Louis Shalako
“Who have we got in charge of the southwestern
patrols?”
Dona had just come back on duty after a bit of a nap,
a meal and a shower. It was hard to stay away, and that was just the truth. It
was mid-shift, with Vicky Chan in the hot-seat, but things were happening and
the pace was quickening. They had half a dozen patrols and sniper teams out
there.
“Well, there’s Trooper First Class Broser—”
“I think I’ve met him. That guy’s huge.”
“Yes. But. He’s like a big cat in the jungle. That, is
one of the quietest ones I have ever met. And I’ve met a few. I was with him
and a few others on Arcturus Four. He’s got all kinds of experience and he’s
not stupid, either. He knows when to keep his head down and he knows when to
strike.”
Arcturus Four had been a pretty good little war, by
all accounts. It paid the bills, as the saying went. The Organization and their
clients had won, and without too many casualties on either side. It had all the
appearance of justice, insofar as that could ever be had.
“Very well.”
“Then there’s Virge. She’s a sergeant, all the
qualifications. Also did a year or so on Arcturus. Her specialty is
reconnaissance and special ops. Ah, there’s Corporal Twon, and a couple of
others. They’re picking their way forward, snooper-dogs out and being very, very
quiet themselves.” No noobs, everyone
with them had proper training and the combat experience.
“Okay.”
“Nothing yet. Estimating time of travel, in a beeline,
for the Unfriendly patrols…they’re still a good few hours away. Some of those
tracks are still passable, but you’d be lucky to get much more than walking
speed a lot of the time.” When vehicles bogged down, it took a lot of time to
unstick them, from the enemy’s point of view.
Their own people were reporting the same problem. The
plan was to hide the vehicles as far up as safely seemed possible and to
continue on foot…on an interception course.
Make contact with the enemy and disrupt them.
“Right.”
Dona sat looking at the battle map. Earlier in the
day, as had more or less been expected, a trio of enemy surface-to-surface
missiles had struck at the town centre of Roussef.
They had a good minute and a few seconds or so of
warning, and then the subsonic, cruise-type missiles were landing in the centre
of Roussef.
She had learned much from that.
It took a while to digest, sometimes.
***
Back in the Command Centre, everyone was all talking
at once.
“Reports please, one at a time.”
There was a pause, and then they all started up again.
Finally, as people realized, they dropped off until it
was Captain Aaron, looking at the big board where the satellite and sensor data
was collected and displayed.
“Colonel. Fox-Tail Mark Twos, three of them. One hit,
roughly where City Hall used to be—” There was a camera view, someone having
the brains to dispose of a dozen or so in the downtown area. “They still don’t
know about our command post, or so it would seem.”
There was a corner missing on City Hall, and smoke
billowing, but no fire.
“One hit on the police station.” The picture showed a
red-glowing hulk although the frame and some of the walls were still standing.
“One hit, or so it looks, out at the airport.”
He looked up and around.
“I’ll get you some casualty reports as soon as they
come available.”
As far as anyone knew, everyone had gotten out hours
ago. The attack was pure retaliation, in the sense that the airport, the most
important target in the area, hadn’t been blanketed. This was sending a message
as much as anything. They’d hit the control tower, one must assume this was
what they were aiming at...
There were a number of usable buildings, vehicles,
even a few aircraft, all unscathed. Was the enemy simply being economical?
How
good was their intel?
Or
are they just firing at map coordinates and GPS-plotted LEO photos.
“Thank you.”
Her attention was caught by Sergeant Kelly, onscreen
and on camera in the front seat of the Puma.
She nodded.
“Sergeant Kelly?”
“We’ve got a face for you, Colonel. This is an
Unfriendly Major. He’s giving orders and rallying the troops. He seems brave
and competent enough, and we got a pretty good picture. Walked within five feet
of a camera, and the light was good. Those things just eat light, as we all know. I’m sending that through to you now.”
“Thank you, Sergeant. Look after yourselves. And good
work, incidentally.”
***
While Force H conducted its fighting retreat up
Highway 17, all the members of Force Two in Walzbruch could do was to wait,
clean up the remaining demolitions, and check the sighting of their defensive
systems for about the fifteenth time.
Off in the background, there was the occasional rumble
of the demolitions work as mine equipment and certain bridges were blown…then
came the regrettable work of destroying heavy machines that might be used by
the Unfriendlies in re-opening the mines, including road-building equipment,
cranes, dump trucks, bulldozers, backhoes and the like. Anything that looked
like it might be useful, in other words—
Seven kilometres southwest of the town, there was a
ridge. There was a long, straight, rising approach along Highway 3. The vehicles
were hidden behind the next ridge, and all personnel had been well-briefed on
the exit strategy. This involved a compass bearing through some pretty rugged
hills. Not exactly a jungle, it was all young growth, a thicket and a swamp. It
was a good kilometre and a half, and it would take some time. They were relying
on defence in depth, which meant retreating under the cover of a second line of
guns, rockets, and mortars. There was a third line further back, but that would
mean hours in the brush. It would be so much better to get to the vehicles
before the Unfriendlies came over the top of that second hill…
Retreating along the road itself wasn’t a very good
idea as the Unfriendlies might just bombard their own path of advance if they
got desperate enough. The whole point of ambush after ambush was to make them
angry—angry enough to lose their objectivity. To make them act rashly—to lose
people, to burn money, to expend ammunition to no effect, and to suck up more
time.
They had a few mines by the roadside, before and after
the initial ambush point, these were designed to slow the Unfriendlies down
long enough to get aboard their own vehicles and go.
This far from Deneb City, the drone could only make a
couple of radar and photographic runs, signal-gathering, et cetera, before heading back to base. Hopefully, they had timed
it to the point where the drone was low on fuel. The pace had definitely picked
up in terms of surveillance.
The drone had been over, more than once that morning,
and the satellite map showed that the enemy’s Force Two had slowed considerably
upon coming into the really big hills around Walzbruch. This was all
red-stained granite, high in iron oxide, and some of their sensors must have
been affected…hopefully.
The sun was just going down, at this time of year a
good ten degrees south of the equator, and right in the eyes, lenses and
sensors of the Confederation troops. They were otherwise pretty secure in their
trenches and behind their hilltop.
***
“Sergeant.”
“Yes?”
“How come we don’t shoot down that drone?”
It was a good question, and, bright to begin with, the
young man was learning.
“Well. It’s not very effective at that range. They
really don’t have the loiter time, do they? We have good cover. And we are
being used as bait in a way—”
“Bait?”
They exchanged a glance.
“Yes, Robert. Bait. We want them to know we’re here.
They have no choice but to do something about it.” Which sort of accounted for
the enemy column headed towards them, he explained in his gentle, humorous
tone.
“And then?”
“Well, we fire off our rockets and then we run like
hell.”
The kid grinned.
They’d have cover from smoke and the automatic weapons
systems left behind. The enemy would be thinking about boobies.
The sergeant studied the map, with every Confederation
trap, weapon, mine, vehicle, trooper or other asset marked.
“Let’s hope they’re in a hurry, but it looks like
they’ve stopped again. Sergeant.” His stomach was growling, and they still had
a while to wait for their relief.
The odds were, they wouldn’t be seeing lunch anytime
soon—
If the Unfriendlies were too slow, they’d be relieved
and Robert was itching to get a crack at something—almost anything would do. He
wasn’t prejudiced. Almost anyone would do.
The pair were monitoring a trio of heavy rocket
launchers, with a dozen shots per launcher.
On trailers light enough to be
towed by Pumas, in the end they’d been dragged and manhandled the last thirty
metres into position by grunting, sweating, cursing soldiers of both sexes. It
was a process as old as time itself, or at least artillery. Catapults and
ballistae and whatever. Whip out the chainsaws, knock down a half a dozen trees
in front of them, same thing a hundred metres away for the command hole, set up
remote sensors, run a couple of cables, and hey, presto—another rocket battery
up and running. The Romans would have had axes and shovels, rough sandals or
those strange boots with the toes sticking out, but it was all the same thing
in the end.
With their twenty-kilo warheads of high explosive, the
rockets would make a real mess of the Unfriendly infantry, riding along in
their soft-skinned trucks and pissy little scout cars.
“Shit. Nope. Here they come—” A low warning tone in
the headset was confirmation enough, set to detect rapid changes in velocity in
terms of the lead enemy elements.
That particular unit was not unlike a civilian police
radar gun, and they had two or three out there sitting on their tripods, half a
kilometre out, and closer to the actual road.
“Arm all weapons. We’re going live, Robert.” The
sergeant thought for a moment. “I’ll tell you what. If we get a chance, we’ll
try a shot at the drone, okay?”
“Yes, sergeant.” The thing was, the drones put out so
little heat and radar signature—they’d have to let it get in real close.
To do that, they would have to expose themselves.
Which was going to happen anyways, like when they launched their rockets.
It had better be one shot, one kill.
(End of part eighteen.)
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.
Images.
Image One. Confederation
Public Communications Office.
Image Two. CPCO.
Inage Three. Black
Moth.
Image Four. Highway 17. Denebola-Seven
Chamber of Commerce.
Image Five. Collection of Louis Shalako.
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Thank you for reading.
