— 20 —
"The tanks will form a recon wedge with the infantry to follow up," Bull decided. "That will expose those forces best able to take punishment to any enemy and protect the infantry skimmers, which are better for rapid stealthy movement." The two younger infantry officers exchanged disgusted looks, but Bull only grinned. "You'll see enough action if this gets rough," he told them, "and if it doesn't, then training will make up for it."
"Then you don't think there's much danger, sir?" the newly appointed platoon leader of Foxtrot Bravo India inquired.
"Just civilians being foolish," Bull replied. "We'll slice through and scatter them when we find 'em." He only partly believed what he said; mostly he said it to stiffen the resolve of these untried leaders. The trick was to move, and quickly, Bull realized. "Any more questions? Good. Move out in five minutes." He swung himself up to the turret, dismissing the officers.
"What's my callsign?" Ogren growled at him as the others turned away.
"Sierra Major," Bull replied instantly, and then decided to stick with it. "It suits."
Ogren grunted and stared at Bull's retreating back for a moment before he moved off to organize his ragged command.
Bull clambered up into the turret of the huge hovertank. Inside, he grabbed his combat helmet and pulled it on, ensuring that the boom mike was just in front of his lips and that the helmet was on tight enough to cut out the roar of the tank's huge fans.
"Fire it up, Timmons!" Bull told his driver. Immediately, the huge tank quivered with the surge of energy as Timmons powered up the huge lift fans. Of his radio chief Bull asked, "How're the sets, Sara?"
The muttered invective with a "sir" thrown in for luck convinced Bull that his laserlink radios were in good condition. It wasn't just Engles's ability to scrounge radio gear that made her invaluable. She seemed to be able to second guess Bull's needs; never, in months of fighting, had he needed to ask her to switch frequencies for him as he swapped between platoon, company, battalion, and regimental frequencies.
"Lariat Two," Bull said over the platoon net, using his platoon's official designation as second platoon, L Company.
"Two Zero, ready," Sergeant Lewis's assured voice rasped.
"Two Four." "Two Eight," Sergeant's Healey and Gleeson replied, echoing that they, too, were ready to move out.
On the group communications net he said, "Foxtrot, report."
"Foxtrot Alpha Tango, ready."
"Foxtrot Alpha India, ready."
"Foxtrot India, ready."
"Foxtrot Bravo India, ready."
"Sierra Major, ready," Sergeant Major Ogren said, completing the roll call.
"Central, this is Foxtrot Six, prepared to move," Bull informed Central on still another net.
"Move out!" the gruff voice of Alois Hammer told him.
"Foxtrot, move out!" Bull told his command. Immediately his tank surged forward as Timmons angled the fans. Behind him seven more tanks and twelve squads of skimmer-mounted infantry did likewise. Farther back the wheeled softskinned vehicles fed power through their transmissions and growled forward, picking up speed as the hovercraft in front of them surged ahead.
The small task force left the compound and the town which surrounded it behind them. In less than ten minutes they were at phaseline Yellow, the tee junction where they turned left. They passed by a forest off to their right and fields full of farmers on their left as the combat group headed on toward the town of Plains, phaseline Aqua. The weather was fair and sunny with good visibility. Bull began to feel that maybe what he had told Bravo India's platoon leader was true, that the survivors of the downed transport were being harried by a few disgruntled civilians who would scatter in the face of armed, organized troops.
All the same, I shouldn't set a bad example, Bull thought to himself. He pulled out his binoculars and scanned the terrain leading up to Plains. In the fields, farmers worked. In the town, people appeared to be going about their business. Beyond Plains to the southwest was a large hill, an outcast from the great Crags to the north. Gorse and a few trees dotted it. Nothing in his view pricked his conscience or raised hairs on the back of his neck. He wasn't too surprised; this was far too close to the Slammer's compound. Most of the Slammers might be gone, but even the cowardly remnants of Jebbitt's Raiders, huddling somewhere out in the Crags, knew better than to tackle those Slammers who remained.
"Foxtrot, this is Six. Secure Aqua," Bull ordered. To his driver he said, "Move it, Greg! I want to be out of there first."
"Should I recon?" Sam Lewis asked, trying to drop the hint.
"Negative," Bull replied. "There's no need."
The combat group bottled up as it roared through the small town of Plains, the great tanks swerving through the crooked streets which had not long ago been cow paths. Behind them the softskinned vehicles bundled together and slowed down.
"Move it! Move it!" Bull roared to his command, frustrated with the way things were going. "Foxtrot India, get it together!" Bull said to Smyth, singling him out. Bull felt he had to keep pushing his command, force them to move at the same speed they had used when outmaneuvering Jebbitt's Raiders—speed which through the millennia had been called Caesar speed, blitzkrieg, and finally "Bull speed."
"Bull speed it is, sir!" Timmons replied, squeezing the last watt of power out of the immense fusion reactor that powered their tank. Behind them the rest of Bull's platoon began to fan out to their left to form half of the wedge formation maintained by the hovertanks. Lieutenant Dyer's tank platoon followed up shortly but had trouble linking up with Bull, since they were far behind.
"Foxtrot Six this is Foxtrot Alpha Tango. Request reduced speed to regroup," Dyer was finally forced to say.
"Negative," Bull replied. The time for worrying about formation was later, when they were nearer the wreck. Speed was what counted. Farther back the skimmers were forming up just outside of Plains, in keeping with the general formation Bull had prescribed. Things were going well enough, Bull decided, and if there really was going to be trouble, it wouldn't help the survivors of the wreck if they arrived too late.
Unwillingly, Bull remembered the only time he had arrived too late. He had been born Braddington Paul Bromley on his home planet of Murea, and was the fourth to bear that name. His family had been part of the planet's enlightened rich, and ruled with a wise hand. As was fitting a man of his standing, he was trained early on in the martial arts and military science, even though Murea was a united, peaceful planet. It was his misfortune that, while he was serving with the elite guard of Murea, the politicians decided to aid the aristocracy of Artair, a distant planet circling another sun. Bull fought well, but the Murean detachment was the only good unit on the side of the aristocracy, and shortly they were defeated. The victors, mindful of repercussions, treated the captured Mureans well and returned them to their home planet.
Murea was not the same when Bull returned. The politicians who had unwisely sent aid to Artair had also antagonized a large faction of their own populace. Taking note of the successful revolution of the Artairians, the disgruntled lower classes decided to emulate them.
The rebellion erupted quickly. Bull was put back into uniform in charge of troops drafted from the same segment of the population they were supposed to control. Bull and every other officer found themselves more nervous in front of their own troops than in front of the enemy. As the situation worsened and droves of trained regular troops deserted to the enemy over the bodies of their officers, Hammers' Slammers were hired.
The Slammers swiftly crushed the rebels in a series of lightning moves that tantalized young Braddington Bromley. With those remnants of his command who stood by him, he emulated their actions, earning quite a reputation among his own men. Unlike the well-equipped Slammers, Bromley did not possess the satellite tracking systems and the assistance of ever-present Central, so his ripostes were made swiftly but with caution. He never began a movement without first ensuring that his formation was properly established and his men well rested. It was in the midst of one of these rapid ripostes against the rebels that Bull found the remains of his ancestral home. The fire was still burning, blood still oozing out of the bodies of his parents. He had taken time before cresting the hill in front of his home, to regroup so that his unit was properly arrayed for battle. While he had been ordering his unit, the enemy had been murdering his family.
When the war ended, he had nothing left worth going back to. He had entered the recruiting shack of Alois Hammer's regiment in the full Murean parade dress of a lieutenant colonel. He had left in the drab clothing of a Slammer private.
A bolt of light followed by a loud explosion rocked Bull back to the present. Two Six lurched to the side as Timmons tried to recover the huge blower from a near hit.
"Bloody hell!" Ennis exclaimed. "It came from the forest!" he said, pointing to the trees north of them. Another bolt roared over their heads. "That was from the hill behind us!" "Ambush!" Dyer yelled over the combat group net. Numbly, Bull took in the situation. An unknown number of tanks were hidden in the forest to the north and the hill to the southwest. His tanks were strewn out on the open plains while his skimmers were still emerging from the town.
Bull shook himself to action, delaying recrimination for a more suitable time. "Skimmers ground!" Bull yelled, hoping they still hadn't cleared the town. "All tanks proceed toward the forest," he continued. "Foxtrot Tango, target the hill. Alpha Tango target the forest. Skimmers support as targets become available. Do it now!"
"Roger," Dyer replied in a tight voice.
"Wilco," Smyth acknowledged for the skimmers.
Another bolt tore across the horizon toward Bull's tank. Cursing, Timmons swerved the huge panzer.
There are four enemy tanks on the hill to the southwest and two tanks in the forest to the north. Each tank has an Ordnance value of 2. They exchange three volleys with the Slammers before they retreat. The Slammers have eight tanks with an Ordinance value of 4.
Both the Slammers and their enemy fight using Chart C.
If the enemy is destroyed or driven off, turn to section 25.
If the Slammers are eliminated, turn to section 29.