by Taki Drake
The troops were generally confused about the whole thing. While the lieutenant avoided them with embarrassment that could be interpreted as anger, the support team was pleasant and respectful to everyone, no matter what their rank. It became a general topic of discussion in the fractured base.
Comments about the inappropriateness of females and the disabled in an ImpMEC base peppered mealtime conversations. Sgt. Dreyer tried to stifle some of the comments but found it difficult since the other platoon sergeant and corporals appeared to share the consensus.
He kept an eye on the cook when the grousing and commentary became too thick. Interestingly enough, no expression of anger or insulted hurt ever crossed her face. She remained pleasant and efficient, ensuring that the platoon had far better food than they had ever eaten before.
The situation escalated when one of the squads encountered a group of the mercenaries. The sounds of weapon fire brought the entire encampment to alert. Snapping orders at his men, Lt. Marcos dispatched a message to his commander while ordering the base to further lockdown.
He was about to instruct the logistics group on appropriate behavior when he noticed that the support buildings were closed, windows shuttered, and the motor pool emptied. It was somewhat of a surreal situation when everything that he would have ordered was already done. He spared a brief thought on how civilians would know what to do in the scenario before turning his attention back to the remainder of his command.
The tension in the camp raised as sporadic battle sounds were heard for another ten minutes. When the tightened expectation had reached a climax, a terse comm from the scouting squad came in. “Took fire at 0324-4871, four WIA. 12 enemy confirmed, no known enemy casualties. Current disposition is not in contact, RTB.”
It took another 30 minutes for the squad to return to base. Their sudden appearance out of the woods kicked off a flurry of activity as the wounded were moved to the medical area and Lt. Marcos demanded a briefing.
Cpl. Martinez gave his report while sitting down. The man looked exhausted with dark circles under his eyes, the bloodied bandage across his head emphasizing how much the situation had changed.
“We were surprised on the edge of a ravine by the charge of 10 or 11 of the Centrax horse-looking creatures. They are armed with long-range weapons that managed to damage some of our armor. Anderson and Nandu were our scouts at that time, and they took injuries immediately. We went to ground and return fire.”
Lt. Marcos grimaced and asked, “What else can you tell me about their fighting methods?”
“Not much, Sir. They engaged briefly almost as if they were testing us and then retreated into the woods. We advanced cautiously, but it was as if they had teleported out. They just disappeared.”
The lieutenant pulled out his area map, rolling it out, and weighing it down with rocks and available coffee cups. He and the noncoms bent over the map pointing and discussing options for investigation.
A gentle hand on Cpl. Martinez’s arm drew his attention to the female medic standing next to him. Gesturing wordlessly, she drew him up and helped him get to the medical center for treatment. Gratefully, he leaned on her as his vision blurred, and the blood continued to drip down his face.
Chapter 4 – Teased and Taunted
It had not been a good three days for Lt. Marcos. His attempts to locate the enemy force had been frustrated multiple times by their ability to appear and disappear. They had sent out a squad in full battle armor two more times after the initial enemy engagement. The first time, they found no sign of the enemy on their outward spiral but were ambushed two-thirds of the way back to base from a rocky overhang.
The Centrax had taken the high ground, firing down onto the squad. Only the available cover enabled Sgt. Dreyer to prevent additional casualties. Three more of the soldiers had acquired minor wounds but did not seem to be a significant problem in their ability to fight.
The support and logistics group was operating at an extremely high level of efficiency. Although the lieutenant was too focused on his efforts to come to grips with the enemy to notice, Sgt. Dreyer and the other noncoms were aware of just how much of an advantage the platoon had in their base personnel. Injuries that would typically have kept people out for several days seem to heal in a day or less. Requests for supplies and ammunition were met immediately.
Ted Dreyer knew something strange was going on. The supply room door was usually open, and he had glanced into it seeing the stack of ammunition rising about four feet from the floor. After several of the encounters, the noncom had been checking on one of the more severely injured soldiers and had glanced automatically into the supply room. He continued onto the medical office until he realized what he had seen. It stopped him just short of the door in shock.
The ammunition pile had quadrupled. Instead of two stacks 4-foot tall, there were at least eight, and Ted thought perhaps the overall stack was higher.
The noncom knew that there had been no resupply shuttles during the time they had been on base. So how had they gotten more ammunition? Before the sergeant could ask about this strange behavior a priority summons from Lt. Marcos broadcast over his communications device. Any weirdness in supply was scrubbed from his memory as he took off for their command area at a run.
The lieutenant was pacing back-and-forth when Sgt. Dreyer and the other noncoms charged into the command area. Grinning broadly, the excited officer half-shouted, “Finally, I think we have the bastards! We have an image of what looks like their camp, half camouflaged by the woods about 40 miles north of here.”
Crowding around the area map, the young officer began to issue orders. The excitement of finally being able to confront the elusive enemy seemed to have overtaken him. His rapid speech, flushed face, and shining eyes told the others that there would be no holding him back. Only when it was apparent that the lieutenant was pulling both squads out of the base, did anyone interject a cautionary word.
Typically, it was Sgt. Dreyer that asked, “I am sorry, Sir, but what forces are we going to leave to protect the base?”
Lt. Marcos’ response was hurried and dismissive, “It is highly unlikely that there will be anything going on here. There’s been no sign of an enemy attack at this location for the entire time we have been on the planet.”
Seeing the unspoken disagreement on the sergeant’s face, the young officer continued, “Since we are taking the fight to the enemy camp, they will concentrate on defending it. There will be no ability to attack the base in the meantime. Even if one or two enemy soldiers manage to break our containment to travel the 15 miles back here, the two walking wounded Marines that we are leaving should be enough to protect our useless gaggle of support people.”
“But Sir…”
“That is all, Sgt. Dreyer! You have your orders, now execute them. We leave in 15.”
<<<>>>
With usual Marine efficiency, the ImpMEC force was organized and started on their journey to the enemy camp within the ordered 15 minutes. As busy as all of the noncoms were, Sgt. Dreyer had made it a point of holding a hurried meeting with Corda and the wounded Marines that would be staying at the base.
As he expected, both of the soldiers were aghast at the battle orders. When the sergeant repeated that he was relaying orders, both Marines stared at him intently and shut up. Although he had expected some protest from Corda, she had only nodded her head and told him, “We will manage.”
Her look of serenity did not reassure the unhappy man, but there was nothing he could do about it. He did attempt to make some suggestions on locking down the buildings, etc., but Corda informed him that she would work with their two Marines and her staff to implement the safest strategies. Duty called, and Sgt. Dreyer returned to his men.
The platoon advance toward the enemy camp could’ve been taken from a textbook strategy manual. The lieutenant deployed his scouts and battle order as if he were on film. Everything was technically correct. Sgt. Dreyer had to admit to himself that the man was showing
good judgment when it came to his troops but the sharp worry and regret about those left on base and ill-protected tainted everything. Ted kept his focus on his men and his orders, but the concern that he felt for Corda and her crew was a persistent shadow of danger on his mind.
The platoon had advanced to a point approximately 4 miles from the enemy camp. Up to this point, there had been no sign of enemy soldiers or activity. Given the demonstrated power of the Centrax’s weapons, all Marines were in full battle armor, helmets locked, faceplates down. A wise precaution in unknown territory and one that proved fortunate when the main body of the platoon was caught in an ambush.
It was a messy encounter. The platoon was caught between two groups of the enemy, one entrenched under cover on the slightly higher ground, the other charging from the rear. Training and discipline took over. Back to back, alternating fire, picking their targets, the Marines finally were able to confront and kill their enemies.
The communications channels were crowded with incoherent shouts, terse reports, and commands. It was a messy battle, filled with the whining reports of weapons fired, the flash of some sort of Centrax beam weapon, and the confusion of hand-to-hand combat.
There was no time to think or consider. There was only the instinctive reaction of a well-trained fighting man when confronted with danger. The 20 men of the platoon held fast. Although the beam weapons scored damage on the Marine battle armor, none of the effects were critical.
The hand-to-hand combat results were somewhat different. Although the Marines were dressed in full battle armor, the Centrax’s equipment and exoskeleton bracing appeared to be an even match for the ImpMEC armament.
Never before had ImpMEC run into a race of beings that could field something to match their combat enhancements. In 1- to-1 close combat, the Marines took casualties. A chortling cry of victory from a Centrax throat was heard three times during the battle, signaling three Marine deaths. However, if the Marines would have shouted their triumph, their celebration chorus would have rung out many times more.
As with all battles, what seemed like a long time in combat was over in just a few minutes. The entire action had taken less than a quarter of an hour when the few remaining Centrax disappeared into the woods. They left 26 bodies on the ground, each sprawled in boneless huddles. As the survivors retreated, they fired their beam weapon into the chest of each of their fallen comrades. An emblem on the chest piece of the fallen warrior’s exoskeleton flashed and then exploded with a sullen thud.
Several of the Marines started to pursue the retreating enemy but were called back by sharp orders from Lt. Marcos. The heat of battle would have drawn them into the woods, but advancing in disarray through concealment into unknown territory was a way that the lieutenant knew could turn his victory into defeat.
It was time to consolidate their resources, time to evaluate their capabilities, and plan the next steps. Several of the Marines were tasked with searching the bodies of the dead enemy. Carefully stripping items from each of the corpses, the Marines followed standard ImpMEC procedure by capturing video to their battle cam. Careful pairs of soldiers scouted outward in all directions from the fight location, ensuring the safety of their position and gathering information on the enemy.
It was as if the enemy soldiers have never been there. The scouts could follow the trail of the retreating survivors for approximately a quarter-mile. Once again, the trail completely disappeared in the middle of a rocky field. There was no sign of air support, no indication of any transportation method. The tracks and signs simply ceased to continue. The mystery of the enemy absence was getting deeper.
Building a cairn over the stripped bodies of the fallen enemy was a matter of moments to the Marines in powered armor. Sgt. Dreyer had organized the consolidation and packing of as much of the equipment as they could carry reasonably. He had been quietly and tactfully pushing the lieutenant to return to base before further action.
Although he knew that it was irritating his commanding officer, Ted could not shake the idea that they were missing something. That shadow of concern that had been in the back of his mind this whole time was getting worse instead of better. It was like an itch that he couldn’t scratch, a very low murmur warning him of exposure and risk, an intuitive part that said that their danger was not over.
The platoon was finally ready to return to base. They had their dead, seven walking wounded, and many scavenged weapons and possessions for ImpMEC Intel to examine. Lt. Marcos was continually smiling. He kept exclaiming over how well they had done and the value of what they had found and captured. He was effusive in his praise for the soldiers and genial to his noncoms.
The platoon had begun their return to the base camp. The distance was such that they would be reaching the site in the early evening. The lieutenant seemed to be oblivious to any possible danger now, instead basking in the glow of his victory.
Chapter 5 – Reinforcements
They had been underway for about a half-hour, moving in good order and with scouts and point and sweep deployed. The quiet and efficient progress was abruptly interrupted when every communicator sounded an alert tone. It was one that none of them expected to hear on this planet, the strident triple tones of Battle Command alerts. The column instantly stopped. Lt. Marcos slapped his answer button and reported in, saying, “Lt. Marcos commanding Bravo Company, 3rd Platoon reporting.”
A deep voice echoed in each Marines implant, announcing, “This is Capt. Bennett commanding the MDS Constance, en route to Einsville spaceport. Advise current status and deployment.”
“Took fire at 0524-4703, six WIA. 32 enemy confirmed, 26 confirmed enemy casualties. Current disposition is not in contact, RTB.”
“Well done, 3rd Platoon. What is the deployment of your other squad?”
Lt. Marcos visibly braced himself before answering, “Strategic Intel required both squads brought into battle, Sir. We are returning to the base, which is being held by wounded soldiers.”
There was a silent pause as the ship’s captain considered what he been told. After an extended silence, the Marines heard, “Just how many defenders were left on your base, Lieutenant?”
“Two, Sir. However, the supply and logistics group is also on base and should be able to provide some basic defensive capability. In my opinion, Sir, the opportunity to engage the enemy and capture valuable intelligence and possibly captives, was worth the risk.”
“I see, Lt. Marcos. If you have been successful in acquiring such information, you are to be commended. Maintain your current position and wait for a shuttle from the ship. We will transport the items captured and any bodies directly to the ship.”
“Yes, Sir. The platoon will maintain current position and establish camp. Lt. Marcos out.”
The excited officer burst out with a flurry of commands. He apparently thought that this was a significant career move for him. A successful engagement with a previously unknown enemy and the captured enemy armor and weapons a sizable contribution to ImpMEC’s research would be very good for his reputation. He even ordered several of the Marines to go back to the battle site and retrieve several of the bodies of the enemy dead so that they would be ready for pick up when the shuttle arrived.
Sgt. Dreyer knew that he was pushing it, but the concern in the back of his head just wouldn’t let him rest. He tried to get the lieutenant’s agreement to at least a minor reinforcement of the base, but in the flurry of self-congratulations and the haze of ambition, the officer was unresponsive. Pushing one more time for strengthening the base force, Sgt. Dreyer finally got a response, although it was one that he hadn’t expected.
“Obviously, the importance of what we have for ImpMEC is less important to you than a baseless concern for the un-threatened personnel that we left behind. So, Platoon Sergeant Dreyer, obviously you do not want to wait around for the shuttle nor do you want to be part of what I am sure will be an announcement of a job well done.
“Therefore, I am ordering you to take four Mari
nes and head back to ‘reinforce’ the base. I’m sure that your command capabilities are at least up to that. Worrying about something like this when all danger is past is not the sign of a good Marine, and your performance report will reflect that. I expect you to go in the next 15 minutes.” The lieutenant pointedly turned his back to his reprimanded noncom and continued delivering orders to the remaining corporals and sergeant.
Left to follow the imperative of his intuition, Sgt. Ted Dreyer went looking for the four people that he would take with them. He was surprised when he instantly had volunteers. Two of the volunteers were some of the wounded Marines.
One of them, an immense block of a man with a craggy face and cold eyes, informed the sergeant that he and his team member wanted to go back because their base medic was the best that they had ever encountered.
His wounded companion, Jonas, smiled and said, “Alaric, you know that’s only half the story. The cook feeds you cookies when no one is looking, the medic got your sore shoulder to feel good again after three years of hurting, and leaving two wounded team members and a bunch of civilians undefended isn’t the way that you and I know the Marines to act.”
Alaric shrugged his shoulders uncomfortably and refused to meet Ted’s eyes. Smiling slightly, the noncom agreed to both Alaric and Jonas’ inclusion and selected two more for his small group. They were quickly ready and set out, taking only minimal supplies from the camp but loading up the maximum ammunition.
It was time to reinforce their base and relieve their support personnel.
<<<>>>
The small group under Sgt. Dreyer’s command made good time. They had traveled quickly for the first 4 miles when Sgt. Dreyer’s implant rang with the short double tone of targeted communication, causing his eyebrows to rise in surprise. He hadn’t expected to hear from Lt. Marcus, figuring he was not in the man’s good graces and that ignoring the small force would suit the Lieutenant better than acknowledging that he might be at fault.
