by Michael Ryan
“She thanks you as well,” Polloz said, interpreting her odd language.
“Tell her I’d like to talk again,” Callie said, and then moved to a dark corner to sit alone. Someday, she thought, she’d make sure at least one prominent person died in retribution.
In the meantime, she’d placate herself by killing as many of the lizards as possible and ensuring they didn’t recapture those she’d taken under her wing like a protective hen.
Sergeant Veetea was placed in Dragon Squad under Sergeant Tunning. He was still suffering from his injuries, but his disabilities weren’t enough to keep him out of the fight.
Sent to the enemy’s right flank, Mallsin commanded the Dragons to place themselves in a previously dug trench.
The squad fired missiles at targets of opportunity, and Mallsin scanned single high-value units to snipe. “Veetea, work on defense,” she said. “I don’t need you trying to run around with a bum leg.”
“It’s not so bad,” he said.
“Yes, but I still need someone on overwatch for missiles,” she said. “Also, keep an overhead scan going for helis.”
“Roger,” he said.
“Tunning,” Mallsin said.
“Go.”
“Send a couple of men to this spot,” she said, and sent a picture of an outcropping of rock five hundred meters out. “I’m going to pull back behind them and snipe. If my shots are detected, I’d like our soldiers to be decoys. I’ll be shooting over their heads.”
“Roger that,” he said. “I’m going to apply pressure to the lizard mortar team that’s damage-dealing from that reddish colored bluff.”
Mallsin dashed towards the hills to her right.
<
Where’d that come from? she wondered.
<
<
The flare failed to dissuade the missile from its flight path; she had no choice but to freeze.
<
The message no soldier ever wanted to see flashed as she dove. The streaking projectile barely missed her and smacked into the ground. She jumped to her feet and was slammed in the shoulder with a high-powered round that her system hadn’t detected.
<
Mallsin’s upper body auto-locked, but unlike the older versions of TCI-Armor, the lower portion of her suit remained under her control. She ran. Whatever ammunition had struck her was coming at her again, but she was able to evade the second shot.
She dove back into the trench.
“I thought you were a goner,” Veetea said.
“Me too.” Mallsin ran a diagnostic check. “Golvin. I can’t do crap sniping.”
“I could use some help,” Veetea said.
“Well, I guess this is the wounded-warrior zone, then,” she said. “Let’s do some protecting.”
“Not quite as exciting, is it?”
Mallsin thought about the question for a moment before answering. “I wouldn’t have admitted this if I wasn’t feeling it,” she said, “but you’re right. I’m already missing the prospect of being on sniper patrol. I guess the ‘addicted to killing’ rumor isn’t a rumor.”
“Incoming,” Veetea warned.
Mallsin’s system had already picked up the mortars. “You concentrate on the left side; I’ll take the right.”
“Roger that,” he said.
The pair satisfied themselves playing defense.
Abrel directed Devil Squad to a small ridge. “Sergeant Bowlington,” he said.
“Go,” Bowlington answered.
Abrel sent the sergeant a picture with a few hastily added markups. “I’d like you to keep an eye on this troop transport.”
“Got it,” Bowlington said. “Do you want me to launch a few missiles?”
“No. They’d be wasted from this far out.” Abrel scanned for helis and tanks and then returned to the sergeant. “They’d defeat them and fire back at us. Just watch for now. I’d like to get my sniper rifle out at some point. You’re looking for anything that seems different. Any lizard that stands out for any reason, no matter how insignificant it seems, I want you to send me a picture and then track it.”
“Roger.”
Abrel spaced the squad over a line a hundred and fifty meters long. It was a tight grouping of ten soldiers, but he had a plan.
The JFUA infantry was being battered with long-distance mortar rounds, but he was confident the Drekis had a spotter on the opposite side of the valley. A reptile that could see what was happening from a higher vantage point. Abrel moved halfway down the ridge and ordered the Devil Squad to lob HE missiles up in high arcs onto grids he’d programmed into a targeting map.
“Go,” he ordered.
The first round of explosives slammed into the other side of the valley. Nothing moved, and nobody returned fire.
The group fired a second set of ten missiles, with the same result.
“Go again,” he ordered.
Nine of the ten missiles on the third volley landed and exploded as the previous twenty had, but one exploded in midair.
“Get me the coordinates of where that mortar would have landed.” Abrel waited impatiently for a private to message him with a picture and a grid marker. When he received it, he eyed the spot. “You’ve got to be there.”
“Excuse me, Sergeant?” someone asked.
“Never mind,” he answered. “Keep an overwatch on the infantry. I’m hunting. Don’t bother me unless it’s a priority.” He noticed a slight anomaly and entered the coordinates into his firing program. Next, he sent the position to the squad.
“In fifteen seconds,” he said, “I want ten rounds in a circle around that spot.”
The crew had a set order for bracketing a target; each soldier knew his position on a theoretical clock. The rounds were launched at fifteen seconds, and Abrel waited another two seconds before putting a kinetic round into the center of the imaginary circle the munitions were headed toward. The spotter was forced to move, albeit only slightly. It was enough for Abrel to get a firing solution programmed into his sniper rifle.
He affirmed the targeting in spite of the fact that the computer’s programming notified him that it didn’t “see” anything at the position at which he was about to fire an APA round. He watched the reticule cycle from yellow to green. It fired at what seemed to be dirt and rock.
The piercing projectile struck the target that Abrel hoped was there. The kill was confirmed as the soldier’s camo terminated, along with his life.
“Nice shot, Master Sergeant,” Bowlington said.
“We’ve got company,” Abrel responded. A heli-jet began a strafing run on the ridge.
I wanted to make my next shot count.
My field of fire was large and there were numerous targets. But something in the back of my mind reminded me to be patient. I think it was something Callie had said about my tendency to burn through ammunition. Not needing sniper ammo in the cave, she’d given me her APAs. So with plenty of extra ammo, I had a temptation to be trigger-happy. I almost shot a Dreki that seemed important, but before I took the shot, he was blown to pieces by a well-placed grenade.
A group of five lizard helis screamed over me. Six of ours followed them, launching missiles every few seconds. A KE slug drilled through the lead enemy heli-jet, and the craft went into an out-of-control spin. The remaining four turned and made a final stand.
I pinged one of the group and received auto-permission to link into their comm.
“Owl Leader, turn to port.”
“Roger, roger, is that a kill?”
“Affirmative, watch their suicide runs.”
“We got these bastards.”
“Hozzen actual?”
“Go.”
“I’ve got a ground spotter laser ranging me. Over.”
“Missile, missile, missile!”
“Fire off that chaff, move, move. Owl, can you pick up that second Dreki?”<
br />
“Roger. Okay, dammit…somebody find that laser. I nearly got…shit, I’ve taken something–”
“Owl actual?”
A Dreki antiaircraft ground crew was painting our helis with a laser from a hideout. In the midst of the static I began hunting for the source of the laser. I adjusted my display screen’s external view to the extreme low end, making the battlefield look nearly black. I next programmed my weapons system to seek and identify any unnatural streaks of light in an attempt to locate the laser.
The fight above me continued at a five-to-four advantage for another minute.
“I’ve taken a hard hit.”
“Move, move, retreat. We got this. Get out of range before you…fuck.”
“Hozzen, did you pick up that laser?”
“Negative.”
I caught a flash of thin green light in their last exchange, so broke into their comm. “This is LT Ford on the ground, I got it, sir.”
“Send it,” he said.
I messaged the coordinates with a little map and out of habit included a little smiley face.
“You have a crush on me now?” Hozzen leader asked.
“Sorry, sir,” I said. “My wife–”
“No need to explain,” he said. “Thanks for the assist.”
The heli-jets dropped a load of HE on top of the laser crew. I readjusted my DS so I could continue looking for sniper targets. The dogfighting helis moved out of my range, and I went back to the business of scouring for high-value targets.
<
The warning notified me missiles were headed toward me but hadn’t locked on. I glanced up at my rearview camera pop-up to see what the enemy might have been targeting. I couldn’t see anything except more trees, dirt, and a few destroyed and burning craft from both armies.
I turned off the general notifications and renewed my search.
<
That was more serious.
I fired chaff, flares, and a ground-based noise and heat maker.
The direction from which the missile had been launched was also the location of the main Dreki infantry group. I imagined one of the more skilled lizards had decided to take a chance and had merely fired randomly at my tree.
Or perhaps I’d done something to give away my position?
I wasn’t sure what it might have been if that was the case, but I watched the incoming missile and readied myself to drop to the ground.
<
My countermeasure worked, but whoever had fired the first one would likely fire another.
“LT, this is Hozzen leader. Over,” a voice said over my internal speaker.
The heli-jets had been forced back toward me. “Go,” I said, still looking for the source of the missile.
“Can you put some HE on the lead Dreki heli? Over,” he requested.
What he was asking me to do was provide a diversion and make myself a target. Basically, he wanted me as bait.
“Hozzen leader, roger that. Give me a mark,” I said, figuring that I might as well make friends in the sky.
“LT Ford, on five, four, three, two, go!”
I fired a series of seven high-explosive missiles at the lead craft, although I didn’t have time to do any fancy programming. I did mix it up a little. I fired an additional four KE antiaircraft slugs. I then brought my sniper coil-gun up into a position to shoot an APA at the flying target.
Why the hell not?
I had plenty of ammo.
The key, as I’d learned before, was to shut off the auto-sequence and to use Callie’s finger-trigger program.
I slowly pulled the virtual trigger when I thought the craft would be flying into my line.
The second heli fired a dozen missiles at me.
<
I pulled the trigger, but the incoming missiles had interrupted my timing and I missed. I comforted my hurt pride with the fact that it was a tough shot under the best of circumstances.
“LT, thanks for the diversion. You’ve got a lot of hell coming your way. Good luck. Out,” Hozzen actual said.
“Roger.” I dropped from the branch to the ground.
I set off four ground-based CM-45s, hoping to pull at least some of the twelve missiles raining down on me away. Next, I fired an antimissile net. The large screen created by thousands of nano spinning cubes was highly effective at destroying the homing nose cones of missiles.
My defensive measures managed to defeat eight of the twelve, but the four remaining missiles were corkscrewing towards me.
My thoughts went dark.
Golvin.
I waited with a patience that could be measured in fractions of a second.
If I ran too soon, at least one of the four would lock onto me.
If I dropped to the ground too soon, I’d be finished.
I used my forearm-mounted coil-gun to put a stream of mini-bolts into the flight path of the first missile. It exploded about half a click out. I dove behind the tree at the last moment. The missiles had a solid lock on me, and nothing was going to change that.
I froze my suit and felt the terrible explosion and vibration through the thick tree trunk. The anti-force system on the suit couldn’t stop a direct KE missile from penetrating, and was only slightly better at keeping the heat and shock from an HE from killing a TCI-Armored soldier.
What saved my life was the density of the tree I’d used as a shield.
I realized as the trunk blew to pieces that the reason the earlier missile had been fired at this tree was its size. It was an obvious choice for a sniper’s perch, and therefore had been an excellent choice for a random shot by the enemy, just to be sure nobody was using it for sniping. I told myself to be more careful in the future about picking perfect spots to hide, as the perfection that made them fine spots also made them an enemy’s first choice when forced to guess a location.
By the time the splinters and chunks of wood from the explosion stopped raining down and I regained my bearings, I was lying on my back in the dirt, looking up at the sky.
The last two JFUA heli-jets were trading shots with the last two enemy helis.
It was a fair fight, so my job became to make it unfair.
Most battles and nearly all wars are won by taking advantage of power imbalances. If a battle starts off like a chess game, you’re better off not making a move.
I lifted my sniper rifle and held it straight up.
Dust and smoke concealed me.
I locked down everything except my arms and turned on the camo.
I waited for the perfect moment…
Patience, like all other skills, is a learned trait that gets better with practice. I fired an APA straight up as an enemy craft flew directly over me. I aimed for the cockpit of the heli, hoping to hit either the pilot or critical control systems.
The craft went into an uncontrolled dive, and one of the friendlies finished it off with a slew of unstopped missile strikes.
“Nice shot, LT,” Hozzen actual messaged me. “I thought you were already dead.”
“Left, left, shit,” the other craft’s pilot said in a panic.
The remaining enemy heli fired a final barrage of missiles on a suicide run before being hit and exploding into a million pieces. The fireball was just above me to my left, but some of its debris dropped right on top of me.
One of the two friendly helis exploded. I’d lost track of who was who, so I asked, “Hozzen?”
“I’m going down,” the pilot answered.
I took off running away from the main infantry group on the ground. As I ran, I could see Hozzen actual and his copilot eject at the last second.
I didn’t imagine they’d be able to radio me as they fell. My memory was that ejecting heli-jet pilots had minimal gear. They weren’t expected to survive for long if not picked up immediately. I raced to the spot they would land.
The sky was temporarily clear of additional enemy helis, so the only re
al danger was from the distant infantry group, which was still busy attacking the Sixteenth Battalion.
From what I could tell when I had time to pull up my status screen for my three squads, we’d done well. It appeared we’d only lost one man. I returned my attention to the falling warrant officers.
I turned on my external speakers.
The two parachuting friendlies hit the ground.
“Hozzen actual?” I asked.
“Hey, LT,” he said. “It’s WO Burns here. That’s my copilot, Veben. Thanks for the assist.”
“Anytime, but let’s cut those damn chutes and get you to cover.”
<
“Incoming! Find something solid!”
I fired mini-coils from both arms, then shot off four flares and four heat makers.
The first of the missiles locked on a flare.
I shot two down with my coil-guns.
The fourth locked onto me. Golvin!
The warrant officers had managed to throw themselves behind a pile of rocks, but they were still in danger. I waited until the missile that was locked on me couldn’t alter its course, and then dove to the ground. The weapon tried to adjust, but it missed me and slammed into the rocks. One of the warrant officers died instantly.
“Sorry about that, sir,” I said.
“It happens,” Hozzen answered. “Veben was a good copilot, too. Funny, we survived a lot of airborne fights…and he buys it from an errant missile while hiding behind a rock.”
“Death has funny ways,” I said. “We need to move unless we’re planning on joining him.”
In the next second, four additional missiles headed in our direction, and a barrage of mortar rounds alerted my system that we were standing in a blast zone.
“Run!” I shouted.
And we ran.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
A country cannot have friendships, only interests and concerns.
~Prime Minister Cleire Voblumnt
I found a concealed spot for the downed pilot to hide.
“Thanks,” he said.
“What’s your name, Hozzen leader actual?”
He laughed at my attempt at brevity and said, “Daniel Burns.”
“Full human earthling?”
