Soldiers

Chapter 29

Night Surprise

The night was moonless, the galaxy a banner of frost half seen through bare branches and twigs. Boots crunched recently-fallen leaves, loudly enough, it seemed to Esau, to be heard a hundred feet away. Until it rained again, there was no chance at all of slipping quietly through the woods.

His helmet gave him a choice of two night-vision enhancements. One provided positive night vision, which worked even in heavy forest and under thick clouds, but might be detected by an enemy. The other amplified natural starlight, moonlight if any, and whatever other light there might be. The army preferred the latter, when there was moonlight or enough starlight.

Isaiah Vernon had wondered aloud whether the Wyzhnyny might have a way of detecting starlight vision, too. And of course no one knew, or would know till they fought.

At any rate Esau could see in the dark, could see Jonas Timmins ahead of him, it being Jonas's time to lead the squad. Off to the left, twenty yards or so, was a meadow, with thin wispy fog on it. Odds are, Esau thought, it'll thicken through the night.

Ahead of Timmins was the rest of the platoon, and ahead of it, Ensign Berg, Sergeant Hawkins, and the point man.

Esau was a little irked that Timmins was leading 4th Squad tonight. He considered himself the rightful squad leader. But the ensign was giving others the experience, which Esau realized made sense. And Timmins was probably the next best leader after himself. Timmins and Jael. His wife had surprised him with her willingness and ability to make decisions and give orders. And to his further surprise, he liked her even better that way.

Somewhere up ahead, the ensign or Sergeant Hawkins raised an arm, and the file of trainees stopped silently. This was a simplified problem, Esau realized, one suited to their training level. Somewhere on the other side of the meadow, the platoon's scouts had spotted the enemy outpost. The platoon was to capture it. The problem had no broader context, strategic or tactical.

An order spoke in their ears, and the file became a rank, slinking toward the meadow's edge. Halfway there they dropped to their bellies and stopped. To lie waiting, while Timmins and the other squad leaders moved forward in a low crawl, to examine the ground with Hawkins and the ensign.

After a couple of minutes, Timmins spoke to his squad on their own frequency, ordering them to the forest edge. When they'd reached it, he spoke again. "4th Squad, we'll start out crawling; the vegetation'll cover us. And don't bunch up. See that pointy-topped fir sticking up above the hardwoods?" On Luneburger's, the Jerries called any evergreen a "fir." "I'll guide on that. If anything happens to me"-they were being as realistic as they knew how-"Esau takes command. When we come under fire, proceed by teams. The teams that are covering, really pour it on."

They'll have starlight vision, too, Esau thought. They'll spot us by the way the weeds move when we crawl through them.

Timmins continued. "That worm fence down the middle is the sticky part. If anyone's over there, that's where they'll spot us. If we haven't come under fire before we cross it, climb over. Anyone not over before they start shooting at us, pull the fence apart and advance by crawling. Everyone that's across, lay down covering fire."

It was, Esau judged, about a hundred yards to the fence. Where he saw a complication: pulling the fence down would be easier said than done. The meadow hadn't been grazed that spring and summer; that was obvious. The livestock had been removed when the area was made a military reservation; that's why the vegetation was so tall. Along the fence, he could make out a row of naked saplings-probably a row along each side. Unbrowsed they'd flourished. Many were six feet tall or more, he judged. They'd tend to hold the rails in place.

He wondered if Sergeant Hawkins had spotted that. It would be like him to see if they came up with it themselves. If they didn't, he'd point it out later. Or maybe not. From things he'd said, Hawkins had grown up a town boy. He might miss something like that.

"2nd Platoon, listen up." This voice was Ensign Berg's, activating the platoon command frequency. "When you reach the fence, stop. Squad leaders, tell me when your squad is there. Now move out."

Timmins moved out at once, on elbows and knees, his blaster cradled in his arms. The rest of the squad followed, almost even with him, losing themselves at once in the thick, falling-down meadow growth. From time to time Esau raised himself high enough to see the fir tree. Either they're blind over there, he told himself, or they're waiting for us to reach the fence. We'll be better targets then, for sure.

They were all good crawlers. They'd practiced a lot, and it didn't take long to cover a hundred yards. After a bit, 3rd Squad's leader announced his arrival at the fence. Almost at once, Timmins reported his. Esau and the rest of 4th Squad reached it at almost the same time. Then 1st and 2nd Squads reported.

"All right," the ensign said, "squad leaders send your squads."

"4th Squad," Timmins said, "1st Team over."

Esau got quickly to his feet, blaster in one hand, and bellied over the chest-high fence. He hadn't hit the ground before firing came from the woods ahead, the staccato popping and thumping of blasters and slammers, loud in the aggregate, each kicking out soft pulses at several per second. None had hit him; even soft pulses had an impact, and except for their helmets, they weren't wearing armor on this patrol. He took up a squat-firing position-the vegetation was too tall for firing prone-and began to shoot back. Near him on his right, Jael, the squad's grenadier, was launching a series of dummy phosphorous grenades, the butt of her launcher on the ground, braced against a foot. Behind him he could hear obscenities as 2nd Team struggled to pull the fence apart.

Ensign Berg ordered the platoon to move forward by squads. Adding, "Keep low!" Crouching, Esau sprang forward, ran six strides, then dove for the ground, taking the impact on the butt of his blaster. Rolled sideways, then returned to the squat position to lay fire on the defenders. To his right, Timmins yelped-hit, Esau supposed. The red warning light on his HUD, his heads-up display, told him he needed to change his blaster's power slug. He did. Then Timmins shouted "1st Team go!" and Esau was on his feet again; he ran another six strides and hit the ground. This time he remembered to squeeze off a burst while running.

Their cycle of rush, give covering fire, and rush again was repeated several times, and still he hadn't felt the impact of a blaster pulse. He wondered how many had. Surely if this was hard fire, some of them would be lying bloody behind him.

They were almost to the forest when warbots attacked, the weapons attached to their forearms pumping bursts of energy pulses. From their seven-foot height, they could easily target the trainees in the vegetation. Esau felt soft pulses slap him in chest and thigh. Without thinking, he fired a burst at the nearest bot, at the primary sensorium on the head, then dove, wrapping thick-muscled arms around its ankles. The bot crashed down, and he scrambled over it, grabbing at the head, going for the sensors. But stronger arms than his wrapped around him. "Gotcha," said a voice. Instead of giving up, Esau struggled.

Then cadre whistles shrilled; the exercise was over. The arms that pinioned him relaxed, and the warbot got up, rolling Esau off. For a moment he lay stunned, not from any blow, but by what he considered an unfair trick. Warbots! No one had said anything to them about the Wyzhnyny having warbots!

The platoon leaders were taken back to the regimental area by floater, to evaluate the exercise. The trainees marched back, led by their platoon sergeants. They marched "at ease" (no talking), left to their own thoughts, double-timing once they reached the road.

It was a lecture shed they went to, and did fifty pushups before going inside. 1st Platoon was also there; it had been their adversary in the game. The two platoons sat on opposite sides of the center aisle. Four bots were also there, sitting farther to the rear. It was Captain Mulvaney who reviewed the exercise with them.

"All right, men," he said, "at ease." He looked them over. "Who here got hit, by any kind of weapon? I'm talking about before the warbots attacked."

Esau looked around. On 2nd Platoon's side of the aisle, nine hands raised. Considering all the shooting, he was surprised there weren't more. 1st Platoon had only four, but it had been dug in.

Mulvaney questioned everyone who'd raised their hand. Of the thirteen organics who'd raised theirs, eight would very probably have died.

"And who was hit during the warbot charge? Keep them up so I can count you."

Esau didn't try to count them. All four bots had been hit. They'd charged into the middle of it, been big targets and drawn lots of fire. "Seventeen," the CO said, "plus the bots. Okay, take them down. Your ensigns and Division's umpires all agree: 2nd Platoon, you carried out your approach and attack very professionally. 1st Platoon, you dug in effectively in the limited time you had, and fought a good defense."

He looked toward the bots. "Corporal Sciacca, where were you hit?"

"In the head, sir, by a blaster. A hard pulse would have ruined one of my ocular sensors. I also took hits on my chest and left leg, but even if they'd been hard pulses, neither one would have done damage."

"Thank you." Mulvaney paused, turning his gaze entirely on 2nd Platoon. "What did you think of the warbots?"

Esau's hand shot up. "Esau," the captain said.

"Sir, it wasn't fair to use warbots against us like that. No one told us the enemy had any. We didn't have a chance."

"War is seldom fair," Mulvaney answered, "and surprises are part of it. So far as we know, the Wyzhnyny don't have warbots, but they'll have something dangerous we don't expect. When fighting an enemy we know so little about, we can expect more surprises than usual, mostly unpleasant. This evening you got some notion of what it can be like.

"Some of you responded very well, incidentally."

Mulvaney turned his attention to 1st Platoon. "1st Platoon, Division's umpires estimate you took twenty casualties from phosphorous burns. You've seen demonstrations of what that can mean, so you can be grateful this was an exercise, with dummy grenades."

He paused, scanning both platoons. "The reason we didn't have you feign death when hit was, we didn't want you to forego the complete action. In combat, of course, when you're hit, you're hit. When you're burned, you're burned." Another pause. "History tells us that many soldiers go through numerous actions without being wounded, but there are also actions where casualties are very heavy. The best chance you have of coming through, of winning and surviving, is by working as a team." Again he paused. "Let's hear you say it: `We work as a team!'"

"We work as a team!" they answered.

"Say it like you mean it!"

This time they shouted: "WE WORK AS A TEAM!"

Mulvaney grinned. "Good. I got that. And there are other things: We keep the enemy under heavy fire. Say it!"