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battalion of armor here "
"What if we don't bring the reinforcements here at all," Lysander said.
"Suppose I send the regiment around behind them, here. The main body won't be
in position until dark, but a scout platoon can be in posi-
tion a lot earlier than that."
"And then we go in after them?"
PRINCE OF SPARTA 117
"More or less," Lysander said-
*Tliey outnumber us, you know." Owensford said-
"Sure. But it's what you'd do if I weren't here, right?"
Owensford shrugged. "It's what I'd expect from my hypothetical captain who
ought to be in charge of this cockamamie deal."
Then we'll do that."
"An expendable captain."
"So we're not expendable," Lysander said. "We'll be careful. Now let's go."
Nearly dusk. Peter Owensford used the command tank's optics to peer into the
shadows ahead. Christ, here I am acting like a captain again. He grinned
slightly. At least by God I've got someone to fight. Not just chasing ghosts.
And someone to fight for...
Just ahead would be the enemy's redoubt. This would be the tricky part. "They
see you coming," Mis-
cowsky s voice said in his ear. "They're all spread out, waiting."
"Command push," Peter said. "Halt the column."
The two lead Cataphracts slowed, stopped. The infantry fanned out to both
sides. Ahead lay a four hundred meter escarpment topped with a dense stand of
trees, the sun already lost behind it. Somewhere along the base of that
escarpment, no more than two kilometers away, was the rebel ambush. Minutes
ticked by
'They're getting nervous," Miscowsky said. The sig-
nal was faint but clear. "Timing's gonna be tricky."
"The great thing," Peter said aloud, "is not to lose your nerve." His driver
grinned slightly, then nodded.
Five long minutes...
"Here he comes," the driver said. He opened a port in the armor of the tank,
and brought in a thin cable
118 Jerry PoumeUe iy S.M. Stirling
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communications sergeant who sat in the loader's seat.
After a moment the sergeant handed Peter a head-
set and microphone. "Secure communications, sir."
"Right. Thank you. Report by sections. Report."
"Section One set and loaded, sir."
"Section Two in place and loaded sir."
"Annor units ready."
That would be Lysander, of course. J filet that kid kiU himself, John
Christian will have my hide. Christ, he's aU that's holding this goddam planet
together, and here we are playing company commander. "OK.
Here's the situation. They don't suspect the SAS team is observing them. They
know we're here, and they're stirring around, wondering why we've halted. It's
a war of nerves."
"It will be dark soon enough." A female voice. /
might have known Lydia would be talking for her father.
"We'll give Mobile One a little more time," Peter said.
The wait seemed endless.
"There's a group moving out. Riflemen. One gre-
nade launcher. I count eleven, moving toward your position," Miscowsky said-
"Bearing one niner five at four five zero meters relative my position. They're
moving out now. Call it vector niner zero."
Somewhere out there, miles away near the horizon, a Legion SAS signal section
had sent up a balloon and tethered it in line of sight to Miscowsky. It would
be able to receive Miscowsky's narrow beam signals with-
out any possibility of interception. Of course signals the other way to
Miscowsky wouldn't be secure at all, but there was nothing they could do about
that.
Owensford plotted the enemy patrol s position on his helmet display. "Visitors
coming," Peter said. "Call it a
PRINCE OF SPARTA 119
dozen, moving due east. If they continue on course that will put them right on
top of Section One."
"Scout Section Four moving to intercept."
"Roger that."
"Getting dark. General."
"Scout Four here. We see them. They'll have Sec-
tion One in sight in six minutes."
And here we go. Peter punched in codes. "Thoth
Daddy, fire mission, roll four anti-personnel," he said.
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"I say again, Thoth Daddy, roll four anti-personnel.
Relay to SAS One they're on the way." Then without waiting for acknowledgment
he changed channels.
"Scout Four. Intercept and destroy that patrol, Scout
Four."
"Will intercept and destroy. Scout Four out."
"Sections One and Two load concussion. Armor units stand by."
"Acknowledge four birds on the way," Miscowsky said. "They do not appear to
have intercepted the alert to me, I say again they are not reacting. Thoth
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Daddy, give me four more, anti-personnel, I say again, four anti-personnel."
*Thoth Daddy here. On the way."
Timers on Peters console began their countdowns, flickering sets of red
numbers.
From ahead and to the left came a sudden stammer of rifles and machine guns,
then grenades. Contact.
"Execute alpha," Peter said. "I say again, all units, execute plan alpha, I
say again, execute plan alpha. Move out!"
The Cataphract engines were loud in the falling dusk. There were more shots
and the bright flash of grenades to Peters left. Then the Cataphracts moved
over the ridge.
"Incoming!"
Something burst overhead. Cluster bombs rained around Owensford s position.
Any uncovered infantry
120 jerry PoumeUe
fell around them. They're using their big stuff. Good.
Peter stared at his console. There was nothing he could do now, it was up to
the computers. Green lights flickered- Antennas they'd spent the afternoon
putting out a klick to each side backtracked the enemy's artillery shells.
Pulses came into the command computers- Analysis. A light flashed. Locked on.
More lights, as information went at the speed of light from the command unit
to the tiltrotor aircraft twenty kilometers away, then to Miscowsky and his
missile control unit...
"Got it," Miscowsky said. "Four missiles acquired.
Guidance set. Locked."
There were flashes from over the ridge. Four missiles, lofted from the
aircraft named Thoth Daddy, landed among the enemy's heavy weapons with an
accuracy better than one meter.
Thoth Daddy, give me more," Miscowsky said.
"Anti-personnel, stream it."
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"On the way."
"Rebel commander. Rebel commander,"
Owensford said.
He looked down at the screen, split to offer him views from any of the
vehicles. Not much to be seen. The
Helots were well dug in among their boulders. No artillery left. No perimeter
guards left. Not likely to have much communications, they may not hear me.
Peter touched his console to change communication channels.
"Move in fast"
"Sergeant Cheung, Spartan People's Liberation
Army," a voice replied. "You got something to say, Git?"
Sergeant. "Let me speak to your commanding officer."
PRINCE OF SPARTA 121
"That's me, Cit." A laugh, that might or might not have been cut off short.
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