Starfist - Flashfire. Part 22

Schultz barely grunted in reply, and didn't bother looking at his fire team leader; instead he kept watching out the aperture of the strongpoint overlooking Pohick Bay.

"Yeah, Hammer, you were a mess," Lance Corporal MacIlargie said, with a wary glance at Schultz. "I didn't know how you kept going." He noticed how carefully Schultz rolled his shoulders.

During the fight where third platoon stopped the Coalition pursuit of the defending soldiers, and the subsequent battle when the Marines chased the rebels back out of the tunnel, patches of synthskin on Schultz's back had torn loose and he began bleeding again. By the time the Marines reached the open air, Schultz's back was drenched with blood. Claypoole had worried that the bleeding was from exit wounds, that Schultz had been shot many times and was probably dying.

Doc Hough rushed him back to the battalion aid station before the last shot was fired. Schultz only permitted that because he knew the fight was over and the Marines would have to hold in place.

At the BAS, they began pumping plasma into him while Lieutenant Brauner, the battalion surgeon, and HM1 Horner were stanching the bleeding. After the bleeding was stopped, they applied a fresh layer of synthskin to his back and thighs, then pumped four units of whole blood into him to replace what he'd lost.

Schultz lay naked under a sheet; they'd had to cut his chameleons off to get to his injuries. When the sedative wore off and he was once more fully conscious, he threw the sheet aside and stood up, and demanded his weapons and helmet and a fresh set of chameleons.

"You get back in bed, Marine!" Lieutenant Brauner snapped. "I'm not letting you leave here again before you're healed." He flashed a signal at a corpsman sorting vials into a medical cabinet.

The big man turned a stone-hard gaze on the medical officer and growled, "Weapons. Helmet. Chameleons."

"You heard me, Marine. I said get back in bed. That's an order." Brauner had treated many injured Marines who wanted to return to their units before they were fit for duty and knew the way to deal with them was to speak firmly. Schultz just looked at him and held out a hand for his weapons. Brauner stepped close and put a hand on Schultz's chest to push him back to the bed.

It was like pushing on a flesh-warm marble sculpture.

"Not a good idea, sir," Horner said, cautiously sidling close. To Schultz, he said, "We don't have an extra set of chameleons in your size, Hammer. We'll have to requisition a set from Supply. So just lay back down on your bed and rest for a while, and we'll let you go as soon as the requisition comes in." Schultz turned his gaze on Horner, and the senior corpsman took an involuntary step back.

"Weapons. Helmet," Schultz growled. He lashed out and knocked the shotgun out of the hand of a corpsman who was sneaking up behind him to slap him with a fast-acting sedative. "Now!"

Brauner gaped at him. How had the big Marine seen the corpsman behind him and known what he was doing?

Schultz looked around and saw what he was looking for. The doctor managed to jump out of his way in time to keep from being bowled over when Schultz went to the pile of weapons and blood-soaked uniforms cut from the bodies of wounded Marines. It took just seconds for him to find his own. Still naked, but armed and with his helmet tucked under an arm, he headed for the exit from the BAS.

At the door, he paused and looked back. "Where?" he asked, then nodded when Horner pointed in the general direction of third platoon, and set out to rejoin his unit.

"If you start bleeding again, I'm not responsible!" Brauner called after Schultz when he found his voice again.

Schultz ignored him, just as he ignored the pounding footfalls hurrying behind him a moment later.

"Hammer, you can't go back like that," Horner said when he caught up with the big man. "Come on, I'll take you to Supply, and you can get a fresh set of chameleons."

Schultz stopped, and gestured for the corpsman to lead the way.

And that was how he came to be wearing new chameleons when Claypoole said he thought Schultz was dying on him and MacIlargie noticed how carefully the big man rolled his shoulders.

Of course, Schultz was careful when he rolled his shoulders, just as he was careful of how he stood, and sat, or made other movements. He may not have been willing to stay on bed rest in the BAS, but he wasn't willingly going to do anything that would tear his wounds open again.

Brigadier Sturgeon briefed his primary staff and major unit commanders on the important items in Lieutenant General Billie's meeting: when reinforcements would begin arriving; and the Supreme Commander's total disregard for the Force Recon reports. So, he said, 34th FIST had to come up with its own plans to defend against an a.s.sault by overwhelming forces.

Commander Daana, the FIST F2, intelligence officer, accented the need for defensive plans when he summarized the latest reports from the FIST's own reconnaissance squad-"someone" had been clearing lanes through the pa.s.sive defenses along the waterline; disarming mines and prepping underwater obstacles for demolition.

While the others got to work setting their defenses, Sturgeon took Captain Shadeh, the FIST F1, personnel officer, aside to put him to work rea.s.signing Marines from Whiskey Company to the infantry battalion. Sturgeon then notified Commander van Winkle to expect the new Marines and to have his S1 ready to distribute them to the companies.

It was a solemn third platoon that gathered for a platoon meeting following the memorial ceremony. The platoon hadn't lost any men killed or too badly wounded to return to duty since early on the Kingdom campaign, before the Marines learned how to defend against Skink rail guns. That was also the last time they had lost a squad or fire team leader. Sergeant Bladon, who was then the second squad leader, had lost an arm then, and enough time had pa.s.sed between the injury and when he began undergoing the regeneration process that his arm might not grow back. Even if it did, he would have to go through extensive rehabilitative therapy before he could be returned to duty. Either way, he wasn't there to resume leadership of second squad. First squad's Corporal Goudanis had also been too severely wounded to return to duty, and might never be well enough.

On that occasion, then-Corporal Linsman and then-Lance Corporals Claypoole and Dean were promoted to fill Bladon and Goudanis's positions and the vacancy created by Linsman's promotion. Now Sergeant Linsman was dead, and so was the gun squad's Corporal Barber.

Ensign Charlie Ba.s.s didn't look at the three new men who stood together at the rear of the platoon, the only Marines present who were fully visible-the rest of them were in chameleons, with only their heads and hands visible. Staff Sergeant Hyakowa kept close but un.o.btrusive watch on the new men- he wanted to see how they reacted to the platoon's response to the loss of men and promotions from within.

"No Marine is expendable," Ba.s.s told his platoon, "we all know that. But it's also true that no Marine is irreplaceable. Today we have to replace two good Marines. I'm not going to go into how good Sergeant Linsman and Corporal Barber were, I already said that at the memorial service." His voice broke and he had to pause for a moment; both of them had been with him as long as he'd been with the platoon. They were the twelfth and thirteenth Marines who had been with third platoon when he joined it as platoon sergeant who had died or been wounded too badly to return.

He found his voice again and continued. "I've discussed matters with the Skipper, the Top, the Gunny, and Staff Sergeant Hyakowa, as well as Sergeants Ratliff and Kelly. First, we're all in agreement that it's past time that Corporal Kerr became squad leader and got a promotion to Sergeant. Congratulations, Tim."

He paused for a moment to give the members of second squad a chance to add their congratulations, then said, "As you were, people! And remember, n.o.body who isn't already a sergeant gets to pin the new stripes on Kerr, and then not until after after he is formally promoted." He paused again as a wave of good-natured laughter ran through the platoon. The laughter raised his spirits; the platoon's morale was already rising. he is formally promoted." He paused again as a wave of good-natured laughter ran through the platoon. The laughter raised his spirits; the platoon's morale was already rising.

"Lance Corporal Kindrachuk has been known to get particularly rowdy and barbaric on liberty, but he's a solid gunner who knows his business. He's taking over first gun team." Again, there was a round of congratulations, before Ba.s.s quieted the platoon.

"Now we've got a fire team leader slot to fill," he said, and looked innocently at all the expectant lance corporals in the platoon. "This personnel change shouldn't come as a surprise to anybody. Corporal Doyle is taking over as fire team leader."

The announcement was met with dead silence, except for a strangled gasp from Corporal Doyle. The three replacements exchanged nervous glances; they didn't know what the problem was, but they all realized something something was wrong. was wrong.

"Come on, people," Ba.s.s snapped. "What's your problem? Doyle's already got got the rank. He's proven himself more willing than most to speak his mind when he knows he's right." That drew loud laughter. "And he's demonstrated that he knows enough, even teaching men junior to him things they need to know. Corporal Doyle has a lot of fear when we go into action, fear that would paralyze anyone not a Marine-and would paralyze a lot of Marines. But he's able to overcome it and function through his fear. And he's got leadership experience from when he was the company chief clerk. the rank. He's proven himself more willing than most to speak his mind when he knows he's right." That drew loud laughter. "And he's demonstrated that he knows enough, even teaching men junior to him things they need to know. Corporal Doyle has a lot of fear when we go into action, fear that would paralyze anyone not a Marine-and would paralyze a lot of Marines. But he's able to overcome it and function through his fear. And he's got leadership experience from when he was the company chief clerk.

"Maybe you you haven't been paying attention, but I've been watching Doyle ever since he was on that patrol with me on Elneal. I've seen him grow since then, and even more since he joined the platoon. Everybody involved in making the decision to move him into that slot agrees that Corporal Doyle deserves to be a fire team leader." haven't been paying attention, but I've been watching Doyle ever since he was on that patrol with me on Elneal. I've seen him grow since then, and even more since he joined the platoon. Everybody involved in making the decision to move him into that slot agrees that Corporal Doyle deserves to be a fire team leader."

Well, not everybody everybody. First Sergeant Myer had roared with outrage when Ba.s.s nominated Doyle for the slot and Hyakowa seconded the nomination. The Top still wanted Doyle court-martialed for insubordination for forcing his hand during the Avionia deployment. It didn't matter to Myer that the operation wouldn't have succeeded in its final, successful, step had Doyle not gotten his way; he'd been insubordinate!

When Top Myer wouldn't calm down, Captain Conorado had ordered everybody out of the company command bunker and closed the blastdoor behind them. The company clerks went with the others. Closed blastdoor or not, the Marines waiting outside the bunker could hear the fireworks that went on for some time between the company commander and his top dog.

Then there was a couple minutes of silence, during which the Marines waiting outside fought cases of the fidgets, and began wondering how much blood they'd see spattered on the bunker walls when the blastdoor finally reopened.

None, as it turned out. Top Myer sat at his field desk, not quite glaring, not quite expressionless. Captain Conorado sat serene with a hip perched on a corner of his field desk.

"Palmer," Myer growled at the company's chief clerk when Conorado looked at him, "adjust the company roster to show Kerr, Kindrachuk, and Doyle in their new positions." He turned to Staff Sergeant Hyakowa and growled, "Let me know where you plug the new men in, and any other changes you make in the platoon roster." He turned to his console and made busy.

Ba.s.s and Hyakowa left the company office bunker and returned to the platoon for the memorial service.

"So," Ba.s.s said, looking at the new men for the first time, "I'm Ensign Charlie Ba.s.s, and this is my platoon. Who the h.e.l.l are you?" The three were PFCs John Three McGinty, Emilio Delagarza, and Lary Smedley. Thirty-fourth FIST was the first a.s.signment for each of them, and third platoon was their first operational unit. Delagarza had gun training and became the a.s.sistant gunner in second gun team.

"I don't know about you other two, though," Ba.s.s said. "We really only have one open slot. PFC Quick has a shattered arm, but we expect him to come back shortly, which means one of you will be an extra man when he does.

"Corporal Doyle!" Doyle jerked and jumped to his feet. "Y-yessir!" "You're good with new men. Which one do you want?" "S-sir?" Doyle squeaked. "You heard me, Doyle. Which of these new men do you want in your fire team? Speak up quickly, now. Don't make me think I was wrong about you."

"Ah, yessir. I-I'll take-" he looked at the new men and couldn't see any difference between them on which to base a choice. He flipped a mental coin. "-I-I'll take Smedley, sir." "Good choice, Doyle. If he's half the Marine another Smedley was, he'll make you a better fire team leader." "Sir," Smedley blurted, "Smedley was General Butler's first name, sir. Smedley's my last last name." Ba.s.s turned his gaze on Smedley and said slowly, "I'm fully aware of that, PFC. But it's a famous name." Ba.s.s turned his gaze on Smedley and said slowly, "I'm fully aware of that, PFC. But it's a famous name, and you had best get used to it."

Smedley gulped and tried to turn invisible, which was tough to do in garrison utilities. "Aye aye, sir," he said. Ba.s.s studied him for a brief moment, nodded curtly, and said, "That means Corporal Dean gets McGinty. Be gentle on him, Dean, he's just a loaner." Everybody laughed except Dean, who scowled, and McGinty, who wasn't sure it was a joke.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

General Jason Billie sat comfortably in a private room just off his command bunker entertaining his chief of staff, Major General Sorca. "I want to have a little private talk with you, Balca, before we meet with the rest of the staff and the commanders to hash out our battle plan."

Brigadier General Balca Sorca nodded. "I saw some of them already out there in the operations center when I came in here. Cazombi and Sturgeon are there, gabbing in a corner like a couple of old women. They should be ready in a few minutes."

Billie snorted derisively. "Let them wait, Balca. They serve at my pleasure now. I'll go out and call the council to order when I'm d.a.m.ned good and ready." His face reddened as he remembered the run-in he'd had with Brigadier Sturgeon. Marines attack, they don't defend-what bulls.h.i.t! That d.a.m.ned infantry jock was incapable of seeing the Big Picture! He reached into a drawer and withdrew a cigar humidor. "These Clintons are excellent smokes and, if you'll join me, let's light up." Billie offered Sorca his travel humidor. Nodding his appreciation, Sorca took one of the cigars, clipped the end, and licked it lovingly. Billie offered him a light and then lit his own cigar. They sucked in the acrid smoke and exhaled.

"De-lightful!" Sorca sighed. "Haven't had a good smoke since, um, before all this mess got started." Immediately the smoke from the two cigars began to fill the small room. That deep inside the complex the ventilation was very poor and, of course, n.o.body in his right mind would dare expose himself to chance a smoke in the open. From far above them came a series of heavy thumps as if to accentuate the danger of exposure topside.

"Incoming," Balca muttered. Billie had not been there long enough to tell the difference between enemy artillery and their own. Truth be told, he had never been under enemy artillery fire before.

"These are forty-five-minute cigars, Balca. But let's go slow on them," Billie suggested, "keep the smoke down, keep the others waiting, show them their place in this army. Besides, we have a lot to discuss." He reached back into the drawer and took out a brown bottle. "Old Widow bourbon," he smiled, holding the bottle out to Sorca, who raised his eyebrows in admiration. "I brought a lot of stuff with me from orbit, Balca. No reason why the commanding general-and his chief of staff!-should live like the troops, is there?" They both laughed as Billie poured two healthy shots into clean gla.s.ses. "Here's sham rocks to my real friends and real rocks to my sham friends," Billie toasted. "You're looking a trifle thin, Balca," Billie observed over the rim of his gla.s.s.

"We've been on reduced rations for a while, Jason." The two had been on a first-name basis for years, in private, that is.

"No more! You eat at my table from now on. I brought enough cla.s.s-A rations in with me to operate my own mess down here and by G.o.d, I will not not dine like a sodden infantryman! R-H-I-P is my motto and 'privileges' is the operative word, Balca. Don't forget that in your rise to the stars, which I am going to see is rapid. This campaign is the making of both of us." dine like a sodden infantryman! R-H-I-P is my motto and 'privileges' is the operative word, Balca. Don't forget that in your rise to the stars, which I am going to see is rapid. This campaign is the making of both of us."

The two smoked and sipped in silence. "As my chief of staff, Balca, you will oversee the day-to-day running of this entire army and that means the Marine contingent. Cazombi as my deputy commander will not interfere. I'll keep him off your back. My plans for him are to store him away so he will no longer be in the way."

"And if anything were to happen to you, Jason?"

Billie laughed. "Nothing's going to happen to me! I'm the commanding general! Generals don't lead troops anymore, despite what that idiot Cazombi and that madman Sturgeon think! Generals stay safe and run the army and that's what we'll do, you and me."

"Cazombi's responsible for this mess," Sorca said. "If he hadn't bled off my engineers and his own troops to prepare this complex, I could've stopped the rebels cold and held on to Fort Seymour indefinitely! I should have stuck him in a back room as soon as I got here, but no, military protocol dictated that I take the d.a.m.ned fool seriously and show him deference as the ranking officer here, although I had the authority to override him. That was my big mistake, Jason! Now we're stuck in this sewer."

"Balca, as soon as the situation stabilizes, as soon as we break out and get the enemy on the run, Cazombi's out of here. My recommendation for your promotion to Lieutenant General has already been forwarded to the Combined Chiefs and I expect the President and the Congress to approve it without debate. But Cazombi doesn't worry me, Balca, it's that Marine, Sturgeon. We are going to have to keep them on a short rein, Balca. That fiasco with Hill 140 the other day could have spelled disaster for the entire command." His face reddened again as he remembered the way Sturgeon had treated him in his command post that day. "Marines have their own chain of command and their own voice in the Commandant and I happen to know that the President likes General Aguinaldo. She likes Marines."

"So does Cazombi," Sorca muttered. Billie threw him a questioning glance. "Yes, it's true. He oversaw a mission that a company from 34th FIST conducted on a restricted world. The officer commanding that company was court-martialed as the result of a complaint filed by a scientist conducting surveillance on that world. Cazombi appeared as a witness for the defense. And you know about his run-in with the chairman over the quarantine policy we've had in effect on the Marines of 34th FIST. I don't know all the reasons why the quarantine was imposed, highly cla.s.sified stuff, but the word is out that Cazombi's kissin' cousins with the Marines, and him an army man at that."

They sipped the bourbon and puffed on their cigars for a long while. "All these Marines are 'warriors,' " Billie mused at last. "You know the difference between 'warrior' and 'soldier,' don't you, Balca?"

"Yes, a 'warrior' is a guy who likes to fight, raises his sword, and off he goes at the enemy, but a 'soldier' uses discipline and brains to win fights."

"Well, that's Cazombi and Sturgeon, Balca, 'warriors.' Now, we're soldiers, you and me. We got where we are because we used our heads. We are too precious to our armies to get ourselves killed. So we're going to use these 'warriors' to our advantage. These fools will be our battering rams and if they're used up in the process, all the better."

Sorca grinned and toasted Billie. "How are we going to do that, Jason?"

Billie smiled cryptically. "In time, Balca, in time. All will turn our way in time."

Suddenly someone was knocking on the door. "Are you all right, sir?" It was Billie's aide, Captain Woo. "Are you all right, sir?" he asked again, his voice tinged with anxiety, "There's dirty smoke coming out from under the door!"

Lieutenant General Alistair Cazombi and Brigadier Theodosius Sturgeon sat in a corner of the busy command post sipping gingerly at cups of ersatz coffee. "I apologize for not bringing some of the real stuff in with me," Sturgeon was saying, "but we came combat loaded, ready to fight."

"That is only what we expected, Ted," Cazombi replied. "Tonight, get hold of Captain Conorado and bring him to my quarters, would you? We'll sit around and lie about old times."

"Yessir." Sturgeon sipped his kafe silently for a moment. "You worked a miracle, holding out this long," he said at last, looking around at the gaunt figures in the CP going about their business.

"Not me, not me. These men and women," he gestured at the staff officers around them, "they've taken a beating and are still full of fight. We really had our a.s.ses kicked at Fort Seymour, Ted. If we hadn't had this redoubt to fall back on we'd have been overrun the first day."

"I hear that was your doing, sir. And because you held out so long you denied the enemy a bunch of prisoners to use as negotiating chips."

"Well-" Cazombi shrugged, "he's holding out for more 'chips.' But you're probably right. If they'd captured the entire garrison at the beginning, the Confederation probably would've already granted them their demands. But now you're here and there are more coming." He brightened. "But I've gotta admit something else, Ted. That enemy over there, he's smart. He's flexible in his tactics and he won't be easy to beat. We've always considered these people rubes but by d.a.m.n, they're fighters and they're well led. Since he failed to get us all, now he wants us reinforced so he can win a stunning victory by wiping us all out or bagging our entire force. That is probably the main reason we're still here; we're the magnet he wants to draw more troops into the trap."

Sturgeon nodded. "That, sir, will be his undoing. What can you tell me about our commander? Is he up to a breakout? How much influence do you have on his planning? You're his deputy after all."

"You're going to find out all about General Jason Billie in good time. As for me in this army, I'm going to be kept on a short leash, Ted. It's Sorca who'll be running things around here, carrying out Billie's decisions. They're both politicians and staff officers, not fighters. But Sorca's a G.o.dd.a.m.ned coward. I admit, he was essentially without a command when what was left of it retreated into here, but I had to take over command of the troops myself. He's been no help to me whatsoever. But with him being a big buddy of Billie's, I expect as soon as there's a lull I'll be packed off and Sorca will then take over as both deputy commander and chief of staff and you know how powerful those positions can be in any military command."

"Ugh, Al, this kafe is terrible!" Sturgeon grinned.

"Don't ask me what's in it. Now Billie, his aide, Captain Woo told me, brought in some fine stuff, but it'll be a cold day on a.r.s.enault before we ever get any of it. That tells you a lot about how he views the role of commander of this army, doesn't it?"

"So what do we do, sir?"

"We'll both be in the war council coming up in a while, along with the other unit commanders and the staff. Let's see what the great military genius in there has come up with in the way of a plan. You and I both know we've got to get out of here and maneuver. That's what you Marines do best. But I am going to tell you something now, Ted, that it pains me to say. In all the years I've been a soldier I never thought I'd come to this. I'm through in this army. If I get out of this mess I'm retiring. I'm never going any higher in rank than I now have and I am never again going to serve under an officer like this Billie. If at any time during the campaign that's coming you feel your men are being used as cannon fodder," here Cazombi caught his breath, "you would be well advised to make a report to your commandant. Make regular reports to him anyway via backchannels. Doc.u.ment everything that's about to happen. I know, saying that is disloyalty on my part as an army officer but I'm no longer loyal to that sonofab.i.t.c.h," he nodded toward the closed door to Billie's private office, where Captain Woo was pounding on it excitedly, "so expect fireworks from me at this council."

"Who is that guy at Billie's door?" Sturgeon asked, nodding at the source of all the noise.

"Captain Chester Woo, Billie's aide-de-camp. His fat little a.s.s is Billie's personal fortune cookie." The pounding became louder and as the two watched, thin tendrils of smoke began creeping out from beneath the door.

Sturgeon glanced questioningly at Cazombi and laughed, "Maybe they've managed to immolate themselves in there."

"This army should be so lucky," Cazombi grunted.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE.

More reports from the Force Recon teams operating behind the Coalition lines came in to FIST

headquarters, where they were taken seriously even though General Billie continued to dismiss them as unverified and therefore irrelevant. Unlike the Supreme Commander, Major General Koval took the reports seriously enough that he paid a daily visit to FIST HQ to see the updates.