“Indigenous personnel, the settlers. Amateur soldiers in some kind of civil defense militia. Some pretty smart people, damn fine civilians, but they have no business—”
“Anyway,” interrupted Childress, “the raiders are reportedly here.” He indicated a broad valley between two mountain ranges. “The medium panzer battalion and two light infantry battalions have this end closed off.” He ran his finger across the broad end of the valley. “And the heavy panzer company is backing them up, deployed with HHC here.” He stuck his finger at a point about five klicks down the valley from the previous line.
Master Sergeant Sevin cleared his throat. “Right now a light infantry battalion at the top of the valley is working its way down.” He pointed at the area where the valley began. “They’re stopped now, after making contact with raider outposts. Our job is to give them fire support so they can continue down the valley and push the raiders into the medium panzer battalion. It’s eighty klicks of tough fighting from start to finish, on narrow terrain down a valley. I figure it’ll take us two weeks.”
“Why so long?”
“The infantry stays on foot, clearing every nook and cranny. That whole valley could be one big ambush, so it’ll be slow going.”
“Why can’t the medium panzers and their supporting infantry push up from the wider end?”
“Up hill is no way to fight. Maybe after we push far enough the heavy panzers can get dropped in behind us. But don’t hold your breath. The medium panzers stopped where they did because the terrain was too tight for them and too easily defended. See these little draws between the mountains on each side and the river bottom?”
Galen nodded.
“Each of those draws could be a protected firing position.”
“But we’re going into a worse area than the lower end of the valley,” said Tad.
“Somebody put a lot of thought into this. When you go into a fight where you know you’ll lose some armor, you don’t send your most expensive panzers.” Sevin paused, rubbed the back of his neck with both hands. “In that terrain long shots will be impossible so our light lasers are more than adequate for the job. Also considering the close quarters and the quality of the raider’s anti-armor rockets, the Hornet’s thin armor is no more vulnerable than a Hercules’ heavy armor. The Hornet’s mobility makes it the best and most survivable tank for this job.” He paused and looked down. “And remember, survival isn’t guaranteed in your contract.”
The ship started moving, the acceleration causing seven tenths of normal Earth gravity. Galen liked the slower speed and the sense of greater agility and strength that came with point seven G instead of the full G.
A ship’s steward came by. “Five coffees, gentlemen.”
Sevin took a sip and said, “Chief Raper, let me show you a neat trick.” He took out an auto-injector, removed the protective cap and pointed the needle end at his coffee. Then, very carefully, he used the edge of his thumbnail to press on the edge of the tip of the injector. The needle shot out and squirted an amber fluid into the coffee and Sevin used the expended injector body to stir the coffee.
“This will dull your mind enough so you don’t get jump space syndrome. It’ll drug you for three hours but it won’t knock you out.”
Galen gave Tad a nasty look. Tad shrugged and looked away.
“Here, have my coffee.” Sevin traded cups with Galen and then popped an injector into that cup. He stirred it, took a sip and smiled.
Galen sipped his drugged coffee. It tasted bitter but soon his tongue was numb. At first the back of his neck felt hot but soon it was numb as well. He felt good, suspended and uninhibited. The zero-G at the turnaround point didn’t bother him at all. After gravity returned, Sevin put another dose of sedative in his empty coffee cup and drank it straight and then said, “Gentlemen, this is going to be some fight.”
“Shouldn’t be so bad,” said Dawson. “We have the panzer grenadiers with us. They can give decent fire support with their tracks.”
“They can help close out the softer objectives, but we’ll get the tough jobs, the ones requiring laser cannons.” Sevin’s speech was slurred.
“We’ve seen worse. We’ve fought the Mosh,” said Dawson.
Childress yawned and Dawson got up to visit the bathroom. Tad and Galen listened.
Sevin began his story, “So there I was, out there by myself with no commo and out of ammo. But a knife doesn’t run out of ammo. I hid and waited. I knew some Mosh would come looking for me. I waited in a gully and piled Mosh bodies up for concealment. Damn they stank. I found a frag on one of them, a delay fuse grenade. A nasty little Mosh grenade. You know, the kind that throws out glass instead of metal fragments? Damned Mosh sons-of-bitches…”
Sevin’s head drooped backward and then he sat up and reached for another injector. Tad deftly snatched it from him. Sevin didn’t notice and simply sipped his fresh cup of un-drugged coffee.
“So there I was at the observation post, knee-deep in grenade pins…” He laid his head on the table and continued to mumble, finally drifting into sleep or unconsciousness. Galen couldn’t tell.
Tad turned to Galen, “Promise me this: you’ll never drink more than one of these injectors at a time.”
“Sure, bro. Not a problem.” Galen grinned and started to laugh.
The ship’s captain announced over the intercom, “Zero-G in five minutes.”
Tad cleared the coffee trash from the table and dumped it in the steward’s cart. The captain announced jump in five minutes. Galen wasn’t even aware of the loss of gravity. The jump came. The ride through the jump point gave Galen a sensation of flashing colors and mild nausea, but it was nothing like his first jump, nothing like near-insanity caused by eternal existence as mere consciousness.
Galen’s sedative wore off before the turnaround point. He thought about another dose but remembered his promise to Tad. Sevin’s double dose kept him quiet right up to debarkation time. Galen helped Childress put the company commander in his tank.
Chapter Sixteen
The boats landed before dawn on a wide field in the river bottom at the high end of the valley. The armored vehicles of the task force drove off the boats and parked in a tight circle, leaving less than five meters between the vehicles. Two infantry carriers were parked between each tank. Captain Rothschild’s command vehicle was parked in the center of the circle with a mess tent on one side and a shower tent on the other.
The light infantry battalion commander—a Major—met with the task force commander and the three company commanders, two other Master Sergeants besides Sevin, for six hours. They sat in a canvas shelter attached to the back of the command vehicle. During that time Galen’s platoon ate, performed maintenance checks on the vehicles, took showers and napped. Galen lay on his back on the flat rear deck of his tank and peered at the puffy white clouds in the blue sky for nearly an hour. Warmth from the fusion engine passed through its heat sinks and rose through the vent grills and warmed his back. The cool air was fresh and felt good in his lungs. The warm sun had burned the dew from the waist-high grass. Orange butterflies occasionally flew over him. The scent of honeysuckle came and went, mixed with the scent of freshly torn sod dug up by the tracks of the armored vehicles.
“Chiefs, meeting!” Master Sergeant Sevin stood on the turret of his tank.
Galen sat up and put on his boots. He considered leaving his pistol belt and rifle but remembered he was deployed on a contract. He dug around in the stowage compartment behind his seat and found his ground troop helmet and put it on his head. It was not nearly as much protection as a combat suit but not nearly as encumbering either.