Armored Warrior Panzerter: Eve of Battle

by T. E. Butcher

  Rifle in one hand and sword in another, he braced himself for the coming battle. “Captain Reiter, the black knight himself, how brave of you to face me without your child-soldiers in front of you.”

  The Black Knight paused in the middle of the highway and assumed some kind of ready stance. “Big talk coming from you, where are your two cronies?” Knight focused on the heavy machine in front of him. I definitely can’t take him on in a protracted battle, especially since it looks like he’s ready for close quarter combat.

  “They’re indisposed,” he said. “They have they’re missions, I got mine.” He grit his teeth as he stared at the man. What kind of monster is he? What kind of absolute psychopath orders children to die for him? “How do you do it?”

  “Come again?” Reiter replied. Knight slammed his fist into a console next to him.

  “How can you stand by while you send kids into battle?” Knight said. “All of those innocent lives? How many saplings have you burned today?”

  The Black Knight stood silently in the night. Its sword hummed as snow drifted by. In the distance, artillery rumbled. “Honestly, no matter what I tell you, there’s nothing I can say that would satisfy you,” Reiter replied. “But I can tell you, that they choose to do this. The act congress passed allowed students in prep schools to volunteer.”

  “You mean to tell me they choose this?” Knight replied. “All of this madness and death? The suffering? What lies did you feed them?”

  “I didn’t feed them any lies!” Reiter replied. “Do you have any idea where you are? You’re standing in the ruins of somebody’s home! Their families are in danger, their friends are in danger, and you think we’d need to lie to them to get them to fight?” The Tharcian’s words hung in the air between them. A dropship somewhere behind the black knight rose into the air, but Knight ignored it. The battle for Ironton was ending with both sides beginning to withdraw. But for him, his battle was right here.

  “That you people would get so desperate to even ask disgusts me,” Knight said. “None of you actually believe a damn thing you say about the sanctity of life.”

  “Oh, and the Union is any better?” Reiter asked. “What about the tubers? You’re going to raise people from birth to fight and die for your country without any regard to whether they’d want to?”

  Knight grimaced at the other man’s words. “They wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for us! They owe us that much!” It dawned on him, as he spoke, that he knew very little of how the tubers had been raised. Despite working with Kennedy and Ballard for the better part of a month, he’d never bothered to ask them about their childhood.

  Their childhoods were great, I’m sure, they prepared them for the things they were best suited to do. They weren’t stolen. They weren’t stolen.

  To deal with his own headache, he opened fire on the black knight. Rounds bounced off the other panzerter’s thick armor, but Knight knew Reiter was getting tossed around in there. That’ll stun him, but I need to finish this quick.

  As he poured on the rifle fire, he charged with his sword held high in an all-or-nothing attempt to win.

  Sparks filled Reiter’s vision as shells struck his armor. Damn it, I can’t see! As soon as the shelling ceased, the fatman filled his vision, sword raised. I guess he’s done talking.

  He met the sword with his own blade, static flying between them. While parrying the Batman’s blows, he allowed himself to drive back down the autobahn. Space for time, even though it’s damaged, a fatman is still a huge threat to forces without heavy panzerters of their own.

  Despite his opponent’s incredible skill and experience, his movements were predictable and followed a pattern. He’s using the minimal movement possible and keeping me to his right. He attributed the movements to fatigue and noticed the damage to the unit’s sensors. It all became clear for Reiter.

  More artillery rumbled farther north of him. He knew what it was before Hawke even said anything over the radio. The 12th Regiment was on the attack. The battle of Ironton had been won. They’d have some room to breathe now.

  Something slammed into his panzerter and alarms blared. Reiter fought for balance, the distraction resulting in the loss of his shield. Upper Left leg compromised.

  While Reiter struggled to stay upright and keep weight off his damaged leg, Knight pressed his attack. Under pressure and fighting for his life, Reiter flipped the script.

  He leaned into each of his attacks. Cutting through his enemy’s rifle, the sudden shift in momentum caught the MAG off guard. Stumbling backward, he feebly blocked the incoming blows.

  Finally, an overhand strike pushed the fatman backwards. As its feet dug trenches into the autobahn, something finally gave. With a rending shriek, the Batman’s foot caught itself in the ground, but the leg above it continued. More metal peeled away from the severed limb.

  But the fatman did not fall. Instead it lunged forward in a final desperate attempt to seize victory. As Reiter knocked the blade aside, he thrust with his sword. The fatman’s arm went limp at the tip, pierced its chest just below the head.

  Reiter caught his breath. The fatman seized, moving entirely. No one called out to him to challenge his morals. No one cursed him while vowing revenge. There was just his own breath, and the hum of his engine.

  “So stupid,” he muttered. All around him, homes and businesses, the things people spent their lives building, lay in ruins. Decades, possibly centuries’ worth of blood, sweat, and tears had all been undone in a matter of hours. Panzerters lay where they’d fallen, the smoldering, partially molten wrecks of combat vehicles surrounded him.

  As he stood alone, snow gathered over the wrecks, in the ruins, and over the bodies. From up here, you can’t tell the Tharcians from the Unionists, or the tubers from the normals. Leaning over, he picked his picture of Fletcher off the cockpit floor. No one is made for this. Because people were never made for this.

  Artillery and missiles roared in the distance. Drones passed overhead in formation. 12th must be moving. It sounds like we’re done here.

  “The Union line is breaking,” Hawke said. “Twelfth panzerter is breaking through, we’re winning, I can’t believe we’re winning!” Reiter turned the Lowe around as friendly panzerters closed the ring around Ironton.

  Iglasio’s rolled past him. Reiter recognized them as 4-14th’s units. One of the commanders waved to him as he stood in his open hatch. Reiter waved back when he realized the man was trying to get his attention.

  “Fox 6, what do you need?” he asked as he switched to their net.

  “Hey, thanks for noticing us,” came the reply. “Our panzerter platoon took a beating. Do you mind giving us a hand with mop up?” Reiter checked his ammo and status. The Lowe had taken a severe beating, but was still combat operational. Several subsystems had been knocked offline, but he still had most of his machine-gun ammo.

  “Yeah, I don’t mind,” he finally replied. He let the IFVs take the lead, following behind them and watching upper floor windows. When their dismounts stormed into a building, Reiter looked away. Surveying the devastation reminded him just how badly this quaint mining town had been brutalized. In one store, he recognized the burning remains of a Christmas tree.

  He shook his head. It’s all so sad, it’s easy to see how people get warped by this. His eyes wandered over to a picture of Szilard stubbornly tacked to his combat wall. I’m sorry kid, I’m sure you would have loved another Christmas with your parents.

  “You’re going to be ok,” Wesser gasped ahead of him. Webb held onto the back left end of the stretcher bearing the older Merlin brother. As snow fell gently from the dark clouds overhead, Lazy Sue’s engines idled before them.

  Merlin coughed. The noise sounded ragged, but it was a good sign. The pressure seal on his right side was working, and his lungs were stabilizing. Pressure dressings clotted the bleeding in savage gouges in both legs.

  “Hey hold up!” One of the medics aboard the Sue cried. “We got to make room for more!” />
  Doc swore and shook his fist at the other medics. “What the hell do you mean? You knew you had more wounded coming!”

  “Because we’re supposed to have two other Pegasi!” The other medic angrily responded.

  On the litter behind them, Magyar groaned. “Aww fuck me,” she groaned.

  “Can’t I’m a little busy right now,” Smith grunted him. In spite of the situation, Webb chuckled. He wasn’t sure if the young man was joking or being serious, but his comment eased some of the tension and exhaustion they felt. Exo-frames only go so far.

  He glanced over his shoulder and saw Magyar pat the young pilot’s arm with her own. “Smith, get your goofy face down here where I can talk to you.”

  Smith bent over and Magyar landed a peck on his cheek. “You better be here when I recovery, or I’ll be a bit upset.” Webb smirked. Then a commotion to his left drew his attention.

  “Where is he?” the younger Merlin asked. “Wes? Wes? Talk to me!” Doc grabbed the young man’s shoulder.

  “Easy lad, he’s table right now, but don’t go aggrevatin ya brother,” the old medic replied. “He’ll be fine, just calm down.” The younger Merlin nodded and looked down at his wounded brother.

  “Wes?”

  Wesley Merlin coughed, then nodded. “I’m good,” he said. “Just do me a solid and don’t tell mom.” He shook his head. “Audrey’s already going to be pissed enough as it is.” His words wheezed out of his throat. He grimaced before sheepishly smiling and giving his brother a thumbs up.

  “All clear!” The flight medic called. “Bring them in!” Webb bounded forward, along with the other litter-bearers. Once the wounded pilots and two injured drop troopers had been secured on the bird, they cleared out.

  The Lazy Sue lived up to her name, slowly climbing into the air before accelerating away. It was gone in moments, only a noise in the distance. They’re probably taking them to Vaterland Regional Medical, that’s the biggest and best equipped hospital near here.

  “Well alright, squad and team leaders, do your BBG checks and let me know when you’re done,” Webb said. “When everyone’s squared away, find a place to shelter down and take a nap.”

  “BBG?” Wesser asked once the others had gotten to work.

  “Beans, bullets, and gas,” Webb replied. “In our case, meaning water, do your people need anything?”

  Wesser looked at Merlin and Smith and shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Although it would be good to get ahold of Captain Reiter or-” The Sound of Massive footfalls drew their attention. “Is that an enemy panzerter?”

  Webb grit his teeth as he ducked into a store front. The pilots and doc followed him. “That depends, do you think one got by Reiter?”

  As the machine rounded the corner onto their street, Webb’s tired eyes struggled to ID the machine. Damn it, I’m too tired to ID this thing, be looking at its legs, I need a look at its head. Slowly, he crept forward in a crouch with his rifle ready.

  Fortunately, instead of a wide saucer shaped head with a red-ring, he saw a more human like head resembling one of his own drop troopers wearing a helmet. With a sigh, Webb relaxed and waved the others out.

  “It’s alright,” he said. “Friendly, Friendly.” As the others cautiously emerged from cover, the Panzerter IV knelt and opened its cockpit hatch. A short but stout woman crawled out and climbed to the ground.

  “Hey LT,” she called to Wesser as she removed her helmet, revealing strawberry blonde hair. “I could really use some food and a nap.” Wesser caught her when she stumbled.

  “Come on Steele, let’s get you to cover and lay down,” she replied. In the distance, Webb heard the distant sound of a pair of .50 cals hammering away at something. He sighed and shook his head. Does this shit ever end?

  “I have no regrets,” Meyer said as she rode in the command truck with Kennedy. He nodded and leaned back, bandages swaddling his head. “Our position is untenable, we have to pull back and regroup.”

  “You don’t need to justify anything to me,” he said. “I understand perfectly clear.” Dawn broke on the horizon, casting the sky and snow below in shades of orange. Finally, one of the longest nights in their lives was over. “I’m eager to hear Knight’s report, I’m fairly certain he’ll confirm what I already thought happened at the front.”

  “And what’s that?” she asked. You’ve rarely steered me wrong, and have consistently brought clarity to a situation I didn’t see, I need to hear this. Kennedy relaxed slightly.

  “We need to do something about Fuller,” he said. “I firmly believe his incompetence led directly to our defeat, his actions over-committed us in Ironton and I believe directly led to our defeat.”

  Meyer nodded slowly. “There will be a full investigation into what happened, I’m sure the proper culprits will be punished.” She sighed. “Although as much as we cast blame, we have to admit one of the culprits was the Tharcians themselves, they had better intelligence and a better plan then they had up tp this point.”

  “What are you saying?” Kennedy asked. “That our actions didn’t have consequences?”

  “No,” Meyer replied. “Rather, we assumed our enemy would either remain the same or get worse, but instead, they improved.” She looked out the window to the breaking light of dawn. “And in assuming our enemies would remain stagnate, we became stagnate ourselves. We need to get back to our roots as an offensive force.”

  Kennedy grunted. As he fell asleep, Meyer pulled out a tablet. The entire Army was taking losses across the entire front. MAG forces withdrew through the pine gap towards the northern edge of the theater. Divisions had been caught overextended. Out of position, or flat footed by a sudden determined Tharcian counterattack.

  Of course it wouldn’t be easy, these people are fighting to defend their homes. She sighed as she adjusted the tablet to hurt her neck less. This is an ideological war no doubt, everything’s got a little of ideology in it, but the Tharcians aren’t shouting slogans or talking points as they march into battle. They’re fighting for their homes.

  A notification popped up across the top of her screen. A message from Chaney. Reading it told her he wanted he a complete report from her on whether or not, their doctrine had caused the defeat behind them. Sure, I’ll get right on that as soon as I have free time while I’m rebuilding nearly an entire division. Sure.

  She bitterly tossed her tablet into the seat next to her. There would be time for analytics, testimony, and evaluations later. But right now, she just wanted to escape the gloom of loss around her. It made the air oppressive, heavy, like she was walking underwater. Maybe things will get better when we return to the rear.

  The whole operation had turned shameful. The kicker was her mechanized rifle battalion had made good progress towards a narrow field, but had been forced to pull out when the other half of the operation collapsed. She shook her head in disgust. I’ll have to make sure they get medals for bravery or something, I don’t want them to feel like their efforts had been futile. But the truth was, they had been. There was nothing to be gained from their rapid advance. When the 25th Mechanized took over their positions, they’d be forced to start from behind where her battalion had started.

  I know Kennedy can’t help but think otherwise, but this feels like it’s my fault somehow. I came up with the plan. I allowed that terrorist to be housed in our basement. Without a doubt, the intel leaks came from him.

  Fuller might be overconfident, even incompetent, but I’ve made the most damning mistakes at the operational level. She shook her head. I need a smoke or something, I need to get out of this funk. Finally they arrived at Pulaski, the fallen provincial capital of the Gallacian province. As she stepped out of the command truck, she told a guard that Kennedy was sleeping inside as she dug through her pocket.

  Finding her pack of cigarettes, she was glad to find a few left in there. After fumbling for her lighter, she found a corner out of the wind. Eagerly, she lit up and took a long drag.

 
; “Do you have an update from the front?” Ballard asked. Chaney shook his head. In the whee hours of the morning, Ballard showed up for work roaring to go, but Chaney was running on fumes.

  “No comrade, I don’t,” he replied. “I’ve been in meetings since 0300, but I still don’t have any word on the status of your old battalion.” He took a deep breath. “I apologize for snapping, it’s ben a long night, let’s talk about the Phobian.”

  Deftly he brought up an image of the machine Ballard had been piloting in various simulations. The panzerters squat and aggressive appearance with the more standard looking Martian and Terran. Ballard looked at the projection.

  “So I’m not going into sims today?” he asked. Chaney shook his head.

  “No, I just need feedback, then we’ll make adjustments to the sim model and resume testing,” he replied. “Now, what’s the biggest problem for you so far?”

  “The cockpit,” Ballard replied. “I know your modified sim pod isn’t exactly the real thing, but it’s cramped as hell and several critical gauges are either in odd places to look at and critical functions are difficult to reach.” Chaney raised an eyebrow.

  “In that case, where should the gauges ideally be in your opinion?” he asked.

  Ballard tapped the sides of his head. “At the edge of peri-rebel vision,” he said. “Preferably under my line of vision, but some are over my head, and others require me to turn my head to look at, if I’m referencing gauges, the only thing I should move is my eyes.”

  Chaney nodded, jotting down notes on a notepad as he spun the figure. “That will take some time. What do you think of the weapons?”

  “I understand that this is supposed to be a close quarters unit, but some kind of long-range weapon and more anti-infantry weapons,” Ballard replied. “I’d rather not burn out a laser lens because I had to engage a panzerter and immediately after defend against infantry.”

  Chaney sighed. “That may unduly increase the weight of this thing,” he said. “And I was already beginning to lose confidence in the new power plant’s ability to save weight and even maintain the performance of the other engine.”