Side Show (13 page)

And then some, he thought as his eyes swept the horizon. In daylight, there was a good chance that a pilot might spot a Boem before his electronics did.

"We'll do a wide circle, ten klicks out from the blue-on-white blinker," Zel said, referring to the locator for Colonel Stossen's headquarters. "And we stay together. Jase, you'll take high cover, four thousand meters above Irv and me."

Zel banked his Wasp left. There was some rugged country up ahead, the worst that Zel had ever flown over. If one of them had to eject, the ride down would be touchy. The escape pod of a Wasp might be well padded, but there seemed to be some nasty drops. Once a parachute was fouled, there would be nothing left but a fall. And even if a pilot reached the ground in one piece, he might have the Devil's own time getting out on foot.

"Good thing they don't have to go in any farther than they do," Zel mumbled. The valley the 13th was following was near the edge of the mountain chain. The easy part.

Blue Flight had been back in the air for twenty minutes before Zel had a call from CIC.

"We have a report from the one gun left in Afghan Battery," the voice on the radio said. "He says there's a flight of six Boem fighters that just passed over him. Their course is straight toward you. About six minutes off."

Zel acknowledged that and passed the word to Irv and Jase. "We might as well go out to meet them. Try to keep them away from the mudders."
If we can.
Three against six. "Irv, I think you and I had better put a little more sky below us."

—|—

"I'm Dr. Philippa Corey," the woman said, still keeping her hands away from her body.

Gene Abru blinked once and nodded. Then he identified himself. No one had mentioned that there were women here.
Or said that there weren't,
he reminded himself.

"I hope you have your people ready to leave right this instant, Doctor," Gene said. "We're short of time."

"We've been packed and ready since we learned of the landing, Sergeant. The others are in the next room."

"How many of you, altogether?" Gene asked.

"Nine. That's all there's been since before the Schlinal invasion."

Gene nodded again. "Call your people out, Doc. I was serious about leaving immediately."

Dr. Corey lowered her arms, then turned and looked back into the room. She passed along Gene's instructions and nothing else. He had the exterior microphones cranked up on his helmet to make certain that there were no extraneous asides.

Eight others filed out. Three of them were also women. All eight were dressed much as Dr. Corey was, in nondescript coveralls. They weren't camouflage, but other than that the garb looked about perfect for a long walk. One of the others handed Corey a pack. She slipped the straps over her shoulders.

"I hope that there are more than just the two of you," she said when she finally crossed over to where Gene stood, still near the exit.

"A lot more, Doc, but it didn't seem wise to bring them all in here."

"I take it that introductions can wait?" she asked.

Gene nodded. "Is this place set up so you can destroy it after we're out?"

"Destroy it, no. But the overhang outside the entrance is mined. So is this chamber. We can bury the entrance under several thousand tons of rock."

"Good enough. I'll lead the way out. You and your people stay behind me. For now, Asa will bring up the rear. Either of us says to do something, you people do it, at once. Save the questions for later." It was much too long a speech for Gene, and his clipped tones made that obvious even to a stranger.

"As you say," Dr. Corey replied. "We're in your hands."

Gene blinked again. Dr. Corey was an attractive woman of indeterminate age. She might still be in her late twenties from her looks, but from the way she spoke, Gene guessed that she might even be sixty or more. With the techniques available for stalling, or reversing, the aging process well past the century mark, there was simply no way to be certain.

He turned and headed out of the stone foyer.

At the edge of the shadows in the hollow outside, Gene stopped for a moment, both to let his eyes adjust to the higher light levels and to give his men across the way time to identify him.

"How close do you have to be to bury this entrance?" he asked Dr. Corey.

"I would suggest that we get at least a hundred meters away, and behind cover," she replied.

"Cross the way and up the slope?"

Corey looked where he pointed. "It'll do. The transmitter has a range of five hundred meters, but closer is better."

Gene simply started walking again, back over the route that he and Asa had followed on their way in. They had covered no more than half of the hundred meters when there was a radio call from Major Kenneck.

"Ab, there are enemy Boems heading our way. They'll be overhead in less than three minutes unless our Blue Flight can stall them."

"Odds?" Gene asked.

"Six to three, the wrong way. You have those people?"

"We're on our way out. We'll be blowing the entrance to the lab in less than two minutes."

"That'll give the Boems a target," Kenneck cautioned.

"We'll do what we can. A few Vrerchs headed toward those Boems from your location would help."

"Any that come close enough."

Gene hadn't slowed his pace while he talked. As soon as he signed off, he turned his head toward Dr. Corey.

"Enemy fighters on the way in. Three minutes. They see the explosion, they'll be on us in a hurry."

"If they've got any idea where the lab is, that it even exists, it's essential that we deny them access," Corey said. "No matter what."

I wonder if she knows the rest of our orders,
Gene thought as he picked up the pace. Then:
I bet she does. She might even have given them.

—|—

It had taken Teu Ingels less than thirty seconds to convey the tactic to Zel Paitcher, and Zel had needed even less time to tell his wingmen. "Hit and run," Zel said. "We dive in at them, shoot off a pair of missiles each, then run like hell. Clear those two ridges with less than fifty meters below us. Get them to chase."

If the major's plan worked, it wouldn't even matter if any of the Wasps' missiles hit a target on the first pass. Hits would be a bonus.

"There they are," Zel said, not ten seconds later. "Tally ho!"

The six Boems were flying in two three-plane formations, one a thousand meters above the other, and somewhat to the right. All six of the Schlinal planes were below Blue Flight, though. Zel nosed his fighter over on an intercept course. The weapons selector was already on rockets, and Zel got lock clicks almost as soon as he showed the missiles their targets. He didn't bother waiting to close the range. He was willing to give these pilots plenty of time to take their countermeasures.

As long as they pursued.

Zel did hesitate for a couple of seconds after launching his rockets. There was no sign that the Boems had locked on to his Wasp, or even that they had seen the six missiles streaking toward them. That didn't last long, of course. The Schlinal pilots scattered, as if they were part of an air show, going in six different directions as they launched decoys and other countermeasures, and worked to get into position to launch their own rockets.

Zel flipped his Wasp and headed back toward the ridges where the 13th's mudders were waiting.

I hope they remember we're coming through first,
he thought.

Irv and Jase made their turns, both taking wide outside loops, putting more distance between Wasps for this part of the maneuver. All three Wasp pilots pushed their throttles to the stops. They wanted the Boems to follow, but they didn't want them to get close enough for accurate missile fire.

Eighteen seconds after Zel flipped, his Wasp crossed the first ridge. He was too low and moving too fast to have a chance to actually
see
any of the men on the ridge, but there were no surface-to-air missiles coming up at him, and that was all that really mattered. He kept going, past the second ridge, still losing altitude. The six Boems—none had been hit—kept coming, gaining very slightly on the Wasps, concentrating entirely on the pursuit.

"Just hold off for a few more seconds before you look down," Zel whispered. A rear-looking camera gave him a partial view of what was happening. He saw dozens—scores—of Vrerch missiles jump up from the first ridge, almost equal numbers from the second. The firing was so nearly simultaneous that it looked as if all of the rockets might have been fired on a single order.

Zel put his Wasp through a tight, climbing turn, just barely in time to see the culmination.

The six Boems had no chance to escape. There were too many rockets coming at them, all at once. Anywhere they might try to get away from one would put them in the path of two or three others.

Three of the Boems actually were hit by more than one Vrerch. It looked as if one of them was struck by four within the space of a few hundredths of a second. Only one Schlinal pilot managed to eject, and his escape module was hit by a missile before it got ten meters from his plane.

Jase Wilmer screamed in delight. "Six down!" he shouted.

"Can it," Zel said sourly.

Just then, there was an explosion on the ground, on the mountain at the head of the valley.

—|—

"Somebody did good work," Gene Abru said as he watched the dust clear across the way. The blast had not been excessive, but it had certainly done the job. An entire section of mountain had crumbled and slid down to cover the only entrance to the laboratory.

"Thank you," Dr. Corey said without looking at him. She was still staring at the new mound of rubble. "I wish it hadn't been necessary."

"Yeah. Let's get moving. I'm supposed to deliver you and your people to the colonel."
And then we've got to get out of this death trap,
he thought.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sergeant Dem Nimz wrapped a second soaker around his left elbow, with help from Fredo Gariston. The painkiller in the first soaker had worn off, and there was still enough pain to bring a grimace to Dem's face. There were no broken bones in the elbow, but short of that there had to be considerable damage—torn muscles or cartilage, something. Anything that a soaker couldn't heal in four hours was major. There wasn't a single medic left from the ten that the two recon platoons had started out with. Medics always had high casualty rates, but this went beyond the normal attrition. The two platoons had been chopped apart. Together, they could only muster thirty-two men, little more than a quarter of their usual complement. And nearly half of them were wounded, a couple worse than Dem.

The two platoons had, in effect, merged. Dem was in command of the survivors. That they were cut off from any other Accord units by as much as three hundred kilometers rarely entered his mind. They still had a mission, to harass and delay a Heggie force that outnumbered them by approximately seventy to one.

Not that there was much they could do any longer.

"They're moving again," Fredo reported. He had recovered from his own, earlier, wound. He knelt at Dem's side and watched the pain fade from Nimz's face as the painkillers in the new soaker took effect. Dem let out a long, slow breath of relief, more emotion than he normally showed in a year.

"The new ambush?" Dem asked.

"They'll hit it in five or six minutes," Fredo said. All of the reccers who were still fit enough to move had gone off to set that trap. No one was short on ammunition. The reccers had been religious about reclaiming ammo from fallen comrades. Even after several hard skirmishes, the survivors had more ammunition than they had each started out with—wire for zippers, rocket-assisted cartridges for the Dupuys, Vrerchs, and hand grenades. The only munitions they were running short on were the RPGs. In this kind of work, that was often the preferred weapon.

"Then we'd better get moving too," Dem said. It was awkward getting to his feet. He couldn't use the left arm for anything, not even to extend it to the side to help balance himself. "Move around and get ready to hit them again."

"Dem, we're gonna have to contact headquarters, find out where we should go," Fredo said.

Dem shook his head. "Not yet. Even if the Heggies can't read our calls, they might be able to DF them. We're far enough up against it without that. As long as we follow these bastards, we're gonna get closer to our people."

The two men stared at each other for a time, then Dem turned and started walking. "On your feet," he said, speaking conversationally. Their Heyers were no longer available. They had been smashed by the Heggies several hours before.

The eight others who were near got up and followed. Fredo Gariston brought up the rear. They would rendezvous with anyone who made it back from the latest ambush up ahead.

—|—

The 13th was on the move again even before Abru's SI team brought the researchers to Colonel Stossen. Those elements of the 13th that were in the valley headed toward a high pass at the far end, north, and farther into the mountain range. Those that had been waiting outside, including the artillery and support vehicles, were to circle around to the right, keeping as close to the rest as they could—with only a mountain between them.

"We'll try to get as far as here," Stossen told his staff, pointing out the location on his mapboard. "If we can stay just one or two valleys in from where the artillery can go, we might be able to keep some sort of cover from them. We'll try to rendezvous at this point." He indicated the spot on the map again. Then he looked around at the others. "If we can."

"What about the APCs?" Dezo asked. "They're still out there. They've taken a loop around Justice and still haven't had any enemy contact on the ground."

"The Heggies are chasing them," Bal said. "They know that
we're
here after losing six Boems, but they still seem more interested in the vehicles."

"That's almost the only good news we have," Stossen said. "That and the fact that we got the people we came for." He looked up again. He could see the column coming—the researchers and the SI team.