Grendels

by Zachary Deaderick

  “Look Sanders you and I both know the KS teams in place to handle the invasion are going to suffer much higher casualties than we would if we went. So just look at it like we are allowing those guys to get to go home to their families. And don’t act all high and mighty to me man, I knew you back before we upgraded. Back before you were The Captain Sanders. Back when we would go out drinking after coming back from a raid.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Sanders says turning in the chair and pulling open a drawer.

  “Alright,” Davis says starting to turn away, “But just know that some of the other guys are talking about walking and going it solo. Maybe picking up a team of their own and heading out to the rim.”

  “Noted,” Sanders replies flatly.

  The door closes around the corner at the entrance to the office.

  Before it was different. Before we were hunting squids. They aren’t human and even when we were hunting humans they were terrorists out killing civilians. This is some sort of corporate contract blowout gone wrong.

  Well the least I can do is look into it and see who’s fighting for what. . .

  An hour later, sifting through dozens of news services Sanders comes to a conclusion.

  “Looks like they thought they could just steal a couple of planets using the mining ships they borrowed.”

  “What’s that?” Carl Owens says stepping into the office.

  “Huh, oh hey sir, how are you doing?”

  “Doing well, something got you interested in this planetary rights dispute?”

  “One of my guys asked about it and I thought I could at least look into it for them.”

  “Just got a message that someone was using a top-tier clearance to look into our tactical movements. I figured it might have been you and thought if you were looking might as well ask what you think about it.”

  Sanders stands up and walks around the desk to look out the reinforced window, “Honestly sir, the claim to the planet could go either way. They did lie about the equipment being down for the eight months they used it to terraform the planet. Once they got it back up they fulfilled the original contract but the rental fee for checking out the equipment for eight months would be huge. How they got away with it for a decade before someone pieced together the timetables is a better question.”

  O grins ear to ear sliding his hands in his pockets, “No I meant about our tactical position for invading the planet. What is the high-low for losses?”

  Sanders pauses looking out the window for a long time replaying the images of the formations, numbers and defensive capabilities in his head. He shakes the numbers again until they solidify into a concrete answer.

  “Sir, you’ll lose a pretty good few. Their resources have given them the money to produce some decent armament. Looks like they have some big orders completed by Mjolnir Armaments. Means either they have heavy armor, air support or Grendels. Any one of those three and you’re going to have it tough.”

  “Unless I deploy my own Grendels?” O asks.

  “Yes you could always do that, it levels the playing field, and all but guarantees to keep your losses at a minimum, but you’re risking assets you can’t replace easily and moving invaluable assets out of position to defend our other facilities.”

  “Oh I can replace them. No one is abiding by the Non-Modification clause. In fact. . .”

  “Not what I meant sir. Everyone knows everyone is producing more second-gen Grendels, but you aren’t going to get any new Grendels who fought the squids. You can’t produce veterans of a war that is over. Honestly sir no amount of training is going to put them up to speed with the boys that fought that war, especially experience from any of six of the home system campaigns.”

  “Just how many campaigns were you involved in again?” O asks crossing his arms and staring out the window in awe at the beauty and terror of the view and the memories respectively.

  “Thirteen sir. All six in their home system, two on Earth, Fort Benning and the siege on the Kansas Spaceport, One on Luna and Mars each. Then there were the two stations and the last was Oceana. Twelve years total with two years spent on rotation back to Luna for home guard and to train new troops.”

  “Twelve years! I knew the war lasted a long time but I didn’t know anyone fought all of it. What did your family say when you got back?”

  Sanders jumps startled at the impact of the question.

  “I’m sorry, you don’t have to. . .”

  “No its fine sir, I just hadn’t been expecting it. Everyone always wants to know what the combat on their home world was like. Just caught me off guard.”

  Sanders sighs silently inside the suit, only his shoulders giving away the breath.

  “They had moved on. For the best for everyone. I had a daughter I never met until after the war ended. She was born after we moved off Terra. Was nine years old by the time my boots touched back down on Terran soil. My wife sent pictures and a few messages back and forth but it's not really the same to have a father, you never see or a husband that's never there.”

  “My wife began seeing someone else after the surgeries and genetic treatments. Can’t say I honestly blame her. By then it had been two years without even sending a picture back home and messages only went out about once a month. For all she knew I had died. After the modifications and implants I might as well have been dead.”

  Mr. Owens uncrosses his arms and leans against the wall hands in pockets one leg crossed heel up, “I mean I can understand not being attracted to a Grendels, but just giving up on someone who had. . .”

  Sanders smiles behind his helmet, “I understand sir. It was just easier to love me from a distance. Also kept from terrifying the kids. My children were horrified, my wife said the first time she showed them a picture of a Grendels. So she just told them I had died on their home world.”

  “How’d you meet your daughter then?”

  “I just pretended to be someone who knew their father telling them he loved them very much.”

  Mr. O straightens up from the wall and shivers slightly, “You say this like it is all pretty normal? Like you have no problem just walking away from your kids.”

  “Not at all sir, it’s just, it’s been you know, forty-something years. We ended the war by blasting their home world clean forty-three years ago. A year after that we finally made it home after we were sure the threat was over. From there most of us got mothballed. Put back out into the civilian population to try and find jobs. That’s when we found out we weren’t really welcome in society anymore. Something about being seven feet tall, three hundred and fifty pounds easy, smooth chitinous plates covering your chest, back and legs, massive hands with two extra digits small enough to manipulate regular equipment, I mean we leave the suits on around Sarah so we don’t scare her.”

  “In going out onto the map where it said ‘Here there be monsters’ you became monsters.”

  “Something like that sir,” Sanders says turning to watch him instead of spying through the rear-facing lens.

  “I’m sorry, Kevin. Really if I thought I could put you guys back to normal I would, but I am grateful for everything you’ve sacrificed for us all.”

  “You’re welcome sir,” Sanders says smiling, “But honestly it's easier being this way still. This way just warns the rest of the world that there is something a little bit wrong with us. That we don’t quite fit in. Let's them know to keep their distance and proceed with caution.” Sensing the hesitation and fear building about a rogue Grendels he quickly adds, “Not that we would attack but just that we might break down and come unglued.”

  Mr. Owens shifts off the wall, lifts his hands over his head stretching his back, “Alright then I guess I should go file the feedback reports that the information queries were yours. Next time you want our top-tier information just run it past me first though before we go putting it out across the network instead of just transferring it from my computer to yours.”

  “Roger that Mr. O.”

&nbs
p; Sanders plops back down in the reinforced chair, groaning under the significant weight of the modified soldier and powered armor.

  “Nobody would have been normal after that. . .”

  “Where are we?”

  Sanders bows his head staring at the dirt, “I don’t know. The topo maps aren’t accurate enough and we’ve lost uplink.”

  “How far was the next rally point?” Davis presses.

  Sanders looks up at him and laughs through the open faceplate of the helmet. The lens covering the left half of his face reflects the brilliant milky light from a moon much closer than Luna to Earth gleams silver in the light.

  “Davis, how many different ways do I have to tell you that we have no data uplink? I can’t be watching several miles ahead. It takes everything we can manage to deal with the threats within half a mile. They popped our air support and whoever else is still alive down here is outside our comm link range. Or worse they’ve found some way to jam comm link. All I know is we were headed that way. Now we can talk about what we don’t know or we can move and try and clear out a zone for the fleet to land additional resources.”

  Davis turns and moves to the head of the formation.

  “Fall in!”

  The troops leap through the air, clearing the debris from the last firefight. Sanders looks down at his pitifully diminished battalion strength charts. More than half of the battalion has sorted to the bottom of the chart and converted to black circles.

  “Haven’t even reached the target. Hell haven’t even reached the second checkpoint for reinforcements.”

  Sanders glances at the mission plan.

  “Two more checkpoints to resupply weapons, ammo and additional personnel. Would have just been easier to dump us all out here at the get go.”

  “Then they would have just killed off five hundred people in those missile strikes, before we killed those batteries, rather than just losing the two hundred that we did.”

  Davis is still testy about being insulted. Guess it's just a shock to not have the net available. That's what happens when you hit them in their own backyard. . .

  “Captain Sanders, Amphibious Assault Group Five, Captain Sanders.”

  Jerking upright and dropping his weapon, “Go for Sanders.”

  “Who is it?” Davis asks only hearing half of the conversation.

  “Amphib Five,” Sanders answers changing to local only.

  “Captain this is Commodore Nabaal, I need you to clear a patch wide enough for me to put some heavy armor down on the ground. We have two Seekers on board that we are going to dump in the ocean but we want them dropped on land for safe delivery until they are booted up. Can you provide me a safe LZ?”

  Sanders looks around, “Sir no offense but this zone is fairly hot and I am severely undermanned. My sat link is down and we have no heavy weaponry left.”

  A pause.

  “Captain allow me to rephrase. You will secure your current position. We are falling into orbit and will drop our payload and then jump back out before we risk the rest of the strike group. You will secure the package until the engineering team arrives to ensure the Seekers are properly activated.”

  Sanders breathes slowly, “Yes Commodore.”

  Looking up and watching through his left eye behind the shield he spots the strike group high above as a pair of triangles for the amphibs and four hourglasses to mark the destroyers. Davis walks over and stares up at the same place.

  “Guessing having them overhead is worse than having no one overhead?”

  “Absolutely,” Sanders sighs.

  “What do they want?”

  “They want us to hold this position until they can download Seekers and dump them in the water.”

  “You tell them we have no fire support, no backup and no air defense?”

  “Yeah, you didn’t hear?” Sanders asks looking back down at the forearm map with soldiers relative positions from each other.

  “No I was busy getting back over here.”

  “Yeah I told ‘em. Whatever, so we are going to hold this position, but we are going to lay low until those damn Seekers pop up on the scans. No reason to broadcast our position until we have to. Until then they will have to make a guess where the Seekers are going to touch down.”

  “We could tell them to blow off,” Davis shrugs. “We were hired to support Amphib Strike Two not Five.”

  “Yeah, ok Master Sergeant Davis. You go tell Commodore no. And I don’t mean about rank because we are contractors, I mean because our contract is to be recovered by Strike Group Two as well. If we snub them they might snub picking us up. We won’t last another three days on this rock when the cleanup forces arrive.”

  “Shit,” Davis murmurs.

  “Yeah,” switching channels Sanders addresses the entire remaining battalion, “Alright boys listen up. We are going to hold this position as the new LZ. We will be receiving reinforcements in the form of two Seekers. Once they arrive the engineer compliment will rig them for launch and then we cover them while they deploy.”

  “Those things go active start wrecking shit, Amphibs dump out their marines and some cavalry. We set up an On-the-go spaceport. They drop boats we get the hell off this rock. Roger up by platoons.”

  Sanders waits for the platoon leaders to get their individual reports and then form their platoon reports. Each platoon goes green. One hundred and ninety-one soldiers out of a compliment of four hundred. The mantle of leaderships drags Sanders down to crouching on his heels.

  “That bad?” Davis asks sitting with his legs sprawled out on front of him leaning back on his hands.

  “Two hundred and nine dead.”

  “Damn, that bad.”

  “Severson bought it.”

  “Steele too.”

  “Which Steele? Eli or Taylor?”

  “Uh, Miller’s partner?”

  “Eli,” Sanders rolls back and sits down as well. “Who does that leave?”

  “Miller, Jansen, Allen, Thompson, Rowe, You and me.”

  “How’d I get stuck with you?” Sanders chuckles.

  “Oh trust me, Satan had a sit down with the CEO and me and we discussed who would be acceptable for your right hand.”

  “I’m guessing they also made you immortal to punish me for all time?”

  “No I just had three get out of jail free cards,” Davis sighs.

  Sanders slaps his armored palm against Davis’ back, “I think it is more talent than luck.”

  Sanders switches to the platoon leader channel, addressing the ten acting platoon leaders, “Alright folks, looking at my drop charts here we are going to have at least two hours if they dumped the package from low orbit and it was on entry orbit then. I bet they dumped it from high orbit. We can bank on it taking four hours or more to reach us. So stand down with two man rotations as a pair. Consolidate and keep all channels open but catch some sleep.”

  Sanders watches each of the platoon icons flash to green indicating they understand.

  “You first sir, I’ll take first watch.”

  “Thanks Davis. Wake me if anybody stars.”

  “Of course.”

  5

  “Alright, package in atmo,” Sanders announces across all channels.

  “Twenty minutes until touch down,” Davis says scooting down lower in his hole, rubbing up against Sanders.

  On the screen as if on cue green circles all around the perimeter explode into swirling stars some flashing to red. “Here we go, you ready for this?” to Davis only.

  “When am I not ready boss?”

  “Davis, you are always the one guy I am actually worried isn’t paying attention the moment before a firefight lights off.”

  “I’m usually surprised when it lights off. How do you always know in advance to worry when I am not even paying attention?”

  “Look Davis your sarcasm isn’t funny.”

  “You’re right, it’s hilarious.”

  Sanders cuffs Davis before getting back on the sights.<
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  Picking targets with the sniper rifle provides unique challenges because the rifle fires a thirty millimeter round. Hitting targets too close to friendly forces leads to collateral damage.

  Sanders squeezes the trigger three times focusing on the hotspots on the battlefield. Davis beside him cycles through targets more quickly using the flechette micro rounds. After picking off each target in rapid succession Davis begins moving on Sander’s targets.

  “You going to get off my ass?” Sanders huffs.

  “Nope, not until you speed up to keep it from getting hairy down there.”

  “T-minus twelve minutes.”

  Sanders cycles to new targets squeezing the trigger and watching the soft bodies of the squids inside their combat armor evacuate out the far side of the bullet holes.

  “Sir, we are losing ground over by 'toon three.”

  “Yeah, I’m. . .” Pausing long enough to squeeze another shot, “Shifting the remaining three reserves over to that gap. Just keep your fire focused on that direction. Give them enough time to get setup.”

  On the overlay three spinning stars zigzag out from the command mound to the Northern edge of the formation.

  “Captain,” the command override channel clicks on, “your packages are almost on site. Want you watching for any AA out there.”

  Over the local command channel, “Yeah sir, what do you want me to do about their superior air support? I have no anti-missile defense systems or anti air platforms.”

  A tech on the command override comes on, “Chute deployment on both Seekers. Gliding into DZ. The Boston is taking fire!”

  Sanders watches the screens while looking up trying to spot the event midair. After a second Boston begins to descend much more rapidly than it travels forward. “Chute on the Boston is down Davis. We are going to organize and push further out to secure that Seeker!”

  Davis activates the command comm, “Alright four and five push forward, three and six collapse behind them. One, Two and Seven through Ten fall back and get skinny. We gotta hold this point for the McChrystal.”

  On the screen the spinning stars quickly become blurs spinning faster and faster to indicate near constant fire. The firefight and the lines hold steady for a few moments while the Boston comes crashing to the ground just inside of platoon Five. McChrystal sails and skips across the rugged landscape well within the center of the DZ. With both of the seekers on the ground the lines begin to shift slowly faltering and falling back away from the onslaught. The spinning clusters quickly wink out one here, two there, half a dozen at once and then the lines begin to evaporate under the boiling fire.