That morning, General Gage gave Fromm a new set of marching orders: advance towards a new objective, ten klicks from their current position, and await further instructions. Fromm still found it hard to believe a space station had enough free space to let them wander around for dozens of kilometers without hitting any bulkheads or support pillars, although he suspected every ‘impassable’ terrain feature they encountered hid load-bearing structures.
Any Lhan Arkh units they encountered along the way were to be engaged and destroyed. They would switch to live ammo from now on; the training ammunition they had was to be discarded unless it could be used in combat. That reduced the loads his troops had to carry (and the resulting battery drain) but left them with just enough ordnance for one engagement, or less than that if the fighting became intense enough.
Lieutenant Verdi went off to see to the dismantling of his unit after Fromm dismissed him. Lieutenant Chantal showed up a few moments later.
“I want to keep two of the mortars fully loaded, sir. The third one we can use as a cargo hauler for the time being. If we use all three, we’re going to run dry too quickly.”
Fromm nodded, glad to see at least one of his officers was paying attention to the situation. The quick-firing mortars were another logistical nightmare. The volume of fire they could deliver could be very effective, but it couldn’t be sustained for long, not without ample supplies. Better to have two weapons able to fight an extended engagement than three that would run out too quickly.
“I was just going to give you orders to that effect, Lieutenant. Glad to see you thought of it first. Great minds think alike, I suppose.”
Chantal had taken off his helmet; his grin made him look indecently young for his rank.
“Just following your lead, sir,” he said. “We’re removing the EM-propellers of the training rounds and bringing them along. Sergeant Martin says he can jury-rig them into a half-assed anti-armor bomb. He figures it’ll take about five training rounds to make one we can use. I can assign the Assault section to assist him, if we can spare them for the night.”
“Good idea; I’ll have Goldberg take them off the duty roster for tonight. Keep thinking, Lieutenant. I’ve got a feeling we’re going to need all our brainpower for this one.”
Third Platoon’s CO nodded.
“We don’t know how long this so-called game is going to last,” Fromm added. “We have to prepare for the worst.”
Well, worst case was they’d be killed out of hand without a moment’s warning. If all the Tah-Leen wanted was to massacre his unit, there was nothing much he could do about it. But the Snowflakes seemed to be obsessed with following some rules, even if they were heavily loaded against their victims. Fromm would do his best to keep his people alive for as long as possible.
Hopefully long enough to find a way to stop playing games and do some serious work.
* * *
The dignitaries had been allowed to return to the Brunhild for the evening. A conference between the naval officers, Agent in Charge Petroysan and the other delegation leaders had gone far into the night, with little to show for it. The idea to try to leave, even if it meant abandoning the Marines and the other missing personnel to their fate, had been floated and quickly shot down. Ethical concerns aside, the cruise liner was still docked in place, and her escorts were maintaining station a mere hundred kilometers away. The destroyer squadron could go into warp and flee, although at considerable risk: performing long-distance warp jumps while away from a ley line opening had a failure rate in the five to ten percent range. The Brunhild didn’t have that option even if it wasn’t currently attached to the Habitat for Unique Diversity; an unauthorized separation would require the judicious application of explosives and damage to both the ship and the station, after which the passenger ship would have to lumber towards the nearest friendly warp line entrance, over an hour away at her best speed.
Heather thought fondly about a similar situation, where the merchantman Maffeo Polo had warped while still docked at a Vehelian star base. The situation had been very different, however. The station in question had been a few kilometers away from the warp mouth, more than close enough for the Polo’s civilian FTL drive to access it. Two light seconds was an impossible distance for a civilian drive. Too bad; if anybody deserved to have a good chunk of their station destroyed, it was the Tah-Leen.
The conclusion they all reached was simple: they were trapped here.
Convincing Sec-State and General Gage to keep playing the aliens’ games had taken some work. General Gage had been in favor of making some grandiose gesture involving an assault on the station with all available combat-trained personnel aboard the Brunhild while the destroyer squadron fled to spread the news of the Snowflakes’ treachery. ‘Death before dishonor’ had become the Marine’s refrain. It had been tricky to get him to relent, since Heather couldn’t explain why. Telling her bosses the truth risked tipping off their ‘hosts,’ who were almost certainly eavesdropping on the discussion, privacy fields or not. The Marine officer probably suspected Heather was a coward trying to live a little longer by prolonging everyone’s suffering. Finally, Secretary Goftalu had agreed to postpone any suicidal moves for at least one more day.
The meeting was followed by another sleepless night doing double-agent work.
The Seeker’s mission was progressing along fairly well, for whatever that was worth. She had managed to penetrate the Scholar’s records without attracting attention. Only the outer shell, as it were, showing his activity in the Common Conduit, but that had provided a great deal of context. Of course, she already knew what the Scholar was planning, thanks to her private conversation with Lisbeth Zhang, but finding some data herself would lend her more credibility.
Her initial report used only what she’d found on her own: basically, that the Scholar was spending a great deal of time and energy researching long-lost civilizations, apparently looking for some sort of weapon. Her report seemed to satisfy her ‘employer.’ As long as the Snowflake snoop was satisfied, it would continue running interference for the American delegation. If or when he decided she was useless, she was as dead as former Ambassador Llewellyn, and probably in a similarly gruesome way.
The new round of games didn’t start until around noon, ship’s time. Once again, Sec-State, General Gage and the usual gaggle of guards and assistants, including Heather, assembled at the oversized copy of the historical Situation Room, where they were greeted by the Priestess this time. The Hierophant had traded places with her and was presiding over the Lhan Arkh chamber. The Lampreys didn’t look happy to see him, but not particularly outraged, either. Based on what Heather knew about their body language, the aliens seemed resigned to their fate; living in an autocratic society, they were probably used to having their lives disrupted or even destroyed at the whim of their superiors.
“Today is a special day,” the Priestess told the American delegates once everyone was seated. “I put a lot of work and love into this project, and I think you will appreciate it.”
* * *
“The fuck was that?”
“Something big,” Gonzo said, seeing trees swaying in the wake of whatever was coming their way.
Something had killed their drones. All of them. As soon as that happened, the Skipper had everyone double-time it to a nearby hill and take positions there while the four combat-capable Hellcats spread out around the perimeter to see what was coming. They’d just set up a hasty firing line around the hill when they saw movement through a nearby forest, about a klick away from their position.
“Hold your fire till you get the word,” Sergeant Fuller said over the squad channel.
A big-ass monster knocked a tree down as it came into the clearing.
“Holy fucking shit, it’s a dinosaur,” Grampa said.
“Looks like one,” Russell admitted.
And so it did. This critter was big, a good fifty feet long from head to tail, covered in bright green scales, with silly-looking tiny
arms and a mouth full of nasty-looking teeth A classic T-Rex, just like the ones in pre-Contact flicks like A Million Years B.C. or Jurassic Park. The dino paused, sniffing around. Russell noticed more movement coming up from behind the monster.
“That shit ain’t right,” Gonzo said as five other T-Rexes joined the first one, looking the same except for being bigger; the point critter had been the runt of the litter. “Them things didn’t hunt in packs. Even I know that.”
“Well, these do,” Grampa said. “Can we shoot them now?”
“They’re a klick away. Maybe they won’t come this way.”
“Yeah, pull the other one.”
“If they are as fast as the real thing, it’ll take them like a minute to get here,” Grampa said.
The dinos milled around for a second or two, and then they all turned their heads in the direction of the Marines’ improvised stronghold. They roared in unison, a terrifying sound even from a thousand meters away. A moment later, they rushed forward like a pack of wild dogs, if dogs came in multi-ton packages.
They weren’t as fast as the real thing. They were way faster.
* * *
“Fire at will.”
Against mere flesh and blood, all the Marines’ weapon systems were lethal at a thousand meters. Only First Platoon and two weapon squads were in the right position to engage the targets, but that included over forty rifles and grenade launchers, half a dozen automatic weapons and three missile teams. The Hellcat that had happened to be closest to the dinosaurs also engaged them with its weapon pods as it nimbly hopped out of their way. Nothing that ever walked the Earth, or most habitable worlds for that matter, could survive such a barrage.
Nothing normal, that was.
“They’ve got shields,” Lieutenant Hansen said unnecessarily; the enhanced visual display showed plasma-tipped bullets and the first salvo of missiles all detonating harmlessly about half a meter away from their targets. The six pseudo-dinosaurs staggered under the impacts but kept coming, stomping over burning grass ignited by the initial volley without any concern.
“Coordinate fire,” Fromm ordered. “Assume targets to be heavy armored vehicles. Assign aiming points by squads. And bring the rest of the assault section to this side of the hill. Keep everyone else where they are.” There was always a chance this was a feint and another attack might come from the open terrain to the south of their position.
Shooting died down for a few seconds as sergeants highlighted single spots for entire squads and organized fire missions. The four Hellcats that still had active weapons paralleled the charging dinosaurs and selected their own targets. Defeating heavy shields and armor required concentrated volleys centered on a small area. Countless hours of training allowed Marine infantrymen to do so nearly flawlessly, even while being shot at. In this case, the unnerving sight of the approaching monsters was almost as disconcerting as being under fire.
A series of simultaneous salvos erupted from the hill, each consisting of multiple weapon systems striking at the same spot on one the creatures rushing forward. Under ideal circumstances, each of those coordinated volleys would defeat the force fields of most tanks, which a good chance of penetrating their armor and reaching crewmen or vital components inside.
The three leading T-Rexes were struck. One staggered and went down. The others didn’t even slow down. And the fallen one scrambled back onto its massive hind legs and kept moving.
“Mortars, prepare for concentrated stonk, armor-piercing. Assuming fire control,” Fromm said in the cool voice people who knew him would identify as a sign of growing tension. “Highlighting target.”
His helmet-enhanced eyes focused on the lead dinosaur. A quick multi-spectrum scan showed spots where its armored hide, made of a composite material tougher than the alloys used by fighting vehicles, had been pitted by the first couple of volleys. He selected an aiming point where its left leg joined the massive body and illuminated it for every Marine who could bear on the target, as well as the two active mortars from the weapons platoon.
“Fire.”
The T-Rexes briefly disappeared in a cloud of smoke. An instant later, the cloud was washed away by a roaring fireball that hadn’t come from any Marine weapon. Fromm felt the shockwave wash over the hill, seven hundred meters away from the explosion. One of the dinosaurs’ multi-ton body was flung out of the conflagration and landed with a crash that carved a long furrow on the grass-covered earth. When the flames and smoke cleared, four other figures were visible; they’d been thrown off their feet by the detonation, but all were rising, including the one that had been tossed forward. Of the actual target, nothing remained but some unrecognizable debris scattered around a steaming crater. The dinosaur’s power plant had detonated, with impressive effects.
Okay, that was overkill. And they are one third of the way here with five to go. The math added up to a really bad day.
Fromm highlighted new targets for the arrayed troops even as he ordered everyone to join in. They were going to need all hands on deck for this. He split his available firepower, dividing it among the two dinosaurs that appeared to have been hurt the worst, noticeable because their hide had been stripped away, revealing the dull composite materials beneath and, in one case, portions of its artificial skeleton. He selected leg joins one more time, since a mobility kill was more than good enough under the circumstances. By the time everyone was ready, the range had closed to six hundred meters.
“Fire.”
Everyone hit the highlighted targets, and Fromm felt a rush of pride in his people. Even to combat veterans, the sight of those striding monstrosities rushing towards them was unnerving on a visceral level. The roaring sounds might have been fake, but they awakened something in everyone’s hind brain, an atavistic urge to flee from certain death. They might all die in the next few seconds, but nobody tried to run.
Another great explosion swallowed the advancing pack, this one close enough to drop rocks and clumps of dirt over the Marines’ positions. Only one explosion, though. The target on the left was gone, but the second one was still limping forward, its right leg a tangled mess of exposed mechanical components and hydraulic pipes but still working well enough to keep it moving. The other three were knocked down by the explosion but from the way they scrambled to their feet, they hadn’t suffered any significant damage. One down. Four to go.
“Fire.”
Three hundred yards this time. Fromm’s sound dampeners saved his eardrums, but he felt the ground shudder beneath him. More debris rained down on their positions; at that distance, the expanding flames reached the edge of the company’s firing line. Three targets emerged from the smoke. One of them was missing both legs but kept crawling forward, using its undersized front arms and tail to propel itself. The other two had been stripped of most of their fake flesh, leaving behind a skeletal undercarriage, the metallic alloys polished brightly by the explosion. It took the survivors a few moments to pick themselves up, barely enough time for new aiming points to be selected.
“Fire.”
The volley was a little ragged as Marines hurriedly slammed reloads into their weapons and reacquired their targets. Another T-Rex brewed up, much too close for comfort. Area force fields flashed brightly and died under the double hammer of shockwave and firestorm. Even crouching inside a hastily-dug fighting hole, Fromm was nearly knocked to the ground. Several Marines were down; one of them writhed for a second, making the metal pipe that had transfixed his chest shake back and forth a few times before he was still. His status carat turned black.
Two monsters emerged from the funeral pyre the third one’s destruction had created. Both of them had lost their legs, but they pressed on with the surprising speed of charging alligators.
There was no time for coordinated fire. The mechanical beasts had reached their position, and it was down to individuals or small groups fighting for survival at close range.
“Follow me,” Fromm heard himself said as he picked up his IW-3 and started down t
he hill.
* * *
“Fuck me,” Private Louis D’Onofrio said as he fumbled while trying to reload his Iwo. Those were some shitty last words.
The crawling dinosaur lunged, twisting its head sideways so it could bite the luckless Marine. The personal force field was useless against that sort of low-speed kinetic impact, and armor did no good against jaws that exerted multiple tons of pressure as they chomped down. D’Onofrio had time for a brief shriek before blood burst from several ruptured seams in his suit. The T-Rex shook its head, sending torn-off limbs and internal organs flying in every direction.
Russell watched all of that through the sights of his Iwo from fifty meters back, carefully lining up his shot. Four-mike-mike was useless against the monster; he put a 20mm PAP round right on the critter’s neck, but its shields absorbed the shaped charge. Off to his left, Grampa stopped firing a useless string of grenades and turned around to help Gonzo reload his Alsie. Down below, D’Onofrio’s buddies were scattering from the monster, running or crawling away as it spat out what was left of the dead Marine and hunted for other prey. Not too far away, another crawling T-Rex was coming up to join in the fun.
The assaultmen further up the hill fired their LML-10s in a coordinated volley. They targeted the dino further back, because the other one was too close to be engaged; if it blew up, it’d inflict more casualties than its bites ever would. Either Gunny Naismith picked just the right spot for the missiles, or the rear dino had been about ready to pack it in. Either way, it brewed up.
As it turned out, the second one was also way too close.
Russell went flying ass over teakettle, blinded by a flash of pure white like God’s own lightbulb. He barely had time to process those sensations before he slammed against the side of the hill and felt several ribs give under the impact. The sudden pain woke him right the hell up. He thought he was screaming his lungs out, but it was hard to tell, because he couldn’t hear a damn thing. The helmet’s sound baffles had probably saved him from permanent hearing loss, but he was deaf for now.
Advance to Contact (Warp Marine Corps Book 3) Page 19
