Until Relieved (12 page)

After centuries of settlement, Maison was a far cry from the one real city on the planet. The vast bulk of the world's population still lived in Porter City, or in a belt of suburbs that had grown up around, and gradually more distant from it. Maison's population had never topped ten thousand. Now, it was somewhat below that figure. More than a thousand people had left Maison to open a new settlement farther to the north, just months before the Schlinal invasion.

"Glad to see you lads," one elderly man called out, his voice sounding uncomfortably loud to the soldiers.

Joe looked at the man. He was dressed in soft clothes, what might have been pajamas on a world like Porter. Joe could not tell at a glance, and there was no time for more than that.

"About bloody time," another voice called, more softly.

Five streets went through Maison from east to west. Two went north to south. The streets were broad, except right in the center of town. Later additions had marred the symmetry there. Also except in the center of town, the buildings were generally spaced well apart, or in small, tight clusters separated from other neighbors. Although only a small fraction of the populace still farmed extensively, almost every family appeared to have a small garden near their house, some right out in front, between house and street. It made Maison seem more rural than it actually was.

"You need a hand, we're here."

Joe turned his head to look again.
That
voice had belonged to a woman, but he could not decide which one. There were several women, or girls, in a cluster. It might have been any of them. Joe glanced around at the men of his squad, wondering how long it would be before one of them broke discipline to say something back to one of the locals, particularly the women. The robes they wore against the night chill might not have been particularly becoming, but a soldier didn't need much to excite his imagination.

"Don't worry, Sarge," Tod Chorbek said over the radio. "They ain't gonna attack us."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Joe replied tightly. "Just mind what you're supposed to be doing. There's still a lot of Heggies between us and home."

Echo Company moved completely through Maison. Only the headquarters detachment and the heavy weapons squad would wait for the enemy's return in town, or on its edge. The rest of Echo, and the recon platoon, would be out in front of the town, between the civilians and the Hegemony garrison that might soon be retreating toward it.

"Dig in fast," Joe told his men when they were in position southwest of town. They were in farmland now, but there were occasional groves of native trees, and orchards—various sorts of fruit and nut that the settlers had brought to Porter with them. Second platoon was lucky. They found themselves posted in an orchard of apple and pear trees. Though the pears were far from ripe, some of the apples were close enough to be tempting.

The sun was up before Joe had his men dug in as well as he wanted. Then, there was time for a meal, several drinks of water, and a chance to rest.

"The Heggies are still an hour away," Joe told his men after he got the word from the first sergeant. "Use the time. Long as I don't hear any snoring, I'm satis."

Joe stuck a hand inside his tunic and scratched at his chest. He had been inside his clothes for more than twenty-four hours, and he felt filthy. There was no way to guess how much longer he might spend in those clothes, quite possibly until the 13th returned to its ships. It would take a week of frequent scrubbing before he would feel really
clean
again.

After Joe had eaten, he pulled off his boots and spent a few minutes taking care of his feet. He wiped them dry, powdered them, and put on fresh socks. When he zipped his boots back on, he felt marginally better. For an infantryman, feet were as important as his rifle. He could get nowhere without them.

Joe closed his eyes then. He could hardly have kept them open unless there was shooting. Twenty-four hours—Porter's day was very close to Earth standard, just a few minutes short of twenty-four hours long—but ninety minutes shorter than the day on his native world of Bancroft. Exhaustion was hardly the word for the way Joe felt. At times like this, he sometimes fantasized, usually about being Rip Van Winkle and sleeping for twenty years.
Long enough to retire.

—|—

Joe woke with a start. There was a scream in his ear: "Watch your front. They'll be in sight in a few minutes."

It was Max Maycroft's voice, the alert. And he had not screamed. It had merely sounded like it to Joe's sleeping mind. He shook his head and blinked rapidly several times, feeling himself come alert as adrenaline poured into his system.
They're coming!

This won't be like yesterday,
Joe thought, and then he repeated it for his men. "Couple thousand men, running from one fight into another," he added. "They're gonna be downright desperate. Mind yourselves."

He checked his rifle. The indicator showed full power and a full magazine. Spare spools of wire were in pouches on his belt, and two were on the ground next to him, where he could get to them even faster. Deep breaths: two, three. Joe took his hands off of his rifle and flexed them several times, so that there would be no stiffness to distract him from what was about to come.

What was about to come.
This was an ambush on a massive scale. A lot depended on how quickly the Heggies recovered from the shock of finding enemies waiting for them. If the ambush
was
a surprise, if Echo Company had not been spotted, what was to come could be brutal. If they had been spotted, if the Heggies knew what they were facing, things might get dicey for Echo Company. The Heggies did have overwhelming numbers on their side.

The Schlinal force retreating toward Maison was still a coherent unit. Their discipline had not evaporated under the harassing tactics of Charley Company and the Wasps and Havocs. Although they were retreating, making a "tactical withdrawal," they outnumbered their attackers by a much larger margin than they could know, and they were moving under orders, paying attention to the fundamentals. Most of their trucks had been abandoned, or destroyed, but most of these garrison troops were infantry anyway. They might be out of practice, but they did have training to fall back on.

If the Heggies were not expecting to walk into an ambush close to Maison, they did react swiftly when the shooting started. Few of the Schlinal soldiers waited to see where the firing was coming from. Most immediately dove for cover, protecting themselves before they worried about countering the attack.

Echo Company had the surprise, however briefly, and they used it to good effect. A single word of command from Captain Ingels brought every weapon into use. The first short bursts from wire carbines and splat guns raked over the nearest sections of the Hegemony force. Some few of those bursts actually managed to evade or penetrate the body armor of the Hegemony soldiers, though the range was too great for maximum effectiveness.

The Schlinal troop was caught in the open, with little real cover available. With Echo Company in front of them and dug in, and Charley Company pursuing, the much greater numbers that the Hegemony enjoyed were of little use. Within a minute after Echo Company sprang its ambush, the guns of Basset Battery started pouring in on the Heggies. Four Wasps flew in to add their cannons and rockets to the commotion.

It took the Schlinal commander less than ten minutes to decide that he had only one way to avoid the wholesale slaughter of his entire command.

"Cease fire!" Joe repeated the command on his squad channel even though Captain Ingels had used the all-hands frequency for the original order.

Silence returned quickly, except for the moans and cries of the wounded. For several minutes, there was little movement on either side while Ingels and the Schlinal commander discussed the methodology of surrender. The soldiers of Echo and Charley companies and the recon platoons watched, their guns still at the ready, fingers near triggers. The four Wasps circled high overhead, ready to return to strafing if the discussions broke down.

Then the Hegemony's soldiers started to stand up. They left their weapons and battle helmets on the ground. With raised hands, they started marching toward Maison again, gradually forming into four columns. The 1st and 3rd platoons of Echo Company were detailed to guard the prisoners, and to search them. Some of the prisoners had neglected to leave all of their weapons on the ground. Some still had knives. A few had pistols concealed on them, or radios.

Max Maycroft walked along the line of 2nd platoon, calling the squad leaders forward.

"We've got the cleanup detail," he told the other noncoms. "Have the men collect all of the weapons and helmets the Heggies left out there. We'll have most of Charley Company helping."

"What do we do with them?" Joe asked.

Maycroft gave him a sour chuckle. "We turn the rifles and ammo over to the good people of Maison. Maybe the prisoners as well. We're sure not equipped to deal with a couple of thousand POWs."

CHAPTER EIGHT

The campaign on Porter did not end with the capture of the plateau town of Maison, but the defeat of the town's garrison and the simultaneous destruction of the platoon that had taken over the Jeomin farm did slow the pace of fighting considerably. The columns that had started out from Porter City, heading toward the plateau, turned around and went back to their barracks. Only a token force, no more than five or six hundred men, was dispatched to continuing harassing the 13th. There were occasional air strikes against the Freebies (as the Accord military was known among the forces of the Schlinal Hegemony), but those were more a nuisance than a serious threat to significantly degrade the capabilities of the 13th. The air raids came primarily at night. During the day, the skies over the plateau were too dangerous for Schlinal aircraft. The local commander did not have an unlimited supply. There supposedly had been no reason to give him a strong air arm. His duties were occupation, and an army that controls the population base of a conquered world should not need many attack aircraft.

Colonel Stossen was cautiously pleased with the state of things... but nervous.

"They can't just sit down there and do
nothing
about us," he told his staff early in the morning of day four. "No Hegemony warlord would dare sit on his ass and ignore the sort of threat we represent, especially not after losing more than three thousand men killed or captured. He'd get his head lopped off as soon as his superiors found out."

"Why borrow trouble?" Terry Banyon asked. "Another day or so and it won't matter. Our people should be here to cover our evacuation." More quietly, he added, "After that, it will be up to the locals to give him troubled nights." Twenty-eight hundred rifles, and a considerable stock of ammunition should make for a lot of troubled nights. The executive officer had heard the early stories about what the Heggies had done to the civilians of Porter. Although the forced labor gangs had only recently started in Maison, they had been busy since the beginning in and around Porter City, where most of the world's industry was located, and news of what happened in the capital had reached Maison and the other outlying settlements. Old factories had been converted to provide materiel for the occupying army. Some had been enlarged. Two new factories were under construction, all with forced labor. The able-bodied people of Porter City were being worked twelve to fourteen hours a day, seven days a week, to supply the conquerors.

"The only thing we can reasonably do now is turn the Wasps loose on Porter City," Dezo Parks said, speaking up before the colonel could jump all over his executive officer, "even though they won't have much time over the target. They'll have to get in and out or run their batteries dry. The capital is too far away to hope to get troops there and back before pickup—unless we use the shuttles, and that poses more risks than anything else. We can't even use the Havocs for a raid. They wouldn't be able to cover that distance and get back either. Even if they could, they'd be sitting ducks without infantry support. We might lose more than half of them before they got within range."

Stossen paced away from the others and stood looking off across one of the LZ clearings for a moment. When he turned to face his executive and operations officers again, his voice was calm.

"I know. I just don't like it. I don't like sitting here and not being able to do anything constructive. I'm not all that crazy about leaving the Porters to the mercies of the Heggies. Or a dozen other things. I do have half a mind to use the shuttles. That would certainly give the Heggies something to think about."

"What about using shuttles to take one company," Banyon suggested. "Not all the way to Porter City, but close enough that they can make it the rest of the way on foot. Give the shuttles plenty of air cover. We can bring the men back the same way then, if we have to get ready to leave in a hurry."

Stossen turned the idea over in his mind for a moment. "Tempting," he admitted, "but we can't risk a company. They might be outnumbered a hundred to one, and if they got into trouble, we'd have to risk the rest of the regiment on a rescue. That could lead to disaster. There might not be time to pull it off before pickup."

"We
are
accomplishing our primary objective," Parks pointed out. "There won't be any reinforcements leaving Porter to mess up the main invasion on Devon." He laughed. "They wouldn't dare leave with three thousand of their men in the bag."

"We hope," Stossen said. "Don't make the mistake of thinking that the Hegemony will consider those men the way we would. They might just write them off."

—|—

Joe Baerclau stood within a meter of the scarp, looking across the rift valley with power binoculars. The nearest portions of the valley were littered with rockfall that had accumulated over millennia. Out to a distance of ten or twelve kilometers, there appeared to be very little greenery, just those grasses and scrub brushes that could find niches among the rocks. Even beyond that limit, the valley seemed to green only gradually, as if much of the flora of Porter had given up trying to establish itself near the sheer rock wall, or the detritus that had collected at its base.