Gettysburg: A Tale of the Second War for Pennsylvanian Independence (4 page)

BOOK: Gettysburg: A Tale of the Second War for Pennsylvanian Independence
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“Where the hell are they?” wondered Stug. “Can there really
be that few of them?”

“The downside of having everything you need as a fighting
force is that you don’t have to innovate,” said the captain.

“Sorry, ma’am, I’m just a sergeant. What does that mean,
exactly?”

“It means,” said Hatch, “that they’re not the brightest
military geniuses on the planet. They should’ve guarded the okcy with more
troops to begin with. Now they’re rationing out the soldiers they have here
until help arrives.”

But the big man shook his head. “Still doesn’t make sense.
They had all night to reinforce.”

“And TRACE has been more active in the City lately.”

Stug understood then. “The cops go where the crime is.”

“By that logic,” offered Charger, “the cops will be showing
up here soon.”

“Hell, they should’ve been here already,” said Stug. “Okcy
ain’t cheap.”

The QB nodded. “Which is why we can’t stand around here
talking about our good fortune all day.” She looked at the sun halfway up the
side of the hills behind the town. “It’s oh-eight-thirty, give or take.
Lieutenant Hatch, your squad will take point. Lieutenant Freeman, your squad
will maintain vigilant support until Alpha is at the first building.”

“You mean, ma’am, if we aren’t killed, Delta Squad can come
out of hiding?” asked Stug with a smirk.

Despite the grumbling from Delta Squad, the QB said,
“Something like that.”

“Ma’am,” said Hatch, addressing the QB formally, as he
always did in the company of others, “Might I suggest you hang back with Delta
Squad until—”

“You can suggest it,” she said, cutting him off again and
immediately regretting it. She knew she was reacting to him the same way he was
reacting to her. Anticipating arguments in conversations, overcompensating for
the baggage. At best, it was unprofessional and unbecoming of a soldier. At
worst, it was damned dangerous and could get someone killed.

Clearing her throat, she said, “I appreciate your concern,
Lieutenant.” The daggers he’d been shooting her way softened and disappeared.
“But the colonel is already polishing his gavel on this one.” She turned to the
two assembled squads, who were watching the two of them carefully.

No secrets in foxholes
, her inner voice said.

“Let me make this clear. Lieutenant Hatch is in charge of
Alpha Squad, and on all matters tactical, I’m placing myself under his orders.”

Stug raised his eyebrows, which only made his forehead look
like the grille on the front of an ancient automobile.

“But I reserve the right to make command decisions related
to this mission,” she continued.

Hatch blinked once, then nodded. “All right, let’s go,” he
said. “Hawkeye’s already scoped the advance. Stay low and use the rolling berms
for the approach, just like yesterday.”

“Remember, LAN only for comms, ladies,” said Stug. “Er, and
Captain. Ma’am.”

With the sergeant on point, Alpha Squad humped it out of the
trees and toward the long, silver warehouse, a.k.a. Objective One, on the
outskirts of town. As they made their way to the buildings, the company
hunkered down at each of the embankments while Hawkeye re-spotted. Each time he
would communicate with Looker, Delta Squad’s spotter, and once he confirmed the
coast was clear, they would move up again. Before long, the silver warehouse
was only fifteen meters from their present, gut-down position.

“Okay, I know I’m repeating myself, but this is too easy,”
Stug said. He lay on his back, his weapon clutched to his chest to protect it
from the dewy grass. A whiny quality had begun to creep into his tactical
assessment voice. A strange combination. “Where the hell are they?”

“Only one way to find out,” said the QB, rising and running
for Objective One’s tin wall.

“Wait!” yelled Hatch, way too late. “Goddamn it!” He was up
and over the berm and on her heels in seconds.

Stug spared a glance for Bracer, who was already lifting
himself and his heavy weapon from their hiding place. “I bet she saves all the
punching for herself, too.”

Bracer murmured indistinctly as the sergeant helped him up. They
dashed after their commanding officers. Hawkeye remained behind the embankment,
throwing a quick look left and right through his omni-lens, scanning for threats
as the other four ran across the open terrain. A quick check with Looker over
the LAN told him there was still no sign of the enemy.

Hatch flattened himself against the tin wall and kneeled
next to the QB.

“What was that about following my orders?” he asked.

“I didn’t hear any orders,” she replied.

“Well, hear
this
one,” he said as Stug and Bracer
joined them. “You will not move from our tactical position unless I say so.
Understood? Captain, ma’am?”

Who the hell does he think he is?
her inner voice
raged. But she remembered their agreement and knew he had every right to be
angry.

After a breath: “Understood.”

“Movement in town,” said Hawkeye over the comms. “Heat signatures
with okcy readings moving toward the big warehouse.”

“About time,” grunted Stug.

“How many, Corporal?” asked the captain.

“I see six so far. No drones. Yet,” answered Hawkeye.

“Echo, chain three bursts over Objective Two,” said the
captain.


Over
the warehouse, ma’am?” came the reply.

“Did I stutter? We need to minimize civilian casualties
whenever possible. See if we can warn those half a dozen porters off.”

“Understood.”

Three bursts from each chain gun thwacked the atmosphere.
The bullets fired so fast, they sounded like three long, loud whips cracking
together. Somewhere beyond the town, 250 new holes pockmarked the mountainside.

“Corporal?”

“They’ve stopped. For now, ma’am,” he said.

She looked at Hatch. It was his show from here.

“Stug, you’re first in. If you survive, I’ll follow you with
Bracer.” Then, after a moment: “And the QB.”

“Sure . . . send in the bald guy,” gruffed Stug, no whine
evident in his voice now. The odds of getting to hit someone had just significantly
improved. He opened the door and, crouching, went in. Not waiting for his
sergeant to call it clear, Hatch folded in right behind him.

The warehouse was long and flat, with a curved, almost
elliptical roof. Though morning sunlight streamed in its windows, the interior
was dim. Dust hung in the air, defying gravity.

Stug took up position behind the nearest cargo crate, Hatch
on his heels. Their three-count recon of the interior—as far as they could see,
anyway—revealed a whole lot of nothing. The lieutenant motioned Stug forward to
a second crate about twenty meters farther in, then took up a guard position to
cover the advance. When the sergeant reached his cover without incident, Hatch
accessed the company-wide comm channel.

“Alpha Squad to my position. Hawkeye, join us.”

As the QB and Bracer entered the warehouse and Alpha’s
spotter made his way, berm by berm, to their position, Stug stole a glance over
his cover. What he saw made him wrinkle his forehead again.

“There’s nothing in here,” he sent to Alpha Squad. “This place
is full of jack. Wait, no—he’s gone too.”

“Cut the commentary,” said Hatch. “Once we—”

“Porters on the move again,” said Looker from the tree line.
“They’re inside Objective Two.”

“Orders, ma’am?” clicked in Echo’s Lieutenant Gray.

“Hold your position,” said the QB.

Bracer and Hawkeye had both joined Hatch and the captain
inside. The spotter followed SOP and scanned the interior of the warehouse
they’d taken.

“Nothing but a handful of these cargo containers. Not so
much as a rat chewing on one, according to heat sig,” he said.

“Drones!” barked Looker. “Sweeping around from the . . . at
least . . . orders?” His report was broken up by the all-too-familiar fuzzing
of their comm system by Transport jammers.

“Delta Squad, come in,” tried the captain. She knew better,
but . . . “Bravo, Echo squads, respond.”

Nothing but static.

“Reduce your comms to minimum,” she ordered. “I want them
kept on, voice only, in case someone takes out that jammer. For now, we’re on
our own.”

“Secure the warehouse,” Hatch said. “Bracer, get up to the
second floor and deploy at the window with the best fire arcs on Objective Two.
Hawkeye, go with Bracer. See if you can get any heat sigs on Two from his
position. Stug, get over to the door, the one beneath Bracer’s position. I want
eyes there.”

“And what are my orders, Lieutenant?” asked the QB,
emphasizing his command designation.

“You watch my ass,” he replied, observing the deployment of
his men. He failed to notice the rare look of amusement that briefly lit up her
face.

“I see movement over there,” called Hawkeye. Objective One’s
size and shape amplified his voice. “They’re fortifying.”

“Of course they’re fortifying,” answered Stug from the side
of his mouth. He never took his gaze from the window that looked out on the
larger building some twenty meters away.

“I’m more worried about those drones,” said Bracer, locking
his 18-millimeter gun in its tripod. He’d already broken out the window
overlooking the kill zone between the buildings. Now the barrel surveyed that
still-empty space.

Rapid fire erupted from the tree line where Delta Squad was
emplaced. The Authority drones had engaged, and the
thritt-thritt-thritt
of Delta’s machine gun responded.

“So much for my B-grade vid plot hope that those were
actually our drones returning,” sulked Stug. “We’re flanked.”

Hatch sidled up to position on the opposite side of the door
from the sergeant. “That’s one way to put it,” he said. Between the two of
them, their vision arcs covered the sidewalk connecting the two objectives.
They were positioned directly below Bracer and Hawkeye, whose vista view
guarded the same approach.

Stug began to thump his left index finger to a beat only he
could hear, an old song from a long time ago. It made him smile, and his
lieutenant caught the expression.

“Well?” asked Hatch.

Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. “Should we stay or should we go now?”
the big man half-sang.

Hatch turned to the QB. “Well, Captain? We seem to be
standing on that blurry line between strategic goal and tactical execution.”

“Hawkeye, what are you seeing over there?” asked the QB.

There was silence while the spotter completed a second
survey of Objective Two. “They’re in there, but shielded,” he said.

“Neoprene suits?” asked the captain. Halfway through the
war, both sides had quickly discovered that one way to hide their heat
signatures was by wearing neoprene skinsuits, which masked the body heat of the
wearer. The temperate climate on New Pennsylvania made the suits impractical
most of the time, though.

“Nope,” said Hawkeye. “You’re not gonna believe this—I think
they’ve built glass into the walls.”

Another masking strategy, though TRACE had never run into it
on this scale. Enterprising war patrons in the tech industry had long ago
adapted infrared wavelengths to pass through most walls by modulating them
closer to radio wavelengths. But glass distorted those wavelengths just enough
to filter out the part of the spectrum used to spot heat-producing sources.
Sometimes before an urban engagement, Transport soldiers would even carry body
shields made of glass to mask their heat signatures, then discard them once the
battle started.

“I can see something now and then, when someone moves behind
a window, though,” Hawkeye continued. “They’re definitely in there.”

“Gotta hand it to Transport,” said Hatch. “They planned that
building from the ground up. Literally.”

The captain thought about it. If they stayed, Transport
would eventually tighten the noose on the smaller warehouse, killing them all.
If they moved, at least they could retain the initiative and not simply wait to
die. It wasn’t the first time they’d faced this situation. Her response was
what she named B Company’s shark strategy: keep moving or die.

“We go,” she said.

Hatch glanced back at her approvingly. This was why they
called her the QB. She was daring and didn’t mind making a tough call that
overrode an ineffective strategy. Their colonel thought of it as impetuous. But
Hatch and his squad had recognized it long ago as courage.

The firefight outside intensified. Delta Squad had drawn off
the drones. Now was their chance to move in the open.

“Bracer, lay down suppressing fire. Hawkeye, stay with him
and watch our backs.” Hatch stared at Stug and smirked. “You go first.”

“Again. I go first
again
,” the sergeant grumbled
unconvincingly. “It’s the price I pay for refusing to become an officer. And
fair enough, I might add.” It was an old joke between two old friends.

“As for you,” began Hatch, turning to his captain. Then he
stopped. He’d almost told her to stay put. In the flash of a few seconds, he
questioned himself as to why. If she were any other soldier, he’d have ordered
her to charge the no man’s land with Stug and cover the sergeant’s left while
Bracer’s machine gun pinned down anything to the right and front. That was the correct
tactical answer here. Baggage notwithstanding. “As for you, go with Stug. Pin
down the left. I’ll coordinate with the boys up top and follow.”

BOOK: Gettysburg: A Tale of the Second War for Pennsylvanian Independence
10.75Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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