Corpsman (21 page)

“That’s a negative, Granite-Three.  No support mission will be authorized.”

There was a soft click as the captain left the platoon net—undoubtedly to get into it with the FSC.
[20]
  Liege looked to Moose who rolled his eyes.  The captain might have missed Warden’s confrontation with the FSC earlier.

“Should I fire again?” Hank asked.

“No.  No use in wasting your ammo,” Warden said.

“OK, we’ve got infantry coming in.  I’m guessing we’ve got two hours at most to prepare.  Let’s see what we can do to give them a warm reception.”

Chapter 38

It was closer to three hours before the leading line of the PIP infantry came within range.  The team was as ready as they could be, with hasty barricades erected and a few mines laid out in front of them.  All the time, the oppressing presence of well over 100 armored vehicles hovered over them.  The divisions’ armor hadn’t advanced yet, but no one really thought that they would stay out of the fight.  Once the Koft was knocked out, they would come streaming down Grape, guns ablazing.

The captain, in a foul mood after fighting with the FSC, had gotten into a huge argument with Warden.  The captain had wanted to come down and join Second Team, but Warden had stressed he would do more good up above them.

The unspoken message in that was that none of the seven were going to get out of this alive, and it would be foolish to sacrifice anyone else.

The excitement of the battle that had ramped Liege up before was gone.  Now, she felt sad more than anything else.  Her thoughts kept drifting to her Avó and Leticia.  They’d miss her, she knew.  She just hoped they weren’t kept in the dark on what was going to happen, that they’d be able to get closure.

She was also more than a little angry.  She didn’t understand why the general wouldn’t authorize an airstrike.  She didn’t understand why they had to stay and fight.  She didn’t understand why the PIP commander waited three hours to force his way through the pass when he could have been half-way to flanking the line of hills by now.

And she was angry that her friends—and she—had to die.

Not once, though, did her thoughts consider any other alternative.  She’d made a contract a long time ago, with the Federation, with the Navy, with the Marines.  More importantly, she had a contract with Moose, Warden, Fidor, Hank, Teri, and Gidge.  They were her team, and she’d share whatever fate befell them.

Hank and Teri had managed to traverse the Koft so that it was aimed at the PIP infantry’s approach.  Hank had the barrel almost parallel with the ground, and he thought he could hit the rocks as the infantry came out of the marsh, hurtling pieces of shrapnel out in a deadly cloud.

“Light them up when you can,” Warden told him.  “We’ll act on your cue.”

“Roger that,” Hank said.

He never got the chance.  Screaming out of the sky, a missile plummeted.

“Hank, get out!” Warden shouted, but it was too late.

The missile left a sweeping trail as it curved around and slammed into the Koft.  Liege ducked as pieces of the gun peppered the wall behind which she crouched.

As the Koft—along with Hank and Teri—exploded, the infantry rose up and started to fire and maneuver up the rocky slope to the checkpoint.

“Incoming,” the captain said, his voice back to his usual calm and collected manner.  “Mortars.  Impact, 55 seconds.”

“Looks like they’re finally using some tactics,” Moose said sourly.

If the infantry had attacked alone, Moose had thought they could hold out.  But with a combined arms attack, Liege knew they had no chance.  They could inflict as much damage on the bastards as they could, though, before they fell.

The line of infantry was about 500 meters away, well within range.  Liege began to fire, and she was sure she’d seen some soldiers drop.  It became evident that the fire teams, squads, or whatever they called their smallest units were moving in a set order, which made it easy to shift fire and pop them as soon as they got up to rush.

And then the first salvo of mortars landed, most against the side of the east hill.  Only one or two hit the bottom of the valley, and none close to any of the Marines.

Ten, fifteen of the enemy fell to their fire, but they kept advancing, now starting to fire themselves.  Rounds started pinging around Liege.

Two soldiers on the enemy’s far right flank plopped down with a crew-served weapon.

“You’ve got an energy gun on you,” someone from above passed.  “And we don’t have a shot.”

“Gidge, the 88,” Warden shouted.

“Where?  Where is it?”

“Down to our two o’clock,” Liege shouted back as she tried to engage the crew.

They were in pretty good defilade, and while she thought she had hit the beam projector, her darts didn’t have any effect on it.

The air between the two positions shimmered with ionization as the weapon discharged its first shot.  Liege thought she felt her hairs rise from a side lobe, but she knew that could be her imagination.  Firing, though, had revealed the team’s position to Gidge.

“Got it,” Gidge said as he stepped out from his fighting position.

He had his M88 off his back, and with a thunk, the grenade launcher fired.

“Downrange!” he shouted, turning to run back to cover.

Another series of mortars landed, this time corrected to hit them.  The second round struck just before Gidge could get down, and the explosion picked him up and flung him 15 meters.

Without thinking about it, Liege ran for him.  A round hit her low on her back, but her bones kept it from penetrating.  She slid to a stop on her knees beside him, and she immediately knew there was nothing she could do.  Gidge had almostbeen cut in two, his head barely attached to his neck.  Arterial blood flowed instead of pulsed.

She turned and dove for Gidge’s fighting position, ready to carry on the fight.  She glanced at the beam projector but couldn’t see anything left of the position.  Evidently, Gidge had been on target.

“The armor is inbound,” the captain passed.

Liege’s view down Route Grape was blocked, but it didn’t matter.  What mattered were the 30 or so infantry who had taken to ground and were now firing on them.

“Lightening-Three, the armor is on the move.  SITREP to follow,” the captain passed on the command net, which he’d kept slaved to the platoon net. 

The members of the platoon could listen in, but not transmit unless actively switching to the net.  Liege listened with half an ear as she popped shot after shot at the soldiers.  Understandably, they were taking cover, waiting for the arrival of the armor, and Liege didn’t think she’d hit anyone.  The enemy infantry’s mission would now be to keep the Marines pinned and unable to respond to the armor.

Liege darted out from her cover, grabbed Gidge’s M88, and dove back.  She’d fam-fired
[21]
the blooper before, but she wasn’t an expert.  The magazine had five more grenades.  Liege put three of them downrange, hitting the general area where the soldiers were taking cover, but once again, she didn’t know if she’d hit anyone.

“We need an immediate air strike, Nine-Line to follow,” the captain went on.

“No change in circumstances,” the FSC interrupted.  “No air assets will be released.”

“Fucking assholes,” Moose said over the P2P.  “What the hell do we got Wasps for if we can’t use ‘em?”

“Didn’t you hear?  They have to protect the capital,” Liege said, a sour taste in her mouth.  “And how the hell did Intel just happen to miss four freaking divisions that are coming at them now?  It doesn’t make sense.”

“If we don’t get air, Granite-Four will be overrun,” the captain passed, his voice hard.

Liege knew that was true, but it was difficult for her to hear her captain say that.  He was supposed to give them hope, wasn’t he?  She snarled, rose over the lip of the broken-down wall, and fired another three-round burst before dropping back into cover.

“Understood.  But there will be no air support.”

There was a very pregnant pause, then as cool as can be, the captain said, “I’m requesting a C12 with the six.”

Moose looked back at her, his eyes wide with surprise.  He gave her a thumbs-up.

Clause 12 was the right of any Marine, no matter the situation, to request a meeting with his or her commander.  In the middle of a battle, a commander could defer the “mast,” as the term was known.  But back at the MEB headquarters, there wasn’t yet any fighting, and for the general to refuse the mast could look bad upon him later.

“Wait one for the six,” the FSC passed after only a few moments.

In less than a minute, the net crackled with, “Granite-Three, this is Lightening-Six.  You have your mast.  So go.”

“I’ve reported that we’ve got two divisions’ worth of armor advancing down Route Grape, and the lead elements are now four klicks from Licorice.”

Almost on cue, a round from an advancing Tonya exploded against the side of one of the still-standing buildings.  It didn’t have much effect on anyone in the team, but it served to keep their heads down.

“Granite-Four has three KIA, and the remaining five Marines. . .”

Four Marines and a sailor
, Liege thought

“. . .cannot stand up to them.  We need air, and we need it now if we are going to stop the column.  I’ve got a Nine-Line ready to transmit.  On the record, are you going to accept it or reject it?”

“Oh, too hot to handle!” Moose passed back to her.  “The skipper’s duking it out for us.”

A surge of hope ran through Liege.  The captain, probably in a career-ending move, had trapped the general.  If the general refused, he’d be on record as having done so, and that could reflect later on him as he came up for promotion.  Then again, it might not, but would he risk it?

Liege noticed that not one of the team was putting rounds downrange.  They were all hanging onto every transmission.  Another tank round exploded, this one deep into the checkpoint.

“Reginald—it’s Reginald, right?” the general asked in a supremely artificial buddy-buddy voice.  “I wish there was something I could do.”

“There is, sir.  Authorize the strike.”

“Reggie, it’s not that easy.  We’ve got four divisions closing in on us here at the capital, and our mission is to defend it.  We can’t even isolate their positions, so all assets have to pull back here to react when we do locate them.”

“We know where our divisions are, sir.  Four klicks out.”

“Look, I know God-damned well where those divisions are,” the general snapped, losing his I’m-your-friend tone.  “But I’ve got more important people to save here.  Look, sometimes, we have to sacrifice Marines for the greater good, and this is one of those times.  I’m sorry about that, but as a commander, I have to make those decisions.”

The hope Liege had felt started to evaporate.

“And I’d sacrifice a hundred Marines if it meant I could succeed in my mission.  Captain Vichet, your team is lost, so accept it.  You knew that when you didn’t join them for the fight, right?  I’m not blaming you, because you made a command decision.  You tell your team to fight to the last, to delay the armor, and I want you to watch and report back.  Colonel Huang needs to know what’s heading this way.  Then you take the rest of your platoon and exfiltrate back here the best you can.”

“If you want to delay the armor, one strike would block the highway, sir, for hours.”

“Damn it, Vichet, I’ve given you your orders, and I don’t have time to mollycoddle you.  You are relieved of command, and I’m pressing charges.  I’ll deal with you when all of this is over.”

The general cut the connection on the other side.

“Son of a bitch.  So we’re fucking expendable,” Fidor passed on the platoon net.

“Sorry you had to hear that.  I just wanted to keep you in the loop,” the captain told them.

“And we appreciate that,” Warden passed.  “But he’s right.  We
are
expendable.”

“Not to me, Stein, not to me,” the captain said.

Not to me, either
, Liege thought. 
I don’t feel expendable
.

A line of mortars walked their way across Licorice.  Liege barely felt the piece of shrapnel that pinged on her butt, her bones hardening to protect her.

“Granite-Three, this is Oriole-fFve.  Sorry, my comms are spotty, but I caught you have a Nine-lLne?”

That caught Liege’s attention.  Oriole-Five was one of the Wasps.

“Uh, roger, we had.  But Lightening-Six shot it down,” the captain passed.

“Granite-Three, once again, my comms are wonky.  I just heard you pass you had a Nine-Line, but all after that was cut off.  I say again, I didn’t hear anything you said after that.  Please pass your Nine-Line now.  I am overhead looking for approaching enemy forces, and I can be at your pos in two mikes.”

“Oriole-five, this is Lightening-Three-Alpha-Oscar,” a voice came over the net.

Lightening’s G-3AO would be the air officer located within the MEB headquarters, Liege knew.

“You are not authorized any additional missions.  Granite-three’s Nine-line has been denied.”

“Granite-Three, I think Lightening keeps trying to contact me, but I can’t hear a thing.  Nothing.  If you have a Nine-Line, I suggest you send it.  I’m now 90 seconds from your pos.”

Send it!
Liege silently implored the captain.

The pilot could hear the MEB, she knew.  She was giving herself cover to come save their asses, not that it would do any good.  They’d know once they examined her instruments that nothing had been wrong with her comms.

There was another pause, then the captain made his decision.