Starfist - Flashfire. Part 11

"Of course not. I know the regs." Owen wobbled on the edge of the desk, s.h.i.+mmering a light blue.

"You don't look too good," Conorado remarked, concern in his voice, "are we feeding you properly?"

"Yes, Skipper. The soil here agrees with me. The best thing that ever happened to me is when the boys brought me back from Diamunde. But I feel unwell and fear I am growing old."

Conorado had never considered that Woos might grow old. "I guess we all are," Conorado sighed.

"I was old when the men found me. Will this deployment last long?"

"Yes, probably."

"Then I shall not be here when you return, Skipper."

Conorado glanced sharply at the Woo. He had never noticed before that the creature had a sense of humor, so what did he mean. "Are you being rea.s.signed? Strange, Owen, I haven't seen any orders from Fleet," Conorado said lightly, but something began gnawing at the pit of his stomach.

"I shall most likely pa.s.s for what you call dead by then, Skipper."

"Wh-?"

"We Woos do not live long in comparison to the human lifespan, ten to fifteen of your years and as I said, I was old when your men found me. I'm about seventeen of your years now, very old for one of my kind."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"You never asked, and we Woos, unlike you humans, bow to the inevitabilities of our nature. There's no use complaining because it never does any good. I have lived a long and interesting life and I have been very fortunate and I shall die contented."

"Well-" Conorado didn't quite know what to say now. "Do you believe in an afterlife, Owen?"

"No. We go where the energy from the light in this office goes when it's turned off-dissipated, never to regenerate. I know many of you humans believe something of your 'spirit' survives after death, and you've invented many philosophical and theological systems to prove those beliefs. I've heard your men arguing endlessly about them. We Woos do not feel this subject is worthy of speculation. If it is so, we shall find out, otherwise such contemplations get in the way of living."

Top Myer knocked on the door. "Ready to mount out, Skipper," the first sergeant said.

"It's time, Owen," Conorado rose and picked up his gear. "Well, good-bye, old friend." He held out a finger.

The Woo took the finger between his talons. He began to glow, the sign of emotion for Woos, and in a few seconds the office was filled with a bright, golden light. "Good-bye, Skipper, and good luck. If I am here when you get back, good; if not, then I will have reached the limit of my usefulness in this life."

Conorado turned the lights out and left the door ajar behind him as he left so that Owen could get out if he wanted. Gradually Owen's light began to fade until it was a very dim blue and then even that disappeared. Owen sat there in the dark for an eternity.

Captain Conorado came out of the barracks, followed by the other officers, along with First Sergeant Myer, and accepted the formation from Gunnery Sergeant Thatcher. He stood there for a moment, looking over his Marines, before briefing them on 34th FIST's upcoming mission.

"A coalition of worlds, led by the government of Ravenette, has seceded from the Confederation of Human Worlds. The secession began with an attack on the Confederation army base on Ravenette. The rebels overran the base and the remnants of the garrison withdrew to a fortified peninsula where they've been trying to hold on. The garrison has been reinforced by the 27th Division, but the armed forces of ten worlds are arrayed against them and they're having trouble holding on. The Confederation Army is mounting a full field army to go in and deal with the situation, but it takes time to mount a field army, more time than the defenders on Ravenette have.

"That's where we come in. Thirty-fourth FIST is the ready-to-deploy unit nearest to Ravenette. We have been ordered to deploy immediately and hold the line until the field army arrives." He paused to let the implications sink in. It didn't take long; two army divisions, perhaps thirty thousand soldiers, were being overwhelmed and somebody expected a thousand Marines to save their bacon. It sounded like a suicide mission, but Conorado didn't give his Marines time to dwell on that.

"This isn't the first time the army has found itself in a dire situation, and Marines have had to go to their rescue. We've always succeeded, we'll succeed again this time. Other FISTs will join us, but we're going to be the first FIST in.

"I'm not going to stand here and lie to you, we're in for a fight as tough as the one we had on Diamunde or the one on Kingdom. I can't tell you anything about the current tactical situation-." Behind him, Ensign Charlie Ba.s.s choked back a snicker; Ravenette was a week away in Beams.p.a.ce and the most recent intelligence they had was more than two weeks old. "-All I can say is, be prepared for a tough fight as soon as we make planetfall.

"One more thing. The Secessionist Coalition had a cordon around Ravenette. The navy broke through it, so the last we heard, the way was clear. Which doesn't mean making planetfall will be easy. We won't know until we get there if the cordon is still broken, or whether the rebel forces have better antishuttle defenses than they did when the 27th Division went in."

Conorado looked over his company one more time, then said, "That is everything I have to tell you for now. When I dismiss you, return to the barracks and saddle up. We move out as soon as hoppers arrive to transport us to Boynton Field. COMP-ney, dis-MISSED!"

Less than an hour later, Company L dismounted from the FIST's hoppers at Boynton Field, Camp Ellis's shuttle field, and boarded Dragons from the Stars.h.i.+p a.s.sault, Troop CNSS Lance Corporal Keith Lopez, Lance Corporal Keith Lopez, in orbit around Thorsfinni's World. Mike Company, mounted on 34th FIST's own Dragons, was already boarding Essays from the stars.h.i.+p. The hoppers returned to the barracks area to pick up Kilo Company, which would launch in the second wave, along with the infantry battalion's headquarters company, the artillery battery, and the composite squadron. FIST headquarters had gone into orbit at dawn. in orbit around Thorsfinni's World. Mike Company, mounted on 34th FIST's own Dragons, was already boarding Essays from the stars.h.i.+p. The hoppers returned to the barracks area to pick up Kilo Company, which would launch in the second wave, along with the infantry battalion's headquarters company, the artillery battery, and the composite squadron. FIST headquarters had gone into orbit at dawn.

"I have a bad feeling about this," Corporal Dean said when the petty officer third who herded third platoon's first squad on a guideline through the Null-G stars.h.i.+p to its compartment left them to guide another squad to its compartment. He bent to stow his gear in one of the miniscule lockers in the row below the bunks.

"And why might that be, Dean-o?" Corporal Dornhofer asked.

"It wasn't this compartment," Dean said slowly, "but I've been on the Keith Lopez Keith Lopez before." before."

Lance Corporal G.o.denov punched his fire team leader in the shoulder. "All that means is you've been in this man's Marine Corps so long you're rotating through the gator fleet again."

Dean looked up from his stowing and grabbed a handhold to keep from drifting away. "Maybe," he agreed. "But the Keith Lopez Keith Lopez is the stars.h.i.+p that took me from Earth to a.r.s.enault." is the stars.h.i.+p that took me from Earth to a.r.s.enault."

Corporal Pasquin doubled over with laughter. He laughed so hard that he was out of reach of the handholds by the time he regained control of himself. It didn't bother him, he'd been in that position before.

Dean looked at him, offended. "That's not funny, Pasquin. I had a good job on Earth. Then I got onboard this stars.h.i.+p, and ever since I've been going places where people shoot at me!"

Pasquin laughed again, but it was less raucous. He relaxed into a semifetal position and grinned at Dean. "And just who held a hand-blaster to your head and forced you to board the Keith Lopez Keith Lopez?"

Dean looked away and muttered, "n.o.body." Then, "You two!" he snapped at G.o.denov and PFC Quick, "Stop standing there playing switch and get your gear stowed!"

G.o.denov looked at his thumbs; neither was in his mouth nor stuck up his r.e.c.t.u.m. "I'm not playing switch. Are you playing switch, Quick?"

Quick glanced at his own thumbs. "I don't believe so," he answered.

"Got you there, Rock," Dornhofer laughed.

Pasquin laughed again, then turned to Dornhofer with a mock-serious expression on his face. "You know, Dorny, we're setting a bad example, making jokes at another fire team leader in front of the peons."

"Peons!" Lance Corporal Zumwald exclaimed. "I'm almost at the end of my enlistment, I ain't no peon."

Pasquin chuckled and asked, "How many stripes you got, peon?"

Dornhofer asked, "Are you sure you're almost at the end of your enlistment?"

Just that fast, the atmosphere in first squad's compartment turned somber. Until the threat of the Skinks was removed, or their existence was made public, everyone in 34th FIST was in "for the duration." All offworld leaves, ends of active service, and retirements were canceled.

That was even more unpleasant than going into harm's way. Other Marines knew that no matter how many times they went into battle, eventually, if they survived, they'd get out. For the Marines of 34th FIST, the only way out was death or injury so severe the doctors couldn't patch them up well enough to return to duty.

"You would have to bring that up," Pasquin said sourly after a moment. He uncoiled from his semifetal position and swam to a handhold.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

Ashburtonville, the primary population center on Ravenette, now host to the secessionist coalition's

government, had been founded 250 years earlier by Franklin Ashburton. Ashburton had been a determined and ruthless entrepreneur, cast in the mold common to most early explorers and adventurers of every age, willing to risk everything to stake out new worlds. The city that took his name had developed into the cultural and economic center of Ravenette, with a population of well over five hundred thousand before most of it was evacuated as a military necessity at the beginning of the war.

The early settlers on Ravenette were pleased to discover that it was a world hospitable to human life, and many of the animal and plant species native to Earth thrived there. Although the world had its own diverse evolved and flouris.h.i.+ng biosphere, the native fauna and flora proved surprisingly compatible to human needs. In fact, the world took its very name from a native species of birdlike viviparous creatures dubbed Corvus corvidae Corvus corvidae because of their striking resemblance to crows or ravens of Earth. The animals were smaller than their Terran namesakes, seldom growing over twenty centimeters in length. They carried a large, heavy proboscis; a long, wedge-shaped tail; and were covered with smooth, glossy scales, usually bluish-black in color. The name "Ravenette" caught on in the early days but eventually the people of Ravenette just started calling them "blackbirds," naturally. Those early colonists found them to be intelligent creatures perfectly adaptable to life among humans. In fact, over the generations, for many families the blackbirds readily a.s.sumed the roles normally performed by dogs. because of their striking resemblance to crows or ravens of Earth. The animals were smaller than their Terran namesakes, seldom growing over twenty centimeters in length. They carried a large, heavy proboscis; a long, wedge-shaped tail; and were covered with smooth, glossy scales, usually bluish-black in color. The name "Ravenette" caught on in the early days but eventually the people of Ravenette just started calling them "blackbirds," naturally. Those early colonists found them to be intelligent creatures perfectly adaptable to life among humans. In fact, over the generations, for many families the blackbirds readily a.s.sumed the roles normally performed by dogs.

Ashburtonville evolved into a comfortable and gracious metropolis with grand tree-lined boulevards and Earth-style homes constructed of native woods and stone, where the inhabitants raised large and vivacious families. Although Ravenette's economy depended mostly on agriculture, the people of Ashburtonville did not have dirt under their fingernails all the time, and the lifestyle they developed was diverse and stimulating, drawing to its great advantage on a thousand years of mankind's struggle to make life better for itself.

When the order to evacuate the city came, the people, united in their desire for independence, complied willingly enough. Most moved without complaint into the far hinterlands to avoid the destruction that was coming. Some, remarkably independent souls even for an independent race like the people of Ravenette, just refused to move, a few others stayed because they were curious, and some remained behind because they would not leave their homes. But for the most part the once gracious city now lay in ruins, its broad boulevards, once fragrant with trees and shrubs, reduced to rubble-clogged pathways enveloped in the choking smoke of fires and the air everywhere reeking of high explosive. Burrowed deep into the ruins of the once magnificent dwellings the stay-behinds crouched timorously, praying for safe exit from the doomed city. But there was none.

And everywhere were the soldiers, digging, burrowing, constructing, manning fighting points, tending to the monstrous machines of destruction, soldiers in their thousands, from every world of the Coalition, all waiting eagerly for one word: ATTACK!

In the lulls between bombardments, only the blackbirds moved aboveground, soaring on the thermals of the fires, looking for carrion. They had learned to feed on the dead.

A major military headquarters during a battle is a cauldron of organized chaos. Nothing in a battle headquarters can be done there today, all must have been done yesterday and if not, there is always that time between retreat and reveille when tasks left undone can be completed, because n.o.body there ever sleeps.

General Davis Lyons established his headquarters on the far side of Ashburtonville in an abandoned school building. Not that he spent much time there. Lyons was the type of commander who believed that in order to manage a battle he had to be at the front, so he spent most of his time out with the troops, touring their fighting positions, talking to them, buoying morale, and conferring with his subordinate commanders. The sobriquet "Granny" that had been applied to him, mostly by politicians and people who did not know Lyons personally, was not the nickname his soldiers had for him: They called him "general."

The all-important tasks of managing an army's sinews, its supplies, its food, clothing, equipment, ammunition, spare parts, fuels, and a myriad personnel matters, Lyons left to the experts on his staff. But late into the nights he read their daily reports, noted deficiencies to be corrected, actions that deserved commendation, and made decisions on a bewildering variety of problems ranging from what to do with civilians found hiding in the ruins to the decisions of courts-martial boards. To add to the complexity of his mission, Lyons also had to coordinate the activities of the Coalition fleet in orbit around Ravenette as well as a small naval contingent in the Ocean Sea just off Pohick Bay. And frequently he was called back to the new capital city of the Coalition government, Gilbert's Corners, a small town 150 kilometers from Ashburtonville, in an area supposed to be safe from attack, to render in person justification for the way he was running the war. Those politicians were becoming very impatient with him.

The initial anger Lyons had felt over the proximate cause of his son Tommy's death had subsided as he became more and more involved in commanding his army. Now, instead of going out of his life on a wave of fire and destruction, Lyons concentrated on fighting the Confederation to the best of his considerable ability. Acts of self-destruction were just not in the nature of General Davis Lyons.

Lyons knew as well as the politicians bugging him from the safety of their new senate chambers that the longer he kept his army idle in front of Cazombi's fortified positions the worse it would be for morale as his men slowly slipped into a defensive mentality. He also knew that if the Confederation was successful in adequately reinforcing Cazombi the tide could well turn against him despite the numerical superiority of his army. So he found himself on the horns of a dilemma. He was certain a ma.s.sive attack by his forces would crack Cazombi's defenses and lead to the fall of his fortress, but if he did that then his grand strategy of luring the Confederation's piecemeal reinforcements to their destruction would have to be revised. Time was not on his side. The longer the stalemate endured, the more opportunity the Confederation would have to ma.s.s first-cla.s.s fighting forces. Once they got a toehold on Ravenette, they would commence a war of maneuver. Then, if Cazombi's forces were well-led, and Lyons knew him to be a first-cla.s.s tactical commander, his own superiority in numbers might not be sufficient to ensure victory.

Well, General Davis Lyons had a few tricks up his sleeve, but first he had to know what was happening inside Cazombi's lines.

During the weeks since the capture of Fort Seymour, Lyons's engineers and sappers had gradually closed the distance between them and General Cazombi's fortifications on the Peninsula by extending a network of trenches and tunnels into the intervening no man's land. Using these, Lyons's troops had been able to advance protected in some places to within one hundred meters of Cazombi's defenses.

Trench warfare is an old tactic of static positional warfare. But the construction methods for Lyons's entrenchments were very different than those used in commercial excavations. Compressed-air and rotary-percussion drilling equipment, blasting and heavy excavation machinery could not be used because they drew fire. Instead, military technicians had developed a special miniaturized laser that vaporized rock and soil at a very rapid rate and a ventilation system that expelled the gases from the excavations soundlessly and dissipated them into the surrounding environment. The laser drill also eliminated the problem of haulage and disposition of detritus. While this equipment was in operation the men using it had to wear protective gear. The connecting tunnels were short enough they did not require special ventilation systems. One had been successfully constructed to come up inside

Cazombi's defenses and thus far its existence had not been discovered.

Lyons was meeting with a brigade commander and his officers in one sector of his lines to discuss a raid into Cazombi's fortifications through this tunnel. Because of frequent power outages so close to the enemy lines, they were using paper maps and charts. "I want you to conduct two diversionary raids of battalion strength here and here," Lyons told them, jabbing a forefinger at a map of the enemy positions, "while you send a small team through this tunnel to get inside."

"I'll pick my best men," the brigade commander replied. He looked at his three regimental commanders and selected two to provide the diversionary battalions. "I'll hold the rest of my brigade in reserve to exploit the breakthrough. We can be ready in the morning."

Lyons shook his head vigorously. "No, Colonel, this raid is to get prisoners and information only. We shall not exploit the tunnel breakthrough. I want just a small detachment of lightly armed men to get inside, raise h.e.l.l, and get out. Blow the tunnel behind them. I need to know what the state of affairs is inside there. I'm going to draw him out to us, but only in my good time. That's why I need to know what's going on in there. Colonel, any questions?"

"Nossir."

"What time will they be able to jump off?" Lyons asked.

"It's thirteen hours now, we can be ready at zero three hours tomorrow. My men will be forming up in the tunnel not later than zero one hours. I'll order a barrage to cover the explosion when the engineers blow the tunnel. The demolition charges will be set off by the last man of the a.s.sault force out."

"Very well. Colonel, if the raid fails, blow the tunnels so the enemy can't use them to get into our positions." Lyons looked up at each of the a.s.sembled officers and they nodded. "I'll see you back here at zero one hours tomorrow. I want to talk to your men before they go in." Lyons shook hands with both officers and left.

Private Amitus Sparks's pulse raced, but outwardly he remained calm. This would not be his first a.s.sault but the conditions this time were much different than in any of the other actions he'd seen so far in this war. Still, he was with his friends, men he knew he could rely on even if they were a bit peculiar in a noncombat environment. "Wellers, stop spitting that tobacco juice all over the gawdam floor," he whispered to Private Wellford Brack, the second man in his three-man fire team.

"Shee-it, Amie, what difference does it make where I spit?" he nodded at the solid rock all around them in the tunnel where they were crouching, waiting for the engineers to give them the signal to move forward. "This whole place is gonna go up in smoke before sunrise anyway." The platoon had formed up just inside the tunnel mouth. The tunnel was four meters wide and four high, just wide enough to permit a single-file column of infantrymen with scaling equipment to move forward and leave enough room for the engineers to pa.s.s them. Dim fluorescent lamps strung along the ceiling at ten-meter intervals gave them just enough light to see by. At the far end of the tunnel they could just make out the figures of the engineers planting the charges that would blow out an exit at the height of the barrage.

"Well, it's a gawdam dirty habit, Wellers. Ya should of brought your bottle along."

"Yeah? Lug a spit bottle into combat? Sometimes I don't know about you, boy. Anyways, when you make PFC you kin order me around." He nudged their fire team leader, PFC Suey Ruston, who was crouching just in front of him. Brack had been a police officer on Mylex, and like all cops, he'd gotten into the habit of chewing tobacco.

"They's gonna blow up this tunnel, Amie, so who cares if Wellford spits tobacco juice in here? What I want to be a.s.sured of is he don't let none of them killer farts of his."

"Hope it don't blow while we're still in here," Brack whispered, spitting a brown stream across the tunnel. It splattered on the opposite wall. In the dim light, he grinned ferociously at Sparks, revealing the discolored stumps of his front teeth.

"Cut it out!" a soldier behind them whispered. Brack turned and gave the man a rigid middle finger.

"Well, if he swallows that chaw in the excitement, we're gonna have to carry him out."

"Shut up!" their platoon leader whispered as he walked down the line of crouching infantrymen. "Noise discipline! Gen'rel Lyons is gonna be here in a minute. He wants to talk to us."

"Hee, hee, hee, somebody give the old boy a bullhorn!" Brack stage-whispered. The lieutenant glared at him as he pa.s.sed on down the line and Brack self-consciously lapsed into silence.

"Gawdam," someone muttered, "the Gen'rel comin' in here to talk to us? Man, that's bad luck." Someone else cursed the man into silence.

These men were eager for the attack to begin. They had practiced it intensively over the last hours, studied the maps of the fortress, memorized every detail, each knew his a.s.signment. Brack's team was to break through into a specific bunker, if they could, and kill or capture the men in there; if time-ten minutes inside at the most, and then back into the tunnel-and circ.u.mstances permitted, they would infiltrate neighboring positions through the communications tunnels the engineers a.s.sumed branched off from every bunker, connecting them all into an integrated defensive system. It was really a very simple operation with the exception that they would have to run all the way back through the tunnel with their prisoners-if they got any-and wounded, which they definitely would have.

Brack had never seen General Davis Lyons up close. That morning the general pa.s.sed within inches of where they crouched, speaking quiet words of encouragement to each man, shaking hands with some, pausing to talk in whispers briefly with others. "I'm counting on you," he said directly to Brack and making eye contact. He pa.s.sed on, then turned around and came back. "Is that a chaw in your cheek, soldier?" he asked.

"Um, yessir," Brack mumbled, his lips stained dark with tobacco juice that was visible even in the poor light. He began to get to his feet to a.s.sume the position of attention but Lyons motioned for him to stay down.

Lyons shook his head as Brack's platoon commander, who was following the general, began to say something. "Well, soldier, make sure you don't swallow the d.a.m.n thing," Lyons said and, still shaking his head, pa.s.sed on down the line. Brack gave Sparks a huge, vindicated grin and spit carefully but victoriously, onto the wall behind him. On his way out General Lyons paused before Brack again, laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it gently. Brack was astonished and enormously flattered that the general remembered him, but most invigorating of all, he realized, he had just had his brush with history and if he lived through this war, he'd have a story to tell the rest of his life.

A few minutes later the lieutenant came back down the line whispering, "Forward! Forward! The engineers are ready!"

"My name is Andantina Metzger," the interrogator introduced herself, taking the chair opposite Ennis Shovell. "Smoke?" she asked, offering an open pack of cigarettes to Shovell, who shook his head. She shrugged. "You don't mind if I have one then?" She lighted up, leaned back, and smiled. "So, Private Shovel, how's things?"

Ennis Shovell's head was still bandaged from the blow that had knocked him unconscious and saved his life. He did not know what happened to his companions, Livny and Quimper, whom he presumed were killed in the raid. "I've been worse," Shovell answered. He sized up Metzger warily, the way she sucked the smoke into her lungs and expelled it to one side, to avoid blowing it into his face; her posture in the chair; the way she looked at him; her hair, the bones in her face. She did not look at all threatening. He estimated her age as several years younger than himself, but no spring chicken. Ordinarily she might have been rather attractive to him but under these circ.u.mstances Shovell had other things to think about. "When do you start pulling out my fingernails?" he asked.

"Oh, dear boy, don't be so crude!" Metzger smiled slightly, revealing a set of good teeth, "we do so much hate crudity. Ah, hum," she was silent for a moment, regarding Shovell in her turn. She knew something about him from the information contained in the standard-issue army ID bracelet he'd been wearing when captured. She saw a well-built man in his forties, probably, one side of his head covered with a field dressing, his tunic bloodstained. Her training was as a psychologist. In civilian life she conducted interviews with criminal suspects for the police and was considered good at obtaining confessions. "You're from New Genesee? I've never been there. What's it like? What'd you do there? How's your family?"

"At its worst, it's much nicer than this place," Shovell answered.