Imperial Guard (12 page)

“Sir,” a bedraggled tech sergeant got his attention. “We have com with main base.”

Brogan muttered his thanks, and he hurried off to the com bunker. As he entered, a harried corporal was trying to answer a series of rapid-fire questions coming over the com set. “Tell ‘em acting Eagle 6 will answer all their questions,” barked Brogan.

The corporal delivered the message and handed the set to Brogan. “November Base, this is November Eagle acting 6.”

“This is November Base, 6. Who in blazes am I talking to, and where are you?”

“This is Lieutenant Timothy Brogan, formerly Eagle 3, now acting CO of Company Eagle. At present we are occupying the rebel fire base on Hill 731.” Brogan could hear a moment’s confusion at the other end, then the set went dead for a few seconds.

“This is November 6. Where is Captain Jantsen?”

“This is Eagle 6. The captain is an escaped prisoner, charged with treason and murder. He betrayed the company into an ambush,” reported Brogan. He thought the com set would explode as General Nagamoto demanded an immediate and full explanation of Brogan’s activities.

Brogan was too exhausted to be very concerned about anyone else’s agitations. He calmly, and as though by rote, summarized the last twenty-four hours, not caring what kind of response it generated. When he concluded, a response was not immediately forthcoming. But when it did come, it was in a much more subdued tone.

“Eagle 6, you men have done an outstanding job. When the reports are all in, I’m sure you will all be properly rewarded. But now for more important matters. Lieutenant Timothy Brogan, serial number . . . uh, what is his number? . . .” Some mumbling could be heard in the background, then the general cleared his throat and picked up where he left off. “. . . serial number 15-315-706-12, I hereby promote you by the authority vested in me by the Emperor to the rank of acting captain of Fusiliers. Captain Brogan, I authorize you to appoint two battlefield commissions to second lieutenant, subject of course to my confirmation.

“Here are your orders, Eagle 6. You are to hold your position with the men and supplies you have available. Under no circumstances are you to allow those artillery pieces to fall into enemy hands again. You will destroy them rather than allow them to be recaptured. Is that clear?”

“That’s an affirmative,” said an elated Brogan.

“Good luck, Eagle 6, and may God be with you. November 6 out.”

Unknown to Brogan, General Nagamoto turned to his staff officers and said, “Poor devils have done a hellava job. I hope we get to see ‘em. But I’m not counting on it.”

Brogan, feeling a bit dazed, put down the com set and turned to leave. He looked up to see the first sergeant reclining in a chair, grinning around a propped up wounded leg. “Congratulations, Captain. A promotion from second lieutenant to captain is almost unprecedented, especially for a third-class citizen from a backwoods world. We should give you a wetting-down party. And since you skipped a rank, we should make you buy twice the booze.”

Brogan chuckled in spite of himself, then sat down heavily in a convenient chair. “Top, you think the general made a mistake?”

“Naw!”

“I don’t know. I might end up with a big regret before this thing’s over.”

“Don’t worry about it, son. You need to get some shuteye. I’ve known General Nagamoto since he was a shave tail, and he don’t make mistakes.”

Brogan stirred. “Top, would you like to be an officer?”

The grizzled sergeant bellowed with laughter. “You’ll go far in this man’s army, Captain. But if I live through this campaign, I’ll be a sergeant-major, and I’d rather be a sergeant-major than any second lieutenant in the whole galaxy.” The top sergeant paused. “But you already knew that, didn’t you, sir? You know, I like the way you think. If you hadn’t asked me, you would always wonder if I resented not being asked. Now you know that my pride is intact and that you can count on me doin’ my job and backing you to the hilt. That’s very good. You continue to amaze me.”

Just then a man staggered into the bunker with a body over his shoulder. He let it drop with a sickening thud. “They told me I’d find you here,” Sergeant Manazes said to Brogan.

“Is he dead?” The Top motioned to the prostrate Captain Jantsen.

“Not yet, but he’ll wish he was. He’s only stunned. We should get him into restraints before he comes to.”

Brogan gave the order, then asked Manazes to give his report. “We caught him on top of a nearby hill trying to signal. But the rain and fog kinda put a damper on that,” Manazes replied, laughing at his own joke.

“Excellent work, Lieutenant Manazes.”

“What? Lieutenant? What do you mean?” Manazes left his mouth hanging open as he stared at Brogan.

“Brogan here has been promoted captain,” interrupted the Top, “and he’s been authorized to make two battlefield promotions. Looks like you’re the first!” Looking sheepish, he added, “Captain asked
me
first, but I’m smarter than you. I said no. Too bad you won’t. You had the making of a decent NCO.”

“Lieutenant Manazes, get some chow and report back here. I’m appointing you executive officer.” Looking at the first sergeant, he said, “Sorry, Top, I need someone with two good pins to help organize things. You can resume your duties as first sergeant. Have somebody get Sergeant Tanaka in here. I’ll give him the other commission and put him in charge of First Platoon.”

Soon Tanaka arrived, and Brogan sent the new officer, along with Manazes, to establish an internal perimeter; the manpower was not available to defend the larger perimeter of the base. Time was running out, in fact may already have run out. The rebels may have already surmised that the position had been overrun because of the sudden termination of radio contact. Their position could be attacked at any moment. They had to be ready, for the coming battle would be the fiercest yet.

Brogan ordered the Top to get some techs to program the droids to destroy the artillery pieces at the code command “Ebinezer” should the necessity arise. Then he instructed the platoon commanders in the use of the code to ensure that someone would be left to give the command. Having inspected the artillery pieces and discovering that they could be converted to direct fire, he set some men to that task. No one in Brogan’s outfit had the training to make the computations required for indirect fire.

Soon the interior perimeter was in place and the guns ready. Each makeshift gun crew had been given hasty instructions on how to load, aim, and fire. Some of the men had been able to get badly needed rest, and everyone had gulped down some C rations. Already the sun was up and well on its way to midmorning. Brogan wondered that the rebels had not attacked yet.

Sunrise had brought the first relatively clear day since Brogan’s planetfall. Even so, the sky remained hazy, and a pall of smoke hung over the main base in the distance. In this kind of weather, the orbiting weapons platform should be able to lend the force of her laser banks to the battle.

“Sir! LP droid reports enemy movements in southeast quadrant,” the Top reported.

“Very well. Have the droid pull back but maintain sensor contact. He is not
—I repeat—not to engage the enemy.” Droids were too precious to sacrifice in single combat, and in this case Brogan had to keep some in reserve to destroy the guns. They would also need the droids’ firepower for their final defense.

Brogan reviewed the defenses one more time. Everything seemed militarily sound, but he muttered a distracted prayer anyway. Though quick to reject his home planet and his religious heritage, rejecting God was another matter entirely. There had been plenty of times when he had appealed to God for help, but that was where Brogan left it. God was there to help in time of need but was not, to Brogan’s thinking, a God who demanded total allegiance.

Since the attack seemed to be coming from the southeast, Brogan reinforced that section of the perimeter. But he was not foolish enough to weaken the rest of the perimeter beyond sufficient defense. What
appeared
to be the case was not always so. His thoughts returned to the story Uncle Charles used to tell. Suddenly he missed his home and his family. He wondered how his mother and his brothers and sisters were doing.

The concussion shock waves from artillery blasts yanked him from his revere. Enemy mortar fire had commenced. They were using the wicked “bouncing betties,” so called because upon hitting the ground a small explosive hurled them back into the air with a sharp crack to a height of about four feet where they detonated, sending tiny slivers of machined shrapnel whistling through the air all around. Their effect on upright soldiers produced a shudder in even the most hardened combat soldier.

His Majesty’s Fusiliers squeezed lower into their trenches to escape the murderous onslaught. Brogan ordered the heavy guns to fire into the tree line where the enemy was assembling. Their deep rumble, added to the higher pitched explosions of the bouncing betties, created a deafening cacophony of sound. Occasional cries for medical aid were heard over the din, but none could brave the maelstrom of metal to assist them.

White-hot metal showered the area when one of the big guns was silenced by the blast of a heavy laser cannon. One by one, the gun crews abandoned the other artillery turrets, fearing the same fate. But at the same time, the firing of a howitzer on the reverse slope, protected from laser fire, could be heard. Brogan felt a surge of pride and hoped that he (and they) lived to reward the gun crews’ initiative in getting the howitzer operative for indirect fire. Presently two more guns on the protected reverse slope were firing with some effect. They were able to place many of their shots near the tree line, making the rebels suffer punishment in kind.

One good turn deserves another,
thought Brogan.

“Here they come!” yelled someone into the com. Contrary to historic expectations, technological innovation had not replaced the foot soldier. Combat droids made life easier for infantry by taking point and flanker positions, but usually droid fought droid, and man still fought man.

A line of enemy infantry advanced out of the trees. Three heavily armored flyers soared above them. The laser crew brought down two of them before they reached the defensive perimeter, but the third streaked in, wreaking havoc and destruction before the laser was able to burn it down.

Defying the perilous, though lessening, shrapnel, Eagle Company began to return fire from the trenches. The sky was aflame with the refractions of light from lasers and explosives. The attackers came grimly on even though many were being burned down. But Eagle Company was suffering many casualties as well. Soon Brogan realized that they could no longer hold their perimeter. He ordered his forces to retreat to the inner defensive perimeter.

The stern discipline of the Fusiliers paid off as Eagle Company fell back squad-by-squad in an orderly fashion. Brogan caught glimpses of personal heroism as soldiers dragged or carried wounded comrades with them. Soon all who remained alive occupied the inner trenches. The other half lay dead or dying on the battlefield. Brogan groaned inwardly at their losses and wondered briefly if any would survive.

The shelling having been discontinued, the rebels regrouped and charged the inner perimeter. Brogan ordered his men to vacate the howitzers, then gave the command word “Ebinezer” to his two remaining droids. Within seconds the huge guns were smoldering slag.

The charging attackers crashed into the last defense. The perimeter broke in a handful of places, and a group of enemy soldiers lunged for the CP. Brogan grabbed a laser rifle and burned down two of the leading men. Then they were on him. Brogan shifted into the hand-to-hand combat mode drilled into him at the Academy: swift uppercut with the butt, follow through with a smash to the face.

A knife slashed at his face, but he parried the blow with his rifle and knocked the defender off his feet. Seeing a rifle pointing toward him out of the corner of his eye, he rolled to his left, and a laser blast singed his shoulder. As he came up on his feet he swept his laser rifle around, blasting in retaliation. As he did so, he saw Dombrowski go down. He blasted his attackers and leaped at them to finish the job hand-to-hand. Suddenly he knew he was hurt, but he couldn’t tell where.

Through the numbness of his mind, he heard someone yell “Filters!” Mechanically he flipped down his protective eye filters. As he parried another blow, he heard the thunder of intense lasers searing the ground nearby. Brilliant shafts of light probed the area, seeking the rebel forces. The heavy orbiting cruiser had finally been able to loose her terrible power. Drawing energy from the sun, she poured it directly onto the planet’s surface.

Meanwhile no enemy soldier was left alive in the CP, but outside, in the compound, the fighting increased in intensity. The rebels now knew that they had to conquer or be thrown into the blazing furnace behind them. But the discipline of the Fusiliers gradually stiffened, and the lines held. The attackers began to waver, then to retreat. They fled into a section of jungle as yet untouched by the cruiser’s lasers. Many fell making their escape, but some succeeded in reaching the safety of cover.

Brogan leaned against a broken wall, taking deep, shuddering breaths as his adrenalin subsided and relief welled up within him. The orbiting platform shut down her laser banks. Once again the sky thundered and the wind howled around them as clean air rushed in to replace what had been ionized by the laser beams.