The Complete Hammer's Slammers, Vol. 3

Colonel Hammer’s voice rasped in their commo helmets, “Troopers, the United Cities and Republic of Solace in combination have hired us to wrest control of Port Plattner from the foreign invaders now holding it. Normally I don’t discuss the financial details of the Regiment’s contracts, but in this particular case I’ll mention that our payment is guaranteed by a consortium of planets which in the past have purchased about half the Thalderol base produced on Plattner’s World. They seem to feel it wouldn’t be to their benefit if Nonesuch controlled access to the product.”

Deseau whooped and clapped his hands. Padova had already dropped into the driver’s compartment. Huber switched the C&C box to display the download that would shortly arrive from Central.

“Your assignments are on the way,” Hammer continued. “Artillery prep will begin in three minutes, and the action elements will begin moving out of the firebases at the same time. Don’t get overeager—we want plenty of time for the shells to soften ’em up. For this operation we won’t enable the lockout on our guns. I’d rather take the risk of being shot by a friendly than having a software glitch keep me from nailing a hostile because there’s a friendly on the other side of him. But remember, the terrain is dead flat and your gun’ll shoot any bloody thing that you aim at.”

The hogs of Battery Alpha elevated their launch tubes. They faced outward in a clock pattern centered on the TOC; now their turrets rotated so that the whole battery was aligned to the northwest, the direction of Port Plattner.

“I don’t want any of you to think this’ll be easy,” Hammer continued. “They’ve got a hundred and fifty tanks and their other vehicles mount tribarrels too. It doesn’t matter how slow and clumsy they are, because they aren’t coming to us—we have to go to them. But troopers—we’ve faced worse. Get out there now and help me show people what happens when you try to cheat the Slammers! Six out.”

The satellites were up again; some satellites, anyhow. The download had full real-time coverage of the port. Approaches, lines of sight, threats and targets—the initial targets being the threats, of course— shimmered onto the holographic display in standard color overlays, as familiar to Huber as the grips of his tribarrel.

Four Nonesuch tanks moved in echelon to join the twelve parked in front of the smoldering terminal building. Each was built around a centerline 25-cm powergun. Though the big weapons could only be adjusted a few degrees in azimuth, their bolts were powerful enough to penetrate even the thick plating of a starship.

A line of dun-colored space-frame tents, sandbagged to the concrete, stood beside the vehicles. More tents—thousands of them—dotted the edges of the pad, most of them serving the infantry riding APCs. The latter, tracked like the tanks, had iridium armor and mounted a tribarrel in a one-man cupola.

Nonesuch fatigue parties worked on the perimeter bunkers without heavy equipment. Soldiers were mixing concrete in hand troughs. Huber wondered whether Lindeyar and his cronies had tried to buy construction mixers from Solace and been refused, or if this was merely a stopgap until dedicated support units arrived aboard later vessels.

Three ships, even such large ones, were barely enough to carry a division; the Nonesuch planners had concentrated wholly on combat personnel and equipment, accepting discomfort and inefficiency in order to frighten their possible opponents into quiescence. So far as the Solace Militia went, that may have been a good plan….

“Fox, this is Fox Six,” Captain Gillig said. Her voice had a pleasant alto lilt even when she was giving battle orders. “Fox Three will trail on the approach, but we’ll attack with all platoons in line. There’s a tank company in our sector, but the panzers’ll deal with it while we hit targets of opportunity. With a division to choose from, there shouldn’t be any lack of those.”

Deseau turned to Huber and said, “Hey, El-Tee? I couldn’t believe that bastard Lindeyar was going to get away with shafting us. Could you?”

Huber thought for a moment. Given the delays in star travel, this coalition must have taken weeks or even months to put together. Hammer must have started planning it almost as soon as the Regiment arrived on Plattner’s World.

“I did believe it, Frenchie,” he said. “But that’s all right—I’m just a line lieutenant. So long as I do my job, I can leave the rest to the Colonel.”

The hogs lit the night with flaring backblasts, beginning to shower 200-mm missiles on the enemy. The roar shook the ground. Moving as smoothly as water swirling down a drain, 1st Squadron’s tanks and combat cars slid from the firebase, advancing toward Port Plattner twenty klicks away.

“Target!” said a machine voice in Huber’s ear as Fencing Master led the rest of F-3 out of the angled passage through the berm. His faceshield gave him a vector.