The 18th Race: Book 02 - In All Directions Page 5

  Greig took the hand and shook; Miller’s grip wasn’t as tight as the first time. “Sure thing, Archie. We’re on the same team here. So what did you find?”

  Miller sighed. “We found a lot of they-wuz-here. We searched in the vicinity of every town, village, farm, or other homestead, as well as a bunch of other likely hiding locations. Almost everywhere we looked, we found signs of Dusters having been there but nary a Duster to be spotted.” He grimaced. “We’ve got what, less than a division and a half left from the entire VII Corps? Plus the Marines who made planetfall first? Worse, most of what’s left of VII Corps still hasn’t made planetfall. If I can extrapolate continent-wide from what we found, they’ve got us outnumbered by at least four-to-one, probably more—and that’s not until the rest of the corps gets here. We’re good fighters, but they know where we are, and we can’t even make an educated guess as to where they are. That’s tough odds.”

  Harrison interjected, “What I hear from Task Force 8 is, they aren’t having much more luck than planetside assets are in locating the Dusters.”

  Greig swallowed. “The Navy and Marines have ground attack aircraft, that should go a long way toward evening the odds.”

  “The same thing applies. They know where our airfields are, we don’t know where they are. They could knock out a lot of our aircraft on the ground. Bang, there goes that advantage.”

  “Navy has limited assets for orbit-to-ground fire support,” Harrison said. “So we can’t look for much help from that direction.”

  “You’re just a feast of good cheer, aren’t you?”

  “I’m only telling it the way I see it. Did you get the full briefing about them?” Miller asked.

  “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t know it,” Greig answered. “What do you know that maybe I don’t?”

  “In our interstellar explorations, we’ve found evidence of seventeen other sentient civilizations. All of them had been destroyed, much like what happened to the colony here. Thinking is, these Dusters are the same bunch that did in those others.”

  Greig gasped. “I knew there had been a few, but I had no idea it was that many. Seventeen?”

  “Seventeen.” Miller lowered his voice to where Greig and Harrison had to strain to hear him. “That’s what has me quaking in my boots.”

  Chapter 5

  Camp Puller, Headquarters of NAU Forces, Troy, near Millerton, Shapland, Semi-Autonomous World Troy, Office of Lieutenant General Bauer

  “Sir,” Captain William Upshur said, standing in the doorway of Lieutenant General Bauer’s small office, “Navy has sent us the reports from the Army Mounted Infantry platoon. I have it along with an abstract G-2 prepared for you.”

  Bauer looked up and held out his hand for the flimsy and the crystal his aide offered. “Thanks, Bill. Did Colonel Neville say anything about it?”

  “No, sir. He said it’s self explanatory.”

  “I’ll let you know if I need anything more.”

  “Yes, sir.” Dismissed, Upshur returned to the outer office.

  Bauer skimmed the flimsy as he slipped the crystal into his comp. The flimsy provided a brief description, little more than a table of contents, of the MI’s report. The crystal proved to be of great interest; it included visuals of Duster presence and the destruction they’d wrought on human settlements and structures, as well as maps showing where the MI platoon had scouted. They’d covered a considerable area.

  “Sir,” Upshur reappeared in Bauer’s doorway.

  “Yes, Bill?”

  “I have a follow up report from India Three/One. One of their patrols found what appears to be the Duster’s staging location for their assault on Camp Zion. It’s got some interesting images.”

  “Show me. And have someone get me some coffee, please.”

  “Aye aye, sir.” Upshur handed Bauer another crystal before returning to the outer office to get a cup of coffee for his commanding general.

  Bauer studied the report from I/3/1’s patrol and compared it with the MI report. After a couple of minutes’ contemplation, he ordered, “Have General Porter assemble my primary staff and their seconds, if you please. Army, too. If he’s here, I’d like General Purvis to attend as well. And link in Admiral Avery.”

  Of course, what a lieutenant general pleases, he gets.

  Briefing room, NAU Forces, Troy HQ

  “A-ten-Hut!” Brigadier General David Porter, the acting NAU Chief of Staff barked as Bauer strode into the room. The assembled generals and colonels broke off their conversations and stood.

  “Seats!” Bauer said, as he reached the podium in the back of the room. There was a minor clatter as the staff heads and their seconds resumed their seats. He looked at the vid connection that showed Rear Admiral Avery, attending remotely from his office on the NAUS Durango, Task Force 8’s flagship.

  Bauer acknowledged Avery with a nod. “Admiral.”

  “General,” Avery said back after a few seconds delay for the greetings to go to orbit and back.

  Bauer looked out at his staff. “I had Colonel Neville prepare materials on recent findings by both Marines and Army reconnaissance patrols for each of you to study. The Dusters appear to have vanished. I don’t believe for a moment that they’ve all been wiped out. And they certainly haven’t quit Troy, we would have seen them leave, and the Navy would have attacked their shipping.

  They’re still here, most likely preparing a counter-attack. We need to find out where they are hiding, and neutralize them. To that end, I want patrolling, both ground and aerial, stepped up.

  “When the Dusters launched their missile attack on ARG 17 they did it from underground installations on Minnie Mouse. When they counter-attacked us in Jordan, they entered structures from the basements, which they had reached via previously undetected caves and tunnels. I think it’s likely, particularly in light of their evident absence from the surface, that they’re hiding underground. So our main focus will be on locating caves and tunnel systems. Admiral Avery will use his orbital resources to locate gravitational anomalies. We will coordinate with Navy on that, and investigate whatever they find.

  Brigadier General Shoup will be the center man in this. I want preliminary plans tomorrow early afternoon.

  Questions?”

  Major General Julius Stahel stood up; the commander of the 9th Infantry Division was the ranking Army officer present. “Sir?”

  “Yes, General.”

  “Your orders include the Army, don’t they?”

  “Absolutely, General. The Army units, whether they are planetside or still in space, are integral parts of NAU Forces, Troy. I want your staff who have reached planetside, and the surviving staff of your 10th Brigade who are here, to work with my staffs. As units of VII Corps reach planetside, the Marine elements on Shapland will relocate to Eastern Shapland. General, this is your area.” Bauer looked at the few ranking Army officers who had managed thus far to reach Troy. “Do what you can with what you’ve got. General Shoup will include you in his plans the same as he will the 1st Marine Division and 2nd Marine Air Wing.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “If there are no more questions, you’ve got work to do. Get it done.”

  There was a minor clatter of chairs as the assembled officers stood while Bauer stepped off the small stage and marched out of the briefing room.

  Briefing room, NAU Forces, Troy HQ, the next day

  “Gentlemen,” Bauer said to the Marine and Army division commanders, the commanding general of the 2nd Marine Air Wing, the operations officer of the 1st MCF, and the Navy Construction regiment commander, “we have preliminary reports from the increasing number of Marine and Army patrols that have been prowling about since yesterday. While most of our initial contacts with the enemy were in cities, towns, and other human settlements, it appears that they have abandoned built-up areas in favor of more remote locations, albeit in proximity to human settled locations. We are going to take the battle to them, not wait in cities and towns for them to come to
us.

  “To that end, I want the divisions to establish platoon and company-size firebases throughout your respective areas of operation, from which you will conduct aggressive patrolling. 2nd Marine Air Wing will position squadrons in locations where its aircraft can give rapid support to the ground elements—General Bearss, the MAW will be reinforced by three Navy Kestrel squadrons and a Navy Search and Rescue squadron.

  “Captain Rooks, I know that you and your construction regiment will do a stellar job of building defensible firebases, bearing in mind that our foe is fond of attacking en masse, in the alien version of human wave attacks. Except that we can’t assume that the leading waves will be either well defined or armed with dummy weapons as have some human forces in the past.

  “The Navy, meanwhile, will continue its search for enemy bases and gravitational anomalies that could indicate underground installations.

  “A salient point to keep in mind is that the human population is no longer here. We can hope that some day they will return, or that other humans will repopulate Troy. With that in mind, destruction of the infrastructure should be kept to a minimum when possible. Otherwise, the entire planet of Troy is a free fire zone.

  “Again, Brugadier General Shoup will be your main contact person to coordinate your activities.

  “Questions?”

  Nobody had any. The commander’s intent was clear.

  “You know what to do. Good hunting, gentlemen.”

  Dismissed, the commanders took their leave, leaving Bauer alone with his operations chief, Brigadier General Shoup, and his aide, Captain Upshur.

  “See what you can do about pulling Whiskey companies out of every regiment or higher,” Bauer said. “I have a dreadful feeling that we’re going to need them.”

  A “whiskey company” was a unit consisting of cooks, bakers, clerks, mechanics, and other non-trigger-pullers, for the purpose of providing replacements to trigger-puller units when their casualties reduced their ability to function.

  Chapter 6

  Near Jordan, Eastern Shapland, Semi-Autonomous World Troy

  “Keep your eyes open, Horton,” Corporal John Mackie called to his newest man. Despite having been in combat, PFC William Horton still wasn’t used to the frequently short sleep hours infantrymen had.

  “I’m awake,” Horton called back. “Just blinking, that’s all.”

  “Blink faster. You almost walked into that bush.” Mackie shook his head. Horton required closer supervision than Mackie’d had to give the others thanks to his lack of experience. It’s a good thing Orndoff’s wound was minor, Mackie thought, or he’d still be on light duty and I’d only have one man I could rely on.

  The close supervision was especially needed now; India Company had been on the move almost constantly with little chance for sleep for six days. Everyone was drowsy, everybody was having trouble staying awake even while walking. Mackie was glad he was acting fire team leader because his extra responsibilities, the need to pay attention to his men, helped him stay awake.

  “Sorry, Mackie,” Horton mumbled. How the hell did he see me? he wondered. He glanced down at himself; the Marines’ utility uniform had a camouflage pattern that tricked the eye into sliding right past it, even here where the foliage was closer to grey and dark blue than it was to the green he was used to back on Earth. He looked toward where he’d heard Mackie’s voice, but it took several seconds for his fire team leader to register in his vision. He shook his head. At least he’s not calling me “new guy.”

  For his part, Mackie divided his attention between keeping an eye on his three men and searching his surroundings, looking for sign of the alien enemy.

  The Marines were investigating gravitational anomalies the Navy had discovered, anomalies that might or might not indicate the presence of underground spaces where the Dusters were hiding. But the Marines had had no contact with the Dusters since they’d beaten off attacks two weeks earlier. That was when Duster forces surged out of concealed underground bunkers and caverns to attack the Marines from inside their perimeters, and even inside buildings the Marines were occupying.

  Third platoon was negotiating an area of scrubland. Sparsely-leafed, tree-like growths spread spindly branches over the shrub-like bushes that seldom reached chest high on a man and grew every place sunlight reached the ground.

  “Watch your dress, people,” Sergeant James Martin shouted, “keep it staggered.” The constant refrain of squad leaders supervising their Marines on the move. First and third squads were on line in an inverted “V” formation, with second squad on line fifty meters to their rear, ready to move toward whatever squad might need assistance. A two-machinegun squad was in the middle of the delta formation.

  On the squad level, the Marines were using ordinary voice communications, shouting orders, questions, and answers. If there were Dusters in the area, they probably knew the Marines were there. It was almost impossible for anyone to move about silently in this terrain, so there was no need to keep quiet. On platoon level and higher, the Marines were spread far enough that radio comm was necessary.

  “Look alive, people,” Second Lieutenant Henry Commiskey’s voice came over the platoon’s comm into every helmet. “We’re just about on top of that anomaly. If anybody’s home, they might. . .”

  A sudden rattle of gunfire and a cacophany of shrill caws and skrees cut off the rest of what the platoon commander was saying.

  “First squad, hit the deck!” Martin shouted. “They’re to our left!”

  “Orndoff, Horton, do you see anything?” Mackie called. He involuntarily ducked from the projectiles he heard cracking overhead.

  “Only bushes and bees,” Orndoff called back.

  “Nothing,” Horton answered. He sounded excited, his voice rose sharply on the one word.

  Mackie didn’t see where the fire was coming from, either. The bushes of the ground cover were just thick enough to block the Marines’ view of anything more than fifty meters distant. “Fire at the bases of the bushes,” he ordered. “Move your shots around.” He made sure his rifle’s selector switch was set to burst, and began putting three round bursts into the bases of the nearest bushes. A quick glance to his sides showed his men doing the same. All around, he heard other fire team leaders shouting commands at their men, and the shouted replies. Fire from the Marines grew in volume.

  “Where are they, honcho?” Mackie called to Martin on the squad radio net. “We’re firing blind here.”

  “When I find out, you’ll be the first to know,” Martin answered. “Keep doing what you’re doing.”

  Commiskey spoke into the platoon comm: “Everybody, keep low! They’re all around us. Like a circular firing squad. Maybe they’ll shoot each other!” His voice cracked.

  “Yeah, sure,” Mackie muttered. A spray of leaves pattered his head and back, clipped off a branch above him by a too-close burst of alien fire. “Unless they’re standing full up, they’re firing too high to hit each other.” He grinned grimly. “Too high to hit us, either.”

  “Heads up, first squad,” Martin shouted into his comm. “My motion detector says they’re coming at us. Two hundred and closing. Watch for movement, then fire waist high.” Even though the Dusters massed about the same as a human, they carried their torsos almost parallel to the ground, so a waist-high shot would hit a Duster head on.

  The machine guns began firing twenty-round bursts side to side over the heads of the riflemen, scything through the tops of the bushes.

  Shrill caws and shrieks ripped through the foliage, dopplered as the aliens closed the distance.

  Then Commiskey gave a command that had seldom been heard in centuries, “Fix bayonets!”

  In far fewer seconds than it would have taken humans to cover the distance, the Dusters appeared, jinking and dodging side to side within fifty meters of the Marines who began firing at the attackers who were moving too rapidly for anyone to aim at. Instead of the disciplined fire on which the Marines had long prided themselves, it was
spray and pray: throw out enough bullets and some are bound to find a target.

  In an instant, Mackie saw that the aliens were crossing each other’s paths. He picked a spot and began firing at one. The first shots missed the Duster he sighted on, but hit another that jinked through the same small area. He managed to knock down two more before the Dusters closed with the Marines.

  Mackie jumped to his feet, too focused on the nearest Duster to see what was happening to his sides. If he’d spared any attention, he’d have seen that the rest of the squad had also surged upright to meet the aliens with the blades attached to the muzzles of their rifles.

  Here, the Marines had a slight advantage over their much faster opponents; their arms and rifles were longer than the Dusters’; a human could skewer one of them before it got inside its own reach.

  But there were three coming directly at Mackie.

  He pivoted sharply to his right and swung the butt of his rifle low at the head of the right-most Duster. The alien was moving too fast, but its neck followed its head into the path of Mackie’s rifle butt. The Marine felt a satisfying crack of breaking bones. The Duster he’d struck was tossed aside, into the feet of the middle of the trio, sending that one tumbling. The third skidded to a stop and spun toward Mackie, stretching its head on its long neck to bite at him. Mackie stepped back to get out of the way of the toothed beak, and tripped on an exposed root. That saved him, as the Duster tripped by the first one had regained its feet and was lunging with its weapon at the Marine from his side, and its thrust went over him.

  Mackie turned his fall into a backward somersault to increase his distance from the one coming from his front. The two Dusters collided in the space he’d just occupied, and staggered, dazed from the impact. Mackie leaped to his feet and plunged his bayonet into the side of the nearer alien. The third cawed loudly and kicked with one of its taloned feet before the Marine could wrench his bayonet free. Claws ripped at Mackie, tearing through his shirt and gouging his rib muscles. He let go of his rifle and, grabbing the alien’s leg, yanked with all his strength.