Grendels

by Zachary Deaderick

  Tactical overlay data only feeds to the unit commander because the army brass decided it might be overwhelming for the average soldier to know just exactly what was going on around him in a heavy firefight. If the unit commander goes down the data link automatically jumps to the next highest ranking individual in the pre-programmed command hierarchy, not necessarily the next highest ranking individual.

  Sanders believed in the control of data. In the first engagement he had been overwhelmed when his captain had taken a hit and the overlay immediately flooded his screens. Red crosses demanding medical attention and timers showing how long the request for backup had been active. Each of the soldiers were somewhere in the queue for fire support and half were in the queue for medical assistance. The two medics, Charley and Ivan, had been swept away with the tide of requests and secondary screening provided by each soldiers’ biomedical report from his body armor.

  The most terrifying piece of data was of course the white flashing of a red spinning star to white and then blinking to a black circle. Man down.

  That first day his screen had instantly received over fifty black circles of the original two hundred man battalion after a brief twenty minutes of combat. By the end of the engagement well over half the battalion had converted to black circles.

  Davis’ request for tactical data populates on the device. Sanders approves the request.

  “Sit tight,” Davis calls over the comm.

  Sanders crouches down hiding in the short grass tapping the button on his glove sending a chime through the headsets to halt.

  On the forearm screen he watches the tactical data from the other units feed in. Troops in Contact. Fire support requests and air support requests begin to stack up. The air support beacons vanish swept away by someone up high. A few of the fire support requests are activated with shells tracking on screen as asterisks racing across the screen.

  After impact the requests auto-clear.

  The red swirling stars begin winking into black circles and then the fire support requests wipe off the screen, command wiped.

  On his own battlefield, Sanders watches the overlay as three of his green circles explode to green stars. None of the stars begin rotating, meaning that whatever they fired on they either killed or it took cover.

  The “clear” chime rings in Sander’s headset. He keys the unit-wide command for clear, relaying the chime to the rest of the soldiers.

  Red “X” reports flash up from Tex and Cooper. Sanders checks off automatic approval for enemy hostiles to the command map. The Brass would likely chew his ass over this later for giving enlisted personnel access to modify the command map, but when things eventually got hairy he wasn’t going to have time to approve them.

  A half dozen hostiles form a patrol pushing north to intercept Bravo Company.

  Whispering, “Alright Alpha, time to step up and save Bravo’s ass like always.”

  With that he taps the map and presses the button on his glove to set new way points. Sanders sprints for the ridge breaking from the formation and heading North for Cooper and Tex. On the display the rest of the green circles break and run dropping onto the top of the hill and finding cover.

  With the Advance company flanking around behind the patrol Sanders keys the three second timer. With each tone the soldiers tense. After the third tone the hillside erupts simultaneously.

  Below in the depression the patrol falls to the round torn apart by the onslaught.

  Sanders keys the cease-fire tone.

  Numbers beside each of the soldiers provide how much ammunition the soldier theoretically has left based on the number of rounds fired and initial load out. Any rounds discarded with a magazine or dropped create an incorrect count. Sanders scans the information, knowing that they can’t possibly carry enough rounds to penetrate the edge of the make shift space port.

  “Captain get the hell out of there!” Davis bellows over the comm.

  Rolling over Sanders spots the incoming fighter.

  Before keying any tones, overlays, waypoints or other queues the gunship opens up on the hillside. In a matter of seconds all the spinning green circles snap red, flash white and then wink out to black circles. Sander’s own blue circle flashes red and emits a shriek placing a red cross beside his own icon.

  “Oh shit,” he murmurs trying to find the hole.

  I’m hit but where! I can’t feel it!

  Without noticing him Maulk, the only remaining medic, scoops Sanders up and drags him behind cover before the fighter makes a second pass.

  “Where is he hit?” Davis asks.

  “I’m looking,” the medic says quietly as the world begins to fade.

  3

  Sanders jerks upright, driving the chair into the wall hard enough to send it rebounding, rubbing his stomach feeling for the hole created by the bullet. Frantically his hands work across the outer skin of the exoskeleton-pressurized armor. Looking down, he watches his hands fumble across his glossy black abdomen before realizing the wound has long since vanished into a pink scar.

  Still panicked he keys the medical diagnostics of the power armor. The screen shows the half dozen blood pressure, flow, temperature, adrenaline levels as well as more metrics than he could quickly make out. All read green.

  The bodyguard seated next to him stands facing him weapon drawn aimed at Sander’s feet, “You ok there Grendels?”

  “Huh, oh yeah I am fine. I am ok, sorry,” Sanders says sheepishly sitting back down.

  Inside the air conditioned suit in the air conditioned building sweat trickles down his spine.

  “Thought you were going berserk there for a second was going to have to put you down.”

  “Nah,” Sanders says, As if that pistol would even put a dent in my armor.

  Slowly holstering his weapon the bodyguard looks nervously at Sanders unsure if it’s safe to sit back down now.

  Trying to put the guard at ease he stretches his legs out in front of him and puts his hands behind his head in a gesture of resignation. The guard looks back at the door for the classroom and decides to have a seat instead of standing for the remaining twenty minutes.

  “Who are you here with?”

  “Sarah,” Sanders says.

  “Oh,” the guard mouths. The Owens name makes quite a splash on the frontier worlds as one of the largest infantry equipment manufacturers in the business. “Guess that’s your Hunter parked outside?”

  Sanders nods, his eyes half closed.

  “I served in one during the Hansen conflict. Took one helluva beating. Got blasted with about fifteen, thirty mil rounds. Saved our asses. We put it to that gunship. Popped it like a can with the RIM-19s”

  Sanders nods, eyes still closed behind the full helmet, “Yeah the Hunter’s specialty was dropping air support. Damn squids always had better air cover than we did so we just stopped making fighters and started making our IFVs hell on air support.”

  “Were you cavalry?”

  “No I wish I was cavalry. I was Mechanized Infantry.”

  “How was that?” the guard asks leaning in, waiting for the story.

  “Not as comfortable as this stuff.”

  “What do you mean I thought you Mech Imps had the best gear the military had to offer?”

  “Yeah we had the best gear the old US government had to offer, which is to say we had the most comfortable battle armor around, but it was far from the best. Russians and Chinese beat us in the modification race so they beat us to designing power armor to augment Grendels. Idiots in congress were hell bent on test-cases, trial runs, medical procedure, and bureaucratic bullshit that forced the military to purchase the equipment from the lowest bidder constrained by ignorant policies that forced our manufacturers to ramp up costs to almost a million dollars a suit.”

  “Russians were cranking the damn things out for about a tenth as much. Were less comfortable but I’d rather be operating with the Russians than the US. Every single one of their special forces Grendels had powered armor a
nd there were thousands of them. There were maybe three hundred operating with US spec war.”

  “No way you were in spec war? As an imp. . .”

  “Hell no, as soon as I did my three combat tours in regular power armor I signed on with Kinetic Solutions. Did the first two tours in open kinetic body armor. The contractors understood what had to be done, even more so than the Russians.”

  “Russia was out to conquer the world in the aftermath, they wanted control of Earth. The contractors saw the real money. They saw an empire of planets out there with advanced alien technology for the taking. They knew the need to defend our home world and set out to make themselves rich doing what we wanted them to do.”

  “How did they differ?” The guard leans in clearly wary of the nebulous entities that have since become the ruling authorities over the interstellar human race.

  “Contractors tested modification for a few weeks after the mods and then they implemented them. While they were growing us they set to work on building our armor, cheap, made by the best manufacturing firm not the cheapest bidder, built however they wanted without bureaucratic oversight. The end result is what you see here. Air conditioned, cushioned, nutrient bags, saline bags more armor and a bigger power pack at a third the price of the US hardware.”

  Sanders scoots back in his chair, “Put the US government out of business. KS supplied protection for the colonies and left everyone else behind.”

  “Didn’t the UN and the US both file subpoenas and injunctions against KS for hijacking equipment?”

  “They only stole equipment from bases they captured. Spoils of war and all.”

  “But what about the injunctions?”

  “What about them? By then, by the time the greedy politicians realized power was getting out from under them and people were moving to the stars without their jurisdiction, taxation or control it was too late. All KS manufacturing, supply, mining and personnel were already in space. We were in space with more guns and better ships. KS sent an official memo that ordered them to drop the investigation and proceedings before the pushed a rock into earth.”

  “So what about the UN consulate here? Why don’t they just arrest Mr. Owens and be done with it?”

  Sanders barks out a laugh over the speaker, “With what army?”

  The guard scratches his head again.

  “Kinetic produced more Grendels and body armor than the entire rest of the Earth Alliance. Mr. Owens is the owner and CEO with a commanding interest of sixty percent of the company. So let’s just say Glint arrests him if they make it through security. In less than forty-eight hours your air space would become very crowded with a large number of the best equipped and vetted soldiers alive. We ALL fought the squids. We ALL fought the squids for the Earth Alliance until we realized bureaucracies could never possibly keep up with the demands of the war effort.”

  “My whole unit walked off station and reported to KS. I wasn’t about to watch another one of my guys die because our government was too stupid to understand how to fight a war.”

  “You don’t see a problem with companies operating outside the rules of law?” the guard says standing up and crossing his arms.

  “They are operating inside the laws of a truly free market. Glint, Earth, whoever can make whatever demands they want and KS and the other PMCs can tell them to piss off. If KS starts operations I don’t agree with I take my men, my hardware and I walk. Mr. O has to find another security detail but now he knows the guys who used to have his back don’t. And that’s bad because we know everything about his schedule and operations and are back up for hire even to his competition.”

  “Welcome to the wild west. Behave or someone somewhere will pay enough to have you hunted down.”

  The door across the hall swings open and a handful of children spill into the hallway headed for their respective rides or guards. Cinderella comes running and jumps up eager to be caught by her big brother.

  “Well little lady, how was class?”

  “It was awful, we had to work these puzzles and it lasted forever!”

  Sanders smiles comparing his education to hers.

  “Used to in school they made us memorize lots of information. We didn’t really know any better back then. Your teachers,” he gestures to the door as he turns to walk down the hall, “know that it's better to make you a faster learner than it is to make you knowledgeable.”

  “Either way it was boring!” she wails flailing around.

  Sanders walks past the guard without giving him any attention.

  Must be nice to believe that rules are more important than the people they protect.

  “On my way out.”

  “Roger, all clear outside sir,” Allen said.

  “Check in.”

  Each of the three names flash through the comm box quickly indicating each is active on the comm band.

  Opening the vestibule door Sanders checks the space before sealing the door behind him. Another several steps away the heavy doors outside are still closed. He takes the few steps while watching the camera outside before flipping to the live feeds from his own men watching the building from outside.

  “Coming out.”

  He pushes the heavy door and the mag lock releases, swinging wide on its bearings.

  Five steps away the Hunter sits with the passenger side door open. Sanders hands Sarah off to Allen who climbs into the vehicle with her and then promptly closes the door. Davis slips around the far side of the vehicle to the gunner seat while Sanders pulls open the passenger door for the front seat.

  Before the doors cycle through, Miller presses the controls sending the Hunter growling down the street.

  “Filled her up around the corner while we were waiting boss,” Miller informs.

  “Good, not that we need it but, it’s always nice to have the extra fuel in case.”

  “Captain, you gotta calm down. This isn't the war anymore. I know you take a lot of pride in our job but seriously I doubt we are ever going to see a live firefight again.”

  “Miller, do you know how long they think we will live?”

  “A while?”

  Sanders laughs, “Honestly they are still talking we might have a hundred years left on the hardware before it starts going faulty. So you telling me you think the universe is going to be peaceful for another two hundred years?”

  “Not really sir, but I kinda figured you wouldn’t be taking any combat jobs in the future. We have a pretty cushy job here. Why would we go looking for other work?”

  “If we find another job that needs to be done more than this one Miller,” Sanders sighs turning his helmet to face him instead of using the side cameras, “Then I am going to go do it.”

  “Miller don’t even act like you don’t miss the battlefield,” Allen chimes.

  Davis chuckles, “Hell some days I miss it. Easier knowing that if you saw something moving you shot it. Right now I gotta play nice.”

  “I don’t,” Sanders sighs.

  4

  Back behind the safety of the perimeter walls, Sanders runs through the perimeter cameras and checks in on the security teams.

  The large wooden desk hides a holo screen beneath the blotter in the center and the empty inbox and outbox give the look of a symbolic desk. Sanders leans back in the reinforced chair flipping through the security feeds from the walls, watching the feed inside his helmet.

  “About those other jobs,” Davis says stepping around the corner.

  “What other jobs,” Sanders answers still scrolling through cameras and checking any changes in the appearance of the wall.

  “You told Miller you’d take another job if you thought it needed doing. Well we have other jobs that we are particularly suited for. Jobs that require a Grendels unit.”

  Blinking twice to dismiss the extra feeds, Sanders looks at Davis, “You talking about going and helping put down that rebellion?”

  “Look Sanders, you and I both know this team was born in the fire and that's wher
e we will end up again one day. You said it yourself, we are going to be around long after this family is long dead. What are we going to do then, guard their children?”

  Sanders turns the chair to face Davis full on but stays reclined in the chair.

  “I mean we already have more money than any of us can spend if we don’t start buying ships or something ludicrous. We have all the hardware to outfit a combat unit. The two Hunters, a drop ship to carry them both into battle, and pilots for both. We go do this thing and then we come back to the security business.”

  “You think O will just wait on us to wrap up our little playdate out on the playground down the block? I’m certain the compound would remain secure. They would need orbital bombardment to breach the defenses and we both know they are never going to get cleared for that. What about personal security for any excursions into town?”

  “You know they can handle it. The security crew has twelve operators. They aren’t Grendels by any means but hell they were Special Forces back in one engagement or another. We’d only be gone for a month or two at max. How long do you think two worlds can hold out against a full scale invasion? Besides we can just pull other Kinetic Solutions assets and double the house compliment.”

  “You itching to go back into combat?” Sanders.

  “And you aren’t? You remember it. There is nothing like the thrill of rising up to the thrill of a fight and coming out victors. ‘Once you’ve known the thrill of hunting man nothing else will suffice,’ or something like that?”

  “Who says we come out on top? Sure the rebels will lose, but we could come out on the losing end of one gunfight or another. You want to put our boys at risk because you are all chomping at the bit?”

  The words stung Sanders own mouth as they came out. The adrenaline building in his own veins at the thrill of another dive into the fray sends his heart rate spiraling quickly up.