Read Online First Casualty by Mike Moscoe - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Mike Moscoe
Tags: Science Fiction/Fantasy
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the back.
It went right through him, leaving a tiny hole that bubbled blood into vacuum. He grabbed for a patch even as he fell. Front hole covered, he wondered how he'd handle the back. Two troopers crawled up behind him. One slapped his back. The pressure in his helmet quit dropping.
“Don't worry, sir, we'll get you back.” They grabbed him by the shoulders and hustled him over the crest and down the other side, past blown mines and body parts. He glanced around. There were lots of wounded being helped by one or two friends, all headed back. Here and there a single soldier, no wound visible, no wounded comrade apparent, drifted back. The battle was over for B and C companies. D and E would have to take the pass.
Tran glanced up. D and E were rolling forward, maybe three or four more klicks out. D and E would do it.
* * * *
Mary studied her display. The platoon had held against two hundred. Now another two hundred were coming up. It was time to do something—or surrender.
She'd watched Dumont 's squad hunker in their holes, trying to make their own separate peace. Half of them were dead for that. Surrender was no option today.
“Lieutenant, Rodrigo here. I want missile release.”
“How many, Sergeant?”
“All you got.”
There was a pause . . . while the LT thought. No, the background of the pause carried the ping, ping, ping of a rifle. He was breathless when he came back on. “They're yours, Mary. We're too busy. Use 'em well.”
Mary counted her targets. Twenty carriers, half of them tracked—that meant armored—raised dust plumes as they raced toward her. She had to get them. But there were laser rifles on several of them. These missiles would have to fight their way in. Okay, flood them, like they flooded us. Then there was the artillery. She'd heard the platoon whimper under its merciless, impersonal pounding. She'd also heard the screams as they died. Artillery is gonna pay. And that big square box owes me. Owes me big time.
The WP stuff was settling. Maybe they'd run out. Mary would not take that chance. She fed solid coordinates into the four SS-12's, offsetting their course so they'd be a deflection shot until the last second. The rigs were different; coming in fast, they kept their intervals. That made them predictable. She assigned the SS-3's areas to search if they lost laser lock.
All the missiles were rigged to one launch button. She shouted, “Fire in the hole!” and pushed it. Behind her, in two salvos, they leaped from their canisters. Twisting into immediate turns, they cleared the ridge by maybe one hundred meters, hungry for targets. Mary lit off every designator she had. This was it. But she didn't just play them on targets. She'd learned; these guys must have some kind of warning system. Those first two had taken off dodging as soon as she'd illuminated them. She programmed the lasers to play around the targets, ten meters to the right or left. Close enough so the missiles would know where to fly. Not so close the rigs didn't keep racing forward unwarned.
Here and there, a laser bolt shot upward, but the missiles were not coming head-on. Making a deflection shot at this rate of closure, jostling in the speeding carriers, nobody scored.
Ten seconds to impact, Mary had the lasers light up their targets. Rigs began to twist. They were going too fast. Two bolts took missiles head-on, but that close, the wreckage of the missile was just as deadly as an undamaged one.
As a cheer went up on the platoon net, Mary concentrated on the four remaining missiles. The SS-12's reached out to the plain. Two for rockets, one for guns. One for... No, I can't commit one missile to just that command rig. But it looks soft enough. Maybe if I target the gun closest to it?
Mary grinned and set her designators.
* * * *
“Major, missiles in the air,” sensors shouted.
“Artillery, give me WP now, and plenty of it.”
“Don't got any. Carrier just pulled in. We're offloading it straight to a
It went right through him, leaving a tiny hole that bubbled blood into vacuum. He grabbed for a patch even as he fell. Front hole covered, he wondered how he'd handle the back. Two troopers crawled up behind him. One slapped his back. The pressure in his helmet quit dropping.
“Don't worry, sir, we'll get you back.” They grabbed him by the shoulders and hustled him over the crest and down the other side, past blown mines and body parts. He glanced around. There were lots of wounded being helped by one or two friends, all headed back. Here and there a single soldier, no wound visible, no wounded comrade apparent, drifted back. The battle was over for B and C companies. D and E would have to take the pass.
Tran glanced up. D and E were rolling forward, maybe three or four more klicks out. D and E would do it.
* * * *
Mary studied her display. The platoon had held against two hundred. Now another two hundred were coming up. It was time to do something—or surrender.
She'd watched Dumont 's squad hunker in their holes, trying to make their own separate peace. Half of them were dead for that. Surrender was no option today.
“Lieutenant, Rodrigo here. I want missile release.”
“How many, Sergeant?”
“All you got.”
There was a pause . . . while the LT thought. No, the background of the pause carried the ping, ping, ping of a rifle. He was breathless when he came back on. “They're yours, Mary. We're too busy. Use 'em well.”
Mary counted her targets. Twenty carriers, half of them tracked—that meant armored—raised dust plumes as they raced toward her. She had to get them. But there were laser rifles on several of them. These missiles would have to fight their way in. Okay, flood them, like they flooded us. Then there was the artillery. She'd heard the platoon whimper under its merciless, impersonal pounding. She'd also heard the screams as they died. Artillery is gonna pay. And that big square box owes me. Owes me big time.
The WP stuff was settling. Maybe they'd run out. Mary would not take that chance. She fed solid coordinates into the four SS-12's, offsetting their course so they'd be a deflection shot until the last second. The rigs were different; coming in fast, they kept their intervals. That made them predictable. She assigned the SS-3's areas to search if they lost laser lock.
All the missiles were rigged to one launch button. She shouted, “Fire in the hole!” and pushed it. Behind her, in two salvos, they leaped from their canisters. Twisting into immediate turns, they cleared the ridge by maybe one hundred meters, hungry for targets. Mary lit off every designator she had. This was it. But she didn't just play them on targets. She'd learned; these guys must have some kind of warning system. Those first two had taken off dodging as soon as she'd illuminated them. She programmed the lasers to play around the targets, ten meters to the right or left. Close enough so the missiles would know where to fly. Not so close the rigs didn't keep racing forward unwarned.
Here and there, a laser bolt shot upward, but the missiles were not coming head-on. Making a deflection shot at this rate of closure, jostling in the speeding carriers, nobody scored.
Ten seconds to impact, Mary had the lasers light up their targets. Rigs began to twist. They were going too fast. Two bolts took missiles head-on, but that close, the wreckage of the missile was just as deadly as an undamaged one.
As a cheer went up on the platoon net, Mary concentrated on the four remaining missiles. The SS-12's reached out to the plain. Two for rockets, one for guns. One for... No, I can't commit one missile to just that command rig. But it looks soft enough. Maybe if I target the gun closest to it?
Mary grinned and set her designators.
* * * *
“Major, missiles in the air,” sensors shouted.
“Artillery, give me WP now, and plenty of it.”
“Don't got any. Carrier just pulled in. We're offloading it straight to a
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