Intrepid (21 page)

“I assure you, the afternoon will be more to our liking.”

34

Lieutenant Kris Longknife stood at the top of the hill and surveyed the work going on below. She, Jack, Gunny, and Peter Tzu had come up here to get a better feel for the terrain. For Kris, this was a first look.

For Peter Tzu, it was unnecessary. He’d built everything within sight by his own sweat, or that of his family.

The head of the Tzu clan fidgeted. His pride in ownership was now replaced by shades of fear. “This battle of yours. It’s not going to destroy
everything
, is it?”

Gunny looked at the farmer with honest sadness. Jack glanced away. It was left to Kris to admit. “I don’t know. No battle plan survives contact with the enemy. Only a fool will tell you in the morning how a battle will go that afternoon.”

The farmer shrugged. “Well, at least you’re honest.”

Kris took a long moment to survey what her people were up to. The hill where she stood rose gently a hundred meters or so from the narrow flats that cut a small ribbon between the swamp and the beginning of the rolling hills behind Kris. The road sliced through the middle of that bit of flatland, separating the Tzu farm buildings from their rice paddies.

Most locals were quite happy to grow the hybridized grass/grain crop planted once and harvested as often as they came in season. Acres of it covered the hills behind Kris. However, Mr. Tzu, a short man whose face still reflected that his family hailed from old Earth’s Asian continent, liked rice.

He’d claimed a holding close to the swamp and laid out some rice paddies. And found a market for a break from the usual. As his clan grew, the paddies expanded along the road and into the swamp. Today, the dikes between the paddies offered Kris some interesting options. Most everyone loved the gophers and the their valuable droppings; Tzu and his clan hated the little rats.

The four-legged beggars loved rice.

A pack of them could eat a rice paddy empty, root and stem, in a day. To keep them under control, the Tzu clan had been forced to dig caves through the centers of their paddy dikes.

The gophers could come tunneling along and burrow right into the caves. There, they’d meet up with the other Tzu import. Mongooses from old Earth prowled both above- and belowground.

The gophers could be mean when cornered. The mongooses seemed to love cornering them. The gophers usually lost.

But for Kris, it meant that she had a whole lot of rice-paddy dikes within easy rifle range of the road just begging to be pierced with loopholes.

Which work parties were now doing with sledgehammers and rods. Others were expanding the cool room under the hill Kris stood on. In an hour, two at the most, they expected to have firing positions popping out of this hill.

Anyone who marched up that road would walk right into a cross fire. And the flats left them with little or no cover.

It would be murder.

“If they walk into it,” Jack said, reading Kris’s mind.

“You think he’s had enough of walking into things?”

“You done a good job of teaching him that lesson, Your Highness,” Gunny said.

Kris snorted. “I’ve got more trigger-pullers than this Colonel Cortez, but, except for the Marines, I can’t trust any of them to maneuver under fire. If I deploy them in the paddy dikes, in the hill, they can just sit there, firing when I tell them to.”

“I don’t remember anyone telling you battles were supposed to be easy on anyone,” Jack said.

“If you put our people in the paddy caves,” Peter Tzu observed slowly, “they won’t be able to get away if things go wrong. What are those things. . . hand grenades. . . ? If they throw a few of them in the caves. . .” He ran out of words.

Kris had to put an end to that thought. “The paddies are at angles to each other.” She put her hands together to form a ninety-degree angle. “The rifles on the right keep the enemy off of the dike to the left, and left protects the right. See.”

“I guess so,” the farmer said dubiously.

“The Marines will be a mobile reserve,” Kris said. “They’ll move to meet what we’re not expecting.”

“And just what are you expecting?” Tzu asked.

“That they are not going to march up that road in a nice long line, ready to be shot up.” Kris glanced at Jack and Gunny. They were nodding agreement. “No, he’s not going to do anything the easy way anymore. He’s going to be looking for us under every rock and crack. We’ll need to cover our tracks real good.”

As if to confirm Kris’s guess, Captain Drago came online. The
Wasp
was overhead early, working its way up behind Thorpe.

“It looks like Cortez has finished his morning tea party,” he reported. “They are breaking camp at the dugouts and getting back on the road.”

“What does their travel array look like?” Kris asked.

“Similar to yesterday’s. He’s got his light infantry out covering his flank and forming a vanguard. His wagons and heavy infantry make up his main body. Oh, and now they have some of the light infantry riding herd on some of the animals. They didn’t eat all of them.”

“It would be hard to eat all we left there,” Jack said. “What does their invalid detail look like? Can you see how many of the main body are hobbling, or riding in the carts?”

“Wait one” was followed in less than a minute with “Say fifty-seven to sixty-one of them are wounded. That’s almost double what he had last night. Looks like he caught moderate casualties taking those dugouts.” Drago laughed. Gunny and Jack joined in.

Kris grimaced at the lay of the land beneath her. “Our ambush has a cross fire to it.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Gunny agreed, “but our folks will be under cover, not be out in the open when the shooting starts.”

Peter Tzu just looked more worried by the minute.

“Captain Drago, could you send us a picture of Cortez’s troop layout.” He did.

“Nelly, could you overlay his troop array on the ground before us.”

In a moment, a heliograph appeared in front of them, showing troops in white smocks scattered over the hill in front of them and the rice paddies. Coming up behind them was a main column of armored infantry and wagons. Trailing them were several herd guards wielding long poles as they tried to keep farm stock together. Still, they had rifles slung over their shoulders.

“Do you think they’ll stay as spread out? I can’t see someone choosing to wade through a rice paddy when he can walk along the dikes.”

“But how do people
in
the dikes shoot at people
on
the dikes,” the farmer asked.

Kris again formed her hands into a right angle. Tzu nodded but still didn’t seem convinced.

“We’ll need to put rifles in the second, third, and fourth lines of dikes,” Jack said. Gunny nodded.

“But those hand grenades,” Tzu repeated.

“If we stack bales of hay or grain at the ends of the tunnels. . .” Gunny said.

“They’ll catch fire,” Tzu said.

“But if they absorb the explosion and fragments. . .” Kris said.

“It should cut down on the casualties,” Jack said.

Kris also wanted to examine options for deploying her Marines, but having a civilian in her war council was not going as well as she had hoped. They started down the hill to do what needed doing. She’d talk about the Marines later.

How many battles had she gotten herself into since she joined the Navy?

Too many,
a small voice said.

And none went anything like the battles she read about in the history books. Would some professor, from the safety of his dusty ivory tower, match this battle up against historical precedent and make its conclusion look easy and foregone?

Of course, he’d know what Kris and her troops had done. And what had worked. And what hadn’t work.

Matters weren’t that easy under a hot sun with dust rising from digging shovels. Hindsight was easy. Foresight wasn’t.

And the two of them were separated by an agony of distance.

But now Cortez was moving to what had to be contact. Only after he asked Thorpe for coverage of the next likely ambush point did the starship send down the photos and map.

And Cortez hadn’t gotten around to mentioning that the Longknife ship was passing over sooner and sooner after Thorpe’s ship. Let him and his ship sensors find out for himself.

Cortez examined the strange arrangement in the swamps ahead of him. Captain Sawyer had identified them as rice paddies.

“People could lurk under the water and come up out of it to shoot at us as we go by,” Major Zhukov observed.

“And shoot at us from this hill,” Cortez added.

“It’s obviously a good place for an ambush,” the major agreed, “but will this Longknife girl do something that obvious? Will her Marine leaders let her?”

“All good questions,” Cortez agreed. “That first ambush was an obvious one. . . and she got away with it. Our breakfast stop was obvious. . . and she passed on it. She’s got to engage us sooner or later. Have you spotted any good ground up ahead?”

Zhukov shook his head. Sawyer shrugged.

“So,” Cortez concluded, “she either gives up the last good ambush site, or she doesn’t. Either way, I intend to walk into the damn fox trap loaded for bear.”

Cortez studied his map. “We’ll take a break here, a good mile shy of their ambush.” He thought for a moment. “Sawyer, your company has handled the vanguard position fine, but I think I want to replace you there with another bunch.”

“Who?”

Cortez knew his grin was pure evil, but he loved it at the moment. “The gift they gave us. What else?”

The Marines had added several refinements to her plan. The sticky net was laid out, ready to take down a chunk of the van. A half dozen of the fastest Marine sharpshooters had been distributed to leaven the local riflemen and -women. They were stationed close to the road and loaded with sleepy darts. Their orders were to concentrate on the light infantry.

The rest of the Marines were held in three reserves. She’d use them to counter whatever surprises Cortez came up with. She expected some good ones from him. That still left her nervously licking her lips. Was she making a mistake— trying to fight this thing to a surrender? Only time would tell.

Kris’s commlink clicked, then clicked again. Sergeant Bruce had come in shortly after noon from his job observing the fun and games at the dugouts. He’d gotten a laugh and a new tough assignment. He and a couple of locals were spread out in observation posts well in front of Kris’s ambush.

Two clicks meant he wanted to talk. Kris clicked once.

“They’re about a mile out. Looks like someone called a break. The officers are circulating among the men giving final reminders. My bet is we’ve been spotted.”

No surprise. Kris would have no surprise in this fight.

Kris gave a single click, and the commlink went silent.

That was the problem with fighting smart people. What looked good to you looked good to them. When she’d met Thorpe, he hadn’t been dumb, just driven. She had no reason to think he’d have a dumb ground pounder working with him.

Kris turned to the folks around her observation post/command center. “Pass the word. They’re a mile out and have stopped for a coffee break. We can expect them anytime.”

Civilians and Marines scuttled off to pass the word. The waiting was over.

35

Kris stood in her command post, its viewing port hidden among the roots of a pecan tree and some berry bushes around it. Quite a few clumpings like these, or even orchards, had grown up in and around the fields planted with the grass/grain hybrid. They helped keep the water from running off too fast.

Now they hid Kris and, in other places, shooters.

Cortez marched up the road. . . and around Kris, people laughed. His vanguard was a herd of goats and pigs!

At a nod from Kris, the tech disabled the sticky net. No use tying up a bunch of dumb animals. With luck, Kris would reactivate it and still collect some good troops.

Or not.

The pigs and goats stomped or pranced or did whatever their natural inclination was, over a net that had not been designed with hoof traffic in mind. Pigs’ hooves sank deep into the net, cut this, connected that. Before the herd was halfway over it, the net was sticking to hooves and being pulled up and out.

One of the goats tried to eat it. That one complained loudly as the net stuck to its mouth, and then it made no noise at all when the net stuck its upper and lower jaw together.

Herders, white-shirted soldiers with long poles in their hands and their rifles slung over their shoulders, kept pushing the back of the herd into the net. At least they did for a while. Soon they were too busy laughing to pay much attention to the animals. . . or their own situation.

Several of the animals were now stuck together. Hogs didn’t like being stuck to hogs. They definitely didn’t like being tied up with goats. Matters started going badly for the goats.

The herders laughed harder. Two rolled on the ground.

Beside Kris, Peter Tzu shook his head. “What a waste of good animals. And to let them suffer.” He glanced around. “They will know something is wrong.”

“Why?” Kris asked.

“Any good farmhand would be out there taking care of those poor animals.” So there went Kris’s last hope for surprise.

Down on the flats, a sergeant trotted up to join the herders. The laughter stopped.

The sergeant pulled up the bullhorn hung around his neck and put it to use. “You in the farmhouse. Come out with your hands up, and there will be no problem.”

The sergeant only waited a quick five count before he reslung the bullhorn and unslung his rifle. Beside him, the Bo Peeps tossed aside their crooks and unslung their rifles, too. At a signal from the sergeant, they advanced on the homestead.

Several took guard positions, covering all directions. Others dashed into the house. In a moment, the sergeant was standing at an open upstairs window. “No one here,” he reported, using the bullhorn.

That was one way to communicate, Kris thought, and where he was only announcing what the opposition knew, it wasn’t a bad idea. Beside her, the commtech said, “I’m getting action on comm frequencies. I can’t crack the codes.”

“Nelly?”

“I could in half an hour, maybe longer. Assuming they don’t change codes every fifteen minutes.”

Which wouldn’t be such a problem in a battle not likely to last an hour. “Jam all frequencies,” Kris ordered.

“Done, ma’am.”

Which meant Kris would not talk to her people on the radio net, either. But being on the defensive on ground of her choosing, Kris had prepared for that.

“A call coming in from Gunny,” the commtech said.

Kris accepted the landline phone. It had two buttons on it; one was flashing. “Yes, Gunny.”

“We’ve got action in the draw behind your hill. Two squads of heavy infantry. Hold it. They’re breaking up, one squad heading up my hill, the other up yours.”

Gunny’s was supposed to be a reserve position, the next hill over dug in along its crest. The shooting should have started before anyone coming up that hill got too close to them. Kris had firing positions on both sides of her hill. The second light on the phone lit. “Just a second, Gunny; Jack’s calling.”

A glance out Kris’s observation post told her why. Light infantry was spreading out over the first two or three paddy dikes. So far none had spotted a firing position.

Kris checked the main road. A platoon or two were moving in bounds up the road, one platoon doing overwatch while the other leapfrogged the line of prone troopers. Cortez had committed less than half of his troops.

Damn, when Kris gave the orders to shoot, everyone she had would start shooting. Cortez would see exactly what she had.

“Jack, wait one,” Kris said, then turned to the commtech. “Can you stop the jamming just long enough for me to make an all-hands announcement.”

“No, ma’am, they started jamming us as soon as I started jamming them.” Of course they would.

“Jack, when I give the order, take down the troops on the dikes. Try to get the word to the farmers not to shoot. Let’s try not to give away all we have.”

“All I got is runners, and I hope you’re about ready to give the word.”

“Send them running. Let me talk to Gunny,” she said, and punched the buttons. “Gunny, give yourself a slow five count, then take down the heavies on your front.”

Kris didn’t need to tell him he would not be using sleepy darts. The force it took to punch through armor made even a sleepy dart deadly.

“Roger, ma’am. Starting one—”

Kris punched back to Jack. “Prepare to fire on Gunny’s shot.”

Then Kris turned to Penny. “Tell everyone in this hill not to fire.”

“Don’t fire.” And she was off.

The word passed from gallery to gallery. Kris doubted it would get to everyone, but it should keep the fire down a notch. Maybe she’d have some surprises left for the next assault.

A single shot rang out.

And the valley before Kris erupted with fire.

The small viewing port deflected the full shock and blast from Kris, but its impact was immediately visible.

Men dropped.

The platoon moving forward had their guns at the ready. At the first sound of shooting, they let go on full automatic.

Kris didn’t see any targets, but they sprayed the area before them liberally. The complaining farm animals took most of the brunt of their fire. But only for a moment.

Under the hammering of fully automatic fire, Kris could just make out the pop, pop, pop of M-6s firing single shots, low powered for sleepy darts. Men went down in ragged rows. Some twitched. A few managed to get an arm under their heads like they probably did at bedtime. However they did it, they went down.

Out on the rice-paddy dikes, others were going down, too.

Some were hit and going down. A couple looked like they were just dropping. Maybe Jack’s Marines weren’t getting all of them, but it was hard to tell who was hit and down and who was faking. Maybe the fakers would play it smart and just stay down.

Yeah, right.

The platoon on overwatch was giving as good as it could but couldn’t find anything to aim at. Their rapid-fire volleys To Whom It May Concern didn’t hit anywhere Kris had stationed gunners. Still, the leaves were flying from the tree and bushes in front of Kris’s position, and a noisy round shot into her command post to bury itself in the ceiling.

“Fire enough, and you’re bound to hit something,” Kris mused to the senior clan members sharing the command center with her, then hardened her voice for Red. “Put the gun down. Don’t even think of firing from here. I don’t want this hill firing this attack, and I sure don’t want us showing where we are.”

Gamma Polska put out a hand, rested it on Red’s rifle. The barrel sank to the floor. “Seems like a chicken way to fight a war,” he growled.

“Colonel Cortez is just feeling for us,” Kris said. “I doubt he expected to lose everything he sent in this time, but this is not his main attack.”

The rapid fire from the white-shirted troopers quieted as they went to sleep, or, in the case of those hit by the farmers, screamed for help. Now Kris could make out the shriek of M-6s on full power. The shots were carefully spaced, and though Kris could not risk a run to one of the gun ports that opened on the other side of her hill, she was willing to bet money that Gunny’s team was taking down each of the heavy infantry in that gully. Probably one shot, one target.

“Comm, raise Gunny,” Kris said.

“I’m flashing him, but he’s not answering” told Kris that Gunny was indeed busy. On Kris’s front matters got active.

One of the white-clad soldiers who’d fallen off the dike had been faking it. Down, he spotted a firing port.

Yanking a grenade from his belt, he pulled the pin, leapt up, and tossed it at the opening in the dike. Then he dashed over the dike to escape his own grenade’s blowback.

Five rapid pops stopped him. Even before his grenade exploded, he was falling, headfirst, onto the other side of the dike wall. From what Kris could see, legs up, body down, the grenadier was very likely head down in muddy water.

Sleepy darts weren’t intended to be lethal. However, if you went to sleep facedown in two feet of water, the darts did nothing to help you breathe.

This was battle. People died.

Through the phone, Gunny’s voice came. “The heavy infantry on your and my hills are down,” was all he said.

The guy drowning in front of Kris wasn’t the only fellow whose name would be on the butcher’s bill for today.

No, maybe not.

Across the paddies from Kris, one of the white coats came to his feet. He had no gun, and his hands were held out in the universal sign for surrender. He climbed up onto the dike and hastily made his way to where his comrade lay, feet down.

Kris held her breath as the man pulled his buddy from the water, arranged him so that his mouth drained water, then gave him one or two breaths of artificial respiration. When the half-drowned man began to cough up water, the rescuer smiled.

A single pop, and the man looked down. Someone had put a sleepy dart right in the middle of the guy’s chest.

And the guy lay down and went to sleep.

“Ha,” Kris said into the phone, but for all to hear. “Let’s see how Colonel Cortez takes to our way of fighting.”