But she was a business person. Naero could tell.
Marshall came right out and said it straight. “I’m the platoon scrounge. Junk food, poteen, other booze or fun stuff. If you want it, I’ll find out how and where to get it.”
They both said the words in unison: “For the right price, of course.”
“Thanks for the treat, Marshall. Could you say get me a borbble of Jett?”
Marshall blinked for a second and then knitted her brow and curled her lip. “The soft drink? That’s what you want?”
“Sure do. Our dispensaries can’t get it from the Corps, due to the war, from what I hear.”
“Some of my local sources should have some, I guess. Give me a day or two.”
“Sure. Thanks. I’d really appreciate it. And what about some Spum, while you’re at it?”
Marshall smiled wide like a blurtwall ad. “The only blue meat?”
“That’s the one,” Miranda-Naero said..
I got two pods left. Some of the other guys like it, too. I’ll get more.”
“Dang, I’ll take ’em both, Marshall. You’re my new best friend. How much?”
“For you, a rook and all…thirty creds.
Miranda-Naero felt her eyes widen. “Thirty? For only two pods? Why, you opportunistic rat bastard.”
Marshall chuckled. “What happened to me being your new best friend?”
“Haisha, I can get a whole shelf of Spum on Nilar-2 for that much, you bloody crook!”
“Ah-ha, but that’s the ancient law of supply and demand, and this isn’t Nilar-2, and here the going rate is two pods for thirty or one for twenty. Or just go without.” Marshall shrugged, completely indifferent.
“Okay, okay, hang on. I’ll take ’em.” She made the transfer from her wristcom. “And they better not be out of date.”
Marshall shook her head and made a face. “Spum? Out of date? Impossible. That could never happen. Spum keeps forever, as long as the package isn’t violated.”
“Well, get away from me before I change my mind and do a little violating of your package, you flipping scrounge!”
Sergeant Valmont made it back around to her. “All right, Allen. Seems like you’re fitting in with the other kids, so far. At least they haven’t killed, cooked, and eaten you off the bone like the slashers yet. So that’s a good sign. When you get around to it, introduce yourself to the other three squads. Try to get to know everyone. I know it’s tough at first. Let me, Ramsey, or Scott know if you need anything or are having any trouble.”
“Thanks, Sarge. I will.”
“Get some good rest, Allen. We’ll see some action tomorrow. I’m sure of it.”
“That’s what I’m here for, Sarge. Ooh-rah!”
“Be careful what you wish for, rook.”
*
They loaded up for battle early the next day. The Anaconda called out to her as they boarded their dropships. “Pfc Allen. You’re with me this ride.”
Miranda-Naero snapped to, ready for anything. “Yes, sir.” She didn’t salute outside, out in the open.
2nd Platoon Leader Anaconda Wilde grinned, and came toward Miranda-Naero in all her combat armor and gear. She did move like snake, with the easy grace and sure agility of both a commander and a warrior. She stood 1.83 meters, even without her stealth armor battle suit. Each of their suits had a built-in, assault gravwing and a squad-level shield pod.
Wilde had her battle suit set up in black wraith mode, an E-5D assault blaster carbine slung and secured on her left. An E-P17 microgrenade machine pistol was strapped to her right hip. Float-seeker smartmines, more microgrenades, fusion claymore slappers, and shield negation bombs filled out her load.
The Anaconda was true to her totem, a deadly armory and arsenal just on her own.
Her hi-tek armored helmet and its sensor and visual arrays was secured behind her back, and her long auburn hair, pulled up tight in Spacer battle-fashion for helmets, gave her the look of a warrior goddess with large, amber-gold, Clan Wilde eyes.
The eyes of the lioness.
The platoon leader looked her and her gear over. “I appreciate your eagerness, Allen. No one better. But you’re still a rook, still green. And I haven’t seen you fight yet. No offense, Marine.”
“None taken, sir.”
“Good. Stay with me and my Fireteam 1: Moses Fay, Trevor Lakota, and Michael Borelli are as good as they get. We’re your guides on this little outing. Follow our lead, shoot straight, fight well, and you’ll be all right. Did you get the sitrep down cold? Do you understand our mission role on the combat grid?”
Miranda-Naero nodded. “Affirmative, sir. Like ice in my head. Let’s put some slashers down.”
“I like your calm intensity, Allen. Outstanding. I like to see that in my people. Keep your fire hot in your suit for now. We need to do a lot of snooping up front, first, and get in close. Initially, we’ll conduct vital forward ops and targeting confirmation and coordination. We’ll paint them all up and lock them down.”
The platoon leader smiled. “When things do go hot and the fire comes down, we’ll have a front-row seat at the fireworks, with key targets of our own to burn and light up. So stand ready.”
Leftenant Wilde moved on, checking with the rest of her 2nd Platoon, Squad 1 Marines.
Then she called out across the dropship bay, “Sergeant Vaughn, any further word on when our new MCL will be joining us? Has there been some kind of delay? Why do I not see her with us on this op? Do we even know our MCL’s name or any deets on her or his abilities, yet? Tell me something I want to hear, Vaughn!”
Vaughn saluted; Wilde shot it right back. “Negative, sir. I’ve been up the chain a few times with HQ; as yet, they have no further info for us on that issue. Our MCL status is still pending, and could be sent to join up with us at any time.”
“Keep me informed and updated, Sergeant. Listen up, 2nd Platoon. Suit and weapons check, complete in two. Slap and tap and look your jump buddy over with genuine love. We’re going into the heat, and we go in heavy and silent, but ready to burn. Each of you hotcheck your Intel fixers and direct your feed links into the combat grid. Command and HQ wants us to slide in quiet and paint and confirm all enemy elements in our combat sector for overlapping, indirect light up firing profiles for our unit CPA.
“Do you hear me, Marines?”
“Yes, sir!” they shouted eagerly, performing their prep tasks.
“As I have stated, stealth is essential to the tactical success of our coordinated mission. And as you well know, we will not engage the enemy in any way, for any reason, until our unit Coordinated Plan of Attack is in full effect and green to go. Then and only then will you engage, put fire on our new invader friends, and turned their furry asses to burning shit beneath our boots. I say again, until our CPA gives the order to attack, we will maintain and perform our roles as forward observers, and I mean like ghosts, people! Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!”
“Just like fucking ghosts, Bravo! Prepare for battle, Marines. Take the fight to the bloody bitches in the black, and drop it on them hard and hot. Ooh-rah!”
“Ooh-rah!” 200 Spacer Marines echoed.
Wilde and Fay finished their battle checks.
Miranda-Naero did her checks with Trevor Lakota, who had his rig war-painted Native Clan style, including holographic feathers.
“Nice war paint spolymer,” she told him.
Lakota grinned. “Very interesting, Allen. You’ve rigged your suit in a custom shadow ghost mode I haven’t seen before. Most of us just use black wraith because it’s so simple and reliable for up-close combat. You really prefer your rig this way?”
He called her Allen, not rook or newb. She appreciated that. “It has the same non-detection profiles as black wraith, but it’s better against the Ejjai sense of smell, and conserves juice eleven percent better, and cuts down on shielding scan echoes.”
Miranda-Naero drew two wicked-looking combat blades and spun them. “Plus, as long as
I don’t use any energy weapons, I can still slice and dice with my blades with a very low chance of detection.”
Lakota raised an eyebrow, his suit bristling with various blades, much like her own. “You’re good with blades. I can tell. I see you have a Clan Apache fighting knife among yours. I won’t ask how you got that.”
She smiled. “It was a gift.”
He nodded to her. “Then we must fight one day, when there is time. The old way. No practice blades. My iron against yours.”
Miranda-Naero met his gaze and sheathed her blades. “I’d like that.”
He really smiled this time, raising his eyebrows. “I will, too. That’s a very specialized customization for a rook, Allen. Fight well beside us today.”
“Thanks. Fortune favors the bold.” He sounded a little suspicious of her, but she had a ready answer. “My brothers and most of my family served with the Niners during the Annexation War. They all suggested I rig my suit this way. It got me through my night-fighting school training to qualify me for Bravo, so I guess I’ll stick with it.”
Lakota nodded. “You’re green to go, Allen. Stick close with us. You’ll do all right. Whatever else you are, you’re no rook. How about me? Am I good?”
Naero finished her prepcheck on his suit. “Everything checks out. Thanks, Lakota.”
He nodded at the others. “Go meet the rest of Squad 1 while there’s still time. Sergeant Vaughn, Allen needs an intro here. She’s swapped out with Borelli in Squad 2 for this jump.”
Vaughn was tallish and all muscle with a doughy face and roundish features, sandy hair and brown eyes.
“Let’s make this quick, Allen. Get ready to lock and load. I’m Sergeant Selby Vaughn, leader of Fireteam 2. Meet Suki Lii, Josh Elkins, and Whip Konrad. Corporal Parsival Patton leads Fireteam 3, with Luca Abraham, Razor Wilde, and Keesha Aztec.”
Miranda Naero nodded to them all. “Hey, guys.”
“Good luck, rook,” Suki said.
“Yeah,” Razor added. “Don’t get your dumb ass killed.”
Miranda-Naero grinned. “Copy that. Death is to be avoided. And, thanks for the vote of confidence.”
She glanced over at Konrad, who was sweating and looked wired.
“Hey, Marine…Konrad,” she said. “What’s with you? You sick or something?”
He ignored her and muttered to himself, “I’m gonna get it this time. This time they’re going to get me, I’m sure of it. I’m already a dead man…dead man.”
Suki grabbed Naero’s arm. “Don’t worry about Whip, gungirl. That’s how he does it. Every time we jump, he rambles on about how he’s going to die, he’s already dead, and all that whiny shit. Haisha. Bastard fights like the rest of us and never gets a damn scratch. I say it ain’t fair.”
“2nd Platoon,” the Anaconda said. “Lock in and prepare for gravwing insertion. Green in ten minutes. Mark.”
All four squads of 2nd Platoon fell in line all around the drop bay hatches, in ready order.
Each of them conducted their final checks.
Second Leftenant Wilde shouted out once more, “Prepare to shoot in on target. Insertion in five. Activate stealth mode. Fixers up in same. Everyone online. We drop and slip in to cover the objective in spiral-6 sweep and scan approach. Paint, ID, and double confirm and lock all targets in our combat area.”
They dropped in on the lead elements of ten invader divisions, tightening their bloody noose on the northern arc of the gigacity of Elaris, capital of Ovedar-3. Home to nearly a billion people, spread over a hundred square kilometers.
The Marines penetrated the enemy jamming and scanning fields without a glitch. The enemy jamming field kept the Spacer Naval fleets in orbit blind, unable to properly scan and target the invader forces on the ground.
Once the forward observing units scanned and painted each enemy target with nano-trackers, all targets and objectives could be computed and prioritized in an optimal CPA. Commanders and battle comps would dispense orders and modify the CPA as the battle developed.
An excellent combat plan of attack normally guaranteed a near complete pacification of enemy forces. Often up to ninety-eight percent. Most enemy forces were taken out completely within minutes of the initial engagements. The overwhelming, interlocking firing profiles were that devastating, efficient, and effective. No foe could stand up to such levels of intense, coordinated indirect and direct fire for very long.
Especially when those waves of destroying fire were unleashed suddenly and without warning. The initial engagement was often the only engagement, and became the deciding factor in most battles. In many instances, the local landers could move in and take over the cleanup in the aftermath, once the main groups of invaders were crushed and obliterated.
Couple these amazing tactics with Bravo’s elite night fighting abilities, and the combination made for a furious, one-two punch that the invaders could not survive.
The Ejjai did what they did, with ruthless efficiency. They were already pounding and shelling the gigacity of Elaris with heavy waves of massed rockets and artillery. These violent attacks were meant to soften the civilians up, in prep for violent swift assaults by waves of tanks and gunships, and hordes of ruthless, armored infantry.
The invaders were not soldiers. They were murderers, sadists, and butchers, cloned to crush weaker, lander populations and feed them into the horrible factory meatships. Meatships that would feed the next generations of clone hordes, spreading their horror and terror from world to vulnerable world.
It had been proven time and time again that the invaders could not stand before an equal-sized and properly equipped and trained force of real warriors and soldiers. But the Ejjai were never looking for a fair fight. All they wanted was to slaughter and torment helpless civilians.
And infect the entire galaxy with their evil, if no one stopped them.
It was time to stop them once more.
And Bravo was the hammer.
The despised enemy meatships were usually the first targets marked for certain destruction. Then any enemy command and control, dropships still full of troops, and equipment carriers. After that, deployed artillery, tank formations, and gunship waves–and finally–all enemy firing positions and individual troops.
Each Ejjai invader was painted by the complex targeting system. Their weapons and gear were scanned and analyzed. All of this data was fed into the Spacer Marine battlecomp array for evaluation and tactical analysis.
When the advanced targeting profiles for all of the Marine units involved went out, the various assaults and attacks were planned in unison and almost flawlessly executed. It was an amazing system, and normally, when it worked, it worked extremely well.
But in every battle, on every new system where they combatted the invader, the enemy would do everything in their power to disrupt and beat the system. The invaders upgraded weapons and tactics in a never-ending attempt to outwit their fierce opponents.
And the Spacers and their Marines did all that they could to maintain their edge of superiority.
The difficult part for forward observing teams on such missions was waiting and completing all of the scanning and targeting in order to set up a crushing, wipeout attack.
It took grim discipline for the Marines to hold back, watching and doing their duty, preparing while the hated enemy continued shelling and attacking such helpless cities and their populations. The slashers, as they called the invaders, slaughtered innocent civilians each second. The Ejjai gloried in their bloody work, and murdered all that lived with a rapacious glee that was staggering.
But simply rushing in and attacking without sufficient planning and coordination was never as efficient, and took much longer in the end, providing the invaders with much more time to keep killing.
The Marines and their commanders quickly understood that their hi-tek, disciplined approach actually saved many more lives on both sides in the long run. They could cut the foe down faster, and move on to the next objective just that much quicker
. Even the Ejjai killing machine was nothing compared what the Marines could accomplish, once they were properly led, directed, and unleashed in all-out, split-second timing.
Anyone who witnessed these lightning attacks would never forget such an experience.
Finally, all of the Bravo forward ops finished their tasks and required scans. The orders of what to attack, where, and when filtered down to the forward Marine units, and Bravo Command positioned their forces to unleash their direct assaults in waves of sheer fury.
Adrenalin kicked in even more as the war on that system was about to soar hotter, to an almost infinite degree. Miranda-Naero got set with her fireteam.
2nd Platoon positioned itself perfectly to sweep in fast on an enemy mechanized infantry unit, a full company, a hundred strong, with armored support vehicles and mounted heavy weapons and unit shielding teams.
Miranda-Naero carried the latest, E-19A5 version of the standard Marine pulse rifle with updated, advanced targeting optics. It could also be used to launch either microgrenades or float-seeker smartmines that would lock on and autoseek available targets. The direct fire of each Marine like herself was coordinated by the CPA for maximum effectiveness.
The tek in her advanced helmet array fed her and Command constant data flows on the best evolving patterns of attack to use in order to engage the priority targets nearest to her, and quickly brought up secondary and tertiary targets in a rapid progression.
It even tracked her remaining weapon systems and reminded her when to reload or switch ordnance types for more effectiveness, and could even have her fixer help her with such functions. All of this was coordinated not only within her entire platoon, but also their company and the other units all around them on the evolving combat grid.
Yet automation on the battlefield could take a Marine only so far, and sometimes the data flows came in too fast or grew confusing. Miranda-Naero knew from experience that in some cases, after the initial assault, it was often better to switch over to semi-reflex, instinctive shooting. In that mode, all of the AI suggestions could be muted, taken as valuable suggestions, and processed by the individual shooter, letting her decide what to fire up.
Naero's War: The Citation Series 2: The High Crusade Page 2
