Exhaling a cloud of smoke, Kennedy grinned. “Actually, I get one better. Our main forces will create the diversion,” he said. “I want our rocket artillery to deploy mines and our heavy guns to shell their command center, have the Supercells fly as many passes as they need to dump all of their munitions onto them.” He removed thudding butt from his mouth and stuffed it into an old soup can. “We’ll cause enough chaos and confusion, that the rest of the local forces will have no choice but to retreat.”
“An aggressive strategy that minimizes the risk to our own soldiers,” Irving said, her smile gaining some warmth. “I love it.” Her words caused Kennedy’s heart to swell with pride. He recalled when he first met her. She only saw frontline soldiers as statistics, numbers on a spreadsheet to be expended. After knowing him and serving on his staff, she’d come to view the grunts of the force as human beings with lives worth preserving. If only we could all under go such radical change.
“Now that that’s settled,” he said. “Let’s plan that trip to Weather’s lab. I might actually bring a few medals for his pilots that survived.” Irving folded her arms and stared at him.
“What kind of people do you think they are?” she asked. “And are you sure it wasn’t some advanced support systems that did that?”
Kennedy shook his head. “Well, first of all, Weathers is a biologist, specifically a medical scientist,” he said. “Designing a panzerter isn’t his thing, its Chaney’s. As for what kind of people I’m not entirely sure, I’m expecting some kind of next generation tuber.”
“A biologist, huh?” Irving said. “Well, the panzerters did move a lot more naturally then most. Maybe he upgraded them with components better imitating biological function?” Kennedy shrugged.
“I mean, it’s possible,” he replied. “But I’m not the scientist, so ultimately I have no idea.” He looked at the lab on their map overlays. “Right now, his lab that we’re supposed to be defending just became the cornerstone of our defense, so we have that to be thankful for.”
“I’ll make the arguments,” Irving said. “For now, let’s get objectives and assignments to the company commanders, and all the artillery sections will have to check their munitions dumps.”
Kennedy nodded, then walked out onto the balcony just outside the war room. His only regret in the moment was the t Reiter seemed to have trashed his machine himself after Weather’s people had already roughed over the Black knight pretty severely.
“Serves you right, Paul Reiter,” he said. “For standing between me and a better world for my kind, there're limitless possibilities for us created in tubes, and you’re in my way.”
14
Starnes groaned as Bargiel and Apostu went back and forth for what seemed like the umpteenth time. He sat with both of them and the president’s half sister in a tearoom in one of the many wings. Rebekah, the President’s half-sister by a different mother, smiled coyly as she sipped her own wine. If I have to spend another minute with these people, I’ll lose my mind. The topic of contention at the moment: fines.
“Pulaski was crawling with homeless people before the war,” Apostu said, hoisting his own wine glass for effect. “I’m just saying, a sufficiently heavy fine would have tidied up that city in months.” Bargiel shook his head firmly. A glass of whiskey clenched in his meaty hands.
“Why are you suggesting we fine people who clearly lack the funds to pay it?” he said. “The price of the fine wouldn’t even pay for the cost of enforcing it!”
“Then you dedicate a specific unit to enforcing fineable offenses,” Apostu replied. “Fines for littering, loitering, expired licences, public drunkenness, and the like.” He waved his hand. “The unit would more than pay for itself.”
Bargiel merely took a swig from his whiskey, maintaining an uncomfortable level of eye contact with the former operations chief. “Typical bureaucrat. You only see a way to make a system bigger and you assume it is good,” he said. “You don’t think about the ramifications of your actions or policies.” Starnes sipped his water, miserable he didn’t have anything stronger. How did this man even get to the position that he was in? I have trouble believing anyone this oblivious could climb the ranks as high as he did, or maybe he was hot shit when he was younger and grew stagnate with age. Doesn’t matter now, we’re still on the Blackfoot.
“We need to pay for these things,” Apostu retorted, waving his hands around. “All of our military expenditures, all the new panzerters, and rifles, and warships,” he said. “Wartime taxes and bonds will only go so far!”
“But what you are suggesting is unprincipled,” Bargiel replied. “You’re essentially creating laws for one class of people and not another.” For once, Apostu simmered down. He lowered his wine glass and cocked his head.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked.
“If a law only exists to fine people, that law only exists for the least among us,” Bargiel said. “It’s unprincipled and not good stewardship.” Starnes actually raised an eyebrow at the comment. While his impression of the Constitutionalist party had been that they valued corporate interests over people, Bargiel seemed ready and able to prove him wrong.
He looked down, his weary eyes going back to his water, when he noticed something under Rebekah’s boot. A napkin with a note. Pretending to rest his head, he leaned for a closer look. Want to get out of here? He felt the young woman’s gaze on him. In that moment, he decided Apostu was more incompetent than treacherous, and slowly nodded.
“Where’s the nearest restroom, ma’am?” he asked. She smiled, understanding, as she rose from her chair.
“I’ll show you the one,” she said. “Will you gentlemen be fine here?” Apostu opened his mouth, but Bargiel waved to signal they were both fine. As soon as they were out of sight and earshot of the two men, Rebekah gave him a sympathetic smile. “You looked like you were about to pass out.”
He shook his head. “I have a traitor to catch, yet here I am listening to two old men babble,” he replied. “I think I can safely cross him off the list.” As they walked, she led him to a set of double doors leading outside. “This doesn’t look like the restroom.” Rebekah gave a soft chuckle.
“It’s not, it’s our family garden,” she said. “I’d love to take all the credit, but unfortunately I just lend the gardeners a hand.” Starnes folded his arms as he sucked in the cool spring breath. Flowering plants and shrubs created intricate paths through a massive expanse of green and warm colors.
“Not bad for only lending a hand,” he said. “Though I didn’t take a rich girl like you for the type to enjoy manual labor.” Rebekah rolled her eyes.
“I know the type you’re talking about,” she replied. “I would be bored to tears living that lifestyle, but I prefer to use my family’s money for more productive ends: soup kitchens, orphanages, charity, oh and one other thing.” She pulled what Starnes believed at first to be a high value Krone. Closer inspection, however, revealed a warship, a Tharcian heavy cruiser soaring through space, the word Unzerbrechlich embalmed on her side.
“Unbreakable huh?” Major Starnes said. “That’s a tad optimistic.” Rebekah gave him a playful push.
“Oh Major Starnes!” she said. “It seemed powerful!” Starnes slowly smiled as he handed the note back.
“If you want to be less formal,” he said. “It’s Hugo.” She grinned.
“Less formal? That’s just my style.”
“Hold, hold, hold!” Holtslander whispered harshly. Slowly, Mo lowered his newly acquired rifle as he caught on to why the drop trooper had told them to wait. The men creeping up on them were Tharcians. “A bit of lightning never killed anybody.” Now Holtslander projected his voice at the lead man.
“Thunder makes my baby cry,” Webb replied, before stepping out of the shadows. He and Holtslander lowered their weapons and embraced each other. “Find anyone else?”
The droptrooper jerked a thumb back at Mo. “Yeah, black platoons pilots all made it to ground,” he said. “But we haven�
��t heard from anyone else. None of our long range comms survived the crash.”
“Ours neither,” Webb said. “So its just us, alone and unafraid.” Holtslander nodded.
“We out here, man,” he said before waving Wesser forward. “Luckily we got the ma’am with the plan.” Wesser clutched her pistol close to her as she approached Webb. Shivering, she leaned in for a hug. Mo followed her and Webb tussled his hair.
“And get a load of this guy,” he said. “If we don’t get him back, he’ll be late for his own wedding!” Mo chuckled and Wesser fixed her bandanna as she got serious.
“We need to find a way inside,” she said. “This used to be the missile tracking center before all of that stuff got moved to Deimos, they’re using it as some kind of lab now, there’s bound to be communications equipment in there somewhere.”
Webb grinned. “Funny you say that. We decided on one more patrol to make sure the coast was clear,” he said. “But I think we found an entrance.” He led them along the side of the mountain, and then up through some game trails. Finally, concealed in some bushes, they found an air duct.
As drop troopers pulled the brush aside, Wesser leaned forward and placed a hand in front of the duct. “It’s not being used,” she said. “So this probably leads to an abandoned wing of the facility or a section they’re just not using.”
Mo looked over the sides of the vent, searching for screws or anything they could use to open it. Looks like they sealed this bitch on them, it’s going to be a pain to pull off. “They sealed it on,” he said. “But it’s old, I think if a couple of us give it a tug it will-” Metal screeched on metal as Holtslander kicked the vent in with his half-frame’s leg. “Or that works.”
Turning on the flashlight on his rifle, Mo peered into the dark with Webb. “It looks clear, bud,” the lieutenant said. “We’ll be right behind you.” With a curse, Mo entered the wide air duct, still feeling cramped inside of all the room he had to either side. The duct reeked. Either something had died in them or water had gone putrid inside it, or both. Let’s just hope I don’t die in here.
As soon as the duct gave way into a room below him, Mo stopped. Rosetti immediately bumped into him. “Why’d they send you?” Mo asked.
“Because I fit better than the drop troopers,” she replied. “And they figured if you got stuck I could help you.” Mo looked down into the room. It was dark, but he saw a concreter floor and a kitchen sink. So this is a barracks or break room.
“Alright Rosi,” he said. “Go back and tell them we have an ingress point, looks like a break room or barracks, give me the word and I’ll clear the way.” He was met with soft cursing and a series of bumps as the young woman turned herself around and crawled the other way.
For a moment, he sat alone in the stale darkness of the duct. Shits probably bad for me to be breathing, but I have to do what have to do. He heard scraping and bumping behind him. Briefly, he imagined himself a character in one of the horror movies he enjoyed as a teenager, waiting in the cramped dark airlock for a black monster with acid blood to murder him.
Fortunately, it was Rosetti who crept up behind him and tapped his sweaty back, though he still jumped. “They said get us in there,” she said. In the distance, he heard more scraping and bumping. Taking a deep breath of the rancid air, he stretched himself over the break room. The only thing between him and the floor became the thin aluminum vent cover as he pushed off on the walls. Then he let go and dropped.
“You’re sure about this, sir?” Reiter asked. “It’s your panzerter.” Hawke held up a hand, silencing any more argument.
“I’ve only driven it around a few times,” he said. “That being said, you’re a far better pilot than I am and it’ll just sit here and become a fat cat if you don’t put it too good use while the Lowe undergoes refurb.
The panzerter, in question, sat next to the command car about to take Hawke back to the headquarters camp. Slightly bigger than the panzerter IV, the Panzerter V, or Panther as they were called, looked like a panzerter IV that had hit the gym. It weirded the same rifle as the Lowe, albeit without a grenade launcher, and could wield several other similar weapons. Most interestingly, it also had a wire guided missile launcher fitted with giant killer missiles.
“You’re sure?” Reiter asked. Hawke held up both hands.
“I won’t take no for an answer, just don’t scratch the paint, ok?” he said with a grin. “She still has the factory coat.” Reiter chuckled before looking up at the tri-color camouflaged machine.
“Fine,” he said. “But no guarantees on the paint.” Hawke chuckled and began walking away. Leaving Reiter and Fox with a new panzerter none of them had ever used. According to him, it has a similar performance to the Lowe in terms of agility and firepower, it just lacks the Lowe’s insane durability. Which is fine, I guess. I’d rather not be hit, anyway.
“Sir,” Stovepipe called. “Scouts just came back.” Reiter turned to face the older man as he puffed on a cigarette. “They spotted some figures moving around on that mountain, but had no way to get positive ID.”
Folding an arm behind his back, and cradling his chin in the other, he considered the implications. “I don’t have much evidence to believe this,” he said. “But something tells me the bulk of our forces lived through the last encounter, and if that’s the case, we need to recover hose drop troopers and pilots.”
He pointed off toward the riflemen milling about near their tracks. “Pick a couple of your crews and their tracks,” Reiter said. “We’re going in light and we’ll need room to ferry them out of there. As for you Steele and Smith, stay here and stay alert.”
“Hold on sir,” Stovepipe said. “You’re sure you don’t want to send Smith instead? He’s become something of a recon specialist, it’s definitely more in his wheelhouse.” He spread his hands near his hips and stepped forward. “I can go out with him if you think he’s too young to do something like that.”
Reiter shook his head. “Smith is still recovering from his ordeal and his machine needs repairs,” he said. “Besides, it’s my fault they got into this mess to begin with. I should be the one to make it right.” Stovepipe folded his arms and stared at his commander, frowning.
“Sir, there’s a time and a place for all that,” he said. “My point is we run into trouble, lose a few riflemen and a younger pilot. It hurst a lot less than losing our commander. I don’t think the reward justifies the risk.”
“I’m not going to ask any of my soldiers to take risks I wouldn’t take myself,” Reiter said sternly.
“You have the opposite problem, sir,” Stovepipe replied. “You take risks your own soldiers wouldn’t take.”
“And if I didn’t who would?” Reiter replied. “Someone has to take that risk. We owe it to Wesser, Webb, Mo and the rest of them, because they wouldn’t hesitate if it were them.” The infantryman met his stern gaze with a cold look of his own before finally sighing.
“Looks like I’m not talking you out of this,” he said. “Just be careful sir, take the mortars out, use their smoke if you have to.”
“Fine,” Reiter said, annoyed at making a concession to the man. Though he’s technically correct, I shouldn’t be the one taking these risks. He banished the thought as soon as it appeared. “I’ll take the mortars, just make sure your tracks have room for more.” Stovepipe acknowledged and stepped away, only for Reiter to turn around and find Smith there.
“I can do it, sir,” he said. “I’ve gotten so much better since I joined you guys in Garden City.” Reiter sighed.
“Are you sure you’re up to it?” he asked. “It’s not like we’re going out there with overwhelming support.”
Smith grinned. “We did before?” he asked.
That made Reiter chuckle. “Fair enough kid, fair enough.”
15
“This is the most crucial operation going on at the moment,” Bartonova’s regimental commander said. “I know we’re pretty beat up, but so is the enemy.” He pointed to a ma
p of the region. A large arrow hooked out from their current position, bypassed a known defensive perimeter, and shot into the center of the city towards the top of the map. It kinda reminded her of an uppercut from the angle she saw it.
“We have hours to take Eden’s Gate,” the XO said. “This isn’t just the Union beachhead, we’re talking about cutting off most of the Union’s overland supply lines into Tharsis.” He continued, showing more images. “This city also has historical significance to the union. It used to be a one of the republics, but they lost it in the peace deal.” He pointed to the map. “This was where the Union focused its defense of the border, instead 2nd Army surrounded the city and laid siege to it, while 1st and 3rd Armies bypassed it, during the siege the city was all but destroyed, 700,000 Union soldiers and civilians died during the siege and they didn’t take the loss lightly.”
The XO gave her a nod, and she realized it was her turn to brief this part of the plan. As she stood, she glanced at the notes on her data pad. “Aeriel reconnaissance has shown the Union has prepared pockets of defense as well as secondary defensive lines along the edges of the city, and in the vicinity of the objective,” she said. “To that end, bypassing the city, or repeating the strategy from 2112, are unlikely. Instead, we are to seize Eden’s Gate no later than 0000 on 30 April 2136.”
The screen changed to show the defenses of Eden’s Gate on the map, as well as each regiment’s sectors down to the company level. “Our objective is to reach the city center as quickly as possible. Routes for each company are included in your orders. Possible secondary objectives will be determined by position and timetable relative to the main objective, so stay flexible.” As recon photos of Eden’s gate appeared on the screen, she scowled.
The city itself was a sprawling mess, with narrow streets, buildings nearly right on top of each other, and numerous blind spots. She sat down, and the Regimental Commander returned to the front of the room. “Alright ladies and gents,” he said. “They think this is still their turf, us retaking it has some seriously messy implications for them, now to be clear, we’re only going to have one, potentially two shots at this, the reason for the tight timetable being its most likely the Union pulls more forces from the spear itself back to fight us.”
Enemy Front Page 15
