, he could have used the gun to slag boulders and provide firing lines that didn't force his gun to rise above all cover, but the enemy was too close, and he didn't have the time.

He peeked around the side of a boulder and saw a squad of infantrymen crowded close to a tank! He grabbed one of his team's Straight Arrows, took quick aim, and fired. His years of spotting for his gun, and being gunner before that, paid off-his aim was true.

The Straight Arrow slammed into the front of a tread, shattering it and the wheels behind it, throwing out killing shrapnel. The tank made a half turn in the direction of the broken tread before the driver stopped it, but not before it ran over two soldiers knocked down by the shrapnel, and banged hard into three more who were still on their feet. Immobile, that tank was easy picking, and its crowded, supporting squad was almost wiped out.

"Kindrachuk," Taylor said to his gunner, "here, you've got a shot now." He looked to his left front and described an arc of fire to his gunner.

Lance Corporal Kindrachuk followed Taylor's instructions and opened up on the infantry supporting a tank platoon that was approaching the gap between the platoon's two blaster squads. He fired controlled bursts into the infantrymen, sending them to ground.

Taylor grabbed another Straight Arrow and killed a second tank before he had Kindrachuk drop back into cover. In little more than a minute of fighting, second gun team had accounted for two tanks and more than a platoon of infantry.

Corporal Barber and his first gun team had a less exposed position than second gun team. At least, the gun was able to send enfilading fire into the infantry to its left without being directly exposed to fire from its front. Barber positioned himself a few meters to the right of the gun where he could direct its fire while keeping a lookout to the front and left for good targets as well as danger from those directions. He saw a tank swivel its gun to fire on the gun's position and hefted a Straight Arrow to his shoulder, simultaneously ordering Lance Corporal Tischler and PFC Yi, the a.s.sistant gunner, to take cover. Barber aimed more deliberately than Taylor had, and scored a killing hit on the tank's side before the beast could get off a second shot at the gun team's position. Secondary explosions from the tank's ammunition shattered the armored vehicle.

"Get back up there!" Barber ordered after a quick scan failed to show any other tanks taking aim on their position. First gun team resumed fire.

"s.h.i.t-s.h.i.t-s.h.i.t!" Corporal Claypoole repeated as if the word were a mantra. He'd never wanted Schultz in his fire team to begin with-he was afraid of the man. But now that the Hammer wasn't there, he wished he was. Claypoole was a good Marine, he knew that, and he knew that Lance Corporal MacIlargie was a good Marine, too. At least they were as fighters, even if both of them lacked something as garrison Marines. But both of them combined weren't as good at fighting as Schultz was all by himself. s.h.i.t-s.h.i.t-s.h.i.t! but Claypoole felt vulnerable without the steadying presence of Schultz.

Claypoole fired off Straight Arrows, shifting his position from boulder to boulder with each shot, while MacIlargie used his blaster to protect his fire team leader from the infantry advancing with the tanks.

But one lousy platoon of Marines against an entire tank battalion supported by an entire infantry battalion? Was somebody crazy somewhere? Where was the rest of the company? Maybe if the entire company was defending they'd have a chance of slowing the attackers long enough for enough blasters and tank killers to arrive to drive them off. But one lousy platoon?

Claypoole didn't know that the rest of the company was there, facing an entire armored regiment supported by an infantry regiment.

Claypoole thought the situation was like that time on Kingdom, when he and Wolfman were sent out to patrol with a platoon of Kingdomite soldiers. Then he wanted to know why he and MacIlargie were being sent on a suicide mission. Well, they survived that patrol, but only because they didn't run into as many Skinks as he'd been afraid they would. But here, he didn't have to imagine how many enemy third platoon was up against-he could see them.

A whole f.u.c.king armor battalion and a whole G.o.dd.a.m.n infantry battalion.

And third platoon wasn't even whole, they were short four men, casualties from the previous day's fighting.

Right, the previous day's fighting. The company had air cover yesterday. Yesterday it was the whole company up against infantry without a tank to be seen. Today they've got tanks, so where the h.e.l.l is air?

Claypoole fired another Straight Arrow and scooted to a new position without sticking around to see if he'd hit his target.

He reached over his shoulder for another Straight Arrow. He groped over his shoulder for another. He twisted around and looked looked over his shoulder. over his shoulder. He didn't have another Straight Arrow! He didn't have another Straight Arrow! Manically, he looked around, he must have dropped a few of them somewhere. He asked MacIlargie for his. Manically, he looked around, he must have dropped a few of them somewhere. He asked MacIlargie for his.

MacIlargie looked at him oddly. "You already fired mine," he said, then turned back and shot another rebel rifleman.

Claypoole scrambled back the way he'd come, searching for dropped tank killers. He couldn't find any. Had he fired all of them?

He risked a quick pop up to look over the boulder he was behind. The quick pop up lasted longer than he'd meant it to: Spread out in front of second squad's boulder field was more than a company's worth of smoldering tanks. He had to have killed some of those tanks himself. But six six of them? Tanks were still advancing and firing at them, but nowhere near as many as when the fight started. And the infantry wasn't just marching along in support of the tanks, the soldiers were advancing by fire and maneuver- and a lot of them were just lying there, neither firing nor maneuvering. of them? Tanks were still advancing and firing at them, but nowhere near as many as when the fight started. And the infantry wasn't just marching along in support of the tanks, the soldiers were advancing by fire and maneuver- and a lot of them were just lying there, neither firing nor maneuvering.

Three lines of brilliant light flickered past Claypoole's peripheral vision almost too fast to register, and he suddenly remembered he was exposing himself to enemy fire. He ducked back into cover and shifted position, closer to MacIlargie.

"Wolfman, how are you holding out?" he called.

"I'm okay, oh great-killer-of-tanks," MacIlargie called back. "Too bad you don't have any more of those rockets."

Great-killer-of-tanks? Had Claypoole really fired six Straight Arrows and gotten six kills? He unslung his blaster and looked around the side of his boulder. An infantryman jumped up to advance another few meters and Claypoole snapped off a shot. The infantryman went back down and didn't move. Had Claypoole really fired six Straight Arrows and gotten six kills? He unslung his blaster and looked around the side of his boulder. An infantryman jumped up to advance another few meters and Claypoole snapped off a shot. The infantryman went back down and didn't move.

"s.h.i.t, is Hammer back with us?" MacIlargie asked. "That was a Schultz shot!"

A Schultz shot? Claypoole looked for another target and another infantryman fell to his shot. Claypoole looked for another target and another infantryman fell to his shot.

But there were still too d.a.m.n many tanks.

Corporal Dean didn't take all of his fire team's Straight Arrows for himself, he kept his own three and left G.o.denov with his three. The two fired their blasters, or set them aside in favor of the tank killers when they had a good shot. Between them they killed five tanks and damaged another. Dean had no idea how many soldiers they'd accounted for. But there were so many many of the rebels coming at them. It was impossible for one platoon to hold out for very long against the combined force they were facing. Even if they'd had enough Straight Arrows to kill the entire tank battalion, the enemy had too short a distance to cover when the battle began for the Marines to win the fight. of the rebels coming at them. It was impossible for one platoon to hold out for very long against the combined force they were facing. Even if they'd had enough Straight Arrows to kill the entire tank battalion, the enemy had too short a distance to cover when the battle began for the Marines to win the fight.

Well, Dean, for one, was going to sell his life dearly. He ignored the cries of "Corpsman Up" and snapped off another bolt; yet another rebel would never rise again.

An unexpected aerial screaming made him duck into a fetal ball before he realized what it was. He looked up and couldn't hold back a scream of glee.

Sunlight glinted off four dots high above and growing fast as they dropped-Raptors! Marine air finally showed up! The Raptors began firing plasma cannons while they were still high. The ground in front of third platoon gouted and erupted with the plasma strikes. Infantrymen where the bolts. .h.i.t were incinerated, out a few meters from the strikes, their uniforms ignited into torches. Tanks that were hit erupted ma.s.sively. Tanks a few meters behind a strike rolled into the steaming craters blasted out by the bolt, and not all of them climbed back out.

By the time the Raptors reached the bottom of their dives and bounced back, the infantry was in full rout, and the surviving tanks were turning to run as well. The Marines of third platoon stood up and fired their remaining Straight Arrows, then used their blasters on the running soldiers until Ensign Ba.s.s ordered them to cease fire. They'd won.

But how high was the butcher's bill?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR.

The corpsmen patched up the casualties and loaded them all onto one Dragon, which sped them back into the tunnel system, where the wounded were transferred to a logistics truck, which trundled them off to the battalion aid station.

"d.a.m.n, I hope I'm not making a habit of this," Corporal Pasquin grumbled. He was on a gurney at the battalion aid station while HM1 Horner tweezed bits of shrapnel out of the back of his body from shoulder to calf.

"What habit is that?" Horner asked, twisting a fifteen-millimeter fragment that resisted simple plucking.

Pasquin gasped, then gritted his teeth and said, "Getting wounded. This is the second consecutive deployment I've been wounded on."

The shard clinked when Horner dropped it into the pan he was collecting the fragments in. "Stop your complaining, Marine," he said as he daubed at the blood oozing from the wound and applied a touch of synthskin to the cut, "or I'll write you up for a wound stripe for every one of these b.o.o.boos."

"Please don't do that, Doc! I've got enough dumb-stripes on my sleeve now." The movement of the tweezers changed as Horner shrugged, sending a spasm through Pasquin's back.

"Then how about if I write you up only for the ones in your a.s.s?"

"You wouldn't!"

"Why not? You're not the first Marine who got shot in the a.s.s . . ." he paused while he did a quick count of the wounds in Pasquin's posterior, ". . . twenty times." He paused again, then amended, "Or maybe you are. I think the current record for a.s.s-wound-stripes is seventeen, held by some staff sergeant in 11th FIST who p.i.s.sed off the corpsman who was cleaning shrapnel out of his a.s.s."

"Doc, don't do that to me. I promise, I'll be a model patient. What do you want me to do?"

"Just lie quietly and let me do my job. And if we ever find ourselves in the same card game, let me win a hand or two."

"You got it, Doc."

Corporal Pasquin wasn't the only casualty in third platoon. Fortunately, none of the Marines were killed. The most serious injury was to first squad's Lance Corporal Zumwald, who had taken a laser beam through the shoulder. The planetside navy medical unit didn't have the facilities to regenerate the muscle and bone that were vaporized by the laser, and he had to be evacuated to the Lance Corporal Keith Lopez Lance Corporal Keith Lopez in orbit. Other wounds were lesser, and those Marines could be returned to duty immediately if necessary, in two or three days if there was time for them to recuperate. in orbit. Other wounds were lesser, and those Marines could be returned to duty immediately if necessary, in two or three days if there was time for them to recuperate.

Unfortunately, the Coalition forces didn't give the wounded the convalescence time. They launched another attack.

Ensign Charlie Ba.s.s listened to the message from Captain Conorado, then spoke into his all-hands circuit, "Third platoon, saddle up! a.s.semble on your squad leaders. Now! Now!" He turned to Staff Sergeant Hyakowa. "Go to the BAS and bring back any of our people who are fit for duty. Bad guys are in the tunnels, and we have to go and kick them out."

"Aye, aye," Hyakowa said, and took off at a run for the battalion aid station, only a couple of hundred meters away in an adjoining tunnel.

"When you've got your people," Ba.s.s said into the squad leaders' circuit, "bring them to my location." He busied himself with the schematic of the tunnels, figuring out where to most effectively intercept the rebels and drive them back out.

Only a few of the Marines of third platoon had their helmets on when Ba.s.s's all-hands went out, but everyone's helmet was close by, and they all heard the message. They grabbed their gear and weapons and scrambled.

"What's up, Sergeant Ratliff?" Corporal Dean asked when he and G.o.denov reached their squad leader.

Ratliff didn't look at Dean. "Something. The boss didn't confide in me." He was annoyed that he had to prepare his squad for immediate action and didn't know for what. "Shut up," he said to Corporal Dornhofer when his first fire team leader arrived seconds later.

Dornhofer looked at him, startled; he hadn't said anything. He looked at Dean, who shrugged and shook his head.

Ratliff looked his squad over and wasn't happy with what he saw. Four of his Marines, including one fire team leader, were in sickbay, at the BAS, or back aboard ship. "Dorny," he said to his first fire team leader, "you take Longfellow for now. Dean, you and Izzy stick with me. Let's go." He led the way at a trot to the platoon command post. The two blaster squads and the gun squad arrived within seconds of each other and formed up in front of Ba.s.s, who showed no expression when he saw how small his platoon had become in just two actions.

"Stand by," Ba.s.s said before anybody could ask any questions. He looked in the direction of the BAS and saw a utility vehicle coming at speed.

The utility vehicle screeched to a stop meters away and Staff Sergeant Hyakowa jumped off, followed by eight other Marines.

Ba.s.s shot them a glare and snapped, "Pasquin, Schultz, what are you doing here? The medical officer told me you wouldn't be fit for duty for several days."

Pasquin gave him a crooked grin and said, "I can't let my people go into a fight without papa there to make sure they don't get into trouble."

Schultz merely grunted; he wasn't going to let Corporal Claypoole and Lance Corporal MacIlargie get into a situation where they needed help and not be there to give it to them.

"You two are too badly injured to be here," Ba.s.s said harshly. Then his voice eased. "But I'm glad to see you. Take it easy, and don't aggravate your injuries."

"No sweat, boss," Pasquin said as he took his place with first squad.

Ratliff looked relieved at getting back two of his injured men. Lance Corporal Zumwald and PFC Quick, both aboard the Keith Lopez Keith Lopez for regeneration of bone tissue, were the only Marines of third platoon not present. Ratliff told Longfellow to rejoin his own fire team. for regeneration of bone tissue, were the only Marines of third platoon not present. Ratliff told Longfellow to rejoin his own fire team.

When his Marines were a.s.sembled, Ba.s.s told them, "Bad guys have gotten into the tunnels. We're going to let them know their presence isn't appreciated." He looked to his left, where he heard the growing noise of a motor, and saw vehicles approaching to pick them up. "I don't have any details yet, not even how many bad guys there are. I'll fill you in when I know more. Now mount up and let's move out."

Third platoon climbed aboard the three utility trucks that had just reached them. The trucks drove them into the unknown.

Ensign Ba.s.s listened intently to the information coming over his helmet radio. While Company L had been fighting off the tanks, and both of the battalion's other companies were dealing with armor attacks elsewhere around the perimeter, a brigade-size infantry unit had infiltrated through an area the Marines weren't dealing with and overcome the army "cooks and bakers," rear echelon soldiers, manning that sector of the outer tunnels. More than half the soldiers were dead, wounded, or captured in the fierce fighting, but they'd sold their positions dearly; little less than a battalion of rebel soldiers had made its way into the tunnel complex, and a somewhat smaller number were holding position where the perimeter was breached-presumably to allow follow-on forces to enter the tunnels. More cooks and bakers were fighting a desperate holding action-and losing ground.

The sounds of battle echoed distantly, gradually intruding through the whine of the wheels bearing third platoon to the fight. The sounds got louder as Ba.s.s downloaded the latest overlays of where the fighting was, and louder still while he fixed the overlays on his schematic of the tunnels and added routes and symbols to the overlays.

When they were still several hundred meters and a few turns from the fighting, Ba.s.s stopped his small convoy and called, "Squad leaders up." He raised an arm and let his sleeve slide down it so his squad leaders could pick him out among the other heat signatures their infras would pick up.

"Receive," Ba.s.s said as soon as the three squad leaders, their faces exposed inside their helmets for him to see, arrived, and transmitted the overlays to them. The squad leaders brought up the schematics on their heads-up-displays and examined the overlays with the symbols and routes.

"That's as of five minutes ago," Ba.s.s said, transmitting a you-are-here to them. "As you can hear, the intelligence is out of date already." The you-are-here put them a couple of hundred meters closer to the sounds of battle than the overlay showed.

Sergeant Ratliff whistled softly.

Sergeant Linsman said, "They're moving fast."

"No s.h.i.t, Sherlock," Sergeant Kelly muttered.