“Leave him lay, he ain’t going nowhere. Let’s go get the next dumbass.”
Tad said, “Chief, I’m a tanker. Should I get control of this machine?’
“Suit yourself, dumbass. Get that driver out. Haas, you drive. How long before you can have it up and running?”
“Two minutes,” said Tad as he put on the helmet and flak vest. He climbed into the turret and examined the heat gauge, “Make that twenty seconds. I’ll be ready in twenty seconds.”
The skimmers arrived. They stayed at maximum range, scoring hit after hit on the tank closest to them. The Wasp’s armor collapsed, melted in on itself from the heat of the skimmer’s laser cannon fire. The skimmers eased forward thirty meters and started taking apart the next tank.
The commander of their next victim was a good shot. It was Lance Sergeant Ching. He fired both his heavy machine guns and his laser cannon, hitting a skimmer. The light vehicle was smashed and burst into flames. All three mercenaries on board were killed instantly. The destroyed skimmer listed to its side and then cartwheeled, sent skittering by the force of the blows it took. The other two skimmers backed off, just out of range of the expert gunner.
Ching’s tactical status screen showed that he was down to four tanks. He considered his situation and made a decision. “Break contact, men. This is just a distraction; we must get to our objective. Disengage and follow me.” His driver turned west and shoved the accelerator pedal to the floor. A rocket fired by a mercenary hit the tank square in the back, followed by two flamer shots. Ching’s tank lurched but then continued to accelerate. Three tanks followed him. He didn’t know the last one was commanded by Tad.
Mortinson and his companions were still flaming a tank, catching it before it could get away. It behaved much like the first one, except it took longer to shut down. A soldier on the firing line shot a rocket at the overheated Wasp, hitting it on the right side of the turret. The force of the blow caused the turret lift off, spinning slowly in the air to land on its base beside the tank. Peering into the cupola view port, Galen saw not an angry rebel but a bloody mess instead. The tank commander’s smashed face was pressed by the fall into the view port. The enemy stared at Galen with dull, lifeless eyes.
“Too much for you, dumbass?”
Galen said, “I’ll be okay. So what’s the status? Battle over?”
“For us, yes. Two of them Hornets got away, followed by Tad. The mechanized infantry platoon is waiting for them in Chicago. We did enough damage to them dumbasses; third platoon should be able to fix the rest of them. Also the two skimmers are chasing them, taking pop shots.”
“Chicago?”
“Oh, that’s what we call Chon Gok Op, the port town where this river meets the sea. Revolting slaves wanted to take it so the Mandarin army would have to come in from the other direction. Would have taken them about a month longer; by then this whole area would have been a rebellious district, a real armed camp of rebel militants.”
“Why so?” asked Galen.
“Because, dumbass, these people are repressed. Give them even the faintest glimmer of hope, show them you can actually last more than a couple of weeks defying the government, and they’ll support you to the death.”
The company commander rode up in his skimmer. He leaped out just before it stopped moving, causing him to jog up to Mortinson and Galen. The driver parked the vehicle and leaned back in the seat. The exhausted laser cannon gunner slumped over his weapon but kept his eyes open.
“Morning, Gentlemen.”
“Good morning, sir.” Galen and Mortinson gave the Lieutenant a proper hand salute and held it until the officer returned the gesture.
“Sniper check? Means the area is secure. What’s your ACE, Chief?”
“Fourteen broke dicks who’ll heal and return to duty. Two broke dicks who’ll have to find another line of work. Two troops turned into dog meat.”
“Damn I hate losing troops.” The officer’s face went slack for a moment.
Galen decided to walk off and check his squad. He heard the Chief and the Lieutenant continue their conversation, the words fading as he got further away.
Galen chose a flat spot of grass beside the road. “Second squad, over here!”
Seven troops ambled up.
“Who we missing?”
“Trooper Kronenberger from first team. Dead,” said Lotus.
“Is that all? I’m missing two bodies.”
“Tushar from third team,” said Corporal Clay. “He’s injured but he’ll return to duty, just got hit in the guts by fragments from a rocket. He’s with the medics.”
“Okay, we’re lucky. We just fought a whole tank company. The platoon lost half its strength. Let’s get some rest while we’re waiting for the Chief to think up some more stupid things to do.” Galen stretched out on the ground and went right to sleep.
“Sergeant Raper.”
Galen heard the voice but closed his eyes tighter. Maybe the pest would go away.
“Wake up. We got stand-to in twenty minutes.”
“Okay Lotus, I’m tired. What time is it?”
“Nine thirty. Stand-to is at ten. The rest of the squad is up and getting ready. This is the fourth time I tried to wake you.”
“Thanks. You’re a good leader, Corporal Lotus,” Galen sat up and rubbed his eyes. It was muggy down by the river. The bright sun was burning away the last of the morning fog. The damaged tanks lay strewn about the sides of the road. The troops around Galen were washing their faces and hands in the river and using electric razors to shave. Galen decided to do the same.
His face was burned, like sunburn, except for where the goggles had protected the skin around his eyes from the flamer’s heat. His lips were dry and chapped and the front of his uniform was singed. His hair and his uniform were stiff with the dried blood from the dead tanker he pulled from a wreck. Galen felt and looked and smelled awful, but so did the rest of the troops. He brushed most of the filth from his coveralls by hand and then waded waist-deep into the river and rinsed his face, hair and hands. After stretching to loosen his sore muscles, he shaved his beard and cleaned his rifle.
“Sergeants, meeting,” called Mortinson.
Galen wandered over to where Spike, Tad and Haas were waiting to meet with the Chief.
“You all sleep well?”
“No.”
“Good. We got more work ahead of us. The whole company is coming out here for formation so the commander can brief us. TRAINS is coming out to collect up our weapons and issue tranquillizer rifles. Don’t worry, you’ll keep your side arms and the troops will also get pistols. But the side arms are backup weapons only.”
“What’s going on?” asked Galen.
“Something different, that’s all I know. The commander will fill us in on the details of the mission. Get your troops ready for the change.”
“Another question: we lost half our strength last night. Where did all these other troops come from?” asked Galen.
“We reconstituted. If you didn’t sleep so hard, you’d know that.”
“I mean, who are the new troops and where did they come from?”
“Schooling. Look, dumbass, the primary mission of this battalion is to get you snappers ready to go out into the fleet. Half your time is spent in the field, half in the schools. Three months in the field, three months in garrison training up to the next skill level.”
Galen felt confused.
Mortinson continued to explain, “You’re a Sergeant now. When you rotate back in to garrison, you go to the platoon leader’s course and they try to make a Chief or Lieutenant out of you. Then you come back out to the field and use what you learned for three months. Then you go back in and get more training, where they get you ready for your assignment out in the fleet. Since you’re an Academy graduate, your last three months on Mandarin will probably be spent getting trained for the type of tank platoon you’ll be assigned to command. This make sense to you?”