Louis Shalako
The
suspense was killing. Having dug in on the hilltops and patrolled for several
kilometres in front of those positions, with a couple of light patrol actions
and some small casualties on both sides, the Unfriendlies were sitting tight.
Dona had taken her first casualties. It was a night-time skirmish, about
twenty-five of the enemy sneaking up through the hills to one of her positions.
Eight
wounded, only one really seriously. The enemy had lost three dead for sure.
They had the bodies to prove it. The trooper in question, a young woman named
Dani, was expected to fully recover, given time and proper care. She’d taken a
round right through the femur and also the femoral artery. Prompt first aid had
prevented her from bleeding out. With bone and slug-splinters all over the
place, a complicated wound to treat.
Another
trooper, a big guy called Hamilton, had carried her out on his back. He’d be
getting a medal and bit of a bonus for that one. She wasn’t exactly small,
either, just a statistically-average woman of twenty-two. One thousand, seven
hundred metres going by the map, uphill and down. All in all, a pretty good guy
to have around—one or two previous minor disciplinary actions could be
forgiven, perhaps forever, under such circumstances. That was one guy she would
like to speak to—to really say
certain things, good things, right to his face. Look the man in the eye and
just say it. Putting the name and her recommendation in the report was
sometimes the best one could do. Higher command would do the right thing, she
was sure of that.
Surely
they knew the value of a hero.
The
enemy had done some good work, to evade detection and to surprise her people,
who must have also fucked up on some level. But the enemy had their
space-blankets, which could be used as ponchos. The plastic was highly
reflective of heat, and they must have used some pretty good cover. Sticking to
the tighter slots and gorges going up the hill, they could be very quiet if
they were prepared to take their time.
There
was the next column forming up in Deneb City, and then there was the reinforced
forward column, somewhat depleted by casualties and the need to man their own
defenses. The artillery took so many people and then there would be the
engineers, digging away like beavers or whatever.
The
town of Roussef lay just fifteen kilometres from the junction, and could easily
be dominated by the artillery. Cheap to buy and even cheaper to feed, this was
now emplaced on Hill 114-A overlooking Highway 17.
While
the enemy forces were well within range of the Confederation artillery, so far
they’d only been subjected to minor harassing fire. Return fire had been
vigorous but inaccurate. Surely they must have a satellite up there. Such stonks were timed to the point when the
enemy drones were furthest away. Mortars, up close and forwards, fired perhaps
three rounds before being moved, (after or during, depending on how accurate
the enemy return fire was). The artillery, further back, fired half a dozen at
most, all in quick succession and one gun at a time.
With
good drone coverage, it seemed the enemy was operating their drones from
farther forwards. They had been doing daily passes over Roussef and Ryanville,
morning, noon and night. There really wasn’t much there to see, with every
Confederation trooper, weapon and vehicle under good cover, and perhaps that
was confusing enough in itself. All of those other trenches, and some major excavations in the case of
tank-traps, would be clearly visible. They’d had time to build a few decoys,
bogus tanks and other armoured vehicles. These were scattered about the
southeastern fringes, where the main road came in, and the town centre of
Ryanville.
As
soon as the Unfriendlies took Roussef, they’d know all about it. They wouldn’t
be so easily fooled next time. Ryanville was presently out of range of the
enemy missile batteries in Deneb City, which might well be moved forwards at
almost any minute.
Surely
McMurdo wasn’t expecting her to attack the city in any significant force. If
the Confederation was going to reinforce, surely they wouldn’t land at Deneb
City.
One
never knew, of course.
“Colonel.”
“Yes?”
“The
column in Deneb City appears ready to move. Shall we activate Mongoose One?”
“Yes,
but I want you to wait until they get to Gossua, or thereabouts.” It would be
wise to see if they had drone or helicopter cover, as they must be expecting
any number of ambushes or simple sniping, military and civilian, along the way.
The
column was too big to be an attempt to draw fire.
With
more tanks, armoured and supporting vehicles than they’d yet seen, it was
possible this column would be in position at Hill 114-A or thereabouts in
twelve hours, twenty-four at most.
That
was if they were taking their time. Hopefully things weren’t quite that bleak,
but all the Confederation stay-behind parties could do was to pick a few of
them off and slow them down a little. Try and stay out of their way—make them
build another bridge. There were still plenty of them left. The ones built by
Unfriendly engineers weren’t even being guarded. McMurdo was smart enough to
see how pointless that would be. Even now, there was nothing as small a patrol on the road. Now that they knew
the civvies were getting involved, and how could they not know?
If
the teams could be selective about it and hit the really juicy targets, tanks,
helos and drones, or engineering equipment; that would be the best that could
be hoped for.
One
way or another, another big push was imminent.
With
the weather still good but a system on the board to the northwest promising a change
for the worse, it couldn’t happen soon enough.
More
bait, always more bait in this type of operation.
That’s
what it said in the book, and after all, she was the one that had written it.
***
“Colonel!
Call from General McMurdo.”
“Put
him on. Audio only.”
“Er,
roger that, Colonel.”
“Ah,
Colonel Graham. So nice to speak to you again—is there something wrong with the
picture?” This sounded like an aside to someone on his end.
She
could see him clearly enough, cheeks shining from a recent shave. As usual, the
uniform was immaculate. Her own was getting a little crusty in the armpits, and
chafing somewhat on the tailbone as the plastic netting of the crotch-liner
tended to be abrasive.
“I’m
so sorry, General. It’s just that you’ve caught me off duty and I am, ah,
rather in a state of undress.”
There
were choking noises as some of her people caught on. Harvey had coffee or
something coming out of his nose and he was busily trying to wipe it up from
the hard-board in front of him.
Someone
killed the microphone.
“Honestly,
Colonel. You might have warned us.”
“Sorry.
Pure impulse—put me back up. And keep quiet, please.”
“Hello?
Hello?” McMurdo’s tone was almost comical, and her own people were desperately
trying not to split their sides open.
“Ah,
sorry, General. Honestly. It’s just that I really wasn’t expecting, er, a
proper gentlemen to call at this late hour.” Hopefully the sarcasm wasn’t lost
on him. “So, what can we do you for?”
“Ah.
Business as usual. I see. It’s just that there is no retreat, no escape, and I
am still in a position to offer you the most favourable terms.”
“Oh,
you’re not quite ready to give up yet, General.”
There
were nods and grins from the command centre staff.
The
General gave a self-deprecating little laugh.
“God.
What I wouldn’t give to have you among my wives. You’re quite splendid,
really.”
“Well,
that’s very kind, General McMurdo. I’m not completely naked, as I am sure you
can imagine.”
“Er.”
Slightly
breathily, she went on to describe the scene.
If only she had
the right kind of music.
“I’m
just sitting here in my undies, General, not that there’s anything really
special about that. A bit of cellulite, a bit of a belly these days. A bit
thick in the thighs. Rubenesque, more than anything. I’ve got my feet up in
some tacky old bedroom slippers. Just watching a little television and having a
glass of wine. Old-lady underwear, as you can well imagine at my age—built for
comfort, rather than speed, as the saying goes.”
Harvey,
some of the others were grinning from ear-to-ear.
Lieutenant-Colonel
Dona Graham was giving him the gears, and as long as the idiot was still on the
line, why not? She sure as hell wasn’t going to tell him anything he didn’t
already know about the tactical situation. Which he really ought to have
figured, on some level.
“Er.
Ah—Colonel Graham. If we could be serious for a moment.”
“So.
How do you like the weather, lately?”
He
laughed—he laughed.
And
he was right about one thing.
“Colonel
Graham. I am of course aware of the British intervention at Norway, however, it
was all for naught in the end. Sea-power without air—or space power, is doomed.”
Those
innocent blue eyes stared into the screen. Was that a hint of pink around the
cheekbones?
“And
with that, I will let you go.”
He
must have been dying for a chance to hang up on her—
“General
McMurdo.”
“Yes—”
“It
was a very fine idea, but it just didn’t work.” A line she’d stolen from an old
documentary.
Norway.
Obviously.
All
it proved was that someone over there really had been reading her
book. She didn’t quite know whether to be pleased, but this was just one more
attempt at intimidation. She motioned to the trooper and the signal was cut.
Sooner
or later, McMurdo must get it.
Get over it, Bud.
***
A
total of three major enemy columns had congregated on or about Hill 114-A.
They’d taken some losses. They were now dropping patrols at some recent ambush
points, mostly up and down Highway 17, complete with their own vehicles. These
patrols weren’t very big, ten to twelve people at most.
The
Unfriendlies weren’t risking much, neither were they gaining much. The
psychological imperatives being what they were. These were troops of a higher
calibre than the run-of-the-mill, conscript infantry. They must be—they had to
be.
These
patrols were scouring the woods and the hills more thoroughly, still not
finding much, although one Puma had been discovered. Whether it was luck or
what, no one could say. Having observed the action through the machine’s own
cameras, the stay-behind party had promptly hit their remote destruct button, taking out the vehicle
and an estimated three Unfriendlies. Two more troop-kills, one more seriously
wounded, according to the system.
One
little factor deleted from the boards. The team was evading west and ultimately
south, through thicket, swamp and stream. The Unfriendlies were tracking them,
or at least trying to—with no choice but to leave their own vehicles and
someone to guard them at the roadside or at the end of whatever track they had
followed.
The
enemy was only prepared to go so far. Abandoning the vehicles, or splitting
their numbers and roaming off into the wilderness wasn’t much of an option. Not
in the face of professional troops. The enemy was at least giving the
appearance of pursuit. Dona doubted they’d last an hour, an hour and a half up
in there…
Her
people had every chance of getting away.
“What
in the hell are we watching?” She was tired, they all were, but this was
surreal.
Her
headache was gone, and that was good.
“The
band. I have it on some pretty good authority, uh, Colonel, that the band are
beautiful people—”
A
ripple of laughter went through the command centre.
It
was true—
The
Unfriendlies had a marching band, tall black bearskin shakos on their heads and
plaid kilts swirling in the breeze. They were forming up on the far side of
yonder hill. They had billowing white sleeves, tight black waistcoats,
stockings and garters and buckles on their shoes.
The
skirling of the pipes commenced.
***
It
was enough to make one’s hair stand up in sympathy.
No
one would send a band without an attack being imminent—and it was.
“You
know what’s interesting, ColoneL?”
“No,
what’s interesting, Paul?”
“Those
enemy ships are still just sitting there.” At the bottom of a pretty big
gravity-well.
“Ah.”
She nodded, sitting in the hot-seat as Harvey was off on other duties. “But
that’s obvious. They still expect to win. They still, fully expect to be
transporting a few hundred prisoners and most of their forces, even the bulk of
their equipment, off-planet. Very, very soon now—”
The
ships themselves were a most valuable resource, and they were just sitting
there, worth their collective weight in kryptonium almost by the day. Those
ships would be badly needed elsewhere.
Even
without Confederation troops and their Barkers and other weapons in the vicinity,
they were very vulnerable. A civilian could take out a ship, assuming they had
the nerve and any kind of a time-bomb. All it took was access, and the
Unfriendlies needed repairs and maintenance.
Someone
would have access—
Someone
always did.
All
it took was nerve.
Not
taking them out was also in the plan, not until later in one of several
end-games that had been considered. Gaming things out was an essential part of
planning, and there were foreseeable circumstances where those ships could
still come into play. They were still bargaining chips of a sort—reverse bargaining chips at this point.
Taking
them out would make the Unfriendlies just a little too desperate.
The
time for that would be later—
If
the enemy began preparing for take-off, for whatever
reason, that would be a different story.
They
were looking at a couple of battalions at least, as the Unfriendlies rose from
their hilltop entrenchments and began filtering down the near side, through the
trees, with small groups peeling off left and right, and with other groups,
parallel to the road, filing along in squads and platoons.
Further
ahead, along the road mostly, smoke rounds began dropping in as they gave
themselves some cover, and the Confederation some warning. Always a trade-off.
Everything
in war is a trade-off.
There
were a total of four Joshuas, the survivor from the previous engagement having
been attached to the new bunch. There was a squadron of three still in reserve,
up on their transporters.
The
tanks were hunkered down in the ditches, on the brow of the hill, a pair of
tanks on each side of the notch where the road went through. So far, they
hadn’t moved or fired a shot. The band was still on the far side, marching in
place and playing their martial music. Ludicrous, on so many levels.
The
top of the next ridge lit up with exploding shells.
Confederation
troops and weapons were holding fire. The enemy was nowhere near close enough
or exposed enough yet, and a bare three hundred metres out onto the level,
there was another meandering creek, a narrow, gleaming ribbon of open water
winding up the middle of a morass a hundred metres wide.
Surely
they weren’t planning on swimming that, not with swamp on either side of it,
and therefore the bridge had been conveniently left in place. It had been
scouted by the enemy, and, since there were no charges to find, they had
decided it was safe.
And
it was—although carefully registered by global positioning with every weapon
and by every trooper within firing range. They watched dim silhouettes moving
through thick smoke. This camera and this point had been carefully noted. There
were paint marks on the road to prove it.
The
cameras were nice and close, the blaze-orange paint was phosphorescent and
slightly radioactive, and the smoke was only a minor impediment.
“Okay.
Battery. A, B, C and D. Open up with the howitzers…” Paul was speaking quietly
into his microphone, as Harvey came in with a plastic tray of fresh coffees for
all.
Sticking
to solid ground, the first enemy troopers had made it to the road where they
went to ground again and the numbers built.
They
were ready for the rush. Following their orders and their sergeants and
corporals and lieutenants, they were soon getting up again…
It
was all very heroic, with individual troopers taking their chances. They were
bursting out of the brush and sprinting towards the bridge amidst all of those
erupting explosions and shell-splinters. Several sprawled headlong, sliding and
then stopping…dead.
She
waved Harvey over. She was too excited to just sit there and watch.
“Here.
I’ll take that.”
“Uh—ah.”
“It’s
okay, Harvey. Take a load off.”
Settling
in reluctantly, he tore his eyes from the sight of the colonel going about the
room, distributing a double-double here, a black with sugar there, or a green tea,
or a snack-sized bottle of orange juice, or whatever the person had ordered.
The
colonel and that magnificent ass of hers—but enough.
That
was what the blacksuit was invented for, at least in his opinion.
He’d
gotten back just in the nick of time. He had a pocket full of change for
various people, but they could worry about all of that later.
The
Unfriendlies were just coming down off of their hills and heading for the
junction, and after that lay Roussef.
Shit.
They
had no idea of what they were getting into.
They
were in for one hell of a ride—one hell of a ride.
A
big bowl of popcorn might go real good right about now—that and some beer,
maybe.
His
black with one sugar would have to do. That and a sticky-bun.
Someone
detonated the first of the big slurry-mines and the cameras shook in sympathy.
Yum, yum.
(End of part thirty-four.)
Previous
Episodes.
Images.
Image One. Collection of Louis Shalako.
Image Two. Confederation Public Communications Office.
Image Three. CPCO.
Image Four. CPCO.
Image Five. CPCO.
Image Six. Collection of Louis Shalako.
Thank you for reading.
