Side Show by Rick Shelley Read Free Book Online Page A

possible. As soon as they had the tarp spread, they popped pegs into the ground at the corners and hurried off toward a tree twenty-five meters from the gun, as much out of the light rain as possible. The thermal tarps were not quite 100 percent effective, and a Havoc was too tempting a target standing still for its crew to feel comfortable staying in, or close to, it.
    The men didn't bother to dig foxholes. They were as far away from the action as anyone in the 13th could be at the moment, with a lot of mudders between them and the enemy. The rest of Basset Battery was spread around them at the edges of the wooded area, no gun too close to any of the others.
    "This can't be what we came out here for," Simon said over the crew's private radio channel. Even though they were close enough to speak directly to one another, they routinely used their helmet radios, whispering. Gun crews didn't have the same sort of battle helmets that the infantry used. Gun helmets had no visors. In a Havoc, they didn't need night-vision systems or visual overlays.
    "Hard telling what we really came out here for," Eustace replied.
    "They said more'n a thousand klicks," Jimmy Ysinde protested. "We ain't come half of that."
    "Whatever. We'll find out soon enough. We hit those Heggies. The Heggies will hit back just as fast. You can bet on that." Eustace rarely worried about anything beyond the needs of his own gun or, occasionally, of the entire battery when they were operating together. Mostly, he saw other guns as dangerous companions. The more Havocs that operated close together, the more inviting a target they made.
    "Sure was nice while nobody was botherin' us," Simon said. "Now we've waved a red flag for 'em. Even if we took out this whole batch, they'll send more after. Boems, probably." Artillerymen hated enemy aircraft. They had no defense against air power.
    "Wouldn't have lasted anyway," Eustace said. "Soon enough, they'd have come after us. That must be what that convoy was out here for." He got up to his knees and looked around. They were too far away from the fighting to hear anything but the occasional soft crump of a grenade or rocket exploding.
    Eustace was looking directly at Basset one, Lieutenant Ritchey's gun, when it exploded. Ritchey and his crew weren't in their Havoc, though. Like the other crews, they had put distance between them and their gun as soon as they had covered it.
    "Move out," Ritchey ordered over the battery channel. "Forget us. We're going to join the colonel and headquarters. Get the rest of the guns moving. Now! "
    The crewmen of the Fat Turtle were on their feet with Ritchey's first word, running to their Havoc, looking into the air as if they might see an enemy shell coming in.
    "There must be more'n that one batch out here," Eustace shouted at his men. "Recon said we got all of the Novas with that bunch."
    "Tell me about it," Simon muttered. He was panting heavily already. "I knew the crap was gonna fly."
    "Get the tarp stowed. Simon, you get inside and fire up the engines." Eustace was already ripping one corner of the thermal shield free. He didn't worry about the pegs. If they came with the tarp, fine; if not, they'd make do the next time. There was no time to fold the tarp. It was simply wadded up and crammed into its small storage locker.
    "Get us moving," Eustace ordered before he had even climbed into his seat on the right side of the turret. Simon slipped the treads into gear, and Eustace held on for a moment, looking around before sliding into his place. Another shell burst, off near where Basset four had been until ten seconds before. Four had already moved far enough to escape damage from the blast.
    "Which way?" Simon asked.
    "Straight ahead for now." Eustace clipped his safety harness in place. "Then we'll worry about putting distance between us and the others. Just move this bucket."
    They heard several more explosions, close together, back where the battery had been parked.
    At least their