The command pilot’s voice filled the frequency. “Human sensors have activated, Colonel. Your orders?”
“Target their sensors with your standoff weapons. Maintain your rate of fire after drop until you cannot remain over the objective.”
“Affirmative.” The command pilot’s voice changed to a screech. “The Humans are firing missiles.”
The dropship shuddered and vibrated as various impacts rang through the fuselage. As the flight crew evaded the incoming weapons, the skiffs and their crews bounced from side to side. The oscillations accelerated to the point where E’kamm wanted to press her foreclaws into her eyes to stop the sensation of corkscrewing to the ground. Wacthing the flight control display routed to her Tri-V, she could see the artificial horizon bounce from side to side, but the altitude and intended insertion point remained fixed and centered on her display.
“Ten seconds!” The skiff commander called.
“We’re taking heavy losses, Colonel. We—”
A massive explosion to starboard slewed the dropship’s nose more than thirty degrees to the left and buffeted the vehicle in Victoria’s atmosphere. E’kamm lashed out an arm at the emergency deployment controls and mashed them. Simultaneously, the external bay doors of the skiff flung outward under the force of explosive bolts, and the skiffs dropped toward the surface, which was flashing by at more than two hundred kilometers per hour.
“Entropy!” The skiff commander screamed as the skiff fell toward the ground, its nose pitched too far away from the direction she wanted to go.
Time slowed. E’kamm reached for the commander’s override handle and adjusted the direction of the skiff as the altitude ticked down from twenty meters. Movement above her caught her eyes, and she looked up as the dropship detonated in the air where they were five seconds earlier. The flash and force of the explosion sent a fresh shockwave through her skiff that E’kamm felt under her armor. She looked back down at the approaching ground just as—
* * *
“Good shot, Patch!” Lieutenant Bridgewater cried from his CASPer. The ability of a MAC to put steel on a moving target still impressed him, despite his years of mercenary service. The lead MinSha dropship spiraled into the valley floor taking three of its four skiffs with it.
From their position on the central promontory, Bridgewater’s team of six CASPers was supposed to maintain position, observing and listening, but it was clear the strongpoint’s automated defenses and the handful of Humans who volunteered to fight from the Sentinel were overmatched. The MinSha dropships slowed to deploy their forces, and Bridgewater estimated the MinSha lost ten of their ships on the descent once the strongpoint’s weapons systems finally came up.
“Make ready, team,” he said. “Let’s see how they’re setting this up, then we’ll figure out our next steps. They have to know we’re here.”
“Yeah, way to go, Patch,” a gruff voice chuckled on the frequency. Bridgewater let it slide. Sometimes a little humor was the best thing to re-focus a team on a mission.
“He’s a better shot than you, Reynolds.” Bridgewater replied. “Try to do better in the next few minutes, will you?”
The team frequency filled with laughs and catcalls that brought a smile to Bridgewater’s face. Across the plain in front of them, skiffs poured out of dropship bays and swirled into two clear formations. Bridgewater pushed the sensor input controls and quickly saw his hunch confirmed. The MinSha formed into two maneuver battalions with one of them facing his position. He could see eight skiffs and a few thousand infantry among the scrub brush and vegetation on the valley floor.
Gods.
Bridgewater bit the inside of his lip and pressed his communicator. “Command, this is Wind One Five at Observation Post Alpha. Two maneuver battalions of skiff infantry on the ground. One battalion forming to hit the Rock. The other battalion moving on my position at Sentinel. Permission to engage? Over.”
After a few seconds, Bridgewater heard Commander Watson’s voice on the frequency. “Do what you have to do, Wind One Five. We can pull you out.”
“You do that, sir, and the MinSha will realize we’re messing with them. We’ll stay here.”
“Your call, Wind.”
Bridgewater felt his hands tremble. “They’re not getting through us, Commander.”
“Do me a favor then, will you? Don’t fire until you see the red in their eyes.”
Bridgewater laughed at the reference. The American Revolution’s Battle of Bunker Hill was nearly half a millennium in the past, but Colonel William Prescott’s famous order lived on in modern tactics and doctrine. Pulling the MinSha in close enough for their weapons and pre-planned artillery strikes on target reference points to have the greatest effect was necessary. “Copy, Command. Prepare to fire on target reference points five, seven, and nine for maximum effect. Will call danger close on TRP eight.”
By then, it will be too late for us.
“Copy, Wind. Good hunting. Keep the faith.”
Bridgewater nodded, though no one could see it. “Alpha Mike Foxtrot, Watson.”
“See you in hell, Brother.” Watson chuckled and broke the connection.
A tear threatened to leak from Bridgewater’s eyes. They’d known this day would come, and while he didn’t want to die, and he would make sure many MinSha paid that bill, too, the greater danger was the MinSha charging the northern wall and pulling out the forces hidden there before they could generate any combat power. The further they could keep the MinSha from Lovell City and the more they could attrite them, the better. To keep the lead MinSha battalion in line, Bridgewater and his team would have to charge into their flank.
Bridgewater thumbed the transmit button. “All right, everybody. You heard the commander. Check in with your intentions. I intend to hold this hill and force those fuckers toward the strongpoint. Are you with me?”
The first voice on the frequency was Reynolds’. His gruff drawl was familiar enough for Bridgewater to picture the younger man’s face without seeing it. Reynolds replied, “Aw hell, Wind. We know why we’re here, and you know I want some payback for their killing my brother. No retreat, and we keep moving forward like always, Patch?”
Patch’s primary specialty was medic, and if they survived, he’d undoubtedly look after them until actual medical assistance arrived. “Hell, I got a skiff already. Ain’t I done? I’d ask if I can go home, but there’s a lot of targets out there that need my special focus, boss.”
Bridgewater grinned. “Shiro? What about you?”
“Significant resistance here will push the rest of these bastards toward the kill zone of our friends,” Shiro replied. His voice was quiet and serious. “We honor the threat here and stop them. Or die trying.”
A new voice popped up. “Wind? They’re approaching the TRPs. Preparing to call in artillery.”
“That all you want to say, Swogger?”
The young woman laughed. “No, but it’s all that matters right now. Steel on target, motherfuckers.”
There was laughter on the frequency. Bridgewater waited for the final member of the squad to chime in. Five seconds passed before Thibodeau’s voice came through. “One more time, Wind. We are going to stand right there with you. Let’s put down some bugs.”
“Command, this is Forward Seven. Fire TRPs five, seven, and nine for effect, over.” Swogger’s voice was level and professional on the fire control frequency. Bridgewater wished he felt as calm as she sounded. He truly had the best people for the job.
Bridgewater turned off the internal communications frequency and waited for command’s response. He didn’t have to wait long. “Forward Seven, shot, over.”
“Roger, shot, out,” Swogger replied. Bridgewater couldn’t see it, even with his sensor kits, but the first barrage of artillery rounds was in the air.
Command’s voice came back. “Splash in ten seconds, Forward Seven.”
Bridgewater looked at the mass of MinSha swirling toward them. Infantry danced in the vegetation betw
een the skiffs. With his CASPers in defilade, out of sight and sensor reach, Bridgewater knew the advantage was theirs as he counted down.
Seven, six, five, four, three, two, one...
The first detonation ripped through the advancing MinSha line like a hot knife through butter. The combination purpose improved conventional munition rounds, or XP-ICM, worked like very large, very powerful shotgun rounds designed to eliminate personnel and tear through lightly-armored vehicles. They’d been around forever and were damned capable. As the rumble of detonations rolled across their position, dust and smoke filled the sky around the observation post. Several secondary explosions, likely from skiffs hit by falling rounds, rippled in the swirling, brown clouds.
“Switch to thermals and bring your guns up,” Bridgewater called. Around him, the five other CASPers came out of their hiding places, lasers and MACs ready. They stood atop the rocks with space between them, so a single missile strike wouldn’t damage more than one. Below them, the scattered MinSha infantry wailed as high explosive rounds mixed with the XP-ICM and tore large holes in their lines.
Bridgewater flexed his fingers and selected a target. He squeezed his fingertips against his palms and calmly pressed the command frequency. “Wind One Five is up on our guns. This one’s for Danube.”
* * *
Command Headquarters
Victoria
Jessica stood behind Watson and watched the command display. The red diamond icons of the MinSha converged on the ground between the strongpoint and Wind One Five as they’d predicted. Wind One Five lit up the MinSha infantry in their sector and several red icons faltered and disappeared.
“Strongpoint reports the last of the dropships has departed. Minimal damage to their systems.” Watson looked over his shoulder at Jessica. He smiled. “We were right to keep them covered up.”
“How soon until they’re on line and ready to fire?”
Watson glanced at the display. “Another thirty seconds.”
“Command, Wind One Five. We’re moving forward. Fire danger close on all TRPs in my sector. Keep them moving toward the Sentinel. Wind, out.”
The battle captains monitoring the communications feeds relayed a litany of commands to the converted tanks inside the Lovell City perimeter lofting rounds downrange. The six CASPers at the forward location were supposed to observe and direct fire, but they’d seized the initiative and appeared to be driving the MinSha infantry back to the north, into the strongpoint’s fire sectors.
“Batteries firing danger close,” a young artillery captain named Moorefield called.
Jessica leaned forward unconsciously. The idea of CASPers avoiding both enemy and friendly fire was crazy but necessary. If the artillery fire eased, the MinSha could regroup and consolidate. Keeping them on edge was the best course of action. Impact markers filled the screen as Wind One Five’s elements moved from their position and tore into the MinSha infantry. “What about the flyers?”
Watson shook his head. “Not yet. Once the bugs get hit by Wind One Five’s forces and the strongpoint simultaneously, we’ll let the flyers hit them from behind. They’ll have to move forward into the obstacle field. From there, Lieutenant Colonel Tirr and his forces can clean house. That gives us a chance to get ready for the main effort.”
I was thinking the exact same thing. The MinSha had no intention of going for the north wall. The river might have been a faster avenue of approach, but given the three mesas along its southern shore, it was clearly a danger area. Moving south, hugging The Spires and racing up the valley toward Lovell City was the fastest way for the MinSha to hit the target.
“New dropships appearing from atmospheric interface,” Moorefield said. “Tracking forty separate dropships.”
Jessica did the math in her head. More than fifty dropships and over 800 infantry, at the very least, headed their way. “Estimated track?”
“Southern valley, Peacemaker.” Moorefield turned back to his console and continued monitoring the fight.
Jessica let out the breath she held. For a plan that wasn’t supposed to last beyond enemy contact, things seemed to be working out. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and Jessica whipped around, feeling as if someone or something was watching her. There was nothing behind her, but the darkened air ducts along the crown of the walls caught her eye for a moment. Had the Depik come this far? For what?
“Peacemaker?” Watson interrupted her thoughts. “Wind’s attack is stalling. What’s the situation in orbit?”
Jessica tapped her headset. “Talk to me, Lucille.”
<
“What about the Flatar?”
<
“Can you get in touch with them?”
<>
They’d destroyed one missile cruiser and damaged the other, so it could not accurately drop from orbit. It would be out of sector in sixteen minutes. From there, it would take nearly two hours to come back around the planet. With any luck, the battle would be over by then. Jessica scanned the threat display. One of the MinSha frigates was also gone, leaving the wounded Shendil-Ya and the frigate Ya-Taama and the non-combatant transports. The urge to celebrate washed over her, but Jessica bit it back. Both ships were still threats.
“Has the Ya-Taama continued to drop?”
<
Wonderful. Jessica sighed. The MinSha outnumbered the combined Victoria forces by almost a 4 to 1 ratio. Ground defensive positions, integrated obstacles and minefields, and combined arms operations could significantly affect the ratio, but they were close to the breaking point.
“Keep hitting them, Lucille. I want that frigate offline. Get in touch with the Flatar if you can.”
<
Watson was watching her. “And?”
“The MinSha are down to one missile cruiser that’s out of sector, a frigate, and the command ship. All are damaged, but they’ve dropped a lot of forces.”
Watson laughed. “It’s what the MinSha do. Focus on numbers rather than ability, maneuver, and skill. We can hold them.”
Jessica nodded but didn’t say anything. Instead she looked at the command board. Wind One Five was on the move again.
* * *
Bridgewater whipped his MAC from side-to-side, engaging anything that raised an antenna in his direction. They’d collectively eliminated all but two of the skiffs by wading into the infantry, but the volume of fire from the MinSha slowly increased as they alternately retreated and found themselves engaged by the strongpoint at maximum effective range. A fresh burst of missile fire impacted the MinSha line to the north.
“Move!” Bridgewater screamed at his CASPers. “Push them toward the strongpoint.”
“Right behind you,” Swogger called. Bridgewater turned his cameras and saw his team move, with Thibodeau and Shiro in the rear. In pairs, the six CASPers bounded forward, providing covering fire. Pushing the MinSha in front of them, Thibodeau and Shiro suddenly slowed their pace. Smoke streamed from Shiro’s CASPer.
“Keep up in the rear. We’ve got to—”
A skiff they’d believed dead roared to life, centered its multiple cannon pods on the trailing CASPers and cut them down.
“I got him,” Patch called. The young medic jumped his CASPer straight up, pirouetted in mid-flight, and loosed a dozen MAC rounds into the skiff. The resulting detonation wiped out a cloud of MinSha infantry who’d taken cover behind it. “Circling back, Wind. Leave a light on for me. C’mon Reynolds.”
“With you, Patch. Covering fire on your three o’clock. Jumping now.” Reynolds said as he leapt into the air, firing both of his CASPer’s MACs into the MinSha infantry. More missile barrages came in from the strongpoint. “Wind? There’s something you need to see.”
A communications window opened on Bridgewater’s display. The MinSha infantry had completely encircled the two remaining skiffs. As odd as it was, the formation wasn’t what caught his attention. The typical MinSha skiff resembled a door stop, a long, shallow wedge with four to eight gun platforms. From what he could see, neither skiff possessed any platforms.
“Wind One Five, this is Rebel flight inbound from the east. Get your heads down in thirty seconds.”
“Copy, Rebel lead.” Bridgewater waited for Reynolds to jump again. Each of the MinSha formations opened in front of the wedge-things. Both skiffs accelerated forward. At high speed, they raced toward the strongpoint three kilometers to the northwest.
Just like kamikazes or something.
Oh shit!
“Strongpoint! High speed targets coming from the southeast. Engage! Engage!” The camera feed terminated abruptly. “Patch! Report!”
“Reynolds is down. Moving to your position—” Static filled the channel. Bridgewater swung around and saw Patch’s CASPer limping toward him, cannons blazing. MinSha swarmed over him but Patch didn’t go down without a fight. He beat two of them off with the barrel of his weapon before they pulled him down. Almost as one, the MinSha turned their heads toward his and Swogger’s CASPers. They screeched and rushed forward.
This is fucking it.
“Rebel lead, prepare for danger close.” Bridgewater brought up his weapons and sprayed the rushing MinSha with everything in his arsenal. “Swogger, get behind me!”
“Not on your life, Wind.” Swogger’s CASPer appeared at his left shoulder. The two fired into the descending swarm.
“Rebel flight, cleared in hot,” the lead flyer pilot, a tough as nails woman named Rath, called. “Rounds out!”
Stand or Fall (The Omega War Book 4) Page 27
