March Upcountry

until simple starvation forced the Marines to abandon their defensive position and run a gauntlet of endless ambushes in the jungle. Not that this particular bunch of barbarians seemed to require much in the way of enraging, he reflected as they surged forward around the huge, half-fused hole the plasma cannon had torn in their ranks.

Cathcart’s shot had also acted as an effective start for the rest of the company’s fire. The citadel’s elevated position helped some, but the furthest out aiming stake was barely a hundred and fifty meters from the curtain wall. That was short range for a bead rifle . . . and meant the scummies had only a soccer field and a half to cross.

“Fire!” Gunnery Sergeant Jin snapped over the platoon net, and set the example himself. The first wave of burst fire from the company tumbled a windrow of the ladder-carriers in piles, but the mass of natives simply kept coming as the following ranks picked up the ladders and charged the walls.

Pahner nodded. The enemy was coming on more or less as expected, although the ladders were a surprise. There were even more Kranolta than the taccomp had estimated, though, and that was causing a few jinks in the plan. They were also much heavier on the west flank; Roger’s side. It might be a good idea to thin them out a bit.

“I want two grenade volleys,” he called. “Aim into the middle of the mass, about seventy-five meters out. I want to create a break in the assault.”

“Roger,” Lieutenant Jasco acknowledged. He’d taken over command of the right wall while Lieutenant Gulyas was in the keep.

The grenadiers filed out of the bastions and got into position as the bead riflemen on the parapets continued to pour aimed fire into the attacking Mardukans. The grenadiers readied their weapons and awaited the word as Pahner followed the timing. Right . . . about . . .

“Now!”

The twelve remaining grenadiers fired upon his command. For most of them, it was their first clear look at the enemy, but the numbers coming at them didn’t throw off their aim. The twenty-four grenades arced out into the mass of the Mardukans, dropping behind sheltering walls and heaps of rubble which had blocked the bead fire, and detonated. The double string of explosions ripped holes in the Kranolta army, and hundreds of the four-armed natives writhed in shrieking agony as shrapnel from the mini-artillery scythed through their packed ranks.

“Again,” Pahner called. “Down fifty meters.”

Again the belt-fed launchers spat out their packages of death, tearing the ranks of the enemy apart. But still the natives closed up over the mangled bodies of their comrades and came on, blowing their horns and bellowing war cries.

“Okay,” Pahner said, satisfied. “Back under cover.” He pursed his lips and whistled. “ ‘When you’re wounded and left on Marduk’s plains —’ ”

Most of the grenadiers filed back into the bastions, where the hastily constructed doors were wedged in place. The few who stayed on the wall picked up their bead rifles and opened fire again. The enemy was about to assault.

“Sir,” Lieutenant Jasco said, with a grunt that carried clearly over the com, “I’ve got more ladders coming up than I’ve got hands to push down. I need some support here.”

“Same here,” Roger reported, and Pahner heard the distinctive sound of steel meeting flesh over the prince’s radio. “We’re about to lose the wall!”

“Too soon,” Pahner whispered, peering through the slit that overlooked Roger’s position. There were already Mardukans on the wall, in close combat with the Marines, and he saw Roger lop the head off one, while Cord speared another.

“Call out your grenadiers and plasma gunners! Push them off the walls!” he ordered. He’d held the grenadiers and plasma gunners under cover to protect them from the anticipated wave of javelins from the Mardukans, but very few javelins were flying. Instead, the Kranolta concentrated with fanatical determination on getting over the walls and coming to close grips with their smaller opponents. When are they going to follow the plan? he wondered with a grim mental chuckle. Guess they’ve learned a little about the disadvantages of matching javelins against bead rifles at range. Too bad it’s really true that no plan survives contact with the enemy!

The fresh infusion of Marines and a barrage of grenades pushed the enemy off the walls, and Pahner was relieved to see no prone bodies and only a few Marines nursing wounds.

“Switch out weapons. Put the wounded in the bastions.” He looked out the slit facing the enemy, who seemed to be getting back in shape rather quickly. “And get ready for another attack!”

“Inside, Despreaux.” Roger thumbed towards the bastion.

“I’m not hurt that bad, Sir.” She hefted her rifle with her left hand, and started to try to reload it one- handed.

“I said, get in the bastion!” Roger snatched the weapon out of her hand. “That’s an order, Sergeant.”

Her jaw clenched, but then she nodded.

“Yes, Sir!” She saluted with her left hand.

“And get Liszez to replace you.”

“Aye,” she answered, and he nodded and turned towards the gate.

“Kameswaran! I thought I told you to get your ass into the bastion!”

Jimmy Dalton stroked the butt of the bead rifle and shook his head. There sure were a shit-load of the damned scummies.

The plasma gunner had carried a bead rifle through about half his service, so he was familiar enough with the operation of the weapon. But he’d also inherited Corporal Kameswaran’s ammo harness, and that was unfamiliar. Everyone had his own idiosyncrasies about what went where, and the corporal’s were more idiosyncratic than most.

Dalton ran his hand across the positions of all the gear and shook his head. Just had to hope he didn’t need any of the stuff in a hurry.

The prince came up and looked out of the mini-bunker the private occupied.

“Looks like they’re getting ready to come back.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The private wished he had his plasma rifle; that would slow them up. “When do we open fire?”

“When Gunny Jin gives the word.” The prince grinned. “Even I don’t fire until the gunny says it’s okay!”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The plasma gunner ran his hand across the ammo harness again and shook his head. They’d made it onto the walls the last time. Why not open fire further out?

The prince seemed to read his mind.

“This is hard, waiting for them to come to us. But it would be worse worrying about being ambushed from here to the sea. We need to suck them in and kill them all, Jimmy, not just drive them off.”

Dalton hadn’t thought the prince even knew his name.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“I’m not Prince Roger right now, Jimmy. I’m just your platoon leader. Call me Lieutenant MacClintock.”

“Yes, Your—Lieutenant,” the private said. As if he didn’t have enough to worry about.

Most of the ladders were still at the base of the wall, so the Kranolta came on at an unburdened run in the second wave.

“Fire!” Jin barked as they passed the hundred-meter stake and picked out his own target—one covered with horn trophies. “Take that, you bastard,” he whispered, as the chieftain and two followers fell away from the burst of fire.

Roger pulled out another magazine and inserted it even as he maintained fire. The double magazine system was made for situations like this. His accuracy was somewhat degraded during the switch, but as long as he fired into that incredible mass of targets he was bound to hit something.