stopped, but it was obvious that the nose was broken.
"He'll be okay, won't he?" Cumminhow asked, his voice rising. Like most of the men in the 13th, the sergeant idolized his commander.
"Should be," the medtech said. "Now, get out of the way." He called for an orderly to help move the colonel.
Cumminhow stood where he was for a moment, watching. Then, with nothing better to do, he left. He reported to the executive officer by radio. When he left the hospital tent, he was shaking his head. He had never heard of anyone getting a concussion by falling on his butt.
—|—
"Nothing but farmers," Zel Paitcher complained as he led Blue Flight into another pass in front of the infantrymen. The initial passes had been so efficient at clearing avenues that headquarters had ordered several more runs, to clear a wider path. "Plowing the ground."
"Could be worse," Gerry Easton said. "We could be down there and somebody could be plowing us under."
"Only good thing about this is, the sooner the mudders get through, the sooner they'll be able to get to Frank." Verannen had quit answering calls. Zel didn't know if Frank was dead, unconscious, or simply had his radio out of commission. Blue Flight had already had another casualty. The Pitcher, Ewell Marmon, had gone down. Though no one had reached the wreckage yet, there was little chance that Marmon had survived. He had not managed to eject and the Wasp had gone in hard.
But, for the moment at least, there was no enemy air activity in the area. If the local Schlinal garrison had any Boems left in flying condition, they were on the ground, in bunkers.
—|—
Bravo, Echo, and Fox companies were on the move again, with the recon platoons out on their flanks, moving ahead to contact the units that were supposed to attack from the north and south. The Wasps had cleared five good paths through the slick moss. But as the infantrymen drew within a kilometer of the Heggie lines, they started taking more casualties from machine guns and sniper rifles. The bare rocks were too hot to keep crawling across, and it was dangerous to get up and run. Schlinal snipers were having a field day picking off men at leisure. They were too far away for the 13th's mudders to suppress fire with their own wire rifles, and the Accord snipers had more trouble finding targets than the Heggie snipers did.
Then the Wasps returned. This time they weren't opening paths. Each Wasp made its pass along the Schlinal perimeter, spraying cannon fire and laying an occasional rocket into a building that might harbor snipers.
The three-company skirmish line started moving forward again. Men scurried forward in a crouch, going down every few seconds. They stayed down only briefly, because lying on those rocks without the insulating layer of moss could be compared without much exaggeration to lying in a frying pan.
Schlinal machine guns homed in on the line of advancing Accord soldiers. The Wasps could not eliminate all of those weapons, and their range was enough to start causing casualties, even through net armor, at more than a kilometer. Unlike the Accord with its splat guns, the Hegemony used slugs rather than wire in their heavy automatic weapons.
Ezra Frain dropped into the lowest depression within reach and rolled over onto his back so that his pack and canteens kept most of his body off of the scalding-hot rocks. Boots and helmet helped. The position was uncomfortable, but better than any of the alternatives he could think of.
Sweat rolling into his eyes had nearly blinded him, and the exertion of running had him gasping for air. Ezra needed a moment before he could even look around to see that his men were down and safe.
"Joe, there's got to be a better way," he said over his link to Baerclau. He was panting heavily, as if he had run several kilometers rather than only a few dozen meters since his last short "rest."
"You come up with it, you'll get a medal," Joe replied, equally out of breath. "Short of
"He'll be okay, won't he?" Cumminhow asked, his voice rising. Like most of the men in the 13th, the sergeant idolized his commander.
"Should be," the medtech said. "Now, get out of the way." He called for an orderly to help move the colonel.
Cumminhow stood where he was for a moment, watching. Then, with nothing better to do, he left. He reported to the executive officer by radio. When he left the hospital tent, he was shaking his head. He had never heard of anyone getting a concussion by falling on his butt.
—|—
"Nothing but farmers," Zel Paitcher complained as he led Blue Flight into another pass in front of the infantrymen. The initial passes had been so efficient at clearing avenues that headquarters had ordered several more runs, to clear a wider path. "Plowing the ground."
"Could be worse," Gerry Easton said. "We could be down there and somebody could be plowing us under."
"Only good thing about this is, the sooner the mudders get through, the sooner they'll be able to get to Frank." Verannen had quit answering calls. Zel didn't know if Frank was dead, unconscious, or simply had his radio out of commission. Blue Flight had already had another casualty. The Pitcher, Ewell Marmon, had gone down. Though no one had reached the wreckage yet, there was little chance that Marmon had survived. He had not managed to eject and the Wasp had gone in hard.
But, for the moment at least, there was no enemy air activity in the area. If the local Schlinal garrison had any Boems left in flying condition, they were on the ground, in bunkers.
—|—
Bravo, Echo, and Fox companies were on the move again, with the recon platoons out on their flanks, moving ahead to contact the units that were supposed to attack from the north and south. The Wasps had cleared five good paths through the slick moss. But as the infantrymen drew within a kilometer of the Heggie lines, they started taking more casualties from machine guns and sniper rifles. The bare rocks were too hot to keep crawling across, and it was dangerous to get up and run. Schlinal snipers were having a field day picking off men at leisure. They were too far away for the 13th's mudders to suppress fire with their own wire rifles, and the Accord snipers had more trouble finding targets than the Heggie snipers did.
Then the Wasps returned. This time they weren't opening paths. Each Wasp made its pass along the Schlinal perimeter, spraying cannon fire and laying an occasional rocket into a building that might harbor snipers.
The three-company skirmish line started moving forward again. Men scurried forward in a crouch, going down every few seconds. They stayed down only briefly, because lying on those rocks without the insulating layer of moss could be compared without much exaggeration to lying in a frying pan.
Schlinal machine guns homed in on the line of advancing Accord soldiers. The Wasps could not eliminate all of those weapons, and their range was enough to start causing casualties, even through net armor, at more than a kilometer. Unlike the Accord with its splat guns, the Hegemony used slugs rather than wire in their heavy automatic weapons.
Ezra Frain dropped into the lowest depression within reach and rolled over onto his back so that his pack and canteens kept most of his body off of the scalding-hot rocks. Boots and helmet helped. The position was uncomfortable, but better than any of the alternatives he could think of.
Sweat rolling into his eyes had nearly blinded him, and the exertion of running had him gasping for air. Ezra needed a moment before he could even look around to see that his men were down and safe.
"Joe, there's got to be a better way," he said over his link to Baerclau. He was panting heavily, as if he had run several kilometers rather than only a few dozen meters since his last short "rest."
"You come up with it, you'll get a medal," Joe replied, equally out of breath. "Short of
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