Reaver was stunned; the Raiders were the Hawk company from the Fury’s Fire, and escort meant an Alliance drop. What the hell was happening up there? He quickly regained his composure and thumbed the transmit switch. “Raider One-Zero, Dragon Two-Zero. Damn glad to have you overhead. Southern approach to the city was no joy on enemy sightings. Craxus is hot. You boys up for a fight?"
When the pilot's voice came back in answer, Reaver remembered where he had heard that timbre before, the night he, Harlequin, and Bull had hit the weapons factory. “Mark ‘em, and we'll smoke ‘em, Dragon."
"Roger that, Raider One. Marking with smoke. Target is street level, north side of a circular open area with black smoke on southeast side." Switching over to the internal comms-net, Reaver briefed his team in on the reinforcements and the new plan. “Hawks inbound, with Eagles. Bravo, you're gonna hold the Renks in that street. Keep them focused on you. We're going to drop smoke on them then get street level."
Double-clicks answered Reaver, and moments later the deep bass staccato of Titan's drum fed, tri-barreled Ogre filled the air. Titan's rifle fired solid slugs that would tear through personnel and dismantle anything less than heavily armored vehicles. While shit for accuracy, his brute strength enabled him to keep the weapon consistently in the vicinity of the target. Bull and Titan had discussed attempting to launch a hellfire round from the rifle and see what would happen, but neither was willing to risk the money from their paychecks if something went wrong. Behind Titan's weapons fire, the snap-crack combination of Alice's rifle firing and her rounds breaking the sound barrier as they ripped through the air on the way to their targets provided the strike of lightning to Titan's thunder. Wolf, Bard, and Space Case set their rifles to talking, brief fire bursts of two to four rounds interspersed with long, steady bursts of fire from Titan guaranteed to keep their enemies' heads down.
The initial ragged answering gunfire increased in ferocity as the enemy soldiers took up positions and brought their weapons to bear. Rough voices barked commands in the unique mixture of old Earth Chinese and Russian used only by the Renks. Whatever had been said inspired the enemy soldiers to either bravery or stupidity because a small group of them rushed from the cover they had been crouching behind and charged forward. Three sharp cracks from Alice's rifle caused four soldiers to collapse forward, one round impacting the soldier behind its intended target after passing through the soft center mass, before they could even clear the exit into the square. This single demonstration convinced the Renks that keeping their heads down was safer than risking the sniper's sights.
The Recon Marines' weapons fell silent so that the only gunfire heard came from the Renks’ positions. As the enemy soldiers slowly tapered off their weapons' fire, shouts of confusion echoed off the ruins of the buildings around them. Their confusion mounted as plumes of green smoke began to rise behind their position; in the excitement caused by the heavy volume of fire coming from Bravo team's position, Reaver and Bull landed a pair of smoke grenades behind the enemy’s position without them noticing. More shouting erupted from the enemy's cover, either a noncommissioned officer or political commissar, and the clatter of equipment banging off rocks and repositioning soldiers echoed off the surrounding buildings. One of the Renks, in his excitement, had forgotten the sniper's presence and let his head rise above the graphcrete rubble he crouched behind. Alice's rifle snapped once, the sound barrier cracking moments before her target's masked head burst like an overripe melon. Silence fell once again over the city, all movement in the enemy's area ceasing.
The combined effects of the smoke, Alice’s kill shot, and the Renks’ scramble to locate their enemy created enough chaos to allow Reaver and his team to get back to ground level and exit the apartment building they had been holed up in. As Reaver led his team away from the enemy occupied street, the scream of approaching aircraft rose above the din. The engine noise alone told him it was a flight of Eagles and had to be the escorts for the Hawks. As the noise grew in pitch, his earbud crackled, and a muffled voice came through. “Dragon Two-Zero, Battle Duck One-One, gun run inbound. Green smoke."
Reaver triggered his talk button. “Green smoke confirmed. You're clear in, no visible A A." Switching to the squad net, “CAS inbound, let ‘em burn the Renks out."
The Eagle was a sleek, wing-swept fighter with tandem pilot seating, the weapons officer facing rearward and back-to-back with the pilot in command, in a slim cockpit that called to mind the raptor used as a symbol of their independence by the Pre-Alliance Americans. Designed primarily as an air-to-air combat craft to be flown by Army Warrants, the Eagle could be reconfigured for escort and close-air-support missions, as these had been. Three aircraft roared overhead, the skill and precision of the pilots showing as they stacked up with the first aircraft only three meters higher than the second and the second the same distance above the third; the roar of their twin linked heavy assault cannons erupted simultaneously, fire belching with each round leaving the barrel. Twin streams of light connected each aircraft to a point on the ground, as the Eagles walked their weapons fire into and through the positions occupied by the Renks.
The Eagles completed their gun run, reforming into a V-formation, their wings only meters from each other. Reaver triggered his transmit switch. “We'll mop it up, Battle Duck. Thanks for the assist." As the flight began a circuit around the square, the lead aircraft dipped its wings to acknowledge Reaver's transmission.
Reaver's earbud crackled, and the voice of Raider One-Zero's pilot came through. “Dragon Two-Zero, we have word the drop-zone is clear. Confirm ice."
Reaver clicked the push-to-talk. “DZ is ice. You'll need to rope 'em in."
"Roger that," the pilot responded. Moments later, the first Hawk appeared over the buildings and dropped into the square using the surrounding infrastructure to mask its presence. The second Hawk hung back so as not to present a target over the landing zone while the lead made its delivery. Unlike the engines of the Eagles, which were designed to scream for its psychological effect on targets, the thrumming of the Hawk's engines became audible once they were right on top of you and by then it was usually too late. The clamshell doors of the Hawk inside the square opened, the bottom half of the door swinging completely under the body of the aircraft while the top half hung perpendicular to the body of the bird.
Thick deployment ropes dropped to the ground from each top door, three off each side, and bodies began exiting the aircraft. Each Marine slid rapidly down a rope, treating it more as a guide for a controlled fall, with the next one onto the rope before the one before had even touched down. As soon as their boots touched firm ground, the first Marines from the Hawk rushed to where Reaver stood and set about establishing a security perimeter that rapidly encircled the entire square. With the final Marine offloaded, the lead Hawk reeled in its ropes, the pilots pulling pitch, rising and turning from the drop-zone, before the doors were shut tight. From rope drop to recovery, the process had taken less than ninety seconds to deploy an entire platoon, and Reaver watched as the second Hawk repeated the process before the two would rendezvous with an incoming assault boat to begin ferrying more supplies and men to establish strongpoints.
Chapter Eleven
Lieutenant Davis put his feet on hard ground before any of the other Marines aboard his Hawk, his radio operator just steps behind him. The forearm edge of his left fist knocked against Reaver's in greeting while his men established their perimeter. Only after the first Hawk peeled away, and the second had taken up a hover and begun disgorging its troops and supplies into the square, did he turn and speak to Reaver. “City's still standing. You're losing your touch, Reaver."
Reaver shrugged, his expression deadpan. “Well, Sir, I couldn't keep all the fun to myself. Plus, making you get your hands dirty keeps you humble." Reaver paused, his head turning as he watched the Marines around the square secure the side streets, emplacing crew-served weapons and clearing lines of fire. The debris and rubble littering the interior of th
e square recycled swiftly into weapon nests, while also serving to clear the area for construction of a command post. The second platoon of Marines had disembarked from their Hawk. And while some had gone to work searching the buildings bordering the edge of the square on all sides, the others were quickly organizing the equipment that had come down with them. Reaver knew that teams would be placed within or on top of each building to increase the security of the square as well as reduce the enemy's ability to find a backdoor like his team had. "What happened up there, Boss?"
Reaver's question didn't faze the Lieutenant, though his ready response was a surprise to the Staff Sergeant. “Short answer, no one has a fucking clue. Renk fleet appeared out of nowhere, no scan signature, no engine flare. Skipper got everyone launched as fast as he could. Raptors and Eagles went out first, Hawks next. We picked up the Eagles on the way down, about the time net-call came across and we learned the Hammer was lost. All hands. Renks apparently used their ships as rams. Net's fucked for now. They've got a fight on their hands up there; we've got a bitch of a fight down here. Somehow, they hid forces hardside from every scan we hit this rock with. About the time you reported the explosions here in Craxus, the net was going crazy with other reports from across the continent, and the tac-display lit up like a damn Christmas tree."
Reaver interrupted Davis's explanation while waving Bull and Harlequin to join up with the rest of the team. “Any of ours get hit?"
The Lieutenant eyed his Staff Sergeant. “Nothing solid, but apparently, comms with some teams have been lost, mostly inland and on the east coast. West coast seems to have not been as high priority as other places, with one exception."
Reaver frowned. “Let me guess."
"I'll give you two, but you only need one." Lieutenant Davis's grin was cynical.
Reaver swore under his breath. “This makes no sense. What the fuck do they want on this rock? It's farmland for Christ's sake. I could understand if they had gone for conquest. God knows they need the bread baskets, but they clear out the civilians and then make it appear as though they had left?” Reaver stopped and looked at his Lieutenant again. “Has anyone figured out where the people were taken or went?”
Davis shook his head. “Not to my knowledge. There’s no telling what came through on comms after I left the shack. Those answers we’ll find after we whitewash this place. I want you and your team back in the city. Hawks were meeting up with teams north of the city to extract them. Assault boats are standing by south of us to insert the base infrastructure as soon as the city is clear; two platoons for spearhead into the city, and us to make a beachhead. We're going to lock this place down and work our way out from here. Mjolnir should still be available if the Fury is still flying. Keep an eye out for officers; we need intel, so snatch ‘em up. What have you seen so far, drones or clones?”
Reaver thought for a moment then shrugged. “Honestly, hard to tell. The officers make the conscripts, and the clones wear those black masks, probably so no one can tell who’s what.”
Lieutenant Davis scratched at his neck, just under the collar of his shirt. “Alright, keep me up to date on what you find. Restock your water and ammo before you head out. How are your guys holding up?"
"Space took a round to the leg; Bard said it was a through and through. Guaranteed they’ve had a doc over to check on him. He’s gonna piss and moan, but he's good to go. Other than that, a few scratches, nothing bad," Reaver answered the Lieutenant, his mind already on the new mission. "We'll step off once we're green."
Davis tilted his chin toward where his command post was being built. “We'll get the CP set up here, keep me in the loop."
Reaver gave a single nod in response and had turned to where his team had grabbed their own real estate within the perimeter when Davis stopped him. “Reaver. Give 'em hell."
Reaver growled an "Ooh-Rah," then trotted back to his team. When he was close enough to be heard over the low rumble that accompanies any group of soldiers not required to maintain noise discipline, he began setting his Marines to tasks to get them ready to move. “Drop ‘em down, CP is here, so we have a resupply point. Alice and Quinn, stow the suits; I'll see that you have time to get them reconfigured for the city, but for now go slick. Once you've got that done, you two are on water detail. Bull, Titan, you guys are on ammo detail; get everyone reloaded and snag some coup-sticks."
Bard interrupted. “Coup or scalps, Boss?"
Reaver looked at the young corporal. Bard was the smallest in the squad, but it was times like this that reminded Reaver the quiet demeanor belied a viciousness hidden below the surface. He kept his voice low to keep the conversation within the team. "Officers are coup. Kill the rest. Political officers have priority. The Hammer went down; the report is with all hands. We need intel and they'll have it." Bard and the rest of the Recon team nodded.
Space Case spoke up “We’ve got another issue, Boss. Anyone else notice that this rock was clean and then the Renks are crawling all over it? Not to mention what’s going on high-side. They shouldn’t have that tech.” The mood of the entire squad turned somber as they considered the implications their intel specialist presented.
Harlequin piped up. ‘What are coup-sticks, Boss?” His curiosity and confusion showed through at the same time.
“New toy for Recon. The lieutenant brought some down on his bird. Simple answer, non-lethal weapon used to ball somebody up. Swing it or throw it. You hit ‘em and make skin contact, it’ll lock their bodies up long enough to gag and bag ‘em.” Reaver answered, and Harlequin’s smile showed that the young Recon was eager to get his hands on one. Reaver continued. “Wolf, take Bard, see what ration packs you can scrounge. Space, you see a doc about your leg?"
Space Case bounced on the balls of his feet, showing he had full movement in both legs. "Doc was impressed with Bard's patch job; wanted me to tell you that you might want to think about sending him through the med course. Couldn't hurt."
Reaver nodded. “We'll talk about it after we clear this rock."
Every Marine learned basic battlefield triage; Recon took it a step further and ensured that each of their members possessed a skill set at least equivalent to that of a basic corpsman. Sending one of his own to the med course would definitely give Reaver’s team a leg up, as well as help Bard's career.
Reaver looked at each of his Marines; none of them showed outward signs of fatigue or exhaustion. He allowed a half-smile to curl his lip, letting them see that they had his respect. “We step once we're set, so move with a purpose; make sure you get time with Chaplain if you want it."
With that, the squad broke up, each Marine first dropping their rucksack and quickly reorganizing equipment loads on their combat vests while pulling out the water bladders and passing them to Alice or Harlequin. The two snipers divested themselves of their ghillie suits and rolled them into storage bags secured to their rucksacks. The suits, already stained with dust from the earlier movement through the city streets, would take a few hours of dedicated work to convert over for urban hunting, but the chances of the two Marines going out on their own stalking missions were high.
Once the rucksacks had been repacked and stowed against a rubble pile near the northern edge of the square, each group moved out to their assigned tasks. They didn’t rush—rush a job you make mistakes—but they did move with a purpose. Reaver set to hauling the squad’s rucksacks to the rapidly deployed command post. Gear lying about served as an open invitation for it to be tactically acquired by scroungers from other units, and that was a headache no squad leader had a desire to deal with.
After speaking with his platoon leader and ensuring the Recon gear would have honest eyes on it until the team returned, Reaver was returning to the rubble pile where he had dispatched his Marines when the flight of Eagles screamed overhead. They flew low enough that the rumble of their engines reverberated through the city streets and rattled his teeth. The muffled chatter of heavy weapons could be heard in the distance; the answering roar of ven
geance from the Eagles’ assault cannons silenced the enemy gun emplacement.
As the final echo of the cannons quieted, Reaver picked up a second noise beginning to rise: a low whistle swiftly growing in intensity until reaching the level of a ragged scream. Reaver raised his voice in a shout, fighting to be heard over the screeching filling the air. “Incoming!”
Marines echoed his call throughout the square as he rushed for the nearest source of protective cover he could find; the rest of the Marines mirrored his actions. The remnants of a shattered door hung lazily from the frame of a nearby structure; Reaver picked up his pace. His feet left the ground less than half a meter from the door frame. The whistling screams filling the air raked at his nerves like talons against flesh and told him he had scant seconds.
The explosion of the first shell happened as he struck the ragged remains of the door with his shoulder, rattling the building he had plowed into. For a brief instant the hilarity of the coincidence, combined with the vicious cocktail of stress and tension, caused the veteran Recon to laugh out loud. His laughter cut short as a following shell plowed through one of the upper walls of the building he was sheltering in, to explode into the square. Reaver grunted and rolled from his back; he had done his best to cushion the landing of his impromptu flight but holding a rifle across your body while trying to avoid being blown to hell and back was not as easy as the vids made it look for civilians. He was pretty sure his shoulder would be sporting a nice sized bruise in the next few minutes, but at least he was in one piece. Dust rained from the ceiling above and choked his lungs, while the building around him groaned as the vibrations of more shells impacting nearby shook the walls. Reaver moved into a corner between the two most seemingly sound walls and coughed a whispered prayer.
Dragon Two-Zero (Fury's Fire Book 1) Page 13
