In the distance, guns rumbled and flashed. Red and yellow indicated shell firing weapons, with the occasional blue flash of a magnetic rifle or the eerie green of a laser. “I hate this,” Wesser said over the command net. “Knowing a battle’s not far way, I just feel, helpless? Useless? Vulnerable?” She groaned over the net. “I can’t really articulate this.”
Reiter nodded in his cockpit. “It’s frustrating, I get it, you want to leap into action, do your part,” he said. “But to really help them out means sticking to our sector here.” As he watched Early advance on the Battlenet, he decided it was time to go over the battle plan. “Leadership, gather around my unit, we’re going to go over the plan.” He popped his hatch and climbed down to the ground, map and red flashlight in hand.
As he touched the ground, he noted how the Lowe’s visor glowed a soft green in the dark. Once Wesser, Mo, Steele, Webb, and Stovepipe gathered around him, he unfurled the map and turned on his red flashlight. “So we’ve been sticking to keeping our formation loose. It makes traveling over terrain faster, but it makes it harder to focus our combat power when threatened.”
He looked over at Webb. “You want to call the birds?” the drop trooper asked. Reiter nodded.
“You have mobility in this terrain even we don’t,” he said. “We’ll haul ass ass over to the lab after you guys secure the outer perimeter, we’ll keep your nose clean while you secure the base, your priority is rescuing that girl, but if you can, capture any data you can, or lab personnel, anything of value.” Webb flashed a predatory smile.
“Too easy, sir,” he said. “So when do you want to initiate this?” Reiter checked his watch, then looked at the map again.
“Harbinger should come relive us,” he said. “Once they get close, Early will begin their final approach and form the outer cordon, after which our panzerters will form an inner one once the drop troopers land. Any questions?” The distant rumble of panzerter approaching told them all they needed to know. “Webb, get your boys in the air, everyone else mount up, we’re moving out in fifteen.”
Folding his map under his arm, he scrambled up the side of his panzerter. After tossing himself in the pilot’s seat, he checked the status of each panzerter in Fox company. When everything came back mission capable, he nodded and smiled to see Webb rushing his people into the bowls of Lazy Sue seconds after she landed.
“Fox Company, status?” he asked. A chorus of acknowledgments, check-ins and radio checks followed his command. Satisfied, he ordered them to move out. As the Panzerters tore through the rugged woods and hills like fairy tale giants, the IFVs rumbled after them. The Dropships raced by overhead and Reiter tensed. Lord, let this be anything but a trap.
“Are you sure about this drop-off time?” Bartonova asked. “Seems awfully inconvenient.” Fletcher shrugged, her silvery hair gleaming in the starlight.
“This is normal for frontline units,” she said. “Convoys usually move at night to avoid attack by air, and things of that nature.” They both wore their leather Vehicle Crew Jackets. According to some nerd Bartonova knew from the academy, jackets like these originated from pilots and ancient tanks crews who had to stay warm in vehicles that lacked heated systems. Since Panzerter pilots and operators traced their lineage to both, they carried on the tradition. Or so the nerd had said.
The fur collar of the jacket had also covered up the bomb on Fletcher’s neck. While Bartonova found the bomb necessary to prevent the younger woman from getting funny ideas, she grew more and more uncomfortable seeing it every day. Though she was loathed to admit it, the collar seemed more like something an animal would wear rather than anything they’d put on a person. Yet Fletcher, clearly a person, wore it.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you,” she finally said. “How in God’s name are you ok with wearing the collar?” Fletcher looked confused for a moment.
“God has a name?” She asked.
“Well yeah, Jesus,” Bartonova replied. “Anyway, you didn’t answer the question, why are you ok with wearing the collar.”
Fletcher shrugged as a snow flurry whipped by them. A few feet away, a squad of infantry stood by to unload their supplies. “It makes guys like them trust me more,” she said. “And people like you.”
Bartonova narrowed her eyes. “I still don’t fully trust you,” she said. “You betrayed your own country easily enough. Why wouldn’t you do the same to us?”
Smiling sadly, Fletcher looked at Bartonova. “Tell me something,” she said softly. “Do you own yourself?”
“Well yeah,” she replied. “I mean, I signed my life away to the army, but I guess I could have been an athlete or a businesswoman. Why is that relevant?”
“In the Union, everyone takes collective ownership of each other,” Fletcher said. “Which means a people’s health committee makes medical designs for you, even if you’re a standard person.” She patted her stomach and looked down. “If, for example, a woman working in a factory is unproductive, she’ll be forced to take pregnancy suppressing drugs so she can’t increase her burden on others.”
Suddenly, Bartonova connected the dots. “Your surgery,” she said. “The fact you let our doctors operate on you at all is a crime in your country.”
Fletcher nodded. “I’d be sterile until I completed a term of MAG service, then I’d go on a waiting list to have my processes restored, which could take too long and then..” Bartonova held up a hand.
“I get it,” she said. “You saw a way out and took it.” Fletcher nodded before rocking back on her foot and twisting a lock of her hair.
“A selfish part of me banked on the Tharcians winning,” she said. “At the moment, I just wanted to be able to have kids, and I didn’t think about the consequences.” She looked down. “It was quite selfish of me.”
With a firm shake of her head, Bartonova grabbed the young woman by the shoulder, startling her. “Listen here girl, you made the choice that was best for you. No one in their right mind would fault you for it.”
Fletcher frowned. “There’s eight hundred million people in the Union,” she said. “I owe them-“
“Woman, you don’t owe them shit,” Bartonova said. “Everything they gave you, you didn’t ask for or have a choice in, how dare any human being do what they did to you and came that you owe them anything.” Seeing Fletcher’s discomfort, she looked for another subject. “So, you want kids? Are you going to do the IVF thing or are you going to find a man?”
At the mention of IVF, Fletcher grimaced. “I don’t think I’ll do that,” she said. “Too close to how I was made, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. Besides, I read children tend to grow better when attended to by some kind of fatherly figure.”
Smiling, Bartonova shook her head. “Well, if that’s the case, we need to figure out what your taste in men is,” she replied. “And maybe don’t talk about kids like they’re plants.” As she tested the tuber, supply trucks pulled up laden with ammunition, food, and spare parts. While the night rolled on and they signed paperwork, Bartonova told Fletcher about dating, good dates, and dates, and everything in-between.
“The center cannot hold,” Fournier said over the command net. “We’re falling back, Reaper 6.” Kennedy merely nodded. Safe as he was in the War Room at his base, he felt bad for the Acadian Captain.
“Fall back to the designated line,” he said. “The Tharcians are nearly fully in position.” He watched as the red triangles and dots began forming a loose circle around Weather’s lab. While he held a trump card up his sleeve, he hated himself for using it.
Without exception, Weather’s creations disgusted him. But according to the scientist, he just took the tuber program to its next logical step. He had an entire company of high performance Martians this entire time. Not Martian troopers, full-blown Martians with upgraded specs.
He’d been furious at first until Weathers said his people couldn’t pilot the machines in their current state. At first, he’d been confused, but then he’d seen the pilots loaded i
nto the machines. In a heavily armored capsule inserted deep into the Martian, a brain floated in a jar, wired directly into the controls and fed all the nutrients and juice it needed to remain active.
As if to doubly disgust him, Weathers revealed several of his fallen comrades had been turned into these… monstrosities. Including his wingman from Olympia. Furious at first, Weathers revealed the machines enhanced abilities over normal pilots. Rapid communication. Absurd reaction times and operability and the ability to endure massive amounts of punishment. Advanced fire control systems and even prototype impulse rifles and swords rounded out the incredible machines.
Still, the project seemed so… dirty. Weathers compared the process to installing a hard drive on a better computer, but that analogy had made Kennedy uneasy. We’re more than what we are. I can’t articulate it, but there’s something more to us than biological reactions. He cursed as another enemy formation moved in behind the last one. No time like the present.
“Weathers,” he said. “Release them now.” Cameras monitoring the base opened up on his monitors. Cargo elevators carried the Martians up towards the surface, out of the bowels of what had once been a missile test and orbital tracking facility. A concealed pair of hanger doors began retracting near the surface. Kennedy watched the cameras and held his breath. This is it.
The Martians didn’t hesitate to attack once they reached the surface. Yellow streams from the impulse rifles illuminated the night. Their coordination impressed Kennedy. Within seconds, three of them disabled, then destroyed a Tharcian panzerter. Armor plating boiled away and munitions cooked off in their stores.
This isn’t battle, this is slaughter. He couldn’t help but watch in awe as the guards fought with no sense of self preservation. They attacked aggressively, their speed and firepower catching the Tharcians flatfooted. As another Tharcian fell to impulse swords, he felt like their melee skills resembled predatory animals more than trained soldiers.
As the panzerters began to retreat, the Martians began targeting the IFVs and missile carriers. The squat tracked vehicles found themselves with no defense against the super-heated plasma of the new rifles. Before long, they began to retreat, unable to hold their ring with the massive losses inflicted.
“That’s enough,” Kennedy said. “Recall them. I don’t want these things running rampant all over the country side, instead form a perimeter around your lab and just protect your area.”
“But comrade,” Weathers replied. “I’m presenting you with the opportunity to destroy your enemies. You can clear this sector, no problem with these.” With a sigh, Kennedy kept the channel open.
“I can’t trust them to not target the rest of my forces,” he said. “And besides, I want you to use the combat data you just gathered to work out any kinks, make improvements. I’m sure this pilot program of yours isn’t perfect out the gate.” Before the scientist could react, he quickly added. “Though it does seem promising.”
“So be it Comrade Colonel,” Weathers said. “I’ll set my units to patrol the immediate area, but they will tear any Tharcian limb from limb if they disturb my research.” To his relief, Most of the special Martians save two returned to the elevator and entered the lab.
Those guys were brutal and well coordinated. Were they some kind of next generation tuber? Maybe with some kind of cybernetic implants? Either way, if we had more of these guys, we’d be in Reichsburg. He paused, something gnawing at the edge of his mind. Why is it I find these new guys unsettling?
12
“Early company is in full retreat,” Reiter observed as the panzerters and IFVs of the other company rushed past them. “That’s not a good sign.”
“No shit,” Webb replied. “I thought the Union was on their last legs here.”
“Maybe they got lured into a trap,” Wesser offered. “That would explain winning with a numbers disadvantage.” Reiter shook his head.
“Early 7 is a cautious guy,” he said. “That man won’t let them move into a possible ambush if he could help it.” As the momentum seemed to bleed away before them, Reiter sighed and brought the Lowe out of its kneeling position. “Let’s roll, we can finish this.”
The panzerters advanced alongside the Iglasios and the dropships rising behind them. Ratcheting up their speed, the panzerters jogged forward, scanning for targets. After a short while, they stumbled on the rising peak of the lab and two white-gray panzerters at its base. Huh, awfully thin guard here. Something in the back of Reiter’s mind cried out, but he brushed it aside.
His rifle snapped up, and he fired a controlled pair into the one on his right. His first shot smashed a shoulder while his other struck the odd tinhat in the side. Immediately, the machine retaliated. A Yellow beam punched through his left arm, severing the limb at the elbow. Shit.
He increased his volume of fire as white platoon came alongside him. Steele’s heavy cannons thundered, and a tinhat vanished in a cloud of debris. Black platoon came online and began to assault the remaining tinhat while the dropships raced by overhead.
The remaining tinhat fired more of its yellow beams as it shrugged off the incoming fire. With its damaged hip, it limped away from black platoon as it crossed their firing line. It seemed odd to Reiter the pilot would make that decision until a hidden set of hanger doors opened near the base of the mountain.
More gray-white tinhats poured out of the concealed bay. Their beam weapons tore into black platoon. Reiter watched in horror as they plucked a dropship out of the sky. The explosion and debris forcing the others to crash land.
He began furiously pumping more rounds into the new arrivals. Steele roared and her cannon shattered another tinhat. Unfortunately, it was clear they were overwhelmed. The tinhats pulled Mo’s machine apart, limb from limb. Wesser’s collapsed, belching smoke and flame, and Rosetti’s fell onto its face, its knees severed by beam weapons.
“Gold platoon, fall back!” Reiter ordered. “White and I will cover you, Mortars drop smoke now!” I’ll have to try reaching someone from Black or Blue later. Thick white smoke blossomed on the ground between them and the tinhats. Po-pa screamed as a beam struck her magazines and ignited them.
The tinhats charged through the smoke, though there were certainly less of them than before. Smith suddenly charged, dumping rounds into the tinhats as he ran about.
“Smith, get back here!” Steele cried as more beams reached out for them.
“Steele, get back!” Reiter cried. Her machine’s laden with ammo. If she takes a direct hit, the whole thing could cook off. Shifting his bigger machine to shield hers, he emptied his last magazine before dropping his weapon.
As he drew his sword, he rushed to the nearest tinhat. The cackling blue tesla blade cut right through the waist of his target. Shockingly, the tinhat still grasped for him as it fell. He charged another, but this one met him with a sword composed of the same beams they shot at him.
Another spun towards his damaged side. He kept the Lowe moving, hacking and slashing as he went. To his shock, the tinhats not only frequently shot into the melee, but scored penetrating hits against the Lowe.
Reiter gasped for breath. Sweat got in his eyes and stung. The tinhat pilots showed no sign of slowing down, attacking and moving as aggressively as they always have. The ringing in his either could have been from all the noise, all the impacts, or alarms signaling subsystems going off line.
He’d leave a mark though, several; tinhats lay wrecked around him. “Fox 6, I’m clear,” Steele said. “Now get out of there so I can call a fire mission!” Reiter attempted to disengage, but the tinhats pursued him. The Lowe had certainly slowed down with all the damage he’d accumulated and as he neared the autobahn, he liked his chances less and less. His battlenet showed static.
“This is Fox 6, ordering fire mission: Broken Arrow, time now!” I just hope the armor holds up. In the distance, he heard guns rumble. He parried another strike as the shells closed in. “I’m sorry Amy.” He closed his eyes As the shells crashed into the
ground and machinery. Reiter felt like he was trapped inside a blender. When the light and motion ceased, he opened his eyes. Something ringed. Red light covered most of his displays, and some of his cameras were out, but the surrounding machines appeared mangled beyond recognition. With a sigh, he closed his eyes and embraced rest.
Mo grabbed at his neck. His ears rang and his head throbbed. Everything hurt as he stumbled through the smoke and haze. “Mo!” a voice nearby called to him. Raising his pistol, he realized it was unlikely a Union mop up team would know him by nickname.
When Wesser stumbled out of the smoke, hacking and coughing, Mo ran and hugged her.
“I’m so glad you’re ok,” he said. “We need to find cover, we need to-”
“Hey dumbasses, this way,” a voice Mo recognized as Sergeant Holtslander called out. Mo and Wesser ran up the side of the mountain, constantly looking over their shoulders. When they met up with the drop trooper and his squad, Mo was relived to find Rosetti huddled under a tree, a field blanket around her shoulders.
“What’s your status?” Wesser asked after regaining some composure. Holtslander sighed.
“Three dead, four wounded, one of whom is walking wounded,” he replied before pointing to three soldiers covered in field dressings and laying on stretchers. “We’re still trying to find Webb, we don’t know if they made it.”
“And Ausgebucht?” Wesser asked. Holtslander shook his head.
“His bird took the hit from whatever the hell that shit they shot at us was.” He sighed. “We got lucky. Mamma Piniata lived up to her name and took a pounding, but her hull held up.”
“So what now?” Mo asked. “We’re neck deep in enemy territory, with bad comms, casualties, and no support. What should we do?”
“Exactly what his squad’s been doing,” Wesser replied. “We find Webb, see what his status is, and then…” She looked up towards the peak of the mountain. “We’ll find a way inside,” she finally said.
Enemy Front Page 13