“Yes, sir. There’s so much to look at; I’ve barely scratched the surface.”
“I know the feeling.” Grant said, taking a seat at an adjacent table. “I don’t think a single one of us was prepared for this.”
Scott nodded, at the same time wondering if the senior officer had meant for him to see the notes on Kael. “I could use a decade in the library to figure out how the Lyrans developed some of their systems and it wouldn’t be enough.
Is there something I can I do for you?”
“No.” Grant said, absently scanning across the scattered components on the bench beside him. “I wanted you to know you did an excellent job today. Seriously, I couldn’t have asked for anything more.”
“Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you.”
“Also, I wanted to apologize for what I told you earlier. You didn’t have to forgive me and I know I don’t deserve it, but I appreciate you pulling me back from the edge. That’s just what I needed to hear.”
“Of course. It’s the least I could do.”
Grant stood to shake his hand. “We’re going back to the hellfire soon enough. Good luck!”
24
“Ten seconds on the clock. Hang on.” Wright announced to the crew of his ship as their time in the warp dwindled to nothing. Commander Fox was standing at his left adorned with black heavy armor and arms crossed in front of his chest. With the Flagstaff in virtual dry-dock, he felt like little more than an advisor on the bridge. The commander held his breath as the ship decelerated and crossed back into real space. Instantly he saw their target, a planet the size of a marble in the window with a burning star in the background, far too close for comfort.
The blinding light of the alien sun mostly reflected off their leading windows, giving the appearance of a bright spotlight and not a retina-searing nuclear fire. In the seconds of waiting for the rest of the fleet, the scanning systems filled in the question marks left from the initial survey. Fox watched as a clearer picture appeared on the screen, showing thick layers of clouds at an elevation several times higher than those of Earth.
While the scan of their target evolved, red tags were applied as signal sources became detectable. Fox immediately picked up their strategy. “I can see the layout of the defenses on the western edge of the planet. We’ve got a few stripes which resemble mountain ranges plus several concentric rings beyond them.”
“That sounds reasonable.” Grant replied, monitoring his own utility screen from within one of their assault vehicles below. “What do you recommend?”
“Cut to starboard, move on a wide approach, take a sharp descent to the ground to keep us out of their line-of-sight and range. We’ll drop you off and be gone before we get targeted.”
“Copy that, approved. There’s no way they missed our arrival. Can you drop some probes overhead to collect for us while we get into position?”
“Can do.” Wright typed in the commands. “Complete. I’ve got six en route to high atmospheric orbit. If they get shot at we can adjust from there.”
***
The Patriot pilots brought their ships down in a sharply executed maneuver, skimming the upper limit of the atmosphere before nearly blindly diving below the cloud cover. The darkness of space changed quickly as the deep haze became overpowering and blocking off the scattered light from the stars above before they got a hundred meters in. Finally experiencing wind resistance, the battleships began to shake in response to the turbulence causing the pilots to back off on their speed.
“First burst from the scanners,” Fox reported as the monitor before him came to life, “The western range of the defensive network is at the center rise of the plain. We’ll have to skim close halfway around the planet and land on the far hemisphere, at least two hundred kilometers out. That’ll be close to an eight hundred klick total range from the inner target of the base. You’ll be landing approximately one hour before sunrise.”
***
Grant continued to follow along with the intelligence gathering exercise from his jump seat. The command deck within the main battle tank was nearly comparable to that of the Flagstaff, with small enclaves for each of the system operators. View screens covered every wall, giving a virtual 360-degree picture of the battlefield. They were almost enough to make the casual observer think they were seated on the top of the turret, rather than the center of the platform protected on every side by several meters of solid, alloyed metal. According to the training material, more than four hundred pinhole cameras were utilized to stitch together the composite image.
An aerial display screen, similar to what was mounted around the bridge, provided situational awareness of the battlefield to whatever range the drivers required. The terrain and all targets currently processed by the Patriots were already marked and displayed locally. Other properties, most translated to English, were in the margins although a few minor alien symbols persisted.
The vibrations grew until the floor of the tank shook as they continued to dive. “Any estimates for the atmospheric composition?”
“Negative. The sensors on the probes are still overloaded. Patriots can’t see through the plasma buildup on the leading edges. We haven’t had a breach yet so the ships can handle it. The Lyran seals are likely sufficient but I’d avoid going outside until we know for sure.”
“Altitude: two hundred meters. Range: 830 klicks from western defenses. Terrain: clear.” Wright reported in.
***
“That’s it. Start ‘em up.” Mason ordered and with a steadily growing rumble, the rows of machines came to life.
“Drop at fifty klick spacing.” Grant advised the squadron of battleships, studying the map before him. “I want a simultaneous engagement of the first line and then flank the rest north and south. We need to clear a path through to the first ridgeline.”
Their Patriot came to a hover just above the ground and dropped the lower loading platform, bathing the vehicle bay in dim, yellowish-green light. “Everyone off!” Grant commanded and his tank rolled down the plank onto the dusty plain, “Keep going,” he told the driver, “Clear the ship before they start taking fire.”
Lights from the tank illuminated their immediate surroundings but there was no seeing the horizon. Everything outside of a few short meters was obscured by the thick, choking air. If they wanted to see the enemy, it wasn’t going to be in the spectrum of visible light.
Grant looked around the total white-out on the walls of screens. “Is this really the environment out here?”
“It’s probably the worst at dawn.” Fox replied, “With some heat hopefully it’ll lift up a bit. Maybe.”
Glancing between the map and the screens, Grant addressed the driver again, “Is there a way to add overlays to the camera feeds? Get the lights off. We don’t need to be making targets of ourselves any more than we already are. It’s not like they’re doing much good.”
The displays dimmed as the operator cut the spotlights outside. They came back up with a clear view of the ground for a short distance out and a tolerable picture of the horizon out into the distance. “I just switched to infrared. Farther out it’s also augmented by a monopulse radar. It’ll see through the fog but at a lower resolution.”
“That’s what we need.” Grant acknowledged, “Have the rest of the battalions follow us.”
“Commander, it’s Sergeant Allen. First Battalion is on the ground.”
“Copy. Form up for advance; I’m marking the first four targets on the perimeter.”
The first ring of defenses were still beyond the horizon but with the synchronized active maps it didn’t matter. They were spaced with over forty kilometers between each installation so Grant marked the targets for consecutive strikes. Once through the first line of defense, he’d escort Second Battalion along with Third to the inner series along the first mountain range while First and Fourth went north and south, respectively, to clear out the rest of the outermost row of towers.
Once the farthest-reaching
launchers were destroyed, they’d converge on the central ridge above the base and call the surface their own. Only after that would Grant consider the problem of going underground. Sergeant Mason reported in with Fourth Battalion so Grant led the regiment forward, quickly eating through the sandy desert.
Before long a blotch appeared on the horizon in the cabin. “That’s it!” the commander exclaimed, “get in range and engage.”
“Sir, they’re thinking the same thing. We’re being targeted!”
“Keep it up!” Grant didn’t want to risk losing the advantage, even if their enemy had them beat for range. “Get us in and neutralize them!”
The first blast of energy from the tower struck the tank to his right, blowing half the skin away from the side in a searing inferno of plasma fire.
“Dammit get your shields up! Keep moving!” Grant yelled over the frantic shouting of the next crew over as the second round struck, stopping the vehicle dead in its tracks.
“We have to fall back!” the driver shrieked again.
“No!” the commander thundered, “Advance or fire from here! Take one step back and you can walk it!”
“Sir! They stopped firing!”
Grant heard the gunner and looked at the screen. As the man said, the tower was silent. It had only been seconds. What had changed? He asked himself and looked back at the map. The entire formation had advanced and…
“Driver Two-Twenty-Three, you there?” He spoke into the radio, looking for the operator of the twenty-third tank in his column, the leading defensive systems vehicle.
“Two-Twenty-Three reads.”
“Can you see the tower?”
“Yes, sir, it just came into view.”
Grant slapped his forehead. “You just jammed out the tower. I need you right behind the front line if you’re gonna do any good!” he ordered and took a step towards the door. “Second Battalion, press forward and engage under cover. Tell the others to do the same. Not you.” He added, pointing at his driver. “Hold up, I’m taking the ground team next door for survivors.”
He left the control room and dropped down the metal stairs to the cargo bay on the other side of the wall. Half of the open area was filled with alien equipment that was likely attached to the main cannon above but he didn’t explore it while the other side was used for passengers. Four rows of bench seats were filled with soldiers dressed for combat on the unforgiving landscape outside.
“First squad! We’re up!” he said, adjusting the helmet on his suit. “Tank’s down to our right. We’re getting them out.”
The eight soldiers stood without a word and moved quickly with only a dull murmur to the rear hatch. They all fit in the decontamination lock where Grant checked their seals and held two back.
“Stay here. We’ll need help getting hosed off on the way back.”
The pair nodded.
“Dropping the ramp.” Grant said and cycled the room. The far wall dropped down, leaving them outside on the unforgiving landscape beyond.
There was a steady rumble in the ground from the passing vehicles around them and a sustained whine from the wind above. In every direction, a thick haze swirled over the field, seamlessly flowing from red to green to yellow and back.
“Let’s go, you can be tourists later!” the commander snapped and jogged down the ramp, “Whatever this shit is can wait. They don’t have much time.”
Grant reached the back of the stranded tank and pulled the emergency release beside it. The metal platform fell with a clang but the inside was already open to the atmosphere. Only five soldiers were in the bay. Four were already unconscious on the ground while one still moved slightly at their entrance with a half-attached gas mask across his face.
“Get them out of here!” Grant pointed at the pile of incapacitated soldiers. “The rest of you, upstairs, we need to get the crew.”
Carefully he stepped around the soldiers and climbed back up the utility ladder and got a look into the command room. Although buried deep in the tank, the last shot was enough to buckle the leading edge enough to puncture the inner structure in the top left corner. The crew was in the same condition as the soldiers below. They had the time to reach for gas masks but by the time they got them on, it was too late. All four were laid out on the ground.
He picked the driver and gunner up underneath each arm and with the augmentation of his armored suit, dragged them to the exit. The last two members of his squad squeezed around and got the rest while he pulled the pair down the steps and towards the open hatch.
“I’m really sorry about this.” He muttered to them as if they could hear, and dashed as quickly as he could across to his waiting vehicle, his rifle clapping against his chest. He dumped them on the ramp, followed by the last two members of the squad and closed them inside.
The fallen crew already had blisters forming on their skin while the pair of waiting soldiers stood by with pressurized water jets. As the air cycled, they sprayed the fallen men down, to the point of causing their ruptured skin to split and peel away.
“Careful! Careful!” the commander growled, pulling their masks off as the inner hatch unlocked and slid aside. “Get them breathing again; see what we’ve got for first aid to counteract whatever’s out there.” He added on his way back to the command deck.
Upstairs the driver was waiting on the deployed team, having watched them drag the incapacitated crew of the tank beside them back to the relative security of theirs. With a half degree change in the Cygnans’ aim, it could have been them. “Ready, sir?”
“Ready. Let’s catch up to the rest of the battalion.”
***
Farther to the south, Sergeant Mason had followed Grant’s command and stuck the support vehicle right on the front line. It worked. Fourth Battalion drove straight down at their first target without a single shot in defense.
The support tank was taller than the rest, due to the towering apparatus taking the place of the normal turret. From their training, the system was described as the shield projector and antenna array. He wasn’t sure what the maximum absorption of the shield was although it was painfully obvious the threshold was below a particle cannon designed to drop a starship.
They were close enough to make out movement of the next Cygnan tower on the main screen, appearing to cycle back and forth between the lines of tanks approaching but unable to lock on.
“What is it doing?” He asked, “What are we doing to it?”
“I’m just watching.” The leading operator radioed back, “Our system is automated but I can tell the tower is trying in a couple frequency bands to resolve the tanks, but it keeps getting pulled off. Whatever the Lyrans built us is working!”
“We’ve got a targeting solution! Ready to fire!” Mason’s gunner announced.
“Take the shot!”
The first round launched with a sharp crack from above, rocking the platform from the recoil. Streaking across the field, the burst of energy slammed into the tower, shredding its shields and biting a corner out in a blurred cloud of smoke.
“Don’t wait on us! Open fire!” Mason called to the rest of the battalion as a full volley of high-caliber rounds launched from the front line. Even jammed and damaged, the tower tracked and engaged the slower artillery rounds on the way in, taking out four before the last of the six impacted. Meanwhile the wave from front line ripped through the tower’s foundation, sending the structure falling into the dirt.
“That’s it!” Mason exclaimed and radioed back, “Fourth Battalion’s first target is down! Reforming line to move on the second!”
***
The command deck of the support tanks were nearly identical to those of the front line versions except for the removal and replacement of the gunner’s seat. Instead of the targeting controls, a seamless, curved display wrapped nearly two hundred degrees around the operator, bathing him in a maelstrom of data to the point of sensory overload.
Having reached and neutralized the first tower, Scott scann
ed across the signals transmitted by the target and what had counteracted them. It had gotten off one shot which dropped the shield and caused some damage to one of the tanks, but not enough to take it out of the fight.
The screens around his workstation coupled with the 360-degree view on the walls of the ground outside gave Scott more than enough incentive to keep the systems dependably functioning. Not only working, but to also determine what the enemy was using to target them and where their weaknesses were. It also didn’t help having a front-row seat to see every potential threat they faced.
“Third Battalion, Target down. We’re moving for the mountains. Next tower is marked.” Othello spoke up from the leading tank. Privately to Scott he added, “That was too close.”
“Just a bit.” Scott responded, “I wish I could figure out what makes them lose track. There’s a very specific range where we go from no effectiveness to complete coverage.”
“Could the atmosphere have something to do with it?”
Scott paused once more. “Maybe. Could they just never have tested all this? If they were never attacked here before maybe it didn’t ever cross their minds.”
“That’s a possibility but I can’t imagine they’d screw up that much. Worst case is they’re effing with us. Just trying to draw us in to get a better angle on us later on.”
The idea gave Scott a chill down his back but shook it off. Outside, they passed the burning remains of the outlying tower. Taking a closer look while he had the chance, he tried to piece the installation back together in his mind.
Isolated on the barren plain, the tower base looked to be constructed of reinforced stone intermixed with metal sheathing and rebar on both the inner and outer surfaces. A rounded turret taking up half the height was split down the middle to make room for a quad-barreled energy cannon that could cover all the way from ground to zenith. Smaller phalanx guns were also installed around the edges of the turret to hit smaller incoming targets or possibly ground troops.
MissionSRX: Deep Unknown Page 26