“Fuck!” Rizer yelled in frustration.
“We could sure use some rockets right now,” Scrap said.
Leone responded, “Wishes don’t win battles, asshole.”
“Sheesh, just making a comment!” Scrap said. “Get your panties unbunched, corporal!”
Another laser blast hit the Scorpion, blowing its stern about a meter to one side.
“We can’t fucking stay here!” Michaud said.
Yeah, no shit. But where the fuck do we go? The nearest building was thirty meters away. Even utilizing jump packs, not everyone would make it, and those who did would still be pinned down.
The next Union artillery barrage slammed down, all rounds directed at the IFV. The front end took a hard hit. Again Rizer buried his visor in the deck, though he kept his eyes open. The air hummed with hot shrapnel. CPL CALDER KIA. LCPL DOONE KIA. MEDICAL BOT FLORENCE DESTROYED.
We gotta run for it. “Jump packs! To that building!” Rizer pointing to his right. He prepared to engage thrusters as rounds continued to hammer the Scorpion’s hull.
As multiple distant explosions shook the ground, Bach laughed. “Could it fucking be?” He peered over the deck of the Scorpion, which was suddenly free from small-arms fire.
Rizer joined him. The garage dissolved under a blanket of explosions, as hundreds of bomblets rained down on it from a cluster shell. A fireball rose from the building in an orange cloud that quickly dissipated into tarry smoke.
“That’s worth the price of admission,” Hogue said.
Rizer acted as forward observer and texted Zeus himself: 41ST BN GARAGE DESTROYED OVER.
Zeus and Bravo 112—the latter back online—responded: AFFIRMATIVE OVER.
Stiglitz and Ghost, partnered with wayward Marines from other units, were clearing the streets around the LZ. “Let’s help ’em out!”
Before Rizer could move, a text from Lt Dupaul appeared on his HUD: DOOM SQUAD REPORT TO M123 TOC IMMEDIATELY.
He lives! Not shocking at all; Lt Dupaul, quite fond of his own skin, kept his worthless hide close to the tactical operations center at all cost. AFFIRMATIVE, Rizer responded, veering away to lead Doom to Murder Company’s tactical operation center, not far away.
Advance Union forces had yet to infiltrate Murder’s company area. Armed with an M-17 and dressed in spotless armor, Dupaul waited outside the TOC, which was a madhouse of activity. Rizer figured he wanted Doom to man heavy weapons in the area, which was pretty much deserted, the companies of 123rd Battalion returning to Shaw.
“Corporal Rizer reporting as ordered, sir.”
“The CO needs Doom to evacuate some civilians and contractors under attack near the northwest perimeter. The enemy is pounding us hard there and also at the east gate. Advance forces have already infiltrated, as you’ve noticed, and if the two main bodies break through, they could cut the base in half and divide our forces. Monitor your HUDs carefully. I’ve already entered your destination; all you have to do is go. That was excellent work securing the LZ.”
Though Dupaul’s last comment sounded genuine, Rizer didn’t care to hear it. Too many men had died behind that vehicle—not to mention Evil and Fury being wiped out with one shot—while Dupaul watched.
“Aye aye, sir. We’ll need transportation if we’re to pick up civilians. More ammo too.”
“There are no Scorpions to be spared, so I’ve commandeered two GP-19s for your mission. Each has four crates of ammo, if they haven’t grown legs, which should be enough to get you there and back. There are loaded mags for your rifles around the corner, along with half a dozen disposable rocket launchers and assorted grenades. Reload and depart immediately. Best of luck.”
“Aye aye, sir.” Spare me. “Let’s get reloaded.”
Doom left Dupaul standing there, as useless as ever. They picked up full mags, the rockets, and a few belts of light machinegun ammo. As they rearmed Rizer realized that the ammo and equipment piled up was likely collected from dead and wounded Marines.
They ran to the GP-19s: small, lightly armored, wheeled vehicles with seating for five in the cabin. The general-purpose vehicles were a common sight on forward operating bases and in rear areas. Fondly named Hogs, the compact transport easily navigated muddy terrain.
Each had an open crew-served weapons platform at the rear. One of their Hogs carried a M-411 plasma minigun, the other a belt-fed grenade launcher. Rizer divided the squad between the vehicles. He commanded the Hog with the M-411, with Bach driving, Leone the gunner, and Scrap her A-gunner. Injured Merill rode shotgun in the other, Hogue at the wheel. Michaud manned the grenade launcher, with PFC Duran assisting. The minigun was better suited for clearing a path through the streets, so Rizer took the lead.
“You know how to drive this thing?” Rizer asked, as Bach had taken the wheel without orders.
Bach chuckled, his amusement laced with sadistic promise. “All of the Bachs are stellar drivers. It’s our one and only talent.” He slammed the truck into gear and took off.
“Are you all annoying schnooks too?” Leone asked, somehow hanging on as Bach rounded turns at ludicrous speed, red mud flying from the tires.
“Just me and my brothers.”
Scrap asked, “You mean there are more of you?”
“Goddamn frightening,” Leone said.
“Buck up, Marie; this ride is just beginning!” Blowing the horn, Bach swerved around the front of a Mauler emerging from a side street into an intersection.
The tank payed them no heed, not slowing. Hogue steered around the tank’s rear and kept pace. Both drivers were soon steering around corpses, avoiding the Marines though sometimes running over the Union dead.
They needed to cross 41st Battalion’s area, a zone crawling with enemy infantry, to reach their destination. Bach skirted the LZ, where a dropship had just taken off.
As long as we have that, there’s still hope.
Bach fishtailed around a corner and floored it, surprising an enemy fire team as they ran across the next intersection. Leone opened up with the minigun, shooting the legs off the trailing man. While that soldier tried to crawl with only his arms, the other three took cover at the corner of a building and stuck out their rifles, returning fire.
Yeah, right!
Prefab buildings made shitty cover against heavy weapons, as the enemy learned when Leone blew apart their hiding spot, slaughtering one man and scaring the other two away. As they roared through the intersection, Rizer shot one of the fleeing soldiers, a flash of crimson taking him down. They flew past too quickly for him to tell if it was a kill.
“Look at that gaggle-fuck around Forty-First’s quad,” Bach said.
The gaggle Bach spoke of was a platoon of insurgents mixed in with Union troops in the street behind Bravo Company’s barracks. Four company barracks formed the quad, with an armory in the center surrounded by a PT field. Insurgents occupied the barracks, firing upon the armory, softening it up to take it out the old-fashioned way, by frontal assault as opposed to artillery. They could then seize the weapons for their own use. No one home, 41st was either annihilated or still in the field; Rizer had no idea.
The armory would fall eventually, but Rizer wanted to help his beleaguered brothers within hold out a bit longer. “Michaud, blast the shit out of Charlie Company’s barracks’ upper floor as we pass by. Leone, stand by to gun down these Vics around the corner.” He turned to Bach. “Do not run anyone down! Let her do the work.” Striking a man in power armor head-on might damage their Hog.
“Roger, Baltazar!”
“Fuck off!”
Michaud opened fire with the grenade launcher, the belt-fed weapon thumping as a salvo of grenades lashed the front of the building. Bits of debris from Charlie Company’s barracks fell into the street as they drove past. The enemy did not return fire; doubtless they were shocked to be attacked in a sector they considered clear.
Tires squealed on metal grating as Bach rounded the corner and s
traightened out. Thirty men awaited them, alerted by sensors, the two squads split between either side of the street. Not a stick of cover to be seen. Leone sprayed the alley with the minigun, the weapon whining as a torrent of bolts crackled down range. The stream of plasma energy scythed down the troops, liberating appendages, and filling the alley with a cloud of red mist. A handful of enemy troops managed to return fire from bits of cover at the far end of alley. Sparks shot from the Hog’s windshield and hood, as bolts pecked at the armor plating and pitted the thick plexiglass.
“Sorry, boss, gotta do it.” Bach veered left to run down soldiers, a prudent move as it turned out.
They scattered at his approach. Their comrades to the right likewise tried to flee before the minigun mowed them down. Rizer’s head jolted on his neck as Bach struck a fleeing soldier and knocked him flat, the vehicle lurched over the human speedbump. More followed, Bach never quite hitting them dead-on.
Rizer didn’t dare expose himself out the side window but fired as they roared past, taking down at least two men.
“Uggh! Agony! Agony!” Scrap cried.
Rizer refrained from turning around and slapping the bot only because his hands were occupied. “What the fuck’s your problem?”
“He got his fucking arm blown off!” Leone said. “What the fuck kinda detour was that?”
“Just trying to help the Forty-First,” Rizer said. “I’ll avoid further engagements.”
“You fucking better! Now I don’t have an A-gunner, you stupid fuckstick!”
Scrap groaned. “Was this trip… really necessary?”
Grenades and gunfire flashed in the rearview display as Hogue drove through the remaining troops, likewise striking a couple. On a dark day for A-gunners, PFC Duran took a plasma bolt as they drove away.
Michaud reported, “Duran’s hit in the leg; he’ll have to stay with the vehicles!”
Still functional.
Bach shrugged. “Well, somebody has to stay with them.”
“Shitty humor, another Bach family talent,” Leone said.
“But seriously now, we have enemy armor blocking our planned route,” Bach said.
Rizer caught sight of two mechs entering an intersection two blocks down. “Hang a left now!”
Bach made the turn in time, but the mechs fired on the second Hog as Hogue rounded the corner. In the rearview camera, four laser bolts blew apart the corner of a building, missing Hogue’s truck by centimeters. Rizer noted the mechs’ position on his map display and made a text call for fire, not that it would do much good.
“Will you stop trying to kill us, Rizer?” Michaud yelled. “I felt the fucking heat off that!”
“It’s only gonna get hotter. Couple more turns and we’re there.”
Bach teased, “Can I stay behind with the vehicles too?”
“No.” Rizer beat Bach to his punchline: “And do not call me Baltazar!”
CHAPTER 31
Annihilation.
General Hella paced the floor in 42nd Division’s briefing room at Camp Shaw, deep in thoughts often interrupted by alerts of another Union breakthrough. You bastards, he thought, not of the enemy but the Joint Defense Council. The enemy was doing what enemies were supposed to do; the Council had not.
Union forces advanced in waves of red dots on monitors covering the walls, overrunning and eliminating the green Marine units. This is what treaties buy you, Deely. He thought of Barrington, Zheen, Lonacker. You received the half-assed war you paid for, gentlemen, with predictable results.
“Rocco, get me 112’s CO asap. I’m getting goddamned tired of begging for artillery support.” After his initial call for fire, Bravo 112 had delayed over five minutes before bombarding 41st Battalion’s motor pool. Four and a half minutes longer than it should have taken.
“Aye, sir.” Rocco sounded as unflappable as ever.
He had good reason to be. If we’re overrun, he’s the only other Marine here likely to fight his way out. All personnel at division HQ were armed and wearing skins, but Hella didn’t kid himself. His band of geriatric generals and their admin assistants wouldn’t put up much of a fight if the Union suddenly broke into division HQ. But if it happens, Rocco and I will go down fighting.
Aware of the forces they were facing from the first reports of invasion, Rear Admiral Turner had advised Hella to direct the defense of Verdant from his field HQ near Kataro, as opposed to entering the combat zone. Hella ignored him and flew immediately to Shaw, taking Turner’s two intel men with him.
“Report coming in, sir,” said General Hoffman. “Alpha Battery 112 is no longer operational.”
Hella shook his head, gritted his teeth to keep his bearing. “What’s the word from 112’s CO, Rocco?”
“Nothing yet, sir. Bravo 112 has over twenty fire missions in queue.”
“Divert all calls for fire to this command, both artillery and air support. General Brox and I will determine priority targets and assign the missions accordingly.”
“Aye, s—”
Hoffman cut in. “Axe Company 41st Infantry reporting heavy casualties from the northwest perimeter, sir,”
“God dammit!” Hella muttered. “What assets can we divert to that area?”
“None, sir, unless we take them from the defense force guarding the LZ.”
Not an option.
The headquarters building shook from a nearby artillery barrage.
“That’s Charlie 112,” Brox said, reading Hella’s mind since he had no idea of who fired. “Target was an advance enemy squad about two hundred meters from here.”
Rocco said, “Sir, displaying text transmission from CO 112.”
The message appeared on a monitor: A BTRY DESTROYED, B AND C BTRY MUNITIONS NEARLY EXHAUSTED, D BTRY ABANDONING POSITION NO AMMO.
“I want a status report on air support elements,” Hella said. “Both our gunships and naval support at Phoenix.”
“Sir, Phoenix has no fighters to support us,” said Turner. “All elements are directed against the air invasion.”
Hoffman confirmed, “The gunship squadrons are swamped and taking heavy losses, sir.”
“I’ve got my XO sorting out the air support requests,” Brox reported. “We’d need about three more squadrons to cover them all.”
In Hella’s experience, good news rarely traveled fast, while bad news had a vexing tendency to arrive in swift packs.
“Sir.” SgtMaj Wilson pointed to a monitor. “Enemy company diverting to the LZ. They’ll outnumber us there.”
Rather than respond directly Hella called the CO of November Company, 123rd Battalion. “Get your company to the LZ asap, captain. Hold there at all costs. Over.”
He expected the stunned silence from the staff and aides in the wake of his order. Nightmare formed their sole protection, stationed downstairs and in the streets around division HQ.
“Excuse me, sir,” Turner said. “Might I have a word in private?” He led the way to a corner, the quietest spot in a chaotic room.
Hoffman joined them.
“Sir, the latest computer models predict a zero-percent chance of holding Camp Shaw,” Turner stated. “The latest reports from 79th Division are almost as discouraging, their chances of holding out, twelve percent and falling.” The 79th occupied the other side of Verdant.
Hoffman said, “Our plan to consolidate and hold here is no longer tenable. Evacuation seems our only alternative, sir.”
“Sir, 41st Battalion’s CO has been killed in action,” Rocco reported. “Their XO is mortally wounded, and several other officers are missing. Battalion sergeant major is now their actual.”
Enough already. Losing was aggravating—watching his Marines being slaughtered in a hopeless fight was unacceptable. “Get me Admiral Erskin.” He paused. “Then broadcast the order to evacuate.”
***
Admiral Erskin had never seen Aaron so haggard. Hell, she’d never seen anyone worn so thin.
&n
bsp; “I have all of my remaining dropships picking up units in the field,” said General Hella’s hologram, his words metallic, static-riddled, intermittently slurred by interference. “They’ll fly directly to the Resolute. You’ll have to supply the rest of the ships, all you have, immediately. Send two-thirds to Camp Shaw, the rest to evacuate the 79th.”
“Aye aye, general,” she responded. “I’ll deploy immediately.”
“We need naval guns on this side to cover the evacuation; 79th has their fill of support.”
That would require moving Sixth Fleet to the other side of Verdant, into direct confrontation with the main Union battle fleet. It was inevitable. That’s what we’re here for. “Sending the order now.” Erskin alerted the bridge and all of her commanders, then reported, “Naval fire support will be available within twenty-five minutes, sir. ETA of first transports at Shaw is thirty minutes. I’ll dedicate all available assets to the evacuation. Hold out down there, general.”
“We’re trying, but it’s all damage control now. What’s the fleet’s status?”
“Union fighters attacked us twenty minutes ago. Several vessels are damaged, including the Resolute, and two are out of commission.”
She didn’t mention one of those two was the Astoria, which would burn in a flash and disintegrate like a shooting star upon entering Verdant’s atmosphere. Hella had enough to worry about without tossing Kyle into the mix, and Erskin had faith that Commander Mako would get his ship back online before disaster struck. He has to. I need his guns… I need every gun.
“Things are tough all over today. Good luck against the fleet, admiral.” Hella stared at her, his hologram head a brutish yet delicate ice sculpture. He appeared to want to say something more but instead cut his transmission.
Erskin raised Vice Admiral Hale, currently at the helm. “Full ahead to the other side of the moon. Naval guns will support evacuation of Camp Shaw and Phoenix. Put fighters on standby to launch a counterattack on their fleet, departure in fifteen minutes if they don’t come for us first. I’ll be on the bridge in five.”
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