by Chris Hechtl
While the Marines distracted the raiders, a roaring Neobear civilian got behind a suit and tore it apart before he was killed. When the fighting was done, the troopers held the perimeter while the sergeant checked on Finch and the other bodies. He didn't like it that he'd lost an entire fire team to one squad of unarmed Marines caught by surprise. Sometimes though lady luck wasn't on their side he knew.
But try telling the brass that Sergeant Jensen thought as he checked the vital signs, then got to work stripping the bodies.
“Make a good fur coat there,” PFC Tray Fastback said, fingering the blood soaked pelt. “Damn nice fur,” he said, running a hand over the soft pelt.
“Tell Finch that,” PFC Trig Ball said in a droll voice.
Tray looked up to where the trooper had fallen. The sergeant was busy tearing his electronics out then distributing his ammunition, power packs, and weapons to the others. “Sucks to be him. Pity about the holes,” he said, going back to the bear.
“They can be sown up. They add character,” Trig said humoring him as he scanned his sector and Tray's. He didn't like the other man's inattention but there weren't any signs of further resistance incoming.
“Quit fracking around and get back to work,” Sergeant Don Jensen snarled at them as he went to the other three bodies.
“Damn, Sarge, you sure we can't skin it. We could use the fur come winter,” Tray mock whined.
“I said quit fracking around or I'll start skinning you,” the sergeant snarled coldly.
“Okay, okay, just trying to have a little fun,” Tray said in a pouty voice.
“Fun he says,” Don growled as he went back to policing the dead.
<)>^<)>/
Miguel heard the weapons fire and looked out the corner of the window to see a black titan cutting down people in the street. He hedged back and tried to stop a guy from rushing past him out the door. The guy made it three steps before he jerked with shots and went down.
“This place got a back door? Or a basement?” he said over his shoulder to the bartender.
She raised a hand up like a periscope, then pointed to the door behind the bar leading to the back with one finger.
“Right, come on everyone, time to get out the right way,” Miguel said as he crouch walked to the bar and door.
“What do we do?” a terrified patron said.
“We find a place, hunker down, and wait it out. Let the Marines deal with it. They are armed; we're just targets,” Miguel growled as he got under the folding bar opening and behind the bar. Just then something shot up the glass in front and shattered the bottles above them. The bartender muffled her screams with her bar rag as broken glass fell on them. After a moment, a fire started in the front of the pub.
“Go, go go!” Miguel said, urging everyone out as he pulled his alcohol soaked shirt off.
<)>^<)>/
Once the first and second groups of Marines were dealt with, the raiders had a free hand. They knew they had a short window before help arrived so they targeted the cement plant, schools, industry, businesses, apartment complexes, the business district, and utilities. They used incendiary bombs to do most of their damage for them. In the process, they flushed hiding people out of the infernos into the streets. The raiders shot them or laughed and watched the flaming victims dance around like flaming marionettes.
Sergeant Jensen ordered the troops to conserve their ammo. “The real target will be coming any minute,” he snarled, pointing to the sky. He'd wanted to take the shuttles down but didn't have the firepower. He'd seen the numbers; a few of his people had gotten too enthusiastic about tearing the city apart. Now he was regretting not maintaining fire discipline.
So be it. He'd deal with it he thought as he eyed his troops. The best time to hit the Marines was when they were bottled up in their shuttles. If they were smart, they wouldn't come down anywhere near his boys and girls though he thought with a brief thin smile.
He also knew they'd probably land on the other side of the city near the park and then hump it in to him chasing his people out of the city or forcing them to go to ground. He looked around to see his people silhouetted by the fires. Way back when he would have loved such imagery, the black suits, the skull face masks … he made sure his suit was recording it all. But now a small corner of his mind realized wearing a black suit in some situations made them stick out like a sore thumb.
That thought ended though when his suit sensors picked up shuttles incoming. “Here they come. Time to OOD people. Fall back on the bridge as planned,” he said, waving his people to the bridge.
Just as they'd been trained, the two remaining fire teams leap frogged each other as they returned the way they'd come up the main street to the bridge.
The Marines were coming in on a wing and a prayer he thought coldly as he tossed a satchel charge into a school they passed. The explosion went off a moment behind him, punctuating the shuttle's landing.
But some prayers were left unanswered for a reason he thought as he hand-signed his people to continue to fall back as planned.
<)>^<)>/
Two squads of Marines had been launched from General Murtough. They'd managed to swap out their light weapons for heavier ones in the ship's armory before they'd gotten on the shuttle. Each shuttle had two LAVs inside already loaded up with Marines. A Marine was in the back of each vehicle behind a turret-mounted heavy gauss rifle.
The plan was simple, chase the suits down but don't get too close. The sergeants had to keep their troops in check; they didn't want to get drawn into the chase too deeply that they lost perspective. They were to keep the suits in sight but not in contact as additional forces were dropped in to cut off their retreat. Eventually, they'd be able to tear the suits apart with numbers … or simply wait until they ran out of power and then go in after them.
That was the Marine's plan at any rate, straight from the playbook.
The problem was the Horathians knew their playbook and could therefore exploit it. They didn't have civilians to defend and took ruthless advantage of the Marines, their ROE, and their desire to hit the bastards who'd hurt them.
<)>^<)>/
The steel girder bridge clanged as the suits stomped across it for the other side. But on the other side, the suits didn't keep going. Instead, they regrouped behind the road construction vehicles parked in a temporary parking lot nearby. Sergeant Jensen pointed to Trac and Trig to above. The two suits silently climbed up on top of the bridge while three suits each took a side of the bridge and hunkered down to wait.
They only had to wait twenty minutes before the soft sounds of electric engines and tires told them someone was approaching the other side of the bridge. They noted that the enemy didn't have their headlights on; smart since they tended to give them away. The Marines were reliant on their night vision and other sensors.
When the Marines came to the bridge, they didn't see the suits on the other side waiting for them. They saw a clear path and the vehicles parked on the shoulder area. The lack of a clear reading urged the fire team leaders to get across the bridge and get the enemy in sight before they lost them completely. Therefore, as the rain poured down from the heavens, the LAVs rushed the bridge.
“Wait for it … wait for it …” Sergeant Jensen said slowly, ever so softly, like a breath in the wind and pouring rain.
The vehicles got halfway across before the Horathians struck. “Let them have it,” Sergeant Jensen growled.
Guns opened up on the chasing Marines, tearing them apart. One vehicle turned sideways and was torn apart. The other rammed it and went flying over and flipped under fire, spewing Marines all over the place.
The two suits on top of the bridge went into action. Trig sniped the Marines as they took cover. Tray had a more flamboyant approach. He dropped to hang upside down by his legs and then fired with a pistol in each hand. He hooted as he shot the survivors.
“Center mass to knock them down. Head shot to put them down for good. These Marines are tough,�
�� Sergeant Jensen growled, putting words to action on a Neowolf who kept coming and firing at them. Rounds ricocheted off the girder he was taking partial cover behind. When the Neowolf went down, he turned to the others. They were firing with almost wild abandon, much to his dismay. “Watch your ammo!” he snarled. He saw Tray hanging upside down. “You fracking idiot!” he snarled.
“What? It worked, didn't it?” Tray demanded when there was no more return fire. He holstered his pistols, then grabbed the girder with one hand and swung his legs off, then dropped to the deck. He straightened up slowly to look at the wreckage. He whistled softly.
“Awe, no more,” Trig drawled as he dropped down and joined him. He lifted his face mask and pretended to blow smoke off the tip of his rifle. “Wish I had a cigar,” he grumbled.
“Wouldn't stay lit in this mess,” Tray replied.
“True,” Trig replied.
“Stow it. Bombs and grenades, one of each if you've got them,” Sergeant Jensen ordered from behind them. They turned to see the sergeant as he jerked a thumb at the bridge, then pointed to specific spots. “Move people,” he snarled as he pulled out a grenade, pulled the pin, then tossed it at the nearest LAV. “Make ‘em count,” he growled. “If they bounce off, I'll have your ass for KP for a week,” he warned.
Tray looked at Trig. The other raider shrugged but was already pulling a grenade off his belt. He turned and indifferently tossed the explosive device over his shoulder and then walked off the bridge.
The explosions that went off behind them were the icing on the cake. Some of the troops laughed as they ran like hell into the rainy night.
<)>^<)>/
Miguel surveyed the damage with a bleak face. He wanted to weep. Not just for the dead, that was horrifying enough. It was the damn damage to the bridge. He knew the spotlights and near dawn didn't cover it all. It would only get worse when daylight finally broke he knew.
Technically, he should be back in town helping dig out the living and putting out fires. But truth be told after his near death experience in the burning bar, he was having bad flashbacks about going near a fire again. Which was why he kept his back to the smoldering city behind him as much as possible.
Rich just made helpless sounds behind Miguel. “I know,” Miguel said shaking his head. Half of his people were alive and kicking. The other half were unknown. He'd heard that two might be dead. Technically, he should be in a hospital ward dealing with his burns but he was too frustrated to sit on his ass and the medics were overwhelmed anyway.
Rich made another “Hmm,” whimpering sound.
“I know,” Miguel snarled turning to the other man. “I've got eyes,” he said. Rich winced. Miguel shook his head and then turned back to the sight of the bridge.
After a moment, he heard Rich turn away and fresh boot steps come up behind him.
Joe came up behind him and sucked in a breath. “Damn it! We just built that!” he said in impotent rage as he waved an angry hand at the twisted girders and metal. The bridge hadn't been dropped, but the center part had been blown away. There were holes all over the roadbed Miguel noted. He could hear an occasional creak from some spots. No doubt some of the welds and rivets had been busted.
“I know,” he said slowly.
“Frack! This puts us even further behind!”
“I know,” Miguel said. There was nothing more to be said. The work crew remained quiet as the body bags were loaded into vehicles.
“What do we do?” Joe finally asked.
“We help with the cleanup then survey the mess and figure out how to fix it. We built it; we can fix it,” Miguel said as he watched the truck pass them. “Come on,” he said grimly.
Chapter 52
Major Zedeal shook his head as he watched the replay of the battle of Quenos. The computers had dispassionately pieced together the sensor data from the electronics in the equipment as well as from the implants of the dead Marines to give them a picture of the battle. Some of the data was still processing he knew. General Murtough's computers would also be rewashing the data for more clues. But from what they'd seen so far, he'd finally determined one pressing question, how the bastards had gotten in so close so quickly.
The answer had come from the first picket they'd hit; a deep analysis of the footage had shown the suits climbing out of the riverbed as they attacked the Marines. They'd used the riverbed as cover he surmised. Clever he thought with a mental snarl. He tapped out a hot wash report to all commands to watch for that. He knew he wasn't the only one up and on high alert.
“They can't sustain that loss ratio; I don't care who they are or what they've got for support.” Lieutenant Liu said with a shake of his head. “Eventually, they'll hit bottom and start to pull back to conserve what they've got.”
“Try telling them that. They are attritionalizing our forces so we can't sustain those sorts of losses either. That's not a good thing,” Major Zedeal said.
“It's because we're on the defense. We can't be everywhere; we can't possibly cover everything,” the lieutenant said with a shake of his head. “And Quenos was a fracked-up disaster,” he growled.
“I know,” the major drawled. “I also know that the city and people weren't the real targets,” he said. The lieutenant stared at him. “They were a provocation to get our people to go after them. They drew our people out into the open so they could pick them off. Our people hit them in waves to keep the pressure on and soaked up a lot of dead in the process.”
“I know.”
“We got a few as you mentioned, but a few. Based on my numbers we killed what, four? For a platoon of dead?”
“Some of them were militia,” the lieutenant pointed out.
“Still not an acceptable loss ratio and you know it. Four armored suits …,” the major shook his head.
“I knew they were force multipliers but …”
“The thing to remember is like I said before, our people kept going after them in waves instead of overwhelming them with saturation fire. That was why they could rack up the numbers they did. That and they had armor and our people had light weapons.”
“Ah,” the lieutenant said. “So, what do we do about it?”
“We need to figure out their raids, see if we can anticipate them while also finding their bases,” the major said. “Both are tedious and time consuming tasks, and I don't think we're going to find them any time soon.”
“Depressing but yes, I agree,” the lieutenant said.
“The other problem is telling people that, which was their other reason for hitting us like this. They get to show we're ineffective,” the major said with a shake of his head.
“That part I don't like,” the lieutenant growled.
“Welcome to the club,” the major said with a grimace just as they got word of another attack in progress. Then there was a report of another attack. He swore viciously as the lieutenant looked up. “It looks like it's going to be a long night for us and for the grunts on the ground,” Blake said bleakly.
Lieutenant Liu stared at him, then stiffened as he got the same reports. “Son of a …”
“I know. It's going to be a long night and day,” the major growled.
<)>^<)>/
The captured suits from the spaceport and Quenos were wrecked. Their computers held very little data. There were no convenient maps leading back to their bases, just the basic combat map of whatever engagement they'd been involved in. The radios had frequency channels and encryption keys, but a listen-in to the frequencies showed the enemy had shifted to other frequencies. Application of the keys to the radio chatter didn't get anywhere; the enemy had shifted their encryption algorithms.
Using the keys on old recorded chatter gave them mixed results. Still, something was better than nothing. The data helped build a profile of the enemy.
It didn't help them with the current night of battles however.
<)>^<)>/
Captain Zhukov had chosen the two towns and city because they were near eno
ugh his main base to get his people to and because they had a reasonably good chance of getting them to their drop-off positions using wagons and other camouflage, then more importantly, out when the battles were done.
They used the terrain to their advantage, keeping the suits below ground level. With the weather as bad as it was, the Eyes Surveillance drones and other craft were forced to remain above the clouds, degrading their sensor range and accuracy.
The town of New Glostrup had a bit more warning than Quenos City of an attack; an Eyes drone caught sight of the raiders as they came in with its radar and IR. The raider's passive sensors picked up the active radar sweep and that kicked them into high gear.
Just as the Marines were reacting to their attack, they reached the outside border of the city. But instead of going up hey diddle diddle up the road, the suits rushed through the alleyways between the suburban houses and then turned to hit the Marines from the side and rear. Two suits were damaged by heavy weapons fire, but the rest survived and took out the Marine force as well as the forces that came up the street trying to get them in a pincer.
Once the Marines were smoldering gruel, Sergeant Simon Jensen ordered his troops to reload and gather up what gear they could. The two damaged suits remained as rear guard as the rest went in to the inner town.
Occasional shots were fired from civilians in homes or under other cover. These were dispatched with ruthless efficiency. The Gauss rifles could fire right through a building into a target huddling in what they thought was safety. Occasionally, a few unarmed people were also shot, but the raiders didn't care.
The simple mission for the Marines to secure the planet and to blood their green troops got more complicated and messy very quickly as Echo squad went up the Main Street of the town to toss satchel charges into targets of opportunity. Theirs was the second attack in the night, set up to go off at the same time or in conjunction as the others. Unfortunately, weather and terrain had stalled them so they'd been an hour late behind Bravo.
Which meant Don would rib him mercilessly when they got back to the barn, Simon knew. But he had the better role. His squad was light on bombs because there were few targets in the town, but they had a lot more ammo for what came next.
