In Every Clime and Place (21 page)

ASTEROID BELT RESCUE SUBSTATION ECHO 7

“Captain Lopez was the contact Lt Evers used to get his info through?” I smiled. “I guess you can’t ask for a more direct route than the Commandant’s daughter.”

SNN News File 10, courtesy Brian Jensen

26 Dec 2075

Office of the Commandant of the Marine Corps

General Lopez and Colonel Bryant sat at either side of a large conference table strewn with maps, reports and printouts of email. It was all hard copy because any files sent through the Pentagon’s intranet would be reviewed, and the Commandant wasn’t in a trusting mood these days.

Colonel Bryant rubbed his bloodshot eyes and summarized the piles of paper. “Based on traffic reports, shipbuilding manifests, weapons purchases, and the interrogations from your lovely daughter, we have the location, and approximate TO&E [Table of Organization and Equipment] of the pirates.”

“Outstanding, Bill.” The general glowed. “Now we have to figure how to smash ’em.”

“That’s not going to be easy if you want to maintain this level of secrecy. We can’t move many ships without bringing the top Navy brass on board. The Corvettes are ours, but any support vessels are Navy.”

“I want to keep this a Marine show. That much we can control. We know of one leak in the fleet, let’s assume there are more.”

“Do you want to have this Burton investigated?”

“Yes, but not now. If we go after him, his bosses will know we’re up to something. You don’t shoot the point man until the whole enemy patrol is in the kill zone. We’ll get this bastard, but if we spook the big guys, they’ll just change their plans, move the base and we’ll never find ’em.

“What can we deploy without talking to anybody but Marine Infantry officers, and make it look routine to the rest of the fleet?”

The colonel winced and pulled a sheet from his pocket. “I had a feeling you’d want it that way. This is the most we can use.”

The general took the folded sheet.

“You aren’t going to like it,” warned the colonel.

USS
TRIPOLI

After our departure from Mars Station, the training tempo increased dramatically. We had close combat, squad-level tactics, even played around on lanyards outside the ship in full vacuum gear, which sounds cool and is interesting for about three seconds and then sucks. We did a lot of training to maneuver in variable gravity, as they’d change the ship’s rotation to change the artificial G.

I wasn’t sure if the training was because we had such green replacements or because the Powers That Be expected something big, but it did give me a good picture of the new composition of the platoon.

LeBlanc was new to the job of sergeant, but he’d led a team as a corporal for years. Sabatini was a good corporal, and gained the respect of her team. Even Bauer jumped when she said to. My team was solid. O’Rourke was still gold when it was all on the line, like a firefight or a “procurement” mission, and a tragic liability everywhere else, but Johnson managed to learn only the best from him.

Johnson was a damn good Marine. He could manage his TAR like an artist. He had all the instincts for putting down covering fire so the team could advance, suppressing fire so the enemy couldn’t advance, and delivering short, accurate bursts to knock out targets. He never used more ammo than he had to, which is the toughest thing about running an automatic weapon. The more rounds you send downrange, the more you have to hump on the mission, and the more often you burn out barrels. If anything sucks more than changing a barrel under fire, I don’t know what it is.

The new guys were shaping OK. Khan was a natural. He moved with the grace and agility of a cat, even in full combat gear. He had already mastered the crouching run where you keep your rifle steady in your shoulder. He could hit shots on the fly. He’d be a good Marine once he had a fight under his belt.

Kovanian was my cross to bear. I guess he was doing alright. He tried hard, he just didn’t think on his feet, and his reflexes were a beat behind. I decided that after this cruise, I’d try to get him reassigned to Weapons Platoon. He was strong as an ox, which is terrific for humping extra mortar ammo through the boondocks, and a mortar man who takes an extra second to make sure is safer than a rifleman who hesitates in a close-quarters firefight. He didn’t have the instincts of a rifleman.

I was reasonably happy with the squad. The rest of the platoon was pretty much the same as before. Williams was back to duty, and Ski had Wagner as a new replacement in his squad, but she was agile, capable and deceptively strong. Much like Khan, all she needed was a little seasoning to be a good Marine.

To my amusement, the frustration of most of my brother Marines at her sexual orientation eventually simmered down to wistful grumbling. By some evil cosmic Karma, she had to deal with her own frustration. Soon after arriving, she singled out Angelina for a quiet talk and came away intensely disappointed at my darling’s heterosexuality.

I have to say this was the least boring cruise I was ever on.

ASTEROID BELT RESCUE SUBSTATION ECHO 7

“So that’s why we went in so light,” I said. “I wondered. But not a lot filters down to grunts like us, so we just assumed it was a screw-up at the top.”

“The General would have liked to use more troops, but they didn’t want to tip their hand moving large units,” said Jensen. “It did manage to fly under the radar of the CIA.”

SNN News File 11, courtesy Brian Jensen

5 Jan 2076

Unconventional Forces Training Center, Ganymede

“So what can I do for you, Colonel?” Special Agent O’Hooley asked.

Milos Radicz scowled across his desk at the tall, handsome CIA man.
This fellow has no idea of the demands of running a military organization,
he thought.
No man should be allowed to serve as military intelligence until he has at least made sergeant in an infantry platoon and understands what the job means.

“You can find out what happened to my missing crew,” growled the Colonel. “That is the job of intelligence, is it not?”

“There was a firefight between a patrol ship and one of your ships, but we haven’t heard any results through our sources. Don’t panic.”

“Don’t panic? You ass! The ship could have been destroyed. Or worse, boarded! My men could have been captured. The patrol fleet might know everything about this base!”

“If there were prisoners, my contacts in Naval Intelligence would have found out.” O’Hooley shrugged dismissively. “Besides, are you that worried your men would talk? I thought you worked to instill loyalty.”

“Have you seen a man tortured, Mr O’Hooley?” Radicz asked icily. “Have you seen an officer watch his men slowly cut apart before his eyes until he talked? I saw such things. God forgive me, I ordered such things! Don’t speak to me of loyalty or interrogation or what I should worry about as an infantry officer until you have marched a mile in my boots.”

“I’m sorry, Colonel. I meant no offense,” O’Hooley said. “But everything will be alright. I’d have heard about any prisoners. We have people in the Fleet. Trust me.”

USS
TRIPOLI

I was on my way back from the chow hall when Lt Evers collared me.

“Cpl Collins.”

“Sir.”

“Come with me.”

“Aye, sir,” I answered automatically. “May I ask why?”

“Something I want you to see. After that, I’ll stop hounding you to transfer to Intel.”

We met Lt Mitchell and Gunny Taylor, and all climbed into one of the shuttles. I didn’t ask questions. You only ask questions to one rank above you, and Gunny Taylor was three. The lieutenants were on a whole other plane, so asking them didn’t even occur to me.

Soon we docked with the
Halsey
, Battalion HQ. I was impressed, if no less puzzled. We marched down the passageway to the chow hall where a number of Marines were assembled. I was far and away the most junior man there.

All the Fox Company officers and gunnies were there. Captain MacGregor, his XO Lt Rosenthal, and First Sergeant Ogle I recognized. There were the platoon leaders of the other two rifle platoons, First and Third, and Weapons, as well as two other lieutenants I had never seen. Captain Lopez from Intelligence was present, seated beside Captain MacGregor.

Captain MacGregor introduced the two new lieutenants as platoon leaders from Engineers and Recon, both from Battalion. He turned the floor over to Captain Lopez.

“Thank you, Captain,” she began, flicking a switch and activating a viewscreen. “Good afternoon, Marines. Your company has been given a mission from the highest authority within the Corps. This”—a small moon appeared on the viewscreen—“is Ganymede. One of the moons of Jupiter. The pirate fleet some of you have run into is based here. Your mission is to destroy the installation, wipe out the ships and return. Captain MacGregor will give you the details.”

The Skipper stood, thanked Captain Lopez and took the podium. “Alright Marines, here’s the game plan. Enemy forces are estimated battalion strength. Six hundred to one thousand. Their main base is here.” The picture zoomed in on a landing field, some barracks and defensive missile pods. “They are armed with small arms. No real artillery, but they have air defense, a few converted ore haulers, and a handful of light airships for transport around the moon. Perimeter defense is weak. They are well defended against atmospheric assault, but not ground. Nearly half of the enemy personnel are based away from the main facility. The force is very heterogeneous, and they keep some of the factions apart. We’ll probably only face four hundred at the base. Three spaceworthy ships are docked here.

“We have our company, plus an engineer platoon and a recon platoon from Battalion.”

My jaw dropped. We had around two hundred Marines total. Three thirty-man rifle platoons, one heavy weapons platoon with 80mm mortars, automatic grenade launchers and machine guns, a twelve-man HQ platoon, and the attached engineers and recon Marines. You’re supposed to assault with three-to-one odds in your favor, not four-to-one for the bad guys.

“Our mission is not to secure this base,” continued the Skipper, “but to cripple or destroy the ships and the missile pods. We can then withdraw. Our initial infiltration will be by the new stealth landers. They should avoid enemy detection. We’ll know if they work by whether or not we make it to the deck alive.” Mad Mac smirked as he said this; forced laughter greeted the pronouncement. “The landers don’t have the fuel to escape into orbit, so we have to get the assault shuttles down if we want to come home. To do that, the defense missiles have to go.”

That was a sobering thought.

“We’ll land here.” He showed an area on the viewscreen. “About three clicks from the base. Recon will land first. They’ll send back data on gravity, atmosphere and ballistics information for us to program into the weapons. We’ll advance to here,” the screen again, “and the recon platoon plus an engineer squad will infiltrate and plant charges on the ships and missile pods. Any they don’t get will be targets for the Longbow launchers of the rifle platoons. The rifle platoons will provide cover for the infiltration team. We stay and fight until the launchers and ships are taken out, and our team gets clear. Then, we make a withdrawal back to our landing site, which we’ll use for exfiltration.”

I grinned at one of my favorite military violations of the English language.

“The assault shuttles will start in as soon as we signal the missile pods destroyed. We have an hour to hold out. Withdrawal will be by platoon bounds to the exfil site. The remainder of the engineers and the weapons platoon will prepare a defensive position. We hold until evacuated.

“I will be with First Platoon. Captain Lopez will go in with Recon. Lt Rosenthal will be back at the exfil site. All coms will be on standard frequencies.

“Any questions?”

“Sir,” asked the CO of First Platoon. “Why land if we just want to trash the place? Why not just shell it from orbit?”

“If I may, Captain?” asked Cpt Lopez. She got a nod from the Skipper. “This piracy ring is supported by companies and intelligence organizations back on Earth. If we want to crush it, we need to expose their support. Shelling a moon won’t show a believable threat to the public or to Congress. Footage of a land battle, collected evidence and even prisoners will.”

“Then why send a company to fight a battalion? This is a job for a Regimental Landing Team.”

“The enemy have informers in our Fleet intelligence. If we move anything more than we have, they’ll scramble the ships and wipe out the evidence. We’ll be chasing pirates for years, and the colonies will die of fear and neglect. We need to pull this weed out by the roots.”

The assembled officers fell silent. After a moment, Captain MacGregor stood. “So, can we do it, Marines?”

Fat fucking chance,
was my first thought. Then I thought about what Cpt Lopez said. This was the only way to wipe it out once and for all. I thought of Chan killed in a boarding action, and of the refugees who were starving on Sunflower One, and the women captives on the pirate ship we took. I wanted a crack at their base more than I wanted my next breath.

“Fuckin’A right we can!” I said, maybe a bit too loud.

All eyes turned to me.

“Lt Mitchell,” Capt MacGregor said.

“Sir?”

“I hope all your Marines are like that one,” he said with a wild grin, “cause I could storm the gates of Hell with two hundred of those peckerwoods.”

GANYMEDE

The small landers brought us down several kilometers from the base. We would have to force march there, knock out their atmospheric defenses and spacecraft, then make what would probably be a fighting retreat back to our landing zone and wait for the shuttles.

On the ride in, I felt the familiar symptoms of nerves assert themselves. My throat felt tight, my mouth was dry and a knot formed in my stomach. I was sweating, but nobody could see that under the suit.

The ride to a deployment was always the worst. When I got busy, I would be OK, but I hated the feeling of helplessness. If the enemy detected our landers and took a shot at them, I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

I didn’t like leaving my fate in the hands of somebody else. Sure, I put my life in the hands of other Marines all the time, but the squad was different. I had trained and lived with them long enough to trust them. Once I got on the ground, I was in my element. Years of training and experience led me to feel confident to handle a crisis then.

I looked around at the rest of the squad and immediately felt some of my nervousness evaporate. LeBlanc was a good, solid NCO. Sabatini and O’Rourke both nodded and smiled. They were consummate professionals. Johnson wore a calm expression, as did Bauer. Li’s eyes were cold. He was looking for payback, but we’d drilled it into him enough that he wouldn’t do anything stupid. Even Kovanian and Khan seemed ready. They looked for signs of panic in the old veterans, saw none, and assumed there was no reason to worry.

There was plenty, but knowing that wouldn’t help them any, so I didn’t mention it.

I felt a little glow of pride. I’d helped train most of these Marines, and they’d turned out damn well. If I had to go get shot at, there was no group I’d rather have had beside me.

The lander set down and we filed out. Most of the rest of the company was already on the ground.

The atmosphere was thin, cold and unbreathable, but not toxic. So we could asphyxiate if our masks or air supply were hit, or freeze if the suits were breached, but the air itself wouldn’t burn or damage flesh. It was no different, in practical terms, from operating underwater in scuba gear. You can’t breathe water, but it won’t eat holes in you. A damaged suit was not a critical priority, as in space where it will vent to vacuum, or a toxic atmosphere. It was just a real scary and unpleasant priority. Basically, if we got shot, we were to get to cover, bind the wound, and then patch the suit.

I looked at the landscape. A fine layer of crystalline sand shifted beneath our feet. Columns of rock stretched skyward, like stalactites but without the cave. Or maybe stalagmites. The ones that grow up. Whatever they were, they were scoured by wind-driven sand, rough in some spots, smooth as glass in others, depending on how well the varying material resisted the abrasion. To a grunt like me, they were rock, but some of the matter was ice, some was frozen nitrogen or oxygen. This was a battlefield where you could bash somebody with a chunk of air. Strange thought.

The pillars were closely placed on the leeward slope of the hill we landed on. On the other side, they were sparse, but low and wider. I was reminded of the trees in the forests of New Hampshire. Dad used to take us camping up in the mountains when I was a kid. I think he was preparing us for field service without telling mom.

The atmosphere was too thin to refract the distant light of the sun, so the sky was the black of space, with the planet lit up as though under a floodlight.

Captain MacGregor selected a good piece of high ground for our final defensive perimeter. We might have to hold the enemy off while we waited for the shuttles. The heavy weapons platoon and half of the engineers began to prepare a defensive position while the rifle platoons, the recon platoon and the rest of the engineers set off to attack the facility.

We marched in silence for about an hour. The gear was easier to carry in the low gravity, but it’s odd walking in low G. The training on
Tripoli
paid off. If you don’t want to pop up, you need to lean forward and push with your feet, like you’re pulling a plow. Take steps like you’re in Earth’s gravity and you’ll bounce up with each one.

Our platoon was far back in the column. The recon platoon and the engineers would infiltrate and sabotage the enemy ships. Our job was just to provide covering fire for their withdrawal.

As we approached the base, a signal came back to halt. We waited in silence as the Recon troops eliminated the sentries and electronic sensors and infiltrated the base. I noticed Kovanian shoot me a nervous glance. I winked and flashed a thumbs-up.

Soon the word came to advance. On Sgt LeBlanc’s signal we extended into skirmish order and advanced, finding positions among the rocks overlooking the enemy base.

Like all facilities for major vessels, it was on a flat, open stretch of ground. The rocky hills around offered excellent cover for us. This was a hazard common to airfields. You can’t land a big vessel on a hillside, so they needed to use the valley. There was a barbed-wire fence to our front, and probably mines and motion detectors, but that didn’t seem to have slowed our Recon troops or combat engineers. Infiltrating strong points is what they train for. I looked but didn’t see our Marines down among the ships or missile launch pads.

The atmospheric defense missiles had to be taken out. Our shuttles couldn’t land if they weren’t. The small landers, whose stealth technology had apparently worked getting us in past the enemy defenses, didn’t have the fuel to escape gravity. In short, like Mad Mac said, unless those missile launchers were destroyed, we’d better get used to this rock.

A shot cracked across the open runway. I cursed and swept the area with my scope, looking for any enemy movement.

Captain MacGregor’s voice cut across all platoon channels.

“Fox Company, this is Fox Six. Security compromised. Our forces have placed demolitions on all three enemy vessels and launch pods two and three. They will retire up the ditch along the supply road. Do not fire on movement in that sector.

“All platoons prepare to engage enemy personnel advancing on our raiders.”

Sergeant LeBlanc was in conversation with someone. He switched over to me.

“Collins! Have O’Rourke get a bead on that last missile pod with the Longbow. Once firing starts, he takes it out.”

“Aye aye!” I switched channels. “Terry! Line up on the far missile site. Hold fire until the shooting starts, then take it out.”

“You got it, Mick.”

“OK, Marine,” I said to Kovanian who crouched nearby, “get that launcher ready and sight in on the far missile pod. See it?”

He hesitated, squinting through the sight on the side of the launch tube. After far too long, he said, “Yeah. I got it, Corp.”

“When the shit starts to fly, nail that launcher. O’Rourke is going to fire on it as well. Between the two of you, you should get it. After it’s destroyed, grab your rifle and concentrate on enemy personnel. If you see any fighting vehicles, use the Longbow on them.”

“Aye aye!”

At that moment, sporadic firing began down in the base. I looked and saw a squad of figures rushing from one of the barracks toward the nearest ship. They moved with the bounding hops of men not used to tactical movement in low G. I drew a bead on the leader as I called out to Johnson.

“Johnson! You see those bastards?” I fired. The pirate jerked as the round hit him, falling and rolling several meters before lying still. The enemy bunched up in confusion as they saw their leader fall.

“Got ’em!” Johnson gave them a long burst. The squad hit the deck. Two lay still, and one kicked and thrashed, clutching a torn stomach, but the rest returned fire.

O’Rourke and Kovanian launched their laser-guided missiles. The new guy got a solid hit on the launcher, causing it to list to port. Terry, noticing the crew approaching, held his fire for a split second and hit the rocket magazine itself. The secondary explosion as the enemy warheads went off destroyed the launcher and cut down most of the crew with flying debris.

I continued to snipe away at the figures trying to cross the runway. I put a few 20mm grenades down around where the enemy squad had taken cover.

I looked to my team. Johnson was squeezing off tight, controlled bursts, keeping the pirates pinned down. O’Rourke slung his launcher over his back and fired slow, deliberate shots from his ACR. Kovanian was pumping lead downrange a little too quickly.

“Easy, lad,” I told him. “Do it just like on the range at Parris Island. Align your sights, get the sight picture, hold your breath and squeeze. Nice and easy. Good!” I added as one of the enemy fell clutching his leg.

The range was only two hundred meters or so to the nearest enemy, so it wasn’t tough shooting.

Sabatini’s team caught a group of pirates just as they piled out a hatchway in one of the buildings and poured fire into them. Bauer’s TAR and the grenades from Sabatini’s and Li’s rifles knocked them down like bowling pins. One second there was a crowd of men sprinting out of a building, the next there was a heap of bodies. Khan sent a Longbow missile into the barracks when the enemy stopped coming out.

I emptied one magazine and was sliding a fresh one into my weapon when we got the order to fall back.

“OK, Marines, let’s get out of here!”

Johnson and O’Rourke slid backward down the slope a few yards before getting to their feet and moving back down the trail. I gave them a few seconds, then nudged Kovanian and backed off myself.

Sabatini’s team was right behind us. First Platoon, the recon Marines and engineers were already on the move. Third Platoon was holding the rear. I looked around at our platoon, relieved to see nobody missing.

“On the double, Second Platoon!” ordered Lt Mitchell. “Let’s put some distance between us and that base before those pirates find their balls and come after us.”

Pursuit was a given. We had destroyed their ships. They were marooned here unless they could capture our landers. Our transport was their only hope of survival.

After about 500 meters we passed First Platoon, concealed among the crystalline towers. Third Platoon would have the word to fall back now. First was holding the door open. In another 500 meters it would be our turn.

We got the word from Lt Mitchell and fanned out, taking up defensive positions among the rocks. My team was the far right flank. Sabatini’s was off to my left, then Pilsudski’s squad was right across the trail, with Hernandez’s on the left flank.

After ten minutes, Third Platoon came through our position, then First Platoon. I was too far off to the right to see them, but I heard the challenge and password given over the company frequency.

We would wait ten more minutes, then follow.

We didn’t get our ten minutes.