He knew that the Dagdan militia had abandoned the city to defend the guns. Like most newly colonized planets, Ancion was surrounded by barren stretches of land nestled in a valley between two mountain ridges. The terrain was soggy from the days of torrential downpour puddling in the valley. The resulting mud slurry would make getting through the muck to break out of Ancion difficult, which Xavier hoped would make the local Dagdan troops lazy. His forces would have to assault the Dagdans across an area devoid of vegetation and trees. It’d been stripped away to make room for houses and converted into firewood. The open space offered a little protection against native predators, and that included Xavier’s legionnaires. But this also made it easier for the Dagdan Loyalists to aim at his forces, who were stuck trying to hold the newly crowned fortress. The Dagdan gunners would be able to see Delta Company approaching well in advance of their arrival.
Xavier briefly thought about pushing the enemy’s error up the chain of command, but his company commander was barely a proper officer. Captain Arianna Hunt had come up through the ranks and never attended the officers’ academy. She’d gone to a civilian college after the Dagdan Legion had decided to promote her from within the ranks.
What would a female sergeant know about tactics? mused Xavier.
It was unlikely that his commander would even know what to do with the information at hand. No, he’d have to make the decision. He would take his platoon through the hole in the line. If he could just get a few sappers through, they could shut off the Dagdan guns and break the blockade. It’d turn the tide, securing New Carthage’s foothold on the planet, letting the legionnaires pour troops onto the planet.
Scanning the area around him, Xavier marveled at the brilliant orange hues in the distance. The enemy guns lit up the wooded beauty that was Gakawen. Definitely a planet worth fighting for, he thought. The smell of the fresh soil teased his senses, though it was mostly drowned out by the acrid scent of gun smoke that rolled down on them like fog. Even after thousands of years, they can’t make odorless propellant for the big guns. He was shaken out of his reverie by his senior NCO, who crouched as he hurried to where Xavier squatted in the trenches.
Once Boswell was beside him, Xavier solidified his strategy. He assumed that the Dagdans would expect the Legion to use noisy vehicles. The rain and constant shelling made the ground damn near impassible, at least on the surface, and he thought that their night watch might be minimal. After he sent out a few scouts, he was even more convinced. They’d gotten close enough to the enemy lines to send back intelligence reports. The enemy appeared to think they were safe and didn’t even have pickets out.
Having made his decision, Xavier scrambled over and knelt by his senior NCO.
“Master Sergeant, I found a gap in the Dagdan firing pattern. Command says they’re not properly overlapping their fire, and there is a narrow gap in the fields. If we make it through the muck in the valley before sunrise, sappers can take out their guns. We can roll up the enemy, and then reinforcements can make it down from orbit. We’ll win a huge victory! We’ve been ordered to lead the charge, but we need to prepare the troops quickly and quietly. Radio silence—platoon net, and only in an extreme emergency.”
“Bullshit. If the brass ordered this, the company commander would be briefing us both. Your plan is sound—but you really should run it up the flagpole,” replied Boswell.
“Let me worry about that. Follow your orders.”
With a curt nod, Xavier moved on to his squad leaders with the same orders. While his platoon prepared for the assault, Xavier went to the armory and grabbed extra ammunition and grenades. When he saw a box of illumination rounds, he grabbed those, too, and went in search of the 3rd Platoon Leader. Lieutenant Evan Pitera was his roommate from plebe year, and Xavier knew that he was sick of the drudgery. Xavier gambled that he’d jump at the chance for glory, and the two platoons would give his plan a chance of securing the breakthrough. Knowing they had to leave before word spread and his fictitious orders became an issue, Xavier set out to expedite the process.
“Let’s get them moving,” he hissed to his troops.
Crouched over, Xavier continued up the trench line, tapping the helmets of his men as he passed them. The signal told them to follow him to the rally point at their unfinished trench, where 4th Platoon had tried to extend their defenses earlier in the day. He was having none of it. You can’t win wars hiding behind your defensive positions! They teach you that in Tactics 101 at the academy, he thought disgustedly.
When everyone was in place, Xavier gave the word. Seconds later, he scrambled over the muddy parapet, carbine in his hands. After a silent prayer, he started a slow jog into the open expanse of no-man’s-land. The tramp of hundreds of combat boots being sucked into the mud behind him assured him that his men followed him. He wasn’t alone, and it gave him the courage to push onward. The splashing of his boots slopping in and out of the muck nullified all attempts at stealth. He tried to slow down enough to choose his steps carefully, keeping some semblance of noise discipline, but it was impossible.
On and on he ran, fervently praying that the sound of the shelling and the rain kept their assault a surprise. He pushed on despite his exhaustion. His muscles screamed against the extreme exertion, and he vowed to get into better shape. Life aboard the NCRS Hannibal had made him soft. Despite the fatigue, the troops of 3rd and 4th Platoons slogged forward. They were moving closer to the forest at the edge of the valley and their ultimate victory.
The constant flashes of light from the muzzles of the enemy guns were Xavier’s only source of visibility. The gloom and fog of the Gakawen monsoon season isolated each legionnaire, each warrior fighting the urge to turn around toward safety. What I wouldn’t give for some sunlight, he thought. The constant flares of light destroyed any hope that his eyes would adjust to the darkness. He was just grateful that he hadn’t fallen when the inevitable happened.
Splat.
Xavier suddenly found himself face first in a muddy puddle, choking, gasping for air. Damn roots, he thought, though he was unsure what he’d tripped over. He couldn’t stop coughing, his body fighting to get the water out of his lungs. Standing wasn’t an option yet, but Xavier was yanked upright by one of his soldiers.
“This ain’t how we earn those medals and promotions,” Boswell told him tauntingly before adding the final “sir.”
Looking around during the brilliant flashes of light from the guns, Xavier saw that he was surrounded by trees. He’d made it through the valley and into the woods. They were in the clear! Now they had to go up the hills to envelop the enemy. With the first obstacle clear, he raised his arm and used the signal to call the senior NCOs to him.
“All right, listen up,” Xavier whispered to the assembled personnel. “We’re sitting in the woods at the end of the valley. I want 4th Platoon to climb the hills to the south and then break to the left. We push into their flanks, charging straight toward the enemy guns. Once we’re into their trenches, it’ll be child’s play. We roll into them hard and fast. Chaos and confusion are our allies.”
Pausing, he scanned the dimly lit faces of his senior staff, all of them more experienced than he was.
“At some point, they’re going to notice we’re there. I want 3rd Platoon to use that opportunity to hit the guns in the mountains to the north. Climb the mountains, but stay out of sight. Hit the Dagdans when they shift their fire from the fortress, toward the guns we’ll be capturing. The running password is Hannibal. Any questions?”
Without pausing for an answer, Xavier responded to his own question.
“Didn’t think so. We move in five minutes.”
While waiting, Xavier cleaned the mud out of his carbine. It was difficult to do in the gray and gloomy darkness of the forest, but he was able to clean it enough that the weapon passed a quick functions check. Satisfied, he began walking among his troops. He didn’t say a word but occasionally stopped to pat a shoulder or squeeze an arm. He wanted his soldiers to know
he was there with them.
Finishing his rounds, Xavier began looking for the master sergeant. He wasn’t hard to find; Boswell was one of the few soldiers standing upright while everyone else crouched down. Xavier understood the instinct to find whatever cover they could, but he stifled his fear. He had to be the strong leader these soldiers deserved. He had learned at the academy that troops didn’t follow timid leaders. So he walked erect among them, fighting his fear and respect. Shaking off the part of his brain that wanted to analyze everything, he tapped his senior NCO on the shoulder to get his attention.
“Sergeant, if I start fucking this up when we get in—”
“Sir, stow that weak shit. We ride in, kill some Loyalists, and stroll out. Into the promised land, too easy! You’re not the first cherry LT I’ve taken into combat. Relax. Pretend this is one of your parade-ground academy parties.”
Grunting, Xavier shifted his carbine to his left hand and used his right to signal the advance. He smoothly slipped the weapon back into a two-handed position as he advanced up the hill. Around him, the platoon took up a modified tactical wedge formation. He knew it was a wasted effort; they could barely see the ground beneath them in the dark. The extreme low visibility would hamper the usefulness of the formation, but he moved relentlessly upward to the top of the hill. Now wasn’t the time to overthink it; they needed to keep moving. He counted himself lucky to have made it to the top of the hill without face-planting again.
When they entered the ridgeline, Xavier sent out scouts to find the entrance to the enemy trenches. He knew they had to be there and was surprised when they didn’t see it. The Dagdan gunners must not have bothered to dig in their guns—pure laziness, he thought in disgust. Not wanting to let that slow him down, he used hand signals to order his troops to spread out. Radio silence was making the endeavor more difficult, but he knew their assault would be dead in the water if company command found out. No, they needed to push on toward the enemy guns. The noise and brilliant flashes of light were all they’d have to lead them.
Zing.
The crack of the projectiles told him the element of surprise was gone. Xavier flicked on his comms and screamed at his legionnaires.
“Comms on!” he bellowed.
Xavier knew that his cry would be carried down the line until all the NCOs turned on their helmet mics. Lungs burning, he tried to hide his panting, but nobody was fooled. He managed to keep up with his troops, and for that, he thanked the gods. The firing intensified, his soldiers dropped around him. He didn’t know whether they were wounded or dead, but they couldn’t stop. Onward he ran.
“Don’t slow down. No mercy! Suppressive fire!” he screamed.
Once his training kicked in, Xavier began acting without thinking while his platoon opened fire. The noise created a strange concussive symphony, mesmerizing him. The sim rounds didn’t sound like this, he thought. Yet again, he wished he’d been able to complete all his training. Live-fire exercises certainly would’ve been beneficial.
On through the muck he ran, on toward the scattering flashes of gunfire. His vision tunneled, and he focused on what was directly in front of him. There wasn’t anything else, just his carbine and the enemy. He knew he shouldn’t allow himself to be sucked in like this; he needed to maintain command and control of the entire playing field. He just couldn’t stop himself. His world zeroed into what was directly in front of him.
His sole focus was on his field of fire; he only worried about avoiding flagging his platoon. He missed the soldier falling in front of him. She’d been racing ahead in front of him. She was there one second, gone the next. His foot caught on her leg, and Xavier was airborne. Tumbling to the ground, he felt a moment of panic. Was I hit? he wondered. He couldn’t breathe, the impact of the fall knocking the air from his lungs. He choked, his lungs desperately sucking air through the gritty mire of the Gakawen soil. Panting, he pushed himself up.
Taking advantage of the dim light from the Dagdan guns, Xavier assessed the situation. The flames illuminated his surroundings in a ghostly grey haze, and what he saw looked like a nightmare. He’d tripped over Legionnaire Toombs. She’d been hit and was desperately struggling to shove her guts into her stomach. Her intestines were steaming in the dawn air. Xavier felt sick. But he managed to keep his stomach down as he crawled over to her. While trying to avoid causing her more pain, he forgot to keep his carbine out of the muck. The barrel jammed with mud. Cursing, Xavier knelt beside her as he tried cleaning his carbine. Trying to distract her, he searched for a comforting lie to make her feel better.
“Well, that didn’t go as planned,” she wheezed, frothy blood bubbling from her lips.
“Hang in there. Once we’ve secured the hill, we’ll medevac you. You’ll be fine, living the good life on the Hannibal.”
Patting her shoulder, Xavier stood up and tried again to wipe the mud from his carbine. He had to know it would fire when he needed it, so he aimed at the enemy guns across the valley and fired. Nothing happened. Swearing in frustration, he slung his carbine over his shoulder. He didn’t have time to waste correcting the malfunction.
“Sir, take my carbine,” Toombs said.
She continued to cough weakly, her eyes acknowledging what he had been afraid to say. Tears trickled from his eyes as he dropped to a knee and took the carbine from her. He checked that it worked and swapped out the magazine with a full one. With one final nod at Legionnaire Toombs, Xavier sprinted ahead to catch up with his platoon. He joined them as they reached the first enemy gun battery. The firing had stopped, and he struggled to see without the light from the gun’s back blast. His fall had destroyed his night vision in his helmet. All he saw was perfect darkness, but the roaring continued unabated.
Soldiers from both sides spent entire magazines firing at each other. The intensity gradually slowed as the two forces got closer to each other. Then the carbine ceased firing entirely, but the guttural screams intensified. It’d become an age-old battle of bayonets, buttstocks, and the sheer will to live. Thrust. Parry. Rinse and repeat.
Xavier knew he wouldn’t last against experienced combat troops, not in hand-to-hand combat. Instead, he stopped his forward momentum and took up a firing stance just behind his troops. He slipped an illumination grenade into the launcher under his carbine and fired into the air. Then immediately, he brought his weapon up and waited. He began targeting anyone not in the uniform of the New Carthage Legion the moment he could see. He had to use his only soldierly virtue—marksmanship. It was the one part of his training that hadn’t been cut prematurely, and Xavier had an uncanny knack for it.
With the aid of his carbine and the handful of grenades he’d grabbed, Xavier fought to blunt the Dagdan counterattack. Under his helmet, his eyes burned from the smoke, and he struggled to see. He couldn’t afford for any of the illumination rounds to be wasted. He took aim and fired. The enemy soldier went down. One simple shot, and Xavier had viewed his first kill. Seconds later, he killed again. Then again. Eleven enemies lay dead as he led his troops forward.
The first enemy gun emplacement was theirs. He didn’t let them stop; they pushed onward. The last guns were on the next ridgeline, and he didn’t want them to have time to prepare. His platoon had killed every Loyalist who hadn’t run, though some of the enemy had fled like a bunch of cowards. They stripped the Dagdan dead of all the gear they could repurpose, and then he pulled Boswell aside.
“Master Sergeant, I want this gun operational. Get it firing on our next objective in advance of our assault. Leave an additional fire team to protect the new cannoneers and an NCO to supervise. We need to keep up the advance.”
“Roger, sir. I’ve already put Sergeant Mercer on it. He’s the new 2nd Squad Leader, transferred from an artillery militia unit. They’re loading—”
Boom.
“Now,” the NCO finished. “Give the word, and we’re ready to march.”
“Let’s go!” Xavier barked over the platoon’s radio channel.
The en
emy knew they were coming now, but that meant that his company commander would know something was up as well. He knew that he needed to take full advantage of the fact that operational security was blown. He got on the radio and ordered the platoon to move out in a tactical formation. He’d delegated the decision on the exact formation to Boswell, pretending to need to answer the company net that he’d been ignoring.
The troops spread out, and Xavier fell into his place in the formation. In the distance, the sun rose lazily in the west, giving 4th Platoon an advantage as they attacked the Loyalists with the sun at their backs. This allowed them to be more precise and silence the first gun. The tide was turning in their favor—he could feel it. All he had to do was buy himself enough time to prevent his commander from mucking things up. He couldn’t have his men called back while he was leading a successful assault.
“Stay frosty, chuckleheads,” Xavier said into the open platoon network, “and don’t get cocky. This isn’t over yet.”
Ping.
“Sir, you should take the call. Say you seized the initiative—whatever it takes. Work out something with the brass. Let them claim this victory, or your career is done,” Boswell urged him over the platoon’s secure command channel.
Xavier gave a click over the comms to acknowledge the recommendation. His gamble had run its course, and it was time to take the call. He switched over to Delta Company’s command network.
“Second Lieutenant Xavier Timor here—”
“Radio discipline, damn it!” roared Captain Hunt over the open command network.
“Thunder 6, this is Thunder Red 6. Prepare for SitRep, break.”
Xavier took a deep breath, preparing to give the most accurate report he could. He didn’t want to stir up any more of a shit storm than he was already in.
LZ New Birth: New Carthage Republic Page 2
