Jump Pay (36 page)

—|—

Basset Battery was on the move. "We've got to find a lane that gives us a good shot right down the center of the peninsula," Eustace had told the crew of the Fat Turtle. "New targets."

Captain Ritchie was in front of the Fat Turtle in Basset one. The rest of the battery trailed behind. Basset one turned a corner, left, aiming south again. The tail end of the howitzer had not quite disappeared from Eustace's view when it exploded, hit by at least one rocket from in front. Basset one stood on its tail and fell backward.

Eustace's first, fleeting, thought was
Cripes, that's the fourth Havoc the captain's had shot out from under him.
He was already shouting, "Stop! Trouble!" before his thoughts progressed to
It doesn't look like he'll make it out this time.
Basset one came to rest upside down. The turret was partially separated from the carriage, and it had been crushed, partly by the rocket blast and partly from having the rest of the Havoc sitting on top of it. Smoke was finding its way out from around the base of the turret, and through the bottom of the carriage.

"Basset one's been hit," Eustace reported over the battery channel. "Back off. There must be Heggies around the corner."

Simon was already turning the Fat Turtle enough to back out of line and off to the side. He didn't bother wasting time turning the gun around. The Havoc could travel as rapidly in reverse as it could forward.

"Why not bring the gun barrel down?" Simon asked. "We've got HE loaded. Anybody comes around that corner, we can give 'em a surprise."

"Why not?" Eustace said. "Karl, do it." The Havoc was definitely not designed for close-range, point-blank antipersonnel operations, but it didn't have anything else to use in defense.

The gun barrel came down as far as it would go, about 2 degrees above horizontal. A shell would have to be detonated in the air to do any good at close range. Even 50 meters away, it would be over the heads of infantrymen.

Eustace got busy on the radio with Major Norwich, the squadron commander. "We need some mudders here!" Ponks shouted when the major came on the line. "We've lost Basset one. There must be Heggies on the loose right inside this base."

"We can't get anyone to you now," Norwich replied. "You'll have to rely on the mudders already there."

"What mudders?" Eustace asked.

There was a long pause before Norwich said, "Our reccers and a platoon or two from several line companies. They were transporting wounded back to the field hospital. And the support crews. That's all there is until we sort the rest of this mess out."

"We're on our own," Eustace told his crew after switching away from the link of Major Norwich. "Us and whatever odds and ends happen to be around."

—|—

Basset one had been blown up right next to the field hospital. The explosion had echoed through the building and shook dust off of the ceiling and walls.

Joe Baerclau and Dieter Franzo had been talking, close to one of the hospital's two exits. Their men were gathered around them, right along the wall, trying to stay out of the way of the medical teams. That wasn't easy. Three times already surgeons or medtechs had yelled for them to get out from underfoot. The men with minor injuries had already been treated. Al Bergon had taken care of them after the more serious casualties had been handed over to the experts. Anyone who could still walk and use his hands was marked for duty.

The building shook. Dust fell. Baerclau and Franzo looked at the door next to them, then up at the ceiling, then at each other again.

Joe was the first to break for the door. "Second platoon!" shouted over his radio. At the same time, Dieter was collecting his men.

"How you want to work this?" Dieter asked. Joe was considerably senior to him as a platoon sergeant.

"We'll go left, you go right. When we see what's out there, we'll figure out what to do next. Some of those Heggies must have come back."

"Maybe a Nova shooting at our Havocs?" Dieter suggested.

Joe shook his head. "That was a rocket, not a tank round." He wasn't certain how he knew that—he had never particularly noticed a difference in those two types of blast—but he didn't have any doubt.

"Whenever you're ready," Dieter said.

"Mort, be careful," Joe said as Jaiffer moved into position to be first out of the door.

"That's why I go first," Mort said with a cold smile. "Get out before they know what's coming."

Joe checked his rifle, then pulled open the door. Mort jumped forward like a runner coming out of the blocks on a track. He didn't stop at the outer side of the thick stone wall but kept running, out into the lane. The stricken Havoc was only a few meters away. Mort dove for cover behind it. By that time, the rest of the men in the two platoons were also moving into position.

A squad of Heggies was coming down the lane, hugging the wall of the building across from the hospital. Joe stopped at the outer edge of the entryway and started shooting, getting his zipper into action as quickly as Mort did in the middle of the street. The rest of 2nd and 4th platoons were not much behind getting into action. Some of the men were shooting before they truly saw the enemy. They simply started firing as soon as they saw someone else shooting, aiming in the same general direction.

The Heggie patrol was slow to react—slow by no more than a fraction of a second—but that was all of the edge that the 13th's men needed. And there was very little cover for the Heggies. They might as easily have been standing against a wall for execution by firing squad.

The result was about the same.

Altogether, this firefight lasted less than twenty seconds. A dozen Heggies were down, dead or wounded. Joe moved away from the edge of the doorway, advancing slowly toward the Heggies, his zipper pointed at the men on the ground. He had gone only four steps when another group of Heggies started shooting from the next intersection, forty meters away.

Joe dropped to the ground as quickly as if someone had knocked his legs out from under him. A fraction of a second's warning had been enough. The first burst of enemy wire went over his head. Twenty Armanoc zippers answered immediately. Second platoon continued shooting. Dieter moved his men forward along both sides of the lane.

More shooting came from off to the left of the Heggies, and some of them got up, moving away from a threat that seemed closer than the two platoons of Freebies in the avenue.

—|—

Dem led his men into the fight. He had managed to get another ten magazines of cartridges for his rifle during his hours in the base. Several support vans were carrying them. He went through two magazines in a hurry now. There appeared to be a full company of Heggies trying to infiltrate the base. The sound of the Havoc explosion had drawn Dem like a magnet. His men had turned the corner from the next avenue and seen what was happening.

The new rifle continued to prove its worth. Dem kept a light finger on the trigger, firing two or three shot bursts, moving the gun from side to side, sweeping Heggies away with a facility that no zipper could match. He didn't even bother to go down low. Wire came his way, but Dem scarcely paid attention—other than to target the guns that were aimed his way. He felt impregnable. He felt stinging pricks against both arms, then against his legs. Wire hits: Dem registered that fact but hardly felt the wounds. Not until after he had emptied a second magazine did he bother to drop to the ground for cover.

When he had a full magazine in his rifle again, he tried to raise himself up to get a better angle of fire—and discovered that his legs would no longer support him.

He did not allow that to keep him from shooting. The rifle was still a new toy, his pride and joy. Dem smiled. Wire dinged off his helmet and bit into his left arm—again. This time the arm went completely numb, useless. It still didn't matter. He could fire the rifle just as accurately with one hand.

His finger was still pulling the trigger up to the instant when he finally lost consciousness from the loss of blood.

—|—

Echo's 2nd and 4th platoons moved forward together. Twenty-five zippers kept firing into the Heggies at the southern edge of the base. Fire and maneuver: one platoon covered the other as it moved forward, then they reversed roles. When they reached the corners of the two buildings, they were within thirty meters of the largest concentration of Heggie infantrymen—who were also under fire from their left.

Three minutes more and the shooting stopped. A half dozen Heggies dropped their weapons and stood with their hands raised. Perhaps another twenty Heggies were wounded, unable to get up.

"Sauv, Mort, separate those men from their weapons," Joe said. Mort had taken over the second squad after Low's death. "Al, check our people first." Joe looked back the way they had come. There were a half dozen men from the two platoons down, though all were still moving enough to show that they were still alive.

Then Joe looked down along the edge of the building at the other group of men who had joined in the fight. Most of them were still in firing position, their guns trained steadily on the Heggies who had surrendered.

Joe walked over that way. Three of the Accord uniforms were down and motionless. When Joe saw the new rifle, he knew that one of the downed men was Dem Nimz. Reccers. Another of them had turned Dem over on his back and was working to stop the bleeding. Joe knelt next to them.

"How bad is it?" he asked. Nimz seemed to be covered in blood from his shoulders to the tops of his boots.

"Damn fool didn't even try to get down," the other reccer said. "Anyone else in the platoon did that, he'da knocked his legs out from under him." He gestured at Dem's legs. "Heggies did it for him. We've got to get him to the hospital. He's lost a lot of blood."

"Here, I'll give you a hand." Joe slung his rifle and helped pick Nimz up. "Hospital's just around the corner."

—|—

More casualties were what the hospital needed least. Two reccers were dead. Nimz was the most seriously hurt of the wounded—from the recon patrol or from Echo's two platoons. There were three other men who needed treatment, but Al Bergon was able to handle those. The Heggie wounded would have to wait. They were carried up the lane near the entrance to the hospital and left under guard. The survivors of Nimz's patrol guarded them and provided what first aid they could.

Echo's two platoons started south again. Captain Keye wanted them back, as quickly as they could make it. The fighting farther down the peninsula was getting rough. The sounds of Havoc firing had resumed, a constant background noise, and the distant sounds of explosions as their shells reached their targets.

Mort was on point for 2nd platoon, even though his new position as squad leader should have moved him farther back. "The point's my place," he had told Joe. "I wouldn't feel comfortable anyplace else."

The two platoons moved west, then turned south when they got to the shore, hoping to avoid any contact with Heggies until they rejoined the rest of Echo Company. There was not a single man in either platoon who did not hope—fervently—that the fighting would be over before they arrived. If Mort moved a little more slowly than he usually did on point, no one faulted him for it, not even his platoon sergeant.

Although the sun had been up for less than an hour, the morning was already stiflingly hot. The night breeze had disappeared, and there wasn't even a hint of shade on the beach.

When they passed the line of Heggie bodies left from the start of the attack, the two platoons moved back inland. Then Joe called Captain Keye. "Where do we go from here?" he asked after reporting their position. He could see the near end of the Accord line ahead, still perhaps two kilometers away.

Keye gave him instructions. "Head southwest from where you're at. We should be the first unit you come across, right at the corner. We've turned them away from the shore on this side... mostly. Now we're trying to keep them from breaking through in the center and consolidating."

The two platoons started moving on a compass heading. The ground sloped down toward the sea on their left and up toward the central ridge of the peninsula at their right. They were within five hundred meters of the rest of Echo Company when the Heggies sprung the ambush. The shooting came from the right, from higher ground. The Heggies were between sixty and eighty meters from the two platoons, close enough for wire to be fully effective. The initial bursts hit 4th platoon harder than 2nd, but both had men go down hit.

At first, Joe Baerclau wasn't even aware that he had been wounded again. His legs went out from under him and he fell, but he had just started to react to the ambush. His mind had already sent his body the command to drop. Before the impulse could reach his muscles, though, he was hit. A grenade went off fairly near and he could hear wire zipping past him. Some of the wire, he was vaguely aware, did not go past.

There was a little cover for the men of the two platoons once they went flat. They were pinned down, but the Heggies couldn't get at them without exposing themselves. For several minutes the groups exchanged desultory fire, neither side doing much additional damage.

That was all of the time that this group of Heggies had, though. Artillery rounds started dropping along the ridge where they were, five explosions just seconds apart. And the rest of Echo was responding to a call from help from Dieter Franzo, moving south, firing on the Heggies from the other side.

Joe Baerclau had lost interest in the fighting, though. He didn't feel any pain at all. He was conscious. His thoughts seemed to be coherent, but they weren't the proper thoughts. He needed nearly a minute to realize that he was looking up at the sky, that he was on his back rather than on his stomach. To remember where he was.

He blinked several times, slowly. The sounds of fighting were there, but they hardly impinged on his awareness. After a long delay, Joe finally realized that he had been wounded.

Pretty bad this time, I guess,
he thought. Another very slow blink. There was no pain, anywhere. When he tried to move, he had difficulty, but still no pain. But he
could
move. He managed to turn over a little, partly onto his left shoulder, and he was able to lift his head. Eventually. He looked down along his body, as much of it as he could see, looking for blood—the evidence of his injuries.