A Warrior's Home: Assignment Darklanding Book 09

by Craig Martelle

  “Update,” the general said.

  “The first wave has engaged a significant armored force. I don’t have anything else. They are in the middle of a battle.”

  “Get the colonel on the horn,” the general demanded, but Craken was ahead of him. He handed over the headset.

  “We’re knee-deep in it general. It’s an armored regiment. They have more tanks and armored vehicles than we have missiles, and where’s my orbital fire support? We’re going to have to do something a little different. Gotta go,” Thad told him and clicked off.

  “Land us within their rear echelon. Get us close,” the general told the pilot. He fastened his helmet and checked his blaster. “All hands, this is General Quincy. Prepare for combat. We are landing in a hot zone. We will be under fire the second we land, if not before. When the hatch opens, hit the ground running. Move and fire. Move and fire. I’ll be right there with you, boys and girls. They’ve never seen the likes of us, and it will be something they’ll never forget.”

  Craken took the headset from the general. “So it begins.”

  ***

  “Execute evasive maneuver beta four. Fire the close-in defenses and run the main engines to one hundred percent,” the captain of the Bicknas Explorer told the bridge crew. He activated his direct comm link to the landing force. “The Explorer is under attack. We’re heading for deep space, General. Sorry, but we weren’t able to launch the third wave. We have five shuttles on board, recovered before the enemy missiles appeared on our screens.”

  The captain didn’t bother to wait for a reply. He buckled in as the Explorer shuddered as energy surged throughout the hull, driving it away from the planet, while simultaneously firing the entirety of its defensive weapon systems.

  ***

  The general heard the report and waved for the headset. “Belay my last. Don’t land us danger close. We can’t risk losing these ships. Land us...” He checked his pad and scrolled around the map. There was one small hill to the rear of the attacking armor. “Land behind that. As soon as we’re off, launch and find someplace safe to hide. We’ll call when we need you.”

  The shuttle jerked as it changed heading. The pilot executed a series of maneuvers to defeat ground fire. SOP, even though they weren’t taking any incoming. The general breathed a sigh of relief when the shuttle touched down and the hatches opened. The soldiers ran away from the ship and threw themselves to the ground as they established a perimeter. The captain and the general were the last ones off. After their feet touched the ground, the pilot closed the shuttle and took off.

  Over the hill, the dust and smoke signaled where the battle raged. The sound of heavy weapons created an abnormal din while concussive shocks shook the ground. The general didn’t hesitate for long. He was a professional. He ran forward, to the military crest of the hillock, that point where he didn’t skyline himself. He leaned upward until he could see over the top, but the dust and smoke in the valley prevented him from seeing details. The flashes of explosions and plasma cannons made it look like hell unleashed.

  That was where the battle was. The smoke and dust would cover their approach.

  “It’s time to join the battle, Captain. Three platoons up, two back, carry the anti-tank rockets. We move out in one minute, that way.” The general pointed at the maelstrom. Craken swallowed hard.

  “Yes, sir.” He ran down the hill to rally the troops while the general watched and impatiently waited.

  ***

  Thad raced over the top of the hill. “Come on!” he yelled and waved for the soldiers to follow. He expected to be all alone when he reached the floor of the valley a few dozen meters below him. He pulled his hand blaster in one hand, and the other held the slung rifle snugly to keep it from bouncing off his shoulder. Maximus snorted as he easily kept pace.

  They headed for a pair of burning tanks, using them as cover. Blaster rounds haphazardly tore at the ground, which told him that he wasn’t the target. It was panic fire from the smoke and flame of a trapped mechanized unit as it tried to extricate itself. He took it as a good sign.

  His soldiers didn’t understand. Too many thought they were doomed. He recognized the look on their faces.

  “COME. ON!” he yelled again, waving his blaster and pointing at spots where the soldiers could find cover. He was surprised to see fireteams run past. They went where he pointed. He slowed to a walk. It wouldn’t do at all for the troops to think he was afraid.

  Now was the time to be their bedrock. A breeze fanned the flames, but cleared the smoke for an instant. Operational tanks, once blinded, were back in action. Thad dropped his hand blaster and whipped his sniper rifle around. He aimed and fired. The round tinked off the top of the turret where the tank commander’s head was exposed. He started to pull the hatch down, but Thad adjusted and fired a second time, hitting the enemy in the forehead. The tank jerked to a halt. The hatch was open. He knew what he had to do. He re-slung his rifle and ran past the two burning tanks.

  “Cover me!” Blasters barked in response to his command. Maximus stayed in Thad’s shadow while they charged the enemy tank. Around them, tanks were burning or trying to get out of the mass. Why were you bunched up?

  He’d think about that later. The tank’s turret started to swing, forcing Thad to dig deep and run faster than he’d ever run before. It felt like he was plodding along as the turret was turning faster than he could close the distance. Maximus accelerated, leaving Thad in his dust. He vaulted, hit the body of the tank, sprung high, and dove through the hatch, squeezing past the dead body to work his way inside.

  Thad continued to run. The turret continued to turn. It lined up on him before he could get below its field of fire.

  “Shaunte!” he cried into the fog of war.

  ***

  The soldiers formed for their attack. General Quincy wondered how they would hold up. Now was the time to show what they were made of, to show what he was made of.

  He walked briskly to take his place on the front line, nodding to the soldiers beside him. He took out his pistol and pointed it forward. The group started to jog, up the small hill and over, running toward the enemy formation.

  Cover wasn’t as important as getting a clear shot. If they ran, the armored units would hunt them down.

  When he had formed TerroCom, he envisioned a unit that would strike deep into enemy territory, cut their supply lines, kill their leadership, and render them ineffective as a cohesive fighting force. He never thought he’d be marching like the pre-technology days of Earth, where masses of troops walked toward each other, pounding themselves against the determination of their enemy, until the last man standing claimed the victory.

  Yet here they were. Running into the maelstrom. “TERROCOM!” the general shouted as the armored vehicles came into sight. Troop carriers, waiting for the heavy fire in front of them to slow down before sending their people into the fray.

  The general called for a halt, waved at the soldiers to spread wide, and take aim with their rocket launchers. The soldiers saw the opportunity as the general did. Attacking from the rear. They were vulnerable. Aim. Let out the breath. Hold the reticle on the target. Slowly.

  The general dropped his arm and platoon leaders yelled as one. “Fire.” Rockets streamed into the lightly-armored areas of the vehicles. The general wanted to appreciate the destruction, but there was no time. They were in the open, and the enemy knew it.

  ***

  Thaddeus Fry saw the turret stop. He couldn’t hear what was going on inside the tank. The noise of battle drowned out even the sound of thought.

  He dodged to the side because it was disconcerting looking at the business end of a high-powered plasma weapon. He jumped on the tank, grabbed the dead tank commander, and yanked him out. Thad threw the man’s body over the side. Maximus’s bloody face appeared in the cupola.

  “All taken care of?” Thad yelled into the opening. The pig-dog nodded and disappeared inside.

  Thad went feet-first through the
opening. Two bloody bodies were within. The first was at the foot of the ladder, and the colonel made quick work of stuffing him up and out. The driver wasn’t going to be so easy. Thad crawled inside, found the driver’s hatch, and popped it open. He couldn’t leverage himself around the corpse, so he had to inch the man’s body upward and through the opening. The sounds of battle slowed.

  He hurried back to the cupola and looked out. The surviving tanks were on the move. TerroCom soldiers were running in full retreat. Mortar rounds landed ineffectively.

  He jumped back inside. The tank had not yet fired its plasma cannon. It was fully charged and ready to go. Thad put his eye to the scope and started sorting targets, farthest to closest with least amount of turret movement in between.

  He hadn’t been a tanker during the war, but he was in Melborn Ground Forces property. He was familiar. He hated that it was killing his people.

  He centered the first target and fired, then walked the main weapon backwards, killing the targets before they could rotate their turrets and finish him. He spun the turret and fired without stopping. The enemy never had a chance.

  Nine burning tanks later, he finished his three-hundred-and-sixty-degree spin.

  “I’m glad you didn’t have to drive, Max,” Thad told the pig-dog. “And thanks for saving my life.”

  Thad keyed his microphone. “All hands, the enemy tanks have been neutralized. Get your asses down here! I’m in the only tank not burning so don’t kill me. Platoon leaders, report casualties ”

  “First platoon, fourteen dead, six wounded.” The man sounded defeated. They’d been too close when the tanks counterattacked.

  Thad kept his reply short. “Roger.”

  “Second platoon, five wounded.” Thad breathed a sigh of relief. Third and fourth platoons reported no fatalities as well. Fifth platoon had also been on the wrong end of plasma cannons. Eighteen dead. Fifth platoon had broken and ran when the tanks opened fire. They’d been wiped out. Only the platoon leader and the soldier next to her had survived, and only because she tripped the man when he tried to run and jumped on top of him to stay low.

  Thad started to climb from the tank, but incoming fire drove him back inside. He swung the turret around and saw enemy soldiers running toward him. He fired. The plasma cut a path through the men. The survivors scattered, running for their lives. TerroCom soldiers cut them down one by one. No one hesitated now. They were all jaded by battle. It was part of the job. They’d already seen enough blood that day to last a lifetime.

  And Thaddeus Fry leaned out of the cupola, peering into the smoke and haze, looking for the next enemy. He was covered in blood because of throwing dripping bodies over his head. He didn’t feel it. Not because he was numb, but he was at home. Another hard-fought battle and once more, the Fry-man was standing at the end. His heart wasn’t even racing.

  Shapes appeared within the smoke. He squinted as he made out the familiar tactical movements and uniforms.

  “All hands, this is Lieutenant Colonel Fry. I’m on the tank. Don’t shoot me,” he said into his mic.

  A figure moved in front of the others and waved. Thad waved back, realizing suddenly that silence had descended over the battlefield, leaving only the crackle of fires and the crunch of booted feet on hardened earth. Maximus snorted. Thad descended into the tank and boosted the pig-dog up and out. “Do not fart,” he told his friend.

  Maximus disappeared through the hatch. Thad followed him out and sat on the edge of the tank. He didn’t remove his helmet as a battlefield was never a safe place to be exposed. He drank deeply from his canteen. He remembered his sniper rifle was still inside the tank. He dove in to pull it out. Never leave your weapon behind. You’re getting soft, Fry-man.

  The general directed the troops through the battlefield to collect enemy survivors for interrogation before joining Thad at the tank. He looked at the bloody mess that was Lieutenant Colonel Fry.

  “Not my blood,” Thad replied before adding, “Thirty-two dead and another thirty or so wounded.”

  “The ship came under attack and had to run for it.”

  “I hadn’t heard.” Thad looked at the ground, exhaling sharply. “Where’s that leave us?”

  “With less than two hundred boots on the ground, maybe one-fifty who are combat effective. Five total shuttles dirt-side. But it looks like you’ve acquired a tank.”

  “I’ll credit that to Maximus. He took care of the crew,” Thad replied.

  “And you took care of the other tanks. Those look like plasma impacts.” The general pointed to the burning hulks.

  The platoon leaders established a security perimeter before joining the captain and the general at the tank.

  “I need three injured to crew the tank. Healthy folks get to walk. Prepare your people to move out,” Thad ordered.

  First and fifth platoon leaders remained behind. “What about the dead?”

  The general raised one eyebrow. Thad turned to him and then back to his platoon leaders. “Use the tank to dig two holes. Detail fourth platoon to assist. Get on it because we’re moving out in thirty whether you’re done or not.”

  Thad and Maximus jumped from the tank. The platoon leaders looked crushed.

  “You can’t finish if you don’t start,” the general told them. They nodded, since there was no saluting in the field, and ran off to pick the gravesites.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “You will accompany me to jail. You have committed a crime and must be punished,” Mast Jotham patiently explained.

  “Beat it, Glok,” the rough man said, “before I beat you.”

  “That is another crime for which you shall be bigly punished. You cannot threaten law enforcement. Where would that leave society?”

  “Where would that leave what? Go away, punk, you bother me.”

  The patrons of the Mother Lode watched, impatiently waiting for the throw-down between the Unglok deputy and the miner. Mast was careful not to stand with his pistol within reach of the man. Dixie moved to the end of the bar in case hiding behind it was called for. Pierre put down the mug he was cleaning and casually reached beneath the bar to grip the shotgun.

  If he needed to intervene, he was ready.

  Foreman Dickles sulked in a corner, having had too much to drink, but unwilling to go back to the mine. So frustrating! He was a miner, not a diver. He thought his skin would peel off because of how wet he always felt. The watered-down booze wasn’t improving his mood, but he didn’t like watching his people get in trouble.

  The man waved a hand as if fighting off a fly.

  P. C. Dickles had had enough, as had the terminally patient Mast Jotham. Dickles stood and started to stagger toward the confrontation.

  In a move too quick for the eye to follow, Mast grabbed the suspect’s head, lifted him straight up, and smashed him through the table. Pierre groaned. He had installed the new furniture the week prior. Everything had been destroyed in the fight with Dregg and Dedra, and finally the Mother Lode was back in business.

  The foreman hurried to the table and tottered unsteadily over the man. “Maybe we can call it even. I’m sure he won’t do it again.” Dickles tried to sound sincere and convincing. “By the way, what did he do?”

  “He broke the law,” Mast said firmly.

  “Yup. He won’t do it again!” Dickles declared and helped the man to his feet.

  “The sheriff—he is coming back, of course—would probably say at this point that his discretion would allow him to accept your terms. Yes, that is what he would say.”

  Mast turned, but a soft voice called from upstairs. “Deputy, a word please.” Shaunte crooked a finger at him. The Unglok bowed his head as he moped to the stairs and started climbing. Once he reached her office, he found the Company Man seated at her desk, waiting for him.

  “Here,” she said, as much pushing the glass away from her as toward him, her nose wrinkling at the effort.

  “Tigi?” he asked. He cradled the glass in two hands as he reverently
sipped the drink.

  “You seem a little uptight, and I thought you could use the very last of the tigi. There is no more. Not until the greenhouse is up and running again, which will be soon.”

  “But why the last for me?”

  “Because you miss him,” Shaunte said.

  “Muchly.” Mast sat, gangly and tall, his elbows on his knees as he nursed his drink. “As do you.”

  Shaunte poured herself a small glass of whisky and took a sip. “We all do. Can I ask a favor?”

  “Anything for the Company Man who is a woman.”

  Shaunte did a double-take. “Yes. Please don’t shove anyone else’s face through the table. We just replaced those tables, and I had to bear some of the cost myself. I don’t want to go through that again.”

  “Yes. That man made me muchly angry. He called Mast a bad name.”

  “People do that too much, but bad names aren’t crimes. Not here. Not anywhere.” Shaunte took another sip and leaned back before speaking evenly. “Hold it together, Mast. Our job is to keep everything running, no matter who is here.”

  “But he’s the sheriff, not Mast Jotham.”

  “You are the deputy and as long as the sheriff is indisposed, I’m counting on you to keep the peace.”

  “Yes, Shaunte, ma’am.” Mast drooped. The tigi almost slipped from his hands.

  “Finish that. It would be a shame to have to clean up the last of the tigi on all of Ungwilook out of my carpet.”

  Mast threw his drink back, savoring it as the heavy liquid drained down his long throat. He smiled slowly. “That was the right medicine for Mast Jotham. I am goodly now. Are they saying that I can go?”

  “Saying what?” Shaunte asked before shaking her head. “If you would, please sit here for a moment or two.”

  Mast shifted uncomfortably in the seat that was too low, as most human chairs were for the tall Ungloks. He looked forlornly at his empty glass, but decided it was better to celebrate the fact that the very last tigi on the whole planet was in his belly.