Side Show by Rick Shelley Read Free Book Online

might burn without visible flames, but there was more to the vehicles than fuel.
    "Let's go!" Keye ordered over the company all-hands channel. Joe repeated the order on his platoon channel, even though 2nd platoon was already getting to its feet.
    Moving forward, Joe could see the damage that had already been inflicted on the Heggies. All five of the Nova tanks were out of action, destroyed or burning. But only two of the twelve trucks appeared to have been hit. Joe could see soldiers pouring out of most of the others, diving into the grass.
    "We've still got a fight here," Joe warned his men as he let off a short burst toward the nearest enemy truck. Heggies started firing as well.
    "Get some RPGs in there, quick," Joe said. Rocket-propelled grenades. The enemy was in range for those. One man in each fire team carried several of the disposable tubes. Even before any of the men in 2nd platoon managed to comply, there were grenades arcing toward the enemy trucks from some of the other platoons.
    "Follow the grenades in," Joe ordered. "By squad and fire team."
    Within each squad, one fire team hurried forward a few meters while the other team covered them with enough wire to suppress enemy fire—to at least keep it from being overly accurate. Then the other team moved, leapfrogging. All of the line platoons were operating the same way.
    And Echo started to take casualties.
    Joe moved with Mort Jaiffer's fire team. The second time they moved forward, Joe saw someone fall in third squad. The man got back up, staggered forward two steps, then went down again. Before Joe, or anyone else, could call, third squad's medic was at the man's side. After a hurried examination, the medic made a thumbs-up gesture: the wound wasn't serious.
    Joe had scarcely got back to his feet the next time before he felt wire hitting him. Spent wire. At ranges still well over a hundred meters, it took a lot of concentrated wire, or perfectly placed wire, to do serious damage. Accord net armor could prevent most penetration at that range. But the tiny bits of wire, smaller than staples, could still hurt. They could still leave nasty bruises.
    Joe went down again, moving forward another couple of meters on his hands and knees. Around him, the rest of the fire team was doing the same. Some Heggie gunner had them perfectly sighted. Getting down for a moment was the best way to throw off his aim.
    The other team went forward. More RPG rounds were sent ahead. A few came back—Heggie grenades. There was nothing to do for that but hug the ground and hope that you were out of the kill zone of the nearest blasts. The closer to the ground you could get, the narrower the kill radius of a Schlinal grenade was. Most of the shrapnel went up and out in a rapidly expanding cone.
    Three more enemy trucks had been hit. Joe glanced skyward and saw one of the Wasps climbing toward the clouds, streaking back toward the main Accord lines. It quickly disappeared from sight. We're on our own again, he thought. He blinked a couple of times. As long as the enemy tanks were accounted for, it shouldn't matter. Infantry versus infantry, and it looked as if the 13th had the advantage of numbers, with two line companies and two recon platoons closing in on a single company of Heggies.
    —|—
    "Get that heat tarp back in place," Eustace Ponks said as he popped his hatch. The Havocs had moved a couple of kilometers after finishing their part in the attack on the Heggie column. They were under trees again, but not in the same place they had been before. On the other side of the turret, Simon was getting out as quickly as Eustace. In the back, the other two members of the crew were already out, starting to unfold the thermal tarp. The engines had been run, the gun had been fired. For the next hour or more, the Fat Turtle would glow in infrared, bright enough to be spotted from orbit.
    The tarp was lightweight, but bulky enough that it took some handling. The men worked as quickly as