Authors: Zachary Deaderick
“Captain Sanders, Amphibious Assault Group Five, Captain Sanders.”
Jerking upright and dropping his weapon, “Go for Sanders.”
“Who is it?” Davis asks only hearing half of the conversation.
“Amphib Five,” Sanders answers changing to local only.
“Captain this is Commodore Nabaal, I need you to clear a patch wide enough for me to put some heavy armor down on the ground. We have two Seekers on board that we are going to dump in the ocean but we want them dropped on land for safe delivery until they are booted up. Can you provide me a safe LZ?”
Sanders looks around, “Sir no offense but this zone is fairly hot and I am severely undermanned. My sat link is down and we have no heavy weaponry left.”
A pause.
“Captain allow me to rephrase. You will secure your current position. We are falling into orbit and will drop our payload and then jump back out before we risk the rest of the strike group. You will secure the package until the engineering team arrives to ensure the Seekers are properly activated.”
Sanders breathes slowly, “Yes Commodore.”
Looking up and watching through his left eye behind the shield he spots the strike group high above as a pair of triangles for the amphibs and four hourglasses to mark the destroyers. Davis walks over and stares up at the same place.
“Guessing having them overhead is worse than having no one overhead?”
“Absolutely,” Sanders sighs.
“What do they want?”
“They want us to hold this position until they can download Seekers and dump them in the water.”
“You tell them we have no fire support, no backup and no air defense?”
“Yeah, you didn’t hear?” Sanders asks looking back down at the forearm map with soldiers relative positions from each other.
“No I was busy getting back over here.”
“Yeah I told ‘em. Whatever, so we are going to hold this position, but we are going to lay low until those damn Seekers pop up on the scans. No reason to broadcast our position until we have to. Until then they will have to make a guess where the Seekers are going to touch down.”
“We could tell them to blow
off,” Davis shrugs. “We were hired to support Amphib Strike Two not Five.”
“Yeah, ok Master Sergeant Davis. You go tell Commodore no. And I don’t mean about rank because we are contractors, I mean because our contract is to be recovered by Strike Group Two as well. If we snub them they might snub picking us up. We won’t last another three days on this rock when the
cleanup forces arrive.”
“Shit,” Davis murmurs.
“Yeah,” switching channels Sanders addresses the entire remaining battalion, “Alright boys listen up. We are going to hold this position as the new LZ. We will be receiving reinforcements in the form of two Seekers. Once they arrive the engineer compliment will rig them for launch and then we cover them while they deploy.”
“Those things go active start wrecking shit, Amphibs dump out their marines and some cavalry. We set up an On-the-go spaceport. They drop boats we get the hell off this rock. Roger up by platoons.”
Sanders waits for the platoon leaders to get their individual reports and then form their platoon reports. Each platoon goes green. One hundred and ninety-one soldiers out of a compliment of four hundred. The mantle of leaderships drags Sanders down to crouching on his heels.
“That bad?” Davis asks sitting with his legs sprawled out on front of him leaning back on his hands.
“Two hundred and nine dead.”
“
Damn, that bad.”
“Severson bought it.”
“Steele too.”
“Which Steele? Eli or Taylor?”
“Uh, Miller’s partner?”
“Eli,” Sanders rolls back and sits down as well. “Who does that leave?”
“Miller, Jansen, Allen, Thompson, Rowe, You and me.”
“How’d I get stuck with you?” Sanders chuckles.
“Oh trust me, Satan had a sit down with the CEO and me and we discussed who would be acceptable for your right hand.”
“I’m guessing they also made you immortal to punish me for all time?”
“No I just had three get out of jail free cards,” Davis sighs.
Sanders slaps his armored palm against Davis’ back, “I think
it is more talent than luck.”
Sanders switches to the platoon leader channel, addressing the ten acting platoon leaders, “Alright folks, looking at my drop charts here we are going to have at least two hours if they dumped the package from low orbit and it was on entry orbit then. I bet they dumped it from high orbit. We can bank on it taking four hours or more to reach us. So stand down with two man rotations as a pair. Consolidate and keep all channels open but catch some sleep.”
Sanders watches each of the platoon icons flash to green indicating they understand.
“You first sir, I’ll take first watch.”
“Thanks Davis. Wake me if anybody stars.”
“Of course.”
“Alright, package in
atmo,” Sanders announces across all channels.
“Twenty minutes until touch down,” Davis says scooting down lower in his hole, rubbing up against Sanders.
On the screen as if on cue green circles all around the perimeter explode into swirling stars some flashing to red. “Here we go, you ready for this?” to Davis only.
“When am I not ready boss?”
“Davis, you are always the one guy I am actually worried isn’t paying attention the moment before a firefight lights off.”
“I’m usually surprised when it lights off. How do you always know in advance to worry when
I am not even paying attention?”
“Look Davis your sarcasm isn’t funny.”
“You’re right, it’s hilarious.”
Sanders cuffs Davis before getting back on the sights.
Picking targets with the sniper rifle provides unique challenges because the rifle fires a thirty millimeter round. Hitting targets too close to friendly forces leads to collateral damage.
Sanders squeezes the trigger three times focusing on the hotspots on the battlefield. Davis beside him cycles through targets more quickly using the flechette micro rounds. After picking off each target in rapid succession Davis begins moving on Sander’s targets.
“You going to get off my ass?” Sanders huffs.
“Nope, not until you speed up to keep it from getting hairy down there.”
“T-minus twelve minutes.”
Sanders cycles to new targets squeezing the trigger and watching the soft bodies of the squids inside their combat armor evacuate out the far side of the bullet holes.
“Sir, we are losing ground over by 'toon three.”
“Yeah, I’m. . .” Pausing long enough to squeeze another shot, “Shifting the remaining three reserves over to that gap. Just keep your fire focused on that direction. Give them enough time to get setup.”
On the overlay three spinning stars zigzag out from the command mound to the Northern edge of the formation.
“Captain,” the command override channel clicks on, “your packages are almost on site. Want you watching for any AA out there.”
Over the local command channel, “Yeah sir, what do you want me to do about their superior air support? I have no anti-missile defense systems or anti air platforms.”
A tech on the command override comes on, “Chute deployment on both Seekers. Gliding into DZ. The Boston is taking fire!”
Sanders watches the screens while looking up trying to spot the event midair. After a second Boston begins to descend much more rapidly than it travels forward. “Chute on the Boston is down Davis. We are going to organize and push further out to secure that Seeker!”
Davis activates the command comm, “Alright four and five push forward, three and six collapse behind them. One, Two and Seven through Ten fall back and get skinny. We gotta hold this point for the
McChrystal.”
On the screen the spinning stars quickly become
blurs spinning faster and faster to indicate near constant fire. The firefight and the lines hold steady for a few moments while the Boston comes crashing to the ground just inside of platoon Five. McChrystal sails and skips across the rugged landscape well within the center of the DZ. With both of the seekers on the ground the lines begin to shift slowly faltering and falling back away from the onslaught. The spinning clusters quickly wink out one here, two there, half a dozen at once and then the lines begin to evaporate under the boiling fire.
“Damn
it Sir! We are getting crucified here. How long till the techs get those damn things running?” Davis yells into his comm.
“How long?” Sanders yells over the tech comm.
“Five minutes sir!”
Sanders looks back down at his forearm at the collapsing lines, “You got about two. That’s two before they blast their way right through my lines. They’re holding! They’re not running so make sure their deaths mean something and you get that shit out there!”
Sanders turns his attention back to the battlefield firing off rounds acting as the only overwatch and reserve while simultaneously painting hot zones with his laser designator on the rifle.
After a mere forty seconds an entire flank of the formation falls apart cut down under air support.
“Incoming!” Sanders yells selecting the region on the map and dragging the command units to cover. Wave after wave of enemy soldiers boils over the dead bodies of his friends crushing their hardened armored bodies under foot before being cut down by the kinetic rounds.
Instantly the balance of power shifts as both seekers come online. The sonic cannons pinpoint soldiers in the focus of their cannons. The vibrations crescendo inside the body of the squids causing them to erupt violently. The cannons sweep back and forth viciously eradicating everything moving without a friendly beacon.
With the firefight settled in a matter of seconds the seekers lurch forward and roll into the river firing up their long screws.
Diving under the shallow water the pair vanish off to wreak havoc on another world.
“Damn,” Davis says limping up weapon dangling still tucked into his shoulder and scanning the battlefield. Sanders just glances at Davis before looking out at the carnage all around. “We went from about one eighty-three at the outset of this firefight and we are down to sixty-one.”
“I’m short-handed on O’s like always. One platoon with an officer. You take one and I’ll take the other. Lt. Divans can take what’s left of eight and ten. You take five, six and seven. I’ll mop up the rest from one through four.”
“Thirteen, twenty and twenty eight?
“Yeah redesignate to Alpha Bravo and Charlie,” This was the fourth restructuring of battle teams. The first round had included colors and numbers, then switched to letters and colors, numbers and lastly just letters.
Sanders watches as the command screen catches up with the restructuring. He sighs looking at the names still remaining on the status screen, “Hope those Seekers get their payloads off. Hope they get them into some organic factory and they kill this planet off in a week.”
Davis kneels down sitting back on his heels, “What are our orders now sir?”
“Hitch a ride off this rock as soon as I ping Admiral Kaffey.”
Sanders glances down at the timer on the bottom right of his display, twenty minutes until Enterprise reaches line of sight.
“Admiral Kaffey this is Captain Sanders Grendel Company 243 requesting pickup. Admiral Kaffey this is Captain Sanders Grendel Company 243 requesting pickup.”
Sanders shrugs at Davis waiting on a reply.
Crackling over all channels, “Roger 243, this is Kaffey. We have transports onboard and being dispatched. ETA twenty-six minutes. Stay on site. Congratulations on getting those seekers up and running. My tech reps inform me that both got loose without taking any damage. Kaffey out.”
“Finally,” Davis rocks forward straightening his back and stretching.
“Alright,” Sanders calls over the recall, “Walk it in. We are being picked up in twenty. Air support will be over head any minute. Keep your eyes open anyway though. . .”
Sanders jerks awake terrified the coffin surrounding him is one of the drop pods from years prior.
Sucking deep gasping breaths his mind races trying to calm itself down. Focusing on his breathing he tries to deepen the breathing and slow its pace.
“Still having those?” A voice whispers inside the rack.
Sanders blinks several times at the LED console trying to make out the letters. His massive pupils swollen in the dark of night resolve the text quickly, MILLER.
“Yeah, drop pods.”
“I hate those,” Miller whispers back.
Heart rate finally slowing Sanders chuckles, “Not as bad as the memories waking up from the cocoon though.”
“Screw that,” Miller whispers shakily over the intercom.
“What’s going on?”
A few seconds elapse as Miller glances around the terminals, “looks all quiet boss. Patrols are all normal. Proxy sensors aren’t showing anything and overhead drones aren’t showing anything on the thermals.”
“Alright, I’ll be back there in the office in about thirty. Anything comes up ring the intercom in the head.”
“Rog.”
Sanders pulls a towel from the closet and heads for the showers. The cool concrete against his bare feet would have felt rough but he only registers the scraping and dragging as friction against his strides.
Standing and soaking under the hot water he lets the entire room steam up before lathering up with soap and washing himself down. He takes the soap and scrubs down his face and scalp. He glances at the shampoo and then turns around to soak under the shower.
Kind of nice not needing shampoo, but I miss it.
Shutting off the hot water he dries himself and pads back to his room. Inside he pulls the sheets up in his rack and straightens them out before sliding it back into the wall and sitting down at the desk to slip into the thin skin that goes under the armor.
Hanging from several hooks he slides the various pieces of the suit on and locks them into each other. First the chest piece and backpack, “You can’t power up any of the systems without the battery pack,” his drill instructors had said. Next came legs, “Doesn’t matter if you can lift your rifle if you can’t move with it on your own.” Locking each of the pieces into the other layers he glances at the helmet and its opened faceplate to check and make sure each piece is correctly locked.
“Reading all green from your suit,” Miller’s voice comes over the speakers in the helmet, not whispering this time.
“Yep, check out a rifle from the armory for me?”
“Assault Rifle or Marauder?”
“Rifle,” Sanders says shrugging. “Not much chance we are going to need anti-vehicular rounds or anti-squid firepower.”
“Is there much chance we will need anti-personnel rounds?”
“Point taken,” Sanders says composite boots clicking down the hallway.
In the control room Miller sits feet propped up behind the bank of holo screens with a rifle set caddy corner on the desk.
Sanders picks it up and checks the magazine to find out how many rounds are loaded, sixty. He chambers a round after finishing the safety checks and clicks it into place on the hard mount holster over his shoulder.
“Like that boss man?” Miller asks.
“Got a feeling Mills.”
The blank black metal helmet nods slightly.
Sanders activates the suit’s interactive command system and accesses the holo screens and checks the inputs from each.
Feeds from the blockades around Solace dominate most of the news feeds.
“Looks like this shit is getting pretty serious. They have significant aerial assets as well as heavy ground armor. We won’t be knocking them over easily. Planet had way more helium on its moon than even the geologic summary said. They’ve been making a killing for nearly half a decade.”
“Yeah,” Sanders crosses his arms, “Looks like we are likely going to be heading over there.”
“Huh?” Miller says helmet turning.
“Yeah O, came in last night after he caught me looking at the deployments. We are looking at heavy installations and heavy armor. If we try and deploy aerial assets
it's going to be a massacre because their equipment is almost as good as ours. We would give it to them, but they’d make it expensive. If we dump Grendels we can secure their infrastructure and some of their equipment keep it from getting into the fight.”
“Last I looked at it last night we were in
standoff. Keeping them from fielding their assets just yet. They can’t keep them in the field forever without costing a fortune as far as power cells so they are only going to deploy them if they think attack is imminent. So they’re going to deploy us and try and get inside that window and secure the supplies before their troops get them.”
“You tell the guys yet?”
“Tell the guys what?” Davis asks locking his rifle across his back.
Sanders glances back over his shoulder, mostly out of habit, while the suit’s cameras panned quickly across his screens to show behind him.
“That we are going to Solace.”
“For sure?” Davis asks.
“Yeah, Boss asked about it last night. Wanted to know what I thought about our strategic situation.”
“Saw the feeds,” Davis says pointing at the holos, “I’d gamble they have way more assets than
what's on that rock.”
“How do you figure?” Sanders crosses his arms and turns to face both Davis and Miller simultaneously.
“Look at all that freight coming off. Hell, they were dragging a freighter or more off those moons once a week. That's a mountain of helium. You can even see how much they have diminished their moons by visual inspection.”
“You mean other planets,” Sanders adds turning to face the windows.
“Yeah, maybe,” Davis says slowly. “I mean where would you be hauling that much crap? Colonies would consume that kind of power, super capital ships, and massive land equipment. Other than that there is no reason to be hoarding that much without selling off most of it.”
“This could be a serious firefight,” Miller sweeps his feet off the table and leans in.
“Glad you saw that as well,” Mr. O says from the door.
“Good morning sir,” Sanders turns.
“Some of my analysts were telling me that it was unlikely they could have gotten up to much in just the ten short years since they started up mining operations on the moon.”
“In
ten years you could build a fleet, field an army and train up a significant number of Grendels. In ten years we sacked the squid home system. Ten years is enough time to build a massive fortune and spend it on a serious war machine.”
“So my next question, is what plans do you have to ensure my families safety if I put your division in charge of the front lines?”
Helmets swivel looking at each other briefly before pausing and looking at Sanders.
“To be honest sir,
you’d have to get off planet. Anything topside is going to make you vulnerable to orbital bombardment. If you put up in one of the old battle cruisers you should be reasonably safe this far from the fighting. The Stand-off Missile Plats carried a marine detachment with them. You could probably tool up a few modules to convert it to spacious living for your family. Keep the weapon systems and shield modules, Keep her way out beyond the range of normal traffic and no one is likely to find you long enough to mount a large enough attack.”
Davis takes a couple of steps into the room away from Owens, “Take a compliment of fighters with you, dock ‘em on the hull. Between a five squad of fighters, onboard drones and the SMP’s weapon system you shouldn’t need to worry about anything.”
“They’d need several destroyers to give you a run and honestly even then you would be able to pop them before they got through your shields.” Sanders finishes and steps toward Davis and Owens.
“Glad I kept one of those back in orbit then,” O says scratching his head. “Sent the rest of them to the front because the analysts advised we would likely face significant aerial support. Well Dave, You and the boys pack it up. You’ll be on the shuttle tonight. We have a transport heading out there tomorrow.”
Sanders nods and glances at the other two, nodding as his helmet sweeps across them.