Stark's War (8 page)

Desoto smiled quickly, there and gone in an instant. "You worried, Sergeant? About a battle?"

"I'm always worried. It's one of the things that keeps me and my Squad members alive."

"But this battle, Sergeant," Desoto insisted. "The one that's gonna happen sooner or later, when they fight. You worried we might lose?"

"Between you and me? A little. But, hey, vid wouldn't be very exciting if we didn't lose every once in a while, eh?"

"We won't lose, Sergeant. No way."

"I hope to God you're right, Pablo. If you and I have anything to do with it, we won't. Thanks for the talk. You'll make a good Sergeant someday."

"Thank you, Sergeant. Good night."

" 'Night, Pablo."

Despite his resolution, Stark couldn't sleep, prowling restlessly through the hallways of the lab complex, dim "night" illumination leaving the far ends of the halls barely visible. The ache between his shoulder blades grew again, telegraphing a vague premonition of danger.
How long does it take to get to the Moon from Earth? How long to train the troops before they leave? Were they already training before we got here? Did they have transports ready, or did they have to build some in orbit first? How mad or desperate are they that we grabbed their last chance to break out of their boxes and maybe challenge the U.S. of A. for Big Dog status again? If enough of them stop fighting among themselves and get together, can they take us?
A lot of questions, none of which he knew the answers to. The rock-hewn passages of the lab complex held no answers, either, but at least they offered an endless path for restless feet.

"Sarge?" Billings called, her voice over Stark's comm. unit shocking in the silence of the sleeping halls. "Sergeant Reynolds is on the comm for you. Says it's really urgent."

"On my way." Stark checked the time as he ran, rubbing his face to calm himself. Everything about this felt bad, bringing new life to his fears. He headed for the comm terminal where Billings stood watch at this hour, past cubicles where the rest of his Squad still slept in the unaccustomed luxury of semiprivacy.

Reynolds' image on the comm screen started speaking as soon as she saw Stark. "It's going down. They're attacking."

"Damn. Why hasn't there been an official alert?"

Vic made a face. "The brass are still trying to find their heads with both hands."

Stark grabbed a packet of instant coffee, shoveling the powdered caffeine into his mouth for a fast jolt even as he mentally ran through the actions he'd take next. "How bad is it? What's going on?"

"I don't know for sure, because nobody does." Vic looked upward suddenly. "The Navy's getting hit hard, but they're trying to hold on as long as possible to give us time to prepare. There're definitely troop transports among the attacking ships, though."

"Okay, thanks." As the screen blanked, Stark turned to where Billings had been listening to the conversation, her own body tense. "Hold here and be ready for an alert to be passed." Then he ran back to the living areas, slamming the lights on at full brightness. "Everybody up, now! Company's on the way! I want you in full battle gear and ready to roll in five minutes! Go! Go! Go!"

It took more like ten minutes before the last member of the Squad fell in, which was still very good time. "Mendoza, relieve Billings on the comm so she can suit up. Listen good, you apes. The Navy's getting hit right now and there're transports bringing in enemy troops. I don't know how many, and I don't know what our orders will be, but we will be ready and we will kick butt. Any questions?"

"Who is it, Sarge? Who's attacking?"

"I dunno. But it looks like we finally pushed the First, Second, and Third Worlds a little too hard and they're pushing back harder."

"We're at war with everybody else on Earth?" Chen exclaimed.

"I told you I don't know."

Before anyone could say anything more, the comm panel buzzed frantically, then began relaying data to Stark's own Tactical. He immediately started shunting it downstream to his Squad at the same time as he read it. Full alert. Major attacks imminent. Tactical scrolled orders even as it painted a sector map on Stark's HUD. "Okay, everybody getting this?" Stark demanded. "We're falling back to form a perimeter around that colony they've been building up."

"Sarge?" Murphy called. "We're way outside that perimeter."

"The Sergeant knows that, Murphy," Corporal Desoto snapped.

Stark nodded. "Right. So, ladies and gentlemen, we are leaving as soon as Billings gets back. Say good-bye to clean living."

"Hey, Sarge." Gomez waved her hand around to indicate the entire complex. "The orders say we're supposed to destroy this place when we evacuate, but we haven't got any demolitions. It'll take forever."

"Yeah," Stark agreed. "It would, so we aren't going to try. On our way out we'll drop some incendiary grenades into the main computer room and call that good. If headquarters doesn't like it they can come do a better job themselves." Billings ran in, panting with haste as she fastened the last seals on her battle armor. "All right. Let's go. We're at war again, people. No screwing around and no screwing up."

Stark looked back as he cleared the main entry, the large airlock hatch still glowing clearly on infrared, remembering when they'd assaulted the lab several weeks back. He wondered briefly if the angry female scientist would return, complaining about the mess Stark's Squad had made of the place, then put it out of his mind.

"Sergeant." Stark looked over to Desoto, who pointed up wordlessly. He stared upward in turn, seeing strange new stars blooming far away against the lunar night. The Navy, fighting a desperate rearguard action. Suddenly a larger star erupted, growing into a ragged blossom that gradually faded. "Was that one of our ships?" Desoto wondered out loud.

"No telling," Stark noted grimly. "Given the odds up there, it probably was. Okay, those sailors are dying to buy us time, people. Let's move it."

Stark tried not to think about the distance left to be covered, tried not to realize how long it would take his Squad to reach the limited safety of the hasty perimeter that headquarters was trying to establish, tried most of all not to think about what would happen if they got caught by the enemy alone out here. They covered ground fast, the too-near horizon mocking them as it receded, endless vistas of rock and dust painted in shades of gray and black. "Sarge!" Hector yelled.

"Keep it down," Stark barked, watching on his own HUD as distant tracks arched toward the lunar surface—landing craft, well behind them but telegraphing the arrival of ground forces in large enough number to panic headquarters.

An ugly object suddenly jumped over the ridge before them, massive black armor glinting dully. "Hold your fire!" Stark shouted, "Wait for IFF!" even as his suit Identification Friend or Foe cheerily declared "friendly!" The APC pirouetted with absurd grace for such a mammoth object, coming to rest just before them.

"Get aboard fast," the APC driver called, her voice crackling with tension. Stark hustled his troops, ignoring normal dispersal routines, body crowding body into the cramped cavern of the troop compartment. No sooner did Stark haul himself in last than the access hatch slammed closed and the APC jerked upward, pivoted, then shot forward. The soldiers were flung into a tangled mass, cursing as they sorted out harnesses and tried to strap in.

Stark settled himself, checking suit readouts for the Squad. "Anybody hurt back when we took off?" A chorus of grumbles answered him, intermixed with disparaging comments about the APC driver's ancestry. "Knock it off. How many of you would rather be walking?" Stark jacked into the APC's systems, trying to get more information, but its Tactical displayed the same scattered picture as Stark's. "Driver?"

"Yeah." Her voice reflected the concentration of highspeed driving through lunar terrain and the stress of impending combat.

"How far you taking us?"

"Not far enough, Sergeant." She stopped talking for a moment as the APC swerved violently. "Damn rocks. Don't wanna hit one. You get dropped a couple of klicks farther on."

Stark checked his Tactical. "That's still outside the perimeter."

"Uh-huh. I got more troops to collect, pal. I can't chauffeur you in all the way. No time."

"Roger." Stark settled back, trying not to think too much about everything that could go wrong in the next few hours. It seemed only moments later that the APC braked hard enough to provoke another torrent of curses from the Squad, then slammed to the surface. "Everybody out," Stark ordered.

"But Sarge," Chen protested. "We're still short of—"

"I know!" Stark roared. "Move it!" They moved, tumbling out with all the haste Stark's command could generate. "Disperse!" Stark snapped. "Maintain combat formation." He consulted his HUD as the APC jumped aloft and shot away, back toward where the enemy landing craft had fallen a short time before.
Good luck, buddy.
"People, we haven't got a decent map download of this area, but we know where we're going. Let's go."

As the Squad began legging it again, Stark switched to platoon-level scan, feeling a rush of relief as he spotted the symbology for Second Squad nearby. "Sanchez? You on?"

"Roger, Stark." From the lack of excitement in Sanchez's voice he could have been on simulated maneuvers instead of facing actual battle.

Stark checked his HUD again. "Looks like we're converging toward the same area."

"Agreed. My left flank should make contact with your right flank in about ten minutes."

"Great." Stark knew his elation was irrational in the face of the threat, but making physical contact with another unit meant that at least they were no longer alone on the empty. awful face of the Moon. "What about First Squad? Whereas Reynolds?"

"I think there's an APC trying to do a pickup on them now."

Stark felt a chill. "Damn. They were a long ways out. farther than my Squad."

"Relax," Sanchez advised. "You or me, we might be in trouble. Vic Reynolds will get her Squad out, though."

"Yeah, you're right." Stark fell silent, ushering his Squad forward until his right flank met Second Squad, until they reached the upwelling of ancient stone that marked the ridge they'd aimed for, until both squads flopped down, panting from their rapid movement, staring back down the way they'd come with dread anticipation.

Rifles came up as their HUDs pulsed, pinpointing a fast-moving object. "Hold on," Stark ordered as the vehicle shot directly toward them.

"I have no IFF," Sanchez reported.

"Me, neither," Stark agreed, fingering his rifle even as an instinct nagged at the back of his mind. "But what enemy would be crazy enough to charge ahead like that?"

"You think it's friendly?"

"Yeah. Maybe something's wrong with its IFF."

"Then my Squad will hold fire until you say otherwise."

Rifles lined up, aiming toward where suit combat systems estimated the unknown vehicle would be when it came within range. They made an odd sight, almost thirty barrels individually moving in sync with each other as each soldier's combat system reached the same targeting conclusions. "Sarge?" Carter called. "How close does that thing have to get before our rifles can punch through its armor?"

"Depends on what it is," Stark stated. "But nobody fires until I say so. Remember, that vehicle might be ours, and it might have friends on it."

The vehicle finally came into sight, glimpses of a dark shape weaving through the rocks like a huge beetle in a gravel pit. Stark gradually realized the weaves were too erratic to all be deliberate attempts at evasion, staring as the armor grated against outcrops, then steadied to come on again with the determination of a badly wounded animal seeking shelter.

"Man, that is one beat-up piece of metal," Gomez whispered.

Stark nodded silently, wondering how many of the dents and holes he saw marked penetrations of the troop compartment. The APC reached the spot where terrain began climbing and tried to rise with it, but staggered, grinding against the foot of the ridge, then came to a shuddering halt as bodies began leaping free. "Who's there?" Stark demanded.

"First Squad," Vic Reynolds answered crisply. "Lieutenant Porter's been hit."

"What happened?"

"Firefight. Some enemy troops dropped almost on top of us. The APC yanked us out just before we got overrun. Unfortunately, it got shot up in the process."

"Jesus. Get the driver and the gunner."

"We've got the driver. She's been nicked but is mad as hell and has a sidearm. The gunner's dead."

"Hell."

Reynolds paused, then spoke again. "We'll have to leave him."

"But . . ." Stark gritted his teeth.
Have to leave them.
The words echoed someplace where memories forever lay too close to the surface.
No, just him. One guy. One too many, but what else are you going to do? Hold back all your living soldiers to help one guy who can't be helped anymore ?
Too much mass to lug around even on the Moon, not when you had to worry about moving really fast. "At least nothing will happen to the body up here."

"Yeah," Vic agreed shortly. First Squad members were coming up the slope, two with damaged battle armor being helped by other soldiers. "Can we hold here, Ethan?"

"I doubt it. The position's not bad, but there's nobody here but us."

"Sanchez? Anybody on your flank?"

"Not in contact, no," Sanchez noted coolly. "There is a gap of perhaps half a kilometer between my left and the next unit."

Big enough to drive a brigade through,
Stark thought, but at least Sanchez had somebody providing support on that side.

"This is Lieutenant Porter speaking." His voice wavered oddly, possibly from shock, certainly from weakness and the effects of the drugs his suit's medical kit would have been automatically pushing into him. "We will hold here in accordance with our orders."

They waited, for moments that seemed longer than they should, until threat symbols popped into life at the edges of their HUDs. The symbols came on, flowing forward and to the side, marking infantry and vehicles moving ahead with deadly determination. Stark noted the numbers of oncoming threats, matched it against his own Platoon's firepower, and breathed a silent prayer.