William Dietz - Resistance - The Gathering Storm

“The bastard is dead!” Dentweiler reported triumphantly as he took his place in the second Lynx. “Come on… Let’s get the hell out of here.”

Hale was about to reply when Kawecki’s voice came in over his headset.

“Echo-Five to Echo-Six… We have trouble, sir. Two Stalkers and a Goliath are approaching from the east. There’s plenty of ground troops, too. Maybe two hundred or so.”

Hale swore silently. No matter what he did there wouldn’t be enough time to load the prisoners and pull out without a fight. Never mind the Walker problem.

“This is Echo-Six… Establish an observation post out to the west and tell them to keep a sharp eye out. Once we pivot to the east, we don’t want anyone sneaking in behind us. Put everything else in front of those buildings. We’ll use them for cover and try to defend them. And don’t forget those mortars. Put ′em to work. I’ll be up in five minutes. Over.”

Once again Hale was reminded of the complexities associated with a larger command as he thought about the Stalkers, the Goliath, the people lined up at the foot of the road, and the vulnerable VTOLs parked on the ground above. Time was everything, and there wasn’t enough of it.

The Chimeran armor would be within striking distance by the time the prisoners made it up to the top of the crater.

Such were Hale’s thoughts as Dentweiler yelled at him from the second Lynx. “What are we waiting for, Lieutenant? We have what we came for… I need to get back to Denver.”

Hale glanced up at the gunner who was standing in the back of his Lynx. Pointing at the Chief of Staff, he spoke forcefully. “See the man over there? If he speaks without my permission blow his head off.”

“Yes, sir!” the gunner said without hesitation, and he swiveled the big .50 around so that it was aimed at Dentweiler’s skull. That caused the gunner standing behind the Chief of Staff to swear and jump to the ground. For his part Dentweiler turned pale and slid down into the passenger seat like a deflated balloon.

Having bought himself a moment in which to think, Hale turned to Burl. “Things have changed… Tell the prisoners to line up in alphabetical order. Then break them into thirty-person groups. There isn’t much space next to the lake, so the VTOLs will have to land one at a time. Load ′em as fast as you can. Understand?”

Burl nodded grimly. “And the recordings? You’ll look for them?”

“If I can,” Hale promised. “But the prisoners and my troops come first.”

“Thank you,” Burl said sincerely. “Thank you very much.”

“Time to go topside,” Hale said as he took his seat in the Lynx. The driver put his foot down, the vehicle sped upslope, and Hale issued orders to Purvis. “Echo-Six to Bravo-One. The stinks are closing from the east. You’ll have to land in the pit in order to load passengers. But there’s only room for one bird at a time. Copy? Over.”

“This is Bravo-One,” Purvis replied. “I copy. How many passengers? Over.”

“About a hundred and fifty, give or take,” Hale replied. “Over.”

“That won’t leave room for all of your troops,” Purvis objected. “Over.”

“Roger that,” Hale replied stoically. “So don’t stop for a beer on your way back… We might not be here if you do. Echo-Six out.”

The first VTOL was already in the air and in the process of lowering itself into the crater, when the two four-by-fours emerged from the pit and skidded to a stop. Hale was the first one out and immediately pointed a finger at Dentweiler. “If you want to live, keep your mouth shut and stay with me.”

Then, turning to the drivers, he gave them fresh orders. “Head east, find those Stalkers, and take ′em down. The tanks will tackle the Goliath.”

Both drivers nodded, and as Dentweiler’s boots hit the ground they roared away. The battle began as the Chimera sent salvo after salvo of high explosives arcing down on the cluster of buildings—and the humans answered with cannon fire from the M-12 tanks and hit-and-run attacks from the speedy All-Purpose Vehicles.

Thunder rolled as Hale and Dentweiler arrived on the east side of the big barnlike maintenance shed, and took cover in the grease pit Kawecki was using as a command bunker. Hale’s first task was to get a grasp on the overall situation and assume command.

By parking a grader over the concrete pit, one of Kawecki’s men effectively put a partial roof over the bunker and Hale could hear the steady ping, ping, ping of nearly spent projectiles hitting the machine as he brought his binoculars up and began a quick left-to-right scan of the battlefield in front of him.

The tanks were about a hundred feet apart and hull down behind piles of mine tailings. The mounds of dirt offered excellent cover as Chimeran missiles probed the area around them. Farther out, beyond the fall of mortar rounds, one of the Stalkers was out of action and on fire as three battle-scarred Lynxes harried the second machine. But killing the last Stalker wasn’t going to be easy. Each time one of the four-by-fours took a run at the Chimeran tank it was necessary to deal with dozens of Hybrids before they could get in close enough.

The fourth Lynx was little more than a burned-out carcass that lay farther out and marked the point where its battle had been fought ten minutes earlier. The vehicle’s driver or gunner, it was impossible to tell which, had taken cover behind the wreck and was firing his M5A2 carbine at the oncoming Goliath.

A futile gesture—but a brave one.

“This is Echo-Six,” Hale said into his lip mike. “Foxtrot-Six and Seven are too close together… Six will pull back, break north, and prepare to flank the Goliath. Seven will pull back, break south, and do the same thing. Execute. Over.”

He received two speedy acknowledgments as he turned to Kawecki. “Put all of the LAARKs toward the center of the line—but back far enough to move laterally. Once the Goliath is within range, I want them to fire, then run to a new location. They won’t be able to bring the bastard down, but they can keep it busy so the tanks can get into position.”

Kawecki nodded, said, “Yes, sir,” and hurried to put the word out.

With that accomplished, Hale instructed a nervous-looking Dentweiler to remain in the bunker while he set out to visit the defensive positions that Kawecki had established. His guide was a Sentinel named Jenkins. “Keep a sharp eye out, sir,” the soldier advised. “We killed a whole shitload of the bastards, but we didn’t get all of them, and there are plenty of places to hide around here.”

Hale checked to make sure the Bellock was ready to go before following Jenkins up out of the relative safety of the grease pit toward the admin building to the south. Pieces of rusty machinery, freestanding utility buildings, and a pile of scrap metal offered opportunities to take cover, and the men took full advantage as they dashed from spot to spot.

They hadn’t gone more than a few hundred feet, and were crouched behind a storage tank, when Auger fire slashed through the cylinder, missing Hale by a hair.

Jenkins returned fire from his Auger as Hale circled the tank, searching for the stinks which had to be on the other side. There were two Steelheads, both of whom swiveled toward him as he fired the Bellock. They staggered as a fusillade of explosive rounds went off around them and Jenkins attacked from behind.

Both went down hard, weapons skidding on concrete.

Hale was running low on ammo by that time, and he was on his way over to exchange the Bellock for an Auger Mark II when he saw another weapon lying on the ground a few feet away. The MP-47 Pulse Cannon must have been taken from a dead Sentinel, and Hale was pissed off as he picked the weapon up and followed Jenkins over to the admin building. The structure had taken multiple hits by then, and the south end was in flames as the soldiers in an office to the north end continued to fire a captured machine gun into the open area beyond. A wave of stinks went down as the heavy slugs swept them off their feet.