Until Relieved (25 page)

"Cost?" Stossen scarcely managed to get the one word out. He had
thought
that he was in perfect physical condition, as fit as any of the men under him. After all, he had always taken calisthenics with the men and walked the same twenty- and thirty-kilometer hikes in training. He might be past forty years of age, but in the long run, that was still young, less than a third of the way through the average life expectancy on his homeworld. But the bedlam of the past three hours had changed his mind.

"Too soon to know." Parks paused before he continued. "I know that we lost at least three Havocs and two Wasps. Beyond that..." He shrugged. "It's going to take time to get casualty figures."

Stossen's breathing started to get a little easier. After a moment he sucked in one especially deep breath and let it out slowly.

"The strike force is in trouble too, last I heard," he said. That had been—what? Thirty minutes earlier, an hour? "Hang on a second." Stossen pulled his visor down and talked to the Wasp squadron commander. Then he lifted the visor again. "We've only got two birds with juice and munitions to send to help Echo and George. It'll be at least fifteen minutes before we can send another pair. The rest will have to stick around to harass the Heggies up here."

"I called CIC five minutes ago," Parks said. "There's still no word on our relief. Nothing coming in-system that they can detect."

"I want every last bit of munitions left on the ships," Stossen said. There
were
reserves up in the fleet, but it still might not be enough. "Every spool of wire, everything else, even emergency flares. And I want it now. We'll try to time things so we have all of our remaining Wasps on hand to protect the shuttle, shuttles, whatever it takes."

"One will do it, I'm afraid," Parks said. "You want me to set it up?"

Stossen nodded. "Any wounded who need evac can go back on that shuttle."

While Parks made the call to CIC, Stossen took a long drink of the tepid water in his canteen. The water was nearly at body temperature, but it tasted strangely appealing. He could almost imagine that it was a fine red wine, an old claret from a special year.
That's crazy,
he told himself.
It's really getting to me.
He leaned back and rested his head against the bole of the tree, dreading what he had to do next. In turn, he called each of the company commanders. Two of the 13th's line companies had changed commanders during the battle—the hard way. Company-grade officers, lieutenants and captains, often showed the highest casualty rates. But
someone
was always in command, at every level.

"Two hours."

Stossen opened his eyes, startled by Parks's voice.

"Two hours?" He repeated it as a question.

"Two hours to get a shuttle down with all our reserve munitions." Parks shook his head and squatted next to the colonel. "Too bad we don't have slingshots. There are plenty of rocks around."

"We may get down to that. For the moment, let's pull in the perimeter—a hundred meters, all around. Tell the companies to find the best defensive positions they can. Pull Basset Battery back from the strike force. They're to return here at their best possible speed. We have to hold what we can up here."
Even if it means abandoning Echo and George and two recon platoons.

"There's still that store of arms we left in Maison," Parks said. "If we could get those..."

"Try to put together a good contingency plan for that. Maybe tonight." Stossen paused, then added, "If the Heggies haven't moved back into Maison."

"I'll see what the satellite coverage shows, Colonel."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The Schlinal attack just fell off, ending without any great fanfare. There had been no decisive turn in the battle against them. All they faced was the same problem as they had at the start. The surviving troops in the valley merely made an orderly withdrawal.

Captain Ingels dispatched half of his recon force to harass them, and to make certain that the enemy was leaving—and not merely regrouping for another assault. Work parties were sent down into the valley to collect weapons and ammunition from the dead and wounded. Little could be done to help the Schlinal wounded. Medics gave first aid, bandaged wounds, and administered painkillers and nanotech repair machines, but the medics knew that, for the most part, their efforts would be wasted unless the Heggies returned to collect their wounded.

"No choice," Ingels told First Sergeant Izzy Walker. "We can't carry them with us, and I'm not going to ask for another shuttle landing to evacuate Heggies."

Walker had not suggested otherwise. Under the best of conditions, the 13th was just barely able to think of civilized niceties of that nature. The 13th would lose a considerable portion of its mobility if it were to carry equipment and noncombat personnel to meet every possible contingency. For a detachment operating alone, far too close to the center of the enemy's power base on the world, it was impossible.

"Leastwise, we don't have any new wounded of our own who won't be able to walk," Walker said. "We come off lucky that way, Captain. Looks like nine dead, and maybe three dozen wounded, but none of the wounds are serious." The characterization of "not serious" was easy for someone who had not been wounded himself. Those with the wounds might disagree. Walker shrugged. "Not if we don't ask too much of them and get help in a day or so."

The dead were already being buried, not the easiest of tasks in the rocky terrain that the strike force occupied.

"We can ask for another evac shuttle if we have to," Ingels said. "Maybe tonight." He had expected that another shuttle ran would be needed. The possibility that it might not was a minor relief.

"For now, we're going to move. I don't want to wait for dark. The more distance we put between ourselves and those Heggies, the better I'll feel." Not that they could put
too
much distance between them, not without new orders. The strike force had to remain close enough to Porter City to be seen as a threat to the Schlinal garrison. That was the entire point of this foray, not just one raid on a kaserne. The Schlinal garrison would scarcely be affected by the damage the strike force had done so far. It would only be an annoyance—except to those Heggies who had been killed or wounded.

"The men are pretty beat, sir," Walker said. "I don't know how much more they have left to give right now."

"Five klicks," Ingels said. "That's where the next decent defensive position is according to the mapboard." He had spent some time looking over their options. "We get there, and the Heggies don't attack, we'll let the men rest. All night and most of tomorrow, if we aren't recalled before then." All of his plans had to be qualified by that. Not knowing what new orders he might receive was annoying, but—this time—not particularly unwelcome.

"Yes, sir. I'll get the men formed up for the move."

There were more than a few audible groans as the word was passed to each of the platoons. No one enjoyed the thought of another hike. Most of the men had counted on having until dark, at least, before they would be on the move again. Infantry welcomed the dark, looked forward to it. Even when friends and enemies alike were equipped with efficient night-vision systems, the darkness gave some cover. The best night-sight gear, such as that which the Accord Defense Forces used, only provided seventy percent of daylight visibility.

Sore feet and legs were asked to carry everyone again. Five kilometers, over rough country: it took the strike force three hours to cover that distance, more than twice what it would have taken if they had been fresh.

It was hard to keep the men together during this march. After days in the field with minimal rations and major exertions, stragglers were a constant problem, and there were no pickup vans trailing along to collect them. They had to be urged on—prodded, cajoled, or threatened—by their mates as well as by the officers and noncoms. If they fell behind, the only pickup would be by the Schlinal forces, and no one wanted to trust themselves to the suspect mercies of the enemy.

The start of the march was difficult enough for most of the men. They had to climb to the top of the hill. Though the route was well defined, it was steep. After they crossed the top, they had to follow the recon platoons down a steep draw on the far side. That was too narrow, and treacherous, for anything other than single file, and it took a considerable time to move four-hundred men down it, slipping and sliding repeatedly.

The narrow draw opened into a long, narrow valley with slopes rising on both sides—steeply on the left. The bottom of the valley was rarely as much as twenty meters wide, and it was exceptionally rocky—scree, loose rocks from pebbles to boulders the size of a small truck—strewn around haphazardly. That was especially hard on feet that were already aching, and the uneven going pulled at the muscles in thighs and calves. Smaller rocks gave way underfoot. A few times, rocks larger than a man were dislodged to tilt or slide a meter or two.

After two kilometers of that, the strike force had to climb another slope, to reach a pass between two more rocky hills. That opened up into a higher valley, a large bowl-shaped depression that had survived long enough to collect soil to support the growth of small trees. Once inside that wooded area—it was hardly large enough to term it a forest—Captain Ingels called a halt.

The men moved into defensive positions. Most of them were ready to collapse from fatigue, but there was work to do first. Holes had to be dug. Dirt and rocks had to be piled up. Men had to be reminded to eat. Exhaustion might seem more important than hunger, but they needed the nourishment, scant as their resources had become.

Even then, only half of the men could be allowed to sleep at any one time. The squads were matched off, one fire team on guard, the other to sleep. The first changeover would be made in two hours. After that, the intervals would be stretched by half. And, just maybe, everyone would have a chance to catch up on their sleep before the next march... or the next fight.

—|—

Eustace Ponks rode with his teeth gritted against the vibration he felt coming from the right tread of Basset two. The tremor had been there since they started moving after their repairs, just before sunset, and the vibration was beginning to get more pronounced. Eustace knew every sound and movement that the gun made, and this new sound did not bode well. They still had two-hundred kilometers to go to reach the escarpment, and there was a long, difficult climb when they did. He had already had Simon cut back on their speed. Basset two was doing no more than forty kilometers per hour now, scarcely enough to give them time to get to the top of the escarpment by first light. If that vibration continued to get worse, they would have to slow down even more.
That
might leave them out in the open, either at the rocky perimeter of the rift valley or on the road climbing to the plateau, in daylight—where they would have no room for evasive maneuvers in case of attack.

"The rest of the battery will probably pass us in an hour or two," Simon said. The recall order for the Havocs had gone out early in the afternoon, while the repair work to Basset two was still going on, but the move was not scheduled to start until dark, when the guns and their support vans would have some hope of moving unobserved. Basset two had started back ahead of the others because of the damage it had suffered. But a full day's lead would be lost because of the time they had spent working on the drive wheel, and because of the slower speed they were being forced to hold to now.

They'll pass us,
Eustace thought, but there was nothing the others could do to help Basset two move any faster. For a time, the others would be in range to throw in a few rounds if they were attacked on the ground, but they would not stay close. That would simply present a more tempting target to any enemy aircraft that might happen to spot them, and the Havocs were not anti-aircraft weapons. They would be plump targets, ripe for the picking. In any case, the rest of the battery was needed on the plateau.
Not baby-sitting a cripple.

"At least some of us will get back in time to lend a hand," Eustace whispered, not really caring whether or not Simon heard him. A little louder, he said, "You feel that vibration?" He had asked that question a dozen times already.

"I feel it," Simon replied. "If it busts, it busts. There's nothing more we can do about it. Rosey said it's a miracle we're even running. Just hope it gets us close enough that we can make it the rest of the way on foot if we have to."

"Can that talk," Eustace said, too sharply. His voice softened somewhat when he added, "This old girl will get us there. We just need to pamper her a bit. Try cutting another klick or two off the speed."

"You're the boss," Simon said, resigned. He adjusted the throttles on both engines just a fraction.

Once the Havoc was running at its new speed, Eustace listened intently to the sounds the treads made for a moment. "Maybe that
is
just a hair better," he conceded. "It should still get us up to the top before sunrise." He hoped.

—|—

Al Bergon had a busy hour after the strike force made camp. While the others were digging in, he made the rounds of first squad, and second squad as well. Everyone had blisters or badly strained muscles. Ezra Frain had managed to twist his knee. By the time he was able to get off of his feet and stay there, the knee had swollen up. Ezra was in considerable pain but refused to admit it until he was alone with the medic. Even then, he whispered.

"I didn't think I was going to make it," he told Bergon.

"It's a miracle you did. Next time, let me know right away. We could have taken two minutes to put a soaker on it. You'd have had a lot less pain, and it would heal a hell of a lot faster."

"Yeah, well." Ezra let his voice tail off. He did know better—it was the same sort of thing he had told Joe Baerclau when the sergeant hurt
his
leg—but it was always easier to give advice than to take it. With the pain, Ezra had not been thinking straight. "Long as we don't have to start off again for a couple of hours."