Rick Shelley - Dirigent Mercenary Corp 2 - Lieutenant

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are

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LIEUTENANT

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10 9 8 7 6 5

The temperature had finally fallen below one hundred degrees Fahrenheit, but

the humidity remained near one hundred percent. There was not the slightest

breath of wind to bring even modest relief. Lieutenant Lon Nolan had been

perspiring heavily, but the sweat could not evaporate to cool him. All it did

was soak his clothing and add to his discomfort. Just remaining motionless,

resting, was tiring. The stagnant jungle air of New Bali was so thick with

moisture that breathing was work. It was almost three o'clock in the morning.

Company A, 2nd Battalion, 7th Regiment of the Diligent Mercenary Corps was

ready for action.

Lon lifted the faceplate of his helmet to get a little air. He felt as if he

were near suffocation with the visor down— and little better with it raised.

After a moment he took the helmet off, then wiped sweat from his face with his

sleeve. The action did little good. His sleeve was already damp.

"This is ridiculous, Ivar," he whispered. "You'd think that after two months

of this sauna, a man would get used to it."

Platoon Sergeant Ivar Dendrow grunted. "Some things you never get used to,

Lieutenant. You just bear it as best you can." He paused, then added, "I'll

bet there's not an ounce of body fat left on any of the men." Not that there

had been much fat on any of them before they arrived on New Bali—fitness was a

way of life for the mercenaries of Dirigent.

"At least we're near the end," Lon said. "If nothing goes wrong in the next

few hours, we should be back aboard ship by this time tomorrow." He knew that

he was

RICK SHELLEY

talking more than he should, even though the next few hours should be as

simple as a training exercise on Dirigent. The only casualties in his two

platoons on New Bali had been heat-related, and all three of those had

happened in the first week. Now, although everyone was still uncomfortable,

they were sufficiently acclimated to avoid further problems of that nature.

The only positive thoughts Lon had of New Bali were that there were no

stinging or biting creatures with a taste for human blood. The insects left

them alone. There were, apparently, no snakes, and the lizards stuck to native

prey—even the large lizard that seemed to be a near relation to Earth's Komodo

dragon.

"If nothing goes wrong in the next few hours," Den-drow echoed. He lowered his

faceplate just long enough to look at the time on its head-up display. "It's

about that time, sir."

Lon suppressed the sigh that wanted to force its way out. It would have been

inappropriate. He wiped his face again, using the other sleeve this time, then

put his helmet back on. When he spoke to third platoon's sergeant again, it

was over the radio channel that connected him with both Den-drow and fourth

Platoon Sergeant Weil Jorgen. "Get the men up and ready to go."

New Bali was a relatively old colony world, but it had grown very slowly.

After four hundred years, the total population was only three million, widely

dispersed among two dozen cities and hundreds of smaller settlements. The

impetus for early settlement had been the pharmacological promise of the

world. The discovery of thousands of medically useful organic compounds in New

Bali's tropical ecosystem had justified the initial colonization. Discovery of

accessible lodes of platinum and gold had led to a boom just at the time when

medical applications of nanotechnol-ogy had reduced, then virtually

eliminated, the need for medical drug therapies.

Alpha Company, 2nd Battalion, 7th Regiment, Dirigent Mercenary Corps, was

about to find out whether two hundred professional soldiers could stage a

successful coup and

LIEUTENANT 3

capture the world's central government and communications facilities.

Singaraja, New Bali's capital and largest city, boasted a hundred thousand

inhabitants. Originally a small enclave on the northern edge of the Utan delta

from which researchers could stage forays into the jungle, the city had grown

mostly northward along the seacoast in a thin strip. Proximity to the ocean

mitigated climatic conditions. There could be a twenty-degree difference in

temperatures between the coast and a mile inland during the day—and sometimes

as much as thirty degrees at night, when the breeze generally came from the

southwest.

"Third and fourth platoons ready, Captain," Lon reported as soon as his

platoon sergeants had confirmed that fact.

"Right. It'll be a few minutes yet," Matt Orlis, the company commander,

replied. "Just keep cool, Nolan. Everything by the numbers."

"Yes, sir." Lon did not worry about the admonition. He was the junior officer

not only in Company A, but in the entire regiment. He was used to having

officers spell things out in detail, as if they were afraid that he could

scarcely put his trousers on right without specific instruction. The New Bali

mission was his first contract since receiving his commission.

"You've got the easy half of the job, Government House and the communications

center," Orlis said.

"Yes, sir, I remember," Lon said, interrupting before the captain could go on

to explain in more detail. / know the mission, he thought. / know what we

should be facing. The targets for the company's other two platoons were the

central police station and the capital's militia barracks.

"The revised strike time is oh-four-thirteen," Orlis said. "We hit all four

targets at the same time."

"We'll be on time," Lon promised, glancing at the time-line on his head-up

display. He switched channels on his radio to tell his platoon sergeants and

squad leaders that there would be a short delay. It was short. Only three

4 RICK SHELLEY

minutes passed before Captain Orlis gave the order to move out.

"Let's go," Lon told his platoon sergeants.

Every man in the two platoons knew the details of the operation. The DMC

believed in sharing information as fully as practical. No matter how badly the

chain of command might be fragmented by casualties in battle, the unit would

be expected to continue its mission, even if a junior noncom ended up in

command of a platoon. Or a company.

Third and fourth platoons moved along separate tracks a hundred yards apart.

Lon hiked with third. He had been assigned to it as a cadet, before earning

his commission. He felt more comfortable with that group.

Moving silently through the jungle was not difficult, or particularly

dangerous, even at night. The floor of the tropical rain forest was mostly

clear, except along streams and treefall gaps, where sunlight could reach the

ground and stimulate the growth of new trees and undergrowth. And the

night-vision systems built into the helmets of the mercenaries gave them

almost full vision.

The two columns of soldiers moved in almost perfect silence, watching their

flanks, alert for anything. Their course had been mapped and scouted ahead of

time, so there were no surprises in the terrain. No alarms to send them diving

for cover.

We 'II have as near total surprise as we could ever hope to achieve, Lon

thought. // won't be until we leave the jungle and get into the city that

there 'II be any real danger of discovery. He was grateful for activity, for

the increased tension of moving toward the target. That let him quit wallowing

in the discomfort of the climate. He kept as close a watch on the men of third

platoon as their platoon sergeant or squad leaders did. Fourth was too far

away for direct observation, but Lon had his radio set to monitor fourth

platoon's noncoms' channel.

The staging area had been less than a half mile from the border of the jungle.

There was a clear line marking the edge of Singaraja—city on one side and

untamed jungle on the other. Looking out from the city, the rain forest ap-

tffOTENAMT 5

peared as a solid green wall, up to 130 feet high. The border was like a

treefall gap, miles long and filled by young trees and the adventitious vines

and shrubs that took advantage of any opening to the sun. The human residents

had to maintain constant vigilance against the forest to keep it from

reclaiming land they had "stolen." There were always interlopers, seedlings

trying to establish themselves in the open.

"The point has reached the edge of the forest, Lieutenant," Corporal Tebba

Girana of third platoon's second squad reported after the two platoons had

been on the move for twenty minutes. "They're holding just this side."

"Okay, Tebba. We'll take five here. Put two men through the tangle to

observe." Lon switched to talk to the point squad for fourth platoon, which

was just reaching the same line, and gave them the same instructions. Then it

was time for a final talk with the platoon sergeants.

"This is where the fun starts," Weil Jorgen commented.

"It shouldn't be too bad," Lon replied. "The local militia's geared to looking

for trouble from inside the city, not coming out of the jungle. As long as we

don't make mistakes, there shouldn't be much danger of them spotting us until

we're within a block or two of our objective, if then." As long as we don't

set off a thousand dogs barking, he thought. One of the tidbits of information

they had about Singaraja was that there were twelve thousand dogs in the city.

The original colonists, the ones who had come to find medicinal plants in the

jungle, had brought dogs to help sniff out the plants that were most valuable,

and the canine population had increased since.

"I wouldn't count on any of that, Lieutenant," Ivar said. "These local lads

have had good training, and they know that something is coming."

"Let's just do our job," Lon said. "We'll cross into the city the way we

planned. One squad from each platoon across the open space first. Then two

squads. Then the rear guard. Once we're all on the city side, we move toward

the objectives. And even though the timing is critical, I want the same care

we'd take anywhere. If we run into trouble

RICK SHELLEY

before we reach our objectives, it could throw the timing too far out to

recover."

"We're ready," Ivar said. Weil grunted his agreement.

"Okay, let's go," Lon said.

The strip of dense growth at the edge of the rain forest was nowhere thicker

than thirty yards. Within that narrow belt, conditions could be chaotic, and

difficult for anything larger than a rodent to find a way through. But there

were a few spots. Alpha Company had scouted the verge carefully. Beyond that

thicket was a hundred yards of flat, cleared land. Automated equipment tended

the barrier, mowing the grasses that had been planted to serve as the first

obstacle to the jungle. Beyond that, a plascrete roadway served as a more

solid barricade. And, finally, there were the gardens and yards of private

homes, then several commercial buildings before the area where Government

House and the communications hub for Singaraja and all of New Bali stood.

When his platoons were ready to move through the border of the rain forest,

Lon went forward to join third platoon's point squad to have a look for

himself. He switched his faceplate to full magnification and slowly scanned

the open area from left to right. After two minutes, he was certain that there

was nothing moving within visual range. Singaraja was quiet. There was some

light. The capital of New Bali boasted streetlights and a scattering of neon

signs in the business district. Along the edge of the city, some of the houses

showed outside lights.

"Move it," Lon said over the radio channel that connected him to all of the

squad leaders and both platoon sergeants.

As two point squads started to cross the open field, two more squads from each

platoon moved through the dense border of the jungle to cover them. The last

squads remained on the forest side of the dense growth, against the minimal

chance of attack from the rear. The point squads spread out into broad

skirmish lines, jogging across the open fields, bent low. In the dark, against

the backdrop of the rain forest and the green wall of its border, they would

LIEUTENANT 7

be virtually invisible to any watcher without the assistance of night-vision

helmets or goggles.

As soon as the squad leaders reported that they were in position and had seen

no indication of defenders, Lon ordered the next squads across, and the

rearguard squads moved through the tangle to the city side, ready to follow.

Lon and Weil moved with the middle squads. Ivar stayed behind to move with the

rear guard.

Normally, running a hundred yards in full battle kit would have been only

moderately taxing for Lon. In training, back on Dirigent, the men of the

DMC—including all officers—regularly ran carrying the forty to sixty pounds of

equipment they would have in a combat situation. But the temperature and

humidity, added to the tension of going into action, made the crossing almost

difficult for Lon. He felt himself gasping for breath before he reached the

strip of black plascrete that marked the halfway point between jungle and the

first houses.

Lon gave himself one short stop by moving to the side and watching as the rest

of his men moved past. Then he started jogging again, staying close. There was

no real chance to rest even when he flopped on the ground behind the skirmish

line his men formed when they completed the crossing. He had to watch for the

rearguard squads to cross, and get point squads moving through the residential

strip that stood between them and the commercial and governmental district of

Singaraja.

He conferred with his noncoms on the radio. No alarms had been sounded. Not

even a single dog had started barking at their proximity. Two minutes, Lon

told himself. We all need that much of a break to catch our breath. He glanced

at the timeline on his helmet display, knowing that he could not afford more

than two minutes. He could not be certain that there would be no delays later.

Lon went over the routes that his men were to take to their targets. Although

the two buildings were close together, his platoons would remain separated

throughout the rest of the journey—a safety measure, to minimize the chance of

total disaster if they were discovered. Two routes—one squad in

RICK SHELLEY

front of each platoon and another trailing behind—would also minimize the few

slight sounds that might be unavoidable.

"Move out," he told the platoon sergeants when the two minutes were over.

For a few minutes, they would still have the cover of full darkness, following

back lanes, separated from the nearest houses by gardens and back yards, far

from porch lights, and farther from the first streetlights. There was no

running now. The men moved at a slow walk, five yards between each of them.

Everyone kept eyes open and weapons at the ready. An ambush by the New Bali

militia was not out of the question. And if first and second platoons ran into

trouble, the locals might quickly move to block Lon's platoons as well.

Lon had the external audio pickups on his helmet at maximum gain, and he

strained to hear any possible threat—as if intense concentration might extend

the reach of his hearing. One dog started barking in the distance, too far

away for the baying to be the result of Lon's men moving. Almost at once,

several other dogs started to answer the call of the first. Most of the ruckus

seemed to be off to the north, away from any of the Dirigenters.

"Halt!" Lon ordered over his all-hands channel. "Let's give the mutts a chance

to settle down before any of them close by start yowling." Lon listened to the

scattering of dogs barking against the silence of the night. Gradually, over a

period of several minutes, they quieted down.

"Okay, let's get going again," Lon said once he thought that the remaining

disturbance was far enough away that it was unlikely to be picked up by dogs

closer in.

Five minutes later, he had a call from Tebba Girana, whose squad had the point

for third platoon. "We're at the first checkpoint, Lieutenant," Girana

reported. "The food warehouse is across the street from us. Lights half a

block on either side. The alley next to the building is dark."

"Wait where you are until fourth is in position. I want both point squads to

cross at the same time," Lon said.

With an entire world available, the people of New Bali

LIEUTENANT 9

had chosen to make their cities almost as crowded as they would have been back

on Earth. Although streets and alleys were broad, buildings pressed in against

them. Where the New Balinese could have allowed acres of open space around

each commercial or governmental building, they had instead lined them up next

to each other along the streets. Instead of dozens—or even scores—of small

green oases in the commercial zone of the city, there were only two large

parks set aside, at opposite ends, nearly a mile apart. Government House and

the central communications building bordered one of those parks.

It was 0349 hours when fourth platoon's point squad reported that they were in

position—two blocks from Tebba facing the same street. Lon acknowledged the

report, then switched channels to talk to his platoon sergeants.

"We've got twenty-four minutes, and there's still a fair distance to travel.

Barring trouble, we start moving and keep going until we're in position around

our objectives." As soon as Dendrow and Jorgen responded to that, Lon said,

"Move 'em out."

Awareness of the heat and humidity had slipped away from Lon. Once he was

moving again, inside the city, closing on the two buildings that his platoons

were to take, he was too tightly focused on the mission to worry about

anything so trivial as personal discomfort. He was still new enough as an

officer that he found it difficult not to try to do everything himself, keep

track of every single man and watch every degree of the terrain around them.

He could, at need, check on the vital signs of all of his men—pulse,

respiration, and body temperature. He could monitor all radio traffic within

the platoons. The temptation was there, but there was no way that one man

could do everything— not with even moderate success. He did keep his eyes

moving, scanning ahead and behind as well as to both sides, and he tried to

listen to the environment rather than to in-trasquad talk.

He had a mild adrenaline rush as he crossed the street into the alley next to

the food warehouse with half of third platoon. But there were no alarms, and

in seconds the men

RICK SHELLEY

LIEUTENANT

were across, split into two columns to walk down the sides of the alley.

At the next intersection, the point squad was waiting. That was the second

checkpoint. From the shadows at the mouth of the alley, Lon could see

Government House.

It was not particularly large, barely half the size of the analogous building

on Diligent—a structure that served both as the seat of government for the

world and also as headquarters for the Dirigent Mercenary Corps. New Bali's

Government House was only two stories high, shaped like a letter E. The long

side faced the mercenaries, and the smaller strokes were wings aimed toward

the park beyond. The building was two hundred feet long across the front. The

width was eighty feet. There were streetlights at each corner, lights over

each of the three entrances that Lon could see, and lights on in several

windows.

No police or militiamen were posted outside the building. There would be, at a

minimum, guards inside each entrance, although only one of those doors was

left unlocked at night, and there might be two or three roving guards inside—a

total of no more than eight security officers. If the intelligence was right

and the New Balinese had made no changes.

The number of workers in the building at night was uncertain. It should be

small—New Bali was not large enough to require extensive round-the-clock

staffing of Government House—consisting of one mid-level official, perhaps a

few clerks, and the maintenance and cleaning staff. The estimate was between

six and twenty.

The communications building would be an even simpler affair. Two people ran

the operation at night, and there would be one guard, and perhaps one person

to run the cleaning machines.

"Oh-four-oh-five," Lon whispered on his connection to his platoon sergeants.

"You both know the drill here. Get the men in position."

Lon would go into Government House seconds behind the squad that was assigned

the main entrance, along with one other squad. Fire teams, each half a squad,

would force

the other entrances to Government House and neutralize the guards there. Once

the doors were secured, the rest of the building would be searched quickly to

find the rest of the people on duty. If everything went perfectly, there would

be no need for shooting. If...

All that Lon could do for the next few minutes was watch, his tension

increasing almost with every second. This was when the chance of discovery was

greatest. A civilian driving through might spot armed men scurrying toward the

objectives and raise the alarm. A police patrol might happen by. A guard might

step outside for a breath of air. Anything.

If surprise was lost, the operation might be lost as well.

No screw-ups, please! Lon thought. He wanted everything to go perfectly. Two

hundred men attempting to usurp control of an entire world seemed almost

insanely audacious, but Lon had put worries about the sanity of the exercise

behind him. It was possible. It had been done on other worlds.

One by one, the fire teams reported that they were in position, close to the

objectives. By 0410 hours, everyone was set. Lon moved closer with the last

squad, crossing two streets and moving into the shadows on the lawn in front

of Government House. The men went prone, half of them facing the building, the

others facing the streets. Lon reported to Captain Orlis that third and fourth

platoons were ready to move in, and that there was no sign that they had been

detected.

"Good job, Nolan," Orlis replied. "Wait for my command. Everyone moves at

once."

"Yes, sir."

Time showed its own insanity for Lon then. The seconds dragged like hours,

waiting for the order, but when Orlis's order did come, it felt as if no time

at all had passed.

"Go" was all the captain said. Lon repeated the order on a channel that

connected him to all his sergeants and corporals. Then he got to his feet with

the men of the final squad, and they moved toward the main entrance to

Government House as third platoon's first squad burst through

RICK SHELLEY

the doorway to take the guard there by surprise.

For the first six seconds, Lon thought that luck would hold and that the two

buildings would be taken silently, but before he reached the main entrance, he

heard several gunshots off to his left, apparently from the door near that end

of the building.

"What was that?" he demanded on the channel that connected him to third

squad's leader, Ben Frehr.

"The guard here spotted us coming in," Corporal Frehr reported. "It's okay,

Lieutenant. We've got the situation under control now. No casualties."

"What about the guard?" Lon demanded.

There seemed to be restrained amusement in Frehr's voice. "He'll live."

Gunshots meant that the element of surprise ended a few seconds two soon. Two

roaming guards within the building had time to report the sounds, and they

were ready when third platoon found them. They did not resist, but they had

had time to spread the warning.

"We've got Government House and the communications center secure, Captain,"

Lon reported at 0420. "The guards inside here had time to raise the alarm,

though."

"We expected that, Nolan," Orlis replied. "No matter. We've got the militia

barracks and police headquarters surrounded. We're negotiating for their

surrender. They're in no position to resist, and they know it."

"Then we contact the governor?"

"Or he contacts us," Orlis replied. "It shouldn't be long. I expect we'll have

a final resolution within an hour or so. Set your defensive positions and

wait."

Wait, Lon thought with distaste after he had given his orders and moved up to

the second floor of the building. He had sentries posted there, high enough to

have a wider view of the area surrounding Government House. Ninety-nine

percent of what we do is wait.

At 0447, Captain Orlis told Lon that the militia were stalling, refusing to

capitulate. The police station had surrendered, but there had been only six

officers inside—not the

LIEUTENANT

twenty to thirty that the Dirigenters had expected.

"Sounds like something might be up," Lon suggested.

"If so, we'll find out soon enough," Orlis said. "I've given the militia a

deadline—oh-five-hundred. I told them if they haven't surrendered by then, we

destroy the barracks with them inside."

"I want everyone alert," Lon told his noncoms. "The locals might have

something up their sleeves. Except for the men watching the prisoners, I want

every eye looking for activity outside. And keep the men down. I don't want

anybody where a sniper could take them out."

Wait!

At 0501, Lon heard the dull crump-thump of two explosive charges going off in

the distance. The militia didn't surrender, he thought. He felt a tightening

in his stomach. There might have been as many as three hundred men in the

barracks compound, twenty percent of the world's entire militia force.

"Foolish heroics," he muttered, shaking his head. "Stupid way to waste

people."

Five minutes later, Captain Orlis had news. "We went in. There was only a

single platoon of militia in the barracks—thirty-five men. Watch for trouble.

The rest must be somewhere in the city."

Lon's stomach growled nervously. Most of the militia missing from where they

were supposed to be. The same for the police. They knew something was up, he

thought. Then: Where are they?

He alerted his noncoms. And sweated. Government House was efficiently

air-conditioned, but sweat came to Lon anyway. He prowled the second floor,

going from room to room, standing in the dark at the side of windows, looking

out, searching for any hint of approaching soldiers. They 'II come, sooner or

later, he thought—he knew.

It did not take much for his thoughts to move to We can't hold. Surprise was

all we had going. We had to take all of the local forces available in the city

at once. We didn't do it.

RICK SHELLEY

The waiting was different now. He knew what had to come. When a loudspeaker

came to life outside, just minutes after five-thirty, as the sun was beginning

to brighten the eastern horizon, Lon was not surprised. He had been expecting

it.

"You, in Government House," a metallic-tinged voice said, amplified far beyond

necessity. "Lay down your weapons and come out. We have you surrounded and

outnumbered."

Lon immediately called Captain Orlis and reported. "What do we do?" he asked.

Orlis did not hesitate. He had just received a similar message. "Surrender,

Nolan. It's all we can do."

The three mercenary officers were brought before the governor of New Ball

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