Fournier certainly made himself noticeable. His 90-mm assault rifle easily punched holes in the Tharcian machines at close range. His machine belched smoke. “Bengal 6,” Kennedy said. “Withdraw, your machine’s looking rough.”
“Roger comrade,” the man said as his machine took some awkward steps away from the carnage and another panzerter exposed itself. Without similar numbers, the Tharcian panzerters crumbled under concentrated kinetic and laser fire.
Their formation broken, the remaining Tharcians began to withdraw as machine gun fire bled their numbers even further. As the last Tharcians withdrew out of the kill zone, Kennedy switched gears.
“All units, I want every machine stripped for parts or recovered,” he said. “The IFVs, the APCs, and especially the panzerters.” The Martians and Martian troopers began seizing the fallen panzerters and dragging them back towards their headquarters. Capricorns threw tow straps onto the wrecks of their Tharcian counterparts and began to withdraw.
“Havoc company, pull security,” he added. “Jericho, anyone who isn’t recovering supplies or a vehicle, plus up Havoc, I don’t want any surprises.” Satisfied with the recovery operations, he walked back to Meadow’s armored car and got inside. “Alright, take me back to headquarters, then resume your patrolling. I want to know when something’s coming.”
“Roger comrade, colonel,” Meadows replied before yelling to the driver. As the 4x4 armored car spun up and kicked into gear, Kennedy struggled to get comfortable. While the Cannies bounced along the uneven ground, he felt every bump and root that hit the tires. Every branch and rock that echoed as it struck the hull.
Everything feels so small back here, and it feels so fragile. Maybe I should try to get them some of the recon APCs. That would make them more survivable than these cheap armored cars. The Canneis’s engine whined as it struggled to get up a steep incline.
“Come on, come on,” Meadows said. “Come on, you old bitch, go!”
“Careful, comrade,” his driver said. “They hate it when you swear.” As if to punctuate his point, Kennedy heard a bang and suddenly, the car lost traction. Meadows swore more and grabbed his command matrix. The driver fought the wheel to maintain some kind of traction. Kennedy grabbed the “oh shit” bar next to his door. The canines tipped over.
Slamming on its side, Kennedy jerked towards the opposite door. The car slid on its side, back down the incline before rolling onto its roof. The unmanned turret crunched under the weight of the car, and the Cannies wobbled slightly.
As they hung from their five point harnesses, catching their breath, Kennedy tapped Meadows on the shoulder. “This might seem like a bad time,” he said. “But I was just thinking about getting you guys some APCs instead of these armored cars.”
Meadows nodded. His face flushed with blood. “You know what, I’m perfectly willing to hear this now,” he replied. Outside, he could hear voices and people running around outside. The doors opened and Meadow’s other men helped them out of their harnesses. While a medic checked them out, Kennedy asked for a report on the recovery operation.
“We’ve recovered enough parts to get two of the Tharcian panzerters from before working again and repair yours,” a runner said. “We also recovered two IFVs and an APC, as well as numerous small arms and ammunition.” Kennedy nodded and dismissed the man. Looks like we got just what we needed.
Reiter awoke to a distant voice coming out of his helmet radio. “Any station on this net, This is Victory troop, 1-14th, we’re under attack by MAGs,” the voice said. “Requesting any assistance!” Reiter stuck his helmet on and checked his Battlenet. According to the network, the recon troop sat right where he planned to attack.
“Hey Fox, we need to wake up and get moving,” he said. “We got people under fire.”
As he spoke, their encampment sprang to life. Drop troopers ran about, gearing up and preparing to move. Panzerters and IFVs cranked up, engines roaring to life. With the Lowe standing upright, he opened the net again.
“They’re getting hit right where we planned our mission,” Reiter said. “All TRPs are the same. Stick to the plan, but allow for fleeing friendlies.”
“So it’s a rescue?” Wesser asked.
“Not exactly,” Reiter replied as they resumed their moving formation. “Its time for us to attack.” They moved out, making their way west over hills and through trees. His night optics illuminated gunfire as they approached and picked up the friendly tags on the ground.
“Victory Troop, friendlies coming through,” Reiter said as the Lowe powered forward, annihilating trees as it moved.
His targets became clear. A wide semicircle of tinhats with some IFVs hammered the survivors from Victory troop. As soon as they saw the Lowe, their stance changed.
Reiter poured magnetic rounds into the nearest tinhat. The machine doubled over, smoke pouring out as it burned.
The Lowe trembled as it took return fire. He fought for balance, desperately trying to compensate for the kinetic impacts. Fortunately, the Vinnish panzerter stepped up to his flanks.
Their presence reduced the pressure on him, allowing Reiter to add his remaining shoulder cannon to the fray. One of the Vinns suddenly crumpled and fell after a massive shell streaked into it. A tint kneeled in the distance, a massive recoilless rifle over its shoulder.
Before Reiter could do much else, Black and White platoons swung into the fray, forming a massive V with the headquarters element at the center. Reiter plugged another tinhat with two rounds from his magnetic rifle. The tinhats began falling back, unable to withstand the weight of fire.
This is all too easy. Something is up. Reiter’s air radar began screaming at him. Union drones swooped out of the mountains, weaving between the peaks. They unleashed rocket pods on the battlefield, catching a few of their own inside the explosive blanket.
Reiter heard a scream and a hiss of static. He didn’t have time to check who it was as he shielded the Lowe’s sensors from rockets. When he looked up, scattered fires burned while the drones circled back. The tinhats were in full retreat, but the drones were Reiter’s concern now.
His fire control system presented firing solutions as he brought up his rotary cannon and head mounted fifty cals. They scattered in the face of his torrent of fire, but he did manage to clip one of the drones. The ugly fat thing tumbled out of the sky, smoke and flame trailing from its engines.
It didn’t take them long to form back up. They swooped low for another attack run, unleashing missiles as they went. Reiter raised his shield as explosions rocked his unit. Somewhere ahead of him, two more drones hither ground in flaming piles.
When Reiter lowered his shield, the drones raced away from them. With a heavy sigh, he looked over at the burning wrecks around him. Consumed by fire, it was hard to tell Tharcian from Union.
“Alright Fox, give me a BDA,” he said. He could already tell they lost a Vinnish panzerter as well as a few tracks.
“We lost two of our Iggys and a Vinnish track,” Stovepipe said. “Evaluating our wounded right now.”
“We’re going to need a medevac,” Webb said. “We’ve got a few that will need surgery.”
“We lost Lazlo and Voss,” Steele said. “My machine and Po-pas are fairly banged up.”
Wesser came in over the net. “We can divide my platoon to even things out. You can take Smith,” she said. “We need to fall back and regroup, but we’re close to where we need to be.” Reiter nodded as they dragged the wrecks back with them.
“Sir?” Steele said over a private line.
“What’s going on?” Reiter replied.
“Am I bad luck?” Steele asked. Reiter sighed. Lazlo made for the fourth platoon leader she had to eat a bullet. I can see why she’d feel that way after everything.
“No,” Reiter replied. “It’s just what happens. We can mourn all of these people later. Right now, we have a young girl to save.”
9
Kennedy smiled. His Martian commander stood proudly as mechanics outfitted it with
armor plates salvaged from Tharcian machines. According to his techs, the ad-on plates had been based on the armor of the black knight. Not quite the same level of protection, but a significant increase and little difference in the speed of the machine.
“Chaney would skin me alive for saying this,” he said as he stood with Irving watching the refit. “But I have to admit, those Tharcian engineers know what they’re doing.” She smiled as she tapped away on a data pad.
“Most of the Tharcian equipment can be repurposed,” she said. “WE’re currently painting several machines in our camouflage as well as installing friendly IFF markers.” Kennedy suddenly frowned. “After repairs, what will our projected combat power be?”
“Eh,” Irving said as she looked over some numbers. “We’ll be at about sixty-five percent, with a margin of error of about seven percent either way.” Kennedy’s smile faltered, and he released a heavy sigh.
“So we’re still severely under-strength,” he said. “I wish our systems weren’t completely fucked. We desperately need a clean resupply and wave of reinforcements.” Shaking his head. He turned back towards Irving. “How fast do you estimate we can get an analog message all the way to Meyer?”
“Too long,” she replied. “By the time we got the reinforcements we asked for, we’ll have suffered enough losses to make the reinforcements moot.” Damn, so it’s a zero-sum game, huh? He scratched at his chin and glanced at the pile of tires they’d received over a week ago. The Tharcians used sandbags full of snow and other improvised pieces to improve their defenses.
“Put those tires to use,” he said. “As armor, as a base for earthworks, anything, we’re getting to the point where we can’t waste what we have.” He looked back at his machine. “If you need me, I’ll be in the war room.”
“What’ll you be doing in there?” Irving asked. Kennedy began walking back towards the main building.
“I need to call Dr Weathers,” he said. “I need to borrow any guards he has, and remind him if we fall, to destroy his lab.” Ducking inside, he made his way up the large stair case. He shook his head, remembering the young tuber he’d talked to just the other day had been killed in a skirmish with the black knight.
As he sat down to call the Dr, he tried to shake the growing dread hanging around him. Let’s hope he even picks up. Much to his surprise, the skeletal doctor answered almost immediately. As his spindly hands adjusted his glasses, he smiled at Kennedy.
“Why Good evening comrade colonel,” he said. “I actually wanted to call you.” Kennedy raised an eyebrow.
“Well, if you don’t mind me asking, I need the guards of your lab to plus up my own numbers,” Kennedy said. “On top of that, we have the very real possibility of losing here. You need to destroy your lab and research in that case.” The Doctor merely chuckled, a harsh rasping sound.
“Oh, that will be quite unnecessary, comrade colonel,” he replied. “Because I have exactly what you need, although I’ll need you to agree to something on my behalf?”
“What’s that?” Kennedy said, rating an eyebrow in suspicion.
“I can grant you forces, an entire company of Martians with more to follow,” Weathers said. “But all of these Martians will be carrying a new technology, one that needs field testing, but I believe will change the face of warfare.”
Kennedy cocked an eyebrow. “At one point, my kind were touted as changing the face of warfare,” he said. “Yet here we are with standards still piloting panzerters.”
“Oh comrade, you have no need to fear being replaced,” the doctor said. “This new technology will merely supplement your forces.” He brought up being replaced, that’s an odd thing to assure me of.
“How do we know this technology is safe?” he asked. “Am I about to expose my soldiers to something potentially dangerous?”
“Dangerous to our people? No,” Doctor Weathers said. “But it is something you need to see to believe.” Kennedy began weighing his options. The loss of drones severely limits our firepower, and without more panzerters or infantry, we can’t endure too many more losses. He’s talked a lot about this new technology without actually saying anything at all. Just what the hell is it?
With a deep sigh, Kennedy rose and looked at the screen. “Fine then, comrade doctor, what do you have?”
“We’ve located the lab,” Reiter said over the command net. “But there’s been other complications as well.” On the other end of the line, he heard Lieutenant Colonel Hawke sighed,
“I know about the girl and the spy,” he said. “To be honest, it seems like a powder keg just waiting to happen, that being said if we manage to pull this off, the First Nation, or at least a good part of them, will have some goodwill towards us.” Reiter nodded.
“We’re not going to be able to sustain this drive,” he said. “We’ll barely have a platoon after another battle like this.” Already he had pictures of Lazlo and Voss added to the book, along with several drop troopers.
“Trust me, I’m tracking,” Hawke replied. “After we hand off this sector to rebuild and retool, they want to try some new organizational style to better use our forces, we’ll get more pair and new units, trust me, I know you guys need it.”
Reiter patted the cockpit wall. “I feel bad for the Lowe,” he said. “This technological marvel is being held together with zip ties and hope in some places.”
“We’ll look into a full refurb from the manufacturer,” Hawke replied. “There are a lot of assembly lines they have that do only that.” Reiter looked over his battlement and sighed.
“That’d be nice, but I need to get back to my people,” he said. “I’ll keep you updated.”
“We’ve got Early Company in reserve,” he said. “We’ll send them ahead of you to soften up the enemy before you guys secure the lab.”
“Roger, appreciate everything you’re doing,” Reiter replied. “Fox 6 out.” He popped his cockpit hatch and looked out over their assembly area. Three panzerters lined both sides of the encampment, along with about twelve Iglasios of various types. The drop troopers scurried about, helping whoever needed a hand with something, cleaning weapons, drilling, eating and sleeping.
As he climbed down the side of his panzerter, his limbs felt light and his stomach rumbled. I can’t put off eating much longer. “Everything good, sir?” Webb asked. He sat on a rock near Reiter’s machine, cleaning his half-frame. He nodded.
“Yeah, I was just appreciating your boys and girls,” he replied with a grin. “Best attachments I’ve ever had.” Webb responded in kind.
“Hey, we appreciate that,” he said. “You guys have been more than accommodating.”
Reiter chuckled. “We had these engineers attached to us during Blue Point 3032,” he said. “They kept getting lost and hitting on our people, not interested in training in the slightest.” Webb shook his head.
“Hey man, that’s the Watch,” he replied. “You either get that kind of mentality, or us, there’s very little in between.” Reiter bobbed his head, more than familiar with the stereotypes associated with the Watch.
“Sir!” Wesser cried from across the area. “Captain Reiter!” He sighed and looked over at her.
“There’s always another crisis, am I right?” Webb asked.
“Always,” Reiter replied as the thin woman bounded over to him. He tried to suppress a laugh as her bandanna’s attempts to contain her thick maple curls reminded him of a maid. As she bounded forward, Reiter noticed she carried a ration bag in each hand.
“Sir,” she said before shoving a ration bag into his hands. “No one can remember you eating recently. You need to eat sir!”
“What are you, his mother?” Webb asked before Wesser threw a ration bag at him.
“I talked to your people. None of them remember the last time you ate either,” she said, her hands on her hips. Even before he could protest, his stomach cut him off. Wesser smiled. “Morale already isn’t great. We can’t afford you two passing out in the middle of a fight becaus
e you tried to take care of everyone else.”
“Thanks Tess,” Reiter finally said. “I honestly forgot, I appreciate this.” He looked over the tan bag in has hands. Beef stroganoff. Not great, not terrible. Webb eagerly tore into his.
“I got lasagna,” he said. “Better than not eating.” Reiter nodded as he sat against the foot of his panzerter.
“If you have something you don’t want or can’t eat, let me know,” Reiter said. “I’ll trade something.” He glanced up at Wesser. “When did you eat last?”
Before Wesser could say anything, her own stomach growled. “Yesterday at noon,” she said sheepishly. Reiter and Webb chuckled.
“Why don’t you go eat yourself?” Webb said. “It’d be catastrophic for morale if our team mom passed out in the middle of a fight.”
“So this is how he is,” Starnes said, his breath hanging in the air. Regeneration chambers were fairly common in most hospitals in Tharsis, usually reserved for people seriously hurt or comatose. He’d read that a long time ago, comatose people would just lay in a bed and deteriorate. With the advent of regeneration treatments, the chamber in its lowest setting could prevent serious physical degradation, but the downside was the healing process took more time.
Marshall Adam Hausnerr floated in the tank before him, his vitals steady, but his treatment was only at fifty-five percent. “If it weren’t for his age, he’d be out by now,” Emma said next to him. “Around eighty percent they’ll at least be able to wake him up and talk to him.” Starnes shook his head.
“Let the man rest,” he said. “This is the most sleep he’s gotten in a long time.” He looked back at Emma and Jon. “To work?” As they left the secured room with its multiple locks and bulkheads, they made their way to a small meeting room with a smart board and some chairs. An artificial fire place burned in on one side to counter the cold and bring some homlyeness to the otherwise soulless room.
Starnes pulled up a pad to interface with the board as the others pulled out notepads. “Alright then,” he said. “Who’s our number one suspect?”
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