Naero chuckled. “Really? I had no idea. So, what do you want, Jonny?”
“Me? Not that much. As soon as this war’s over, I’m done with the Marines. I’ll muster out like a lot of Marines do, and get a little ship, somewhere nice and peaceful on some milk run for great-gran and me, and Chime, too, if she wants to tag along. A simple life in the stars for a Spacer. Maybe track myself down a cute wife and have some kids for great-gran to fuss over.”
Naero nodded, drained her borbble and reached for another. “That all sounds like a pretty good life, Jonny.”
He belched real loud. “I thought so.”
They stopped talking for a while and listened to the other Marines around them.
Staff Sergeant Gerrold Donovan had three kids with his wife Kelly: Donald, age six, Mearal, age four, and Tarana, at one and a half. He showed pics and vids of his kids around for all to see. Corporal Poker Elkins and his wife Arrella had two children: Wilton, age five, and Karina, age three. Victoria Apache had a two-year-old daughter with her husband, Jim Williams. Everyone in the Marines was proud of their kids, if they had them, and liked to show them off to everyone.
Everyone had something, or someone to live for.
Trisha Marshall, their scrounge, had a Marine starfighter pilot named Jake Turner that she was crazy about. Vincent Fay had fallen nose over tail in lust with a medtek on a hospital ship, Shelly Baker, who apparently felt the same way about that gorgeous hunk of Marine.
Everyone was either in the Marines for life or, after this tour or war, they were going to take it easy and live whatever they called “the good life” somewhere else somehow.
Either way, everyone had big plans.
3
Zvigeny-7 was a special case. The local population of former Ramoran and Besh mining slaves had armed their world to the teeth since the Annexation War.
By the time the Ejjai invaders fought their way through the Alliance fleets, and the system mines and gunships, most of the Ejjai shock troops had been swarmed on and slaughtered.
So, why were the Marines of Bravo Command even there?
For one thing, the defenders were exhausted, and many of their best units and fighters had suffered heavy casualties during the initial phases of the invasion.
Next, one entire Ejjai battle group of ten thousand slashers were smart enough to escape with their remaining ships–including clone and meatships–to a continent on the earthlike planet that had not been settled. As a jungle world with dangerous creatures and unstable selontium deposits that disrupted and blocked coms and scanning, it was the perfect place to hide and lay low. Even fixers could not scan the continent and the thick jungles, although they could maintain some fleeting coms at close range.
Even worse, the Ejjai sent out distress calls to all available invaders on the nearby systems. Other invader battle groups kept trying to reach Zvigeny-7 and join the fight. Everyone was getting worn down in a ceaseless hot zone.
If the Ejjai maintained their foothold on that key system, the world-hopping campaign of the Spacer Alliance could not go forward and would stall-out. The enemy could flood more forces forward and seize even more worlds.
Unless these Ejjai were eliminated, they would only continue to cause major problems. The depleted system defenders weren’t in any shape to pursue the holdouts. And there was always the threat of the enemy meatships and cloneships creating more enemy troops on their own.
Naero finished studying the sitrep on her holopad screen and turned to Staff Sergeant Owen Valmont, leader of Squad 2. “Okay, so it’s a mop-up, but a tricky one.”
Valmont seemed to be in agreement. “With a few complications, you are correct, N. We’ll insert in stealth mode, scout the target areas, and then bring the heat down where it’s needed.”
As the company MCL for Company 36, Naero went in on point, ahead of Squad 2 in advance recon mode.
Staff Sergeant Valmont, Deb Steiner, Waylon Aztec, and Wallace Archer in Fireteam 1. Sergeant Milton Ramsey in charge of Bessa Jackson, Acer Adams, and Sender Konrad in Fireteam 2. Corporal Baylor Scott led Fireteam 3, with Chime Fox, Falco Borelli, and Trisha Marshall.
Five minutes after they dropped into the dense jungle, a hunting pack of twenty or more midsized carnasaurs started tracking and sizing the Marines up for a snack.
Naero sighed and zipped back to Squad 2.
“We don’t have time for this crap. Fighting these dinos will attract too much attention. Everyone with me in stealth mode. Hop-jump three klicks southeast of here. Form up on my mark, vector close. Mark!”
That slight hop got them out of scent range from the pesky hunting pack.
An hour later, Naero guessed that they had to be getting close to their quarry.
The Ejjai were both messy and efficient. That section of jungle had been stripped of all life, huge or small. Anything that was meat. The invader meatships could process huge dinosaur carcasses as well as civilian humans.
No scans worked, but from visuals alone, the old blood trails and kill spots were slightly less than a standard week old–about six days. That meant at least one or more meatships, and most likely a cloneship, as well, was feeding off the local fauna.
Given time, the invaders would expand their own numbers, producing more and more of their violent kind, training and arming them to fight and kill relentlessly.
It only took about a standard month of thirty days to create a fresh crop of Ejjai clone troops. They’d be meatship-fed and shunt-memory trained, complete with manufactured gear and weapons, ready to go forth and fight and feed on their own.
This was the plague of the Ejjai invaders that the enemies of all humanity had unleashed on the Alpha Quadrant.
Om cut in. Scanning and communications are greatly reduced, N. Fixer waves have spread out over this section of jungle and pursued the visual signs of enemy unit passage. Three Ejjai hunter-killer teams, thirty-five kilometers, heading in a northwest direction on these headings. Combat armor and energy weapons. They are also posting small pockets of troops around them in a defensive perimeter pattern. These small groups of Ejjai have cloaking tek after their own fashion.
Most likely scout/sniper teams on the outer perimeter of their base, Om. Good work; you and the fixers have located the outskirts of their base.
Naero notified her recon team. “If we pop them too soon, they won’t report in, and the enemy base or bases will know something’s wrong and have advance warning. The bulk of them might be able to slip away before we can wipe them all-out.”
“Copy that,” Sergeant Valmont said. “So, we paint them on the combat grid map and bypass them. They’ll get theirs later from the other units, when the main show starts up.”
“Leave no stone unpulverized,” Corporal Scott added. “Fox, Borelli–paint the enemy scouts and snipers with your fixers and relay their positions up the fixer chain that we established on the way in.”
“Affirmative,” they both said.
“Squad 2, move out,” Naero said over their close link. “We mark all of the enemy positions, numbers, and makeup on the way in. Watch for any additional secposts. Locate the primary targets, and paint them on the short combat grid.”
Up close, on the ground, the Ejjai were easy to track. So what if scanners didn’t work?
The slashers left a trail of death in their wake. They killed and ate anything that moved. Leftovers went into the spinning, processing blades of the meatships. No waste.
The enemy kept their scouts and listening posts in concentric rings, two klicks apart. With the enemy on the move, the rings would fall back at times, following the path of death that the main camp carved through the jungle every day or two.
In the event that one perimeter ring was attacked or did not report in on time, the entire battle group could alert the rest and close in for defense, or scatter in several directions to vanish and escape, and link up somewhere else at pre-arranged rally points.
Bravo had seen this pattern of operation before, yet witho
ut coms and scans, the situation was that much more complicated.
“Got a buried gravtank,” Pfc Steiner noted.
“Ejjai gunship completely concealed up in a huge vine and tree complex,” Pfc Aztec noted. “The slashers exposed their position by dumping their waste down the trees, thinking no one would notice.”
Pfc Konrad cut in. “Don’t let the slashers empty a latrine catch on you, kids. You’ll never get that stench out of your filters.”
“Quiet, you goons,” Valmont ordered.
Pfc Archer called out, “Two slasher listening post at these points, halfway up the leeward hillside among the rocks.”
“Another three enemy sniper team, hidden in this group of trees, mark these points,” Jackson added.
“Heads up,” Naero warned. “Our first forward infantry defensive line…complete with hardpoints and autogun emplacements. Enemy troops dug in. They must be protecting something further in.”
“Copy that,” Sergeant Ramsey stated. “What are those positions, N? Say again?”
“Here’s the feed again, Milt. Don’t blink next time. Off our two o’clock position, east by southeast. We’ve got vehicle movement and engine noise, half a klick in.”
“Got it. Copy that,” Valmont said. “Let’s swing in and check it out. Stay on approach, just under the tree canopy, ten meters off the deck, rearward triangle assault pattern. Fifteen meters between fireteams. Team 2 take point behind our MCL. One left and three right. Everyone glacier in, quiet and cool.”
Naero led them in, three hours before sunset, as they painted everything they could on the way through.
Bravo Command closed in and encircled that area, taking up assault positions, processing all data feeds on the expanding play map.
The rest of Bravo stood poised to bring overwhelming firepower to bear on the invaders, once their exact positions and locations were known.
Naero and her team counted and marked three separate meatships, two cloneships, and four automated factory supply ships–all running full tilt.
Enemy transports brought in dead dinosaurs and jungle animals to be fed into the meatship blades.
Squad 2 and Naero continued to paint gravtank units and gunships, troop emplacements, two battleships, three cruisers, and five destroyers–all concealed in the dense jungle vales, along with assorted transports and lesser support vessels.
Even Naero grew alarmed. “This battle group is much larger than we originally thought,” she said.
“Copy that Brighteyes,” Valmont said. “We’ll call in more units from command, and alert the Navy. They’ll make ready to intercept any ships that try to leave the atmosphere.”
In the end, the secret enemy base covered an area in a radius of only ten klicks. To Naero, it looked like a straightforward drop and pop. Bravo most likely calculated it that way, too.
“Uh-oh,” Pfc Chime Fox said.
Staff Sergeant Valmont barked at her, “Dammit, Fox. You know how I hate to hear ‘Uh-oh!’ Report something if you have it to report. Now. I want deets and specifics.”
“How’s this, Staff Sergeant: I’ve got a feeding pen of three or four thousand friendlies. That’s right, mates. Friendlies, all sexes, all ages. And it looks like some of them are rigged with explosives.”
“Dammit to hell,” Naero said. “Haisha! Just when we thought this was going to get easy…a damn feeding pen full of prisoners.” Nothing was ever simple.
“The slashers like fresh meat,” Pfc Borelli flatly noted. “Why are we surprised?”
“Now Bravo can’t just sweep in and wipe out every slasher in sight.” Chime said. “Haisha! Now we have to perform a rescue op at the same time.”
“Okay, so we do it the hard way,” Valmont said. “We secure that pen and get those civies out of harm’s way. We do the job with finesse instead of sledgehammer.”
“Aww…” Naero muttered in disappointment. “I like the sledgehammer.”
Chime actually giggled.
“Can it, you two,” Valmont told them.
“Very well. We’ll survey the extraction site and prep the coming assault. Inform HQ about our complication,” Naero said. “I want to try to locate the enemy command and control. We might be able to take them out right before the attack begins, with remotely detonated microcharges. Fireteam 3, with me. The rest of you work out what’s best to accomplish here with Staff Sergeant Valmont.”
Naero led Fireteam 3 around to the various starships, watching and observing for the right signs.
Finally, they spotted one. Ejjai troops came to the feeding pen and culled out several local pregnant women, and women with babies and small infants. About a dozen in all.
That had all of the earmarks of a snack for the invader high command, or whoever the officers were in charge of the battle group.
Grimly enough, the Ejjai leadership hoarded the best meat for themselves, and feasted regularly, as the disgusting, greedy gluttons that they were.
“I’m going in,” Naero told her fireteam. “You four stay put out here and do what you can. If I’m not back in half a standard hour, and I send no word, I order you to return to the rest of Squad 2 and assist with the primary assault.”
“Be careful, sir,” Corporal Scott told her, a little sheepishly.
“Aww…why, Scott, you bad boy. You do care about me. The last thing you said to me was something about chopping off my–”
“I-I’m…really sorry about that, sir. I was kinda having a bad day, you know? I’m hoping you’ll kind of forget about all of that.”
“Sure, consider it done, Scott. And besides, the medics tell me it only takes a day or two in the regen tanks to grow your nips back. And they say even say they come back all pink and pretty and even perkier than before, so good news!”
Naero left him staring with his mouth hanging open.
Yep, always leave them either laughing or wanting more.
The rest of Squad 2 also wished her good hunting and told her to be careful.
“I’ll be fine,” she told them. “If you hear a commotion, that will just be me giving our visitors holy hell. But I want to stress that we should all do our best to remain undetected until just before the assault begins. You guys have your orders.”
“Yes, sir,” they all said, mostly in unison. There were always a few stragglers late to the party.
Naero zipped away on her gravwing, working her way above the heads of the terrified captives and the jeering, chortling guards escorting them to their grim doom.
Those captives had to know very well what was going to happen to them, where they were being taken, and why.
Naero despised this part, and the Ejjai even more for forcing the issue.
She was under direct orders to do nothing. And she had to watch the looks on those people’s faces, sometimes as the enemy tortured and killed them. That wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair, but sometimes that was war.
The Ejjai troops herded the dozen or so captives into the nearest cloneship, shaped like a big red, round dome. Within, Ejjai techs, mostly the smaller, scrawny males, labored hard at developing, shunt training, and freezing ten thousand Ejjai shock troops in only thirty days.
Left on their own, the clones would only live for about ten years–and could still reproduce the natural way, as well.
The enemy cloneships were obviously far more efficient for military purposes. The Ejjai clones never seemed to question their situation or existence. They gleefully relished any opportunity to exploit, torture, kill, and devour all life that got in their way.
The leadership for this battle group consisted of one Ejjai admiral, two combat generals, and their closest direct command officers–all female. That was customary, being that hyaenanoids were strictly and brutally matriarchal.
On the big cloning vessel, the invader leaders had set themselves up a little playroom, like all good warlords, complete with implements of torture, butchering, and cooking and eating supplies. The Ejjai leadership took for themselves the best o
f everything, including the most prized meat.
The Ejjai leadership and about a hundred of their closest officers shut themselves up in their playroom, ready to have a little fun.
Naero even overheard them give explicit orders not to be disturbed for the next few hours. Only if there was a major attack on the base.
That made things interesting.
Naero checked her wristcomp. Still, that gave her almost two hours before Bravo moved in to take out the enemy base.
Ejjai could do a whole lot of nasty in two hour’s time. The additional dozen fresh captives joined about threescore others, huddled together in holding pens and cages.
Naero estimated. She could channel only so much more Cosmic energy this day, and most of it was still in Chaos forms. Her Mystic powers were not infinite, so she had to use them sparingly to the best effect.
Om, I think we have to take out the leadership on our own. Bravo can take these other clowns down without me. But we need to call in a new plan for Squad 2.
Let me guess, N. You want them to leave you to it here, and go assist with saving the rest of those captives in that pen when the attack goes down? Correct?
That’s where they’ll be needed the most, in order to cut down on the casualties. We know there will be a few, no matter what we do. They can help reduce that number even further. I’m calling it in.
“Squad 2, Squad 2. This is N. Go help save the people trapped in that pen. I’m good to go here. I’ll take out the leadership and rescue the prisoners here. Catch up with me after mission completion.”
“Are you sure you don’t need any help or back up from us, N?” Scott asked. We could leave you a fireteam, if nothing else.”
“No, thanks, but I don’t think so. There’s only a hundred of them.”
“Only a hundred, eh?”
“Funny, Scott. Just do me a favor and don’t let our people waste this cloneship until I’ve signaled that myself and the other prisoners are all-out. Luck to you all. Fight well, 36.”
Naero's War: The Citation Series 2: The High Crusade Page 5
