by Jay Allan
McDaniels had her speakers set to pump in the outside noise, and she heard the popping sounds the reports spoke of…the small explosions that broke the shells into dozens of tiny, but powerful, warheads. Her troops were positioned along a row of rocky foothills pockmarked with large outcroppings and small, natural fissures. It was virtually a natural trench line, constructed of solid rock. But the enemy warheads landed all over, falling into the gaps and behind the rock walls her troops were using for cover.
She had her comlink set to an open line, and she could hear the screams as her people were hit. The visor display rapidly updated her on status – Mystic was tied into the med systems of all her troopers’ suits. It didn’t take long to realize her people were getting torn apart. The accuracy of that enemy weapon is uncanny, she thought as another round began impacting all across her line.
“Mortar teams. Open fire…silence those batteries.” She knew it was probably futile. From the intel she had, it didn’t seem that mortar rounds hurt these guys much. But she had heavier ordnance than the line units, so she figured she might get lucky. Besides, she didn’t have a better solution. She wished they had some airpower, but they hadn’t had the time or transport capacity to bring ground-based air units to Cornwall…and with the fleet bugged out they didn’t have any atmospheric craft tended from orbit either.
Her heavy autocannons were taking down enemy targets, but the incoming barrage was wreaking havoc on her crews’ effectiveness. We’re hurting them, she thought grimly, but not enough. She was going to have to pull back.
“Missile teams, cease firing and retire to secondary position. Autocannons, maintain fire.” She breathed deeply, the oxygen-rich mixture of her suit’s air helping her to maintain her alertness, holding back the growing fatigue. She was glad she had mostly veterans. There were few things harder on morale than part of a unit holding firm while the rest is retreating. But she couldn’t lose her HVMs, and if she waited any longer she would.
The enemy was getting closer, and the cluster-bomb bombardment stopped. They don’t want to hit their own people, she thought. Of course, she corrected herself, they’re not people at all…are they?
She pulled her mag-rifle up and glanced over the lip of the rocky wall. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she could feel the droplets of sweat making their way down her bare back, despite the optimal temperature inside her armor. I’ve never been this scared, she thought, struggling to maintain her composure. “Those aren’t people at all coming. They’re machines.” She spoke softly, inaudibly to herself. Mystic heard, of course, but the AI knew McDaniels was talking to herself and didn’t respond.
McDaniels and her people had faced tough enemies before, but this was different. There was a relentlessness to these machines that was like nothing she’d seen before. A human enemy, even an elite veteran, had the same weaknesses and doubts you did. He might fight to the death, but he wasn’t immune to fear. Even veteran units broke. They fatigued. They fell back. But these things just kept coming, even when half of their bodies were shot away.
She felt a jolt of adrenalin as one of the robots came into her field of fire, and it pushed the fear back momentarily. She opened up with her mag-rifle, firing on full auto, raking the thing. An appendage got torn off…she wasn’t quite sure whether she should call it an arm. The things had four of them, whatever they were.
She saw that at least five of her Marines were also firing at the thing, and slowly they took it apart…piece by piece. Still it came forward, returning their fire and taking out two of her people. Finally, under the sustained fire of the Marines’ nuclear-powered mag-rifles, the thing stopped moving. She didn’t know if it was completely destroyed or not, but it was down and it wasn’t shooting anymore. But at least six others were moving into her field of fire.
“Detachment, prepare to fall back. Autocannons move to secondary line. Everyone else, hold and provide covering fire.” She wasn’t sure how much covering fire would accomplish against these things…they didn’t seem to pay attention to fire at all. I’ve got to give the autocannons a couple minutes, she thought…I can’t lose them. She knew it was going to cost her casualties, but she had to salvage her heavy weapons. “Pick your targets, people.” She took a deep breath. “We’ve got to hold them for two minutes.” She focused her eyes forward and opened fire again. It was the longest two minutes of her life.
James Teller stood on a rocky bluff overlooking the sea. Enemy cluster bombs were beginning to drop near his position…close enough to get his attention, but not a real problem. Not yet. We’ve got to complete the withdrawal, he thought. Most of the brigade – what was left of it at least – was retreating to the offshore islands. The Scorpion Archipelago was even more defensible than the rocky coastal areas where they’d been fighting for the past four days.
His forces had been driven almost completely off the peninsula, though for the first time the enemy had been made to pay heavily for the ground they’d gained. A few of his units had even managed to launch locally successful counter-attacks, though the gains were short-lived. Overall the entire battle had been a fighting retreat. The Marines had bled the enemy, but they hadn’t been able to stop them.
He knew he should have moved back long before – the command post had already been relocated to Blackrock Island, and he was 30 lightyears from his replacement. But he had two companies covering the retreat, and he just couldn’t bring himself to leave with them still engaged. He figured General Cain would have scolded him and ordered him back to the command post, but then Cain wasn’t there. Besides, he’d seen Cain in action and had a pretty good idea what the general would do in his situation. Teller was in charge and completely cut off from the chain of command…the decisions were his to make. And he wasn’t leaving until his last two companies were on their way.
He looked down at the shore. Most of the barges had pushed off, headed for Skarn Island, 3 klicks out to sea. Skarn was the first island in the archipelago, and the most rugged. His reserve units had spent the last three days turning it into a virtual fortress. The retreating Marines would occupy all of the islands, but the big fight would be for Skarn. If they couldn’t hold that, they didn’t have much chance on the others.
“Companies A and C, this is Colonel Teller.” He spoke deliberatively and firmly but, in truth, he was a little shaken up by the capabilities of these enemy war machines. It was bad enough dealing with it in the field here and now, but the thought of the CAC or Caliphate fielding power like this across Alliance space was terrifying. “Begin withdrawal by odds and evens…100 meter intervals.”
They’d already been badly hurt. He could tell that much from his tactical display. He couldn’t even guess how many would make it down to the shoreline…probably not many. The bombardment was getting heavier…and closer…and he ducked behind a large rock outcropping.
Though they had been driven from position after position, his people had managed some successes too. They had inflicted heavy losses on the enemy, and they had collected massive amounts of data – video, scanner readings…even salvaged parts of destroyed robots. It would be invaluable to the high command in studying the enemy…assuming he could get it to them. But that was out of his hands. It all depended on Admiral West.
Teller knew the basics of the plan, but he had no idea if and when West would actually attack. For that matter, he had no idea what ships the enemy had in orbit and around the planet. The orbital scanners and satellites were the first things to go, and with them Teller lost his eyes.
It looked like the retreating companies had casualties over 50%, but at least they were close to the beach. With any luck they’d all be of the mainland in 20 minutes. “Keep it moving, Marines!” Teller was walking down the winding path to the shoreline as he shouted into the com. “I want everybody on the beach in ten minutes.”
“Captain Wallace, commence firing.” Teller had put mortars on six barges, turning them into makeshift gunboats. The mortars hadn’t been very effective wea
pons against the enemy troops, but they did shake things up and churn the ground. Teller was just hoping to buy a few extra minutes to get his people offshore, and he figured some shell craters and smoke might help.
“Yes, sir.” Wallace’s response was nearly simultaneous with the sounds of mortar rounds flying overhead.
A few seconds later the shells began hitting all along the enemy line. Teller knew they weren’t taking out too many enemy troops, but knocking them over and tearing up the ground would be enough to let him get his rearguard out. He hoped.
Erica West lay strapped in her acceleration couch, the heavy polymer padding tight against her body. She was trying to stay focused, but at 20g it wasn’t easy. The drugs strengthened the cell walls, increased blood flow to the head and extremities, and relaxed the muscles to prevent injury. They were also mildly hallucinogenic, an effect that was amplified by the high pressure.
West had bristled at every day spent hiding in the empty XR-3 system. She knew the Marines had to be catching hell on Cornwall, and she hated herself for abandoning them there. She was just following the agreed-upon battle plan, but that didn’t make it any easier.
Now she was going to do something about it. She’d taken a chance by sending in probes to scout out the enemy deployments. She accelerated the drones in XR-3, cutting thrust just before they entered the warp gate. The tactic required extremely accurate coordinates to calculate the correct insertion angle and insure that the probes were on a post-transit vector heading toward Cornwall. Once out of the warp gate, the probes ran silent, sending point to point laser communications to a relay satellite positioned adjacent to the warp gate.
Now Third Fleet was heading toward the warp gate at .05c. West had her ships imitate the drones, accelerating hard as they approached the transit point. Thirty seconds before Cambrai entered the warp gate she felt the sudden relief as 20g of pressure suddenly ceased. Her chair’s control system injected meds to counteract the drugs in her system, and it gave her a double dose of stimulant. She was just sitting up, slowly, painfully, when Cambrai entered the warp gate and exited into Cornwall’s system.
“All units have completed transit and are on silent running, Admiral.” West had instructed her AI to confirm the fleet’s post-transit status. The crew was still recovering from the effects of the acceleration, and these first few seconds were too crucial to trust to her disoriented officers...managing the fleet for the first few minutes post-transit was a job for the AIs. It was vital that all her ships remain undetected as long as possible. If Third Fleet could get close enough before the enemy knew they were coming, they just might have a chance.
“Very well, Athena.” West had reached back to ancient mythology for a name for her AI. “Status of scanning grid?” Before she’d withdrawn her fleet, West had seeded the area around Cornwall with scanner buoys and other detection devices. The grid was heavily shielded with ECM in the hopes that one or more of the devices might avoid detection, giving her data on the enemy strength and deployments.
“I am picking up laser transmissions from three of the scanner buoys, admiral.” The buoys had been programmed to send information by direct point to point laser communication. Unless an enemy ship happened to cross the beam, they shouldn’t have picked up anything. Normally, laser communication was used between ships that knew each other’s precise locations, but at this range the lasers’ beams had widened to several thousand kilometers. It was diffused and harder to detect, but as long as one of West’s ships was in the cone, they would get the transmissions. A laser communication at this range was sharply limited in the data it could carry, but West was only interested in basic coordinates right now.
“Very well. Send a plot of the enemy deployments to my display.” There was a knot in her stomach. It was time…now she’d see what her people had to face. They’d bugged out of the system before the invading fleet arrived, and they had no reliable information on enemy strength. Until now.
“And Athena…set up a fleetwide com line. Direct laser communication only.” Setting up a spiderweb of laser links connecting the flagship to the rest of the fleet was a complex job. Third Fleet had 62 ships deployed over a billion cubic kilometers of space, and calculating the optimal pattern of lasers was a computer’s job. “I will address the fleet in 15 minutes.” She wanted a look at the data first. West tended to be honest with her people, and she wanted to let them know what they were up against. Whatever it was, they were going in…the Marines had been fighting and dying on Cornwall for over two weeks. She’d be damned if she would just abandon them…no matter what the odds.
“Yes, admiral. Preparing communication links now.” Athena’s voice was soft and soothing. West tended to get very focused in battle situations, and over the years her AI had adjusted its demeanor to offset her tension. Athena had made the adjustments slowly, and West never realized how her AI had conformed itself to her needs. “The enemy deployment data is on your display.”
West looked down at the screen, and she almost gasped with excitement. The enemy had 14 ships in orbit and around the planet. It could have been worse, she thought. It could have been much, much worse. She looked up from her screen, panning her eyes across Cambrai’s bridge and whispered softly to herself. “Maybe we have a chance.”
“Get those autocannons set up NOW!” McDaniels’ voice was hoarse, her throat raw from shouting. Skarn Island had become an inferno, a manifestation of hell for the Marines desperately trying to hold out on its rocky slopes.
She still had all six of her autocannons, but most of them were on their second crew, and one of them was on its fourth. Casualties had been heavy, and the enemy had been targeting the weapons teams in particular. The regular mag-rifles of the Marines could take down one of the battle robots, but it took a lot of concentrated fire to do it. The HVMs and heavy autocannons were a much bigger threat, and the enemy had adjusted its fire priorities accordingly.
McDaniels had abandoned her mortars – they were more or less ineffective anyway – and turned the crews into replacements for the autocannon teams. She’d lost two of her four HVMs. She could replace lost crews, but there was nothing she could do about missile launchers that were blown to bits. She hated to think of her people as more replaceable than equipment, but in the cold mathematics of the Battle of Cornwall, they were. There was time for self-loathing later…if she ever got off this miserable planet. For now all she cared about was keeping the maximum amount of fire on those things.
McDaniels was a cold realist - most of her colleagues would say a pessimist - and she generally expected things to get worse rather than better. Her years of combat experience had only confirmed that point of view. But even she was unprepared for what happened next.
“Lieutenant! What the hell is THAT?” It was Sergeant Jones, but he only beat the rest of the section leaders by a few seconds.
She saw it too. The enemy robots were fearsome adversaries, two and a half meters tall, with four large appendages bristling with weapons. But the thing she saw now froze the blood in her veins. It was close to four meters tall and jet black. Its legs were wider than an armored Marine, and its massive body supported six huge arms.
McDaniels was transfixed, but only for a few seconds. “HVMs, target that thing. Now!” She tried to keep her voice calm, but she didn’t quite manage it. She took a deep breath, forcing back the urge to turn and run. She was having a hard time dealing with these things. She’d faced enemies before, and she’d always been afraid…anyone sane was afraid in battle. But this enemy was different. There was a coldness, a relentlessness about them. A human enemy was frightening enough, but at least you knew he felt the same things you did – fear, pain, uncertainty. But that equilibrium was shattered here. She didn’t think these foes had any of those weaknesses. And these new monstrosities were like some nightmare conjured up from the darkness.
She saw two HVMs impact just in front of the thing, and she watched in horror as it lumbered forward through the maelstrom. It looked
untouched, its jet black exoskeleton showing no signs of damage. “Fire again! Autocannons, open fire on the enemy front line.” Her voice was rougher this time. She didn’t know what to do, and the stress was pushing her to the breaking point. Her people couldn’t leave…not yet. Colonel Teller had personally positioned her detachment here. The rest of the line was pulling back, and it was her job to cover that retreat. If the enemy got past her now they’d hit the retiring units in the flank and slaughter them. No, she thought, we’re not going to let that happen.
“HVM teams. Reduce spread pattern to minimum dispersion.” She was regaining her composure, at least a little. She knew her people had to be near the end of their endurance, and the last thing they needed was to think their CO was losing it. “We need to score a direct hit.” The HVMs were designed to split into seven separate warheads just before impact. The default setting was to spread them as far as possible to create the largest target area. With the dispersal settings on minimum, they had a better chance for one of the warheads to actually hit the enemy. The kinetic energy from a hyper-velocity missile was substantial…maybe even enough to hurt this monster.
She watched as her teams fired another shot, and her heart leapt as one of them scored a direct hit. One of the secondary warheads slammed into the massive robot and exploded into a billowing fireball. A ragged cheer went up on the comlink. Usually she’d scold her people for the indiscipline, but this wasn’t a normal situation. Besides, her own voice had been one of those among the cheers.
She cranked up her visor to Mag 10 to get a good look, and she could feel her limbs go cold as she watched the thing walking out of the billowing smoke. It was damaged at least, that much she could tell. One arm was gone and another was hanging loosely, apparently inoperative. But it still came forward, and it began to return fire, raking her line with rapid fire hypervelocity rounds of its own.
