Tombstone (8 page)

I crouched down, digging my foot into the grayish gravelly
dirt and pushed up against the rocky spine, bracing myself and aiming my
mag-rifle out at the hazy, faintly glowing clouds.  My AI would take whatever
bits of data my scanning devices could glean and combine it with the info
gathered by the rest of the platoon, giving me the best guess at where enemy
troops were approaching.  The smoke was very effective, but it wasn’t perfect
cover.  Troops moving through would disturb the clouds, at least somewhat, and
if the AIs could factor out the wind and weather-caused effects, they could
actually do a decent job of finding concentration of troops coming forward.

“Ok, platoon.”  The lieutenant’s voice was calm, even more
so than the captain’s.  “You men and women are the best soldiers in the field,
anywhere.  Janissaries are good troops, but they aren’t that tough.  They can’t
be that tough, because they’re not Marines!”  His style was a little different
than the captain’s.  His voice was relaxed, almost like a teacher in a
classroom, but then all of a sudden he’s amping it up and getting us whipped
into a frenzy.  “We’re going to do the work, platoon.  I want everybody to
focus.  I’m going to call out enemy locations as we have them.”  He paused. 
“And we’re not retreating, no matter what.  Anybody who leaves their position
won’t have to worry about Janissaries; they’ll have to worry about me!”

My AI started projecting figures in front of me, the
shimmering blue images displaying percentages projecting the location of enemy
troops.  We didn’t have enough data to get any solid leads yet, but there were
a couple spots north of 40% probability.  I started firing some bursts at these
locations, and I could tell that a few others were doing the same.  I didn’t
know if I hit anything – probably not - but it was worth expending a little
ammo in the effort.

The auto-cannon didn’t open up yet, though.  It was an
extremely effective weapon on defense, and the lieutenant didn’t want to give
its position away too soon.  With any luck, the enemy would blunder right into
the center of the field of fire.  Their own scanners were compromised by the
smoke too, so they couldn’t really attack with any precision.

I’d been scared to death before the attack started, as I
always was, but now I wasn’t really thinking about that anymore.  I was so
focused and so pumped up by the captain and the lieutenant, the fear morphed
into a nervous energy, an edginess that made it hard to stand still.  I could
hear my heart beating in my ears like a drum.

“Enemy troop concentrations.”  The lieutenant, still totally
calm.  My God, doesn’t anything rattle him?  “Transmitting coordinates.  Open
fire.”

The enemy troops were off to my left, but I had a clear line
of fire, so I switched to full auto and sprayed the area.  The mag-rifle had
enough kick to knock a man over, and probably break his arm as well, but in
armor you just felt a small vibration.  I emptied an entire clip into the
smoke, and the autoloader slammed another one in place with a loud click.

A few seconds after we started shooting, the enemy opened
up.  Their position given away, the advancing troops had no reason to continue
to hold their fire.  They couldn’t aim any better out of the clouds than we
could into them, but our entire front was saturated with fire.  It was clear
there were a lot of troops coming at us.

I crouched lower as the rock wall in front of me was blasted
with enemy fire.  Shards of shattered stone bounced all around, but the
outcropping was thick enough to provide cover, and other than some rocks
bouncing loudly off my armor, I was fine.  I could tell from the chatter on the
com that 1st Platoon on our left had some casualties…they probably got careless
when they were firing and didn’t get down quickly enough.

We got locations on two more enemy troop concentrations, and
when they all opened up we were well into a serious firefight.  Even with our
cover, we were taking losses.  I assumed we were inflicting them too, but it
was hard to tell.  All of this seemed like an eternity, but only a few minutes
had passed since the enemy launched the smoke and started their attack.

They started to emerge from the smoke.  It was surreal
watching them move forward, zigzagging as they jogged toward our trenches. 
Their armor was similar to ours, a little bulkier, maybe, and the alloy they
used was a little different, giving the suits a darker look.  They didn’t have
the camo system we did, and their suits were dark silhouettes against the
glowing clouds as they came forward.

Their formations were scattered, with significant gaps.  I
could see they’d taken considerable losses from our fire.  Their assault
doctrine was well thought out, and they executed it flawlessly.  One group
would find the best cover they could – low ground, rocks, gullies – and open up
on our position with everything they had.  A second line would advance,
supported by this covering fire, and find their own protected areas.  They
would then start shooting while the first group advanced.  It was a standard
leapfrog tactic, but they were so well drilled they could maintain enormously
heavy fire while leaving precise lanes open for their advancing troops.  I
couldn’t help but admire the discipline and skill, even if they were trying to
kill me.

But we knew our stuff too, and we targeted the units moving
ahead, ignoring the covering fire.  We were taking heavier losses, but it was
still the best exchange rate we’d get; if they got to our lines and broke in
we’d lose our positional advantage…and there were more of them than us.

There was a crack in the rock wall next to me, and I was
able to lie down and shoot through a very small opening.  It was great cover,
and gave me a wide coverage area.  They were getting close, so I switched to
semi-automatic and started targeting individual troops with 10-shot bursts.  I
didn’t have a sniper’s rifle, but I managed to take down a target just about
every time I shot.  I must have dropped 7 or 8 when I realized we weren’t going
to turn them back.

The auto-cannon was firing full bore, but the enemy troops
were very good at using any bit of cover as they advanced.  We’d taken out a
lot of them, probably enough to send lower-quality troops feeling for their
lives, but we wouldn’t have broken, and the Janissaries weren’t going to
either.  They were weakened and disordered, but we were still going to have a
close range fight.

If we’d had a secondary position we could have fallen back,
keeping them under heavy fire as they came over the rocky spur and eventually
wearing their attack down.  But there was nothing but open plateau behind us –
we’d be the ones caught in the clear and cut to pieces.  No…it was win or die
right along this ridge line.

I have always found that my memories of combat are blurry,
surreal.  It’s hard to recall the time passing.  I remember this charge of the
Janissaries as something that went on forever, but it wasn’t more than ten
minutes from when they dropped the smoke until they started climbing up over
the rock wall.

I saw them coming, at least six of them heading toward my
spot.  The whole thing happened in slow motion.  I took one last shot through
the crack on the rock, hitting one of the attackers in the leg.  At least four
or five projectiles hit the leg, tearing it off completely.  He dropped hard to
the ground and writhed for a couple seconds before Tombstone finished the job.

I paused an instant watching him fall, and then I realized
with a start that there were no more targets…I had waited too long.  Something
took over, instincts, maybe or, more likely training.  I rolled over on my
back, whipping my rifle around, and I blasted at full auto, taking out two more
as they climbed over the rocks.

The next two seconds lasted a lifetime.  I’d emptied my
clip, and I could hear the autoloader moving a new one into position.  The
entire process had always seemed nearly instantaneous to me, but now it felt as
though it was taking forever.  I looked up, and I could see the enemy troops
coming over, and one of them was turning to me.  I could hear each heartbeat
pounding in my head as I brought my mag-rifle up to target him.  He was doing
the same, but his was loaded and mine was empty.  I’d have a new clip in place
in less than a second, but in that instant I knew it was going to be too late. 
I stared up into the barrel of his gun, and I knew I was dead.

And then I wasn’t.  Just before he fired, his body lurched
backwards, his arm flying upward, spraying the air with fire.  The top half of
his body twisted to the right, the bottom to the left.  He wasn’t cut in half,
not quite, but he fell in a gruesome heap, half a meter from where I was
laying.  Standing there, silhouetted against the reddish light, was the
lieutenant, his arm raised, bloodied blade extended.  He sliced its edge, a
single molecule thick, into my would-be killer’s side, driven with all the
enhanced power his suit’s servo-mechanicals could deliver.

I was laying there in shock, thinking I should thank the
lieutenant when his voice boomed into my headset.  “Get the hell up, Jax!”  His
voice was still calm, but even his even tone was affected by the stress of
battle.  “This isn’t time for a nap.”

He jogged past me without another word, leveling his
mag-rifle and shooting down half a dozen Janissaries who were coming over the
rock wall and taking aim at the auto-cannon.  Glenn was firing that alone,
targeting the second wave of enemy troops still emerging from the smoke and
advancing on our position.  Langon was down.  I didn’t know then, but he taken
a hit early.  His suit’s auto-repair managed to close the breach, saving his
life for all of ten minutes.  He took a second hit, this time in the neck, and
he fell to the ground, dead.

I climbed up to my feet, watching the lieutenant for a
second.  I glanced over the rock wall – there were no troops approaching my
position, so I spun to the left.  All along the line there were Janissaries
pouring up and over the broken ridge.  It was a confused melee, with point
blank fire and blade fights.  The Caliphate troops had their own version of the
molecular blade, and it was longer and more effective than ours.  They trained
with it more than we did too, and they thought they could beat us in a hand to
hand fight.  But our close range fire drill was very effective, and not many of
them got close enough to one of our troops to force a knife fight.

The snipers played a key role too, picking off enemy
officers and non-coms, targeting them even when they stood centimeters away
from our own troops.  Our sniper tactics and training were light-years ahead of
theirs, and it showed.  This range was child’s play to the sharpshooters, and
they scored hit after hit.  The company’s three snipers went a long way toward
helping us cope with the enemy numbers. 

Still, we were gradually being pushed back from the
ridgeline.  The enemy’s third wave came pouring over the rocks, and we had
nothing left to face them.  I was standing against the outcropping, with enemy
troops climbing over to my right and left.  I crouched down and fired as they
came over, facing left for a second than switching to the right.  I heard the
autoloader slamming my last clip into place, and I knew things would be over
soon.  We were being overrun at every point, and enemy troops were racing to
the rear.  The snipers’ positions were compromised, and one by one they were
taken out.

I was determined to go down fighting and not panic, but it’s
hard to stay cool when you know you’re likely to die any instant.  I just kept
firing, bursts now to conserve my last ammo, and somehow I didn’t get hit.  My
heart was pounding and I could feel the sweat trickling down my back.  I just
kept fighting, waiting for the inevitable end.  My resolve was strong, but my
mind wandered.  I wondered if it would hurt.  Would I die in an instant, never
knowing what hit me?  Or in agony, bleeding into my armor, choking on the toxic
Tombstone atmosphere?

I was so focused I wasn’t even watching the scanner.  If I
had been I would have seen them.  Reinforcements, a whole company, running
forward with blades out, into the melee.  The enemy, weakened by the staggering
losses they had already taken, turned to face the new threat.  But now they
were on the defensive, their momentum lost.  They fought bitterly, but in the
end our fresh reserves were too much for them.  The troops who’d made it over
the ridge were almost entirely wiped out and their reserve waves, seeing that
the attack had failed, retreated.

It was the first significant battle I’d been in, and we’d
won.  I was glad, but I didn’t feel the elation I’d expected, just crushing
fatigue, and the somber realization of the losses we’d suffered.  As the
adrenalin and anger subsided, the pain and sadness took its place.  It had been
a hard several days, but we’d proven our worth.  And we’d met the Janissaries
head on and bested them.

It had been a difficult and costly day, but it wasn’t over
yet.  The enemy had spent their strength on that last attack and, while we were
just as battered, we’d managed to stabilize our greatly thinned line.  A
counterattack was out of the question, but we were in good shape to repel
anything they had left to throw at us.  Nevertheless, both sides remained on
their respective ridges, trading sporadic long-range fire. 

The lieutenant walked over to me, crouched low behind the
ridge.  He was working his way down the reduced frontage of the vastly shrunken
platoon, checking on each of us.  There were only fifteen of us left in the
line, though of the 35 casualties, about 20 were wounded or suffering from suit
malfunctions.  Maybe ten were wounded lightly enough that they’d be treated
right here on Tombstone and return to duty fairly quickly.  The rest would be
shipped off to one of the Marine hospitals, probably Armstrong, and likely be
reassigned elsewhere when they recovered.