Prohibition of Interference. Book 6. Samurai Code. Макс Глебов

one at that. I'm not taking the ship into the system. We will exit the jump outside the outer asteroid belt, and then you'll have to go on your own in maximum camouflage mode.”

      “A week in this tin can?” The paratrooper commander grinned, “My guys are stuck on the destroyer and are ready to spend even a month in a dropship, just to get some variety out of it. Permission to begin preparations?”

* * *

      “I got the impression that the Japanese decided to show themselves to us. They are the beaters. They want us not to linger here and break forward, trying to get away from them,” I told Lebedev at the end of the story about what we saw from the top of the hill. “There's bound to be an ambush up ahead.”

      Lebedev had a map of the area, but its quality, to put it mildly, left much to be desired. To begin with, it was covered in hieroglyphics. As soon as the Colonel opened his clipboard, our shortish Chinese guide emerged from somewhere under his arm, he gazed into a mishmash of isohypses, conventional signs and inscriptions, and jabbed his finger at a certain point.

      “We are here!” The Chinaman proudly said in Russian, with a strong Chinese accent, and stretched his lips in a smile.

      “Thank you, Comrade Liang,” the Colonel nodded.

      Letra immediately superimposed a grid of signs I could understand on the product of Chinese cartographers and marked the location of Japanese detachments with the help of augmented reality mode, and I, of course, immediately put this information into words and reported it to Lebedev, generously enriching my revelations with all kinds of "probably", "according to my estimates" and "if I were the enemy…". The Chinaman, by the way, indicated our location quite accurately.

      The situation was changing rapidly, and if until an hour ago I thought that three Japanese detachments were all that threatened us, now it was obvious that the Japanese were determined not to let us leave under any circumstances.

      Judging by the presence of three reconnaissance and sabotage groups on the Chinese coast, the Imperial Navy was preparing a large-scale landing operation, and we happened to get right into the area planned by the Japanese for the landing. The story of the sinking of the Zuikaku and the ensuing air battle roused enemy commanders and forced them to speed up preparations for the operation. Ships with marines, of course, could not approach the Chinese coast in such a short time, but the Japanese had an airborne force, some of which was subordinate to the Navy Command and some of which was subordinate to the Army Command. And now the army paratroopers were already loading into transport planes at the Karasehara airfield in the eastern part of Kyushu Island, and marine commandos were preparing to take off from Yokosuga Base on the shore of Tokyo Bay.

      “Ivan, get the radio ready,” Lebedev ordered, “We won't last a couple of hours without air support. Group, take up a circular defense on the slopes of the hill, from which the Japanese were spotted. We are not climbing to the top of the hill. If the enemy points aviation at us, it becomes a very convenient reference point.”

      The Colonel was doing everything right. I didn't see any other solutions in the current situation either. Breaking through the ambush that waited ahead of us in the narrow gorge, which was squeezed by fairly steep hillsides, was fraught with heavy losses, and an attempt to bypass it would most likely end up fighting in an unprepared position with unpredictable results. The rebels supplied the Japanese with information about our actions, and there was nothing I could do about it, so we could move on only after General Kudryavtsev cleared our way.

      The problem was that after the air battle over the Chinese coast, Kudryavtsev had less than two dozen combat-ready planes left. Of course, many more planes returned from the battle, but a lot of them were damaged and could not take part in flights until they were repaired. Theoretically, that might have been enough. After all, burning out a Japanese ambush and pursuing squads with fuel-air bombs is not too difficult a task for pilots who know exactly where the enemy is and when to drop the bombs. Another thing is that the Japanese probably won't sit still and wait for a gift to arrive from heaven. They will begin to move actively, may decide to disperse, or even launch an attack to get as close to our positions as possible, making any air strike an extremely risky undertaking. That is, we need aviation support not in the form of a one-time bombing strike, but on a permanent basis. We can only move forward relatively safely if Kudryavtsev's ILs are hovering over our heads at all times, reacting instantly to any ground or air threats. But the Major-General may not have the forces to provide such support.

      “The first five planes will be over us in thirty minutes,” Lebedev reported. “Three with bombs, two fighters. The guys are already taking off. In an hour they'll be replaced by the next five, and then they'll go on in that order. We'll start moving on, as soon as we see our planes.”

      Fire contact with the enemy began with a shot by Lena, who gunned down a Japanese who had carelessly stepped onto the riverbank. Realizing they had been spotted, the enemy scouts hid in the bushes. There was no return fire.

      The pause lasted ten minutes, after which the marks of the enemy soldiers on the virtual map came into motion, and all three Japanese units moved toward our positions almost simultaneously. I had no doubt before that their actions were coordinated by radio, but now it became a very obvious fact, and Letra was not able to jam the Japanese transmissions. The insurgents used retransmission of signals through their drones in orbit, protecting them with electronic warfare, not inferior in class to the equipment installed on our scientific satellites.

      Of all the possible options, the Japanese chose the most unpleasant one for us – an immediate attack with all their forces. In principle, it was quite expected. This was very much in their spirit, in the style of the bushido code in its modern interpretation. But it didn't make us feel any better. If you don't count the wounded, then against almost a hundred samurai, who obviously were not the first time in these places, we had ten Lebedev's saboteurs, not badly trained, but not used to combat operations in the hills, overgrown with subtropical forests, plus three pilots who did not have the necessary skills, and me, who was difficult to qualify in any category. Visibility was poor, the enemy could get fairly close undetected, and in close combat almost everything is decided by numbers and density of fire. So we will prevent the enemy from approaching. Still, I will have to climb to the very top, otherwise it will be very difficult.

      “Captain Nagulina, follow me!”

      Lena is a sniper, and the best position for her is next to me, since I, too, am going to remember Uman and work again in this military specialty. The top of the hill is full of bumps and overgrown with tall grass, which in some places is very prickly and loves to cling to one’s clothes. There are some bushes, too, so there's more than enough room for a couple of snipers.

      Japanese units have met, closed their flanks and are now tightening the ring. The commanders are pushing the soldiers. They obviously know that our planes will be here soon, and they want to at least hook up with us at a distance that will make an air attack impossible. The situation will be further complicated by the fact that the Japanese pilots also received appropriate orders, and the four army I-1 Falcons will be over us even before Kudryavtsev's planes, while the bombers and transports with paratroopers will arrive considerably later. Anyway, we don't have time for them right now.

      What did I tell myself about the density of fire? There he is, the Japanese machine gunner. He's puffing his way up the slope through the thorny vegetation. He thinks we can't see him from our position. That's right, except the branches and leaves don't bother the scanners of the orbital satellites much, or my implants…

      Shot! The soldier falls and rolls down the slope. The machine gun tumbles after him. I wasn't actually aiming at him, I was aiming at the machine gun, but the bullet must have bristled somewhere on a thick branch and deflected slightly. Shot! The officer bumps his face into the slope. No commander – no enthusiasm from his subordinates. Change of position.

      “Lena, put a dozen bullets in there. I don't care if you can't see anything. Just let them slow down.”

      A little lower down the slope, Nikiforov's machine gun fires several short bursts. The Lieutenant is saving his ammunition, but the nature of the battle is clear to him – he can't let the Japanese get too close. Shot! This time the officer is only wounded, but it's even better – the Japanese