The Kurgan War: First Strike Part 11

Kelly Green emerged out of the mist with Obermman and Tartov, who was shaking like a leaf.

"Straight down there," said Sheridan pointing towards the river.

A couple of seconds pa.s.sed before Cole and Garcia joined Sheridan.

"He's dead," proclaimed Garcia.

Voices called out in Kurgan. The sound of a drone flying overhead told them their time was up. In seconds, their heat signatures would give them away and a missile would be on its way.

"Follow me," said Sheridan, leading the way.

The inside of the tunnel was pitch-black. Sheridan turned on the light on the forestock of his rifle so he could see. A beam of light illuminated the way. The tunnel wasn't very high. Sheridan had to bend over. Up ahead, he could see the lights from several other weapons marking where the rest of his people were.

"Hold up," called out Sheridan.

Garcia said, "What's that disgusting smell?"

"Sewage," replied Cole.

"How far do we have to go?" Sheridan asked the black-marketer.

He said, "It takes about fifteen minutes to get where we're going."

"And where might that be?" queried Cole.

"To an old maintenance building. My contact will be waiting for me there."

"Lead on," said Sheridan waving his rifle down the dark tunnel.

"Where's Andrews?" asked Agnar.

"He ran off," replied Garcia. "The lousy son of a b.i.t.c.h was one of them."

Agnar shook his head, made sure Hollande was as comfortable as she could be on his back and followed close behind Sheridan.

Sipping his cup of coffee, Sergeant Munroe was growing concerned. It wasn't like his partner in crime to be late. He checked his watch and saw that he was only a couple of minutes late. He opened up a packet of dried fruit and was about to pop some in his mouth when he heard the sound of the hatch leading down into the tunnel begin to creak open.

"You're late," said Munroe loudly as he helped to pull open the heavy iron lid.

A rifle poked out of the narrow entrance as Sheridan climbed out.

"I'm not late and you, Sergeant, are under arrest," proclaimed Sheridan. "If there are other soldiers involved in this crime, I'd think about selling them out for a lesser sentence if I were you."

Chapter 15.

Sheridan and Cole sat in the hallway of an underground complex waiting to see Major-General Gruber, Commanding General of the forces on Derra-5. After suddenly appearing inside the besieged city with two prisoners in hand, Sheridan's party had been detained by the military police before being pa.s.sed off to the intelligence staff. As soon as Sheridan started to recount their tale of survival outside of the capital, his entire party was quarantined until they could be properly debriefed.

Sheridan was surprised to learn that instead of a single regiment, the bulk of a Marine Division was dug in facing the Kurgan invasion force. Even with three infantry regiments, an artillery regiment, and other support arms like air-defense, military police, and logistical units, he guessed that they were still outnumbered at least five to one by their adversary. With all of their electronics jammed, the defenders were helpless to stop the swarms of drones that flew with impunity over their positions. Sheridan had spoken with a member of the operational planning staff and had learned that the Kurgan drones were now targeting all of the command and control systems spread throughout the city. That was why they had gone underground. A full-scale attack on the capital was only hours away.

They had eaten a hot meal, washed and shaved before being called down to speak with the general. With new uniforms on, both men felt as if the experience of the past two weeks had been some sort of horribly long dream that was now behind them.

The door to the briefing room opened and a captain poked her head out of the door, "Come in gentlemen."

They walked in, came smartly to attention and saluted General Gruber, who was sitting at the head of a long wooden table. All down the sides of the table were the various members of the general's staff.

The division's sergeant major, a grizzled Asian-American soldier, waved for Cole to sit beside him.

"Please take a seat, Mister Sheridan," said Gruber, a white-haired man with a gruff visage. "My staff and I have read your report and you are to be commended for making it through enemy lines. I was more than a little perturbed to learn that not all of the tunnels under the capital had been sealed properly. That problem, I am happy to say, has been rectified. What disturbs me the most are some of the findings and conclusions that you included in your summation."

"Sir, if I was unclear, I apologize," replied Sheridan.

"There's no need to apologize, son. Your report is well written and succinct. Although we have yet to see a single Kurgan, the fact that they are using human auxiliaries is repulsive, but not unexpected. I was briefed before the war began that rumors of human colonies abandoned on the Kurgan side of the Disputed Zone after the last war had started to draw the attention of the staff at Fleet Headquarters. There are two things that have me worried. First off is the fact that there could be Kurgan spies and saboteurs here among us."

Gruber paused and took a sip of water. He continued. "Secondly, and most alarming is the conclusion you drew from the Kurgan kidnapping of teenage children. In your report, you said that you believe that this is an indication that the Kurgans are in this for the long haul. You don't think that this war, like the one before it, will only last one or two years at most."

"No, sir, I do not," responded Sheridan firmly.

A bespectacled lieutenant colonel wearing intelligence insignia on his collar leaned forward and looked down the table at Sheridan. "With all due respect Mister Sheridan, you're only a second lieutenant with no real experience. How can you draw such a conclusion based on a discussion you had with some refugees?"

Sheridan sat up straight in his chair and looked the officer in the eye. "Sir, there is no other logical conclusion that can be drawn from the facts. These youths will be indoctrinated into the Kurgan religion and culture and will in return in a couple of years to fight us as replacements for the losses they expect to take in this war."

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, using our own people against us, it's abominable," said another colonel.

The intelligence colonel persisted. "Second Lieutenant, did you see any real Kurgan warriors outside of the city?"

Sheridan shook his head. "No, sir, we did not. As stated in my report, I was told that the Kurgans are here as officers only. The force facing the capital is almost entirely comprised of Chosen soldiers."

The officer turned to face General Gruber. "Sir, I find it hard to believe that there are no Kurgan troops on the ground. All of the intelligence updates we received prior to the Kurgan invasion never once spoke of humans being used in lieu of Kurgan warriors, not one."

"Perhaps your reports were wrong, sir," said the division sergeant major dryly.

The general's chief of staff interjected, " General, we could have been receiving bad information for years. If what Mister Sheridan is saying is correct, Kurgan spies could have been operating in our fleet for generations. It's going to be hard to trust anything sent to us in the future if we ever find a way to cut through the enemy's jamming."

The division sergeant major leaned over to Cole and quietly said, "Your boy's quite smart and confident for a Two-LT. He's Admiral Sheridan's son, isn't he?"

"Yes, he is, sergeant major," replied Cole. "And yes, he is very intelligent. He has the potential to go far if he wants to. He's still got a lot to learn about soldiering, but he's already shown to me that he can work well under pressure."

"This PO you have with you, the one you found in the wreckage, do you think he could detect enemy messages in our computer files?"

"He's a nervous type, but what have you to lose by letting him poke about in your computers?"

"I know whose computer he's going to examine first," said the sergeant major, eyeing the intelligence officer.

General Gruber rhythmically drummed his fingers on the table for a minute, lost in thought. He took in a deep breath and said, "Well, even if we don't all agree on the details of Mister Sheridan's report, we can't afford to ignore them, either." He turned to face his chief of staff. "Anne, have the MPs double their patrols effective immediately. I also want all of our command and control centers guarded twenty-four and seven from now on. Draft soldiers from the artillery if you have too. Since the drones trashed their guns, they haven't had much to do."

Gruber placed his hands palm down on the table. "Mister Sheridan, I would like to thank you for efforts in keeping your people alive and in persevering against the odds to warn us of a threat none of us had the slightest inkling of."

"Thank you, sir," replied Sheridan.

"Now, if my staff is right, and I think they are, we're going to be attacked in the next few hours. I could use an officer like you on the front lines. Report right away to the Forty-Fourth Marine Regiment for your next duty a.s.signment. My staff will let them know you are coming."

Sheridan stood and saluted. "Sir, could I please take Staff Sergeant Cole and the other survivors with me?"

"You got b.a.l.l.s, kid. Not too many second lieutenants would ever dream of asking their commanding general for a favor." Gruber grinned. "Permission granted."

"Good luck," said the sergeant major to Cole as he shook his hand goodbye.

Outside the room, Sheridan looked at Cole. "I hope that's ok with you, Sergeant."

Cole smiled. "I gotta serve somewhere. Besides I'd rather not have to break in a new platoon leader. You'll do ok for now."

"I guess we had best find Agnar, Garcia, and Obermman and tell them the good news."

"Come on, sir, they're bound to be sitting around the mess hall waiting to find out what's going on."

With that, they picked up their weapons from the MP's guarding the hallway and headed straight for the mess hall. As expected, the Marines were sitting at a table by themselves. Agnar was busy helping himself to as much food as he could. Sheridan sat down and broke the news to them.

"A job is a job," Garcia noted philosophically.

"Say, sir, what's the name of this outfit?" asked Obermman.

"Since it's a mishmash of regiments and units thrown together to defend the planet, it's called the Capital Division," replied Sheridan.

Cole said, "Come on Marines, we've got a bit of a hike, so let's get moving."

"Why not," Agnar responded while he jammed a couple of apples into his pockets.

With Sheridan leading, they made their way through the warren maze of trenches that led from the headquarters to the frontlines. Walking out in the open would have invited a Kurgan drone missile strike. They pa.s.sed other soldiers and civilians using the trenches for safety. What bothered Sheridan was the despondent look on the faces of many of the people they saw. It was as if they had already resigned themselves to defeat. He prayed that the soldiers manning the frontlines weren't infected with the same malaise, or they and the city didn't stand a chance against the coming storm.

Chapter 16.

Cole told Sheridan that arriving at a new unit was like going through a sausage machine. A person gets jammed in at one end and after a time he pa.s.sed out the other end ready to go, or at least, that was the theory. After being met by the regiment's personnel officer, a tired-looking man who chain-smoked several cigarettes while he filled out the necessary paperwork, Sheridan was told that they were to report to the unit's second battalion. Moving through the rubble of a destroyed warehouse, Sheridan led his people to the battalion's tactical operations center located in the bas.e.m.e.nt of the burnt out building. Here they were greeted by the battalion's executive officer, a harried and disheveled major, who was devastated to see that there were only five people reporting in. He had asked for thirty replacements to make up for those killed or wounded during last night's bombardment.

After a cursory glance at his files, the major told them to report to Alpha Company. Sheridan asked for directions and then saluted the major, who disinterestedly returned the compliment. Five minutes later, Sheridan and Cole stood at attention in front of their new company commander's desk.

Captain Rolleston was a broad-chested Maori, who had thick black hair and powerful arms that strained at the fabric of his uniform shirt. Intricate tattoos covered his face. "So Mister Sheridan, I hear that you and your people made it through the Kurgan lines. Tell me, is it true that they are using humans against us?"

"Yes, sir, it is true," replied Sheridan.

"I'd hoped the rumors were just that. It seems unbelievable that humans would fight for the Kurgs."

"Sir, these people are Kurgan citizens. They don't see us as equals; in fact they look down on you and I as being below them."

A gunnery sergeant walked into the room and grinned. "Well, look what the cat just dragged in. If it ain't Staff Sergeant Alan Cole. I thought you were back home."

"I was for a while, Gunny, but I asked for a new a.s.signment," replied Cole.

"You two know each other?" asked Rolleston.

"Yes, sir, we served in the First Division a couple of years back. Staff Sergeant Cole is a solid NCO, if he keeps away from the bottle," said the gunnery sergeant.

"Gunny, I'm clean and sober going on two years now," responded Cole uncomfortably.

Rolleston eyed Cole for a few seconds before reading their transfer orders. "Ok gents, you have Three Platoon. Their officer and platoon sergeant were killed two days ago by a Kurgan drone. Sergeant James has been commanding the platoon ever since. Gunny Wilson will take you there so you can get settled in. I'll be around later today to see how things are going."

"Yes, sir," answered Sheridan, coming to attention to salute his superior officer.

"Mister Sheridan, no more saluting. I don't want to end up with my brains spread all over the wall like strawberry jam because some Kurg sniper saw you saluting me. You're not at the academy anymore."

Sheridan instantly felt like an amateur. He remembered his first introduction to Cole back on the Churchill where he said saluting was for the parade grounds and not a war zone.

"Come on, I'll show you to your new home," announced Gunny Wilson.

With Garcia, Obermman, and Agnar trailing behind, they made their way through row after row of demolished buildings. With one eye on the sky looking for drones, they rarely stepped outside for more than a couple of seconds.

Gunny Wilson explained that Alpha Company was set out like a triangle with two platoons up and one back. Platoon strongpoints had been established with clear fields of fire that dominated the open ground and the approaches into the city. Sheridan's platoon was the left forward platoon. On his right flank was Two Platoon, commanded by a dour looking officer who seemed to have a two-word vocabulary. Gunny Wilson said that the man didn't say much, but seemed to know his job. Sheridan's left was anch.o.r.ed by a platoon from the regiment's first battalion.

A lone dog barked at something on the street. Sheridan watched as a Marine sprinted out from cover, grabbed the dog by the collar and then ran back under cover. A split second later a missile struck the ground in front of the house, sending wood and rock flying up into the air.

"d.a.m.ned fool," muttered Gunny Wilson. "Every platoon has one. Yours is a kid named Roberts. That was him rushing out into the street to save his dog."

"I'll have words with him," replied Cole.

The smell of burnt wood filled Sheridan's nostrils as he stepped inside a half-demolished home. Dust covered everything. Papers and empty ration boxes littered the ground. A couple of disinterested Marines sat there looking up at the new arrivals. Before the gunnery sergeant could open his mouth, Cole launched into the two soldiers. Swearing up a blue streak, he gave them two minutes to get the platoon headquarters cleaned up and the squad leaders a.s.sembled or they would live to regret it.

Gunny Wilson shook Cole's hand and wished them luck before leaving.

A couple of seconds later, Sergeant James ran into the room. He was a short, slender man who looked like he had been on his feet for the past week. "Sorry for the mess," said James, his accent Irish. "I've been too busy doing the platoon leader's job to keep an eye on the little things."

"That's alright, Sergeant, Second Lieutenant Sheridan and I are here to take that burden off your back," Cole said, feeling somewhat sorry for the man. "Do you have a platoon nominal roll? Mister Sheridan and I would like to review it before making any decisions where to place the three Marines we brought with us?"

"Only three," muttered James.

"Is that a problem, Sergeant?" queried Sheridan.

"Sir, we were hit pretty hard the day we lost Mister Folly and Sergeant O'Neal. You should have a full platoon of forty-six men. Instead, you only have twenty-eight healthy Marines. This morning four soldiers reported that they were sick and were sent back to the unit aid station. They're combat stress casualties. I doubt they'll ever come back to us. Another two were pulled from us this afternoon to top up One Platoon. They got it worse than us last night."