Pointblank, p.28
Pointblank, page 28
On the AstroGhost, En Route Planetside
The AstroGhost wasn’t crowded, not even with the additional squad added at almost the last minute. Four squads, three section leaders, one platoon sergeant, a corpsman, and two officers were just 75 percent of an AstroGhost’s combat assault landing capacity—the vehicle was rated for a whole platoon plus corpsmen. It still wouldn’t quite be at that level when it picked up the three squads from second platoon that were already planetside.
The Force Recon Marines were tough men, the toughest men in the toughest military organization in Human Space. None of them screamed when the AstroGhost hit the “high speed on a bad road” of their powered straight-down plunge. Most of them yawned to equalize pressure in their inner ears; the most experienced yawned in their sleep. The plan said the raid was only supposed to last twelve hours from planetfall to pickup. But all of them, including Captain Wainwright, knew what happened to plans once the shooting started. None of them had full confidence that the pickup would be on schedule; they were all prepared to spend several days planetside. If they did, it wouldn’t be because the plan was faulty, or because they didn’t do their jobs right, or because the AstroGhost broke down—well, maybe because the AstroGhost malfunctioned. It was because that’s the way war is, things always happened that nobody could anticipate. So some of them slept during the “high-speed ride on a bad road.”
Planetside, Thirty-five Kilometers West of Gilbert’s Corners
It took two hours from the time the AstroGhost first touched down to rendezvous with the first of the three squads it was picking up until it reached the assembly point, where the other seven squads were waiting, thirty kilometers west of Gilbert’s Corners. The stealth shuttle stuck around long enough to allow all the planetside Marines to make quick head calls, then took off to await its pickup call.
The seven squads that had arrived in the AstroGhost had already been briefed on the raid. Captain Wainwright had Gunny Lytle establish them in a defensive perimeter around the waiting squads, which he drew close to brief on the raid. Then they had a bit of time to wait and rest; it was late afternoon, and they were going to strike during the middle of the night. The reinforced platoon moved out at dusk, using puddle jumpers to cut the distance to their objective to ten kilometers. The squads moved independently to avoid too large a group together and cut down on the chance of being spotted. Each squad secured its puddle jumpers in a location where they could be found again, then continued its movement to the objective on foot.
CHAPTER
* * *
THIRTY-ONE
Coalition Army Headquarters, Ashburtonville, Ravenette
General Lyons had two reasons to evacuate Ashburtonville to a location remote from the seat of the war. The first was to spare its citizens and the Coalition government from the inevitable harm that would come to them if they remained close to the fighting.
The other reason, and one he came to think more important than the first, was to get the Coalition Congress out of his hair so he could fight the war the way he wanted. He quickly realized he was wrong. The rambunctious, meddling politicians who represented the worlds of the Coalition were not about to give their military commander the free hand he needed to prosecute the war against the Confederation of Human Worlds. Not if they could help it. The Committee on the Conduct of the War bombarded General Lyons with requests to appear before them and answer their questions. He had been able to avoid most of these peremptory summonses with the help of Preston Summers, the President of the Coalition and a Lyons supporter, using the justification that the actual conduct of the war was more important than debating it with a committee.
“I should have evacuated the whole bunch of them to Trinkatat,” he remarked bitterly to an aide. Trinkatat was the most remote world in the Coalition. But inevitably he had to appear.
Gilbert’s Corners, the new seat of government on Ravenette, lay about 150 kilometers south-southwest of Ashburtonville in what had been a farming region. Two hundred years earlier the place had been a mere crossroads with an inn for weary travelers and a general store, both owned by Amos Gilbert, an enterprising businessman who believed in the future of the region. When Amos died, killed in a drunken brawl at the inn, his wife, Jezebel, inherited the properties, and with wisdom and foresight, she encouraged the growth of a small settlement at the crossroads, which in time blossomed into the modest city known as Gilbert’s Corners. Over the years nobody had thought seriously about changing the community’s name to something more cosmopolitan. The people on Ravenette, in fact most of the people in the Coalition, just did not think that way. Calling the place Gilbert’s Corners was good enough for them.
General Lyons had easily obtained the approval of the Coalition Congress to move the government to Gilbert’s Corners. The place was remote enough from the war to offer security for the politicians, and it boasted an urban infrastructure that could support the Coalition’s government, such as it was, and make life comfortable for its members.
“Gen’rel”—Preston Summers’s voice sounded hollow and distant as he spoke to General Lyons over the secure communications net—“you gotta show up this time. I can’t stave these fellas off anymore.” He was referring to the Committee on the Conduct of the War, which Lyons had again refused to appear before.
“Mr. President, we are at a crucial stage of the campaign. I can’t just leave my headquarters here in the hands of a subordinate. That would be military insanity. I can point out to you a dozen examples of how that lost wars in the past. Can’t I get away with submitting a written response?”
“I know, Gen’rel, I know, that’s worked up till now, but this time they mean business and they want you before them in person. I can’t hold this Coalition together without their support in the Congress, that’s the truth, pure and simple. The guys on that committee are key members of their worlds’ delegations. They take themselves very seriously, and they are fully capable of gettin’ into a snit and just backing out, concluding a separate peace with the Confederation, and leaving you and me holdin’ the bag on this war. Believe me, they’re as liable to do something like that as crack a bottle of Old Snort. Keepin’ this Coalition together is a bitch of a job, Gen’rel, when I got all these independent souls tryin’ to tell me how to run this government and each damned one of ’em so sensitive about his ‘honor’ he’d cut his own nose off if he thought he’d been disrespected. You gotta take the chance and come on down here, and you gotta leave today. Davis,” he said, reverting to the general’s first name, “you just have to come.”
Lyons was silent for a moment. “Getting there will be half the fun,” he said sarcastically.
“I know. The Confederation’s got reconnaissance patrols roamin’ all around behind your lines. I read yer reports, even if those fools don’t. Take a powerful escort, Gen’ral, and barrel ass right on down here. You got air cover, don’t you? Air superiority?”
“Sometimes we do and sometimes we don’t.”
“Well, come the safest and fastest way you kin. That’s up to you.”
Both men were well aware that Marine Force Recon teams were active between Ashburtonville and Gilbert’s Corners, in fact had only recently destroyed a battery of mobile antisatellite guns without being detected, apparently operating with impunity behind the lines.
“Ever heard of Admiral Yamamoto?” Lyons asked.
“He in charge of their fleet?” Summers thought Lyons was referring to a Confederation naval officer.
“No, he lived a long time ago. He was a brilliant naval tactician back on Earth in the days when navies fought in the oceans. Well, the enemy broke his code and knew he was flying somewhere so they ambushed him.”
“Oh, Judas’s nuts, Davis, do you really think they might ambush you on the way?” There was genuine concern in Summers’s voice. If the enemy got General Lyons, it would really be all over for the Coalition.
“There’s always that chance. I’m not sure just how secure this comm system we’re using is, Preston, so just tell the committee I’ll be there when I get there and they can damned well sit on their hands until I arrive. Have them send me their agenda so I can be prepared for their questions.” He toggled off the system.
“And how are you going to get down there?” his aide, a colonel from Lannoy named Rene Raggel, asked. Raggel was an experienced infantry officer who’d seen his share of combat. The men from Lannoy were known to be rough characters, but Lyons had picked him as his aide-de-camp because he was a solid, no-nonsense officer who anticipated problems before they became problems.
“How are we going to get down there, Rene. You’re comin’ with me. I dunno.” Lyons leaned back and put his arms behind his head. “Any horses left around here? We’ll dress up as farmers. That way nobody’d ever suspect us.”
Raggel smiled. “They haven’t had horses here in over a hundred years, sir. But you’re right, you don’t want to attract attention either from satellite or aerial observation and certainly not from their ground recon teams. The bastards are all over back there. First, let’s send out sweeps, patrols in random directions to divert their attention and keep their recon teams’ heads down. Let’s dress up as civilians, take a private car, and use the south road. It’s lightly traveled. It’ll take us three, maybe four hours to get to Gilbert’s Corners, but that route does not seem to be under very close surveillance.”
“Took the words right out of my mouth.” Lyons straightened up and fished in a cargo pocket. He took out a Davidoff and stuck it between his teeth. It was an expensive chew, but he’d come to like the cigars ever since Preston Summers had given him a box from his private supply. Lyons seldom lit the cigars, preferring to chew on them. Chewing relaxed him and allowed him to think. Since he cut them down when the ends got too soggy, each cigar would last several days. “I don’t like to smoke,” he said to Raggel, “but you know, it’s funny. Here we are in a combat zone, we could get killed any moment, and I’m worried about the effects of cigar smoke?” He shook his head and laughed. “Well, soon’s the committee’s agenda arrives, get Admiral Porter and my deputy in here and run it by us, and then we’ll get ready for our trip. If they expect me to leave today, they can get screwed. We’ll leave tomorrow at dusk, those assholes like to do their business at night.”
“I can tell you two items on the agenda already, sir.” Lyons nodded that Raggel should continue. “One’s going to be putting that damned Seventh Independent MP Battalion on coast watch between here and Phelps. They’re gonna see that as a prime landing zone for seaborne forces. They’ll want to know why you haven’t reinforced them with troops from the Fourth Division at Phelps. And, those guys in that battalion have been making end runs, complaining about their mission directly to their rep from Lannoy, so be prepared for him to spring that on you.”
“Yep. Continue.”
“And the other will be an explanation why you mounted that seaborne attack against Bataan and why it failed so miserably.” Lyons could tell from Raggel’s tone of voice that he didn’t understand the reasons behind that maneuver himself.
“Bet you’re right, Rene. We’ll see. Okay, then we pull out at dusk tomorrow. Line up a tactical vehicle and be doggone sure the stealth and night vision suites are in perfect working order. I’ll drive the first leg. We’ll wear battle-dress uniform. I don’t mind doing an end run to get to Gilbert’s Corners, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to go in disguise.”
Gilbert’s Corners, Ravenette
Colonel Raggel slowly relaxed his grip on the steering levers. His hands came away wet with perspiration. He had tried not to show it but the drive down to Gilbert’s Corners from Ashburtonville had been the most frightening trip of his life. Every moment he expected either to be ambushed or attacked by enemy aircraft. But they’d made it unscathed. He let out his breath.
“Good driving, Rene.” General Lyons laughed and patted his aide on the shoulder, which was soaked through with sweat. “Little warm for this time of the year, ain’t it, Rene?” He grinned.
Gilbert’s Corners was awash in civilian traffic, even at that late hour, both foot and vehicle. People swarmed everywhere like ants whose nest had been disturbed. But the once sleepy little village was now the seat of the Coalition government, and all the rushing about was just the organized confusion of a multiplanetary government in action.
“I want to pay a courtesy call on the garrison commander, Rene, a Colonel Osper, I think. Can you find his HQ in this mess?” Lyons gestured at the surging traffic.
“But, sir, the committee is waiting—”
“Let them wait. I’m only down here ’cause President Summers asked me to come, otherwise I’d just ignore these nattering nabobs. Come on, let’s go.”
Colonel Osper’s staff was both delighted and panicked when the commanding general suddenly appeared among them. A sharp-eyed sergeant had called everyone to rigid attention at Lyons’s entrance. They were delighted because they were hard at work when he walked through the command-post door in the school building, and staff officers loved to be seen by the brass when working; panicked because they had not expected him. Lyons had not informed the local commander he was coming in case his communications weren’t secure. But there he was, an unlit Davidoff clasped between his teeth.
“Colonel, good to see you.” Lyons stuck out his hand before the colonel even had time to salute. “Everyone at ease, back to work. Come on, give me the twenty-five-credit dog and pony show. I’ve got a meeting to attend and can’t stay very long.”
Colonel Osper, a heavyset, older officer with a fringe of gray hair surrounding his gleaming pate, offered General Lyons and his aide chairs. “Coffee, sir?”
“Don’t mind if I do. We had a long trip down here, Colonel. Tell me what you’ve done to secure this town against enemy attack.”
Colonel Osper called up a schematic overlay on his briefer’s screen. “Sir, Gilbert’s Corners proper covers four square kilometers. Its peacetime population is about eight hundred. That has swelled to eighteen thousand with the entire government now situated here. We’ve had to put up a regular tent city to accommodate all the civilians, but we are building temporary structures—mostly barracks and housing for the government leaders and the officers—here, here, and here.” He pointed to several areas on the screen. “The engineers and technicians have done wonders creating the infrastructure we need here. I have to compliment—”
Lyons raised a hand. “Sorry, Colonel, but cut to the quick. What kind of security do you have set up?”
“Sir, I have a reinforced infantry battalion of 1,265 men as of this morning. Almost all of those men are under arms. I’ve set up a system of aggressive foot patrols, day and night, around the entire town but concentrating on the northeast and the east.” He glanced at Lyons. “Any attack is most likely to come from the sea, so my patrols are concentrated in that direction. The patrols are backed up by quick-reaction forces. The patrolling is supplemented by anti-intrusion devices—infrared scanners, video monitoring of the most likely approach routes, that kind of stuff. But we are not relying totally on technology, sir. It’s men and not machines that’ll attack us here.”
“Good, good. Most of the time that equipment either doesn’t work or can be defeated. How about reinforcements if you come under attack by a really big force?”
“Sir, the Ninth Division has put two regiments at my disposal twelve kilometers to the southeast, at Grenoble’s Shop. If the enemy tries a vertical envelopment or an overland end run on us here, I’m confident we’ll know about it in plenty of time to meet the threat. The Ninth Division has the whole array of heavy weapons at its disposal, and I have a strong network of integrated fire-support weapons if needed.” The colonel pointed to numerous locations on the overlay that indicated fortified weapons positions.
“They won’t come in force, Colonel. They’ll come in small units and their mission will be to penetrate your defenses and disrupt life here at Gilbert’s Corners. Colonel Osper, I can’t overemphasize this: all we need now is for these namby-pamby politicians to get a scare thrown into them and they’ll be screaming for massive reinforcements here to protect their sacred behinds. I can’t have that. I cannot afford to draw off any troops from the front to protect these people. You and the Ninth Division have got to secure this area.” He stood up. “I’ve got to go to that meeting. Pass on my compliments to your officers and men, Colonel. You’re doing a fine job here.”
Outside, Colonel Raggel shook his head. “Are they doing such a fine job, sir?”
General Lyons paused before getting into the car. “They’re doing the best they can, Rene, but this damned place is a juicy target for the enemy. They’ll hit here, you can bet on it.” He shrugged. “But come on, drive me over to this, this confabulation of meddling idiots, and let’s get the farce over with.”
The Committee on the Conduct of the War, Gilbert’s Corners, Ravenette
The Committee on the Conduct of the War had established itself in the restored tavern that had once served the farmers coming to buy supplies at Gilbert’s Corners. They had set up their hearing in an old taproom. When the weather was damp, the place still smelled of stale beer. For most of the members of the committee—there were eleven of them, one from each world of the Coalition except Ravenette—the lingering odor of stale beer and old wooden floors reminded them of home. The floor, made of native wood more than two hundred years ago, actually creaked when walked across.
“How was yer trip down here, Gen’rel?” Chairman Heb Cawman asked after Lyons had seated himself before the long table at which the committee perched. He was a perpetually angry man from Embata whose florid complexion and bulbous nose matched his evil disposition.
“Tolerable, Mr. Chairman, tolerable.” Actually, it had been terrible. The road had been sabotaged about seventy-five kilometers from Ashburtonville, forcing them to backtrack and go cross-country to avoid the huge crater blocking the way. If anyone in Lyons’s command knew about the sabotage, they hadn’t reported it to headquarters, and that really made the general angry, but he was not about to tell the committee that.
