by Wayne Basta
The two of them were sitting in a briefing room at the Perth police headquarters. The police chief was currently meeting with the prime minister, and they were waiting on her and several others to join them. They were supposed to be analyzing the city’s maps to develop a battle plan.
In response, Maarkean said, “Sorry, but you know more about ground combat than I do.”
“Which isn’t much,” Zeric said despondently.
After the vote by the Congress to support the Enroians, Maarkean had contacted Novastar. The three ships in the private squadron had engaged and warned off the Alliance troop transports that had come from the nearest base. Unfortunately, they had needed some persuading, and one of the transports had been shot down. That had left little hope that things would not escalate.
Prime Minister Corte had then asked the obvious question: What next? Maarkean knew the Alliance would make a strong response, but he realized he wasn’t really sure what to expect. That was when he had turned to Zeric. Zeric claimed to have been blindsided, but his idea to enlist the planet’s police force and begin planning for a siege had been a good one.
“There is an entire planet full of people out there. Shouldn’t there be one person with more combat experience than us?” Zeric said, breaking Maarkean’s thought.
“Hmm?” Maarkean said as he tried to recall what Zeric had just said. “Oh, maybe not. Enro fell without much of a fight during the Colonial War. They didn’t militarize after the Kravic Invasion like we did, so their military isn’t very big. Ronid tried to keep itself out of the larger conflict and ceded Enro to the Alliance pretty quickly. There haven’t been any major conflicts since. It’s doubtful there are many Ronids who have seen much fighting, aside from a few random individuals like Lohcja.”
They returned to studying the maps of the city. Their first evaluation had been disheartening. Perth was an open city with broad avenues that would provide plenty of room for Alliance military vehicles to move through. There was no city wall, and all of the land around the city was well traversed and cultivated, pushing the planet’s native wildlife well away from the population center.
What Maarkean found almost criminal was that there were no anti-air or anti-orbital defenses. The city was basically defenseless from an orbital attack. Energy weapons tended to disperse quickly in an atmosphere, so only specially designed assault ships had the firepower. He could forgive the lack of a city shield. But no defensive batteries meant the city was open to any kind of air attack.
Things did not look optimistic. Maarkean would have reconsidered the option to evacuate the city, but their action earlier made that impossible. The Alliance troops had been challenged and made to turn back. There was no way they could evacuate the entire city’s population on the available transport.
Acting rashly and without considering the consequences was starting to become a habit of his. Just like he had always tried to tell Saracasi, when you reacted without thinking it through, it got you into trouble. Now he was most definitely in trouble, stuck defending a city that was indefensible because he had let his emotions guide him and, in the process, had endangered the entire population.
Maarkean and Zeric’s silence was interrupted by the room’s door banging open and admitting a small horde of people. The city’s police chief, Lannah Kamalas, came in first, followed by Lahkaba, the prime minister, Halin Corte, Lei-mey, Owrik, and Captains Novastar, Ar’cher and Relis. They were followed by several other members of the Congress and several members of Kamalas’ police staff.
“I’m told I am to report to you about overseeing the city defenses,” Chief Kamalas said by way of greeting.
Maarkean had grown accustomed to Lohcja’s spiked carapace and dangerous-looking mandibles. By comparison, Kamalas’ carapace was a smooth, deep blue and her mandibles were much smaller, giving her mouth a far less threatening appearance. He realized that there was something more to Lohcja’s claim to being descended from the warrior caste than just pedigree.
Maarkean stood up and tried to figure out an appropriate response. Turf wars had been one thing he had hated while in the military, but he seemed to have found himself in the middle of a big one. As an outsider, he now found himself in command of the planetary defense. He imagined how he would feel if he were in Kamalas’ place.
He decided to take a lesson from all the way back from his officer training. When in command, be in command and don’t give anyone a chance to question your authority. “That’s right. How many police forces do you have available?”
“About two hundred and fifty,” Kamalas answered.
She looked ready to say something else, but Maarkean never gave her a chance. “Do you have any special units?”
“Yes, twenty special response units. Though we rarely need them.”
“We’ll need them today,” Maarkean replied and turned toward the map, pressing forward. “Based on your knowledge of the city, where is the best place to secure civilians’ safety?”
“Well,” Kamalas said, thinking. Her initial confrontational posture was slipping. “The hospital has a reinforced structure and a large basement. It’s designed as an emergency storm shelter. Every few years, we get bad hurricanes.”
“Hurricanes?” Zeric asked as Kamalas pointed the hospital out on the map. “I assume that means you have a planetary weather satellite network?”
The prime minister nodded. “Yes, thirty-six orbital satellites provide us with planetary weather information, communication and navigational data.”
“We need someone who has control of the satellites,” Zeric said. “We can use them for real-time intelligence on the Alliance bases.”
“Good idea. That’ll give us some idea when the troops are coming,” Maarkean said as Kamalas dispatched one of her aides to see to that. Maarkean continued, “Prime Minister, have you gotten a count on volunteers?”
Shaking his head, Corte said, “About two hundred have gathered outside City Hall so far. But it is still early. I am hopeful more will appear.”
“Are they armed?”
“About half of them,” Corte replied.
Looking toward Kamalas, Maarkean asked, “How many spare weapons do you have?”
“Spare?” Kamalas answered. “Well, every officer has their side arm. And we have about one hundred rifles and a small collection of specialty equipment. Not enough to equip an army.”
“It will have to be,” Maarkean said.
Zeric asked, “I assume they are stun-only weapons?”
“The pistols are, of course,” Kamalas answered. “We’re a police force, not a military. The rifles do have lethal settings, though.”
“Well, that’s something,” Zeric said. “Have your officers distribute their pistols to civilians; that way they can’t accidentally kill anyone because they don’t know which way to point a gun. Then equip your officers with the rifles and the weapons we’ll supply.”
If Kamalas had looked annoyed at taking orders from Maarkean, she looked even more so taking them from Zeric. He had been introduced to her as Corporal Dustlighter. A noncommissioned officer (NCO) as his second in command might not sit well with a police chief, Maarkean thought. He might need to do something about that.
While Zeric was talking with Kamalas, Maarkean took a look around. The rest of the crowd had moved in closer to them, filling the small room. Maarkean hated crowds, especially when he was the center of their attention.
The aide that Kamalas had sent out returned to the room and, after whispering to her, went to the display table in the room’s center. The holographic map of the city was replaced by a display of the entire planet of Enro. Three bright symbols appeared on three of the continents.
“These are the locations of the Alliance bases,” the officer said. “We’ve redirected the cameras from the satellites to observe the areas around them.”
The holographic image of the planet shifted back to a view of the planet’s surface. Maarkean could make out the layout of an Alliance base on
a large plain. A long train of vehicles could be seen heading away from the base.
“This is the base on the continent of Joisu, the one furthest away from us.” The aide switched the view. “The base on Usoji.”
The image looked much the same as the first one. He switched it one more time to show a base that was very similar, but didn’t have a stream of vehicles leaving it. “And the one here on Siuso.”
“That’s good, right?” the prime minister asked. “They don’t seem to be coming here.”
“No, Mr. Prime Minister,” Maarkean said. “They are most definitely coming here. That’s why the base closest to us hasn’t deployed their forces yet. They are waiting for all their troops to assemble.”
“Why are they taking ground vehicles?” Lei-mey asked.
Zeric turned toward her. “They won’t have enough air transports for all of their troops. They’re likely dispatching the SPCs first and will follow when they get closer to the engagement with the transports.”
“It will take at least two days to get from Joisu to here,” Kamalas said. “Can’t your ships attack them en route?”
Maarkean shook his head. “I wouldn’t. We only have lightly armed transports. We were able to fight off their troop transports before because it was a pretty even fight. Since the first job of the transport pilots is the safety of the troops they carry, in a fair fight they usually back off and wait for fighter support.
“The S in SPC stands for shield, and it’s a pretty good one. They are also armed, not as well as a tank, but still at least equivalent to our ships. We have four transport ships, and they’re moving in convoys of about ten. The odds are in their favor. And that’s not including the fighter support they would launch as soon as we approached.”
The room was silent after Maarkean’s grim assessment, which gave him a moment to think. He wished he knew exactly how many troops he would be dealing with, but battalion strengths could vary quite widely. There were at least sixteen SPCs worth of troops coming their way, plus whatever was at the closest base.
“Zeric,” Maarkean asked, “what’s your assessment of their strength? How many troops and SPCs might they have?”
Zeric frowned as he examined the satellite images. Maarkean knew he didn’t like being put on the spot, but Zeric knew far more about troop deployments than he did, and despite his earlier protests about not knowing what he was doing, Maarkean thought he managed to come off sounding like an experienced professional.
“Well, if they really do only have a single battalion on Enro, it is likely a large one,” Zeric began. “Typical battalions are three to six companies. Most of those are combat infantry units with at least one support company – typically a mixed transport and headquarters unit.
“Out here with no support closer than a few weeks, it is likely closer to a small brigade than a typical company. I’d assume four to five infantry companies, a full headquarters company, two logistics companies and a squadron of fighter/bombers.”
Zeric leaned in and looked closer at the image. “Each logistics company would have about sixteen to eighteen SPCs and four to five air transports. Total, that would allow them to transport five infantry companies, about six hundred troops, plus all the support personnel.”
Six hundred infantry troops plus another couple hundred support troops. That meant they would be facing close to one thousand trained soldiers. Currently, they only had four transport ships and fewer than five hundred armed people. Half of those were civilians, and the other half were police. Most of their people would be using stun weapons, and the Alliance would not.
A thought occurred to Maarkean as the bad news sunk in. “With ten SPCs coming from each base, that’s a little under five hundred troops. Plus whatever they send in the air transports. Let’s say they send half of those; that’s another fifty or so. So we’re looking at 550 infantry troops, plus about 150 operating the vehicles. Out of about one thousand total?”
“Sounds about right,” Zeric said.
“That’s so many,” one of the congressional delegates said, probably louder than he had intended.
The mood in the room seemed to shift to a more negative tone than it had had at the start. However, as everyone else became more despondent, Maarkean grew more confident. A plan was forming in his head. It would be risky, but it was better than the alternative.
“Okay, here’s the plan,” Maarkean said, trying to infuse as much confidence into his voice as he could. “The Alliance obviously knows the prime minister is here in Perth. They dispatched troops immediately after receiving the message, but came here instead of Enro’s capital. We need to make sure their attention stays here.”
Shifting the map back to a layout of Perth, Maarkean centered it on the hotel. “Let’s let them think the entire Kreogh Sector Congress will still be here at the Perth hotel. Mr. Prime Minister, keep making announcements from there and get any willing delegates to do the same. Make sure the Alliance knows that the Congress supports Enro’s defense and that you won’t move.”
The prime minister nodded, but Kamalas snorted, “That building isn’t secure. Lots of entrances, lots of windows. Not a very good building to hold in a siege.”
“Better than having a firefight outside a hospital,” Maarkean responded. “We’ll still evacuate civilians and any delegates who want to get out of harm’s way to the hospital, which is on the other side of the city. Zeric, what lanes of approach do you think they will use?”
Zeric examined the map for a moment and then pointed to three avenues leading into the city. “I’d come in along these three lanes. They are the widest and straightest. They’ll also likely send ground troops through a couple other entry ways to try to come around any defenses we set up.”
“Okay, let’s talk defenses,” Maarkean said, beginning the next of many more long discussions.
The next two days passed in a blur for Zeric. He was placed in charge of preparing the ground defenses. Moving around the city constantly, monitoring preparations and answering questions, he got to know the city pretty well. All of the traveling around made him glad they weren’t doing this on Dantyne, where he would have had to ride an animal instead of a motorized vehicle.
Resources and equipment for establishing the defenses were limited, but that forced him to get creative. The police department had a few barriers available, but they were designed to impede people and normal vehicles, not vehicles with guns. For most of the entry routes, they had begun setting up makeshift barriers with whatever they could find. These barriers were crude and would do little more to stop the Alliance than the police barricades.
The windfall came when Zeric drove past a construction site. Sitting abandoned in one corner, where the fleeing construction workers had left them, were two trucks loaded with steel girders. With the trucks resting on the ground, the cargo was high enough that an SPC’s hover system couldn’t climb over, and the trucks were long enough to stretch across most of the roadway.
Using the trucks, Zeric felt reasonably confident about obstructing two of their routes. The Alliance would eventually be able to get through or go around, but it would give them time. He set the other main avenue with the majority of the police’s interdiction mines.
Designed to disable vehicles with an electromagnetic pulse, or EMP, they were used to stop fleeing criminals. Alliance military craft were hardened to resist such devices, but Zeric was hopeful that enough of them might do the trick.
Zeric’s biggest worry was manpower. The well of volunteers had slowed to a trickle, and most did not have their own weapons. In total, they had fewer than two thousand people. Almost a hundred of the best trained were being used for Maarkean’s special operation.
Of the rest, only some of them were armed, and half of those only had stun weapons. If they were not able to stop the SPCs, those stun weapons would be completely useless. They had more people than the Alliance, but each soldier probably counted the same as four or five untrained civilians.
On the morning of the third day, Zeric woke from his four hours of sleep and staggered over to where food was being distributed. Out of the tens of thousands in the city, not many civilians had been willing to fight, but many were willing to help. He had had lots of extra hands for setting up the barricades, and the hospital was full of volunteers ready to help any injured. Food was coming from some of the best restaurants in the city.
As Zeric got into line, his stomach rumbled, reminding him he had not had a chance to eat the night before. The smells coming down the line were like heaven, and he licked his lips in anticipation. In hindsight, he should have known that was a sign he wouldn’t get a chance to eat anything.
His comm beeped, and he reluctantly activated it and answered gruffly. “Yes?”
“Lieutenant Dustlighter?” asked the timid voice of the aide who had been assigned to him.
That had been the other thing he had had to contend with. Maarkean had decided it wouldn’t do for a corporal to be running the defenses, so he had convinced the prime minister to issue Zeric an officer’s commission in the Enro defense militia, which, up until three days ago, hadn’t existed. The annoying thing to Zeric was that Maarkean had refused the prime minister’s offer to make him a general. Zeric thought it was rather hypocritical to force an officer rank on him, but refuse a generalship.
Zeric had never wanted to be an officer. After his basic service, he had trained as an NCO, and left the service as a corporal. He was good at leading troops into battle, but he didn’t think he had the skills to devise strategy and handle administrative work. Give him a gun, tell him who to kill, and he’d do a good job.
Unfortunately, he had been doing exactly what officers did the last few days. Working out defensive plans, organizing the volunteers and the police into teams, settling disputes, and allocating resources had consumed him. To be sure, he was also tasked with doing a lot of NCO jobs, since there was no one else with any experience.
“What is it, Kumus?” Zeric asked, trying to keep himself from snapping. The boy was one of the few Terran volunteers. Kumus Stryker and his brother Kelvine had volunteered together in the first wave. They were part of a small collection of teenagers who had decided Zeric was someone to idolize. Kelvine, almost 18, had been put on the front line in one of the defensive positions, while Kumus, barely 15, had been given a safer place as Zeric’s aide.
