Battle for Proxima

by Michael G. Thomas

  The surface of Euryale looked dark blue with its rain-swept hills and thick cloud cover. Visibility was poor, and for those with exposed ears the sound from the constant whistle of the wind could drive a man to insanity. It was a miserable location and unsurprisingly one of the least desired colonies in the Confederacy. If it weren’t for the constantly expanding population through the Confederacy, and the demands on raw materials, it would never have been colonised. With so many of the civilians working underground, the colony had become a hub for computer based research and services.

  The Vanguards continued forwards, their dark, drab armour moving like large metal bugs across the dreary landscape. From inside Spartan’s armour, the rain ran down the visor and slightly obscured parts of the ground. He watched for movement but so far, the only object of note was a flight of three Navy Lightning fighters screaming across the sky being pursued by two missiles. Spartan watched them for a moment, nodding to himself with pleasure as the automatic flare launchers distracted the missiles long enough for the fighters to escape.

  “Sir, we’re approaching the perimeter wall. No signs of movement.”

  Spartan inhaled slowly, this was where he expected trouble.

  “Stay frost people, watched your sensors and check cover. We don’t want to run into an ambush out here.”

  The outer storm wall of the city was somewhat of a misnomer. It wasn’t completely manmade. A large part of it was natural rock, reinforced with metal girders and plating to create a boundary of eight metres in some places. Where the natural rock was highest, it had been left completely untouched.

  “Sir, I’m detecting damage along this sector. It looks like a part of the wall, roughly forty metres wide, has been smashed by artillery,” said one of the Vanguards at the front.

  “Signs of the enemy?”

  “Negative, Sir.”

  “Good, keep moving. It’s probably damage from the fighting. Intel says they will have taken the spaceport first and then used the roads into the city to move men and materials.”

  Teresa turned her head towards Spartan and contacted him via a private channel.

  “Spartan, I don’t like it. What if this is the way they came in?”

  Spartan checked his scanners. There was no sign of enemy moment or even military hardware. He tapped the button to activate the thermal imaging and instantly spotted a heat bloom.

  “I’ve got something, thermal readings twenty metres behind the breach. Tread carefully!” he called out on the company channel.

  The group kept moving forward though now they had slowed to a walk, each of them twisting their torsos and checking every rock or piece of cover for a potential target. From Spartan’s position, behind the 1st Squad, he could see their skirmish line of a dozen marines moving up the dirt embankment and towards the ruins of the wall.

  “This place is giving me the creeps,” said Teresa quietly, “Don’t we have any surveillance?”

  Spartan almost kicked himself, completely forgetting about the extra equipment installed on the landing craft. There was a reason he had done so well as a private and then as a sergeant. He wasn’t used to being in charge of operations of this size.

  “All units stand your ground,” he called, tapping a button in his suit. It took just a few seconds to establish a direct link to the craft. He checked the vessel’s status and received an immediate response that five automated drones were loaded and ready for use.

  “Wait for tactical reconnaissance,” he ordered and then hit the launch button. Behind him, two puffs of smoke were the only indication of the two jet powered drones that blasted off into the sky. They were both fully automated. All he had to do was tap a point on his tactical map. Then they would move into the area and circle at a safe distance. No sooner had the first one moved over the wall, than he could see the problem. He pressed the company toggle.

  “Lieutenant Spartan here. We have a problem. The drone is showing a large number of enemy forces preparing defensive positions further inside the city. It looks to me like they are expecting an attack from the west. That is exactly where our reinforcements from the spaceport will be coming from.”

  “I see it,” replied Lieutenant Weathers.

  The drone continued along its path, sending more footage to the Vanguards.

  “Sir, look at the transportation hub. What are those around the entrance to the tunnels?” asked Teresa.

  Spartan couldn’t quite see on the screen, so tapped several more buttons to zoom in. The video shook for a moment as the optical stabiliser of the drone tried to correct for the wind. It locked onto one of the objects and focused in. Spartan concentrated hard.

  “No way. The animals!”

  The video feed showed a multi-barrelled gun mount that had been set up to face inside the tunnel. Around the area moved a small number of foot soldiers. Most were wearing army issue carapace armour. It was more primitive than the marines’ PDS suits but was very tough and hard to damage.

  “They’re setting up turrets to face the defenders. If they try to break out they will be cut down.”

  “They must be expecting the civilians to try and fight their way out,” suggested Lieutenant Weathers.

  “No, that isn’t it. I know how these people think,” said a bitter sounding Spartan.

  “They are planning on herding the civilians to the guns. The Union aren’t interested in taking the colony or prisoners. They just want to bleed us, stop us from reclaiming Euryale and getting people and resources for our war effort.”

  “Bastards!” muttered Marcus.

  “Sergeant!” reprimanded Spartan.

  “Sorry, Sir.”

  “Listen up, Vanguards. Wait here and secure the immediate area. We need to get this data to the Fleet,” he said, lifting his arm to point upwards.

  “Make sure you’re ready, the mission is still on. The objective hasn’t changed. We are still going to rescue the civilians! We’re also going to make sure our friends in the rest of the ground force don’t get creamed when they arrive!”

  Lieutenant Weathers signalled for his marines to find cover. The sergeants did their jobs and in just a few seconds the two platoons were well concealed amongst the dirt and rocks, around the broken perimeter wall. Spartan ducked down behind a series of large boulders and connected to the CiC on the Santa Cruz.

  “Major Howard here, what is the problem?”

  “Sir. My team has hit trouble around the city limits. I’m sending footage from our drones. Looks like the enemy have dug in and are preparing defences along the main highways.”

  There was a short pause, partially down to the distance for the signal to travel, and also probably because the Major was busy examining the video feeds.

  “I see, what about the city itself?”

  “Heavily defended, Sir. We are about to move though the southern wall.”

  “Good work. I’ll pass the data to the ground forces at the spaceport. They are making progress and should be able to assist in your operation within the hour. I suggest you get inside and break through to the civilians as soon as possible.”

  “Understood, Sir.”

  “One more thing, Lieutenant.”

  “Yes, Sir?”

  “The last bomber run indicated approximately three battalions of ground troops, including Biomechs, have fallen back from the highway and are moving to the city. I’ll hit them with what I can, but in twenty minutes their survivors are going to be on you. When they get there, make sure your people are dug in and ready.”

  “Yes, Sir, we’ll be ready.”

  “Captain Daniels has started his drop, I’ll transmit your plans and data directly to his vessel. I understand his craft has two of the experimental mules on board. If you survive, I’d be intrigued to know how they perform.”

  Spartan shook his head in surprise. No matter how many conversations he had with the second in command of the marines on board CCS Santa Cruz, he could never understand the Major.

  “Yes, Sir, I’l
l do that.”

  He looked to Teresa who was waiting patiently for his orders.

  “You ready?” he asked.

  “Always.”

  Spartan flicked back onto the open company network.

  “Vanguards, we will move quickly to the hub. Hit them hard and hit them fast! The clock is ticking and we have enemy troops inbound!”

  He gave a final glance at the position they were in and the aerial drone which showed him the same scenario as before. The enemy were busy and it didn’t look like they had much in the way of defences along the southern part of the city. With a final breath he lifted up to his full height.

  “Vanguards! Let’s go!”

  The skirmishers rushed the embankment in just a few seconds and for a brief moment Spartan winced. A feeling in his gut told him something terrible was going to happen as they crossed the high ground. Nothing happened though and they disappeared from view. His heart still pounding, he pushed forward and the rest of the Vanguards did the same. It looked like a scene from an old war movie as he watched those in front rush the embankment, much like infantry storming a breach in a fortress.

  He reached the top but didn’t stop, aware of how exposed he was, and dropped down the embankment. As he hit the bottom, he jogged to the first piece of cover he could see and surveyed the ground around him. It was part of a damaged loading bay. Several wrecked trucks and forklifts were strewn about. As he took cover, he noticed half a dozen bodies, all civilians and all unarmed. Teresa dropped down next to him and scanned the area. Up ahead, the skirmish screen pushed forward. To their right Lieutenant Weathers and his platoon moved away and followed the perimeter wall. In this way, the two platoons would be able to ensure they couldn’t be outflanked, yet were close enough to provide mutual fire support. Here, there were no buildings taller than five metres anywhere in sight and a large part of the city seemed to be heavily damaged. It looked far worse on the ground than it appeared from the drones.

  “Sergeant, I’m picking up movement!” shouted Sergeant Harris at the front, with the skirmishers.

  Before Spartan could reply a great volley of small arms fire blasted from the north of their position. The bullets clattered against some of the Vanguards but were incapable of causing damage. One rocket whistled past and exploded impotently against the already damaged perimeter wall. It looked like they had run into the right flank of the enemy line. From the confusion showing ahead of them, it was the Vanguards who had the element of surprise.

  “They know we’re here. Push forward! Check your scanners, weapons free!” called Spartan.

  A great storm of fire erupted from the Vanguards as each of the metal machines clambered forward and targeted the enemy. It was the first open battle the new unit had experienced. In less than a minute every one of them had expended substantial ammunition.

  “Those mules would be pretty handy about now!” said Spartan through gritted teeth.

  A fire team of five enemy soldiers, each wearing carapace armour, appeared around a corner. Two of them were carrying a heavy machinegun on its stand. Spartan was facing away from them, but had spotted movement. Lifting his left arm, he targeted the middle of the group and squeezed his trigger. Two were torn apart, the other three dropped the gun and ran.

  “Drive them back!” he roared.

  * * *

  Wing Commander Anders waited patiently near the extended booms of CCS Ark Royal. The massive carrier was still launching fighters to assist in the ground attack and, by all account they were hitting the enemy hard. Angel Squadron were low on fuel and ammunition. They sat patiently as the automated boom and munitions gear reloaded their fighters. There were over a dozen similar booms extended from a series of extended jetties around the craft. By reloading them externally, the carrier was able to continue launching and landing aircraft, thereby increasing the number of fighters it could handle. He tapped the intercom trigger on the fighter’s joystick.

  “Angel Squadron, I’m reading ninety-seven percent full. Check in with your stats.”

  A series of numbers dropped in on his display as each fighter reported fuel capacity and weapons load. He read through the list, satisfied the squadron was almost ready.

  “Good stuff. Delta Squadron is already loaded and waiting for us. Twenty seconds then hit the auto release. We have work to do.”

  He looked back at the tactical map of the battlefield down on the planet. It seemed the marines and army forces at the spaceport had managed to establish a beachhead. With a secure landing zone, it was now possible to land heavy armour and set up a forward base.

  “Wing Commander Anders. I have new orders for you. The Vanguards are pushing into Oenopion and hitting heavy resistance. Drones are picking up infantry and Biomechs falling back from the spaceport and into the city. We need you to hold them off long enough for the Vanguards to secure their objective.”

  “Understood, Sir. I have your targeting data, we’re on the way.”

  “Good hunting.”

  “Angel Squadron, we are moving to Oenopion to provide close air support. Do a final safety check. I don’t want to lose any birds on the way down. It’s gonna get damned hot!”

  The squadron started their checks, each pouring over data to ensure there were no problems or breaches in their fighters. In the airless vacuum of space, the thermal protection wasn’t much of an issue, but on re-entry it was another matter. There were occasions where craft making their way through planetary atmospheres, let in superhot gasses through ruptures in thermal tiling or protection, with catastrophic results. This was a problem going back to the early days of twentieth century space flight. Each of the fighters checked in to acknowledge they were clear.

  “Angel Squadron, detach and form up.”

  Anders was the first to disconnect from the resupply part of the ship and added a small amount of thrust to push away from the great vessel. He hadn’t yet been aboard the ship as his squadron was based on CCS Wasp. The Ark Royal was known as one of the most battle experienced ships in the Fleet. The scorch marks on her hull showed she had seen heavy fighting over the last months. As he moved slowly away from the warship, he spotted the outlines of Delta Squadron and their fighter-bombers.

  “Delta Squadron, good to see you again. We have new orders for tactical ground support over Oenopion. Are your birds ready?”

  “Roger. I’ve been assessing the situation while the birds have been refuelled. I have some suggestions,” answered Captain Smith, the leader of the squadron and something of a legend within the 7th Fleet. This particular squadron had the highest kill record of the 7th Fleet and that included the Thunderbolt squadrons. It was quite a feat.

  “Of course, what are you thinking?”

  “It looks like the Union forces have installed substantial air defences to cover the western approach and the expected push from our ground forces. Normally, we would dive bomb the target, but my suggestion is a low-level strafing run from the east with your fighters. We’ll loiter to the south and hit them sixty seconds after your attack.”

  “Give them a chance to try and recover their wounded and equipment then hit them?”

  “Exactly. They won’t know which direction to defend against.”

  “Follow us in, we’ll assemble fifty klicks to the north east of Oenopion.”

  “Roger, we’ll follow your lead.”

  Anders altered his course and started his descent into the atmosphere. Around his fighter the rest of the squadron followed, as well as the four bombers from Delta Squadron. As the flames started to lick around the underside of his Thunderbolt, he glanced back to double-check on the rest of the fighters. A short distance behind was the dark shape of the closest bomber. They were shaped like a large wing and easily double the size of his craft. A warning sensor drew his attention.

  “What the hell?” he muttered, checking the computer system for more details. The warning was a temperate alert for his port engine. There must be a slight leak. He would have to be careful once they w
ere low enough to restart the engines. It could be a problem getting back into orbit though.

  “Sir, I’m picking up radar signatures to the west of Oenopion.”

  “Got it, they are scanning for our air support.”

  He looked down at the display. The computer had already attached icons for each detected transmitter and they forced a solid wall around the expected enemy positions.

  “Angel and Delta Squadrons. Meet at the rendezvous and watch your scanners. They have substantial surface to air assets in place. I don’t want to lose any birds. We’re going in!”e

  * * *

  The skirmish screen moved forward as a single loose line across the open ground. From reinforced positions ahead, a group of thirty or forty infantry fired indiscriminately. Most were armed with small arms, but at least three made use of unguided rockets that blew chunks of rock and masonry from the buildings. Spartan stepped out from the cover he’d been using and aimed carefully at a four-man group dragging a heavy weapon between them. The twin L48 rifles blazed away, each barrel sending 12.7mm intelligent rounds towards the enemy. The rounds were specially developed for the marines’ standard issue rifle. Unlike bullets and shells of the past, each one was fitted with advanced electronics that could alter the characteristics of the bullet. The most common use was a range mode, used by selecting a distance with the weapon and then setting the round to explode at the preset range.

  “Keller here, we’re pinned down by heavy machine gun fire.”

  Spartan looked over to his right where he could see two Vanguards from Marcus’ 3rd Squad.