“So I’ve heard,” Hausnerr mused. As Starnes left, he returned to signing off on his new sets of orders and authorizing war plans and contracts. Halfway through the stack, he decided to check his email. While clicking through the various mundane messages, he found an odd one from Markos. It read:
Field Marshall,
The Sun walk. 1735. Urgent. Come alone. DNR.
Markos
Well damn, that’s odd, I wonder what all the urgency and secrecy is about. He checked his watch and saw he had about ten minutes to get to the Sun walk and talk to Markos. Well, if it’s this urgent, paperwork can wait.
The aptly named Sun Walk was a large glass hallway on the top central floor of the Citadel. Hidden from the outside by by the high marble walls, it was the ideal place for a tired officer to get some sunlight after spending long hours in front of a screen. Officers like General Markos. Sure enough, the man was sitting on a bench near the center of the walkway.
“Well, Markos,” Hausnerr said. “Your message seemed urgent, so here I am.” Markos looked around and muttered something into his watch. Then he looked up at Hausnerr.
“Alright Marshall, I’ve killed the cameras and any electronics in this hallway for two minutes, that’s just long enough to update you,” he said. “I believe there’s a spy in the citadel if not on the general staff.”
“What the hell’s this?” Webb exclaimed. Rolling in on a prime mover was a stocky panzerter. It looked like a Panzerter IV, but a weapon barrel jutted over one shoulder. It also looked stockier than the standard model.
“That,” Reiter said. “Is a Panzerter Kannone, it’s a refit of older Mark IVs.” He pointed to the cannon. “As you can see, it’s equipped for long range combat.” Webb looked at the thing and blinked.
“It looks shady,” he said. “Like they just threw a cannon on the thing as an afterthought.” He shook his head. “And here I was thinking a panzerter IV is a panzerter IV.” Reiter shook his head.
“For the most part, the differences are internal,” he said. “Better engines, joints, things of that nature.” He sighed. “Hell, at this point hardly any of our panzerters are factory issue, you can thank nonstandard spare parts for that.” After talking to the prime mover’s crew, he signed the paperwork and took the vehicle into Fox company.
“Alright,” Reiter said. “It’s ours now, help me ground guide this thing inside.” Under the milky sunlight, Reiter climbed into the cockpit of the new machine. The controls looked familiar enough. Hell, this could have been my old one if it wasn’t torn to pieces during the battle of three rivers.
As he started the engine and unlocked the controls, it took him sometime to get the Panzerter Kannone upright. The Lowe really spoils me, so responsive to its controls. As Reiter walked the machine into a bay, Webb waved his arms to help him avoid hitting a wall or bumping into something. As he walked it into a berth, he glanced over at the Lowe.
Sheets covered the machine as it underwent repairs. The upside to its modular armor system was it was easy to repair and replace. The downside was new armor modules took some time to come in, but had gotten better since they got the Lowe. As he climbed down a ladder, Webb met him on the bay floor.
“Damn, maintenance on these things must be a bitch,” he said. Reiter nodded.
“Trust me, you don’t know the half of it,” he said. “And this machine doesn’t even have a pilot yet, so it’ll end up getting some neglect with no one to seriously look it over.” As they walked out of the bay, Webb turned back to look at the machine.
“You’re not going to have Smith pilot it?” he asked.
Reiter shook his head. “I don’t even know which platoon is getting it,” he replied. “And it’d be the PL’s decision, but no, I would say Smith’s skill set is better suited to being the point man.”
Webb shrugged. “I don’t know man, if that’s all he ever does, that seems like it’ll hinder his development,” he said. “But what do I know? I’m just a drop jock.”
“Well, it’s with considering when you put it like that,” Reiter replied. They found a crate in the motor aces area. The concrete pad they stood on held bays on two sides and a hanger on the third, with the force being barbed wire topped fence with a gate for vehicles. One of the bays contained berths for panzerters while another was a three story parking garage for ground vehicles. The hanger contained the dropships and gunships.
“What else are we waiting for?” Webb asked. Reiter checked a list in his pocket.
“We have two Iglasio Recons-types, An Iggy Mortar, a Cstalio, a dropship, parts for the gunship and the panzerters, and maybe another Panzerter IV,” he said. “We’re going to be here awhile, and me and 1st Sergeant have a meeting with Hawke tomorrow, so you and a sergeant are going to have to run reception.”
Webb nodded. “I hear you, I hear you,” he said. “Well, we’re a panzerter company, so it makes sense to have one of the panzerter sergeants.” After another second of thought Webb said, “Steele.”
“Steele, huh?” Reiter said before nodding. “Ok.”
“Her new lieutenant could be in the group tomorrow,” Webb replied. “Besides, she seems diplomatic.” The drop trooper paused. “Do you hear that?”
Reiter perked up. As a kid, his hearing had been pretty good, but his hair metal phase as a teenager and his time in the army had done a number on his hearing. Finally, he heard the faint, but unmistakable cry of a running cadence. “Oh, it sounds like Wesser’s torturing them.”
Sure enough, Wesser led the way in her pt uniform, screaming the response to a cadence Stovepipe led them in from just behind her. “Do you wanna be a panzer jager?”
“I wanna be a panzer wager,” the formation half muttered while Wesser screamed.
“Do you wanna live a life of danger?”
“I wanna live a life of danger,” the formation repeated. One of the drop troopers pulled off to the side to vomit. Reiter and Webb grimaced.
“Glad I’m not in that formation,” Webb muttered.
“Agreed,” Reiter said. “Oh, looks like we got some stragglers.” Sure enough, a few ran behind the formation. They didn’t experience anything approaching relief, however, as 1st Sergeant and Doc badgered them relentlessly. Reiter shook his head. “Vehicle inventory?”
“Vehicle inventory,” Webb agreed, both for once gold that something they were solely responsible for had gotten them out of a brutal PT session. Sure enough, shortly after, a prime mover arrived with the recon Iglasios. This time, Reiter ground guided Webb as he drove both of the vehicles into the vehicle bay, essentially a glorified parking garage with high ceilings.
They parked the recon vehicles on the top floor with the mortar carriers. The middle floor was reserved for gold platoon’s IFVs, and the ground floor for the HQ trucks. As they took the stairs downstairs, Reiter shook his head.
“It’s crazy to think six months ago we would have begged and pleaded for enough parts to repair some of our panzerters,” he said. “And now we get them all the time.”
“Yeah,” Webb said. “Before this kicked off, we didn’t even have working dropships or any gunships, our gun pilots had simulators and that was it, it took us forever to get kitted out and distributed to the line.” Reiter shook his head. Funny how all of that happens.
23
“So there’s no Christmas in the Union?” Zorro asked. “You can’t be real.” Fletcher nodded slowly.
“As real as I am, sister,” the young tuber said. “There’s Winter Solstice, but compared to this, it just seems like another day. People just say its special without saying why.” She pointed to the Christmas tree in the hospital cafeteria. “That tree look really pretty, but I still don’t get why you’d bring them indoors.”
Adamski shrugged. “It’s just what our parents did, and their parents, and so on,” he said, “It’s a tradition.”
Fletcher raised an eyebrow. “There’s still a lot about your superstitious celebration that confuses me, but I have to admit it
’s charming.” She plucked at her beef a little more. “They still give me too much food, if this keeps up I might get fat, that’ll make physical therapy harder.”
“Somehow I doubt that,” Zorro said. “You’ve been here longer than me, but your waist is the same size as the day I got in here.”
“You’ve been watching my waistline?” Fletcher asked.
Zorro paused with a mouthful of mashed potatoes. “I’m competitive,” she said.
Adamski raised a hand. “Alright, let’s get off that,” he said. “Fletcher, you said you didn’t have a name until you were 14, you were joking, right?”
Fletcher shook her head. “I was being serious,” she said. “L-478, when I graduated my core education they named me and sent me to pilot school.” Adamski shook his head.
“Well to us, you’re a name, not a number,” he said. “I wonder how the rest of Fox is doing, I heard they made a name for themselves in the last battle.”
“Well,” Zorro said. “They carted Wes Merlin in here, he didn’t look too good.”
“Is that the one who rescued you?” Fletcher asked.
“No,” Zorro replied. “That was Ernie, the younger brother, Wes is the older one.” A murmur spread through the hospital cafeteria. Adamski looked to see what people were talking about and couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Well, speak of the devil,” he said. Ernest Merlin stood into the room in a freshly pressed dress uniform. His powder blue jacket and matching pant looked fresh and his new shoes were freshly shined. As he approached their table, he smiled sheepishly with a few small boxes.
“Hey guys,” he said. “Merry Christmas.” He handed each of them a box. Adamski noticed each of them had individual wrapping paper. Black and white for Zorro, red and green for him, and red, white ,and black for Fletcher.
“It looks like your country’s flag,” she said. “Are you trying to rub it in?” Merlin held up his hands.
“No, No miss Fletcher, it’s not like that I swear!” Fletcher smiled.
“I’m messing with you,” she said. When Merlin looked stunned, she pointed at Zorro. “She said you were easy to mess with.” Zorro blushed as Adamski shook his box.
“I hope you didn’t get me socks, kid,” he said. Merlin shook his head.
“No, Captain Reiter reminded me before I went Christmas shopping,” he said. “My parents and sister-in-law are all here to see Wes, actually.” Adamski nodded, and then he noticed the younger man’s rank.
“Hey, wait, you weren’t just gonna walk up in here and not tell us you got promoted,” he said. “When did that happen?”
“After Ironton,” he said. “A lot of promotions and a lot of medals after the last battle, hell Smith got promoted too, he’s visiting Magyar right now.”
“Who?” Zorro asked. Before Merlin could say ‘your replacement’ Adamski suggested they open their gifts. Thankfully, he didn’t get socks, but instead a warm hoodie. Zorro got a book she apparently loved, and Fletcher received a Gallacia Gladiators hoodie.
“I’ve seen this before,” she said. “In Pulaski, what are they? I assumed they were some kind of elite military unit.”
“Close,” Adamski said. “They’re a hockey team.” When Fletcher raised an eyebrow, Adamski raised a hand. “Let’s get you to Christmas alright?”
She nodded and thanked Merlin. “So I assume this is a big part of the tradition?”
“Yeah,” Zorro replied. “Usually everyone puts their gifts to their family under the trees you mentioned earlier, then on Christmas morning everyone opens their gifts, the emphasis is more on the giving part.”
Adamski smiled in spite of himself. She’s a grown woman, but it’s like explaining it to a child. Why would the Union deprive its people of a simple joy like Christmas? He shrugged. Maybe it’s a cultural thing, Fletcher’s general attitude seems to poo poo religious faith, but she seems wholly unfamiliar with what religious people actually believe.
“Sergant Merlin,” Fletcher said. “Do you know what Reiter would want for Christmas?” Merlin blinked.
“That still sounds weird to me,” he said. “And I’m sorry, but I don’t.” Adamski leaned over the table towards her.
“Books, especially action, adventure, and horror,” he said. “Monsters on the loose, that kind of thing. In lieu of that, something practical like socks or a bandanna would be good.”
“Why would a bandanna be helpful?” she asked.
“To keep sweat out of his eyes,” Merlin said. “My brother actually wore one all the time.” Adamski leaned back and rolled his wheelchair away from the table. The younger man shuddered when he saw the blanket over where the stubs of Adamski’s legs were.
“If I give you cash, do you think you could pick up a gift for Fletcher here to wrap?” he asked. Merlin shrugged.
“Yeah, I guess, I’ll have to talk to you guys to make sure its personnel,” he said. “I’ll swing by your room and get that, right now I’ve gotta go see my family.” Thanking the young man as he left, Zorro looked back at Fletcher and smiled.
“So the Captain huh?” she said.
Fletcher scowled. “It’s not like that, I just haven’t been able to express my gratitude for what he did.” She blushed. “Though he was much kinder, then he had to be.”
Adamski shook his head. “He’s a good dude, awkward as fuck, but he’s good.”
“Oh, it’s so hot when someone kicks my ass,” Zorro giggled. “Irresistible.”
“Except he didn’t,” Fletcher said. “I’m pretty sure it was Mo or Steele, whichever one fights like a wild animal.
“Mo,” Adamski said. “It’s not elegant, but it works, he had his back against the wall trying to survive and protect a boatload of civilians, including his sisters, I guess it just stuck with him.” I just hope it’s the only thing from this war that sticks with him.
Kennedy stirred. In the dark of the hotel that served as a barracks, he thought he caught something at the edge of his vision. A shape. A figure. A human figure. Cold sweat covered his body.
Did Fuller have an ally in the IRS? A Friend? A Lover? He snatched his service pistol and sat up in his bed. You won’t take me!
“Whoa there,” said the figure, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I ain’t your enemy ace.” Kennedy took deep breaths to slow his breathing and slowly reached over to turn on the lights. He didn’t move his pistol off the figure.
“Who are you?” Kennedy asked. “How did you get in here?” Now with the light, he could see the man was about his height at around 6’5” and an eyepatch covered his left eye.
“Intelligence service,” he said. “You already know my associate Fuller, you may refer to me as Thorn.” Kennedy relaxed. Slightly. He didn’t lower his pistol.
“You’re the one who turned that Woody Pete character into a monster,” he said. “He, and by extension you, just handed us the greatest defeat of this war. Give me one good reason why I don’t just terminate you?”
Thorn grinned. “Because I’ve also given the Union more information about the Tharcians and some other bit players, then you could imagine,” he said. “Besides, run a lot of errands for our friend Chaney, so there’s that.”
Mentioning the General’s name caused Kennedy to hesitate before finally lowering the pistol. “There're easier ways to approach me,” he said. “More proper ways.”
“I’m not one for formalities,” Thorn replied and walked over to the armchair in the corner of the room. “Besides, I like to keep my involvement low-key.”
Kennedy scowled. “Seriously, what do you want?” Thorn walked over and handed him a data-key. The small thumb sized device could hold several terabytes of information. Kennedy looked it over while Thorn sat back down.
“That key contains everything you need to deal with Gallacian partisans,” he said. “Who the Tharcian loyalists are, who fled, who stayed, and who’s most likely to collaborate, and of course who will need to be retrained.”
“I cam trust this informati
on?” Kennedy asked. “How did you even get this?”
Thorn flashed a predatory smile. “Combing through public records from before and after the last war, scouring social networks, using IRS templates to determine who’s most susceptible to dangerous thinking,” he said. “All things we’d have to do anyway to prevent another war after this one.”
Setting the key on his nightstand, Kennedy looked back at Thorn. “There are less dramatic ways to give me a data-key,” he said. Thorn just kept smiling.
“I’m also here to talk to you about your enemies,” he said. “You’ve been directly opposed by two, well I guess three men.” Kennedy noticed a manilla folder on the dresser next to Thorn. The intelligence agent stood and picked up the folder, flipping through it as he paced the room.
“The 3-9th Armored Regiment, your most consistent opponent in this theatre, is commanded by a Lieutenant Colonel Walter Hawke, a graduate of Germania War College and a full-time officer in the Provisional Watch, he’s bested you and Meyer at the operational level.”
“The Provisional Watch,” Kennedy said. “Those are those weird not-soldiers, right?” Thorn nodded.
“The Tharcians return to them as part-timers,” the intel agent said. “They hold civilian careers with dedicated days ever month to conduct military training, an efficient way to do more with less, but hardly the backbone of an army.” He cocked his head. “Yet curiously the best of these units outshines the best of their regular forces while the worst of them aren’t even worth mentioning, unfortunately for you, the 7th Panzerter division trends towards the former.”
Kennedy shook his head. “You were saying?”
“Yes, anyway, your other rival, this one more personnel, you’re already mostly familiar with,” Thorn said.
“Captain Reiter,” Kennedy replied. Thorn nodded.
“He’s bested you as a tactician as well as in personnel combat,” the agent said. “He’s a history teacher at a Gallacian University, making him not only a dangerous enemy in battle, but a corrupting force on susceptible young minds.” He approached Kennedy and handed him a physical photo.
Armored Warrior Panzerter: Eve of Battle Page 31
