The only activity Mulvaney saw was one Wyzhnyny soldier walking to what had to be a latrine. When the Wyzhnyny opened the door, subdued light shone out until it closed again. He saw no sentry, not one, though there had to be some. Even here, miles and miles from known human forces, and no indigenous population that might snoop or steal. Inwardly Mulvaney shook his head. It was hard to conceive of a military installation with no sentries out, especially at night.
Only after several minutes of careful scanning and listening did he give up on spotting the sentries. Keying one of his command switches, he whispered to his platoon leaders, confirming sectors and objectives, and giving orders.
Ensign Berg had led 2nd Platoon through the woods as quietly he could, keeping well outside the three-sided tank box. He'd sent scouts ahead and off his right flank, and they'd reported two sentries. They'd reached the edge of the woods on the east side, the side farthest from the river. Now they lay in pasture grass, facing the woods, waiting for Captain Mulvaney's command.
Not far inside the woods, but outside the tank box, two flak towers rose above the trees, marking the southeast and northeast corners. If the towers opened fire on them, the platoon's orders were to run for the woods as hard as they could, firing as they went, regardless of what awaited them there. Though hopefully the flak gunners couldn't depress their guns enough to target them. Nearby, livestock grazed, mostly "calves." Remarkably placid, they hardly reacted to the strange bipeds. The long row of squad tents-almost surely the battalion's infantry bivouac-lay just within the edge of the trees.
The platoon lay in a line, ten or fifteen feet apart. Behind it, Elder Hofer's Lamp rode the sky. Hopefully, Esau thought, if some Wyzhnyny infantryman left his tent to take a leak, and looked to the east, his eyes would lift skyward, rather than studying the pasture.
2nd Platoon had had the farthest to move, and it seemed to Esau that everyone else should already have been in position. But Berg had radioed their readiness three minutes earlier, and nothing had happened yet. When the captain was ready, he'd let them know. Then 2nd Platoon was to pour heavy fire into the tents, drawing Wyzhnyny attention for a critical half minute or so, hopefully starting an eastward reaction.
Apparently things were hung up somewhere.
Esau didn't fidget, physically or mentally. Back on Luneburger's World, he'd become good at waiting, despite his sometimes impatient disposition. Especially during the maneuvers at Camp Nafziger, he'd developed an absolute focus in ambush situations, like a tiger waiting to rush a heifer. For him, time became little more than sequence, its durations known but muted. Now his implacable gaze was on his personal sector of fire. Irrelevant thoughts did not visit his mind.
Finally Berg whispered in their helmets. "Fire on my command. Five. Four… " From somewhere in the woods came a premature burst of blaster fire. "Fire!" Berg snapped.
Each 2nd Platoon trooper began spraying long bursts through the tents in his sector of fire. The Wyzhnyny response was prompt, survivors spilling out, blasters in hand, running for the nearest sizeable tree. No foxholes or breastworks, Esau realized, offended by the lack. Danged Wyz took too much for granted.
2nd Platoon's muzzle pulses and visible trajectories guided the Wyzhnyny return fire. But they weren't used to the low target profile of prone humans, and the platoon's lack of cover wasn't as costly as it might have been. The firefight settled to a more measured exchange, the Jerries firing short bursts now, rolling sideways for target disruption, seating fresh slugs as needed.
Their job was not to suppress the Wyzhnyny infantry-they lacked the necessary firepower-but to inflict maximum casualties, while distracting it from the defense of the tanks and flak towers. Meanwhile the whole base was in uproar. Firing seemed everywhere. Magnesium charges flashed brilliantly, and armor petards roared, as 3rd Platoon's Jerries worked and fought, destroying and dying along the rows of tanks.
It was Sergeant Hawkins' voice that spoke next in 2nd Platoon's helmets. "1st and 4th Squads, move into the woods and support 3rd Platoon. 2nd and 3rd Squads spread out and continue firing."
"Let's go, 4th Squad!" Esau said, and springing to his feet, darted to his left in a series of sprints and dives, his people following. They'd already been at the south end of 2nd Platoon's skirmish line, and despite Wyzhnyny night vision, they quickly ceased drawing fire. Wyzhnyny attention seemed focused on those humans still shooting at them.
So Esau shifted from sprint-and-dive to a crouching run, swerving more and more westward, guiding on firefights in the woods. At the same time he clicked his helmet comm to the command channel. 4th Squad was to suppress Wyzhnyny tankers protecting their vehicles from 3rd Platoon demolitionists.
As he ran, he glanced back at his squad. Their spacing discipline was good, and remarkably, most of them seemed to be there. "Work with your fire team," he warned. "Teamwork!" Then they were in the woods. In the eruptive, roaring flashing chaos, teamwork tended to dissolve, troopers responding to the moment, firing, taking cover, throwing grenades, even bayoneting. The blaster racket was punctuated by the sharper sounds of gunfire. The Wyzhnyny tankers carried only projectile weapons-pistols and carbines. Tankers who climbed into still intact tanks, initiated their AG engines. Demolitionists darted up to tanks and clambered onto them: slammed petards against access panels, or magnesium charges into shaper muzzles or air intakes, triggered charges and time fuses, then moved on if they could.
Esau and Jael kept aware of one another, less by conscious intent than by something deeper. Captain Mulvaney's voice spoke on the command channel. "4th Squad, 2nd Platoon, are you near the southeast tower?"
Esau crouched beside a tree. His answer was a rush of words. "Sir, this is Esau. I'm not far from it, and Jael's with me. The rest of the squad's close by, but I don't know how many's left. There's fighting all around, like things were stirred with a spoon."
"The southeast tower demolition team can't get up the tower," Mulvaney said. "They're under heavy fire. Take your squad and suppress it. We must take out that tower!"
"Yessir." Esau changed channels. "4th Squad, 2nd Platoon, move to the southeast tower. We need to take out enemy fire that's holding down the demolition team there. Otherwise we may not have a ride home. And give me your names while you're on your way, so I know how many of us there are."
Then he started, his stocky body darting from tree to tree. Behind one he stumbled on a trooper with his head blown half off. Behind another stood a wounded Wyzhnyny, guts dangling, looking the other way and firing a carbine. They're tough! Esau thought. With superb night accuracy, he snapped off a single pulse that blew out the Wyzhnyny's brain. He could die himself in the next second, but his warrior muse wasn't entertaining thoughts like that.
Now he saw the tower, a thick-legged tripod in a clearing some eighty or ninety feet across. Jerries lay on its slab, at least two still alive, returning fire from behind tripod legs. He could see several sources of the Wyzhnyny fire that kept them on the ground. Pointing, he growled. "Jael, that one's yours." Then he moved toward another, whose attention was on its target. Someone else loosed a short burst, putting that one down. Esau found a third almost hidden from view, threw a grenade behind the Wyzhnyny and dropped to the ground.