Grendels

by Zachary Deaderick

  “Damn it Sir! We are getting crucified here. How long till the techs get those damn things running?” Davis yells into his comm.

  “How long?” Sanders yells over the tech comm.

  “Five minutes sir!”

  Sanders looks back down at his forearm at the collapsing lines, “You got about two. That’s two before they blast their way right through my lines. They’re holding! They’re not running so make sure their deaths mean something and you get that shit out there!”

  Sanders turns his attention back to the battlefield firing off rounds acting as the only overwatch and reserve while simultaneously painting hot zones with his laser designator on the rifle.

  After a mere forty seconds an entire flank of the formation falls apart cut down under air support.

  “Incoming!” Sanders yells selecting the region on the map and dragging the command units to cover. Wave after wave of enemy soldiers boils over the dead bodies of his friends crushing their hardened armored bodies under foot before being cut down by the kinetic rounds.

  Instantly the balance of power shifts as both seekers come online. The sonic cannons pinpoint soldiers in the focus of their cannons. The vibrations crescendo inside the body of the squids causing them to erupt violently. The cannons sweep back and forth viciously eradicating everything moving without a friendly beacon.

  With the firefight settled in a matter of seconds the seekers lurch forward and roll into the river firing up their long screws.

  Diving under the shallow water the pair vanish off to wreak havoc on another world.

  “Damn,” Davis says limping up weapon dangling still tucked into his shoulder and scanning the battlefield. Sanders just glances at Davis before looking out at the carnage all around. “We went from about one eighty-three at the outset of this firefight and we are down to sixty-one.”

  “I’m short-handed on O’s like always. One platoon with an officer. You take one and I’ll take the other. Lt. Divans can take what’s left of eight and ten. You take five, six and seven. I’ll mop up the rest from one through four.”

  “Thirteen, twenty and twenty eight?

  “Yeah redesignate to Alpha Bravo and Charlie,” This was the fourth restructuring of battle teams. The first round had included colors and numbers, then switched to letters and colors, numbers and lastly just letters.

  Sanders watches as the command screen catches up with the restructuring. He sighs looking at the names still remaining on the status screen, “Hope those Seekers get their payloads off. Hope they get them into some organic factory and they kill this planet off in a week.”

  Davis kneels down sitting back on his heels, “What are our orders now sir?”

  “Hitch a ride off this rock as soon as I ping Admiral Kaffey.”

  Sanders glances down at the timer on the bottom right of his display, twenty minutes until Enterprise reaches line of sight.

  “Admiral Kaffey this is Captain Sanders Grendel Company 243 requesting pickup. Admiral Kaffey this is Captain Sanders Grendel Company 243 requesting pickup.”

  Sanders shrugs at Davis waiting on a reply.

  Crackling over all channels, “Roger 243, this is Kaffey. We have transports onboard and being dispatched. ETA twenty-six minutes. Stay on site. Congratulations on getting those seekers up and running. My tech reps inform me that both got loose without taking any damage. Kaffey out.”

  “Finally,” Davis rocks forward straightening his back and stretching.

  “Alright,” Sanders calls over the recall, “Walk it in. We are being picked up in twenty. Air support will be over head any minute. Keep your eyes open anyway though. . .”

  6

   Sanders jerks awake terrified the coffin surrounding him is one of the drop pods from years prior.

  Sucking deep gasping breaths his mind races trying to calm itself down. Focusing on his breathing he tries to deepen the breathing and slow its pace.

  “Still having those?” A voice whispers inside the rack.

  Sanders blinks several times at the LED console trying to make out the letters. His massive pupils swollen in the dark of night resolve the text quickly, MILLER.

  “Yeah, drop pods.”

  “I hate those,” Miller whispers back.

  Heart rate finally slowing Sanders chuckles, “Not as bad as the memories waking up from the cocoon though.”

  “Screw that,” Miller whispers shakily over the intercom.

  “What’s going on?”

  A few seconds elapse as Miller glances around the terminals, “looks all quiet boss. Patrols are all normal. Proxy sensors aren’t showing anything and overhead drones aren’t showing anything on the thermals.”

  “Alright, I’ll be back there in the office in about thirty. Anything comes up ring the intercom in the head.”

  “Rog.”

  Sanders pulls a towel from the closet and heads for the showers. The cool concrete against his bare feet would have felt rough but he only registers the scraping and dragging as friction against his strides.

  Standing and soaking under the hot water he lets the entire room steam up before lathering up with soap and washing himself down. He takes the soap and scrubs down his face and scalp. He glances at the shampoo and then turns around to soak under the shower.

  Kind of nice not needing shampoo, but I miss it.

  Shutting off the hot water he dries himself and pads back to his room. Inside he pulls the sheets up in his rack and straightens them out before sliding it back into the wall and sitting down at the desk to slip into the thin skin that goes under the armor.

  Hanging from several hooks he slides the various pieces of the suit on and locks them into each other. First the chest piece and backpack, “You can’t power up any of the systems without the battery pack,” his drill instructors had said. Next came legs, “Doesn’t matter if you can lift your rifle if you can’t move with it on your own.” Locking each of the pieces into the other layers he glances at the helmet and its opened faceplate to check and make sure each piece is correctly locked.

  “Reading all green from your suit,” Miller’s voice comes over the speakers in the helmet, not whispering this time.

  “Yep, check out a rifle from the armory for me?”

  “Assault Rifle or Marauder?”

  “Rifle,” Sanders says shrugging. “Not much chance we are going to need anti-vehicular rounds or anti-squid firepower.”

  “Is there much chance we will need anti-personnel rounds?”

  “Point taken,” Sanders says composite boots clicking down the hallway.

  In the control room Miller sits feet propped up behind the bank of holo screens with a rifle set caddy corner on the desk.

  Sanders picks it up and checks the magazine to find out how many rounds are loaded, sixty. He chambers a round after finishing the safety checks and clicks it into place on the hard mount holster over his shoulder.

  “Like that boss man?” Miller asks.

  “Got a feeling Mills.”

  The blank black metal helmet nods slightly.

  Sanders activates the suit’s interactive command system and accesses the holo screens and checks the inputs from each.

  Feeds from the blockades around Solace dominate most of the news feeds.

  “Looks like this shit is getting pretty serious. They have significant aerial assets as well as heavy ground armor. We won’t be knocking them over easily. Planet had way more helium on its moon than even the geologic summary said. They’ve been making a killing for nearly half a decade.”

  “Yeah,” Sanders crosses his arms, “Looks like we are likely going to be heading over there.”

  “Huh?” Miller says helmet turning.

  “Yeah O, came in last night after he caught me looking at the deployments. We are looking at heavy installations and heavy armor. If we try and deploy aerial assets it's going to be a massacre because their equipment is almost as good as ours. We would give it to them, but they’d make it expensive. If we dump Grendels
we can secure their infrastructure and some of their equipment keep it from getting into the fight.”

  “Last I looked at it last night we were in standoff. Keeping them from fielding their assets just yet. They can’t keep them in the field forever without costing a fortune as far as power cells so they are only going to deploy them if they think attack is imminent. So they’re going to deploy us and try and get inside that window and secure the supplies before their troops get them.”

  “You tell the guys yet?”

  “Tell the guys what?” Davis asks locking his rifle across his back.

  Sanders glances back over his shoulder, mostly out of habit, while the suit’s cameras panned quickly across his screens to show behind him.

  “That we are going to Solace.”

  “For sure?” Davis asks.

  “Yeah, Boss asked about it last night. Wanted to know what I thought about our strategic situation.”

  “Saw the feeds,” Davis says pointing at the holos, “I’d gamble they have way more assets than what's on that rock.”

  “How do you figure?” Sanders crosses his arms and turns to face both Davis and Miller simultaneously.

  “Look at all that freight coming off. Hell, they were dragging a freighter or more off those moons once a week. That's a mountain of helium. You can even see how much they have diminished their moons by visual inspection.”

  “You mean other planets,” Sanders adds turning to face the windows.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Davis says slowly. “I mean where would you be hauling that much crap? Colonies would consume that kind of power, super capital ships, and massive land equipment. Other than that there is no reason to be hoarding that much without selling off most of it.”

  “This could be a serious firefight,” Miller sweeps his feet off the table and leans in.

  “Glad you saw that as well,” Mr. O says from the door.

  “Good morning sir,” Sanders turns.

  “Some of my analysts were telling me that it was unlikely they could have gotten up to much in just the ten short years since they started up mining operations on the moon.”

  “In ten years you could build a fleet, field an army and train up a significant number of Grendels. In ten years we sacked the squid home system. Ten years is enough time to build a massive fortune and spend it on a serious war machine.”

  “So my next question, is what plans do you have to ensure my families safety if I put your division in charge of the front lines?”

  Helmets swivel looking at each other briefly before pausing and looking at Sanders.

  “To be honest sir, you’d have to get off planet. Anything topside is going to make you vulnerable to orbital bombardment. If you put up in one of the old battle cruisers you should be reasonably safe this far from the fighting. The Stand-off Missile Plats carried a marine detachment with them. You could probably tool up a few modules to convert it to spacious living for your family. Keep the weapon systems and shield modules, Keep her way out beyond the range of normal traffic and no one is likely to find you long enough to mount a large enough attack.”

  Davis takes a couple of steps into the room away from Owens, “Take a compliment of fighters with you, dock ‘em on the hull. Between a five squad of fighters, onboard drones and the SMP’s weapon system you shouldn’t need to worry about anything.”

  “They’d need several destroyers to give you a run and honestly even then you would be able to pop them before they got through your shields.” Sanders finishes and steps toward Davis and Owens.

  “Glad I kept one of those back in orbit then,” O says scratching his head. “Sent the rest of them to the front because the analysts advised we would likely face significant aerial support. Well Dave, You and the boys pack it up. You’ll be on the shuttle tonight. We have a transport heading out there tomorrow.”

  Sanders nods and glances at the other two, nodding as his helmet sweeps across them.

  7

  Vibrations rattle through the ship while heat warps the metal, whining miserably against the strain. Sanders watches the three dimensional tactical overlay of the air space over Solace. In just two hours the carrier fleet stationed just behind an asteroid cluster has shifted into deployment position.

  Twelve thousand total ground troops poised to drop onto the surface of the rock and seize control of any weapons systems.

  From the ground several air defense stations begin to light up the night sky trying to intercept the amphibs.

  “All ships, evasive maneuvering. I say again all ships evasive maneuvering.”

  The commander of aerial operations looks just like Sanders remembers his pilots looking, somehow detached from the action but intensely in control.

  “Gunships, move on those installations. The AA is focusing on our transports. You should be able to get in close enough to bring them down before they take you out. Move! Those transports won’t last long when we get up close.”

  Suddenly a battery of return fire flickers down through the atmosphere exploding and flashing, Most of those rounds will never reach the surface. Got it Sir, do something. Maybe we got lucky and a few of those rounds penetrated the atmo.

  Sanders watches the tactical map with his advanced overlays as commander of ground operations. Several of the gunships wink out as additional arrays of defense measures activate.

  “Atmo AA active.”

  Little late, boss, Sanders sighs watching two more gunships wink out before the gunships focus their fire on the close in air cover destroying their compatriots. The short tanged AA doesn’t last long against the direct attack. With the ground based shields the more expensive long range AA continues pounding out rail rounds close to C.

  A transport splinters in the atmosphere spilling equipment and personnel. Sanders grimaces, “First casualties.”

  A counter spins up on his screen. The timer counts down from forty seconds. He calls off the intervals starting every five seconds at thirty. As the last few seconds approach the jerks of the parachutes and rockets drive each passenger ferociously into their seats.

  “I forgot how much this sucks,” Davis says.

  “The next part is going to be far worse,” Sanders sighs.

  “Not hunting squids anymore, huh?” Miller says and asks, seeking someone to talk to and delay the inevitable.

  The counter reaches zero and the crate smashes into the ground sides popping on explosive bolts and dropping flat. Ahead a small city sprawls out with hundreds of other parachutes raining from the sky.

  “Turn us around Mils! We dropped between the city and the airfield,” Sanders taps the screen setting waypoints on the map and dragging units along routes to the target.

  “All units, roll out, engage only as necessary.”

  “Roger sir,” Miller responds to the command to spin the vehicle.

  Ahead through the feed from the Hunters, the fully loaded soldiers watch as several smaller lighter hovercraft dart out the gate of the space station. Each of the small vehicles is mounted with a small cannon on its roof.

  “Pretty sure those aren’t authorized for daily use,” Davis laughs. “Drill ‘em,” he says activating the weapons console.

  Thompson sweeps the vehicles with the Gatling cannon. Each of the vehicles gets several shots off with its small cannon but the rounds ricochet noisily off the hull. A few seconds later several of the much larger caliber rounds from the cannon rip the hovercraft into debris.

  “Well this is all going smoothly,” Davis says clipping his rifle back onto his shoulder.

  “Yeah but they have armor and aerial support somewhere. . .” Sanders says on the short range.

  “All ground forces,” Sanders says switching channels to command, “This is commander Sanders over ground forces for KS, Keep an eye out. We know they have significant aerial and ground support equipment. We should be expecting heavy MBTs. Be sure to mark anything on the command map that pops up.”

  “Dave,” Davis says interrupting the end of the bat
tle speech.

  Sanders focuses ahead and spots the MBT glide around the corner of the star port.

  “Oh, Shit! Everybody out! Thompson Miller, stay on the run and keep hitting it with the one fifty.”

  Sanders drops from the open door rolling free from the vehicle at more than forty kilometers per hour.

  “Stay down! Miller lure him out. He’s going to need to get close to pin you down with that cannon. If you can get him closer we can hit him with the anti-armor.”

  “Rog,” Miller says sounding busy.

  Sanders pulls the disposable missiles from his right shoulder blade, “Alright folks wait for my call and make them count. You only get one shot and if we screw this we die. . .”

  Sanders watches as the MBT chases the Hunter out into the thicker ground slowing it slightly. The team in the tank fire several rounds trying to hem Miller in but the experienced operator out maneuvers their simple traps.

  “Rip it!” Sanders yells.

  Three missiles explode across the hull of the tank. A missile strike to the rear quarter sends the drives crashing and the tank pulling hard to the left dragging the turret off track and punching a hole harmlessly in the ground. Before any of the soldiers can reach for the second missile the turret on the Hunter tears open the hull of the tank with the one fifty. The ripping metal pops and hisses before the internals explode ripping the tank wide open.

  Sanders shakes his head at Davis, “That was way too close this early. . .”

  8

  Leaning over the displays Sanders huffs before slowly blowing out the rest of the air in his lungs.