We’re Federation Marines, damn it! We don’t surrender.
She pulled up the XO and first sergeant, then said, “I just spoke with the CO. We’re not getting any support. It’s up to us.”
“Typical shit,” the first sergeant said.
“And, he basically authorized me to surrender—”
“Fuck that shit!” the first sergeant shouted into his mic at the same time as the XO said “No way!”
A Marine company was not a democracy, and Esther was going to be the one making the decisions, but still, she was gratified to hear that her two headquarters’ senior staff agreed with her.
Surrendering might save some lives in the near term, but usually, the mere presence of Marines was enough to defuse a situation without rounds being fired. If the Marines started becoming known for surrendering when things got tough, then their presence would no longer be enough. There would be much more combat, and in the long run, more Marine deaths. The long-term price of surrendering was expensive, too expensive to contemplate.
The CO might have subtly given her permission to surrender, but the call was hers, and she intended to crush the Amals or make their victory so expensive that they wouldn’t dare take Marines on again.
An Amal mortar round exploded ten meters in front of her rock, showering her with clods of dirt. She never flinched.
“My feelings exactly,” she told the two. “If they really want to take on the Marines, let’s make them pay.”
She knew not every Marine would agree with her—and undoubtedly more family members of her Marines wouldn’t agree. She already knew that the eleven families of the ten Marines and one Navy corpsmen who’d been lost past a reasonable chance at resurrection would have rather had her already surrender. But the Corps was a volunteer force, and every single one of them knew the risk of enlisting. That might sound trite and dismissive, but that didn’t make it any less true.
“Ooh-fucking-rah, Skipper,” the first sergeant said.
“Ooh-fucking-rah, First Sergeant” she replied. “Now, let’s fight.”
Esther looked over the company lines. She wished she had a rifle platoon in reserve, ready to react where needed, but her lines were too long for that. Weapons Platoon’s had designated half of the Marines from the Meson-gun and Avalon’s mortar section to help plug a gap or launch into a counterattack to take exploit an advantage, but that simply wasn’t enough bodies to have much effect. Other than that glaring weakness, she was fairly confident as to the company’s disposition. And under mounting pressure, she sure couldn’t move Marines around now. The sheer amount of incoming fire could devastate any shift she tried to implement. No, she’d emplaced the company, and now it was bare-knuckle time.
A tiny blast from Second Platoon’s line caught her attention, and she looked over just as a bright light exploded 400 meters up.
“Scratch one drone,” Lieutenant Chambers passed.
“Good job, Diane,” Esther passed, and she meant it.
The Amals had drones, and the Marines had drones, but not over each other’s territories. Evidently, the Amals had managed to sneak one over Second Platoon’s position, but not without being spotted. With one of their tiny Broebecks, the platoon had shot the drone out of the sky.
Her display was filling with data. Every round fired, every piece of gathered data, all helped develop what she knew of the battlefield. She’d gotten the hang of processing it all while still keeping her mind on the big picture, but that sometimes left some important items ignored until something happened to remind her of them. A blast hit the rock beside her face, sending rock fragments smashing against her face shield, one tiny particle managing to seeing-eye its way under the bottom of it and above her collar. She jumped back, hand reaching to her neck. Pulling it back down, she saw blood on her fingers; not much, but enough to remind her that a battlefield was a dangerous place, and she couldn’t forget matters such as personal safety.
A moment later, five rounds detonated around her, one right on top of the rock at her back. She felt several hits that her helmet and bones absorbed, but nothing that had any effect.
“You OK, Ma’am?” the XO asked.
Lieutenant Ogilvy had the same battle command readout as she had, so he’d be able to see that her avatar was still a bright blue, but he must have been concerned at the volley of rounds targeting her.
“I guess I gave my position away, but I’m fine.”
But I need to see what’s happening.
She’d picked a secondary position 20 meters away, and she low-crawled to it as three more rounds landed back where she’d just left. Slowly, she raised her head just enough to look out over the lines, visually connecting what she was seeing with the sounds of battle that were reaching her.
It wasn’t reassuring.
Second Platoon was taking the brunt of the incoming, just as Esther had figured. The question now was when to launch the FPF to take out as many of the enemy as possible before they could reach Marine lines. Luckily, the enemy seemed to be moving slowly enough that she felt she had time to react. A Marine attack force would be moving quicker, using momentum to magnify their impact. Evidently, the Amals were not so well trained.
But Intel said they were well-trained. Heck, most of those mercenaries had served in the military forces of the Confederation, the Alliance, the Brotherhood—and yes, even the Federation. They had to know that the longer they took, the more vulnerable they were to Marine fire. It didn’t make sense.
Suddenly, she knew it did make sense.
“Sergeant Sri, give me a kamikaze at two-two-one ASAP!” she ordered Clark Sripituksakul, her dronemaster.
“Aye-aye, ma’am,” the sergeant said immediately. “Sending D-4 now.”
“What do you have, Skipper?” the XO asked as he monitored the command net.
She ignored him as she brought up D-4’s feed. The little drone dove past the company’s lines, heading right for a small swale 700 meters to the front of Third Platoon. The Amals had counter-mine measures, too, and within a moment, a tight finger of fire reached up to the Dragonfly. In kamikaze mode, D-4 didn’t try to evade the missilette, and the tiny warhead easily took out the equally tiny drone—but not before it caught the signatures of several hundred Amals.
Two-two-one had been duly registered as a somewhat concealed position, but with a seemingly open avenue of approach to the Marine lines, Esther hadn’t thought the Amals would attack from there, preferring the far better terrain in front of Second. Either the Amals felt the terrain wasn’t as bad as Esther thought or they felt the surprise factor was worth it.
Or, more likely, they know the 90 mike-mike combat load of a Marine company, and are trying to make me expend it on a feint in front of Third.
The moment that thought hit her, she knew she was right, and that it had almost worked.
“Staff Sergeant Avalon, give me nine rounds on two-two-one, 25 meters grid,” she ordered.
Nine rounds didn’t leave her much for the FPF, but the Amals were massed closely together, and she needed to take the initiative.
“But there’s nothing there, Captain,” the staff sergeant started.
“Now, staff sergeant, or so help me God, I’ll court martial your ass right in the middle of the battle!”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Staff Sergeant Avalon might be a pain in the ass, but he knew his mortars, and within ten seconds, she heard the reassuring thump of outgoing. The enemy commander had to know his or her plan had been revealed, and the Amal troops wouldn’t just sit there as targets. The question was what they could do in the short amount of time they had. Esther cycled through her surveillance channels, trying to see what was happening at two-two-one, but the Amals’ countersurveillance was up to the task. She almost sent in another kamikaze drone, but that would be a waste of resources. She’d know soon enough.
The first three rounds landed with loud blasts, dirt, smoke, and bits of vegetation shooting into the air from the target area. A mo
ment later, three more rounds landed, followed by three more. From her position 900 meters away, the smoke and debris columns made an almost perfect box.
“Good shooting, Avalon,” she passed as she scanned for a BDA.
It would take boots on the ground for an accurate Battle Damage Assessment, but while most of the attacking force’s unit-sized countersurveillance capabilities would still be operational, seriously wounded or killed enemy troops would lose their personal shields, which depended on fighting suit integrity.
Numbers flashed on her display. Thirty-two Amal troopers had lost that integrity, and they, or their bodies, were now visible. There were undoubtedly more of them taken out of the fight but whose shields were still intact.
She couldn’t have hoped for a more effective barrage. The Amals must have been packed in there like sardines. Part of her screamed to launch her own attack, to take advantage of the momentary swing of momentum while the enemy was discombobulated, but the fact of the matter was that she was still severely outnumbered. The Roman testudo, or “tortoise,” was effective only when there were no breaks in the shield wall, and Esther couldn’t launch an attack without making a break in her defensive line.
If she had the opportunity to bring the fight to the enemy, that was quickly lost. After a momentary pause, the Amal commander let loose his troops, ordering them forward. Sheets of fire reached out to the Marines.
“Two in three, hold your fire unless you have a confirmed target,” she passed on the open circuit.
This has been part of her hasty operation order, given two hours prior, but it didn’t hurt to remind her Marines of that. The company couldn’t afford just to keep pumping rounds downrange, but the Marines also couldn’t afford to simply give the assaulting force clear avenues of approach. Every third Marine, along with the attached sniper team, was to keep up a steady volume of fire. Meanwhile, the rest of the company, to include the crew-served weapons, were to remain quiet, both to conserve ammunition and to remain undetected. The riflemen could engage identified targets of opportunity as they acquired them, but not simply spray rounds downrange.
Contrary to Bollywood flicks, the vast majority of rounds fired in battle were not the well-aimed, single shots of lore. Except for possibly snipers, wide-spread one shot, one kill was a fantasy. Soldiers going back to Greek archers simply sent as many rounds downrange as possible, trusting the mass of fire to result in hits.
Golf Company was well-armed, especially with hypervelocity darts, but they had no method of resupply, so what they had was what they were bringing to the fight.
Esther’s AI scanned the company’s circuits, but not much was being passed. She knew her Marines were well-trained, and they were focusing on doing their jobs.
Esther’s nerves were jangling—she still wasn’t used to standing by while her Marines fought. She fired a string of rounds from her M90 carbine, more to get rid of her excess energy than in thinking she’d actually hit any of the Amals. She was supposed to be giving orders that would benefit the company, but with Third Platoon and part of Second engaged, the battle was now down to the individual rifleman.
For a moment, she considered ordering first to sweep right and attack the Amal flanks, but she knew the risk was too great. The attacking wave certainly was not the entire Amal force, and moving First would leave a huge gap in her lines. More than a few armies in history had been defeated by commanders who tried to get too fancy with maneuvering. At some point, a battle simply boiled down to whoever wanted it more.
A crack of ionized air finally reached out to the advancing forces. Corvallis had a thicker atmosphere that Earth Standard, so the range on her M303 meson cannons were more limited. The Amals had come within that range, however, and Sergeant Tennison had opened fire with one of his two cannons. The Amal soldiers had shielding, of course, but the big gun probed the attackers, seeking to deplete that shielding or find a crack through it. Two more Amals popped up on her display—whether they’d fallen to the cannon or not, Esther couldn’t tell.
But not enough of the Amals were falling. Her Marines should be taking out more, even given the professional fire and maneuver being shown by the enemy.
“Any word on supporting arms, Skipper? We’ve got a shitload of bad guys advancing on us right now,” Lieutenant Cline asked.
“That’s a negative, Steve. Just keep on mowing them down.”
Esther had to hand it to the enemy commander. Faced with dug-in Marines, he or she had double feinted. The first feint had been the fake troops at two-two-one. The second had been the massing of troops in front of Second Platoon’s lines, which seemed reasonable once the “troops” at two-two-one were discovered to be spoofed. But then, the real assault, which was advancing to Third Platoon’s position, had been put into play.
Esther had been correct in predicting that the enemy commander would want to attack over the more favorable terrain in front of Third, but the feints had put that into doubt until now.
Unless this is yet another feint, she reminded herself.
“Where are we with that armor?” she passed back to Jerol.
“Still trying to find it.”
“Not good enough,” Esther shouted into her mic. “We’re getting hammered.”
At that moment, two more Marine avatars grayed out, something Esther knew Jerol would be able to see on his own monitors.
“I need something now!” she said before cutting the connection.
“Are we getting to FPF time?” the XO asked.
Another Marine avatar switched to light blue. Esther zoomed her display so she could see the FPF kill zone. There were enemy soldiers maneuvering through it, but not enough.
“Not yet,” she responded, then on the company net, “Weapons free.”
Immediately, the outgoing fire increased as all Marines were free to fire as they identified targets. More and more Amal avatars started appearing on her display as their shielding was either penetrated or was compromised by Marine fire.
And there were an awful lot of red avatars.
A large-caliber round hit her shoulder with a loud smack.
“Son of a bitch!” she exclaimed, rotating her arm.
Her bones had stopped the round, but still, there had been quite a bit of kinetic energy to absorb, and it hurt like hell. Her STF[4] bone inserts could stop most small arms fire, but that meant stopping the penetration. A large enough caliber round could still act like an old-fashioned mace or warclub, breaking bones. Marines had lost limbs or had broken necks from rounds that never actually penetrated the armor inserts.
She didn’t know who had shot her, or if she was being specifically targeted, but she guessed it was by someone not too far away.
“Sergeant Tennison,” she passed, trying to ignore the pain, “What’s your effectiveness right now?”
“Not great, ma’am. We’re taking a few down, but there’s still too much beam dissipation.”
In space, energy weapons were the de rigueur. In atmospheres, they were far less effective, needing larger and more powerful energy sources. An M1 Davis had such a powerpack, but the small, man-ported M303 meson cannon simply didn’t have the power to punch through that much atmosphere. Against infantry with modern body armor, the max effective range was around 600 meters at Earth Standard atmosphere. Her two cannons were right at 500 meters from the FPF kill zone,
“When we fire the FPF, I want you to range in and cover the lines.”
She had just cut the range from 500 meters to around 400 or less, which would make the cannon all the more effective.
“Roger that. I’m entering the firing data now.”
Esther was counting on the M303 to help turn back the Amals. Even when the energy weapons were not killing the bad guys, it took an awful lot of discipline to keep advancing when shielding was being degraded.
But they’re showing they might have that discipline.
The enemy incoming suddenly increased, and Esther’s display reset as the battle AIs took in t
he new data. There was one glaring problem that immediately demanded all of her attention.
Hell!
“Jerol, I need something, anything on three-one-four, like now!”
“I still don’t have anything to give you, Esther.”
“You’d better shit something, or we’re sunk.”
“Skipper, we’ve got a Karzai firing at us,” Lieutenant Chambers passed, overriding her circuit with battalion.
“I’m working on it!”
“Did she say they’ve got a Karzai?” Jerrol asked.
“A nineteen-oh-one,” she answered.
“Let me see what I can spring loose.”
A Karzai 1901 was an old, but very capable armored gamma gun. With an effective range of possibly 1200 meters in this atmosphere, it could stand off and pound the Marines, its electro-fusion generator able to supply continuous power. Each type of energy weapon had a specific signature, and by firing, Esther’s AI had identified the Karzai. Esther quickly ran through its capabilities and vulnerabilities.
The main gun was a brute, and already, Marines were being taken out of action, their personal armor no match for the megajoules being fired at them. The Karzai’s weakness was in its chassis. It wasn’t very maneuverable, and using the old gap-plate armor, it was vulnerable to modern anti-armor weapons. The gun was undoubtedly dug in, but if she could get her Marines close enough, they had any number of weapons that could knock the gun offline. A simple airstrike would render the Karzai as so much junk.
“Avalon, do you have any two-forty-threes?” she asked her mortar section leader.
“Negative. Only two-oh-twos left.”
The M243 mortar rounds had some armor-penetrating capability, more than enough for a Karzai, but the M202 round was anti-personnel, which would have no effect on the gun.
“Colonel, I’ve got a Karzai taking us under fire. I need air, now!” she passed on the battalion command net.
“We’re working on it, trying to get the last Wasp back up. Hold on,” the CO replied.
Blood United (The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins Book 5) Page 2
