Issue In Doubt (9 page)

“Orndoff, report!” No answer. Damn! Mackie didn’t have time to worry about Orndoff now, he had to place heavy, accurate fire on the positions on the ridge top.

In moments, it sounded like most of third platoon had reached the cleared area. Even the gun teams had moved up to add their heavier fire. The return fire wasn’t as heavy as it had been; the Marines’ fire must have had an effect on the aggressor force. But the flash-bangs showing mortar strikes were coming closer.

“Fire and maneuver individually within fire teams, twenty meters!” Martin ordered.

“Fire team leaders, advance your men one at a time!” was the order from the squad leaders.

“Zion, go ten meters,” Mackie said. As soon as Zion dropped into a firing position ten meters farther up the slope, Mackie called out, “Orndoff!” but got no reply. He jumped up himself and sprinted a zigzag to drop down a few meters from Zion, and resume firing. “Zion, go ten!” This time, when Zion hit the deck, Mackie didn’t call for Orndoff, but jumped up and ran forward. In seconds, everyone in third platoon who was still combat effective was on line, about thirty meters away from the ridgeline positions.

Martin gave the order. “Third platoon, charge!”

The Marines surged to their feet and sped uphill, firing as they went.

There was a bunker almost directly in front of Mackie. He angled his run to reach the bunker just at the side of its embrasure, firing his automatic rifle at the opening. He reached the bunker, slammed his back against its front next to the embrasure, and jerked a flash-bang simulated grenade from his webbing. He held it for a couple of seconds after pulling its pin, then threw the flash-bang inside as hard as he could. After the simulated grenade went off, Mackie spun around the side of the bunker and jumped into a communications trench behind it. He quickly looked to both sides, but only saw other Marines from third platoon in it.

He looked at the bunker he’d just passed with surprise—fire was still coming out of its front. He readied another flash-bang grenade and threw it hard into the bunker’s entrance.

“With me!” he shouted at Zion, and followed the flash-bang as soon as it went off.

“What the. . .?” Mackie expected to find bodies, frozen in their body armor. Instead, he found a rifle set on a robotic shooter-mount, still firing downslope. Two other rifles had been knocked off their robots. There were no bodies. He knocked the firing rifle off its mount, and the bunker went quiet. He reported what he’d found to Adriance, who reported to Martin what Mackie had found.

“Third platoon, cease fire!” Martin’s voice came over the platoon net. “Cease fire!”

The platoon stopped firing, but most of the defensive positions continued firing downslope.

“Squad leaders, have your fire teams check those bunkers.”

In moments, the firing stopped all along the line as the Marines disconnected the weapons inside the bunkers from their robot mounts.

“Does anybody see an aggressor anywhere?” Martin asked. Nobody answered that they did. “Everybody, hold your position. And don’t fire unless you actually see somebody. Squad leaders, put your people in defensive positions. And report!”

“First squad, report,” Corporal Adriance said.

“First fire team, I’m missing Orndoff.”

“Second fire team, all present.”

“Third fire team, Kuchneister’s down,” Corporal Button reported.

“First squad, we have one down and one missing,” Adriance reported to Martin.

“Who’s missing?” Martin asked after second and third squads gave their reports.

“Orndoff.”

“Where’s Orndoff? Has anybody seen Orndoff?” Martin asked over the platoon net.

“He’s over here,” Corporal Thompson of third squad answered.

“What the hell’s he doing with you?” Martin asked, then without waiting for an answer, “Orndoff, get over where you belong!”

“Where’s that?” PFC Orndoff asked.

Mackie stood and waved. “Over here, numbnuts.”

Martin considered the situation. The platoon had lost four of its top leaders to a simulated artillery strike; he felt they were lucky to have lost only five more in the assault on the ridgeline. “Everybody, maintain your positions and watch outboard—not you, Orndoff,” he added when he saw Orndoff drop into the trench, “return to your squad. Everybody, be ready for a counterattack.”

“What happened to you?” Adriance demanded when Orndoff rejoined his fire team.

“I got hung up in a thorn bush,” Orndoff said defensively. “By the time I got loose, I didn’t know where Mackie and Zion were. So I went upslope until I found some Marines.”

“Third squad,” Mackie said, shaking his head.

Orndoff shrugged. “It was still the platoon.”

Adriance shook his head. “Well, you’re back. That’s better than some.” He looked down the slope to where PFC Thompson and four other members of the platoon lay frozen in their armor, awaiting release by the referees.

“Every squad, send a fire team to collect our casualties,” Martin said on the platoon net. “This was an automated position. There’s gotta be bad guys around here somewhere, so everybody be alert.”

It took five minutes to locate all the casualties and lug them, frozen in awkward positions, up to the trench line. During that time, Martin and Mausert discussed what to do next. When everybody was back in position, Martin spoke into the platoon net.

“Listen up! I don’t have any instructions on what we’re supposed to do after taking this position, but I don’t like where we are. The aggressors have to know that we’ve taken the ridge, and they know how it’s laid out. That gives them a hell of an advantage in a counterattack. So we aren’t going to be here when they come for us. I’m sending the squad leaders a map, showing where we’re going. We move out in four minutes. Bring our casualties. Get ready.”

“Fire team leaders up,” Adriance ordered. He was studying the new map by the time first squad’s three fire team leaders joined him. He projected the map onto their HUDs.

Mackie studied the map while Adriance explained Martin’s plan. “We’re setting an ambush to hit the counterattack from the flank.” A thick clump of trees a hundred meters to the northwest was highlighted, and squad positions were marked in it.

“Unless the aggressors come through the trees behind us,” Lance Corporal Mackie murmured.

“We do the best we can with what we’ve got,” Corporal Adriance said. “You got a problem with that?”

“No, Corporal. Just making an observation.”

Less than fifteen minutes later, third platoon was in position in the clump of trees. Adriance had passed on Mackie’s concern, and Martin adjusted his plan to have one fire team from each squad positioned to watch the rear approaches to the trees. The platoon sat in ambush for two hours before the call to stand down came from battalion headquarters. A referee came by to unlock the armor of the casualties, and lead the platoon back to India Company’s bivouac area.

The exercise wrapped up two days later, and the battalion forced marched along a winding, twenty kilometer route to the Marine base at Kanehoe Bay, where the Marines of Three/One were given temporary billeting.

Marine Corps Base Kaneohe Bay, Oahu, Hawaii, North American Union.

Early morning

The forced march from Bellows had ended about 0230 hours, and the Marines had immediately set to cleaning their weapons and gear, including the blank fire adapters and hit detectors. After they returned the training gear to the supply sergeants, they showered, shaved, and dressed in clean uniforms for morning formation, after which they were marched to a dining facility for their first hot meal since they left the
Oenida
to make the landing at Bellows.

Back in formation after chowing down, a very welcome liberty call was sounded—most of the Marines in the battalion had never been to Hawaii before, and were looking forward to visiting the beach at Waikiki, and the famed fleshpots of Hotel Street in Honolulu.

“Come on, Mackie, we’ve got liberty!” Lance Corporal Garcia said. He was dressed in civvies. So was Lance Corporal Cafferata; first squad’s three lance corporals usually pulled liberty together. Everybody had brought along a seabag with a dress uniform and civilian clothes. The seabags had been stored in the ship’s hold, and brought ashore to the temporary billets during the exercise.

Mackie shook his head. “Nah, I’ve got a paper due for my Marine Corps Institute course a couple of days after we get back to Pendleton. I should work on it.”

“What, more of that Napoleonic Wars crap?” Garcia asked.

“Little tin soldiers all in a row,” Cafferata said. “That’s all you need to put in a paper about the Napoleonic Wars.”

Garcia poked Cafferata’s shoulder. “Got that right, Marine! Stand in rows and bang away at each other.” He shook his head. “What a damn dumb way to fight a war.”

“Come on, man,” Mackie protested. “Infantry weapons back then were so inaccurate that you couldn’t count on hitting anything at more than fifty meters. Besides, the gunpowder they used kicked out so much smoke that you couldn’t see anything after two or three volleys. Standing in rows and banging away was the only way you had a chance of hitting anything.”

“Maybe so, but the Royal Marines used rifles,” Garcia said. “So did the U.S. Marines. No tin soldiers all in a row for the Marines!”

Mackie looked at Garcia. “Did you ever look at a parade formation? What’s that if not little tin soldiers all in a row?”

Cafferata guffawed at that, while Garcia said,

“Point to you.”

Cafferata slapped Mackie’s shoulder. “Come on, man. Let’s go have a few brews, check out some hula hula girls.”

Mackie looked at the books he’d packed in his hold-seabag, and the pad he was taking notes on. The paper only had to be a thousand words. He decided that he knew enough about the Napoleonic Wars to knock that out in a couple of hours. He stood.

“Give me a couple minutes to change. I want to try a real Hawaiian mai tai.”

Mackie never got the chance to write that paper. And it was a very long time before any of the survivors got to see that Amos Weaver movie.

Chapter Six

Supreme Military Headquarters, Bellevue, Sarpy County, Federal Zone, North American Union

The Joint Chiefs of Staff assembled VII Corps (reinforced) for the Troy mission, dubbed Operation Menelaus, and assigned Lieutenant General Joel H. Lyman to command it. The main body of the corps consisted of four Army divisions: combined infantry, armor, artillery, and air. The “reinforced” part was the First Marine Combat Force, which consisted of the First Marine Division, Second Marine Air Wing, and supporting elements. The First MCF’s commander was Lieutenant General Harold W. Bauer. The Marines were there to “kick in the door,” as such assaults are called, with the Army to follow close behind to do the bulk of whatever fighting there might be. The Navy’s transport vessels, designated Amphibious Ready Group 17, were to be escorted by the warships of Task Force 8, under the command of Rear Admiral James Avery. TF8 was built around two carriers, one with four atmospheric combat and support squadrons, and two space fighter squadrons, the other a fast attack carrier with two space fighter squadrons. Ten other warships; two cruisers, five destroyers, and three frigates provided the task force’s major firepower.

While the entire force was in space, Rear Admiral Avery was in command. Planetside, Lieutenant General Bauer was in command until VII Corps landed, at which time Lieutenant General Lyman would assume overall ground and air command.

Considering what the
Monticello
had found, or more importantly
not
found, in the vicinity of Troy, and what the Force Recon Marines had encountered planetside, the combined force was considered to be more than sufficient to deal with whatever might be there, the monstrously large ship that carried the original alien invasion force not withstanding. After all, the
Monticello
hadn’t seen that ship.

It was possible to covertly assign units to Operation Menelaus, but impossible to assemble and send off that large a force in secret. So as soon as the order to begin assembling the task force elements was issued, President Mills initiated a conference call to his counterparts in the European Union, the South Asian Cooperative, Greater Eurasia, Pacific America, the East Asian Cooperation Sphere, and Man-Home Origin. The first two because, along with the NAU, they were the richest, most powerful supra-nationals; the third because its major component was Russia, a historic trouble-maker that always needed to be appeased; the latter three because they were the locations of three of the four space elevators, all of which would be needed to lift the entire task force into orbit. Simultaneously, the Secretaries of State and War paid personal visits to the capitals of the supra-nationals with the space elevators.

Austro-Pacifica, the Caliphate, and the Junta were considered irrelevant to the current situation, and formal notification of their leadership could wait.

There rose, of course, a furor, with the loudest voices sounding off from Moscow.

Then the dickering started. Pacific America, the East Asian Cooperation Sphere, and Man-Home Origin naturally understood the necessity of the NAU using all of the elevators to put their force in orbit. Just as naturally, they each saw an opportunity to make a massive profit. Accordingly, they almost instantly demanded quadruple their normal fees for use of their elevators. The elevator located on Jarvis Island just below the equator in the mid-Pacific was the only one that didn’t require negotiation: the island had been a territory of the old United States of America before the founding of the North American Union, and remained an NAU territory.

It took nearly two weeks of hard negotiating, but everybody eventually settled for double the normal fees. Both the European Union and the South Asian Cooperative felt it was in their interest to aid the NAU in paying the higher fees. After all, whoever those aliens were, they probably had EU or SAC colonies in their sights—possibly even Earth.