First to Fight (18 page)

“No problem, Skipper. How long’s he been in?”

“Four years.”

“Half a year Boot, a year officer training. That means he only has two and a half years’ experience as an enlisted man.”

“Minus transit time,” Conorado agreed. “That’s the way it adds up.” Bass shrugged.

“He’ll get over it, Charlie. We’re all going to be so busy during the next few days, he’ll be racing just to stay in place. By the time he gets a chance to catch his breath, you’ll have had ample opportunity to demonstrate to him how valuable you are. Just don’t go hitting anyone.”

Bass smiled wryly. “Aye aye, sir. Just don’t anybody give me any reason.”

Nearly all the men of Company L had mounted out before, most of them more than once. Several had done it on even shorter notice. All of them knew what it meant to “pack expeditionary”—they were taking only what they would normally carry into the field for combat training: their weapons and other combat gear and equipment, a pack with spare chameleons, boots, underclothing, and personal hygiene gear, tentage, and field mess gear. All dress uniforms, garrison uniforms, and personal, non-issue belongings went into lockable chests for storage in a Camp Ellis warehouse. If they were going to be gone long enough—and conditions were right—the chests would be delivered to them later on. Otherwise, the chests would securely await their return. Everyone, even those who hadn’t mounted out before, was ready in less than an hour.

There was only one bit of grumbling. That was when Bass told them, “Secure your chameleons. This is a humanitarian aid mission, not combat. We wear garrison utilities.”

After that the hurry-up became hurry-up and-wait

The hurry-up-and-wait was interrupted at 1030 hours when two trucks came by to pick up their storage chests. Two men from each platoon were dispatched with the trucks to observe the secure storing of the chests. That was the official explanation; in fact, they went along as a work party to do the storing.

At 1215 hours, the company fell in behind the barracks to march to the mess hall for noon chow. Nobody lingered over the meal, and the last straggler was back at the barracks ten minutes before 13 hours.

Shortly after 15 hours, two platoons of Dragons pulled up behind the barracks. In minutes Company L was aboard the ten vehicles and on its way to the navy space-port. The fast frigate HM3
Gordon
was in orbit waiting for them. With only a pause for directions, the Dragons drove aboard four Essays. As soon as the vehicles were secured, the Essays were cleared for takeoff and launched to orbit. In orbit, two of the Essays mated with the
Gordon’s
two cargo bays, and the Dragons drove into the ship’s hold. After off-loading, the Essays dropped back out of orbit to the surface. The second pair of Essays mated to the frigate and, rather than off-loading their Dragons, secured to the ports for hyperspace transit. The
Gordon
didn’t have entry shuttles of its own capable of landing the Marines, and these would be needed at the end of the voyage.

On board, the Marines were quickly assigned berthing. The 107 enlisted men of Company L below the rank of staff sergeant were assigned to a crew bay that was normally home to twenty-five sailors. The six officers shared a compartment designed to house three of the ship’s officers. The company’s six senior NCOs had it the best; they got a chiefs’ quarters that normally berthed four. It would have been worse had not the fifty-one men of the transportation company, who were part of the advance party, chosen to berth in the cargo hold with their Dragons.

The navy had spent most of the day installing extra bunks in the crew compartment. The Marines quickly secured their gear and weapons to stanchions and pilasters, then climbed into the bunks, mostly because there wasn’t room for them anywhere else. There was only one tense moment.

Commander Kahunii, the ship’s captain, objected to the Marines having their weapons at hand while aboard his ship. This was only to be expected, as navy officers usually object to having anyone aboard a ship armed except for designated security personnel. But the Gordon’s small weapons locker was already filled with the few weapons the ship carried for emergency use. Captain Conorado strenuously objected to Kahunii’s suggestion that the Marines’ weapons be stored in the officer or staff NCO quarters—there simply wasn’t room, he insisted. Kahunii grudgingly relented when Conorado assured him that none of the weapons had batteries installed and couldn’t be fired. But Kahunii had the final word—if there were any weapons incidents, the weapons would be secured in the officer and staff NCO quarters, even if that meant the officers and staff NCOs had to cram themselves into the already overcrowded troop hold in order to make room for them.

While all this was going on, the
Gordon
left orbit and came up to full space-3 speed headed for the nearest hyperspace jump point, which it reached in three hours. Since a jump into hyperspace was best done on an empty stomach, the embarked Marines didn’t get evening chow until some hours later than they were used to in garrison. Then it was Taps.

Still nobody in Company L knew where they were going. Commander Kahunii did, of course, but he didn’t bother telling Captain Conorado.

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

Nine men and one woman sat around the conference table deep in the bowels of Shabeli’s mountain retreat. One wall of the room was covered with a viewscreen display map of Elneal. The details were perfect, the result of map surveys made by the mining companies—Shabeli had better maps than the Confederation, which had to rely exclusively on satellite surveillance since the companies’ maps were proprietary and not available to the military. The details provided for the transmontane and oceanic regions, however, were much less accurate than for the Siad and Bos Kashi lands, because the companies had no interests in those regions. That was fine, since Shabeli did not expect any action to take place there.

The Bos Kashi, Gaels, and Sons of Freedom had each sent their chief war leaders and their deputies to this council. Shabeli himself, Wad Mohammad, and Wad Ramadan represented the Siad. The tenth member of the council was Moira, and she was the topic under consideration at the moment.

“Either she leaves or we do,” Erne Foyle of the Gaels said. The other representatives nodded.

“It is not that we distrust her, Shabeli,” Obeh Rud of the Bos Kashi added. “But she is a foreigner and we will not discuss our war plans in the presence of a foreigner.”

Shabeli bristled, as he knew he was supposed to over such a demand. He was not afraid of any of the men and they were not afraid of him. He had discussed this probability with Moira before the council. Her departure, after some perfunctory blustering, would make the chiefs think they’d won a concession from him, but in reality Shabeli was setting them up. Were the truth known, he himself often wondered if Moira were a spy. Therefore, he never told her all the details of his plans.

Shabeli turned to his uncle, pretending with a gesture to seek the old man’s guidance. Not a party to the charade, the old man nodded. Going along with the ploy, Moira swirled out of the conference room without a glance or a word to anyone.

Shabeli sighed. “Brothers, the first phase of our campaign is proceeding well.” The map display zoomed in on the capital city of New Obbia and its suburbs. “Two nights ago my cousins carried out the raid against the foreigners’ relief operation in the suburbs. Admiral Willis was there yesterday. By now he will have decided to intervene.”

“President Merka’s government is virtually helpless,” Ramadan said, “and our raids against the other settlements have been totally successful.” He nodded to the others. “The mines are in our hands,” he added.

“Fine,” Mallow Ennis, Foyle’s deputy, interjected. “But when do we get into the picture?”

“Yes, Wad Shabeli,” Prairie Dawson of the Sons said. “Our compliments. The Siad and the Bos have upheld their part of the plan. But we want to get in on the action.” He glanced at his deputy, a tall, dark-haired man named Blaine Flathead, who nodded.

“When the Marines get here, brothers,” Shabeli answered. “The Confederation forces in New Obbia will send for reinforcements. I expect them to begin arriving in force within the next two weeks. Meanwhile, Admiral Willis will form a provisional force from the Marine complement in his fleet to secure at least New Obbia as a base of operations for the first of the subsequent contingents. I expect the advance party to begin landing within hours. When the reinforcing contingents arrive, their first mission will be to secure the city and then extend relief operations into the outlying territories. Once that is done, we will destroy them piecemeal.”

There were no comments. Everyone around the table had already figured out this scenario for himself. They also knew that if they were not successful tying up the Marines in the towns and farmlands, the full force of Marine arms would, in time, visit total destruction upon their own people.

Wad Mohammad was the only one who spoke of their concerns. “The Confederation Marines have aircraft more fearsome than the rocs of legend,” he said. “Their soldiers are armed with fire-guns. They ride in fire-breathing dragons. How can we stand against such might?”

“
Pfaugh
!” Shabeli spat on the polished floor at his side. “Yes,” he said angrily, “the Confederation has aircraft more fearsome than rocs. Yes, their rifles shoot fire instead of bullets. Yes, they ride in fire-breathing dragons, swifter than the jinn. But as fighters, their men are as women.” He spat again, and glared at the men facing him. “Had you not insisted that she leave, Moira could tell you that. She was born into them and lived with the Confederation people until she came to Elneal and met real men—true fighters and warriors. When she saw that their men are as women to our men, that their men are not even as strong as our women, she disowned her own parents and people so she could live with true men, men of courage. Us!” He bellowed the last word. “Does any man here question that?”

The war chiefs hung their heads and glanced at each other, but none met Shabeli’s eyes.

“No, Wad Shabeli,” they murmured. “No, Magnificent One,” they said. Faced with the anger of Shabeli the Magnificent, they could do nothing else.

Shabeii glared at them again, let the silence continue until they shifted uncomfortably and finally became still again. In the end, Wad Mohammad was the only one who raised his eyes to Shabeli.

“Ail right, then, let us continue.” Shabeli gave a signal to someone unseen and a table of organization and equipment for a Marine FIST flashed on the vidscreens. “This is what we’re up against,” Shabeli continued. Next to the FIST Table of Organization and Equipment appeared the diagram of a breakout of allied forces. In contrast to the Marines, Shabeli’s forces had no air support, no artillery, and very little in the way of logistical support. “Our advantage lies in mobility, knowledge of the countryside, and the valor of our men,” Shabeli said.

“Many will die,” Jabal Rustak, Obeh Rud’s deputy, muttered.

“Is there anyone here who is not ready for death?” Shabeli asked. There was no response. After a pause Shabeli continued. “We are a light, highly mobile force. My plan is that each of you will provide two thousand men. Each of you will target specific towns where you will conduct urban terrorist operations. The Bos Kashi will relieve my men now in position around New Obbia because they are closer to the capital. You brothers of the Sons of Freedom and the Gaels may decide between you which will join the Bos Kashi to attack the surrounding settlements and which will attack the farther towns.

“Brother,” Obeh Rud said, “since your men are already in place, why don’t you attack the Marines in New Obbia and let us be the reserve force?”

“Because we are better armed and can deal on a nearly equal basis with the Marines after they have settled in the countryside. None of us can stop them from doing that, brothers. But you can keep them off balance and delay their timetable. Once you control portions of the cities, you will hold the populations hostage so the Marines won’t be able to use their airpower and heavy weapons against you. They will have to fight house-to-house, street-to-street, man-to-man, and therefore their weapons advantages will be greatly nullified. You can inflict severe damage on them. The Bos Kashi are brave and resourceful fighters, all know that. You will kill many of the Confederation Marines. You will know how to make them think they have killed many more of you than they do in truth.” He shifted his gaze from Obeh Rud to include all of the other tribal war leaders in what he said next.

“Remember, when I give you the signal, you will melt into the surrounding countryside and disperse to your own lands. That is when I will tell the government we are suing for peace. They will believe we have been defeated.” He snorted at the preposterousness of the idea. “They will have no more desire to fight us after the losses the Bos have inflicted on them. Then they will go into the countryside peacefully and confident. There we will kill them all.”

The others cheered.

Since it was the Siad who had received the bulk of the payments the mining companies had made on Elneal, it was they who possessed the more modem weapons and communications systems. Everyone at the conference knew this, but what they did not know was how many men Shabeli had been able to outfit. He let on it was only a few dozen, but in reality he had more than five hundred well-equipped men under arms. What nobody outside his immediate circle knew was that he also had aircraft, two A-5B Raptors—old, second-generation, and as yet poorly armed for a ground-attack mission, but a devastating surprise for any foe. They were piloted under contract by renegade airmen trained originally by the Confederation Naval Forces. Shabeli passed them off as foreign technical advisers required to keep his headquarters power plant running. The machines were kept well-hidden in a remote valley two days’ march from the headquarters. The pilots were already on their way there, to prepare the aircraft for combat. He also had a company of Siad warriors armed with the same blasters the Confederation Marines carried.

“We shall leave at once,” Obeh Rud announced.

“We must move with caution,” Shabeli said. “Until you actually get inside the city, you are not safe from attack by Willis’s ships.”

“Yes,” Mallow Ennis said. “It will take us several days to get our men across the mountains, and then perhaps a week to reach our targets. We’ll move in small groups.” He glanced at Prairie Dawson. A long white scar down the center of Dawson’s forehead was a reminder of a blow Ennis had once given him at a wedding party. Dawson smiled. Under Ennis’s shirt was the long, broad scar of the wound Dawson had given him at the same party. “We’ll move at night, groups of no more than twenty men,” Dawson said.

“We’ll agree later on which towns to attack and which passes through the mountains our parties will use,” Foyle proposed. The Sons of Freedom nodded.

“Good,” Shabeli announced. “I expect the first major Marine contingent, probably the 34th FIST now on Thorsfinni’s World, will be here in about two weeks. Be inside New Obbia and near the towns by then.”

Several hours of discussion followed, during which details were agreed upon. “Brothers,” Shabeli concluded, “you have all sworn to obey my leadership. Tactical decisions will be left up to you and your local leaders, but I must be informed of everything that is going on in each sector. Strategic decisions are to be made by me—in consultation with you—but they are mine and mine alone to make. Once made, they will be obeyed. That is understood?”

Each man presented his side arm toward Shabeli, reaffirming acceptance of his leadership. They filed out of the conference room to make their separate ways home to prepare their men for the campaign.

Shabeli the Magnificent stood alone in the empty conference room and smiled. He knew full well how quickly they would have turned on him if they’d known he already had an emissary on his way to negotiate a cease-fire with Admiral Willis.

Moira opened the door to her apartment expecting to greet Shabeli. Instead, ancient Wad Ramadan stood there, his pure white hair and beard reflecting the dim light shining through the doorway.

“Miss Moira, may I come in?” the old man asked politely. Wad had always played the gentleman toward Moira, and she liked him for that even while suspecting he didn’t trust her any more than she did him. She motioned him inside.

Ramadan declined her offer of refreshment. He stood silently in the middle of the sitting room for a few moments as if marshaling his thoughts. “Miss Moira, if you have any influence over my nephew, I beg you, use it to dissuade him from this insane plan.”

Moira, completely taken by surprise, said nothing.

“I must confess, my dear,” Ramadan continued, taking a chair, “my kinsmen do not support me in this. I am completely alone among the Siad in opposition to my nephew’s ambitions. They can’t see as clearly as I that what he is about to do will bring total ruin down upon all of us.” The old man looked into Moira’s eyes.

“The Confederation has been bluffed before. Shabeli can do it again,” Moira responded.

“No.” Wad Ramadan shook his head firmly. “So long as we killed only our own maybe that would’ve been true, but when we seized the mines and killed the foreigners, we went too far. And when we kill the Marines, that will be the end of our independence because the Confederation will never tolerate such defiance. We must seek peace with the Confederation now, if we wish to survive with any degree of independence.”

“Wad Ramadan,” Moira replied, “they tell me no one was a fiercer warrior and hater of foreigners than you when you fought beside your brother, Shabeli the Elder. Now you, of all the Siad, want to make peace with the Confederation? You know that will mean making some concessions to President Merka’s government in New Obbia.”

“And I know that Shabeli would fly into a towering rage if he knew of my opposition. I, like every other man of the Siad, am committed utterly to following his lead. But what has happened to me, you ask? I’ll tell you, my dear, what has happened to me will someday happen to you; I’ve grown old.” They were both silent for a moment. “The Confederation sends its ships to the farthest reaches of Human Space. We will never, never be permitted to stand in their way if we oppose them.”

“Not so, Wad Ramadan. Not too many years ago the Confederation forces withdrew from—”

Wad waved his hand impatiently. “No, no. Here it is a matter of economics and also a matter of humanitarianism. When a man can feel that he is doing good for the people while making money for himself, he will stop at nothing, and the Confederation has all the resources it needs to reduce us to nothing. We are a strategic threat to them because we’ve stopped the mining. They cannot permit that. Also, in their eyes, we are evil. I strongly advised Shabeli against killing those children at the orphanage. You should have known that was a mistake, Miss Moira! Your people will never deal with men who murder children.”