Armored Warrior Panzerter
Enemy Front!
T. E. Butcher
Copyright © 2021 by T. E. Butcher
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Author Notes
1
Captain Paul Reiter wiped the sweat from his brow as he sat in the cockpit of his Panzerter. Long gone were his worn out Combat Vehicle Crew shirt and pants. Instead, he wore a simple vest over a drab t-shirt and splintertarn pants. At least I have a fresh pair of boots. While the CVC uniform would’ve been comfortable, it was just too low a priority on the supply list, so instead, he improvised.
And improvise they did, as he waited in his powered down panzerter. He sat and listened for the snap pop of a flare in the air. Somewhere across from the corpse of trees he lay in, LT Webb and his drop troopers slowly advanced on a suspected Union artillery nest in a cluster of hills. Three of his other platoons pulled security while the drop troopers prepared to assault the position. Leaving his headquarters platoon in a supporting position.
Come on, any day now. Dangling from a chain above his head hung his memorial journal, a book containing pictures and names of every member of Fox Company that had died since the start of the war. Even after their victory in Ironton, the book still added names and faces. Reiter stared at it as he took a swig from his canteen. Let’s hope I don’t have to add any more today.
Cautiously, he set down his canteen and stood up in the open cockpit hatch above him. His new position allowed him to actually see the hill in dawn’s early light. A low fog clung to the hills as cloud shrouded the peaks not too far in the distance. Rather cleverly, he’d shrouded the Lowe’s head among the branches of the surrounding trees, but left the cockpit where he could get an unrestricted view from the open hatch.
In the weak light of morning, it seemed easy enough to forget his machine was one of the most advanced in the Tharcian army. Issues with spare parts had resulted in the shoulder mounts for railgun being used for a pair of of 35-mm rotary cannons. The new weapons increased his short range and close quarter capabilities, and unlike his last refit, he didn’t lose any weapons. Suddenly, his radio crackled.
“Fox 6, Blue 1,” LT Webb said. “We got eyes and hands on the objective, sites abandoned, it looks like counter-battery fire threatened to blow an ammo dump and they bailed.”
Reiter sighed as he held his earpiece tighter to his head, as if he would hear better. “Roger Red 1, anything look salvageable?”
“Maybe some of these gun barrels,” Webb replied. “I have no idea what caliber artillery they use. I’ll have a more detailed report later. I’m calling in the birds.”
“Roger 1, see you back home,” Reiter replied. “Black and White 1, do you copy that traffic?” When he received an affirmative, he explained they’d leave after dropships picked up their drop platoon.
“I don’t get it,” LT Major replied. “We’ve barely had contact with the Union up in these mountains. Are we sure they didn’t just starve?”
“That’s a negative,” Wesser replied. “We have good intel that they still have open supply lines through Olympia. I think they’re just biding their time.” Reiter nodded in agreement as he powered up the Lowe.
“Black 1’s right,” Reiter replied. “Our enemies aren’t morons, they won’t attack if it will be too costly for them.” He heard a low droning echoing off the hills. His air radar sounded an alarm. “Fox Company, enemy aircraft approaching.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, the Radar resolved a target. Three enemy dropships. He knew from experience Union dropships carried stupid amounts of firepower as well as elite raider forces.
They swooped low over the treeline, blasting rockets into White platoon. Their panzerters replied with ball mounted machine-guns and panzerter sized rifles. The dropships dodged the rifle fire and ignored the machine gun fire.
Reiter swore softly as the Lowe swung its rotary cannons over each shoulder. Well, at least I get to use the big guns. The cannons roared, a sound not unlike a sheet of canvas being constantly torn. The dropships flew right into a curtain of metal. Shells the length of his hand and forearm punched right through their armor plating. Flaming wrecks crashed to the ground at the foot of the hill.
“Is everyone ok?” Reiter asked.
“Blue’s good,” Webb replied.
“Black’s up,” Wesser said.
“White took some damage,” Major replied. “Nothing too serious, though.”
“Gold’s searching the wrecks,” LT Rudman replied said. “You know, just in case.”
Reiter sighed. “Good, so nobody died,” he said. “All units, prepare for exfil, and stay on guard.” He looked up as their own dropships approached from the West, Lazy Sue leading the way. When they lifted off, Reiter could see a few Union artillery pieces hanging off their undersides from cables. And to the victor go the spoils.
The moment the dropships had left his sight, Reiter began moving the rest of the company. Panzerters crashed through trees like creatures from fairy tales while infantry fighting vehicles nipped at their heels. Reiter took up his own position in the center of the massive formation. They turned west, back towards the firebase their regiment operated out of.
As they crossed into Firebase Kozma, Reiter finally relaxed. Good, we made it. Now after the debriefs, I’ll put up my hammock, receive the next mission. Wash my face, begin planning. Maybe tonight I’ll get to read my book a little. He smiled at the sight of soldiers running over and tossing camouflage nets onto their panzerters and they took a knee inside the positions engineers had dug for them.
Shivering, he realized his air conditioning had made the once muggy cockpit much cooler than he needed it to be. He tried in vain to reduce the fan speed, realized the knob was broken, and sighed. As he turned the system off, he leaned back to stretch. The memorial journal hung over his head. No more names for the book today. I wonder how much longer that lasts.
“We don’t have a single vehicle these tires work with,” Guard-Lieutenant Colonel Kennedy observed. “We barely have any wheeled vehicles at all.” He wore mud brown pants tucked into his boots and a storm covered shirt. The improvised field uniform truly revealed the physical differences between himself and his natural born comrades. “Then why on our precious green planet do we have seventy spare tires?”
His Executive officer, Guard-Major Ivy Irving sighed. “It was part of our last supply drop,” she replied. “I’m sure there’s a motor battalion somewhere screeching about excessive joints for panzerters.” She held up a finger. “Which while we got some, we did not receive nearly our entire order.” As she folded her arms and looked up at the Kennedy, she scowled. “There’s something off about this.”
Kennedy looked back at her. W
ith her dirty blonde hair in a loose bun atop her head, her sleeves rolled up and the jacket to her fatigues open to allow more air in, she looked a far cry from the office worker she’d been when he met her. He sighed to himself and raised an eyebrow.
“I wouldn’t attribute to malice what can be explained by incompetence,” he replied.
“Seventy tires we can’t use?” Irving replied. “That’s someone’s idea of a prank, or enemy action.” She huffed and gestured towards the pile of spare tires. “And if someone was this incompetent, I would advocate for them being shot.” Kennedy nodded in agreement.
“Well, I’m sure we can find a use for them,” he said. “Buttress some of these dug-in positions, stack them to make barricades, chain them onto vehicles as additional armor, the list goes on and on.”
“I guess you’re right,” Irving finally said. “Though I’m sure there’s a motor battalion crying over these.” The pair walked out of the large basement, a former wine storage. They ducked out from behind some netting to survey their firebase. The 75th Panzerter battalion had taken up residence in a castle themed ski resort. Or at least it had been. Before the war. Now the muddy slopes housed bunkers, fighting positions, and camouflaged tents. Kennedy planted his headquarters element right inside the castle structure.
“Have any of the recon patrols comeback?” he asked, changing the subject as soon as they stepped into the misty air. Irving shook her head.
“We’re not expecting any of them back until afternoon,” she replied. “Are you worried about our position becoming compromised?”
Kennedy looked out over the mountains and rolling hills before him. “No,” he said. “I just want something concrete to strike at, preferably Captain Reiter or the Vinnish.”
“So revenge or an inexperienced opponent,” Irving replied. “Understandable, I’ll hope we find the Vinns then.”
“They’ll get what they deserve,” Kennedy replied as they walked the ramparts. “For trying to starve us with lies before stabbing us in the back.” Irving nodded.
“The First Nation and several others are still enforcing the Vinnish embargo,” she said. “Sometimes I worry they’ll join the war against us.”
Patting her on the back, Kennedy paused. “One thing at a time,” he said. “No sense in worrying about wars that haven’t happened yet.” He scowled as he remembered something. “Has Dr. Withers asked for any more escorts for his prisoners? He’s bringing an awful lot of them into that complex he’s been working on.”
Irving shook her head, causing her bun to bounce behind her. “I don’t believe so, though I am curious as to what he’s doing there.” Kennedy scowled.
“Comrade Chaney said he heads up bio-engineering and genetics research,” Kennedy replied. “I can tell you his priority is reverse engineering the super seeds produced by Vinland, but I somehow doubt he’s doing that in an isolated mountain range with thousands of Olympian prisoners.”
Irving cocked her head and rested her hands on her hips. “What do you think he’s doing?”
“I don’t have a weak stomach,” Kennedy replied as he produced a pack of cigarettes. “Though I’d rather not think about what he does.” Irving scowled as he lit up.
“Those take years off your life,” she said.
Kennedy shrugged. “I’d ask if you’re my mother, but we both know I don’t have one.” Brining up the cold process that had created him killed their conversation for a moment. “Besides, I don’t have a ton of years beyond the war.”
“Speaking of biology,” Irving said. “Why’d you turn down hosting the surgical center?”
With a sigh, Kennedy released a long puff of smoke. “I don’t exactly have a great relationship with surgical centers,” he replied. “It’s safer away from me.”
“We’re in a castle,” the woman replied.
“At the risk of sounding superstitious,” he replied. “I have some bad karma about it.” Irving stared at him before nodding slowly.
“Ok, I understand the incident you’re referencing,” she said. “We’ll leave it alone then-” A commotion below them caught their attention. A crowd formed inside the walls of the castle. While they all were dirty and stank, the group the crowd formed around seemed particularly nasty. Kennedy smiled.
“Looks like one of our patrols returned,” he said. “Let’s see what they’ve found.” The pair made their way down to the inner keep. The crowd below them passed around canteens, some Kennedy suspected of containing alcohol. As he approached the group, he stopped at the perimeter and folded his arms. It took his exited scouts several minutes to notice him.
“Comrade Colonel!” One them cried. “Senior Lieutenant Meadows, I’ve got some good news, and I come bearing gifts!” He waved a pair of sergeants forward, bearing a large cooler.
“You hauled this over terrain all the way from your objective?” Kennedy asked. “Impressive.” His eyes widened when he opened the cooler to see it filled with prized commodities: meat and cheeses. He selected a thick slice of meat wrapped in paper and held it high to the cheers of his men. “Inform the kitchens, the 75th will eat well tonight.” He pointed to Meadows. “And these comrades get the first pick.” Setting it back in the cooler, he looked at the man. “How did you get this?”
“We found it and a couple more in a van some old Tharcian was driving,” he said. “We got his out of him and some valuable intel that we confirmed.” Kennedy raided an eyebrow.
“Oh?” Meadows grinned.
“The VEF,” he said. “He told us where they’re set up at.”
Reiter scrawled notes onto his notepad as Lieutenant Colonel Hawke spoke. After repeating his new mission back to the regiment commander, the other man nodded.
“Yeah, that’s the list of it,” he replied. His senior’s uniforms held up as well as his own had, save he wore a garrison jacket with the sleeves rolled up and a ball cap with the regimental crest on the front and his rank on the side. “I know it seems like we’re a secondary front, with the stuff going on North and Northeast of us, but the brass definitely think its important.” Reiter smiled.
“Is that true? Or did you drink the tea?” he asked.
Hawke grinned and shook his head as he walked around the map table. “I’ll put it to ya this way,” he said. “Major Starnes assigned your company this mission.” Mentioning the Marshall’s aide caused Reiter to pause.
“Well shit,” he replied. “I guess I’ll inform my company and start planning.” Hawke nodded, and he left the command tent with his notepad. It didn’t take him long to get back to Fox company’s area. The Lowe sat in the camp center, still impressive even when kneeling in a pit. Dropping his notepad in his hammock, hung from the knee and elbow of his panzerter. After dripping some canteen water onto the back of his head, he ran his fingers through his wet hair, trying to get most of the dirt out.
As he shook his head to dry, he began looking for his leaders. Panzerter-Sergeant Mondragon was the easiest to find as he slept in his panzerter’s hand. His standard Panzerter IV utilized some spare parts from the Lowe to reinforce its armor, giving it a bulkier appearance than most of the other units.
“Hey Mo, where’re the others?” he asked. The younger man mumbled as he stirred. Gently, Reiter pushed on the hand, causing it to sway and roll Mo out of the palm. Hitting the ground with a thud, Mo groaned.
“Damn it sir,” he said. “I just got comfortable.” Reiter shook his head.
“Sorry bud,” he replied. “But we have a big mission to plan, where’s everyone else?” Mo rubbed his head before replying.
“I dunno about Major, but Amy’s supervising repairs, Webb’s people are racked out, and Wess was going to try to take a field shower,” he said. A shrill scream echoed nearby. The two men ran around Mo’s panzerter to see a bare leg lash out from between a pair of tarps and strike Sergeant Smith in the gut.
The kid doubled over in pain. “I’m sincerely sorry,” he groaned. Wesser’s head emerged from the tarps and glared at the y
oung man.
“Knock next time,” she said. “Or announce yourself, I could have been sleeping. You can’t just walk into a woman’s space Smith.” She looked up at Mo and Reiter, her soaked red hair framing her small face. “Something going on, sir?”
“As soon as you 're dressed and Smith’s done peeing blood, we have a mission to plan,” he said. “A big one.” It didn’t take long after rounding up the others. As soon as Webb, Stovepipe, Rudman, Ausgebucht, Mo, Steele, and Wesser gathered around his map, he turned on his red lamp in the fading sunlight and looked at his notes.
“Listen up,” he said. “Somewhere in the mountains near here, the Union has some kind of lab compass and repair facility. Our job is to locate said lab, gather any intel we can and either capture or destroy the rapid facility along with the lab.”
“Why would the Union set up a lab in our backyard?” Mo asked. “Don’t they have plenty of room in their homeland or I dunno their space colonies?”
“There’s a couple of reasons actually,” Wesser replied. “It could be something they don’t want near their own people, it could be ethical, it could be too dangerous for a colony or something they couldn’t get into orbit before bombing wrecked their orbital elevator.”
Reiter nodded. “There’s a number of facilities they could have used. According to our old friend Majo Starnes, there’s a bunch of old missile defense and research facilities deep inside these mountains.”
“So they’re secretly testing missiles?” Major asked.
“We would have noticed that,” Webb replied. “Missiles aren’t exactly subtle.”
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