Starfist - Kingdom's Swords Part 17

"Well, Lew, when do you head back to 34th FIST?" Tuit asked when Conorado rejoined the others.

"Soon as I can, but not before I take care of some unfinished business, Hank."

"And what might that be?"

"I'm going to see Jennifer Lenfen's parents."

"Right. I'll go with you," Tuit responded, clapping Conorado on the back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.

"Lesser Imam, Lesser Imam!" First Acolyte Fakir burst into what had been his office, which, now that he shared it, he mostly avoided. He waved a flimsy in his hand. Acting Lesser Imam Bladon looked up from the training plan he and his fire team leaders were reviewing. "First Acolyte," he calmly acknowledged, though Fakir's excitement indicated pending action.

"Lesser Imam, the demons are striking Blessing Waters at this time." He thrust the flimsy at Bladon. 176 176 Still calm on the outside, Bladon took the flimsy and scanned it. The noted time of receipt showed the message was only two minutes old. Place of transmission verified it came from the village of Blessing Waters. The message itself was terse: "Demons are attacking. Help us ere we all die." That was it.

Bladon stood. "Rat, inform Platoon and see if the string-of-pearls shows anything. Kerr, get our people ready to move out. Chan, get transport. First Acolyte, have your people a.s.semble in the courtyard, ready to move. I want us on the way within five minutes." He was talking to himself on the last sentence, because each man to whom he gave an order left the office immediately. Two minutes after Fakir ran in with the message, the last Soldiers of the Lord were scrambling into the company formation, urged on by the Marines. The garrison's armored personnel carriers were manned and rumbling to life. Corporal "Rat" Linsman was intently studying the data flow the Grandar Bay Grandar Bay was transmitting to his UPUD, Mark III. was transmitting to his UPUD, Mark III.

"Report!" Bladon commanded before he even reached his position in front of the company.

"First platoon," PFC MacIlargie eagle-eyed a late arriver, "all present and accounted for!"

"Second platoon, ready to mount up," Corporal Kerr announced.

"Third platoon?" Corporal Chan was running to his position from the APCs.

"Third platoon, all present!" PFC Longfellow shouted.

"Transport!" Bladon cried.

Chan, now in place in front of his platoon, glanced at the APCs. "Transport ready," he replied.

"Mount up!"

Under the direction of the Marines, the soldiers of the 157th Defense Garrison boarded their a.s.signed vehicles in much better order than they would have a few days earlier.

"Listen up, don't interrupt," Bladon said over the squad circuit as he and Linsman headed toward their APC. He wanted his Marines to know everything they could. "Got anything?" he asked Linsman.

"Looks like it's still in progress," Linsman answered without taking his eyes from the UPUD display.

"How many are there and what's their disposition?" The two Marines boarded the APC and strapped themselves in.

Linsman shook his head. "Can't tell, Skinks don't show up well in infrared. Take a look." He tapped a b.u.t.ton to switch the display from numerical data to visual and handed the UPUD to Bladon. "I think all those red spots are civilians."

"Report," Bladon ordered as he accepted the UPUD. In a moment all the Marines reported their soldiers were aboard the APCs and strapped in. 177 177 "Move out," he ordered on the company command circuit. In the Army of the Lord, the command officers and religious officers of a defense garrison company were tied into a comm net-enlisted men, even noncommissioned officers, weren't. The APCs jerked and moved out to form in three parallel lines, tracks and wheels rumbling over the ground as they picked up speed. Conversation inside them was impossible except over the helmet comms. Bladon studied the display for a moment, then swore under his breath. They had to go in blind. All he could do was see where the red dots were, what direction they ran in-the ones that ran rather than trying to hide-and try to extrapolate from that where the Skinks were. No way to tell how many there were, or whether any of them were actually chasing the fleeing civilians.

"What's that?" he asked.

Linsman looked at the display. A dot, larger and brighter than the dots he interpreted as civilians, had entered the display. He took the UPUD and tapped the b.u.t.ton to resume the numerical data flow.

"s.h.i.+t," he swore. "It's a vehicle. String-of-pearls says it doesn't return an IFF signal."

"Must be one of theirs," Bladon murmured. Linsman nodded. "Think they've got that armor-killer weapon?" he asked.

"It's possible." Bladon thought about it. n.o.body knew what the range of that weapon was, or at least he didn't. It had fired at them at eight hundred meters in the Swamp of Perdition. They didn't know how far away it was when it killed the Dragons. He toggled on his HUD map and set it to a scale that showed the garrison, the village, and their position. To reach the village, they had to cross over a row of small hills-the map labled them "Martyrs Mounts"-that ran at a tangential angle to their line of approach. The hills were two kilometers from the village, and they were still five klicks from the hills.

"There are three of them now," Linsman said. "Headed into the village center." Fakir was on a different APC. Bladon toggled to the command frequency to talk to him. He told Fakir which map he was using and updated him on what was happening in the village. Then he told him to have the vehicles keep the Martyrs Mounts between them and the village until they were as close to it as they could get, and he gave Fakir the coordinates. That was where they'd dismount. Only then did he report the presence of vehicles to third platoon headquarters and request instructions. The APCs pitched as they turned onto their new vector.

The Marines ordered the soldiers to spread out and stay below the crest of the hills. They themselves went the rest of the way to where they could observe. Blessing Waters was home to four hundred people, five hundred if the outlying households were included. Corporal Doyle counted five spires, a minaret, and an onion dome that he a.s.sumed was also a place of wors.h.i.+p. He wondered how so few people could support so many temples. A movement caught his eye, and he forgot all about the ways of the religious; a vehicle crashed through a house on the fringe of town, shattering it. He looked more widely and spotted two more armored vehicles smas.h.i.+ng through 178 178 the village. One of the steeples toppled as he watched. Armored vehicles. On Diamunde six FISTs went up against several armored divisions to kick open the door for the army, but he had been the company's chief clerk and didn't partic.i.p.ate in the combat. But he'd heard about it, and he was the one who processed the casualty reports. There was armor down there. He gripped his blaster and felt sick-they didn't have weapons that could defeat armor. Even the Army of the Lord APCs only had antipersonnel weapons; they'd never had to fight armor. If the Skinks spotted the Marines on the hills and came after them, they wouldn't be able to defend themselves. Doyle fought down the bile that rose; it wouldn't do to let the soldiers he was supposed to be leading know it-they had to think he was confident and competent. On Diamunde, Lance Corporal Schultz had been in the thick of the fighting, even managed to take out a tank with his blaster. Not directly, though. He was trying to burn through the turret hatch when a crewman opened a forward hatch to take him out. He had flamed that crewman, then jammed his blaster through the open hatch before anyone inside could close it and fired until he'd killed the crew and melted the tank's electronics. But Schultz harbored no delusions about being able to kill one of the Skink armored vehicles with only his blaster. These three scared him more than the divisions of tanks he'd faced on Diamunde.

Corporal Kerr missed that action because he was still recuperating. But he knew they needed weapons they didn't have to defeat these tanks. As soon as Acting Lesser Imam Bladon visually confirmed that the vehicles were armor, he reported to third platoon. Gunny Ba.s.s replied that Raptors were orbiting on ready station and he'd get them headed his way.

Bladon watched the scene a klick and a half away and swore to himself in a constant stream. He didn't dare move his company in until the tanks were dead. Through his magnifier s.h.i.+eld he could make out dun-colored figures here and there, dartng in and out of view. They seemed to be running about randomly, searching and pursuing. Bodies lay flung about, dead civilians. He was afraid that by the time he and his troops got to the village, most of the civilians would be dead.

"One-five-seven, this is your Bluebird of Happiness," a voice interrupted Bladon's swearing. "I have you on visual. That is you, isn't it?"

"Bluebird, stand by for confirm," Bladon said. He turned around, used his infra to make sure n.o.body was in his line of sight, and fired his blaster downhill.

"Ooh-ee, One-five-seven, that's a mighty pretty shoulder flame you've got there." Bladon felt relief. "Visual confirmed," he said. He hadn't told the Bluebird pilot what he was using as a visual signal; the pilot had to identify it and wait for his confirmation. That way no enemy could confuse the pilot by using the same signal to give a false position.

"I show three vehicles in the town," the pilot said. "That what you need taken care of?"

"That's affirmative, Bluebird. All the good guys are near my confirm. Be careful, civilians are getting slaughtered by the bad guys."

179 "Roger that, One-five-seven. I'm using the SOP to guide our goodies. The squids get the blame if any noncombatants get hit."

"You're wasting time, Bluebird. Civilians are getting killed."

"Roger, Marine. As soon as we're lined up." While Bluebird lead was talking, he and his wingman had locked their missiles' guidance systems into the string-of-pearls. They punched in their designated targets, pointed their noses toward the Martyrs Mounts, then they each fired two missiles that swooped up over the hills and arrowed at the village. Guided by the ring of surveillance satellites, they altered vector and sped toward the rampaging tanks. One missile struck close enough to tear the treads off its target and nearly knock it onto its side. Another hit the engine compartment of its target and killed it. The third tank took a direct hit on its turret and erupted. The final missile made a radical, last instant course correction and plunged into the side of the crippled tank, killing it.

"Bluebird of Happiness, paint three tanks on your forehead," Bladon said, barely suppressing a cheer. "If I ever run into you in a civilian bar, I owe you and your wingman a drink or three."

"d.a.m.n! Why is it every time I go on an infantry support mission the mud commander is enlisted and can't buy me a drink in the officers club?" Bluebird said. "Hey, you ever go for a commission, I'll buy you a drink in the O-club." Then more seriously, "Listen, One-five-seven, we've got more missiles, we just refueled, and mom isn't expecting us for dinner right away. Want us to stick around just in case?"

"I'd love to have your company, Bluebird. Here are my command and all-hands freqs." Bladon sent them. Now the two Raptors could monitor what the troops on the ground were doing and not have to wait for a call if they needed help in a hurry. Bladon switched to the all-hands frequency. "Saddle up, we're moving in. Contingency Charlie." Contingency Charlie had the APCs moving in support of the infantry.

"If they've got one of those weapons," Kerr said on the squad circuit, "they'll start taking out the APCs."

"That's right," Bladon replied. "We can save the infantry if they do." His map showed irregularities in the ground that the infantry could use to avoid the line of sight to the Skinks. The 157th Defense Garrison got on line and moved over the hills. Once on the flat, the Marines urged them into a trot. The APCs rumbled along, dispersed between squads. They had covered half the distance before the Skinks who had gathered around the nearest killed tank became aware of them. There were a few seconds of apparent confusion among the Skinks, then they began to run into the ruined village.

"Flame them!" Bladon shouted. The Marines dropped into firing positions and took careful aim. Their fusillade was rewarded with several flashes from vaporizing Skinks. Then no more Skinks were in sight. The Soldiers of the Lord were impressed by both the range and accuracy of the Marines' fire.

"Move out!" Bladon ordered on the all-hands circuit. "Double time!" They all sprinted forward.

180 "Lesser Imam," Fakir panted into the command circuit, "shouldn't we board the APCs? We can catch them better in the vehicles than on foot."

"We stay spread out," Bladon replied. There was still a chance the Skinks had that weapon, and he didn't want to risk losing half a platoon to one shot. But the Skinks didn't have that weapon, whatever it was. Or chose not to use it. The Marines and their charges ran through the village and into a forest beyond it without seeing any more Skinks. They continued into the forest for half a kilometer before Gunny Ba.s.s ordered them to turn back and see what they could do for the civilian survivors. Blessing Waters was thoroughly devastated. More than a quarter of the buildings were knocked down and many others had received damage, some severe, from the three tanks. Bladon a.s.signed Linsman to set a platoon in defensive positions between the village and the forest, and observation posts on other possible approaches. Then he had the rest of the company gather the injured people in one place, where he and the rest of the Marines used their knives to dig any still-active acid out of their wounds. Once the wounded were gathered for care, Bladon set the soldiers to work gathering corpses near the village graveyard for burial. The Marines did their best to ignore the screams and whimpers of the wounded, and the wails of the survivors crying over their dead. Of four hundred residents, more than half had been killed in the raid. When visitors from the outlying homesteads were included, there were nearly three hundred fatalities.

The Skinks didn't return.

Second squad wasn't unique in having problems integrating into command and leaders.h.i.+p positions with the Army of the Lord's Defense Garrisons. A hundred kilometers from the 157th, first squad had difficulties.

"Acting Lesser Imam," Friar Acolyte Archangel Raphael said from the doorway of the office of the commander of the 241st Defense Garrison. Sergeant Ratliff looked up from the contingency operation plans he and Lesser Imam Yasith, the garrison's regular commander, were refining. He didn't like Friar Acolyte Archangel Raphael, who constantly interjected himself into strictly military matters.

"I bring a message for Lesser Imam Yasith. It has to do with danger to the Faithful."

"Come." Ratliff didn't have the patience to grant the priest any more than the bare minimum of courtesy a commander owed to an obstreperous subordinate. Archangel Raphael entered the office and thrust a flimsy at Yasith. The Kingdomite read it quickly and handed it to Ratliff. "We need to move fast," he said. Ratliff read the brief message. It was from the village of Kibbutz Aviv, which was under attack. The message was five minutes old. It had been received in the room directly outside the commander's office.

"Form up the garrison for immediate movement," Ratliff told Yasith. As he brushed past Archangel Raphael he said, "This message is five minutes old. That's not acceptable. People-your people-are 181 181 dying." He got on his comm and began issuing orders to his Marines as he made his way to the parade ground outside of the garrison compound. Archangel Raphael scurried to keep up. "It was necessary for me to confirm the message," he said harshly.

"Confirmation is a military responsibility. We would already be on the way if you'd given me that message as soon as it came in."

"What if you arrived and the message was false? The Faithful of Kibbutz Aviv would be at risk of heretical contamination."

Ratliff spun about abruptly, and the priest almost fell to avoid running into him.

"You were so concerned about the remote possibility someone might hear something you disagree with that you chose to let people die. We have minimum contact with the villagers when we go in; that's one of our Rules of Engagement. The people who die because we were delayed, their deaths are on your soul. Their deaths are your sin."

"Heathen!" Archangel Raphael shrilled. "It is no one's sin to die resisting heresy!" But Ratliff was already striding to the parade ground and didn't listen. He had a counterattack to mount. Within two minutes the entire 241st Defense Garrison and the Marines who commanded and led it were aboard APCs, headed for Kibbutz Aviv. They were in sight of the village, re-formed on line and charging at top speed into open farmland when the APC on the line's left flank went into a dip in the ground and didn't come out.

Ratliff was studying the situation on his UPUD's visual display when he saw the APC suddenly stop.

"Runner Eleven, report," he said into the company command circuit. There was no reply. Who did he have in Eleven? PFC Hayes, that's right. He switched to the squad circuit. "Hayes, sound off. What's happening?"

No reply. Hayes's ID bracelet telltale didn't show when Ratliff switched the UPUD display to show the Marines' locations.

Still on the squad circuit, he said, "Dorny, Rock, check it out. Everybody else, keep moving." d.a.m.n, not only was he half blind, he was going to hit an unknown number of Skinks with an understrength company.

"We've got trouble," Corporal Dornhofer reported. "G.o.dd.a.m.n! Skinks all over the place!" Ratliff heard Dornhofer order the two APCs to maneuver to where the infantrymen could dismount.

"We're coming, give us directions!" Ratliff shouted. He deployed the APCs according to Dornhofer's report and had the troops dismount seventy-five meters from the dip. Dornhofer, Claypoole, and their Kingdomites were already on foot, firing desperately at h.o.a.rds of Skinks that were attacking from the other side of the dip. He couldn't see the APC from where he was-it was too deep.

"Pasquin, loop left, get on their flank," Ratliff ordered. "Juice, move to your right and lay down a base of fire."

On the right side, Corporal "Juice" Goudanis and PFC Quick quickly had their platoon move forward 182 182 and fire into the ma.s.s of Skinks. The crack-sizzle of the Marine blasters mingled with the louder rat-a-tat of the Kingdomites' flechette rifles. Skinks flared into vapor, hit by plasma bolts, and others sprayed blood from bodies rent by the miniature darts from the flechette rifles. On the left, Pasquin and Dean tried to maintain order in the platoon they herded through the wheat, galloping to a flanking position.

Ratliff demanded that the UPUD focus on the immediate area of the firefight. After a moment, the display view jerked and adjusted to a larger scale that encompa.s.sed a square five hundred meters on a side. He looked closely and could barely make out the infrared signatures of the Skinks. There seemed to be hundreds of them.

By then Pasquin, Dean, and the second platoon were in their flanking position, pouring enfilade fire into the Skinks. So many of them flared, it looked like scattered lights were strobing at close but irregular intervals in the wheat. More Skinks yet were shredded by flechettes. A whistle shrilled a complex pattern that was taken up by other whistles. Ratliff's jaw dropped at the response of the Skinks to the whistles. They jumped up and ran into the trees to their rear, but many delayed their flight to start fires in the field. They didn't attempt to take their wounded and dead, they set the fires next to them. The bodies flashed and helped spread the flames.

"Up and at 'em!" Goudanis bellowed. "Don't let them get away!" He leaped to his feet and led the third platoon in a race into the trees after the fleeing Skinks. The trees were closer to his platoon's position than the rest of the field where they had fought.

"Juice, hold your position!" Ratliff shouted into the squad circuit.

"But-"

"No 'but.' Stop and drop!"

Goudanis called for the platoon to drop in place. He didn't give the order quite soon enough. The trees, now thirty meters away, were suddenly alive with streams of greenish fluid shooting at the exposed men in range. The Marines and Kindgomites were where the Skinks wanted them to be-in range of the h.e.l.lish weapons.

"Dorny, give them support! Pasquin, maneuver to where you can support them. Juice, pull back!" First platoon began firing over the heads of the p.r.o.ne third platoon. Flashes lit up inside the trees. In a moment Pasquin and Dean had maneuvered second platoon to where it could help. The men of third platoon were crawling backward. In that section of the wheat field the screams of wounded and frightened men almost overwhelmed the din of blaster and rifle fire. Then they were out of range, at least those men who weren't dead or too badly wounded to crawl. More flashes lit up in the trees, the Skinks torching their own casualties.

"They're inhuman!" Dean gasped. "They're killing their own."

"What, didn't you know they aren't human?" Pasquin retorted. "Can't expect them to be like us."

"You know what I mean," Dean snapped back. 183 183 Flames flickered in the underbrush, but the flashes in the trees weren't enough to start a forest fire.

"Report," Ratliff ordered as soon as it was clear the fighting was over for the moment. Dornhofer replied that he and Claypoole were all right, but seven of their Kingdomites were down-three dead, two dying, and two with lesser but disabling wounds. But it appeared that everyone in Runner 11 was dead; he hadn't had an opportunity to inspect it yet. Pasquin reported that second platoon was all present, no casulaties. PFC Quick, sounding close to breakdown, said Corporal Goudanis was down, maybe dead. He wasn't sure how many Kingdomites were down other than to say a lot of them.

"Pasquin, take over third platoon. Report as soon as you can," Ratliff ordered. "Dorny, let's check out Runner Eleven."

The APC at the bottom of the dip looked like it had been submerged in a bath of sulfuric acid and forgotten about. Its entire surface was pitted, fully eaten through in a number of places, so it resembled a block of particularly holey Swiss cheese gone to mold. Green goo still ate at it in spots. Shards of its treads dangled from the sprocket wheels, the tires completely gone.

"My G.o.d," Dornhofer whispered.

"It looks like every Skink who could get in range opened up on it," Ratliff said. "Let's get that hatch open and see if anyone's still alive in there." He didn't have much hope of that. The surface around the hatch was still too damp for them to risk touching it. Ratliff raised all s.h.i.+elds except the infra and looked through a hole next to the hatch. He saw a lot of bodies in infrared, but the signatures were dimming. "Anybody alive?" he asked, and got only an echo for answer.

"Let's use this," Dornhofer said. He held a flechette rifle dropped by one of his Kingdomites, jammed it into a hole where the acid had eaten through alongside the hatch. Using the barrel as a lever, he forced the hatch open then jumped back to avoid a puddle of acid that flowed out. The two Marines looked in with their light gatherers and looked away quickly. None of the fifteen men inside was alive.

"Now what?" Dornhofer asked dully.

"We have to deal with this later," Ratliff replied, and turned away. "Pasquin, what's happening with third platoon?"

"Goudanis is still alive, but barely. I think we got all the active acid cut out of him. He needs a hospital, right now. We're still bringing in the casualites. All I can say is, third lost too many men to function as a platoon."

Ratliff sighed. "Let me know when you know more."

"Aye aye."

184 "You know, we came out here for a reason," Ratliff said to Dornhofer.

"How can I forget?" Dornhofer answered dryly, looking at the APC in which one of his Marines and a third of his platoon had died.

They climbed out of the dip and Ratliff studied his UPUD display. The red dots that showed the civilians weren't jittering in flight anymore. Most of them were stationary, the dots in motion moving slowly.

"Allah's b.a.l.l.s," he swore. "I think they lured us into an ambush and took off from the village as soon as we walked into their killing zone." A blow from behind staggered him.

"Heathen! Blasphemer!" Friar Acolyte Archangel Raphael shrieked at him. "How many Soldiers of the Lord died this day because G.o.d in his mercy set the demons upon you for blaspheming his name?" Ratliff took a long step to stand chest-to-chest with the religious officer. "No 'demons' were set on us by any G.o.d because of my speech," he said, his voice ominously low. "If you hadn't delayed giving me that message, we might have been through here before their ambush was ready." He knew that wasn't true, the ambush was probably in place before the attack on the village began. His hands clenched into fists, and his right elbow was c.o.c.ked. Dornhofer grabbed his arm.

"Leave him alone. He's a fanatic, you can't talk to him. We've got a job to do, let's do it, Marine." Ratliff glared at Dornhofer, but he unc.o.c.ked his arm and unclenched his fists. He turned from the priest and headed for the APCs. He issued orders as he went.

"Pasquin, leave Dean in command of third platoon. Mount second platoon on the APCs. Dornhofer, mount up first platoon. We're continuing to the village. Dean, get the casualties on APCs and return to the garrison." He reported to Gunny Ba.s.s as they headed for the village and again when they got there. The Skinks were gone from Kibbutz Aviv by the time the 241st Defense Garrison reached it. Physical damage was less than at Blessing Waters and the casualties were fewer. Ratliff was right, the Skinks had withdrawn from the village as soon as the ambush was sprung.