by Jay Allan
They called Jones “The Surgeon.” It wasn’t so much because he was a great sniper, but because he was a great sniper with an uncanny ability to get a fix on the highest value targets in a formation. His list of kills included a roster of Machine officers and two Tegeri. And over the last few days, 14 UN Internal Security unit commanders.
His NIS was linked to the SK-11 computer-assisted sniper’s rifle, providing him with real time adjustment to wind conditions and other variables, all controlled through the direct neural connection. All Carson needed was the raw marksmanship and the patience to wait for his shot, both of which he had.
He was lying in the rubble of a wrecked storage shed on the outskirts of the UNFE headquarters complex. The invading UN troops had taken the western half of the compound, and now they were massing to assault the eastern perimeter. The Erastus troops weren’t really defending the place; they were falling back slowly, bleeding the attackers. Taylor had been clear…the orders were to inflict as much damage as possible and withdraw before taking serious losses. Those orders had been carried out to the letter. The enemy had taken at least 300 casualties so far, in addition to half their strength incapacitated by the heat. The defenders had 7 KIA and about 25 wounded.
“C’mon you SOB…” Jones muttered softly to himself. …show me some skin, baby.” Jones had immense patience, but he knew he was running out of time. The Erastus forces would start pulling back once the attack began, and that meant he’d have to retreat too. If he didn’t take his target down by then, he’d lose the chance.
He was listening intermittently to the chatter on the unitwide com. The enemy had already advanced on the far flank, and there was a sharp firefight developing. The Erastus forces were dug into strong positions. They’d probably repel the first assault, but then they’d pull back while the enemy regrouped.
Jones was thinking, analyzing, trying to figure how long he could stay where we was…how far he could stretch his orders without actually breaking them. Then he saw it. It was almost pure instinct. The target was moving, raising his head to peer over the trench. Jones flashed a thought to the NIS, making a last second adjustment. His cybernetic eyes focused intently, peering through the targeting scope. There it was…the top of his target’s head…moving slowly up. Forehead, eyes…up over the edge of the trench.
Snap. Jones depressed the trigger, loosing a single hyper-velocity round. The target’s head exploded as the projectile slammed into it at 3,000 mps, sending the lifeless body careening up and back before falling to the ground inside the trench.
“Gotcha.” Jones had the same feral bloodlust as any great sniper. He believed in the cause…and even more, he had unshakeable faith in Jake Taylor. But once he was in the field it was all about the kill. Politics didn’t matter, nor grievances. He would track his prey with unrelenting determination.
He scooped up the sniper’s rifle and rolled to the side, out from under the pile of debris and behind a heavy chunk of broken masonry. He pulled himself up prone and slung the rifle over his back. Time to find another target.
“He’s dead, sir.” Lieutenant Smythe was beyond edgy…he was nearly in a panic. “One second he was giving me orders, preparing for the assault…the next he was dead.” Smythe was covered with blood and gore…all that remained of Captain Shinto’s head.
“Control yourself, Smythe!” Graves voice was tense on the com…he was getting overwhelmed, panicked calls coming in from units all over the field. His forces were advancing on all fronts, breaking through every defensive position. But he was besieged with frantic communiques from his officers. Casualties were high, much worse than expected, and the troops were dropping by the thousands from the heat. Even worse, the enemy snipers were picking off his officers everywhere. The last thing he needed was widespread panic among his commanders.
“Take charge immediately, and lead that assault in.” His voice was harsh, commanding. He didn’t have the time or patience to wipe every junior officer’s nose. “Lieutenant Garcia will take command when he gets there.” Garcia was the senior of the two, plus he had a calmer personality than Smythe. And Graves was desperate for officers he could trust.
“Yes, sir.” Smythe was starting to get a grip on himself, brushing Shinto’s remains off his shoulder the best he could. “Launching the attack now.”
Smythe flipped his com unit to his unit frequency. “Bombardment teams, commence firing.” He was shouting into the com, using volume to cover up his fear. “All units, prepare to advance in five minutes.
The whoosh of the light rockets whipping overhead made Smythe feel better. At least his forces were striking at the enemy, hopefully softening them up before lunging out of the relative safety of the trenches and charging.
He trotted over toward the center of the formation. He found himself flinching self-consciously as he moved around. The sniper’s shot that killed Shinto had come out of nowhere, and Smythe felt like he was in the crosshairs every second.
“Prepare to attack.” Smythe dredged up all the courage he could muster and spoke clearly and firmly into the com. He rubbed his hands on his pants, wiping off the dripping sweat, and he pulled his pistol from its holster. “Charge!”
He climbed up over the trench as he shouted, running forward as quickly as he could. He glanced behind, seeing his troops following, yelling as they ran, and firing forward, more for the morale effect than any real chance of scoring a hit.
Men started dropping, slowly, sporadically. The fire was light, but it was extremely accurate. Smythe’s troops could cover most of the ground under cover of a low rise, but there were a few spots where they came out into the open…and they paid a price each time.
Running in the heat was almost as much as he could bear. His chest was heaving as he gasped for air, his uniform drenched in sweat. The men he still had with him were the ones who’d withstood the heat best, but now they too started dropping. Men simply fell to the ground where they were, unwounded, but no longer able to stand or walk another step.
Still, Smythe pushed himself forward. He didn’t think he had more than 70 or 80 men still moving, but he could see on the tactical display that Garcia’s fresh troops were less than 1000 meters behind. That gave him the morale boost he needed. He was almost to the objective, and he could see the enemy forces withdrawing. He’d though he was facing at least a strikeforce, but there were only a dozen or so enemy troopers scurrying away as his forces reached the first row of buildings.
A dozen, he thought…that was only a dozen troopers we were facing? He watched as they ran, moving at least 3 or 4 times the speed of his troops. He was overwhelmed by the accuracy and the physical capabilities of these Erastus soldiers. What the hell are we fighting here? He was focused on that thought when he felt the projectile slam into his neck. He didn’t feel pain, just a sort of numbness…then he was floating. It went on, seconds dragging out, feeling like much longer. Then dimness, cold, blackness.
Bear crouched down near the mouth of the cave. The network of tunnels was on every tactical map of Erastus, but the enemy zipped right by without even scouting them. Just like Jake had predicted. He moved his hand behind him, giving the prearranged hand signs. The men lined up down the cavern relayed the signals back, giving the word that the attack would begin in one minute. Bear wasn’t going to risk detection, not with a transmission, not even with a shout. His people were less than a klick from the Portal, and his operation’s success depended on speed and surprise.
He counted down in his head, reflexively checking his rifle as he did. Normally, he’d be on the com right now, reminding the rookies to check their weapons and ammo. But he was on radio silence, and there wasn’t a newb to be found in the force crouched down behind him. Every man was a veteran with Supersoldier mods. Not one of them had been on Erastus less than three years, and none of them needed to be reminded to load their guns.
Bear waved his rifle in the air and lurched forward, out of the cave. He knew he shouldn’t be the first one out, bu
t it would have taken a direct order from Taylor to push him farther back. He ran quickly, his enhanced leg muscles powering his massive body over the scrubby grasslands at 30 kilometers per hour. He didn’t have to worry about leaving anyone behind since all his men had the same mods.
He ran toward a small rock outcropping. That was the signal point. When Bear passed the rock, the unit would lift radio silence, and the section and team leaders would organize their attacks. It was halfway to the objective, which would give them about 90 seconds before they hit the outer perimeter of the Portal complex.
The enemy still hadn’t started firing, though Bear figured they would any time now. There was no way they hadn’t spotted his people yet. Still, every second got them closer, and cut down on the losses his guys would take going in.
Bear zipped past the 2 meter high sliver of rock, blasting a thought to activate his com as he did. “Alright, boys, let’s go. Form up your attacks.”
Then the enemy started firing.
Taylor stood in his command post, listening to all the reports coming in. He was mostly concentrating on the chatter among Bear’s people. They had the toughest job. Taylor could only hide two strike forces in the caves, so Samuels had to take the Portal with fewer than 300 men. The UN forces had been careless about their defenses, but they still had at least 1,500 troops deployed in the immediate area. Bear had a hand-picked crew, Supersoldiers and veterans all. But it was still a tough fight.
“Let’s go, 1st Section.” It was Samuels’ voice on the com. His people had just made it to the Portal itself, the UN units in full flight, leaving at least 200 dead behind them. “I want that defensive perimeter up NOW.” There was a short pause, then: “HHVs there, there…and there.”
Taylor had total faith in his closest friends, but it still surprised him sometimes listening to their cool competence. His people had spent their time on Erastus battling the Machines. This was the first time they were fighting against other humans…and it struck Taylor just how good his veterans were. These UN troops were well trained and equipped, but they were glorified bullies and secret police, not soldiers. The Erastus forces were tearing them apart everywhere they fought.
Bear’s people had drawn the hardest duty, and they’d taken the heaviest losses. One in five of Samuels’ men were down, but that was far less than Taylor had feared. They’d taken the Portal. Now, they’d have to hold it against the inevitable counterattacks. The UN command would freak out when they realized they’d been cut off from the Portal. But that was about to become only one of their problems.
Taylor moved toward the command console and activated the main com unit. “Attention, Army of Erastus…” That was the first time he’d called his forces that. He’d never considered a designation, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to call them UNFE, with or without UN Central’s blasted colon. He didn’t know it then, but the name he gave them would stick. “…Objective Z is secured.” He paused and took a deep breath. It was time. “Execute Plan Alpha-Omega.”
Chapter 24
From the Journal of Jake Taylor:
A crusade. Many struggles have been so called, yet few, I suspect, have lived up to the purity of purpose implicit in the name. Our war will be a true crusade, and we shall not rest until our enemies are vanquished and the terrible wrong they wrought has been eradicated. My devotion is pure. I don’t seek permission or approval, and I will not be deterred by apologies and pleas for mercy. I am what I am, and I have made my peace with that. I am ready to do whatever I must.
If the wrong done to you is bad enough, the primal need to seek some sort of redress can be overwhelming. Sitting and thinking about grievances, planning and devising the means of your enemy’s destruction…it all feeds the beast inside. But when it is time to actually do it, to deal out massive death and hideous suffering, to make the decisions that threaten your very humanity…that is when we encounter the greatest test of our resolve.
But there is another aspect of zealotry, of the insatiable need to attain victory at all costs…one that can be the hardest to live with. You must give all to the crusade, holding nothing back. Risking your own life is easy, but sacrificing a friend…that is the hardest thing to live with. And it is just such a friend who is likeliest to be the one you can rely upon in the most vital, the most desperate situation.
The closest I have come to abandoning my calling, of giving in to my own desires over the needs of the crusade was when I was trying to save a friend…a brother who walked into a firestorm because I asked him to.
“Pour it into ’em, boys!” Sergeant Harrigan was firing as he encouraged his men. “Don’t let the fuckers breath.”
The 45th Strike Force had the enemy battalion – what was left of it – pinned. The ridge was high and steep, much too rugged for the panicked UN troopers to retreat over, and every other avenue of escape was over flat, open plateau. Perfect killing ground.
Harrigan’s forces had been attacking all day. He was part of the force driving hard toward the Portal, trying to reach Captain Samuel’s forces before they were overwhelmed. There were four pincers, approaching Bear’s beleaguered survivors from every direction. Taylor was on the com every few minutes, pushing Harrigan and his people, urging them to make the absolute maximum effort. No one had ever heard Jake so determined. Taylor was going to get through to Samuels’ people if he had to smash the entire army to bits to do it.
The battle plan had been a success so far…the entire UN force was on-planet and cut off from the Portal. When they realized what Jake’s people had done, they launched massive counter-attacks, seeking to retake the transit point. Samuels and his small force had been fighting like banshees against 20-1 odds, beating back every charge. But they paid a price each time, and fewer than a third of them were still in the line.
The unit facing Harrigan’s forces began to melt away under the murderous fire. They weren’t even fighting back anymore, nothing but a few sporadic shots. A lot of them were down from the heat, and the ones still standing were routing, trying desperately to escape the 45th’s trap.
“This is Sergeant Harrigan.” He was shouting into the com, his excitement boiling over. “Lieutenant Nguyen, Sergeant Harrigan here…the barn door is open, sir.” He turned back toward the disintegrating enemy formation and added his fire to that of his men. They’d opened the way for the 111th Strike Force to move through the gap and reach Samuels’ perimeter. All he had to do now was make sure none of these troops regrouped and hit the 111th on the flank. He gritted his teeth and slapped a new clip into his magazine. He knew just how to make sure of that.
The fighting had been brutal along the curving ridgeline just east of the Portal. The dead were piled up everywhere, and the advancing troops had to climb over the bodies to push their way forward. Samuels’ troops had performed wonders along this line, holding the outer perimeter against 11 charges. By the time the enemy launched number 12 there only 8 men left manning the position.
There wasn’t a lot of doubt…this time the enemy was going to get through. There was no military reason for Corporal Sebastiani and the 7 troopers under his command to stand…they didn’t have the slightest chance of holding back the 1,200 enemy soldiers formed up for the final push. But all 8 of them were of one mind. There was no way they were pulling back. If the enemy wanted to take their position, they were going to have to take it. Not one of them was ready to give it away for free.
“Well, Private Ramirez, we’ve earned our pay these last few days, haven’t we?” Sebastiani had walked up behind Ramirez. The private had been part of an HHV crew, but his teammate and the weapon itself had been blasted to bits a few hours earlier. Now he was crouched down with his assault rifle. He didn’t have the firepower he’d had before, but that didn’t matter. He’d be standing here with a knife if that was all he had.
“Yes, sir.” Ramirez was focused, ready. Somehow he had mastered the fear, at least for the moment. He knew just as well as Sebastiani that they all had about ten minutes
left to live. “I think Colonel Taylor will be pleased with us.” There was an almost eerie contentment in his voice.
“Yes, private.” Sebastiani’s tone had become thoughtful, almost serene. “I think you are right. We did our duty for the colonel.” He looked out across no man’s land, but he wasn’t seeing anything…at least nothing on Erastus. He saw images of home, memories he’d long since thought were lost to him. The rolling hills of Tuscany, the small town where he was born…the place from which he’d never traveled more than 20 kilometers before they came and made a soldier out of him. He knew he was going to die, but he’d made his peace with it. The fear was gone.
Perhaps it would return at the instant of death, when he was staring at the advancing enemy soldiers…when he was lying in the hot sand, feeling his life slip away. But for now he was satisfied. He’d done his duty…for his comrades and for Taylor. There were worse ways to die.
“Corporal, there’s something going on over there.” It was Private Vick on the com. “Look.” His voice was rising in pitch, becoming excited. “It’s us, corporal. I mean Erastus troops. They’re attacking the enemy from the rear.”
Sebastiani snapped out of his daydream and stared out at the enemy lines. Vick was right. The enemy was falling into complete disarray. Then he heard it, a series of low rumbles…explosions all along the enemy rear.
“They’re here.” Sebastiani shouted into the com. “The relief column is here.”
Vick was the first one to start cheering, but it was only a few seconds before all 8 of them were shouting joyously. Sebastiani let it go for a minute…they deserved it.
