slight climb, he launched two more missiles toward Boems that were still struggling to evade the first volley.
"Close to cannon range," Slee ordered. "We've got to save missiles for the tanks."
The Wasps converged on the enemy planes as best they could. Almost miraculously, none of the planes on either side had been hit during the exchange of missiles.
Zel picked his target and flipped his weapon selector over to the 25mm cannon in the nose of his plane. The Schlinal fighters also carried cannons, but they were single-barreled and fired solid 40mm rounds, either explosive or armor piercing—somewhat better suited to this kind of fight.
But the Boems did not engage. They turned off and worked to stay just beyond the effective range of the Wasp guns. Their course was perpendicular to the vector the Wasps had been on before interception, taking them away from the 13th on the ground.
"Decoys," Slee said. "They're just here to keep us from helping the mudders. Break off."
When Blue Flight turned, so did the Boems.
"Full throttle," Slee said. "Let's see how far they chase us. Watch out for missiles."
CHAPTER FIVE
Smoke grenades, white phosphorus grenades, fragmentation grenades... and wire by the meter. Since neither side had been dug in, it was a bloody little fight. Once Echo Company closed to within eighty meters of the Heggies infantry, both sides started taking significant casualties.
Forward movement had to be measured in centimeters. One fire team of a squad would cover the other while it crawled forward just a little bit. Then movement slowed even more. One fire team moved while three provided covering fire. More RPGs were shot into the section of tall grass that hid the enemy. The grass itself was being rapidly pruned by all of the metal ripping through it.
Vision was limited. The burning white phosphorus even obscured the infrared sensors of helmet visors. At least the helmets provided better protection against enemy wire than the net armor in fatigues did.
"Keep your fire low," Joe Baerclau warned his platoon. "Third recon is somewhere on the other side of the Heggies, and Delta somewhere to our right."
Joe was in the middle of first squad, where he might have been if he were still only squad leader instead of platoon sergeant. The difference now was that he usually moved with the squad's second fire team rather than the first. The first team was to his left—Ezra Frain, Al Bergon, Pit Tymphe, and Olly Wytten. The second team was to his right—Mort Jaiffer, Wiz Mackey, and Carl Eames. The new men were spaced between veterans.
There was less room between men than Joe would have liked, but there was no easy remedy for that just now.
"Ez, you got any room on your left to spread us out?" Joe asked over a private channel.
"Negative," Ezra replied. "Second squad's even closer."
"Mort, how about..." Joe started. There was a loud rattle of wire hitting his helmet, and before that ended, he felt a burning pain in his left shoulder. The combined impacts left him too stunned to talk. For an instant, they also left him too stunned to feel the pain of the wound in his shoulder.
The universe closed in on Joe. The sounds of wire impacting on the helmet had produced an almost deafening noise inside the helmet. The almost simultaneous shoulder wound brought a moment of numbness. When the pain followed, Joe gritted his teeth so hard to keep from screaming that he thought several must break. He sucked in a deep, involuntary breath. His eyes teared up and his vision clouded over. All, almost, in the blink of an eye. Then, through still-clenched teeth, Joe said, "Al, I'm hit."
"That you, Sarge?" Al Bergon asked.
"Yes."
"Hang on. I'll get to you as quick as I can."
Joe switched channels. "Sauv, you've got the platoon. I'm hit."
There was a slight pause before Degtree, the next senior sergeant in the platoon, replied, "How bad?"
"Don't know. My shoulder. Tell the lieutenant."
"I heard," Lieutenant Keye said. "Just
"Close to cannon range," Slee ordered. "We've got to save missiles for the tanks."
The Wasps converged on the enemy planes as best they could. Almost miraculously, none of the planes on either side had been hit during the exchange of missiles.
Zel picked his target and flipped his weapon selector over to the 25mm cannon in the nose of his plane. The Schlinal fighters also carried cannons, but they were single-barreled and fired solid 40mm rounds, either explosive or armor piercing—somewhat better suited to this kind of fight.
But the Boems did not engage. They turned off and worked to stay just beyond the effective range of the Wasp guns. Their course was perpendicular to the vector the Wasps had been on before interception, taking them away from the 13th on the ground.
"Decoys," Slee said. "They're just here to keep us from helping the mudders. Break off."
When Blue Flight turned, so did the Boems.
"Full throttle," Slee said. "Let's see how far they chase us. Watch out for missiles."
CHAPTER FIVE
Smoke grenades, white phosphorus grenades, fragmentation grenades... and wire by the meter. Since neither side had been dug in, it was a bloody little fight. Once Echo Company closed to within eighty meters of the Heggies infantry, both sides started taking significant casualties.
Forward movement had to be measured in centimeters. One fire team of a squad would cover the other while it crawled forward just a little bit. Then movement slowed even more. One fire team moved while three provided covering fire. More RPGs were shot into the section of tall grass that hid the enemy. The grass itself was being rapidly pruned by all of the metal ripping through it.
Vision was limited. The burning white phosphorus even obscured the infrared sensors of helmet visors. At least the helmets provided better protection against enemy wire than the net armor in fatigues did.
"Keep your fire low," Joe Baerclau warned his platoon. "Third recon is somewhere on the other side of the Heggies, and Delta somewhere to our right."
Joe was in the middle of first squad, where he might have been if he were still only squad leader instead of platoon sergeant. The difference now was that he usually moved with the squad's second fire team rather than the first. The first team was to his left—Ezra Frain, Al Bergon, Pit Tymphe, and Olly Wytten. The second team was to his right—Mort Jaiffer, Wiz Mackey, and Carl Eames. The new men were spaced between veterans.
There was less room between men than Joe would have liked, but there was no easy remedy for that just now.
"Ez, you got any room on your left to spread us out?" Joe asked over a private channel.
"Negative," Ezra replied. "Second squad's even closer."
"Mort, how about..." Joe started. There was a loud rattle of wire hitting his helmet, and before that ended, he felt a burning pain in his left shoulder. The combined impacts left him too stunned to talk. For an instant, they also left him too stunned to feel the pain of the wound in his shoulder.
The universe closed in on Joe. The sounds of wire impacting on the helmet had produced an almost deafening noise inside the helmet. The almost simultaneous shoulder wound brought a moment of numbness. When the pain followed, Joe gritted his teeth so hard to keep from screaming that he thought several must break. He sucked in a deep, involuntary breath. His eyes teared up and his vision clouded over. All, almost, in the blink of an eye. Then, through still-clenched teeth, Joe said, "Al, I'm hit."
"That you, Sarge?" Al Bergon asked.
"Yes."
"Hang on. I'll get to you as quick as I can."
Joe switched channels. "Sauv, you've got the platoon. I'm hit."
There was a slight pause before Degtree, the next senior sergeant in the platoon, replied, "How bad?"
"Don't know. My shoulder. Tell the lieutenant."
"I heard," Lieutenant Keye said. "Just
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