“I can’t get over the size of the dome,” Kennedy said. More levels extended towards the moist dome, with more people going about their lives. Chaney chuckled.
“Trust me, if you saw the outside of a habitat, you’d be speechless,” Chaney said. “Of course that comes with working in space occasionally.” Kennedy leaned over the railing, staring down at the abyss. Voices echoed endlessly through the underground city.
“How’s your particle weapon project going?” he asked. Chaney grimaced and shook his head.
“It’s a great weapon system,” he said. “We’re just lacking on efficient power sources, or scaling down to panzerter scale, but it works.” Kennedy sighed.
“I’m not going to lie, things seem to move so fast at the front,” he said. “You blink and a week, a month has gone by, but here everything’s so slow.” Chaney smiled.
“We’re in an island of peace, Kennedy,” he said. “The war hasn’t reached here, even as the people create goods to aid the people on the front, Roosevelt has been pacified, and the Olympians are collapsing.” He pointed to the dome overhead. “We’re out of the range of Tharcian bombing, Congregation enjoys a level of piece and security unobtainable elsewhere in our country.” Kennedy stood up and stretched.
“So what you’re saying is I’m getting a glimpse of the postwar world?” he asked. Chaney nodded and clapped him on the shoulder.
“Put on something comfortable, we’re going to take a look at something below,” he said. “But first, I need to pick up some guests.”
“How many new machines?” Reiter asked. Across the table from him, Lieutenant Colonel Hawke held a personnel roster and an update to his TO&E. Tapping the latter document, the older man slid it over to him.
“Not a lot,” he said. “A couple tracks for the scouts and infantry, and a refurbished Panzerter IV, but that’s the price you pay for more parts for the Lowe.” Reiter sighed.
“What about these lieutenants?” he asked. “Know anything about them?” Hawk glanced around the personnel roster for a moment before shaking his head.
“No, they’re both fresh out of college, haven’t even been to OLC,” the regimental commander replied. “On the downside, they couldn’t be greener, but on the plus side they’ll be easier to develop.”
“Assuming they live,” Reiter said. “Which the way things have been going is hardly a guarantee.” Hawke leaned back in his chair and stretched. At that moment, Rieter noticed the bags under his eyes.
“Their odds are better if they’re riding a Lowe,” Hawk said. “Most panzerters don’t have that level of durability.” Rieter shook his head.
“The controls are too sensitive for a rookie pilot,” he said. “Especially if they expect it to be slow and cumbersome. No, if we get another one it will go to one of my Sergeants, I’ve had them sim piloting mine in case I went down.”
“Not an unreasonable plan,” Hawke noted. “This whole war has been an absolute meat grinder and we’re not even two-and-a-half months in.” He looked up at the theater map on the wall of his office, really the manager’s office in the diner serving as the Regiment’s command post. “One and a half million dead, wounded, or missing, and it’s only December.”
“I wonder how many losses the Union’s taken,” Rieter replied. “If they weren’t hurting too, they’d be doing more than probing us here.” Hawke shrugged.
“Not sure, they knocked out Roosevelt and most of Olympia with ridiculous speed,” he replied. “But you’re right, at what cost?” He handed the documents to Rieter. “Anyway, maintain your company’s position, I suspect when Olympia finally crumbles, they’ll renew they’re efforts against us, and I’m not sure we hold out.” He pointed out the door. “We’re already rotating Early Company to take over your scouts sector, your remaining forces will serve as Regimental QRF until you get stood up, understood?” Rieter nodded.
“Well, thank you for the reinforcements and equipment,” Reiter said with a sharp salute. “Merry Christmas, sir.” Hawke smiled as he returned his salute.
“Merry Christmas Captain, you’re dismissed,” he said. As he left the diner, he checked his watch. With his 1st Sergeant buried in paperwork related to their wounded and dead, he decided to check on the scouts. The mechanized scout platoon had been a recent addition to his company since they’d reorganized themselves. I don’t know a ton about scouts, so I might as well go use them.
He found them in a smaller parking lot near the lot containing their panzerters. Point Defense turrets scanned the skies for enemy drones and dropships while the scouts mulled about near their tracks. They’d started with four infantry fighting vehicles, but were down to three now.
“Gentlemen,” he called. “How are you holding up?” The scouts stopped talking amongst themselves and starred. Hardly a warm reception. “Who’s in charge here?” One of the scouts approached him. The man sported greasy black hair and a powerful mustache. Though he hardly came up to Reiter’s chest, he still seemed formidable.
“I am,” he said. “Master Sergeant Lysak, I’m the platoon sergeant around here.” Rieter nodded.
“Captain Rieter, I apologize we weren’t able to talk to your group much before you set your screen.” The other man shook his head.
“It happens,” he said. “Chaos of war and all.” Rieter motioned the other man to follow him.
“So how are your boys holding up?” he asked. The older man stared in the distance as he walked alongside him.
“They’ll survive,” he said. “They have to if we’re going to win this war.” Rieter frowned.
“That’s not what I’m asking, Sergeant,” he said. “I need a picture of their headspace.”
“With all due respect, sir,” the Sergeant said. “The only thing you need to know is if they’re ready to fight, and how they’re fighting.” This guy’s a piece of work, but I have to work with him.
“Well, your people are scouts,” Rieter said. “So I’m going to need all kinds of information from you because my intelligence priorities are different depending on the mission.” He stopped and turned on the other man. “And we’re refitting right now, so my intelligence priority is who are these scouts I have attached to me and how can I help them accomplish their mission.” The Master Sergeant’s glare was colder than the surrounding snow.
“We’re Tharcian scouts,” he said. “Simple as that, you don’t need every sob story from these whiney privates that don’t know anything to know where to put us, and as to accomplishing our mission? You stay out of the way.” When Adamski gets a chance, we need to look into these guys. He looked back to the other scouts and sighed.
“Well, if you need anything from us, you know where the TOC is,” he said before walking away. As the sun began to sink towards the horizon, he stuck his head in the Company TOC, just to make sure they were ok in there. A heater with an image of a fire place warmed the small storefront they used. 1st LT Comidus, his executive officer, manned the main monitors while Sergeant Steele pecked away on a keyboard. The young woman rubbed something in her left hand while typing with her right.
“Everything ok Steele?” he asked. “Your hand hurt?” She shook her head and showed him a small strand of prayer beads.
“They were Bartonova’s,” she said. “She gave them to me before we lost her, because she wanted me to be safe.” On hearing Bartonova’s name, he laid a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s ok, you’re not doing anything wrong,” he said. “Carry on.” He retrieved a laptop from a small computer bank. “Deuce, I’ll be out in the Lowe if you need me, Steele, I’m going to take care of Merlin’s citation, you just worry about Zorro.” The pair acknowledged him and Rieter ventured back out into the cold.
It didn’t take him long to get back to their motor pool. Passing the snowbag laden panzerters of Black Platoon, he crawled into the cockpit of his own machine. Switching the Lowe into idle, he turned on his bum warmer and opened the computer.
Before he went to work, he glanced to
his right. Bartonova smiled back at him, her muscular body soaking the sun. Vargas cheered from the sideline of a children’s hockey game, a clipboard in his hand. He sighed. I still have more pictures to add, and this wall is getting crowded.
“It’s been something we’ve been coordinating for a long time,” Chaney said. “The mining unions in Cascadia have struggled for decades, ever since we broke into asteroid mining, but since we need so much of those materials for shipbuilding and panzerters in space, we contracted several of the mining unions to provide the raw materials to the foundry here.”
The MAG officer led Kennedy and their special guests down a long hallway. Much to the pilot’s surprise, their ‘guests’ had been none other than the First Minister himself, along with the Secretary to the National Committee.
First Minister Pennington’s best years were long behind him, the elderly minister sat a few years from a three digit age. While his faculties had been sharp through most of his career, he’d slipped up on occasion recently. Forgetting a name here, fumbling a story there, the stress of the war seemed to have already taken a toll on the man.
Secretary Pearson had come up through the Internal Review Service. Serving as the internal security apparatus of the Union of Martian Republics, the IRS made sure Union citizens upheld their natural responsibilities while also guarding against any future cases of secession. Pearson made a name for herself, winning the loyalty of the Union citizens living in space in Phobos and space habitats.
“The result is just one shining example of the resilience of the United Martian people,” Chaney finished. He’s laying it on thick for the politicians, Kennedy thought, and they look like they’re lapping it up. They paused to allow security to clear them.
“You’d think they’d recognize us,” The National Secretary muttered. “It’s not like our faces aren’t everywhere.” Chaney shook his head as the guards ran a metal detector over him.
“Same rules for everyone, Comrade Secretary,” he said. “Anyway, we’re seeing a coming economic boom, Boreal Locomotive expanded their facilities here into panzerter production, and the new facilities are having a ripple effect.” Once they’d cleared security, Chaney led his group to an observation deck.
Stretched out before them, a procession of Jupiter Heavy Panzerters rolled down an assembly line. The powerful machines seemed naked without their armor plating. As workers below coordinated robotic manipulators to add armor to the legs, Chaney turned to face the group.
“This is just one stage in the assembly process,” he said. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll escort you to one of our finished models.” For the first time since they’d collected him, the First Minister spoke.
“I don’t recall seeing this model before,” he said. “Is the Martian being replaced?” Chaney shook his head as he walked.
“Not at the moment,” he replied. “We’re currently conducting studies for our next generation general purpose panzerter, by the end of the month we should have a call for our unions to submit proposals.”
“Why would you prioritize panzerter development?” Secretary Pearson asked. “We have multiple other needs that need addressing, and our last update led us to believe the Martian and Martian Trooper were more than sufficient for our forces.” Chaney held up a single finger.
“You must have read an old report,” he said. “But I believe Comrade Kennedy can explain the necessity of newer panzerters and the Jupiter itself better than I can.” Gee thanks comrade.
“Around the beginning of November we began running into issues,” Kennedy said. “Not only could the Tharcians counter our laser weapons, but they also began fielding heavy panzerters of their own.” They rounded a corner and Chaney swiped a badge in front of a pair of double doors. “These panzerters had enough firepower to disable or destroy Martians before they could get into effective range, and thick enough armor to shrug off counter attacks.”
The double doors opened to reveal Kennedy’s personal Jupiter. With the shoulder mounted cannon replaced by a rocket pod, the armor had been strengthened, including the “belt line” where spare magazines for the Jupiter’s handheld weapons were stored. As for those handheld weapons, the Jupiter could be equipped with a 100-mm Marksmen rifle, a 75-mm submachine gun, and a 76-mm strobe laser that didn’t require ammo.
“These Heavy panzerters, like the Jupiter, are specifically made to destroy fortifications and other panzerters,” Kennedy said. “And in my experience, it’s an excellent unit.”
“Panzerters aren’t the only thing the R&D department is working on,” Chaney added. “We’re also researching improvements to our Infantry Fighting Vehicles and Armored Troop carriers, we’ve reexamined a lot of our vehicles and weapons with soldier survivability in mind.” Secretary Justice snorted.
“There’s a reason our doctrine before 2112 emphasized expendable troops,” she said. “Our founders would roll in their graves if the military held too much political influence.” Sharing a look with Chaney, Kennedy choose his next words carefully.
“With all do respect, comrade Secretary,” he said. “If you don’t want the military to have political influence, staying out of wars would be the way to do that.” He looked back at the Jupiter. “I understand what the founders wanted, but soldiers and sailors are workers too, we’ve never sat on a TUC on any level, but civil authorities don’t trust us to not overthrow them, yet they trust us to protect them from forces that would see them toppled.” Kennedy met the Secretaries fierce gaze with a stoic stare.
“Are you insinuating the military could rebel?” Pearson asked. Kennedy shook his head.
“I’m merely pointing out military personnel should have the chance to represent themselves with unions, same as every other citizen,” he said. “The thing tubers would also like.” Before Secretary Pearson could utter another word, the First Minister held up his hands.
“Listen here,” he said. “I’m aware of the deals that have been made, trust me, it is inexcusable that tubers are effectively second-class citizens in our ‘classless society,’ and the military stuff is true as well.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll be holding a rally at Foundation in a few days, I’ll address our tubers, no, I’ll address all of our citizens, tune in, you’ll here something good, I guarantee it.” The two allowed themselves to be escorted out of the plant, leaving Kennedy and Chaney alone with the Jupiter.
“I don’t think you’re out of the woods yet,” Chaney said. “She still has hooks in the IRS, I’m sure.” Kennedy shook his head.
“You saw the way she looked at us and the men working here,” he said. “They couldn’t wait to get back to their homes in Foundation.” Chaney walked over and set a hand on his shoulder.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he said. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he continued. “They’re not the enemy.”
“Could have fooled me,” Kennedy hissed. “This war is predicated on revenge and envy, we cannot sustain a society with that.” Chaney tightened his grip on the younger man’s shoulder.
“Than survive,” he said. “And when you change things for the better, remember the people the authorities have forgotten.” Kennedy nodded.
“I took an oath, the same one you did, and mark my words, I’ll keep it until the day I die.”
2
Rieter couldn’t help but flash a grin. He’d gathered the company in a basketball court and now they stood in front of him, formed up by platoon. Adamski stood beside him and nodded.
“PFC Merlin, post,” Rieter called. The young man scampered in front of him, adjusting his glasses before snapping to attention. As Comidus read the order, Adamski and Rieter removed his old rank from his collar and snapped on a new Corporal rank onto his collar. The burnt orange regimental colors contrasted with the green-gray of his CVCs. The two men shook his hand, but Adamski stopped him before he could fall back in.
“We’re not done yet,” he said. Rieter grasped the medal in his pocket.
“Attention to orders,” Comidus
bellowed. “For heroic actions during combat on 2 December 2135 in defense of the homeland, PFC Ernest Merlin has been recognized by the Field Marshal Adam Haussner as worthy of The Order of Tepes, 1st Class.” Rieter pinned the medal just above the young man’s name tape, before spinning him around.
“Give him a hand,” Rieter called. When the clapping stopped, he continued. “If I’m being honest, Merlin the younger here has no business on the front lines, and no business defending his homeland.” He looked at the shocked gazes of his soldiers. “I say that not to degrade or take away from his performance, but to illustrate a point, he should be studying for finals. All the pilots we got from OMI prep, should.” He looked from Merlin to Smith and shook his head. “Merlin, Smith, and Zorro should be worried about prom dates and passing next semester, not weather they’ll live to see tomorrow.”
He stepped away from Adamski and Merlin so he could see his formation better. “Unger should be looking forward to her last soccer season instead of being buried in a shallow grave West of here,” Rieter said. He pushed aside the rage that welled up within him. “The Union has done nothing but leave shattered and broken lives in its wake, their friends in Avalon are hardly better if not much worse.” He turned back to Merlin jr. “Congratulations Corporal Merlin, keep up the good work, all officers and senior NCO’s meet me in the TOC in fifteen, the rest of you are dismissed.”
He left for his office immediately. I have to look at my notes and review my maps for a minute. After collecting his things, he hustled to the TOC. Adamski beat him there and already had a pot of coffee brewing for their meeting. Comidus fame in the back and went to work putting up operational maps on their monitors.
Armored Warrior Panzerter: Eve of Battle Page 2