Free Starfist: Firestorm by David Sherman & Dan Cragg Page B

visible, showing where a fléchette burst had struck it. Godalgonz moved his hand blaster so it was no longer pointing at his aide, and raised his own screens.
    “Are you hit anywhere else?” the general asked.
    “Nope. And that would have missed if I wasn’t wearing a helmet,” Rynchus said with unintentional irony. “It messed up my comm. I can still hear, but I can’t transmit. Where’s Shumwray?”
    Godalgonz tilted his head toward where the communications man lay. “I think he’s dead.”
    “And he’s got your UPUD.” Rynchus looked at his boss. “Not much you can do without it, is there?” It was phrased as a question, but it was a statement. He kept his eyes on Godalgonz, but watched the progress of the traversing fléchettes in his peripheral vision. Without warning, as soon as the next group of dirt puffs passed, he launched himself across the ten meters of open ground and dove for the cover of a debris pile beyond the UPUD, scooping it up as he went past. He reached the cover just as the automatic weapon’s traverse brought its fire back. As soon as it passed again, he darted back to Godalgonz’s side.
    “I always was faster than you,” he said with a chuckle as he handed the UPUD to the general.
    Godalgonz just gaped at Rynchus. Then he remembered that he was a lieutenant general in the Confederation Marines; he wasn’t supposed to gape like a schoolboy who just watched a magician pull a rabbit out of a hat. He got control of his face, and gasped, “How did you manage not to get hit?”
    Rynchus laughed. “Like I said, I can run faster than you. Now get to work and do some generaling.”
    Godalgonz stared into Rynchus’s eyes for a couple of seconds, then said, “Don’t ever do something so dumb that you get killed for me.” He turned to his UPUD and quickly saw the situation.
    What looked like an entire regiment was moving toward 17th FIST’s right flank, and Alpha Company, on that flank, was shifting position to meet the new threat. Bravo Company, on the left flank, was maneuvering to hit the enemy forces in the defensive positions from their flank, hoping to free Charlie Company, which was pinned down in the middle, so that it could aid Alpha in fighting off the rapidly approaching Coalition regiment. To the north, 34th FIST was moving through Gilbert’s Corners and along its sides. Icons indicated secured enemy positions around the village. So far, the Marines hadn’t found any members of the government, though they had found some hastily vacated offices and managed to retrieve some data crystals that hadn’t been destroyed.
    But Godalgonz already knew all of that from listening in on his subordinate commanders’ conversations with their subordinate commanders. What neither he nor anybody else in his assault force had known was that another regiment was rapidly approaching from the northeast.
    “Oh, hell,” he swore softly, and showed the display to Rynchus. Rynchus whistled.
    “Boomer,” Godalgonz radioed 17th FIST’s Brigadier Nuemain, “this is Killer. Acknowledge.”
    “Killer, Boomer, go,” Nuemain answered. He sounded rushed; he was fighting a battle bigger than anticipated.
    “Patch me through to 29 Actual, my comm is down.”
    “Roger, Killer. Wait one.”
    Godalgonz waited impatiently through several seconds of soft static, then Brigadier Devh’s voice came over the radio. “Killer, this is Pitbull.”
    “Pitbull, what is your status? I need you now.”
    “We’re aboard and the birds are cranking. Wait one.” Godalgonz heard a muffled exchange, then Devh came back. “Killer, we’re lifting off. Where do you want us to go, and what do you want us to do when we get there?”
    Godalgonz didn’t take the time for a sigh of relief; instead he began giving orders to the commander of 29th FIST.

CHAPTER EIGHT

    Third platoon went down Center Street. Not in the middle of the street, the way the armed citizens of Gilbert’s Corners had in their ill-fated attempt