The worst part is the waiting. |
by Louis Shalako
It
was D plus Three of the invasion of
Vega-Prime. The first and second waves were on the ground and holding their
bridgehead.
Major
J. Birney of the Fourth Division, Royal Marines, stood beside Lieutenant D. Edwards
of H.M.S. Agincourt, flag of her
squadron. The dark and compact Scot, with his beefy shoulders and forty
some-odd years and the lanky, red haired youth, seemingly too young to be a
commissioned officer, got along like a house on fire, which was a relief to Major Birney after
a previous experience on another vessel. They were going over the proposed
fire-plan.
The
vessel was part of the Thirteenth Heavy Bombardment Flotilla, three squadrons plus
one reserve squadron, firing in support of Eighth Combat Infantry Brigade, just
one small component of the First Fleet. They were conducting offensive
operations in the sector of space surrounding the rebel conglomerate’s home
world, based on the Vega system and only twenty-five light years from Earth.
After
six years of war, the Empire had established strategic and economic
superiority, defeating the rebels in campaign after campaign. In the early days
it had been a very close-run thing, and politically, with acknowledged
war-weariness growing at home, it was time to end the war with one crushing,
final victory.
Hence
the high priority set on the invasion of Vega-Prime. It could well be decisive,
and with a bridgehead already established, the stakes were very high. The
senior officers would be fresh after a good night’s sleep for the operation, but
more junior officers had a harder time of it. With Vega-Prime heavily populated
and expected to be occupied for many years into the future, tactical and
strategic nukes had been ruled out. It was a pretty challenge for the
artillery, both ground and space-based.
“Aw…ah.”
Birney yawned definitively. “Oh, God, I thought it was bad enough groundside.”
The
Major rocked back and forth on his feet. The nature of combined operations made
inter-service cooperation vital to the success of the mission. He was aboard Agincourt coordinating fire missions
with the Support Force, who had all the really big guns until the Marines’ own
heavy batteries were fully unloaded and deployed.
The
monitor was a very special kind of ship. Major Birney had never been on one
before. Even so, the boredom of a long night watch had been punctuated only by
the intense planning of their fairly-complex fire mission. Monitors and their
specialized mission were predicated on the carrying of one or two very big
recoilless launchers. The ships had limited storage capacity in all things,
including re-loads for the tubes. They were armed with only minimal anti-ship
defense systems, light automated weapons for close-in defense. Safety lay in
numbers as well as the heavier Fleet units nearby guarding the troop convoys. Lethality
relied on vast numbers of replenishment ships, perhaps the Empire’s best-kept
secret before the war. Edwards was a whiz and the Admiral of the Fleet trusted
his judgment. Birney had been impressed at the Fleet’s communications, with all
Gunnery Officers contributing in the finer details regarding their adopted
units and the unique objectives set out for them. Tomorrow’s attack would
secure a more effective starting line for an offensive set for the coming
weeks. Troops on the ground, comprising a surprising tally of different units
and detachments, Army, Marines, Air Forces, would attempt to break out of the LZ and establish themselves in the
jungle-clad hills where the enemy capital lay open and resplendent in a vast
emerald river basin as seen from the Agincourt’s
observation cupolas.
“What?”
Edwards, a fresh-faced twenty-three years old, looked up from the plan,
overlaid on the latest Intelligence map display, stylus
hovering over some minor detail. “I’m sorry?”
The
fellow was never satisfied.
The
speakers broke into Birney’s thoughts in typical style, laconic and
emotionless.
“Roxy Three. On it. Fire three for
effect.”
The
response from their sister ship was crisp and succinct.
“Roger that.”
A
screen with an external link displayed the launch of three salvos from Pomfret.
The
radio speakers crackled again but the handle wasn’t theirs. That’s not to say
that they didn’t hear it. Technicians sat, listening through headphones, and
watching their tactical screens, as bored as anybody, but the possibility of
surprise attack was unsettling enough to keep them alert.
All
defensive weapons were warmed up and on high alert here in CC.
Birney
yawned again. He looked around at the technical people. They were a good bunch,
and he was oddly enjoying the duty.
“I’m
going for more coffee.” Edwards nodded, with a bleak expression and his eyes
faraway.
Birney
headed for the alcove at the back of the room, an oasis of sanity in an
otherwise sterile and very technical environment. The Fleet could be
surprisingly civilized sometimes.
They’d
worked all the night to get the fire plan ready, with targets listed for each
battery, each ship, and each section. It would take very little time for the
plan to be sent in code to all units.
Getting
divisional approval, which of course involved regimental and battalion approval
down on the ground…there were bound to be additions, perhaps some wishful
thinking, and maybe a few questions, but Birney was fairly confident. That
would all come soon enough. He could see them down there in his mind’s eye. He’d
fought alongside many of them for the last three years, although there were
inevitable losses. He could almost see them waiting with bated breath for the
fire-plan to be thrust into their hands. Their lives might depend on it.
The
whole thing looked as good as they could make it with the available resources.
“Yeah.
Can you grab me one too?” Edwards couldn’t tear himself away.
It
was a thing of beauty, when done right. The attack on the ground must quickly
overwhelm the dug-in enemy troops concentrated in strength, all heavily armed
and well supplied according to Intelligence, and break out of the
defensive perimeter. Once through the siege lines around it, open country lay
ahead. Armored spearheads and motorized infantry, supported by strong air
contingents would exploit any success, with initial breakthroughs expected to
the north and then hopefully to the north-east.
Behind
the closed doors of the control centre, the movements of large numbers of crew
as they manned the guns, light batteries, the loading rooms, taking stations
all over the vessel, could only be sensed, not heard.
Separate from the bridge,
where more normal tones were used by all concerned, the quiet in the CC was ensured by thick insulation and
a calm demeanour on the part of those initiates most privy to her secrets. A
glance at the bridge screen showed the Captain had not arrived yet. They still
had time to get a bite to eat…but Birney thought better of suggesting it.
Interestingly,
thought Birney, the CC had the best air on the ship, with all the computers
operating under optimum climate control according to his briefing.
Edwards
printed off a large-scale copy of what he had on screen. Taking up his red
pencil, he moved to a wide plotting table, sitting down and then asking a
crewmember to adjust the lights so he could see better. It wasn’t red-light
conditions yet, that would come later. The crewmember complied and then went
back to monitoring the communications more directly than her superiors, making
occasional notes as she did for the log. There was a fair amount of signals
traffic, as both sides raided and patrolled and probed each other’s defenses on
the ground. Fire support came from other units as traffic was light.
The
Agincourt had fired her weapons early
in the shift, ten rounds of HE on a strongpoint in prep for tomorrow. It was
just one of a long list over the last few days, but she hadn’t been called upon
since.
Birney
came back and carefully set the cups down well away from the edges of the map.
Hopefully
he had gotten the Lieutenant’s right, as the lad liked a lot of cream and sugar
by his standards.
He
looked over Edwards’ shoulder, and then at his watch. The ship’s chronometer
and his own time-piece were in perfect agreement.
“All
right. Let’s have one more look.”
***
Fire Plan Tango.
H-5
to H-0 engage targets at map reference points 240, 241, 242 HE two batteries each slow.
Light
batteries within range will fire anti-personnel at normal rate. Third battery
reserve, on call for FOOs.
H
to plus 10, map reference point 247 Smoke
one troop, rate very slow, adjusting on call for wind and drift in target
zone.
Plus
10 to plus 20, target map references 250, 253, 256 HE one battery (D-Section)
rate normal.
Light
batteries rate slow, anti-personnel. Other batteries in reserve.
Plus
30 All Batteries Defensive Fire, if called on, and Harassing Fire on targets of opportunity
on call from FOOs. Otherwise firing by target list as provided, firing by
priority or as opportunity presents, rate of fire extra-slow except emergency
calls, where fire will be directly as per FOOs’ instructions.
Plus-1
Thirteenth Heavy Bombardment group moves to Point B and replenishes. Mission calls will be handled for one hour
by the Seventeenth Heavy Bombardment group who must replenish at Plus-2 hours
in order to relieve the Ninth Heavy Bombardment group on schedule by Plus-3
hours.
Plus-2
hours Thirteenth Heavy Bombardment group back on Station for Phase Two.
Phase Two consists of
on-call fire support, as well as concs* and stonks* on Mike and Uncle targets.
Individual batteries and individual vessels will be on call with adopted units
and for other units as needed as ammunition and time allows. All fire must be
coordinated and observed by FOOs.
Phase Two will be in
place until otherwise notified or the offensive is concluded. Ammunition stocks
are presently seven days supply at Normal Combat Rate A and replenishment will
be provided from Fleet level at Priority One.
#
The
Major sipped his coffee.
“Looks
good.” The file was already sent anyway.
In
fifteen minutes or so they would know.
Edwards
nodded. Inexorably, his eyes went down to the heavy time-piece on his left
wrist and his thoughts turned to the waves of troops, those already on the
ground and those now loading into the landing craft from the transports. So
far, the enemy’s light attack ships had caused some losses, and they were no
doubt planning more attacks. They were rumoured to still have considerable
Fleet units remaining, but if they were about no one in higher command was
saying.
Edwards
sat up and took a deep breath. He heaved a long sigh.
The
plan looked good. Most likely it would be approved.
It
was still three hours until dawn in the target area.
The
worst part was the waiting.
End
*concs—‘conks,’
firing on concentrations of enemy troops as called by FOOs.
*stonks—old
mortar-men’s term, to bring the maximum fire on a small area in the shortest
possible time, called in by FOOs.
*FOOs—forward
observation officers; fleet officers operating with ground troops to observe
targets and order fire missions.
*Mike targets are called in from
regimental level.
*Uncle targets are called in from
divisional level.