Virtues of War (48 page)

“Ninety Hawks with four torpedoes each—I’ll make it happen, sir.”
Normandy
shook again. Thomas keyed his mike and began issuing orders.

Then, off in the distance over the dark Abeona landscape, the cruiser
King Alfred
exploded.

K
atja tucked her head down into her chest and kept running, staggering as the shells struck close behind her. She dimly saw movement ahead of her as troopers sprinted across the open ground for cover.

Bullets whistled past her ears. The darkness ahead coalesced into the tall, spiny forms of trees. An airburst smashed one of the higher trunks. The glowing embers provided a glimmer of illumination as she reached the tree line.

“Saracens clear!” she bellowed.

Thunderous fire erupted all around her as from the cover of the forest the combined platoons of the Saracens opened fire on their pursuers. She slid to the ground, rolling onto her stomach to fire from a prone position. A kilometer’s full sprint over broken ground under fire and she still had energy to move—that combat cocktail was magic. Through the flashes of artillery still pounding down, she caught glimpses of the line of APRs advancing across the field.

Those robot bastards were smart, she admitted. The smaller APRs were no match for Terran tanks, and they had disappeared from the battle after the initial assault. The flying AARs had made several devastating sweeps of the landing zone, but the Hoplites and their anti-aircraft battery had managed to hold them off as the second wave deployed. Enemy artillery had made massing of the armor impossible in the landing zone, and the commander of the armored troop Desert Rats had ordered his fifty tanks to begin their push for the city.

Then all hell broke loose.

Without the cover of the Hoplites’ anti-aircraft, the Desert Rats were swarmed by AARs on the open road. Without the protection of an armored troop, the infantry guarding the landing zone were attacked by APRs. The third drop descended into a hornet’s nest of fire. Katja had no idea how many drop ships had actually delivered their cargo, but the tanks rolled right off their ships and started firing at APRs that had breached the landing zone.

Those tanks forced the APRs to withdraw again, giving the infantry enough time to load their casualties onto the drop ships before abandoning the landing zone. Katja had lost nine—two dead, seven too wounded to continue.

The final wave of armor, the Royal Hussars, rolled out along the road at speed to catch up with the Desert Rats. The infantry ran alongside them as far as possible, then broke across the open fields for the cover of the forest that stretched up the ridge. As soon as the armor rolled out of sight, the APRs attacked again. With no option but to keep running for cover, the infantry were cut down. A pair of strike fighters had made a strafing run to slow the APRs down, but their priority was to protect the tanks, and no further help came.

Where was the damn orbital bombardment? Katja pulled herself up into a crouch and activated her telescopic night-vision. The line of APRs was still advancing, easily a hundred of them. They were holding fire for the moment, letting the artillery bash the Terrans. Artillery was a blunt weapon that caused more fear than damage, but Katja knew her troopers were easy pickings once the APRs closed to engagement range.

The Terran fire was uncoordinated. Bullets exploded to little effect against the APR armor and any grenades fired were falling short.

Her forearm display vibrated with a message. Voice comms were still garbled, but the agile-frequency encryptions of the tactical displays were functioning. She read the quick orders from Vici, and tapped the helmets of the nearest troopers.

“Cease fire!” she shouted over the din. “Cease fire!”

The verbal orders passed quickly down the line and the flashes of rifle fire died out. In the eerie silence Katja examined her forearm display and scrambled through the brush to place herself at the center of her platoon’s line. She heard distant voices of other platoon commanders shouting, and bellowed out Vici’s orders to her own troops.

“Hold fire until the enemy is within grenade range! We will fire in salvo, one shot each. These are our targets!” She designated four APRs near the center of the line.

Artillery whistled in, impacting somewhere down the line. She crouched down instinctively.

“Stay down!” she shouted. “Hold fire until my command!”

Another airburst blasted through the trees. She tucked her head down as broken branches banged off her helmet and back. Out in the open field, a long line of flashes indicated a coordinated rocket launch by the APRs. She threw herself down. The rockets slammed into the tree line.

Somebody nearby cried out in pain.

“Medic!”

“They’ve got range on us!”

Another line of flashes lit up the darkness. Another volley of rockets struck down. Katja felt the air blast of the nearest impact. She checked range on her tactical display. The APRs had stopped, just out of grenade range. Her peripheral caught the flash of another rocket launch.

She snarled.
Clever bastards.
As the third attack rained down, she realized what they had to do. Dirt from the blasts was still falling as she climbed to her feet.

“Fifth Platoon! Advance twenty meters! Move!”

She staggered forward past her troopers, rifle raised, as they rose around her. She broke into a run and burst out into the open. In fifteen strides she got within grenade range and slid into a crouch. Her troopers dove for the ground all around her.

She designated the first target, even as the flash of enemy rocket launches lit the darkness.

“Hostile five-five! Fire!”

Forty-three grenades launched. Rockets flashed past overhead and hit the tree line behind. One APR on the line—desig hostile five-five—exploded under the sudden, multiple impacts. Not every grenade hit, but enough did to obliterate the machine. Pieces flew backward from the sudden crater that appeared in the ground.

“Hostile five-six! Fire!”

Another volley of grenades sailed through the air. Another APR was destroyed. With a roar, the massed infantry burst forth from the trees and advanced to Katja’s firing line.

“Hostile five-seven! Fire!”

Enemy rockets were inbound, but hit harmlessly behind them. Hundreds of grenades filled the air as the Terrans invented their own, local form of artillery. The line of APRs was decimated in a spectacular series of explosions. Some tried to withdraw, but the coordinated might of the Levantine infantry was too quick, too deadly.

Cheers sounded across the battlefield. They were answered by artillery smashing down.

“Get to the trees!” Katja bellowed.

As the troopers withdrew under cover, Katja received another order from Vici via tactical display. She read it quickly then glanced around at her platoon.

“Rao! Chang! On me.” Both sergeants detached themselves from the shadows and hustled over. Artillery hit the trees to the east, too far away to make her flinch. She forwarded tactical details to their displays even as she spoke.

“New orders. Get the casualties to this position for drop ship pickup. Then we take this hill and hold it to cover the armored advance.”

The sergeants acknowledged and immediately issued orders to the troops. Stretchers were extended and casualties loaded, even as medics did field dressings. Katja checked her ammo and inspected her armor for any weaknesses.

An airburst exploded above her. She hit dirt hard and hung on as the ground spun through three-sixty degrees. Her hearing was overwhelmed by a single, deafening note, like jamming on a radio. Her vision faded.

Then she shook it off, feeling unusual clarity as she pulled herself to her feet. The sound in her ears faded to a ringing, her vision returned. She felt strong, invigorated. She bared her teeth in a smile. Damn, those drugs worked.

She and the platoon moved quickly through the trees, heading for the RV point. She saw through the branches the fast-moving fires of drop ship exhausts. Four ships were setting down, turrets blazing at the horizon, as she ran out into the open. Two already had their ramps down. Medics waited to load casualties. Her sergeants coordinated the delivery of the wounded—five, including Sakiyama.

Other platoons arrived. She immediately saw the tall figure of Scott Lahko, limping slightly but loudly directing his troops. Her forearm vibrated again. Vici was approaching and wanted her and Lahko. Katja stepped toward the tree line as Lahko issued his last orders and broke away.

Vici emerged from the trees like a wraith. She was walking unnaturally and one arm hung limply at her side. It was clear the drugs were the only thing holding her up. Her eyes were hidden behind her visor, but Katja didn’t doubt their intensity.

“Lahko, Gopal’s dead. You’re first lieutenant now.” Her teeth were red with blood as she spoke, but her voice was firm. “That artillery is killing us. I’ve already sent the Spartans to take down the guns, but they’re spread out and it’s a lot of ground to cover. We can’t wait. Your platoons will take out the Centauri spotters, who we believe are in this village.” She indicated it on her display. It was a residential settlement at the top of the ridge. “We blind them, they can’t hit us.”

She glanced at the drop ships.

“You’ll be lifted up the hill, ahead of our advance but behind the tanks. I’ll get a couple of Desert Rats to back you up. Take out the spotters and rejoin us on the ridge top.”

“What about orbital bombardment?” Lahko asked.

“
King Alfred
was destroyed. We have no cover. I’m trying to get
Jutland
to support us, but she’s busy getting tarred up there.”

Visions of the Battle of Laika suddenly flooded Katja’s mind. She knew well enough what orbital combat was like. Thomas’s face flashed before her, and she regretted her earlier scorn for Fleet.

But there was no time to think about the battle in space. There was enough to worry about here on the ground.

J
ack hoped success on the surface would balance the chaos up here. The captain would know what was happening there, but as a subbie he was just expected to keep his head down and mouth shut.

He locked the second glove of his spacesuit and secured his helmet, faceplate up. The hangar warning lights were flashing as the Hawk moved in from the airlock, but he knew things were about to happen fast. The bird
looked
in one piece, but he immediately noticed the ugly blast marks where anti-missile decoys had fired.

The deck lurched suddenly, causing him to stumble. The captain had reactivated artificial gravity soon after the battle began, but not before there had been several casualties from the wild maneuverings that were too much for the inertial dampeners. Only full AG was capable of keeping everybody more or less on their feet and able to fight.

The inner airlock closed and ground crew moved swiftly to refuel and rearm the Hawk even as it rotated in position. The cargo door opened, and Jack climbed up inside. Right behind him the crew piled into the main compartment and began unbolting the seats and consoles. This Hawk was needed to haul cargo.

“It’s like being a fighter pilot again.” Stripes lifted himself out of the seat and raised his faceplate. Sweat shone on his brow, but he smiled slightly.

Jack smiled back. “I hear we got it.”

Stripes took a deep breath. “Scratch one Centauri orbital platform.” He exhaled and added, “And about seventy Hawks.”

“Holy shit.”

Stripes moved aside and gently pushed him into the seat. Jack automatically strapped himself in and glanced over the controls.

“Seventy Hawks?” He could hardly believe it.

“About that,” Stripes said, the smile gone. “Platform defenses got half of us before we could even get into range, and then tagged a few more as we fired and turned away.”

Jack couldn’t even form the images in his mind. How could so many Hawks be wiped out so quickly? He felt a gloved hand press down on the shoulder of his suit.

“Hey, Jack. Stay focused. I need you to do this for me. Get to
Protector
, bring back those torpedoes. It’s just a simple ferry run.”

Stripes was calm, his voice giving no hint of the battle raging just outside
Kristiansand
’s hull. Jack glanced up, and forced himself to match that calm. He focused on his controls.

Just a simple ferry run.

“I’m ready.”

“Remember, if you get shot at, hit these buttons to release chaff and flares.” Stripes leaned in to point at several rarely used controls. “It’s not automatic, like in a fighter—you have to do it yourself. Any threat, start jinking in any direction. And get back under
Kristiansand
’s self-defense umbrella as fast as you can.”

“Okay.”

Stripes slapped his shoulder again. “Piece o’ cake, Jack. You’ll be back before you know it.” Then he turned and headed for the cargo door.

Jack checked his controls and saw that all external links were already disconnected. He closed the cargo doors and glanced out at his crew chief. A thumbs-up cleared him to launch. The hangar alarms flashed anew, and the inner airlock door opened before him.

As the Hawk rolled forward, Jack glanced at the controls for chaff and flares. He’d always wanted to be a fighter pilot, always thought it would be fun. As the airlock depressurized and he tightened his grip on the Hawk’s controls, however, he sensed a distinct lack of fun in his situation.

The outer doors opened and he thrusted forward, clearing
Kristiansand
’s hull. He opened his throttles and banked hard to starboard, nosing up to point at the distant cluster of Terran supply ships. The glittering surface of Abeona filled the sky beneath him, but Jack wasted no time sightseeing.

Continuous, random flashes low off his bow indicated the wild dogfight still playing out between Centauri sentries and Terran star fighters. Even as he watched, a star fighter banked hard to pick up a sentry that was breaking away to point at the EF ships. Twin cannon blazed fiery trails at the jinking sentry, catching its body and sending it tumbling out of control.