We Dare

by Chris Kennedy

  There had been no additional communications from Kamigawa, either. As much as Mairin wanted to believe the quiet admiral with a reputed spine of steel would help them, the most precious resource on Mairin’s side, time, passed quickly.

  “Ma’am?” Conner blurted. “I’ve got Ka coming in calling for you.”

  Mairin made a “give it” gesture with her left hand. A deep male voice with a very African accent called, “Saber Six, this is Storm Eye One, over.”

  “Storm Eye One, Saber Six. What’s your traffic?”

  The voice came back a moment later. “Storm Eye One has two sections of three Vindicators loaded for close air support operations moving your direction. We are fifty thousand meters above you, bearing of zero niner zero from your position and descending to a low-level initial point. We’re coming in nap of the earth and as fast as we can. Primary target is Grey forces in Springfield.”

  “What about the particle cannons?” Mairin blurted without touching the transmit button. Don’t they get it?

  “Saber Six, this is Katana Six Actual. Relay special instructions to Gaucho Six elements in Springfield any way you can. Hammers deployed. I say again, hammers have been deployed. Three shots. One for each hilltop. ETA is two hundred seconds. Once they’ve hit, you have command of the mission. Secure Springfield, Captain Shields.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mairin said. “Breaking for Storm Eye One.”

  Holy fuck! He did it!

  “We are with you, Saber. ETA is four minutes.” The man’s voice was as quiet and confident as Kamigawa’s, but vastly different. “Relaying expected attack plans to you now.”

  Mairin tried not to grin. “How many passes do I have you for, Storm Eye?”

  “One, Saber. We have instructions to hit the targets and resume an intercept mission in the event a Jack appears.”

  One pass, haul ass. Got it.

  Mairin nodded to herself. Fair enough. “Copy, Storm Eye One, welcome to the party.”

  “It’s only a party with proper fireworks, Saber Six. Approaching initial point, going UHF silent. ETA is three minutes forty-two seconds. Mark. Storm Eye One, out.”

  Mairin checked the updated commander’s display. “Interface, update the mission timers.”

  <>

  “Get me the attack profiles from those Vindicators as soon as they’re close enough.”

  <>

  “Just get it when you can,” Mairin replied. Smart systems never seemed to be all that smart when built by the lowest bidder.

  Mairin swiped the icon for Ulson’s tank and opened a type window. With his laser engaged on Gaucho Six, he wouldn’t be able to hear her. Instead, she typed.

  Alex. Tell them Hammers are deployed. Less than three minutes. Once they hit, we’re on the attack.

  A moment later the window blinked. Roger, Gaucho Six wants to know what’s a hammer?

  * * *

  “Say again, Saber One?” Lieutenant Colonel Maurice Davis shook his head as he hit the send button. The Sapporo dropped a non-nuclear, kinetic weapon on the Grey cannons? I didn’t even know we had those things.

  The reply appeared on his screen. “Roger, sir. Three projectiles are inbound from orbit. Arrival in two minutes, fifty-five seconds. Once they hit, and you ride out the shockwave, be ready to move. There are two companies of Grey tanks about four hundred meters from your position on the attack. They’re coming up a creek bed.”

  Davis looked at his flickering command display. The enemy icons weren’t there, nor were any of the data for his vehicles and crews trapped in Springfield, but he could see the terrain well enough via the topographical map display. The Greys wanted to use the lower ground for ease of movement. They wanted to move fast, but they could easily be stopped. All he had to do was figure out how many vehicles were left, if they could fight, and how much ammunition they had.

  Piece of cake.

  “Okay, Saber One. Copy all. Our heads are down. When the shockwaves pass, we’ll come up screaming. Gaucho Six, out.”

  “Saber One, laser disengaged.”

  Davis disengaged the transmission and spoke aloud in the turret. “Interface? Status update?”

  <>

  I knew I shouldn’t have let him get out on foot.

  Command Sergeant Major Benan Mashali was one of the best non-commissioned officers Davis had ever known. Tough in a fight and a class act in garrison, Mashali took an old soldier’s creed to heart. He wanted to ensure that his troops were informed and ready. He also wanted to make sure they followed their commander’s orders. With that in mind, the young Turkish sergeant major had dismounted his magtank and crept through the shattered avenues of Springfield looking for survivors. Alone.

  “Find him. Anything but UHF. Relay that across the battalion.” Davis glanced across the turret at Sergeant Stratmann. The young kid held his broken right arm across his chest. Blood trickled down the right side of the communications specialist’s face. He’d been unable to fire the auxiliary deck gun from his hatch, and operating the comm panels took him far longer than normal. He’d been right-handed, to boot.

  <>

  “Laser lock on White Three.”

  <>

  “Then how in the hell can you tell he’s at White Three?” Davis shook his head, exasperated. The Interface was a great improvement for command and control systems, even if most of it was PFM. Pure Fucking Magic.

  <>

  And we have line of sight to Green 2.

  “Can we talk real time or just via transfer?”

  <>

  Tell me something I don’t know.

  Davis sat forward. “Emergency text to Green Two. Have Gaucho Seven move to Green Two and connect via external comms. I need to talk to him ASAP.”

  <> The Interface went silent and returned five seconds later. <>

  Davis glanced at his malfunctioning display and frowned. Even the clocks were damaged beyond repair. There was no way he’d know when Mashali would get there and—

  “Gaucho Six, this is Seven.”

  “I need you back on your track. Fleet has dropped kinetic weapons from orbit. ETA is any second now.”

  There wasn’t an immediate response.

  “Benan?”

  “I’m here, sir. I can’t make my track in that time.”

  Davis felt his heart jump. “Then climb aboard Green Two. Ride this thing out from there and—”

  “No time, sir.” Mashali snorted. “Been an honor.”

  “What are you doing, Sergeant Major.”

  “How close is the air support? Fleet wouldn’t have tasked a kinetic drop without some kind of air support even for a BDA. That’s your best chance to get the battalion out of here.” Battle damage assessment, a frivolous measurement of combat efficiency reserved for staff pukes and rear echelon motherfuckers, was about the only reason the Fleet would support the Terran Defense Forces in combat operations anymore. The days of combined arms warfare had lost out to the concept of finite control—when a general had a specific set of playing pieces and didn’t want or ask for help from anyone else lest it show weakness. The whole bureaucratic bullshit made Davis, and thousands of other commanders, want to vomit.

  “My clocks are all FUBAR, Benan.” Davis replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I can’t tell how much time you have.”

  “Doesn’t matter, sir. Was a pleasure serving with you.” There was a high-pitched whistle in the transmission that sounded almost like feedback, but Davis knew it
wasn’t. He didn’t need a clock, or a microphone to know what was coming.

  “Alpha Mike Foxtrot, Benan.” Davis said and terminated the connection. He looked at Stratmann and pushed the intercom switch. “Crew, brace for impact!”

  Davis reached for the hand hold mounted along the turret wall with his right hand. His hand never made it before the ground lurched in six directions at once. His helmet bounced off his sight extension hard enough that he saws stars as the shockwave roared over them like a tsunami.

  * * *

  Mairin tried to see the tungsten rods fall through the sky, but there wasn’t anything to see. One moment, the three Grey particle cannons were firing at targets within Springfield, their purple particle beams vibrant and clear against the dark green vegetation. In the blink of an eye, the three hilltops erupted in simultaneous geysers of earth and foliage. Shockwaves raced down the hills and tore through the town. High ground between her position and the impacts took some of the brunt away, but the shockwave was enough to buffet her Slammer so much that repulsor overheat warnings rang out like the tolling of funeral bells. The tank slid backward and listed hard to the left as the blast wind rushed over them.

  No more than five seconds after the impacts, the shockwave barreled through her tanks and shot down the valley behind them. Mairin tapped the intercom switch on her helmet. “Crew report and vehicle status.”

  “Gunner, all systems nominal.”

  “Comms, working on available channels. Laser is down.”

  “Driver, repulsors heating, but shutters are closed.”

  Unlike the dust that choked her ancestor’s tank filters in the deserts of southwest Asia, the Slammer came equipped with shutters that covered and protected the facings of the filters themselves. They’d be okay if the Slammer could move forward and get increased air into the repulsor systems. The longer they stayed immobile, the greater the threat.

  Mairin looked at the wide-eyed face of Specialist Conners. “Give me everything, Conner. UHF, VHF, whatever we have.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Outside, the massive cloud of debris, rock, and dust blotted out Radin’s sun and wispy high clouds. There was nothing to see in any direction more than a hundred meters or so away. She used the independent camera view to swing around. Her tanks were all there, but two of them listed badly on their repulsors and threatened to ground themselves.

  Dammit.

  “You’re up, ma’am.”

  We’ll see if we can talk, I guess.

  And then fight.

  Yeah, Grandpa. We’ll fight. First things first.

  “Guidons, this is Six. Vehicle status?”

  Ulson answered immediately. The connection was strong, despite the exceptionally polluted air. “Ma’am, Red 3 and White 2 are down. Everyone else is okay, repulsors are running hot, but we’re ready to fight. Over.”

  “Copy, Red One. Move out. I say again, move out. Line abreast once we clear the end of the valley. Red 3 and White 2, ground your tanks back to back and maintain security and comms.” Mairin glanced at her combat display. The Grey armored column continued to march toward Springfield. “The Greys are still coming, folks. Red One, take us out. Weapons free and good hunting.”

  The Slammer moved forward effortlessly. Booker adjusted the repulsors, and the tank glided more than a meter above the terrain at fifteen kilometers per hour. Mairin tapped her display and keyed a relay of the driver’s radar display system to her console. Everything appeared to be working as advertised. Booker once told her that the system was good enough that he could see everything inside of a black hole. It appeared the young man was right.

  The valley opening yawned ahead. She saw Red One take up the left edge of the line abreast. Red Two and Red Four joined him. Booker took her tank into the center of the formation and the White elements formed on her right side. Mairin tapped the display and found a private UHF channel for White 4, First Sergeant Livingston.

  “Top, your kids doing okay?”

  “Affirm, ma’am. They’re too new to really mess up. I’ve got them and will provide overwatch. Give you and Lieutenant Ulson freedom to maneuver.” Livingston’s lilting Jamaican accent belied any nervousness he felt. Mairin knew from experience the man was even better than his word.

  “Roger, Top. Stay ready to fight.”

  “Always, ma’am.” Livingston said. “Are we doing the right thing?”

  The question surprised her, both in its timing and in the hesitation she heard in Livingston’s voice. He’d been rock solid on Wolc and in every single interaction they’d had.

  “What do you mean, Top?”

  “Going after that stranded battalion without the main effort?” Livingston asked. “We don’t owe them anything, and finite control says we handle our mission and let the higher commander—”

  “No,” Mairin interrupted. Livingston fell silent. “I don’t give a damn about finite control, Top. What matters is that our friends are trapped inside Springfield. They matter. The higher ups use finite control as a way to accept defeat. We don’t. We’re not going to quit on this mission, and we’re damned sure not going to let any more of our brothers and sisters die in there for no reason. We take it to the Greys, and if we die trying to get them out, so be it. I would want someone to be willing to risk their ass for me like I’m willing to do for them. No one else is going to.”

  There was silence for a moment, and then Livingston responded. “Then we sound the charge, ma’am.”

  Damned right we do.

  Mairin watched the display and saw Red One appearing to fade in and out with the wafts of thicker debris. “Red One, watch your—”

  “Contact, front left!” Ulson reported on the troop main frequency. In cue with his report, Mairin saw Red One’s main gun chuff out a round. The vehicle suddenly swung hard left. The radar confirmed a large rock formation Mairin recognized from the drone reconnaissance feed. They were on the outskirts of Springfield and really deep in the shit.

  Cover. We need cover.

  Mairin stabbed the troop frequency. “Guidons, break left behind those rocks. Red One, push all the way to the end of the formation and secure that side of the objective. White elements follow me and prepare to hold this side of the formation. Move!”

  Ulson’s section raced into the clouds and disappeared. Booker steered her tank into the area behind cover and drove forward enough that the White section could enter and get cover before slowing. Mairin was already on the button. “Top, pivot your section and prepare to support by fire.”

  “Copy.”

  There was a harsh burst of static in her helmet, and Mairin flinched. She looked at the commander’s display and saw all of her vehicles were still online. Whoever was trying to transmit was on the division frequency. There was something there, but she couldn’t hear it or make sense of it.

  “Clean that up!” Mairin stared at Conner who almost leapt back to his communications controls. Five seconds later, Mairin could make out the voice and it brought a smile to her face.

  “Saber Six, this is Redleg Six. I have radar feed from the Condor and am targeting the Grey armored column. More than ninety targets moving your direction. Permission to fire? Over.”

  “Redleg Six, Saber Six. Fire for effect. Give me everything you’ve got.”

  Here we go, you little bastards. See how you like being fish in a barrel.

  Mairin glanced at the tactical display. There was one more ace up her sleeve, and it was time to play it.

  “Storm Eye One, Saber Six. Have a ball on the tee and ready for a game. You in?”

  “I never liked golf, Saber Six. But for you, we’ll be on station in one hundred twenty seconds.”

  “I have artillery inbound, Storm Eye One.”

  “Good thing we can fly around it, Saber Six. Standby for danger close support.”

  “Copy,” Mairin said, suddenly nauseous. Eyes mashed closed and fingers tight on the stabilizing handles of her seat, she grunted. “Copy, danger close.” />
  * * *

  The memory was clear, but fast. Familiar, unrelenting heat pressed in on her from all directions as she walked. A platoon of Marine infantry marched ahead of the armored column, and she’d dismounted to talk to their commander face-to-face. Someone screamed, and weapons roared to life. The whoosh of a rocket-propelled grenade split the air above her head. She dove for the sand.

  Ambush.

  She saw cover, a waist-high concrete wall, ten meters away. Instead of high crawling, Mairin shot to her feet, took three quick steps and flung herself behind the wall next to a young Marine screaming into a radio.

  “Whiskey Two One, clear danger close. I say again, clear danger close.”

  Overhead, a Marine Cobra gunship appeared low and fast over the squat Afghan houses. The folding fin rocket pods came to life, and the entire street erupted.

  * * *

  “Ma’am?”

  Mairin blinked. “Yeah?”

  “Redleg Six called his shot.”

  Mairin stabbed the division frequency transmit button. “Shot, out.”

  “Splash in five seconds, Saber Six. Second battery firing now. Shifting for CAS. Over.”

  In the swirling debris, fresh explosions tore into the armored force that Mairin could not see with her eyes nor the Slammer’s thermal targeting system. There was too much interference with the sensors.

  You need to see them to hit them, girl.

  The second round of artillery slammed into the Grey advance as Mairin tried to see what the Condor could relay. There wasn’t much.

  “Saber Six, Storm Eye One on station and descending. Keep your heads down. The Greys are still marching.”

  “Copy,” Mairin replied. “Can you relay targeting data, Storm Eye One?”

  “Unknown, Saber Six. Once I roll out, I’ll see what I can do. Thirty seconds.”

  But he can at least see the enemy. That’s a point in our favor.