The battle for Commitment planet hw-4 Page 29

  Michael paused for a second to look back. The northern sky was the stuff of nightmares. Clouds of flame-shot smoke and dust were beginning their climb into the sky, towering monuments to the enormous power of the Hammer military machine. Poor bastards, he said to himself. With a heavy heart, he turned and followed Anna south.

  There was nothing more they could do now. Friday, November 30, 2401, UD Offices of the Supreme Council for the Preservation of the Faith

  The Defense Council was deathly quiet as the commanding general, Hammer of Kraa Marines, wrapped up his presentation.

  "… so it is with considerable confidence that I can assure the council that we have learned the lessons of past failures. There will be no more Perdans," Baxter said, looking pointedly at the PGDF supporters around the table. "This time we will not fail. Operation Medusa will succeed. Are there any questions?"

  "Thank you, General Baxter," Polk said. Despite an innate distrust of the military, despite not trusting Baxter as far as he could spit, the man's unshakable faith in the ability of his marines to get the job done had impressed him deeply. "Questions, anyone?"

  Unsurprisingly, there were none. Baxter's presentation had been pitched perfectly, every conceivable objection stopped dead in its tracks, the PGDF's supporters around the table cowed into silence by a string of defeats at the hands of the NRA that had culminated in their abject failure at Perdan.

  "No? Okay, thank you, General Baxter. If you would care to withdraw, the council will review your proposal and if appropriate vote to approve it or not."

  "Thank you, sir," Baxter said.

  Once the marine had left, Polk scanned the faces of the Defense Council to see if anyone present harbored any obvious doubts. He could see none. Time for the vote, he decided.

  "Right, Councillors. If there are no questions, then it is time. All those in favor of Operation Medusa, please show… thank you. Approved unanimously. Admiral Belasz, given the importance of this operation, I require the war room to be operational forty-eight hours before commencement. All council meetings until the operation is concluded will be held there. Now, unless there is any other business… No? Fine. I declare this meeting closed."

  As the Defense Council broke up, Polk waved Belasz over. "Walk with me, Admiral," he said.

  "Yes, sir."

  In silence, the pair made their way to Polk's office. Waving Belasz into one of the armchairs, Polk ordered coffee before taking his seat.

  "So, Admiral. An impressive performance by the general, don't you think?"

  "Yes, sir. It was. Though… may I be frank, sir?"

  "Of course," Polk said, waving a hand. "Of course."

  "I think it will be a lot harder than General Baxter allows."

  Polk frowned. He had been buoyed by General Baxter's confidence, and this was not what he wanted to hear. "How so?" he said.

  "I think General Baxter's staff has the basics right. The marines will attack with overwhelming force, heavily armed. The entry strategy is close to genius, and once the marines are in, they can push the heretics back. I concede all that, but the Branxtons are unique. Hundreds of kilometers of caves and tunnels, thousands of hectares of limestone karst, millions of sinkholes leading Kraa only knows where. Where do we attack? Who knows?"

  "We know, Admiral," Polk said. "Our agents have supplied us with the most detailed maps of the NRA's network of tunnels we have ever had."

  "That's part of my concern, sir. The Branxtons are much too big for a small handful of agents to map. There are endless tunnels down there. We only know a small part of it. The Branxton karst is vast. There'll be tunnels down there the NRA doesn't even know about."

  "Admiral, you worry too much."

  "No, sir, I don't think I do. Let me give you an example. You know the new manufacturing facility those Kraa-damned Feds helped the NRA set up?"

  "Yes," Polk conceded, his face tight with anger. The fact that Helfort was still at liberty despite the enormous reward posted for his capture gnawed at him. "So?"

  "Well, sir. Where is it? None of the maps we have been given give us any clue despite the fact the place must be huge. If we can't find it, what else can't we find?"

  "Enough, Admiral, enough!" Polk snapped. "Yes, there are things we do not know, but that's life. Baxter's marines know enough to get the job done, and that's all that matters. The NRA cannot run, they cannot hide. This time they have to fight, and General Baxter's marines will make sure they do. I'm confident they will succeed."

  "Yes, sir," Belasz said. "I'm sure you're right."

  Polk glared at Belasz, searching for the smallest sign of dissent, but there was none. "I am, I am," he continued. "Now, enough of that. I wanted to talk to you about your recommendation for the next fleet commander. I'm not sure Admiral O'Shaughnessy is the right man. I am concerned that…" Saturday, December 1, 2401, UD Portal Yankee-34, Branxton Base, Commitment

  The northern approaches to the NRA's heartland-thickly wooded valleys cut sheer into the limestone karst plateau-were kilometers long and protected by intricate networks of antipersonnel lasers and antiarmor missile launchers, backed up by quick-reaction units, all shielded from the threat of Hammer fuel-air bombs and kinetics by meters of impenetrable limestone. The Hammers hated them so much that they had given up using them to attack the NRA's front door; their last attempt had left dead planetary defense soldiers scattered across the valley floors, bodies piled in heaps amid the smoking carcasses of light armor, their attack condemned to failure, trapped in slab-walled valleys, unable to escape.

  Not that the NRA units securing the area were willing to take any chances that the Hammers had given up for good. When remote movement sensors flashed warning of incoming foot traffic, they stood to, troopers fanning out to take up their positions in the maze of tunnels that opened out onto the valley. Slowly, the sensors tracked the new arrivals until finally two figures emerged out of the gloom, their every step testament to utter fatigue, their rifles held in both hands over their heads. The young lieutenant in command of Yankee-34 allowed himself to relax; they were displaying the correct pass code of the day.

  "Advance!" a voice called, and the two figures made their way into the cave mouth. The lieutenant watched while his troopers confirmed their identities before shaking them down for contraband.

  "Two Feds, sir," his sergeant said, waving the pair through. "Trooper Helfort, 120th NRA, and Lieutenant Helfort. Both clear."

  "Bring them in."

  "Sir."

  "Welcome back," the lieutenant said, trying not to let his shock show. He had seen his fair share of battlefield survivors, but these were in terrible shape: faces wide-eyed and hollow-cheeked with fatigue, postcombat stress, and hunger, chromaflage capes and combat overalls ripped, every square centimeter of exposed skin filthy with layers of ground-in dirt, hair lank with sweat. "Stand everyone down, Sergeant. I think we need to get you to the company aid station."

  "Thanks," the man said, his voice hoarse, "but what I want is a wash. The wife"-he hooked a thumb at the woman-"says I smell."

  The lieutenant had to laugh after hearing someone in that shape cracking jokes. "I have news for both of you," he said.

  "You both stink something terrible, but we'll just have to put up with that. First we'll get you the ten-dollar medical, followed by something to eat before we send you to talk to the debriefers. You can grab a shower and new kit once they've finished. Okay?"

  "That'd be good. Food ran out days ago; I never want to see another qolqass root as long as I live. There was plenty of it, but you'd think the geneers could have made the bloody stuff taste better. I'm Michael Helfort, by the way, and this sad-assed specimen is Mrs. Helfort, though since she became a grunt, I think she prefers Trooper Helfort."

  "Dickwad!" the woman said softly.

  The lieutenant grinned. "Karl Karlovic," he said, shaking hands with Anna and Michael. "Glad you made it back. Come on, follow me. The aid station's this way."

  "Sounds good to me," Anna said.
"My arm's badly in need of a new dressing."

  Overwhelmed by grinding tiredness, Michael struggled to stay awake while Karlovic grabbed bowls of green gruel and steaming mugs of coffee.

  "Get into it, guys," he said, slapping the food down.

  Michael and Anna piled in. With every mouthful of what Karlovic assured him was beef chili, Michael's energy returned and his spirits rose. Five minutes later, he had been transformed into a new man. "Shit," he said, pushing his tray away. "That is one hell of a lot better than the field rations we haven't been eating."

  "Never imagined I'd say this," Anna mumbled past a mouthful of gruel, "but this stuff, whatever it is, is the best damn food I've ever tasted, and the coffee's good, too."

  "Pleased you like it," Karlovic said with a wry smile. "Personally, I hate the bloody stuff."

  A companionable silence followed while they finished their coffee and Michael went for refills. "What's the story?" he said, sitting down and then straightening out a painfully stiff left leg. "How was the pullback from Perdan?"

  Karlovic grimaced. "Not too bad, not too good. We had more casualties during the withdrawal than we suffered capturing Perdan. Those fucking landers and their fuel-air bombs. Kraa! Those bastards don't mind trashing their own planet." He shook his head despairingly. "They used bunker busters on the 98th and the 34th. Nukes, for Kraa's sake; they used nukes," he said with another shake of the head. "Unbelievable. Anyway, casualties weren't as bad as the planners had expected, so I guess that's the good news."

  Michael flicked a glance at Anna. "The Fed marines, how did they go?"

  "Your guys? The marines with the 120th?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, all things considered, they were damn lucky. They were holed up north of here along the Kendozo River together with the 88th, the 142nd, and stragglers from Kraa knows how many other regiments. ENCOMM sent word to them. Plan was for them to sit tight and wait for a diversionary attack on Daleel before moving. The idea was to keep the marine landers busy while they made a run for it. Don't know how, but the Hammers located them. Their plan was simple. Establish a perimeter to contain our guys, surprise them with the landers, carpet bomb the valley with fuel-air bombs, wipe everyone out. Anyone who tried to make a run for it wouldn't get past the containment line."

  "Bastards," Michael whispered. "What then?"

  "One of the Hammer units went off half-cocked, before the units responsible for the containment lines were established. The 120th's colonel worked out what was about to happen, and they managed to break out and get clear of the valley before the landers turned up. The other bit of good luck was that the Hammer's forward air controllers were not on the ball, so the Hammers wasted a great deal of ordnance blowing the crap out of an empty valley, trashing Kraa knows how many hectares of rock and scrub."

  Anna's mouth hung open in disbelief for a moment. "They didn't pick the breakout?" she said. "How? Since when have the Hammers been blind? How could they not see three whole regiments on the move? That's a lot of people."

  "I'm sure they did, but don't forget this. After what's happened over the past few months, the average PGDF officer is scared shitless. He knows what happens if he gets things wrong: up against a wall and bang! Initiative is no longer a military virtue; hell, no. Initiative is a life-threatening liability. So who can blame the PGDF's officers for sticking to the plan? Who can blame them for doing what they've been ordered to do until someone senior orders otherwise? And that's what happened. By the time fresh orders came, it was too late."

  "Damn good thing, too."

  "Yeah, it was. Anyway, then the Daleel operation kicked off, the landers were pulled off task, and most of our lot made it back. Bloody lucky, though."

  Michael looked at Anna, a look of pure elation. "It worked, Anna," he said. "It damn well worked."

  "So it seems," she said with a huge grin.

  "What worked?" Karlovic said, obviously baffled.

  "Sorry, Karl, private joke," Michael said.

  "Oh, I see," Karlovic replied. Clearly, he did not, and much as Michael wanted to tell him, common sense told him to keep his mouth shut. If ENCOMM wanted to tell the world what happened at the Kendozo River, fine. If they did not, that was fine also.

  "What about our heavy landers?" Anna said.

  "Made it back okay so far as I know," Karlovic said.

  "That's good. Any idea what happened to the rest of my crew?"

  "No, sorry," Karlovic said with a shake of the head. "You'll need to check with ENCOMM."

  "We'll do that."

  One of Karlovic's troopers entered the canteen. "Lieutenant, the transport's here," she said.

  "Thanks, Enjada," Karlovic said. "You guys ready?"

  Anna and Michael nodded, and five minutes later they were on their way to the sector debriefing center. Two minutes after that, both were asleep, a rough tunnel floor and the cargobot's inadequate suspension no match for overwhelming exhaustion.

  Every muscle in his body protesting, Michael climbed down out of the cargobot. Anna followed, wincing as her wounded arm caught for a moment.

  "Still sore?" Michael asked.

  "Yup."

  Michael bit his lip while they walked down the narrow access tunnel leading to the small complex of caves that housed the Fed's administrative center. The NRA medics had said Anna's arm was well on the way to recovery notwithstanding the abuse it had suffered during their flight from Perdan. Anna refused to take the painkillers they prescribed, of course. "It'll be a long time before I trust Hammer medicines" had been her first and last words on the subject. Taking careful note of the set of her mouth, Michael had changed the subject, even though he knew Hammer painkillers were both effective and safe.

  The tunnel opened out into a small lobby where Captain Adrissa waited for them. "Welcome back," she said. "I was beginning to wonder if we'd ever see you again."

  "So was I, sir," Michael said.

  "Me, too," Anna added.

  "Quick question, sir."

  "Shoot."

  "The rest of my crew: Ferreira, Bienefelt, Carmellini, Fodor, Morozov. Did they make it back?"

  "Yes, they did. Chief Bienefelt's arm is badly chewed up, but the rest of the crew is fine. Bruised and battered but okay."

  "I'm glad to hear it," Michael said, relief flooding through him in a cool, sweet wave. "Bienefelt's arm. Any details?"

  "Sorry, not yet. The NRA's medics are under a bit of pressure."

  "I'll follow it up. Any chance of a coffee, sir?"

  "Of course."

  They followed Adrissa into a cave. Michael caught his breath when they went in. "Well, well," he said. "Looks to me like the scroungers have been hard at work." He was right. The place was filled with an impressive array of furniture: tables, benches, a cluster of battered armchairs, a wall-mounted holovid, and, most important of all, what looked for all the world like-

  "Yes!" Anna said when she spotted it. "Tell me I'm not dreaming. Tell me that's a Fed foodbot, please."

  "It sure is," Adrissa said, her face split by a huge grin. "Didn't see any reason why Hell Bent and Alley Kat needed all their foodbots. Took a bit of arm-twisting, but I won in the end. Can't think why. So help yourselves."

  After weeks of NRA gruel interspersed with field rations, Anna needed no encouragement. Soon she and Michael were plowing their way through food as good as any in humanspace. Adrissa nursed a large mug of coffee and watched them in silence.

  "Waaah! That was good," Anna said at last, getting up to drop plates and cutlery into the foodbot's recycler.

  "Well, now that the important stuff's out of the way," Adrissa said, "is there any chance of getting down to business?"

  "Oh, sorry sir," Michael said, not feeling even slightly contrite as he scraped the last morsels of food off his plate. "Shoot."

  "Thank you. Right. First, the Perdan operation. You have the datalogs for Widowmaker's last mission?"

  "I have, sir," Michael said. "Autodownloaded when we ejected."
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  "Good. Comm them to my chief of staff. Don't know that we'll learn much, but we should have a look."

  "Will be done, sir."

  "Second, General Vaas talked to me this morning. His people have been over your debriefing report. He tells me that the two of you attacked… let me get this right… yes, you attacked an entire planetary defense battalion. The 1125th PGDF's Second Battalion, to be precise. Is that right?" Adrissa looked at them both in turn.

  Michael's stomach executed a lazy somersault. Had something happened that Lieutenant Karlovic did not know about? "Er, yes," he said, his voice faltering. "We didn't know who they were at the time." He turned to Anna for help.

  "Yes, sir," she said, the color rising in her face. "That was us. Wouldn't say attacked exactly. Lobbed a few microgrenades at them, shot a few officers, then legged it."

  "That's what I've been told"-Adrissa's face dissolved into a broad smile-"and a damn good thing you did, General Vaas says. He asked me to say thank you. Because of your attack, the Hammer operation fell apart before it even started, and most of the NRA troopers in that valley escaped. Which means our marines escaped, too."

  "Kallewi?"

  "Yes, though he was quite badly wounded. He was one of the last to get out before the Hammers started dropping those fuel-air bombs they like so much, but his grunts refused to leave him. They carried him back. He's in one of the base hospitals in… yes, in sector Echo."

  "Can we see him?" Michael asked.

  "Last I heard, yes, you can tomorrow. So if you're passing that way, sure. I'll comm you the first cut of ENCOMM's after-action report. It covers the Perdan operation as well as the withdrawal. You'll find it interesting. Now, orders. Anna."

  "Sir?"

  "You'll find the battalion at Zulu-56. Colonel Haadith wants you back"-Anna's face fell-"in three days' time."

  "Oh," Anna said, her surprise all too obvious. Leave was not something the NRA held in high regard. "Thanks."

  "Don't thank me. Thank General Vaas."

  "What about me, sir?" Michael asked. "Since I don't have a lander to carry me into battle, I think I ought to join the 120th."