Battle Earth IX (Book 9)

by Nick S. Thomas

  "That's how to do it."

  Taylor grunted. "Yeah, Parker, but we gotta find a few other ways of taking 'em down."

  They carried on to where Taylor had last seen the Generals but found half of the building he had left was now flattened. Bodies were still being pulled from the ruins by surrounding personnel. He could see a few officers sitting about the rubble in shock.

  "This doesn't look good," whispered Parker.

  Taylor carried on towards them and was pleased to see one was General White. His uniform was cut at the arm, and blood was seeping out over the sleeve. He was covered in a thick coating of dust. He was simply peering out into the distance as if oblivious to all that was going on around him.

  "General, General White!" Taylor said, stepping up in front of him.

  White slowly turned and looked at Mitch, but his eyes were wide open, his expression a combination of terror and surprise.

  "You okay, Sir?"

  No response came for a few moments until White finally coughed and cleared his throat. He was starting to come back to reality.

  "What are your orders, Sir?"

  He seemed confused and shook his head. Taylor leaned in closer.

  "We need leadership right now, and that has to come from you. There are plenty around here who have had it a lot worse than you."

  White nodded in agreement, and his eyes seem to show he was recovering his composure.

  "Taylor? What are you still even doing here? You ain't a marine no more."

  "I'm whatever I need to be, and I will always be a marine," he replied, reaching down to haul the General to his feet.

  "So you'll stand with us?" asked White.

  "Always."

  He took in a deep breath, sighing as he regained his composure, and stood up a little taller and a little prouder.

  "Much of my staff were killed here, and it looks like the personnel on base suffered about as bad."

  "How's the rest of the coast doing? New York? Philly?"

  "Both have fallen. Survivors of New York have gone inland. National Guard and Army regulars out of Philly are falling back on Baltimore. Last orders received were to support them there."

  "Is that still the case?"

  "It's as good a plan as any. At least we can amass some firepower in one place. Corps Reserves out of Harrisburg are on the way also, and anyone else who can make it."

  "And if we circle the wagons, and they drop a tactical nuke or whatever shit they got like it, on our heads?" Taylor asked.

  "I'd rather die fighting beside our own than picked off one-by-one."

  "Fair enough, can't argue with that."

  Taylor couldn't help but feel their situation was more desperate than it had ever been. They were better prepared and equipped, and yet were falling as quickly as the first invasion of Earth. The General looked around for any of his staff and reached out to the first one he recognised who was staggering past with her arm in a sling.

  "I want every transport, every armoured vehicle, and every fighting man and woman loaded up and en route to Baltimore in the next thirty minutes."

  The woman looked confused. She was a Lieutenant and clearly one of General White's personal staff.

  "You heard the General," Taylor added.

  "Aye, aye, Sir," she suddenly responded.

  "What do you want of us?" Taylor asked White.

  "Force recon, right? I want you to blaze a path to Baltimore for us. Think you can do that?"

  "Hell, yes."

  * * *

  Taylor stood before the craft that had landed them on the base. One was almost cut in two by a crashed fighter, and the others being worked on by their crews, who were desperately trying to get them operational. He caught a glimpse of Rains atop the nearest one, and working on part of one of the turbines.

  "This ain't even your bird!" Taylor shouted to him.

  "Yeah, well, ain't got one, so it's as close as I can get!"

  "Think you'll be airworthy in the next thirty minutes?"

  He stopped what he was doing and looked at Taylor as if to ask, 'are you serious?' Taylor simply nodded in return.

  "Do what I can!" he yelled back and went back at it.

  Taylor was looking over the craft a little closer, and the weapon systems fitted which were few and far between.

  "These craft are modular, right? Intended for a range of tasks and quick modification for an intended purpose?"

  "Yes," replied King, standing beside him, "What have you got in mind?"

  "I want every gun you can possibly find fitted on these birds."

  "It's mostly open bay weapon platforms. We do that, and we're limited to low altitude work, and we definitely ain't getting out of the atmosphere."

  "That's the last of our concerns right now, Captain. Every weapon system you can muster. "

  King nodded in agreement and rushed off to carry out the orders. Within a minute, ground crews were stripping panels from the hulls and wheeling out weapons from a storage facility next to them. He turned around to Jones and Parker.

  "Gather up any of our wounded who can still fight. We're taking them with us."

  "That a good idea?"

  He looked around at the destruction around them and bodies still being carried away.

  "They'll be safer with us than anywhere else, Jones, and we need them as much as they need us."

  He could see crews lifting heavy Reitech weapons onto the ships. It was as simple as removing metre-square panels in the hull and clamping the weapons in their place for human operation. It was primitive, but it would get them what he wanted.

  "When we're up the air next time, I want to rain hell on whoever and whatever we encounter," he stated.

  Twenty-five minutes later, the ships were ready to go. Four vessels were all they had, but each was equipped with six fixed guns on either side of the hull, as well as their nose-mounted cannons and missile launchers.

  "Flying Fortresses," said Taylor.

  "What?" Parker asked.

  "No, he's right," added Rains, "The old B17s, fortresses in the sky."

  "I got no idea what you're talking about," she replied.

  Taylor only smiled in response as King strode up to them.

  "We're ready to roll," he stated.

  "Then what are you waiting for? Load up."

  He turned to Jones and indicated for him to follow the same order, which he quickly did. Taylor turned and watched the orders issued across comms channels and their personnel leaping into action.

  "You know this lot need rest, and so do you," Parker whispered in his ear.

  It was true. His arm was still sore from the elbow to shoulder.

  "We'll rest when we have time to," he replied softly. He then headed for the nearest craft, which the pilot had rather hurriedly hand painted the name 'Maya'. As he got aboard, he turned back to Jones.

  "What's our head count?"

  "Two hundred and sixty three, if you count the Germans you invited along for the ride. Twenty of those are wounded but still combat effective. All other casualties have been transferred to medical transports heading west."

  He nodded in response. He prayed those casualties made it out alive, but he knew none of them were safe, no matter where they went. Taylor opened a direct channel to General White who had clearly been anticipating his contact.

  "We're good to go, Sir."

  "Glad to hear it, Colonel. We've got reports of multiple incoming vessels to the east. We need to be in Baltimore pronto!"

  "We're lifting off presently. Good luck to you, Sir."

  "And you, Colonel."

  He stepped up to the pilot’s cockpit so he could see everything unfold with his own eyes.

  "Take us out."

  The engines were already roaring, and they were off the ground almost instantly.

  "You know where we're going. Stay low, too many larger vessels prowling the skies. Do not stop or slow down for anything, you hear me?"

  "Yes, Sir."

  H
e turned back to the transport bay that was crammed with more troops and ammunition than was ideal. They could barely move over one another.

  "Man the guns. Be ready to defend yourselves at all times!"

  Parker was the first one to take up position at one of the hull-mounted weapons, and others soon followed suit.

  "Why Baltimore?"

  Taylor looked down to see Sergeant Lang sitting beside him.

  "Baltimore was like a fortress, a bastion in the first war. Layer after layer of bunkers, trenches, and gun emplacements. Like nothing we've ever seen in our lifetimes."

  "And it held?"

  Taylor took in a breath and shook his head.

  "They held a hell off a long time, more than anywhere else on the frontline. Baltimore is a symbol of resistance to Americans, and since the war, it's never really been rebuilt. If we're gonna batten down the hatches and try and make a stand, it's the place to do it."

  It was a look of loss and defeat that overcame Lang's face at his words. Even as Taylor was saying them, he knew their situation was dire. They had been in the air for a few minutes, and Taylor was starting to believe they might make it there without incident. It was a moment of hope that would soon be trampled upon.

  "Incoming!"

  It was the word he had been waiting for and praying would not come. It came from one of the gunners at the starboard side, and Taylor pushed his way through to get a view for himself. As he reached the fixed weapon, the man at it was taking aim. Three ships were incoming that appeared about the size of their own. They were almost in range when dozens of objects started to launch out from the bows of the vessels. Taylor lifted his rifle to use the scope for a better look and instantly recognised the drones as just like those they had been attacked by in France.

  "Web rounds!"

  He dropped the magazine of his rifle and pulled out the single web round mag with the yellow identification band around its base. As he slammed it in, the gunners on his side opened fire on full auto. Fire was quickly returned, and he could hear impacts peppering the hull like hail on a windshield. As Taylor chambered a round, something impacted on the hull beside the gunner in front of him, and an explosion flashed before them. The gunner was thrown back against him, but Taylor managed to keep the two of them on their feet.

  He saw the gun was missing from its mount and had been torn off the ship. The open cabin around it was scorched, and they both realised they were mere centimetres from the deadly missile.

  "Too close!" Taylor shouted.

  He rushed to the window and quickly raised his rifle. Drones were soaring towards them for another pass. The guns along the hull were still firing, and he saw one of the drones blasted out of the sky. But for all of their ammo expenditure, they were achieving little. He raised his rifle and took aim at two of the drones that were flying close to each other.

  Gunfire rushed at their vessel, but Taylor calmed his breathing and squeezed the trigger. The shot rushed from his rifle and expanded out. The web instantly encompassed one of the drones and knocked the other off course. The trapped drone dropped from the sky like a brick.

  "It works," he whispered, "Take 'em down!"

  Others rushed to the gunports and opened fire with volleys of the web rounds that saw the drones being swatted like flies from fifty metres away. The fixed guns turned their fire to the drone carriers and bombarded them with prolonged bursts. Taylor sighed in relief as the rest of them cheered at their victory. He looked around; Lang and the other Germans were genuinely impressed. He didn't have the heart to tell the Sergeant that the drones were little more than a scouting party.

  "Baltimore, here we come!" Parker shouted.

  Chapter 4

  Taylor was the first to step down the ramp onto the surface and stopped to look out at the ten-metre high walls either side of them, thinking of how they had seen layers just like it from the air.

  "Looks like Minas Tirith," said Lang.

  "What?" Silva asked.

  "Layer after layer of thick walls housing a city. Tolkien?"

  Silva shook his head and that brought a smile to Jones' face.

  "We'll bring some culture to your world yet," he added.

  Silva was still oblivious to what they were talking about and shrugged it off.

  A dozen friendly vessels passed overhead, coming in to land throughout the city, and many more could be seen on the ground. Troops and vehicles were busy at work all around them.

  "Will it be enough?"

  "Probably not, Jones," replied Taylor.

  Jones could not help but laugh at his scepticism, to avoid crying instead. Taylor was looking around for some semblance of authority. Army and Marine personnel were intermingled, and he could make out the uniforms of cops and Coast Guard. National Guard and Marine reservists were there too.

  "One big happy family," said Silva.

  A stripped down utility mule jeep parted some of the troops and stopped by them. It had just a single seat for the driver; the rest being a flat topped carrying deck.

  "Colonel Taylor?" asked the driver.

  "Yeah," he replied casually.

  "Sir, General Heath requests your presence immediately, and that of Captain Jones if he is with you."

  "And he couldn't have called this in?"

  "Comms are haywire, Sir. We've got interference coming in all over the place, and we have no idea who is listening in. Fixed line communications have been established every one hundred metres on all the walls for when they are needed."

  "Going old school."

  "Yes, Sir."

  "King, you know what to do. We'll be back shortly." Taylor climbed onto the flat-topped vehicle with Jones.

  "Sorry about the ride, Sir, but we're a little hard pressed right now."

  The driver raced off, causing troops nearby to jump out of the way. Taylor and Jones hung on rather unceremoniously to the rim of the storage basket they were sitting on. They passed through the huge reinforced gates of one of the walls and could see troops piling down into bunkers below that were integrated into the giant structures.

  "Defences above and below?" Jones commented.

  "We started digging in a few years back until their armour started rolling over us, so we started building up!" replied the driver.

  "You were there for the defence of the city?"

  "What's left of it, Sir, yes."

  "So someone got out alive," whispered Jones.

  They passed through another wall, and as they did, they could see four ships coming into land and a welcome party waiting for whoever it was.

  "That's General Heath, Sir," the man said, pointing to a soldier who would have looked more at home by Taylor's side than in a war room. Their vehicle came to a halt twenty metres back from the welcome party. As they climbed off, they saw General White step off one of the ships and approach Heath. Taylor continued right on up to them, and White quickly turned to address him.

  "Colonel Taylor, this is General Heath, US Army."

  Heath looked to be in his early fifties and stood eye to eye with Mitch. His face was pot-holed and rough, as if it had been riddled with shrapnel. He was in fighting shape and wore full Reitech gear, being an almost mirror of Mitch himself, though his helmet was off and revealing his almost bald head that had just a little grey hair either side.

  "Of all the places we could have met before, Colonel, I can't think of anywhere I would rather have had you on side if a shit storm comes our way, than right here now!"

  Taylor smiled.

  I like this General already, he thought.

  "We have no more time for pleasantries. Gentlemen, please follow me."

  He stopped for a moment and looked to Jones.

  "Captain Charlie Jones?"

  "Yes, Sir," he quickly replied, with a puzzled expression.

  "Follow me also."

  With that, the General turned and quickly strode towards the entrance to a bunker that was set into the ground. Jones looked to Taylor for answers, but he had n
one as they stepped down below the surface. It wasn't long before they were standing around a map of the area in Heath's war room, just as Taylor had been so many times before. He never liked it. He was a field officer and never wanted to be anything more.

  "Any moment we should be hearing from General Dupont, who I know you are familiar with."

  "Yes, Sir," replied Taylor, "but how, may I ask?"

  "We have a number of emergency lines set up directly to key installations around the World. We learnt a lot from the last war, and being in the dark again is not something I want to experience. I was here in Baltimore last time we took a stand here, and I can tell you it wasn't pretty."

  Taylor could tell Heath had been a fighting man back then. There was no way he’d sat at a desk during that war, with the way he held himself and talked.

  "You gave 'em quite a fight."

  "I was a Major back then. When I got out, I had less than fifty men still walking and under my command."

  A light flashed on the display beside Heath, and he quickly answered before Taylor could even think of a response to his comment. An image of Dupont was projected, and Taylor could already see the pained expression and pale face of a man who was hanging by a thread. He began to open his mouth but stopped and stared at Taylor.

  "You made it?"

  "I don't die that easy," replied Mitch.

  It brought a smile to Dupont's face and the faintest of hope back to his eyes.

  "What can I do for you, General?" asked Heath.

  "I am sorry to say, and I must be blunt about this. This is a plea for help. Our lines are crumbling. Our armies in the south have broken and have been scattered to the wind. We are on the ragged edge. Will you come to us in this time of need?"

  Heath took a deep breath and sighed.

  "General Dupont, I assure you I would give you all that you require, would it be even possible. I cannot make that decision, nor could I rightly weaken the defences here in Baltimore. I am sorry to say it, but we aren't fairing much better. We're digging in to weather this storm."