“Wouldn’t dream of it, Lead.” Two replied.
Serra switched to the forward observer frequency. “Eyes, Serra.”
“Welcome back, Serra. I have negative visibility on the enemy formation. They are fully in the riverbed. Should I get closer?”
“Negative, Eyes. We’ll do this the hard way. Pick up your ground teams and return to base.”
“Copy, Serra. Good hunting.”
Serra switched her map function to the drone feed. Stopping a formation of vehicles wasn’t something she’d done since Attack School, but she remembered the tactics clearly. Engage the front of the formation and pin them in terrain. Before the formation can reverse direction and escape, hit the trailing section to create a block. Then, keep the enemy pinned down in the terrain and kill as many of them as possible. She quickly punched the frequency for Two and Three and relayed the plan. She would hit the leading part of the formation, Two would concentrate on the rear, and Three would hit the center. They would circle and continue to engage until their missile pods were empty.
Serra watched Two confirm liftoff from the refit point, and she accelerated forward, keeping her nose low to the ground and her speed high. At twenty kilometers from the enemy, she would climb hard and roll over to rain fire on them. For the moment, she sped toward them like a predator intent on the kill.
* * *
In his command track, Zheta studied the display and frowned. It’s going to be close. Too close.
The lead vehicles of the enemy column were within three kilometers of the northern end of the riverbed and would emerge in less than two minutes. The lead interceptor, according to his relay from Colonel Grane, was two minutes away at best speed. His plan depended on timing, and that timing was already failing him.
Zheta frowned and leaned forward in his seat. It was time to change the plan. “Second Platoon, orient on the northern end of Sector Five. Acknowledge.”
One by one the tanks in Second Platoon chimed in. He watched them orient their gun tubes in the same direction as his with satisfaction. Seven guns were now trained on the riverbed. The feed from the drone showed the enemy accelerating slightly. They would be out of the end of the riverbed by the hill in thirty seconds. A glance at his command relay showed the lead interceptor was seventy seconds away.
Too much gap.
We’re going to have to hit them as they come up out of the riverbed while they deploy, but we can’t fire blindly. At his position were seven tanks, his own plus the six from Second Platoon. Three of them sat to his immediate left and the other three to his immediate right. He smiled as the plan came together in his mind.
“Second Platoon, here’s what we’re going to do. The first vehicle out of Sector Five will be targeted and fired upon by my tank. Anything that goes to its left will be engaged by tanks one, two, or three. Anything to the right of the first vehicle will be taken out by tanks four, five, or six. Acknowledge.”
They did. It was a hasty fighting maneuver, but one he felt would severely impact the movement of the enemy and slow them down long enough for the interceptors to return. Controlling where his guns were pointed and what they engaged would enable his forces to stop as many enemy as possible before they charged.
“Colonel Zheta, this is Captain Serra. Over.”
Zheta thumbed his communications switch. “Go ahead, Captain Serra. I show you fifty seconds out.”
“Affimative, sir. I have their lead vehicles targeted via drone feed. I’m preparing to climb and engage.”
“Understood,” Zheta replied. “Call your shots so I can track them inbound. I’m expecting the enemy out of the riverbed any second now.”
Serra responded, but her voice was strained. He looked up and noticed her interceptor rolling over at the top of a steep climb. “Missiles away!”
Almost immediately, he saw contrails from what looked like dozens of rockets erupt from the pods under the Peregrine’s winglets and rain into the riverbed. Following them, he saw the first skiff emerge over the edge of the embankment against the backdrop of multiple powerful explosions.
“Target first vehicle!” Zheta called to Egom.
“Selected. Firing!” The main gun recoiled, and the lead skiff burst into flames. Around him, the tanks of Second Platoon engaged as the first interceptor shot to the east above the kill zone. In the dust and smoke at the riverbed, he could see nothing moving. “Cease fire. Cease fire.”
The tanks went silent, and he heard Captain Serra on the radio.
“Forward edge of the riverbed is blocked. Some vehicles are trying to scramble out to the east side. I’m coming around for a second pass.”
Zheta took a breath. They’d done it. They’d stopped the enemy before the bastards could emerge from the low ground. Their tactics had been their downfall. He swung open his hatch and stood up in the warm breeze. On it, he smelled smoke, and it made him smile. He watched the interceptor execute a left turn. From directly north, the interceptor dove toward the end of the riverbed. Her intent was obvious. Captain Serra was going to fire everything she had into the massed vehicles. Using speed and altitude to an advantage were what the flyers did best.
Serra’s interceptor shot down the long slope of his hill toward the enemy. A quick barrage of tracer rounds flew up to greet her, and Zheta mashed his transmit button. “Heavy fire! Heavy fire! Break off, Serra!”
She did not respond as the interceptor’s winglet’s erupted again. The Peregrine’s wings rocked suddenly, and he saw several flashes of projectile impacts along her fuselage. The canopy blasted away from the aircraft, and Serra ejected. Zheta held his breath as her seat shot skyward. When the parachute deployed, he allowed himself to breathe again. More tracer fire erupted toward her parachute and then ceased as a series of explosions tore through the enemy formation.
“Two on station. Serra is down, good chute!” Zheta heard the young pilot cry.
The breeze picked up suddenly, blowing harshly from west to east, moving Serra’s parachute further away from the riverbed. She’d be out of the enemy’s line of sight in seconds, but she’d be down, alone on the surface, facing the enemy infantry.
Oh, they’ll deploy them. Zheta snorted. She’s too damned close to the riverbed.
“Two, this is Zheta. Keep their heads down.” He paused for a moment as Serra landed on the ground. Zooming his optics on her position, he could see her lying motionless.
Dammit.
With the enemy bunched up and stopped in the riverbed, undoubtedly readying their capable infantry to charge the downed aviator, there was only one decision he could make.
“First Platoon,” he shouted into the radio, “Power up and move out. Get down the hill and defend that pilot. Second Platoon, move on me. We’re moving to the east side of the riverbed and will lay fire onto the enemy from close range. Third Platoon, move to the west side and fall in on First Platoon’s flank. Keep them from getting to Captain Serra.”
Zheta felt the tank come to life, pivot slightly to the left, and roll down the hill. Second Platoon moved with him, and he briefly saw Third Platoon as they dashed behind them to join First Platoon in the attack.
“Fire as you are ready, Egom. You don’t need me to sight for you.”
“Truer words were never spoken, Colonel.” The veteran gunner laughed. “Keep your head up and out.”
He was right. Zheta stood in the hatch again and used his eyes instead of his optics. The first three tanks of Second Platoon were slightly in front of him and firing round after round into the mouth of the riverbed. A glint of silver in the sky to the north caught his eye and he stabbed the transmit button.
“Negative on your approach, Two. They’re expecting a north-south pass. Come across from the west and hit their infantry as they deploy toward Captain Serra.”
There wasn’t a response from the pilot, only two clicking sounds. Before Zheta could repeat his transmission, Two banked hard to the east and prepared to approach from that direction.
Aviato
rs, he smirked.
The second interceptor rained rocket fire into the eastern side of the riverbed as the tanks from First and Third Platoons took up a line formation in front of Serra’s position.
“Colonel Zheta, Two. The rear of the enemy formation is reversing back to the south.”
Zheta replied. “We’ll take care of them from here.”
“Understood,” Two replied. “Headed to refit. Back as soon as I can get here.”
“Good flying,” Zheta said, and he meant it.
The riverbed in Sector Five was only about eight kilometers long, and the rear of the enemy formation was already close to finding their way out. They would undoubtedly attack again, and the terrain on either side of them could effectively allow them a high-speed approach. First and Third Platoons were on the east side with Captain Serra, and he was on the west side with Second Platoon.
What’s it going to be?
Zheta tapped his command and control link. “Grane, Zheta. Where is your third interceptor?”
“He’s forty seconds out. I have him hitting the southern end of Sector Five.”
Zheta nodded. “We’ll clean up anything that gets out.”
“Let’s put this attack down once and for all, Zheta.” Grane chuckled. “Three is on station in thirty seconds. Good hunting, my friend.”
* * *
Serra swam up from unconsciousness and fumbled with the releases for her helmet and let it fall off into the dirt. Pain stabbed at her from what felt like dozens of small cuts and scrapes as she disengaged from her parachute and let it flap in the wind. She glanced at her lower body and saw several bloody tears in her flight gear from shrapnel.
Dammit.
Her lower right leg hung limp and useless. She tried to move it and winced through the considerable pain. Every movement threatened to take her breath away. Serra strained to see the bulk of the wound but could not. It hurt like nothing she’d ever experienced. Deciding not to take a chance, she reached down to the tourniquet tab above her lower leg joint and pulled it tight.
Moving was out of the question. There was no way she could get further away from the enemy positions. The edge of the riverbed was only a few hundred meters away, and there was little doubt in her mind that the infantry would soon appear and charge her position. The bastards didn’t take prisoners, which steeled Serra’s resolve. She unholstered her sidearm and ensured that it was ready to fire.
Not going out without a fight.
In the scrub brush on the prairie floor, there wasn’t much cover or concealment. There was, however, a large thorn-filled bush about twenty meters away. Serra rolled that direction, clenched her jaw against the pain, and pulled herself toward it. Panting, she made it and rolled behind it and withdrew her survival radio.
“Lead, this is Three,” she heard as the radio came to life in her hands.
“Three, I’ve got you. I’m concealed east of the riverbed.”
“I have eyes on your chute. Making one pass, and then I’ll cover you until extraction.”
Serra grunted against a flash of pain. “Negative! Keep hitting them with everything you have, Three. That’s an order.”
“Copy, Lead. Maintaining fire.”
There was a scream in the air above her, and she watched Three approach from the southwest and hammer the enemy with rocket fire. Explosions rocked the ground behind her, and she grinned wider as more followed. She pressed the transmit button on the radio. “Three, where is Two?”
“Lead, you let me worry about Two. You worry about you. Friendlies are on the way to your position now.”
Serra looked up the hill to the north and saw tanks moving her direction. She counted six in the first echelon and six further behind them. Occasionally one would fire into the riverbed as they raced toward her in the more open terrain.
CRACK!
The sound startled her as a round of some type passed too close to her position. Another followed it and another. She pressed her back into the trunk of the bush and willed herself to be a smaller target, something almost impossible for a Withaloo. Serra didn’t risk a look in that direction, but knew the sound wasn’t a crew-served weapon on a skiff. The sound was much smaller caliber, which meant the infantry were preparing to attack.
Serra turned to her left and watched the tanks with their gun tubes still pointing into the riverbed.
Don’t they see them? Serra gripped her sidearm and pulled it up to her chest, took a deep breath, and prepared to return fire.
* * *
“Infantry in the open!” Zheta heard one of the commanders from First Platoon call over the company frequency. He glanced that direction but could see little to nothing through the intense dust and smoke billowing up from the riverbed. Through a break in the smoke, he saw the insectoid infantry scrambling up the steep embankment in the direction of Captain Serra.
The gun tube swung toward the infantry and fired. Egom laid precision fire into the infantry and cut them down before they could get over the embankment. “Second Platoon,” Zheta called, “Suppress the infantry!”
He switched to the intercom. “Driver, put us on the edge of the bank. Egom, put the tube down as far as you can and keep firing.”
Across the riverbed, First Platoon raced in front of Serra’s position and took up a line abreast. Secondary explosions rocked the riverbed as Three raced overhead again, gutting the center of the enemy formation. The amount of fire laid into the riverbed took his breath away.
We have them.
“Zheta, Grane.”
He reached over and saw that the connection was private as he connected. “Go ahead?”
“The entire enemy formation burns. The field is ours.”
Zheta sat back against the seat. “Cease fire. I say again, cease fire. If you see a hostile act, you are cleared to engage, but stop immediate fires. Acknowledge.”
A massive explosion to Zheta’s right flipped one of the Third Platoon tanks on the far side of the riverbed. A wave of suppressive fire tore into the enemy formation in the riverbed. Zheta watched it for ten seconds before calling for cease fire again. This time, there was no fire from the enemy. No further attacks came.
It wasn’t long before a lone enemy soldier appeared on the embankment waving its forward limbs in what looked like surrender.
“Hold your fire!” Zheta called.
There was a crackle over the radio, and a very different voice chittered in his ears. “Withaloo forces, this is Captain Fhrysa’da of the Fhurnaa. You have bested our forces in combat and fought with great honor. We surrender and request asylum and protection.”
“Asylum?” Zheta blurted, realizing thankfully that he’d not pressed the transmit button. He composed himself and replied slowly, “Captain Fhrysa’da, this is Lieutenant Colonel Zheta in command of the ground forces. Your surrender is noted, and your request for asylum is granted. You are directed to lay down all arms and move your surviving forces to the north end of your column where I will meet you. At that time, please be prepared to brief us on your situation and the request for asylum, which is quite strange under the circumstances of our conflict.”
“We will do so, Lieutenant Colonel Zheta. You have my gratitude.”
* * *
A week later, after allowing the Fhurnaa to board relief ships and leave the planet Crea behind, Lieutenant Colonels Zheta and Grane watched as a more surprising visitor landed on the outskirts of the colony. They’d received word from the Withaloo command ship Biting Wind of their impending rescue with palpable relief. As its wide bay doors opened, they realized the withdrawal would be complete. No Withaloo would remain behind. A passenger ramp descended from the ship, and none other than Colonel Arthok bounded toward them. The two officers sprang from their observation position and walked toward the overall commander of the Withaloo forces, meeting him halfway. They saluted, tapping a fist to the horn on the right side of their heads, which Arthok returned with a smile on his haggard face.
“Sir, welcome t
o Crea,” Grane said.
“Am I to understand, from your official report, that the two of you shared assets and intelligence in the conduct of this mission?”
Zheta swallowed and replied. “Sir, we did. Given the situation, it was necessary to share where we had not typically done so. The conduct of operations, here, pushed us to a point where forces that did not work together failed.”
“We simply had no choice,” Grane said. “We were required to do things well beyond our standard operating procedures, sir.”
“For what it’s worth, sir, we believe it worked very well,” Zheta met the superior officer’s eyes and held his gaze despite being keenly aware of his heart racing in his chest.
Arthok nodded solemnly. “I believe so as well. I believe the two of you have done good work here, but I am afraid this relief does not come without a cost.”
“What do you mean, sir?” Grane asked.
“Another battle looms on the horizon. We’ve found allies, ones both honorable and capable, who we will join. We must prepare to support them and our new homeworld accordingly.”
“New allies?” Zheta asked. The finding and taking of new allies was something the Withaloo did with great care over decades of observation and agreement.
“These allies, I believe, you will enjoy fighting with. They have a tenacity and an unpredictability that suits what you’ve done here. I believe they will be great friends to the Withaloo, and we must ensure their allies and not their enemies prevail.”
Zheta replied. “Then what’s the mission, sir? Who are these new allies?”
There was a pause, and realization hit Zheta like a hammer blow. “Sir, did you say new home world?”
Arthok grinned. “Are you familiar with Salvage System?”
* * * * *
Kevin Ikenberry Bio
Kevin Ikenberry is a life-long space geek and retired Army space operations officer. A former manager of the world-renowned U.S. Space Camp program, Kevin has a distinguished background in space science education. His debut science fiction novel Sleeper Protocol was a Finalist for the Colorado Book Award and called “an emotionally powerful debut” by Publisher’s Weekly. He is a core author of the wildly successful Four Horsemen Universe where he’s written the novels Peacemaker, Honor The Threat, Stand Or Fall, Deathangel, Redacted Affairs (with Kevin Steverson) and the forthcoming Enforcer (with Quincy J. Allen). Kevin’s other novels include Vendetta Protocol, Runs In The Family, and Super-Sync. Kevin lives in Colorado with his family and can be found online at www.kevinikenberry.com.
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