Runs In The Family
Page 14
Well, fuck that.
“I don’t give a damn, sir. I know that GUARD is a protected frequency, but those are our soldiers down there, regardless of their fucking chain of command. As long as I’m the battle captain, if they need help, we will give it to them. When this is over, you can take it up with the admiral. For now, please exit the combat operations center, sir.” Garrett unclenched his jaw and moved back to the command chair. Another policy that does us absolutely no good. “Let me have your attention, everyone. Until you hear from someone with higher rank and greater authority than me that we don’t talk to TDF forces on the ground, give any request from Saber Six whatever you can. If you’ve got a problem with that, note it in your station logs right now. We don’t have time for chickenshit.”
Sitting in a comfortable chair in the Combat Information Center was not for Garrett. Driving a Rhino, the feeling of combat was detached and focused on one little piece of the battle around his squadron. With the command of a full air group at his fingertips, Garrett felt his brain racing to keep up with the rapid-fire transmissions and communications. Across the planet the Grey forces were being engaged by TDF troops. Garrett looked down on the dayside of Wolc and couldn’t see nearly as much action as he could above the nightside. Nightside was a cauldron of raging fires. For now, the space around Ticonderoga was secure. Her troops dropped and her defenses at the ready, Ticonderoga sat at battle stations above the battlefield. Waiting.
“Sir, we have an Interface report from Saber Six. Orbital platform scanning. The platform is not on our veedars or sensors. I have an orbital element set.”
Garrett nodded to the operations officer and reviewed the parameters of the unknown platform’s orbit. It’s above and behind us in a geostationary orbit. They’ve got an idea of how we’re deployed. “Weapons free. Get that thing out of my sky,” Garrett snapped and picked up the private circuit to the admiral.
“Don? What’s up?”
“Sir, we’re taking out an unknown orbital platform that’s scanning our forces. Recommend redeployment of the group.”
Nather cleared his throat. “Okay, Don. Get your units to Alert Five-”
Garrett flinched from a massive explosion out the port viewscreen. A cloud of molten debris hung in space where the frigate Oxford had been a moment before. “Launch all fighters! Launch all fighters!”
The klaxons of the Ticonderoga went off and Garrett heard the admiral on the 1-MC ordering evasive action. Garrett’s seat lurched to starboard and he reached instinctively for an inertial dampening switch on a Rhino, and there was nothing even close to his command chair. Embarrassed, Garrett bit his lip and turned to the tactical display. “Give me all sensors, three-sixty spread.”
The display board winked to life and Garrett felt an expletive on his lips. Conscious of his new environment and of every eye in the room watching him, he merely nodded. Three full wings, almost sixty Grey exofighters, were approaching from over Wolc’s north pole. Honor the threat, but be prepared for the threat you don’t see. He blinked in shock. Both poles. Sucker punching bastards.
“Give me the Fifty-second, the Sixty-third, and One Five Seventh squadrons on vectors to the north pole. I want the Forty-third and Thirty-fourth on the south pole. The Eighty-seventh on low CAP, and the Seventy-ninth on high CAP. Now!”
No one in the CIC hesitated. Garrett saw orders being passed, icons on the map changing positions, and felt a degree of satisfaction. Focus. They know you’re here now. What are you going to do about it?
The Ticonderoga’s guns began to fire as they crossed the terminator into nightside. Streaks of red and blue tracers and small wattage particle beams pierced the darkness. The hounds upon them, the fox turns ready to strike.
“Engage at first opportunity. BVR is authorized. Hit ‘em hard, hit ‘em fast, and keep right on hitting.” Wishing he could see his fighters locking on to incoming targets from beyond visual range and firing, Garrett absently attached the restraining belt on his command chair.
Gonna be a rocky day.
* * * * *
Twenty-Three
The battalion attack stalled five thousand meters from their landing zone with orders to engage the Grey emplacements with standoff weapons. The Greys swarmed on the regiment’s objective, a long west to east ridgeline Lieutenant Colonel Coffey codenamed Seminary Ridge. Nearly impassable terrain fenced the narrow sloping valley where Command Sergeant Major Jack Trevayne sat with the rest of the regiment, trying to target and hit vehicles fifteen thousand meters away. Not that the Marauder’s weren’t capable of it; their electromagnetic railguns were easily able to fling projectiles twice that distance. Short-sighted targeting systems made it impossible to guarantee an accurate shot beyond ten thousand meters. Trevayne spat off the side of the Marauder. They’d opened their hatches to breathe in the wet Wolcian atmosphere, a rarity given most of the deployment zones TDF units found themselves in. Fifteen minutes of sporadic firing into the objective gave no indication that there was any change to the Greys’ combat strength. The regiment would have to move closer. Trevayne keyed the private channel to the commander for the fourth time.
“Sir, we’ve got to move closer. We aren’t having any effect. We’re the center of the division attack corridor. If we don’t start moving soon we’re going to leave a massive hole in our lines.”
Coffey came back five seconds later. “Denied.”
Trevayne felt his vision narrowing. “Sir, we have no choice! Look at your tactical display. We’re two minutes from leaving holes on both our flanks. If the Greys see that, they’ll roll up our entire attack. Do you understand?”
“Goddamnit Sergeant Major, I got it!” Coffey screamed. “I fucking know what we’re supposed to be doing. The situation favors a standoff engagement! I will not attack a superior tactical position!”
You’re the one who named it Seminary Ridge, asshole. Trevayne wanted to find something, anything, that would trigger Coffey to order the regiment forward. When the radio clicked over to Command frequencies, he smiled, knowing he wouldn’t need to.
“Bullet Six, this is Command Six. Get your ass moving now.”
Coffey didn’t respond for five seconds. Admiral Nather’s voice growled into Trevayne’s ears. “That’s a direct order, Bullet Six. Move out.”
There was still no response from Coffey, but the center of the regimental line began to move forward slowly. About goddamned time, Trevayne thought. “Driver, move out. Take us to the right flank. Gear Two.”
Almost immediately the volley of fire from the Greys increased. Rounds began to impact all around the vehicle, but Trevayne gave them little thought as he buttoned up and dropped into the commander’s chair. “SITREP, Dossett.”
His communications specialist, a woman he’d have thought pretty in any other circumstance than sharing the turret of a combat tank, replied quickly. “Red elements are taking the beating in the center. White elements on the left flank are in the clear but do not have contact with the Seventy-third. Blue elements are not in contact with the Ninety-first. We’re about sixteen hundred meters behind them right now. We’re not going to close that gap at Gear Two.”
Trevayne nodded, feeling powerless. He’d been ordered not to communicate with any of the regiment’s vehicles without the commander’s knowledge. Pure unadulterated horseshit. Sonuvabitch thinks he’s Napoleon! He punched the controls to zoom out his view of the battlefield and selected icons only. Rectangles and diamonds filled the screen. The rectangles were blue, his forces, and the red diamonds were the Greys. The display was a nearly solid red blob on top of the objective. “Interface, estimated number of Grey vehicles on objective?”
<
“Jesus,” he heard Dossett whisper.
“More for us to kill,” his gunner replied.
“Shut up,” Trevayne snapped. “We’re outnumbered at least twenty to one. That kinda bravado bullshit isn’t gonna work.”
He kept
zooming out, seeing a singular blue rectangle, a scout platoon, on the far side of the ridgeline to the east and moving quickly. “Interface, locate the frequency of that platoon at grid eight six four five.”
<>
Trevayne dismissed it. “Probably a glitch in the command feed.”
<
Trevayne chinned over to the frequency for Third Company, “Blue Six, this is Black Nine, I’m in route to your position now.”
“Roger, Black Nine. We’re taking increased fire. I’m down one vehicle,” Captain Gibbs replied. A good officer, most likely an imprint but there’d never been the private opportunity to ask. Imprints and Styrahi were taboo subjects in Coffey’s Regiment. Their illustrious commander transferred as many of them out as possible, until learning that Trevayne had an imprint. There couldn’t be many left in the TDF with more commanders like Coffey being afraid of them.
Trevayne stood in the open hatch and let the wind hit his face. The fresh air was redolent with the sticky smell of pine sap as they rolled into a decimated forest. Rounds impacted the trees above them, showering the vehicle with branches and shrapnel. “Are they airbursting rounds on us?”
<
“Relay that to command. If these assholes have embedded artillery, our day could be damned short.” Trevayne spat again and closed the hatch as a large branch fell to the side of the moving tank. “We’ve got to have some intel on those bastards!”
Dossett replied quickly. “We’re getting nothing on all known communications channels. The Greys are firing a steady ten rounds per minute from every vehicle. No smart weapons, no particle beams.”
“Driver, Gear Four. Dossett, relay that to Blue Six,” Trevayne clenched his jaw. Orders be damned. Somebody has to close that gap. If they didn’t, the Greys would surely attack from their defensive positions. Wouldn’t they?
* * * * *
Twenty-Four
“Okay people, listen up.” Mairin spoke quickly with excitement in her voice. “What we’re doing is setting a screen. The idea is that we’re out here making the enemy think the regiment is a feint or something. I’m hoping we can open up something in their defense. Maybe even get them to commit forces off the objective. It’s a long shot, but worth it. If they do nothing, we’ll get up on the ridgeline between them and the Eighty-Seventh regiment and make things interesting.” She paused. “Everybody good with that?”
Only Ulson responded. “How about we sound the fucking charge, ma’am?”
Mairin grinned. “Lock and load, you’ve got firing authority on anything that ain’t ours.”
A last look at the tactical display confirmed that there was some change on the objective. Stay fluid. Use the terrain. Mairin toggled the switches to the display and tried to really see what lay around them. Fuck it. She opened the hatch and stood up, the force of the wind nearly ripping her helmet off. Holding on to the trusty M2 machine gun mount—how many hundreds of years are we gonna use this beast, she thought—she could see very clearly. The enemy lay ahead and just over the ridgeline. A last spiraling hilltop gave way to a long sloping saddle between the joining ridges. That would be the soft point, where the enemy would expect a counter attack. Attacking from the east along the ridgeline gave a better advantage, mainly from speed and surprise. How long would that surprise last? Will we be too exposed?
Heavy gray clouds hung low around the mountains, the humidity palpable. Mairin thought of the rain and touched the reassuring clump of the necklace at her throat. Not now, Tally. I love you.
<
Mairin dropped into the turret and allowed the hatch to close. “Speculation?”
Conner shrugged. “Maybe reconnaissance?”
The Interface replied, <
“Can we engage at closer range?”
<
“What?” Mairin keyed her display. “There’s nothing out there.”
<> The Interface fell silent. Mairin waited for more, but there was none. This was going to be up to her. If they’ve got a weapon of some kind, or are trying to get behind the line--.
She flicked the transmit button. “Guidons, Six. Down to Gear One. Standby for FRAGO.”
Conner replied, “What’s a FRAGO?”
Mairin looked at him dumbfounded. “A Fragmentary Order. A change to an Operations Order.”
Conner blinked. “Like an action plan?”
Oh God help me. “Yes, an action plan. Relay that so everyone understands.” And when we’re done here there’s going to be a lot of instruction, she thought. Who trained these people?
“Interface, get me in touch with that pathfinder team. I want to know what the hell is going on.”
Mairin halted the formation in a grove of pine-like trees that concealed their position nicely. Two minutes later, a whispered voice filled Mairin’s ears.
“Whoever you are, do not compromise my mission,” the voice said in Styrah. A dialect that Mairin didn’t recognize, but a Stryahi nonetheless. Her heart bounced slightly at the thought of Tally.
“Pathfinder, this is Saber Six. I have six magtanks two point six kilometers from your position. There are two Grey combat vehicles and four lifeforms in front of you,” Mairin replied in what she hoped was passable Styrah.
A chuckle in the static. “I am watching them.”
“Understood. Do you require assistance?”
“No. Please continue your mission and leave mine alone, eschessa.”
Mairin flushed. Bitch. “False alarm people. Ulson, get us back on course, Gear Three.”
Styrahi can be very prideful, Mairin. The voice was Tally’s with the hint of her imprint. Don’t take it personal. Get back on your horse, girl.
They emerged from the pine grove and spread the formation to engage repulsors. For a long moment, nothing happened. When Mairin raised the hatch to look outside, she heard Ulson screaming.
“Contact left! Contact left! There’s a bunch of ‘em!”
* * * * *
Twenty-Five
Tallenaara sat with her lunch of Dunleavy’s fish and chips on the steps of the Glamoragan Building watching the Cardiff students making their way to and from classes. Only a few brave souls shared the steps on the unseasonably cool day, and the lack of sunshine made the cold penetrating despite the layers of clothing she wore. Still, she’d had this tradition during her time as a student, and wanted to sit amongst the statues and see how it felt. The human adage that a person couldn’t go home again was very poignant. While the statues were the same honorifics to coal mining and navigation, the warmth of the spot she’d eaten so many lunches on was at once familiar and distant, like a vivid dream that fades over time.
She unrolled a thin flexi reader and the latest issue of Architectural Digest to spend the time, but the passing students distracted and fascinated her. She realized she was looking for recognition in them. A girl with pretty brown hair brought thoughts of Mairin, while the boys in the cardigans made her think of Andrew on those chilly afternoons when he’d walk her across campus because he had a free period and wanted to see her. Coeds holding hands brought a wistful smile, and she remembered the first time, after their trip to Scotland, that Andrew took her hand. There were a thousand eyes on them as they walked, but Andrew’s head was erect and his shoulders back. He smiled and almost dared any
one to tell him that he shouldn’t hold her hand. She’d drawn strength from him in that moment and knew that he dearly cared for her, and most troubling, she knew that he would be a great Prelate like his father.
Perhaps that first display of affection should have given her clues, and it probably did. Love was like that. In the moment, lovers rarely focused on anything but each other, eschewing advice from friends and warnings from loved ones. For Tally, she could only surmise that Andrew’s decision was political in nature. She had not bothered to find out, nor was it worth any effort ten years later.
Tally put away the magazine, collected the paper basket and newspaper that wrapped her lunch, and tossed them into a refuse canister. She picked up her tall cup of coffee and walked slowly to the architecture building. Tomorrow would be her first lecture, and she’d already given the College of Architecture quite a start. Famous alien students who returned to prestigious faculty postings was not something that happened every day.
Walking into a lecture hall a dozen years ago had been a frightening experience. Conversation stopped, and every eye fell upon her. A few of the students whispered and a few laughed out loud. The first of her species to attend the school, Tallenaara promised to do exceedingly well at Cardiff and that she would find a way to fit in. Ten years later, the chiseled teak doors of the auditorium squealed as she opened them and caused a familiar twinge in her abdomen before she stepped inside. She wasn’t sure where it started, but there was applause when she walked in, and most everyone in the room made it a point to come and speak to her.
Dr. Winston Mathers, the Dean of the College of Engineering, embraced her and kissed her cheeks in the European manner before looking up at her. “Welcome home, Tallenaara. Cardiff is thrilled to have you walk our halls again and enlighten our students.”