Starfist - Flashfire. Part 23

They were far from irrelevant; it seemed ever more likely to Sturgeon and Koval-and their staffs and subordinate commanders as well-that the reports indicated imminent attack by a reinforced division on the section of the perimeter centered on 34th FIST. The reports indicated that section, the easiest to defend, was selected because General Lyons felt it was held by the least capable units in the Confederation force.

"Not only is he dead wrong, we know he's coming," Koval murmured when he saw that report.

"Between us, General," Sturgeon said, "we're going to give General Lyons the biggest surprise of his military career."

They grinned warrior's grins at each other, all teeth and just enough grin to make 'em visible.

There was only one thing that could foul up their preparations. That was in the next reports Sturgeon got from Force Recon.

When Koval read it, he asked the Marine commander, "What are you going to do if His Royal Supremeness orders you to reinforce the main line of resistance?"

Sturgeon only shook his head, he wondered that himself.

The generals and their subordinate commanders weren't the only ones preparing to defend against a major a.s.sault; the preparations went all the way down to the newest and most junior men in every unit.

PFC McGinty wasn't sure of his position in the fire team, not after what Ensign Ba.s.s had said when he a.s.signed him to first squad's third fire team. And the way Corporal Dean acted didn't inspire him to begin feeling like he was someplace where he belonged. Not that Corporal Dean was treating him like an interloper; McGinty thought his fire team leader was treating him just about exactly the way a fire team leader should should treat a new man-introducing him to everybody in the squad and telling him something about every one of them, making sure he knew where to get chow and water, where his position and field of fire were if they were attacked, how to call for medical a.s.sistance or ammunition if needed. treat a new man-introducing him to everybody in the squad and telling him something about every one of them, making sure he knew where to get chow and water, where his position and field of fire were if they were attacked, how to call for medical a.s.sistance or ammunition if needed.

But Corporal Dean was so impersonal impersonal about it. And he hadn't sounded like he really meant it when he said, "Welcome aboard, McGinty. Glad to have you." about it. And he hadn't sounded like he really meant it when he said, "Welcome aboard, McGinty. Glad to have you."

Lance Corporal G.o.denov was warmer in his welcome, but McGinty was a bit put off when G.o.denov said, "Everybody calls me 'Izzy,' but you don't get to. You haven't been around long enough to remember when that was a question."

Now, what was that all about? Was it a play on his name, "Izzy" G.o.denov? Why would there have been a question? McGinty wasn't sure he wanted to know.

And they both looked so hard hard.

At least he knew where to get water, what there was of it, and food-and ammo and medical a.s.sistance if needed. And if the rebels came, he knew where his position and field of fire were.

PFC Smedley wasn't having a much better time of it. Sure, Corporal Doyle and PFC Summers welcomed him warmly enough. But Smedley couldn't help but feel that a big part of Summers's warmth was because he finally had someone junior to himself in the fire team. And Corporal Doyle seemed so d.a.m.ned uncertain uncertain about everything. It wasn't that he didn't know things. Not only did Corporal Doyle tell Smedley where to find water and chow, ammunition and the corpsman, and where the battalion aid station was, but drilled him so he actually about everything. It wasn't that he didn't know things. Not only did Corporal Doyle tell Smedley where to find water and chow, ammunition and the corpsman, and where the battalion aid station was, but drilled him so he actually knew knew those things. The fire team leader even put him through drills so he could automatically hit his designated fighting position and field of fire if they were attacked, and how to react if the platoon was called to plug a hole in the lines somewhere else. those things. The fire team leader even put him through drills so he could automatically hit his designated fighting position and field of fire if they were attacked, and how to react if the platoon was called to plug a hole in the lines somewhere else.

Maybe it was just that this was Corporal Doyle's first day as a fire team leader. But he hadn't just been promoted like the squad leader-Sergeant Kerr, was that his name? or he would be Sergeant Kerr as soon as the promotion warrant came through-and that gun team leader with the strange name. So how had a corporal been filling a lance corporal's billet? Had he been a fire team leader before and did something to lose the job? That would explain why he seemed so unsure of himself. But what Ensign Ba.s.s said about him didn't sound like he'd already been a fire team leader. Had he done something heroic and gotten a promotion instead of a medal? If that was the case, why did everybody else in the platoon act like he wasn't a very good Marine?

Smedley had a lot of questions, more questions, and not the kind of questions he'd expected to have when he finally joined a platoon. But Corporal Doyle didn't give him time to dwell on them too much.

"Summers, Smedley," Doyle said as he came in from an NCOs' meeting, "heads up! The word is the bad guys are coming in force through us." He didn't stop to look at his men, but went straight to the aperture to look out over the beach below them. Summers and Smedley joined him.

The beach, two hundred meters distant, was sand and pebbles studded with boulders. A rocky shelf rose a quarter of the way in from the waterline, and the ground rose gently from there, though still scattered with jagged rocks and boulders. A glacis was built in front of the aperture to deflect projectiles up and over.

To Smedley, it looked like a killing ground that n.o.body would be fool enough to attack across. He looked to his left and was surprised to see Corporal Doyle trembling and Summers looking nervous.

"I-I know what you're th-thinking, Smedley," Doyle croaked. "You think this is an easy position to defend. But l-look at it again." His voice suddenly became stronger. "If their landing craft make it to the waterline, they've got all those boulders to use as cover while they advance by fire and maneuver. Then they can group up under the cover of the lip of the shelf down there, then fire and maneuver again with boulders for cover. They won't have cover when they reach the glacis, but there it's a straight run up to us."

"I can see that," Smedley said, not seeing what Doyle was so concerned about.

Doyle turned hollow eyes on him. "There's not many more than four hundred Marines on this line. They're sending a reinforced division through us. More than twenty thousand soldiers. That's better than fifty to one odds. Do you you think you can take out fifty of them before they reach you? think you can take out fifty of them before they reach you?

"That's not all," Doyle continued. "They aren't going to be bunched up, a whole company right in front of us so we can't miss. Do you know how far apart our positions are? Fifty meters, that's how far. Three Marines have to cover a front more than fifty meters wide. That's why your field of fire extends so far to the right, so that your fire can interlock with the next Marine over."

Doyle looked back out at the beach. "And that d.a.m.n army general in command doesn't believe they're coming, so we don't get any help from the army," he murmured.

Smedley gaped at him. The world seemed to close in on him and he barely heard Summers mutter, "Something tells me we're screwed, blued, and tattooed."

Elsewhere on the Marine line it was much the same.

Corporal Pasquin hobbled back from the NCOs' meeting, taking very careful steps to avoid stressing the wounds on his gluteus maximi. He looked more somber than Lance Corporal Longfellow and PFC Shoup had ever seen him, and neither thought it was soreness from his healing wounds that made him look that way. He went slowly to the aperture and looked out. Softly, he brought them up to date. Longfellow closed his eyes and moved his lips in silent prayer. Shoup just stared at the beach.

Corporal Claypoole began briefing Lance Corporals MacIlargie and Schultz as soon as he reached the entrance to their bunker. MacIlargie's face showed increasing disbelief as Claypoole briefed them. Schultz lay on his side on a makeshift pallet. He rolled onto his stomach and pulled his arms and legs under him to lift himself up, then stood gingerly and stepped to lean on the aperture.

When Claypoole finished, Schultz said, "Martac." "Yeah, what about Martac?" Claypoole answered. "Ba.s.s, Shabeli. Remember?" "Yeah, I remember. Gu-Ensign Ba.s.s, he was a staff sergeant then," Claypoole said in an aside to MacIlargie, "took on Shabeli in a knife fight. And killed him. What's that got to do with us here and now?"

"Remember what I said?" Claypoole thought back to that horrible day when the eight Marines on the Ba.s.s patrol had thought they were all dead, and remembered. "You said he was showing us how to die."

"We're going to show the army how Marines die." If Hammer Schultz Hammer Schultz thought they were going to die . . . thought they were going to die . . .

Brigadier Sturgeon was examining the real-time downloads from the string-of-pearls when the order he didn't want came down from the Supreme Commander's HQ.

According to the visuals shown from the ring of satellites, the a.s.sault against the MLR was fierce but shallow, as predicted by Force Recon, and the army brigades in position wouldn't have to hold for long before the a.s.sault ran out of steam and the attacking forces withdrew. Of far more immediate concern to Sturgeon was the ma.s.s of amphibious vessels gathered on Pohick Bay, and the flights of tactical air carriers swinging inland from over the bay.

Sturgeon grimaced when he read the orders, and told Captain Shadeh to get General Billie on comm for him. It took a minute or so, and Billie was obviously very annoyed about the call.

"What's the problem, General?" Billie snapped.

"Sir, has the General seen the string-of-pearls downloads?" Sturgeon asked, ignoring the wrong rank by which Billie addressed him.

"Yes, I've seen them. They show what I already know-a ma.s.sive attack against the MLR! I need your

Marines there now now to reinforce that line." to reinforce that line."

"Sir, I respectfully request the General take another look. The string-of-pearls shows a shallow a.s.sault against the MLR and a ma.s.sive amphibious and air a.s.sault about to launch over the beach on the northern defenses-just as Force Recon said was happening."

Billie snorted. "There you go with Force Recon again! That 'ma.s.sive' air-sea force off the north sh.o.r.e is an obvious feint-and your prima donnas fell for it. I need your FIST at the MLR, and I need it there now now!"

There wasn't anything Sturgeon could say in reply, because Billie broke the connection. He slowly lowered the comm and stood musing for a moment, while Colonel Ramadan and Commander Usner, his operations officer, looked on, waiting for him to confirm what they suspected Billie had said-and what he was going to do about it. Sturgeon finished thinking and looked up at them.

"Gentlemen," he said in a voice loud enough for everyone in the operations center to hear, "the Supreme Commander has declared that the invasion force," he glanced at the string-of-pearls display, "that is now headed for our positions is a feint, and the a.s.sault against the MLR is the main thrust. He has ordered me to move the FIST to reinforce the MLR and help beat back the main a.s.sault," he looked again at the display, "which already shows signs of stalling.

"General Billie has four stars to my one nova, I have no choice but to obey. Therefore," he looked levelly at Usner, "I want you to draft an order to Commander van Winkle, instructing him to move his battalion with all due speed to the MLR. When the order is drafted, you will submit it to Colonel Ramadan for approval. Should Colonel Ramadan find any deficiencies in the order, he will inform you so and you will revise the orders as needed, then resubmit them to Colonel Ramadan. You will repeat until such time as Colonel Ramadan deems the orders ready for my perusal. Once I find them acceptable, you will send the orders by runner-use an ambulatory wounded from the FIST aid station as runner-to Commander van Winkle.

"Is that understood?"

Ramadan and Usner grinned at Sturgeon. "Yessir," they said.

"I will begin immediately, sir," Usner said, and looked around. "The very minute I find a stylus to write with, sir."

"Thank you, Three. And while you're looking for that stylus, pa.s.s the word to infantry to stand by to repel boarders. Also, request air to thin out those tactical troop carriers, and to artillery to take out some of the amphibious craft."

"Aye aye, sir," Usner said, and got on the comm to infantry, air, and artillery with the orders.

Ramadan leaned close and murmured, "Well, Ted, it certainly seems as though you are following the Supreme Commander's orders to the letter."

Sturgeon merely nodded, and returned his attention to the string-of-pearls display. He looked up again. "Inform General Koval."

"Aye aye." Ramadan turned away to contact the 27th Division commander.

Sergeant Kerr absently rubbed his left deltoid as he stood at an aperture, looking out at the sky and bay -Sergeant Kelly had been a little too enthusiastic at "pinning on" Kerr's sergeant's stripes, and his shoulder was lightly bruised from the trio of punches the gun squad leader had given him. He knew what was coming from the NCOs' meeting, and had his helmet on, looking through the magnifier screen.

A distant roaring drew Kerr's attention to a blank patch of sky. Automatically, he adjusted for the time lag of sound and looked lower. He saw the sparkles of Raptors diving on targets he could barely see at that distance. Streams of plasma were squirting almost straight down from the Raptors. Here and there, a gnatlike target bloomed into a crimson and gold ball as it was shredded by the plasma. But there were so many of the gnats and so few Raptors, Kerr knew their numbers wouldn't be greatly reduced by the time they arrived on top of the Marines' positions.

There was a monstrous CRACK! CRACK! just overhead, and the stench of ozone flooded through the bunker's aperture, flooding out from the streak of plasma fired by one of the artillery battery's big guns, set on top of the ridge the bunkers were dug into. The magnifier automatically adjusted its polarization so the dazzling brilliance of the plasma ball that shot overhead wouldn't blind him. He followed the plasma ball to the water spout where the ball hit. Looking around from there, he saw speckles on the water- the amphibious force coming at the Marines. He couldn't tell if that first shot hit one of the boats, but the second strike did. But the artillery was like the Raptors, so few firing at so many. just overhead, and the stench of ozone flooded through the bunker's aperture, flooding out from the streak of plasma fired by one of the artillery battery's big guns, set on top of the ridge the bunkers were dug into. The magnifier automatically adjusted its polarization so the dazzling brilliance of the plasma ball that shot overhead wouldn't blind him. He followed the plasma ball to the water spout where the ball hit. Looking around from there, he saw speckles on the water- the amphibious force coming at the Marines. He couldn't tell if that first shot hit one of the boats, but the second strike did. But the artillery was like the Raptors, so few firing at so many.

Kerr looked into the sky again, then back at the water. The combined air-sea invasion force was big, and it was moving fast. No matter the absolute numbers of troop carriers or amphibious landing craft the Raptors and artillery knocked out, the vast majority of a reinforced division would shortly land on one Marine infantry battalion.

He repressed a shiver, and spoke into the squad circuit, "The bad guys are coming. Hold your fire until you have a walking, breathing target."

CHAPTER THIRTY.

The landing craft came in waves, hundreds of them at high speed over the water. They didn't maneuver to throw off the aim of the artillery on the ridge above the bunkers, but relied on speed to reach the beach. Although nearly every shot fired by the artillery scored, killing one of the amphibious craft, there were simply too many of them for the six guns of the FIST's battery to reduce their numbers significantly in the ten minutes or so it took them to move from horizon to waterline. Especially when the artillery had to withdraw in the face of the approaching aerial troop carriers. The airborne force was smaller than the seaborne, and suffered more, but still the vast majority of the troop carriers touched down on the ridgetop at the same moment the first landing craft reached the waterline and began disgorging troops.

The heavy guns of each company's a.s.sault platoon opened fire when the landing craft were still a kilometer out, the guns of the a.s.sault squads of the blaster platoons opened fire shortly after. The eighteen guns and eighteen heavy guns put out a h.e.l.lacious amount of fire, but they were firing at hundreds upon hundreds of craft, and had only a minute to do their worst damage before they had to shift their aim to soldiers who were splashing through the surf.

The enemy quickly set up crew-served weapons-lasers powerful enough to chew through plasteel, and flechette guns that spewed five thousand darts a minute. The crews hunkered down, aiming their weapons through cams so the men didn't have to expose themselves to the fire coming at them from the Marine strongpoints. Their riflemen began dashing from boulder to boulder, closing on their objective. The Marines shot at them as fast as they saw them move, but more rebel soldiers were in movement at any time than there were Marines firing at them.

And some of the Marines had to concentrate on the crew-served weapons that were more immediately dangerous than the maneuvering soldiers.

Corporal Dean dropped; he'd seen a flechette gun turning his way just in time to shout a warning to his men and drop to cover. The air in the bunker r-i-i-i-pped r-i-i-i-pped with the pa.s.sage of a thousand flechettes through the aperture. A thousand more hit around the edges of the aperture, with a sound like the hail storm at the end of the universe. Flechettes with the pa.s.sage of a thousand flechettes through the aperture. A thousand more hit around the edges of the aperture, with a sound like the hail storm at the end of the universe. Flechettes whapped whapped against the inside walls of the bunker, chipping plasteel and throwing chips about. Dean's back was pelted, but he didn't think any had penetrated his chameleons, much less his skin. against the inside walls of the bunker, chipping plasteel and throwing chips about. Dean's back was pelted, but he didn't think any had penetrated his chameleons, much less his skin.

When he heard the flechette gun's fire move on, he groped for a Straight Arrow, found one, and rose to aim it through the aperture at the gun's position. He found it just as it began swinging back his way and fired.

He didn't see his rocket hit; a concussion wave slammed into him from behind, tried to blow him through the wall. Thunder to deafen the G.o.ds pummeled his ears and knocked him insensate. He wasn't aware of it when Lance Corporal G.o.denov rolled him onto his back and over and over again to smother the flames building on the back of his chameleons.

"Let that be a lesson to you, new guy," G.o.denov said on the fire team circuit. He didn't know whether PFC McGinty heard him-he couldn't hear his own voice, and didn't know if that was because his comm was out, or if he'd been deafened by the roar of the Straight Arrow's backblast. He had still been down, curled in a corner of the bunker, when Dean fired the tank killer, so he wasn't hurt as badly as his fire team leader. He was pretty sure McGinty was curled up in the other corner and figured he should be all right as well.

Satisfied that Dean's uniform wasn't burning any longer and that his fire team leader was still alive, he looked for the new man and saw him on his feet, firing his blaster out through the aperture. He joined him. The flechette gun Dean had fired at was a piece of twisted wreckage, and the boulder its crew had hidden behind was fractured. But most of the riflemen had reached the shelter of the shelf, and only the crew-served weapons still fired at the ridge. G.o.denov began aiming and firing at those parts of the weapons he could see, hoping to put some of them out of action. He did his best not to notice that the fire from the Marines seemed to be less than it had been.

Sergeant Kerr coldly and methodically fired ten times while the soldiers were maneuvering to the shelf, and every time he fired, a soldier dropped with a hole burned through him. Kerr would have fired many more times, but he'd had to drop down and scramble away from the aperture once when a heavy laser found it and began chewing a hole through its lip. Then again when a flechette gun sent a mult.i.thousand burst onto and through the enlarged aperture, and a third time when another laser further enlarged the opening. When the soldiers reached the cover of the shelf, he began trying to take out the crew-served weapons that were chewing up the fronts of the bunkers, reaching inside them and killing or wounding Marines.

His shooting, ducking, and dodging were all automatic; Kerr was experienced enough he didn't have to think about how to fight outnumbered from a fixed position. While his body functioned on automatic, and temporarily took out a heavy laser by hitting its muzzle at exactly the right angle to crack the barrel lens, his mind worked on the irony of his current position.

Kerr had been a fire team leader when he was nearly killed on Elneal. Since then, Corporal Ratliff was promoted to Sergeant and became a squad leader when thenGunnery Sergeant Ba.s.s was made Platoon Commander and Sergeant Hyakowa was promoted to Staff Sergeant and made Platoon Sergeant. Corporals Leach, Saleski, and Keto were killed before Kerr rejoined 34th FIST and third platoon two years later. Sergeant Linsman, who wasn't even with the platoon when Kerr was nearly killed, was a fire team leader when Kerr returned, and was promoted to squad leader over Kerr.

Now Kerr was squad leader. Corporal Dornhofer was the only fire team leader left from the peacemaking deployment to Elneal. Sergeant Eagle's Cry was dead, killed on Diamunde, and Sergeant Bladon still hadn't returned from Rehab after losing an arm on Kingdom. Both of the gun team leaders had been killed in action since Kerr had almost almost been killed. been killed.

Only five of the eleven sergeants and corporals who had been with the platoon those years ago were still alive and fighting. Kerr couldn't help but wonder how many would still be alive at the end of the day's fight.

Kerr was finally a squad leader, though it had taken too many deaths to get him there. And there he was, in his first action as a squad leader, and the positions his squad held left him stuck being merely an extra blaster in Corporal Chan's fire team.

Whistles pierced the din of battle, and ma.s.ses of men surged over the lip of the shelf, scrambling for cover behind the boulders on the gently rising ground before the glacis. Kerr began picking them off.

Major General Koval grinned tightly when he got Brigadier Sturgeon's message. "That fox," he murmured, then began snapping out orders. Satisfied that the bustling of his staff was meaningful, he turned his attention to the string-of-pearls feed that Sturgeon had so generously provided to him. d.a.m.n that Billie, d.a.m.n that Billie, he thought. he thought. There's no good reason he has to keep the string-of-pearls feed to himself so that I have to piggyback on the Marines. There's no good reason he has to keep the string-of-pearls feed to himself so that I have to piggyback on the Marines.

The string-of-pearls display of the bay to the north made it clear why Sturgeon was complying in the most obstructionist manner possible with the Supreme Commander's orders-and equally clear that Billie was absolutely incompetent as a commander. Koval had suspected before, but now he knew beyond reasonable doubt that Billie had gotten his promotions and his command because of political maneuvering and not through any merit as a soldier.

He heard the distant screams of the Marine Raptors as they dove on the Coalition airborne troop carriers, and the monstrously loud crack cracking of the Marine artillery on top of the ridge. But he could see on the display how many targets the Raptors and artillery pieces had, and he knew how few Raptors and artillery pieces a FIST had.

He snapped out another order to his artillery regiment commander.

Will this be a first? he wondered. he wondered.

"T-take your time," Corporal Doyle said into his comm. "Aim your s-shots, m-make them c-count." Despite the stutter, his voice was calm, and his aim was steady, nearly every shot he took struck home on a scrambling soldier.

"Yeah, sure," PFC Summers muttered. He was firing as fast as he could, moving the muzzle of his blaster with each press of the firing lever. He wasn't hitting with each shot, but he wasn't missing by much, either, and the rebels he just missed tended to stay behind cover longer than they should have.

"Take my time," PFC Smedley repeated. "Make every shot count. Aye aye." He didn't stutter, but his voice was the highest pitched and most anxious of the three-it was his first combat, and he didn't see how any of the Marines in the FIST could possibly survive the a.s.sault. His aim wasn't good, he was trembling too hard for accuracy, and most of his shots missed.

"St-steady," Doyle said as he fired another bolt and decked another rebel soldier. "M-make your shshots count." He stuttered, but if any part of his mind had been able to sit back and a.s.sess the situation, he would have realized that he was less frightened than in any previous battles in which he'd fought.

This time, other Marines' lives depended on his leadership; he didn't have any time or energy to spare on fear.

"St-steady. Make e-every shot c-count."

"What's the matter with you, Sturgeon!" General Billie roared into his comm. "Why haven't you moved your FIST yet?"

"Sir," Sturgeon replied laconically, "Thirty-fourth FIST is unable to move. We are fully engaged with a reinforced division that has our positions under a.s.sault."

Billie spat out the cigar he had clenched in the corner of his mouth. "What?" he squawked. he squawked.

"Thirty-fourth FIST is fully engaged. Check your string-of-pearls download."