Stark's Crusade (33 page)

"Stark? Stark! What the hell are you doing?"

"Vic? Where's that transmission coming from?"

"Official force source, Ethan, somewhere inside the Mixing Bowl."

"Huh. This is Stark. Who's this?"

"Rash Paratnam, you flippin' idiot. What's with dropping troops on us. You
want
to fight us?"

"No, you moron! Didn't you hear my transmission?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Open your eyes and look around. Check your scan."

"Scan's being sanitized by our headquarters, Stark. We can't see a damn thing."

"Aw, fer pity's sake. Rash, you've got enemy troops hitting you on both flanks. Your people on the south are being rolled over. We've managed to stall the attack on the north side, but can't keep holding there without reinforcements. You've gotta get your people moving and set up defenses."

A pause, then an agonized reply came. "Ah, jeez, Ethan. What're we gonna do? Our orders are to engage
you
guys. I asked my officers about the enemy forces, our beloved allies, and they said nothing."

"Rash, listen to me. We're on the same side here. I'm not gonna let the majority of what's left of the American Army get overrun while I sit safe behind my defenses. Hey, can you link to my scan?"

"Uh, I guess so. But you could use that back door to drop a worm into our system."

"Rash, we've
already
got a worm in your system."

"You do? That's why my scan's showing you as friendly? Damn." Another pause, longer this time. "You never lied to me, Ethan. Never. Okay. I'm linking to your scan, and I'll link everybody else over here into it. Then we'll be able to see what's going on. At least until the system watchdogs over here figure out what I'm doing and try to kill the link."

"Thanks, Rash."

Halfway across the dead zone, maybe, the new berm shielding the Mixing Bowl looming ever higher before them. If the forces manning those defenses were going to fire on Stark, they'd open up soon.

Another transmission came in. "Stark, we can't keep this up!" Milheim called, anger and fear edging into his voice. "My Battalion's getting hit from two sides at once."

"Who's hitting you? Enemy or official force?"

"Enemy. The ones coming in on the south aren't facing much resistance."

"That's gonna change. The official forces are redeploying to stop them."

"Thank God. We can't keep this up much longer, even with those armed shuttles tearing up the landscape."

"I hear you, Milheim. We're almost in ourselves." The berm was directly before them, rising upward steeply. Rock wouldn't have held that slope unaided against Earth's gravity, but against the moon's puny pull it stayed in place. Stark began bounding up the slope, cursing as loose rocks broke free beneath him and simultaneously grateful for lunar gravity that let him almost run up the slope.

Over the top. Stark paused to catch his breath. A few soldiers occupied a nearby weapons pit, watching him silently. Most of the defenses on the top of the berm sat empty, their occupants presumably sent off to defend the flanks. He scanned the small force of defenders quickly, frowning as the names evoked memories. "I know you guys."

"Yeah, you know us," one of the defenders acknowledged. "We used to be in your Fifth Battalion, Second Brigade."

The mutineers he had sent back to Earth. "They left you in charge of defending the berm?"

"That's right. I guess they figured we were the ones most likely to shoot at you."

"So why didn't you?"

"Because you could have shot us when you put down the mutiny. You could have sent some of us to firing squads after. You didn't. If you wanted to kill us you could've done it a couple times over by now. We decided it was about time we paid more attention to what you were doing than to what the people who didn't like you were saying."

Stark couldn't suppress a grin. "I take it Kalnick ain't up here."

"He's up here. At headquarters. The guy ain't a good field soldier, if you ask me. Poor judgment. Sorry we didn't realize that before."

"Better late than never. How's your scan? Is it showing the enemy activity yet?"

"Not the official scan. We're backdooring an accurate picture from the guys in contact with the enemy." A brief hesitation. "I guess we're surrendering to you."

"Hell, no, you're not. Why would you surrender to people who're on your side?" He pointed back down the berm, toward the battalions coming up behind him. "Your old unit is on its way. They fought good just now. When they get here, you fall in with them."

"A second chance? You're giving us a second chance?"

"I'd give the devil himself a second chance if I thought I could make a good soldier out of him. But don't plan on asking me for a third chance."
I'm spending too much time here. Got to get moving.
"Come on," Stark ordered his own soldiers as more came over the crest of the berm. "Second Battalion, follow me to the south flank. Third Battalion, I want you to head for Sergeant Milheim's position and go where he needs you. First and Fifth Battalion commanders, as soon as you're over the ridge head your unit for whatever point you think you're needed at. Fifth Battalion, you've got some of your people waiting for you up here."

His Tac scanned the surroundings, trying to build a picture of the base to guide his progress. Unlike the almost entirely underground Colony, the Mixing Bowl base contained many low buildings, rock piled over them to provide protection from other rocks falling to the surface. "Can you see this, Vic? There's a lot of surface structures in here."

"I see. They probably did that to reduce the amount of excavation necessary during construction. This base is surely planned to be a temporary facility."

"I bet you're right. I got a feeling it's gonna be a lot more temporary than they planned on." Stark ran, annoyed as he realized his old squad had formed up around him as a moving human shield.
Just a big target. But I can't order 'em away.
Scattered groups of soldiers came into view, Second Division soldiers milling around uncertainly. "Follow me, you apes." The other soldiers were swept up by Stark's force, then the low buildings all around were falling away and combat was suddenly right before them.

The enemy forces coming into the Mixing Bowl from the south rim had apparently rolled over any attempts to form a defensive line and were in the process of rushing forward triumphantly when Stark's battalion came out from among the buildings and hit them in the flank. The enemy assault collapsed like a house of cards hit by a basketball, their soldiers unprepared to form any organized defense themselves. Stark swept through them, leaving the prisoners to be secured by following forces, keeping the pressure on as most of the enemy soldiers ran toward another enemy force advancing a kilometer downrange. The panicked soldiers burst into the formations of the other force, disrupting the enemy effort to turn and confront Stark's counterattack.

"Hit 'em!" Stark kneeled, aiming and firing carefully at the confused mass of enemy soldiers. From all around him, accurate fire lashed at the enemy. More of them started running, breaking away from attempts to organize a response to the unexpected assault.

A small force of American soldiers rose from their position around a wrecked bulldozer, catching the enemy forces in a cross fire. Resistance broke, the enemy forces openly fleeing as fast as they could back toward the south rim of the valley.
That should buy us a few minutes.
Stark gasped for breath, winded from the long stretch of exertion. As far as he could figure, he'd been essentially running for several klicks. Even on the moon, that kind of exercise added up, especially after a day already spent in combat. "Second Battalion, keep after them. Try to run them over the rim so you can set up a line there.
Don't
follow them over the rim."

He approached the small force around the bulldozer, waving in greeting. "Hi. Nice day for a war, ain't it?"

"Nice as any." One of the soldiers stood forth. "Sergeant Pericles here."

"Pericles?" Stark nodded, trying to remember where he'd heard the name before. "I'm Stark."

"Didn't think I'd say this, but I'm damned glad to see you."

Another soldier came up to them. "Lieutenant Fox. I'm in command here." The lieutenant's voice was slightly shaky, which wasn't anything unusual in someone who'd just been engaged in what had looked like a hopeless battle.

Stark glanced at Pericles, who made the small gesture used to provide shorthand descriptions of officers.
He's okay, huh?
"Pleased to meet you, Lieutenant—"

"Sergeant Stark, I'm afraid I must place you under arrest."

Stark couldn't keep his eyebrows from raising, an expression fortunately invisible behind his face shield. His guardian platoon leaned forward, their hostile attitudes clear. Before Stark could answer the officer, Sergeant Pericles stepped in. "Lieutenant, this ain't a very good time for that." As if to underline his words, armor alert systems sounded warnings as HUDs tracked incoming artillery. "I guess our 'allies' have decided the surprise is over and it's time to get real nasty. We all better go to ground."

Stark shook his head, his body already in motion again. "I've got to link up with my forces on the north flank. I got a battle to run. Lieutenant Fox, Sergeant Pericles, I'd appreciate you lending my Second Battalion a hand, especially if they have to coordinate action with your people." Any response from either soldier was drowned out by a brief burst of static.
Jamming? That strong and that effective? Got to be the work of official forces. Somebody's not with the program yet.
"Can anyone pinpoint the source of that jamming? I want it off the line, now."

"It's off line," an unfamiliar voice responded. "We killed the transmitter power. Sergeant Stark, things are real bad up here on the north side."

"You with Milheim?"

"Uh, I dunno. Everybody's sorta intermingled. I. . . hey, here comes a whole bunch of new guys."

Stark cursed under his breath. "Are they friendly or enemy, soldier?"

"Friendly! Sorry, Sarge. Scan says they're from, uh, First Battalion?"

"That's my people. Can you link me to your scan?"

"Affirmative, Sergeant. Here ya go."

Stark paused, resting again, while artillery thumped into the rock behind them, studying the picture he could piece together from the fragments of scan he was picking up. The northern flank was a mess of intermingled forces, in some places advancing against the attackers and in some places falling back. At a dozen places, smoldering wrecks marked what had been the enemy armored support. Either Milheim's anti-armor teams or the weapons on the armed shuttles had blunted that portion of the attack. On the left side of the flank, fresh forces were pushing in and shoving the enemy into stubborn retreat.

The south flank looked better, at least temporarily. Second Battalion, augmented by growing numbers of Second Division troops, had been able to chase the fleeing enemy most of the way back to the valley's rim, but fresh attackers had apparently stopped the counterattack short of the rim.

"Vic? Can you copy?"

"Barely. There's serious jamming from the enemy forces to either side of you. What kind of picture have you got over there?"

"It's a mess. Can you copy my scan?"

"Uh, wait one. Yeah. Wow. What a goat-rope of a battle."

"Tell me about it. Can you tell if anything else is moving up to hit the flanks?"

Instead of replying directly, Vic linked him to the command center scan again. Reinforcements were clearly moving up, in large numbers. Stark whistled involuntarily. "We can't hold here, Vic. The position's a death trap."

"Agree. I guess that's why the official force got offered it."

"I gotta find the headquarters here and coordinate a retreat. You get some APCs across to the foot of the berm to help move people." He switched circuits, calling on the general tactical frequency. "Anybody from Second Division know where your commanders are? I gotta talk to them. Fast."

"Stark?" Rash Paratnam somehow radiated anger through the comm circuit. "Stark, you're crazy. No, you're stupid. What the hell are you doing in the middle of this?"

"Trying to save your stubborn butt."

"What do want with our commanders?"

"I need to coordinate a retreat, Rash. We can't hold this position."

He could feel Rash's uncertainty, now, and the agony of contemplating retreat under fire. "Okay. Here's a dump of the base map. I'll meet you at the main entrance."

"Thanks." Stark was off at a run again, Gomez's platoon following, their weapons restlessly probing every area they passed for threats. Stark wove through a maze of small buildings, coming finally to a low, wide structure with heavy lunar rock berms on each side and a single armored figure waiting near the entrance. "Rash?"

"Yeah. Ill-met in the Mixing Bowl, huh? Come on." Rash led the way inside, past pale-faced sentries with confused expressions fingering their weapons. "In here. Our command center."

Stark strode in, wondering at the image he presented in battle-scarred armor, rifle in his hands, a platoon of mean-looking soldiers at his back. Several officers in battle armor were gathered at the main display, their postures proclaiming various states of bewilderment. "Sergeant Stark here."

"How'd you get past the sentries?" One figure off to the side gestured violently. "Surrender yourself—"

"Shut up, Kalnick. I don't have any time for your crap today." Stark scanned the others. "Who's in command?"

A moment's silence, then one of the figures raised one hand and waved it around the group. "That's what we're trying to decide."

"Excuse me? I hate to push things, but we've got a real mess out there," Stark made his own gesture toward the picture shown on the main display nearby, "and we cannot hold this position."

"Sergeant Stark, with the additional forces you've brought—"

"No. Sir. I'm sorry. You can't see it from here, but from the other side we can tell there's a whole lot more enemy forces moving up. This place is nicknamed the Mixing Bowl because once an enemy occupies the rims he can scramble anyone crazy enough to try to maintain a position here. We learned that the hard way years ago."