In the Valley (28 page)

T
he colonel dissected the tactical problem in front of them in a dead professional manner; he laid down the foundations for the operation’s success. He had projected a halo map to the team members involved in the coming op. Some men were seated; some men were standing in a half circle in front of him.

The map showed a rugged mountain valley, similar to a valley in the Rockies on Old Earth. At the southern end of the map was a hillock with a red circle on it labeled “OBJ,” the objective. On the northern end of the valley was a green circle labeled “ORP,” the objective rally point. In between, running down the center of the valley and along the eastern side, were two red arrows that extended from the ORP, in the north, to the OBJ, in the south.

The colonel extrapolated, using the map. “The most important consideration in this operation is that we, the force advisors, are not conducting this fight. This is the Juneau’s planet; this fight is their fight. We are there to assist when needed, but put them out front.”

The colonel’s face displayed a little strain. He looked calm, but the lines in his face were slightly deeper than normal, the shadows around their dimly lit meeting place played on his features.

“According to intelligence that we have received from the Juneaus, Commander Maktar in the village of Kanaghat refuses to accept the authority of the Juneau Army in this area. Commander Maktar has been supplying
Commander Mohammed with munitions and fighters in this area; he is officially a bad guy.

“Colonel Fasi has directed Third Battalion to raid his fortress in the village of Kanaghat.” The colonel flashed an image of the compound across everyone’s halos. Commander Maktar’s house looked like a castle situated on a six-hundred-meter-high hill in the middle of towering mountain ridges.

Holy shit, thought Paul. That place wasn’t a house; it was a fortress.

“We are going in with most of the battalion. Third Company minus one platoon will stay behind and secure this firebase.” He looked at Crusty and Al-Asad. “That doesn’t mean that the Third Company advisor team will stay behind.”

Paul looked at Crusty. Crusty looked as if he was having stomach problems; his face was pinched. Al-Asad looked calm and maybe a touch eager.

“Third Company advisors, you will accompany the main assault force to the rally point, which is the village of Qalat. All of you will be suited and remain behind with our groundcars as a reserve.”

The colonel looked at Mike. “First Company will be the main effort. You will assault on foot, unsuited, through the valley toward the hilltop fortification in the village of Kanaghat. Your objective is to secure the fortress using any means available.

“Third Company advisors, this is where you may come in. If we are heavily engaged, you are to bring the heavy weapons on the groundcars up the valley to support by fire upon request. Your group will be suited, and if things really go in the pot, we will call upon you to help out.”

The colonel looked at Crusty again. He tilted his head forward, his eyebrows raised. “Roger?”

Crusty answered, “Check, sir.”

“OK, Second Company.” He looked at Paul. Paul felt a shock go through his whole body—this was serious stuff. “You are to assault from Qalat on foot, unsuited, along the mountain ridge to the east. Your objective is to flank the hilltop fortress in Kanaghat.”

On the map in Paul’s visual, a red arrow tracked across the face of the mountain ridge in the east of the valley. The ridge to the west was far too steep to assault across. The eastern ridge that Paul and his boys were to assault along looked bad enough. Paul shot a look at Z. He looked worried.

The colonel continued, “Remember, Paul, this is the Juneaus’ gig. They need to fight and win this battle—you are there primarily as my eyes and ears and to lend a hand when needed.” He smiled a slight smile. “Looks like your path in sucks. Stay frosty.”

Paul chuckled a little to himself. The colonel always said that when things were looking hairy.

“The command group—meaning Colonel Fasi, myself, and the air-control element—will accompany the main effort, First Company.” The colonel looked at Fox and his newbie assistant, Butter. “You guys ready for this?”

Fox nodded. Butter looked like his eyes were going to bug out.

“Roger, sir,” Fox answered. “Do you want us to brief you on our air-control plan now or after the brief?”

The colonel visibly weighed his options, looking in the air and moving his head from side to side. “No, I’ll work out the details with you after this. Suffice it to say that I expect that we will have air cover over the length of this operation.”

Fox nodded. “Roger, sir.”

“So, everyone knows what they’re doing? This is the time for questions.” The colonel looked around his little teams for questions and glanced at men in return.

“First Company team, you up?” The colonel looked at Mike’s group.

Crest looked impassive; he wore an inscrutable expression above his moustache. He had a near-cig jammed in the corner of his mouth. Stork looked off into the distance, mentally tallying his medical supplies. Mike, with some Pathan tobacco in his lip, looked straight at the colonel, spat, and answered, “Sir, we are up. After the briefback, I’d like to put out medevac procedures, the CCP, and address food and ammo concerns.” Mike was standing straight up, with his thumbs in his trousers. He rocked slightly in a way that said he was ready to spring into action—right fuckin’ now.

The colonel made a thumbs-up gesture. “Roger.”

“Second Company team, you up?”

It was Paul’s turn. “Roger, sir. From the imagery, it looks like my guys will have to move in file along the goat path from Qalat—seems straightforward, but we may get backed up if there are fires to the front or sides. If so, we’ll have to slow to deal with the problem.”

“Check, Paul. If you run into problems, call me.”

“Roger, sir.” Paul felt weightless, ready. He would be all over Z-man after the brief to check his shit.

The colonel made the sharp thumbs-up gesture again. “Third Company team, you up?”

Crusty spoke up. “Sir, who exactly will be staying back at the ORP with me?”

Mike broke in. “I’ll get with you on the specifics after the brief. We’re taking some mechanics with us; you’ll be plussed up.”

“Roger, Mike. So from what I understand, if you guys run into some shit, we bring the groundcars up, suited, right?”

The colonel answered, “Roger, Crusty. If I need you, I will call. If you guys bring up the groundcars, I may have some of you dismount and fight in suits, if necessary.” Crusty looked confused. “Look, Crusty, like I said, the whole point to this exercise is to have the Juneaus do this, with minimal help from us. Got it?”

Crusty, still looking a little lost, said, “Roger, sir.”

Paul saw Mike looking over at him. If he didn’t miss his guess, Mike would be spending a considerable portion of the evening unfucking Crusty and his crew.

The events of the next day would end up proving Paul right. But that was for the future.

Mike proceeded to give his team sergeant brief, and the meeting broke up. Paul started to walk back to his cot in the crater.

“Hey, Paul, hold up.” It was the colonel.

“Yes, sir?” Paul felt wrung out, but he knew he still had a lot to do before tomorrow’s attack.

“Hey, Paul, are you guys ready for tomorrow? I know I asked you at the brief.” The colonel’s eyes were questioning, searching.

“Sir, I’m about to look Z over. One thing I’m big on is making sure we don’t load too heavy; it looks like a hell of a walk tomorrow.”

The colonel shook his head, remembering Goat Piss Hill. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Medics usually carried more supplies than a line trooper. The more he thought about it, the less confident he was that Z could make the climb without the suit to help him. Paul had an idea.

“I’m thinking of splitting some of Z’s load up. I think I’ll carry some of his medical shit so that we are both carrying the same amount of stuff.”

“All right, your call. Just make sure you have enough ammo. I think we’re going to be doing some heavy stuff tomorrow.” Paul could hear the barely restrained excitement and tension in the colonel’s voice.

“Roger, sir.” Paul pulled out a Fortunate. He offered one to the colonel, who gladly took it.

On the dawn of battle, the men stood there, silently pulling on their near-cigs.

The next morning, Paul woke up as the men around him started to stir. His halo clock said it was 0436 local; he had had it set to chime at 0445. He waited a little before pulling the poncho from his face.

He wanted some coffee, bad. He peeked out the edge of his comfy poncho into the starlight-diffused surroundings in the camp. It looked cold. Fuck this, he thought. He stretched out and wiggled his toes. As usual in the field, he had his complete uniform on, with the exception of his boots. He could have those on in a flash, he knew. Sleeping in them, when necessary, made him miserable.

He sat up, feeling a rush of cold air. Paul had gotten a muffin hat off of his Juneaus a couple of days earlier. He pulled its warmth over his head and civvy halo. The thing looked funny, but after trying it out, Paul thought it was the greatest hat ever.

His helmet, with the mil-grade halo inside, lay on his cot. So did his rifle. His M3-a1, the 9.5 mm pistol, was in his hand. He always slept with it right next to his paw so that he could use it as the need arose. Paul slid the pistol into his undress holster on his hip.

Paul threw the poncho off and crumpled it behind him on the cot. He slid his feet into his boots and fastened them. Paul would be ready for the day as soon as he scrounged some coffee.

Fuck, he thought. I’m going into a battalion-scale assault today, unsuited. Yeah, he had trauma-weave cams on, which were nothing to sneeze at, but getting shot without a suit on would really frickin’ hurt. This type of fighting was the colonel’s world, and Paul didn’t envy him it any.

He reached into his sleeve pocket for the Fortunates. He lit a near-cig up with his cheapo Juneau-produced lighter. He told himself to remember to bring two packs today and an extra lighter. His rig was full, but he’d find the space. There was a whole carton of Fortunates in his field pack, so his supply was good. Being without near-cigs distressed Paul almost as much as being without bullets.

The colonel was standing by the bumper of a groundcar, smoking like a chimney. In his hand was a cup of joe. Aha, thought Paul, there is the guy who knows where to score the coffee.

Paul stood up and climbed out of the crater. He was quite a sight after a week and a half in the Baradna Valley. Paul had a decent beard growing, his cams were stained and dusty, and his head was topped off by the muffin hat. He looked an awful lot like a Juneau soldier, except for the boots and cams.

The colonel looked at him and took a sip. “Want some, Paul?” He looked back over the firebase, which was slowly coming to life.

Paul walked over. The colonel offered him his cup, which was a nifty, foldable neoplas job. The colonel always had the niftiest toys. Of course, Paul also had such a cup; the colonel had gotten him one from somewhere back on Canton.

Paul took the cup, took a sip, and handed it back. Just that one sip of coffee brought his nonhalo senses to life. He thanked the colonel and took a drag off the Fortunate. They stood in silence for a while. Mike came sauntering up.

“Hey, guys, there’s more coffee in the mechanics’ tent.”

Paul took off and grabbed some, while the colonel and Mike talked shop.

An hour later, Paul watched as the Juneaus lined up their vehicles in order of march. First Company would lead, command was in the center, and Second Company had trail. Behind Third Battalion would come a company-sized force of provincial police, who were tagging along for the show. The force’s three groundcars would ride with the command element in the center.

Paul sipped his coffee. Z-man was the driver, so he was busy lining up the truck. Half an hour earlier, Paul had done the final inspection on Z and his gear; they both were ready to rock.

At 0600, the assault force would leave Firebase Atarab, en route first to the village of Hesar and then to Qalat. From what the Juneaus were saying, the party could start at any time after Hesar, so it promised to be an eventful trip.

The colonel was talking with Colonel Fasi; they looked to be unfuckin’ some last minute details.

With a sigh, Paul walked over to his cot, where his combat rig and assault pack were waiting. He put them on. It was time to go.

A couple of jostling hours later, along “roads” that looked more like goat paths, the Battalion reached the outskirts of Hesar.

Paul had seen some spectacular views on the way in. This country was starkly beautiful. If it wasn’t for the omnipresent dissident threat, the area could have made some money on tourism, it seemed to Paul.

Of course, they would have to spend some money on roads, first. At one point, the vehicles had had to straddle a yawning gulf that threatened to swallow the groundcars; at another point they had had to ford the swollen Hesar Creek, a tributary of the Baradna.

As they reached Hesar, the colonel noticed something odd. Mule trains loaded with civilians were headed in the opposite direction from the convoy—away from Kanaghat, about ten klicks ahead. Z-man was driving, the colonel
was in the command position, a mechanic was along for the ride, and Paul was gunning. The colonel came over the halo vehicle comms.

“Hey, Paul, you see any MAMs in those wagon trains?”

Paul had to answer back that he hadn’t seen any military-age males.

“Huh,” said the colonel, “they must be waiting for us up ahead.”

Paul feared he was right.

On they pressed through the small town of Hesar. The village looked as if it were carved out of solid rock. It spanned the Hesar Creek, and there was a prominent, narrow bridge in the center of town. Paul thought it fortunate that the people of Hesar didn’t appear to be blatantly hostile; it would be a pure bitch to get the battalion over that bridge, otherwise. Because of the deep chasm that swept through the town, Paul had the impression that the place was on stilts, in this narrow gorge with the frothing Hesar.