They walked back to the command car Kennedy and Knight had taken to get from the scene. “So this was calculated,” Kennedy said. “Whoever did this watched our convoys for a considerable amount of time.”
The MP nodded. “We believe the man responsible for this is a guy going by Woody Pete, we’ve connected his group to multiple incidents of partisan activity.” Kennedy shook his head and sat on the hood of the command car.
“Our Operations officer has a plan to put an end to partisans in this area,” he said. “Its pretty genus, but I won’t say too much out here.” He looked back at Knight. “Ready?”
Knight looked back at the torched bodies. “I’ve seen and smelt enough.” They climbed back into their command car and followed their escorts back to battalion headquarters. “You think Irving’s plan is going to work?”
With a shrug, Kennedy looked out the small bullet-proof windows next to him. “You can never know anything one hundred percent, but I’m confident in her little scheme.” He checked his watch for the date. “And in a few days, even if she doesn’t nab this partisan, she’ll have crippled their efforts enough that they won’t pose much of a threat.”
Their command car pulled into a garage beneath the manor they’d been using as headquarters. As they removed themselves from the cramped command car, Kennedy noticed the row of cars in the garage. Luxury sport utility vehicles, sleek supercars, muscle cars, and even a few antique models lined the opposite wall from the command car.
“Who do you think owned this place?” Kennedy asked. “And why do they need so many cars?”
With a shrug, Knight walked over to the cars for a closer look. “Someone who doesn’t mind hoarding resources, that’s for sure.” He stopped at an SUV. As he looked at, its sharp angular body, sleek lines, and White paint job, he whistled. “I have to admit, there’s a certain appeal to this one though.”
Deciding to get a closer look himself, Kennedy walked behind the big man to the passenger door. Gingerly, he rested his hand on the door handle and traced the lines of the door frame. “The people that made this put their heart and soul in it, they must have.” He pointed to the outline of the hydrogen tank. “See how it’s all clean lines, the attention to detail is something else.”
Slowly, Knight nodded in agreement. “I just hope they weren’t exploited, they’re damn fine craftspeople, that’s for sure.” As they reluctantly walked away from the SUV, Kennedy caught a whiff of something.
“Do you smell that?” he asked. Knight took a sharp inhale and nodded. They followed the nauseating odor to one of the many supercars parked in the garage. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Petrol,” Knight spat. “Talk about excess.” With one last look of disgust, the two men ventured upstairs.
“I have some ideas about our next target,” Kennedy said. “I got a taste of the Tharcian homeland, but I’m not satisfied.”
“So what are you about to propose?” Kennedy grinned.
“That we target the provincial capital: Neus-Koingsburg.”
Leaning over the monitor ahead of him, Reiter scratched at his chin. “Kozma’s underestimating his opponent, if he keeps trying to tempt Mo into melee combat he’ll regret it.” He tapped on the minimal in the corner. “He’d be better off keeping them at a distance and ganging up on the Lowe when it’s isolated.” Comidus, also observing the simulated battle, shrugged.
“Maybe he’s seeing something we’re not?” Comidus offered as they focused the camera on the duel between Kozma and Mo. “Or maybe he’s trying to take our top pilot down a peg by beating him in his element?”
Rieter shrugged. While Kozma engaged Mo in melee combat, the rest of white platoon attempted to circle around a hill and capture their objective: A massive Panzerter sized flag. However, they’d run headlong into the rest of Black Platoon. Smith, Merlin, sr, and Wesser formed a firing line on some high ground beyond the flag.
With most of White team effectively suppressed, Rieter looked back at Mo and Kozma. Mo circled his opponent, striking with the flat of his blade. While his attacks remained persistent, their predictability made it easy for Kozma to block each blow with his shield.
“Why is Mo attacking him like that?” Comidus asked. “I’m no pilot, but I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to use the sharp end of the thing.”
Rieter snickered, but leaned in more closely. “I honestly couldn’t tell you,” he said. “What I can say is Wesser played Kozma like a fiddle.” An alarm went off. Merlin Jr’s panzerter collapsed into a smoking wreck, and with a frustrated growl, he climbed out. “I think his brother got him.”
“Sibling rivalry at its finest,” Comidus said. White Platoon continued to sustain damage from Wesser’s firing line while Kozma tussled with Mo. “This whole skirmish looks like a wash for White.” Rieter nodded in agreement.
“We have some good lessons learned, though,” he said. “For one, Kozma shouldn’t through himself into the biggest threat present and expect his platoon to carry on.” Mo’s Tesla blade bounced off Kozma’s shield with a resounding gong.
“Oh, so he shouldn’t do the thing you keep doing?” Comidus replied. “How should he act then?”
With a sidelong look at his XO, Reiter wagged a finger. “I don’t do that,” he said. “I hold off the biggest threat while you guys retreat, at least that’s what I’ve done up to this point.” He pointed to the screen. “Kozma threw his plan out the window, attacked the biggest threat, and left his platoon to figure it out themselves.” Steele went down, the alarm punctuated by a sigh from her. White’s newest addition, a young woman named Magyar, followed shortly after.
Rieter leaned over the intercom. “White Platoon, head to the ready room and standby for your AAR.” Kozma’s attacks began coming faster and faster, but Mo blocked them and kept up his own. Finally, he struck Kozma’s shield and held his blade in place. Sparks raced across the older panzerter’s shield arm and the limb went limp.
Kozma swore and sprang backwards. The tip of Mo’s blade carved a trench in Kozma’s frontal armor, but he lived. He wasn’t lucky enough to dodge Mo’s twin .50 cals. The fat rounds punched through his exposed cockpit cover and the battle ended in a Black Platoon victory.
“Black Platoon standby,” Comidus said. “You’ll be called for you AAR in a minute.” Reiter rose and walked into the room behind their sim control center. Their ready room had been some form of classroom before, a dozen desks and a white board up front made it easy to covert to its current purpose.
Once Kozma had taken a seat, Reiter pulled up stills and video from their sim battle. “Alright, White Platoon, what was the plan?”
Steele raised her hand. “I was going to set up in the neutral zone with my sniper rifle and provide over watch. The others would have split up and attacked from three different directions.”
Reiter nodded. “I’ll get to the issues with your plan in a moment. What happened next?”
With a sigh, Kozma shrugged. “We got played, we expected Wesser to use her forces more conservatively and hold her Lowe in reserve guarding the flag, but instead Mo ambushed us as soon as we entered the neutral zone.” The process went on for about forty-five minutes. Rieter dealt out criticism as well as praise where it was deserved.
Magyar performed well for her first sortie with White Platoon. He reminded Merlin jr that Steele and Magyar were grown women in panzerters and didn’t need him to save them. Captain Reiter ended the AAR by taking an axe to Kozma’s plan as well as addressing his own behavior.
As White platoon filed out and called for Black Platoon, Rieter prepared his notes for the next group. I wonder if Kozma’s actions have anything to do with Mo’s attitude? If so I need to praise Wesser for that plan. Not only did she win the battle, but she put a bandage on those jealousy issues, for now at least.
Reiter shook his head as Black platoon began coming in. They’re both grown men, I should just sit them down and solve the issue right there. As they took seats, Reiter checked his notes one
more time. “Alright, so what was the plan?”
After a long day of arguing with trade union reps, Generals and various project heads, Guard-Brigadier Chaney preferred to cap things off with a whiskey by the fire while he read proposals. The alcohol usually lubed him up for a chuckle or two at some small co-ops expense. What’s next? A chemical union proposing to build blue-water ships?
He shook his head. They need new drone interceptors so the Tharcian’s damn air fleet can stop doing whatever the hell it wants. He thumbed through proposal after proposal. New rifles, new grenades, new panzerters. After an hour of not a single “boring” proposal, say for a new drone, supply truck, or Armored car, he tossed the first stack into the fire.
Seizing the next stack, he almost chucked the first proposal into the fire until he glanced at some specs. Parts commonality with the Martian. A new engine. Specialized close quarter weapons. That’s interesting.
He set aside the rest of the stack for a moment while he looked over the new panzerter. A lighter power plant with the same output as the standard Martian engine allowed for greater mobility with the same level of armor. From close to mid-range, a shotgun allowed the panzerter to use multiple ammo types. Once it had depleted its ammo, the panzerter could continue fighting with a sword-axe and spiked knuckles.
Chaney took a swig of whiskey. Most of the parts could be made out here in congregation as well. The main hurdle would be expanding production to include the new shotgun, engine , and these arm joints. He set the proposal aside, but noted the proposal had been submitted by the Blackburn Locomotive Group. Definitely not a bike co-op.
Believing he’d found a diamond in the rough, he didn’t set his hopes too high for the rest of the second stack. Much to his surprise, he found a proposal from a pair of auto unions he liked. Not only did they propose an upgrade to their existing Gemini Scout Car and Leo Armored Car, but they offered to manufacture and refit them under license. Maybe I’m getting lucky.
Before setting it aside, he checked both auto unions. While their cars were well received, the labors to make them failed to match their sales numbers. Well, they’re good workers, it wouldn’t hurt to throw them a bone. He tossed out the next few proposals until he found one he’d never seen before: a variant for the Martian that didn’t turn it into an unrecognizable mess.
The proposal called for a variant of Martian more suited to long range combat. A powerful sensor package ingeniously designed to slide around a Martian’s sensor ring tripped its sensor range. On its back, the backpack had been redesigned to accommodate a backup power plant to power its main weapon: a Superlaser based on the field refit applied to Kennedy’s Jupiter the previous month. To compensate for the increased weight, the Martian’s armor had been reduced to the bare minimum to keep out auto cannon fire.
We can probably switch their proposed back up for the other designs lighter engine. He frowned. Hell, I’d switch the entire Martian line over if it didn’t hurt parts commonality with the Jupiter. He set the proposal aside and returned to the stack.
Inspiration struck him at that moment. I don’t need to swap all of them to the lighter engine, just some of them. As he grabbed his own tablet to take some notes, his mind began spinning into overdrive. Why stop there? We can create a new line of Martians with enhanced performance with the lighter engine. Remove or reduce the limiters on the joints.
While working on his notes, he glanced at the rest of the proposals. A few naval ones, none of them particularly stood out except a refit for the Cosmonaut-class Cruisers. Their value is more in the fact they’re still intact rather than their actual combat ability. He set the proposal aside.
After tossing the last of the rejects into the fire, he took another swig of whiskey. Four to Five good proposals is a good night, I need to stock up on more of this whiskey. Gently stirring his drink, he gazed into the flames. Ridiculous and outlandish projects burned alongside nightmarish and horrific ones.
I have my issues with the way things are done, but I won’t allow this Union to become the monster the Tharcians believe it is. As the last mad science project turned to ash, he knocked back the rest of his whiskey and closed his eyes.
Grenze River Bar and Grill seemed like a reputable place. Brick and mortar construction and the sound of laughter and music carried into the street outside. Reiter smiled as he and the rest of Fox platoon’s pilots walked in.
“Remember everyone, two beers max,” he said. “If there’s an emergency, we need to stay sober.” Magyar slapped Merlin Jr on the back.
“You mean MJ here can’t be our designated pilot?” she said, getting a laugh out of the other pilots.
Rieter shook his head. “Not on his birthday.” Inside they found wooden floors, a long bar that filled the opposite wall, several tables and booths and an opening to a darker area. “I assume the dance floor’s back that way, let’s get a booth.” Before long, they were seated at a corner booth to fit them all.
“It feels like we were at Mario’s forever ago,” Mo said. “I can’t believe it was only a few months ago.” Steele pushed him.
“Oh, you mean when you jerks left us to clean the hanger?” She asked.
Mo shrugged. “We got things done.” He looked up from his menu. “I assume you and I are going to pour one for Gos and Varga?”
Reiter looked at the menu and groaned. “I honestly don’t think my wallet is deep enough to pour one out for everyone, we’ll have our moment later, in honor of our wounded First Sergeant, first rounds on me.”
“I’ll drink to that,” Magyar said. “I mean, we are celebrating, right?”
Reiter nodded. “Yeah, we’ve all had time to mourn by now, tonight is about Snowman.” Smith clapped his friend on the shoulder.
“Now you can smoke like everyone else!.” Merlin sr frowned.
“Maybe not it’s a disgusting habit,” he said. “Besides, mom would kill me if you picked up smoking, she was already pissed you got caught up in all of this.” While ordering food, the waitress arrived with their drinks.
“Dancing sounds fun,” Steele said.
Magyar grinned. “I want to go dancing!” She grabbed Smith by the arm. “And I’ll be taking this cutie with me!” As she dragged the hapless pilot towards the dance floor. Steele nudged Wesser.
“Wanna go dance?”
“Uh, it’s not really my thing, but sure I guess.” Reiter chuckled as the two women joined Magyar and Smith.
Looking back at Mo and Merlin sr, he nodded to Smith. “You guys have been doing that man dirty.” Mo sipped his beer before answering.
“First of all, Mr baker’s dozen over there needs to be able to read the room,” he finally said.
“How can he?” Kozma replied. “He’s only been exposed to half of it.” He looked at MJ. “Did your school have any kind of co-ed activities?”
“More or less,” he replied. Adjusting his glasses, he continued. “Smith never really participated though, he always volunteered to be a greeter or serve the punch, or referee.”
With a glance at the dance floor, Reiter raised an eyebrow. “I think Magyar’s giving him a crash course.”
Kozma shook his head. “Crash course could be her war name, women’s a wildcard if I ever met one.” Merlin nudged his younger brother.
“Didn’t you serve the punch a lot?” he asked, getting a chuckle out of the others. MJ’s face turned beat red.
“So? What does that have to do with anything?” he replied. “There weren’t exactly a lot of girls at school in general!”
Reiter held up a hand. “Look, talking to people really isn’t that hard, and I say that as someone who struggled to talk to people for a long time.”
“Wait, weren’t you a teacher?” Kozma asked. Reiter held a finger in front of the man’s face to silence him.
“The army actually helped me overcome all that.” MJ looked skeptical.
“Really?” he asked. “How?”
Reiter gestured at all the men around the table. “Because I c
an go to each of you, at any given point in the day, and this includes our people dancing, and I can say ‘man this is some bullshit’ and bam, conversation started.”
Kozma laughed. “So you got comfortable talking by listening to other people complain?” Reiter gestured ’more or less.’ As they laughed at the table, Merlin leaned towards his younger brother.
“He’s got a point, now let’s turn you loose on the dance floor,” he said. MJ clung to the table while his brother tried to push him out of the booth.
“But I can’t dance!”
“Maybe Magyar can teach you,” Merlin said as he managed to push his brother onto the floor. “Or Steele, or you can learn how to dance awkwardly from LT.” Mo, Reiter and Kozma chuckled as they joined the others on the dance floor.
“I think it’s only a matter of time before Amy tires to drag the rest of us out there,” Mo said. Kozma nodded before pounding his beer.
“Well, no use delaying the inevitable,” he said. “Might as well get out there.” Mo finished his beer and stood up.
“Bet I can dance better,” he said. Kozma grinned, and the two left for the dance floor, leaving Reiter smiling by himself in the booth. Adamski would have loved to see all this.
8
Once again, Kennedy found himself surveying the carnage of a partisan ambush. This time, however, the tables had turned severely. Bodies filled ditches along the road and scattered discarded pieces littered the hardball. Knight followed him, as did Irving.
As he approached one of the IFVs, he kicked the fake bridge parts. PVC piping with fabric coverings had been just enough to fool the partisans. Kennedy nodded before looking back at Knight. “Looks like we had a successful mission,” he said. “And we didn’t have to fire a shot ourselves.” They looked over at Irving as she went from body to body.
Armored Warrior Panzerter: Eve of Battle Page 11
