Enemy Front

by T. E. Butcher

  Fletcher immediately stopped and came to attention. “You need something, ma’am?”

  “Yes,” Bartonova said as she stepped into her space. “My quarters, 1900, you’re going to tell me everything about the MAG and the Union army.”

  Every time I do this, the waiting is the hardest part. Kennedy sat alone in his Martian Commander. Drumming his fingers on his command matrix, he looked from the map to his sensors and back again. He could see the two platoons of Martian Troopers moving onto the objective. Maybe the defenders left?

  Suddenly, the world changed with a crack. Then another. And another. His sensors flared brightly before whiting out, hurting his eyes.

  “I can’t see!” One pilot cried.

  “Don’t panic,” Fournier said. “Ease off the objective, switch cameras, then we’ll-” A scream and a hiss of static interrupted the man as Kennedy heard explosions in front of him. He switched over to his IR-enhanced feed.

  Four troopers burned. Kennedy had no idea if the pilots were alive or not. “What the hell happened?” He asked. “We need to-“

  A brief flash caught his attention. Another Trooper doubled over as its ammo cooked off. Kennedy grit his teeth.

  “They have missile launchers in the tree line, eleven o’clock,” Kennedy said. Tracers and laser fire stabbed into the woods. When no missile laden vehicles went up in a ball of fire, Kennedy ordered a ceasefire. We’re being played. “Everyone calm down,” he said. “Continue the mission.”

  He advanced slowly, using the 360 degree sensors to their fullest. Something’s off. The report didn’t include missiles and we still don’t know where those panzerters are. Then he spotted it. A Barn. Inconspicuously tucked near a corpse of trees.

  Green light filled the night as he let his strobe laser go to work on the wooden structure. The weathered timber burst into flames and smoke. Kennedy suspected the structure had stood for generations, only to crumble in seconds. As the flames began to glare on his display, he still didn’t see any panzerters.

  Another trick? A stream of shells lanced out from beyond the bright flames.

  “Contact!” a pilot cried. Kennedy noticed movement in the trees beyond the barn. Incidentally, the fire from the burning barn still obscured the Tharcians.

  “Push through!” Kennedy said. “Leave the panzerters to Harpy!” As the two wings of the attack rushed past the panzerters, each member of Kennedy’s force gave the Tharcians a parting shot. Kennedy himself fired wildly over the flames when he noticed Harpy coming along behind him.

  As One half of the company moved, the other laid down suppressing fire. They continued moving like this, and Kennedy left them to finish their fight while he guided the rest of the battle.

  “Where are the entrenchments?” Someone asked. Kennedy furrowed his brow.

  “If they aren’t precisely where the map said, then don’t overthink it,” he said. “Harpy is actively engaged. We don’t have time to solve a mystery.” As they pushed through to the village proper, Kennedy found himself noticing shallow, empty entrenchments. Where are they?

  He directed the two companies to form up their sections of the perimeter. On his command matrix, he could see the Tharcians falling back away from harpy company. Yet still no sign of the infantry. Suddenly, a Martian Trooper stumbled. Its foot shredded in a cloud of debris.

  “Is this place mined?” one pilot called.

  “Walker’s down!” Another cried.

  “We’ll recover him soon,” Kennedy said. “Jericho 6, you’re clear to move up.” His eyes danced over the very shop, every homestead, every alleyway he could see. They could be anywhere and nowhere. “Be advised, we still haven’t made contact with the enemy infantry.”

  It’s possible they could have just let us have the village. Maybe they felt this one piece of terrain wasn’t worth a pointless sacrifice. But then why bother defending it in the first place? As Kennedy stirred his thoughts, he considered what he would do in the same situation.

  No matter how skilled they are, there’s not a lot infantry can do against a panzerter. Our most likely course of action was also our most dangerous, bring all the panzerters in a concentrated attack. He scratched his chin as he stayed alert. So they wouldn’t let themselves become decisively engaged. Hit and run tactics. Misdirection.

  “Harpy 6,” Kennedy said. “Were any of your people able to get eyes on the enemy?”

  “Negative Reaper 6,” Captain Rodgers replied, her gentle voice belying the firepower her company possessed. “We exchanged some weapons fire, but never got positive ID.” Hm.

  “Reaper 6, Jericho 6,” Spears said. “We have a problem.”

  “Go ahead for 6,” Kennedy replied.

  “We’ve got a downed tree in the road,” Spears replied. “We’re about 100 meters away, but this tree is perfectly perpendicular to the road.” Kennedy sighed.

  “Have you kicked out dismounts?” he asked.

  “They’re securing our flanks,” Spears replied. “Just in case there’s an ambush ahead.”

  “I don’t like you sitting on that highway by yourselves,” Kennedy said. “You’re sitting ducks out there, Harpy. Break off a platoon to go move the obstacle and flush out any potential ambushes.” The longer we stay out here, the less I like it. He realized the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding while waiting for the inevitable contact.

  After several long moments, Harpy reported the obstacle had been cleared and Jericho was on the move with the AA again. No enemy contact. They’re out here somewhere. Kennedy’s eyes began rummaging through the village again. They’re probably lying low, gathering information.

  Hearing the low rumble of the Capricorns allowed him to relax to an extent. “Jericho 6, Reaper 6,” he said. “Keep your tracks on the perimeter, but sweep the village proper, its too quiet out here.” They could be hiding in the village, waiting for us to reduce our presence here. While Spear’s men rummaged through building after building, Kennedy heard a low crump, followed by screams.

  “They left a present in this homestead,” Spears says. “Squad leaders are telling me looks like an improvised explosive.” IEDs? That’s low, cowardly even, but admittedly practical. Kennedy was about to have the homestead cordoned off when he heard gunfire in the distance.

  “All units, who’s in contact?” He asked.

  “Comrade, it’s coming from southwest,” Spears said. Kennedy’s stomach twisted itself in knots as he looked southwest. Towards his home base.

  Reiter felt a pang of loss, not necessarily for the dead man in front of him, though his circumstances were likely tragic, but for Viola Bartonova. As he looked the over the dead National, he couldn’t help but think of the charming woman piecing the whole thing together. “We had a soldier at the beginning of the war. She was a forensic lab tech,” he said. “She could have given us some answers.”

  Webb put a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, man,” the drop trooper replied, before kneeling next to him. “I’m no forensic scientist, but I am an archeologist, so I might be able to help us some.” Holtslander snorted.

  “No offense sir, but wouldn’t he have to be, I don’t know, like, a hundred years deader for you to figure something out?”

  Webb wagged a finger at the other man as he looked over at the dead man. “Belive it our not. We use a lot of the same techniques, mainly deductive reasoning,” he said. “Though I consider myself more of an adventure archeologist rather than an egghead.” He looked at the man’s legs. “Looks like his femoral artery got knocked, probable gunshot wounds to his left leg and both buttocks.”

  “So he was running from something,” Reiter said. “And he was injured.” He looked over at the stains leading into the room on the dusty floors. “Bled to death?”

  “Most likely,” Webb said. He ran a hand across the man’s arms. “His muscles are atrophied, he was in good health fairly recently, but he’s been worked nearly to death, his hands have hard callouses like he was using tools.” He took a closer
look at the man’s hands, switching to a white light to get a better look. “And that’s interesting, he has no fingerprints.”

  “Could the Union have done that?” Holtslander asked. “In case something happened, he couldn’t be identified?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past them,” Webb said. “They’re pretty ruthless when it comes to their goals.” He reached between the man’s hands and picked up a switchblade knife. The easily concealable kind. “Of course, I have another theory.”

  “He’s a spy,” Reiter said. “And if that were the case…” Webb put on his gloves and stuck a hand in the dead man’s mouth.

  “What do you know, an otherwise perfectly healthy thirty something with dentures,” he said. “Now why would that be?” He picked up the knife and examined it. “The blade is covered in wood shavings.” They looked around and eventually their lights found a row of broken wooden bed frames. “Eureka.”

  They rummaged through the broken frames for what seemed like hours. Reiter was about to give up when Holtslander whistled. He held a small chunk of bed frame triumphantly over his head. As Reiter took the piece from him, he looked it over and found why Holtslander had got his attention.

  Winona. 56345 78542. Reiter ruminated on what it meant. “That’s a ten digit grid,” he said. “Webb, do you have your map handy?” Webb handed him his map and Reiter spears it out on the ground. Holtslander tossed him a protractor and Reiter sat down.

  “Are we sure it’s going to be on your map?” the sergeant asked. “They could use an entirely different grid reference for this area. We don’t even have any map identifiers for that code.”

  “Well, there’s 56, and there’s 78,” Reiter said. “So we do have that grid on our map and it is-” He moved the protracted and stopped. “It’s one of the two locations we didn’t investigate.” He stood up and folded the map away before handing it back to Webb.

  “So whatever Winona is, it’s there?” Holtslander asked as stood up. Reiter nodded before looking at the body.

  “Have your men wrap this body tip in a tarp or something, we’ll call the birds and have him sent back,” Reiter said. “Whatever information he was trying to convey, he died to get it out there. He deserves to have his body returned to his people.” Holtslander acknowledged and called for a few more of their men.

  As They returned to the surface, Reiter heard the distant sound of artillery. Somewhere out in the night, someone was fighting. It’s just a natural part of the night at this point. As he climbed back into the Lowe, his back cracked in the now worn seat. He closed his cockpit hatch. At last, solitude. Reiter furrowed his brow. No, there’s one more thing I need to take care of.

  “Fox 6, Black 4, private line,” he said. He waited in the silence for Mo to acknowledge. For a moment, sleep threatened to overtake him when Mo’s voice clicked on in his headset.

  “Hey, sir, is everything good?” he asked.

  “You tell me Mo,” he said. “Care to explain why you’ve been so hard on your new pilot and Smith?” The younger man sighed.

  “Smith, I was more angry because he was rude,” Mo said. “He’s supposed to be a grown man, he can’t be pulling back privacy curtains.” Reiter chuckled.

  “I think Wesser’s foot sent him the message loud and clear,” he replied. “Now about your new pilot.” The line went quiet for a moment.

  “I have to be,” Mo said. “The enemy isn’t going to treat her with kid gloves, so why should I? Besides, she’s annoying, and overly eager for combat, and snarky.”

  “Sound like the twins,” Reiter replied, which got a delayed chuckle out of Mo.

  “You know, I didn’t notice it until you said something,” Mo said. “Damn, maybe I can be a little less harsh.” Reiter smiled for a bit in his cockpit.

  “So what is this I hear about you wanting to marry Amy?” he said. “Because if I recall correctly, you told Gos and Adamski she was just your friend.”

  “Yeah, she’s my friend,” Mo replied. “My sweet, understanding friend I want to spend the rest of my life with.” He paused, probably blushing to himself in his cockpit. “I just want us to retake our home first.” Reiter sighed and looked northward.

  “One day, bud, one day,” he said.

  Kennedy returned to find his base in flames. About half of his self-propelled guns burned as the scout cars raced about, assisting with scattered gunfights. My staff. Our Maps. Our Computers. He growled and unleashed his strobe laser on clusters of infantry assaulting one of the out towers. Jericho Company raced ahead of the panzerters, disgorging auto cannon fire and riflemen into the fray.

  “Any Reaper elements, damage report,” he cried. No answer. As the infantry stormed their own base, Kennedy directed the panzerters to secure the perimeter. All told, they locked down all sides exit the section facing a cliff face. After a while, Spears called him up.

  “All clear, we can begin damage control,” he said.

  “All units, prioritize sensitive areas, then your personal spaces,” Kennedy said. “He walked his Martian over to the field hanger and dismounted. Just in case, he grabbed his machine pistol. Rushing into the resort, he found only a few spaces had been set ablaze. Most likely diversions. He ran to the war room to find the door riddled with bullet holes. Three dead Tharcians lay in front of the door. No. No. No.

  Slamming his shoulder into the heavy wooden double doors, he found them stuck fast. After a few more attempts, and the doors swung wide open. With a shrill cry, Irving stood there with a rifle raised, clicking away at an empty magazine.

  “Ivy, it’s just me,” he said. When she was done screaming, Irving threw her gun down and ran towards him.

  “No one’s taking me again,” she sobbed. “I won’t let anyone take me again.” Kennedy caught her in a bear hug.

  “It’s ok,” he said. “No one’s taking you, not on my watch.” He let her sob a little more before getting to business. “What’s the damage?”

  “I protected our more sensitive drives,” she said. “And all of our maps and overlays, but they shot the rest of your staff, and they captured the Operations Sergeant.” Kennedy groaned.

  “Damn, that’s a lot,” he said.

  Irving’s eyes watered again. “It happened so fast,” she said. “We had our security patrolling outside, but none suspected they’d come up the cliff face to attack us.” Well, that explains where the infantry went.

  “We underestimated them,” Kennedy groaned. “Why does this keep happening? Every time we face the Tharcians, they’re either far stronger, smarter, better prepared, or better equipped than we’re led to believe.” He growled and struck a wooden panel in the wall. The imitation lumber crumpled under his meaty fist. “From now on, we’ll just assume they have the advantage in every engagement. We can’t afford to keep stepping on our dicks like this.”

  “I understand,” Irving said as she draped an arm around his broad shoulders. Kennedy shook his head.

  “We had panzerters, advanced weapons, and we knew where they were!” he cried. “They had two sticks and a rock!” He took a deep breath and struggled for composure. “They really are elite.”

  “We’ve never fought them before,” she said. “But now that we’ve seen their arsenal, their preferred methods of fighting, we also know their weaknesses.” Kennedy nodded and stood.

  “Direct engagement. They ran when the panzerters and infantry came back,” he said. “They likely over-match our own infantry, but they’re not going to sit around and fight it out with panzerters.” He took another deep breath. “An associate of comrade Chaney, Dr. Weathers, has established a lab not too far from here. We need to tell him to prepare for it to be destroyed if compromised.”

  Irving blinked quickly. “A lab? In Tharcian territory?” She asked. “What could he possibly be working on?” Kennedy shrugged.

  “He’s supposed to be working on a strain of supergroups that would make food shortages a thing of the past,” Kennedy replied. “But what he’s doing in a fortress lab in th
e ass end of Tharcians mountains I have no idea.” Likely something he shouldn’t be. With a deep sigh, he looked around. “Well, let’s start repairing our base, and get a patrol back out of the village. Meyer got her highway, but at what cost?”

  “A steep one,” Irving replied. “But not impossible.” She helped him to his feet, and they looked around the war room. “It’s going to take some time to set all of this up again.”

  Kennedy nodded. “I know,” he replied. “Well, find capable soldiers from within our own ranks. We will come back from this. he left Irving to tend to the war room. He walked around their tattered base to survey the damage.

  Their artillery batteries had been hardest hit, with the heavy gun battery losing half its guns, and the missiles losing a vehicle as well. However, his air defenses and air assets remained relatively intact, and the recon platoon had only lost a few dismounted scouts. Of the panzerters, five had been damaged or destroyed, but the damaged pair could be repaired with what they had. The infantry lost about five riflemen, but otherwise looked pretty good. For all the purported damage, much of it had been superficial.

  The main blow is going to be morale. I’ll have to sit down with my officers and let them know we need to put on brave faces for everyone. At the edge of his vision, he saw Khan and Snow helping some infantry clear rubble. He had to admit, he was proud of how well they’d been integrating with the rest of his battalion. The Red Guards had taken the death of their leader pretty harshly, but it was good to see them isolating themselves less.

  If only I hadn’t sent them out on patrol, then maybe they would’ve scared of those mountain soldiers. Kennedy shook his head. There was no use dwelling on those thoughts. It was unbecoming of an officer and a leader. Turning back towards the war room, he bypassed the space in favor of his office.