Then, if it looked doable, he'd take the rest of his force through or around the Wyz tanks, and attack the east base howitzers. It looked like the best move he had available.
Calling Division command, he told them what he planned. "Fine. Do it," Pak said. "And, Pat, you need to know I've got airborne raiders scheduled to take out the central fire base. That's why I let the Wyzhnyny scouts shadow you as long as I did. It fixed their attention on you.
"The jumpers will be in mortal jeopardy if the tanks from the east base show up there. So the more hell you raise, the better chance the airborne will have. They've got a very tough and dangerous job. Like yours."
The first salvo of 5.6-inch shells-forty-eight of them-was fired while the APFs were en route. To Arjin Hawkins it sounded like a distant thunderstorm. And the guns continued in unison, which struck him as peculiar.
If we'd gotten off half an hour sooner, he thought, we might have prevented it. But there hadn't been time, and at any rate, a half hour earlier it hadn't been dark enough.
For weeks the Burger engineers had worked their butts off day and night, building the base, abatises, and breastworks-and the backup base. Now they were working furiously, without Jerrie help, to move the more sensitive Headquarters Base installations there.
The flight was short, even though they bypassed the fire base and jumped six miles to the south-a subterfuge to avoid Wyzhnyny suspicions. Now the troopers of Airborne A temp were planing back northward beneath their parasails. Even with night vision, Hawkins couldn't see most of his people. But they had their HUDs.
The salvos paled the darkness with great flashes of light, and as Hawkins planed nearer, the booming became less like thunder. It just sounded like artillery. His central HUD showed the fire base. Its layout seemed idiotic, though obviously the Wyzhnyny didn't think so. The HUD was too small for detail, but Lonesome Moses had provided the essentials during the briefing, and Hawkins had imprinted them mentally. Six ranks of howitzers, eight in a rank, formed a compact square. Their spacing provided aisles, adequate for firing safety, and for howitzers to jockey in and out if necessary. Grav sleds would no doubt use the aisles to distribute ammo from the two massive caissons on the south edge. The border of dotlike icons along the east, south and west sides indicated squad APCs: twelve on the east and west, and eight on the south, where the center of the rank was occupied by the caissons and a heavy, armor-recovery vehicle. About twenty yards off each corner were two flakwagons, eight in all.
If a wolf pack were available, that compactness would make a marvelous target, but an airborne attack would have to suffice. His platoon's primary job was to take out the flakwagons at the two south corners, and the APCs along the south side. Dreiser's Platoon would take out the west-side APCs, along with the two northwest flakwagons. Castro's would handle the east side. Hussain's was the reserve, ready to defend the landers when they came in with Division's demolitions company.
The overall mission was etched clearly in Hawkins' mind. But if even two or three flakwagons escaped destruction, or most of the APCs survived, there'd be serious problems in carrying it out. Especially since it wasn't enough just to disrupt the barrage for the time being. The howitzers, or most of them, had to be destroyed. Which meant Demolitions' floaters needed to land safely.
He didn't consciously review all that. It was part of his mental database, not looked at. Just now, Hawkins was manipulating his black, night-jump parasail to set him down in his platoon's designated drop zone. When he reached 100 feet local altitude, he let his gear drop, felt it jerk the dangle line, felt its air drag, sensed the ground reaching for him. The strong gravity slammed him hard. He felt agonizing pain, and almost cried out. His left leg had broken below the knee. Broken badly. He knew it at once.
Fortunately the breeze was light, and his chute had collapsed. He released his harness, and hand over hand pulled in his combat pack, rocket gear, and blaster scabbard. Then he drew his combat knife, cut away his left pant leg, and stared. He'd already felt the blood. Now he could see a sharp end of broken bone protruding through skin and underwear, and shivered at the sight. Suppressing the reaction, he activated his casualty signal. Get it tended to before the Wyz find out we're here, he told himself. The medics will have plenty to do then.
He spoke to his helmet mike. "Hawkins' Platoon, this is Ensign Hawkins. I've broken a leg. Esau, you're in full charge of the platoon now. Proceed with the mission. The medics will pick me up." He was surprised at how normal he sounded. Taking his blaster out of its scabbard, he loaded it, then lay back to wait for a medic. And defend himself if necessary.
Esau was on the ground when he got Hawkins' order. Foop! he thought, then dismissed his chagrin. He'd already retrieved his gear. Now he slung his pack and blaster. At least to start with, his primary weapon would be his short-barrelled, antiarmor rocket launcher. One of its three lightweight rockets was already seated. The other two he'd snapped on his harness.
Esau had been the cleanup, the last jumper out, so he was pretty sure the others were all down. "Hawkins' Platoon," he said, "you heard the ensign. Squad leaders assemble your squads." Almost at once he saw their light wands signaling, visible via a wave-length window in their visors. Each squad leader had his own signal. He gave them half a minute, then called: "1st Squad report… 2nd Squad report…" One after another they responded, all alike: "All present and accounted for, Sergeant."
Only one man hurt or missing. I hope the other platoons are that lucky, he thought. Though to lose your leader…
He looked toward the artillery. All that noise-the Wyzhnyny sentries should be numb by now. We'll know soon enough, he told himself. He saw no sign of their infantry. Maybe they're all in their APCs. We can hope. The nearest were less than 300 yards away, but hitting them needed to be synchronized with the attack on the flakwagons all around the square. And Hawkins' Platoon was the key. The others were to start firing when it did.
"Hawkin's Platoon, any questions? Form up to attack." They did, counting off by pairs, one man with his launcher in hand, the other with his blaster to provide covering fire. When the launcherman had expended his rockets, they'd switch. Esau changed to Captain Zenawi's command channel. "Captain," he said, "Hawkin's Platoon is ready to move."
"Fine, Wesley. I'll tell you when."
Esau waited. Any time now, he thought.
Suddenly, midway between salvos came a premature burst of blaster fire from the Wyzhnyny square, followed quickly by more. "Hit 'em, Airborne A!" Zenawi almost shouted it into his mike.
"Let's go, Hawkins' Platoon!" Esau said, and they started toward their targets at a lope. "Fire when you think you can hit your target!" Their rocket launchers were cheap and light, aimed simply by pointing. The briefing had specified not firing them at ranges beyond 50 yards on this mission, but that assumed they'd be able to approach that close before being discovered. So his troopers began firing at twice that range-when the first APC turret blaster began hammering slammer pulses in their direction. They took out both southwest flakwagons before either could fire, and rocket hits flashed at one, two, three, four APCs. One of the southeast flakwagons began firing at them before its guns were sufficiently depressed, the pulses angling skyward. But its controls were nimble. Its platform swiveled sharply, as the trajectory of its fire adjusted. In the instant before streams of trasher pulses swept toward them, troopers hit the dirt. If Esau had been able to squeeze between the grains of soil, he would have. He rolled his head to the side, to see without raising it. Pulses swept over him about knee-high, then he rolled to a knee and fired. The range exceeded 150 yards, but a second later his rocket struck the flakwagon, almost simultaneously with two others.