Enemy Front

by T. E. Butcher

  Maybe this is an opportunity to gain some information. He chuckled to himself as he called Guard-Major Jackson. I’m doing Recon. The Major’s angular face filled the screen as he answered the call from his own desk. “Comrade Brigadier. I wasn’t expecting a call from you. To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked.

  I got to play this off. If he included this, odds are he doesn’t know I don’t know. “I’m just double checking the numbers,” Chaney replied. “Some of these other projects are reporting more personnel or spending more money than they were allowed. I’m just verifying these reports are accurate and making sure funds aren’t being misused.”

  Jackson nodded. “Roger Comrade. Comrade Weathers has done an excellent job providing raw data for our expansion efforts. We believe we can stave off any awkward repeats or severe gene degradation for another three decades.” Chaney leaned back in his chair and sipped his whiskey. Alright, act casual.

  “Outstanding,” he said. “I’m glad to hear it. Operation Ascent can hardly afford any setbacks.”

  “Tell me about it,” Jackson replied. “Its bad enough the space elevator is out of commission. As soon as the ground troops from space start coming down, we’ll begin preparing our assets for phase II.”

  Chaney nodded. “Good man, I hope you already have a head start, since the elevator won’t be back for a while, there’s no excuse to be unprepared when you have all of this time.” With a smile, Jackson shot him a salute.

  “Well, you know me, Comrade,” he said. “I’m a busy man.”

  “I know, so I won’t waste any more of your time,” Chaney replied. “Are these figures accurate?” He held up the man’s own report, then his own notes for comparison. Jackson nodded sheepishly.

  “They are,” Jackson said. “I apologize for going over budget. If it weren’t for the First Minister and those kickbacks, our whole department would be in trouble.”

  “Indeed,” Chaney replied before ending the call. He’d held his hand in front of his mouth partially to hide his shock at herring the First Minister. “There’s something rotten in the state of Denmark.” With a chuckle, he added: “Vinns.” When he finished appreciating his own cleverness, he found some space in a half used notebook.

  With all the conversation still fresh in his mind, he wrote down everything he knew about Operation Ascent. Space Elevator is critical to the operation. Expanding Tuber gene pool is linked. First Minister is in on it, possibly other high level figures. Phase II? Ground troops coming from orbital territories, but that’s a decent. Jackson needs to prepare his assets for Phase II.

  As his mind raced at a mile a minute, a knock at the door startled him. Quickly, he stuffed the notebook into a pile of similar ones. Great, now I’ll never find it again. Much to the engineer’s surprise, he found Commodore Mendez waiting for him at the door.

  “Comrade Commodore?” He said. “What can I do for you at this hour?” The short woman pushed him back into his office.

  “Tuen off all your electronics and sit,” she whispered. “Someone’s been following me.”

  “Tomorrow friends!” Lieutenant Bartonova cried. “We find glory!” She sat next to a cask of cheap beer. Before her, Brave company cheered, beers held high. Adamski shot a glance at Fletcher, herself sipping on water. “Before Summer, we’ll drive the Unis back into the sea!”

  “She’s like a kid on Christmas,” he said. Fletcher nodded.

  “Indeed, she’s very excited about the prospect of facing the enemy,” she replied. Adamski’s eyes scanned the faces of the company at large. Most of them seemed youthful, eager and full of life. They had no idea. “Though to be fair, I thought it was your job to motivate troops.”

  Fletcher’s voice surprised him for a moment. “More or less, my real task is beans, bandages, and bullets,” he said. “That and being the best example I can be.” He looked over at Magyar and Zoro. They both drank with the others, but in a more reserved manner.

  “It is a bit of a shock, though,” Fletcher said. “She seems so different from Captain Reiter, as a leader, that is.”

  Adamski nodded. “Paul was a platoon leader for a long time before he became a captain,” Adamski said. “That, and he’s a little older than her. I think Viola said her sister just turned 23 this year.”

  “Does it bother you?” Fletcher asked. “Taking orders from someone less experienced and mature than you?”

  “It’s part of the job,” Adamski said. “Though in the provincial watch, you get a lot of leaders who are older and crusty as hell.” Fletcher leaned against the bar, observing the scene before her.

  “So, is the Provincial Watch like a territorial army or something?” She asked.

  “Kinda,” Adamski replied. “We’re the closest thing Gallacia has to an army. That being said, they keep only a few individuals on full time to maintain readiness. Everyone else has a civilian job.”

  Fletcher frowned at the thought. “That seems like it would lead to lower quality soldiers,” she replied. “However Fox company proved itself extremely competent.”

  With a wry smile, Adamski sipped his drink. “I like to think it makes us a little better, some of these kids, all they know is the army and they only think in that very rigid context, whereas we have to maintain the same standard while balancing a civilian life, I like to think it makes us more flexible.”

  “What did you Fox company do, civilian side that is?” Fletcher asked.

  “I ran a distribution center for a retail chain, Gos was a mechanic, Paul teaches history and Steel and Mo are both his students,” Adamski said. “Half our group came right out of high school, Stanca and Septimus were beat cops, Commodus was a hostage negotiator, Viola Bartonova worked crime scenes.” The mention of her sister’s name caught Lieutenant Bartonova’s attention.

  “What did my sister do?” She asked. “What are you saying about her?”

  “She worked crime scenes,” Adamski said, his hands up. “Her skill set actually came in handy when we got sent to recover survivors from a wrecked airship, turns out the Union got wind of a bunch of bigwigs riding the thing and had them assassinated with drones, now the survivors would have froze to death were it not for Major Starnes.”

  “She figured all of that out?” Bartonova asked. Adamski nodded.

  “She was also our sniper,” Adamski said. “And a good friend, I’m sorry she’s gone.”

  Bartonova looked sad for a moment before steeling herself. “You said you knew who killed her, how?”

  “Because I told them,” Fletcher said. “Guard-Major Kennedy’s machine is fairly distinct. There aren’t nearly that many Jupiters in the MAG or RAs, or as you call them, fatman, which by the way is the most ridiculous reporting name I ever heard.” The company commander seemed to only have heard one thing Fletcher said.

  “You’ll have to point one out for me,” she finally said. “So I can end this Guard-Major Kennedy.”

  “If Reiter doesn’t first,” Adamski said. “Or Mo.” He held up a hand before Bartonova could speak. “I’m just saying, we’re on a different front, far from any of those guys. lets focus on the enemy in front of us.”

  “Before anyone gets their head filled with thoughts of revenge, we should focus on taking the heights,” Fletcher said. After a glare from Bartonova, she added. “Of course, that’s just my professional opinion.” Adamski fought to stifle a chuckle.

  “You’ve got to admit,” he said. “When she’s on, she’s on.” Bartonova’s gaze softened before she glanced back at her two subordinate lieutenants doing body shots on a table.

  “I will admit Fletcher,” she said. “Your heritage and circumstances aside, I do appreciate how you naturally get down to business.”

  Fletcher smiled at the other woman. “Thank you, co-ma’am,” she said. Adamski chuckled.

  “No comrades here,” he said. “Just family.” He pointed to the brawling lieutenants. “Wild, chaotic, stupid family.”

  “If you’re encouraging me to start one, you’r
e doing a poor job,” Fletcher said as she watched junior soldiers egging the two men on.

  “I’d say these two are making a good argument for us all getting kicked out of here,” Adamski said. Just as he finished speaking, one particularly rowdy rifleman leaned in towards Zoro. Whatever he said caused her to shake her head and stare at her drink. The rifleman took that opportunity to dump his drink directly onto her head. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Adamski spat.

  Before any of them could react, Magyar flew out of her seat and hit the rifleman with a flying elbow. His nose dripping blood, he swung his pitcher at her. Magyar ducked the blow, and using his own momentum, tossed him into one of the brawling lieutenants.

  “That’s not good,” Fletcher said. “I think it’s time to leave.” As she spoke, things continued to escalate. More people got involved or chose the moment to pick their own fights. The bar quickly began to devolve into a war zone.

  “Fletcher, you can’t afford to get dragged into any of this,” Adamski said. “I need you to-” He looked, but the silvery haired woman was gone. Bartonova pointed, and he saw her escorting Zoro out of the bar.

  “Enough!” Bartonova cried. “That’s enough! I said enough” Her voice grew more shrill as her company refused to listen. I’m going to get into so much trouble for this. Adamski drew his service pistol and fired twice into the ceiling. Hopefully, this does it.

  “Careful, the angle is steep here,” Smith said. Over the radio. Mo stayed a few hundred meters away from him towards the rear of the formation.

  “Does it look like the Iggys might roll?” he asked.

  “Negative, but it won’t be easy going,” Smith replied. “Then again, I’d be careful in the dark, anyway.” With a sigh, Mo kept the net open.

  “Stovepipe, you copy that traffic?” he asked.

  The rifleman, in his role as acting platoon sergeant for the infantry, responded. “Yeah, I got it kid, it’s like they say, slow and steady wins the race.”

  “I hate to be that bitch,” Wesser said. “But we have a bit of a time hack.”

  “You ain’t a bitch, ma’am,” Stovepipe said. “We’re just moving as fast as terrain dictates.” As they moved at an almost crawl around the military crest of the small mountain, Smith kept his rifle swinging back and forth.

  “I wish I could listen to music or something,” Rosetti said. “This is so damn tedious, I-ugh,” she groaned as her machine slipped and lost balance momentarily. She caught herself, but would find no relief.

  “You want music? Too easy,” Mo said. “What’s on the playlist today, Smith?”

  “To be honest, I’m still feeling classics,” Smith replied. “Lose your love?”

  “My man!” Mo said. He could almost feel Rosetti roll her eyes in her cockpit.

  “You guys listen to old people's music,” she groaned. “what’s wrong with you?”

  “I’m still here,” Mo said. “Now Smith-”

  “Contact!” Smith cried. “Angry red fatmen, 10:00, 1200 meters!” True to his word, shells whizzed past them, bursting among the trees. Mo worked his way around the military crest to see just what the younger soldier described. Two unmistakable red panzerters. The Red Guards. They’re probably not happy the Captain killed their commander.

  They stood atop a waterfall on the next rise. One on either side. Their bulky angular panzerters vaguely reminded Mo of a class of old Earth warriors known as Samurai. One weirded a panzerter sized submachine gun in each hand while the other carried a harpoon, a naval weapon meant to fill warships with bomblets.

  “Stovepipe, bound back a terrain feature away,” Wesser said. “We’ll cover you!” A pit formed in Mo’s stomach. Firing his magnetic sub-machine gun, he noted the telltale sparks of penetrating hits, but he didn’t hit anything vital. To his horror, his platoon mate’s rounds simply bounced off of their armor.

  “Black 1&2, fall back, you’re not doing anything to them,” Mo said. As if to punctuate his point, a stream of shells tore off the head of Smith’s unit. “Fall back!” He moved up, imposing himself partially infant of Rosetti’s machine while the others withdrew.

  “Black 4, you’re in the way!” Rosetti cried. Mo grit his teeth as Submachine gun fire bounced off his thicker plates.

  “Relax, I can take a few hits, besides your weapons won’t do much,” he replied. As he spoke, the harpoon wilder jumped, splashing down into the pool at the foot of the waterfall. Then they charged. Mo dumped the last of his magazine into the advancing fatman. The red machine belched smoke as the 105-mm magnetic rounds tore through one side and out the other end.

  Still, they pressed on, closing the gap between them. Mo dropped the empty magazine. The fatman raised its harpoon. The Thermal blade glowed a furious orange. And collided with Rosetti’s sword, already drawn. Quickly, Mo reloaded and stepped back. The other fatman began maneuvering, seeking a better shot and closing the gap between them.

  Rosetti’s inexperience showed. The fatman with the harpoon easily disarmed her and would have killed her were it not for Mo also drawing his sword. In his old Panzerter IV, his agility advantage was significantly greater, able to dart in and out of melee more reliably than any Union machine. In the Heavy Common, however, his ears were assaulted by the screams of the engine as it fought to stay ahead of his lumbering opponent.

  And he still had to worry about the other fatman. And Rosetti, who while a sweet kid, was more of a hinderance than a help. Fuck it, I need the agility.

  As he sidestepped his opponent yet again, he jettisoned the outer layer of plating and spun around. The fatman, surprised by the sudden speed increase, couldn’t turn fast enough to avoid his submachine gun at point blank. The dense rounds punched through the fatman’s armor like a parking pass. Mo didn’t ceasefire until the Fatman’s head fell off, its upper torso throughly chewed apart.

  Turning to the other fatman, he discovered it shooting sporadically as it retreated West. Rosetti moved to pursue, but Mo stopped her. “No Black 3, the fight’s over, we won.”

  “How?” she asked. “They kicked our ass.”

  “Everyone lived,” Mo said. “And we forced them to retreat, now come on, lets get back with the others.” As they cautiously moved back to the rally point, Mo thought about how he had to curb Rosetti’s rather combative nature. “We’re not going to win this war by annihilating the enemy. That might be the case in movies and tv shows, but not this.” When he was met with silence, he continued. “For us, victory looks like getting our homes back, and from there, well, we’ll figure out the rest.”

  “My dad died when they shot up Greenwald Airport,” she finally replied. “I had to carry that all through my training and up until now, I guess I just want to hurt them too, you know?”

  Mo sighed. “Some of them aren’t going to hurt like you regardless because a good chunk don’t have families, but I see where you’re coming from.” They cautiously scanned the skies, looking for any sign of enemy aircraft. “And it’s not good to be so reckless that you go and get yourself killed. We need you to stay in the fight until the very end, am I clear?”

  “Roger,” Rosetti replied.

  “Do you understand?” Mo asked.

  “Yes, I understand,” she groaned. With a sigh, Mo shook his head. I’m too damn young to be dealing with this.

  “It looks like Black Platoon ran into a screen,” Reiter said as he studied a map on an auxiliary monitor. “There’s a large force moving on an isolated VEF unit, White Platoon. Move to intercept. We’ll beat you there, but we need the numbers.”

  “Roger White 1 acknowledges,” Lazlo said before Reiter ended the transmission. He looked over the note he taped to the map with all the radio channels and switched to the one they shared with the VEF as he began walking that way.

  “Any VEF element, this is Fox 6, radio check over,” Reiter said.

  “Fox 6, Yankee 4-51, we got you lima charlie, how you me?” Came the reply. Good, I’ve got them on comms.

  “Read you the same,�
�� He replied. “I need a sitrep, preferably from your Actual.”

  “On 30360427 at approx 1930 hours’ local time, Y Kompanii engaged a Union Panzerter Unit to buy time for retreating friendlies, break.” A heavy silence filled the net. “Kompanii took heavy damaged and four panzerters have been knocked out or damaged along with a pair of IFVs, break.” Honestly, I’m impressed. “We need immediate assistance. Enemy force consists of between 6-10 “tinhat” panzerters using advanced weapons.” Reiter nodded as he jotted down key information on a notepad. “Grid is CT5M 55321 75567.”

  “Roger good copy,” Reiter replied. “Fox company is 15 minutes out.” He switched nets again. “Punisher 7, set up around here, Blue 1, split between following me and pulling security here.”

  “Roger 6,” Webb replied. “We’ll leave our heavy weapons squad here. Alpha and Bravo squads, follow me!” These Vinnish guys are better than I expected, I it were an Olympian radio operator like Blue Point 3032, I would have had to spell out who I was, that I was authorized to talk to his superior, and what I needed from the sitrep. He shook his head. And the nerve of the observer to say that’s just typical of radio operators.

  “Yankee 4-51, Fox 6,” Reiter said. “you have friendly forces approaching from the Northeast. Be advised, one heavy panzerter and two squads of infantry.” The Vinnish acknowledged and Reiter saw them as he rounded another mountain. They dug in on the reverse slope of a smaller mountain, using the trees to partially conceal their remaining panzerters and IFVs.. The rugged rolling terrain served them well.

  “Fox 6, Blue 1, I’m calling the birds. They got a lot of wounded out here,” Webb said. “We’ll screen our approach.”