by Lucas Marcum
‘Battle of the Box’
FIFTH MARINE DIVISIONAL ADMINISTRATIVE AREA CHARLIE, ‘THE BOX’
1235 hours, NOVEMBER 23, 2247
Inside the command post, Major Mecham stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at a monitor. The young sergeant who was manning the station said carefully, “Sir, I tried that. The uplink is gone. It’s just not getting the signal through.”
The marine officer glowered. “So you’re telling me that our ‘secure’ uplink, the one that’s a direct laser comm line of sight to the comsats, has just failed. Is that what you’re telling me?”
The soldier shrugged. “Sir, all I can tell you is what I see, and I can’t raise any of the sets to reach any of the other bases, and I can only occasionally talk to the Shiva’s Wrath, but that’s it.”
Major Mecham grimaced, then said, “Ok. Well, it is what it is. Keep trying.” He turned and lifted another handset. “Colonel? It’s Major Mecham in Ops… Yes, Sir. We’ve lost all comms with other ground forces… Yes, Sir. We can still talk to the Shiva, but the connection’s spotty. Yes, Sir. I’ll keep you posted.”
Hanging up the phone, he thought for a moment, then picked up another phone. “Gunny Nicholson? Yeah, Major Mecham in ops. Yeah…hey, listen. Let’s double up the patrols on the walls…no, nothing hard…yeah…yeah, I have a feeling about it too. Completely agree. Ok. Thanks.” Hanging up the phone, he frowned.
The sergeant manning the comm console asked, “Trouble, Sir?”
The stone-faced major shook his head, “I don’t know. Maybe. Maybe not. I think Old Ironjaw’s paranoia is rubbing off on me.”
The enlisted man shook his head. “I know what you mean. I started bringing my battle rattle with me,” he indicated the helmet and body armor piled under the desk and rifle nearby, and continued, “even though we haven’t even heard a whisper of the Elai in this sector for months. Why are we so jumpy? The jamming?”
Major Mecham shook his head. “I’ll be dipped if I know. Still, keep trying to get through to the other bases.” The sergeant nodded and turned back to his communications gear.
In the mess tent, Elizabeth sat and considered an untouched plate of something in front of her. It appeared to be grey. Meat, vegetable, synth, whatever it was, she couldn’t tell. It looked repulsive, and smelled worse. She sighed and rubbed her face, then rested her elbows on the table, put her head on her arms, and closed her eyes.
A voice said, “Hey, beautiful. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” She opened her eyes and raised her head to see Tony standing next to her, smiling, holding two plastic cups. He was in his body armor and had his rifle slung over his shoulder, and his helmet was clipped to his armor.
She smiled at him. “Tony. Hi. It’s good to see you. Sit down.” She slid over, making room for him. He slid in next to her, sitting so their legs and shoulders touched. He reached over and placed the cup in front of her. She reached over and placed a hand on his arm and left it here.
Smiling wearily, she said, “It’s good to see you finally. What have you been up to?”
Patting her hand and leaving his hand resting on top of hers, he replied, “Ironjaw has me in charge of his quick reaction force. It’s mostly mechanics, cooks, and clerks, but, you know. Every Marine a rifleman, as they say. They’re good kids.”
Elizabeth nodded in agreement. “Yeah. So are the corpsmen. I thought we’d get more of our people here, though. I don’t know where they are. It’s just me, Brian, Lieutenant Wilkowsky, and the medic off of Valkyrie Two, Sergeant Johannes. The comms guys can’t get through. They say the interference is getting bad again. Think it’s another solar storm?”
Tony shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe? It doesn’t explain why the Valkyries haven’t shown up. Maybe they were tasked elsewhere.”
Elizabeth sighed and shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. All I know is that this place is making me nervous.”
Tony nodded. “I completely agree. There’s something…” There was a hissing sound that grew rapidly louder, then a loud POP! outside the tent. Ssssssss POP! SsssssssPOP! Tony sat stock still, stunned. In front of him, he could suddenly see daylight streaming through the tent wall through a bunch of tiny holes that hadn’t been there a second before.
Elizabeth moved faster than Tony had ever seen and slid under the table, reaching up with one hand and dragging him down with her. They landed in a tumble of arms and legs. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around Tony, pulled both of them down as fast as she could, and held on.
The popping rapidly grew into crashing explosions. SssssWHAM. SsssssWHAM! WHAMWHAMWHAM. Every time one hit, the two soldiers were bounced into the air. Elizabeth clung tighter to Tony, clenched her eyes shut, and willed herself not to scream.
Suddenly the noise stopped, and it was dead silent. After a moment, she opened her eyes. Tony’s face was inches from hers, pale and covered with the dust bounced up from the floor. Their arms were wrapped around each other. She looked at him for a moment, impulsively leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips, then leaned back and smiled at him. He looked at her, stunned.
She gently patted his back and said, “Your magazine pouches are poking me in the stomach, big fella.” Tony nodded and began trying to extricate himself. Several seconds later, he’d clawed his way out from under the table. Elizabeth scrambled out behind him. Brushing her dark hair back from her face, she scanned the room. Raising her voice, she called out, “Everyone good?” A chorus of voices responded in the negative. Satisfied there were no seriously injured soldiers in the mess tent, she turned to Tony. “Time for you to go.” Cupping his cheek with a hand, she spoke in a low voice, “You be careful out there, Tony.”
He touched the hand that was on his cheek. “You too, girl.” He turned, picked up his rifle, and left the tent at a run, heading for the reaction force rally point. Elizabeth ran right behind him, headed for the aid station and her power armor.
****
In the command post, Lieutenant Colonel Piasecki picked himself up and casually and deliberately dusted the front of his combat armor off. Looking up, he saw his command staff still hunkered under their desks or prone on the floor. He put his hands on his hips and frowned at them. Seeing their colonel standing up and scowling at them, the Marines sheepishly got back into their chairs and to their stations.
Major Mecham, sporting a large welt to the left of his face, spoke in a clear, hard voice, “Report, people.”
The dazed Marines began keying their instruments, then began singing out reports. The sergeant on the tactical display spoke first, “Sir, it looks like we got a dose of Elai unguided high explosives. Rockets, the tac AI thinks. Low tech, but damned effective. Multiple injuries, but no one reportedly killed yet, Sir.” Colonel Piasecki nodded.
The comm sergeant spoke up, “Sir, I’m getting a massive increase in interference. I don’t think this is solar, Sir. It’s on too many bands at once. Looks like jamming.”
Colonel Piasecki snapped, “Call the Shiva. Request immediate air support. We need Banshees on station.” He spun to Major Mecham. “Major, suggestions?”
The younger man shook his head slowly. “Sir, if Desolation taught us anything, it’s that the Elai like to cut off comms, smash with arty, then follow with a rapid infantry and armor assault. We’d best get the men on the walls.”
The colonel nodded. “Agreed. Get ‘em up. Also, uncase the loiter drones and get them airborne. Where’s Gunny Nelson? He still up on 302?”
Major Mecham nodded. “Yes, Sir. He was inspecting the trench lines they finished cutting yesterday.”
The colonel nodded. “Ok, fine. Call him and let him know he’s fine to stay up there, and he’s to keep us apprised if he sees anything. Tell him to stay frosty on those smart mortars.”
Major Mecham nodded. “Yes, Sir.” He bent to his handset and started speaking.
Colonel Piasecki turned to make sure his M45 was still sitting with his helmet on his desk, then folded his arms and waited for more information.
> ****
Hill 302, Observation Post X-Ray, 1240 hours.
Gunnery Sergeant Nelson lowered the field glasses and rested his elbows on the edge of the trench. His eyes locked on the columns of smoke below them, rising from the dozens of rocket strikes that had hit the center of the base, he spoke to the private next to him.
“Watkins. Get on the horn. Tell the command post that it was likely just a zero salvo. The rounds are all over the place.” The private nodded and picked up the handset that connected them to the command post. “Iron Six, this is Observation Post X-Ray. Be advised…standby one.” Gunnery Sergeant Nelson tapped his arm and pointed at the tree line. The red flicker of Elai rifle fire was visible against the green of the brush along the west side of the installation.
After a moment, Gunny Nelson took the handset and said, “Iron Six, this is Iron Seven.”
A moment later, Colonel Piasecki’s voice came through the handset, “Seven, Six. What ya got up there, Mick?”
Gunnery Sergeant Nelson responded, “Sir, it looks like we have a company-strength element of Elai infantry on the west flank. Looks like small arms at the moment, some light unguided rockets. I think they’re prepping for an assault…yep. Here they come.”
At the tree line, dark armored figures could be seen rushing out of the brush, moving in short bursts from cover to cover, heading for the installation walls. Further out in the jungle there were more puffs of smoke, then the explosions began again inside the walls as the mortar rounds began to fall. Multiple streaks of orange flame leapt from the jungle and sped towards the wall, only to explode early as the installation’s defensive lascannons sensed the incoming warheads and fired.
Gunny Nelson keyed his mic again. “Six, Seven. Light rockets. Looks like a reinforced company-level element. Can’t let ‘em get too close, or those rockets will wreck our towers.”
The colonel’s voice crackled from the radio, “Good copy, Seven. Keep the reports coming. Six, out.”
Below, Gunnery Sergeant Nelson could see the Mark 30s in the wall towers open up, spraying green bolts at the rushing Elai infantrymen as the base shook under the pounding of the mortars. From just inside the western wall there came several dozen rapid streaks shooting skyward as the loiter drones shot skyward, and the Marines prepared to defend their positions.
****
Paradise Station, Tactical Operations Center, 1242 hours.
Colonel Piasecki laid down the handset and looked at the tactical maps. The positions of reported Elai positions were flashing all along the western side of the installation and getting closer. The crashing of the rockets hitting inside the base shook the command post every few seconds, causing dust to sift gently down from the overhead beams.
Major Mecham set down his handset and said in a calm, flat tone, “The 30s are firing and the loiter drones are up, but those rockets are fucking us up. The auto-defense cannons can’t track them because of the interference. Might be time to call in some help.”
Colonel Piasecki nodded and replied, “Yep. Call in the birds.”
The sergeant at the comm station picked up his handset and began to speak, “Darkstar, this is Paradise Station-Charlie. We have an urgent air support request, over.”
****
Combat Information Center, UEAN Assault Carrier Shiva’s Wrath, Low Orbit over K3254, 1243 hours.
Ensign Ruk keyed his comms and responded, “Paradise Station, this is Darkstar. Go ahead.”
His supervisor, Lieutenant Commander Nielsen, leaned over the young officer’s shoulder and watched the display.
Ten feet away in her command chair, Captain Robin Beck, the commanding officer of the Shiva’s Wrath, listened intently. Her exec, Commander Jean-Pierre Pietian, stood with his arms folded and head bowed, listening.
The radio crackled again, “Darkstar, we are under a concentrated attack from two hundred plus infantry with heavy weapons, aligned along the western perimeter. We can hold against the infantry, but there are mortar teams just out of range that we can’t reach. Requesting kinetic strikes at the following coordinates.” The coordinates pinged up on the data stream.
Examining the coordinates, the ensign looked up at Commander Neilson, shook his head, and said, “Too close. We can get some Banshees down there, but that’s way too close for rocks.”
Ruk keyed his microphone. “Paradise Station, Darkstar. Uh, be advised, that’s inside our minimum safe distance for kinetic rounds. We’ll scramble a wing of Banshees, though. They’ll be on the deck in…” he tapped a key, checking the status of the fighters down on the flight deck, “thirty minutes. Call sign is ‘Voodoo Flight’. How copy?”
The crackling voice came back, “Good copy. Three-zero minutes. Appreciate it, Darkstar. We’ll be watching. Paradise Station, out.”
The ensign tapped the console and spoke into his headset, “Air Ops, this is the Combat Information Center. Scramble Voodoo Flight, immediate launch and re-entry.” He tapped another key. “Combat Air Control, Voodoo Flight will be yours in two minutes. Your ground contact is Paradise Station on two three seven point two. CIC out.”
He sat back and nodded at Commander Nielson, who clapped him on the shoulder and straightened up. He turned to Captain Beck, who nodded in acknowledgement.
Several decks below, the alert tones went off in the pilots’ ready room. Standing up, the pilots of VMFA 221 ‘Voodoo Flight’ made their way towards a room dominated by large cushioned seats, with a podium and screen on one wall. The pilots filed in and sat. Thirty seconds later they stood again as their commander, Major Michael ‘Odin’ Opoien, came in. He waved at them to sit, came to the podium, and without preamble, started speaking.
“Ok, boys and girls. Time to make our paychecks. The Fifth Marine Division Administrative Installation has a reptile problem, and they need our help dealing with it. You all know these guys; this is ‘Paradise Station’. They’ve been our ground-based air control since we got to this jungle shithole.” He paused and clicked up a slide. An overhead view of the base appeared.
Pointing to the map, Odin continued, “The bad guys are here in this tree line, suppressing the towers and firing rockets at the walls to cover their infantry here, moving on the perimeter. There are identified rocket launch sites here, here, and here.”
The areas illuminated as he spoke. “We’re going to come in in two passes. Me, Magic, and Warlock will come north to south, crop dust the tree line, and smoke the rocket teams. Hex, Tinkerbell, you two will come south to north and make a gun run on these little shits storming the walls. After the first pass, we flip, rinse, and repeat as needed. Any questions?” He looked over the small group.
Lieutenant Jamie ‘Hex’ Ibson raised his hand and asked, “Sir, any air-ground threats?”
Major Opoien replied, “None we know of, but you all know these guys. The Elai are nothing if not adaptable. Take nothing for granted.”
The officer looked over the small group of Marine pilots and nodded, “Ok, Marines. Be safe, fly fast, and let’s go put these shark-toothed shits out of their misery. On your feet, Voodoo!”
The Marines stood in unison, responded in a chorus, “Roll ‘em!” and began to file towards the hatch to their aircraft.
Two minutes later down on the flight deck, Major Opoien hopped off the low cart in front of his fighter. The Banshee loomed over him, painted a mottled grey green, with the large air intake on the front and stubby snout of the rotary lascannon poking out of the nose giving the fighter the look of a crouched animal. The snarling mouth and sharp teeth painted on the nose and around the cannon only served to enhance the appearance. His crew chief, Staff Sergeant Paquet, was waiting for him as he approached the ladder to the aircraft.
The young man held out a packet as he approached and said, “Sir, your flight packet. Encryption key’s inside, so are the commo freqs for the fighter wing.” The young man frowned at the senior officer. “I just finished resetting the inertial guidance system, and it looks ok, but if you have problems,
use the backup.”
Major Opoien grinned and took the packet, then put his hand on the ladder and replied, “Thanks, Pockets. Anything else?”
The crew chief scowled. “Just bring my bird back, Sir. I put way too much work into this old girl to have you fuck her up down there.”
The major laughed. “Thanks, Pockets. I’ll try to be careful, too.”
The crew chief pointed up and replied, “I’m not worried about you, Sir. You’ll be fine. But since you mentioned it…good luck, and be careful, Odin.” The young man saluted. Major Opoien nodded in return and scrambled up the ladder to his aircraft.
****
Paradise Station, Aid Station near Hill 185 ‘The Knob’, 1255 hours.
Elizabeth gingerly climbed out from under the table she’d been sheltering under for what seemed like forever, popped her armor helmet visor up, and called out into the dark bunker, “Sound off people!”
A spate of coughing came from her left, then Lieutenant Wilkowsky replied, “I’m good. So is Johannes, but her helmet is stuck shut. Gimme a sec.”
She could hear them moving around, then the other woman’s voice came back, “Wow. Ok, that sucked. Thanks LT.”
Lieutenant Wilkowsky chuckled. “Don’t mention it. Looks like you took a bit of shrapnel, but it stuck in your helmet armor. I pulled it out. Should work now.”
Elizabeth shook her head to clear it and flicked her suit lights on. The beams cut pathways in the dust, illuminating the two other Valkyrie crewmen in their armor, and the two Navy corpsman who were manning the aid station. One of them grinned and stuck a thumb up at Elizabeth. She smiled wearily, then leaned towards the entry to the bunker and listened intently.
After a moment, she said, “Firefight. Listen.” Outside the bunker they could hear the zipping of the Elai rounds and the low barking of the Mark 30s firing in bursts.
