David Drake - The Forlorn Hope

The weapon fired light, glass-cored bullets which had little accuracy or striking power beyond three hundred meters. Point blank, as here, the bullets burned holes in thin steel and pulped flesh like a sausage mill. Liquor containers burst as the bottles within them exploded. The air stank of alcohol and blood as Ondru fell backward. Quade's rifle continued to spit round after round into the cra-tered chest. The limbs spasmed and the mouth gaped until a bullet shattered the chin. With horror, Hodicky noticed the gunman's fingers continued to pump the trigger even after the magazine had dropped automatically from the loading well to make room for a fresh one.

Hodicky nerved himself to touch his friend's shoulder. "Q," he said, "it'sokay now. Loosen up." His head ached with terror and the muzzle blasts.

Sergeant Ondru's head and shoulders had been sawn away from his lower body. Liquor was gurgling from the ravaged cartons and was beginning to pool around the corpse. Neither Janko nor Doubek had been touched by bullets, though a shard of bottle had torn the seated man's face unnoticed. Both of them stared at the gunman. Their faces and clothing gleamed with their Sergeant's blood.

"Think I'm a faggot, do you, Ondru?" Quade muttered under his breath. He shuddered and turned from the carnage. "Pavel," he said in a normal voice, "I'm going with the Lieutenant. You and him are the only people who ever treated me decent, and I wasn't going to last here without him. You know that." Quade locked a fresh magazine into his rifle, then lifted a canister of ammunition. "See you around," the black-haired man said, using his full hands as an excuse to prevent an embrace.

"Hey, I'm coming too," Hodicky said brightly. "Sure, I'll-I'll come too." He turned to the door.

"Wait a minute," said Quade. He was frowning again. "Sure you want to do that?"

"Gee, it's like you said," Hodicky insisted. "With the Lieutenant gone, our ass was grass for sure."

"Well, get a rifle then," Quade said bluntly. "We'll need it."

"Q, I-" Hodicky began. He stepped into the arms locker, taking a rifle and canister as the others had done. "Let's roll," he said in the cheerful, brittle voice of a moment before. He had not loaded the rifle.

Janko and Doubek watched the two follow their lieutenant. Neither of Ondru's men spoke or moved from the open locker for over a minute after the others had gone.

"The hell that wasn't shooting," Churchie Dwyer insisted. He stepped to the front opening from which Del Hoybrin still surveyed the interior of the compound. "You heard it, Del, didn't you?"

"If you say so, Churchie," the big man agreed.

"It was somebody trying to start an engine," said Bertinelli as he loaded a chip viewer."Too hollow for a gun."

A visored head thrust through the back curtain. In the voice of Hussein ben Mehdi, it said, "Doc, I want you to be ready in case something blows yet tonight," Then, "Dwyer? Is that you?" Churchie was recognizable with his visor down only because he stood next to the huge bulk of Trooper Hoybrin. It was pointless to direct a request for information toDel, of course. "Why aren't you two at your posts?"

"Sir," said Churchie with the deference which came easily when he was not looking for trouble, "Sergeant Hummel relieved us because of our wounds. They have to be dressed every four hours, you-what the hell is that?"

"It's Sergeant Jensen and the gun," saidDel as his friend spun to see what was making the noise. The corpsman frowned and stepped forward, trying to get a look past the shoulders of the other men.

Lieutenant ben Mehdi backed out of the medical station to look forhimself. The OC shelter was only fifty meters away. He had preferred to walk over with his directions to Bertinelli rather than to put his nervousness on the air. Now ben Mehdi called plaintively, "What are you doing here, Guns? Did the Colonel-?" He stopped.

Jensenbraked the gun carriage from the fast walk at which he had brought it from the head of the valley. The whine of its linkless tracks ceased. The Gunner stood and rotated his seat back into the firing position. "This will do for now," he said to his crew. "Dismount but stay close."

Only then did the blond sergeant walk over to Lieutenantben Mehdi. He lifted his helmet visor so that he could speak without its muffling. In a very low voice, Jensen said, "Sir, I came in without orders. My boys were out. inWest Bumfuck and I didn't want them left if folks started climbing trucks in a hurry."

Ben Mehdi grimaced beneath his own face shield, then lifted it. "I would to Allah that Guido-" he began. He broke off when Dwyer called, "Visitors, people."

Someone in Cecach fatigues was panting toward theOperationsCenter from the direction of the Complex itself. Sergeant Jensen eyed ben Mehdi a moment. The Lieutenant paused uncertainly. Jensen gave a shrill, carrying whistle and unslung his shoulder weapon. "Over here," he called to the newcomer. "And you can leave what you're carrying, just for now."

It was unlikely that, however badly the Colonel's negotiations were going, the indigs were going to send a sapper to bomb the OC. It was also cheaper not to take the chance.

The newcomer dropped his burden. As the man approached at a staggering jog, both ben Mehdi and the non-com recognized him as Waldstejn, the local Supply Officer. He was blown from the half-kilometer run, but the exertion had also damped his nervousness. "Where's the Colonel?" Waldstejn demanded. "Need to see him fast."

Sergeant Jensen eased and ben Mehdi found his tongue. "I thought you might know," the mercenary officer said. "He was with your people." Ben Mehdi gestured toward the Headquarters building. "Or did you come from the warehouse?"

"Mary, Mother of God," Lieutenant Waldstejn wheezed. He bent over with his hands on his knees to draw deep breaths. The assault rifle which he gripped clattered on his right shin. "All right," he said, straightening abruptly. The eyes of the gun crew and the troopers who had been in the medical station were on him. "They're going to kill you, trade your lives for an easy deal themselves. Lichtenstein and the rest."

Churchie Dwyer whistled a snatch of tune under his breath, but no one interrupted.

"You've got outposts north and south on the ridges?" the Federal officer asked.

"North only," said ben Mehdi. "We've loaned your people the gear on the other side."

"Call them in, back here," Waldstejn said. "Like the gun, good, but you'll have to leave it because-"

"Who the hell are you to give orders?" demanded Sergeant Jensen.

"Look," Albrecht Waldstejn pleaded, "I won't have the bastards kill you. ForGod's sake, take my word for it till Guido gets back. I can maybe find you a way out, but we've got tomove!'

Lieutenant ben Mehdi touched his commo key. "Black One," he called in a voice even tenser than usual under the circumstances, "this is Red Two. Bring in the Listening Post at once. Disable the gear, just bring them in."

"Sarge," called one of the gun crewmen. Two more figures were stumbling across the clear area between the Complex and the bunkers surrounding its perimeter.

Waldstejn stiffened. His goggles were not as efficient as the mercenaries' visors. "There were some guards," he began, "but I don't think they'd-oh!"The two short figures in Federal cammies could be only Quade and Hodicky, thedamned fools. "They're mine," Waldstejn said, "it's all right."

The Privates approached the group around their lieutenant. They were in better shape than the run had left Waldstejn. The Cecach officer ignored them. He said to Jensen and ben Mehdi, "You've got a path through the mines besides the one along the pylons to the west, right?" The mercenaries nodded. "Right," continued Lieutenant Waldstejn. "You can create a diversion around the trucks-"