“Oh, it’s that obvious. I thought I was really perceptive.”
***
The requested attendees gathered before the pile of rocks around Trent. A bundle of trees provided the group with shade, which under normal circumstances would have been appreciated. Inside their climate-controlled suits, the shade made no difference.
Standing firm, Trent did his best to speak in a manner that portrayed a command presence.
“Listen up. The Fleet has received the intelligence we gathered. In less than forty-eight hours, an armada of warships will jump through the gate nearest the planet. They are coming through with guns blazing. The moment they appear, we’ll launch our attack on the base. Our objectives are to prevent the base from aiding their ships in orbit, capturing intact enemy tech, and securing a live prisoner. CAL, bring up the base diagram.”
On each visor of those attending the briefing, there appeared a 3D depiction of the base and surrounding terrain. Different points flashed as Trent referenced them.
“As you can see, we have a lot of open ground to cross. Our approach will begin from the tree line closest to the base. After sunset, we’ll start a slow belly crawl. We’ll spread out along the length of this wall, about eighty-five meters, in three lines. This will help disperse the distortion our suits cause. We’re going to take over thirty hours to reach our attack positions about two kilometers from the trees. Be damn sure CAL is searching the ground directly ahead of you for mines.
“When we reach our attack point, we hold until the Fleet attacks. The plan of attack is as follows. Alpha squad, you take out Tower A. Don’t stop firing grenades until it’s destroyed. Echo, you do the same with Tower B. Bravo, Charlie and Delta, use your grenades to blast the hell out of the gate.
“When those objectives are complete, Alpha take cover behind this building and destroy Tower C. Echo head for this building and destroy Tower D. The rest follow me to the center of the compound. We’ll take out their laser and missile batteries, and capture this building, which is my best guess for their command center. Alpha and Echo, when all towers are down, start search and kill operations. We go until all enemy opposition is eliminated. Again, try to secure enemy tech and live prisoners.”
Sergeant Gabriel raised his hand.
“Yes, Sergeant.”
“Ummm...not to sound pessimistic but...how the hell are we supposed to capture one of those things?”
Several of the others nodded.
“I don’t want anyone to place themselves or others at undo risk trying to take a prisoner. Use your heads. I suggest that you don’t even try until there are only a couple left. Then, blow their fucking knees off and hands off if that’s what it takes to disarm them.
“Listen, it’s important that you be ready to think on your feet. We are the first. After our attack, others will learn from what we do. And they’ll be the better for it. We, however, are afforded no such luxury. Now, if there are no more questions...go brief your squads. We move out in forty. I want us in position by nightfall.
***
That night, forty-eight creeping blurs emerged from the forest, inching toward the teeth of the beast.
Chapter 12: The Attack
They waited.
If Trent remembered anything from this mission, it would be the waiting. Waiting till they reached Alpha Gate, then till they got to the system, and waiting like a canned ham in the shuttle as they snuck from rock to rock en route to the planet.
The attacking legionnaires advanced as fast as they dared to the holding positions, reaching it with only minutes to spare.
The Fleet didn’t show.
Trent told himself not to worry. Executing a two-pronged assault from distant points in space is bound to have a timing hiccup. He told the rest of the waiting unit the same thing but doubted it provided them with any more comfort than it did him.
They laid on the ground, asses in the wind, totally exposed, and waiting for a keen eyed Bearcat to spot them at any moment and then blow them away. What else could they do?
Retreat? On a distant alien planet with no hope of relief, the attempt of pulling back could lead to no good.
Attack unsupported? That guaranteed just as much death, though quicker than pulling back. Even if they overran the base, the four ships in orbit could easily destroy them, as the legionnaires would have no idea how to fire the enemy anti-air batteries.
Unable to go forward or backward, they waited. First an hour. After two, Trent started to think through his hopeless options yet again.
Maybe we could fire the batteries. Take out their fleet and then call for extraction. It would be that...
In the middle of his desperate thoughts, a message reached his CAL, “Running back. This is quarterback. The ball is snapped.”
The sweet sound rang in his ear like beautiful music.
His order came quick, “Attack! Fire! All units, fire!”
MRGs came equipped with a micro-grenade launcher beneath the barrel. The small device, filled with powerful explosives, tightly wrapped in a casing of loose fragments, could be programmed to detonate at a specific distance. With a clip holding ten charges, it was a legionnaires deadliest weapon, with one tiny drawback.
The grenades made noise.
Forty-eight grenade launchers firing round after round into the towers and fence caused the ground to shake. Explosions reduced the heavy weapons emplacements to nothing more than twisted wrecks. The fence no longer remained a barrier to entry.
The lack of oxygen in the atmosphere left the battlefield void of smoke.
“Attack! All units move in!”
The speed with which the unit executed the attack surprised even Trent given their recent effort to remain still or move very slowly. The nanos yet again proved their worth.
Within a matter of seconds, the horde swarmed the base. The initially bewildered defenders stood no chance against the solid wall of fire put before them. Their black body armor quickly melted away under the bombardment. Trent ran with the trigger on his MRG set to full auto firmly engaged. CAL identified an enemy, and Trent disintegrated them. The enemy body count rose with each step.
He reached the door-less wall of a larger dome, planting his back against it with a thud. He took time to take stock of their situation. Despite their early advantage, CAL informed him that three of his unit had already fallen to enemy fire. He looked to his right and saw Thomas leading Alpha as they poured grenades on Tower C. To his left, Simms and Echo did the same to Tower D.
“Bravo! Move around to the left and clear this building. Charlie and Delta, go right and push in. Jones, you’re with Bravo.”
Trent led Charlie and Delta around the right. They sought protection in the principle of avoiding fire before finding new cover. As Bravo entered the large dome, Trent ordered Charlie to clear a similar building in front of it. Delta broke into two teams to clear a pair of domes on the right. Trent continued to lay merciless cover fire.
Warning: Ammunition depleted. CAL wrote, interrupting his fun.
In a single breath, Trent slapped a fresh clip in and hammered away at the enemy troops, rushing to plug the breech.
The side door to a large dome, most likely their barracks, near the center flew open. Dozens of Bearcats ran out. They spotted Trent and threw a tremendous volley of massive rounds at him.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
The impacts sounded against the container he hid behind as it vibrated violently. Rounds plowed into the ground on both sides, sending red dirt into the air that rained down on him.
The Bearcats were so focused on killing Trent that they failed to notice the group of blurs moving up on their left. Their ranks were torn apart by grenades and MRG fire.
With the container silent, he dared to poke the his MRG over the top. With the aid of the barrel camera linked to the visor, he saw Simms, his glorious savior.
“You okay, sir?”
The other squads, fewer in number, poured out of their assigned buildings as Alph
a appeared on the far right flank.
Without responding to Simms, Trent ordered, “Forward! Take out the batteries!”
He rushed to the safety of the barrack’s wall, taking Delta, Charlie, and Bravo with him. Alpha and Echo remained true to their task and secured the flanks. On the other side of the barracks were the batteries and the suspected command center.
“Delta! Secure this building on the left.”
Again using the barrel camera, Trent looked around the corner of the barracks and managed to pick off a couple soldiers rushing to defensive positions around the batteries.
His tactical brain spun as he calculated options. The enemy was on their heels. Taking the time to organize a fully coordinated attack would allow them the opportunity to regroup and dig in, costing more lives in the process.
Hold ‘em by the nose and kick them in the ass. Yes! That’s it. Trent channeled General Patton from an old history book.
“Delta, Charlie, and Bravo, on my order, fire grenades at the positions around the batteries. Alpha and Echo, when the party starts, push forward onto their flanks and kick them in the ass.”
Trent briefly paused to allow the squad leaders a moment to prepare.
“Grenades away! Give it to ‘em!”
Grenades arced from the MRGs, through the air, and landed. Deep booms reverberated everywhere.
The concussion reverberated through the air. Shrapnel and noise intensified the chaos among the dwindling defenders. None of the enemy paid any attention to the almost transparent legionnaires tightening the noose around their neck.
Soon the grenades of Alpha and Echo joined the warrior’s symphony. For a moment, Trent allowed himself to enjoy the destruction his orders had brought. He quickly shook that off and returned his full attention to the incomplete mission.
With most of the base falling under Legion control and the number of Bearcats around the batteries approaching zero, Trent shouted, “Hold grenade fire, hold grenades. Use the MRGs. Avoid hitting the equipment. Alpha and Echo lay down suppression fire. Everyone else, rush forward and secure the batteries! Go! Go! Go!”
Trent charged around the dome into thinning enemy fire. The man to his right broke into two pieces when a direct hit tore him apart. Another on his left suffered a hit to the head. It exploded, splattering his suit with blood and gore.
Adrenaline coursed through Trent’s blood, driving him into a murderous rage. They surged through the hastily constructed fortifications as two more of their comrades paid the highest price.
Trent stepped around a vehicle, placed the barrel of his MRG directly into the gut of a Bearcat, and he pulled the trigger. The weapons vibrated gently as the belly erupted into a cloud of blue, adding to the tapestry of death painted on his suit. The mangled body collapsed backward, revealing another willing target. Never letting up on the trigger, he walked the fire up along the center of the enemy of humanity, splitting him clean in two.
Soon, the last of the battery’s helpless defenders fell to the stampede.
Firmly gripping the MRG with both hands Trent stood straight and basked in the carnage. The world slowed while he took in the scene. Wailing of the dying from both races filled the air. The dead littered the ground. Fighting raged on to the right.
A secondary explosion near the battery lifted Trent off his feet and slammed him into the vehicle. He bounced off, landing hard on the ground where he laid motionless.
“Major! Are you okay?” Roth kneeled next to Trent taking him into her arms. “Medic!”
Thoughts of Anna and Madison flashed in his mind as he felt himself loss consciousness.
Please forgive me. I’m so tired. My promise...
Trent’s eyes shot open. Adrenaline filled him with newly tapped resolve. His surprise at awakening in Roth’s arms faded fast. Only one thing mattered.
He jumped to his feet and yelled to all those who could hear, “Follow me to the command center!”
With a wave of his arm, he charged forward yet again.
***
The suspected command center earned that distinction due to the abundance of what appeared to be communications equipment on the roof.
Trent, Roth, and one of the privates in her squad raced toward the building at high speed. More than likely, a Bearcat was inside, erasing valuable information and destroying important equipment. They moved with reckless abandon, disregarding all concerns about their flanks or other tactical necessities. All that mattered was beating the ticking clock.
In the final meters, Trent used a rapid combination of hand signals, quicker than communicating via the CALs, to order Roth and the private to the sides of the entrance. Then he stopped and fired a grenade into the door, blasting it open. He sped forward to take full advantage of the carnage caused by the explosion.
Trent dove head first through the short-lived swirling haze. Thanks to his enhanced reflexes and agility, he rolled on impact, ending in a kneeling position with the MRG raised and ready for a fight.
Two Bearcats waited in the command center. The first one charged Trent, but the creature was no match for the MRG. His weapon made quick work of the flesh. The other initially tried firing his rifle at the private coming through the door but either from a lack of ammunition or malfunction, the weapon failed to discharge. In frustration and brilliance, the remaining Bearcat hurled the useless weapon at Trent, striking the barrel of the MRG before charging the private and Roth.
Upon pulling the trigger, CAL flashing a warning, Warning. MRG malfunction.
In the time, it took CAL to let Trent know that he held a really expensive club, the Bearcat broke the private’s neck and knocked the weapon out of Roth’s hands. She lunged for her MRG, but the Bearcat caught her right arm. In one motion, he easily ripped the limb off her body like a strip of string cheese. Blood squirted out before the nanos could clot the gaping wound. She shrieked in pain.
Her cry sent a cold shiver up Trent’s spine. The Bearcat moved to finish the job when he threw the broken MRG, hitting it in the back. The move designed to grab the raging beast’s attention, worked.
The Bearcat jerked its mane-less lion’s head around, focusing an enraged yellow eye onto Trent. Its white fangs glistened with salvia. He looked right back with his own rage.
He struggled to his feet. As he did, he dragged his right hand along the boot to find and grip a piece of gear he personally insisted be made part of standard Legion issue – a Bowie knife.
Having witnessed the holo from New Earth, he knew when a fight inevitably degraded to hand-to-hand combat, the tiny humans would need something with a bit more kick then the standard issue field knife. The thick and wide, twenty-centimeter long blade of the Bowie knife, originally designed to skin the massive buffalo of the old American west, seemed a perfect fit.
The two warriors circled. The Bearcat made the first move by bolting forward in an attempt to make his advantage in strength and size overwhelming. Trent danced to the left, avoiding the charge but drew blue blood when he slashed the knife along an exposed piece of shoulder. The breast swung an arm around with all its might but only found air.
Anger took over the Bearcat’s actions while Trent coldly studied him for a moment of weakness he could use to strike a lethal blow.
The beast charged again. Again, Trent avoided the attack. This time, his slashing blade glanced off black body armor.
As the Bearcat began to turn, Trent gripped the knife with both hands. When the hairy animal had almost completed his turn, Trent threw himself into the air. As he came down, the huge blade drove past the body armor, sinking it deep into the Bearcat’s upper right chest. It let out a thunderous roar. Trent continued to put all of his weight behind the blade before twisting the handle as hard as he could. The roar stopped and the creature fell dead.
In the ancient Chinese war manual, The Art of War, Sun Tzu spent considerable time on the importance of intelligence to know one’s enemy. When the medics finished autopsying the Bearcats in the forest, Trent as
ked them one question, “Where is their weak point?”
They informed him that the Bearcat heart was in a different position, in the upper right chest. A well place blow there would result in near instant death.
He yanked the soaked blade from the lifeless body and smiled at the blue trophy in his hand.
The fleeting sense of satisfaction disappeared as he moved quickly to what he assumed was a computer panel. The monitor showed something happening, but he suffered from extreme ignorance as to what. He feared a self-destruct or data erase protocol procedure taking place before his eyes. Not knowing how to stop it, Trent did the only thing he could think of. He walked around to the back of the computer station and severed what looked like a power cord.
Whatever he did, it appeared to work. The monitor went black.
With another mission objective achieved, he rushed to check on Roth’s condition. Her suit had self-sealed the hole created when the shoulder socket gave way, both saving her life and preventing him from checking the wound.
“CAL, report on Roth’s medical status!”
Traumatic injury to right arm—
Gee, thanks, CAL.
—Sergeant Roth is stable. Currently unconscious.
“Ping the medics with her location and status.”
Out of ways to assist Roth, Trent cautiously moved outside. He found the results of battle, death, and damage, but he didn’t hear or see continued combat.
“Jones, Thomas, Simms, report.”
Thomas answered first, “Area secured, sir. No more enemy resistance. Meet us at Tower C. You’re going to love this.”
Trent snatched up a dead private’s MRG and hurried to Thomas’ position. After coming around one of the smaller domes, he witnessed two dozen blood spattered legionnaires standing in a half circle before the corner of the fence that once supported Tower C. He worked forward to stand next to Thomas. She held her MRG squarely at an unarmed Bearcat sporting a fresh stump where his left hand had been.
“Well, well, Lieutenant. What do you have here?”
“Your live prisoner. I took your advice and disarmed him, literally.”
The Last Hero Page 8