Enemy Front

by T. E. Butcher

  His infantry company would be reduced to three vehicles. Öszvér infantry transports, while roomier and faster than the Iggys they were used to, were also less armored and armed. He’d actually have double the amount of Iglasios, though. Specifically MK IIs fitted for recon and armed with a 50-mm Magnetic cannon alongside a Giant-Killer missile launcher.

  Rounding out his Combat group, Steele would lead a platoon of new Jagdpanzerters. Based on the MK IV and the Panzerter Kannone, these machines were designed from the ground up to serve as fire support panzerters. Carrying a multiple launch rocket system over each shoulder, Steele’s Jagdpanzerters could bring a whole host of different munitions to bear. Minefields, bomblets, lum rounds, and flares in addition to regular rockets. He’d under utilized the mortars he had before, but now he saw fit to rectify that situation.

  As he returned to his combat group’s camp, Webb greeted him. Camp chairs surrounded a hasty fire pit while panzerter knelt along the outer perimeter. Smaller vehicles hid under camouflaged netting while some propped up field tents as well.

  “Congratulations on the promotion,” he said, pointing to Reiter’s new rank.

  “I wish I could have been there for yours,” He replied, pointing to the Captain’s stars now on the man’s collar. “You earned yours.” Webb shook his head and walked over towards the kneeling Lowe.

  “Don’t sell yourself short, sir,” he said. “You and this bad bitch here have been through a lot.”

  “What’s this about bad bitches?” a new voice said. Bartonova strode into camp like she owned the place before taking a dismissive glance at the Lowe. “Oh, sorry, that’s not exactly my kind of big cat.”

  “Can I help you?” Reiter asked. “I’ve still got meetings and plans to attend to.” Bartonova walked over to him and took a seat in Mo’s camp chair.

  “I just wanted to know more about the soldiers you gave me,” she said. “Merlin served you in addition to Zorro? And I believe you had the tube woman in custody.” Reiter sighed and took a seat in his own camp chair.

  “They served under me,” he said. “From the moment they entered my charge, I was responsible for them, don’t get it twisted.” He relaxed slightly. “As to the two of them, they’re good soldiers. Merlin actually earned a medal after carrying Zoro back to base through the snow.”

  “So this tube woman,” Bartonova said. “Do you trust her?” Reiter raised an eyebrow.

  “Didn’t she save your life?” he asked. “I read the report, a new panzerter comes outta nowhere, disables your state-of-the-art machine, but before he can finish the job, Fletcher bails your ass out of trouble with a heavy common and some quick thinking.” Bartonova’s face grew flush, and she scowled.

  “I don’t see how that-”

  “I guess my question is, why don’t you trust her?” he asked. He leaned forward and looked up at the Lowe. Mo and Amy, Wesser, Stovepipe, and even Smith were all doing their damnedest right now to prepare for the coming battle. He sighed. “If you knew the stakes at play here, I’m sure you’d find better things to do than constantly investigate your soldiers.”

  “If you just want to know more about them, you can try talking to them,” Webb offered. Reiter nodded and stood up.

  “I hope to God they’ll follow you, because this will be our biggest operation yet,” he said. He looked from Bartonova to Webb as he spoke. “We’re going to take back Galica and liberate our homes!”

  Starnes guided the wheel chair gently up the ramp before him. “I’m not an old woman Lieutenant Colonel,” President Reinhardt said. “I can handle my own wheelchair.”

  “You could,” Starnes replied. “But that might get grease all over your hand or jacket, and I think you’ll want to look good for our guests.” At the height of the ramp sat the First Nation embassy in Tharsis.

  The building itself was a sleek, mostly glass building built at the top of embassy road. Using the handicapped entrance had afforded them some measure of privacy, as this meeting wasn’t official to the public. At least not yet.

  In their company, the President’s husband walked alongside her, holding her hand the whole way. She’d forgone regeneration treatment, at least for the moment, as it would have taken her out of office for an extended period and she believed the country needed a firm hand. However, all her energy had to be spent on the war effort and as such, she opted not to run for reelection, sparking a small crisis of leadership in her party.

  But she put her country before her politics, and that I can appreciate. Winona, the young woman Reiter and co had rescued, walked alongside them, as did several members of the president’s security detail and delegates from the other allied nations: Vinland and the exiled governments of Roosevelt and Olympia.

  As the glass doors opened, Jon stood there, ready to meet them. “Good, you’re early,” he said. “They’ll appreciate that.” He led them down an elaborate corridor. All along the walls, art depicted the First Nations time on Earth as different tribes, the tribulations they endured at the hands of Europeans, disease, and each other, before finally, the move to space, the great unification, and the prosperity that followed. Finally, he took them into an elevator and they waited.

  More hallways, more art. If there was anything Starnes learned about them in his trek to the meeting room, it was that the First Nation were proud of all of their achievements. First to land humans on Europa and Ganymede, first humans beyond Jupiter’s orbit, and the first to penetrate Europa’s ice as well as mine helium-3 from Jupiter. Rumor had it they were about to launch a probe towards Alpha Centauri at one third the speed of light, giving humanity the first up close glimpse of another star system.

  Of course, those were just rumors. And if they were really joining them in the war, well, those things would just have to wait. As they entered a large, well furnished conference room, they were greeted by about a half dozen Nationals. Four men and two women.

  One man and woman, presumably Winona’s parents, immediately ran to her and pulled her into a warm embrace. Starnes was certain there were some tears involved, but his attention was drawn to the other Nationals. Specifically, the serious one in the middle with his arms folded and a touch of gray behind the ears.

  “While we’re thankful for the return of Winona,” he said. “I believe we had some business to discuss.” Reinhardt nodded.

  “We do,” she replied. “Lieutenant Colonel Starnes, if you will.” He nodded and pulled a tablet out of the back of Reinhardt’s wheelchair. “The images you are about to see were taken by telescope, surveillance satellite, cyber warfare and recon probe.” Images of a massive asteroid covered in construction units and dockyards presented itself alongside several technical documents.

  “This is-” the man in the middle, Starnes realized he was the leader of the First Nation itself, Executor Niyol Nicholson, said. “More than a military outpost or station, this is a nerve center.”

  “A paradise,” Reinhardt said. “For the elites, the Union supposedly doesn’t have, with space for more governing officials, territories they don’t have.”

  Nicholson nodded. “It seems apparent they intend to rule over us all,” he said. “So where do we begin?”

  28

  Bartonova frowned as she looked up at her new Tiger. Compared to her old one, this one needed a diet. Its sharp lines had replaced by curved armor and bulbous growths. She’d been told this refit took advantage of spaced armor concepts introduced by the Vinnish. Supposedly, it increased her overall protection by thirteen percent, with no added weight.

  It’ll do, for now. Though she had to admit, it did seem to have some rugged charm, similar to the Lowe. With a final shake of her head, she returned to her company. Correction, Combat Group. While she appreciated being set up to be the tip of the spear, she felt like it was costing them too much firepower in favor of mobility.

  “Ma’am, the report you requested,” Fletcher said. She turned to see the other woman holding a manilla folder in her hands. “We’ll be up to fifty
percent combat strength by the end of the month, pending some of the ongoing refits.”

  As she took the report in her hands, she nodded and looked up at the artificial woman in front of her. “What do you think about our current situation?” She asked.

  If Fletcher was surprised, she didn’t show it. “You want my evaluation?” She asked.

  “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked,” Bartonova replied. “Besides, you 're by far the most experienced soldier in CG Early, so your opinion has weight.”

  She stiffened and took a deep breath. “Most of our forces were inexperienced at Eden’s Gate, that’s not the case here,” she said. “The survivors from back east are hardened, more seasoned, and they’re mixed with veterans from this front. Add to that, this fight is more personal.” She dipped her head. “I helped the Union seize this province. I guess its penance that I help undo that.”

  “What did you think of Gallica before the invasion?” Bartonova asked. “As a Union soldier?” Fletcher raised an eyebrow. “Don’t give me that,” Bartonova said. “You have a better sense for the condition of our troops and theirs than possibly anyone else out here.”

  “Well, if you must know,” she said. “We’re taught that Roosevelt and Gallica are rightful territories of the Union of Mars, that the Tharcians took them away with the intent of extracting wealth from them. Granted, we were also taught that all of humanity will eventually join the Union.” She shook her head. “I believed it wholeheartedly until the Union didn’t bother rescuing me, and the Tharcians treated me better than my own country did, this jewelry not withstanding.” She motioned to the bomb fastened to her neck, and Bartonova sighed.

  “We’ll have to get that removed,” she said. “You had ample opportunity to betray us. Hell, you could’ve let that Unionist kill me back in Eden’s Gate and you probably wouldn’t have seen any repercussions.”

  “Are you sure?” Fletcher asked. “Because it does match my boots really well.” Whether it was the statement itself, or the way Fletcher talked about her bomb as casually as the weather, Bartonova caught herself snickering. After dismissing Fletcher, Bartonova climbed up into her new panzerter. The cramped interior felt somewhat familiar. A lot of extra monsters and a keyboard stuck out to her. After taking off her boots, she did her level best to get comfortable. Before she knew it, she was asleep.

  “His health is declining,” Thorn said as he paced the room. He stood in a room filled with hexagonal pods with a sort of rotating track with exposed pods taking up the center. The glass windows into the pods glowed with a soft blue light, as did the liquid inside the pods on the tray. Each tray pod held a preteen or early teenager. Or at least they approved to be, as Thorn knew the oldest was barely a year old.

  Tubes pumped each child full of hormones, nutrients and supplements while wires delivered electrical current that stimulated their muscles. An oxygen mask delivered them with the minimal amount of oxygen that they required, while a VR headset held their mind captive. Through the power of dreaming, they’d managed to compress a lifetime of experiences and learning into just six months.

  “You must be speaking of the First Minister,” Secretary Pearson said as she stood behind him. The soft blue light took the edge off her normally sharp features. “Because that tuber is perfectly healthy.”

  Thorn nodded and turned around. “The war is taking its toll on him, even with our best medical technology, it’ll be a miracle if he doesn’t have a stress related heart attack before the end of summer,” he said. “You gotta get him into space, Natasha.”

  “We look weak if we do it now,” she replied. “We need the public to be in a position to accept Los Estrellas as the new capital, not just of our nation, but as the center of Humanity.”

  “And if he dies in office, support for the war will bottom out,” Thorn replied. “He’s a unifying figure to the masses, a grandfather to this entire nation, and if we lose the home-front, nothing else we’ll have done matters.” He looked back at the kid in the tank. “Which is why I asked to talk to you here, we’ve lost our insurance policy against the First Nation.”

  “And?” Pearson said. “We were bound to come to blows with them, anyway.” Thorn sighed.

  “We couldn’t go toe to toe with them when we were fresh, at the beginning of the war,” he said. “We definitely can’t face them now, their fleet is roughly a match for our own and their Army is far greater than ours, once mobilized, we don’t stand a chance of winning.” He looked back at Pearson. “So we level the playing field.”

  Pearson took a few steps forward. “Allen? Are you suggesting what I think you are?” He produced a data-pad from his coat pocket and brought up an image for her.

  “This settlement is the last holdout of Olympian resistance,” he said. “Grand Carnival, it’s currently snuggled up at Lagrange 7, however.” He drew a finger across the image, pulling the image of the O’neil cylinder out of its Lagrange point. “If we can nudge it from the Lagrange point, its orbit will deteriorate until it strikes the surface about here.” He pointed to a map of the First Nation, and Pearson’s eyes widened.

  “That’s right around New Hope, that’s the Financial hub of Mars, not to mention one of the most populous cities on the planet,” she said. “And if we commit a war crime, we might as well make it count.” A thin smile spread across her lips. “There’s the added benefit of economic damage to other potential enemies.”

  “The rest of the planet will indeed be in a tough position,” Thorn said. “One that will make it easier to reshape as we see fit.” He put the datapad away. “We just need to make sure our critical infrastructure makes it into space.”

  Pearson folded her arms, still smiling. “And that ruthless efficiency is exactly why I married you.”

  “Have they picked a date yet?” Reiter asked. He sat on a metal box signing off on various forms while Wesser reviewed personal files.

  “I don’t think so,” Wesser said. “I think they want to see if their old church is intact before deciding anything.” She smiled as she looked through another file. “That was beyond generous making time for Mo’s proposal and making sure someone got pictures and a video.”

  “Hey, we just came off a rough mission, and I figured we could use a few smiles,” he said. “Besides, it’s been infectious. Our sister units are looking up a little too.” He paused when he caught the specific form number at the top. “Nuh uh, no sir, I’m not making that mistake again.”

  “What’s up?” Wesser asked.

  “They want me to sign off on the Jagdpanzerters without having seen them or inspecting them,” he said. “I’m not going to be responsible for whatever faults or issues they already have.”

  “They should be brand new,” Wesser replied. “Fresh off the factory line.” Reiter wagged a finger.

  “That won’t stop some goofy transfer pilot from clipping corner or some idiot mechanic from breaking off a switch or a knob,” he replied and stood up. “If they’re here, it’s a full inspection before I sign anything.” Their camp wasn’t very big, so it didn’t take long before he found the new machines kneeling under camouflaged nets.

  “Hey sir,” Steele called. While her left hand lacked her engagement ring, Reiter knew from Wesser that she kept it in a pocket so nothing would happen to it. “They just arrived here an hour ago, fresh off the line.”

  “You already got camouflage nets on them?” Reiter said. “Nice work. Did you notice anything off or out of place about these machines?” When she shook her head, Reiter sighed. “Grab a manual and your section. I want a full nuts and bolts inspection, by the book-, any deficiencies now need to get logged so I can report them when I sign for these panzerters.”

  Steele nodded and began barking out orders to the younger soldiers in her section. Improvised hammocks flipped as they scrambled to do as she said. In that moment, Reiter had to remind himself she was only twenty and not ten years older.

  As he returned to his position in camp, he ran into Mo and Smith
in the main area. Under the lean too he’d made for himself and others with a camp net and the Lowe, the two soldiers sat on either end of a long box with a small chessboard between them. On closer inspection, he noticed they sat on a barrel box for fifty cals.

  “Are we good here, sir?” Mo asked. Reiter nodded.

  “As long as you’re quiet,” He said. “I’m probably going to read here in a minute.” As he climbed into a hammock made from a net and his poncho, he heard the two snicker and swear as their game went back and forth. From his pocket, he grabbed a sealed bag containing the book he currently read. A deep sea adventure featuring hidden caves, sunken cities, and an ancient virus.

  Just as Reiter allowed himself to be immersed in his book, a manilla folder entered his field of view. Looking up, he met the gray eyes of one Claire Fletcher.

  “Wow, miss Fletcher,” he said. “I knew you were pressed into service, but I didn’t know you were here.” As his eyes flew to the black ring around her neck, she presented him with the folder.

  “This is from the Colonel. Captain Bartonova already has hers, so she sent me to be your runner,” she said. Noticing Mo, she smiled. “Sergeant Mondragon, are you ready to take back your home?”

  Mo glanced up and nearly fell off his box at the sight of her. “Fletcher? Hey, you’re looking great after surgery!” he said. “And you’re on our side now, so it looks like you won’t have to worry about me shooting you down.” Fletcher’s eyes narrowed.

  “Young man, you should be glad you didn’t have to go to round two,” she said, as a fierce smile spread across her lips. “Might have to write an apology to miss Steele.”

  Mo stood and approached her. “Hey, all your kills against us don’t count anymore,” he said. “You’re a blank slate.”