Until Relieved (21 page)

It was important. Joe knew that, but he was far from sure that he could find a way to convince a mixed-up rookie. That could be even more important, vital.

Before either man found anything else to say, there was an explosion that they could not ignore, a blast so massive that it shook the building and precluded any immediate possibility of conversation.

"Secondary explosion," Joe said, knowing that it was unlikely that Goff would hear. "Fire must have reached the arsenal."

After the echoes started to fade, he said, "Put your helmet on. Let's go see what's happened."

—|—

Fires had spread beyond the barracks compound, blown by a strengthening west wind. There were a few dozen civilians running about in the distance, trying to organize the local fire brigade to contain the flames before they could get completely out of hand. There seemed to be only a small area of buildings clustered close enough together beyond the kaserne fence for the flames to spread to. Porter City was, for the most part, a sprawling city with plenty of open spaces. Where the homes of local citizens were, starting perhaps a half kilometer from the east side of the kaserne, the homes were set off in the middle of large walled-in grounds. The walls surrounding those haciendas were of stone or pseudo-adobe for the most part. They would never burn, and the distance between perimeter walls and houses was generally enough to isolate the residences from the flames, even in a moderate breeze.

By the time Joe Baerclau led his men out of the building they had taken, the two nearest of the other barracks had been almost completely consumed by flames. What had not been leveled by the initial explosions was fully engulfed in flames. The rest of the buildings in the compound were all on fire. And over a space of a hundred meters, two buildings beyond the fence had also started to burn. Those buildings were wood frame, a style primarily found on the less populous colony worlds.

On the parade field in the center of the kaserne, the men of George and Echo companies had marshaled their prisoners and relieved them of weapons and radios. The recon platoons were set out around the area to provide early warning of any new enemy movement. Captain Ingels could not lose sight of the fact that his men were outnumbered by a hopeless factor if the Schlinal garrison brought all of its local resources to bear against them. This kaserne was one of many in Porter City, and not the largest.

Ingels and Lieutenant Vickers of George Company took time for a face-to-face meeting with their first sergeants and executive officers.

"We've done what we came for," Ingels said. "It's time to get the hell out of here before the enemy regroups and comes after us in force."

"Back into the boonies?" Vickers asked.

Ingels nodded. "It would be nice to simply head back the way we came—we'd know that we had good cover and all the rest—but the Heggies might figure that out too easily. So we head south, then turn west once we've put a few klicks behind us."

"That puts us farther from Wasp cover, sir," First Sergeant Iz Walker said. "Even here, those Wasps don't have much time to give the Heggies hell before they have to head back to the plateau for fresh batteries. Much farther off and they won't be able to help us at all."

"The Schlinal commander has probably calculated exactly how much time the Wasps can spend here by now," Vickers said. "He'll probably expect us to head toward the plateau to take advantage of our air cover. He might even decide to slip troops in west or northwest of here to ambush us." Vickers looked to Ingels to make sure that his evaluation was the same as the captain's.

Ingels nodded again. "He could put us in the middle that way, cut us off completely...
if
we were going that way." He shrugged. "Or he might actually guess our plans. It's a gamble either way. Once we've put a little distance behind us, we may be able to bend around to the north." He shrugged again; the gesture came too easily. "Or we may get instructions to go even farther in the other direction to spread the Heggies out more. Or in case we get our recall."

"I have a suggestion, sir," Walker said.

Ingels faced him squarely. He was too good a commander not to listen seriously to the suggestions of his first sergeant.

"The weapons and wire we've taken off the Heggies. I think we should cart it all off with us. This safari takes much longer, we could run completely dry of ammo for our zippers. The Schlinal wire won't fit the Armanocs, so we'd need their rifles as well."

"Our people going to have any trouble using the enemy rifles?" Ingels asked.

"Very little," Walker said. "Their aim might be off a tad, but the Schlinal weapons aren't so very much different from ours—not to operate, at least."

"Okay, good idea. We'll do that. Too bad we couldn't liberate some food as well."

"It appears that their food stores went up in that blast," Walker said. "I had men look in the one building we captured more or less intact."

"What are our casualties?" Ingels asked.

"Too heavy," Walker said, looking to Vickers before he looked at his own commander again. "The count isn't final yet. I haven't heard from either of the recon platoons, and there are still a few of our own platoons, in both companies, that haven't given us their figures. But, so far, the count is seventeen dead and thirty wounded. Maybe a half dozen of the wounded aren't going to be able to walk out on their own. They'll have to be carried. We gonna be able to get in medevac for 'em, sir?"

"We're going to try, if the Heggies give us a little breathing space. But it may be morning before we can get a shuttle in. Maybe late morning. Anybody hurt too bad to hold on that long?"

"Not that I know of, sir," Walker said.

"We have a count on prisoners?" was Ingels's next question.

"Roughly 130," Walker said. "Call it twenty less if we leave behind the ones that are wounded badly enough that they won't be any use to the enemy for the next few days."

"We leave them behind, all enemy wounded," Ingels said without hesitation. "We're not equipped to deal with our own casualties, let alone theirs. We'll leave them here where the Heggies can find them. Give them what first aid we can, of course."

"Medics have been workin' on 'em right along, sir. You know that."

"I know." Ingels turned through a complete circle, looking around. "I want to move away from here as soon as possible, Izzy. We've been here too long now."

"Aye, sir. Looks like we're about ready."

"Form them up. The recon platoons will cover our withdrawal, then follow on as quickly as they can."

—|—

Eustace Ponks helped Rosey Bianco work at repairing Basset two. The damage was surprisingly minor for the force of the explosion—for a crew of mechanics working in a fully equipped shop with the proper tools and parts—but it was quite a job for field conditions at night, with the possibility of enemy interference at any minute.

More than the fender had been crumpled. The drive wheel's mounting had been bent, and there was also damage to some of the linkage for two of the sleepers—wheels that were merely there to keep the tread in place, not to drive it. The tread itself was damaged; three sections had to be replaced. Every Havoc carried a stock of extra tread links though.
That
was almost routine maintenance. Before they could repair the damaged drive wheel mounting, a short axle connected to the drive shaft for the starboard engine, that corner of the gun carriage had to be jacked off of the ground, and even with the power hoist built into the support van, it was hard work.

While Eustace, Rosey, and one of Rosey's mechanics worked on the carriage, the rest of both crews were out in a thin defensive perimeter, watching for the approach of any enemy soldiers. No more had been found in a sweep of the area, but there were indications that there
had
been several more.

"You were born lucky, Gunny," Rosey said after they got the damaged sprocket wheel dismounted. "The shaft isn't completely wasted. Just a little heavier hit, and we'd have had to leave the Havoc and haul you boys back to be foot soldiers."

"Talk later, work now," Ponks growled. "I want to get rolling again as soon as possible."

"I can talk and work at the same time," Bianco shot back. "Not like some gun jockeys I could name. We've got an hour, maybe an hour and a half of work left here. If we've got to pull that axle to straighten it, we're here the rest of the night, and then some."

"Not on your life. Come daylight, we've got to be under better cover than we got here."

"Maybe."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Lieutenant Keye walked away from Porter City with the first squad of his platoon. Joe stayed relatively close to the lieutenant—or rather, the lieutenant stayed close to Joe, using what breath he had to spare to brief Joe on what he expected from him as platoon sergeant. Joe had yet to turn his squad over to Ezra. Continuity was more important—or so Joe told himself. He had no doubt that he could function as platoon sergeant while still concentrating on "his" squad.

It's not really so much different,
he thought. The lieutenant and Max had usually stayed fairly close to Joe's squad. First squad was, after all,
first
squad. A platoon was not all that large to start with, only thirty men, including the platoon leader and platoon sergeant, when the unit was at full strength. And 2nd platoon was far from full strength now. After less than a week on Porter, the platoon was down to twenty-four men, and two of those had been evacuated for medical treatment, leaving only twenty-two present for duty. First squad was the only one of the four in the platoon that was not missing at least one man, killed or evacuated.

Joe tried not to think about that.

"How much time you think we've got till the Heggies hit us, Lieutenant?" Joe asked an hour after the strike force had withdrawn from the barracks compound. Echo and George companies were marching hard. The men needed little urging. There was no talk of taking a break. That would come only when the men had to sit down or fall down. Everyone knew how much force the enemy might bring to bear on them.

Keye looked around. The two men talked over a private frequency, but Keye still looked toward Joe before he answered.

"I wouldn't count on another thirty seconds, Joe," he said. "I'm surprised they haven't hit us already. We'd have been sitting ducks in that compound, lit by the fires. We wouldn't have been able to see a thing."

Most of the men in both companies were carrying two rifles now, their own and a captured Schlinal rifle. The Schlinal weapon was a half kilogram heavier than the Armanoc, and the spools of wire were also each thirty grams heavier. The only men who were not carrying a spare weapon were the wounded, and the men carrying the litters with the most seriously hurt of their comrades. Others were carrying spare rifles for the stretcher-bearers.

"Probably not infantry, not at first," Joe said, almost an aside to himself. "Tanks or fighters, most like."

"Most like," Keye agreed. "I'd guess fighters. The country we're headed into is too rough for tanks to be much use."

They walked in silence for several minutes. At least Keye did not talk to Joe. The lieutenant seemed to be engaged in another conversation, but Joe could not hear what, or who he might be talking to. He guessed, correctly, that Keye was talking to Captain Ingels. Joe looked around, to make sure that the platoon was where it was supposed to be, the men minding their intervals, and keeping their eyes on the terrain around them. Echo Company was in charge of security. George Company was tending the prisoners.

"Joe?" Keye said when he had finished his conversation with the captain.

"Sir?"

"There's a low ridge about three klicks in front of the point now. An outlying ridge on the facing side of a horseshoe-shaped hill, higher ground just behind it."

"I remember seeing it on the mapboard," Joe admitted. The valley bounded by that hill had looked amazingly like an outdoor arena.

"Change of plans," Keye said. "George is turning the prisoners loose now, sending them back toward the city, without boots—or much else, the way I understand it. We're going to take up positions along that ridge. If the Heggies send infantry after us, we'll be in the best possible location to meet them. There's no easy way for the Heggies to get behind us, and we'll have clear kill zones in front. If they send tanks or aircraft, we're also in relatively good condition. Give the recon teams a chance to catch up with us."

"Just dig in and take whatever they throw at us?" Joe asked.

"That keeps us close enough to the city that they've got to worry about us, tie down at least part of the garrison in case we might make another raid. So we set up shop and wait. With luck, just until sunset tomorrow. Or sooner."

"Recall?"

"No word on that," Keye said. "But the captain wants to get us in defensive positions as soon as possible so we can arrange pickup for the wounded. Try to, anyway. Apparently, there's a flat spot on the high ground behind the ridge we're aiming for, room enough for a shuttle to get in and out. After that, we can always move if we have to."

If we're not pinned down,
Joe thought, but he kept quiet about that. He felt uncomfortable second-guessing the captain, but they would be little more than ten kilometers from the destroyed barracks compound on that ridge.

"Be good to get some rest," he said instead.

"I heard that," Keye said.

After a short pause, Joe said, "I'm going to miss Max, Lieutenant."

"You and me both, Joe. You and me both."

"He was a good friend," Joe said more softly.

By the time the two companies reached the ridge above the horseshoe-shaped valley, they had been marching without a break for more than two and a half hours, pushing themselves hard over rough terrain.

There was a thin stream, just a trickle of water in some places, caught between the outlying ridge and the grade behind it. The central part of the draw was U-shaped and flat, with some grass but more small rocks covering it. At the far end, there was only a narrow entrance. Any enemy approaching the ridge would have to come into the U, with guns on three sides of them. The ground on the reverse side of those outlying spurs was too rugged for any sort of coordinated, massed attack on foot. The climb would be slow, and the Heggies who would have to make it would be excellent targets for marksmen on the high ground above them.