by Jay Allan
Kara shook her head, dragging her mind back to the present. She took a deep breath and turned to walk down the hillside, motioning for Mandrake to follow her. “Let’s go, Craig.”
Mandrake stood motionless on the hilltop. “Wait, Kara.”
She stopped and turned. “What is…”
Mandrake held his hand up and jacked the volume on his com. “Attention all Marine forces, this is General Catherine Gilson.” Kara stared at him dumbstruck, listening to the tinny sound coming from his helmet. “We are currently conducting landing operations.” There was a brief pause then the com crackled to life again. “Attention all Marine forces…”
Kara turned abruptly, slapping the com on her collar. A Marine relief force was landing! “Ed, I want everybody moving now. All units…attack!”
“Black Dragons…attack!” Lieutenant-Commander Elisa Haroldson angled her sleek atmospheric fighter-bomber toward the enemy troop concentrations, her squadron tucked in just behind. The Black Dragons, otherwise known at the 87th Atmospheric Assault Squadron, was one of the best, built from the veteran survivors of the fleet’s decimated formations. The campaigns against the First Imperium had been costly, not only to the Marines, but to the fleet and the support services as well. Haroldson had served in three other squadrons, each decimated in turn during the planetary assaults and defenses that had ultimately turned back the First Imperium. She’d built the Dragons from the shattered remnants of other units, and her people were all Admiral Harmon had available to send in to cover the Marine landings.
She pulled back slowly on the stick, leveling her craft at an altitude of less than 200 meters. “Prepare to strafe enemy positions.” Her planes were coming in with FAEs and autocannons only. Arcadia was a friendly planet, and Harmon had taken nukes and chemical weapons off the table.
She was flying parallel with the enemy’s primary line of battle. There was some sporadic fire from the ground, but nothing serious. She wished the fleet had more air assets…the enemy didn’t appear to have any serious defenses against aerial attack, and a proper air wing would have a banner day. But her job wasn’t to daydream about what she didn’t have; she was here to get as much as she could out of what was actually available.
They were coming in over a major enemy concentration. “Fire at will, Randi.” Randi Anders was Haroldson’s gunner…and one of the best in the fleet.
“I’m on it.” Anders voice was scratchy, gravelly. She was bent over her scope, her fingers primed above the firing controls. Crack! The sound of the FAE nodules being released reverberated throughout the cockpit.
Haroldson flipped on the ship’s belly cameras, watching the target area for a damage assessment. One by one she saw flashes as the thermobaric bombs detonated, an initial charge disbursing their concentrated fuel, mixing the highly flammable explosive with atmospheric oxygen. An instant later, a second charge detonated, igniting the now-aerated explosive, creating a fiery holocaust. Against unarmored targets, the FAEs were nearly as destructive as nukes, but they were also effective against powered infantry. The heavily protected troopers were unaffected by the weapons’ pressure wave and the subsequent localized vacuum, but the temperatures near the center of the firestorms reached levels well beyond what the fighting suits could endure, and their occupants were literally cooked in their armor.
Haroldson banked the bomber hard, clearing the FAEs’ area of effect. She angled toward another enemy concentration, smiling as she heard the autocannons engage. The enemy’s armor was almost useless against the fighter-bomber’s heavy 20mm autocannons, and Anders fired them with merciless efficiency, their massive iridium-coated rounds tearing the powered infantry apart.
“Alright, people, one pass is all we get. Back to the fleet.” Haroldson vectored upward, the g-forces of her ascent slamming her crew into their acceleration couches as the bomber streaked up into the sky. The Dragons had done what they could. Now it was up to General Gilson and her Marines.
“Let’s go, Marines.” James Teller was shouting into his com, his tortured voice cracking as he urged his exhausted men and women into action. “Those are our brothers and sisters landing out there, and by God, we’re going to cover them while they deploy.” He glanced at his tactical monitor. There were symbols all over the flickering map, hundreds of landing craft descending on the battlefield.
Teller’s people had been on Arcadia for months. They’d lost more than half their number, and most of the rest of them were walking wounded. By any textbook definition, his force was combat ineffective. But the books couldn’t quantify heart…or guts. His Marines would dig down; they would find the strength to launch one more attack. He didn’t have a doubt.
“We’re going to attack…and we’re going to keep attacking until we hook up with General Gilson’s people.” Teller was on the opposite flank from the LZ. The more enemy troops they could tie down, the easier time Gilson would have landing her people.
“Follow me, Marines.” Teller leapt out of the shallow trench, and headed toward the enemy positions. He was crouched low, sheltering behind a fold in the ground as he jogged forward. The air strike had disordered the enemy, and he wanted to get his people in position before they had a chance to pull themselves together.
He was moving diagonally across the front, heading toward the enemy’s flank. There was decent cover about half the way, but the rest of the charge would be across open ground. He was counting on the enemy being further distracted by Gilson’s landings, but he knew his people were likely to take heavy losses going in.
“Heavy weapons teams deploy.” He was at the edge of the covered approach. He’d culled all the SAWs from his squads, and he was going to set them up on the reverse slope, with decent cover and a good line of fire on the extreme left of the enemy line. “I want you all firing in two minutes.”
The rest of his force was stacked up behind him. He flipped on the unitwide com. “We’re moving forward as soon as the heavies start firing.” His tone was determined, even harsh. “There is no room for hesitation now. When I give the order, everyone goes. We’ll have 32 autocannons giving us covering fire, and the faster we get where we’re going, the more of us are going to make it.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “Do you understand me, Marines?”
“Yes sir.” Three hundred voices responded almost as one. They were exhausted and hurt and low on supplies. But they knew this was their best chance for victory…for survival. The training taught that and, for most of them, the experience as well. And they knew one more thing. When they leapt out from behind their cover and headed across that open ground, one man would be in the front, leading the way…James Teller. These 300 men and women had been through hell with their general, and they were ready to go wherever he led them. If they were fated to die in this battle, they were resolved to a man that they would do it in arms following their general…and not in some miserable POW camp.
“Major Barnes, are your teams ready?” Teller had placed his number two in command of the autocannons. The major had objected strongly, insisting he should join the charge, but Teller had been firm. He needed everything he could get from the autocannons. If they didn’t keep the enemy suppressed, the charge would be a bloody disaster. And he knew he could trust Barnes to see it done.
“Yes, General. We are ready.” Barnes’ voice was somber, sullen. He’d obey his orders, but he didn’t have to like it.
“Then you may commence fire, Major.” There was another reason Teller wanted Barnes there…in case the charge was repulsed. He wanted the veteran major in place to rally whatever was left of the command. Because Teller was sure of one thing. If the charge failed, he wasn’t coming back. “Let’s go! Charge!” He leapt forward and headed toward the enemy lines, 300 Marines right behind him.
Kara crouched behind the corner of the building, her assault rifle gripped tightly in her hands. They’d all insisted she stay back…Ed, Captain Mandrake, half the officers with ranks high enough that they dared to argue with her. She’d
listened, or at least pretended to listen, to what they had to say. Then she ignored them all and placed herself at the head of the army. Her army. She was done with her amorphous role, half civilian leader, half military officer. If she was going to command this army she was going to do it like a soldier.
She was staring down the street when three enemy soldiers burst into the open. She fired, almost instinctively, and she kept her finger depressed, emptying her clip at full auto. The first enemy went down almost immediately; the second stumbled and fell just as she was firing the last few rounds. The last dove behind one of the buildings at the end of the street.
Kara ducked back behind her cover just as the surviving trooper opened up. The hyper-velocity rounds tore into the masonry, obliterating the corner of the building and sending shards of shattered brick flying all around. She instinctively covered her face as she was pelted with chunks of masonry.
There was a sharp pain in her side. She swore under her breath as she looked down and saw a 10 centimeter shard of brick protruding just above her waist. She reached down and grabbed it, tears streaming down her cheeks from the pain as she slowly pulled it out and tossed it aside.
She was leaning against the wall, trying to catch her breath. She started to reach around for another clip, but the pain was unbearable, and she couldn’t get her arm all the way. Her eyes were fixed on the corner of the building. If her enemy came this way she was a sitting duck. She reached down to her waist and pulled a pistol from its holster. She didn’t know if the sidearm could even penetrate powered armor, but it was the best she could do.
Finally, she looked down at the wound on her side. It was an ugly sight. There was blood everywhere, and she realized immediately she had to do something. She grabbed her knife and reached down, cutting a swatch of fabric off the bottom of her shirt. Every move was an agony, but she knew there was no choice. She grabbed the swath of fabric and pressed it hard against the wound. When she looked down again she realized it was much deeper than she’d first realized. I’ve got to slow this bleeding, she thought, or I’m in trouble. She pressed harder wincing at the pain as she did.
She was trying to stay alert, but she felt weak, groggy. Her arm holding the pistol ached, and she rested it on her knee. There was no sign of the enemy soldier, but that didn’t mean he was gone. He could still be out there, waiting, ready to charge her at any moment.
She could hear the sounds of battle all around. Her people had advanced far into the city’s center, pushing the enemy garrison back with the ferocity of their assault. She glanced down at her comlink, wanting to call for help, but refusing to distract her people when the battle was still being decided. She was going to make it on her own – or not – but she wasn’t going to divert so much as one of her soldiers from this battle.
She was lying against the wall when it happened a few seconds later. She heard the sound of heavy metal boots on the shattered gravel. Fear gripped her insides, and her body went cold. She raised the pistol, ready to fire at anything that came around the corner.
It happened in slow motion. The enemy soldier swung around the corner, his massive armored bulk almost totally filling her field of vision. She fired, then again…and again. The rounds just ricocheted off the dense osmium-iridium alloy of the soldier’s armor. She saw his assault rifle swing around, moving toward her head.
She sat, frozen in place, transfixed on her own imminent death. She held her breath, waiting for the kill shot. But it didn’t come. She heard fire, but it came from behind, not from the figure standing in front of her. Her enemy fell back, half a dozen hyper-velocity rounds tearing into his chest. She was confused, uncertain. She tried to swing around, to get a look behind her, but the pain was too severe, and she fell back against the wall.
Everything was hazy, surreal. She heard something…a voice. It was somehow familiar, and it was calling out to her. “Kara?” A pause then again. “Kara? Are you OK?”
Her eyes slowly focused. Captain Mandrake was leaning over and looking down at her. His visor was open, and he called to her again. Kara, it’s Craig Mandrake…can you hear me?”
“Craig?” She was looking up at him, but she was still disoriented.
His eyes dropped to her wound. Her hand had slipped off, and the makeshift bandage had fallen to the ground. It was soaked with blood. “Sergeant, get me a spare medkit.” He reached behind him as one of his companions handed up a small pouch.
He ripped open the kit, pulling out a vial with a long needle at the end. “Sorry, Kara, but this is going to hurt.” She looked back at him dreamily, not really understanding what he was saying. He jammed the needle hard into her side. She screamed and tried to jump up, but his armored hands held her rigidly in place. “It’s OK, Sarah. Just try to relax.” He knew she wasn’t understanding him, but he continued anyway. “That was a nanobot injection, Kara. It will stabilize the wound.” He stared into her eyes for a few seconds, but she didn’t respond.
He turned toward the hulking figures standing behind him. “Corporal Lasky, take General Sanders to the aid station.” It was the first time anyone had called Kara ‘general.’ It wouldn’t be the last.
“Yes sir.” The heavily armored Marine scooped her up like a feather.”
Mandrake watched him head back toward the field hospital. “And hurry, Corporal.” He paused, a worried expression on his face. “Hurry.”
General Catherine Gilson felt the locking bolt retract, and she hopped off the lander, reaching around and pulling her assault rifle from its harness. She looked down at her tactical display, scanning the immediate area for enemy contacts. She knew her AI would have warned her if there were hostiles near, but Gilson wasn’t the trusting sort, and she was a relentless double-checker. She tended not to believe anything unless she saw it for herself. And even then she was suspicious.
Her caution was particularly justified on this drop. Gilson was bringing her forces down right in the center of the action. It was a high risk strategy, but her scanner reports had shown her just how outnumbered and against the wall Holm’s and Teller’s people were. That was all she had to know. Any risk was worthwhile if it saved other Marines from being overrun.
Most of her people were down, but the last waves were still landing. In another ten minutes all of her 7,000 Marines would be on the ground. The enemy still had overall numbers, but they were exhausted and strung out from months of combat. Gilson knew her Marines were the last reinforcements coming to Arcadia…and she had no interest in simply prolonging the struggle. She was there to win. And that meant there was only one strategy that she’d considered. Attack.
She expanded the tactical display to cover most of the primary battlefield. She could see her forward elements were already on the move, advancing on the enemy positions. They would be engaged in a few minutes. The plan was simple…attack, attack, attack. There was no elegance, no needless complexity. Her people were fresh and fully supplied, at least compared to their enemies. Now they had to do the work.
She checked the clip in her assault rifle and headed up toward the front. Back in the shit, she thought as she jogged forward. Back home.
Chapter 16
Rhine Bridgeheads
Baden-Wurttemberg Sector – Central European League
Earth – Sol III
Hans Werner was still getting used to the shiny new stars on his collar. He’d just gotten word that his battlefield promotion had been approved by the high command. As of the day before he was officially a brigadier, though he’d already been acting in that capacity for two weeks…ever since his battalion had stood firm, breaking up the whole Europan southern advance.
Things up north were still bad. The Europan forces had lunged across the border from the Belgian Federal Zone and cut deep into CEL territory. The CEL northern armies had been twice defeated, and now 1,200,000 demoralized and exhausted troops were trapped in the Dusseldorf-Cologne pocket. The high command was throwing in everything it had up north, trying to break the siege before
the encircled troops were forced to capitulate.
Werner’s success in the south was a welcome piece of good news, and the high command was determined to make the most of it. The CEL finally had a genuine hero in a war that had so far been an almost unmitigated disaster. They were determined to make the most of it…through Werner’s promotion, and his subsequent orders to go on the offensive.
There were troops moving forward in a steady stream, reinforcing his growing command. He’d had a brigade equivalent before he even gotten his stars…now that his status as brigade commander was confirmed he was leading a heavily reinforced division…almost a small corps.
“Major Kimmel’s batteries are in position, sir.” Potsdorf was standing right behind Werner, monitoring the attack force’s communications. Werner had pulled his erstwhile aide from his tank and taken him along when he was promoted. He tested his newfound influence by requesting – and receiving – a bump up to captain for his assistant.
Werner stood silently, staring off toward the river. The last of the Europan forces had pulled back to their side, destroying the bridges behind them as they fled. The retreat had become somewhat of a rout as Werner threw fresh forces into the pursuit as quickly as they reached the front. In the end, the Europans had abandoned tanks, vehicles, and supplies as they fled for the relative safety of their side of the Rhine.
Werner had been surprised when he saw how quickly the victorious enemy had collapsed into a fleeing mass of fugitives. Now, staring across the river and contemplating his own imminent attack, he understood. There wasn’t a real combat veteran in either army. The forces were well equipped and trained, but the Superpowers had not fought a war on Earth in over 100 years. All the training, all the equipment in the world cannot fully prepare men and women for the realities of combat. The armies fighting this new war were large, and they had immense stores of weaponry. But they were fragile instruments. Victory would sustain them, but defeat would shatter their morale quickly. He’d seen it happen with the Europans…how rapidly their momentum had broken when his people stood firm. Werner knew his own forces would be just as brittle.
