She and Om kept the controls basically the same. By now they were all familiar with the invader Marauder IV class, standard main battle gravtank. They had fought against and taken out many of them and their variants.
Naero merely improved upon their known weaknesses.
Normally, operating such gravtanks took a crew of four to five slashers. Naero simplified and used fixers to automate the systems so that two or three persons could operate the gravtank and its systems effectively. At the very least, there had to be a commander/spotter and driver/gunner.
“Everyone settled in and clear on the mission?” Python asked. “We go in fast, strike from their rear, and roll them up. Pop as many targets as we can, and then bail out when we must.”
“Arrowhead-3, loose armored formation,” Naero said. “Three gravtanks forward, one guarding the rear–I’ll stay cloaked until you need me. I’m your wild blade. I’ll do whatever I can to keep the enemy from swarming on you and dragging you down. Don’t get stuck. Move fast, and keep dodging, maneuvering, and firing. Fight well, my brave tankers.”
“We’re about to go hot very shortly,” Python advised. “In no time, there will be fire coming at us from all sides, even if we do everything right. We are descending straight into a hornet’s nest and blowing up the hive. The slashers are going to be pissed as hell. Your tank gets hit too bad, everyone bails on gravwings, cloak, and regroup to continue the assault with the remaining elements. Keep as much heat on the foe as you can for as long as possible.”
“Exactly,” Naero added. “We do as much damage as we can, and then if they trap us, we scatter and slip away, regroup as assigned, and find another place, another way to keep fighting.”
Python checked his combat feeds. “Mark. Hot in 1.45 minutes when the main attack kicks in with our explosives. Everyone frost down, check your systems, and get ready to ride.”
Hundreds of invader gravtanks had unloaded by the time the transports blew up and became an inferno. Fuel, ammunition, and power cores cooked off as the flames soared.
Squad 3 became a gravtank unit, and vectored in toward the enemy rear under the cover of all of the chaos and confusion.
Then they swung their guns around and blazed a path of destruction in wild, crazy, slashing arcs. They cut a zigzag trail of burning and exploding gravtanks and vehicles, where they were still hemmed in and packed too closely together to be able to move and fire effectively.
The commander of each tank stood up in the turret, behind a unit shield pod, integrating the targeting systems in his or her helmet, patching into the battle command system and the fire control systems of each tank by itself as a separate mobile gun platform.
The commander could also engage targets of opportunity and paint them into the profile with his secondary weapon, a viper gun–an even more devastating version of the basic autogun. The high rate of fire from these energized gauss cannons was blistering, and could degrade and destroy practically anything but another tank itself. Concentrated fire from a viper gun could even eventually take out a tank on its own. And it was positively lethal again all other soft targets with less armor or shields than a tank.
That included other enemy tank crews and personnel out in the open.
And everything popped by the viper guns was automatically painted and lit up on the targeting arrays.
These feeds poured in to the main combat system, where indirect and adjacent direct fire and units could be applied against priority targets.
The gunner operated the main gravtank energy cannons, confirming targeting patterns and redirecting rapid fire as needed. They struggled to stay several targets ahead of the actual guns, which fired very quickly and efficiently after Naero’s modifications.
They fired so quickly that some of their firing profiles couldn’t help but overlap. They also cancelled and redirected fire away from targets already destroyed, to new targets of opportunity.
The gunner helped monitor the onboard systems and kept them operating at peak effectiveness. That also includes shields, damage control, and fire suppression. The driver helped keep them moving, in a pattern that was not predictable, but allowed for good firing profiles to be executed.
The four modified gravtanks roared over the enemy’s rear and–in the words of Naero’s father–tore them a new ass.
They very quickly fought within what seemed to them to be spinning wheels and spheres of exploding fire all around them, lit from within.
The steady bump and pulse of the tank cannons punching, rocking, and hammering at the hapless enemy tanks quickly disrupted the invader formations in several directions.
The sweeping spray of the secondary viper guns and the launching of smoke, mines, and missiles only added to the destructive confusion.
Because most of the enemy tanks didn’t have their shields up yet, Naero’s little joy ride with Squad 3 raked and blasted the foe by the dozens with each second.
Burning hulks and wrecks were soon everywhere in their passing.
Naero also guarded them from above, enclosed within a red star of Chaos energy, whenever enemy gunships of starfighters tried to wing in. Like a guardian spirit, she bobbed above them, flitting from tank to tank, deflecting or absorbing incoming energy blasts and hits.
She returned fire on her own, concentrating on knocking out any enemy gunships or starfighters in their vicinity who tried to get a lock on them.
The Navy and the Marine starfighters were a big help with that. With the sky clear and dominated, Naero focused on helping her tankers pop and kill as many tanks as they could. Om and the fixers assisted them with fine-tuning and computing their own targeting profiles in a target rich environment.
Many invaders adjusted and began to respond to the surprise assault within less than a minute. But by then, Shetanna and the Marines had shot up significant portions of both massive tank formations.
What a ride.
The world all around them continued to light up and explode.
As they suspected, the remaining enemy gravtanks reacted eventually, activating their shields and maneuvering to envelope the raiders in a dome of deadly, interlocking fire.
Shetanna and her tanks took multiple hits as scores of gravtank cannons came online and started to beat the hell out of them.
Naero could no longer attack.
All of her efforts soon concentrated on deflecting and absorbing waves of incoming attacks. And even she could not intercept them all.
The high speed and rate of fire, and their beefed-up shields and armor, would endure only so many hits.
Each second that their four gravtanks kept firing, they destroyed more and more enemy armor.
The invaders concentrated nearly all of their intense fire on the rearguard renegade tank in order to take it out and break the defensive formation. While at the same time, Naero focused all of her efforts on protecting it.
The rear tank lasted for several seconds longer before it started getting blasted to pieces.
“Tank 4, Tank 4. Get out of there. Bail out now!”
Allen, Mitsubishi, Patton, and Barrett barely ejected with their gravwings, joining up with Naero, and fired their weapons under the cover of her shields.
Tanks 1 and 2 continued on forward, pressing and leading the ongoing attacks. Tank 3 whipped around and assumed the rearguard position, protecting their backsides.
They managed to fight for a few minutes longer before they were fairly trapped.
The three remaining crews bailed and ejected almost at once–right before their battered, speeding tanks with their power cores set on overload, plowed into another wave of enemy armor, disrupted, and detonated under a storm of concentrated enemy fire.
Everyone heard Corporal Chang Han’s scream cut off over the link, as one of those waves of fire enveloped him. A split second meant death. That’s all it took.
Han did not slip within Naero’s unit shield barrier fast enough. A half an instant too slow, and he and his combat armor were vaporized.
<
br /> There wouldn’t even be any pieces of him to go back and collect.
“Hornet scatter and cloak fade,” Sergeant Python said, just before Naero was going to say the same. “Regroup at R-point Delta-5.”
Naero was about to be overwhelmed by those same intense waves of fire, locking onto her no matter how she evaded.
The enemy was so intent on destroying her, that they didn’t notice that they were blasting each other, and ignored all of the other Marines who had manage to disappear.
Naero and Om called down an electron wave pulse burst, and several decoy and holo drones, and they cloaked as soon as the rest of Squad 3 was safely away, scattering in all directions away from that growing, misdirected firestorm.
In the confusion, the enemy continued blasting not much else but each other for a few seconds longer, taking damage.
Meanwhile, at rendezvous point Delta-5 nearby, Shetanna and Squad 3 regrouped.
“I know we lost Han,” Wilde noted. “But that wasn’t anyone’s fault. It was just dumb luck. We did good. Han did good. We knocked out and damaged nearly one quarter of the enemy’s armor. Not bad for a dozen–plus one–goons on a joy ride!”
Vince Fay nodded. “Han went happy. I saw him smiling. He was having a great time. He knew we were doing well.”
Han’s best buddy Kowalski still looked in shock at the loss of his best friend. That was always hard on anyone.
All of their fireworks also quickly got Command’s attention.
Not seconds later, a Marine mek unit snaked in to engage the remaining enemy armor formations while the foe was still disorganized and reeling.
Marine air strikes also pounded the confused, enemy armor formations.
Two naval destroyers swept over the rest to finish the task and keep moving.
Naero had their fixers stay busy.
“Everyone,” Naero told them. “It’s time for presents. New orders filtering down. Prepare to move and fire. Re-sup with our fixers. They have demo-charges, grenades, microbombs, and float mines. A full spread of toys for all of us. Load up and let’s mission on, for Han. Tighten it up, Squad 3. Let’s fight, Marines!”
“Our MCL’s on the nose,” Sergeant Python Wilde shouted.
“For Han!” all three remaining members of his fireteam yelled.
“Ooh-rah!” the rest roared.
Naero screamed right along with them, and loaded up double for their next fun ride.
Once the battle was over, and the mission was won, Naero and 36 went back to where they lost Han and tried to find some remains.
Nothing. No good.
When they went back up into orbit, they took an old, spare suit of Combat Armor that Han had once worn, and kept for spare parts, like most of the Marines did. They put some of Han’s personal effects inside the empty suit. Stuff that reminded his mates of him. Then they added gifts of food, drink, and trinkets. Then they put the suit into a casualty bag, along with busted up enemy weapons as trophies, and took it all to the funeral teks as they always did.
Sergeant Python Wilde led the procession, spoke the needed words, and handed the substitute for their lost friend over to be placed in a Marine casket. They went back, and Han’s mates helped Kowalski gathered up the personal effects and gear to be sent home to the family and Clan Chang. Marines took care of their own.
5
Bravo replacements for Company 36 reached them on Tecumseh-2 their next drop point. That world was a vast desert planet with huge, cacti forests and dry-bed rivers with quick dust sink holes that could swallow up tanks and small vehicles.
These wind-whipped, dry-bed rivers snaked through the continents, canyons, and towers of rock and crystal formations.
2nd Platoon had three reps, or what the Marines usually called rooks, come in from Command on the next supply run.
This trio of newly minted Bravo Marine recruits consisted of: Tucker James, Kemela Anthony, and Kokey Miles. Second Leftenant Anaconda Wilde got them in and sitched with their squads.
The day was Firstday, and that night was going to be another Vid Night. Everyone got together and watched their favorite vids.
As the company MCL, Naero came around that evening to meet the new blood. Elite units could be very tough on rooks, and in some cases, they needed to be. In others, not so much.
Naero wanted to examine them and meet them for herself.
“I’m Naero–”
“We all know who you are, sir,” Tucker said.
“Your parents, too, sir,” Kemela added.
All three rooks stared at her as if she were some kind of spirit being or something.
“I’m the company MCL for 36. Welcome.” She offered them all her hand. They each took it, up to the elbow.
“All of us hoped to get a chance to serve with you, sir,” Kokey told her.
“Well, be careful what you wish for, Marines. You’ll get a perfect introduction to what we do very shortly. Tonight, we’ll be hunting, in the black, just the way Bravo likes it. I want you to be extra careful, and listen to the people in your fireteams. The Ejjai are also hunters, and they can be tricky at any given time.”
James spoke up again. This one had lots of attitude. She could see it. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Granted. And that goes for all of you. Fire away, James.”
“Sir. With respect, we’ve been here less than half a day and we’re already extremely tired of all of this rook, newb, and green crap that we keep getting heaped upon us.”
Naero smiled. “I understand.”
“No, you don’t, sir,” Kemela added. “What with being an officer, a Mystic, and an MCL and all.”
Kokey sided with her new mates. “We’ve all been fully trained, sir. All of us are ready to bust someone up the next time they dump on us.”
“Listen up, Marines. Regardless of what you think I know or don’t know, I’d stow that frustration of yours somewhere deep and dark, and save your busting for the enemy. You want it straight? You know damn well this is just what happens when you’re new. After your first action, it will ease off. You wanna change things? Then think about how you’re going to treat the next batch of rooks who come in after you.
“We all go through crap like that and the general stupidity of the mob. And yes, for your info, I’ve been there. I’ve served with the Niners and with Bravo–and not just as an MCL, but as a regular jarhead, fire-eating devil dog. A Marine, just like you. And yes, I was a rook also. So suck it up and go relax and enjoy some vids. Talk to your new mates. Freeze those hot heads of yours. You can’t be worried about things you can’t change and that don’t matter. Focus on the mission and the enemies we face tonight. That is what real Marines do. I’ll be around, if you need me.”
“Sir,” Kokey asked. “What are the slashers really like to war against?”
“None of you have fought Ejjai anywhere, yet?”
“We only know what we’ve read and what we’ve heard and seen on the webnets,” James added.
Naero took a moment and sat down with the three. “The Ejjai are animalistic killers more than soldiers. They’re pack-minded. They are no match for us Spacers one on one. They will never fight you fair or one at a time, either. They will come at you a hundred at once and pile on more. They see everything that lives as their prey, and will kill and try to eat it. They are stupid in some ways and very cunning in many others. They’ve just been barely uplifted from the point of being animals, but are clever enough to remain who and what they are–a major threat to civilian populations.”
Kemela said, “We’ve been trained by the best, to be the best. Why should we be afraid of them?”
“Kemela, I never said anything about fearing them. Just be smart. Respect every foe for what they are and for what they are capable of doing. All of you. No amount of training can completely prepare you for what the real experience of this war is like. The people you are replacing were all good Marines–better than you three–only because they were more experienced. But w
ar is always unlucky. If you buy it by bad luck, that’s one thing. You just don’t want to buy it because you did something stupid that made you dead.
“Haisha, by the law of averages, with all of the shooting going on–even if we are cloaked and invisible–some of us are going to get hit, wounded, and even killed. That’s war.”
All three rooks rolled their eyes. “We know the odds, and we don’t care about that,” James said. “We’re Marines, sir. And we’re ready to scrap, rooks or not. We just want some respect.”
Naero grinned a second time. “Never said that you weren’t, Marines. Luck to you tonight. You want respect? You’ll have plenty of chances to earn it.”
She passed Whip Konrad, pale and hugging his knees, rocking back and forth and stammering. “Arty, arty, artillery…th-th-that’s how they’re going to get me. I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead. Arty. Dead man…”
Then a delay came down, and the mission was postponed until the next night.
Secondday was Gear Night. Everyone went over gear, and talked gear while waiting for the call. They inspected their rigs and compared notes and mods, met with teks, and fine-tuned their systems. All three of the new replacements listened in and learned plenty that they had not heard before.
After that, they went over the sitrep again.
Unlike many other Alliance worlds, on Tecumseh-2, the population of fifty or so million were scattered across the habitable zones in relatively small towns and modest cities. Because of the scarcity of fresh water, both surface and ground water, the sentients there had outlawed any city larger than a hundred thousand souls in any one given region.
This was a world of the Silesians, near-humans, often called frogs or even toads, because of their wrinkled throat bags which they could swell up and use to add to several specialized vocal effects for their species.
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