Armored Warrior Panzerter: Eve of Battle

by T. E. Butcher

  “Hey, we have a few of those too,” Wolfhound 1 said.

  “Good, all the better to keep them from by passing us too easily,” Reiter said. “Lysak, if you get a target light it up for the mortars and gunships.” He heard a screaming overhead. Looking up, he saw drones fitted with drop tanks flying towards the Union’s rear. Good, it’s about time we evened the odds.

  While the earlier missile bombardment had been impressive, Kennedy frowned when he saw the Taurus APCs roll past him. “Victor 6, Reaper 6, I didn’t know you were dragging Taurus’s into battle,” he said.

  “They’re great,” Guard-Colonel Fuller replied. “They’re easier to get then Capricorns and they hold more people.” Kennedy looked over from the Taurus’s to the Martian Commander across from him.

  “You had a choice between the two, and you picked the APCs?” he asked. “Their armor doesn’t hold up against most Tharcian weapons. If you use them aggressively, you’ll take heavy losses and your infantry will have to walk back from the airport if things go sideways.”

  “No, they will not,” he said. “Worse comes to worst, our dropships can evacuate them, but we plan on encircling the city before the Tharcians can regroup, even if they can’t take the airport, they have a haven in Ironton a short distance away.”

  Kennedy furrowed his brow. “So they’re going to walk, all the way from here in their kit, attack the airport, and then if they fail, walk to Ironton?”

  “Well, that’s assuming they fail to take their objectives,” Fuller replied. “My soldiers will triumph over the enemy.”

  Kennedy surveyed his own battalion as the other man spoke. Most of his leadership lay dead. Ivin still lived, but she was down to three Martian troopers while incubus Company was currently being led by a Sergeant with four panzerters under his command. All but one of his SP howitzers burned near the crater that marked the location of the fuel depot, while nothing could be found of his mobile SAMs. At least my Recon Platoon and a few of the infantry tracks lived.

  He shook his head. A dozen riflemen with half as many tracks along with a single SP Gun and a handful of panzerters hardly made a battalion. “Well, don’t be overconfident, the Tharcians did a number on my battalion and we didn’t have nearly as many objectives as you.”

  Glancing back at his forces, he scowled. If there’s any serious counterattack, we won’t be able to hold them off, Fuller needs to take his objectives in a few hours or he’ll be surrounded when a Tharcian counterattack pushes us across the river.

  “All reaper elements, keep an eye to the sky,” he said. “The weather is clearing up, and we’re going to see a lot more drones.” As the last vehicle from the 88th crossed the southern intersection, Kennedy tightened his grip on the controls.

  That Missile barrage was impressive to look at, but did he actually do any damage to the enemy? If Kennedy had access to the Orion MLRS that the 88th had, he would have used their ability to scatter mines or bomblets across the battlefield rather than just pound hypothetical enemy positions with airbursts or high explosives.

  He unzipped the shoulder pocket of his CVC shirt and removed a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. I haven’t smoked since the Battle for FOB Blake, guess I haven’t been that stressed in a while. After lighting the thick cigarette, he took a long drag and exhaled. Not too much, good.

  “Reaper 6, we got movement form the Northwest,” Jackson said. “Looks like advanced forces for a larger element.” Kennedy took another long drag on his cigarette before putting it out.

  “Alright then,” he said. “Let’s let them have it.” The probing force had been sensibly put together: Three IFVS and two panzerters. While his Recon platoon evaded detection, Kennedy held off on using his artillery, preferring to keep his last gun hidden rather than use it right out the gate.

  Instead, he and Knight took up a blocking position on the north side of the Autobahn. While the fresh Tharcian panzerters could match the Martian troopers most of their forces used, the Jupiter outclassed them in armament and armor. Sure enough, their shells bounced off his armor at long range while his strobe laser took them apart rather handily.

  As their panzerter support died, the Tharcians IFVs pulled back. Relaxing only slightly, Kennedy gazed off into the cold night. They’re coming, they’re somewhere out there, but they’re coming. With snow coming to a gentle rest on his machine, he tried to focus.

  On the hum of his engine. On the whispers of wind outside his metal shell. On the distant rumble of weapons fire. Anything to make the dullness looming over him. As his eyelids grew heavy, he fought a battle he didn’t think possible. A war on exhaustion.

  Unlike artillery, mortars didn’t make much noise in the air. The small fact gave Sergeant Mondragon some sympathy for the Union scouts currently under attack by the mortar platoon. It’s also unnerving. If I can’t hear them in flight, how will I know when they undershoot? He shook his head, causing his helmet to shift uncomfortably on his head. At that point, it really isn’t my problem anymore.

  “We got panzerters coming around the hill,” Merlin sr said. “Looks like they’re looking for an opening.” His wingman’s panzerter lay prone inside the frame of someone’s garage with the rear wall knocked out. Mo’s unit itself took a knee behind a large manor style home a short distance away.

  “Hold your fire, Black 3,” Wesser said over the radio. Their team leader and Smith held a position at the Western end of the neighborhood while a squad of drop troopers crawled about…somewhere. “We don’t want to give away your position unless absolutely necessary.”

  “Is tinhats at 1500 meters necessary?” Their team sniper asked.

  “Negative,” Wesser replied. “Keep your cool 3.”

  “Easy for you to say,” Merlin muttered. The three tinhats finally came into view of Mo as well. They traveled in the dip between two hills, giving them partial cover.

  “They’re looking for the scouts,” Mo said. “Do we tell greyhound to move?”

  Suddenly a jet of fire whooshed out of the woodline, striking the lead tinhat. The Panzerter staggered and swept the forest with its laser rifle.

  Merlin reacted first. A shell smashed into the knee of the lead panzerter, sending it sprawling to the forest floor.

  With the leader down, the remaining tinhats split off and ran to either side of their formation. Mo’s rifle came up. Two shots. Both glanced. As he blew his cover, Smith and Wesser traded shots with the other panzerter.

  While their rifles didn’t always penetrate the tinhats armor at range, Mo’s innovative snowbags had countered the laser weapons these three welded. When the tinhat’s took a shot, their green beams only found a sandbag filled with snow. The Snowball would melt into steam or burst, absorbing and scattering the energy of the laser.

  Though he had no issue penetrating their armor, Mo knew Merlin struggled to hit targets actively trying to evade him. The older man’s sniper rifle wove back and forth, struggling in vain to line up a shot.

  Finally, one of Mo’s shells demolished their opponent’s rifle in a flash of light and metal. After a brief pause, a 155-mm shell struck the panzerter center of mass. With a roar and a blast of flame, the tinhat collapsed into the woods.

  A short distance away, the last tinhat charged Smith and Wesser. Shells pummeled its armored form, occasionally penetrating to the sensitive components beneath. Even in the dark night, Mo knew the union machine was belching smoke as sensitive parts burned. Their teammate’s shells began penetrating more and more frequently.

  Without warning, the entire top of the panzerter’s head lost itself in a flash of heat and light. Like a puppet with its strings cut, the tinhat went limp before collapsing.

  Mo relaxed his rip on the control sticks, not realizing how tight he’d gripped them. As he looked over the smoldering wrecks, he shook his head in disgust. How many of you are like Fletcher or Ballard, I wonder? They really grew you, raised you, and all for this? Gingerly, he rubbed his tense hands. I can’t believe it, something like that
on that scale, it’s just too cruel.

  In a morbid sense, it reminded him of a fish farm. They’ve got plenty of those up there, maybe that’s where they got the crossover? He took off his helmet and rubbed the sweat out of his hair with a gloved hand. Except people aren’t fish, you can’t do that to them.

  “Heads up, black team,” Merlin said. “I’ve got more contacts, wide formation, and they outnumber us seven to one!” in seconds, Mo clipped his helmet back on and looked at his own sensors.

  “Remember the plan, guys,” Wesser said. “Bend don’t break, Three, how many of those contacts look like panzerters?”

  “If I’m spit balling, many twelve to fourteen?” Merlin replied. “Lot’s of ground vehicles.”

  “I’m not worried about ground vehicles,” Mo said. “Unless they’ve got Anti-air, then that’s an issue for our gunships and dropships.”

  Mo heard a click and realized Wesser switched her mic over to the company net. “Wolfhound 1, can you get drones in the air?”

  Information is ammunition. The saying, engraved in the back of Reiter’s skull since his days at the OMI, meant exactly that. The more you knew about you, your situation, your enemy, the more the odds ticked in your favor.

  However, staring at his map left the man desiring more of both. The approaching panzerter battalion clearly intended to encircle the township, possibly to bypass them and drive on the airport to their southeast. The Mortars already reported using a quarter of their shells to destroy the enemy recognizance platoon and focused on delivering more to the main Union body.

  The gunships released their drones in an attempt to gauge the anti-aircraft capabilities of this particular group. As the four triangles sped across his map, Reiter blinked and three of them vanished with the fourth suddenly making a series of dramatic and furious turns.

  “Wolfhound 1, what happened?” he asked.

  “We’re in trouble 6,” Wolfhound replied. “2 got a good look at the launchers before his drone went down, it’s a mobile SAM reporting name “King Cobra”, and the bad news is we can’t medevac or fly as long as they’re around.”

  “What?” Reiter replied. “But it’s at least five kilometers away!”

  “They’re bad news, boss,” Wolfhound replied. “Us, our drones, and our dropships are out if we can’t take care of them.” It’s ok, you don’t have to, we have other people for that.

  “Black 1, Greyhound 1, did either of you get a bead on where those launchers came from?” he asked.

  “They’re both pretty well inside the formation,” Wesser replied. “We can’t really target them without exposing black team to fire from the entire battalion.” Damn.

  “Let me get my Charlie squad on the phone,” Webb said. “They’ve got enough rockets to hunt those damn things down and light them up.” Reiter bit his lip and checked his map. If that squad moved out of position, they’d basically ceded the neighboured to the Union as soon as the panzerters moved.

  “Greyhound?” Reiter said. “Can you do anything?”

  “Nope,” Lysak said. “We can’t risk our tracks to attack them.” Reiter wanted nothing more than to punch the stubborn old fool through the radio. Compared to their dropships, their ticket to the hospital, if things went south, the tracks were hardly a loss.

  But I can’t demand people sacrifice themselves. How would I be any different from the Union? He looked at the recon platoon on his map. Further forward, than any other element, they sat in a wide line just off the autobahn.

  Then two of them started moving. At first Reiter thought they’d just shifted position and his map hadn’t updated yet. But they sped on. Directly towards the Union position.

  “Greyhound, what’s going on?” he asked.

  “Mutiny!” The older man spat. “Treason! Insubordination!”

  “What are they doing?”

  “Giving away my position!” Lysak howled. “They’re out to betray us!”

  A glance at the map cast doubt on the man’s accusations. If they looked to betray them, they’d missed a golden opportunity to slit the throats of the other scouts and leave them blind to the enemy. Now, in search of his own answers, he hailed them.

  “This is Fox 6,” he said, and as calmly as he could add, “What are you doing?”

  “Fox 6, this is Greyhound 3,” one of the crews replied. “We’ve been tracking what’s going on with these King Cobras, and we’re not about to let them torch our air cover.” Reiter sighed.

  “You recognize how dangerous that is?” he replied and noticed Wolfhound launch the last of their drones.

  “We’ll lose the city without gunships,” Greyhound 3 replied. “Now, oh shi-” One of the tracks disappeared from his map as the other wove around and eventually broke contact with the union heading west.

  As his stomach sank beneath his chair, Reiter looked at his memorial wall, more specifically at his photo of Bruno “Gos” Lugosi. Here I am again Gos, not making decisions, not being decisive, not being go-

  “Scratch one!” Wolfhound 1 said. “And the other King Cobra looks pretty banged up. We may be out of drones, but we can fly without having to worry about anti-air, at least for now.” Reiter sat up in his chair. They didn’t go down for nothing.

  “All units,” he said. “Brace for enemy action, Wolfhound, what are they up to?”

  “Looks like a big pincer,” the gunship pilot replied. “The right flank is about to crash into the seam between Black and White team.”

  Mo shifted and crouched behind a manor house. As he and Merlin played down covering fire, Wesser and Smith moved to get a better angle on their attackers. In the face of about a half-dozen tinhats, their fire wasn’t enough to disable or destroy the unit, but enough to keep them ducking.

  One hapless Union pilot failed to duck quick enough. For his trouble, a fat shell smashed the machine’s hips to scrap. They. Just. Keep. Coming.

  More shells joined theirs, telling Mo that Smith and Wesser sat in position. “Their main assaults about to begin,” The LT said. “Let’s hope they go where we want them to.”

  “And if they don’t?” Mo asked as steam clouded his vision. The Union panzerters advanced slowly and steadily, grinding away at the buildings they used for cover. As they implacably marched and fired down a side street leading into the neighborhood, the road beneath them suddenly gave way.

  Panzerters staggered and fell, some more than others. One unfortunate tinhat lay on its back after shells had smashed its knees, flailing about like a tortoise. More shells pummeled the Union armored column, but this time from White Team. Kozma charged forward alongside Merlin JR. Their combined fire knocking out tinhat after tinhat in close quarters.

  “They’re too close!” Merlin sr cried. “We can’t provide supporting fire with them at that range.” Mo grit his teeth and glanced at Wesser’s machine. This is all going according to plan. Too well, in fact.

  Then a green glow fell across Kozma’s machine. Its head vanished in a shower of molten metal and it collapsed backward. A tinhat hoisted itself up with its laser drawn, shifting to Merlin Jr as he ran to recover his team leader’s machine.

  The world seemed to slow down. Merlin sr, in a desperate bid to protect his brother, fired his sniper rifle. While he’d eliminated the threat to his brother, a closer tinhat realized he had a sniper rifle. This immobilized tinhat retaliated with its machine gun.

  An explosion tossed debris skyward as Merlin’s magazine detonated. His panzerter crashed to the snow next to him, missing a hand, portions of its head, and all of its snowbags.

  Tossing radio etiquette to the wind, Mo cried out to him. “Wes! Wes! Are you ok?” His radio came back with static before they could hear a ragged cough over the net.

  “I’m good, nothing a tourniquet and a dentist couldn’t fix,” he replied. As he updated his team, the serving panzerters broke off their attack. Two machines in the forest laid down covering fire while another tinhat dragged their immobile but operational comrade back into the woodl
ine, leaving three panzerters burning in a collapsed street.

  “Black Team, Wildcard 2, we’re going to search the wrecks for anything useful and see if we can get White 1 medevaced.” Mo nodded as Wesser acknowledged the drop troopers. It’s good to have these guys around. As he peered over the crumbling manor, he spotted something moving in the woodline.

  “Wildcard 2, Black 4,” he said. “Do you have people in the woods?”

  “Negative 4, we’re all in the neighborhood,” the squad leader replied. “Got something?” Switching to his thermal sights allowed him to see the figures much better. Against the cold trees, the union infantry stood out like a shark among tuna.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Looks like we’ve got some company in the tree line.”

  “Well hell, there’s a big ass pool room in this house,” Wildcard replied. “Invite them out of the cold!”

  “Yeah,” Merlin sr said. “Let’s warm them up.”

  “I’ll start at ten, you start at one, meet you halfway,” Mo replied as he engaged his chest mounted machine-gun. Red tracers lit up the night like searchlights as they swept through the trees. Thanks to his thermal sights, Mo could see the union infantry diving and dropping into the snow. Whether it was from being hit by their machine guns or an attempt to avoid them remained unclear.

  As they let their gun barrels cool, Mo surveyed the terrain ahead of him. Despite not seeing any new movement or heat sources, he still felt uneasy. “Alright Wildcard, go survey the wrecks, see if the Union left anything salvageable.” He looked over at Wes Merlin’s panzerter. “Black 3, you should fall back since you lost your weapon.”

  “I was actually going to snatch one of those Union machine guns,” he replied. “The panzerter sized ones, not people sized.”

  “That’s actually not a bad idea,” Wesser said as she and Smith moved back to their original position. “A panzerter scale MG nest would be something else.” Mo looked out ahead of them. Yeah, I suppose it would.