Off World- Ragnarok

by J. F. Holmes

  He walked over to the first group, designated as reinforcements for 1-9 Infantry. It was the same group that contained the woman who’d asked the question. Standing up on a platform that was usually reserved for PT instructors, he called out, “Gather ’round!”

  In front of him sat two objects; an M-4 rifle, and a twelve-foot-long pole made of wood with a wickedly sharp point. It had been designed with the Gvit in mind, either as a thrusting spear or a stake to embed in the ground. He picked up the M-4 and held it up.

  “Each of you will be issued an M-4, which you’ve been shown the basic operations of. You’ll also get five hundred rounds of ammunition each. You’ll engage the Gvit when they get within three hundred meters. Remember, aim low and fire one aimed round per second. When they get within two hundred meters, switch to burst; again, aim low and fire, shifting targets if yours goes down. If it doesn’t, keep firing. Do you understand?”

  He could see they didn’t; well, most of them didn’t. There were more than a few ex-military in the group; they’d be called back to their former ranks soon enough, and each wore temporary sergeant’s stripes. There were an even greater number of civilians who’d volunteered, since Alpha Centauri tended to attract settlers who didn’t mind taking risks and were dedicated to their new homes.

  “If you run out of ammo, which you will, don’t panic. You’ll be embedded with the regular infantry, and will have artillery support. We slaughtered them last year, and we’ll do it again. When you do run out, this is your best friend.”

  He picked up the spear and held it in his hands, butt placed against the dirt, up at a thirty-degree angle. “The point of this is made of ceramic and titanium, with an industrial diamond point. It’ll go through a Gvit like a hot knife through butter.” Maybe, he thought to himself, but he wasn’t going to say that out loud. “Aim for the crotch area or a little above it, where their hide is a little less thick to facilitate bending. Trust me, they aren’t going to worry about killing you with their guts spilling out. Now, Sergeants, move your columns past the supply point for issue. Make sure you each get an MRE and a gallon of water.”

  His assistants started passing out rifles and bandoliers of ammo magazines as the militia passed by, along with the food and water. “There’ll be more at the defensive positions, but don’t drink it all on the march. It’s only about five kilometers.”

  “That’s pretty damn close to the city,” said one man, who had the rough look of an oil worker. “What aren’t you telling us, Sarge? This isn’t just any raid, is it?”

  “I can’t tell you what I don’t know. Yeah, there’s a lot, but we’ll be able to handle them.”

  The man looked at him, then at the militia filing by. “Thought we left this all at home when we came here. Guess human nature never changes, does it?”

  “It’s not the humans we have to worry about, it’s the rhinos,” Demos.

  That got a laugh. “Oh, so the Gvit just up and blew up the airfield early this morning, huh? Guess it’s the same old military, keep us in the dark and feed us bullshit.”

  “If you don’t want to do it, you’re free to walk.” The guy was pissing him off, though he knew there was some truth to it. Any old soldier does.

  The man shrugged and said, “I’m no coward, Sarge, and these civilians need someone to hold them fast.”

  “Where were you?” asked Demos, recognizing a fellow veteran, not only by the sergeant’s stripes.

  “Venezuela in 25, northern Mexico in 28. 10th Mountain, Thirteen Fox.”

  “I was in both too, but 7th Special Forces Group. Maybe we saw each other before, or talked on the radio.”

  “Maybe. You take care, Master Sergeant.”

  “I’ll be right there with you,” said Davos, climbing down off the PT stand and wondering when fifty had snuck up on him.

  Chapter 27

  ACECOM HQ

  “I need to know what the hell’s going on,” said Halstead calmly, though there was urgency in his voice. His intelligence and operations staffs were busy, and they knew he was just venting his frustration. The report about the tanks had been a serious blow.

  “I’m expecting a report from scouts in a few minutes,” answered Major Tongas. The inability to use radio comms for anything more than a mile was incredibly frustrating for modern American soldiers. They made do the old-fashioned way; semaphore, signal rockets, runners on motorcycles, and land lines. The last, though, had failed completely from Rorke’s Drift, and after only one message from Firebase Glory. The 74K Recon Aerostat had been up for less than thirty seconds before being swarmed by every NT “bird” within a kilometer, and the feed blanked out as it came crashing down. Now it was up to the old standard, eyes and ears. The phone rang, and before the S-3 could pick it up, General Halstead grabbed it. “Ops, go,” he said simply.

  “We’ve got a shitload of Gvit out on the plain, the bridge isn’t down, and they’re not stopping,” said the excited, breathless voice from the TOC at the front gate.

  “Calm down and give me an accurate report, soldier,” said Halstead.

  The woman recognized the commander’s voice, and she took a second, rendering a SALUTE report. “Size, uh, estimate three divisions across the bridge, split into three columns. One is going toward the firebase, the other two are advancing diagonally across the valley toward the city. Estimate about twenty klicks out. Armored, and a lot more organized than we’ve ever seen.”

  “What do you mean, a lot more organized?” asked Halstead.

  “Sir, I mean, I was on my bike, I didn’t really get a chance to see, but they seemed to be advancing in ranks and in organized units.”

  The general paused, then asked, “Do you think you can get through to the bridge?”

  The hesitation told him what he already knew. The scouts were the best, and if they couldn’t get there, no one could. “We can try, Sir. I already lost two men.”

  “Don’t risk yourselves any more than you need to. Just keep an eye on them and report back any changes.”

  “Yessir,” came the exhausted response. He hung up and said to Major Tongas, “There’s something really strange going on here. The bridge is still up, and they aren’t advancing in their usual ‘kill everything’ horde.”

  “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

  “‘Once is happenstance, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action’,” quoted the general. “We’ll deal with that later. Right now we have an immediate tactical problem to deal with.”

  Tongas looked at the map, thinking. The man was a great strategist, but this kind of warfare wasn’t something they taught at West Point anymore. “What if we just let them break on the base’s walls? We have enough heavy ordnance to hold them.”

  “And we lose the firebase and the farms. No, we have to defeat them in detail. I’m thinking of the future, Mike. We’re going to have to spank them so hard they won’t come across that river again for a hundred years.”

  “You and I will both be dead long before that,” said the Samoan.

  Halstead nodded in agreement, but said, “Our grandkids won’t, and I think we’re going to be here a long time.”

  He reached over and picked up the line to the logistics TOC. The conversation was abrupt and brief, first telling the runner to get Major Brune on the line, then giving her instructions that consisted of “Get as much ammo to the troops as you can and dig something out of those conexes that might be useful.”

  He dropped that phone and picked up the landline to the governor’s office. Not waiting for formalities, he spoke quickly, “Sir, under my military authority, I’m calling up the Guard. We’ve got a shitload of Gvit coming this way, and they need to man the defenses. No, Sir, now. They have a half an hour to report to their assembly areas.”

  “That’s an additional five thousand half-trained troops,” said Tongas. “Think it’ll help, or hinder?”

  “At this point, I’d take a ten-year-old with an airsoft pistol if I thought he’d make a differ
ence. Get the infantry moving now, assemble the militia, and get my HUMVEE. I need to see what the hell is going on with my own eyes.”

  ****

  Major Rachel Brune cursed to herself as Halstead hung up on her. Normally every item shipped through the Gate was listed in GCCS-A, but over the last three weeks, it had been coming in a flood, and nothing was making any sense. The Logistics TOC was a madhouse of shouted orders and curses of people awakened out of bed to the biggest crisis of their lives.

  “Can I help you, Ma’am?” said a voice of calm in the midst of all the chaos. Her operation sergeant stood there with two cups of coffee in his hands, holding out one.

  “Thank God, Julio, you’re a lifesaver!” she said, grabbing at the carboard cup.

  He started to say, “Careful, it’s hot!” but she had already gulped down a mouthful and started pounding on the keyboard again.

  “This stupid lowest bidder piece of shit is pissing me off. The boss just told me to find ‘something useful’ to fight a fucking full on Gvit invasion, and the Geeks,” meaning the GCCS, or logistics computer system, “is a mess.”

  “Allow me,” he said, setting his own coffee cup down on the counter and cracking his knuckles. “There’s something I saw come in last week, four conexes that were tagged ‘Mark 47 complete system support units’. Not just shipping containers. Ah, there you go!”

  Turning the screen so she could look, Major Brune read off, “‘Land Combat System Set, 10 ea. w/ support system, air transportable’.” She shook her head and said, “Never heard of it, Julio.”

  “Me neither, but it says ‘combat’, and that’s what we’re in now,” said her senior NCO.

  She sighed and pinched her forehead. “We don’t even know where they are. I’ll send someone to find them. Get me that ROTC kid.”

  “WALTERS!” he shouted, and the young man ran forward from where he’d been sitting on a chair, out of the way. No one had told him what to do, and the VR goggles he’d been wearing when the muster order came in still dangled around his neck.

  “Take those goddamned things off, Cadet Walters, and take this down to Chief Grozen at the depot.” She handed him a printout as he stuffed the goggles into his leg pocket, the page still warm. “Tell him I said to tell you where the hell these containers are, and you need to figure out what they are. Bring me back a manual or something.”

  “Yes, Ma’am!” he said enthusiastically, finally happy to be given something to do. His two week ‘internship’ at the ACECOM logistics TOC had been pretty damn boring, and a bit of a letdown, honestly. Well, at least his nickname hadn’t followed him here.

  “Well, Shorty, what the hell are you standing there for? Major said move it!” said Master Sergeant Robles, making a shooing motion, but with a grin on his face. Then he turned back to his work, bringing order to the chaos that was battle.

  Billy ‘Shorty’ Walters groaned at being called by his nickname, but turned and ran. Finally. Something to brag about when he went back for his Senior Year at Syracuse University. Maybe this experience might even help him branch into combat arms! Armor, he hoped, thinking about the stories his grandfather had told him about the battle of 73 Easting. While his thoughts were occupied, he failed to notice the chair in front of him and tripped over it headlong, landing on the floor face first. Dusting himself off, Walters moved a little more carefully toward the stairs, betrayed again by his two left feet. Yeah, definitely something he could ride instead of walking.

  Chapter 28

  Logistics Stockyard, just past alpharise

  Walters ran as fast as he could, but the log dump was almost three kilometers away, over the causeway and through the city. “Screw this,” he said out loud, and flagged down a passing Humvee. The truck slowed to a roll, and Walters gulped as he saw four of the giant Chak in mechanics coveralls sitting in the back. They hooted at him, and someone yelled from the driver’s side, “IN OR OUT!”

  He climbed into the passenger seat, almost falling on his face again, to the great amusement of the Chak. Before he could get his seat belt buckled, the driver stomped on the gas and headed for the causeway. They hadn’t gone far when they ran into a traffic control point that hadn’t existed an hour ago. A squad of MPs were checking each vehicle, and two Asian soldiers sat on the ground, zip-tied.

  “Get the hell out of my way, you pencil-necked wannabe, before I snap your neck,” said the driver to the MP shining his light in her face.

  “Oh, hey, Gina, where’re you going?” said the young man, switching the light off.

  “Taking some heavy lift to the airfield. What does it look like?”

  “What happened there?” asked the teenaged cop.

  Walters could hear the sarcasm and tiredness in her voice. “I’m going to the airfield, dumbass. How do I know?”

  “Geez, Specialist Kelly, don’t get all butthurt. Who you got with you?”

  “I dunno, hitchhiker.” The light switched on again, and Walters squinted, temporarily blinded.

  “Ah, Cadet Walters, S-4, on an errand for Major Brune. I gotta get to the supply depot and find Chief Grozen.”

  “OK, carry on,” said the MP, switching off the light.

  “Thanks, you weenie,” answered the driver, and she put it in gear. The remainder of the drive was spent with ‘Gina’ conversing with the Chak in the back, ignoring the cadet. He was starting to feel a bit lonely again when they pulled up to the darkened supply depot.

  “OUT!” she barked, barely slowing down. Walters’ two left feet betrayed him again, and he stumbled and fell as she shot away. Cursing, he got up and made his way to the gate, to the further amusement of the Chak.

  A shouted, “HALT!” and the sound of a bolt being drawn back in a weapon made him freeze in his tracks. There were trucks rumbling in and out, but a guard stood there, weapon held low, and an armored Chak standing next to him, idly swinging a fireman’s axe.

  “Uh, Cadet Walters from the S-4! You should have gotten a call on the landline, I’m here to find Chief Grozen!”

  “He’s over there, managing the ammo loading.” The guard pointed down the main road, where an animated figure was waving his arms in the air at a detail of soldiers, and Walters took off at a jog.

  “Chief Grozen?” he asked when he got close enough.

  The big man stopped and turned to him, looking at him closely. “Cadet Shorty, what the fuck do you want? We got frigging work to do here. Pick up ammo some boxes and start loading if you want to learn how to be a soldier.”

  What the hell? How had his nickname followed him all over? “Major Brune dispatched me down here to help you find these conexes,” he said, cursing at the lack of height that never let anyone take him seriously.

  “Gimme that,” said Grozen, snatching the paper out of his hand. Reading, he said, “Yeah, I remember those coming in. Section D, Row 32. They got electronic locks, code is eight six seven five three zero nine.” He turned his back on the cadet, who took out a pencil and quickly scribble the numbers down.

  “Thanks!” he said, but the sergeant had already forgotten him, bawling orders at a soldier driving a forklift. Walters took off at a jog again, the alphalight starting to burn his pale skin, though the primary wasn’t very far over the mountains to the west yet. In the distance, what he identified as artillery rumbled, and he quickened his pace.

  Unseen to him, another figure slipped under the fence a hundred meters away. They moved in parallel down the rows, each counting to try to find number 32. Walters finally found the stake with the number on it and turned left, just as the other figure turned right. There was already someone there, frustratingly punching in codes.

  The soldier, a slight Asian woman in fatigues, stopped what she was doing. “Who the hell are you?” she said, hand behind her back.

  “Ah, Cadet Walters, Staff Sergeant Yi,” he said, reading her nametag and trying to sound confidant. “I’m on a mission for Major Brune, trying to find some conexes.”

  “What conexes? Maybe I c
an help you,” she said.

  “They’re marked ‘Land Combat System’, and there’s four of them,” he said, looking around. “Here’s one!” He turned back to see the muzzle of a silenced pistol pointed at his face. The 9mm opening looked as big as a tunnel, and his mind froze.

  “Give me that,” she said, taking the paper from his hand. Taking a second to glance at it, she read the code written on it. “What is this, some kind of joke?” she said, and raised the pistol to point at his forehead.

  All he could think of was, Oh, lord, don’t let me piss myself. “What do you mean, a joke? Who are you?”

  “This is from an old song! Give me the security codes!” she yelled, hitting him in the face with the barrel of the gun.

  The pain across his nose was incredible, making Walter see stars and his eyes tear up. She hit him again behind the ear, and his vision darkened around the edges, driving him to his knees. “TELL ME,” she yelled in his ear, “OR I SHOOT!”

  From the depths of his soul, Shorty Walters mustered all the anger and frustration of being last picked for sports, derided by the girls in high school, his own clumsiness that barely allowed him to pass his run on his PT test, and way deep down inside, the spirt of his great grandfathers, who’d fought their tanks on either side of the Kasserine Pass, raged up. He grabbed the two legs that showed in his vision, hitting them as hard as he could and wrapping his arms around them.

  The woman moved incredibly fast, and stepped out of his grasp, kicking downward and crushing his hand. Then, as she laughed and pointed the pistol at his head, a shadow showed behind her, blocking out the alphalight. There was a crunching sound, and she fell bonelessly in front of Walters, eyes closed, blood flowing from under her pulled-back hair.

  From the shadowed silhouette came the gravelly voice of Chief Grozen. “First time I ever pulled a prank on a cadet and some good came out of it. Like I’d ever give you the codes to a classified weapon system, Walters.” The chief walked over to the keypad on the container unit and punched in a code. The doors swung open with a slight hiss, air pressure on Alpha Centauri being about 110% of Earth’s on average. As he did, lights came on inside, sickly white fluorescents contrasting with the bright alphalight.