Louis Shalako
The three Joshuas ground their way across the valley.
Unfriendly troops jogged as best they could across the ploughed fields. They
were already falling behind…
The first of the tanks was a bare hundred metres from
the base of Hill 114-A when the Confederation howitzers opened up. Tall grey
plumes of dirt spurted up all around the advancing tanks.
In some reactive twitch, the first Joshua fired, the
round going into the trees and the hillside to no real effect. With no visible
smoke or flame at the point of impact, that one had to have been
armour-piercing.
More and more mortar bombs and 75-mm shells began to
fall, tearing up the earth and bursting in the air over the infantry. The
foot-sloggers promptly went to ground, calling for smoke and support fire. This
much was obvious. In time, with enough enemy radio talk, the Confederation
cracking and analysis systems might get more codes and call-signs. They already
had a few of the most basic signals and were in the process of identifying
various units in the enemy’s order-of-battle. That was the thing with any
battlefield communications. Units had to identify themselves or they would
simply be ignored. Once units had been identified, whether infantry or an
artillery battery, the enemy’s one-time prefixes didn’t mean to much anymore.
Her mouth opened, watching the picture—a set of
crosshairs in a circular optical frame as something rolled into it.
The Hellion fired.
With all of the distractions, the first of the Joshuas
was hit. Still moving forwards, one or two figures spilled out and then it went
up in a sheet of flame, shooting like a blowtorch up out of the open hatches.
There was a major explosion and the spinning turret
went fifty metres straight up, coming down upside down and with smoke pouring
out of the hole.
With all of the mortar and howitzer fire coming down,
the others had no clue—no clue that it had been taken out by the Hellion,
screened as it was by trees and the sides of a gully.
Fifty metres apart, the next two Joshuas halted, their
big guns spitting flame as they fired high-explosive at something, (no sabots being visible in an instant, slow-motion
replay of their one good close-up), something that was still straight ahead of
them.
Probably the laser cannon, or one of the 20-mm cannons
or a machine-gun on auto-fire.
They seemed oblivious to the fact that there was a
side-track right there, just to the left of their blazing companion. Too many
trees in the way.
In the camera views, the Unfriendly infantry were now
filtering through the woods.
The Hellion was almost sure to be discovered.
“Command Centre. Hellion One-Three.”
“Go ahead.”
“Permission to advance with Hellion-One-Three.”
“Roger that. Get out there and take the shot—”
No response, but the machine was already moving, a
reel on the back deploying a cable and the onboard cameras and sensors slaved
to four or five people up in the woods. There were the crew and a rather junior
infantry lieutenant on their local battle-board. This was for moral support on
the one hand and a bit of first-hand combat experience on the other.
They would be heads down, behind as much rock and as
many trees as possible, staring at their individual screens and holding their
breaths.
“Colonel Graham?” Yet another trooper at a board,
beckoning for attention.
“Yes, go ahead—” There was a lot going on and it was
getting hard to keep up with it all.
“The civilian forces on Highway 2 are closing up on
the rear of Walzbruch Force.”
“Roger that.” More complications—but she’d already
decided they were on their own.
“…and the Denebi on Highway 17 appear to be laying an
ambush for somebody, probably the Unfriendlies. The second big assault column
is about fourteen kilometres farther down the road…”
Paul laughed.
She looked at him, mouth open.
Those eyes were alight—
“Well, damn it all. This just keeps getting better and
better—”
It sure as hell was.
And the second part of the reverse-slope ambush was
just opening up from behind both enemy columns. They still had to get all of
the Confederation troops out, and as many heavy weapons as possible—then hit
them going down the far side and at the base of the very next hill.
The Hellion, with no one aboard, came to the
brightness at the end of a tunnel of trees, its nose slewed hard right, and
then there was a blast of fire, the onboards having acquired a target.
They were not known for their hesitation.
That one, appeared to be a hit, and from under fifty,
maybe seventy-five metres.
Another Joshua started to burn. There were men baling
out. The Hellion was already reloaded, but with all the smoke and fire, there
wasn’t much to see.
Whang!
It was like a big fist, as if someone or something had
punched the camera, hard. Everything went black, and then white.
That was all, just white. One or two signals were
still up, but all the other sensors were out.
Hellion One-Three was gone. That left one Joshua on
the field.
Whoever that was, they could at least shoot and they
were very quick with the reaction-time.
Still.
Two
dead Joshuas.
One
dead Hellion.
Money
well spent.
“Okay, people, haul ass—” The Unfriendly infantry was
maybe fifty metres away from the ridge-line on the south side of the gully.
They were still downslope, but climbing inexorably
onwards.
Judging by the bright blue dots on the board, the
Hellion crew was already moving.
***
It was infuriating. The Denebi civilians had set up
another ambush on Highway 2, and there were no cameras in the vicinity. If they
were lucky, an Unfriendly patrol would come along.
That was about it, as there
were no major Unfriendly forces on that road. A half a dozen Confederation
troops were sixteen kilometres further to the northwest, in no position to help
in any way. Her own artillery was concentrated in the defense of the two major
hills. While dispersed, most of the pack howitzers could hit targets on either
hill.
“Shit.”
So far, there had been no contact, although a trooper
had spoken to someone. That someone had promised to talk to someone else, and
so far, they hadn’t gotten back. What she might have told them was a good
question, probably just to stop. Ditch the weapons, cook up some kind of a
cover story and go home.
As it was, the Confederation troops could only proceed
with their own plan, and wish the civvies the best of luck.
Not that they would have listened anyways.
***
The natives were another story. They seemed oblivious
to the significance of the enemy drone aircraft, which must have spotted them.
The Unfriendly column was now running with a heavy forward reconnaissance
force, and this unit had stopped, hiding their vehicles and setting up an
ambush of their own.
The natives must have had scouts trailing them or
observing them from the woods, for shortly after this development, someone had
popped out onto the road a couple of kilometres away.
There had been a quick confab. The war party had abandoned
the road. In the imperfect satellite view, for there was scattered low cloud
over the scene, they had separated into two major parties, one on each side of
Highway 17, two or three hundred metres from the road. If anything, they were
trotting along at an even quicker pace than before. Within the next half hour
or so, these sets of opposing forces must collide. She was thinking double
envelopment in a classic fish-hook maneuver. Native tactics could be
surprisingly sophisticated, as in the case of the Zulu impi for example. In an impi attack,
the horns of a bull flanked the enemy while the big head engaged the enemy’s
front. There was more to it, the young braves taking the frontal attack and the
older, more experienced males taking the two sides of the flanking maneuver. It
could be hideously effective, even against the British and their rifles. But
also with the British in such very small numbers, cut off and surrounded. A
rather unpleasant thought considering her own current circumstances.
Simply put, the enemy, whether facing forwards or
backwards in their ambush position, could still be taken from the rear. It
could still be an impi attack.
A party under Sergeant Kawaii was literally sitting on
the hillside above the Unfriendly ambush, with mortars hastily set up and
zeroed in as best as could be done in such circumstances—it really was better
to walk the ground, with GPS in hand, marking your spots but sometimes it just
wasn’t possible. If he could time it right, he might be able to hit the Unfriendlies
with a few rounds and then just stop—let the natives come rushing in, if that’s
what they decided.
A few bombs in there might also persuade them to go
home, but he had a funny feeling they weren’t about to do that anytime soon.
At least they were on the right side, out here
fighting the good fight, and that was always good to know.
***
“Oh, my God.” The tone was one of awe.
The trooper, eyebrows visibly rising behind the
headset, stared at the board.
“What?”
“Colonel. I’ve never seen such a strong signal—or
anything quite as tight as that before.” Ten thousand watts, no bigger than a
spider web. Silent for days now, the receiver, like the transmitter, was
directional to the nth degree.
The planet was speeding along, rotating, tipping back
and forth with the seasons in its eccentric orbit, the whole system moving and
rotating, in relation to some other arbitrary point in the Universe, the centre
of their galaxy in this case. Point Zero-Zero-Zero-Etc., also moving through time and space, which was the only way you
could ever map such a complex system. It could only have come from a ship, a
planet or some other body.
Coming in from a point far outside the system, whoever
had sent that package must have had some pretty damned good information.
“It’s marked, ‘your eyes only’, Colonel.” Lifting the
goggs, he gave her a speculative look.
“Send it over please. I’ll scan that before opening…”
Her heart had just skipped a beat there.
So had his, come to think of it.
It took but a second to validate the prefix, suffix
and helix codes. No bugs. Her hand shook a little, and then there was
Brigadier-General Renaldo, still looking tired and with the usual dark bags
under the eyes.
“Good morning.” He smiled. “Colonel Graham. I am
authorized to tell you that Operation Bluecoat has been a success. Thank you
for your efforts and good luck with the rest of the plan—Renaldo, out.”
It was that quick, and nothing much there for an enemy
to read even if they had cracked it.
She sat there with mouth open. When writing the plan,
she almost hadn’t dared to suggest it—but the Confederation destroyers
escorting CT-119, Eliza, D-17, Erebus, and D-24, Terror, had successfully evaded interception by the incoming enemy
fleet, with their big cruisers and a pack of smaller warships. Rather than
fleeing to a safe port, after escorting Eliza
initially, the destroyers had broken off and gone hunting. The deep penetration
into enemy space, sort of hunting…
They had intercepted the enemy at some point not known
to her, and then inflicted some level of damage, also not known to her. Ultra—probably. It would have been a big
help.
The very fact that Renaldo had gone to the
extraordinary lengths required to let her know about it said something. It said
a lot. It was risking one very expensive ship (an assumption, but probably true
judging by the point of origin and backtracking of the trajectory), to send one
very terse message.
It also seemed rather well-timed on his part, coming
along just when they were getting down to the nitty-gritty, planet-side.
She had full discretion as to what she told her
troops, whose focus should necessarily be trained on those ground-level
operations for which they were best-suited.
Still, this was big news—the sort of news that McMurdo
would do his best to stifle, and this was an important consideration for her
own policy.
Whatever
you do, I do the opposite—
What’s
bad for you is good for me, and vice versa.
The question was, what exactly could she tell them.
Report-writing was among the most basic of skills, one
learned very early in the Organization, and this was a kind of report—in a way.
When in doubt,
bullshit—
Hmn.
Okay.
She cleared her throat, and then set her com unit to
record a clip. She took a good breath and let it out.
One more—
Open the mic for full broadcast.
Go.
“Ladies and gentlemen. Your attention please. We have
just received word by secure communications. Confederation ships have won an
important victory over the Unfriendly invasion-fleet escort.” A whole bunch of
faces had just turned her way, mouths open and dead silent now after the hubbub
of ongoing operations. “Those vessels were returning to Shiloh and other ports
in preparation for reassignment or engagements elsewhere. Details of the battle
are necessarily thin, due to counter-intelligence considerations. But I think
it’s safe to say that the enemy lost a few ships there, destroyed or damaged.
This will materially affect the strategic balance in this sector for quite some
time. It’s also important to note that the enemy fleet was here because we were here. You were here, and they knew you were going to fight. They don’t
know it, but you’re also going to win. General Renaldo sends his thanks and his
congratulations. Keep up the good work.”
She nodded at the trooper, a girl named Rafferty, on
the communications board.
“We have achieved a strategic victory already. We don’t know what casualties
might have occurred. That goes for our own people as well. However, here on the
ground, we haven’t lost a one. Let’s try and remember that, ladies and
gentlemen—win, lose or draw.”
A low hum of chatter went through the room.
Authorization for use of the file was quick and slick.
Another tap and she sent it over.
“Okay, put it up on the board. Open access. Thank
you.”
“Roger that, Colonel Graham. Open access. I’ll send
that over to the media centre too, uh, if you don’t mind.” She was right, the
civilians must be told of this. “I’m thinking a thirty-second spot. Stock
videos of Confederation and Unfriendly ships, some old archival video of a
battle in space…”
“Yes, absolutely. Thank you for the excellent
suggestion. I’m sure Trooper Thornton can handle it.” A thought struck her.
“Send that package, when he’s done with it, to the Unfriendlies as well,
please.”
Rafferty grinned.
“Outstanding, Colonel.”
Dona would take that as a yes.
(End of part thirty-one.)
Previous
Episodes.
Part One.
Part Two.
Part Three.
Part Four.
Part Five.
Part Six.
Part Seven.
Part Eight.
Part Nine.
Part Ten.
Part Eleven.
Part Twelve.
Part Thirteen.
Part Fourteen.
Part Fifteen.
Part Sixteen.
Part Seventeen.
Part Eighteen.
Part Nineteen.
Part Twenty.
Part Twenty-One.
Part Twenty-Two.
Part Twenty-Three.
Part Twenty-Four.
Part Twenty-Five
Part Twenty-Six.
Part Twenty-Seven.
Part Twenty-Eight
Part Twenty-Nine
Images.
Image One. Joshua tank. By Jorchr - Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0
Image Two. Confederation Public Communications Office.
Image Three. CPCO.
Image Four. CPCO.
Image Five. CPCO.
Image Six. Collection of Louis Shalako.
Image Seven. Deneboloa-Seven Defense Force.
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Thank you for reading.
