Enemy Front

by T. E. Butcher

  A Captain raised his hand. “Sir, what are we going to do about those streets?” he asked. “Panzerters are going to have to walk around sideways half the time, never mind trying to get an IFV turned around in there.” He pointed to narrow alleyways and terraced buildings. “And virtually every turn could turn into an ambush.”

  The regimental commander held up a hand. “I hear your complaints.” He said. “I really do, but I think this is the best way we can win. Most of the city is built around heavy foot traffic and bikes. Yes, that all being said, there are plenty of roads we should fit down no problem.” Bartonova raised an eyebrow, though she tried to do so discreetly. Trying to imagine the Tiger squeezing through those narrow streets already had her feeling claustrophobic.

  I wonder if Steele’s been there? Maybe she could give me some insight into the city. She shook her head. I shouldn’t ask for too much. She might have a friend or something that lives there. Thinking of the skilled tuber pilot made her realize something else, and she raised her hand.

  “Do we know the status of the civilian populace?” She asked. “Have they started evacuating yet?” The Regimental commander shook his head.

  “I don’t believe so,” he said. “The city is in artillery range, but division has ordered no artillery is to be used on the city before we attack so as to not create cover or difficult terrain for our units.” His words caused Bartonova’s heart to sink a little.

  “So what about civilian casualties?” She asked. “What’s our stance?” The regimental commander cleared his throat and squared up with the seated officers.

  “The Union has treated our civilians populations in space with little regard, not even talking about the colonies, look at how many people were gassed on Deimos, and how many more would have died were it not for Admiral Vaun Braun,” he said. “We’re not callous or cruel, but these are our people. Provide medical aid to injured civilians if you can spare it, but our soldiers remain the priority.”

  “And if they die?” Another listener asked.

  “Then they die,” the commander replied, and Bartonova shivered.

  Kennedy watched with a satisfied smile as a stream of shells from a nearby Martian Trooper struck a Tharcian panzerter. The machine jerked about before collapsing in a pile of smoke and metal. More Tharcian units tried to assemble some kind of defense, but it wouldn’t do them any good.

  Having fully committed his battalion to battle, Kennedy reassessed the tactical situation. A pitiful ten panzerters and mostly IFVs opposed them. Half of the panzerters were the standard improved version of the Mark IVs he’d seen since the beginning of the war, while the others consisted of a newer version he hadn’t seen yet. Since they carried a massive cannon over each shoulder, he assumed correctly that they were some kind of fire support version of the more common panzerters.

  Currently, the normal panzerters tried to absorb the brunt of the contact while the others set up fire support and the IFVs dropped dismounts and fired on their Union counterparts. Three IFVs took up position on a nearby hill, while three others hid in a nearby woodline, and three others staggered themselves between the advancing frontline panzerters.

  The panzerters, the four remaining that is, advanced on Bengal company as they lay hull down on a hill that touched the smallest end of the mountain. His own infantry filled the cut between the mountain and a hill to Kennedy’s left and spread out their IFVs for support. Harpy and Havoc Company acted as a single unit with the two Martians leading six Martian Troopers in a flanking attack from the Tharcians left.

  They don’t know how many panzerters we have. The realization gave him a thrill as his machine sat with Bengal company. “Bengal 6, Reaper 6, Shift fire to those cannon panzerters in the back,” he said. “Leave this group to the others.”

  “Roger 6.” At once, Panzerter sized Assault Rifles and Machine guns switched targets towards the further group. The sheer volume of fire left a few flaming wrecks in its wake as the shells tore through the armor of the newer machines. He even snuck in a few pop shots with his strobe laser. Another panzerter ignited and burned like a haystack under the assault. Clearly, their armor isn’t worth a damn. He looked at his strobe laser. It seemed quaint compared to the raw firepower of those other Martian’s impulse rifles. Speaking of firepower.

  “All batteries, Reaper 6, commence bombardment,” he ordered. The Tharcian panzerter found themselves beset by the combined harpy and Havoc company. True to their name, the havoc company troopers dashed into close combat with their enemies. Maces smashed heads as swords severed limbs, and more than a few weapons fired at point blank range. Within seconds, the Tharcian panzerters had been routed, and the infantry began to retreat.

  This is going far better than I expected. Might as well mop up here. “All points, crush the enemy,” Kennedy said. The final Tharcian panzerter, a cannon type, collapsed under the weight of enough firepower to level a small city. Their IFVs found themselves running for their lives as the Union picked them apart. Rockets from his own infantry brewed up more than a few IFVs and the combined company moved to pursue and finish their fleeing enemy.

  If only every battle could be this easy. His remaining Supercells, dedicated close air support drones, performed a flyover of the Tharcian headquarters. With their first pass, they let loose with their rockets and bombs. On their second, they relayed a live feed of the carnage. Broken tents and equipment lay scattered along the floor of the pass, along with what Kennedy assumed were bodies. He could also make out where several shells had overflown their targets and caused rockslides in the valley walls.

  The destruction was total and complete. With only one functioning company and no headquarters, the Tharcians would be forced to withdraw here. And if I can contact Meyer, press our advantage in these mountains, it’ll be our first strategic victory in a while. He smiled at the thought of advancing deeper into Tharsis, of promotions and awards to the whole battalion. Yeah, I can see it all.

  “All points, Reaper 6,” he said over the command net. “Return to base, and have a runner ready for comrade Meyer. We have great news for her.” For the first time in months, Kennedy felt like he had the wind at his back. “We’re on the up and up, comrades, let’s try to wrap this war up by year’s end!”

  “I hate to do this,” Reiter said. “But we don’t have a lot of choice.” He bound forward in the Panther, uncomfortable as all hell in the pilot seat. I’ve never gone all the way on a first date, but it feels like that’s what I’m trying to do. He didn’t know the Panther very well. The Panther didn’t know him at all, yet here they were trying to do the thing. Then again, I’ve never been on many dates, that’s more of a Webb or Adamski thing.

  He came to a full stop when Smith paused ahead of him. Just over the ridge ahead of them, a massive Union column confidently marched through the cut between mountains. A flash of the previous battle made the normally calm man’s blood boil. He eased the panther forward and set his rifle when Smith hailed him.

  “6, the mortars,” he said. “Isn’t this as good a time as any?” A predatory smile spread across Reiter’s features.

  “That’s right Smith,” he said. Thunder rumbled in the distance as gray clouds rolled in among the peaks. “Punisher, think you can bracket these guys?”

  “With pleasure 6,” Stromburg replied. “Prepping fire mission now.” Reiter nodded and acknowledged.

  “Fire when ready,” he said, eager to not let this opportunity slip away. His breathing became shallow as he tried to steady his breath, anticipating the first shot he’d make. Thump. Thump. Thump-Thump. Chaos exploded among the Union column. Smoke obscured their vision of each other while a few IFVs burned. A tinhat collapsed as its head caved in from a mortar round.

  “Those 120’s are no joke,” Smith observed and Reiter found himself nodding in agreement. For a moment, confusion reigned among the MAGs below as mortars rained on them. Then one of them spotted them.

  As a few tinhats rushed up the hill, weapons blazing, Reiter a
nd Smith opened fire. With some assistance from gravity, their rounds easily punched through the Union’s armor. One tinhat leaped, another rolling back down the hill and raised a weapon he was all too familiar with. A strobe laser.

  “Smith, get back,” Reiter cried as he stood up. The barrel of his mag rifle burst apart in a shower of sparks and molten metal, while dirt around him burned from the exposure.

  Reiter returned fire with his head mounted machine guns. While the 8mm models seemed like a joke compared to the fifty cals he was used to, they did the job well enough. Smoke rose from the strobe as it flashed, its emitter shattered.

  They both drew swords, the telescoping rods vented plasma, giving the bladed weapons an orange appearance. “I have to say, for a second line, commander, you’re putting up a hell of a fight,” purred a familiar voice. Oh, for the love of God. “It’s a shame, I was hoping to kill you with that bombardment.”

  He knew Hawke was likely dead. Tents didn’t exactly hold up in the face of massed artillery, but Kennedy didn’t know that. Reiter intercepted his first blow with his sword, pushing the Martian back towards the ridge. If he was in the Lowe, he would have pushed him over easily. As it was, he just staggered into the machine.

  I’ve fought this guy before. I know what he’s going to try. As sword flashed between the two panzerters, the bit of knowledge enabled him to stay a step ahead of the tuber pilot. Smith seemed preoccupied with suppressing Kennedy’s reinforcements as the infantry pulled back. But the mortars kept flying.

  “This is actually exciting,” Kennedy said. “I was hoping for a worthy opponent to replace the dear departed Captain Reiter.” He punctuated each of those last four words with powerful blows that managed to knock a few subsystems offline. I need to finish this quick.

  He knocked aside Kennedy’s next blow and used the momentum to drive his own sword into the tinhats knee. The Union machine collapsed to its good leg, but took the opportunity to slash at the panther’s body as it fell. Reiter watched as the panther’s arms fell forward down the slope with the tinhat.

  “Kennedy, if you keep attacking my people,” Reiter said. “Then I’ll always be around to stop you.” He watched for a brief moment as the tinhat tumbled down the ridge, armor plating and components crashing and crumbling against the rocky surface. Finally, he turned to leave with Smith and the Infantry. The Mortars also fell back, whether because they ran out of ammo or because their protection was retreating. He couldn’t be sure.

  As they left, Kennedy fired one last parting shot over the radio waves. “Captain Reiter,” he said. “You know the plight of my kind. I cannot stop until all of Mars sees us as people.” With a sigh, Reiter closed the net. I know man, I do

  16

  “Yes, I will approve that,” Chaney replied to the General as they headed towards the main conference room in Congregation. “But only as a field test, that’s the most I can give you, just, make sure Ballard comes back ok, he’s a great test pilot and I don’t want his daughter to be an orphan.” The General in question commanded the Eastern theater. With a nod, he silently entered the conference room with Chaney.

  The massive oak table had a gap in the center for hologram projections. Slight angles all around ensured each attendant had a straight edge in front of them. Normally, they spread out when using the table, but in this case, even the main meeting hall would be crowded. The First Minister sat at the nominal head of the table on one end. While he possessed chief executive powers, the secretary of the national committee, a body of union heads separate from the National Trade Union congress, served as his de facto number two and sat at his right hand.

  To the right of Secretary Pearson sat Fleet Admiral Rodriguez, along with a representative from the space settlement authority and representatives from each of the five fleets. On the left side of the First Minister sat Guards-Marshall Baldwin, along with the various front and army commanders, as the rest of his general staff. They crowded around on one side of the table for what seemed like fifteen minutes, murmuring among themselves about their guests.

  The doors to the other end of the hall opened. Men and Women wearing extravagant uniforms filed inside. Their different uniforms bore vivid colors to the point where the five wearing white coats also seemed to carry their own vibrance. Frillie things sat on their shoulders and half length capes trailed behind them.

  Naturally, the five in white uniforms took a seat at the center of the table opposite the First Minister. The elderly man attempted a friendly smile, but looked more like he was holding off a stroke. The man across from him seemed unnaturally handsome. His jawline, long jet black hair, and bearing seemed like something out of a fairy tale.

  Across from the navy, men and women wearing red uniforms took seats while those wearing a deep purple sat across from the army. Our counterparts from Avalon. The man in the center of the Avalon delegation rose and bowed before the First Minister, elegantly placing his arm across his body and angling his hand up.

  “We are honored by your hospitality, lord First Minister,” he said as he raised his face to look at the man. “I am Sir Lawrence, Captain-General of the Royal Knights of Avalon, King Arthur IV has chosen me personally to represent his interests as well as aide you, our closest allies.”

  Thew First Minister nodded and continued smiling. “Please sit down, Sir Lawrence,” he said. Oddly enough, he said sir, as if it was Lawrence’s first name. “We have much to discuss.”

  Lawrence to his seat and nodded. “Indeed we do, milord,” he replied, his deep baritone uncomfortably smooth. “I believe the first order of business was discussing the state of the ground conflict, or would you rather coordinate fleet actions?” Despite his discomfort, Chaney found himself impressed. Sir Lawrence came off as deferential and respectful, but he fully controlled the conversation.

  “I believe we need some assistance in pacifying Olympia,” the First Minister replied. “Though direct assistance would also help.” A waiter came around serving drinks. When she handed Lawrence his wine glass, he gently took it and looked at the first minister.

  “By direct assistance, do you mean in battle? Or with your space elevator?” He asked. “Because we are fully capable of helping you with both milord.” When the First Minister hesitated, Admiral Rodriguez spoke up.

  “Could you help us with a work around?” he asked. “We have a massive amount of ground forces we need relocated towards the surface, and right now they’re just burning through resources I need for our fleets.” Lawrence land an inquisitive eye towards a lady in a red coat.

  “Lady Germaine, if our shuttles from Camelot operated at full capacity, how quickly could we redeploy their forces?” He asked. While the lady in red spat out statistics as if she rehearsed them, Chaney noticed Lawrence keep a steady eye on the First Minister. When the older man shakily reached for a glass of water and drank, the knight nodded and took a sip of wine. This may have been a mistake.

  “It’s not Apostu,” Starnes said. “The man’s incompetent, and an absolute stooge, but he’s no traitor, let alone assassin.” He sat with Emma and Jon in a small cafe in Reichsburg going over their traitor suspects. “Likewise, if the General Chiara Weinheber is a traitor, she’s hiding it well. Our personnel department has never been better at getting people where they need to be or ensuring they get paid and trained on time.”

  While he spoke, warm coffee sat in cups along the table while a plate of pastries took up the center. The delightful treats, with a hint of a lemon cream, helped easy the Major’s anxiety. As he reached for another, Emma sighed and looked at her coffee.

  “The audits came back clean,” she said, “Which could mean he paid the auditors off or he hasn’t done anything wrong.” She took a sip from her drink. “So we’re at square one.”

  Jon shook his head. “I’m turning up blanks as well,” he said. “Maybe we’re looking in the right place?” Starnes looked at Emma.

  “Who else would have known the Marshall was at 9th division headquarters?” he
asked. “Because if its none of our people, it’s either someone near the president or at 9th division headquarters, and I changed the pickup time with the specific intent of thwarting spies and picked up the car from a different distributor.” Emma rubbed her chin for a moment.

  “Maybe they were trying to get someone else?” she said. A humorless laugh fell out of the Major.

  “What, you’re saying they had a car bomb ready for joe blow paper pusher at 9th division and they happened to accidentally get the Marshall of the Tharcian Army?” he asked. “Do you actually believe that?”

  Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. For all we know, though, the traitor is unrelated to the bombing,” she said. “And its all a horrible coincidence.” She pulled up her datapad. “Which would mean its more likely a local group responsible for the attack on Marshall Hausnerr.”

  Starnes held up a hand. “That’s one thing, but General Markos indicated that their was a traitor in the General Staff.”

  “And has this man been properly vetted?” Emma asked. Starnes hesitated. He has. I’m more likely to be a traitor than he is just because of how effective Operation MAYHEM has been in crippling the Union’s logistics and war economy.

  “He’s one hundred percent on our side,” Starnes finally replied. “Though I can’t go into detail, but he’s played an absolutely critical part in the war effort up to this point.” He picked up his own coffee. “Granted, most of his work is classified.”

  Through most of the conversation, Jon remained quiet. Stroking his chin and staring at the pastries, he set his hands on the table. “What if we’re approaching this from the wrong angle?” He asked.