Adamski swatted the table, startling their guest. “Well, let me tell you,” he said. “Southern Gallacia and Germania, Ostlan? Gorgeous in the winter, during peacetime, skiing is so good there.” He frowned when he remembered his current condition. “I mean, I won’t be doing of that anytime soon, if ever again.”
Zorro changed the subject. “So what are schools like in the Union?” she asked. Fletcher shrugged.
“I’m not sure, the only schooling I ever had was my basic education and duty training as well as MAG training,” she said. “but from what I understand schools are cultural centers, future writers, journalists, scientists, engineers, and managers are given a comprehensive education that allows them to be the best in their careers.”
“Huh, I can kinda relate,” Zorro said. “I got sent to a military prep school when I was 14, so I got treated to the whole drill and ceremony number pretty early on, then they call my name, give me a list of jobs, tossed me into a pilot program and then I ended up at Fox troop.”
“You were a student?” Fletcher asked. “Like in the middle of learning and they demanded you fight in their war?”
Zorro gestured “more or less.” After sipping her drink, she resumed. “I mean, you could go AWOL, I wasn’t going to because I ain a little bitch, but I was honestly surprised by who did and who didn’t.”
Adamski furrowed his brow. “How do you mean?”
With a shrug, Sorrow looked at him. “We expected Merlin to leave, his brother was a big deal back in school and I think trying to live up to that got to him, but Schwartz was a surprise because he was a harass from day 1.”
“Really?” Adamski said. “He didn’t even show up.”
“Guess he got cold feet,” Zorro replied. “We all knew Stasiak would bail though, he was way too into some chick that was way not into the military.”
Fletcher shook her head. “I can’t believe you made kids fight your war.”
“I didn’t ask for kids,” Ski replied. “And I can tell you Reiter didn’t either.” At the mention of the Captain’s name, Fletcher twitched and reached towards the back of her head.
“The Union doesn’t have to press kids into service, they just build them,” Zorro said before frowning. “I’m sorry.”
Fletcher scowled and took her tray. “I apologize, I guess I’m not that hungry.” A shout echoed across the cafeteria. They stopped to listen to what they were shouting about when they heard the news.
“Huge battles all across the front,” an orderly cried. “You can check the casualty registry to see if you have friends or loved one’s dead or wounded.”
In a smooth motion, Zorro flicked out her phone and Fletcher rolled back. “What’s Fox’s CasReg?”
“411789,” Adamski rattled off. “I’ve had that shit burned into my brain.”
“Thanks top,” Zorro said as she pulled up a list. A lot of names they didn’t recognize jumped out at them. “Is this the right list?”
“Has to be,” Adamski said. “That number is exclusive to Fox.” He suddenly pointed when a name he recognized caught his eye. “See, that’s Kozma, our White team leader.” Tracing the line, he found MIA.
“Is Captain Reiter on there?” Fletcher asked. Adamski looked up. That’s genuine concern in her voice, she wouldn’t want to see him hurt, not after all he’s done.
He shook his head. “No, he’s not, but it sounds like this battle is still ongoing.”
As Fletcher’s face creased with worry, Zorro set a hand on hers. “You could always pray for him if you’re worried.”
Confused, the other woman looked back at Zorro. “What does praying for someone do?” She asked. “And if it helps, how do you do it?”
As soon as the shaking stopped, Weber looked back at his motley crew. “Alright, let’s go,” he said. A squad’s worth of people followed him. Five other drop troopers, one of the mortar men, and their two downed pilots. Toting a mix of Tharcian and Union weapons, they darted along down the sewers. The sewers themselves were round thick tunnels reinforced by super concrete in some areas. On each side of the sewage, a putrid river that ran along the center of the tunnels, two concrete walkways wide enough for two people, allowed them to move quickly between objectives.
Webb’s goal was simple: find the roads the Union tried to use, plant charges on the super concrete supports, and collapse the road above. Smith, one of the pilots, seemed oddly comfortable taking point.
Suddenly, the ruddy young man stopped and raised a fist. “Do you hear that?” He asked. It took Webb a moment, but he heard a low rumble above their heads. Armored vehicles, the kids a natural. Webb stepped up and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Good ear kid,” he whispered. “Let’s get down to business.” He looked back at the mortar man. The burly, squat man took off his pack and removed the mortar round inside. One of his drop troopers held up the net cord and Webb nodded.
Motioning half of his group to pull security, he helped unpack all of their deadly tools. Det cord, a spare 120mm mortar round, plastic explosives, and a magnetic detonator. Carefully, they packed their plastic explosives around the net cord in sections, almost like a sock.
The mortar man managed to pry the cap off of his round and managed to ball up some plastic explosive around the fuse. Webb waved over Wesser. The young woman held her nose with one hand and held a captured machine pistol with another.
“What’s up,” she whispered. Webb pointed at the three super concrete supports around him.
“Which of these looks strongest?” he asked. She nodded to the middle one, and he thanked her. Carefully, they used plastic explosives to stick the loose mortar to the support. Gingerly, they wadded up more plastic explosive to the other supports and connected them to the mortar’s fuse with set cord.
Loose dirt from the ceiling startled them as the low rumble stopped. Did we miss our shot? Webb ducked down a side passage and climbed a small ladder so he could see the street from the sewer drain.
As he poked his head past the concrete threshold, he saw tires and booted feet running around. Something rumbled in the distance, and the men and women above him grew excited. Scrambling back the direction he came from, he waved them around a side passage further down.
“They’re there, but id on’t know how long,” he said. The mortar man spooled the cord around the alley and attached the detonator.
Very carefully, he handed the detonator to Webb. He nodded and looked to the others with him. Everyone had their weapon up and ready to go. They just waited on him. Motioning for them to protect their ears, he held up his fingers. Four. Three. Two. One.
Dust, dirt, chunks of road, and sewage surged past them as Webb clicked the detonator. The sewers echoed as the explosions echoed off of each other and the walls away from them. Sound like screeching metal and crashing vehicles added to the chaotic symphony of violence.
The drop troopers rushed past him first, guns up and all business. He followed, with the mortar man and the pilot’s right behind him.
The sewer drained as its flow had been cut by debris from the street above, as well as multiple APCs plugging the line. Union soldiers cried out for help. Some screamed as rubble pinned them to vehicles or walls, while metallic banging told him others had been trapped in their vehicles.
“Let’s round up any wounded we can,” he said. “We’ve got a lot of prisoners on our hands.” Movement at the rim of the opening he’d created caught his attention. A rifle cracked. One of his droop troopers, he couldn’t see who, spun around with a shattered faceplate and fell into the sewer line.
They returned fire. Despite having the high ground, the aggression of his own forces quickly overwhelmed the sporadic fire of the Union infantry. That is until one of the APCs turrets began moving and haphazardly spraying machine gun fire.
Something stung his arm as he ducked into a side tunnel. He grabbed his arm and felt blood. Grazed, no round in the wound. Clean through.
As he applied a dressing., the pilots ducked in
to the tunnel after him. “We’re pinned,” Wesser said. Webb pressed his dressing deep into his arm, allowing the quick clot to do its thing. He looked behind him to see the side tunnel was a dead end, probably for storage or maintenance. Damn, we might be in trouble.
Got you. Knight fired his strobe laser. Just as he pulled the trigger, his opponent swatted a massive pile of snow off a rooftop. His beam reflected off the steam it created. Damn it, he’s good.
Lowering his shoulder, his Jupiter charged into the cloud, laser forward. Something orange flashed in front of him. The Tharcian lunged. The front half of his strobe laser flew high into the air.
Instead of stepping back, Knight threw his machine forward. The Tharcian retreated out of reach. As he caught his breath, Knight drew his sword-axe.
His opponent stayed hunched and circled him slowly. Even still, it took the MAG all he could to turn and keep his opponent in front of him. The Tharcian lunged again, but stepped back out of Knight’s reach before he swung.
He’s testing my reaction time and headspace. He wants to see how much I’ll commit to counter-attacking. Knight spotted an abandoned car on the side of the street. I need to quit playing his game.
He kicked the car like a soccer player shooting a goal. The Tharcian destroyed the car with its machine gun, but the cloud of debris and smoke hid Knight from him.
Knight’s weapon tore a long gash through the side of his torso. The Tharcian backed off, sparks and static lighting up the damage.
“Usually when the fight get’s this intense, they start talking,” a familiar voice said. It’s that kid from the truce.
Knight sighed. “I’m not very chatty,” he replied. “But since it’s you, I’ll give you the courtesy of knowing your killer.” He chopped right at the kid’s head. Mo, that was his name, parried the blow as he danced away.
“Yeah, big talk,” Mo replied. As Knight reoriented himself, he became astutely aware of the weight of his panzerter through the controls. This machine was meant to fight at mid to long range, its joints probably can’t handle sustained hard maneuvers, I need to end this quick.
Mo approached with his sword raised. What followed was a monotonous slog between the two machines. Knight would attack with a blow or two that Mo would easily parry before backing off again and then approaching to repeat the process.
“What’s the matter? Age catching up?” The Tharcian gasped. Between his words, Knight could hear the ragged gasps for breath. The Kids exhausted, good I can finish this. The kid was exhausted. His own thoughts sank in. This kid had been fighting desperately for his life all night.
Briefly picturing Mo’s face, he was nearly caught off guard when he approached to attack once more. This time he followed up his block with a thrust. His wide blade took out a chunk of Mo’s leg. Knight stepped into the attack, slamming his weight into the lighter panzerter, and driving it into the pavement.
Mo’s ball mounted machine gun sputtered to life. Knight sighed as the round plugged and plinked off of his armor. I understand, you’re desperate not to die. He grit his teeth and tightened the controls.
Before he could land the final blow, a round struck his sensors. A black blob appeared on the left side of his screen. Damn it. He lashed out. His blade connected with the panzerter’s hip, crushing the joint.
Shielding his sensors with his opposite arm, he prepared to finish the panzerter when he hesitated. He’s barley a man, he can unlearn the behaviors the Tharcians taught him. Rounds continued to chip at his arm. Am I getting soft? I’ve never debated killing an enemy before.
He smashed the machine gun and turned away. Knight sighed as he pushed his Jupiter back towards the main body. I’m not getting soft, I’m just tired. All these battles just seem to blur together.
The rest of the Union forces came under fire from panzerters outside of Ironton. With a groan, he pushed his Jupiter to a run. I need to open the pocket, this battle is lost. He fired away with his laser, striking several and melting armor plating.
The Union forces had been reduced to a handful of panzerters and vehicles. Their artillery support came in sporadic and unfocused. They’re not ranging in. They’re probably getting a lot of calls or running low on ammo.
“Victor 6, Red 1, begin withdrawal,” he said. “I’ll open the pocket.”
Stubbornly, Fuller refused at first. “We almost have them! Just a little more!”
Knight shook his head. “We need to save every veteran pilot, squad, and crew for future attacks, begin withdrawing now.”
18
“Ladies and Gentlemen of the legislature,” Field Marshall Adam Hausnerr said. “As we speak, our forces are taking the fight to the Union. Despite the setbacks and disasters that plagued the opening month of our struggle, those episodes did not foreshadow our defeat.” He stood at a podium on the floor of the central chamber in the Hall of Law, a massive building cast from glass and marble.
All three houses of the legislature presented themselves. The lowest house, the weakest and composed of lobbyists, sat in the nosebleed seats. The central house, the decisive house, held legislators representing the provinces and colonies, each representative representing roughly ten thousand constituents from their home province or colonies. The upper house, or senate, contained the least people, but each had considerably more sway over legislation than the other houses. Two Senators from each province, and one from each colony.
“No, this offensive, even as they push the Union of Mars across the Grenze, is a new beginning,” he said. “The Unis had us out numbered with their ally Avalon two to one for the better part of a year, yet despite their numerical superiority we have held them off even with our back to the Mariner gulf.”
Hausnerr looked up at the weathered face of Senator Huber, leader of the Armistice faction. “Some of you served in this congress when we defeated the Union previously, you got complacent, now we need more money to make our military stronger because we have run out of time to do so, while many of you lived in a fantasy, that war would never stain our ground, the Union prepared itself, they cast their envious eyes on our wealth and prosperity, while we expanded our dominion and built one of the greatest economies in the solar system, they poured money and effort into expanding and strengthening their military.”
Hausnerr spread his hands. “This will not be a quick war, this is the beginning of a long struggle, some of you don’t have the stomach for that, well to that I say quit now!” The room gasped at his statement. “Tens of thousands have died already in the face of an implacable enemy, hundred of thousands of Tharcian citizens, your countrymen, struggle under the boot of Union thugs, vile men and women more interested in punishing the people of Gallacia for leaving then liberating anyone despite what they’re propaganda says.”
He jabbed a finger at Senator Huber. It was a generalized gesture, but say politicians knew he was accusing the man directly. “If you would be so cowardly to betray them with an armistice, to allow the Union and all its vile instruments free rein over the continent, then I beseech you to leave now, for all the rest of you, you have my solemn promise, that the army of our great republic will defend to the death our second home.”
He gripped his podium. “Even as our allies and our brothers and sisters toil and cry out for freedom, we will oppose the Union and their wicked Mobile Assault Guards, we will fight them in Olympia, we will fight them in Gallacia, whatever the cost, we will fight even with the ocean wind at our backs, our navy, with growing strength will challenge them among the stars, and even if, this building is over run Union thugs, and our second home is consumed by fire, then our colonies with all of their heavenly power, will rain justice onto this world until once again we have been liberated!”
Cheers rose from the halls of the legislature. Hausnerr noted that delegations from colony clusters seemed particularly animated as well as younger or were legislators. But the old guard, they remained stoic and unblinking. What the hell, is patriotism not politicly favorable? We’re in a war.
“Admiral Hausnerr,” purred an older woman, one of the armistice faction, from the president’s notes. “How do you account for the failure of the army to stop the Union from overrunning Gallacia?”
“Simple,” Hausnerr replied. “Skara played ball with your budget cuts, force restrictions, and funding limits, he was just as complacent with you even as our mortal enemy made leaps and bounds in doctrine and technology, I’m not, I’ll tell you what we need and expect it done.”
“Marshall, what makes you think this war is winnable in the first place?” Senator Huber asked.
Hausnerr locked eyes with the older man. “Senator, we’ll win this war because we have to, the Union won’t stand for anything other than complete capitulation, if we approach this another way, there won’t be a Tharsis.”
Another senator asked him a question. “What do you have to say about the Union raids against the colonies?”
Hausnerr nodded. “We’ve been working with the navy and some allied forces to produce a panzerter for use by the colonial defense forces. These panzerters will be built in the cluster and allow the colonies to fight the invaders on equal terms.” An attendant approached the podium.
“The President would like to speak with you on some recent developments,” he whispered. Hausnerr thanked the attendant, dismissed any further questions, and followed the young man off the chamber floor.
He led him through a tunnel to the Citadel. The massive structure housed the upper echelons of the Tharcian Army, as well as a good chance of the Navy’s presence on the surface outside spaceports. Finally, he found himself in a meeting room with President Reinhardt as well as a delegation from Vinland.
“Our government has come to a decision,” The head of the delegation, a blonde woman with a bob cut, said as she approached him. “We’re willing to join the Central Alliance and the War against the Union.”
Hausnerr smiled, and they began shaking hands and sitting down to hash out the fine details. A Vinnish expeditionary force would mobilize and land in Tharsis before the country openly declared hostilities with the Union. In the mean time, Vinnish diplomats would stall and harass the Union and Avalon with sanctions and embargos while her shipyards began building and refitting warships in a wider push to support their new allies across the system.
Armored Warrior Panzerter: Eve of Battle Page 24
