Blood United (The United Federation Marine Corps' Lysander Twins Book 5)

by Jonathan Brazee

  I can’t hold on. We’re getting shredded!

  Esther’s AI gave her a warning as her shielding increased for a moment. She’d been hit with a sidelobe of the Karzai’s fire. Just that touch had degraded her personal shielding to 64%. Marines on the lines were getting hit harder, and outgoing fire was diminishing as Marines were taking cover inside their fighting holes.

  But the red avatars of the enemy had stopped their advance. A gamma gun didn’t know friend from foe, so as long as the Karzai was firing, the Amal infantry had to hold in place.

  And suddenly, Esther knew what she had to do. She pushed the ramifications of that out of her mind and connected to Lieutenant Williams.

  “Dispilly, I need a squad to take out the Karzai. You should be able to range it from here,” she passed, flagging a small rise 600 meters from second platoon’s lines.

  What she didn’t have to say was that was a long, long 600 meters for Marines to cover under fire. They might not be vulnerable to the Karzai until they reached the rise, but they’d be fish in a barrel to the Amal infantry arrayed in front of the company.

  “I’m shifting fires to give whoever you send some cover, but it won’t be enough. You’ve got to get your Marines to haul ass.”

  First Platoon had taken the least amount of fire and had the fewest casualties, and Esther hoped that meant the area to their front had the fewest Amals. That had impacted her decision, but the terrain in front of the platoon put them in defilade to the Karzai up to the rise she designated. Once the assault team passed about 50 meters, the Karzai couldn’t fire upon them. Infantry, yes; Karzai, no.

  Defilade or not to the gamma gun, they would be under constant fire from the infantry. Esther had to mitigate that.

  She quickly designated several targets, then passed them to Staff Sergeant Avalon before giving her orders to the rest of the company. They were going to attempt to clear the way for the team from First.

  Just before she gave the order, firing sounded from First’s far left flank.

  Shit! Can’t they give me a chance to kick this off first?

  “Scratch one sniper team,” First Sergeant Watson said. “Caught them sneaking in and zeroed them.”

  Thank God for that. If they’d gotten into position . . .

  If they had, they could have targeted the assault team all the way out.

  “Are you ready, Dispilly?” she asked her platoon commander.

  “Roger that, Skipper. The team is ready.”

  “Go when the mortars hit.”

  “All hands, when the mortars hit, I want every single swinging dick to put rounds downrange.”

  With the Karzai still firing, Marines were hugging the bottom of their fighting holes. She needed them engaging the Amal infantry.

  “Fire, Avalon,” she passed.

  Soft thunks of outgoing signaled that the first three rounds were fired. He’d wait five seconds before the second set, then another five before the third. Hopefully, that would be enough to get the assault team on their way without being cut down at their lines.

  Esther counted down the flight time, squeezing the pistol grip of her M90, the pain in her shoulder forgotten.

  When the first crump reached her, she shouted out “Open fire!” over the net and jumped up to add her own rounds to the effort. She didn’t stop to aim, but sprayed the AO. The shear volume of Marine fire interrupted the Amal incoming as the soldiers took cover.

  Dropping her magazine and inserting another, Esther glanced at her display. Thirteen Marines were moving rapidly down into the depression, already beyond the reach of the Karzai. Not beyond the reach of the infantry, though. One Marine faltered and stopped, his avatar the light blue of WIA. Esther couldn’t take the time to worry about individual Marines in the middle of a battle, but she was only human. She instructed her AI to display individuals. The wounded Marine was PFC Lin Justice—and leading the assault was First Lieutenant Larry Williams, she saw.

  “Dispilly, I said a squad!”

  “Roger that, Skipper,” he said, his breath coming in heavily as he ran. “I’ve got a squad here, and if you don’t mind, I need to focus.”

  Shit, shit, shit!

  Staff Sergeant Tor was a good man, but Esther wasn’t convinced as to his ability to lead. With Williams leading the charge, and with only two squads left on the line, Esther wanted someone else there. She was about to order the XO to go take over, but the Karzai hadn’t let up, and that was a long way for him to cover.

  “First Sergeant, leave Porter and Jiminez and get your ass to First. Tor’s got the platoon, but I want some adult supervision with him.”

  There was a pause, then the first sergeant said, “Hell, the lieutenant’s leading the assault. Not surprising at all. I’m on my way.”

  Not surprising? Should I have foreseen that?

  Esther fired off another magazine. Marines were falling to the Karzai, but she couldn’t get caught up in the casualties. They had to cover Williams and his assault. He lost two more Marines as his team sprinted ahead.

  Esther had to monitor the entire battlefield, but she couldn’t resist taking Lieutenant Williams’ feed and popping it in the upper right-hand side of her face shield display. It was jerky as he ran over the terrain. He grunted as he was hit by a round, but kept going.

  Six hundred meters is a long ways to advance under fire, and several times, the squad had to slow down to return fire. Still, five minutes later, five of the original thirteen reached the near side of the small hill only to be hit from fire to their right.

  “First Platoon, open fire on the Target F,” Esther passed, painting a bright red “F” that corresponded from where Williams was taking fire. She could have used anything to designate the target, but the “F” was the first thing that came to mind.

  “Corporal Bamburger, take Dilbert and Prielli and give me some cover,” Williams ordered, which Esther overheard from streaming his feed. “OK, Ceasar. This is it. Do you have the location?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve got it.”

  “Then do it.”

  Esther, through the lieutenant’s feed, watched as Lance Corporal Kleinmaster put one Hatchet on the ground beside him, readied another, then stood up to fire, only to receive the full blast of the Karzai. He faltered a moment, flinching, and that was all the Amal gunner needed. Kleinmaster’s shielding collapsed, and the Marine fell back, his upper body cooked.

  “They’re waiting for you,” Esther passed, stating the obvious.

  Lieutenant Williams crabbed sideways to Kleinmaster’s body and shoved it aside, revealing the second Hatchet. The first would have had the electronics fried, but the second, behind the crest of the rise, should still be functional.

  “Displace, Dispilly. Don’t pop up right there again,” Esther ordered him.

  Williams looked to his right, and Esther could see over his feed the approaching Amals. Bamberger and Dilbert were KIA, and Prielli was engaging, but despite the rest of the platoon’s support, it was obvious their position was untenable.

  “No time for that, ma’am.”

  He looked down at the Hatchet, setting the flight pattern for pop-up. Esther knew what he was going to do. If he fired in direct-fire mode, the same beam that would reach out to him would fry the warhead. He had to immediately acquire the Karzai, fire the Hatchet within the target cone, and do it quick enough for the missile to rise above where the gamma beam would be fired.

  He grunted again, as two rounds slammed into him. His vitals remained steady, so neither round had penetrated, but they were reminders that he had no time left.

  “Mother Mary, grant me strength,” he muttered, then with one fluid motion, stood and hit the firing stud on the launcher.

  He started to drop back down when he was struck by the gamma beam, and his feed cut off.

  Hell, Dispilly, Esther thought, deflated.

  A moment later, there was a small explosion in the direction of the Karzai. Esther didn’t know if the Hatchet had hit the gun, and if it
did, had it had taken it out. There was only one way to find out—if they took incoming, Lieutenant Williams had missed. If the Karzai was silenced, he’d hit it.

  “Here they come,” Lieutenant Cline passed.

  Esther looked down at the past the FEBA, the Forward Edge of the Battle Area. Past this, except for possibly PFC Prielli, there were no Marines, only bad guys. She didn’t need her display to see them come. They were moving, and moving quickly.

  Esther knew right then that the Karzai had been knocked out. The Amal commander was trying to regain the initiative and strike before the Marines could react.

  Back on Earth, there had been a battle in the American Civil War outside of a village called Gettysburg. All Marine officers studied this battle, and while Esther hadn’t actually made the pilgrimage to the site, she was intimately familiar it. While the Amals weren’t exactly advancing shoulder to shoulder as Pickett’s soldiers were, she could imagine the Union’s Colonel Joshua Chamberlain, on top of Little Roundtop, looking down upon the the attacking force.

  A big difference, however, was that Chamberlain had the strength of the Union artillery behind him. Esther had nine rounds of 90mm mortar.

  And 101 Marines. I’ve still got a fighting force.

  “Get ready with your rounds, Staff Sergeant,” she told Avalon. “As soon as you fire, I want you up on the lines. Things are about to get dicey here.”

  Esther checked the disposition of her Marines, but there wasn’t anything she could do that would make a difference. The battle was closing, and it was going to be a toe-to-toe slugfest.

  Esther brought up her M90, sighted on some of the closest Amals, and fired. The distance was a little far for the carbine, but not extraordinarily so. She didn’t know if she hit anyone, but it was better than doing nothing.

  Her AI chimed for her attention. The concentration of enemy in her FPF kill zone was reaching a probable high point.

  “Fire the FPF,” Esther passed.

  Immediately, she heard the outgoing thunks of her remaining rounds, and the crescendo of fire from the Marines momentarily stopped the Amals as they took cover. The mortar rounds were set to detonate 15 meters above the deck, spewing death downwards, and the prone Amals had no chance. Sixty, maybe more, were taken out by the six rounds, far more than could normally be expected.

  When the rounds detonated, the Amal immediate action, just as would be the Marines, was to get up and through the kill zone. The surviving Amals rushed forward, only to be cut down by Marine fire.

  But Marines were being cut down as well. Enemy fire, both mortar and small arms, was taking a toll. Esther watched her display tick down: 90 effectives, 85, then 80. They couldn’t hold out much longer.

  “We’ve got Amals within the line,” First Sergeant Watson passed.

  Esther immediately pulled up his feed just as he grappled with a tall Amal. Esther couldn’t make out what was happening, but suddenly the Amal was down, and the first sergeant was looking up as three more Amals appeared.

  Hand-to-friggin-hand? Give me a break.

  She pulled up the XO, but over on the left side of the line, he was too far away to help.

  “XO, you’ve got the company,” then “Avalon, get off your asses and follow me,” she passed, then ran down the slight slope to First Platoon’s position.

  The platoon was already down a squad, and Esther couldn’t allow it to fall. She turned off her display, needing no distraction and screaming like a banshee, she covered the ground at a dead run, firing at any target that presented himself. She was dimly aware of Avalon and his six Marines pulling up behind her.

  The seven of them hit the line like a piledriver. Esther shot two Amals before they knew she was there. One went down, and the other spun around, his body armor stopping her darts. No matter. Esther delivered a butt stroke to the man’s chin. Body armor or not, he dropped like a rock.

  In front of her, an Amal soldier had a Marine on the ground as he tried to drive a vibroblade of some sort through the Marine’s armor. Esther drew her Ruger, dropping her M90, and tackled the Amal hard. As the two crashed to the ground, she reached up and pulled on the Amal’s face shield, stretching the monolayer over his neck. She put the muzzle of her Ruger against his throat and fired.

  The little Ruger didn’t have much range, but at point-blank, the round tore through the monolayer and destroyed the man’s throat.

  Esther jumped to her feet, but to her surprise, there were no more Amals. First Sergeant Watson, his right arm hanging limp, gave her a nod from where he stood.

  “My mama’s going to thank you, Skipper, for keeping her favorite son’s scalp intact.”

  Adrenaline flowing, Esther had to take a few deep breaths to calm herself. She slowly turned around, taking in the scene. Staff Sergeant Avalon, or what was left of him, lay a few meters to her side. Almost idly, she wondered what weapon had done that to him. She turned her display back on. The company was down to 57 effectives, but the fighting was petering out. A few Amals were retreating.

  Did we hold? Did we win? No time for that. I need to collapse the line.

  “I’m reassuming command,” she passed to the XO.

  “Staff Sergeant Tor,” she started until her AI informed her that the platoon sergeant was KIA.

  Without a commander or platoon sergeant, she shifted to the first sergeant to take over the platoon.

  “First Sergeant, we need to contract our company frontage. Take First and shift left until we have a defensible line.”

  “Aye-aye, ma’am.”

  “XO, what’s your disposition?”

  “We’re consolidating now. We’re spread out too thin to withstand another assault like that. Uh . . . do you think they will? I mean, attack again?”

  As if on cue, a voice interjected itself on the universal net, the one all military units are required to keep open by the Accords.

  “Captain Lysander or her successor, this is Step Commander Avery of the Amalgamation Sunset Security Forces. You’ve acquitted yourself well, but there’s no more need for loss of life. I am formally requesting your surrender. You will be treated as per the Accords, and after this unfortunate disagreement is over, you will be able to return to your families.”

  Esther took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before answering, “Step Commander Avery, this is Captain Esther Lysander, United Federation Marine Corps. From where I sit, I don’t see a reason to surrender. We beat back your attack and destroyed your Karzai. I’m not sure you have the means to defeat us.”

  “Granted, taking out our Karzai was a surprise, and I tip my hat to the valor of your Marines. But if you look to your northwest, I think you might change your mind.”

  “What’s he saying?” the XO asked on the P2P.

  “I’m not sure, but let me look.”

  Esther walked back up the slope and onto a protruding rock. She knew she was making a target of herself, but she didn’t think the enemy commander would break the standards of the universal net. She zoomed her display and swore to herself.

  Up on a ridge, two klicks away, had to be 300 soldiers. Right in the middle of them was another Karzai.

  Esther did a quick rundown of the company’s remaining combat load. Besides having no mortar rounds left, her remaining small arms rounds were at low levels. Certainly not enough to withhold the Amals, even if those 300 were all that were left, something she highly doubted.

  “Colonel Rzeminski, I’ve just been contacted by—”

  “We’ve been monitoring it, Esther,” the battalion commander said.

  “So, you know. I’m down to 57 effectives, and I can see at least 300 of them, along with another Karzai.”

  She waited for him to say something, and when he didn’t, she asked, “What do you want me to do?”

  “For something like this, Esther, it’s your call. You are the commander on the scene.”

  “Surrender” was a dirty word in the Corps. No one wanted to be the one to order it. Back in the old Federatio
n, before the Evolution, a colonel, Derek Asherton, had been executed for surrendering despite facing overwhelming odds. The Federation didn’t execute commanders anymore, but the rules had been changed. Only the commander on the ground could make that decision now, and it was illegal for an offsite commander to make that decision, one way or the other. Esther understood this, but still, she hoped the colonel would give her some guidance. She could tell he was aching to tell her what to do, but the law wouldn’t allow that.

  “Can I ask, sir, when I can get air?”

  “I’m being told the Wasp can get airborne within 70 minutes. Then another seven minutes to your position.”

  So, if I can hold out for 78 minutes, I can get air to blast these suckers back to their component atoms.

  “Roger that. I understand.”

  “Whatever you decide, Esther, I’m going to support you.”

  You mean if it comes to a court martial, she told herself bitterly.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  She switched back to the universal net.

  “Step Commander Avery, are you familiar with General Anthony McAuliffe?” she asked.

  There was a pause, then a “That disappoints me, Captain Lysander. Yes, I am familiar with the general and what he said at Bastogne during World War II. I take it that you are going to give me the same reply?”

  “That’s right, Step Commander. ‘Nuts.’”

  “Well, I was hoping you were going to be reasonable, but given your past and your heritage, I’m not surprised. So be it. Avery, out.”

  “Nice call, Skipper. I couldn’t live with being beat by a merc unit,” the XO said.

  “A highly professional merc unit,” she replied. “And would all of the Marines say the same?”

  “Probably. Yes, ma’am, I think they would.”

  “What you didn’t hear was the CO telling us we had 78 minutes before we can expect air. So, if we can hold out that long, we can get ourselves out of this mess. If not, I can always call up the step commander again.”

  “Won’t happen, Skipper. We’ll hold out.”

  “If I go down, Ralph, the company is yours. Keep the lines of communications open with Avery.”