Fourth Vector Ch. 15

Chapter 15: Showdown

Author's Note: There's a lack of sex in this chapter as it just didn't quite fit in with any of the scenes. I'll make it up to you in the next chapter. Enjoy.

*****

Jack took aim at one of the Swabian warriors now rushing his position only about thirty yards away. The man had just cranked the bolt back to eject his round before sliding it forward once more, taking aim at one of theNumratha in front of him and bringing him down easily. For once, the shoe was on the other foot, and Jack remembered what it was like to fight a more modern enemy. That Swabian didn't stand a chance once Jack brought the crosshairs to his chest, and a quick bang of the rifle ensured that he crumbled to the ground a moment later. He didn't have time to celebrate, as there were almost ten times as many of the Swabians as there were to Javans. If they didn't keep firing, they'd soon be overwhelmed, despite his slight advantage in overall numbers.

All along the line, the Javan marines kept up a steady pace of firing just like they'd been taught. This was just another battle for them, another dance with death that many of them would survive while others would stumble, only to rise no more. Already he could see the remains of several marines that had lost the dance, their corpses eerily silent and motionless where they fell.

Jack heard Greg roar over the sound of battle. "Focus on the rifles first, boys! Give them hell for thinking they can defeat marines!"

The marines all along the line gave a sudden roar of approval at Greg's words as the Swabians closest to their defensive line started to drop quickly. Many of them had simply rushed down the hill, taking no cover beyond crouching while they aimed their rifles. They quickly realized the error of their strategy when those in the first waves took horrendous casualties. The men near the middle and the rear learned to drop to the ground, using the terrain as best they could for protection. They were harder to pick off.

What made it worse for all of them was how the enemy clans would throw in their own tactics to mass firepower on the Javan lines. They were all too content to let the Swabians do most of the firing with their rifles. Only when most of the firing had stopped when the Swabians reloaded would they rush forward and take aim as one body, letting slip over a thousand arrows to come raining down on the line. Once that barrage was finished, they'd slip back behind the Swabians for protection.

It was a clever plan, and there were only a few times during the entire battle that Jack's line wasn't being fired upon by one of the groups. However, it did have a few weaknesses that they were quick to exploit. For one, the Andalucians hadn't figured out how to take cover against the potency of the NT-12 at short range. Every time they rushed forward, fewer of them came, their remaining comrades laying against the ground at the front of the lines. In time, the line of bodies became their only protection once they'd been significantly thinned out, but it also significantly reduced the threat of their aerial barrages.

Another factor that helped the battle was that the Swabians rifles didn't appear to fire as quickly as the NT-12. Jack had yet to see one up close, but he noticed just about all of them were bolt-action rifles, meaning each round had to be manually fed into the chamber before firing, compared to the NT-12 which was semi-automatic, therefore a new bullet was fed into the chamber once the operator had pulled the trigger. While it wasn't a huge difference between them, the difference in timing gave the advantage back to the defender.

That small difference had started to catch up with the Swabians by the time the battle was about midway through. Those that made it too close to the lines were often sitting ducks to the marines, especially vulnerable when they needed to reload. The protection of lying prone against the ground could only last for so long when you were too close to the line, and those men were rapidly mopped up.

The last phase of the battle became a shooting match between the exhausted enemy clans and Swabians behind the wall of their dead. Rarely did they venture forward to directly assault the Javan wall yet they were keen to keep pressure all along the line as long as they had their own protection. Rare groups of Andalucians would eventually press forward from that line, trying to attack local positions where it appeared the defense had thinned out. Most of those attacks failed miserably, quickly drawing the eye of all the defenders who then filled the attackers with measurable amounts of lead.

"Come out of that line and fight, you cowards!" yelled Greg at the attacking forces, safe behind their wall of bodies.

Many of the Javans added onto the taunts of their commander, only to have the enemy clans yell back in return. Many of those threats were in their ancient language, while just a small handful were in the common tongue—colorful comments about what they could do to their own mothers.

"They look pretty comfy behind that position, Jack," yelled Greg as he slipped in beside him. "I have half a mind to lead the boys out and see if we can take it on."

Jack shook his head rapidly. "Don't. You saw how much damage we did to them on the way down. Even with that many numbers, a frontal assault on our position was going to be a tough job. We weathered the storm pretty well from the looks of it, but I fear we'd take casualties that we couldn't replace if we attempted the same."

"Normally, I'd agree with you, but their line is just a pile of bodies. If we press hard with the full force, we might be able to take them all right now," said Greg.

"I'd rather not risk it, Greg," said Jack with a firm shake of the head. "They still outnumber us pretty heavily on the rifles. If it was just the Andalucians, I'd say go for it. But with the Swabians there, we need to stay point."

Greg looked like he wanted to say more but he bit his tongue, giving a short nod before returning his attention back to the line. Jack knew he was frustrated but like the good marine he was, he wouldn't speak about it publicly.

The last great charge came shortly after that conversation. Almost the entire right flank of the Andalucian clans sprung forward at once from their defensive line, their short swords barred and their bows left behind. From the looks of things, they hoped to close the remaining distance between the two lines rapidly on foot before unleashing with their short melee weapons in close quarters. It was a bold plan but one that was destined to fail.

For one, they had no support from the Swabians beyond the briefest of covering fire. All of them stayed put behind the line of dead bodies, not chancing the attack with their comrades. Without the Swabian spear in the front of the attack, the enemy clans had no chance. They were mowed down almost to the man, but not before several of them had reached the line. It was the furthest any of the attackers had gotten to their position, the high tide mark of the battle. Jack was just thankful that they were able to hold them off without much more difficulty.

From there the battle started to lose steam. With neither side willing to go across the no-man's-land in the middle, most of the firing died down in order to save ammunition. It persisted in that stalemate until nightfall. As soon as the sun dipped down below the western mountains, small groups of Swabians and Andalucians could be seen sneaking back up the mountain, abandoning their vulnerable position on the battlefield.

They left largely unmolested. Jack's own lines were too tired from the daylong battle to protest their steady retreat back to the mountains. He couldn't say he blamed them. It wasn't an eager warrior who went to battle in the night, especially after the draining day they'd just suffered. Many of them were content to rest up and fight again another time.

Although it was technically a win since the Swabians were leaving the battlefield, Jack knew that it was more inconclusive than it looked. They still outnumbered him in rifles if not in bodies, and they were far from beaten. Even his own lines were very precarious, made all the more worse by the threat of another enemy, the Occitanians, out at sea. Not to mention, there was still the report of his "reinforcement" clans who had halted in their place, no doubt wanting to see who would emerge the victor of this little contest.

"I have the final count of our forces," said Greg, slipping in behind him not far from the center line. "We lost fifteen more guys, meaning we're down to eighty effectives. I have thirteen wounded. Most of them will pull through. Some won't. One unlucky bastard took a bullet right through the eye. How he's still alive, I have no idea, but I doubt he will be in the morning."

"Not too bad considering the odds we faced. There had to be nearly a thousand Swabians on the way down to attack us this morning," said Jack. "Where the hell did they come from?"

"It looks like we finally pissed off this Avila guy enough that he decided to send an army," said Greg, kicking a stone around with his feet. "Unfortunately for us, those Swabians are the heaviest armed opponents we've faced since we got here in the Vector."

Jack nodded. "I knew our good luck with facing enemies that still relied on swords and bows was bound to run out soon. I've heard the Swabians were more advanced but had no idea how far they were. I guess that answers our question."

Greg walked away for a moment to grab something near his pack. He brought back one of the enemy rifles upon his return. "Look at this thing. One of the guys recovered it from one of those dead bastards that got a little too close. This looks like something my father might have used."

Greg was largely correct. The wooden stock, bolt-action rifle would be practically a relic back in Java, something they were bound to find in their grandfather's hunting cabinets. It didn't make it any less deadly, and in the right hands, it would be a potent force. However, it did provide a measure of relief back to Jack.

"We can infer a lot about their technology now that we've seen their rifles," said Jack after he'd inspected it. "Do you remember when we sunk that Swabian cruiser before we got to Andalucia?"

"How couldn't I?" replied Greg dryly. "That was the last time I didn't have sand in my boots constantly."

Jack chuckled. "That cruiser was like something I'd trained on when I was a lot younger. From what I can see, their level of technology looks to be about twenty years or about one generation behind ours."

"That's still pretty damn close, especially when compared with the Sorellans and Andalucians, Jack."

"True, but we still have some semblance of an advantage. There's a huge difference in our wars today versus the wars our fathers fought. If we know the Swabians are still stuck at this level, perhaps we might be able to regain the initiative."

Greg squinted his eyes. "What are you suggesting? An attack on their own lines?"

"I don't know if this is the right time to do that, Greg. I know you're itching to get back at them, but we need to conserve our strength against unnecessary battles."

"What if we do something small and stealthy?" the major suggested. "Something more like a raid? We come in quiet and hit the lines with everything we have, and then we melt back when it starts to get hot. A quick in and out."

Jack mulled the idea over in his mind for a few moments before responding. Sure, it would be great to strike back at the Swabians and let them know they still had a lot of fight left in them. But Jack worried most about the terrain that they were attacking on, one that favored the defender on two points. For one, the Andalucians knew the terrain they were on while the Javans didn't. Even his own clans weren't familiar with the territory for the most part. For two, they were pulled back to their defensive position in the mountain, almost impregnable to everything but a frontal assault. Even if they were to pull off a successful raid, all the defenders would have to do is watch them scurry back down the mountain on all that open land. They'd be easy pickings.

Finally, Jack shook his head. "I'd be more worried about the target your backs would present as you came back down from the mountain. No, let's hold tight here another day. They've already shown they can't force us from this position with their strength alone. Now that they are weakened, let's see if we can make them attack us again in the morning."

"What if they have more reinforcements in the morning, Jack? What are we to do then? We gave them a good showing today, but if they pick up more men, there's no telling where this might go."

Jack pursed his lips. "If that's the case, we may have to pull back. As much as I hate to say it, we can't take on a full regiment of Swabians with only eighty marines."

Greg's face split into a small smirk. "I don't know, Jack. Those might be good odds to some commanders."

Jack chuckled to that one. "Not that one of our men isn't worth twenty of those bastards, but I won't throw away your lives so easily. Let's sleep on this and see what the situation is in the morning. Who knows, they might pull back."

*****

Jack awoke early the next morning before most of the camp. He slipped out of the tent quietly, after kissing a still sleeping Kat. She murmured quietly as she turned over, not yet ready to greet the day.

He moved through the camp at a brisk pace, coming to the front lines shortly after. Most of the early morning sentries were still at their posts, watching the darkness pass in front of them and trying to discern any enemy movements. It was largely uneventful. After the enemy clans and the Swabians had pulled out after dark, there had been no other movements, and from what most of them could see, the enemy was still tucked away on the defensive back up the mountain.

For now. Until they decided it was worth another attack.

The men were in good spirits despite yesterday's brutal battle. His own clans seemed just as bloodthirsty as the day before while many of the marines seemed to ache for the chance to avenge their fallen comrades. By the look of things up on the mountain, Jack doubted that anything further would come to pass today. The enemy didn't look like they were bound to come down from that mountain any time soon.

"Your Majesty, there you are!"

Jack turned his head to look at Dula of theMuthada, who was rapidly closing the distance between them. Dula was a younger man in his early twenties who had been part of the scouting force that watched the flanks of the army. He was also the same man who'd originally spotted the Occitanian force off the coast and brought word of its arrival to Jack.

"Dula, take a breath," said Jack while raising his hands. "What has you so worked up?"

As soon as Dula reached him, he hunched over and rested his hands on his knees. It was obvious that wherever he was coming from, he ran all the way back to camp. His face was pale, and he looked nearly frightened.

"Your Majesty, those enemy ships are lingering off the coast! They have turned back around!"

"Calm yourself, Dula," said Jack, placing his hand on the younger man's shoulders. "Start over slower this time. What did you see?"

Dula finally pushed himself up. "You put me out to scout with the others and to watch the fleet that I'd discovered the other day. Well, I was watching them, Your Majesty. They continued north along the coast, and we thought they'd left. Yesterday morning, there was no sight of them."

"But they're back now? Is that right?"

Dula nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. They've doubled back. The worst part about it is they've sent men from the ships to land on the island. I saw it with my own eyes, sire. A small boat came ashore with no more than twenty men, only about five miles away from our spot right now."

Jack's expression turned dark. "What were they doing? Were they just scouting the land or were they pushing inland?"

"I didn't stay to watch them long, sire," admitted Dula. "I was more alarmed to see that they'd returned, and as soon as I saw them sending men ashore, I had to let you know. They'd no more than pushed onto the sand when I started my run back here."

Jack cursed silently. He knew that Dula meant well, but he'd ran entirely too fast. What could be the purpose of the Occitanians on the shore? Surely it couldn't be a coincidence that they managed to land on the only stretch of land anywhere close that was just a short distance from his own army. But if it wasn't a coincidence, how did they find him? More importantly, what were their intentions? A task force that size could clearly have their own marine regiment aboard, and if that was the case, they were truly fucked.

But first, he needed to find out their intentions.

"Dula, how long did it take for you to run this distance?"

"About twenty-five minutes, sire. I'm a good runner. Always have been."

"Good, I want you to take one of my marines back with you, just like you did the day before yesterday. I want you to figure out what those men and ships are doing before you come back," said Jack, before yelling for a nearby marine.

"Take Private Vance with you, and don't come back until you can give me a detailed report of what they're doing," said Jack. He then turned to Vance. "Listen to this man and go with him. He'll explain what you need to do on the way. Now go, both of you!"

Vance offered a bewildered salute before taking off after Dula, the unlikely duo soon disappearing in the direction of the coast. Jack didn't linger to watch them leave; instead, he slipped back to his tent after grabbing Greg and Kat to start another impromptu war council. Both of them looked at him expectantly, no doubt expecting word of what he wanted to do with their current position.

"Things are getting a little dicey," said Jack as he rubbed his face with his hand. "It's been reported to me that the Occitanians have returned to the stretch of coast just opposite our camp. They've even sent a landing party."

Greg straightened his posture. "A landing party? Of marines?"

"I don't know," said Jack with frustration. "The scout left a little too soon, but I sent a marine to go check it out again. If this happens to be marines, this will be a bad sign."

Kat scrunched her eyebrows. "How would they know we were here? Wasn't the last report that they were sailing by?"

Jack nodded. "I don't know. I don't think this is a coincidence though. Either they heard the battle yesterday or they've intercepted some of our radio traffic. It doesn't seem to matter right now though. If they know we're here, then we're in an even more difficult position. The Occitanian force will be even more deadly than the Swabians and maybe just as numerous."

"We might be able to handle one or the other," said Greg with a worried look. "But not both of them. Especially if they come in two different directions."

Jack nodded. "I have to agree with that. The situation has changed against us. I think we ought to pull back and put some distance between us and them, at least until we get reinforcements."

"What's the status of that, Jack? I know we've been promised some, but it feels like we've received that promise months ago."

"I'd sent a message directly to Bancroft asking that we receive reinforcements soon. Ships and men. Hopefully, we could get Luke back in the process as well. I've heard it was accepted, but the rest of the command has been quiet on me since then. The short answer is I still don't know when they might arrive."

"That could prove to be all the difference in this fight," said Greg. "Without them, we might be sitting ducks until either the Swabians or Occitanians decide to pounce."