Jump Pay (28 page)

Nearly two hours before the fleets could come close enough to begin the actual fight, it was clear that the battle would take place between forty and fifty thousand kilometers above the northern hemisphere of Tamkailo, above and east of that world's northern continent. The fireworks, if there were any, would be visible from the peninsula that held the Schlinal base designated Site Charley by the Accord. It would still be night on the ground when the battle in space started.

—|—

The 13th's Havocs followed those of the 8th across the western bridge. The few Havocs remaining to the 5th would be the last to cross the canal, and they would cross the eastern bridge to support their infantry and the parts of the 34th LIR that had crossed there.

It would have taken an observer several minutes to be certain that the Havocs were indeed all aiming for a bridge crossing. As usual, the gun crews worked hard to avoid showing a pattern to their movements, and there was certainly nothing recognizable as a formation. The howitzers continued to fire and maneuver on the way, only gradually moving into a wedge-shaped area leading up to the bridges.

Primarily, the targets that the 13th's Havocs were aiming for were enemy Novas. There were still at least two dozen of those roaming the peninsula, firing at the Havocs and at the Accord infantry. The 8th's artillery divided its attention between enemy tanks and the infantry that the 8th was attempting to push through as it headed for the Schlinal base at the far end of the peninsula.

"Where the hell is everyone?" Simon Kilgore demanded as he steered the Fat Turtle toward the bridge.

"Your guess is as good as mine," Eustace replied, one of the few times that he might be willing to concede that anything anyone else could do might equal his own abilities. "North of this ditch, that's for sure. And our guys are at the far end of the peninsula. They need help."

"We can help them from down here and be safe at the same time," Simon said.

"Not for long," Eustace replied. "Captain Ritchey says we got more Heggies coming in. The general wants us where we can hold 'em off." Eustace was far from crazy about the idea that the battery commander had outlined, but Eustace tried not to worry about anything larger than the crew of his own gun. That was more than enough trouble for any noncom.

"Why not just get out while the gettin's good?" Simon asked.

Eustace didn't have an answer for that. Getting out seemed to be the smartest move to him as well.

—|—

Kleffer Dacik wasn't certain that his answer for that question was the right one. At one time or another in the couple of hours since they had learned of the approaching Schlinal fleet, nearly everyone on his staff had made the suggestion at least once. Their arguments were valid. They had already inflicted major damage to the Schlinal depots on Tamkailo, totally disrupting any plans the Schlinal warlords might have had for using the stores of materiel and the thousands of troops that had been collected on Tamkailo for their next invasion. The Accord had killed or captured at least five thousand Heggies, perhaps as many as six or seven thousand. They had destroyed or captured thousands of tonnes of munitions and other supplies. And destroyed about three regiments of Nova tanks.

"We've already scored a major victory here, General," the argument went. "Why jeopardize what we've done already? Why risk losing the rest of five front-line regiments and an air wing for what little more we might accomplish?"

"We haven't finished the job," Dacik replied, with a bulldog persistence that belied his own doubts. "There might be another three thousand Heggies on the peninsula, plus most of the supplies in Site Charley. And whatever that fleet is carrying. I want it all, or as much of it as we can get. We have a chance to end the Schlinal threat against the Accord, if not permanently, at least for a good long time."

It was a desperate gamble, and no one was more aware of that than Kleffer Dacik. He watched the time line on his visor display. He listened to frequent updates on the progress of the two fleets from CIC. It came as something of a relief when one important deadline passed, when there was no longer time to get friendly shuttles down and all of the men back up to the transports before the enemy fleet arrived within striking distance.

As another military commander had written thousands of years before, on taking an equally desperate gamble, the die was cast. Withdrawal was no longer an option.

—|—

Site Charley was silent. Echo's second platoon was in another warehouse, doing little but standing around. Or sitting. A few of the men were eating. The platoon's wounded had all been treated. There had been no deaths in second platoon in the fight for the main base. A team of engineers was welding the door leading from the warehouse into the underground complex to its frame. There were thirty-seven buildings in the main base, thirty-seven metal doors that did not open onto the outside. One team had gone back to the airfield to see if there were openings to the tunnel system there. If so, those would be sealed as well.

"Burying them alive," Mort commented. His visor was up about halfway. Even though he was a dozen meters from the welding, he didn't want to look toward the welder's arc without eye protection. The faceplate of a battle helmet would not be sufficient for that up close, but at a distance, it would do. "There could be a regiment or more of them down there."

"I doubt that it's that final, Professor," Joe said. "Even if they don't have exits that we haven't found, they've almost certainly got gear down there with them that will let them break out. Sooner or later. If nothing else, they'll have explosives. We're just doing what we can to make sure they don't get out too soon. If they escape once we've left this cinder, that's fine with me."

Mort shook his head, unconvinced. "We came here to kill Heggies, and we're certainly doing that. Wholesale. Regular combat is one thing, but this is going to be like the underground garage at Site Alpha—simple slaughter."

"Them or us," Wiz Mackey said. "An' I'd rather it be them any day, and twice on Sunday."

"This Sunday?" Mal Underwood asked.

"Beats the hell out of me," Wiz said. "I'm not even sure what month this is."

"By our time, I think it's Wednesday," Olly Wytten said. "Or it's Wednesday back on Albion."

"Totally irrelevant here," Mort said. "In any case, the Hegemony uses a different calendar than we do."

"Enough," Joe said in a tired voice. "Before anybody gets too carried away, let's appropriate a few of the goodies." That got everyone's attention. "Hand grenades," Joe said, raising his left hand shoulder high and extending the index finger. "Stuff 'em anywhere you can. One man in each fire team grab an RPG launcher and grenades for it." He raised a second finger. "One man in each fire team take a bundle of these Heggie rockets and a launcher." A third finger. "They may not be as good as our Vrerchs, but they'll do in a pinch. Everybody else, grab either RPGs or rockets to help supply the men with the launchers. Load yourselves down with everything you can carry and still function. We've got a shuttle coming up from south of the canal to bring in more wire for our zippers, so we can forget about Heggie rifles this time."

Very softly, Mort asked, "You trying to tell us something, Sarge?"

Joe hesitated before he answered. "I'm trying to tell you that you're still soldiers in a combat zone and that there are still plenty of Heggies around. We may have corralled some of them here, but there's mudders and armor coming at us from the south, maybe a couple of regiments. The 8th and the 5th are driving the rest of them our way. Reason enough?"

"That'll do until something better comes along," Sauv Degtree said before Mort could speak. Jaiffer looked from one sergeant to the other, then shrugged.

"Reason enough," he said.

By that time the welders had finished sealing the door to the tunnels. They had their gear collected, and the corporal in charge of the group came over toward Baerclau.

"We're ready for the next one, Sarge," the corporal said.

Joe nodded, then lowered his visor. "Grab that stuff and lets go," he said over the platoon channel. "We've still got three more doors to plug." There were only five welding rigs available. Joe's platoon was shepherding one of the welding teams.

—|—

The confusion on the peninsula escalated, on both sides. The 8th pushed north as quickly as its infantrymen could walk or, in some cases, run. The 97th LIR came behind them, spread out to try to drive any remaining Heggies north ahead of them. To the east, the 5th had finally broken through the Heggie line that had been containing them and they were moving north also, several kilometers behind the 8th. The 34th was trying to regroup on the move, trying to get its battalions back together and complete the line across the peninsula. At the same time, the Heggie units that were retreating continued to fight, and they were obviously trying to regroup on the move as well.

General Dacik met his self-imposed deadline for getting his command across the canal. His headquarters wasn't the last unit to cross, but it came very near the end. Once he got to the north side of the water, he waited while engineers planted explosive charges on both bridges and blew them—decks, trusses, and piers. Only after the dust had settled and he could see for himself that both bridges had been destroyed completely did he get back in his APC and head north, in a hurry now to catch up to the bulk of his army.

"We've got less than an hour before the fight starts up there," Dacik told his aide, Hof Lorenz. "Maybe less than another hour before we've got more Heggies down here with us." He shook his head. "Not much time to secure this peninsula, is it?"

Captain Lorenz knew better than to attempt any answer to that.

—|—

For a moment, Zel wondered if Blue Flight was even going to have a place to land. All of the 13th's support vans were on the move, north of the canal...
some
where. And Blue Flight needed to land within the next few minutes. The three remaining Wasps were low on munitions and—more critically—low on juice in their batteries. If the squadron's ground support didn't find a place very soon, the Wasps would just have to land wherever they could and wait for their vans to find them—not the most ideal of alternatives.

Zel had lost track of how many hours he had been in the air, how many kills he had scored—Boems and Novas—and how many thousands of rounds he had used strafing infantry. Since coming north to Site Charley, the 13th's Wasps had been in the air almost continuously, landing only to take on recharged batteries and fresh loads of rockets and 25mm ammunition.

It was Roo Vernon who came on the radio to tell Zel where to set his flight down, even though Roo was no longer Zel's crew chief.

"You keeping busy, Roo?" Zel asked, after passing the landing information on to Gerry Easton and Will Tarkel.

"Busy and then some," Roo said, still new enough as an officer that he had to bite off the automatic "sir" at the end. Technically, he now outranked Zel, since his commission as Captain predated Zel's promotion to that rank.

"Your guns still working on the ground?" Zel asked. He was homing in on the vans. In another forty-five seconds he would be on the ground.

"Fair enough," Roo said with justifiable pride. "We've used 'em tonight. Next step's to figure a way to mount 'em on APCs. Maybe on Havocs too, give the big guns something to defend themselves with."

"You keep doin' all this fancy thinking, you'll get yourself a cushy job back in some R and D thinktank," Zel said. He hardly heard Roo's horrified disclaimer. It was time to set Blue One on the ground.

Ground crews ran to service the three Wasps. Zel didn't bother to get out, or even to open the canopy on his fighter. It was too much trouble. As soon as new batteries were installed and the rocket racks and cannon magazines refilled, Blue Flight would be back in the air. The pilots all knew what was coming—the new Schlinal fleet and, perhaps, more Boems. The Heggies on the ground had to be taken care of first, as far as possible. Sleep? Zel yawned. Just thinking the word made him sleepy. He blinked several times, then lifted his visor to rub his eyes. They had started to water. Again.

Blue Flight had been on the ground for less than ninety seconds—the gun magazines were open, the battery hatches as well, and the old batteries were being lifted down out of the sockets, the new ones at hand, ready to snap in—when the first incoming shells exploded. During the first ten or fifteen seconds of the barrage, Zel was hardly aware of what was happening. The noise and the flashes startled him so badly that his sleep-starved brain needed time to catch up. Not that there was anything he could have done, without fresh batteries in place and the hatches sealed over them, he couldn't even take off.

Smoke and flame and noise. The ground shook. Blue one was rocked violently, almost tipped on its nose... by a near miss. The Wasp was not hit directly. Still, Zel's head was snapped forward and to the side. His helmet whacked against the side of the cockpit. He blinked again, several times, The light of the blast had hurt his eyes. The crack on the head put "stars" in front of them. Zel shook his head to clear his vision. Roo Vernon had been walking toward Zel's Wasp just before the barrage hit. When the shells stopped coming in, there were still several fires burning—two of the maintenance vans were ablaze. Zel didn't see anyone standing, anywhere around him.

He popped the canopy open and slapped the emergency release to free the straps of his safety harness. If nothing else, he needed to get away from the plane before the next round of shells came in. The Heggies obviously had them perfectly targeted.

Zel pulled himself up out of the cockpit. He permitted himself only a second to look around before he jumped to the ground and ran—staggered—around his Wasp toward where he had seen Roo just a moment before. The sounds of the shells exploding were still ringing in his ears, but there seemed to be nothing new coming in.