Seeing the Elephant, Chapter Four

By

UCSBdad

Disclaimer: This belongs to Henson and Co or to David Drake. Rating: K Time: The future.

Author's note: This is a crossover between the universes of Farscape and Hammer's Slammers. Seeing the Elephant was an American Civil War term for seeing combat.

Previously on Farscape...

John and Aeryn and their friends have met with a squad from the human mercenary regiment, Hammer's Slammers who are, quite unintentionally, telling our heroes about life in the 30th century. Lance Corporal Cuchillo has just finished telling J&A about his experiences in a war on Hurate's World three years before.

And now on Farscape...

N'Demi continued. "I hear the old man is thinking of raising a regiment of K'hiffs for use off world. Get 'em good weapons and senior ranks from the Slammers. Use them for jobs that the Slammers are too expensive for."

"Why the Hell do you people become mercenaries, anyway?" John asked suddenly. "Why do you want to fight other peoples' wars for them?"

"Some people just like being soldiers, for sure." N'Demi replied. "But these days, most governments treat you like shit if you got no money or power. Got land a big corporation wants? You lose it, fast. Piss off a politician? End up in jail, or worse. Got anything anyone else wants? Don't ask anyone to take care of you." N'Demi shrugged. "You actually born on Earth before FTL flight, sir?"

John nodded." A Hell of a long time ago, I guess."

"Hammer's Regiment isn't really a mercenary unit. We're really just a very small country where everyone is in the army, Commander Crichton."

"Jesus," John said under his breath. But that was worth thinking about.

N'Demi whipped around in her seat to face forward again. "Damn, damn and damn." She had gotten some bad news on her comm set, but I had no idea how bad it might be until we rounded a curve. Ahead of us was a mass of K'hiffs, who all appeared to be civilians, or at least they were unarmed. They included the first female K'hiffs I had seen. They had the wider hips and breasts that a female that gave birth to live mammal children would require. Standing near me was what I took to be a young female with a child on her hip. She was dressed in a long, tight skirt made from a rough local cloth. The cloth was dyed in alternate red and white stripes. Around her shoulders she had a green shawl. Older females seemed to prefer looser and darker garments.

I stared at her and her child and thought of our children.

We left her behind as N'Demi forced the jeep through the mass of K'hiff. Finally, we could see our two pointmen stopped at a bridge. They were talking to a very large human who has stripped off his shirt to reveal skin as black as N'Demi's. N'Demi jumped out of the jeep and headed for the group of humans. John followed her and I followed John.

"What kind of crap is wrong with this freakin' bridge?" N'Demi demanded, pushing past the two infantryman.

The shirtless human male just smiled. "What kind of crap is wrong with this freakin' bridge, Sir, I believe you meant to say."

N'Demi bit back whatever reply she had started on. "Yes sir. What's the problem, er…"

"Captain Napoleon Bonaparte Dessalines, of Second Company, Regiment du Genie de Vendee. Your servant, mesdames and messieurs." This one was no taller than John, but appeared to weigh about as much as D'Argo and John combined. Most of him seemed to be muscle. The male human gestured vaguely behind him "The invading soldiers are headed this way, driving the K'hiff before them. Local merchants had just begun moving some goods into the village ahead when the first wave of refugees arrived. Sensibly, they turned around and ran. Not so sensibly, they drove both of their trucks over a very shaky indigenous bridge. The first broke through the surface of the bridge and the second rammed the first. Wheeled transport can't go on the bridge, and I can't let a mob of civilians on the bridge while my men effect repairs." Suddenly the human's smile returned to his face. "But this need not affect you, Sergeant. Your vehicles can ride over the surface of the water as easily as over dry ground. There, your problems are over."

N'Demi didn't look like her problems were over. "Captain, my problems drive wheeled jeeps right now." N'Demi suddenly swiveled her head around. "Speaking of which, where are those damn fool would-be praetorian guards? They should all be lined up here demanding that the bridge be repaired immediately or someone be shot, at the very least."

N'Demi fiddled with a control on the side of her helmet. I could just barely hear someone talking to her over the comm set. "Oh, Lord." She said and headed off to the middle of a mob of refugees. John and I started to follow, but N'Demi stopped us. "You three," I noticed Chiana had joined us, "stay here with the jeeps. I do not need this unit spread all over the friggin' landscape with hostiles in the vicinity. Move." We moved.

"What is all this about, John?" Chiana piped up. I had noticed that D'Argo and Jool were deep in conversation. Chiana had come over looking for some company, I supposed. Fine. There were thousands of people she could bother all around her.

"Refugees have blocked the bridge and a load of Peacekeepers are headed this way, Pip. That's all I know."

Chiana pouted. "What does he know?" Pointing to the soldier manning the weapon on N'Demi's jeep.

John grinned at her. "Find out. He's a guy isn't he?"

Chiana smiled and climbed onto the jeep and sat down next to the soldier and began talking in her limited English. He just stared back at her and replied, "Lo siento mucho, senorita. No hablo Ingles."

Chiana stared at him for a few microts. Suddenly Chiana realized she was being made fun of. "Frell you, Crichton. Don't any humans have frelling translator microbes?"

The soldier laughed and lifted up his visor. "So, "Find out. He's a guy, isn't he." is it, Commander Crichton?" He laughed again and shook his head. "So Slick don't tell you shit and you want to know what's happening?"

Chiana moved closer to the soldier and very carefully nodded her head for yes, smiling at him all the time. Hmm. Dealing with humans was a lot like dealing with a young Vorlag.

"Slick is Sergeant N'Demi?" John asked.

"Not to her face, Commander. No, not to her face if you want to live to pension time."

"Okay, not to her face and if anyone says anything, we didn't hear it from you. Now can you tell us what's going on here on this planet?"

The soldier, Cuchillo, as I remembered, reached out and worked something on the side of our helmets. As soon as he was done with mine, I saw a representation of this planet on the helmet screen. No, it was this planet, from space. Cuchillo's voice came over my headphones. "We launch thousands of micro-satellites. They handle communications, intelligence, weather, and anything else we need. Too friggin' many of them to knock down unless you really work at it." Obviously the Peacekeepers hadn't worried about it. Cuchillo continued and the view changed to an area of the planet as seen from a dozen metras or so up. "The blue pulsing dot is us. The red dots represent the enemy. There are two big groups already on the plains, one maybe twenty clicks west of here," The scale on the screen suddenly changed and I saw two blobs of red dots, "and the second is some two hundred clicks away." The screen returned to showing just our area. "So much for the big picture. Regiment's south of here, but should be able to move most of our maneuver elements and attachments up before the enemy can meet up. Get between 'em and bash 'em one at a time, the Colonel will.

Our platoon's problems is a couple groups that hit the K'hiffs. Over ran a good-sized village and chased the militia and civilians out. The refugees you see here are from there. The militia is mostly milling around, getting in their own way and tripping over themselves, back a ways, closer to the village."

The three of us cranked our heads around and stared off to where the village should be. I was sure I could smell smoke and chakon oil. Cuchillo kept talking. "One enemy group of maybe sixty or seventy grabbed a bunker complex outside the village and another of maybe a hundred grabbed the local Top Dog's personal fortress. All the local militia were out chasing their tails and they forgot to post a guard on their home base. The Peacekeepers just walked, put their feet up and made themselves at home."

I examined the map projected on my helmet and tried to make sense of the markings that appeared and disappeared on the map. Why couldn't the frelling humans design a sensible alphabet? Because, of course, if humans were like that, there'd be no mystery and wonder about them and no poor, susceptible ex-Peacekeeper would be bothered with falling in love with one. Frell! I was doing too much thinking entirely.

"So we just sit here until the bridge gets repaired and then we're back on our way, right?" I asked the sergeant. I suspected the answer would be no. He didn't disappoint me.

Cuchillo shook his head. "Politics. The local Top Dog is a big noise named Serrepatti. He's just about the only Top Dog in these parts that supports President Azzule. Gives him a lot of weight in politics. He wants his damned village and his private fort back. He's bitching to Azzule and Azzule is bitching to the Albegnesian ambassador who whines, in a very diplomatic way, to Colonel Hammer. And, like it or not, the politicians pay the bills. If we win the war and loose the peace, we're less likely to get hired in the future."

That really didn't look like it bothered Cuchillo at all. I got the feeling he felt about politicians the way I did. Even the way John did.

"So," Cuchillo continued, "I patched myself into N'Demi's comm link. Um, that's another thing you don't want to mention." He grinned. "She knows, but she can't afford to let anyone know she knows, if you get my drift."

John nodded and grinned back. "No problem, but what's the news?"

"Command is telling N'Demi to provide support for the local militia and whatever regulars Azzule contributes, which will probably be zip." He suddenly chuckled. " Old Slick will be pushing puppies around for a week to get this one up and running."

"Whoa," John interrupted. "I thought we were hot property. That we absolutely, positively had to be at your headquarters and last week."

Cuchillo shrugged. "Things aren't so critical now. The Light Cav ran over a bunch of the Peacekeepers on the plains earlier today and the calliopes nailed a bunch of their fighters when they tried to attack. Those Peacekeepers may be aliens, but they can be had."

That gave me something to think about. If only I knew what the frell the Light Cav and a calliope were. But human soldiers didn't think much of Peacekeepers. That was new.

Cuchillo gestured to the tree line. "N'Demi's on her way back. I'd guess she'll be looking for something to bite, so be careful."

N'Demi stomped back to the jeep and threw herself in her seat and began doing something with the AI unit. "Okay, we get to go try to run a campaign with the indigs" She turned to the three of us. "This is where you get out. I'll pick you up after this mess is over." She turned away from us.

"No way." Strangely, both John and I said the same thing at the same time in the same language.

N'Demi stopped whatever she was doing and turned to face us. She was not a happy human. "I don't have time for this, Commander Crichton..." she started.

"You don't have time to keep us alive?" John broke in.

"What do you mean?" N'Demi was a little confused. I was interested to find John had that effect on humans, too. "The whole idea of leaving you here is to keep you alive, Commander."

John swept his arm around to the K'hiffs around us. "None of these people have any real reason to love humans, but I bet they have a lower opinion of Sebaceans right about now. " N'Demi looked like she was going to speak, but John just kept talking louder. "My wife is Sebacean and I know the K'hiffs can tell her scent from a human. As a matter of fact, if any of the Peacekeepers wandering in the woods show up here, none of us will live too long. Got that Sergeant Slaughter?"

Before N'Demi could say anything, Chiana broke in, very carefully in English. "Besides, we kick ass." She smiled at John and hugged herself after getting that out.

I decided I'd better have my say. "We know about Peacekeepers. John says no plan survives contact with the enemy, in addition to keeping us where we can be protected from anyone, we'll be around when you have to start making it up as you go along." Frell. I sounded just like John. He knew it, too. He could hardly keep from laughing. Luckily, N'Demi didn't notice. She just shook her head. "Okay, but make sure we all get killed if things turn to shit. I don't want to explain a bunch of dead friendlies to Major Steuben."

We called D'Argo and Jool over. D'Argo was thrilled at the thought of a fight with Peacekeepers, and Jool was not, but she didn't want to stay with the K'hiffs. We loaded into the jeeps and headed off the road and back into the forest, with our K'hiff escort rattling behind. In about ten microns we arrived at a small clearing in the forest where a couple of dozen K'hiffs milled around. N'Demi jumped on the front of the jeep as soon as it stopped. "Okay, people, I need you to lay down suppressing fire on the damned bunkers until I can shoot the enemy out of it." That was greeted with a rumble of approval. "And don't try charging the damned bunkers until I give the word." That brought a roar of disapproval. N'Demi turned to the K'hiff captain who was in charge of our escort. "Get these people of yours in line. If they try charging a bunker with Peacekeepers inside that are still full of piss and vinegar, they'll get their furry asses nailed good. And Azzule won't like that." The last sentence seemed to do the trick and in a few microns he had bellowed down all of the opposition. The K'hiff went off, and sooner than I had expected, we heard gunfire ahead of us.

"Okay, Mrs. Crichton, you're the ex-Peacekeeper, right?"

I nodded to N'Demi. As much as I knew the Peacekeepers would kill me and John in a microt, I always felt strange when I had to fight Peacekeepers. I hadn't stopped me from killing them, though.

N'Demi grinned. "Okay, come with me and see how you like our plan."

"No way." That was John, of course. "Barbie does not go anyplace to play without G. I. Joe."

N'Demi seemed to understand that John meant that he stayed with me and nodded. "Okay, Commander Crichton, you come too."

She nodded to her driver and we took off, with the other jeeps following until we stopped at the base of a small ridge, no more than ten motras high. N'Demi reached over and did some adjusting to the sides of our helmets. "Okay, you two will get the same feed as my helmet, less some graphics from regiment that would probably just confuse you. They freakin' confuse me."

The view of the ridge had been replaced with an overhead view of a bunker complex. Most of it was underground, but you could see trench lines around the perimeter and a few gun slits. The view changed and we now saw the complex as if we were no more than fifty motras in front of it. N'Demi's voice sounded in my earphones. "The first shot was a composite from a couple of our recon satellites, what you're looking at now is from a drone about two hundred meters from the complex. Now, " N'Demi did something with her helmet controls and a detailed representation of the complex appeared on my faceplate. "This is from our engineer database, and it's the bunker complex we're planning on flattening." In a microt, the bunker drawing was superimposed over the shot of the bunker taken from space. "As you can see, we can tell where each firing slit is on the bunker by matching it against the engineers' plans." Several dozen areas of the bunker started flashing in red. N'Demi continued. "The bunker's mostly logs with a couple of feet of dirt between 'em for the walls and three rows of logs layered crossways for the roof. We shoot into the firing slits and sooner or later whittle the enemy down to the point that the K'hiff can rush them. See any problems?"

I for one could see nothing but problems and I wasted no time bringing them up. "In order to hit these gun slits, you'll have to get on top that frelling bunker and even with the K'hiff militia and a few regulars and mercenaries supporting them, the Peacekeepers will shoot your jeeps to bits. Is that a problem?"

"I think she's got you, Sarge." John grinned.

"Not a bit, Mrs. Crichton." N'Demi stopped for a microt. "Do you have some sort of rank, other than Mrs. Crichton?"

"Officer Aeryn Crichton will do."

She gestured to my pistol. "That fires a plasma burst, right?"

I nodded and dropped my hand to the butt of my pistol from force of habit. "It uses chakon oil, a very volatile, refined natural substance."

"So, your plasma weapon depends on the natural volatility of the ammo?" I nodded and N'Demi went on. "Our plasma weapons get a boost from a power cell. So much so that we need to cool the barrel with liquid nitrogen, remember? And that means.."

I finished the sentence for her. "That means that your weapons are more powerful and longer ranged than ours. You still have to hit the target." I had no desire to bring up the subject of human's chronically poor eyesight with John around.

N'Demi just grinned and did something with the artificial intelligence unit under the dashboard of the jeep. "Okay. I have the AI connected to the engineer and intelligence databases and the whole thing slaved to the fire control for the tri-barrels. The feed is going to your helmets. Hang on you two, and watch."

I grabbed a handhold just as the jeep shot up over the ridgeline in front of us. Just as quickly the jeep dropped, shot off to the right and then shot into the air again. The jeep bounced from side to side and up and down, but the fire control reticule projected onto my helmet remained locked on the same place on the bunker ahead of us. After a micron or two, the jeep settled back to the ground. "Do you think that'll work, Officer Crichton?" N'Demi asked. I nodded my head.

It was nearly another arn before the attack started, though. The four mercenary infantrymen with us, and the small number of K'hiff regulars available could hardly get the militia to do anything. The individual K'hiff seemed to consider orders as nothing more than a basis for discussion and the local Top Dog, Serrepatti, seemed to want to argue with every decision made. Finally, I heard one of the mercenaries on the helmet communicator. "Sarge, we may as well get this under way. I have about half the militia good to go, and the rest are arguing about God knows what, but I think they're starting to snipe at the bunker from the far side."

"Okay, Gatta." N'Demi responded. "I think they'll come around when the shooting starts. Just keep them back until we do a job on the bunkers. I don't want our damned allies getting chopped in one of their dumb ass headlong assaults. Okay?"

Before Gatta replied, our jeep shot into the air and hovered for a few microts just over the ridge and let loose a burst from the tri-barrel. I could see dirt vaporizing and wood bursting into flame. The point of view projected on the screen in my helmet kept changing as N'Demi ran through feed from satellites, ground-hugging drones and from other mercenaries. I heard N'Demi announce that enemy infantry was being sent into the trenchline in front of the bunkers. I saw a head lift over the rim of the trench and fire a pulse rifle blast. The view changed to a close up and I saw a figure in a green jumpsuit pop up and fire a burst from the trench and just as quickly drop back down. Frell. They were using techs in combat. I saw him rise up again, but this time he was met with a burst from our tri-barrel. When the dust cleared, all I could see were a pair of bloody legs in green rags laying in front of the trench and what looked like some pieces of a pulse rifle.

The so-called infantry in the trench didn't last long and we soon were back to blasting the firing slits. As the dirt and foliage was blown away from the slits, the K'hiff were able to target them with buzzbombs, grenade launchers and their other projectile weapons. Occasionally, fire would be returned from the bunkers, but the Peacekeepers seemed to be laying low.

A lucky hit from a buzzbomb set off an explosion inside the bunkers. "Damn!" I heard someone scream. "That looks like they hit a fuel dump the K'hiffs left behind." I could see flames and smoke pouring from the bunkers.

"Aw shit." I heard N'Demi scream. "Gatta! The damned K'hiff are charging. Hold em' back. I can only use two damned tri-barrels because they're in the freakin' way."

I could see K'hiff militiamen running for the bunker, firing their weapons as they went. The Goddess knew how they managed to keep from shooting each other. And, as soon as the Peacekeepers in the bunker saw that the tri-barrels weren't firing on them anymore, they started to fire into the mass of K'hiffs pouring out of the trees towards them.

"Cease fire, dammit!" N'Demi screamed. The jeep rose over the top of the ridge and dropped down on the other side. N'Demi advanced to half a metra of the bunker complex trying to find a clear field of fire. Finally she gave up. "Team N'Demi." She called over the communicator. "We'll leave the jeeps just this side of the busted trenchline. The damned K'hiff are taking casualties they don't need to, but they have broken in, I think."

"Affirm, Sarge." That was Gatta, somewhere ahead of us. The feed to my helmet changed to the bunker complex itself. I must be seeing things from Gatta's perspective. Suddenly a Peacekeeper in full armor burst from a side passage and fired at Gatta. I could see Gatta stagger backwards, but he lifted his powergun and fired. The bolt punched a hole in the Peacekeeper's armor and he flew backwards to land in the mud.

"Gatta?"

"Yeah, Sarge. I got me some burns, but my armor didn't get too badly penetrated and stopped most of it. That bastard must have waited for a dozen K'hiffs to go past to get to me."

"Damned little good it did him." N'Demi replied.

We reached the trenches and dismounted the jeeps. My memories are a jumble of images. A group of K'hiff firing a buzzbomb into a bunker. The warhead exploded and knocked them all over backwards. They all jumped up and prepared to fire another one in after the first. This one knocked them over, too, and they jumped back ready for another try.

John checking the body of a Commando. In spite of not having a mark on her, she was dead.

I walked past a K'hiff holding onto his wrist and looking at where his hand had been a few microts before. Next to him, two of his comrades were too busy looting a dead Peacekeeper to help. I put a tourniquet on him and wished I could have done more.

I saw a mercenary calling into a shattered bunker for the occupants to surrender. Each time he demanded their surrender, they fired back at him and the K'hiffs gathered around the mercenary would fire grenades into the bunker. Finally his calls for surrender brought no reply.

I walked around a corner and right into a group of Peacekeeper prisoners, huddled against the side of a trench between two bunkers. Two were middle-aged techs, a man and a woman. Two were cadets, the boy was perhaps into his teens and the girl was not. The girl seemed to be barely conscious. The boy was bleeding from a scalp wound and appeared to be stunned. They were guarded by a single K'hiff regular who seemed to take little interest in his charges. Several militiamen were standing nearby looking at the prisoners and fingering long knives. This was not good.