Enemy Front

by T. E. Butcher

  One of the girls, a blonde, squinted at Reiter. “You don’t look black,” she said. Her friend popped her.

  “His robot’s black dummy!” she said. Before Reiter could even bother correcting her, a local boy snatched his helmet.

  “Hey,” he cried. The boy simply laughed, stuck his sweaty helmet on his head, and ran off. Reiter pursued eagerly. Pushing his way through the thickening crowd, he found himself rushing into a diner after the boy.

  The boy ran around past a waitress and into the employees only area. Damn, kid, I don’t want to bother the people working here. Slowing to a jog, he apologized to the waitress and approached the door. Regaining his bearing, he stepped inside.

  “I apologize, but have you seen a-,” he paused as a well kept man sat behind a table in the back. His helmet rested in a seat opposite her man. The implication clear. Reiter slowly approached, taking a moment to glare daggers at the boy, enjoying a cookie in a recliner.

  “Please be seated, Captain Reiter,” the man said. “Or do you prefer Paul? Or perhaps Black Lion? Or maybe even Fox 6?”

  Reiter furrowed his brow as he sat down. “How about I ask the questions here?” he said. “Namely, who are you? How do you know so much about me? And what do you want?” The man flexed his fingers before tenting his hands.

  “You may call me Jon,” he said. “As for how do I know you? Well, your exploits all the way up to Ironton have circulated in the news. I’m honestly surprised they don’t have you making propaganda instead of fighting on a secondary front.” Something stirred in his eyes. “Unless there’s something important, something Tharsis is all too interested in.”

  Reiter made a show of arching his back, mainly to make the pistol conceal in his belt more accessible. “I’m afraid that’s classified information,” he replied. “State secrets and all.”

  Jon merely smiled at him. “You aren’t going to shoot me, Captain,” he said calmly. “I just want to know the circumstances of how you found that dead first nation man.” Reiter paused. That wasn’t a state secret, not when they’d returned the body to the First Nation itself. “Specifically, you tell me about Winona, and I’ll tell you about Winona.” That piece of information was really specific.

  “We found a ten digit grid carved into a piece of wood near the man,” Reiter said. “He carved Winona next to it. We believe the grid leads to a hidden Union lab in our own territory.” Jon heard all of this and nodded. As the man reached for something in his coat, Reiter tensed. A picture. Jon pushed the photo over to Reiter. It depicted a young First Nation girl in her late teens wearing a ski jacket and posing next to a snowcapped mountain.

  “That’s Winona,” Jon said. “She’s family to some very important people back where she’s from.” He leaned forward. “The Union has spent the last decade making inroads to the First Nations border territories, recently they uncovered the Union’s plan to invade them from orbit once Tharsis is defeated, but the Union took that poor girl in her sleep and have held her hostage, preventing two of the largest tribes from supporting any act against the Union.”

  “What are you getting at?” Reiter asked. “Because we have no idea what the-” Jon held up a hand.

  “We scoured the country since the outbreak of hostilities,” he said. “And couldn’t find a trace of her until you recovered one of our people that went missing looking for her.” He held out his hand. “I’m making you a deal Captain Reiter, help rescue Winona, and I’ll help Starnes with his traitor problem.” Reiter blinked.

  “His What?”

  “Alright,” Reiter began. “Similar plan to before, we’ll divide back into our three manure groups and approach Objective Winona from three sides, we’ve been led to believe it’s a lab, but its clearly some kind of prison as well.”

  Wesser shook her head. “That’s low for the Union to kidnap a little girl,” she said. Mo looked at her, confused.

  “The back of the photo says she’s 17,” he said.

  “Still a kid,” Webb replied. “Look, we’ve been lucky so far, but before long, the Union is going to figure out the path we’ve been taking.” He pointed to a section of highway. “The enemy could use these sections of the autobahn to get around behind us. We need to be wary.”

  Reiter nodded. “I talked to Hawke, we’ll have drone flyovers all day,” he said. “Partially to give us cover, partially to map their air defense bubbles, we don’t need a repeat of Ironton.” They all got quiet as the memory of their medevacked friends being shot down still felt raw a few months later.

  “How are we on ammo?” Steele asked. “And while we’re at it, spare parts, we’ve been good about getting the drop on the Union, but that won’t last forever.” With a sigh, Reiter looked back at the Lowe.

  “I think it’s a good idea for everyone to clean their weapons before we move out. Lord knows our machines could use a little more tender love and care,” he said. “Anyone else got anything?” When no-one spoke up, he gave them his timeline and dismissed the leaders. “Steele, hold up a second.”

  The young woman spun on her heel as she turned to face him. “Need something, sir?” He waved her off.

  “Relax, I just want to see how you’re holding up,” he replied. “I know we’ve been roughing I lately.” She nodded.

  “I could use a real shower,” she said. “And maybe listen to some music, like actual music. Mo and Smith make me smile don’t get me wrong.” Reiter chuckled as he heard the two men’s voices carrying over the bustle of the mountain town they just liberated. They were singing something older. Reiter recognized the tune from his childhood. When Wesser came in with the female part, he and Steele laughed.

  “How’s Lazlo coming along?” he asked. Steele kicked a rock and folded her arms behind her back.

  “He’s still green,” she said. “He understands his job well enough, but he trusts going by the book a little more than he should, his thinking his a little stiff.”

  “A little one dimensional, huh?” Reiter asked. Steele held up her fingers about an inch apart. Chuckling, Reiter looked back up at the Lowe. Cleaning those Gatling guns is going to be a pain in the ass.

  “Need a hand with your shoulder cannons?” Steele asked. “I’ll help with yours if you help with mine.” With a smile, Reiter accepted her deal and before he knew it, they sat across from each other, scrapping carbon out of the barrels.

  “So You think Magyar and Smith are going to be a serious thing?” Reiter asked.

  Steele shrugged. “I don’t know, he got a good look at Wesser, and he’s still young,” she replied. “Besides, that Rosetti girl keeps following him around like a puppy.”

  “That’s because Mo’s harsh with her,” Reiter replied. “And Wesser’s rank probably intimidates her.”

  “What about you, sir?” she asked. “Is there someone in your life?” Reiter shook his head.

  “I didn’t really have time for dating with the build up,” he replied. “The only women I’ve talked to that weren’t my subordinates or superiors, both tried to kill us at one point.”

  “Maybe you should hit up Fletcher,” Steele said with a snide smile. “I’m sure she’d love for you to be her baby daddy.” Reiter shook his head.

  “I want to be around for my kids,” he said. “And I’m not having kids with someone I’m not married to. Fletcher would probably need the whole concept explained to her, anyway.”

  “So you don’t want to explain it?” Steele asked.

  “What if she’s just not interested?” Reiter said. “You can’t marry someone you just met, and any way we’re just speaking in hypotheticals, don’t give me that give look.”

  Steele’s grin stretched from ear to ear as she giggled at Reiter. “I’m just teasing you, sir,” she said.

  “Oh,” Reiter replied. “Right.” He returned to scraping his barrels for a moment. “That whole area isn’t real my strong suit, anyway.”

  “Oh, but it’s fun to talk about,” Steele said with a grin.

  Reiter shoo
k his head. “You need a hobby.”

  “What about Webb?” Steele asked. “I’m sure he has a girl stashed somewhere in every town.”

  “I dunno, I don’t typically talk to other men about this kind of thing.” Reiter replied. He paused, remembering something from the last night Black Platoon spent together at Mario’s. “You never really needed help with math way back when, did you?”

  Steele smiled on the Lowe’s opposite shoulder. “Not as bad as I made it sound, but yeah, I could have passed without Mo, I just wanted to stay close to him.” Reiter nodded.

  “You still have Viola’s prayer beads?” he asked. Using Bartonova’s first name must have been a curve ball, because Steele took a minute to respond.

  “Yeah, I do,” she said. “Helps me stay focused at night.”

  With a sad smile, He looked over at Steele’s machine. “I think we can move on to your panzerter,” he said. “My other weapons just need to be wiped down first.” As they climbed down the Lowe’s back, Reiter helped her down.

  “It’s different,” she said. “Piloting the Panzerterkannone, I don’t know if I like it or not yet.”

  “What’s not to like about it?” Reiter asked. “I’ve never driven one myself, but I am curious?”

  Steele held up two fingers as they approached her machine in the afternoon sun. “It feels too sluggish,” she said. “Like the damn thing is perpetually groggy, and I feel kinetic impacts more severely than my old Panzerter IV.” She waved her arms when Reiter shot her a concerned look. “The Armor holds up fine, I think the gyro might be worse, or the weight distribution, or both.”

  With a sigh, Reiter looked up at the kneeling machine. “We’ll look into it, but right now let’s get to work.”

  5

  White shapes moved across the monitor, stalking forward with their rifles ready. Inside the cockpit of his Martian, Kennedy smiled in anticipation. Just like I planned. Discreetly, he sent a message to his company commanders through the command matrix, marking the targets on their maps.

  Earlier that day, they’d made a show to the locals of his Martian Commander “breaking down.” Now, it sat in the perfect position to coordinate the impending ambush. As he thought, the figures stalked towards the positions they’d dug themselves. A pragmatic commander would have simply reused them. Kennedy elected not to for this specific reason. Had the positions been manned, his men would have been helpless, but as things stood, the mountain soldiers found the trap. They laid empty.

  “Reaper 6, Dogwood 1 We’ve located the target’s headquarters element,” Meadows said. Kennedy smiled coldly.

  “Archer 1, Horizon 1, did you copy that traffic?” He asked. As he spoke, the Mountaineers’ HQ appeared on his command matrix as a marker. Now his artillery could see them as well. Images opened on the matrix, revealing a few camouflaged tents as well as a pair of panzerters undergoing repair. A tempting target indeed.

  “Roger comrade, ranging in now,” The Battery commanders replied in near unison. One of the white figures spun about.

  Gunfire erupted from the wood line in front of Kennedy’s position. His infantry sprang from concealed positions all near the entrenchments, trapping the mountaineers where they stood. A look at the command matrix caused him to frown as more information poured in. The mountaineers and brought along two sizable platoons of infantry which by themselves outnumbered his single platoon of dismounted mechanized infantry.

  They’re too close to my own men for me or the tracks to support them. I need to force them to break contact. “All batteries, fire at will,” Kennedy said. The batteries came alive in a violent orchestra. Rockets whistled through the air, complemented by the deep rumble of his big guns. In the distance, the ground trembled and explosions added to the chaos.

  The barrage created the opening they desired. With their Assembly Area under fire and engaged with the infantry just outside the village, the mountain soldiers began to break off their attack. Kennedy checked his command matrix again.

  “Let them go,” he said. “We still don’t know where their missile support or the rest of their panzerters are.” He hoped the scouts would fix that, but kept his optimism in check. While the mountaineers retreated, they weren’t panicking. Rather, they remained organized. Squad sized elements provided covering fire while similar sized elements bounded back before doing the same.

  They’re keeping their cool. Even in the face of failure, they aren’t panicking. Unusual shapes coming off a few of the mountaineers gave him another piece of information: They had anti-armor weapons on them. They look disposable, something a single man can fire, more than enough for an IFV, not nearly enough for a panzerter.

  “Downpour 1, Reaper 6. Are your drones prepped and ready?” he asked.

  “We can have them on station in two minutes,” the drone leader replied. Excellent.

  Kennedy smiled and looked at his command matrix. We can keep them tracked for two minutes. “Downpour, get those drones in the air. I want them to pursue and route these mountaineers,” he said as he set a timer. Carefully, he slowly shifted his strobe laser until he was sure he’d catch at least one of the rocket bearers in its blast.

  The strobe laser lit up his thermal display. A tight singular beam winking in and out of existence, striking down Tharcian soldiers with impunity. The shock that his panzerter was not only also operational, but manned sent a crack in the dam that was the mountaineer’s resolve. Their retreat became more chaotic. Just as they seemed to be reorganizing, he sent them another burst from his laser.

  As the mountaineers began to disappear around the far side of a hill opposite him, a shrill scream rose over the wind. its horrible volume increased, echoing throughout the hills and peaks. It forced the Tharcains he could see to drive to the ground. To lay flat and make themselves as small as possible.

  Supercell close support drones swooped low, spraying the mountaineers with auto cannon fire. Airburst shells lit up the night beyond the hills. As they broke off, another pair dove from higher, unleashing a storm of rockets on the Tharcains. The assault finally ended when the first pair circled back and dropped a pair of bombs each. The napalm canisters ignited with the air on the surface, rendering his thermal sensors nearly useless in that sector.

  Smiling to himself, he opened the radio. “Jericho 6, as soon as the flames die down, sweep the area, I want an accurate number on dead, Dogwood 1, return to patrolling, I want to know if any did escape and where they’re running to.” On his command matrix, the drones returned to their airbase, while the infantry and their Capricorn IFVs formed a loose permitter around the forest fire.

  Suddenly, a proximity alarm went off. Kennedy’s head snapped to his left in time to see a Tharcian missile carrier lurking in the trees near him. Before he could turn his weapon onto the squat vehicle, a missile tube flared. Kennedy’s strobe laser struck the ground in front of the vehicle. Luckily, it spooked the gunner enough that the missile rushed past his panzerter’s head.

  He fired another burst, but the first carrier’s wingman also fired. As flames consumed one of the missile carriers, Kennedy’s panzerter lurched. All of his warning lights lit up as sparks flew from his controls. He fought for balance, but the Martian became unresponsive. Slipping off the building it leaned against, the Martian struck the ground with terrific force.

  His monitors blacked out, along with every light inside the massive machine. Kennedy’s head spun as it rattled against the cockpit walls, the Martian rolling down the hill. And then, darkness.

  With a groan, Chaney looked over at the stacks of paperwork surrounding his desk. Since he couldn’t rely on electronic files until whatever was plaguing their systems was corrected, he had to thumb through written reports about the R&D Department’s various projects. His primary concern at the moment: Budgets. A tedious and soul-crushing task, but one necessary to the healthy development of new technologies. With his own hand-written notes, he flipped through, looking for any discrepancies.

  He’d just barely
sat down with a glass of whisky when he immediately noticed an issue. The Martian Sniper was over budget. Not by an acceptable amount, like three percent or five percent, but a whopping fifty-five percent. How, I’s a relatively simple conversion of the Martian and superlaser we already developed. He grit his teeth as he crunched the numbers. The MLRM team employed one hundred twenty more people than they were allowed for the project and spent-

  That’s not right. Chaney narrowed his eyes. These numbers don’t add up. If every new employee worked the eight-hour day they were supposed to and no-one got overtime, then they’d still be under what this statement say the spent. Well, under.

  He cradled his head in his hands. Labors don’t grow on trees, and their rate of inflation is tightly controlled. It’s not like they’re backed by precious metals or a resource, they’re tightly bound to the time spent working. Chaney set the paperwork pertaining to the MLRM team aside. He’d have to reprimand the entire team later.

  He only grew angrier, however, as the next report came from Weathers’s hidden lab. Little progress had been made on the supercrops, despite the amount of money spent. Interestingly, his feasibility studies all came back with glowing reports of how feasible and efficient his pet projects could be. “I hope you 're not misusing your funds, Weathers,” Chaney said to himself. “I’d hate to see a brilliant man like you liquidated.” He tapped his pen on the surface of his desk as he set Weather’s report next to the MLRM teams.

  The audacity of that man. Psychic spies, undead pilots, it’s like something out of science fiction. He sighed and shook his head. Who am I kidding? Panzerters, a blue Mars, and commercial space travel were since fiction just over a hundred years ago. Who am I to judge what he’s capable of? Gingerly, he moved the report to start a different stack. I’ll indulge him, but I’ll let him know there will be consequences if he was missing funds.

  When he picked up the next report, one detailing expanding the tuber gene pool, a single phrase stood out to him. Kickback from Operation Ascent. I’ve seen that before, with no context to go off of. He thought back to his last meeting with Thorn from the Information Control Service. The man seemed to know the operation or project or whatever it was existed, but not much beyond that.