Free First Casualty by Mike Moscoe

front wall like the targets at some fairground knife-throwing show.
    The knife-thrower had made a lot of mistakes.
    “Can you help my team?”
    “Yes sir,” the private answered. Through his faceplate, Longknife saw the sergeant just shake his head.
    Longknife could still chin his mike. “Artillery, I want fire on their position to cover our troops' withdrawal.”
    No answer.
    “Artillery? Is anybody on net? Who's in charge?”
    “I guess I am, sir. Second Lieutenant Divoba. I can lay sixty-four missiles on them right now, but we need a minute to get a tube manned.”
    “Hold your missiles, son. We're not trying to win a battle, we just want to keep their heads down while we walk away.
    Use your tube artillery, and back your rockets off ten klicks. Now do it, son.”
    The pain was coming back.
    “You want a shot, sir?”
    “Not 'til I'm on ship.”
    “We can get you on one of the carriers heading out now, sir,” the sergeant offered.
    “I ride the last one, Sergeant. You want to take an earlier one?”
    “No sir.” It was nice to see a sergeant smile the way they did when they found an officer doing what an officer should. Longknife hoped that smile wouldn't cost him his life.
    “Private, you want to take an early ride?”
    “No sir.” His voice broke, but he got the word out. Poor kid. Stuck with two seniors playing it out by the code. Ray knew he ought to order the kid out, but he might need him to carry him. A cannon shell arched over the major's line of sight. Usually he would have felt the ground shake. I must be real bad. The sergeant twisted around to follow the shell for a moment. He got a good view of the troops struggling back from the pass. “Looks pretty bad, sir.”
    “We've been in some tough ones. We always come through.”
    Then it got worse.
    * * * *
    “Captain Andy,” Umboto chortled, “I got six missiles ready to have a go at those transports. I had to teach them their numbers on pencil and paper. I've tucked them in at night and booted them out of bed for the last eternity, but they are ready \ Permission to launch, sir.”
    “You may launch when ready, Commander.” Captain Anderson glanced around his HQ. It had gone from a morgue to damn near looking like a winning celebration on election night—one of those rare ones where they beat the polls. On his display, the captain watched six dots leave the crater and march slowly toward the enemy's grounded transports. With them gone, the enemy troop would have but two choices: fight on with air getting stale, or surrender.
    From the reports he'd been getting back from the first platoon of A company, the colonials were just about fought out.
    * * * *
    “Everybody, get your head down,” Mary shouted. “We got incoming on the way. The bastards are running like shit downhill, but somebody's tossing artillery our way to keep us out of their way. I vote we let them run, and dig deep.”
    There were a lot of cheers for that one. Even the lieutenant breathed a hearty “Amen.” Then the net squawked again. “First platoon, don't pull your heads out of your holes for this, but if you can look up, those missiles going by are on their way to the transports. Now we got the bastards between a rock and a hard place. Yeehaa.”
    “Who is that?” one of Dumont 's kids asked.
    “That crazy woman who was on net a while back,” Cassie answered. “I didn't get no name.”
    “She's Commander Umboto, brigade XO,” the lieutenant answered. “And those big missiles sure do look good going over. Mary, can you catch them on a vid?”
    “No, sir, not till they come down a bit.”
    “They sure look pretty.”
    “Lieutenant, shouldn't you get your head down?”
    “It is down, Mary. Don't worry about me.”
    The barrage was light, but steady. Every minute or so another shell would wander their way. Mary kept up a running commentary—on the enemy running and on the general direction of the next incoming round. Most rounds went right into the gap. Once