Ben Bova - Test of Fire

They’ve seen us now, he knew, watching the figures atop one of the watchtowers moving rapidly and gesticulating. Are they surprised? Or have they been waiting for us? Are they as scared as I am? And Alec realized that his heart was racing; he could feel it pounding in his throat, hear it in his ears, amplified by the ’phones clamped to the sides of his head.

They sped toward the fence and off to his right Alec could see a band of cavalry troops riding hard to keep pace with them. The jeeps were up ahead.

Flickers of fire danced at the tops of the watchtowers but Alec could hear nothing except the rush of the wind as his truck tore forward.

The lead jeep fired a missile at the nearest watchtower and Alec followed its smoky exhaust as it passed within a few meters of the tower’s top, then arced into the empty ground inside the fence and exploded.

“We’re in range of the fence!” shouted the gunner, sitting strapped into the plastic jumpseat that jutted out to one side of the massive laser mount.

Alec turned to him. “Burn it down.”

The laser’s special power generator hummed into life and then its vibration was drowned out by the high-pitched whine of the laser itself. The beam was invisible, but where it touched the fence the wire mesh flashed into incandescence and charred and curled like the wick of a candle.

The jeeps swerved toward the opening and the laser gunner swung his attention to the watchtowers.

The nearest one was still firing when the energy beam touched it. The tower top burst into flame.

And then they were inside the fence, racing across the bumpy countryside. The wind tore at Alec’s face. The jeeps were both intact and pulling even further ahead of them, swinging left to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the firebase’s artillery. Glancing toward the rear, Alec saw the cavalry squad pouring through the gap in the fence. The watchtower was burned and silent.

He saw a flash from the hilltop and an instant later the ground erupted far off to his right. The dull heavy roar of the explosion reached him as the black cloud hurled tumbling chunks of earth high into the air.

Get past the firebases and engage Douglas’s mobile reserve. That was his mission. Leave the firebases isolated and concentrate your forces on his reserves. Smash them before they can organize a counterattack.

Two more artillery shells hit in front of them.

The shock and noise hit simultaneously and the driver veered the truck hard to the left as debris pelted down on them. Alec saw a pair of smoking craters where the shells had hit; they looked raw and painful in the gentle earth.

More shellbursts, but falling further behind now. Then one struck close enough to knock one of the jeeps over. It rolled crazily, scattering broken pieces of men and machinery across the grass, and finally came to rest on its side. As the truck swept past it, the jeep burst into flames. No time to stop for the wounded. Not now.

A gently sloping ridge rose ahead of them. Alec knew this countryside by heart. If there was going to be trouble anywhere, it would be this ridge line.

Douglas had been turning it into a natural defense line, adding man-made earthworks where the ridge itself flattened out, so that the line completely covered the flank of his base, twenty klicks from the innermost fences. Between the ridge line and those fences was nothing but flat open country.

They charged up the ridge, Alec hanging grimly to the rail of the laser mount, expecting land mines, more artillery fire, small arms fire from troops dug into trenches at the crest.

Nothing. The ridge was bare of defenders. The flat meadowlands stretched out ahead and Alec could see other units of trucks, jeeps and cavalry dashing across the grassland, too.

This is too easy, he told himself. Douglas couldn’t possibly be taken so easily.

But they plunged on, bouncing at breakneck speed down the ridge’s reverse slope and slewing out onto the flatland. Occasional shellbursts reminded them that the firebases were still active, but the artillery fire was desultory and did nothing to slow them. If anything, the drivers urged extra speed from their electric motors whenever a shell landed near them.

Tense with a mixture of exhilaration and fear, Alec clicked his radio dial for Jameson’s frequency.

“Ron, where are you now?” he spoke into the helmet’s mike.

A heartbeat’s delay, then, “We’ve just crested an artificial ramp of earth, about twenty klicks from the edge of the main base area. Not much opposition yet. Lost a truck that fell into a shell crater and a squad of cavalry that took a direct hit. Everybody else is moving forward at top speed. No sign of any real resistance.”

“All right. Keep moving and stay alert.” He dialed the general frequency. “All unit commanders, report any delays or ground resistance other than artillery fire.”

No response at all. The radio buzzed to itself.

Alec said, “All unit commanders, sound off in order.”

“Sector one. No delays, no resistance.”

Jameson’s voice.

“Sector two. No problems.”

“Sector three. Goin’ like hell, nobody in our way.”

“Sector four…”

Alec’s attention was pulled away by a tug on his sleeve. The gunner was leaning forward in his seat, gesturing to the rear of the speeding truck. A trio of squat, heavy-looking gray shapes was topping the ridge behind them. With the sector commanders still reporting, Alec turned and raised his binoculars.

They were ugly-looking tracked vehicles, painted dark green and brown. Long cylinders of gun barrels poked from slope-walled turrets.

Tanks! Alec recalled seeing them on history tapes.

“Hey, this is sector three,” his earphones crackled. “We just picked up some kinda trucks or somethin’ following us.”

“All units,” Alec shouted, “report on the numbers and positions of enemy tanks. They’re rolling forts, heavily armored and carrying cannon and machine guns.”

As if in answer one of the three tanks in Alec’s rear belched flame and a shell whistled over his truck, exploding close enough to jar him.

That’s Douglas’ plan, Alec realized. He’s had the tanks all along, probably spotted them at the firebases last week. Now he’s got us caught between the tanks and his reserves.

Strangely, Alec felt almost relieved. Now his father’s hand was out in the open, where he could deal with it. Tanks without infantry support, he remembered from his teaching tapes, are vulnerable.

Dangerous, but vulnerable. Inadvertently he glanced at the far horizon, in the direction toward which the truck was speeding. Douglas was up there, someplace. You think you can panic us with tanks, Alec said silently to his father. Maybe it will work for you, but we’ll see who the military expert is.

“Listen to me,” he said urgently into his lip mike. “Engage the tanks at the longest possible ranges with the lasers. Use the jeeps and cavalry to get behind them and destroy them at close range. The lasers should try to immobilize them. Go for their treads, their sensors. Stop them first, then destroy them close-up.”

The radio sizzled with confused reports of fighting and losses. Alec tried to sort them out as another shellburst lifted his truck entirely off its wheels and slammed him against the railing.

Debris pelted him and stung. He tasted blood in his mouth.

Crouching down near the driver’s cab, he shouted, “Zig-zag, dammit! Keep them guessing.”

He straightened and yelled to the gunner, “The treads, aim for their treads! Their armor’s too thick to get through.”

Then he realized that the gunner was hanging limply in his seat harness, head lolling, mouth agape and eyes staring sightlessly. Alec reached over and unfastened his harness. The gunner slid out of his seat, rolled over the edge of the mount platform and bounced onto the ground. Another shell rocked the speeding truck as Alec climbed into the seat, suddenly feeling as exposed as a patient stretched naked on a surgical table.