by J. F. Holmes
Three for three on the gates was too good to be true, but we’d done it at great cost. The Marine Arty position had been burned to a crisp. Nothing had survived in the impact zone of that nuclear direct hit. Half the squadron was out of action, several more were being repaired currently by the MAC crews, but that could take longer than they had to prepare. The last Bullies were scorched from this side of the gates, but there are usually stragglers that might screw it all up.
“Abbey, send a message.” Abbey complied, as I sent my final wishes and thoughts to Jessica and others. Abbey also sent the necessary letters of condolences from myself to the family members of the former and current members of my team. It felt wrong. Sending messages to others about things that might not happen yet seemed morbid to me.
By the next afternoon, all of us had rested up at the gate while still in our mechs. Not uncomfortable, but it’s not like the stasis rack. We were fed well, able to clean up a bit in the MAC’s onboard privy, and given new stim packets.
These were for when the crap hit the fan. I’d taken the stuff before, when we’d been forced from Hydollia space temporarily. The few of us left behind had taken these special packs and did our best to imitate piles of damaged units on the battlefield. It was like pouring pure fire into your brain, everything hyper-focused, and your senses kicked into overdrive. It was hell on a body, though, and you needed the counter-pack within a few days, or you died from overstimulation of the nervous system. Burnout, they called it. They’d all come close, but a counterattack by the second fleet had taken the Bullies by surprise. Search and Rescue had found us in time.
I dreaded the effects again, but wondered what it would be like to go full berserker on Tyrfen home soil. I released the authorization, and my team took the packs. In a few minutes, the MAC that had just landed with a full support wing of heavy attack platforms would go with us through an active gate to a Tyrfen home world.
“Gabe?” I called the pilot of the MAC that had been hospitable to us.
“Go ahead, Tams.” Lt. Commander Gabe Jennings was an old friend in the fleet.
“Thanks for treating us right. Hope to return the favor someday.”
“It’s what we do. Didn’t have any mints for your pillows, sorry.”
“I’ll be sure to mark that on the customer survey.” I chuckled a bit at that. Gabe delivered that snark as deadpan serious and knew he’d make me smile. “Smartass.”
“Just get them good, Tams,” Gabe said as he closed the channel.
“Okay, boys, girls, and those who identify as mechanized infantry, it’s go time. Five minutes before the show, so everyone check in, and do it by the lists. Review your missions, and ready up.”
The IDs popped up, and the ready signals showed thirty-two GEISHAs with four heavy-weapons platforms ready to move. That meant thirty-two mechs would charge through the gate and launch high-speed drones high into the atmosphere, then their AMMs would launch and attack any large military targets and cities. While this happened, the heavy-weapons platforms would scrabble through after the GEISHAs and set up supporting fire, while the MAC headed in fast, burrowed deep into the ground, and about three minutes later, that Bully homeworld would go hellfire and brimstone. The platforms were automated, so they’d cover the GEISHAs’ retreat back through the gate. The gate would disconnect just before the bomb detonation. We’d have to be back beforehand, otherwise it was going to be our funeral pyre.
“Coppertop, Hugo Actual. Ready to move on your mark.” Coppertop was the AI operator of MAC that was carrying the bomb.
“Affirmative, Hugo Actual. Go time tee minus one minute.”
“Affirmative.” I smiled…it had a Texas accent.
The chronometer ticked off the time, and the gate spun up. The second before the gate opened, a tech mech moved to allow the PNR field to form, then we started moving. The PNR flashed, and we were on the other side and fanning out at full speed to our designated positions. My in-head clock timer started.
Five minutes.
“Stand your ground, Heroes! Give them hell! Take no quarter!” I kicked my Glenda into cover near the gate and went pure offensive mode. I strafed the Bully barracks five hundred meters away with tungsten death, then sprayed a service vehicle fifty meters to my right. The information came in fast and furious as Tyrfen died by the hundreds. More craft flew by as maintenance crews charged our position. It was suicidal, dying uselessly, but with honor, as they defended themselves and their world. I popped another four vehicles in a row as the targeting AI prioritized the enemy. My boys and girls were doing the same to everything in sight. The carnage was beautiful to behold!
The drones we’d launched when we came through the gate were programmed to spread at top speed, and were now sending back data from kilometers high in the azure sky. Tapping into the Bully satellite network, they injected mil-tech AI to invade their systems, gathered information, sent us protocols and encryption data, and took a global picture of the planet in painful detail.
The heavy-weapons platforms moved rapidly to set up on either side of the gate, immediately blazing away at the base around us. Missiles and mortars flew away and rained down upon thousands of unsuspecting Tyrfen. Even more drones traveled out past our positions and spread micro-bomblets everywhere. These would bury into the ground and cause issues for any Bullies headed our way.
Four minutes.
The huge MAC rushed through after the heavy platforms set up shop, plowed into the hardened surface around the gate, and was out of sight within a second. The AMMs on the mechs activated and launched next as targets became available. Missile packs emptied fast as we began to receive sporadic, but increasing, return fire.
A heavy missile from somewhere detonated amidst a platform and several GEISHAs. The platform shook it off, but the mechs didn’t survive the blast. Melted bits peppered the rest of us as a reminder we were at war. The platform targeted and destroyed the threat that had sent the missile, switched to yet another target, and then another threat, spewing fiery responses in a constant stream too quick to make out. The platform AI had been given full release from any safety restraints normally put in place. The AI would push the speed, endurance, and capabilities of the weapons systems they were in charge of.
I’d never seen such precision, such lethal economy of firepower, not only in targeting, but in conservation of expendables and effectiveness of what an AI could accomplish.
“Coppertop, how you doing?” I yelled over the network.
“Four thousand meters down and increasing speed, Hugo. I should reach target depth in one minute at this rate. The soil is very conducive to our mission.”
“Good to hear, Coppertop.” I switch channels. “Close up ranks, cover the gaps! Keep it up, boys and girls!” I swiveled my guns left and caught a Bully tank unaware as it raced to get a good field of fire on us. It flashed, then came apart like a dirt clod skipping across the field. Other Tyrfen tanks began hitting us with precision. Six more of my men took serious damage. The heavy platforms took notice and eliminated seven tanks within seconds.
Three minutes.
The gravity was much greater than Earth standard, but the GEISHAs didn’t take notice. I quickly looked at the data incoming on the Tyrfen world. The planet’s surface was industrialized about municipal centers, but the pictures of a vibrant agricultural land beyond the large bases surprised me. It was mid-morning by all the data being received, and we had interrupted their day big time.
I almost felt sorry for them. Had the Earth and the Tyrfen not been at war, maybe, just maybe, it would have been different. But we shot up the Bullies, we shot up the buildings, we shot up the comms towers, we shot up the Porcupines and Scouts, we shot our guns, and would do so until dry or dead.
Two minutes.
The Bullies were rallying. The weapons towers not destroyed were now sending massive amounts of pulser fire into our position. Missile batteries parked off the main gate area erupted into rapid fire. Our presence had been detected, and
most likely the whole planet now knew we’d arrived. The Tyrfen, assuredly, would not let us live.
The tech mechs plugged into the gate had reconnected us back to our gate. They disabled the safeties as a precaution, to allow us back through even if the PNR was obstructed. If we survived, it was one minute and thirty seconds before we would leave this place to the hell it was destined to be.
“Greg, shift your fire to those towers at two twenty.” Too late. His mech exploded and took two others with it. I was down to nine mechs. A round slipped past the defensive lasers and blew my mech’s left arm off, sending flame and sparks flying. Another round went past to hit the third heavy-weapons platform, finishing what a tower had started. It fell over and crumpled as plasma fires ate up its hull.
“Tams, we got Tyrfen heavies making for us at oh nine three. Engaging!” Corporal Tymus sent flaming death as rounds pocked holes in three Tyrfen ’Pines. A missile struck him from the side as he finished a fourth one off. His cockpit shot out with a gust of debris, and he died instantly.
One minute.
“I got two flyers popping missiles, bearing three oh six! Cover the platforms, and prepare to evac in forty seconds!” I took another hit from somewhere, and even more warnings flashed. I had limited mobility and decided to move back to the gate entrance. The tech mechs were already in the process of opening the gate.
Another heavy platform died as munitions cooked off and danced into the sky. Explosions increased, and we were now down to three GEISHAs and a half-working platform. The AI-run tech mechs signaled us to leave. I pushed the other two mechs through as more missiles hit hard at the entrance. The last platform exploded, and I was thrown to the ground. Only a few meters separated me from the gate, but I couldn’t move. Damnit! I cursed to myself.
“Coppertop? Do it! Blow this fucker! I can’t make it out!” I shifted some servo controls and sat the mech up to use the one good set of guns. The data showed hundreds of Tyrfen in every conceivable fashion assaulting my position. I was the only one left. The last stand.
Twenty seconds.
As I meticulously fired off the last rounds in my magazine, trying to hit effectively with every slug, I remembered my days in school. Elementary, Middle School, High School. Then at the academy. Target practice was a favorite pastime, and an old retired Marine was talking to me as I plinked off rounds from one of the ancient firearms we trained with.
Fourteen seconds.
“Think about your breath. Your heartbeat. Your sight picture,” he said with a gravel-laced voice.
Bang! Too low and left.
“The wind caressing your cheek and the flags at the end of the berm. Are they moving? What direction? Are they different from your skin’s perception?”
Bang! Too far up, and even further left. I took two deep breaths and let it out.
“Is your mind empty? Are you one with the rifle?”
Bang! Better.
“Now remember this above all else. Front sight, on target, control your breath, control your trigger, windage, and elevation.”
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
“Yes!”
Twelve seconds.
“Eat it all!” My guns clicked empty, and they were on top of me. I knew I was dead. I didn’t care.
Seven seconds.
The ground heaved up, knocking the Tyrfen away and off their feet. At first I thought the bomb had detonated, and I awaited death’s bitter embrace.
Four seconds.
My mech was jerked upward and back toward the gate.
Three seconds.
I passed through the gate PNR.
Two seconds.
I landed hard on the other side.
“Coppertop!”
The gate closed.
Zero.
I was alive, with a data message blinking on my damaged comm.
“Abbey…play…m…me…message,” I managed to rasp.
“Hello, Colonel. Sorry to be so rough. I had a projected three second margin. The bomb was planted successfully, and should have detonated by now. I used the MAC transport to shove any surviving mechs through the gate. Sadly, you were the only one left. I’m sorry I couldn’t have arrived a little earlier.” The message ended.
“Goodbye, Coppertop,” My eyes closed, and the moment took me. Three. Three GEISHAs out of thirty-two, and I was pissed. No way I could bring them back. Tears flowed as the adrenaline and battle cocktail that still coursed through my system caused me to lose myself. My emotions ran wild, from fear to anger, ecstatic joy over the Bully planet burning, billions of the enemy dying, and overwhelming loss of so many brothers and sisters. Fuck me, right?
People surrounded me and pried me from what was left of Glenda. My injuries were serious, but I didn’t notice, because I was still buzzing on the pack. I was given the counter-agents and treated for my injuries aboard a med carrier parked in high orbit above the planetoid. The two others I’d pushed through were also aboard. Beaten up, but very much alive.
I witnessed before a board of inquiry about the attack and subsequent offensive invasion of the Tyrfen planet. I was given clearance and put in for a Medal of Honor. The brass also wanted to promote me to general. Go figure.
Access was granted for us to see the results of our success. The reports made the brass very happy. In reality, it turned my stomach.
The aftermath was transmitted back through quantum linking. The view was horrifyingly spectacular, as the fire spread over the planet like ocean waves, the surrounding anchors for the space elevators and orbitals broken and collapsed. The rotational stress took over, and most of the orbitals fell inwardly toward the planet, or were flung away into space, no longer tethered to anything that would keep them in place. Billions died.
I also helped plan the new offensives. Three gates turned into ten. Then twenty-three. Now we have over fifty gates operating constantly, sending death and mayhem to the enemy. Their advantage was now ours, and we were better at it. Hundreds of Tyrfen systems would be liberated in the following years. But as always…
The War went on.
****
Sean McCune lives in the wildlands of Indiana with his wife and three resident house tigers. He enjoys reading and writing science fiction, playing online games, doing voice-over work, hunting and fishing when he can, and coffee. Sean also enjoys streaming as TheEpicVoice on Twitch.tv., where he reads books from the Baen free library. His works can be found on Amazon.
Charge of the Light Company
Doug Dandridge
“That’s your mission, Captain Smythe,” said Lt. Colonel Thomas, pointing across the nine kilometers of open ground before the village. “Hit them hard, break their defense open, and we’ll follow hard and fast with the infantry.”
Charles Smythe frowned as he looked at the target through his suit visor’s enhancement feature. The enemy was well dug in, well concealed. They seemed to have built a warren of deep tunnels under the village. Artillery had pounded them for hours, and every time the infantry and light carrier vehicles had gone in, they’d been slaughtered. The rebels had a couple of heavy lasers, some large magrail guns, and mortars. It was rumored they had a number of dual-purpose shoulder-fired rockets as well.
The UN had used nukes on a couple of other village strongpoints. Problem was, the enemy had dug in too well, and while the blast had cleared the surface structures of the village, they’d done nothing to the underground fortifications. Reportedly some burrowing weapons were on the way from Earth, which did nothing for them here and now. The battalion command team had looked for other approaches, but this was the canyonlands area. One other approach was across twelve kilometers, while the other sides weren’t approachable at all, consisting as they did of wide, deep fissures. To the right flank of this side were a series of rises, blocked off by the same canyons from this side, though accessible from the village.
Smythe did the math in his head. His machines could run at a hundred and fifty kilometers per hour
flat out. With rocket assist, they could move a little faster over the distance, but that kind of augmentation used up a lot of fuel, so it was only feasible for a short time. They would move forward at four tenths of a minute per kilometer, so they could get across the expanse in three point six minutes. Probably a little slower, since they’d have to take the enemy under fire to keep them from doing too much damage to the mech company.
“We’ll get it done, sir,” said Smythe in his London accent. “I just hope we don’t run into one of those monsters they used to gut the First Guards’ Rifle Division.”
“No indication of that,” replied Thomas, his tone lacking conviction.
The day before, a company of mecha from the Russian First Guards’ Rifle Division had met up with the newest weapon the rebels had deployed. They’d lost most of a battalion. Of course, the Russians were prone to beating their heads against the wall, until said barrier crumbled or they sustained a concussion. The Coldstream Guards were a different animal altogether. They used their brains first, then applied the brawn.
“Then we better be about it,” said Smythe, looking up into the pinkish Martian sky. “Any chance of air support?”
The colonel laughed, a barking sound that sounded harsh over the com. “Not a chance. Not with the bastards besieging the UN outpost in the Tarsis. They need everything there, and the rebels are taking out more than we expected.”
They’re always doing better than we expected, thought the captain. The UN had thought their professionals would be more than a match for the amateurs—even the trained militia—the Martians fielded. Unfortunately, the Martians had stockpiled weapons from their personal arms industry, the same one the professionals had been tasked with shutting down, and some of their military conversions were very good indeed.