The Complete Hammer's Slammers, Vol. 3

There was a National Army officer listed as Commander of the Watch, but whoever it was hadn’t put in an appearance this evening. In all likelihood, the fellow was at General Bradkopf’s party.

That was fine with Coke. The best a National officer could do was to keep out of the way of the advisor hired from the Frisian Defense Forces.

Though all the raw data was provided by the combat cars, processing by the base unit in the TOC added several layers of enhancement to what the troops on the ground could see. Coke checked the statistical analysis in a sidebar of his holographic display and said, “There’s a hundred and seventeen up the Auerstadt Road. They’re all armed, and ninety percent of them are in spatter-camouflage uniforms.”

“Bloody hell,” said Sergeant-Commander Lennox from The Facts of Life. “We’ve got regulars from the Association of Barons? Then it’s really going to blow!”

“And Four-Two has spotted another eighty-four coming down from Hamlet 1 and points north,” Coke continued, watching his split-screen display. “The only thing I can imagine from an assembly this large is that they’re planning to attack the fortress itself in a night or two.”

Two companies, even of fully equipped regulars, weren’t a threat to a base the size of Fortress Auerstadt; but Parcotch was only one village of the ninety or a hundred within comparable distance of the base.

The direct views from sensors in the combat cars filled the lower right and left quadrants of Coke’s display. The top half of the screen looked down at an apparent thirty degrees on a panorama extrapolated from the separate inputs and combined with map data.

Mother Love was a klick to the south and east of Hamlet 3. The Facts of Life was within 500 meters of the hamlet’s west edge, and that was the problem. Lennox’s vehicle was only 500 meters east of Hamlet 2 as well, where the incoming troops had parked a launching trailer full of short-range guided weapons.

The combat cars were in perfect position to do a number on the enemy concentration in Hamlet 3, but Coke wasn’t willing to put Lennox between two fires.

“Any chance the Nationals might send us some support?” Sergeant Dubose said wistfully.

“Any chance the tooth fairy is making a run by your car tonight?” Sergeant Lennox retorted tartly. She was a lanky woman who shaved her head and was just as tough as she looked. “Sir,” she continued, “let’s do it. If we rip this one, the locals’ll get their heads out of the sand.”

“Not in your present location, Four-Two,” Coke said. “If they salvo the full load of missiles, there’s no way you’re going to survive. Particularly with whatever’s happening in Three.”

“Sir, look,” Lennox said. “The personnel are going to be in Three with the others, getting a pep talk or whatever the hell they’re doing. The launcher’s no threat!”

“We don’t—” Coke started to say.

A mortar fired just outside the TOC.

“Hold one!” Coke shouted, spinning from the console and grabbing the sub-machine gun he’d slung over the back of his chair. The National Army clerks jumped up also. They’d been frightened by Coke’s reaction rather than the mortar’s flash and hollow CHUG! through the TOC’s doorway. The vacationer’s glittering holoviews spilled onto the floor.

Cheers and laughter from outside the TOC told Coke there was no danger. The shell popped thousands of meters in the air, casting harsh magnesium light across Fortress Auerstadt. General the Marquis Bradkopf was using parachute flares to provide fireworks for his party.

Which suggested a way out of Coke’s immediate problem.

In theory, Coke’s console was linked to the National Army net. Rather than go through the complicated handshake procedures, however, Coke turned to the rack system at the adjacent bay.

He switched the unit from standby to operations and waited a moment for it to warm up. When the light went from amber to green, Coke keyed the address of the heavy battery of the artillery battalion attached to the fortress defenses. The clerk responsible for the communications bay watched Coke in concern from across the room, but she didn’t attempt to interfere.

Marquis Bradkopf began hectoring a subordinate outside the door of the TOC. Drink and anger slurred his words so that Coke couldn’t make them out. A woman’s voice wove a descant around Bradkopf’s.

“Battery Seven,” a man said. “Yeah?”

“This is Fortress Command,” Coke said crisply. “I have an immediate fire mission for you.” As he spoke, his left hand addressed a target information packet on the Frisian console. “This will require seeker shells, so I’m authorizing you to release them from locked storage.”

“What!” said the soldier on the other end of the line. “What? Look, I’ll get Chief Edson.”

Theoretically, the Frisians were in advisory capacity without direct control of National Army forces. As with other large organizations, somebody who was willing to claim authority was more than likely to be granted it.