The ground shook underfoot, while a cloud of dirt and dust rose up into the sky, adding to the obscuration of the company. Another weapon struck, while a particle beam ripped through the cloud cover to rip a trench in the ground ahead. Cumming’s tank lifted over the trench on grabbers, coming down on the other side and juking to the left just in time to avoid another kinetic weapon.
“Targets ahead,” shouted out the CO. “All units. Take enemy under fire as they present. Fire at will.”
“Target acquired,” called out the gunner. “Round up. Firing.”
The tank bucked as the main gun, telescoped to its maximum length, sent a penetrator down range at three hundred kilometers a second. It looked like a beam of light, fixing and smashing a large mecha six kilometers ahead. The twin particle beams fired a moment later, sending streaks of red fury into the enemy positions.
The hit mecha was still turning through the air in several pieces when the gun spoke again, hitting another mecha. Two more fired back, sending hypervelocity rockets at the tank. One hit straight on the frontal armor of the turret, bouncing away with an enormous clang. The other was hit by one of the defensive lasers and pushed off course, a clean miss.
The gun spoke again five more times while the tank closed the distance. Three killed mechas, including one massive machine that had to mass half that of the tank. The others flew through groups of enemy troopers, slicing through a dozen suits and killing more Fenri with the concussive effect of a hundred kilogram shell tearing them apart within their armor.
One of the tanks was knocked out by mecha fire, enough of the machines concentrating their heaviest weapons on the vehicle to stop it in its tracks, heavy turret spinning through the air above it. Another was caught by a near miss of a kinetic warhead that stopped its progress, just before a particle beam came down from orbit to shear through its tough armor as if it were paper.
Tanks rolled through the landing zone, all of their secondary weapons, laser crosses, defensive turrets, targeting anything that moved that was not of Imperial origin. Cummings’ tank shuddered from the hits of weapons that would have killed a lesser machine. Even some hits from weapons that had an outside chance of killing a Tyrannosaur. They might have gotten bogged down in that close in fight, overwhelmed by an enemy that was able to surround them. But the company of heavy infantry took that moment to hit the distracted Fenri from the flanks, destroying all resistance. The carnivores were brave, to a point, but lacked the altruism that allowed humans to continue fighting, no matter the odds. They broke and ran, to be picked off by humans who destroyed their smaller groups.
The last vehicle killed belonged to the Company Commander, and after the four remaining tanks overran the enemy positions, Cummings found himself the sole remaining officer in a company that was more of a reinforced platoon. His second tank made it through as well. Good fortune?
We took out this landing zone, thought Cummings as he directed his company back to their assembly area, his drivers taking advantage of all the cover and concealment that was the obscured surface of the planet. Their prepared positions were waiting, and the massive vehicles slid under cover in the caves that were made up of the rubble of the city, powering down and preparing for the next mission.
* * *
Phlistarans were a mighty warrior people, while also paradoxically being a relatively peaceful species. They had fought wars before the humans had discovered their race, mostly in their more primitive stages. The eras of armored warriors charging the lines of their enemies to the glory of kings. They really didn’t have cavalry and infantry. As dracocentaurs, each being was his own mount, they were a little of both, and their ancient art showed many scenes of charges that carried the day.
As they advanced in technology and moved into space, they were able to restrain their more primitive emotions, though they always lurked just below the surface. They had barely left their own star system when human ships came calling. They saw the writing on the wall, and assimilated themselves into the human Empire posthaste. Their loyalty to the humans had allowed them to gain advanced tech well before most alien species, and their service in the Imperial military had earned them trust beyond most others as well. And for five centuries they had treated the human Empire as an integral part of their own society.
“Prepare to charge,” ordered the Phlistaran battalion commander as his unit lined up on the high ground overlooking the landing zone.
Each of his troopers was clad in a heavy armor suit, actually better armored than their human counterparts, with much heavier weaponry. All had been worked up to almost a frenzy, a battle madness that their ancestors would have recognized. There was an enemy ahead who had threatened fellow members of their Empire, and they would make that foe pay for such temerity.
The commander looked on his HUD, prioritized his targets, and made his last second adjustments. That’s a lot of open ground to cover, was his initial thought. Unfortunately, his people weren’t good at sneaking around. Their basic builds kind of worked against stealth. As did their inability to get low to the ground or climb. But they could run. And with the augmentation of their suits, they could run like the wind.
“Charge,” yelled out the commander, starting forward at the trot himself. A roar came across the com net, over four hundred voices resonating from the enormous chests of the sentients.
The enemy saw them coming in an instant, and fire was soon to follow. Several Phlistarans fell off the HUD, among almost a hundred that had taken hits. Their tough armor proved its worth, bouncing shots off while their moving forms made it difficult to keep the beams in contact with beings that had gotten up to a hundred kilometers an hour, while dodging and swerving to make themselves the most difficult targets possible.
“Fire,” yelled the Lt. Colonel, aiming his own heavy rifle toward the enemy, while the heavy weapons packs on his back swiveled into place.
Particle beams reached out from four hundred rifles the size of the heavy squad weapons that humans used, slashing into the enemy positions. Three hundred back mounted cannons sent fifty millimeter rounds downrange, while a hundred mortars opened fire, looping sixty millimeter rounds into the enemy positions. Missiles left two hundred launchers, seeking the opponent’s heavy weapons and mecha. And lasers swept out, seeking every incoming object that might endanger the being carrying the weapon.
Of course, there were collisions between weapons and munitions going out. With so much in the air, it would have a miracle if there hadn’t been. Missiles and shells intersected beams and exploded in midair, most far enough away to cause little problem to the launching soldiers.
What the fire did to the enemy was terrifying. Beams ripping through the ranks of soldiers who had just landed and hadn’t found positions yet. Mortars exploding within what positions there were, their sensors seeking out the hollows that troops could hide in. Cannon shells popped explosively as they hit suits, or detonated at closest approach and sent out sprays of shrapnel.
Explosions lit the formation through the dust and holographic projections that surrounded them. Large Phlistaran forms flew into the air, head over heels, as the Fenri answered with their own heavy weapons. Beams converged on centauroid targets that came clear for moments before plunging back into obscurity. Some entered cover intact, others as smoking meat in ruptured suits. Phlistarans had tough hides underneath the armor, able to withstand hits from low velocity projectiles. Particle beams ate through that hide into organs like the matter of any other organic beings.
The Fenri formed a firing line, trying to beat off the attack, and suffering even more casualties under the firepower of the larger beings. And then the Phlistarans were among them, many of the large aliens dropping their rifles to hang on slings, pulling pairs of heavy pistols from holsters. Now they were in their element, ancient cavalry equipped with modern weapons, running rampant among smaller infantry that was just trying to get away.
Here a Phlistaran trooper ran into a clutch of Fenri, pistols spitting pro
ton beams, forefeet, cased in armor, molecular edged blades protruding forward, disemboweling another Fenri. There a large alien knocked Fenri to the ground with a spin of its three meter long body, swinging a sword made of the same material as its foot claws, slicing limbs and heads from armored forms. And further on a Phlistaran stopped in his tracks, while his backpack unit spat a missile at a large mecha that was trying to stop the charge with its fearsome weapons. The mecha took a direct hit, blowing to pieces across the area, its last act the particle beam that killed its killer.
Of the four hundred centauroids who had started the charge, less than two hundred came through the other side. Of the nine hundred Fenri they had attacked, only a handful ran from the fury of a species they recognized as their physical superiors.
* * *
“Attack,” yelled Baggett into the com, running out of his bunker, rifle in his hands. I know this is not something I’m supposed to engage in, thought the Division Commander, his headquarters staff at his heels. But at heart he was still a battalion commander, and his men needed to see him sharing in the danger of a close assault. The danger he was asking them to face.
And besides, they needed every suit they had, and he just happened to be occupying a twenty million imperial command suit, even more expensive than the larger heavy support suits. They were already heavily outnumbered, and every suit was an asset they needed at this moment. The Corps Commander might dress him down later for putting his hide on the line, battle capable suit or not. But I’d rather ask forgiveness, he thought.
This assault was a landing zone that hadn’t received the attention of tank units. It was a straight on infantry assault. And the battalion conducting the assault was the weakest of those in the division, less than three hundred effectives. The addition of his hundred man headquarters section, all in heavy armor, was a major reinforcement.
The landing zone was only five kilometers away, almost on top of the bunker. As Baggett came out of his shelter his HUD picked up the hundreds of troopers who were coming out of hiding to congregate for the assault. The other battalions had already started their assaults, some had finished. The enemy knew something was up, but most of the attention from above was elsewhere. Or at least he hoped so.
Artillery started lofting shells at the enemy under the screen of jamming. A hundred shells were in the air before the first hit, its crumping sound coming across the kilometers. Enemy countermeasures started taking out some of them, but not enough. And anything firing at the shells was not being aimed at the infantry that was closing on them.
Baggett got his suit up to eighty kilometers an hour, their maximum over rough ground. If they took to the air, they could also go faster, but would become much easier to target. Instead, they stayed low, taking advantage of the obscuring smoke and dust, as well as the holographic projectors on their suits, which were sending false images in random directions around their real physical matter.
Artillery switched to a rolling barrage, augmented by the heavy support suits throwing mortars and rockets into the mix. Shells started coming down a hundred meters from the enemy lines, throwing up dirt and smoke. The next came in twenty meters closer to the enemy, then twenty meters closer. Half the tubes fired, while the other half moved, shoot and scoot, trying to avoid counter battery fire from the enemy. That worked, somewhat, though some tubes were lost to each change over when their crews didn’t move them fast enough. Still, the barrage worked as planned, and the human infantry came rushing out of the cloud of dirt and dust as the artillery moved on.
The humans opened fire as soon as they acquired targets, moments before the enemy could react. The shocked Fenri reeled in confusion as many went down to particle beam blasts, and others to the back mounted auto cannon. They fell back, trying to find a rally point, when the human suits closed the distance and hit them hard.
The human suits were stronger due to their size, and also carried thicker armor. Being larger, they could afford to pack thicker armor per their size according to the square function of surface area. They carried greater mass, and the collisions between Fenri and human resulted in Fenri thrown onto their backs.
Baggett shot a Fenri who looked to be some kind of leader, then vaulted the body to slam into one that looked like a higher level commander. His right arm came back, the razor claws extended, and he slammed the molecular blades into the armor of the Fenri. The creature’s faceplate raised to reveal a face that snarled for a moment, before its expression changed to one of pure agony.
The General threw the alien from him, and raised his rifle with his left hand, firing a grenade at a concentration of enemy that looked like it was getting its act together. The thirty-five millimeter shell exploded in the center of the group, not powerful enough to get a kill, but causing damage to the sensors of a pair of suits. He swapped the rifle back to a right handed grip and fired, downing a Fenri, then swinging the beam into another.
They never gave the Fenri time to regroup. Less than five minutes from the time the first humans had made contact with the first Fenri, the fight was over. There were few survivors, and those were too demoralized to do anything but surrender. The humans ran from the scene of the battle, twenty-six Fenri in powered down suits carried along for the ride. The human battalion had lost a total of eighteen killed, twice that many wounded, in return for over a thousand Fenri.
Baggett ran for seven minutes and some odd seconds to his next position, jacking into the Corps command net on the way. The news was good, if not totally positive. The Fenri had only succeeded in taking two landing zones. That was the good news. The bad was that the enemy was quickly reinforcing those zones, bringing down all their shuttles to drop off troops and munitions, and heavier weapons such as tanks. There looked to be no hope of taking back those zones, and the enemy had an entire planet to choose from for more. But the humans had bloodied their noses, and from now on the Fenri would operate with caution against the hated humans who had invaded their property.
Chapter Seven
We hang the petty thieves and appoint the great ones to public office.
Aesop
THE DONUT AND SECTOR IV SPACE. NOVEMBER 27TH, 1001.
Dr. Larry Southard really hadn’t expected to see much adventure at his age. Not that he was an old man, but, hitting one hundred and seventy, he was not what anyone would call young. He had spent his youth in Exploration Command, while working on his Doctorate and Post Doc in Nuclear and Stellar Physics. That had been an exciting twenty years, charting new systems, seeing new worlds for the first time. But that time had come to an end, and he had thought he had earned a life of academic ease, teaching others the theories of stellar evolution, including his own. Somewhere in between had come another PhD, this time in advanced Mathematics.
Ease did not come for quite some time. Instead, he had ended up on a number of University sponsored expeditions, including a study of the only star in local space ever observed prior to and during its collapse and explosion into a supernova. After that had come papers that had cemented his reputation as the foremost expert in supernovas in the Empire.
And then had come the ease he had expected, the life of a well-respected academic at the University of New Detroit, on the Core World of the same name. There he expected to live and work until he retired, after which he would spend his last thirty or forty years of life again travelling the space ways, this time as a tourist.
Unfortunately, thought the normally cheerful man who now had a perpetual scowl on his face, I should have read the fine print on my Naval Reserve contract. Always subject to recall in time of war, he thought, wanting to spit on the floor of the corridor that led to one of the wormhole gate rooms. For life.
“Captain Southard,” said a naval Commander, saluting the professor who was dressed in his civilian travel clothes.
“That’s Doctor, please,” he said, refusing to return the salute. “I may have to play some of your games, but I refuse to play that one.”
The look of surprise on
the Commander’s face almost caused the Professor to smile. Almost. “Very well. Doctor Southard,” said the man, shaking his head.
And he thinks he honors me by giving me a rank two above what I had in the Navy. Bah.
“You have priority through to your destination, Doctor,” said the Commander, looking at a flat comp. “Someone really wants you there.”
Southard nodded and followed the man to the gate room, this one boasting a squad of heavily armed Marines at the entrance. All of the Marines had their visors up at the moment, and from the expressions on their faces, Southard could tell that these people were tense. This would not be a good place to cause a scene, not that he had been planning one in the first place.
The Commander led him through the room, past the watchful eyes of a number of Naval Shore Patrol, all armed with holstered particle beam pistols. The Commander led him to one of the portals, this one with even more armed guards, again Marines.
“This one leads to a ship near to your final destination,” explained the naval officer. “From there you can catch transport to the research ship. And good luck, Doctor.”
Southard nodded, looking at the portal like it was a dangerous carnivore. The memory of the first translation through a wormhole was still fresh in his mind, since he had just walked out of one less than ten minutes before. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience, one he would have compared to having died and found out that one had gone to exactly the afterlife one had been dreading. No use delaying, thought the scientist, realizing that it would just make things worse in the waiting. With a firm grip on his bag he stepped through, across the light years.
* * *
SECTOR IV SPACE.
“All I wanted to do was to kill the bastards,” screamed Master Chief Jana Gorbachev, glaring into the eyes of the psychiatrist who had been tasked with treating her. “I was just doing my duty. Surely the Emperor realizes that. So why can’t I talk with him? He would clear this mess up in a moment.”
Exodus: Empires at War: Book 7: Counter Strike Page 10
