by Chris Hechtl
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Sometimes she hated her job, Bridgett thought as she watched the Spaceport battle heat up. She'd thought that the god of war view would be great. But somehow, it had started to make her feel helpless and upset when reports came in of casualties.
“Enemy message traffic and data has gone through the roof, ma'am. A tenfold increase in the past minute alone,” Ensign Bridgett Summers warned. She turned to the tactical officer on duty.
“Can we pinpoint it?” the JTO asked.
“They are bouncing the signal all over the place. We're trying to pinpoint them now. All assets locally are engaged, however,” Ensign Summers warned.
“Institute jamming. Have the gunships spike them,” Lieutenant Eros ordered.
“Aye aye. Spike order sent,” Ensign Summers replied dutifully.
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“Frequency jamming,” Private Askdall warned. “Changing frequencies but this won't last for much longer,” he warned.
“Do what you can,” Captain Zhukov ordered as he watched the small tablet screen for the overall report. So far so good. It wasn't nearly as good as he'd hoped, but they were making some headway and killing some of the bastards and blooding others.
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“Boss wants us to pecker the ground. Get the latest frequencies and locations and get it done,” Wolf 1's pilot ordered. He'd seen Wolf 2 get hit in the tail but managed to keep the bird in the air long enough to get clear of the engagement zone and land it more or less intact near a Marine staging area. The crew had been reported as okay but a bit shook up by the experience.
“Right. Jacking the ground. How effective,” Wolf 1's copilot said in disgust. “We should be engaging the relays,” she growled.
“Don't tell me. It's an order. Besides, you really want to swat at what is probably a device the size of a deck of cards? With what? Our guns are a bit of overkill … if we even hit it.”
“I can hit anything I lay my sights on sir,” the copilot replied with smug dignity. “Some on the other hand can't hit the toilet even with a bull's eye drawn on it.”
“One time! One time! And I was drunk!” Wolf 1's pilot squawked indignantly. “And you were all watching and betting on me! I was nervous!” he said as she snickered.
“Peckers away. Not that they'll do much good,” Wolf 1's copilot said.
“Oh shut up,” Wolf 1's pilot sighed. He cleared his throat, then engaged his radio. “Jammers deployed,” he said to command and control.
“Roger that,” Alpha Wolf replied.
<)>^<)>/
The Horathian officers got a brief view of the crashed Skywhale from one of the distant observers before she had to cut her signal and relocate. They put the image up and studied it as Mackie and Askdall did their best to kill the distracted Marines.
“It fell over part of the spaceport and nearby town. It didn't get as far as the city though,” Lieutenant Robinson said.
“I see that. It should make some people very unhappy,” the captain said.
“The tide is turning,” Mackie warned, turning his head blindly to them.
The captain turned to him. “Switch to GOTH One. Draw it out. Make them work for it. Make sure you record everything,” the captain ordered.
“We're trying to, sir, but they are jamming us. We've lost positive control on a quarter of the units left,” Private Askdall reported.
“Damn,” Lieutenant Robinson murmured.
“We can't have it our way forever. They adapt as we do,” the captain replied as he switched his view to a hybrid of Mackie's and the private's. He didn't like what he saw. Both controllers were down to a squad of robots left.
As he watched, Mackie used two of his remaining dogs to retreat. He opened his mouth to object until he saw where the dogs were running past. Marines went in pursuit but were then engaged by robots Mackie had hidden.
“Nice,” Lieutenant Robinson murmured as two of the lead Marines were shot up. One went down but the other managed to destroy three of the robots before backup arrived. One Marine remained with the wounded Marine as the others went after the retreating robots.
A surviving Marine drone dropped in from above and took the robot dogs out, however. Then the Marines turned and located the spy cameras and took them out with precision shots.
“They are good,” the captain murmured.
“Yeah, too good. Wish I had my suit,” Mackie muttered as he tried to direct his remaining forces to fall back and cover each other. Each time they had to change frequencies, he lost valuable control time however.
“Sir, someone's trying to back trace us. We've got a few minutes before they close off the dummy trails I set up and get on our scent,” Private Askdall warned.
“Keep me posted,” the captain growled.
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Captain Irenez realized it was just about over. The surviving Horathian robots had been directed to draw the Marines into traps but her people were learning. After two traps were reported, they learned to guide others to the kills from different directions or better yet have a drone or sniper engage from a safe distance.
One by one the engagements petered off as the snipers and air drone reserves got back into the fight. The jamming cut down on the Horathian robot's ability to be remote controlled. Without that guiding unseen hand, they kept searching for a signal, distracting them and allowing them to be picked off.
Slowly but surely the tide turned once more in the Marines’ favor. When the firing ended, the Marines took stock of the breakage.
She didn't like the numbers: twenty-one dead, thirty-four wounded. But she couldn't change them. Something told her it could have been far worse if the enemy had actually been on scene.
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The Horathian radio observer broadcasts were detected around the spaceport and capital city as well as several other areas. The computers classified them as hostile when they noted the transmissions were encrypted.
So were the relay sites. Each had been triangulated from its transmissions, however brief. If a unit had been in the area, it had engaged to take a suspected site out. Jammer poles had been staked into the ground by the gunships as well to institute localized jamming on the frequencies that the enemy used.
The original plan had been to send drones in after them, but at the time all of the drones were committed to the battle. Instead, the Marines were forced to record the transmissions and monitor the transmission sites from above until resources could be freed up to do something about them.
Pessimists admitted that the radio operators would be long gone by then if they knew what was good for them.
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Captain Zhukov realized the jig was up when the signals started to be jammed and the controllers were down to less than eight robots remaining. He ordered his people to stand-down before they were backtracked.
“We're done here,” he said, indicating to Private Askdall to pack up. “We move out in twenty minutes,” he said, looking around to the guards out on the perimeter and then to Lieutenant Robinson. She nodded and silently turned to help the private pack up.
“Straight to the base?” Mackie Cardones asked as he took off his virtual helmet and put it away in the carrying case. The captain gave him a pitying look for asking such a stupid question. “Okay, okay, we go home the long way,” Mackie muttered. “So much for a celebratory beer,” he muttered as he took his gloves off and packed them with the headset. He unjacked the wires, then coiled them for storage as well.
“Right,” the captain drawled. “The surprises are still secure?” he demanded suddenly, eying the others intently.
“As far as we know. We yanked the batteries and stuff, and we buried them as you ordered, sir. If the locals in the area don't give them away, they'll be there ready and waiting,” Mackie said as he looked up. “I know it's not my call, boss, but leaving them out there like that is a risk …”
“Without risk there is no reward,” the captain interrupted. “And you are rig
ht; it's not your call so finish packing up,” he ordered as he turned his back on the PFC to check the perimeter.
Chapter 41
General Drier reviewed the progress reports with a trace of alarm. He didn't like the engagement report from Captain Zhukov. They'd bloodied the bastard's nose but not hard enough—not for the loss of half their robots and a quarter of their light weapons. A tenth of his SAMS had been used in that ambush as well. They'd gotten a piece of one of the gunships, but he was depressingly certain not a big enough one. They had downed over a dozen drones though.
Drones and warm bodies were a finite resource … or so he thought. But if they had the full abilities of the fabled Federation, then he knew they'd replace the drones easily enough. The personnel were a different story.
The Marines were moving out efficiently, far faster than his own people had. He'd underestimated them again and that bothered him.
Still, they'd learned things. Like that the Marines could be killed, but light caliber weapons were at best a wounding weapon. The only way to be certain of a kill was to use something high caliber or explosive.
The attacks he'd ordered by the pawns in other areas including the capital were limited. The observers had yet to forward much information for fear of giving their transmission sites away. He hated that he was in the dark there. He had no choice though. Get information right off and risk the loss of an asset or let them trickle the information to him in small dribs and drabs over time and keep them long term.
He was learning the art of patience all over again he knew. It wasn't an easy lesson to re-learn.
He'd gotten a better return on investment from the robots Captain Zhukov had carefully hidden around the spaceport and capital city according to the captain. They had confirmed reports of several Marines killed or wounded and dozens of unconfirmed reports. The robots were not as effective as he'd hoped however. And, now that the enemy knew of the threat, they were adapting and taking steps to minimize their threat.
He felt some dust hit his shoulder and hair and brushed them away in absentminded annoyance. The problem with living in a cave was it was dirty. Dirty, musty, and lacked a view he thought as he scanned another report.
But it was home. Home until they could kick the Federation back to wherever they had come from. Home and only his people knew about it. His primary command base had been built like several of the others by his people as well as a tithe of slave labor. His people had rounded up people and forced them to help build the bases. They'd died during the process—some had starved to death; others had died due to accidents that had plagued the job. Once they had finished, the surviving slaves had been put to death in a deep shaft and left to rot. It was the only way he could be certain they wouldn't give anything away.
Dead men told no tales.
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“Damn,” Colonel Harley murmured as she checked the morning report. Another three Marines had been killed in the night, four wounded. Two had been killed by snipers before they'd taken the bastards out. She realized the enemy was bleeding her, attritioning her, making her look ineffective and weak. Harming her morale, making her think twice about her deployments.
The spaceport had been harsh but expected in some ways. So had the capital city as well as two of the other cities her people had taken. Her worst-case scenarios had pegged the enemy at trying to hold the real estate and her taking five times the casualties she'd so far endured.
The enemy wasn't fighting a frontal assault and in a way that bothered her the most. They knew they couldn't, so they were fighting smart. It didn't bode well for long-term plans. It meant they'd have to route them out and keep a good-sized garrison on the planet.
Take for instance the little tricks they'd pulled with the radios. They'd known that they had to control their robot soldiers so they'd used a series of omni, directional, and even laser cutouts to forward the signal. Her people had traced the signal out in an attempt to hit the controllers only to find that the cutouts didn't stop at the spaceport perimeter. There had been dead-end trails to follow, plus a series of double backs and circles that had eventually forced them to give it up. Whoever was on the other end was most likely long gone.
She knew her people were making headway with the natives and that taking the real estate denied it and its resources to the enemy. She wasn't certain if they would be willing or enticed into standing and fighting, but she'd keep to her plan just the same. Eventually, they'd run out of real estate.
The deployments would continue. The Marines had paid in blood for the ground; she didn't intend to back off and pay for it again twice. Once was more than enough. She just hoped she wasn't spreading her Marines too thin in the process.
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It took them two long weary days for Jean Claude and the other survivors to find shelter. What they found wasn't much, but it was a roof out of the spring rains and cold.
The farm had been abandoned, and from the bodies they had found, there had been something of a battle held there. Wade surmised it had been something of a siege since there was no food and the building had been stripped of burnable material. The interior of the stone buildings had been stripped of furniture and even walls and floorboards. Two of the bodies they'd found had been found near the woodpile. Both had been shot.
The group was unsure what it meant but were too tired and footsore to care. There was no food, but there were some rags they could use to clean themselves up with. The place stank to high heaven. The girls coughed and stuck close to the windows and door. They left the windows and doors open to air the place out, but it didn't help much. The black mold and crud from where someone had peed and pooped had grown up the wall and then spread leprous spots all over the inside of the farm.
They were forced to stay there as rain kept them inside the following day. They left after resting fitfully that night. Kadir's wife vowed to leave by morning, rain or shine … or camp out in the barn. Since there was most likely more mold there, Kadir resigned himself to get moving when the dawn broke. To his relief the skies parted and clouds slowly drifted away to let the sun shine through.
They trudged silently for some time. There really wasn't anything to say; they needed to reserve their energy for the walk.
“Is it weird that my stomach has stopped growling?” Kadir finally asked.
“Yes,” his wife replied as she cradled her baby. Kadir glanced at her, then took on one of the other kids for a piggy back. She sucked on her thumb. Two of the other kids rode the horse, even though it showed signs of being lamed on it's off fore.
They picked some berries and sucked on grass and water crest that they passed as they trudged onward through the forested hills.
“We can't even hunt. We don't have a decent weapon,” Wade complained, hefting the spear he'd made out of a stick. He grimly gripped it looking at the end he sharpened, then shook his head.
When they got to an intersection, they stopped. “Which way?” Wade asked, looking around to each of the tracks. “I haven't seen any recent signs of activity,” he said, towing the dirt.
“The Borlin place is that way,” Jean said tiredly as he pointed to the track rising into the hills to the north.
“Fallbrook is that way, but it is a ways,” Kadir said, pointing to the main track. “The others …,” he waved tiredly to the southern road.
“If the Borlin place is anything like what we just saw, we're better off going to Fallbrook,” Jean said.
“I don't know if the kids can make it that far,” Kadir said slowly, eying the kids. His wife had taken them to rest under an old oak tree near the intersection. She softly sang to them as they cuddled with her. Their wagon had been their home, their entire life. Now it was gone, and the loss was crushing to such fragile souls.
The horse whickered, flicking her tail as she ripped out chunks of grass. Boyd's son used a handful of grass to give the horse a rub down as he tried to get her to ease up on the injured leg.
“They'll have to,” Jean
said grimly. He heard a soft noise in the air and turned tiredly to orient on it. When he did, he started to duck, then forced himself to stop as he saw an aircraft buzz overhead. It was some sort of drone but unlike the ones the Horathians had used. It winged overhead, then kept going.
A few minutes later, another aircraft flew by. He tracked it as it went past them. He pointed. “They are going to Fallbrook.”
“Then I guess we've made up our minds. We'll stick our head into the lion's mouth too,” Wade said.
“You've got any better ideas?” Jean asked, eying him. Wade shrugged. The others just swayed tiredly.
“Come on. There have got to be some farms around here. Maybe they'll help us.”
“Right. Help,” Kadir muttered in disgust as he gathered his wife and kids up to keep trudging.
<)>^<)>/
Harambe heard the reports of the shuttles and drones headed to Fallbrook. He also got a report from a lookout watching the roads of a refugee group moving on the roads in that direction. But before they could get a clear sighting, they'd moved tantalizingly out of range.
The lookout insisted the group was human or ape. Several kids, a lame horse, and they looked about done in. Given that the humans had done far better than his own people, Harambe was in no hurry to offer them support. After all, he only had so much to go around as it was, and his people took priority. They'd lost too many, far too many during the long winter freeze. They still had cases of pneumonia being reported.
Kiki had made a couple runs but the nearest farms had been abandoned. The Smith place was still there, and they still gave some from time to time, but not a lot. Kiki had scouted it one night and hadn't been happy about all the food the farmers had been hoarding.
She had reported that Fallbrook and several of the neighboring towns were clean of Horathians. A few of the refugees had returned to their former homes. Some hadn't had a home to return to, but their old neighbors had taken them in. It was a good sign, very good.
However, Harambe had learned caution the hard way. He wasn't quite willing to come down off his mountain just yet. But it was tempting he thought. More and more tempting as the sun warmed the ground, the leaves uncurled, and the blossoms grew.