by Thomas Webb
“Valkyrie to Pyro!” Shane snarled. “Consider this the signal! Over!”
Shane spiraled hard a second time, ignoring the Habu’s warning of catastrophic structural stress.
“We are outside acceptable safety tolerances, Captain.”
Shane fought to stay conscious against the cockpit’s artificially adjusted gravity. “Not the time, X37!”
Just a few more centimeters.
The structural warning’s tone grew louder, more impatient.
“I’ve got target lock!” Pyro shouted. “Missiles one and two away!”
Pyro’s hellfires zipped quietly through space, hurtling toward the enemy ship now on Shane’s HUD. Even though she was taking fire from the ghost ship’s pulse cannons, she had to admit that they sure made for a nice target.
There was a satisfying flash behind her. Shane turned to look back. The transmitting ghost ship was gone. Fourteen new enemy targets popped onto her holo screen.
“Splash one tango,” Pyro said.
Shane could hear the smile in her voice. It was a look she felt she’d recognize if she saw it, as Shane couldn’t seem to remove the grin from her own face.
“Good shooting, squad leader. Took you long enough.”
“Sorry, boss. Had a bandit pick me up. A risk of sticking close to the main battle, I guess.”
“Better late than never. Thanks, Pyro.”
“Your plan, Flight Leader. That was a ballsy move, by the way. And you’re right—If I’d known what it was you had in mind, I wouldn’t have liked it.”
“Roger that. Beers are on me when this is over.” Shane switched to the squadron wave. “Flight leader to task force squadron—lead ghost ship is down. Repeat—lead ghost ship is down. Enemy is no longer cloaked. We own the stars, people. You are cleared hot to wipe these bastards out of my space. Over.”
-24-
Reports of the space-to-space combat engagement flooded Hale’s comm feed.
“Sounds like they’re having a hell of a time out there,” Johnny Chin said. The troops were plugged into the same inter-operation wave as Hale. They all listened to the same play by play, relayed by the Forward Space Controllers stationed onboard the Libertas.
“Sounds like it,” Hale replied. “We gotta trust them to do their jobs. Only way we can do ours.”
Johnny Chin nodded. “Roger that.”
Hale and his troops stood by their drop chutes. All were set, dressed, and ready to go. Fully armored and prepped to drop they were, as per the old saying, in ‘hurry up and wait’ mode. With nothing to do but stand by to stand by, Hale and the other ground forces had been listening in to the fighter jocks’ chatter.
It sounded like things had been going great, right up until a squadron of ghost ships—untraceable, high-capability enemy fighters—had appeared out of nowhere and jumped into the game. Hale shot a glance at Zombie, standing next to her own team and their array of drop tubes. Her face was unreadable, but he knew she was worried. He switched over to a private com channel.
“Hey Zombie,” Hale said. “Shane’s the best there is. She’ll be fine.” Zombie looked over at him. She gave him a double click and a head nod—no voice response. Maybe she didn’t trust herself to speak.
Hale’s thoughts were interrupted by the CO’s voice over the internal comms of the UNS Libertas.
“All ground forces report to drop tubes,” Colonel Vladovic said. “We are on target, with fighters running interference. Insertion will commence in two mikes.”
Hale and thirty other Special Operations troops ambled up to their drop tubes. Once they jettisoned toward the planet’s surface, the subsequent interference meant that there would be no comms until they hit atmo.
Hale locked and sealed his helmet. He grabbed the lip of the drop tube with both hands, his pulse rifle mag locked to the chest plates of a shiny new suit of desert camo-colored FAST armor. Hale pulled his legs up and jumped partway inside. Before sliding fully in, he shot a thumbs up to Chin and Cutter, then one to Zombie. She returned fire with her middle finger and grinned. That was when he knew she’d be fine.
Hale inserted himself fully into the tube, feeling more than seeing the seal shut coffin-tight above his head.
“Good luck, ladies and gentlemen,” the colonel said in her thickly accented Earth English. “And good hunting. Prepare for drop in three seconds. Two seconds. One second. Commence drop.”
There was a whoosh, followed by the feel of Hale’s guts leaping up into his throat. Then he was hurtling through space. Hale couldn’t read much on his HUD, but he managed to turn his head to the side. He saw engine trails and pulse fire scattered among the stars. Shane and her plots were giving them a hell of a fight, all just to make sure he and the other troops had a clean drop. He hoped she’d be okay. Then he was in atmo, the outside of his armor glowing red-hot on entry. When he was inside the planet’s troposphere, he counted out his troops—an even dirty thirty, all in the green.
Outstanding.
Hale immediately pulled up a HUD layout of the area and the terrain below. He frowned.
“Ah, shit.”
ULS had artillery mounted on the walls of the building. Four big guns commenced pounding, sending walloping pulse energy blasts toward the sky.
“How the hell did the recon bird miss that?” he wondered aloud.
Bad intel. It was just like being active duty again. The good news was that guns that big would have trouble pinpointing and targeting anything as small as a single FAST suit. He just hoped that none of the big automatic cannons scored a lucky hit. A pulse bolt shot past him, the randomly generated firing patterns a bit too close for comfort.
Hale felt his insides flatten. He held his breath as the FAST armor’s anti-grav kicked in. The anti-grav was used when speed was valued over stealth. When popping a chute would be too slow you simply allowed gravity to suck you toward the ground, hoping and praying that the anti-grav generator didn’t fail and that it fired at the last second as it was designed to.
Hale landed with a thwomp, his knees bent so the armor’s gyros could absorb what minimal shock the anti-grav didn’t catch. The first thing he looked for were the green team icons on his HUD. It looked like all the troops were safely on deck and in one piece.
Thank God, he thought.
The next thing he saw was a red ‘signal interference’ message. That meant a couple of things. The first was that there was probably a wave blocker somewhere in the vicinity. The second was that ground to space comms were now nonexistent.
Great. The SNAFU acronym was in full effect—Situation Normal. All Fucked Up.
“Alpha One to all ground command elements,” Hale sent, hoping that maybe their line-of-sight ground comms were at least up. “Check in, over.”
“Bravo team is up. 100%”
“Charlie team up, 100%.”
“Delta up. 100%. Force is fighting fit. Over.”
“Good copy, team leads. Not sure if you’ve noticed, but we’re cut off from our space to air support. Comm interference, most likely a wave blocker. First order of business is to assault this target. Secondary objectives are dual; take out whatever’s blocking our comm wave and see to those guns.”
“Typical,” someone lamented. “Ground pounders doing the fighter jocks’ job.”
“Watch it,” Zombie chimed in, taking the comment personal.
“At ease everyone,” Hale ordered. “Air support’s held up, probly dealing with those ghost ships. They’ll bring the thunder as soon as they can. Until then, we focus on the mission. Copy?”
There were answers in the affirmative all around.
Hale continued, as if the minor disagreement had never happened. “Okay—just like we game planned. Bravo takes the east, Charlie goes west, and Delta and Alpha head straight up the middle. Use your cover, watch your spacing, and watch your asses. We move on my go.”
Hale heard a series of double clicks. Good. They were ready.
“Go,” Hale commanded.
Hale’s team moved in on him, got spaced out evenly, and took off double-time toward the structure. They spread across the dunes in a staggered line of attack, loaded for bear and ready for anything.
As they moved, Hale surveyed the terrain and the structure ahead. The holo images hadn’t done the place justice. The building was more fortress than corporate offices. Aside from the heavily defended glass front, the construction more closely resembled a fortified bunker than any corporate headquarters Hale had ever seen. Grey duracrete walls, and slim windows that looked like something from a medieval castle.
The structure was five stories tall from what Hale could tell. Five stories above ground level, at least. Cylindrical barriers marked the entry way, so even if they had gone the mobile armor route for this assault, they would have been impeded. A fountain and some landscaping softened the inside courtyard a bit. The aesthetics were a nice touch. Mercs stood positioned around the place, but none of them had moved so much as a millimeter since Hale and his people hit planetary dirt. Hale didn’t like it.
“Anyone got a read on those mercs?” he asked.
“One of my guys has,” the Delta team leader answered. “They’re androids.”
“Copy that, Delta One.”
I’m a dumbass, Hale thought. That explained why they hadn’t moved.
“Looks like they’ve just come online,” the Charlie team leader said. “ULS forces are advancing on us,”
Finally. “Light ‘em up,” Hale responded.
The androids moved fast, leaping and jumping like Salayan sand fleas as they attacked. Well-trained, disciplined fire from the United Nations and Special Activities Division operators took them out.
“Is this a joke?” The Delta team leader asked.
“Bargain-basement androids,” Zombie replied. “You get what you pay for.”
“Consider that your warm-up,” Hale said.
The brief assault was over before it began. The androids began falling back, leaving their comrades on the field in pieces.
“Seems like they’re letting up,” Cutter said. The new Sergeant, Chin, and Hale covered next to one another behind a sand dune.
“Yeah—they’re pulling back,” Hale said. But why?
“Got something on my HUD, boss,” Johnny Chin reported.
“Me too,” Cutter chimed in.
Hale checked his own Heads Up Display. Four big bogeys were headed their way, moving dead slow. He looked up from the dune they’d covered behind and swore.
Not again, he thought.
Mechs.
The damned things were going to be the death of him.
Zombie came in over comms. “Not sure we have enough juice to take those things down, Alpha One.”
“We can hold until air support comes,” Hale answered.
“Damn right we can. Ideas?”
“I’m open to some myself,” Hale said.
He considered for a moment, and something came to him. It was pretty flimsy, and it might take one of the mechs down. . . if they were lucky. It definitely wouldn’t take down four of them, but it might make for a decent delaying tactic. Either way, it was at least worth a try.
“We only have to hold those things ‘till the cavalry gets here,” Hale said. “Taking them all down would be a pretty tall order anyway. Let’s have the snipers go for their central junctions. If you can, get in close enough to frag them.”
“We could set charges to try and slow them down?” Zombie offered.
“I like it, Bravo One. Get your forward space controllers to keep transmitting close support grids until somebody answers, or until something blows up.”
“Copy, Alpha One.”
“Oh-and I’m borrowing Lash from you, too, by the way,” Hale informed Zombie. “Gonna need the big guy to cover me on something.”
“You got it, Alpha One,” Lash replied. “I am Oscar Mike to your pos.”
The Salayan was there and had set up his gun in a matter of minutes. When Lash opened up Hale darted out, dodging fire from the mechs and thankful for the cover from the big Salayan’s big gun. He could see the mechs approaching in the distance, trudging forward like the near unstoppable juggernauts that they were. Still on the move, Hale sighted in on the closest mech driver. A blacked-out screen greeted his vision, so he couldn’t see the operator inside. Hale slid to stop, took a knee behind a low rise, and dumped every plasma charge he had into the path of the oncoming mech. He threw some sand over the charges and gave them a last, wistful look.
So much for breaching those doors.
Hale scooted away under heavy fire, drawing the lead mech as far into their trap as he dared.
“Tell me when!” Hale shouted into his comms.
“When!” Johnny Chin shouted back.
Trusting that the mech was in position, Hale activated the explosives. The blast propelled him forward, flipping him into a somersault. The armor’s balance monitor kicked in, managing to compensate for the force but kicking Hale flat onto his back. He flipped over, scrambling to get to cover, get his rifle up, and look back at the approaching enemy at the same time.
The overeager mech had stepped right into the trap. Its left leg was blown, with most of the knee servo taken out. The tough armor had absorbed much of the blast, but the mech was malfunctioning. A precise shot from Kris’ long gun finished the durable joint, sending the monstrosity toppling onto its side.
Hale made a quick mental note to thank Kris for that one with a nice bottle of Tauranian red. “All elements,” he ordered. “Concentrate fire on that downed mech.”
Almost at once all arms fire shifted, converging on the downed mech. Like a pack of Earth hyenas on an injured kill, they attacked. Even the mech’s ridiculously thick plate armor couldn’t withstand a coordinated, platoon-level onslaught. A moment later the mech was reduced to a smoking, destroyed hulk. The automated monstrosity was out of the fight.
Unfortunately for Hale and his assault element, it was only a single mech. Its buddies, probably pretty pissed off by now, were not far behind. And they weren’t cooperating by coming in one at a time like the first one had.
“Any chance they’ll fall for that twice?” Hale breathed.
“Not a one in hell,” Zombie said. It was okay. She’d only given voice to what Hale was already thinking.
“I gotta agree with Army,” Johnny Chin added. He didn’t sound happy about it.
“Copy that,” Hale said. “All elements,” he said, now addressing the entire ground force. “Fall back to defensive positions.”
Hale was already on the move and considering their next play. “We’ll set up in the hills behind us, several hundred meters west of here,” he broadcasted. Then he sent the grids to the entire force. “We make our stand there until backup arrives.”
Hale gave more power to his armor’s propulsion systems, reaching a space behind the low hills in no time flat. He tucked in next to Johnny Chin, Cutter, and Kris’nac.
“How about you reach out to that battle cruiser again?” Johnny Chin asked.
Hale agreed. He keyed the comm wave to space. “Ground force to Libertas. Come in Libertas.” Nothing. Hale frowned. “Ground force to wing element. Come in wing element.” More nothing. He tried his comms to the cruiser above a third time, getting the same results as before. Hale swore. If they didn’t get reinforcements soon, this whole thing would be over before it had even started.
An incoming message over the comms provided Hale with a welcome distraction.
“Bravo one to Alpha One,” Zombie said.
“Go for Alpha One,” Hale replied.
“So what’s our play?” Zombie asked
Hale considered her question as incoming pulse cannon rounds blazed scant meters overhead. “Only one I can think of, Bravo One.”
“Blaze of glory it is, then?” she asked.
An image of Anesu Chewasa flashed through his mind. “Yeah,” Hale said. “It’s looking that way.”
Johnny Chin shrugged. “You make
the call, Hale. Whatever it is? We’ll follow it.”
Hale nodded. Their backs were to the ocean. He’d considered a run for it but had quickly ruled it out. The makeup of the ocean wasn’t like on Earth, and the seals of their FAST armor weren’t rated for the water’s higher acidity. Fleeing overland was out, too. The mechs would simply run them down when their FAST armor inevitably ran out of power.
So make a stand it was.
Why not? Hale thought. If they fought hard enough, they might even survive. Crazier things had happened.
“Alpha One to all ground force elements . . . prepare to— “
A shriek overhead followed by a tremendous thoom shook the small hills they’d covered behind.
“What the hell!?” Cutter shouted.
Hale’s comms crackled to life. “Flight Leader to ground forces. Come in ground force. Anyone copy? Over.”
“Alpha One to Flight Leader,” Hale grinned. “We read you loud and clear, Valkyrie.”
Hale spotted the troops along the staggered line pumping armored fists and waving at the fast movers streaking overhead.
“Sorry we’re late to the party,” Shane apologized. “Ran into a little trouble getting here. Then had to refuel. Gimme a sitrep.”
Hale knew exactly what she meant. He looked down the line at Zombie’s team. “All good on deck. A few casualties. No KIA.”
A pause. Relief? “Looks like you got a little mech problem down there? Over.”
“Affirmative, Flight Leader. We sure would appreciate a hand.”
“Copy, ground leader. I think we can help you with that. We’ll take care of those gun placements, then we’re all over it. Why don’t you sit back and let us clean up the trash? Over.”
“Copy, Flight Leader. I think we’ll take you up on that.”
“Solid copy, One. Enjoy the show.”
“Roger wilco.”
Hale watched Shane turn a hard corkscrew and loop back, having taken the measure of the field. Hale peeked over the berm as she shot overhead. He was glad he did. Habu fighters screamed in Shane’s vapor trail, blasting the guns on the roof of the ULS building with missiles and dropping ordnance on the approaching mechs. Hale almost felt bad for them.
