The War for Profit Series Omnibus (79 page)

Munifex Stovall took a knee and listened to his squad leader give his stand-to brief.

“Gentlemen, it’s been five days since we landed and now we have arrived. This hill behind me is the final objective before the siege of
Bristol commences. First, Third and Fourth squads have already formed a perimeter around its base. It’s unoccupied as far as we know but we’ll sweep it just the same. Pay attention to your visors, there are no-go areas exposed to fires from the city’s fortifications so stay in the shadow areas of their fields of fire so they can’t hit you and you’ll be fine.”

The squad leader then consulted his personal communicator. “Okay, we’re going to help out the Dumb Ass Tankers. After the sweep we’ll scout them a drivable path up to objective point Hotel and then choose a spot near there where they can make a flat spot on this side of the hill a hundred meters wide and twenty meters deep. Three minutes, we move out.” He looked around, eye contact with each member of the squad. Then he put on his helmet and lowered his visor, stepped back and walked off to the left.

The squad members checked their gear, checked their buddies, put on their helmets and lowered their visors. The hill was wide and nearly tall enough to be a mountain. There was sparse purple-green vegetation in the form of scraggly weeds, gullies in the gravelly grey surface, a few boulders strewn about its surface. Some as much as three meters across, but most were just big rocks a meter or less wide. First team took up positions to form a base of fire, then second team moved ahead and took up firing positions, then first team went ahead. Checking in each gully and behind every rock, then back to the base of the hill to lay out a route of march for the tanks. The squad then occupied a gully a hundred meters to the left of objective point Hotel and went to 25% security.

Even with the powered body armor helping to cool him, Stovall worked up a sweat. It was hot, the warmest part of the day approaching. He saw on his visor it was already thirty eight degrees Celsius. The projected high for the day was forty three, a point higher than yesterday. He removed his helmet and wiped sweat from his brow, felt the sun on the top of his head, inhaled the hot unfiltered air. He drank from his canteen and ate a field ration. He then put the helmet back on and closed the visor and was grateful for the protection it offered from the heat.

Two engineering vehicles arrived, squat boxy tracked vehicles with dozer blades on front. They leveled the ground near Objective Hotel and then left. Another engineering vehicle arrived at the newly-built flat area, its dozer blade removed. A circular three meter wide tunnel boring attachment was on its front and it nudged up against the flat rock wall at the uphill side of the flat area and started grinding. Another track arrived, this one with a conveyer belt attachment. It pulled in behind the first one, extended the conveyor underneath and started removing loose rock from the tunnel. The first two engineering tracks returned and spread the loose gravel away from where the conveyor dumped it.

The squad had to re-locate so that the engineers could shove gravel into the gully. The squad’s battle car came up and parked and the squad members rotated through getting their battle armor batteries recharged. The engineers worked through the night and by morning they had bored three tunnels. Not all the way through; they left a meter and a half at the far end, not wanting to open the tunnels all the way through. The walled city of
Bristol and its defensive armaments were on the other side, a mere four kilometers away. The engineers left.

Stovall stood up in his gully and looked to the hill to his right and saw that the engineers had made a flat spot over there as well. He saw two enormous tanks pull up that hill and stop on the flat spot. Then he saw three more of those large tanks arrive on his own hill. They were the largest tanks he’d ever seen and the guns protruding from their turrets were long. They extended out past the front of the tank’s glacis plate a distance further than the rest of the tank was long. Although they looked awkward, they moved with sure-footed grace. They each pulled up to a tunnel and inserted their snouts as far as they could. They pivoted side to side a few times, digging in for a stable firing platform. One tank commander dismounted and went into each tunnel to inspect, came back out and stood waiting behind the tanks. Three ammunition trucks came up the hill and the dismounted tank commander directed each of them to back up behind a tank. The ammo truck crews dismounted and raised the cranes of the trucks, each with a pallet of ammo hooked up and ready to download. The tank commander climbed back aboard his tank and sank into the cupola and closed the hatch.

Stovall’s team leader tapped him on the shoulder. “Hey, we’re leaving.”

Stovall and his squad mounted up in their battle car and rode down off the hill to link up with the rest of the Century and they rode off to the northwest about three klicks and established a skirmish line across the low ground between two low hills.

***

Chief Pescador called up to the TOC. “We’re in position ready to fire.”

Tad called back, “Roger. The Northern Republic Navy will send the fire command. I estimate two minutes or less.”

“Standing by.” Pescador grinned. He watched his status screen and waited.

He waited for more than a minute and then the message came as a free text, “Weapons Free.”

Pescador said, “Do it.”

The first round was a slow-moving High Explosive round that went off on impact and blasted the last little bit of the rock at the end of the tunnel away. Pescador then shoved two sandbags full of rusty old scrap metal into the breach and the gunner sent it down range at six hundred meters per second. Not to hit anything, really, but meant to clear the tunnel of loose debris and dust. Then a slug of stainless steel at two thousand meters a second, to give the target a good, hard knock and confirm the point of aim. It was spot-on, the right side of the gate of the walled city. The other Ajax tanks were also firing, each with its own target. The tank to Pescador’s left was working on the left side of the gate, and the tank to the right was bashing the gate itself. The two Ajax tanks on the hill to the northeast were working in concert to blast through a section of wall near Bristol’s main power coupling.

More rounds, penetrator rounds that went into the gate’s supports before exploding. The gate fell inward, its supports reduced to rubble and molten material that splattered away with subsequent hits from high explosive shells. The gunner shifted aim just a little bit and blasted the guard bunker just inside the gate. Pescador pressed the button to open the blowout of the ammo bay, opened his hatch and climbed out and busted apart the ammo pallet and rolled rounds into their respective racks. The gunner kept firing. Then Pescador flung the residue away and the ammo truck crew lifted a second pallet up onto the turret and Pescador loaded all that ammo as well, pausing for a moment, waiting for the rack to empty down enough to hold more ammo. The tank stopped firing, as did the other four
Ajax. The ammo crews stowed their cranes and Pescador waved them away and they left, their cargo beds empty.

Pescador got back in his tank and closed the blowout panels and looked at his status screen. The two
Ajax on the hill to the right had succeeded in blasting through the wall and destroying the main power coupling of Bristol. Without power, much of the city’s point defenses would be down. That, and its space shield and heavy lasers and particle cannons were also down. Pescador said, “Back up, driver.” The tank moved back about seventy meters, its rear sprocket at the edge of the flat spot made by the engineers earlier. Pescador looked left and right and saw that his other four Ajax tanks were backed up as well. He dropped down and closed his hatch. “Let’s do this.”

They raised their guns high enough to fire over the hilltop in front of them. The first tank lobbed a shell toward
Bristol and the city’s remaining air defenses swatted the round from the sky. Two more tanks fired at the air defense asset that had just given away its position, scored hits. The Ajax tanks slowly and carefully picked apart the city’s defenses and then met no resistance. Pescador said, “Hold fire.”

The
Ajax stood by, laid on target and ready to fire.

The Northern Republic Navy commander sent a message to the commander of
Bristol’s defense force over unsecure ULF. Pescador heard it, along with anyone else who cared to listen.

The Navy commander said, “
Bristol commander, I urge you to surrender your defenseless city immediately. Further resistance is futile.”

The response came, “This is Colonel John Stone, Commander of Bristol’s citadel and all its military and police assets. You deck apes want this city, you’ll have to come and get it.”

The Navy commander said, “Very well. I will hold fire for one hour so that your noncombatants can evacuate.”

The response from Colonel Stone, “Don’t hold your breath, you’ll just turn blue and pass out.”

The Navy commander said, “I say again, I will hold fire for one hour so that your noncombatants can leave the city.”

Colonel Stone said, “And I say again, fuck you deck ape. Out!”

Pescador said, “Stand down.” The gunner let the main gun power down and turned the turret to the right. The driver drove forward until the glacis plate touched the face of the rock ahead, snug up against it to get under the arc of possible counter-fire from Bristol’s artillery. Bristol had some conventional artillery with chemically propelled rounds that could still be lethal. So far they had wisely not used it, to keep it hidden. And the particle cannons and space lasers, those likely had enough juice in their capacitors for one last shot, despite the city being without power. That was enough to dissuade the Northern Republic from moving its space fleet within their range. And anyway, it was Northern Republic policy to not fire on its own planet with its space fleet. The voting public of the Northern Republic would find it in poor taste.

Pescador checked his tank’s capacitors. The first two were depleted and the third one was down to fifteen percent. It would take at least an hour for the
Ajax’s dual fusion engines to charge them back up to one hundred percent.

Sevin watched the reports from passive sensors. His task force consisted of the Recon company and the Cav squadron and Light tank battalion. They were low and quiet, parked in a thinly wooded area, camouflaged and shielded to avoid detection. Ahead was the road that ran along the low ground of the broad, shallow valley. That’s where the enemy would pass by, the route that would lead them into the flank of the forces besieging Bristol.

An advanced party moved along the road, four light wheeled vehicles. Then a company of skimmers, a dozen of them. They halted just outside engagement range of the picketed Century of legion soldiers blocking the road. Then trucks came. They parked four kilometers back from the Legion skirmish line, the rolling terrain allowing them to stay out of line-of-site of the Legion. The enemy set up mortars and towed guns. There was a tracked command post vehicle. It parked and the crew stepped out and began to stretch a camouflage net over it. More trucks, hundreds of them, came and dropped off soldiers.

Sevin composed a text and sent it to Galen through the laser-secure transmitter up to the comms satellite. “One motorized rifle regiment.”

The response came from Galen, “At your discretion.”

The Cav was on-line parallel to the road. The squadron was over-strength compared to most other Cav units. The HQ Troop had twelve self-propelled mortars and eight self-propelled guns capable of indirect fire, along with six medium Stallion tanks. The squadron had four troops, and each troop consisted of six light tanks and eight infantry fighting vehicles that carried two platoons of dismounts.

The light tank battalion was to the right, massed just beyond the flank of the Cav. Fifty four Hornet light tanks, the light tank battalion would move first. Sevin sent his message to all his subordinate units at once, “Wake up.”

The enemy began detecting the startup of the vehicles of Sevin’s task force. Soldiers began facing toward him, taking up prone positions in the ditch by the road. The towed gun crews swung their muzzles.
Soon
, thought Sevin. He sent his message to the light tank commander, “Pinch them off.”

The Light tank battalion charged from cover and crossed two klicks of open ground. They crossed the road and faced the rear of the enemy column. One company then faced up the road and spread out to meet anything that might come from that direction.

Sevin sent this message to the assault guns and mortars, “Fire.”

The mortar rounds landed and destroyed the enemy’s towed artillery and mortars. Then the assault guns fired just beyond the road, to suppress any soldiers not on the line. They deliberately avoided hitting the command post carrier.

Sevin then sent his message to the Cav, “Targets to the front. Advance.”

The Cav moved forward at a walking pace, its dismounts walking behind the armored vehicles for cover and concealment. They closed within fifteen hundred meters and the tanks started picking off targets of opportunity. They began destroying the trucks farthest away, the ones on the opposite side of the road. Didn’t want the fire and smoke of destroyed vehicles obscuring closer targets, of course. They closed in to a thousand meters and the infantry fighting vehicles began raking the forward edge of the enemy line with ten millimeter rail gun fire. Then they halted.

Sevin ordered, “Cease fire.”

Most of the shooting stopped. Some enemy soldiers fired from their skirmish line and that was met with very brief return fire from infantry fighting vehicles. Sevin told his driver, “Let’s go talk to these assholes.”

The skimmer rose on its air cushion. Sevin stood and gripped the top of the windscreen frame. He rode right up to his own line and stopped in between a tank and an infantry carrier. He grabbed the hand mike and spoke to the enemy on the unsecure radio frequency, “Hey General, you had enough?”

He watched as a soldier came out of the command post carrier, hands over his head, a white cloth in his left hand. The skimmer moved closer and stopped. Sevin dismounted and walked up to the enemy commander. He was a Colonel, a little taller than Sevin and at least ten years younger. His helmet covered his short hair. His coal-black eyes were quick and his chin was prominent and cleft; a proud man with a bit of a gut that pushed against the inside of his body armor.

The enemy Colonel lowered his hands and said, “Now what?”

Sevin said, “Abandon your weapons and your gear. Walk on down the road, the Legion troops will let you pass. Then our support battalion will collect you up and haul you off to a camp where you can sit out the rest of the war.”

“That’s it?”

Sevin said, “Take it or leave it. Personally, I’d rather you fight it out with us. My troops would enjoy the target practice.”

The Colonel said, “We’re done here. What should we bring?”

“Not much. Just your boots and your garments and a couple days field rations. No body armor, no weapons to include knives and pointy sticks, no helmets. If you have field jackets, you might want to bring them. Might get a little chilly where you’re going.”

“How very generous of you. So we’ll be interred in the Republic?”

Sevin shrugged. “One can only hope. Now get to stepping. In thirty minutes we’ll open fire if you’re still here.”

“Our wounded, our dead…”

“We’ll handle it after you get out of here.” Sevin gave a proper hand salute.

The Colonel returned the gesture and faced about and walked away.

The Cav crept forward to close within a hundred meters of the road. They watched as the Motorized Rifle Brigade transformed into an unarmed column of dismounted enemy prisoners of war. The Cav medics moved forward, accompanied by dismounts to provide security, and began the task of checking casualties and performing first aid. Bodies were bagged and tagged.

The prisoners marched off in a column of twos toward the Legion checkpoint and were allowed to pass through. Brigade Support sent ambulances and trucks forward to collect up the wounded and the dead.

***

Munifex Stovall stood at the checkpoint and watched as the long line of unarmed Batistian soldiers passed through. He said to his battle buddy, “Damn that’s a lot of prisoners.”

His battle buddy removed his helmet and said, “They got caught at the wrong place at the wrong time. Those bastards didn’t stand a chance.”

“Yeah.” Stovall removed his helmet. A Batistian ambulance crept by at the same pace as the walking prisoners, its litter bay full. There were two soldiers on field litters, laid sideways across the vehicle’s hood. Another Batistian ambulance followed and it pulled a flatbed trailer salvaged from the Bastian vehicles. A dozen wounded soldiers sat on it, placed back to back facing out.

His battle buddy said, “Hard to believe anyone survived that. They were really sticking it to them hard.”

Stovall said, “I think the idea was to shock the shit out of them so they’d surrender. And it worked.” Four heavy duty trucks followed, their cargo beds filled to the top with body bags. Stovall said, “Guess I spoke too soon.”

His battle buddy said, “Looks like at least a third of them got killed.”

“At least. That’s the end of this convoy.” Stovall put his helmet back on and slung his weapon.

“Yep.” His buddy put on his helmet and slung his weapon as well. They dragged the concertina wire back across the road, pounded in pickets, stood another strand of wire on top of the first, strung a single strand of barbed wire across the top of the pickets, and then stood back and reactivated the mines at either side of the road. Then they climbed up the embankment to the right and re-occupied their observation post and cleared and performed a function check on their twenty millimeter machine gun and then loaded it again.

Stovall called up to higher, “Two seven this is checkpoint three, all secure.”

“Roger, I copy all secure, checkpoint three, two seven out.”

Stovall sat down and unsling his weapon and held it at the ready as he watched the road. His battle buddy stretched out behind the machine gun and went to sleep. Then came a distant rumble of artillery. It didn’t bother either one of them. It was too far away, about twelve klicks.