The two enlisted soldiers scrambled to keep up with their commander. Up ahead, the fighting was getting intense, and he intended to join First Platoon and push forward. The battle was raging all around them as the Bolts hit the flank of the Bleeve Brigade in a classic attack pattern. The sounds of artillery firing behind them let them know the main battlefield was still being prepped before the Ground Forces hit them.
“Algrite!” Nate called on the armor frequency. “It looks like they broke a dozen tanks out, and they’re trying to get to our guns. Can you stop them?”
“We saw it, sir,” the lieutenant called back. He sounded winded. “It’s touch and go here, but it looks like we saw them in time to swing around and stop it. It might be best to tell Smithers to pack it in and move to an alternate position.”
“I already let him know,” Nate said. “Keep your head down.”
The rounded a bend in the country road. Nate stopped and swapped his screen over to the view from the last reconnaissance droid. It looked like Algrite and the few tanks he had remaining were stopping the breakout. Suddenly his world flipped several times, and he landed near a tree. He was shaking his head trying to clear it when he heard Zarmlon call out. He opened his eyes.
“Sir, are you all right?” Sir!” She was kneeling over him, checking his armor for openings and signs of bleeding. “Pailoth! The CO is down. Get over here!”
His vision clearing, Harmon saw a huge shadow cross over the top of Corporal Zarmlon. He realized it was the Stomper. Suddenly it slammed to the ground ten yards beyond them, its legs bent. It was blocking the direction the tank round had come from. The automated turret on top could be heard firing a sustained burst from the mounted railgun.
There was a huge explosion, and both the medic and Zarmlon went flying away from Nate. The Stomper had taken a direct hit from the unseen tank. The battle armor saved them from the blast. There were no more shots from the tank.
“Ohhh, my head,” Zarmlon complained from inside the wood line. “Sir, are you alive?”
“Yeah,” Nate answered, still laying there, “just shook up a little.”
“I’m not,” complained the specialist. “I feel like I flew into a tree and died.”
“You did,” Zarmlon said, looking over at her friend. “You broke it, too.”
Minutes later, they eased around the burning hulk of the Stomper and saw the enemy tank sticking out of the brush forty yards away, smoke coming out of several holes from the impacts of the point-blank railgun rounds. They could see that some of the armor on the Bleeve tank had already been damaged from the battle before it had made its way to them.
“Corporal Loftis,” Nate said quietly. “She dropped the Stomper and saved us.”
“Collyn was a good troop,” Zarmlon said, “and a frost of a driver.”
“Yeah,” agreed Nate. “We have to move out. This battle isn’t over. We’ll be back for her.”
* * *
Lieutenant Mayshire quickly looked at the number of remaining railgun rounds listed in the corner of her left screen. It wasn’t good. Neither was the status of her left leg. It showed orange. What’s the deal with getting hit in the leg all the time? she asked herself. She could feel the hitch every time she took a step. Running in the mech was not an option. Not that they needed to run. Her platoon was moving from large tree to large tree, picking their shots as they tried to get through the forest. They were chasing a large number of Bleeve mechs as they scrambled away on eight legs using the same type of shielding. Behind the Specialty Platoon, sections of the forest floor and several trees were burning.
Even though there was nowhere to run to, the Bleeve refused to give up. It seemed to Mayshire the enemy knew what fate awaited it and chose to die fighting. Her platoon couldn’t let them run. If they continued, they’d eventually meet up with the Ground Forces’ infantry, and the fight would be one sided, with the mounted lasers on the spider mechs tearing through them. No. This was a mech battle.
“Sergeant Alfred, Special Six,” she called over the platoon channel.
“Yes, ma’am,” answered a translated voice she knew was the Smilp.
“Take the Beetle Mechs two hundred yards to the east and see if you can swing around and get behind them,” Mayshire ordered. “If you can slow them down, we may be able to put a stop to their running fight.”
“Moving, ma’am,” the Smilp answered.
Off to the side, Mayshire caught a fleeting glimpse of one of the small six-legged mechs as it disappeared under some bushes headed off to the side. She knew the other small mechs were headed the same way. They were fast, and often overlooked in battle because of their low silhouette, so they were undamaged. They would be a nasty surprise with the back-mounted railguns.
She looked again at her munitions reading. This needs to end quickly, she thought. I don’t know how we’re going to take on two brigades.
She and the remainder of the operational mechs of her platoon continued moving ahead, taking shots when they could. When she heard the sound of sustained railgun fire up ahead, she grinned and ordered the platoon to advance quickly. She kept up the best she could.
* * *
Ground Forces
Temporary Command Center
“That’s two down and two to go,” Colonel Arthok said. “It cost us dearly. We’re at fifty percent combat effective.”
“The Bolts are down thirty percent, sir,” Nate said.
The senior leaders were meeting for the After-Action Review, and the numbers presented were bad. They were low on personnel, and even lower on ammunition, fuel, and rounds for both the tanks and artillery pieces.
“We’ve been able to issue Bleeve rifles to most of the infantry,” volunteered Lieutenant Colonel Jalobath. “Each troop has several power cells for their weapon. We’ll use ours first, then switch over during the final battle. I think the best plan is to get among their lines. It will allow our troops to take power cells from the dead and continue.”
“That is a good plan,” Arthok agreed. “Captain Brink, have your Bolts do the same.”
“Yes, sir,” Nate replied. “We’ve been collecting them as well. We ran across a supply of grenades. I have a hovercraft bringing most of them over.”
“Good,” Arthok said. “Everything we can get our hands on helps.”
“It is too bad we can’t use their artillery rounds,” Lieutenant Colonel Hanker said. “There’s a stockpile. All their guns were damaged and are useless to us.”
“Send them over to my Maintenance Platoon,” Nate said. “We have a replicator we can use to provide some rounds, if we have what we need to feed them. I’m willing to bet my guys can get them to kick out our artillery rounds. We may even be able to get tank rounds out of them. They’re the same size, but with different warheads.”
“Brilliant,” Arthok said. “The formula for their explosives may be different, but the replicator should be able to use it. Too bad their tanks use lasers, or we could find more.”
“We’re already using scrap to make railgun rounds for the mechs,” Nate said. “They have less range, and a slight drop in velocity due to the blended metal. We could make the right blend for maximum magnetic propulsion, but we won’t get as many. I’m betting on more is better.”
“Good bet,” Arthok said. “I’ll send a detail over with more scrap. We still have twelve mechs in operation in the Ground Forces. They could use a resupply, as well. Can it be adjusted to make rounds for rifles?”
“Send them over, sir,” Nate said. “We’ll do what we can. I’ll have the technicians go over your mechs and try and repair some for you, too.”
“Three days,” Arthok said, standing. “Three days, and we move out. As far as we know the two brigades have met up. The imagery we have is coming from the ships in orbit. We still don’t own the skies. Neither side has many warbirds left, either. Our pilots have been taking up Nazrooth craft all day. Small, weaponless shuttles with makeshift door gunners. It’s not ideal, but we may get
close enough to see what’s happening over there. The Bleeve have declared a no-fly zone, so they know it’s us. The Nazrooth won’t go against it.”
“If we can take out their concentration of anti-air batteries, we can use the transport shuttles as air support. They have some weaponry,” suggested Nate.
“That may be Bolts’ mission,” Arthok agreed. “We need to plan the movement and order of battle. Now’s the time for suggestions.”
The meeting lasted for hours.
* * * * *
Chapter Twenty-Six
Salvage Title
“There’s been an emergence! I count twenty ships, and climbing!” shouted Adam. The tactical officer started adjusting his pieced-together screen, trying to gather more information.
“Harmon, I concur,” Janeen said, the overhead speaker crackling. “There are now seventy-eight more ships heading into the system from the gate. I cannot determine more than that. Perhaps if I reroute my connections, I could download more information.”
“Seventy-eight!” Clip shouted from the other side of the bridge. “Dude, we don’t have half that many missiles on board, even if we could repair the weapons control systems and get more than four launchers capable of firing. We need time, man. Serious time.”
“Bahroot?” Harmon tried the comms one more time. “Are you close enough now to receive a signal? Bahroot?” The ship’s communications relay had been destroyed and had to be repaired piecemeal. Clip and Zerith had worked wonders, using parts from the Hauler’s system and from the transport shuttle, the only two craft still in the bay. Even Harmon’s Zax fighter had been part of the fight, with a Pikith from one of the squadrons flying it.
“Frost!” Harmon exclaimed. “Jayneen, can you boost our signal somehow? We need to know what’s coming. Bahroot using the gate’s system is the only way that can happen, unless one of the other ships in the fleet can relay it to us.”
“Try it now,” Jayneen said as the lights dimmed slightly.
“Bahroot!” Harmon said loudly. “Are you receiving?”
A faint voice was heard. “Uncle Harmon, yes, I can hear you now. I’ve already turned and am attempting to slow so I don’t pass what’s left of your formation. If I were an organic being, I would be putty on the back bulkhead. There’s no known race able to take fifty-eight Gs.”
“That boy is hauling more ass than that entire fleet of Squilla we fought,” Bradford chimed in, his voice a surprise over the communications system, “and those ships were full of those no-ass-having, creepy-looking crabs.”
“Bradford! What are you doing in system?” Harmon asked, too surprised to comment on what he’d said. They were unable to get a reading, but he had to be in the refurbished Krift ship, Piece of Junk.
“I brought reinforcements, Commodore,” Bradford answered. “Dang, from what my tac officer is telling me, y’all are beat up pretty bad. Anyway, if your sensors can’t quite tell, I’m leading seven war ships designed like this one, except they’re a lot bigger. They’re heavies. They took a little damage back home, but they’re in fighting shape. There are also seventy, count ‘em, seventy Q-ships that are put together pretty good, I have to admit.”
“Krift?” Harmon asked, standing and wincing slightly as he reached down and checked the bandage on his thigh. It was no longer a deep cut, but he definitely felt it when he put weight on it. The nanites were not quite finished with their work.
“Those are Krift ships?” Harmon asked.
He and his fleet had succeeded in defending the Tretrayon System against invading Squilla fleets and their Krift allies a couple years before. Afterward, he’d reached a deal with the new Krift queen, whose system had become trading partners with the Tretrayon System since.
“Yep,” Bradford confirmed. “Left another thirty Q-ships back in Salvage System with Mike and Twiggy to help guard it. We fought a pretty good battle. Them dang spidery bugs sent in a fleet of thirty. We were handling it, and it was kind of tight, but we’d have won eventually. Maybe. Ok, maybe not. I lied. It was rough.”
He continued, “We wouldn’t have made it for sure if Mike hadn’t put out a ‘Merc’s Honor All Call.’”
Harmon whistled low and long. “Mike put out an ‘All Call?’”
Harmon knew that had only happened a handful of times in the last fifty years or so. All honorable merc companies in a system answered it if they were able, but it cost later, because there’s no negotiating those contracts. You pay what they ask. They’re fair, but if it’s a big unit, it’s a lot. “I mean, there are usually several companies in-system these days, and occasionally a big outfit. I take they joined in?”
“Without hesitation,” confirmed Bradford. “It was much appreciated. Now that the Merc’s Hub is complete and they have a place to dock and do business, if they don’t want to make the trip all the way to Salvage, everyone knows there’s a neutral place to go to regroup and take some time off. You know, business is booming on the business side of the shipyards. Opening that section up to repair warships that don’t belong to the system was genius.”
He paused a moment and said, “don’t tell Mike I said that. I gotta work with him.”
“I won’t.” Harmon smiled, feeling better about their situation. “Did any of the mercs take losses?”
“Damage to ships and some casualties,” Bradford answered. “A few fighters, but no loss of ships. Three different units and a single combined, came in at battle speeds, and hit the Bleeve flank from a distance. It helped us hold off the invasion fleet and caused them to swing around and regroup. We’ll have to repair their ships, replace the fighters and all the missiles, along with their contract fee, though.”
“Gladly,” Harmon agreed. “I’m glad there were some available to help. We have the credit, so it’s no issue. I hate that they took casualties, though.”
“Me, too, but they know the nature of the business,” Bradford agreed. “You can afford the credit costs; you’re richer than some systems centuries old. Hey, that reminds me—there was a company consisting of a single ship that fired missiles that can’t be replaced. We never saw that type of ship before, and its readings aren’t readily available on the Net, either. It’s not a big ship, kind of like a frigate, but not really. Anyway, they asked to meet with you once this all blows over. Said it was important, but it could wait until after this.”
“Huh, sounds a little strange, but yeah, after this is finished,” Harmon said. “Human mercs?”
“Some of them; others are of a race I never saw before,” Bradford answered. “Big scorpion looking dudes. Their leader seems alright, though.”
“I may have Jayneen look into it before we head back to Salvage,” Harmon said. “Anyway, back to the business at hand. We need to defeat the remainder of the Bleeve Fleet so we can make a push for the planet, but we can’t because we’re low on missiles, and the fleet is pretty banged up. We have troops on the ground that need resupply and reinforcements.”
“I brought some of those, too,” Bradford said. “This ship is not in any kind of shape to go back into battle, but I do have a bay full of troops. The entire platoon of Tralge, about a hundred of your Ground Forces and Bolts, and that small merc unit I told you about. Did you know they have two tanks? Big ones. One hundred and twenty tons. They make the Withaloo tank look small. Oh, and there are mechs. Ten regular ones, and the six Giant Mechs.”
“They’re ready?” Harmon asked, surprised. “Great, we’ll need everything we can get to help those on the surface.” He paused before saying, “If they still survive. Tell me about the Krift.”
“Shortly after the creepy crawlers regrouped, repaired, and were heading back to finish us off,” Bradford explained, “over a hundred Krift ships came into the system and wiped out the remaining Bleeve ships. I’ll save that report for later. Hey, I’m going to send the Swarm queen the Salvage Fleet battle frequency so she can talk to you and find out what you need her to do. Listen, will you do me a solid?”
“What’s th
at?” Harmon asked. He was still shocked by the turn of events.
“I changed what’s relayed by the transponder, so don’t tell her what I named this ship,” Bradford said. “Out here.”
Harmon leaned back in his seat and looked at the damage above him, a smile slowly forming on his face. With a slight strain he leaned his tired body forward and watched as repairs were being made. He knew the same was happening across the fleet and over in the Kashkal Fleet. They’d been working on them for more than a week. Several of the crewmembers kept stealing glances at him. They’d heard the conversation and now knew there was a chance. It caused them to redouble their efforts.
Ships had been locked together in an effort to combine shielding and fighting capabilities. Many had repaired shields to the point they were ready for a run on the Bleeve to finally force them to fight instead of circle. It would have been a big risk, depending on how many missiles the enemy had. Now, now things had changed. He ran his fingers through his hair and looked down at his comms, waiting.
After a few minutes, Ensign Pathron looked over from his console, panels open all around him as he and Brickle were working on it. “You have a call from Winds of Change, sir. A Queen Mayrell.”
“Thanks, Path,” Harmon answered. “Can we put it on the main screen yet?”
“Try it,” answered Brickle for the ensign.
The main screen flickered for an instant, then it lit up with a blurred image. Slowly the image came into focus, and Harmon found himself looking into the bridge of a large ship. Seated in a large chair in the center was a Krift. She was reddish brown with coloring similar to Queen Rathell, the queen of Krift.
“President Tomeral,” the Krift said, standing. “I bring you greetings from Queen Rathell.”
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