Battle Earth 1 be-1

by Nick S. Thomas

  Kelly climbed the ladder first, lifting the hatch that was well concealed under the carpet of the small room. He raised it only a few centimetres, listening for the sound of the huge Mechs constantly patrolling the buildings above ground. The area was quiet, a welcome piece of news. He lifted it higher and climbed out into the room, followed by his team which completely filling it.

  “Put the hatch back down,” he whispered.

  Cautiously opening the door, the Commander stepped out into the corridor of the ground floor of the library. He had become very familiar with the structure years ago, when he regularly visited in order to meet various groups to discuss the documentation of the colonisation of the Moon. Libraries had seen a major resurgence since people wished to publically discuss the things they read.

  The lights were still on. The colony would run without any maintenance for years to come. The highly developed nuclear power source would keep the power on, as well as oxygen and water processing going almost indefinitely. He stepped towards the staircase, not wanting to risk activating the elevators, even though they were working.

  The building was eerily silent and as they reached the stairway it immediately became clear that every sound they made echoed through the tall stairwell. Kelly had seen enough of the enemy to know that he never wanted to see them again. The thought of going above ground scared him more than anything in his life, but to do nothing would condemn every surviving colonist to death.

  “Get down!” shouted Jones.

  An energy pulse from one of the enemy vehicle’s mounted cannons smashed into the building above them, rocking the structure. Glass and debris crashed all around them. The body armour suits were all that kept the men from sustaining serious injury. The Captain was momentarily stunned by the deafening crash of the building collapsing around him. Clawing his way to his feet, he shook off the dust covering his body.

  “Get on the guns! Keep firing!”

  Charlie ran along the line of the corridor that had been their firing position. Several of his men were stumbling about trying to regain their composure. His hearing began to recover and the first sounds were the French guns around their position.

  “Where are you going, Sir?” shouted Saunders.

  “I need to talk to Girard!”

  The comms equipment had been jammed soon after the siege had begun. Jones had been expecting this from the very beginning after Taylor had warned him about the incident on the Moon. The lack of communication created a number of problems for the ground forces which they will still unable to overcome.

  The Captain ducked and weaved along the corridor as explosions continued as his troops fired back into the street. Jones had read about such vicious city warfare in the history books, but he didn’t think he’d personally ever have to experience it. The modern armies existed really as a police force and acted only in the intervention of small military conflicts.

  Jones reached the door of the building where they had been stationed. He looked into the street where several French tanks were stationed and firing as quickly as they could. Debris from the buildings above swept across the street. Charlie moved forward but stopped abruptly as a section of concrete large enough to crush a man smashed in front of him. He immediately went down on one knee, not to present a target to the enemy. He looked to his left where the fortifications were built, the enemy had already reached the perimeter and the two companies in his battalion had fled back to their positions.

  To his right he could see Girard shouting at two of his officers by his command vehicle. Things were not going well. Jones got to his feet and ran along the rubble-strewn road keeping his head low until he reached the Colonel. Just as he got there the two officers were given their final grilling and sent on their way. As he neared the vehicle he could see Major Chandra was next to the Colonel.

  “Captain Jones, how goes the southern defences?”

  “Not great, Colonel, we are giving them hell. The narrow corridor is giving a good field of fire, but we’re burning through ammo.”

  “Captain, that is exactly the discussion we were just having,” said Chandra.

  “We’re holding just a square kilometre of the city centre but it’s becoming more difficult to hold. However, the city reserve ammunition stores remain intact,” Girard added.

  “Where are they stored, Sir?”

  “In a secret location beneath a building half a kilometre to the north.”

  “Outside our positions, Colonel?”

  “That’s right, Captain. Jones, as you know, our communication signals are being jammed. The last news we received was that an airlift was being organised to pull us out, but it’s taking time to organise.”

  “Why, Sir? Surely they could evac us within an hour or two?”

  “Not that anyone is saying it, Captain, but it seems like we are the only forces to have held out. We are providing valuable time for the civilians to flee and the rest of our forces to amass.”

  Jones shook his head. They were buying time for everyone else with their lives. Ultimately he knew it was what they were paid to do as soldiers, but he never thought that it would actually be asked of them.

  “Captain, we could potentially be here until tomorrow, but our ammunition stores will only last another couple of hours at most.”

  “I am getting the message, Major, what can I do?”

  “We need a company to volunteer, I am hoping that would be you, Jones.”

  The Captain knew he really had no choice in the matter. Not only that, but he was sick of taking a pounding in their southern positions.

  “I’m organising some armour for you now, Captain. You’ll have three heavy tanks and three APCs. Between them they’ll be able to carry more than enough ammunition to keep us in the fight.”

  “What sort of resistance do we expect, Sir?”

  “I have planned a route for you to take which hopefully should present as few problems as possible. Ultimately, Captain, we simply don’t know. Do whatever you can to bring those supplies back, without them we are finished!”

  Jones thought hard about the situation, realising the desperate situation they were in and what weight was being placed on his shoulders. He saluted the two other officers before running off to gather his company. He’d lost so many men, but now he was worrying less about how many casualties he was taking, and more about how many he could save.

  “Major! The General is requesting you immediately!” shouted Friday.

  The Major was stood with a grin on his face and a revolving grenade launcher in his arms. The weapon had long been decommissioned by Earth force militaries. It had been considered completely at odds with the modern policing actions that troops carried out. The eight shot, 30mm launcher fired formidable armour piercing or high explosive rounds. Taylor’s face quickly turned to concern as the order was relayed.

  “Any idea as to what it’s regarding?”

  “No, Sir, the General wants only you and STAT!”

  Taylor put the launcher down on the table. Up ahead was the burning wreck of an obsolete armoured vehicle they had been using for testing their new weapons. Alongside the launcher was an array of heavy and unusual weaponry.

  “Time to cut this short, gentlemen! Captain, I want you to complete the report for urgent operational requirements. Silva and Parker, grab as much of this kit as you can and get it to our company barracks immediately. I’ll be back soon to introduce the new tools to our men!”

  His troops leapt into action as the Major rushed out to where his jeep was parked. The base was still a hive of activity. A number of troops had stopped to observe the tests they were carrying out. Everyone could see that this was a prelim to all out war. Many of the marines on duty stared at the Major as he came out of the stores warehouse, desperate to ask him questions. They all saluted as he passed them. There was no longer anyone on the base of any rank that didn’t recognise Taylor.

  The heat in the base was reaching unbearable levels, compounded by the mass activity and
necessity of bearing of arms. Taylor wiped his brow and shook off a handful of sweat as he raced across the base. Sweat pockets filled his uniform, only disguised by the disruptive camouflage pattern that he was wearing. He rushed into the operations room without opposition from the guards.

  “Major!”

  “Sir, the report is on its way.”

  “Good work, Taylor, but that’s not why I called you here. We just received a signal from the Moon colony!”

  “Is it genuine, Sir? I didn’t think anyone could survive that onslaught.”

  “Never underestimate Kelly, we served together a long time ago. If anyone can survive on that occupied hell hole, it will be him!”

  “Then he is alive, Sir?”

  “And kicking. The surviving forces and civilians have moved underground into a series of bunkers, research centres and tunnels. It seems the survivors are in their tens of thousands.”

  “Christ, and we left them there!”

  “Major, you had your orders and you carried them out. This is not about right and wrong. We needed the Prime Minister and yourself back on Earth. You could have done nothing to evacuate their numbers!”

  Taylor nodded. He felt shame for the loss of so many lives, but he knew that there was nothing more they could have done.

  “The Moon has become a guerrilla war. Colonel Visser is dead, but many of the soldiers stationed there, as well as the militia, fight on. Kelly is organising regular missions to find supplies, but they face one big problem. Even when they can get those bastards alone, it’s still a hell of a fight to bring them down.”

  “Yes, Sir, I can fully understand that.”

  “I refuse to leave those poor bastards to die on that rock. Our forces will continue to amass ready for a major ground assault, but until that time, your new task is to get supplies to Kelly.”

  “General White, we are facing worldwide disaster! We must look to our own defences!” shouted Smith.

  “We will face our own battles in the days to come, but I will not and cannot leave our people to die up there!”

  “Sir, I can fully appreciate the sentiment, but last time we were there we left with our tail between our legs. We can’t outrun or outgun their ships!”

  “Not with our technology, Major, but with theirs we can.”

  “Sir?”

  “Our tech guys have been going over two enemy vessels which we have captured in lightly damaged condition.”

  “What happened to their occupants?” asked Taylor.

  “That is a subject for another time. From now on you will be liaising with the research and tech teams handling the alien vessels. You will also be organising the Moon supply drop. We cannot send troops up there, but food and weapons are the priority. I want you to find pilots that are both capable and crazy enough to fly such a mission, and ensure that the cargo contains weapons that will give them a fighting chance. Understood?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The Major’s grin stretched across his face. Leaving the Moon colonists was the most difficult decision of his life, but now he was being given a chance to redeem himself.

  “I have assigned you my driver, Sergeant Gibbons. You can bring your company officers of NCOs in on this programme, but beyond that, this is between us, Major. Do what you have to do.”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  Taylor turned quickly and ran out of the room to be greeted by Gibbons who had obviously already been briefed on the situation.

  “Sir, I am here to take you to the research facility.”

  “Not quite yet, Sergeant, we have a few people to pick up!”

  The two men jumped into their jeep and stormed away from the Command Centre, making their way for the Major’s barracks at speeds far beyond those allowed on base. Not a single marine dared confront their breach of base rules, not even the MPs. Major Taylor had always been an important officer on base, leading one of the most advanced and experienced companies in the United States Armies. But now he was not just important, but known. No one would stand in his way.

  They reached the barracks and Taylor leapt off, telling the Sergeant to stay put. He rushed into his office to see that Captain Friday was already writing out the reports for the release and request of the hardware they had tested.

  “Captain, bring that with you, we have a new task on our hands!”

  Friday leapt from his chair and was out the door with his datapad in a split second. Taylor had always appreciated the fact that the Captain never questioned his orders and never dragged his heels. Suarez strolled across the parade square as they jumped into the vehicle.

  “Lieutenant! You’re in charge until we return!” Taylor ordered.

  The Major looked back to Captain Friday who was in the back of the Jeep

  “Captain, we’re en route to oversee a special mission, I need you to contact Eddie Rains and tell him to meet us at…”

  Taylor looked to the General’s driver who was at the wheel.

  “Where are we headed, Sergeant?”

  “Hangar 89.”

  “Got it, Major.”

  “And tell him to bring three capable pilots with him!” Taylor added.

  It was half an hour before they arrived at the giant hangar that was situated a way out from the base and on the edge of a vehicle-testing zone. It was an isolated and desolate area with vast open plains surrounding it. The three men stopped their vehicle outside, the small jeep was dwarfed by the huge storage facility.

  The hangar had little sign of activity, with just one small guardroom built onto the front. It appeared to be a sleepy old structure, forgotten and lost in time, in lieu of the modern structures they now operated from.

  “I thought this place went inactive twenty years ago?” said Friday.

  “I guess some things are just above our pay grade,” replied Taylor.

  A vehicle approached from the direction they had come. The Major turned to see the familiar sight of Eddie Rains’ faded red bandana wrapped around his head as he sat up on the back of the vehicle. Dust kicked up all around them and into their eyes as the vehicle slid to a halt and the pilots leapt out. Ever the gung ho rule breakers, it was if they simply rebelled as a matter of tradition.

  “You got a job for us, Major?” Rains called.

  “That’s right, Eddie, it’ll be wild, dangerous, and you’d be an idiot to accept it!”

  The Lieutenant turned to his friends with a smile.

  “You called the right men, Major!”

  Two men appeared from the guard station and they were well equipped. Far from the old and out of shape old soldiers that were employed to guard most storage depots, they were young and fit. They wore full battle attire and didn’t lack an ounce of professionalism.

  “Welcome to Hangar 89, gentlemen, home to every secret project and finding since this base opened.”

  “You’re not just the General’s driver are you, Sergeant?”

  “No, Sir, I am his liaison to this facility and advisor on all matters involving it.”

  “A lot of responsibility for a Sergeant.”

  “I retired a Major, Sir, then worked for the CIA. I was posted to him with the rank of Sergeant and as the General’s driver as to maintain anonymity in my work.”

  The security guards looked at them from a distance, studying every element of the men who stood before them. They’d already been given clearance for the facility, and the guards never moved closer than ten metres. A large door opened in the front of the hangar that was large enough for a truck to drive through, but still tiny in comparison to the vast bay doors.

  “The hangar is close to half a kilometre long, with three underground levels and two above ground. What is of interest to us today, Major, are the captured enemy vessels.”

  “What condition are they in?”

  “They aren’t flight worthy if that’s what you’re asking, but there’s plenty of interesting material to salvage from them.”

  Gibbons led them through the huge entrance and a te
mporary corridor existing only to hide whatever the building housed from the outside world. It took a few moments for their eyes to adjust from the striking light of the day to the artificially lit warehouse. Before them were the two craft as the General had said, evidently the latest acquisitions in the hangar. The room stretched as far as they could see with at least a hundred staff members in sight.

  “These two craft were captured soon after the Moon base fell. Our intelligence suggests that they were advance patrol ships. One was hit by our fighters and crash landed in the desert, the other was struck by one of our destroyer’s EMP pulse defences when it entered its grid zone.”

  “Man, I’d love to take one out for a spin,” said Rains.

  “Well that’s not far from the reality of the situation, Lieutenant. The plan is to retrofit the alien engine tech to something you lot can fly. We need something fast enough to outrun whatever they’ve got so that you lot can get to the Moon and back.”

  “There are survivors, Sir?”

  “That’s right, Rains, lots of them. We need to deliver food and weapons to the survivors who are still putting up a fight there.”

  One of the other pilots jumped into the conversation before the Major could continue.

  “But we’re aerial pilots, Sir, space isn’t our domain.”

  “Well that is true, son,” said the Sergeant. “However, we need combat pilots for this mission, not space haulers. Now, every minute we waste puts more lives at risk.”

  “You heard the man, Rains. Our task is to get supplies to the Moon survivors as quickly as possible. In my book, that means tomorrow. Our task is to get two vessels kitted out with the enemy engine technology and en route by then, with you boys at the stick.”

  “It’s a tall order, Sir,” Rains replied. “It takes experts months and years to design aircraft, how are we going to manage it by tomorrow?”

  “Look, we aren’t designing anything from scratch. This is a bodge job. We use the smallest space worthy vessels available and strap on those alien engines, job done!”

  “It’s a crazy idea, Major, but what we come out with will be badass!” shouted Rains.