Stark's Crusade (32 page)

"Thanks. Anita?"

"Sí, Sargento
."

"How many?"

A pause, whether to count or to compose herself, Stark didn't know. "One dead. Two wounded, one of those serious."

Stark extrapolated that, comparing the number of Jabberwocks they'd personally nailed against the number of casualties suffered by Gomez's platoon.
Maybe we didn't lose too many.
"They done good, Corporal Gomez. You've kept 'em real sharp."

"Gracias, Sargento
. We gonna go after that base now?"

"I'm not planning on it." Stark walked slowly back to the command APC, wishing once again that the vehicle had been armed so that its firepower could have aided in their defense.
One more thing I gotta do someday.
"How's it look, Vic?"

"Reoccupation of the front line is proceeding without any trouble, except for that one bunker that the bugs nuked. I'll put some armor near there to cover the gap." He could hear the relief in her voice, the winding down of tension ratcheted up by the recent battle. "So, Ethan, 'thou hast slain the Jabberwock'?"

He looked over the barren lunar landscape, back toward where the headquarters complex lay buried beneath the ancient rock. "What?"

" 'Thou hast slain the Jabberwock.' It's a quote, you oaf. From
Alice through the Looking Glass."

I guess that's where that Bander-whatsit stuff comes from, too.
"How come you remember something like that?"

"They were my favorite books when I was a little girl."

"That's a surprise. That's like,
Alice in Wonderland,
right? Some little dressed-up Brit girl? You liked that?"

"I liked the idea of a girl wandering around exploring strange, new worlds on her own. What's wrong with that? Mind you, I always thought Alice should have been more heavily armed before she started on those expeditions, just in case any of the weirdoes she met happened to turn out hostile."

"Now that part ain't a surprise." Stark checked his scan again, pulling it far back to see a good section of the front. His laughter died as Stark stared at a corner of the scan showing activity behind the enemy lines. He centered the display on it, focusing the scan. "What the hell's going on?"

"Where? Let me see your scan. You mean that stuff on the flanks of the Mixing Bowl?"

"Yeah. I mean that stuff." Scan provided only a scattered picture at that range, showing those traces of enemy activity that could be spotted across the distance, but increasingly large concentrations of enemy symbology seemed to be easing into position, carefully screening themselves from the official American forces occupying the Mixing Bowl. "What are they doing? Are they planning to throw enemy forces against us, too?"

"Ethan, if those enemy units were going to be used against us, they'd be more concerned about screening themselves from us, not from the official forces. Look at their movements. When there's a choice of screening terrain, they're choosing the route that masks them from the Mixing Bowl."

"Why? What the hell are they doing?"

"They're getting ready to hit the official forces. Look. To the south, too. We haven't got as good a view there, but something's going on."

Stark tried to rub his face, his armored hand slapping against his face shield instead. "A double-cross. Why now?"

"Why now? That's easy. Think about it from the enemy's perspective. The official American forces hit us, we hit back, both groups are weakened, then the people that don't like any of us hit what's left in the Mixing Bowl and roll over it. After that, they hope, they hit the defenses here, which the Jabberwocks have already softened up, and take the Colony. One, two, three strikes and we're out."

"Damn. We can't let that happen."

"No, I don't expect we can. How do we stop it?"

"We've got to help 'em. The guys in the Mixing Bowl. They don't have enough forces in there to hold off surprise attacks from both flanks. Not in that terrain."

"No, they don't. Think carefully, though, Ethan. No matter how we try to help, we're going to have to open our defenses here. We're going to have to commit forces that may get shot at by both those enemy forces and by the Mixing Bowl defenders. Worst case, we'll be seriously weakened. We might lose the Colony trying to save the official force. And if we do save them, they might still try to take us."

"Yeah." Stark stared outward, above the barren black/white/gray of the lunar terrain, outward to where the white and blue bannered disc of Earth hung in the blackness, memories cascading through his mind yet somehow leaving a single clear thought. "Yeah. I know all that. But I'm an American, Vic. We all are. The idiots running the country can't change that no matter how much they screw up everything else. And for once, for damned all once, I ain't gonna let everybody else pay for the dumb things our bosses decided were smart. We're gonna save those apes in the official force, and we're gonna see 'em safe home, so they can look out for the civs on Earth like they're supposed to."

"And if those apes thank us by taking over the Colony? Our troops won't fire on Second Division soldiers, Ethan, not even to save themselves. You know that."

He took a deep breath, eyes still fixed on Earth. Somewhere on that ball, somewhere beneath the white clouds, everything he'd been raised to care about waited on his decision. There wasn't any ice filling him this time, just a steady warmth that seemed to come from somewhere other than his suit's heating system. "Yeah. I know that, too. What else can we do, Vic? We got orders from the Colony leader, remember? Don't let the official force get blown away. Those are our orders and our priorities. And those orders make sense, Vic. What's the alternative? Leave home without anybody to defend 'em? If this much of Second Division gets trashed, what's left couldn't defend the borders. The guys who are double-crossing 'em up here will go after our country back home sure as hell. We took an oath, Vic. Protect the Constitution. Nothing we've done yet has really violated that. Home, the Constitution, they've been safe. But if we let those apes die, if we let everybody with a grudge against the U.S. of A. walk in to take whatever piece they think they're owed, what then? It'll all be over. I won't let that happen, even if I have to walk by myself over there and fight on my own."

"You won't be alone, Ethan." After a brief pause, she continued. "We've got one ace we can play. Stacey just notified me she managed to plant it."

"Plant it? Plant what?"

"Remember the worm Stace found in our systems after the raid on our headquarters? The one that would've mirror-imaged our IFF so our friends looked like enemies and vice versa? Her computer geeks were able to modify that worm so the watchdogs in the official systems shouldn't recognize it and so it'll make us look just like them on their IFF."

"No kidding? That's one nice worm."

"Stacey thought it might come in handy. With that, I can load a battalion on shuttles and shoot them over the front. Drop that battalion where it can help stop the surprise attack. That's not enough, but it should do the job until somebody else can get over there."

"Do it. Thanks, Vic. For setting this up, and for agreeing with me on doing this."

"Don't thank me, you idiot. I spent my whole career hoping for a leader who cared more about ideals than their own self-interest. So I got you. Serves me right. Let's try not to get killed."

"Deal."

He stood next to the APC, pondering what his decision might do to the soldiers who had trusted and followed him to this point.
I'll tell 'em what I'm doing and why. They deserve to know that.
"All units. This is Stark. We've spotted enemy forces moving to attack the Mixing Bowl on both flanks. They're planning on nailing the apes from Second Division and then maybe coming after us here. We'd be safe if we just stayed here behind our lines, but the Second Division grunts won't stand a chance without our help. I'm planning on helping them. That might mean the official force can take us down afterwards. But at least they'll be alive and able to help defend the U.S. back home. If they go down here, our country won't stand a chance. I hope you'll all follow me." He began walking toward the front line, deciding to dispense with the command APC.

"
Sargento
! Not on point,
Sargento
. Let a private do that." Gomez waved a soldier forward, then brought the rest of the platoon alongside Stark at a trot. "You ain't goin' over there alone."

"Thanks, Anita."

They moved up and over the low ridge, giving them a direct view of the dead zone. "They say it gets real cold in the Leaven-worth stockade," Gomez mused. "We'll have to pack overcoats and stuff. Bet it's not as cold as here, though."

"No, I bet it ain't. Of course, I'd probably get a firing squad, not a prison cell."

"Verdad.
But they say hell is real warm. You won't have to worry about no overcoat. You can pack light."

Stark laughed. "And I'll have plenty of friends waiting for me there. Nice to have you along on this walk,
compadre."

"De nada."

Vic Reynolds came on, speaking in a rush. "Ethan, I've got the shuttles loaded. The handiest force was Milheim's Battalion. I think he's still reeling from the orders he's got, because he hasn't screamed bloody murder. Yet."

"Looks like the enemy's still sneaking up on the Mixing Bowl. Good thing they're moving slow."

"Ethan, they don't expect us to do anything, even if we spot them. I've just given the shuttles their launch orders. We don't know anything about the layout of the base inside the Mixing Bowl, so I'm dropping the shuttles on the north flank where I think the heaviest attack is going to be staged."

"Got it. Sounds good. When will you activate the worm?"

"At the last minute, when the shuttles are approaching the front. We don't know how long the worm will last before the system watchdogs over there axe it."

"I sure hope it works."

"Stacey promised."

Stark laughed again. "We're depending on a promise from Stacey Yurivan. Great God Almighty. We must be insane."

"Must be. The shuttles will be overhead of you in four minutes."

"Roger." Stark picked up the pace, watching the companies and battalions around and behind him match his movement. They were all following him, again, believing as he did or just trusting that he had made the right decision.
Four battalions. Is that enough to stop the attack on the Mixing Bowl? No, five battalions, since we 're dropping Milheim's people in there.

A few minutes later the shuttles shot by overhead. Stark looked, trying to count, and noting the symbology for his three remaining armed shuttles among them. "Vic, are those armed shuttles there as escorts?"

"Partly. It was Chief Melendez's idea. He says the armed shuttles can fire their point defenses on the surface, using manual targeting. I think he's looking forward to trying it. Uh, I just activated the worm."

"Is it working?"

"We'll know it's not if the Mixing Bowl opens fire on the shuttles. Cross your fingers, Ethan. What's your plan for getting over there, by the way?"

"It looks like a nice day for a walk, Vic."

"I'm sorry I asked. Good luck."

"Hey, I got Gomez, Murphy, and the others with me. What could go wrong?"

"Don't get me thinking. Movement on the flanks of the Mixing Bowl is almost gone. The enemy must be about in position."

"Understand." Stark increased his pace again. Not far ahead, the fortified line awaited, and beyond that the appropriately named dead zone separating the two opposing forces. Stark had never liked venturing into it. He didn't like it now, but he couldn't see any alternative that wouldn't give him nightmares for the rest of his life.

On scan, Stark watched the shuttles hurtle over the dead zone without being engaged by defensive systems.
Whadayya know. Stacey's worm worked. Good thing I didn't fire her.
In the Mixing Bowl, officers would be going ballistic, wondering where the shuttles came from, how they could be friendly, and why they weren't responding to orders from whatever headquarters was operating inside the valley.

"Vic, give me a relay on the distress frequency. I want to talk to the people in the Mixing Bowl."

"That's a misuse of the frequency. You can go to jail for that, you know."

"I'll risk it."

"Relay's on."

Stark took a brief moment to gather his thoughts, then started speaking on a circuit that every soldier's armor, every ship, every comm system monitored by law. "All personnel in the official American force, inside the valley we call the Mixing Bowl. This is Sergeant Ethan Stark. You are being attacked by your allies. There are strong forces on both flanks preparing to hit you even as I speak. I have sent a battalion in via shuttle to reinforce your northern flank and will lead more units across the dead zone into your base to help you hold. I repeat, my forces are being deployed to help defend you from those enemy attacks. They will not attack you. We are advancing to help—" Harsh static buzz-sawed through the circuit.

Ouch. Jamming that circuit's illegal as hell. Of course, so is using it to broadcast speeches.
On scan, Stark watched Milheim's battalion deploying from the shuttles and heading for positions near the north wall of the valley. Scattered symbols near them marked official American forces who were apparently either confused by the worm or unwilling to fire on Milheim's soldiers.

A moment later, red symbology surged over the rim of the valley. Stark held his breath as his ground soldiers raked the attackers. Threat symbology radiated from the three grounded armed shuttles as Chief Gunner's Mate Melendez and his crews provided heavy covering fire.
How's it feel to be surprised, you bastards?
The red symbols wavered and fell back in confusion, leaving numerous casualty markers glowing in their wake.

On either side of Stark, the bunkers of the Colony's defensive perimeter fell behind. Stark increased his pace to a low gravity trot, covering long stretches of ground with each step. He'd be a perfect target during those periods out of contact with the lunar surface, but he had to get his troops across the dead zone in time to make a difference.