by Jay Allan
From his position on the far right, Cooper Brown had been burning through scouts trying to reach the bridges and get a read on the enemy strength moving across the river. With the satellite network destroyed and no air power, there’d been no way for Cain to know how many waves the enemy had landed to the south, outside the range of his ground detection. Brown’s efforts hadn’t produced much besides dead scouts, and what intel he was able to get was grim. He hadn’t managed to push anyone across the Graywater, but his people had confirmed long columns of enemy troops moving across the bridges. Cain resisted as long as he could, but in the end he had no choice. He issued the order and sent the Obliterators into the battle. McDaniels would have followed Cain anywhere, but she swore under her breath when he ordered her people into the dense forest. He assured her she could execute the maneuver, and to her surprise, she had. Once again, Cain had been right. What seemed impossible wasn’t, and her forces were about to emerge into the open country just north of the river. It hadn’t been easy, but her people had seen it done.
Cain’s order was further vindicated when Admiral Jacobs’ naval squadron burst into the system and did a complete scan of the planet. They dropped a new network of scanner buoys in orbit and destroyed the enemy satellites. Suddenly, Cain’s intel was back on line, and the data coming in was alarming. Storm’s people were outnumbered at least five to one, and more enemy forces were pouring northward toward the forest.
Erin McDaniels had served with Erik Cain throughout the First Imperium War, and she was the first – and only – commander of the Obliterator corps. She knew better than any living Marine exactly what these things could do with the right tactics. She even felt something approaching confidence that her people could stabilize the situation. But first she had to get through the forest and cut the bridges over the Graywater.
Cain had ordered her to widen her approach march, trying to take advantage of the enemy’s loss of its own satellite observation. The tactic made sense, making her people harder for the enemy to detect…but it also delayed the attack, allowing more enemy troops to cross the river and leaving Storm’s forces to hold off the overwhelming advance alone. Cain’s response had been simple when she raised that issue. “They’ll hold,” was all he had said, though the silence that followed told her there was far more going on in Cain’s head than simple confidence. He could appear cold and unfeeling, but she knew a part of him died with every one of those Marines on the line who fell.
“Captain Jager, your people will be in the lead.” She had her force on radio silence, and she’d jogged forward to get a direct laser com line to Jager. “When you come out of the forest you’ll be 5 klicks east of the first enemy bridge. I want you to execute a sharp turn, advance, and launch your attack.”
“Yes, general.” Jager, like the rest of her Marines, was frustrated with the difficult march and straining to get at the enemy.
They didn’t know the odds they faced, and McDaniels didn’t see any point in telling them. They were ready for the fight…and they would give all they had. She knew that for certain. “And Captain…” - her voice hardened, her own resolve stiffening – “…when you go in, just keep pushing forward.” She paused for an instant, exhaling hard. “I’ll be right behind you with the rest of the corps.”
General Anderson-3 stood in the rocky sand along the banks of the Graywater. The forest ran almost to the water’s edge, maybe 700 meters of muddy marsh sitting between the river and the towering trees of the Sentinel. His forces were advancing, moving across the pontoon bridges and into the dense trees…toward the front, where the enemy lines were starting to collapse. The Marines fought like hell, but Anderson-3 had a huge numerical superiority, and he kept throwing fresh units at them, slowly, surely blunting their advance and then pushing them back. Now, victory was in his grasp. It was time to launch an all-out attack and break them.
He’d lost his satellite intel, the unfortunate result of the arrival of an enemy squadron. At first, he’d been concerned that the newly arrived ships would land Marine reinforcements, but they’d only sent down a handful of landers…nothing that would seriously affect the battle. Other than the loss of his satellites, little had changed. His forces had numbers; they had momentum. He just had to push forward, driving relentlessly against the outmatched enemy until they finally broke.
Anderson felt something…satisfaction, perhaps? As with many sensations, he had trouble fully understanding it, identifying its source. He knew he had false memories…not truly invented ones, perhaps, but not his own either. He could vaguely remember leading forces on other worlds…wispy images of places his conscious mind knew he’d never been. He couldn’t really comprehend it all, but that was OK. He didn’t have to understand…he just had to do his duty. Still, it was unnerving at times, distracting. A strange hole in his mind, one that nagged at him, especially when he had time to think.
“Colonel, it is time for your people to advance.”
Colonel Anderson-45 snapped to attention. “Yes, sir.” His response was crisp, immediate. He didn’t salute. It came to him from the place in his mind where his training was stored. Regulations said no saluting this close to the enemy. Snipers, he realized. They could be hidden in the woods, looking for high value targets.
He nodded slightly then turned and trotted off, issuing orders to his regiment’s officers as he did. His people had just crossed the river. They were already formed up and ready to advance, but he double-checked anyway. It seemed superfluous, but that’s what the manual required, so that’s what he did.
The regiment was in line of battle, 3000 strong, all along the edge of the great forest. His mission was clear. His force would smash through the wavering enemy lines and pursue the exhausted Marines north, staying with them, not giving them a chance to rally or regroup.
He was confident his force could do the job. The enemy lines were already buckling. They were trying to fall back, to disengage and regroup. But he wasn’t going to give them the chance.
It felt odd, moving forward, about to launch the attack. Strange, unfamiliar feelings rose up from within. Was this fear, he wondered? Or was it simply heightened sensitivity, his body’s reaction to the danger ahead? He had wispy memories of combat, though he’d never been in battle before. Strange, he thought…all this is familiar, though it is my first time going into combat. He pondered the strange sensations for an instant then something, some mental discipline deep in his mind, forced his thoughts away from the esoteric, back to the task at hand.
“Regiment, prepare to advance.” He spoke loudly into the unitwide com. “Forward.” He walked quickly, determinedly into the dense woods. Into combat.
Cain stared at the display, silent, rigid as a stone monument. There is was, right in front of him…courtesy of the string of satellites Admiral Jacobs had left in orbit before he pulled out of the system. Jacobs’ force was small, just an escort for Sarah and her medical teams. He didn’t have any reinforcements for Cain’s army, but he was able to restore the orbital surveillance network...and give him back his eyes on the battlefield.
Those eyes showed him a stark reality. For once, things were worse even than Cain expected. After the enemy had blinded him by destroying his satellites, they had landed wave after wave of reinforcements. They came down in the middle of the undeveloped wilderness far to the south, and they quickly destroyed the few monitoring stations, leaving Cain and the Marines completely blind as more and more troops landed. He’d added it up three times, coming to the same conclusion. His people were facing over twice as much enemy strength as they thought. There were at least 50,000 invaders on Armstrong’s surface, thousands of them still marching north toward the primary battlefield. Which meant everything his people had fought, all the enemy formations they had identified…they were less than half of what they truly faced.
Casualties were already high, and the staff of the Corps hospital in Astria was working around the clock caring for the wounded. Things had been under control until
the enemy bombardment forced Cain to order the facility abandoned. The wounded were evacuated and moved to makeshift field hospitals to the north. That meant rougher facilities and more shortages of equipment and supplies. And that meant more of his people would die.
Sarah would quickly take charge of it all…he knew that much. And the wounded would benefit. She had tremendous experience working in the difficult conditions of field hospitals during a battle. She would work tirelessly and ride her people without mercy. Her presence would save lives, he had no doubt about that. The wounded Marines deserved nothing less.
Cain had been happy to see her, of course, though he’d only been able to spare a few minutes for the reunion. Nevertheless, a part of him wished she hadn’t come. He couldn’t explain it fully. He hated the long separations, missed her every day she wasn’t with him…but there was something else, something darker in his mind. He didn’t really like himself on the battlefield. He knew there were two incarnations of Erik Cain, drastically different from each other…and the battlefield commander was by far his darker side. He didn’t want her to see him that way, to watch him turn into the icy cold monster that sent thousands to their deaths.
The cold, ruthless combat commander, who’d gone from victory to victory and blazed a trail of glory across human space – it was an impressive image, but in Cain’s mind it was pure fiction. No, he thought, the larger than life hero is bullshit, the product of peoples’ need to idolize leaders. To what was left of Erik Cain, the man, the persona that strode so tall across these battlefields was a butcher, a stone cold killer, a monster who should be locked away forever. He was a man who sent his loyal troops to their deaths again and again, who’d sacrificed his best friend to his own arrogance. Perhaps, he thought, he had only become what was needed to face the endless strife that afflicted mankind. But that didn’t help him like himself, and it didn’t change what he was. And he was at a loss to explain how Sarah could love a creature like him.
He looked around the control room, shaking himself from his introspection. What am I doing here? His thoughts were grim, dark. The battle will be decided in the Sentinel…and along the river. He’d allowed the enemy batteries to smash Astria nearly to rubble…all to divert strength to the decisive combat. Would it be enough? He didn’t know, but he was sure of one thing. Whatever happened, he’d be on that line with his Marines when it did.
“Captain Claren, I’m suiting up and moving forward to get a look.”
Claren’s face wore a mask of horror, but the loyal aide knew better than to argue with Cain. The general was like a force of nature in battle, and nothing he could say would make any difference at all. Or perhaps one thing…
“Request permission to accompany the general.” Claren stood rigidly at attention. “I fear we need every man, sir.”
Cain stopped and turned to look back at Claren. He was about to tell the aide to remain behind and keep him advised from the scanning reports…but he paused, his eyes settling on Claren’s stony expression. The young officer had been in a very close call in Astria, but in the end, his armor saved him from serious injury. He had a few scrapes and bruises…not bad considering a building had fallen on him. The suit was a total loss, but Claren had been able to find a new one that fit from the army’s dwindling supplies.
“Very well, captain. Suit up.” He turned around and strode from the room, his face grim. He didn’t really expect to come back, and he hadn’t wanted to take Claren with him. But his aide was a Marine, and a good one at that. He didn’t have the right to force him to stay behind, and he knew it.
“Forward. All units.” McDaniels’ voice was raw, hoarse. Her people had been in action nonstop for 36 hours. “To the bridges!” They were almost there. One more good push; that’s all it would take.
The tiny strip of land between the river and the forest was packed with troops, her people in their massive Obliterator suits pushing forward, slowly driving the disordered enemy back. It was a bloody affair, one costly attack after another, the invaders fighting like devils but not able to endure the firepower of the Obliterators.
She was down to half strength, but she knew at least some of that was just suit damage. The almost four-meter tall suits could be disabled without the operator even being hit. She’d been monitoring the data feed on her display, and it looked like about half her “casualties” were just wrecked suits. Still, that meant a quarter of her people were dead or wounded, and they were kilometers from the nearest aid station.
“I’m with the lead elements, general.” Her comlink crackled to life, the voice of her exec, Colonel Clarkson coming through. “We’re 500 meters from objective A.” There were three bridges spanning the Graywater, each separated by about 300 meters. “We’ve got incoming fire from the bridge as well as the shore.”
“Very well, colonel.” She felt a rush of adrenalin. Almost there, she thought. “I’m sending you reserves now. I want an all-out attack here. Forward to the bridges.” She knew time wasn’t on her side. Her people were taking partial enfilade fire now, and it would just get worse as they advanced. The enemy had a lot of strength south of the river. Her people were inflicting more damage, but she was going to run out of troops first. They had to clear those bridges and get between the enemy forces on each side of the river. Fast.
She switched her com frequency. “Captain Horgan, move your forces forward and reinforce Colonel Clarkson.”
“Yes, general.” The response was almost immediate. Horgan was one of her best officers, and his company was a crack formation, the successor unit to the original company of Obliterators.
She started moving forward, waddling back and forth to keep from bounding up in the air as she jogged. She was going in with her people. This was the final push. “Now’s our time, people.” She was shouting into the unitwide com. “Forward to the bridges!” She clicked a switch and deployed her dual autoguns as she advanced. “Forwa…”
She felt the impacts, slamming into her, pushing her back. It was surreal, almost slow motion at first. Then the pain. Searing agony. She’d been hit, at least 3 or 4 times. It was an enemy auto-cannon on the bridge, a lucky shot at this range. She held her scream until she cut the comlink, but then it forced its way out. Anger, frustration, pain…terrible pain. She struggled, sweat beading on her forehead. No time for this, she thought. Work to do. She gritted her teeth, took a deep breath and flipped the com back on. “Forward!”
Storm was crouched in a trench – more of a foxhole, really, and a shallow one at that. He was scanning the small clearing, waiting for the enemy to move out into the open. His people had been falling back, reforming every few klicks and trying to hold for at least a few hours before retreating again. He was choosing positions carefully, trying to maximize the damage inflicted on the advancing enemy. He was making good use of the cover, but he knew once his people were driven from the forest it would be over. They were massively outnumbered, and the enemy was as well trained as his Marines. If they were forced to fight in open country, he knew it would be over in a few hours.
He couldn’t even keep track of the casualties anymore, but he knew all his units were below half strength…and some a lot worse off than that. There were probably a few Marines still in the fight with damaged medical scanners or transmitters. Still, no matter how he looked at it, his forces were gutted.
He rolled his eyes up, glancing at his tactical display. There were small blue rectangles stretched out in a rough line through the woods…his forces. Clusters of red symbols were moving toward his much thinner blue line. There was about a kilometer and a half between the two positions. In the open, they’d already be engaged and, even in the dense woods, it wouldn’t be more than a few minutes before the fighting started up again. He’d reviewed the ground behind this location. They had one, maybe two fallback positions, and then they’d be out in the rolling grasslands south of Astria. Then they’d be fucked.
“Colonel Storm, enemy forces are advancing on my position.” It was Cor
poral Wimmer, one of the forward pickets. “I think they’re moving to the left, sir.”
“Very well, corporal.” Storm flipped his com channel. “Sergeant Kelton, any activity in your sector?” Kelton was posted on the extreme right.
“Negative, sir.” The response was immediate and definitive. Not for the first time, Storm felt a rush of pride for his people. They were in deep shit, and they all knew it, but their discipline and competency were unaffected. “All quiet here.”
Shit, Storm thought…they’re trying to flank us. He scolded himself. He’d been expecting them to plunge straight ahead into the teeth of his defenses. The First Imperium War had been as hard a fight as Storm had ever seen, but it had been the enemy’s technology and numbers that made it so. The tactics of the First Imperium master computers had been rudimentary…predictable and lacking in creativity. He didn’t know who this new enemy was, but he realized he was going to have to adapt to dealing with an adversary nearly as unpredictable and skilled as his own Marines.
“Lieutenant Davenport, move your strike force to the extreme left flank.”
“Yes, sir.” Julia Davenport was another veteran of the First Imperium War. Most of his people were. “Keep your eyes open, Julia. I think the enemy is trying to flank us.” After five years of fighting a technologically superior robotic enemy, his people all needed a crash course in dealing with human foes again.
