Exodus: Empires at War: Book 8: Soldiers (Exodus: Empires at War.)

by Doug Dandridge

  After the armor passed came the three battalions of artillery and antiair vehicles, also manned by other aliens. Flying overhead was the combat aviation arm of the division, thirty-two sting ships and another forty general purpose vehicles floating slowly along.

  As the last of that unit passed by there was a break before the next division marched into sight, this one the human 47th Heavy Infantry Division, from the planet New Glasgow. Are those bagpipes, thought the General, the sound of the pipes coming to his ears before he picked out the instruments being played by the Scottish descent troopers. Baggett stifled a laugh at the incongruous juxtaposition of ancient martial instruments and advanced battle armor. He had heard that they often went into battle to the sounds of the pipes, though it that case it was canned music, and not actual people playing.

  This division marched on, seven battalions of infantry, two of armor, and four of artillery and antiaircraft support. After a short break came the last division of the corps, the 25th Armored. This was a feast of the big boys, four battalions of one thousand ton main battle tanks, two of five hundred ton mediums and another two of the lighter scout tanks. Each brigade also had a battalion of heavy infantry, enough to support the tanks. This was not a division suited to defensive postures, but more to overrunning the enemy. Which was just what he wanted.

  After the last battalion of the last division passed by Baggett stepped off the reviewing stand, motioning for the other division commanders to proceed him to the briefing room. All were arrayed in their dress uniforms as suited a parade. They would spend enough time in their battle armor when they got to the assault area.

  “Take seats,” commanded Baggett as he walked into the room after his subordinates had gotten to their places around the table. Baggett took his own chair at the head of the table, looking at the officers assembled in the chamber. Three division commanders, all major generals, along with his own assistant division commander, as well as six brigadiers, holding the positions of three assistant division commanders and three staff officers. A dozen colonels, the brigade commanders. All of the senior commanders of his corps, who would later disseminate the information to their own commands, when the time came.

  The holo came to life over the table, and most of the men and women in the room leaned forward in their chairs, the four Phlistarans putting their elbows on the table so they could shift forward on the peculiar benches that served as their seats.

  “New Moscow, ladies and gentleman,” said Baggett, pointing at the system with his controller and causing one of the worlds to blink, then zoom in. “Our next target.”

  There were a few murmurs in the room, but mostly stunned silence. The kingdom of New Moscow was not a favorite among many of the citizens of the Empire, having migrated from a polity that had itself split from the Empire five centuries before. It was like they were considered people who couldn’t work out the problems of the governments they found themselves under, and were continually looking to run to something better.

  “And what’s the mission, if I may ask?” asked Major General Hri’stanna, the commander of the 512th Heavy Infantry in his rumbling voice.

  “It’s a rescue mission,” said Baggett, wondering if that was accurate. More like an attempt at a mass rescue. And if we do half of what the Emperor expects of us, it will be a miracle.

  “And who are we rescuing?” asked Major General McPherson in his Scottish brogue.

  Baggett didn’t say a word, but instead sent an order from his implant, causing the holo to change views. It started with what looked like a high altitude view of a large square, at the range impossible to determine what it was. The view moved in, until it resolved into a multitude of smaller squares arrayed among the larger one. Then it zoomed again, and the figures of living beings could be seen moving among what were now obviously tents or other forms or temporary shelter. There was some kind of a conveyance moving through one of the streets, being pulled by a group of the forms, and the view zoomed in on it, revealing its identity.

  “Son of a bitch,” cursed Major General Patrice Napoli, the commander of the armored division. “Those fucking assholes.”

  The cart was piled high with bodies, most fairly intact, some missing parts as if they had been hit by a powerful beam weapon or high velocity projectile weapon. Staring eyes looked wide into the nothingness their owners had entered, while a pair of Ca’cadasan guards walked on either side of the cart.

  “This is the rescue mission, ladies and gentlemen,” said Baggett, fighting his rising anger. He had seen this before, but it still drove him to a killing fury. People, his species, being confined until they could be harvested as food. “Hundreds of millions of humans, in over a hundred of these camps, some very large, some small, that cover the surface of the world. As soon as the Fleet and the Army has the assets in place, we are going to take this world away from the Cacas and rescue these people.”

  “And if the Cacas kill them first?” asked Hri’stanna.

  “Then we at least free them from their fate, and deprive our enemy of food.” Baggett looked out over the assemblage. “But we’re not going to fail. Failure is not an option. That comes directly from the Emperor. We will land on New Moscow, and we will take the planet away from the Cacas. And free these people, so that they might join with their brother and sister humans in opposing this hated invader.”

  There were a couple of muted cheers, with more staring in silence, which Baggett did not mind. This wasn’t a group that was going to be roused with a rah rah speech. They had been in the service too long, and seen too much. That was OK. As long as they did their jobs, he really didn’t care.

  “I have downloaded all of the information we have on this planet to your personal databases,” he continued. “I have noted our primary objectives, our generalized deployment, and leave it up to you to come up with workable plans for your units.”

  “How much of this can we bring our own subordinates into?” asked a colonel of heavy infantry.

  “You can tell your XOs and company commanders,” said Baggett, waving a finger. “You can ask the advice of your sergeant majors and first sergeants, use their accumulated wisdom. But no further. Understood?”

  Heads nodded, most with expressions of understanding at the need for operational security. There were some frowns from those who liked to bring in their lower ranking officers and NCOs into the process.

  “It is very important that the enemy not get wind of this operation,” said Baggett, turning off the holo. “If they get any idea this is coming, they will kill every human on the planet, and we will be wasting even more lives for no purpose.”

  “So, how are we going to get our people onto the planet before they kill everyone?” asked Colonel Maj Barrett of the 25th Armored Division. The Colonel looked more like a vid star than a tanker, small, petite and with the kind of face that took the breath away. She was a twenty-eight year veteran of the service, having served longer than her corps commander. By chance she was serving under Baggett, and sometimes chance worked out in one person’s favor. She was smart as a whip, and probably would have already achieved flag rank if not for her penchant for questioning higher authority.

  “Higher command is working on that, Colonel,” said Baggett, looking into her blue eyes for just a moment before forcing his gaze to move on. “They have some ideas, and are working with the special ops people on getting us onto the planet before the Cacas can do anything about it. But I have not heard back from them.

  “We’re not going in on this one alone, people,” he said, pulling the holo back up. “We are being organized into the Fifteenth Army, and will have three more heavy corps assigned along with our own. We will have enough troops to take the planet and hold it. I have been told the Fleet presence will be strong enough to kick the asses of the Caca naval forces. Other than that, I really don’t know what we’re going to do.”

  The General had his suspicions, but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that whatever they were go
ing to do would take a level of timing that made the most complicated dance routine look simple by comparison.

  * * *

  “What the hell is this shit, sir,” groused Sergeant Emanuel Sargasso, looking with disdain on the powered armor, one set of many, that stood in the center of the room.

  “These are the steeds we are going to ride into battle,” replied Captain The Baron Cornelius Walborski. “You boys are constantly complaining about how you have to hump everything on your backs,” he told the gathered Ranger company. “Now you get to let mechanical muscles carry the load.”

  The one hundred and sixty-eight men looked at their company commander as if he had lost his mind. He knew exactly what they were thinking. These men were Rangers, special ops, the best unconventional fighters the Imperial Army had. They were used to going into battle with almost no tech. No com equipment, no sensors, not even energy weapons or magnetic rail guns. They moved quietly with no electronic signature to give them away, and killed quickly from the shadows. And now they were being shown medium armor combat suits, something that would defeat their entire purpose.

  “We’re going on a different kind of mission this time, men. And the suits are not really for us, but so we can aid the people we are going to rescue.” And that’s all I can tell you guys about the mission we are going on, at least for now. Walborski didn’t like that part of the tasking order either. He was used to being frank with his men concerning a mission. They all had high level clearances, and were used to being trusted by their leaders.

  “So, what’s the mission, sir?” asked Renhard Fujardo, the company first sergeant.

  “We’re going to be rescuing a bunch of civilians from the slimy clutches of the Cacas,” said Walborski with a smile. “And that’s about all I can tell you. I’m sure you will guess more during our training, but I caution you to not talk about your assumptions. You’re smart people, and it’s not something I can stop you from doing. But the intelligence types might become just a little upset if they hear talk coming from any of you.”

  “And we’re going to wear, these, things, into combat?” asked one of the soldiers.

  “For a part of the mission,” agreed Walborski, nodding. “For more than half of it you will be acting as Rangers, moving and fighting in the accustomed way. But for part of it you will be using this combat armor. Believe me. Without the protection of body armor, you will not survive, and without the equipment you will be carrying along, the people you’ve come to rescue will not make it out. So just settle down, do what you’re told, and when the time comes you will know everything I do. And hopefully quite a bit more.”

  Cornelius looked over the men, seeing looks of confusion, disapproval, even anger on many of the faces. Most of the men had come right out of infantry training and into Ranger school. The last time they had been exposed to the armored suits was years, in some cases over a decade, in their past. Even the ones who had served tours in standard infantry units had not actually used a suit since they transferred into Ranger training. Their commanding officer was in the same boat.

  “The suits have all been measured for your particular body size and shape,” he told his men, looking over the armor and seeing a blinking cursor over the one that was his. “Follow the cursor to your armor and try it on. Supposedly it is fitted perfectly, but we all know how that goes.”

  There was some laughter as the men started moving around the room, headed for their own suits. Cornelius walked to his and backed into the suit. He lacked the skull outlet that all regular infantry carried to interface with their suits. Instead, the helmets would interface with the Rangers’ own implants through close range carrier signals. His suit closed up around him and sealed, and he felt the mental connection coming up.

  Instantly his senses were coming through the suit sensors. His own senses had been augmented to the point where they were on par with any natural creature that humans knew of. But now he was seeing in not just the visible and near sides of the electromagnetic spectrum, but also in radio waves, like a passive radar. Sounds were coming in beyond the range of sonar. He moved his arms in the suit, his own augmented reflexes making the movements much faster than an ordinary trooper could have managed.

  “OK,” he said over the com. “Everyone settled.”

  The acknowledgements started coming back, an overwhelming babble. With a thought he cut out the vocal feed and started counting the responses on his HUD. “We’re going to go for a little shake down run,” he announced, smiling as he thought about all of the groans which must now be filling the airwaves. “So let’s get going, you mugs.”

  All of the men followed him out of the room and into the bright light of the F3 primary. Walborski looked at the temperature on his HUD, noting that it was as hot as Sestius ever was, not quite up to the standard of Azure, but close. But the environmental controls on the suit were functioning to standard as well, and it was comfortable within the armor.

  Walborski started off on the run, looking down the long path that led through the training base. He knew he was in as good of shape as any of these men, but that most of them were still in his class. Setting the pointer on the HUD on a target thirty kilometers away, he set his pace at fast, his armored feet slapping the hard surface of the road.

  They went the first couple of kilometers at a sedate ten kilometers an hour, catching the catcalls and jeers of other special ops troops that were working or exercising outside their barracks. Other Rangers, by the battalion, Marine Force Recon, Fleet Commandos, all proud men who thought they were better than the others. Some of them would be going on their missions without armor, and were looking down on a unit that was now equipped with what the ordinary grunts wore. Some of them would soon find out that they also were going to be wearing the suits.

  “Let’s show these mugs how to run,” he called over the com, then increased his pace, hitting twenty kilometers per hour, up to thirty, then passing forty, still under what they could hit without the suits. A curve was coming up, and a glance at the rear view of his HUD showed that most of the men were looking at that curve, anticipating the change of direction.

  Cornelius picked up the pace, up to sixty kilometers an hour, running in a straight line, off of the road at the curve. There was a five meter tall fence straight ahead, and Cornelius pushed the pace again, then took the last step and leapt into the air, clearing the fence easily and landing lightly on his feet, despite the weight of the armor.

  “You’ve got the target on your HUD,” said Cornelius over the com, sending them the data. “Last one there buys a round.”

  That got them going. Immediately a couple of men passed the Captain, pushing their suits for all they were worth. Cornelius smiled, knowing what was ahead, which would not show up on his soldiers’ HUD until they were very near.

  “You OK, sir?,” called out one of his platoon leaders as he passed, using his own command circuit to override Cornelius’ com block.

  “I’m fine, Lieutenant,” he answered with a short laugh. “Just getting old.”

  That elicited a laugh from the other officer, who continued on at a fast pace. Cornelius watched as about half of this company passed him, then picked up the pace to stay in the middle, looking at his map as they approached the first obstacle. He went ahead and dropped the com block, listening to the back and forth between the men. And then came the yells of surprise as they reached the canyon.

  Cornelius laughed as he made his way through his men to reach the canyon that loomed like a knife slash through the hills, trees growing up to the cut.

  “What the hell’s stopping you,” yelled Cornelius, running up to the slash and jumping in, letting his suit fall until his sensors told him he was twenty meters from touchdown. His grabbers took over, slowing him to a hard but sustainable touchdown. As soon as he hit he jumped, taking off over the rocks at the bottom and coming back down thirty meters further on, aiming for an open area across the jumble.

  The men started jumping down, remembering what
kind of capabilities they had in these suits. The Captain reached the other wall and went into a hard jump, soaring into the air, cutting in his grabbers as soon as he reached the point where he was on the verge of falling back, then up and over the lip of the canyon and into the woods beyond.

  “What a bunch of slugs,” he yelled over the com, running through the thick woods, dodging trees, for the most part, slamming into several with hits that would have stretched him on the ground if he hadn’t been armored. His audio sensors picked up the sounds of the first group of his men hitting the top of the canyon and running on, crashing through the brush like a bunch of dinosaurs. If this had been a combat situation, they would have let any enemy for tens of kilometers know they were coming.

  Ten kilometers further was the river, three hundred meters across, deep and swift. Cornelius could have flown over it, but decided this obstacle called for something different. “No flying over the river, guys. You have to cross it otherwise.” With that he dove in, engaging his grabber units to pull him along underwater. He hit forty kilometers per hour in seconds, and crossed the river in half a minute, surfacing and coming out of the water just as the first of his men jumped in.

  Cornelius could track them crossing the river by the wakes they were stirring up. Some forgot to use their grabbers, both slowing them and creating more of a disturbance on the surface. The Captain pulled a sonic stun grenade from a suit pouch, activated it, and tossed it into the river. Three seconds later it went off, sending a shock wave out in all directions that rippled the water.