The mission was essentially Infantry Tactics 101, but it was the first time the battalion had operated together since the battle with the Grubs—and it was a far different battalion now. The personnel had been rearranged, other Marines had transferred in, and more importantly, the Klethos were integrated into the unit. Third Squad had been transferred to Mike Company with the eight Klethos taking their place.
Kilo Company was the Point of Main Effort with the mission to assault the automatons making up the enemy. Hondo didn’t like the automatons that much. He preferred force-on-force as more dynamic training, but after a few unfortunate incidents with Legionnaires providing the aggressors, that idea had been quickly scrapped. The task force couldn’t afford to lose any of their fighting strength in training.
With Mike providing the base of fire and Lima positioned in support, the mission was one the Marines could do sleepwalking. Marines and Klethos, however, did not yet instill the same feeling of confidence.
Kilo kept up the advance. Demo-pyro exploded around them. The Marines were used to them, and the Klethos didn’t seem fazed even when pelted with clods of dirt shot into the air.
“Makes no damned sense, this pyro,” BK passed. “We need Grub light weapons, not this shit.”
“We’ll have them. Did you see them uncrate the Grubs?” Sam responded.
Hondo wasn’t so sure they would see the huge automatons anytime soon. At half-a-billion credits each, the huge, realistic-looking replicas made by DreamWorks were too valuable to risk to crazed Klethos. They could even “kill” Marines in PICS, the light weapons tuned to sensors that could be activated in the combat suits. Hondo thought they’d be held in limbo until human-only follow-on forces arrived for training.
“Second Platoon, hold up. We’re getting ahead of the rest of the company,” the lieutenant passed.
Hondo checked his order of battle display. If they had edged out past the other platoons, it wasn’t by much. The lieutenant was relatively laid back as far as officers go, but if she was on them like this, she must be getting the same kind of pressure from above.
The Klethos weren’t used to having someone else control their movement, but this time, all eight complied. They stood still like good little soldiers until the command was given to move out again.
At 800 meters, the company came online. Mike took the enemy under fire, and Kilo steadily advanced at the half-trot, eating up the ground. PICS registered hits from enemy fire, but no one faltered. No one did much about the incoming, either. This was not a realistic scenario by any means. It was merely a “proof of concept,” the battalion commander had told them during the brief.
With only the last slope between the enemy and them, Kilo charged the position, knocking out each of the enemy. The Klethos kept under control, with not a single sword drawn. Probably best of all for the maintenance crews, not a single automaton was damaged.
Kilo consolidated on the far side of the objective, providing security for Lima to advance. Once Lima arrived, the exercise was brought to endex, probably to the great relief of the task force. The combined Marine-Klethos unit had performed without any major screw-ups.
Hondo didn’t feel a sense of accomplishment as the NCOs and above congratulated each other on a job well done. This was a BS operation, but above and beyond that, it just didn’t feel right. The Klethos didn’t seem into it. They were going through the motions, nothing more. There was none of that crazed sense of purpose that had taken Sergeant Blue and his squad into a rampage of destroying automatons.
The entire premise of the Klethos-Human task force was that humans would bring tactical expertise while the Klethos shoulder the bulk of the fight. He just didn’t see that fight in the Klethos today. True, the Marines were mostly going through the motions as well, but things just didn’t sit right with him.
“Hey, uh . . . did the Klethos . . . I mean, did they seem a little lethargic to you guys today?” he asked on the fire team net.
“What, them? Yeah, like someone took their balls,” BK said.
“They’re female, BK, not male. No balls,” Sam said, laughing.
“No matter. Everybody’s got balls. Yours just dangle.”
“I mean it. Look at them. They’re pretty relaxed.”
“Don’t worry about it none,” BK said. “We told them not to go all berserker today, or their honor and shit would be lost. They just obeyed orders for once.”
“Maybe,” Hondo replied without conviction.
I just hope we’re doing this right.
Chapter 9
Skylar
“That went well,” Peyton said, moving to intercept her as she left the stands.
The head xenobiologist was still a pain in the neck with his attention, but he’d become one of her few allies, and if working with the devil got her views heard, that was a sacrifice she was willing to make.
He was right, though. It had gone fairly well. The Marines and the Klethos had managed to conduct an assault without screwing up. With this checkmark done, the next step would be to conduct operations with the other units in the task force.
With all the focus on the Dictymorphs, Sky had almost forgotten that her field of expertise was the Klethos-lee. Watching the exercise, she tried to fit in what she’d observed with her previously-held ideas. Not all of it matched.
The military had a team of xeno-scientists attached to them, helping to facilitate the integration, while she, perhaps the most qualified person on the planet, fought with colleagues about the Dictymorphs. What she was doing was vital to the mission, but still, she felt a longing to be jumping into deeper waters with the Klethos.
The introduction of the d’solle leadership class had been a huge surprise, but now, that fact had simply been overcome by events. More and more of the social organization was being revealed, each new piece of information something she would have killed for only a year prior.
The d’relle were already well known, as was the propensity for the Klethos, other than the warriors, to conduct business in quads. Almost everything else was new. Over breakfast, she overheard someone on the Klethos team remarking that one of the head-quad’s members was a male.
Ah, the smaller one, she noted, then chastised herself for assuming.
It had been long understood that the Klethos, just as with most Earth-based life, were both male and female. The d’relle were female (which was why Gladiators were female as well), and the warriors were female. Despite all sorts of probes conducted at challenges, no one had been able to identify a Klethos male. With the bird/dinosaur analog, most people assumed that the males were simply smaller versions of the female, and that could be true. As a scientist, however, Sky could not fall into the trap of assumptions.
She wondered what else she was missing, and for a moment, she was tempted to take the afternoon off and ask for an update from the Klethos team.
“You want to walk with me?” Peyton asked, snapping her back to the here and now.
“What?” she asked stupidly.
“Do you want to walk with me? To the conference call?”
Oh, hell. How did I forget that?
“The Jesuits, yes.”
“So, yes, do you want to walk with me?” he asked confused.
“Yes, we can walk together. Any indication of what they’ve found?”
“I would imagine it has to do with sequencing,” he said, his eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement.
No shit, Sky. Snap back out of it.
The Saint Peter Canisius Monastery, an independent enclave on the Brotherhood world of Destiny, had grown to be one of the finest experimental laboratories in human space. Specializing in sequencing the very quarks and leptons that made matter, it made sense that was what the conference was to cover. And if the Jesuit brothers felt comfortable enough to reveal their findings, they could be pretty significant.
Thoughts of Klethos pushed aside, she hurried with Peyton to find out what piece of the Dictymorph puzzle might have been found.
Chapter 10
Hondo
Hondo’s pulse raced with nervous energy as he waited in the assembly area for the order to move out. Twenty-five clicks ahead of them in the darkness was a concentration of Grubs.
The unnamed planet, designated K-1003 by the UAM command, was deep into Klethos space, across a vast arm of the galaxy where up until then, no humans had ventured. The explorer aspect of that was lost on Hondo—he, along with the rest of the humans in the task force, was more concerned with the Grubs that awaited them.
The planet had fallen to the Grubs more than 20 Earth-standard years prior, according to the Klethos. A very small number of the Grubs, possibly fewer than a hundred, remained on the planet for reasons no one knew.
Not that most of what the Grubs did made sense to the humans. While generally pushing in from the the center of the Virgo Supercluster’s center, they seemed to hit some planets and not others. The Klethos hadn’t been able to determine just what they did with a planet once they took it.
“You ready to joust?” BK asked over the fire team net, nudging his arm with a clank of battle armor.
“Ooh-rah,” he answered. “Born ready.”
“I’m gonna kick me some Grub ass,” she passed.
“They don’t have asses,” Sam interjected.
“I’ll kick your ass, then.”
“I know you’ve wanted my ass for a long time, sister.”
Hondo barely listened to the banter of his friends. Some Marines became overly garrulous before a fight, others withdrew into themselves. Hondo tended to get quiet as he went over the operations order in his mind, trying to foresee any change to it.
And it would change. The ancient proverb that no battle plan lasts beyond the first contact was just as valid today as it was back on Earth with the land armies.
More chance for it all go haywire on this mission, he noted to himself as he gripped the pike in his left gauntlet.
One-third of the Marines had been issued the Klethos pikes, the same ones with which they’d killed one of the Grubs in the last battle. Three meters long, with 80 cm of that the point, they crackled with occasional snaps and pops as the frequency of the current alternated. The human research team couldn’t agree whether it was the sharp point and edge or the current that had taken down the Grub. All Hondo knew was that the Grub had killed most of the Klethos wielding them, and that didn’t give him a warm and fuzzy. If it came down to it, he’d trust his M-48 more. He knew the higher-ups wanted to find out what weapons worked the best, and he understood that, but when it got down to brass tacks, he had to protect his mother’s favorite Marine.
BK’s comment about jousting had become a running joke within the battalion. With the long lance-like pikes, the PICS Marines did somewhat look like knights of the Middles Ages. Give them giant destriers, and they’d fit right in, Saint George galloping off to slay the dragon—if a giant white grub could be considered as one.
Those Marines who hadn’t been issued a pike had a variety of weapons, all gyvered to see what might have an effect. The Klethos in the battalion kept their own weapons.
This time, 3/6 was not the lead element, nor even in the main assault wave. That honor went to a Brotherhood and a Confederation battalion along with a French company and two Klethos “battalions” (the Klethos did not seem to have units as the humans considered them. Each group and a commander and some sub-commanders, but after that, there wasn’t any organization that they could discern).
More than a few of the 3/6 Marines, still angry over the last battle, wanted to be the tip of the spear in order to deal out revenge. Revenge was all well and good, but not when it colored your actions. The real reason they were in the reserve, though, was that as the mixed battalion, no one knew if they were ready for combat ops yet.
Glancing over at Third Squad (K), Hondo wasn’t sure, either. The eight Klethos stood easy with no sign of nerves. The Klethos as a whole seemed to have accepted the need for unit integrity, but Hondo wasn’t sure they’d embraced human tactics. Mr. Perkins, in particular, seemed to be just going through the motions.
At least Sergeant Blue seems to be acting like an NCO.
It was true. Over the last four months, the Klethos had essentially eased into a real leadership role, and the other Klethos took seemed to accept her leadership. Sam thought it was simply a case of the billet defining the individual. She’d been named “Sergeant” and had grown into the position.
“We’re moving out in five,” Staff Sergeant Aster passed. “Get yourselves ready.”
Hondo checked his readouts for the twentieth time. He had his combat load of six M-48s, ten thousand rounds of flechettes, twenty 20mm grenades . . . and a Klethos pike. His power was at 97%. He was ready for bear (or Grubs, he hoped).
Five klicks ahead, the Brotherhood, Confed, and the two Klethos battalions and the Greater French company were moving out, all to face about 20 Grubs. Twenty-five hundred humans and a thousand Klethos.
Four Falcon-Cs were staged 90 klicks away, but after what happened to the first two and the CS Philippi, they were only to be called forward as a last-ditch option.
“We’re expendable, not them,” Sam had noted.
Hondo didn’t think that was true . . . not exactly. No one knew what the Grubs had used to knock down the Philippi, even after months of analysis, while they had a better idea of what they used on the Marines and Klethos. They couldn’t replicate it, and armor only gave very temporary protection, but the infantry could take the fight to the enemy.
He was just glad he wasn’t in the French Legion. In their Rigaudeau-6’s, which the Marines had to grudgingly admit were superior to their PICS, the Legionnaires had been outfitted with several types of armor shields, each shield crammed with analytic devices. Their mission was to get hit by the Grubs and then see how well the various shields protected them.
Max balls, as BK would say.
“Move out,” the lieutenant passed on the command net.
“Let’s go, Sergeant Blue,” Staff Sergeant Aster passed to the Klethos in the platoon, stepping up and giving the hand-and-arm signal to move.
The Klethos didn’t seem to like comms, and only Blue and Beanie had headsets, which they’d turn off as often as not. Sergeant Blue raised an upper fist in acknowledgment, however, and the platoon started forward.
Hondo kept his pike head out in front of him, careful not to let it drift too close to his body. When humans and Klethos had first clashed, the Klethos had been able to render most of the Marine and New Budapest weapons inoperable through a projected field. The pike head worked on a similar basis, supposedly interfering with the Grubs’ bodies, but if it got too close to a human weapons system, it could knock that out, too.
With night vision and full magnification, Hondo could see the rear elements of the Brotherhood battalion ahead of him. They were moving steadily forward, using a network of ancient washes for cover. This region of K-1003 was barren of life, just rocks and sand that could easily be mistaken for the Wicked Dry, the largest desert on Paradhiso. Most of the host was out of sight already with only the artillery battery visible. Three-Six was to advance to the battery and provide security while the other units advanced into contact. Along with 2/14, the two Marine battalions were the totality of the task force reserve. General Reicker had wanted the entire Marine brigade, but the task force lacked the stealth transport from space to the ground to land that many bodies.
It took only 15 minutes to move into position. The Brotherhood battery had eight Cana and eight Eden tubes, the Eden firing the smart 190mm shells, and Hondo looked at them with interest. It was commonly accepted that the Eden AP shells were designed as PICS killers despite the fact that the Federation and the Brotherhood had never been openly at war. This was the closest Hondo had ever been to one of the big guns.
The Confed had some of their big meson canons to employ, but they’d be deployed in the envelopment, not here in support of the fixing force. Hondo
had seen his own M-48 missiles simply be absorbed by the Grubs, so despite the big shells being fired by the battery, he’d put his money on the meson canons.
Sergeant Mbangwa loomed out of the darkness, checking positions of the three squads. As he reached Hondo, he switched to the P2P and said, “Keep an eye on the Klethos, OK? I’m going to want to give the lieutenant a full report when all this is over.”
“Roger that, Sergeant,” Hondo replied. “I’ve got it.”
“Good man, Soldier” the sergeant passed, giving him a swipe on the back that would have torn a man out of armor in two.
Hondo felt a surge of pride. Since he was a child, he’d been taught to respect the Youmambo class. As on all Federation worlds now, citizens were equal, but sometimes, one class is more equal than another. Three hundred years of the Youmambo ruling the planet could not be poofed away like dust in the wind. Sergeant Mbangwa was a Youmanbo, a “Black Blood,” and just like a fan meeting a celebrity, Hondo still felt a thrill when the sergeant singled him out.
He knew that feeling was misplaced. They both were Marines, and the Corps didn’t care about Black Bloods or anything else. Mbangwa was his senior by his rank of sergeant, nothing else.
Still, Hondo was a creature of his upbringing, and he could help but feel a bit of pride that the sergeant was leaning on him.
He kept his scanners at maximum reach, not that he thought he’d need them if a Grub came by, but he kept watch on the four Klethos in his sight. They looked calm and in control, but who knew what might spark them into charging off in a fury?
“The Confed are in contact,” the company commander passed. “Stay ready for orders.”
“The skipper must be getting nervous,” BK passed with a laugh. “He never gets on the net.”
Which was true. Captain Montgomery did not micromanage. He let his subordinate leaders lead. He probably was on the command net to the lieutenant, but he rarely reached down to the grunt level.
Alliance (The United Federation Marine Corps' Grub Wars Book 1) Page 5
