Elemental (37 page)

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Authors: Steven Savile

BOOK: Elemental
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The Placidan troops were in a rough circle of a dozen bunkers connected by trenches. In the center of the encampment were four 15-cm conventional howitzers aiming toward the Spine from sandbagged revetments. The trenches were shallow and didn't have overhead cover; ammunition trucks were parked beside the guns without even the slight protection of a layer of sandbags.
According to the briefing materials, the firebase also had two calliopes whose task was to destroy incoming shells and missiles. Those the Placidan government bought had eight barrels each, arranged in superimposed rows of four.
Buntz couldn't see the weapons on his display. That meant they'd been dug in to be safe from direct fire; the only decision the Placidan commander'd made that he approved of. Two calliopes weren't nearly enough to protect a battalion against the kind of firepower a Brotherhood commando had available, though.
The combat cars of 3d Platoon, G Company, were laagered half a klick south of the Government firebase. The plains had enough contour that the units were out of direct sight of one another. That wouldn't necessarily prevent Placidans from pointing their slugthrowers up in the air and raining projectiles down on the Slammers, but at least it kept them from deliberately shooting at their mercenary allies.
Buntz's pickup careted movement on the foothills of the Spine to the north. “Helmet,” he said, enabling the voice-activated controls. “Center three-five-oh degrees, up sixteen.”
The magnified image showed the snouts of three air-cushion vehicles easing to the edge of the evergreen shrubs on the ridge nearly twenty kilometers north of the Government firebase. One was a large armored personnel carrier; it could carry fifteen fully-armed troops plus its driver and a gunner in the cupola forward. The APC's tribarrel was identical to the weapons on the Slammers' combat cars, a Gatling gun that fired jets of copper plasma at a rate of five hundred rounds per minute.
The other two vehicles were tank destroyers. They used the same chassis as the APC, but each carried a single 9-cm high-intensity powergun in a fixed axial mount—the only way so light a vehicle could handle the big gun's recoil. At moderate range—up to five klicks or so—a 9-cm bolt could penetrate
Herod's
turret, and it'd be effective against a combat car at
any
distance.
“Saddle up, trooper,” Buntz said softly to Lahti as he dropped down into the fighting compartment. “Don't crank her till I tell you, but we're not going to have to wait till noon after all. They're taking the bait.”
The combat cars didn't have a direct view of the foothills, but like Buntz they'd raised a sensor pickup; theirs was on a pole mast extended from Lieutenant Rennie's command car. A siren wound from the laager; then a trooper shot off a pair of red flare clusters. Rennie was warning the Government battalion—they couldn't be expected to keep a proper radio watch—but Buntz knew that Platoon G3's main task was to hold the Brotherhood's attention. Flares were a good way to do that.
The Government artillerymen ran to their howitzers from open-sided tents where they'd been dozing or throwing dice. Several automatic weapons began to fire from the bunkers. One was on the western side of the compound and had no better target than the waving grass. The guns shooting northward were pointed in the right direction, but the slugs would fall about fifteen kilometers short.
The Brotherhood tank destroyers fired, one and then the other. An ammunition truck in the compound blew up in an orange flash. The explosion dismounted the nearest howitzer and scattered the sandbag revetments of the other three, not that they'd been much use anyway. A column of yellow-brown dirt lifted, mushroomed a hundred meters in the air, and rained grit and pebbles down onto the whole firebase.
The second 9-cm bolt lashed the crest of the rise that sheltered the combat cars. Grass caught fire and glass fused from silica in the soil sprayed in all directions. Buntz nodded approval. The Brotherhood gunner couldn't have expected to hit the cars, but he was warning them to keep under cover.
Brotherhood APCs slid out of the shelter of the trees and onto the grasslands below. They moved in companies of four vehicles each, two east of the firebase and two more to the west. They weren't advancing toward the Government position but instead were flanking it by more than five kilometers to either side.
The sound of the explosion reached
Herod
, dulled by distance. A little dirt shivered from the side of the swale. Twenty klicks is a hell of a long way away, even for an ammo truck blowing up.
The tank destroyers fired again, saturated cyan flashes that Buntz's display dimmed to save his eyes. Their target was out of his present magnified field of view, a mistake.
“Full field, Quadrant Four,” Buntz said, and the lower left corner of his visor showed the original 270° display. A bunker had collapsed in a cloud of dust, though without a noticeable secondary explosion, and there was a new fire just north of the combat cars. The cars' tribarrels wouldn't be effective against even the tank destroyers' light armor at this range, but the enemy commander wasn't taking any chances. The Brotherhood was a good outfit, no mistake.
Eight more vehicles left the hills now that the advanced companies had spread to screen them. Pairs of mortar carriers with pairs of APCs for security followed each flanking element. The range of Brotherhood automatic mortars was about ten klicks, depending on what shell they were firing. It wouldn't be any time before they were in position around the firebase.
Rennie's combat cars were moving southward, keeping under cover. Running, if you wanted to call it that.
The Brotherhood APCs were amazingly fast, seventy kph cross-country. They couldn't fight the combat cars head-on, but they wouldn't try to. They obviously intended to surround the Slammers platoon and disgorge their infantry in three-man buzzbomb teams. Once the infantry got into position, and with the tank destroyers on overwatch to limit the cars' movement, the Brotherhood could force Lieutenant Rennie to surrender without a shot.
One of the Government howitzers fired. The guns could reach the Brotherhood vehicles in the hills, but this round landed well short. A red flash and a spurt of sooty black smoke indicated that the bursting charge was TNT.
The gunners didn't get a chance to refine their aim. A 9-cm bolt struck the gun tube squarely at the trunnions, throwing the front half a dozen meters. The white blaze of burning steel ignited hydraulic fluid in the compensator, the rubber tires, and the hair and uniforms of the crew. A moment later propellant charges stacked behind the gun went off in something between an explosion and a very fierce fire.
Two howitzers were more or less undamaged, but their crews had abandoned them. Another bunker collapsed—a third. Buntz hadn't noticed the second being hit, but a pall of dust was still settling over it. Government soldiers started to leave the remaining bunkers and huddle in the connecting trenches.
Flashes and spurts of white smoke at four points around the firebase indicated that the mortars had opened fire simultaneously. They were so far away that the bombardment seemed to be happening in silence. That wasn't what Buntz was used to, which made him feel funny. Different generally meant bad to a soldier, or anybody else in a risky business.
The tank destroyers fired again. One bolt blew in the back of a bunker; the other ignited a stand of brushwood ahead of the combat cars. That Brotherhood gunner was trying to keep Rennie off-balance, taking his attention off the real threat: the APCs and their infantry, which in a matter of minutes would have the cars surrounded.
Buntz figured it was time. “Lahti, fire 'em up,” he said. He switched on his radios, then unplugged the lead from his helmet and let the coil of glass fiber spring back to the take-up reel on the sensor. The hollow
stoonk-k-k
of the mortars launching finally reached him, an unmistakable sound even when the breeze sighing through the tree branches almost smothered it.
The hatch cover swiveled closed over Buntz as
Herod's
eight drive
fans spun. Lahti kept the blades in fine pitch to build speed rapidly, slicing the air but not driving it yet.
“Lamplight elements, move to start position,” Buntz ordered. That was being a bit formal since the Lamplight call sign covered only
Herod
and
Hole Card
, but you learned to do things by rote in combat. A firefight's no place for thinking. You operated by habit and reflex; if those failed, the other fellow killed you.
The fan note deepened.
Herod
vibrated fiercely, spewing a sheet of grit from beneath her skirts. She didn't move forward; it takes time for thrust to balance a tank's 170 tons.
A calliope—only one—ripped the sky with a jet of 2-cm bolts. The burst lasted only for an eyeblink, but a mortar shell detonated at its touch. The gun was concealed, but Buntz knew the crew was slewing it to bear on a second of the incoming rounds before it landed.
They didn't succeed; proximity fuses exploded the three remaining shells a meter in the air. Fragments sleeted across the compound. Because mortars are low pressure, their shell casings can be much thinner than those of conventional artillery; that leaves room for larger bursting charges. The blasts flattened all the structures that'd survived the ammo truck blowing up. One of the shredded tents ignited a few moments later.
Herod
's fans finally bit deeply enough to start the tank climbing up the end of the gully. Buntz had a panoramic view on his main screen. He'd already careted all the Brotherhood vehicles either white—
Herod
's targets—or orange, for
Hole Card
. That way both tanks wouldn't fire at the same vehicle and possibly allow another to escape.
Buntz's smaller targeting display was locked on where the right-hand Brotherhood tank destroyer would appear when
Herod
reached firing position.
Hole Card
would take the other tank destroyer, the only one visible to it because of a freakishly tall tree growing from the grassland north of its position.
“
Top, I'm on!
” shouted Cabell in
Hole Card
on the unit frequency. As Cabell spoke, Buntz's orange pipper slid onto the rounded bow of a
tank destroyer. The magnified image rocked as the Brotherhood vehicle sent another plasma bolt into the Government encampment.
“Fire!” Buntz said, mashing the firing pedal with his boot.
Herod
jolted backward from the recoil of the tiny thermonuclear explosion; downrange, the tank destroyer vanished in a fireball.
Hole Card
's target was gone also. Shrubbery was burning in semicircles around the gutted wreckage, and a square meter of deck plating twitched as it fell like a wounded goose. It could've come from either Brotherhood vehicle, so complete was the destruction.
There was a squeal as Cabell swung
Hole Card
's turret to bear on the plains below. Buntz twitched
Herod
's main gun only a few mils to the left and triggered it again.
The APC in the foothills was probably the command vehicle overseeing the whole battle. The Brotherhood driver slammed into reverse when the tank destroyers exploded to either side of him, but he didn't have enough time to reach cover before
Herod
's 20-cm bolt caught the APC squarely. Even from twenty kilometers away, the slug of ionized copper was devastating. The fires lit by the burning vehicles merged into a blaze of gathering intensity.
Now for the real work. “Lahti, haul us forward a couple meters, get us onto the forward slope!” Buntz ordered. The main gun could depress only 5°, so any Brotherhood vehicles that reached the base of the rise the tanks were on would otherwise be in a dead zone.
They shouldn't get that close, of course, but the APCs were very fast. Buntz hadn't made platoon sergeant by gambling when he didn't need to.
The Brotherhood troops on the plains didn't realize—most of them, at least—that their support elements had been destroyed. The mortar crews had launched single rounds initially to test the Placidan defenses. When those proved hopelessly meager, the mortarmen followed up with a Battery Six, six rounds from each tube as quickly as the automatic loaders could cycle.
The calliope didn't make even a token effort to meet the incoming catastrophe;
the early blasts must've knocked it out. The twenty-four shells were launched on slightly different trajectories so that all reached the target within a fraction of a same instant. Their explosions covered the interior of the compound as suddenly and completely as flame flashes across a pool of gasoline.
The lead APC in the western flanking element glared cyan; then the bow plate and engine compartment tilted inward into the gap vaporized by
Hole Card
's main gun. As Lahti shifted
Herod
, Buntz settled his pipper on the nearest target of the eastern element, locked the stabilizer, and rolled his foot forward on the firing pedal.
Recoil made
Herod
stagger as though she'd hit a boulder. The turret was filling with a gray haze as the breech opened for fresh rounds. The bore purging system didn't get
quite
all of the breakdown products of the matrix which held copper atoms in alignment. Filters kept the gases out of Buntz's lungs, but his eyes watered and the skin on the back of his hands prickled.

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