Fourth Vector Ch 12

Chapter 12: Surrounded

Author's Note: This chapter takes place immediately after the events of Chapter 11. The war drums are beating and Jack, Greg, and the rest of the Javans are about to be attacked by the Andalucian clans. Enjoy!

*****

All at once, a rousing barrage of gunfire cascaded from the heights of the plateau into the oncoming rush of attackers below. It had a devastating effect as the front ranks of Andalucian warriors were slaughtered where they stood, quickly crumbling to the ground while some flailed about like headless creatures not aware that they were already dead.

It was worse than any nightmare Jack could imagine. From his own vantage point near the middle of the plateau, both entrances to the rocky formation were under steady attack at the same time. The eastern end, which led deeper into Andalucia, was blocked off by the largest clan, the

Numratha

, while the western end was under attack by the remains of the

Muthada

. Other clans joined the attack, clans that Jack had no name for, while their only chance of reinforcements languished miles away, not close enough to offer immediate assistance.

Jack rushed to the scene of the fiercest fighting, which happened to be the

Numratha

front. Taking cover behind the rocks that dominated the slope at the top of the plateau, he poured lead into the rushing attackers, taking them down one at a time as the barrel of his NT-12 smoked from the steady fire.

Around him, the other assembled marines gave a great performance, offering steady shooting and a high degree of accuracy that surely bolstered their reputation as the toughest fighters anywhere in the world. Their lead, Major Greg Vaughn, was not far from him, and he combined his shooting with shouts of inspiration to the men to keep the fight going.

"That's it, boys! Push them back down the mountain! Give these sons of bitches everything we've got!"

Despite the repeated motivation, it was a close fight. The

Numratha

fought like men possessed, no doubt feeling confident with the addition of the other clans to their ranks. They would rush forward to close ranks together, giving seemingly little regard for their own safety as they sought to get within range to use their bows. Kneeling against the ground to steady their aim, groups of them would let their arrows soar at once, raining down on the Javans and only knowing their aim was true by the screams of the marines struck afterwards.

Like the day before, the battle went back and forth several times before it became apparent that the Andalucians were running out of steam. Their attacks started to weaken, and they lost the strength to push to the top of the summit.

"Keep up your fire but don't chase them," urged Jack between the bursts of his rifle. "Make them pay for daring to attack our men!"

Just as quickly as the battle had begun, it ended with a whimper. The

Numratha

melted away into the surrounding rock and rubble, pulling back to their camps. Looking around, the men weren't any worse for wear, all of them veterans of several battles and used to seeing death, even the death of a comrade. Four of those comrades laid out on the ground below, none of them breathing and all having fought their last battle. Two others were wounded but thankfully they were small wounds, rendering them capable of still fighting. For the increasingly large pile of dead Andalucians along the slopes in front of them, it was a relatively small price to pay.

Just as the fighting with the

Numratha

died down, steady gunfire could still be heard on the other side of the plateau. Once it was safe to move, Jack, Greg and a few other marines rushed across the two hundred yard space along the top of the mountain to the scene on the other side. This fight was now more dire, and Jack could already tell that the

Muthada

had pushed the marines back, finding several wounded men at their feet as they pushed their way up the opposite slope.

"Keep up your fire!" yelled Jack. "Push them back down the mountain!"

Behind the enemy lines, chaos reigned. Jack watched in horror as wounded marines were dragged away by the

Muthada

, most of them still screaming for help. In their place on the top of the slope, they were in no position to give aid. Jack felt a sense of helplessness as they struggled to keep the Andalucians from spilling onto the plateau, all the while saying a quiet prayer for those men to receive a swift and painless death.

Directly in front of them, the

Muthada

tried another tactic that had been completely new to them. Knowing how deadly the rifle fire was and how exposed they were charging up the slope, they had taken some of the material from their tents, using it to obscure the position of the men behind it as they tried to push their way up the hill.

The tactic had a few problems which thankfully, the marines were able to figure out right away. The first problem was that it did nothing to stop the bullets, and the steady fire from the rifles was still able to take men down despite them being behind the tent.

The second problem was that it was nearly impossible to see where they were going on the way up the ascent, a fact that was quickly figured out by the anchor warrior closest to the edge. The man took one step too far to the right, found nothing but air and quickly careened over the side of the mountain, taking a good portion of the tent material with him.

His fall exposed the rest of the men, letting the gunners make quick work of all those that remained standing. While it wasn't the best tactic overall, it did worry Jack. It meant they were willing to try something new to adapt their attack. Seeing that the tent was an obvious failure, they might come back with something more sturdy the next time around. And there was always the chance that something they brought back might just do the trick on the next attack.

After the debacle with the tent was beaten back, the

Muthada

warriors started to melt away as well, slipping into crevices of the rocks behind them and disappearing from view. The wounded enemy soldiers tried to crawl back when they could, most of them dragging themselves along the rocky path with what little strength they had left. Most of them were used as target practice by the marines in a fight that was turning more vicious by the day.

"They've got to be hurting," said Jack as he turned to Greg. "The

Muthada

. It looks like another hundred or hundred and fifty corpses out on the slope. We've had to have put a significant dent in them!"

Greg nodded slowly. "I think most of the casualties from this attack were from the new tribes mixed in with the

Numratha

and

Muthada

. It's the only way they can keep throwing those kind of numbers at us."

"The only question is who's going to break first? Us or them?" asked Jack quietly.

Greg didn't answer him directly. "We really need those reinforcements to get here. I'm not sure how many more of these attacks that we can take. We're getting low on ammunition as is."

Taking stock of their forces after battle had ended revealed a desperate plight. Ten more men were dead, meaning they had fifty-two effective marines still alive. Two more of those were wounded, the men facing the

Numratha

, but could still shoot. Two men were missing, those dragged away by the

Muthada

meaning there were fifty marines left plus Jack, Greg, Abigail, and Vera.

Thankfully for them, the Andalucians didn't try another attack for the rest of the day. And while their numbers were down to fifty, the other platoons that were still separated from them numbered another eighty men. If there was a way they could combine the two forces, they might be able to win out over the assembled clans.

At dusk that evening, Jack crouched around a fire with the rest of the men. Despite it being rough, desert country, the nights could be quite cool, and Jack found himself keeping close to the fire for its warmth. It seemed Vera had the same idea as she came to huddle right next to him while pulling a blanket around her shoulders.

"Are you doing okay?" she asked, taking the moment to look into his eyes.

"I'm all right," said Jack hoarsely. "We've lost a good number of men in the last couple days. That's weighing on me right now."

Vera nodded before slipping into his arms and offering a tight hug. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"Are we doing the right thing, Vera? By being here?"

She blinked at him before a confused expression formed on her face. "What do you mean, Jack?"

"I mean, did those men die for a good purpose?" he asked. "I didn't just throw their lives away, did I?"

She shook her head furiously. "How can you even ask that? Of course they didn't die in vain, Jack. These are terrible people. The whole world knows how vile the Andalucians are. We came here to find Kat so we could rescue her, and they started a war with us. In a way, it's a good thing. We're here to bring justice to those who were so cruelly attacked by the Andalucians and the Swabians on the open seas."

Jack started to nod. "It still troubles me. This land is exactly how Heron and Kat described it. It may have been better to stay away."

"But would you be able to stand yourself if you let innocent people die?" asked Vera. "I know the kind of man that you are. You wouldn't let that happen, especially to those you consider friends."

Jack remained silent as he processed her words. Her hug grew tighter, and he found himself responding back, nuzzling into her hair. There had always been something comforting about Vera in a familiar way. Her presence made a bad situation just a little bit better.

That was before a bloodcurdling scream filled the night air.

Both of their heads whipped around in the direction of the scream as the excited chatter and yells of men sounded from the west slope. Jack slipped from Vera's arms quickly before grabbing his rifle and dashing off in the direction of the men. Time had a way of making his every footstep feel like a small eternity until he reached the defensive position and gasped at the sight.

Just below the slope on the pass that led up to the plateau was one of the wounded marines from earlier in the day, one of the unfortunate souls who had been dragged away by the

Muthada

. Still alive, they had transfixed him to a pole in a true crucifixion and erected it not far from the front lines in full view of all the men. How they got him there without being seen or heard was beyond Jack's comprehension but he supposed it was dark enough that it could have escaped notice.

What was infinitely worse was that they set fire to the man as soon as they left. The cross he was on had to have been treated with some kind of accelerant as he burned quickly and brightly, all the while screaming in dear agony as his fellow marines struggled to get him down.

It was largely in vain. By the time his fellow marines had grabbed any kind of water and had descended down the mountain, he was long since dead, his screams falling silent for good. Jack watched with a feeling of numbness as his charred body was finally lowered from the cross, his remaining brothers shaking with feelings of anger and hoping for a delivery of much-needed justice.

As Jack watched them bring his body back up the plateau for disposal, Vera appeared at his side once more. Forgetting that he'd sprinted away from her once he heard the scream, he put his arm around her to shield her from the sight. She still gasped when she saw it, breaking down and crying against his chest.

Finally, she looked up at him. "Do you see what I mean now? Why we have to be here? Someone has to end this, Jack. I'm beginning to think that you're the only one who can."

He could only nod in return, the words never able to form properly in his throat.

-------

It wasn't an easy night of sleep for anyone on the plateau. The night before hadn't been either but with the image of the burning marine still fresh in everyone's mind, a more haggard-looking group awoke the next morning.

Not far from where he slept was the group of wounded marines, sheltered from the front lines for protection. As soon as he was awake and sitting up, he drew the attention of one of the wounded men lying just a few feet away. Jack recognized the marine as Henry, one he remembered as helping to defend the wall at Heron's capitol city back in Sorella.

"How are you doing this morning, Henry?" Jack called out.

The wounded marine nodded down to his arm, which was wrapped in a haphazard sling. "I've been better, sir. I'm not a big fan of not having use of my arm."

"I can understand that. How's your pain level this morning?"

Henry shrugged. "Not the worst I've ever seen. I took a slug through the leg back in the Desert War so I know what pain is. Yet the arrows from those Andalucian bastards are nasty. I did more damage pulling it out than it did going in."

Jack started to nod. "I think they're designed like that on purpose. It makes it harder to heal. I'd bet there's a psychological component to it as well."

"Either way, I'd prefer not to do it again," said Henry with a grin.

"Soon enough, we'll get you out of here, marine. Get you back to the

Destiny

where you can start to heal. God knows you've earned a break after all of this."

"I've seen a lot of brothers die in the last couple days, sir. Good men and great marines. I won't let those bastards take me too."

"I don't think anyone expected the kind of reception we'd get here," said Jack honestly. "But I want you to know that your sacrifice doesn't go unappreciated. I count myself as fortunate to have fought by your side. And that goes for every single one of your brothers as well."

Henry nodded glumly. "I've fought under a lot of men. I've been a marine for twelve years now, sir. I've had lieutenants and captains that weren't fit to wear the uniform, but I've also served under men who were born leaders. Men that knew what it was like to be in the ranks and what it entailed. I appreciated those leaders much more in battle than I ever had in peacetime."

"Why's that, Henry?"

The wounded marine did a one arm shrug. "Good leaders in peace are good leaders in war. Good leaders don't let their men go into battle unprepared. They expect the same from you even when no one's shooting at you. You know the saying—a pint of sweat now saves a gallon of blood later. That can be hard to understand at times but it all makes sense once you're in battle."

Jack gulped hard. "I'd almost hate to ask where I fall in that ranking of leaders, marine."

For once, Henry started to grin. "You shouldn't. You and the major are up there, sir. Some of the best I've ever served under."

Jack started to chuckle. "Even now? Surrounded in enemy country?"

Henry beamed with a smile. "Don't you know, sir? Marines prefer to be surrounded. That way we can attack in any direction and still find the enemy."

Jack started to laugh at that, quickly joined in by Henry a moment later. "You're a good man, Henry. I'm proud to have you with us. I know you're a fighter, but I'll feel much better once I see you're safe back on the

Destiny

. A marine like you deserves life."

"Just don't send me too soon, sir," said Henry. "I can still shoot with one hand. It may not be the easiest to do but I'll still do my part if trouble finds me."

"I know you will, Henry." Jack stood up and patted the man on the back. "Get some breakfast now, all right? Eat up and then get your head covered. It looks like we might have another hot day coming."

As he walked away from the wounded marine, Jack opted for a quick breakfast of oatmeal stirred up by Vera. Internally, he wondered the best way for them to get out of their current predicament. The whole camp was full of men like Henry, good warriors who deserved to live. There had to be a way out of this mess. Looking out over the summit revealed four separate camps, all of them positioned in each cardinal direction around the plateau. Yet even being boxed in, Jack looked for possible escape routes.

To the east were the

Numratha

and more jagged terrain, unsuitable to quick movements and highly likely for them to get penned up again by a more numerous enemy who knew their homeland well. Looking toward the north showed another set of highlands, with a camp dominating the only low-lying area in that direction. Certainly east and north would be bad choices in the current situation.

To his south was a slight continuation of the rugged terrain before it cut open to more level plains like that they experienced on the coast. While not a bad option, unfortunately, that direction was blocked by quite possibly the biggest clan camp, easily dwarfing the

Numratha

to the east. Jack shook his head at the option as well.

That only left the west, where they had come from. It was also the direction of the reinforcements that had been held up by the

Muthada

. Like the southern route, the terrain was rocky and uneven until leveling out closer to the coast. It also had to be the direction of the weakest and most wounded clan, unless of course the

Muthada

had been bolstered by their countrymen, which seemed to be the case during the last battle.

After a heavy swallow, Jack sighed and crossed his arms. Each path was equally bad but the west offered the most promise. Especially if they could link up with the marines. His eyes scanned the horizon, looking for any clues of when they might arrive. Originally, they were supposed to arrive last evening, but once they were held up by the

Muthada

, that became questionable.

Surely, they had to be nearby though, right?

Jack wasn't sure how or why but a small wisp of smoke caught his eye on the western horizon. No larger than a campfire, it remained separate from the Andalucian camps and looked to be directly in the path from where they came from. No doubt, the same road the reinforcements had to be following. Suddenly, Jack had an idea.

"I need you to get a message out to the reinforcement platoons," said Jack as he came over to Greg's resting spot. The major had been eating his own breakfast, his face bleak just like their current prospects.

"What do you need? What should I say to them?" Greg questioned.

"Come over here," said Jack while waving his hand. The two men approached the western slope where this morning's guard was just about to relieve the night watch.

"I saw some wisps of smoke just over there. Across that valley, directly in front of that raised hill," said Jack while pointing out the direction. "We know the reinforcement platoons are just behind us to the west, right?"

"Right and directly blocked by the

Muthada

," said Greg. "Or other clans at this point."

"Or the

Muthada

are surrounded by us," said Jack with a slight grin. "If the reinforcements are that close, we may have an opportunity at hand."

A small grin started to form on Greg's face as he understood the plan. "Divide and conquer, eh?"

"Let's make sure those are the reinforcements, first. Can you reach out to Captain Bucknell and have him make a signal for us?"

"More fire?" asked Greg. "Get it bigger?"

"Yes, and I want them to fan the flames so we get a unique smoke signal from them. That way if it is them, we might be able to pinch off the

Muthada

, link up together, and possibly get off of this plateau."

"Captain Bucknell, this is Major Vaughn," said Greg into the command radio. "We're going to need you to start a fire."

About twenty minutes later, the two men stood watching the horizon as they waited for Bucknell to get the fire roaring. Jack pulled his binoculars out to watch the ridge where he'd spotted the original wisps of smoke. Luckily for them, a great deal of smoke soon appeared, coming in waves and seeming to indicate the presence of someone stoking the flames.