Galaxy's Edge: Savage Wars

by Jason Anspach

  The work was short and merciless. In the course of the assault, one Savage indirect fire team, operating what looked to be some kind of micro-mech-based mortar system, detonated one of their own rounds, taking out an emplacement next to theirs. Hastening the destruction of the Savage counterassault force massed outside of the bank.

  Within a minute the work was over, and Martin and Marks fell back to the building’s edge near the roof access and knelt next to the short wall that separated them from the twenty-story drop below.

  The colonel attempted to reach Ogilvie’s CIC. “This is Ranger Actual to Doghouse. Objective Anchor has been neutralized. How copy?”

  There was no reply from CIC call sign Doghouse.

  “Can’t get through to doghouse,” Marks said to Martin.

  The point man nodded.

  The colonel tapped for the sergeant major. Still no reply. Andres had either been killed, or was having comm problems also.

  He tried again, hoping that sheer persistence would succeed.

  Amazingly, he got a connection. Automatic pulse fire reverberated in the background of his senior NCO’s feed as it skipped in and out.

  “… engaged, sir. But we’ll hold,” came the reply after identification exchange.

  The colonel decided his top NCO was too busy to try to connect with Doghouse from his end. But at least he was still alive.

  “Copy that,” replied the colonel and broke comm.

  “Sir! Titans!” shouted Martin, pointing to incoming Titan bombers sweeping in off the ocean at bomb-run altitude.

  Titans were massive eight-engine bat-winged UW craft that could be dropped from the underside of a carrier. Marks watched as they closed in on New Vega in perfect formation. Ahead of them a swarm of twin-tailed interceptors, engines on max burn, swarmed across the city, streaking in from far to near at thunderclap speed.

  Ogilvie had gone strategic.

  “Get back inside!” Marks shouted.

  It was their only hope now.

  They were running for the rooftop access door when all hell broke loose across the city below as a wave of destruction swept toward them.

  32

  The wounded Sergeant Major Andres had no inkling at two minutes out that a flight of Titans, eight in all, were about to drop fifty-six thousand pounds of explosives on the eastern side of Triangle Square and up along the Hilltop District onto the very Nest itself. Most of the bombs in the mix would be high-impact confined-radius dumb bombs with a sensor-directed munitions package. But the real kickers were the four deep-impact explosive giant bombs, called GeeBees by the UW navy. These would crater bunkers that had been buried deep. And all four were to be used against Triangle Square.

  Yet even had the senior NCO known of the impending airstrike, it still would not have been the most lethal problem confronting his defense of the main entrance to the First Bank of New Vega. He and the agile Specialist Makneil had fought off two waves of Savage attacks against the entrance to the bank fortress, burning through charge pack ammo and firing on full auto, but already another attack was coming in fast from the Savage lines, and this one was… different.

  It hardly mattered that UW armor and infantry could be seen rolling into the far end of the square. The final push was on. Even with help in sight, the horrible end seemed near at hand.

  That end took the form of a massive armored Savage marine—either an enormous human in gargantuan armor or a nine-foot-tall mech. He lumbered across the square, backed by smaller armored Savage marines in support, and carried what looked like a flamethrower. Except it wasn’t flame it was dispensing, but hot jets of molten metal that spewed forward in unexpected bursts that were almost mesmerizing.

  A burst of the liquid metal caught Makneil in the doorway, covering him in what looked like molten burning brass. He probably screamed, or tried to, but the heat and molted slag denied him that final act, mercifully cooking him to nothing within half a second.

  The sergeant major swore in shock and anger as he backed away, swapping in his last charge pack.

  The Savage giant was ten meters from the entrance when he let go with the molten sprayer again. This time he sent his hot jet of liquid metal right through the doorway and into the smashed and shattered security lobby. Any portion of the walls and floor that was touched ignited instantly, and the glowing orange-red slag oozed down the heavy cement barricades.

  The heat was almost unbearable, and the position was immediately no longer defensible.

  Andres heard the trundling servo-assisted gait of the giant coming up the steps to the bank, crushing the ancient marble as it moved. Hinges and joints whining with hydraulic sighs.

  At that moment he got a flash priority communication override from Combat Information Center Doghouse to every asset on the battlefield.

  “FLASH. FLASH. FLASH.”

  It was the AI override message. Then a voice. “GeeBee airstrike inbound. Shelter in place. Seek cover immediately if you are in the open.”

  No one would know it, because the strike would kill the S-3 and everyone in the TOC, but the staff officer had disregarded orders and was at least attempting to warn everyone on the battlefield of the impending massive airstrike with a short terse verbal message that might save some.

  A moment later the bombs began to fall, well behind the forwardmost line of engagement.

  33

  Carrier Defiant

  Task Force Wrath

  Vega System

  “Latest update from the Explorer matches our jump calc, Admiral. Bombers inbound for Alpha Strike.”

  Sulla studied the readiness display from his task force.

  The Omari was their lead combat ship—a Spilursan battle cruiser that had seen action at Tellae and the Battle of Shirawa. The capital ship was supported by two UW destroyer escorts, the largest ship the failing government could afford after production of her iconic super-carriers. But both the Isolde and Galahad had top-rated crews who’d faced pirate actions countless times. Combined with the support of the Espanian missile frigate Campeche, that was more than enough to knock out a lone Savage hulk—provided they caught her in atmosphere. Or at least it had been before.

  Normally fat and slow, the old lighthuggers the Savages used, when caught before ramping up to their incredible sub-light speeds, were easy pickings for even just an assault frigate so long as it was carrying the proper ordnance and the Savages being pursued hadn’t developed a means of staving them off with interceptors or other tricks.

  Following the Omari, Isolde, Galahad, and Campeche would be Sulla’s own flagship, the carrier Defiant, and her tiny escort group composed of the secondary assault frigate group and the defensive escorts Bauer and Joan D’Arc.

  All of this was simply overkill for a single Savage lighthugging hulk.

  But this entire operation was supposed to be an exhibition. An example to show that even a planet as infected as New Vega could be saved—instead of annihilated and made unusable—by the growing confederation of post-Earth galactic worlds.

  So far, the army was getting beat bad. But the navy could come in and end this. Which was what was about to happen on the other side of the micro-jump.

  But there was another objective—a secret mission that few knew about. Annihilating the Savages to the point of nonexistence was always the public goal. The declared goal. But there were bonuses obtained from within the flotsam of the wreckage of a burning Savage hulk. Out there in the dark, the Savages, once the best and brightest of Earth, had perfected technologies over the span of their long hauls. Oftentimes producing results that strayed so far from the galactic evolution of technology that they were effectively wonders.

  Sulla had witnessed that much firsthand.

  Fantastic results. The stuff of miracles.

  The fabled longevity some of the Savages were rumored to have, for instance, Sulla knew to be r
eal. That particular technological breakthrough had escaped the Savages’ human descendants. As had other equally wonderful techs acquired within the occasional ruin of Savage madness, or through interrogations on worlds the stellar charts had conveniently edited out of existence.

  UW’s star might be fading, but the navy and military-industrial complex that had ruled what was considered the core of the galaxy these last two hundred years was not without teeth.

  And if all went well…

  … if today went well…

  Then maybe something new was on the horizon.

  A republic of stellar nations reaching all the way to the edge of the galaxy.

  “Stand by for payload. Bombers almost to target.”

  Sulla unclenched his fists.

  Almost there, he told himself.

  Almost.

  The Savages were a cause the various galactic nations could unite behind. Destroying them decisively would bind the worlds together.

  Today could be the beginning of a better thing the galaxy had never known. A galactic republic that would bring peace and prosperity to all.

  A combined force, a true coalition of nations, coming together to defeat a Savage hulk that had managed to ruin a premier world… and then that world coming back online in the next few years as every nation lent a hand to rebuild… that would be the argument to band together. That would be the example. The lesson.

  Working together to achieve great things.

  They would show all that not only could it be done, but that it was vital to do so. Today, they would make that argument.

  Yes… thought Sulla.

  They will see.

  34

  Dropped from the Indomitable, the massive B-500 Titans came in low across the ocean, out in the waters beyond New Vega City’s eastern and southern shores, then started their climb to pick up altitude as they crossed over the cliffs that lined the coastline to the east of the city. The 538th Interceptor Squadron, Phantoms, streaked ahead to clear the target of A-A fire and ground fire, ready to engage any interceptors the Savages may have been mysteriously holding back from the battle.

  The initial pass by the Phantoms yielded little to no A-A fire, as all units were engaged in fierce ground fighting in and around the target. But within twenty seconds the interceptor leader, call sign Spitball, picked up multiple bogies inbound from twenty thousand. He ordered the Phantoms to break and engage now that the bombers were nearing the strike zone.

  Meanwhile the Titan leader had greenlights on all bomb systems and was tracking good on the drop. Ordnance was armed and they were standing by for weapon release.

  “Sir,” Titan Leader’s bombardier said, “I’m getting several warnings: friendly targets in the zone.”

  Titan Leader frowned. His bombardier was tasked with overseeing the elementary targeting software. “Maybe too many different ID tags from all those Coalition forces?”

  “Maybe, sir. But we’re supposed to have them all linked into the system.”

  That system was a smart-release ordnance safety meant to protect targets identified as friendly. Military organizations often worked to maximize damage and minimize friendly fire by allowing targeting software to update in real-time who was friendly and who wasn’t.

  “Hadn’t we better call it in?” asked the bombardier, surely aware of how this might scrub the run.

  “Yeah,” Titan Leader said, switching to his wing comm to call off the attack.

  “Wait! It’s cleared up! I’ve got clear locks.”

  Titan Leader let out a heavy sigh. He switched to the wing comm. “Watch for targeting anomalies but be ready. Those Savage interceptors are giving our Phantoms a tough time.”

  Ahead, fighting over the massive Savage hulk—the Nest—were scores of fighters locked in winner-take-all dogfights. If any of those Savage ships were able to break off and get to the Titans… Titan Leader didn’t want to think about what that might do to the formation.

  The bombardier sat watching his displays, waiting for his window to go green.

  “Titan Eight, bombs out!” came the call over the wing comm.

  The bombardier turned to look at Titan Leader in the cockpit. The pilot, along with his co-pilot, met the man’s gaze, concern on all three faces.

  It was too soon. They couldn’t be over target yet.

  But before any of them had a chance to question it, another voice came over comm: “Titan Six, bombs out!”

  “Titan Seven, bombs out!”

  And so it went until the bombardier’s display went green. “Firing solution acquired, Titan Leader.”

  “Drop ’em,” replied the pilot.

  Because the Savages were bearing down hard, breaking away from the Phantoms and screaming toward the formation. And this bombing run… was everything.

  “Titan Leader, bombs out!”

  ***

  Titan Eight, the last Titan in the strike, had been the first to release her ordnance, dropping her explosives well behind enemy lines. Or so the ship’s bombardier believed; so the ship’s sensors had told him.

  In reality, the release devasted the rear echelon of Coalition forces. The Coalition’s mobile TOC was vaporized, as were several supply units, along with a field-action surgical team operating close to the lines in support of combat operations.

  Had Titan Eight’s bombardier been trained in the subtleties of electronic warfare, he might have noticed that the smart-release ordnance safety had suddenly reconciled by throwing friendlies much farther back than they had previously been on the grid. And had he noticed this, he would undoubtedly have questioned such a potentially disastrous shift of assets on the map.

  But he didn’t notice. Didn’t question.

  It didn’t even occur to him—or to anyone in the strike—that the Savages had reacted to the incoming threat by changing the playing board. Effectively, they had painted friendly forces as hostiles.

  With devastating success.

  Titan Six followed in short order, dropping seven thousand pounds of ordnance on the main element of Coalition forces coming up Grand to attack the eastern edge of Triangle Square. Infantry caught in the open or sheltering behind the big Sentinels and Wolverines fighting their way through heavy anti-armor fire were blown to pieces as the first of the ground-penetrating weapons slammed into the street, sending explosive blasts rippling through the lines.

  More ordnance airstrikes detonated roughly five stories above the surface. Buildings were literally blown in half and collapsed onto other neighbors or into the streets. Teams of both Coalition and Savage operators fighting for these high vantage points were instantly killed by storm fronts of flying debris.

  Someone running the data from Indomitable, looking past the horror of what was transpiring, estimated the main body of the Coalition assault suffered at least ninety percent casualties within the span of ten seconds. Tanks were flattened or blown off like children’s playthings. Blast waves of glass and molten steel spread out into other streets, killing flanking units and causing casualties as high as fifty percent in tertiary assault support units.

  Those aboard Titan Six would, perhaps mercifully, never know what they had wrought. Moments after dropping its load, Titan Six was riddled by Savage interceptor fire and crashed west of Hilltop, going up in a swirl of flames and belching black smoke that promised there were no survivors.

  In almost the same moment, Titan Seven released both of its GeeBees, the immense bunker-busting weapons. GeeBee One scored a direct hit after boost, penetrated deep into the subterranean levels used by the New Vega Transit Authority, and went off like the biggest firecracker short of an actual nuclear weapon. GeeBee Two cratered Triangle Square, killing much of the infantry fighting in the surrounding buildings as well as supporting armor.

  It was worse than anyone could have possibly imagined.

  At
least the Savages, despite their victory over the Titan targeting systems, were not free of casualties. Most of their forces operating forward of the Nest were wiped out along with their Coalition adversaries.

  Still, it was better for them than it could have been. By far.

  The Titan strike leader was the only ship that actually dropped on target, deploying a long line of bombs up to the Savage colony ship set down on the eastern side of the Hilltop District. Yet the damage, while terrific, did little more than ruin streets and devastate buildings of little tactical value. It wasn’t expected to do so. There drop was a calculated precursor meant to clear the way of any hidden, last-resort A-A emplacements that might be waiting to take down Titan Five as it roared to drop the two remaining GeeBees on the Savage Hulk itself.

  Titan Five was in the sights of another Savage interceptor that had managed to break through the line of defenders from the 538th Fighter Wing. The Savage fighter scored several hits on the Titan, but the big bomber managed to release one GeeBee anyway, dropping it short, just west of the Nest and close to Hilltop. The blast collapsed an entire city block that was most likely unoccupied by Savage forces. The second GeeBee refused to release and went down with Titan Five when she crash-landed in the government district, detonating with the ship and leveling buildings from the thunderous surface explosion.

  And then it was all over. The surviving Titans raced to return to mother while the Phantoms provided cover, too focused on staying alive and shooting down their opponents to notice the stunned silence coming from the command comm.

  Strike Force Warhammer had been reduced to combat ineffectiveness within the span of less than a minute.

  35

  “Sound off now!” shouted the sergeant major over the comm in the aftermath of the series of tremendous explosions that had rocked the bank—and the entire city.

  Some of the men of the Twenty-Fifth Spilursan Light were answering. Many were not.

  The colonel rolled over onto his side in the dust-filled stairwell. He and the kid, as he thought of Martin, had made it back inside just before the bombs began to drop.