The Prince by Jerry Pournelle and S.M. Stirling

“No messages, zur.”

I thumbed my command set to the general frequency. “All units of the 501st, there is heavy fighting to the south. Assemble immediately. We’ll be moving south to provide fire support. Get those guns rolling right now.”

There was a chorus of radio answers. Only a dozen men, but they sounded like hundreds. I’d have been convinced it was a battalion combat team. I was congratulating myself when a shaft of sunlight broke through the mist and fell on the ground at my feet.

XVIII

Once the sun had broken through, the fog lifted fast. In seconds visibility went from fifty meters to a hundred, then two hundred. In minutes the road for a kilometer north of us was visible—and empty. One wagon struggled along it, and far back in the distance a single man carried a radio.

“O’Grady says hit the dirt!” I yelled. “Hartz, tell Falkenberg the deception’s over.”

And still there was nothing. I took out my glasses and examined the rocks above and behind us. They were boiling with activity. “Christ,” I said. “Roszak, we’ve run into the whole Allansport outfit. Damned near a thousand men! Dig in and get your heads down!”

A mortar shell exploded on the road below. Then another, and then a salvo. Not bad shooting, I said to myself. Of course it didn’t hit anything, because there was nothing to hit except the one wagon, but they had it registered properly. If we’d been down there, we’d have had it.

Rifle bullets zinged overhead. The Association troops were firing at last. I tried to imagine the feelings of the enemy commander, and I found myself laughing. He’d waited patiently all this time for us to walk into his trap, and all he’d caught was something less than a platoon. He was going to be mad.

He was also going to chew up my sixty men, two mortars, and four light machine guns. It would take him a little time, though. I’d picked a good spot to wait for him. Now that the fog had cleared, I saw it was a better place than I’d guessed from the map. We had reasonably clear fields of fire, and the rocks were large and sturdy. They’d have to come in and get us. All we had to do was keep our heads down.

No point in deception anymore. “O’Grady says stay loose and let ’em come to us.”

There was a chorus of shouted responses. Then Brady’s trumpet sounded, beginning with “On Full Kits” and running through half the calls in the book before he settled onto the Line Marines’ March. A favorite, I thought. Damned right. Then I heard the whistle of incoming artillery, and I dove for the tiny shelter between my rocks as barrage after barrage of heavy artillery dropped onto our position.

Riflemen swarmed down onto the road behind me. My radiomen and the two wagoneers were cut down in seconds. At least a company of Association troops started up the gentle slope toward us.

The Association commander made his first mistake then. His artillery had been effective enough for making us keep our heads down, but the rocks gave us good cover and we weren’t taking many casualties. When the Association charged us, their troops held back until the artillery fire lifted. It takes experienced non-coms and a lot of discipline to get troops to take casualties from their own artillery. It pays off, but our attackers didn’t know or believe it.

They were too far away when the artillery fire lifted. My lads were out of their hiding places in an instant. They poured fire on the advancing troops—rifles and the light machine guns, then both mortars. Few of the enemy had combat armor, and our fire was devastating.

“Good men,” Hartz grunted. “They keep coming.”

They were, but not for long. Too many of them were cut down. They swept to within fifty meters, wavered, and dropped back, some dragging their wounded with them, others running for it. When the attack was broken, we dropped back into the rocks to wait for the next barrage. “Score one for the Line Marines,” I called.

Brady answered with the final fanfare from the March. “And there’s none that can face us—”

“They won’t try that again,” Roszak said. He grinned with satisfaction. “Lads are doing right well, Mr. Slater.”

“Well, indeed.”

Our area was quiet, but there were sounds of heavy fighting in the south: artillery, rifle and machine gun fire, mortars and grenades. It sounded louder, as if it were coming closer to us. Louis and his commando of ranchers were facing big odds. I wondered if Kathryn were with him.

“They’ll try infiltration next,” Roszak predicted.

“What makes you think so?” Hartz asked.

“No discipline. After what happened last time, they’ll never get a full attack going.”

“No, they will have one more try in force. Perhaps two,” Hartz argued.

“Never. Bet on it? Tomorrow’s wine ration.”

“Done,” Hartz said. He was quiet for a moment, then handed me the handset. “Captain Falkenberg.”

“Thank you. Yes, Captain?”

“O’Grady says the O’Grady drill is over. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What’s your situation?”

“We’re in the saddle notch of Hill 239, seven klicks south of Allansport,” I said. “Holding all right for now, but we’re surrounded. Most of the hostiles are between us and Allansport. They let us right through for the ambush. They’ve tried one all-out attack and that didn’t work. Roszak and Hartz are arguing over what they’ll try next.”

“How long can you hold?”

“Depends on what losses they’re willing to take to get us out of here.”

“You don’t have to hold long,” Falkenberg said. “A lot has happened. Ardwain broke through to the Governor and brought him out, but he ran into a strong force in Allansport. There’s more coming over the bridge from the east side of the river.”

“Sounds like they’re bringing up everything they have.”

“They are, and we’re beating all of it. The column that moved north from Denisburg ran into Bonneyman’s group. They deployed to break through that, and we circled around to their west and hit them in the flank. They didn’t expect us. Your maneuver fooled them completely. They thought the 501st was with you until it was too late. They know better now, but we’ve broken them. Of course, there’s a lot more of them than of us, and we couldn’t hold them. They’ve broken through between Bonneyman and the river, and you’re right in their path.”

“How truly good.”

“I think you’d do well to get out of their way,” Falkenberg said. “I doubt you can stop them.”

“If they link up with the Allansport force, they’ll get away across the bridge. I can’t hold them, but if you can get some artillery support here, I can spot for the guns. We might delay them.”

“I was going to suggest that,” Falkenberg said. “I’ve sent Ardwain and the Governor’s escort toward that hill outside Allansport—the Rockpile. It looks like a dominant position.”

“It is, sir. I’ve seen it. If we held that, we could keep this lot from getting into Allansport. We might bag the whole lot.”

“Worth a try, anyway,” Falkenberg said. “Provided you can hold on. It will be nearly an hour before I can get artillery support to you.”

“We’ll hold, sir.”

“Good luck.”

Roszak lost his wine ration. They tried one more assault. Two squads of Association troops got within twenty meters of our position before we threw them back. Of my sixty men, I had fewer than thirty effectives when it was over.

That was their last try, though. Shortly after, they regrouped. The elements which had been south of us had already skirted around the hills to join the main body, and now the whole group was moving north. They were headed for Allansport.

The sounds of fighting to the south were coming closer all the time. Falkenberg had Deane moving parallel to the Association troops, racing to get close enough to give us support, but it wouldn’t arrive in time.

I sent our wounded up the hill away from the road with orders to dig in and lie low. The rest of us followed the retreating force. We were now sandwiched between the group ahead of us and the Denisburg column behind.

The first elements of Association forces were headed up the Rockpile when Deane came in range. He was still six kilometers southeast of us, long range and long time of flight, but we were in a good position to spot for him. I called in the first salvo on the advancing Association troops. The shells went beyond their target, and before I could walk them back down the hill, the Association forces retreated.

“They’ll send another group around behind the hill,” Roszak said. “We’ll never stop them.”

“No.” So damned near. A few minutes’ difference and we’d have bagged them all. The column Falkenberg was chasing was now no more than two kilometers south of us and moving fast.

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