Enemy Front

by T. E. Butcher

  As soon as he sequestered himself, he pulled up his maps and all the data related to these so-called mountain troops. And then he began drawing his plans.

  4

  Adamski had felt with plenty of officers before. Except for his immediate leaders, he typically just said whatever he had to make them go away. The regimental commander, full of himself as he was, fit the bill entirely. He squirmed in his uncomfortable seat, struggling to get comfortable.

  “Now this is the important piece,” he said. “Brave Company will seize the high ground overlooking Turhita, that will allow us to range in artillery and break up the salient around the city.” He pointed at the map. “From there, Avenger, Crusader, and Dragon company will rush to take the center of the city, it’s crucial that this happens in a matter of hours not days.” Adamski furrowed his brow at the plan. “Any questions?”

  He raised his hand, earning a scowl from Bartonova and the Latent Col. “Yes, sir, I do,” he said. “Our company is going to be exposed on the approach to the heights. Will we get an artillery barrage or a drone flyover before we move on them?”

  The commander shook his head. “Until you people can range in the artillery, we won’t use them for fear they might knock down buildings and create cover for enemy infantry.” We’ll take big losses if we advance like that though. He looked around the room. Most of the regimental staff were long nodded off. None of the officers in the room looked anywhere close to his age. Great, these are probably test pilots, aggressor pilots, and trainers, all thrown in here to plus up our numbers while more forces are trained.

  The RCO dismissed them, and as he left with Bartonova, he pondered the situation. That RCO probably earned his position almost the same way Reiter earned his, except this guy probably saw a desk his whole career. He sighed, earning a look from Bartonova.

  “Is something bothering you?” She asked. Adamski looked over his shoulder and nodded.

  “Actually yes,” he said. “Not only does that man not know what he’s doing, but he’s seriously underestimating the Union.” Bartonova frowned, but remained respectful.

  “How so?” she asked.

  Holding up a finger, Adamski walked back with her towards their barracks. “For starters, their close air support is far more accurate than he gives them credit for, and their dropships are loaded to the gills with weapons.” He shook his head. “Hell, their dropships killed my old platoon sergeant, and one of my best friends.” He looked away for a moment. “And they have two sets of tinhats. One is roughly comparable to our mark IVs, but the other one is a monster.”

  “I’ve seen some video,” Bartonova said. “but never in person. Are they really that tough?” Adamski nodded.

  “The first time I encountered them, I watched as one killed our E Company down to a man,” he said. “Our weapons barely scratched it until we got to about 600 meters.” He shook his head. “Don’t even get me started on the fatman.” Bartonova flashed a cool smile.

  “Well, you guys went up against them in aging panzerters. Our machines are state-of-the-art,” she said. “I’m confident we’ll turn things around.” The first sergeant took a deep breath.

  “It’s good to be confident,” he said. “But you need to have realistic expectations of your enemy.” Bartonova sneered.

  “Realistic expectations would be tinhats falling to the Tiger’s weapons in droves,” she said. Lord, she’s going to die.

  “Ma’am, with all do respect,” Adamski said. “Can’t you see the reason you’re here is that so many other officers are dead? Your sister and brother are both dead because of how dangerous the enemy is! If that doesn’t clear it up for you, I don’t know what will.”

  She stretched, yawning. “We’ll begin our own plans tomorrow, but I need some sleep,” she said. “Good night First Sergeant.” And with a coy smile, she slipped into her room. I hate this. She looks and sounds so much like her sister, but damn, is she stubborn. Adamski rubbed his head before making his way to his own room.

  I’m not going to be able to save everybody. The RCO, her, they’re all going to get us killed. Faces and names flowed past him. Lugosi smoking a cigarette while a hanger collapsed into flames around him and Varga. Bartonova smiling sweetly, just because her last thought was Steele was safe, before a plasma sword opened her cockpit and vaporized her her. Stanca’s panzerter being swiftly dismantled by a tinhat.

  Szilard and the rest of those kids, the four that joined them before the battle of three rivers. Adamski struck the wall next to his bed. Tears welled up in his eyes. I’m sorry, I couldn’t save you. Any of you. Gingerly, he removed his legs and lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

  He rolled onto his side and stared at the wall. She’ll learn, she’ll have to or she won’t last, no matter how powerful her panzerter is, it won’t matter if she can’t lead troops or strategize. He rolled onto his stomach and pulled his pillow over his head. I need to get some sleep, I need to bring my A-game tomorrow and most of these soldiers haven’t seen combat yet.

  In the distance, Artillery rumbled. Shells traveled somewhere, seeking death. The sound by itself should have soothed him, but instead, Adamski wondered if their base was in artillery range. We’re definitely in drone range, let’s just hope they don’t have any interdictors.

  Wearily, he closed his eyes. The simple action made him realize how much they stung. Maybe I should have asked not to be rushed back to the front. Rolling onto his back, he stretched himself as much as he could. While artillery continued to rumble, Adamski felt himself drifting off and before he knew it, he fell asleep.

  “I don’t see why all of this is necessary,” Hausnerr said. Overhead, stars filled the sky as he made his way through the courtyard with Starnes. “Do you really think the traitor will be this close to the front?”

  “We have no way of knowing how far the traitor’s ring extends,” the Major replied. “Moving the pickup time for the car reduces any risk we would take leaving in the morning like the PAO stated.” Hausnerr nodded reluctantly. Despite the inconvenience, the plan made sense. Originally, he’d wanted to keep his frontline inspection low-key. Instead, the headquarters of the 9th Armored Division had widely touted his prince and made a huge deal out of him being there.

  Typical of the average headquarters type, sycophants and hangers-on. He smiled in spite of his annoyance at his aide’s irritating behavior. His predecessor made it known that the Major often disagreed with him over a whole range of matters. Whereas Skara desired a footstool, Hausnerr appreciated the sounding board. Suddenly, a phrase from his father echoed in his mind.

  “You know Starnes,” he said. “I just remembered an old saying my father used. You can’t see the picture if you’re in the frame.” The shorter man paused and scratched his chin.

  “Hmm, you think we’re too close to the situation?” He asked. Hausnerr nodded. “Hmm, maybe we’ll have to bring in outside resources.” He looked around. “I think the MPs at the capitol could be easily compromised.” A chilly wind blew through the courtyard. The manor the 9th division headquartered itself at proved to be the most intact building capable of housing them. Incidentally, the most luxurious as well.

  His gaze drew up to the outer walls of the courtyard. Patrols walked along the walls, but they seemed lulled into complacent, only occasionally checking their surroundings. This area was in Union hands up until a week ago, probably too soon to get relaxed. The thought brought another issue to the marshall’s attention.

  “Starnes, do you know if there’s any Union sympathizers here?” he asked. The shorter man paused and shook his head.

  “I don’t think there are any that would do anything,” he said. “Funny enough, most of the vocal Unionists are far away from the border with them. That being said, they could have easily left infiltrators in their wake as they retreated.” Shadows danced on the walls outside the courtyard as the driverless car rolled up the drive.

  “Right on schedule,” Starnes said. Hausnerr shivered as a chill wind sw
ept through the long courtyard.

  “When’s it supposed to warm up around here?” he asked. “We’re nearly halfway through spring!”

  Starnes chuckled. “It is rather chilly here. You can blame bad storms coming off the Boreal Ocean,” he said. Hausnerr grabbed the man’s shoulder.

  “Wait, there’s something else we need to do,” he said, stopping the man about ten meters from the car, luggage in their hands.

  “What’s that, sir?” the Major asked. Hausnerr jerked a thumb back at the manor.

  “Midnight chow in the mess,” he replied. “Let’s get a sandwich and a few drinks for the road.” Starnes hesitated for a moment and then set his bags down.

  “You know what, that sounds like a good idea,” he said. “I had to call the car at the last minute and I don’t think it came with drinks or snacks.” As they turned around to walk back to the manor, Hausnerr chuckled.

  “Watch us leave the car and walk right into an assassin,” he said. Starnes shook his head, but he grinned.

  “Wouldn’t that just be our luck?” he replied. “I mean, I survived an airship crash, but not a trip to the kitchen. Fuck me, am I-“

  A roar shook Haussner’s bones and rattled his ears. His body shot forward as if a giant had kicked him across the stony yard. The ground rushed towards him. His teeth chip and cracked as the impact slammed his jaw shut and drove his face into the ground.

  His ears rang. He fumbled around. Feeling the side of his head, he found it covered in blood, though he couldn’t find the source. Something echoed against the ringing. A distant hum. He looked up to see flames dancing across the front of the courtyard.

  Shadows rushed across the yard. Debris littered the ground. Something echoed nearby, yet faraway. His teeth, ears and eyes all hurt, his eyes most of all. As the shadows rushed toward him, he attempted to stand, but his body violently protested. He vomited something war and then everything was dark.

  “We still haven’t heard from the Gerbirgsjagers in a few days,” Irving said as she sat on the edge of Kennedy’s bed. In the dark of early dawn, Kennedy sat up against the wall reading the reports from last night.

  “Just long enough to lull our forces into complacency,” he said as he read the recon platoon’s report. “I want any of the infantry company to dig some positions of their own, and work on concealing them.”

  “You don’t want them to use the positions the enemy already dug?” She asked, before catching herself. “Oh, you don’t want to use them because the enemy already knows where they are.”

  Kennedy nodded. “They probably have some kind of backdoor into the village,” he said. “I want the sewer blocked or mined, and the village needs to be thoroughly searched.” He paused, then looked up. “Have the Red Guards and the artillery crews help with all of that. I want the infantry to be in top four tonight.”

  Irving shifted forward on the bed. “You expect an attack?” He nodded.

  “It’s what I would do,” he replied before setting the reports down. “Has Dr Weathers gotten back to us yet?” When Irving shook his head, he scowled. “I’ll make a personal trip to his lab myself if I have to, but he needs to understand if we fall back from here, he must destroy that lab.” He reached over and grabbed a bottle of orange juice he’d left on the nightstand.

  “Our supply situation isn’t great either,” Irving replied. “We had to strip what parts and ammo we could off those damaged machines, but we’ll need another supply run from the dropships before too long.” Kennedy exhaled after downing the entire bottle.

  “I expect our offensive to resume in the summer,” he said. “We just need to help keep the pressure off Pulaski long enough for that offensive to happen.” He cracked his neck as he stretched. “With the Milita act passing, veterans being recalled, and the space territories giving us fresh troops, I fully expect us to crush the Tharcians by the end of the year.”

  With a frown, Irving folded her arms and stood. Seeing her pale legs brought a smile to Kennedy’s face and distracted from her demeanor. “Without the space elevator, we won’t be able to bring any of those forces to bear,” she said. “And last I heard, it wouldn’t be operational again until late fall.”

  Kennedy stood and began to put his uniform on. “We just need to hold out for six months against an equally exhausted foe,” he said. Irving shook her head.

  “They’re just getting started,” she said. “We might have a massive population base to pull from, but once their economy becomes fully mobilized for war, it’ll go uphill for us quick.” He patted her on the head as he pulled his jacket over his head.

  “Then we don’t let them get that far,” he said. “Now, let’s get down to the war room and hail our good doctor.” After dressing, the pair walked down a grand staircase to the main level. Across the hall from them, a soldier in a pilot’s uniform swept the floor with his headphones in.

  Kennedy raised his eyebrow as the young man sang a pop song loudly while working, even pausing to use the end of the broom as a microphone. He looked at Irving who smiled inspire of herself at the young man’s ridiculous behavior. Shaking his head, he cleared his throat.

  The young man spasmed and dropped the broom immediately, looking franticly around until he spotted them. “Oh, Comrade Colonel! Comrade Major! I didn’t see you there!”

  “Evidently,” Kennedy replied. “You’re with Harpy Company, aren’t you?” The young man snapped a smart salute.

  “Guard-Corporal Chris Dixon, I’m our recoilless rifleman, comrade!” he said.

  Irving shook her head. “Let’s hope your weapon skills are better than your vocal skills,” she said. “You make a sound only a mother could love.”

  “I don’t have a mother,” Dixion said. Now it was Kennedy’s turn to chuckle as Irving suddenly blushed.

  “I apologize,” she said. “It was wrong of me to assume.”

  Dixion shook his head. “No need to comrade, I’m merely stating a fact,” he said. “It’s sixty-five degrees and I have no parents.” Kennedy looked at him again. Suddenly Dixion seemed a lot younger. He’s probably still a teenager.

  He nodded and stood a little straighter. “Comrade Corporal, if anybody gives you trouble about being a tuber, you let me directly know, alright? Come straight to the war room,” he said. “Now carry on, even with your terrible singing.” With a grin, the young man saluted and returned to his work.

  “You know what’s fascinating?” Irving said. Kennedy shrugged as they entered the repaired war room.

  “I don’t know, you tell me,” he said as he sat down at the map table and pulled up a tablet to open a line to Dr Weathers.

  “You military tubers are more well, human,” she said. “But laborers, like fishers, loggers, and farmers, they’re all so docile and just do what they’re told, it’s honestly a little sad.” Kennedy paused before he could open communications. While he long planned on liberating all tubers after the war, he never really thought about the tubers he never interacted with. To him, they just didn’t exist until someone brought them up.

  Shaking his head, he refocused on his pad. “I guess the need for self preservation allows us to think more flexibly,” he said. “I don’t know, it’s a half cocked theory I just came up with. Maybe after all of this we can edit their training or genes to let them think normally.”

  “But what if that makes them worse at their job?” Irving asked. It came and went in a flash, but Kennedy had a sudden thought as he realized why the Tharcians had a problem with the process that made tubers. Who are they to decide that? Shaking his head, he cleared his mind and called Weathers.

  Bringing the Lowe to a run. Reiter rounded the low hill with his gun up. Three tinhats, focused on the opposite side of the hill, noticed him too late. His rifle flashed something fierce. Rounds releases in controlled pairs punched each tinhats ticket.

  Eight wheeled armored personnel carriers attempted to flee. Reiter brought his new shoulder cannons to bear. With the sound of a massive sheet of can
vas being torn, the 35-mm rounds perforated the thin armor of the APCs. As the smoldering wrecks burned on the road out of the town, the infantry they’d left behind staged a last stand in a storage center at the edge of town.

  Reiter blasted the building with a couple of smoke grenades. Blinded, the infantry inside couldn’t see Weber’s platoon approach from the woodline. Rifles clattered in the streets and a few rockets slammed into the building. Reiter kept his rifle on the storage center, prepared to send a six-hundred pound round through it at any given moment.

  “Fox 6, Blue 1, we’ve cleared the objective,” Webb said. “Looks like we got locals coming out to celebrate.” As tired as he was, Reiter couldn’t help but smile.

  “Good, let’s hope for some of that good old Sylvannian hospitality,” he replied. “I’m going to clear the wrecks off the road so they can use it again, then I’ll join you.” It didn’t take him long at all to lift and dump the shattered APCs out of the way. When he finished, he looked to notice a group of young boys waving at him. Humoring them, he waved back with one of the Lowe’s massive hands.

  Carefully maneuvering inside the small town, he took a knee in the parking lot of a church. Locals already gathered around the black panzerter as he descended from the cockpit. Young women threw themselves at him. Older women handed him bread or baskets of fruit while men tried to shake his hand or hand him beer.

  “No thank you,” he said to one elderly man. “I can’t exactly drink and drive.” The old man chuckled and instead thrust his hand at him to shake. When Reiter pulled his hand back, he found two twenty Krone notes inside. Before he could protest, the old man vanished.

  “Hey sir!” Holtslander cried. The drop trooper had a local girl under each arm. “I’d say we’re pretty popular around here.” He pointed directly at him. “This man isn’t just any pilot, ladies you’re looking at the Black Lion himself.”