Enemy Front

by T. E. Butcher

  “Come again?” Rosetti asked. “You want us to do what?”

  “Get inside,” Wesser said. “They’re using it as some kind of lab clearly. We get inside, gather information, sabotage what we can, and then call home to tell them we’re alive.” She sat down next to Rosetti. “We find schematics, plans, something, those crazy panzerters have to have some kind of weakness.”

  Holtsander called over a few soldiers and sent them to patrol the perimeter, looking for more survivors and a way into the mountain facility if they could find any. Then he sat down near the pilots.

  “You all might want to get some shuteye,” he said. “We’re going to be in for a long day tomorrow.” Tentatively, Mo took a seat next to Rosetti, opposite Wesser.

  “Do you think Amy and the Captain are ok?” He asked. “And Smith?”

  Wesser sighed. “I don’t know,” she said. “I thought I heard artillery when I got out of my machine, but it could have been Steele doing her thing.” She stretched as she tried to get comfortable. “I did see a lot of dead tinhats when I ran by though.” Mo nodded.

  “Yeah, I saw a couple, but I was mostly dazed. I think I pulled my neck when my panzerter went down,” he said before groaning some more. “Everything hurts.” Suddenly, he felt a weight on his shoulder.

  Glancing over, he saw Rosetti passed out on him, snoring away. Wesser let a small chuckle escape her lips. “I wish I could still fall asleep that easy,” she whispered. Mo looked at the slumbering soldier as a sad expression took over his features. She’s still mostly a kid. She shouldn’t be doing this. His thoughts turned to the cadet reinforcements, and he sighed. They were all kids, and most of them didn’t make it out of this province.

  His thoughts turned to Amy. He remembered almost every detail of their lives. They’d grown up together. Her family had been there when his father died in a logging accident, and again when his mother got cancer and began the long road to recovery. Her sister had babysat his sisters on numerous occasions, and they even decided to go to the local college over one of the bigger ones back east.

  I should have asked her already. They’d already known each other their whole lives. What was the rest of said lives to that? He mulled over the advice everyone had given him up to that point. Reiter said wait until they were winning the war. Wesser said specifically when they liberated their homes. Webb said to do what feels right while Stovepipe said to ask her father for permission. Holtslander said sign a prenup.

  He snorted when he felt Wesser’s head added to the weight of Rosetti’s on him. Next time I see her, I’ll ask her. I’m not going to risk dying without saying anything else to her.

  “While I appreciate the gesture,” Varujan Apostu started. “I can’t help but feel like there are ulterior motives to this.” Starnes shook his head. The two men stood in one of the way wings of Reinhardt’s family manor.

  “I can assure you, there’s a credible threat against your life,” he replied. “We negotiated this arrangement with the president, and she agreed that it would be best to keep you under the protection of her family while your campaign is investigated for traitors.” The older man stiffed. Having ditched his uniform, he instead wore a grey vest with dark slacks and a matching tie.

  “This is the kind of thing that happens in third world colonies,” he said. “But not in Tharsis, not in my beloved country.” Starnes waved a hand.

  “I’m not your voting demographic,” he said. “But I can tell you there are traitors even in the highest levels of office.” He leaned forward, opting to reveal an interesting bit of information. “Even as we speak, Hausnerr’s fighting for his life in a regeneration tank, assassin’s came after him.”

  The former operation chief blinked in surprise. “Why, I thought he was working remotely because of an illness!” He exclaimed.

  “You could say that,” Starnes said dryly. “He has carbombitis.”

  “A car bomb!” The Apostu shouted, his gray mustache twitching in anger. “A car bomb! A coward’s tools! They didn’t even have the gall to face him.” This doesn’t disqualify him, Starnes thought. He just seems more disappointed the assassin didn’t introduce himself to the man before attempting to kill him. Starnes stood and began pacing the room. His boots clicked on marble tiles as a fireplace burned in the corner.

  “This is why we need your cooperation,” he finally said. “Because these bastards are ruthless, they will destroy the very foundations of this country was built on with fear.” A loud chime echoed throughout the manor. Starnes thought it was a clock somewhere at first, until he realized it was the doorbell.

  “It seems madame President, or a member of her family, has a guest,” Apostu said. “A curious matter, don’t you think? With all of these rumors of assassins, shall we investigate?” This could be him trying to spy on the president’s affairs, or he’s innocent and earnestly trying to help in his own weird way.

  “Fine,” Starnes said. “We’ll go see who this is, ask them a few questions, then we come back here.” I probably shouldn’t let this guy out of my sight. They made their way past various staff butlers, maids, and retainers. Through winding halls and a few sets of double doors, they entered the main hall through a side foyer.

  The massive room was mostly marble slate gray, with streaks of black. A grand staircase filled most of the main hall, along with several rows of marble pillars. Vast paintings depicting the family’s history lined both sides of the wall.

  A young woman strode down the grand staircase, a stern look on her face. She wore a fashionable dress that left most of her form to the imagination and her boots clicked smarty on the staircase. She raised an eyebrow when she saw Starnes and the old operations chief before she nodded.

  “You must be my sister’s houseguests,” she said. “The soldier and the politician.” Starnes nodded while Apostu folded his arms.

  “Something like that,” he said. Then the realization clicked. This is the president’s sister. Apostu wasted no time getting to the point.

  “Miss, there are assassins afoot!” he said. “I implore you to allow us to screen your guest!” She looked at Starnes, who gyrated his hand to say “more or less.”

  “Union Assassins went after the Marshall,” he said. “There could be a high level traitor in our government or military.” He could be the drama queen behind me. She elegantly made her way to the floor and set her delicate hands on her waist.

  “Now that does seem quite problematic,” she said. “Though, I highly doubt Aleksander Bargiel is a union traitor.”

  “Aleksander Bargiel!” they both said in shock. The man was a legend in the political sphere. He’d founded the Sovereignty caucus that lead the Constitutionalists to a majority status for twenty years until about halfway through Reinhardt’s term.

  “Well, that’s quite the formidable guest,” Apostu said, his mustache quivering with respect. Starnes shook his head as a doorman opened the massive wooden doors for Aleksander Bargiel. He seemed to fill the grand hall as he entered, a cigar poking out under his own thick mustache.

  “Good Morning miss Reinhardt,” he said with a swampy voice. “It seems you have some guests.”

  13

  “We’ve cleared away forty-five percent of the debris out of the orbital elevator,” Chaney said. “Now our teams will slow clearing operations to begin repairing and stabilizing the damaged sections. We face a long road to recovery, but I’m confident we’ll have the elevator at twenty percent capacity by the end of summer.”

  “By the end of summer?” another general protested. “We have millions of ground troops training in space. What good are they if we can’t use them until the end of summer?” The newest Guards-Marshall, an imposing man appointed after his predecessor was deemed unproductive, shook his head.

  “Delivering them piecemeal isn’t a feasible solution,” he said. “We have them in established units. They know each other and have cohesion. I don’t want to disrupt that.” He looked over at Masterson, Chaney’s naval count
erpart. “You said we have a solution?”

  “I do,” Masterson said coyly before opening up a hologram. “This is the Torchbearer- class landing ship, a larger version of the assault ships we used to liberate space settlements.” He pulled up more data on the holographic table as they sat around. Most of these guys don’t have the context or background to understand half of what he’s showing them. This is all for show.

  “This is all well and good,” Chaney said. “But have you built one?” Masterson shook his head.

  “I still need the approval of the new fleet admiral,” he admitted. “But we’ve used advanced simulations to model its performance. According to simulations, it’s capable of surviving reentry into even Earth’s atmosphere and once landed can convert itself into a spacefaring harbor for landing craft and supply shuttles.”

  Chaney clapped his hands. “Bravo, you’ve shown us an incredible simulation,” he said. “But until you actually have one and perform space trials, you have no idea, hell, you’d need to test the orbital landing feature first, which would tip off the Tharcians and give them room to develop countermeasures.”

  Before Masterson could speak, the Guards Marshall held up a hand. “I’m afraid comrade Chaney is correct,” he said. “There’s just too much risk to Masterson’s proposal, it’s better we wait for the elevator to come back on line to land our troops.”

  “There’s another matter we must address soon,” the chief of citizen-military affairs said. “Prices are going up across the mainland for raw materials and basic goods on the civilian side. Price control laws mean we won’t be directly affected, but our civilian economy may have to absorb another hit on top of that devastating cyberattack.” Chaney nodded as several others murmured that indeed, stores were charging more for things as of late.

  “Will the upgrades to Los Estrellas and Phobos be affected?” The Admiral of the Home Fleet asked. “Because if they fall, we’ve effectively lost space, and space has lost the surface, a catastrophe for both ends.”

  The civil affairs chief shook her head. “The price increase is mainly on the mainland, and the raw materials needed are coming from space. That being said, a lot of the food comes from the surface.” She looked back and forth between Chaney and Masterson. “Any luck on the superfoods project? Because it would go a long way towards keeping food prices down.”

  Chaney tented his hands and looked directly at her. “I’m glad you asked,” he said. “Because I’ve been led to believe that Masterson has been hiding information from my team relevant to the superfoods project.” Masterson folded his arms and glared right back at Chaney.

  “I haven’t withheld any so called relevant information,” he said. “Only information that only the spacefarers need has been left out, more for ease of transmission.”

  The Guards-Marshall growled. “Masterson, share that information, or you will be sentenced to be shot,” he said. “There’s an entire other half of the war effort you’re hurting by withholding information that isn’t even original to you to begin with.” He sighed and straightened his tie. “Now for some unpleasant business, we need to solidify our relationship with Avalon.”

  That caught Chaney by surprise. Guess we’re giving Arthur IV a call then. “But, comrade,” an admiral asked. “They’re monarchists. Why would we try to get closer to them? They’re our ideological enemies!”

  “And right now, they’re the only ally we have that’s about as strong as we are on a military level,” he said. “And as much as I hate to admit it, we need their help to get over the hump, Centennial is buckling under air attack and the enemy stands at Eden’s Gate.” He held a hand to his head, swiping aside a few locks of hair to reveal a jagged scar. “And we all know how things went the last time that happened, we absolutely cannot afford to lose that beachhead.”

  “I still can’t believe that,” Amy Steele spat. “You could have been killed!” She rested her hands on her hips. “Lord knows where most of our pilots are.” Reiter sat on the edge of a collapsible cot, bandages circling his head and one of his biceps.

  “Well, I’m still here,” he said. “So I guess we’re still in the fight.” The Lowe on the other hand… not so much. The sophisticated machine had been smashed beyond repair. Beyond its arm, it had also lost most of both legs, its remaining rotary cannon, and most of its head. Fortunately, its nuclear turbine engine remained intact, as did Reiter’s heavily armored cockpit. Colonel Hawke had sent salvage teams via dropship to recover the body of the Lowe and send it back to Garden City Tech for an “Emergency refurbishment.”

  “We need to find them,” Steele said. “They’re out there somewhere, and we need to-”

  “Wait,” Reiter said. “We need to wait, for reinforcements, for a miracle, for something!” He grasped at his head and cracked his sore neck. “I’m sorry Amy, I just-” He slumped in his seat. In a moment, it felt like the weight of all the death and carnage was crushing him. All the people he’d led to their demise. All his fault. The cadets, like young saplings, torched before their time. And not a damn one of them made it out of their sector.

  He felt tears well up in his eyes. No, I have to be strong. I need to be the anchor in the storm for these guys. Sniffling, he wiped his eyes and got to his feet. When his eyes met Amy’s, he saw hers were red and dry from all the tears. Stepping forward, she wrapped him in a hug.

  “I know you’re right Amy,” he said. “But we need to regroup, we need to-” The sound of snapping trees and crashing brush started both of them. Without another thought, they both ran outside. Gun crews rushed to man the Cstalios while Steele bolted for her panzerter. As the silhouette approached their assembly area, Reiter cried out to her. She’s not going to make it.

  Stovepipe bounded over a vehicle, portable rocket in hand. A panzerter would barely feel it, but Reiter bet the other man gambled on distracting the metal giant as it emerged from the woods. And raised its hands as if to say don’t shoot. The hull number F-32 stood out to him.

  “Smith!” He cried. The panzerter kneeled down and popped its hatch. The young man lowered himself by a ladder, but a crowd of people already swarmed him. After Escaping Amy’s bear hug, he found himself beset by boogies from Stovepipe and Stromburg. Finally, Reiter approached him and ruffled his hair. “Well done, Smith. How did you get away?”

  “I hid in a lake,” he said. “I made a smoke screen like Mo taught me and submerged my panzerter.” Reiter raised an eyebrow.

  “They didn’t see you?” He asked. “Or even try to investigate?” Smith shook his head.

  “Not at all,” he replied. “By the time I was getting low on air, there was no sign of them anyway near me.” Reiter scrunched his head in thought.

  “Interesting,” he said. Then something else occurred to him. “Did anyone else notice enemy infantry, IFVs, or air support near these new panzerters?” The company grew silent for a moment as they replayed the last battle in their heads.

  “Now that you mention it, no,” Stovepipe said. “Even their friendly forces gave them plenty of space when they were about to deploy.” Reiter nodded, his thoughts racing a mile a minute.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said. “Would the other units interfere with some critical function? No, they way they gave them a wide berth, it’s almost like-” His eyes narrowed as he replayed the aggressive way these new enemies fought “-like its too dangerous to be near them.”

  “You have something, sir?” Smith asked. Reiter shook his head, still pacing around.

  “No, not yet,” he said. “But I have a hunch, I’ll need to talk to Colonel Hawke, and the team at Garden City tech, they took some of the debris from those machines, if I’m right, there’s something specific I want them to look for.” He patted Smith on the back. “But right now, you get some hot chow and wash up. Lord knows you earned it, Smith.”

  As the rest of the company walked with Smith towards their improvised mess area, Reiter turned to get in the Lowe and send a message to Hawke. Then he remembered the current stat
e of the machine and groaned.

  Kennedy kept a cigarette clamped firmly in his lips as he looked over the monsters in the war room. “Well, Weather’s field test went well,” he said. “Well enough, I’d like to congratulate the pilots themselves.” Irving raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re willing to plan a trip out that way?” she asked. “We have follow on missions to plan, not to mention the gaping hole in our lines.” She brought up more imagery and map overlays on the main screen. “Thanks to the good doctor, one company has been nearly destroyed, and another is badly maimed, just leaving their headquarters element, an infantry company, and one more panzerter company.”

  Nodding along, Kennedy took a long drag on his cigarette. “We’re not exactly in prime shape ourselves,” he said. “That being said, there’s blood in the water here.” He flicked his cigarette with his lips as he spoke. Irving bobbed her head in agreement.

  “So you want to go for the throat while we have the initiative?” she asked. Kennedy pointed to a pass set a few clicks back from the front-lines.

  “Here,” he said. “That’s where their headquarters will be, protected from attack in all but two directions and likely supplied by dropships.” He drew a long curving line away from their own base and towards one of the Tharcian companies. “We’ll create a diversion, convince this company we’ll hit their exposed flank, and then infiltrate the seam and hit their headquarters directly. To that end, I want our remaining rocket artillery to deploy minefields to this end of the pass.”

  A cold smile spread across Irving’s full lips. “You want to create a shooting gallery with the Tharcian headquarters as the targets,” she said. “That’s the kind of ruthless efficiency I can get behind.”