|
|
Ashes
Continuing the story from "Once More into the Breach"
by Ethan Jennings |
|
Task Force Aleph HQ (Outside Capella City), Capella
Capella Commonality
Capellan Confederation
September 10, 3219
"And here," said Edward Davion, "we have a problem."
"Once again, Eddie, you have a gift for understatement." Bill Shenke frowned and glared at the intelligence reports as if he could frighten away the information they contained. "Well, I’m stumped. It’s your call."
The Third Sian Regulars had turned Capella City into a fortress. Two ’Mech battalions and all of the RCT’s armored and infantry elements had fortified practically every building, and aerospace fighters patrolled the skies. A direct assault would be too costly to consider, but leaving the Regulars in the task force’s rear would make their supply lines very vulnerable.
"All right, we level the city," Edward said after great consideration. "Bring up every artillery battery we have, and pound them nonstop, till they have to ferry down more ammunition from orbit." He bit his lip. "God, that city was evacuated, right?"
"As far as we know. The Moon Blade reported a large number of vehicles leaving the city, heading north for the capital. Civilian casualties should be minimal." Shenke shook his head. "You know, though, I wouldn’t put it past Sinclair to leave civvies in the line of fire, if it makes us look bad. So far, she’s fought a fairly honorable battle."
"Let’s hope she keeps it up," Edward said. "This will get real bloody real quick if she wants it to."
Shenke nodded, only half-listening; he was busy calling up the necessary commanders to get the task force’s artillery units mobilized. Aleph’s artillery had seen little use during the campaign, but that would probably change as Sinclair became more and more desperate to hold Capella.
"Okay," said Shenke, "I’ve got the artillery coming up from the drop zone. ETA is an hour from now, and General Backus assures me that they’ll be firing a half hour after that. Any specifics on the ammunition type, or should I instruct him to use his judgment?"
"No mines," Edward said. "Obviously, no nuclear or chemical agents or anything like that; we have to go into this place after we get done bombing it. Other than that . . ."
"I’ll let him know. Hang on a sec, please." Shenke went back to talking into his headset.
Edward waited for him to finish, considering his plan for attacking the city. For most of the battle for Capella, the First Crucis, Samurai Guard, and Davion Heavy Guards had born the brunt of the fighting. Some units, he knew, had gone for as much as seventy hours without sleep. They would have to be rotated out, and replaced with the Fourth Avalon Hussars, the Odell Regulars, and the Second Robinson Rangers—all capable units, but none with the experience of the regiments they were replacing. There would be casualties, but it was unavoidable.
"Okay," said Shenke, "it’s in the works." He lit a cigarette. "Capella City is living on borrowed time." He shook his head, letting out a puff of smoke. "Dammit, I hate to think of all the people we’re gonna kill today."
"Let me worry about that, Bill," Edward said. "You just do your job—and you do it well, have I mentioned that lately?"
"No, you haven’t, so thanks," said Shenke with a wry smile. "It’s okay, we still love you." He stood there, quietly smoking the cigarette, for a short time. "The way I see it," he said finally, "Sinclair is either just evacuating the city to do the humanitarian thing, getting her people out of the war." He stubbed out the cigarette. "Unfortunately, I don’t think she’s the type. So my guess is she’s going to use them against us, somehow."
"How do you suggest we deal with that, Bill?" Edward asked. Shenke shrugged.
"Well, we obviously have several options. One, we just ignore civilian casualties and hit Sinclair as hard as we can. Two, we ignore Sinclair, and just blast the spaceport and leave her marooned here. Three, we can fight to minimize civilian casualties, which will be slow, slow, slow, and will kill a lot of our people." Giving in to the little monkey on his back, Shenke lit another cigarette. "Really is a horrible habit, you know. Personally, Edward, I’m leaning toward blowing the spaceport, and seizing any ships in the system. Our WarShips can handle that. Unfortunately, you’re going to need the WarShips to attack Sian, which will free up Sinclair on Capella . . . So what I think we ought to do is quarantine Sinclair to a certain area—say, the capital—and keep her there. If we control the skies, she can’t attack us without taking major hits from our aerofighters along the way, and she definitely won’t be able to leave the city. Sinclair won’t be able to affect the remainder of the campaign in any way, and we don’t end up killing a lot of noncombatants."
"All right, that sounds good," Edward said. "But for a situation like you’ve described to occur, two things must happen. First off, we’re right that Sinclair is the kind of sick maniac that we’ve been talking about. Second, that we are able to hurt Sinclair badly enough to make her retreat into a fortified area. For that, we need to hit her."
"I’ve been thinking about our order of battle, Eddie," Shenke said. "We really need to conserve the First Crucis, considering their upcoming mission, so I’d like to hold them back as a strategic reserve, and the Samurai Guard and the Davion Heavies have been fighting almost the entire time we’ve been on Capella." Edward was slightly amused that Shenke’s words echoed the thoughts he had only a few minutes earlier. "I think they all need a long break, longer than they’ll get during this attack. We ought to consider bringing the Fifth Lyran down from orbit."
"Okay," Edward said. "I’ll get in touch with General Dobelman. They’ll come down after we deal with Capella City, and then, hell, then they’ll be our spearhead, with the Second Robinson, I think." The Lyrans got along with the troops from the Draconis March Federation better than anyone; the Kuritans, after all, had engaged them in a multi-ship riot earlier in the campaign, and the AFFS personnel were a bit resentful in spite of themselves.
"Sound good, sir," Shenke agreed. "Now if you’ll excuse me, I think Leftenant Jorgenson wants me to smoke the rest of this outside." He smiled sweetly at Jorgenson, whose nose was wrinkling in disgust at the smell of the cigarette smoke, and walked out.
Edward laughed to himself, and picked up the com to call for a connection to General Dobelman.
Prince’s Palace, Tikonov
Tikonov Principality
September 13, 3219
Zander set aside the latest reports from EarthWerks as the door to his office opened and an unannounced guest strode inside. His right hand rested on the autopistol in his desk drawer, the left fiddling with some pens on his desk. He allowed himself to relax a little when he saw that it was just Rain Jeffers . . . but he kept his hand on the gun.
"Colonel," he said cheerfully. "What is it I can do for you today?"
"What the hell was so bloody important?" Jeffers demanded. Zander frowned and waved his hand.
"Close the door and take a seat," he said. She shut the door, but stayed standing, and repeated her question.
"If you must know," Zander said, "I’m planning a celebration for the Lonesome Vanguards, to hail your loyalty to the Tikonov Principality. Of course I needed you present."
She frowned. Zander knew she suspected something, but she wouldn’t get anymore from him.
"I see," she said. "When exactly is this thing planned?"
"October 1," said Zander. "I’ll have my people connect with you an get your feedback for it. It wouldn’t do to have the guest of honor find the celebration lacking. Yes, yes, you can have whatever you want, just get a list to my office by the fifteenth." He waved his hand dismissively. "Now go, coordinate with your people. Take some time off—you’ve earned it."
When she left, he sighed to himself, hoping that she’d bought his performance. He hadn’t expected her to just barge into his office like that, and as such his words hadn’t been properly planned out. Fortunately, Rain Jeffers lacked the analytical mind that he had, and couldn’t possibly have imagined what he had planned for her. Even if she had, she wouldn’t have believed it.
Lonesome Vanguards Barracks, Tikonov
Tikonov Principality
"How’d it go?" Yountz asked when Jeffers returned to their hodgepodge command center. Jeffers frowned.
"It was very . . . confusing. Zander was practically dripping with joy." She shook her head. "I think maybe he was on drugs or something. Really, I’ve never seen him like that."
"What’d he say?" Scoot interjected impatiently. "Why the hell did we have to haul ass to get back here?"
"There’s going to be a celebration in our honor," Jeffers said. She explained the conversation with the Prince.
"Hmm," said Scoot. "Maybe he was drunk."
"Or maybe he wants something from us," Yountz said. "Personally, I think that’s more likely. He’s really a quite good politician, you know—have either of you seen one of his speeches? Marvelous."
"Can it, Hank," Jeffers said. "Remember, first and foremost, that Prince Zander is a royal son of a bitch."
"Then why are we working for him?" Scoot asked.
"Because . . . because we’re mercs, Scoot. That’s what we do—we fight for money." She shrugged. "Least, that’s what I hear."
"Hey, guys, I just had a thought," Scoot announced.
"Wonderful."
Yountz rolled his eyes. "Do enlighten us."
Scoot smiled. "Zander is offering us anything we want, right? Anything! For a party! And we’re having second thoughts about it? What’s wrong with you guys?!"
Jeffers raised an eyebrow.
"You know," said Yountz, "our misguided friend does have a point . . ."
"Yeah I do!"
"And Zander did say we get anything . . ."
"Yeah he did!"
"We’ll make him regret those words," Jeffers said. Yountz chuckled to himself; Scoot let out a whoop of triumph and skipped joyfully out of the room.
"Be back with a list!" he called.
"A list of what?" Jeffers and Yountz asked each other. |
|
|
|
|
| Page :
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
