“And don’t you go leading the charge down there, Suarez,” said the Captain. “You go down in the prescribed position.”
“How?”
“You don’t think I wasn’t a newbie officer at one point myself. I’m sending second platoon to your position to follow you down. There had to be a lot of ship down there for you to scout.”
The transmission died, and Suarez knew he had to be on the horn to the battalion commander, and so things would go up the line until they got to the Fleet Admiral in charge of the whole operation.
“Get your people into the hole, Tamerlane,” she told the Sergeant when she had cycled the com back to him. “Standard drop. First squad will be joining you shortly. By the time you get to the bottom the entire platoon will be coming after you.”
First squad dropped without a problem for ten kilometers, just before the bottom of the shaft. The rest of the platoon was also dropping, while the first two squads of second platoon were just behind them. Suarez received notification that a dozen spacers were about to drop as well. They would be wearing medium suits, capable enough, but not the small tanks that the heavy units were. Their safety would be her responsibility, which was really more than she wanted. No one had asked her how much she wanted on her shoulders. They had simply placed it there, and it was up to her to handle it or not. And I’ll be damned if I drop the ball now, she thought as she tried to look around her and monitor the take from her first squad at the same time.
Lasers and particle beams came up from below, these not near as powerful as those used in the weapon made shaft they had used to get to this one. Still, a couple of suits took damage, one heavy, and the health readouts on one of the Marines started shifting to that of a man in shock. She was about to order her people to open fire, but they had already opened up with their particle beam rifles and a couple of heavy beamers. It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds to silence the fire, and it didn’t take more than a couple of seconds more for something down there to move into place to continue fire.
“Second squad,” ordered Suarez over the com. “Full combat drop, now. First squad follow suit.”
The acknowledgements came back as the Marines pushed their suits into a fast drop, a hundred meters a second, firing the entire way, using enough fire discipline so that all still had some charge in their weapons when they reached the bottom. A swarm of robots was waiting for them. Fortunately not combat machines, but maintenance bots armed with laser cutters. Not helpless, but not as deadly as purpose built battle bots.
The fight was quick and savage. Laser cutters could and did cut into battle armor. Not as fast as particle beams, but several of the Marines had their suits penetrated, one with fatal consequences. Particle beams melted through the alloy of the robots and left crippled machines to try and stagger into the attack. The first squad’s boots hit the ground moments later, all with fully charged weapons, lending fire support to the second squad that was moving out into the wider area at the bottom of the shaft.
Second squad pulled pistols from holsters and extruded the triple monomolecular blades from their off forearm sheaths. The Marines waded into the machines, blades slicing through carapaces or cutting off limbs, while particle beam pistols blew holes in the bodies of the robots. First squad fired precision shots, taking out the machines that were still trying to move into the fight. The platoon command group and third squad landed and came into the fight, just as more machines seemed to sprout from the walls.
Suarez hadn’t fired her weapon since the first shaft. It was cool and ready to fire, with ninety-five percent of its proton store still in the magazine. She fired from the hip, a continuous particle beam that burned through robot after robot as she slowly swung it. The Gunny stood beside her, swinging his beam from the initial firing point of hers into the opposite direction.
Marines loaded as quickly as they could, dropping proton packs to the floor, slamming new ones into place, then waiting the several seconds for the accelerators to spin up the particles. They fired again, letting off the ten seconds worth of continuous blast in bursts to stretch out their firing time. Every three proton packs they slammed another crystal matrix battery into place in the pistol grip. Particle beam rifles were easily twice as powerful as lasers of the same bulk. But lasers could fire for minutes on a crystal matrix charge. It was a tradeoff, sometimes a good one, sometimes not.
Casualties started to mount, a few here and there, until after four minutes of fighting half the platoon was down. Most were taken out by damage to suits, some with physical injuries, six dead. But the fighting went on as more and more machines came out of nowhere. Grenades started taking out those just starting to enter the field of play, while heavy weapons suits launched short range missiles with conventional warheads to take out further concentrations.
Suarez kept fighting, feeling an unusual sense of calm as she battled on. Her suit took weapons hits, and once she found herself punching several machines into scrap, using the power of her armor to crush alloy. Gunny stood beside her, and she was aware of the several times he had kept something from hitting her on the blind side. He was a juggernaut, a fighting machine, and there seemed to be nothing that could stop him from dealing destruction to the Machines. His suit was scorched front and back, there were tears through the armor, in one place a penetration that had to have reached his body. His example kept the LT going, and she tried to emulate the long term NCO, to become the embodiment of a Marine.
The second platoon came down and joined in the fray, and suddenly the tide began to turn with the addition of forty-six more heavily armed Marines. It didn’t take long for the forty-six fresh weapons to turn the machine onslaught into so much molten metal and vapor. The Captain landed with his command group and started waving the second platoon out into a search pattern.
“Good job, Lieutenant,” said the Captain, patting Suarez’ armored shoulder with his gauntlet. “Your people hold this area. We’ll take it from here.”
Third platoon came in and started fanning out on the other hundred and eighty degrees from second. The spacers started landing as well, including some medics and suit mechanics who started triaging Suarez’ people. Following quickly behind them were the three platoons of second company.
The LT looked over what she had left. Of the forty-three she had led to this point, including herself, she now had eighteen effectives, including four in damaged suits that were still capable of fighting. Twelve of her people were dead, while the medics were setting their suits to act as cryo units so they could be recovered. She didn’t think that would be possible with five of them, but the action would still be taken, no one giving up on them when the possibility existed of resurrection. Six had suits that were no longer combat effective, three of them no longer capable of movement. And seven of her people had been wounded, seriously enough that they needed medical attention. Spacers would start moving them back up the shaft, then over to the other, so they could be taken aboard the shuttles and returned to the ship.
The third company came down after all of the spacers were deployed, leaving only the newly arrived fourth company, the last in the battalion, at the bottom of the weapon penetration, waiting as a reaction force.
So now we wait, thought Suarez, looking over to the Gunny, who had refused to be evacuated despite his suit penetration. The mechanics had placed a self-welding patch over the penetration, and a booster shot of healing nanites. The NCO might be hurt, and she had thought of ordering him out, but she needed him. If he was willing to stay, she was willing to keep him here. She was pretty sure that the action was not over, and her reduced platoon would probably be called back into the fight as soon as it resumed.
Chapter Twelve
We do not remember days, we remember moments. Cesare Pavese
“We think we might be on the track of one of their brains,” said Beata Bednarczyk into the com. “I can’t guarantee what shape it will be in, but with luck it will be partially intact.”
“I w
ant that brain, Admiral,” said Grand High Admiral Sondra McCullom, looking out of the holo. Sondra was the Chief of Naval Operations, the highest ranking officer in the Fleet, two ranks above the Fleet Admiral. While not in command of this front, she could and would relieve any officer of command if she thought it necessary. There was always a chance the Emperor would overrule her. Not much of a chance, but a chance.
“We have the other planet killer almost at the hyper barrier, ma’am,” said Bednarczyk, looking back at the plot that showed that Machine coming on, Mara Montgomery’s force moving with it, just out of range of its graviton beam. Or what they assumed to be its maximum range based on past usage. “If it gets too close I’m going to order my people off the dead one.”
“I know you’re concerned about your people, Beata. But the intelligence bonanza on the Machines would be worth any risk.”
If you’re not the one at risk, thought Beata, feeling a flush of anger. That really wasn’t fair. Sondra had served her time in the Fleet before rising to command Home Fleet, then getting the CNO position. She had seen some action early in her career, and had signed the blank check to the Empire that said she would pay any price, up to and including her life, in its defense. It had just been luck that she hadn’t been in a place and time where her ship had been asked to sacrifice itself for the good of the Fleet. Beata had been in that situation, and had somehow survived. She had since ordered ships and crews to die so that others could live. She had never liked giving those orders, but had steeled herself to the necessity of them. Sondra probably felt the same way. Someone had to give those orders, just as she had sent those Marines and spacers on the highly dangerous mission to explore that ship in the first place. Still, she felt the anger, and her mouth started working before she could censor it.
“Understood, Admiral. And don’t you worry. My people will give their all to get that intelligence, and their families will be so proud when they get their communiques from the Fleet describing their heroic acts.”
McCullom glared out of the holo, and Beata thought she might have gone too far. “That’s bordering on insubordination, Admiral. I know you have a reputation for speaking your mind, but if you ever say anything to me about how I don’t care about the people in the Fleet again, I will sack your ass, Sean’s wishes or not.” The look softened after a moment. “Dammit, Beata, I know what a raw deal those people are getting, all because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. But they all volunteered.”
Only because the harder charging volunteered, thought Bednarczyk with a frown growing on her face. And the rest bowed to peer pressure. “I understand, Admiral. We will do our best to get what the science boys and girls want.” And I’ll order my people off when I think it’s right, no matter what you want.
Bednarczyk’s implant signaled an incoming com, identified as Admiral Vonstag, the commander of the force now waiting at the barrier. “I have a priority message from one of my combat commanders, Admiral. I really should take it.”
“Understood. Fight your battle, Admiral. But keep me informed as to your progress. McCullom out.”
Beata shook her head. Much as she sometimes didn’t like McCullom, she wouldn’t have taken her job for anything. Most of the fleet commanders thought of the CNO as a glorified clerk. Look at how fast Lenkowski had jumped down to Fleet Commander after Sean had relieved him of the position, and how he thought the Emperor had done him a favor. He had been given the duty he had aspired to, the command of fighting men and women. The CNO might be a glorified clerk, but she had to keep tabs of everything going on in the fleet. Recruiting, training, shipbuilding, deployment, research and development. And of course all of the strategic decisions that led to the tactics of the fleet, group and task force commanders.
“Go ahead, Admiral,” she said into the com, shifting gears, looking over as Vonstag appeared on a holo screen beside her.
“The enemy ship has come out of hyper and is boosting into the system at eighteen gravities, ma’am.”
So they were able to make repairs. I wonder where they got the supermetals?
“I can also confirm that they have total globular coverage with their lasers. They’ve been taking out missiles coming in at all angles, and it looks like they’re just as powerful as before.”
And those didn’t take supermetals to repair, thought Beata, nodding. Lasers took easy to replicate crystal structures that could bounce the building stream of photons within them until they reached critical mass.
“Don’t let your ships get closer than one light minute, Admiral,” cautioned Beata, thinking of what a disaster it would be if one of the ships intersected a beam.
“I think their effective range is greater than that, Beata. I know it makes it harder for them to hit us, since we’ll be trying to evade, but it’s still not impossible. And to be honest, we can’t miss the damned things, even from five light minutes.”
“And you can’t hit any pinpoint targets from that distance, Admiral. It does us no good to just heat their hull.”
“Then what in the hell do I do, Admiral?”
That was the question. No matter what they did, there was a risk. Staying too far from the target and they didn’t accomplish anything. Get too close and they were at risk of total destruction when one of those laser beams hit. Was there a sweet spot, a distance that was optimal for the attack? One light minute seemed to be it, the same distance considered optimal beam range in most combat.
“Close to one light minute and try to take out their lasers, Admiral. Give them everything you have. Lasers, particle beams, close in weapons. Hell, send some plasma love their way. They can’t maneuver worth a crap, and anything you send on the proper vector should hit something. Now get to it.”
The holo blanked, replaced in an instant with one from Mara Montgomery.
“By the Goddess, Admiral, that damned Vonstag wants me to hang back.”
I should have put you in charge, thought Beata, looking at the frustration in the face of the younger woman who reminded her so much of herself at an earlier age.
“I kept telling him that they can’t use their graviton beam on us in normal space, but all he can talk about are their lasers.”
“I’ll tell you the same thing I told him, Mara. The closest I want to see you to the Machines is one light minute. And all of your ships need to be on maximum evasive courses. Those lasers will burn you ships out of space if they hit.”
“And how do we stop them from getting to you?” shouted Montgomery, and Beata was thinking of her near insubordination to the CNO. Mara was in danger of skirting that same line, or would have with most officers. Bednarczyk wanted her officers to speak their minds, as long as they didn’t call her names or refuse to obey.
“Do what you can, but no one goes closer than one light minute. I will be watching the takes from both forces, and any move into that limit will draw my ire. Understood?”
“But…”
“Hit them with missiles, all your beam weapons, even the close in weapons. Launch plasma torps at them. Saturate their defenses. Anything you can think of. But going too close will just get your ships killed for no return. And I will not stand for that.”
“Yes, ma’am. You’re in charge here.”
Yes, I am, thought Bednarczyk. And hopefully you’ll learn enough to become a responsible fleet commander in the future. Or you’ll die before you reach that pinnacle. Beata didn’t want that to happen, but she couldn’t hold the other officer’s hand while she was in combat.
“Keep me informed.”
The holo died and Bednarczyk looked over at the plot again. She still had her superbattleship flag, the most powerful unit in her fleet along with Vonstag’s, along with another pair of standard battleships, a dozen cruisers and twenty-two destroyers. She had wanted to keep them close to the derelict enemy in case it wasn’t as much of a wreck as it seemed to be. Now she was rethinking that decision. She needed to stop that enemy juggernaut, and a good bit of her force was sitting h
ere doing nothing.
“Send this order to Commodore Hemphill,” she told her Com Officer. The Commodore was in charge of a heavy cruiser squadron, his flag on one of those ships. “He is to keep his own ship here, along with two light cruisers and four destroyers, and support the landing force. I will be taking the rest of the force out to confront the enemy. And get me the commanders of both inertialess fighter wings.”
She was hoping that those two wings, really one and a half, would have rearmed and be ready for another attack. They might not be able to accomplish anything against those lasers, but they could worry the enemy enough that it made an error, and there was always the possibility that the fleet would force a break in their defensive coverage that would allow missiles to get through. Meanwhile, she would monitor the boarding party on the derelict and order them off when the time came, orders from above or not.
* * *
“We have missile launch,” called out the force Tactical Officer as a hundred of the huge Machine weapons appeared on the plot, moving away from the planet killer. They were heading toward the derelict, and the Imperial ships clustered around her. There was no telling at the moment what was their target, the Machine vessel or the Imperial ships. There really was no need to know at the moment. All they needed to know was that they needed to be destroyed.
Seventy destroyers were running three light minutes ahead of the planet killer. Now they boosted at their maximum safe rate, just ahead of the enemy missiles which were accelerating at four thousand gravities. The destroyers would not be able to keep up with them, which was not the point of the maneuver. What they would be able to do was keep the missiles in range for thirty extra seconds, time they could use to kill them.
Exodus: Machine War: Book 3: Death From Above Page 15