THE UNITED FEDERATION MARINE CORPS’ LYSANDER TWINS
BOOK 3
NOAH’S STORY: MARINE TANKER
Colonel Jonathan P. Brazee
USMCR (Ret)
Copyright © 2017 Jonathan Brazee
A Semper Fi Press Book
Copyright © 2017 Jonathan Brazee
Illustration © 2017 Jessica TC Lee
ISBN-10: 1945743107 (Semper Fi Press)
ISBN-13: 978-1945743108
Printed in the United States of America
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Acknowledgements:
I want to thank all those who took the time to pre-read this book, catching my mistakes in both content and typing. Thanks to best_editor1 for her editing. And once again, a special shout out goes to my cover artist, the award-winning Jessica Tung Chi Lee. You can see more of her work at: http://www.jessicatcl.com/news.html.
Original cover art by Jessica TC Lee
Cover graphics by Steven Novak
GAZIANTEP
“We’re going into the city, Staff Sergeant?” Noah asked. “I thought . . .”
“. . . that we don’t go into cities. You’re right, Lysander. We don’t. Except we are,” Staff Sergeant Jarvistus Cremineli said, his voice evident with disgust.
Sergeant Noah Lysander, fresh out of armor school at Camp Ceasare, was the driver for the Anvil, the Number 3 tank of Charlie Company’s First Platoon. The company had been attached to Task Force 54/03, the Federation response to the Ataturk incursion into Cennet.
Noah was somewhat familiar with Gaziantep. His father, while a lieutenant colonel, had taken his battalion onto the planet, but in support of Ataturk against Cennet aggression. The planet had been a thorn in the side of the Federation for years, and it seemed some things never changed. At least this time, the Marines were there to support Cennet, a Federation government against the non-member Ataturk government.
Noah’s big M1A4 Davis purred under his seat, a 40-ton behemoth waiting to be let loose. The fusion engine could push 2500 horsepower to the road wheels, and that made her a veritable sports car. At 185 cm, Noah was almost too tall to fit in the driver’s hole, but by scrunching, he could see out the blocks and drive the beast, even if his head hit the hatch whenever he took a bump too quickly.
He wasn’t concerned about his driving, however. He’d been at the top of his class during his Class Four quals, and he knew he could put the Anvil through her paces. What he was concerned about was the order the platoon had been given: go into Glen’s Landing on a recon to see who was there.
One of a tank’s most important advantages was its maneuverability. The M1 was fast and powerful, and it could engage a target at 6,000 meters and destroy it. For MOUT[1] operations, tankers liked to stand off a klick and pound the enemy in support of the infantry. Getting into the cities themselves limited their ability to maneuver and made their tanks big targets. An insurgent or militiaman, with little training, could drop an incendiary device off a roof that would burn right through a Davis’ armor.
Reconing a town was not armor’s job; it was the infantry’s. But Kilo Company had been held up in the hills on the north side of the Pierpont Valley, and Glen’s Landing was astride the intersection of the Demir Highway and Route 14, the main roadway in the valley itself. Colonel Bhekizizwe, the ground element commander, wanted that intersection secure before he committed Lima and Echo Companies into the assault on New Antalya, the only major Cennet city that the Ataturk forces had been able to capture. The commander’s intent was to eject the Ataturk forces from New Antalya and force them back across the border, then deploy along that border to let the Federation teams negotiate from a position of strength. Leaving the Demir Highway unsecured would be begging for someone to cross the border at the river crossing south of Glen’s Landing, and then hit the Marines from their rear.
The platoon’s four tanks were in hull defilade about two klicks from the town with mostly open bottom land in between. A small creek ran down the valley and into the town. While it might be large enough to slow straight-leg infantry, it would be nothing to a PICS platoon nor the tanks. The sandy creek bottom was more than firm enough to hold up the tanks’ heavy weight without bogging down.
As the driver, Noah didn’t have the optics available to the TC, the tank commander, nor to the gunner. Still, he zoomed in the insert in his center block to the max 6X power and scanned the town. He could see nothing, no movement. His insert had night-vision capability, but no heat sensors, so if some Ataturk armor was waiting for them, engines running, he couldn’t pick up the heat signatures. Both Staff Sergeant Cremineli and Sergeant Cayenne “Chili” Fulford, though, had that capability, and as neither one of them was saying anything, Noah took that as a positive.
He toggled the route planner, and the big combat AI’s up on the FS Jerry-John Crossland mapped out the quickest and what they considered the safest route to the town, then overlaid it right onto both his center block and digital display screen. Noah could use the overlay in a pinch during periods of zero visibility, just following the projection on his screen, but he preferred to use the Alpha Mode, with him seeing the real terrain through the blocks and with the tracks in HUD-mode[2] merely guiding him. As good as the display was, he trusted seeing the real world through the blocks more.
“Charlie-One, prepare to advance in a wedge,” Lieutenant Amanda Moore passed over the net, with what sounded like a hint of nervousness in her voice.
Like Noah, this was the lieutenant’s first combat mission as a tanker. Most of the platoon had never fired their main guns in anger. Only the platoon sergeant and two others had been on real missions, at least in tanks. Noah wasn’t positive, but he figured everyone had seen some sort of action during his or her first tour with the grunts. Noah hadn’t seen much combat with 3/14, not like his sister, but he’d gotten a taste of it, at least.
Noah flipped off his overlay. He had no control over his route now, so it would just be a distraction. When the platoon was in a wedge, his job, as the driver for Tank 3, was to lock himself onto Tank 4’s right rear as its wing tank. Charlie-One-Four, which was the platoon sergeant’s tank, would guide on Charlie-One-One, the platoon commander’s tank, and Charlie-One-Two, the wing tank for the lieutenant, would be to the left rear of her. The lieutenant would be leading the way, and the other tanks would guide off of her, or in Noah’s case, off the platoon sergeant, to the objective. Noah’s job was to keep his distance and guide on Tank 4, but he also had to watch what was right in front of him. It wouldn’t do anyone much good to drive into a ditch and flip or hit something and lose a track.
“I want to get to the release point quickly,” the lieutenant said, something to which Noah, not wanting to spend time in the open, heartily agreed. “As soon as we reach it, Red Section will enter here, and Blue, I want you to enter here.”
Noah looked down at his display where the lieutenant had highlighted in red where his section of two tanks would enter and in blue, where the other section would enter the town. Blue Section’s en
try point was two blocks to the south of where the lieutenant was going to enter the town, which let the platoon cover more ground, but left the two sections unable to support each other quickly if need be.
“Initial speed, 45, but ping on me and be ready to dash on my command.”
Noah could match the designated speed by entering it on the autorev or controlling it manually. The autorev worked well on highways, but over open terrain, most drivers, Noah included, preferred to keep control themselves.
He revved the motor, watching the tac-line as he waited for the order to move out. The fusion generator could put out 200,000 watts, or 7,000,000 kilojoules/hour, and it was pretty foolproof. That was more than enough to power the tank’s systems, but the motor could be touchy at times, lagging the power surge. As he checked it, the rev was smooth, though, with nary a blip on the readouts.
“Don’t blow the motor,” Staff Sergeant Cremineli yelled down at him from the commander’s hatch.
Noah had been the staff sergeant’s driver for only a month now, but one thing that had become evident was that his tank commander didn’t trust the beasts. Sure, a Davis could break down, but they were well-made, and the motors didn’t “blow.” At school, the instructors had told them that the initial Teledyne motors had some issues, but those had been worked out and fixed years ago.
This motor only had seven hours on it, practically brand new. After landing at Konrysville, the tanks had been loaded onto HE haulers, large flatbeds designed to transport Marine armor over long distances, saving wear and tear on tanks and Aardvark personnel carriers. The Anvil had only started this road march at zero-dark-thirty this morning, 17 klicks back up the valley.
He didn’t bother to argue, though, and cut back on the power feed. His filters were at 94%, so he flipped the flow, forcing air out in a powerful blast.
“What the hell, Lysander? You trying to let everyone know we’re here?” the TC shouted back through the hatch again, this time kicking Noah in the shoulder. “Cut that shit out!”
Like they can’t see us now, if they’re even there?
Technically, the reverse blast of air could be picked up by some types of scanners, but they’d just come down the valley in the open. If eyes were looking for them, they’d have already been spotted. And now, their guns were trained on the town, so it wasn’t as if they were invisible even to a set of Mark 1, Mod 1 eyeballs.
Once again, however, Noah complied, smiling, though, when his filters read 98%. Clogged filters would shut down a tank to keep from destroying the motor. The Davis could still fire when that happened, but an immobile tank became a dead tank right quick.
“On me, move out,” the lieutenant passed over the platoon net.
Forty meters to his left, Lessa Franklin, Charlie-One-One’s driver, goosed the Kiss of Death over the small rise and forward to the town. Looking out his side block, he watched as the Kiss of Death pushed her nose into the air, exposing her underbelly for a moment before crashing down and heading out. As soon as the platoon commander’s tank reached 20 meters out, Charlie-One-Four pushed forward, moving into position.
“Get ready, Lysander,” the staff sergeant told him. “And don’t expose our belly!”
Which was impossible, Noah knew. Unless he turned and drove down the wash to get around the rise—which would put him way out of position—the mere fact that he was clearing the rise would expose the Anvil’s undercarriage for a second or two.
Noah ignored the TC. He waited until the gunny and Ba-Boom were 20 meters out, then hit the dual accelerators. The Anvil surged forward, nose high until enough of the tank crossed the top of the rise and fell forward with a lurch.
“Damn it, Lysander! I said don’t expose us!” the staff sergeant shouted as his feet lost purchase for a few moments as the tank bounced.
If you were buttoned up, or even open-protected, you wouldn’t be having that problem with your footing.
Noah’s TC was rapidly getting on his nerves. The man was too cautious, worrying about everything. Yet here he was standing half out of the hatch, exposed, when he should be in his seat with either the hatch closed or open 10 centimeters, the “open-protected position,” which still provided fairly decent protection while providing better visibility than being completely buttoned-up.
He pushed that train of thought out of his mind and focused on his one job, to keep in position. Chili Fulford, the gunner, and the staff sergeant on the .50 cal, would be watching for the enemy and would engage if need be. Noah had to trust them for that.
The acceleration of a Davis was impressive, and Noah quickly brought the Anvil up to 45 KPH as the platoon dashed across the lowlands. The ground was relatively smooth, but the big tanks still bounced around, their suspension unable to completely dampen the bumps and jolts. Twice, Noah’s helmeted head slammed into the closed hatch. He’d have liked to have the hatch open, but the lieutenant had ordered the drivers to close up.
“I’m down, fuck it!” Gunny Hattori shouted over the net as the Ba-Boom suddenly swerved to the side and stopped in a cloud of dust. “Piece of shit Brysons!”
The Bryson Adjusting Track was new to the fleet, able to adjust on the fly from 500mm to 950mm in width with elevation points on the treads from 1mm to 70mm in depth. This was great in theory as it made the tanks far more maneuverable over a wide range of ground surfaces, but the life-span of the new tracks was far less than that of the older tracks they’d replaced. Still, after covering only 18 klicks, the tracks should have held up, especially over this terrain.
Should have . . .
Noah started to slow down, not sure what to do.
“One-Four, stay in place and provide overwatch. One-Three, guide on me,” the lieutenant ordered.
Noah goosed the Anvil forward, passing the stationary Ba-Boom and rushing to take her place as the remaining three tanks rushed to close the gap to the town.
“One-Three, your entry point is now this one. I’ll be taking yours,” the lieutenant passed.
Noah glanced at his display to where the platoon commander had highlighted the positions. The Anvil and the Kiss of Death were switching entry points into the town. It didn’t make much sense to him. The lieutenant needed to be where she could best control any coming fight, but she was going in alone, without a wingman, which made the Kiss of Death far more vulnerable. She probably thought she needed to take the more dangerous position, but in reality, that might put the entire platoon in a more tenuous position.
“Release,” she passed as they reached 200 meters from the edge of the town.
They hadn’t rehearsed crossing paths, but Noah figured that the hard-charging Lessa would be aggressive. He was right—she bolted right in front of him as she headed for the right entry point. Noah let her cross his path, then he turned left to his entry, pushing ahead of Charlie-One-Two, the Ball Shot.
He couldn’t enter at 45 KPH, so he slowed down, causing the staff sergeant, still in the open hatch, to fall forward and have to grab at the rim to keep himself in. Noah thought he was stupid to stay exposed like that—all the Anvil’s reactive and ablative armor did him no good if an enemy soldier decided to take a pot shot at him. Tankers didn’t have “bones,” the armor inserts infantrymen used, in their tank suits, and the durable cloth alone wouldn’t stop a round. One round to the chest, and he’d have to be resurrected and go through regen, if that was even possible.
“Keep your eyes peeled,” the staff sergeant said as they passed the first building and entered the town.
Noah checked the four APCD’s that were on each corner of the tank. These little boxes, the “Hashers,” were the close-in defense against enemy infantry. With a range of only 15 meters, they were nevertheless effective against ground troops, with both compacted-tip flechettes and sonic bursts that would kill or decapacitate anyone within their kill zone. As the tank’s driver, the APCD’s were Noah’s responsibility. He was also the secondary gunner of both the coax M104, the automatic 4mm hypervelocity mag rifle, and the M5
19 .50 cal. The gunner had both the tank’s main gun as well as the coax, and the TC was the primary on the .5o, but if required, either weapon could become the driver’s responsibility.
With only three crewmen to a tank, each Marine had to be flexible and handle each other’s function. Noah could even aim and fire the Anvil’s 75mm hypervelocity rail gun from his driver’s hole, if he had to. It had seemed confusing at armor school, but with the tank’s AI assisting, it became routine.
Noah wasn’t sure the railgun was the best choice for them as he drove down the deserted street. The railgun, with its sabot round, was the premier armor killer in the Marines, although he knew the Wasp pilots might take issue with that. It would destroy any known armor to 6,000 meters out at least. With that kind of range, it was not designed with MOUT operations in mind.
The Ataturk forces were equipped with the Teresas, the upgraded version of the older Tonyas. Made on Gentry, the Teresas used fuel-cell-powered motors, an upgrade over the older Tonya’s bio-diesel engines. The Teresas could lay quiet, and with a simple turn of a switch, be at full power. The fuel cell technology limited their endurance when compared to the older Tonyas and the Marines’ Davises, but they cost far less than the fusion generator-powered Marine tanks. Like the Tonyas, the Teresas were armed with the Gentry 90mm smoothbore canon. Neither had the reach of the Marine’s 75mm railgun, but within an urban area, that extreme range would never come into play. And at close range, both the 90mm HEP-T and HEAT rounds would do a number on a Davis.
Noah found himself wishing the Anvil had the Marines’ version of the 90mm cannon. The barrel was much shorter than that of the railgun, and the rate of fire was quicker. With the MGS system, a Davis could be outfitted with the railgun, the cannon, or a 20 mega-joule meson gun. The platoon had been outfitted with Weapons Mix B, which was two 75’s, one 90, and one meson gun. The Ba-Boom, now down and outside the town, had the energy mod, the lieutenant had the 90mm mod, and the Ball Shot and Anvil had the anti-tank mod.
Noah's Story: Marine Tanker (The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins Book 3) Page 1
