Rick Shelley - 02 - Lieutenant

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If you purchased this book without a cover, you should be aware that this book is stolen property.

It was reported as "unsold and destroyed" to the publisher, and neither the author nor the

publisher has received any payment for this "stripped book."

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

either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously,

and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business

establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

LIEUTENANT

An Ace Book / published by arrangement with the author

PRINTING HISTORY

Ace edition / October 1998

Cover art by Duane O. Meyers. This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form

without permission. For information address:

The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.

The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is http://www.penguinputnam.com

Check out the Ace Science Fiction/Fantasy newsletter, and much more, at Club PPI!

ISBN: 0-441-00568-3

ACE® Ace Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group,

a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

375 Hudson Street, New York, NY 10014.

ACE and the "A" design are trademarks

belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.

PRINTED IN THK UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

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."

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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.

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"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.

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"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

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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

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Rick Shelley - 02 - Lieutenant

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