Armored Warrior Panzerter: Eve of Battle

by T. E. Butcher

  All told, a single Vinnish Army of around 300,000 would reinforce Army Group West while 45 Ships reinforced the Tharcian fleet. Vinnish and Tharcian engineers would also collaborate on new methods and equipment to defend their orbiting colonies. Feeling pleased with the entire ordeal, Hausnerr excused himself to head upstairs to the Citadel’s nerve center.

  I need to find out how the battles across the front are going. Wordlessly entering the vast room filled with monitors, live maps, and readouts, he found himself a chair. And waited.

  More Tharcian panzerters entered Ironton from the North end. I need to break the ring, we’ll all die if we’re trapped in this pocket. Using a captured Tharcian rifle, Knight opened fire. Thanks to the advanced fire control systems of the Jupiter, he easily punched through magazines and engines, rapidly bringing down his attackers.

  I need to get to the north end of the highway, like the mouth of a river we can use it to funnel our people out. The Jupiter staggered forward. His earlier battle with Mondragon, with all his hard maneuvering and sudden changes in direction, had been hard on the heavy machine’s joints. I can’t afford to get embroiled in hand to hand combat, not with the wear on the joint’s so far.

  Like most modern panzerters, the Jupiter possessed electromagnetic joints. While this negated the strain much of the weight normally on leg joints, the Jupiter’s engine didn’t quite have the power output to keep the joints as clear of each other as they could be. Even with regulators to prevent the joints from falling under a certain threshold, the joints still “clicked” during hard maneuvers, creating shavings and interfering with the normal electromagnets.

  This was normally countered by regular maintenance. Engineers would clear the small amount of shavings built up and replace worn joints. However, Knight’s previous engagement had caused the joints to click excessively, building up shavings and degrading the ability of his joints to repel each other.

  He felt it with each rocking step of his battered machine. Come on, just a little further. As he toggled off damaged secondary systems, his sleeve pulled back, revealing the tattoo of Phobos he possessed on his arm. Even if it was only a glimpse, the reminder of his wife in the chaotic situation brought him some comfort. For a brief moment, he pictured the two of them on an artificial beach within the Martian moon.

  I’ll be home soon, Sammy, don’t you worry. More Tharcian panzerters. More shells streaked his way. The Jupiter rattled with each impact, the heavy machine growing as weary as its pilot. Come on, just a little more.

  Two went down in a flash of fire and smoke. Knight had forgotten about the Mobile Artillery in all the chaos, but now the last panzerter laid into them with its rifle. Even as fires blossomed in the night, the panzerter collapsed after accurate fire from Knight’s rifle.

  This is all so wasteful. He shook his head in disgust as the panzerters burned. How many of those pilots are like that Mo kid? How many are younger? I can’t believe these bastards press-ganged children into an adult’s war.

  His grip on the controls tightened as he headed towards the highway. As much as I hate it, I can’t separate those children from the vile instruments of their government. His thoughts turned to his wife. Sammy loves kids, always wanted them. Would she understand? No, how could she? I’ve always believed the right things, doesn’t that mark me a good person? I just want a fairer world. Then why do I have to do these things that are blatantly unfair.

  Movement on his sensors interrupted his inner turmoil. Friendly signatures under attack. Beleauguered Martians fought off a fresh wave of Tharcian panzerters. Knight turned to bring himself along the Tharcians flank, dumping round after round into the enemy machines.

  Surprised by the massive panzerter on their flank, he forced them to split their fire. A fatal mistake. As the last one collapsed, he hailed Fuller.

  “Call a full retreat, we need to preserve what strength we have,” he said.

  A heavily damaged Martian ran past him up the highway. “Mo need to say it twice, we’re all going to die!” The man said. Knight grit his teeth. Coward!

  Switching his mike to the general net, he called out to the surviving Union forces. “All MAG forces in the vicinity of Ironton, if you want to live, fall back North along the highway, I’ll cover your retreat.” He blasted at a pair of gunships as IFVs and APCs raced down the highway, desperate to escape the slaughter.

  This can’t be anything other than a disaster. A dropship crashed into a building to hear him, a law office it looked like. He sent his last shells in the general direction of the missile that had killed it when his weapon clicked empty.

  Guess it’s just the sword now. With a sigh, he tossed away the useless rifle and drew his sword. No one gets past me.

  Chaney shifted uncomfortably in his chair. The rushed and abrupt nature of this meeting wasn’t at all lost on him. Many of the generals and officers present had hardly changed out of their night clothes. Pearson herself wore a thick bathrobe over a nightgown.

  “What’s happening in Tharsis?” She demanded. Straight to business, then. Most of the General officers stared blankly, either still asleep or otherwise not up to date on the current situation. Chaney himself had a decent understanding as he’d been awake observing tests on the newest weapon prototypes, but since he wasn’t in charge of strategy, he hadn’t paid too much attention.

  “An intelligence failure,” the head of intelligence said. “Or rather a counter-intelligence failure, we underestimated the amount of information and the amount of detail Tharcian terror cells were able to feed to their government.” He cleared his throat. “I recommend we reevaluate our center-intelligence and counter-terror strategy.”

  “It’s not just and intelligence failure,” The Operations chief said. “The Tharcians were able to plan this entire operation without our plants in their high command having a clue, and their plan was better than the ones we’ve typically seen thus far.”

  “What does that mean for us?” Pearson asked.

  “It means we can’t rely on our knowledge of their high command for insight into current operations,” the operations chief replied. “And we can’t assume the Tharcians will screw up constantly.” Chaney found himself nodding along with the others. Whatever their illusions of swift victory, he couldn’t see them winning within a year.

  “There’s also the issue of embargo,” the chief of logistics said. “We rely far too much on imports for food, if something isn’t done about these embargoes, then we face starvation.”

  “Avalon needs to be reigned in,” Added Commodore Mendez, herself still wearing a night gown. “Their reckless conduct will bring disaster to our cause.”

  “I wasn’t done with supply issues,” the Chief of logistics said. “On top of the damage to the orbital elevator, the surface will suffer for raw materials and fuel, while Phobos, Los Estrellas, and the other settlements will bear the brunt of the food shortages.”

  “Enough,” Pearson finally said. “I’ll have to convene with the First Minister and the ARF as well as the Guards-Marshall when ever he returns from his frontline inspection.”

  “Comrade Secretary, we need decisive action now,” the chief of operations said. “This is not a matter we can simply discuss in a future meeting, we must figure out how to subdue Tharsis before Avalon’s reckless behavior draws more enemies into the war.”

  Pearson looked at Commodore Mendez. “Would piracy help our holdings in space?”

  The younger women shot the political a disgusted look. “Comrade, our fleet will not lower themselves to the level of pirates,” she snapped. “Nor will it have any meaningful impact on our logistics.”

  “Forget I said anything,” Pearson muttered before returning her gaze to the others. “How long will it take to repair the elevator?”

  “At least six months before we’re sure it’ll be safe to move anything,” Chaney said. “That’s including clearing out damaged sections and making sure we don’t accidentally collapse the whole thing. Until then, we may w
ant to build back our spaceports so we can at least get something into orbit and back.”

  Releif crept over Pearson’s stony face. “There’s the first solution I’ve heard tonight, how what do we do with the civilians we’ve detained?”

  “We can’t afford for them to become terrorists,” the chief of intelligence said. “If we leave them in their own homes, and to their own devices, they’ll plot against us.”

  “Well, we can’t just kill them,” the chief of operations said. “We’re not monsters here.” Chaney’s thoughts turned toward Woody Pete, a man who’d managed to maim one of their best pilots and was potentially behind the intelligence disaster in Western Tharsis. Before the war, he’d been an ordinary man with a family, but now he was a terrorist mastermind. No, we’re not, but they could be.

  “We put them to work,” Chaney said. “Who better than to clear the debris from the elevator? To build our spaceports? To dig ditches and supplant our tuber population? Break them up, move them all over the Union, toss their children in our education centers and completely relocate them.”

  Pearson raised an eyebrow. “So we’d leave large sections of Olympia and Tharsis barren?” Chaney shook his head.

  “No, we put loyal Union citizens in the occupied zones and begin transitioning them into Martian Republics,” he said. “I know it isn’t my place to make that call, but it’s the only way we prevent problems like this in the future.”

  “His plan has merit,” the chief of intelligence said. “If we break up the nuclear families and separate citizens from those in their hometown, then they’ll likely become much more docile, and by extension useful.”

  “If our labor pool suddenly swells,” the Chief of Operations said. “WE could have issues paying everyone, and what’s stopping us from using their farmers and miners to shore up our own resource issues?”

  “Because those farmers and miners could be bad actors,” Pearson said. “As for paying people, don’t worry about the economic or political ramifications, those are for individuals such as myself and the First Minister to handle, stick to winning the war.”

  Despite her appreciation of his idea, Chaney found himself resenting her tone. It’s like she believes herself our betters. has she ever worked a hard day in her life? Must be nice to sit your way to the top.

  “Comrade Chaney,” Commodore Mendez asked. “Can you please explain your new project to the general staff?” Realizing he drifted off in thought, he nodded.

  “Yes, I can, sorry I was just thinking about it,” he said. “We’re developing new munitions with the intent to fully replace both lasers and ballistics, and the process of feeding said weapons greatly unburdening our supply lines.”

  “How so?” Asked the chief of Logistics, her eyes filled with curiosity.

  Chaney grinned. “Well we all we need for the weapon to operate is Nitrogen in its gaseous state, a substance which I’ll remind you is a byproduct of our helium-3 refining.”

  “So let me get this straight,” the chief of operations said. “You made a serviceable weapon out of an element we’re breathing right now?”

  Shaking his head, Chaney grinned. “Funny you say that, because most of the things you’re breathing can already be deadly in the right amount.”

  “I’ve seen the tests,” Commodore Mendez said. “It looks impressive, but Commodore Masterson is developing a similar weapon based on the particle weapon research, although his uses Red Mercury.” Chaney frowned at this information.

  “We need to save our Red Mercury reserves in the event that our supply of Helium-3 is cut off,” he said. “it has far more value as a fuel reserve then a weapon.” While the meeting ground to a close, and the other officers were dismissed and began heading to bed, Chaney mused his own words.

  Is that even possible? The war dragging on to the point that we need Red Mercury for our panzerters and warships? He shook his head. I hate to admit it, but that’s how we need to think. At least if we want any chance of winning this war.

  “There they are,” Webb said. His motley crew, made up of downed pilots, dismounted mortar men and the remains of his Alpha and Charlie squads. In front of them lay a crippled and damaged panzerter IV. Damn, this thing took a beating.

  Molten chunks of armor plating littered the street along with shavings and other chances of scrap metal. Deep gouges in the panzerter’s frame testified to the punishment it had taken. Webb shook his head. My human body defiantly can’t stand up to whatever did that.

  “Call the scouts, they might be wounded in there,” Wesser said. Gasping for breath, Webb found himself surprised that while he tired, the panzerter team leader seemed unbothered by all the running they’d done.

  He turned his attention back to the panzerter. “You there, Smith, is there a way to open this from our end?”

  The younger man was already clambering onto the fallen machine. He pulled at something near the hatch and shook his head. “The emergency release is stuck.”

  From inside the machine, they could hear banging and muffled shouts. A sulfurous odor filled the air. “What’s that smell?” a droptrooper asked as Wesser’s eyes grew wide.

  “There’s a fuel leak somewhere!” She cried. “If we don’t get them out quick, they’ll suffocate!” Smith squat down and attempted to kick the hatch open.

  “Well, don’t just stand there!” he gasped as two drop troopers leaped to his side. With assistance from their partial-exosuits, they were able to kick the hatch wide open. They helped Mo and Magyar out of the damaged unit, the two of them gasping for breath.

  “Thank God,” Mo gasped. “She was breathing all my air.”

  “Your air?” Magyar asked. Mo nodded.

  “My panzerter, my air,” he said before looking back at his panzerter. “Damn, that’s not going to buff out.”

  Webb set a firm hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go, we’ve still got to retrieve your buddy.” After shaking his head to clear out the lingering fatigue, he pointed south.

  “Last I saw Wes Merlin, he was shot down back that way,” he said. Good, can’t be too hard, somewhere in that general direction is a disabled fifty-ton panzerter. He waved for the group to set off and they followed him. Even in his partial-exosuit, fatigue began to set in. His limbs felt heavy and his eyes throbbed. It doesn’t matter, I can go further.

  True to his word, Mo had been correct about where the older Merlin went down. The massive machine lay doubled over a building, like a drunk vomiting behind a counter. One of its arms reached for the ground while the other had been severed at the elbow. Sparks danced from exposed wiring and magnets while the visor that made up the unit’s eyes flickered behind it’s cracked appearance.

  “I have to admit, that’s solid Vaterland architecture right there,” one of his soldiers said. “Even when partially destroyed, can still bear the weight of a panzerter.” Webb had to agree with the guy. It was impressive, but it also presented a different set of problems for them.

  “Think this building is in danger of collapsing?” he asked Wesser. “Because if not, we need to get in there and get up to the third floor.”

  She shook her head. “No way to know,” she said. “Honestly, collapsing the building might be the safest thing to do.”

  “What if there’s another fuel leak?” he asked. “Then we wouldn’t;t have time to dig through rubble.” Wesser swore and looked at him.

  “Then your team needs to work fast,” she said. “Because that building can fall any second.” Without another word, two drop troopers along with Smith rushed into the building. They could hear the structure groan as they saw their team running through the windows.

  Slowly, they began backing away from the damaged building. Broken signage told them this had been the town’s bank. More groans rang out as they continued backing away.

  Suddenly, something cracked. Loudly. The panzerter shifted with the scrape of metal on concrete. Blurred shapes moved past the windows on the second floor as the groans b
ecame more pronounced.

  With a final heave, the panzerter fell on its face. Its helmeted head crumpled against the road as its body collapsed with the surrounding structure. Rushing out of the dust came Smith, one of the drop troopers carrying a downed pilot, and…

  “Hans didn’t make it,” the drop trooper said. “He got pinned when the panzerter shifted.” Webb sighed and turned away. This long night just keeps getting a little longer.

  19

  As the last Martian past Knight, it handed him it’s rifle. Nodding in thanks, he unleashed it on a gunship sweeping in low to attack a fleeing armored column. Not today, asshole. The thick rounds rushed past the aggressive looking craft as it juked and dodged, returning fire with rockets and cannons.

  While the Jupiter shrugged off the worst of it, several armored vehicles burst into flames, including the command truck containing the XO. Gritting his teeth, Knight zeroed in on the attacking aircraft.

  Eventually, the gunship zigged when it should have zagged and a 105-mm round punched clean through the airframe of the Tharcian gunship. So wasteful. He looked back as more wheeled and tracked vehicles fled. No more dropships. No more panzerters.

  Almost there. Then a shape came into view on his sensors. A panzerter. A Familiar one, not one of his though. Knight sighed and gripped his controls tighter. The Black Knight. This man that allowed children to die in battle.

  The Black knight had seen better days. It’s armor had been dinged and worn, and his shield was mostly gone. It’s glowing blue sword seemed to be working just fine, though. I’m probably not looking much better.